A research design is a plan of how research is to be conducted so that a particular research question can be answered (Mouton, 2001), with “…fitness for purpose” (Cohen et al., 2007, p. 78) being the central governing notion. In the case of my study my research design involves me asking about the kind of study which will best help me to understand how and why my whiteness was shaped by my experiences in southern African spaces with special reference to education.
My study is located within a critical paradigm, with its focus on the promotion of justice, democracy, peace and hope, and on consciousness raising and enabling individuals to reflect critically upon how they have become the persons they are (Babbie & Mouton, 2001; Cohen et al., 2007). There is clearly an easy marriage between the critical paradigm and the nature of my autoethnography in that my intention is to embark upon a personal journey which enhances my understanding of myself in respect of my socialisation into whiteness. It is indeed a reflexive study. As I have indicated however, critically in respect of the aim of autoethnography, there is also the hope that others, especially my fellow white southern Africans, and more especially those engaged in the field of education, might be touched as they read my story and reflect upon their own lives. All the better if they too arrive at a point where they disentangle themselves from racist individuals and dis-identify with whiteness as they renegotiate their identities.
In elaborating upon this theme Spry (2001) observes that good autoethnography should always clarify its own politics and reveal a political consciousness as it interrogates issues, breaks strongholds and dislodges hegemonic discourses. In support of this,
scholars such Bochner (2000), Clough (2000) and Denzin (2000) argue strongly that good autoethnography should advance the hope of a better world, with democracy and social justice always being present in the mind of the autoethnographer. Pursuing this, Richardson (2000) asserts that autoethnography should reveal an ethical self- consciousness, be impactful and incline readers to think, feel and understand with the unfolding story. Strong reflexivity, entailing self-conscious introspection, is a defining feature (Anderson & Glass-Coffin, 2013; Berry, 2013; Richardson, 2000).
A key feature of autoethnography is that it combines an individual’s life story with ethnography which studies a particular social group. It is a genre of writing and research which connects the autobiographical and the personal with the cultural, social, and political dimensions of life (Coia & Taylor, 2009; Ellis, 2004; Grossi, 2006; Holt, 2003;
Reed-Danahay, 1997). Consisting of a life story, which is carefully placed within an accommodating social context, an autoethnography is part self or ‘auto’ and part culture or ‘ethno’ (Coia & Taylor, 2009; Ellis, 2004; Reed-Danahay, 1997). It is usually written in the first person, with the author seeing him/herself as the object of research, or as Gergen and Gergen (2002, p. 14) express it, “…as an ethnographic exemplar”. It is argued by Weber (2005) that the act of writing a story is an opportunity for enhanced self-knowledge. In the case of my autoethnography the act of my writing helps me to understand myself better by enabling me to trace the process of my socialisation into whiteness. This is the ‘auto’ component of my study. As I relate my story I place it into the context of the three geopolitical spaces of my southern African experience and the political, geographical and educational spaces within them. This is the ‘ethno’
component of my study which so greatly enhances my understanding of myself.
Jones, Adams and Ellis (2013) explain that when they write, autoethnogrphers deliberately interrogate the nuances of life experience in light of cultural phenomena and cultural practices. Some authors may focus more strongly on the ethnographic component. They direct their attention more to their culture or group than to their narrative as such. Others may elect to focus more on their narrative. If they do so there still has to be a distinct ethnographic interest if the work is to be considered autoethnographical. They cannot write a standard autobiography “…in which the autobiographer divorces the life trajectory from any social constraints” (Reed-Danahay, 1997, p. 9). As I think of my own study in relation to this I see it as having a strong narrative focus but I also regard it as having an ethnographical interest. After all, I am
primarily interested in my socialisation into whiteness. My writing cannot be freed from the social constraints Reed Danahey has in mind.
A further understanding of the nature of autoethnography is given by Ellis (2004, pp. 37- 38) when she explains that autoethnographers peel back and expose multiple layers of consciousness as they vacillate between themselves and the contexts in which they find themselves:
Back and forth autoethnographers gaze: first they look through an ethnographic wide-angle lens, focusing outward on social and cultural aspects of their personal experience; then they look inward, expressing a vulnerable self that is moved by, and may move through, refract, and resist cultural interpretations. As they zoom backward and forward, inward and outward, distinctions between the personal and cultural become blurred, sometimes beyond distinct recognition.
