Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry [2 ed.] 1629583278, 9781629583273

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
1. Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry
Asking Qualitative Questions
What Is Qualitative Inquiry?
Key Concepts in Qualitative Inquiry
Social World(s)
Interpretive and Inductive
Subjective and Intersubjective
Multiple Truths
Relational
Social Constructivism and Social Constructionism
"Bias"
Empirical and Scientific
Generalizable
Political
Complexity of Human Experience
Quantitative Research in Relation to Qualitative Inquiry
Summary
What Comes Next?
Exercise 1.1 Finding the Story Behind the Numbers
References
2. Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry
Critique of Conventional Western Science: Epistemological Angst
Divisions in Qualitative Inquiry
Introduction to Research Paradigms
Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology
Ontology
Epistemology
Axiology
Research Paradigms and Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology
Positivism/Postpostivism
Constructivist/Interpretivist
Transformative
Pragmatic
Indigenous Research Paradigm
Theory Muddle: Theoretical Orientation, Substantive Theory and Formal Theory, Concept and Construct
Theoretical Orientation
Substantive Theory and Formal Theory
Concept and Construct
Summary
Exercise 2.1 Thinking with a Theoretical Orientation
Note
References
3. Methodology
Methodology and Method
Choosing a Qualitative Methodology
Good Research Design: Methodological Coherence
Qualitative Methodologies
Traditional Ethnography
Exemplar
Focused Ethnography
Exemplar
Critical Ethnography
Exemplar
Feminist Ethnography
Exemplar
Institutional Ethnography
Exemplars
Autoethnography
Exemplars
Collaborative Autoethnography
Exemplar
Duoethnography
Exemplar
Collective Biography
Exemplar
Grounded Theory
Exemplar
Situational Analysis
Exemplar
Phenomenology
Exemplars
Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis
Exemplar
Narrative Research: Narrative Analysis and Narrative Inquiry
Exemplars
Discourse Analysis
Exemplars
Concept Analysis
Exemplar
Interpretive Description
Exemplars
Qualitative Description
Exemplars
Summary
Exercise 3.1 Bringing it All Together: Many Methodologies and the Methodological Coherence Guide
References
4. Arts-Based Research
Introducing Arts-Based Research
The Power and Potential of ABR
Arts-Based Research Methodologies
Poetry
Exemplars
Fiction
Exemplars
Drama/Theatre
Exemplar
Playbuilding
Exemplar
Dance
Exemplar
Digital Storytelling
Exemplar
Participatory Digital Archival Research
Exemplar
Sound/Music
Exemplar
Drawing, Painting, and Printmaking
Exemplar
Collage
Exemplar
Photo Interviewing/Photo Elicitation
Exemplar
Photovoice
Exemplar
Fotonovela
Exemplar
Quilting
Exemplar
Summary
Exercise 4.1 Considering Arts-Based Research
References
5. Other Approaches
"Metas" and Reviews
Narrative Literature Review
Exemplar
Scoping Review
Exemplar
Systematic Review
Exemplar
Meta-analysis
Exemplar
Qualitative Meta-Synthesis
Exemplar
Mixed Methods
Mixed Methods Designs
Exemplar
Participatory Approaches
Participatory Action Research and Community-Based Participatory Research
Exemplar
Participatory Community Mapping
Exemplar
Case Study
Exemplar
Secondary Data Analysis
Exemplar
Summary
Exercise 5.1 The Need for Community-Based Participatory Research and Mixed Methods
Malcolm King, Letter to the Editor: Summary
References
6. Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation
Questions We Ask
Exploring Your Assumptions
Choosing the "Right" Question
Research Question, Sub-Questions, Purpose, and Objectives
Research Question and Sub-Questions
Purpose and Objectives
Sampling
Purposeful Sampling
Theoretical Sampling
Complete Sampling
Recruitment and Sampling
Saturation
Summary
Exercise 6.1 Settling on a Research Question
References
7. Data Collection
The "Collection" of Data?
One-on-One Interviews
One-on-One Interviewing Processes
Interviewing Critiques
Types of One-on-One Interviews
Focus Group Discussions
How to Conduct a Focus Group Discussion
Ethics in Focus Group Discussions
Dyadic Interviews
Participant Observation
Insider and Outsider
