List of Acronyms
Chapter 2: Research methodology
2.4 Using the life history method
can be hegemonic; but can also be subversive. Often those who are the at margins of society are more likely to produce counterhegemonic/subversive stories.
Thus narrative research has been shaped by the broader debates and concerns about knowledge, knowledge production, and research over the past few decades. Casey (1995) argues that narrative research is “both pervasive and elusive” (p.211), and is “in all of its various manifestations,...deeply implicated in contemporary conflicts over theory,
methodology, and politics in scholarly investigation” (Ibid, p.211). It is not surprising, then, that narrative research can be claimed by both Marxists and postmodernists. Interpretivists, with their emphasis on subjective meaning-making and multiple truths, are also inclined towards narratives. What is clear is that the assumptions and theories underlying a particular way of viewing narrative research needs to be made clear by whoever is using it - as Chase (1995, quoted in Watson, 2006, p.62) argues, “narrative research must be grounded in a particular theoretical commitment”. This commitment then shapes how the method is used to gather data, how this data is analysed, and how it is written up. Recently, however, the method appears to have been uncritically adopted, as if it is simply a technical method that can be used at will, rather than one which shifts and changes depending on the underlying epistemological and even ontological beliefs of the user.
In the discussion below, I have drawn on literature from both frames, as appropriate; but have not included references to literature that is from a wholly postmodernist perspective/counter critical research, since this is contra the paradigm within which I am working. For example, discussions about data collection are fairly useful across both the emancipatory and
deconstructivist approach; but analysis tends to be very different, because the different
understandings of reality, knowledge and truth, and the different intentions of the approaches.
2.4.1. Data collection
Elliott (2005) citing Graham (1984), Mishler (1986) and Riessman (1990) says that interviewees are likely to spontaneously provide narratives about their experiences unless they are prevented from doing so: “Most people like telling stories and with a little
encouragement will provide narrative accounts of their experiences in research interviews”
(Elliott, 2005, p.29). This is particularly the case when power is shifted to the participants.
This suggests that the researcher need do little other than set up some kind of opportunity for story telling, and then record it in some way. However, even Elliott concedes that there are certain things the researcher can do to encourage story telling and ensure the rich, thick data are obtained; and many writers have considered this in some depth.
Whilst it is generally acknowledged that different data gathering methods, both quantitative and qualitative, can be used within a narrative approach (surveys, observations, interviews, documentation, conversations, journalling) (Plummer, 1983; Webster & Mertova, 2007), most writers argue for the use of an open-ended interview schedule. In this case, the questions are crucial - they must relate to the life experience of the participants, allowing them a chance to tell their stories. So learning how to ask questions is critical (Cortazzi & Jin, 2006). Bryman (2008) gives the following guidelines in formulating questions in general:
• don’t use ambiguous terms;
• don’t ask long questions;
• don’t ask two questions in one;
• don’t ask very general questions;
• don’t ask leading questions;
• don’t ask yes/no questions;
• don’t use technical terms.
Many writers suggest asking simple questions that clearly relate to life experience, for example, asking people to talk about specific times and situations/experiences, rather than asking broad questions about life over a long period of time, to encourage recall and reflection ( Hollway and Jefferson, 2000, cited in Elliott, 2005; Elliott, 2005; Webster &
Mertova, 2007). Webster and Mertova (2007) suggest as an example, “Think about one memory you have of X; tell me about it”. Most writers also emphasise the importance of being a good listener, and not interrupting.
Elliot (2005) suggests that in a life history approach, it can be very difficult for people to respond if they are just asked to give an account of life. She suggests using some kind of grid to record life events, together with the participants, and then using this as basis to recount story of their life (Elliott, 2005).
In my interviews, I asked only five main (sets of) questions: about growing up and family;
about school; about after school (work, marriage etc.); about learning; about Abahlali (see Appendix 2). I used only open-ended questions, and tried to phrase the questions in simple terms. The interviews were really more conversations than anything else; I asked for more information, or for an explanation of things asked, as the interview progressed. I was only really aware of the extent to which I was present in the interviews at the time of transcribing;
but I think the nature of the interviews was in fact fairly typical within the life history approach (as discussed further, below).
Because of the kind of interview required in the method, many writers have talked about the duration of interviews, and the number of interviews. The length of interview can obviously vary a lot, but several authors say about 90 minutes is optimal; the important thing is to make the timing clear at the start of the interview (Elliott, 2005). Some writers, however, have suggested that on the whole respondents are not very sensitive to time, and do not mind how long it takes; in fact, participants often greatly enjoy it (Dex, 1991) (something that I found in my own interviews).
Many writers suggest that if more time is needed, one should rather have further interviews;
but writers differ in their suggestions about how many interviews are needed. Seidmann (1998, cited in Elliott, 2005), for example, says do three interviews, whereas Hollway and Jefferson (2000, also cited in Elliott) argue that two are enough. Seidmann argues for one (the first) focusing on the participant’s broad life history leading up to the topic/event of
and a final interview reflecting on this experience. Hollway and Jefferson suggest doing the initial interview; listening to the tape and reflecting on the interview; getting comments from other researchers; going through notes; and then doing the second interview, a week later, following up on issues or gaps raised in the first interview. They agree that more than one interview is important, since this build the relationship between the researcher and
participant, and tests the internal validity of the data.