This being the case, it is evident that ‘embodied’ writing is a key characteristic of autoethnography. Writers move into and out of themselves and events in their lives, as they converse with themselves and their readers, exposing themselves in the process, as they try to make sense of the multiple layers of experience that make up their lives (Derry, 2005; Ellis & Bochner, 2000). Trellis (1997) develops this by noting that autoethnography is a genre in which the writer’s own emotions and experience make up the data and that because of this, vulnerability is both a key and an inevitable consideration. Jones et al. (2013) go further when they state that autoethnogrphers typically embrace vulnerability with purpose. Secrets are revealed and histories made known. Autoethnographers make choices about what to share but they are inevitably open to being criticised for how they have lived their lives. As I apply this to my study it is apparent that I did indeed move into and out of myself and events in my life and that in the process the personal and cultural arenas of my experience sometimes became blurred. As I write, a measure of vulnerability is also involved, with expressions of fear and doubt sometimes alternating with hope and happiness (Ellis, 2004).
With this in mind it is appropriate to mention that researchers’ own experience has not been regarded by academics as interesting or even legitimate until comparatively recently and that much of the progress in getting the genre accepted has come from post-modernist, post-structural and feminist writers who have played a leading role in deconstructing writing conventions (Denzin & Lincoln, 2000; Ellis, 2004; Grossi, 2006;
Lincoln, 1993; Manke, 2005; Puddephatt, Shaffir, & Kleinknecht, 2009; Reed-Danahay, 1997; Sparkes, 2002; Trellis, 1997). It is noted by Sparkes, (2002, p. 213) that many of the critics are of the view that scholarly writing should be impersonal, objective and non- emotional, with “…the writer being seen (in the credits) but not heard (in the text).
Scholarly writing should, furthermore, be analytic and not merely experiential. The critics contend that it should be built on data that researchers collect instead of them obsessing about themselves (Delamont, 2007).
As a genre which unapologetically has the writer being heard in the text autoethnography fits neatly into post-modernist thinking which rejects modernist notions of absolute, universal truth and favours a varied approach to research so that different understandings of reality can be captured (Grossi, 2006). This sentiment is developed by Puddephatt, Shaffir and Kleinknecht (2009, p. 6) when they note that the nature of autoethnography is “…much in line with the general post-modern appeal to try to escape from universalising and technocratic, imperialistic and dominating ‘meta-theory’
and instead to turn to fluid, indeterminate, situational, local narratives”. There is a concern with particular persons, communities and contexts and a full acknowledgement that human beings are not fully predictable and never completely knowable (Jones et al., 2013). A similar picture is painted by Ellis (2004) when she notes that it is often the voices of people previously silenced who are given voice. The voices of women, ethnic minorities, the disabled and gays and lesbians are just some of those who have been able to celebrate the fragmentation of the grand narratives of modernism as they have begun to bring themselves in from the margins. Autoethnography is, in this sense, research “…that makes life experience come alive” (Walker, 2009, p. 26) and in doing so it breaks silences and disrupts norms of research practice and representation (Jones et al., 2013). As autoethnographers write in this way they “…write to right” and
“…toward and for liberation” (Jones et al., 2013, p. 36). As I think of my own study in relation to this I argue that in making my life experience come alive I am contributing, albeit in a small way, to the fragmentation of whiteness and that I am doing so at the centre rather than coming in from the margins.