Covert Observation
Material Culture
Document Review
Online Data Collection
Online Data Collection Methods
Limitations of Online Data Collection
Data Collection Outcome: Transcription
Data Collection Outcome: Notes
Interview Notes
Fieldnotes
Methodological Notes
Descriptive Notes
Analytic Notes
Other Notes
Summary
Exercise 7.1 Insider-Outsider Dance
Exercise 7.2 Observation and Fieldnotes
References
8. Data Analysis
Describing Qualitative Data Analysis
Inquiry as Deductive, Inductive, and Abductive
Coding
Main Analytic Approaches
Qualitative Content Analysis
Theming
Constant Comparison
Reading or Thinking with Theory
Supporting Analytic Strategies
Memoing
Annotating
Theorizing
Peer Debriefing
Diagramming, Drawing, Recording, Emailing
Writing
Clearing Up Some Confusion
What Is the Difference Between Codes, Categories, and Themes?
What Is Concurrent Data Collection and Analysis?
What Is the Role of Context in Interpretation?
What Is the Difference between Analytical Thinking and Critical Thinking?
What Is a Negative Case?
What Is Focus Group Analysis?
Why Should I Not Use Theory Deductively?
Why Is The Use of Software Not Analysis?
I Have Never Done a Qualitative Study, What Methodology and Analytic Technique Should I Use?
Summary
Exercise 8.1 Thinking with Theory, Theming, and Categorizing
Exercise 8.2 Focus Group Analysis
References
9. Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self
What Are Ethics?
Origins of Research Ethics
Guiding Principles for the Ethical Conduct of Research
Types of Ethics
Procedural Ethics
Privacy
Confidentiality
Anonymity
Other Considerations
Relational and Situational Ethics
Researcher Safety: Looking after Yourself Physically, Emotionally, and Professionally
Physical Risk
Emotional Risk
Professional Risk
Summary
Exercise 9.1 Ethics without IRBs/REBs
References
10. Rigor
What Is Rigor?
Why Is Rigor Contentious?
Primary Critique of Rigor
Qualitative Criteria
Option One: Alternate Criteria of Credibility, Transferability, Dependability, and Confirmability
Option Two: Same Criteria of Validity, Generalizability, and Reliability
Option Three: Methodological-Specific Criteria
Option Four: "Big Tent" Criteria
Option Five: No Criteria
Summary
Strategies for Ensuring Rigor
Researcher-Directed Strategies
Researcher Responsiveness
Personal Journal
Reflexivity
Methodologically-Directed Strategies
Methodological Coherence
Prolonged Engagement
Adequate and Appropriate Sampling
Collecting and Analyzing Data Concurrently
Thinking Theoretically
Providing Detailed Thick Description of the Setting and Participants
Keeping an Audit Trail
Triangulation
Other-Directed Strategies
Participant or Member Checks
Peer Review or Peer Debriefing
Confirmability or External Audit
Summary
Exercise 10.1 Examining Criteria
References
11. Representation and Writing
Representation
What to Write
Including Your Self
How to Write
Summary
Exercise 11.1 Uncle Ben's Last Words
References
Appendix A. Document Analysis Template
Appendix B. Memos by Strauss (AS) and Corbin (JC)
Summary Memo AS/JC 10/29/81
Reciprocal Sustaining
Memo Some Properties and Dimensions of Sustaining AS/JC 11/3/81
Appendix C. Memoing and Diagramming
Appendix D. Peer Debrief as an Analytic Strategy
Orating the position
Challenging and critiquing
Brainstorming and generating
Telling of serendipitous stories
Conclusion
Appendix E. Focus Group Transcript
Appendix F. Interview Transcript
Appendix G. Information Letter and Consent Form Template
Information Letter and Consent form
Background
Purpose
Study Procedures
Benefits
Risk
Cost of Participation (if applicable)
Reimbursement or Remuneration (if applicable)
Voluntary Participation
Confidentiality and Anonymity
Contact Information
Consent Statement
Appendix H. Information Letter and Consent Form
Exploring Strategies for Livable Incomes
Interview Information Letter
Research Investigator:
Background and Purpose:
Procedures:
Benefits:
Risks:
Voluntary Participation:
Confidentiality:
Additional Information:
Interview Consent Form
Appendix I. Confidentiality Agreement
Appendix J. Ethics in participant observation studies
Appendix K. Qualitative Research Criteria
Index