Obviously, recording the interview in some form is important. Increasingly, writers suggest tape-recording, not simply to ensure a complete record, but also because this allows the researcher to pay close attention to the participant. “Recording is...now generally thought to be good practice in all qualitative interviewing” (Hermanowicz, 2002, quoted in Elliott, 2005, p.33). It is also generally recognised that trying to include other things, such as intonation and body language, can be important.
I did only one interview with most of the respondents. This was for three reasons - I already had an established relationship with all of them, so building this up was not really necessary.
I also felt that asking the participants to reflect on something they had talked about some time ago was probably breaking a synergistic process; it felt far more natural for them to reflect as they recounted, and to assist with this by asking appropriate questions as we went through the interview. Finally, I felt that asking participants for more than one interview was possibly taking advantage of them. I did suggest at the beginning that it might be necessary, but that I hoped it would not be; and I did give an approximate guide as to how long the interview would take at the time I asked them if they would be prepared to be interviewed. In the event, the 90 minute guide worked fairly well for most of the interviews. Not surprisingly, I found that the interviews with the younger participants went slightly quicker; those with older participants tended to be longer. In one case, a second interview had to be scheduled, because we had not completed the interview in the time we had. I tape recorded all of the interviews, after asking for permission to do this; but also took copious notes during most of the
interviews, primarily because I was concerned about a failure of technology, but also to try to capture, for example, body language where this struck me.
2.4.2 Analysis
As Watson (2006) points out, “collecting autobiographical stories is really only data collection: something needs to be done with the data to clarify and find meaning” (p. 63).
However, because “the construction of knowledge [is] a political process” (Kirby &
McKenna, 1989, p.27), analysis is also a political process:
The act of interpretation underlies the entire research process. The act of
interpretation is not something which occurs only at one specific point in the research after the data has been gathered; rather interpretation exists at the beginning and continues throughout the entire process. (Kirby & McKenna, 1989, p.23)
So how one does the analysis is a crucial point.
Another issue is the sheer quantity of data the narrative process can generate; generally, you end up long and/or multiple transcripts (McCormack, 2004). Elliott (2005) suggests that each interview generates about 15 000 to 20 000 words, or 20-30 pages of text - although this is really a function of a more deconstructivist approach, in which every word, every pause, every element of discourse, is captured. Thus how you prepare and transcribe data is connected to method of analysis (Elliott, 2005). This is always a compromise: “It is now widely recognised that it is all but impossible to produce a transcription of a research interview....which completely captures all of the meaning that was communicated in the encounter itself” (Elliott, 2005, p.51).
As Elliott (2005) points out, there is no one method for doing analysis within narrative research - a lot depends on the approach and intention of the research. Thus there are significant differences between those working within in a more critical frame, and those working within a more postmodernist one, for example. Polkinghorne (1995, cited in McCormack, 2004) identifies a fundamental difference between ‘analysis of narrative’ (in which stories are looked at as data), and ‘narrative analysis’ (in which actions and events are looked at as data, and are used to generate stories). Elliot (2005, p.38) categorizes the
(2004) has also done, although he adds an additional category:
1. Thematic analysis. This emphasises the content and recurrent or underlying themes within/across the stories. Such themes may be derived either from the research questions and theoretical framework, or from the data itself.
2. Structural analysis. This focuses on how the story is told, and the narrative mechanisms or techniques used by the storyteller.
3. Interactional analysis. This focuses on the interaction between the teller and the listener, with the meaning of the story being co-constructed through dialogue.
4. Performative analysis. The emphasis here is the narrative as performance, and includes the response of the audience.
Other possible methods that are discussed in the research literature include fractal analysis (Cross, 2006, cited in Trahar, 2006), and storying stories (McCormack, 2004), which involves viewing interview transcripts through multiple lenses - active listening, narrative processes, language, context, moments - to highlight both individuality and complexity.
Many of these really apply to a more deconstructivist approach, in which the researcher is interested in the nature of identity and the constitution (and reconstitution) of the individual’s subject positions. In my case, analysis focusing on what happened and why (in the stories, rather than in the interviews) was what was required, and I thus chose methods appropriate for this.
Thus, in transcribing the data, I recorded only the story itself, and not my questions and comments. I also cleaned up the transcript to make it easier to read (Elliott, 2005) - I removed pauses and hesitations and repetitions where these did not add anything substantive. I also re- ordered certain things where chronological order helped to make the story more coherent or understandable, and also to check my understanding of what happened when. However, I used only the actual words of the participant throughout.