Effective contextualisation is an especially important feature of autoethnography since the provision of context allows the particularity and situatedness of the self to come to the fore and reveals the degree to which the individual is caught up in the folds of broader culture (Cohen et al., 2007; Crawford, Kippax, Onyx, Gault, & Benton, 1992;
Neuman, 1997; Spry, 2001; Tierney, 1993b). ‘Thick description’, which refers to the description of the specifics in which the story unfolds, is necessary. Such description frames a story in time and space as distinct from a view which is too overarching or generalised (Neuman, 1997). Autoethnographers are well placed to provide nuanced and detailed thick descriptions of cultural experience as they have insider knowledge (Jones et al., 2013; Sikes & Potts, 2008). Jones et al. (2013, p. 34 ) expand on this when they note that “…centering work on inside personal experience autoethnogrphers not only have an investment in the experience they study but can also articulate aspects of cultural life traditional research methods leave out or cannot access”. In respect of my own study I concur fully since I believe that much of what I have written about in my personal narrative would carry far less meaning if it were not positioned and integrated within the social structures and relationships which prevailed at certain times, especially since there has been so much substantial change in all three of the geopolitical spaces in which my story is set. In my study ‘context’ is demarcated in decisive spatial terms, so much so, that it has a distinctive ‘spatial turn’ which plays an important role in enhancing my understanding of my socialisation into whiteness. Being able to write as an insider has proved to be of immense value.
Various autoethnograpic forms are possible. Writing and reciting poetry, performance autoethnography, arts-based autoethnography and mixed genre autobiography are some examples (Ellis, 2004). Various approaches are also possible, such as the personal narrative approach which I have adopted in this study. Whatever the form or the approach, autoethnography is a way of knowing in which an individual’s life and own experiences are explored, interpreted and articulated. These experiences are then considered in order to generalise to a larger group or culture (Ellis, 2004; Ritchie &
Wilson, 2000).
It is important to dwell further on the notion of the broader society being touched since it is the observation of several scholars that a criticism which is often levelled against autoethnography is that its producers too easily become self-absorbed (Anderson, 2006; Brink, 1998; Church, 1995; Coffey, 1999; Delamont, 2009; Ellis, 2004; Holt, 2003;
Mykhalovskiy, 1996; Reed-Danahay, 1997; Sparkes, 2002; Tsang, 2000). In support of this Maynard (1993, p. 329) and Tierney (2002, p. 393) note that the genre has been likened to ‘vanity ethnography’ and ‘narrative catharsis’ respectively. Several counters to this have been offered. For Church (1995) the self is invariably a social being which,
because its subjectivity always contains other people’s voices, can never exist in the private domain only. For Brink (1998, p. 32) the personal can never be separated from the public, political and historical domains, while “…narrative lies at the very heart of the process we call history”. A supportive note is struck by Bochner and Ellis (1996, p. 24) when they assert that autoethnography can never be free of links with the world beyond the self in that “…culture circulates through all of us”. There is also agreement by Mykhalovskiy (1996, p. 141) who notes that “…to write individual experience is at the same time to write social experience”. Church (1995) would concur saying that to write about oneself is inevitably to write about the society of which one is part. Tsang’s (2000) take is that readers construct their meaning through reading what writers write in their stories and that because of this writers’ stories can never be theirs alone. Ellis (2004) observes that in all of this we need to be reminded of the ‘ethno’ dimension of autoethnography, namely that while a story might initially be autobiographical and written for the self, in its final rendering it should be ethnographic in that it should point to both commonalities and particularities in our lives. In the process it should “…include self-analysis in introspection, dialogue or narration and move towards illuminating social science concepts” (Ellis, 2004, pp. 199-200). It follows that it is entirely legitimate for researchers to write about themselves and that autoethnography indeed rises above self-indulgence. While they write for themselves an important goal is to touch the world beyond, to connect the personal and cultural dimensions.
I concur fully with this sentiment. As I reflect upon my own narrative I feel bound to conclude that the links with the worlds in which I have lived circulate through all of me.
As I describe my experiences in different spaces at different times I am simultaneously writing about the societies in question. As my readers engage with my text and construct their own meaning they learn about me and the larger world around me. It follows that while autoethnographers do indeed write for, and about, themselves, autoethnography rises above self-indulgence. An important goal is to touch the world beyond themselves and in so doing help improve the lot of human kind (Bochner & Ellis, 1996; Church, 1995; Ellis, 2004; Kiesinger, 2002; Mykhalovskiy, 1996; Sparkes, 2002;
Tsang, 2000).