Citation preview

Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry

The second edition of Maria J. Mayan’s Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry is written for newcomers interested in applied research, regardless of discipline. It provides what the reader needs to begin to explore, appreciate, and deeply understand our social world. The new edition maintains the straightforward, conversational style and passionate support for qualitative work of the first edition while addressing numerous changes in the field. Mayan avoids paint-by-number formulas while helping novices learn many of the approaches, methodologies, and techniques used by experienced researchers. She helps readers confront the ambiguities and ethical issues in doing a field project and addresses some of the main debates in the field. After nearly three decades of teaching this subject herself, Mayan can anticipate and address the most common questions students will raise. Features of the new edition include: • More emphasis on theoretical orientations • Added sections on arts-based research, mixed methods, systematic reviews, and participatory research • A unique approach to conducting qualitative analysis • Advice on self-care for the researcher • Summary tables, appendices with useful tools and templates, and practical exercises at the end of each chapter make this the perfect vehicle to introduce students to the complex world of qualitative inquiry. Maria J. Mayan is a senior qualitative methodologist, a professor at the School of Public Health, and an associate director with the CommunityUniversity Partnership, University of Alberta, Canada. She has taught qualitative inquiry to government, not-for-profits, the private sector, and the academic community worldwide for three decades and conducted qualitative work in a host of diverse settings.

Qualitative Essentials Series Editor: Janice Morse University of Utah

Qualitative Essentials is a book series providing a comprehensive but succinct overview of topics in qualitative inquiry. These books will fill an important niche in qualitative methods for students—and others new to qualitative research—who require a rapid but complete perspective on specific methods, strategies, and important topics. Written by leaders in qualitative inquiry, alone or in combination, these books will be an excellent resource for instructors and students from all disciplines. Other volumes in this series include: Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry, Second Edition Maria J. Mayan Essentials of Qualitatively-Driven Mixed-Method Designs Janice Morse Essentials of Community-based Research Vera Caine and Judy Mill Essentials of Publishing Qualitative Research Mitchell Allen Essentials of Dyadic Interviewing David L Morgan For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com

Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry Second edition

Maria J. Mayan

Designed cover image: © Getty Images Second edition published 2023 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Taylor & Francis The right of Maria J. Mayan to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. First edition published by Left Coast Press 2009 ISBN: 978-1-629-58326-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-629-58327-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-38575-2 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/b23331 Typeset in Bembo by MPS Limited, Dehradun

To my students and staff

Contents

Preface Acknowledgments

xv xvi

1 Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry Asking Qualitative Questions 1 What Is Qualitative Inquiry? 2 Key Concepts in Qualitative Inquiry 3 Social World(s) 4 Interpretive and Inductive 4 Subjective and Intersubjective 4 Multiple Truths 5 Relational 5 Social Constructivism and Social Constructionism 5 “Bias” 6 Empirical and Scientific 7 Generalizable 7 Political 7 Complexity of Human Experience 8 Quantitative Research in Relation to Qualitative Inquiry 8 Summary 10 What Comes Next? 10 Exercise 1.1. Finding the Story Behind the Numbers 11 References 13

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2 Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry Critique of Conventional Western Science: Epistemological Angst 15 Divisions in Qualitative Inquiry 17 Introduction to Research Paradigms 18 Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology 19

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Contents Ontology 19 Epistemology 19 Axiology 20 Research Paradigms and Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology 20 Positivism/Postpostivism 21 Constructivist/Interpretivist 22 Transformative 23 Pragmatic 23 Indigenous Research Paradigm 24 Theory Muddle: Theoretical Orientation, Substantive Theory and Formal Theory, Concept and Construct 25 Theoretical Orientation 25 Substantive Theory and Formal Theory 27 Concept and Construct 28 Summary 28 Exercise 2.1. Thinking with a Theoretical Orientation 39 Note 40 References 40

3 Methodology Methodology and Method 45 Choosing a Qualitative Methodology 46 Good Research Design: Methodological Coherence 47 Qualitative Methodologies 48 Traditional Ethnography 51 Focused Ethnography 53 Critical Ethnography 54 Feminist Ethnography 55 Institutional Ethnography 55 Autoethnography 56 Collaborative Autoethnography 58 Duoethnography 59 Collective Biography 59 Grounded Theory 60 Situational Analysis 62 Phenomenology 62 Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis 64 Narrative Research: Narrative Analysis and Narrative Inquiry 65 Discourse Analysis 68

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Concept Analysis 69 Interpretive Description 70 Qualitative Description 71 Summary 72 Exercise 3.1. Bringing it All Together: Many Methodologies and the Methodological Coherence Guide 80 References 80 4 Arts-Based Research Introducing Arts-Based Research 88 The Power and Potential of ABR 89 Arts-Based Research Methodologies 90 Poetry 90 Fiction 92 Drama/Theatre 93 Playbuilding 94 Dance 96 Digital Storytelling 97 Participatory Digital Archival Research 98 Sound/Music 99 Drawing, Painting, and Printmaking 100 Collage 103 Photo Interviewing/Photo Elicitation 106 Photovoice 107 Fotonovela 109 Quilting 111 Summary 112 Exercise 4.1. Considering Arts-Based Research 113 References 114 5 Other Approaches “Metas” and Reviews 119 Narrative Literature Review 119 Scoping Review 120 Systematic Review 121 Meta-analysis 121 Qualitative Meta-Synthesis 122 Mixed Methods 123 Mixed Methods Designs 125 Participatory Approaches 128