In thinking about the analysis process before I embarked on the research, I had always assumed that a first level of analysis would be done by the activists themselves, in my
interviews with them. This was because, as discussed above and further below, it had struck me that Abahlali was an unusually reflective movement, and my prior knowledge of the people I was intending to interview led me to believe that they were reflective individuals;
but also because the open-ended nature of my interview schedule allowed me to probe responses, as well as specifically asking them to reflect on their learning and on the
movement (thus helping to answer my research questions 1-3). However, I had initially also considered the possibility of involving those I interviewed in the overall, secondary, meta- analysis process (i.e. the extent to which adult learning theory, and Badiou’s theory of the event, could explain processes of unlearning), and had included a focus group to do precisely this in my research proposal. This felt to me at the time consistent with the political intent of the research. However, as the research progressed, this began to feel to me to be an unfair and potentially dishonest move on my part. Firstly, it would require me to ‘teach’ a large body of theory to the activists for no real gain on their part; and secondly, it would relocate, at least in part, the ultimate responsibility of this analysis from me, who was after all, hoping to achieve a doctoral qualification.
Clandinin and Connelly (2000) warn that one can “fall in love with participants”, and want to let them speak for themselves; however, they insist, there must be analysis and interpretation by the researcher - what is the meaning of this? What is its social significance? So this is what I have attempted to do. As Clandinin and Connelly point out, this is not actually easy, it is very complex, it is not a series of steps. They assert that it is important to keep asking questions about meaning and significance - looking for patterns, for narrative threads, for tensions, for themes either within or across individuals experiences and social settings. In doing this, I have used thematic and event analysis.
2.4.2.1 Thematic analysis
Thematic analysis involves coding data for specific themes. The themes could be determined before coding begins, or could be generated during the process of analysis, from the data; or a combination of both.
Marshall (2002) comments that “textbooks make coding sound relatively straightforward”
(p.56) - in fact, it is messy “dirty” process. Coding, in her experience, is “mental chaos [accompanying] physical mess” (p.57), and giving rise to elation, frustration, hope and despair. This is largely because qualitative data is frequently complex and voluminous, and is hard to manage, let alone code. She also argues that in fact the rules for coding are not clear -
“data analysis in general [can] be a miserable experience involving frustration, confusion and self-doubt” (p.60). Key issues are often how much time it takes, and the fact that a research usually keeps coming up with new codes, and then has to go back and recode; and being unsure about when to stop the process, because there is in fact no logical end - it is always possible to find something more. In addition, the technical process of coding can in fact prevent a researcher from really thinking about, and engaging with the data.
Marshall (2002, pp.63-67) suggests a number of possible solutions to the problems associated with coding, allowing a mix of order and creativity:
• being reflexive. The researcher needs to keep moving between data and theory, between the technical process of coding and the reflexive process of thinking about what the codes and data mean. Thus coding is not a preliminary stage of analysis, but part of the analysis itself.
• Take time and time out. Marshall proposes that the researcher accept that the process is slow and repetitive, and is careful not to rush the process, or worry that he/she has not coded perfectly the first time round. Time spent coding should be limited, for example, to an hour at a time. The researcher should take breaks from coding, and do something else (preferably creative) for a while.
• Work with the unconscious. Allow things to surface, for example, a feeling that one aspect of the interview is more important than others.
• Break up the coding into steps. For example, a researcher could first identify the key themes; then divide the time available for coding by these themes; code broadly for that theme, noting any new ideas/themes as s/he goes; then do a finer level coding within that broad theme. Categories should be refined as the process unfolds.
• Be systematic.
• Record and file ideas, insights etc. as they occur. This is a critical part of the analysis process.
I used my four research questions as the basis for a first level of analysis of the stories. Once I had analysed the transcripts very broadly by research question, I then undertook a thematic analysis, using themes generated from the discussion in various chapters of this thesis. For example, in coding instances of hegemony, I used Gramsci’s assertion that people ‘learn’
hegemony from family, Church, media and school, and coded for family, Church, media, school. This allowed me to see both whether this had in fact occurred as Gramsci claimed;
but also where it might not have happened, or have been resisted. Similarly, I used key ideas from Badiou’s work to code the transcripts for instances of how they might relate to Badiou’s theory. I thus had some a priori categories, from my research questions, but my analysis was guided through interaction with data. I thus used an iterative and dialogic process; going constantly backwards and forwards between the stories, the context, and the theories.
2.4.2.2 Event analysis
Webster and Mertova (2007) argue for event analysis, “the highlighting and capturing of critical events contained in stories of experience” (p.71). They argue that narratives are inherently event driven, because:
specific events are key determinants in how we recall our life experiences...As we recall experiences we unfold the story of those experiences. The story, in turn, is associated with a memorable event. That event has carried with it a development of a new understanding as a consequence of the particular experience. (pp.71-73)
Within life stories, there may well be particular events, what Webster and Mertova call
‘critical events’ that are more just important events in a life story. Rather, a critical event is a change experience, because it almost always comes about when “storyteller encounters some difficulty in integrating their idealised worldview with the reality of their experience” (p.75).
So a critical event is not extraordinary in terms of content (though it might be); rather, it is important because of “the profound effects it has on the people involved” (Woods, 1993b, p.356 cited in Webster and Mertova, 2007, p.78). “A critical event as told in a story reveals a change of understanding or worldview by the storyteller” (Webster & Mertova, 2007, p.73).