The idea of generalising to a larger group or culture is developed by Ellis (2004) when she explains that as individuals write their stories, position themselves as the individual phenomenon and write evocatively about their lives and the socio-political contexts in
which they were set, those who read what is written become involved with them to the extent that they become co-researchers and co-producers. They are invited into the author’s worlds and are implored to engage with what they read and allow it to influence their own lives. This is taken up by Jones et al. (2013) when they contend that auotethnogrpahers actively seek out a reciprocal relationship with their audiences and do what they can to compel a response to what is read. This being the case, there is a very real sense in which autoethnographers write both for themselves and for others. I comment further on this in due course. This means that the generalizability of stories is always tested as readers “…determine if a story speaks to them about their experience or the lives of others they know” (Ellis, 2004, p. 195). In referring, in this regard, to the dialectical nature of narrative inquiry, Weber (1993) explains that there is a symbiotic relationship between the particular and the general with each having the ability to inform and illuminate the other. In respect of my study, I would hope that a dialogical chord is struck between me and my readers as they determine if my story speaks to them so that they in turn can engage with personal journeys of their own.
It is relevant at this juncture to note that a criticism autoethnography has had to fend off is that it is thin on theory. In view of what has been said above it is apparent that a story, in whatever form it is told, is able to generate as much of a theoretical contribution as someone who sets out to establish “…an axiomatic, conditional statement of human behaviour” (Puddephatt et al., 2009, p. 14). Ellis (2004, p. 195) adds that if theory is thought of as social in this way “…the concerns become less of representation and more of communication”.
It is important, if readers are to be invited into writers’ worlds, that the stories autoethnographers write should be well-structured, coherent and stimulating and able to hold interest in such a way that readers are moved critically, emotionally and aesthetically (Ellis, 2004, 2009; Gannon, 2013). The focus should be on the degree to which stories evoke responses from readers. Scene setting, characterisation and plot development are all important in the actual connection of events (Denzin, 2000;
Richardson, 1997; Spry, 2001). As I reflect upon the nature and content of my personal narrative I would hope that it is sufficiently engaging to evoke a response from readers. I believe that it is distinctive in its tracing of my experience of three southern African geopolitical spaces at a time when they were each experiencing fascinating and substantial political change, most especially in respect of challenges to whiteness. If
readers are moved to engage critically with their own construction of themselves and to work towards changing institutions and society in the interests of social justice, then all the better (Ellis, 2004).
In respect of people’s construction of themselves it is noted by Jones et al. (2013) that interest in social identities and identity politics has played an important role in the development of autoethnography. They point to the social upheavels in the USA during the 1960s and 1970s as having been of particular significance in causing there to be more reflexivity in social research and an increasing recognition of ways in which race, gender, class, sexuality and other social markers impact people’s lives. Individuals wanted to know who they were, how they were perceived and how they were constructed. Seeds sown in the USA during the 1960s and 1970s took root as Positivism began to be questioned and qualitative methods started to come into their own, among them, in time, autoethnography (Jones et al., 2013).
It is relevant to point out at this juncture that integral to the nature of autoethnography is the notion that when we produce a story we mine meaning and become liberated as we come to an appreciation of our own depth as individuals (Van Manen, 1990). This idea is developed by Paul, Christensen and Falk (2000, p. 17) when they contend that it is through the stories we tell that we are able to make sense of our lives in that “…they help us to impose order and coherence on the stream of experience so we can work out the meanings of events in our past”. Kiesinger (2002) notes, supportively, that it as one writes one’s narrative one is able to integrate and make coherent disjointed aspects of one’s life. In concurring McLaren (1993) asserts that narration enables us to hold our gaze so that we can build the different and various images and readings of the world into a meaningful whole and so give shape and form to the person we are and would like to become. The theme is also pursued by Paul, Christensen and Falk (2000, p. 17) when they aver that our stories help us to reclaim ourselves in that through them we are able to identify and understand, potentially at least, “…the seeds and structures of ourselves, the foundations and walls of our beings, why we are the way we are”. New levels of consciousness are reached and from this, a greater sense of control over our lives has the potential to emerge. We are enabled, in short, to engage in the process of our own identity construction. The essence of what is involved is succinctly captured by Hall (1996, p. 4) when he says that identities arise from “…the narrativisation of the