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Contents Participatory Action Research and Community-Based Participatory Research 129 Participatory Community Mapping 130 Case Study 132 Secondary Data Analysis 132 Summary 134 Exercise 5.1. The Need for Community-Based Participatory Research and Mixed Methods 134 References 135 6 Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation Questions We Ask 139 Exploring Your Assumptions 140 Choosing the “Right” Question 141 Research Question, Sub-Questions, Purpose, and Objectives 142 Research Question and Sub-Questions 142 Purpose and Objectives 144 Sampling 145 Purposeful Sampling 145 Theoretical Sampling 148 Complete Sampling 148 Recruitment and Sampling 149 Saturation 149 Summary 151 Exercise 6.1. Settling on a Research Question 152 References 152

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7 Data Collection The “Collection” of Data? 153 One-on-One Interviews 155 One-on-One Interviewing Processes 155 Interviewing Critiques 156 Types of One-on-One Interviews 158 Focus Group Discussions 161 How to Conduct a Focus Group Discussion 163 Ethics in Focus Group Discussions 163 Dyadic Interviews 165 Participant Observation 165 Insider and Outsider 167 Covert Observation 168 Material Culture 169

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Document Review 170 Online Data Collection 170 Online Data Collection Methods 171 Limitations of Online Data Collection 171 Data Collection Outcome: Transcription 172 Data Collection Outcome: Notes 174 Interview Notes 174 Fieldnotes 175 Methodological Notes 175 Descriptive Notes 175 Analytic Notes 176 Other Notes 177 Summary 178 Exercise 7.1. Insider-Outsider Dance 179 Exercise 7.2. Observation and Fieldnotes 179 References 180 8 Data Analysis Describing Qualitative Data Analysis 184 Inquiry as Deductive, Inductive, and Abductive 185 Coding 187 Main Analytic Approaches 189 Qualitative Content Analysis 189 Theming 191 Constant Comparison 192 Reading or Thinking with Theory 192 Supporting Analytic Strategies 193 Memoing 193 Annotating 194 Theorizing 194 Peer Debriefing 195 Diagramming, Drawing, Recording, Emailing 195 Writing 195 Clearing Up Some Confusion 196 What Is the Difference Between Codes, Categories, and Themes? 196 What Is Concurrent Data Collection and Analysis? 197 What Is the Role of Context in Interpretation? 197 What Is the Difference between Analytical Thinking and Critical Thinking? 199 What Is a Negative Case? 199

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Contents What Is Focus Group Analysis? 200 Why Should I Not Use Theory Deductively? 201 Why Is The Use of Software Not Analysis? 201 I Have Never Done a Qualitative Study, What Methodology and Analytic Technique Should I Use? 201 Summary 202 Exercise 8.1. Thinking with Theory, Theming, and Categorizing 202 Exercise 8.2. Focus Group Analysis 203 References 204

9 Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self What Are Ethics? 206 Origins of Research Ethics 207 Guiding Principles for the Ethical Conduct of Research 208 Types of Ethics 209 Procedural Ethics 209 Privacy 210 Confidentiality 210 Anonymity 211 Other Considerations 211 Relational and Situational Ethics 212 Researcher Safety: Looking after Yourself Physically, Emotionally, and Professionally 215 Physical Risk 215 Emotional Risk 217 Professional Risk 219 Summary 220 Exercise 9.1. Ethics without IRBs/REBs 221 References 221

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10 Rigor What Is Rigor? 223 Why Is Rigor Contentious? 223 Primary Critique of Rigor 225 Qualitative Criteria 226 Option One: Alternate Criteria of Credibility, Transferability, Dependability, and Confirmability 226 Option Two: Same Criteria of Validity, Generalizability, and Reliability 227 Option Three: Methodological-Specific Criteria 230

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Option Four: “Big Tent” Criteria 231 Option Five: No Criteria 231 Summary 232 Strategies for Ensuring Rigor 232 Researcher-Directed Strategies 233 Researcher Responsiveness 233 Personal Journal 234 Reflexivity 234 Methodologically-Directed Strategies 237 Methodological Coherence 237 Prolonged Engagement 238 Adequate and Appropriate Sampling 238 Collecting and Analyzing Data Concurrently 239 Thinking Theoretically 239 Providing Detailed Thick Description of the Setting and Participants 240 Keeping an Audit Trail 240 Triangulation 241 Other-Directed Strategies 241 Participant or Member Checks 242 Peer Review or Peer Debriefing 243 Confirmability or External Audit 243 Summary 244 Exercise 10.1. Examining Criteria 245 References 246 11 Representation and Writing Representation 250 What to Write 252 Including Your Self 253 How to Write 254 Summary 256 Exercise 11.1. Uncle Ben’s Last Words 256 References 257

Appendix Appendix Appendix Appendix Appendix

A: Document Analysis Template B: Memos by Strauss (AS) and Corbin (JC) C: Memoing and Diagramming D: Peer Debrief as an Analytic Strategy E: Focus Group Transcript

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258 261 263 265 268

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Appendix F: Interview Transcript Appendix G: Information Letter and Consent Form Template Appendix H: Information Letter and Consent Form Appendix I: Confidentiality Agreement Appendix J: Ethics in Participant Observation Studies Appendix K: Qualitative Research Criteria Index

270 292 297 301 303 305 307

Preface

The Essentials of Qualitative Inquiry is the outcome of doing and teaching qualitative inquiry for decades, appreciating newcomers’ questions and apprehensions, and finding meaning in walking alongside learners in their qualitative journey. My desire to write a very practical book for the applied qualitative researcher began as I taught and facilitated numerous classes and workshops across the globe with undergraduates, graduate students, postdoctoral candidates, fellow academics, and representatives from community-based organizations and the government. Regardless of the learners’ countries, positions, disciplines, and experiences, we all struggle and ask similar questions while learning qualitative inquiry. I wanted to write a book that was anchored in these questions while sharing some of the struggles I had and continue to have in learning, unlearning, and relearning qualitative inquiry. Because of my broad qualitative experience, I wanted to write a book with benevolence, understanding that learners may not have the support within their institutions to take on a qualitative project. This second edition is both more in-depth and expansive than the first edition. Based on feedback and my continual growth as a qualitative methodologist, I have rewritten many of the chapters and added a lot more examples, exemplars, tools, and templates. But like the first edition, the book is an introduction and I encourage you to seek out other theoretical and methodological books to keep maturing in your learning. How can someone say they “love” qualitative inquiry? I hear myself saying this all of the time. I am captivated by the processes and creativity qualitative inquiry offers us. I am humbled by peoples’ stories, the images they create, and the unending opportunities we have to learn and act to make things better. Let qualitative inquiry, and what it can teach us about being human, into your soul. Experience your research in its fullness: See it, smell it, taste it, hear it, touch it. Take it all in, let it envelop you, and enjoy the ride.

Acknowledgments

This book could not have happened without the remarkable support from previous students and staff who corrected slopping referencing, dug for exemplar articles, rearranged sections, updated my updates, and suggested edits that made the book considerably better. In no particular order, I need to acknowledge: Maira Quintanilha, Ana Laura Pauchulo, Megan Lefebvre, Teresa Mejia, Kirsten Schmidt, and Katie MacDonald. A special thank you to Christine Daum and Maxi Miciak for the wonderful times we spent together and for writing, Peer Debrief as an Analytic Strategy found in Appendix D; to generous Julie Corbin for allowing me to use an original memo she wrote with Anslem Strauss found in Appendix B; to Alexa Ferdinands for sharing a brilliant interview transcript from her dissertation found in Appendix F; and to Tatjana Alvadj for sharing her experience called, Emotional Risk: When A Researcher Needs a Hug, found in Chapter 9. Thank you to artist-researcher Michelle Lavoie for making sure the Arts-Based Research chapter was sound. Also for the Arts-Based Research chapter, I want to thank the people who freely shared their art to illustrate a methodology and move the reader: Michelle Lavoie and Vera Caine; Lana Whiskeyjack; Michelle Lavoie and Margot Jackson; Michael Emme and Anna Kirova; and Helen Ball. A sincere thank you to Kassi Boyd, Michelle Lavoie, Kirstyn Morley, and Shannon Pynn for your extraordinary efforts and editing. Thank you for responding to my unyielding question, “Does this make sense to you”? Thanks to my Community University Partnership colleagues for making work a place I want to be! And to my community partners for keeping it real! A deep appreciation is extended to all of my students and staff for constantly amazing me with your thoughts and efforts. Thanks to Mitch Allen for the thorough review of the first edition, for encouraging the second edition, and for always being there. Thanks to Jan Morse for mentoring and inspiring me; my career is what it is because of our time together. From the bottom of my heart to all, thank you.

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Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry

Chapter 1 provides a broad introduction to qualitative inquiry, and gently acquaints the newcomer with key terminology and concepts often used in, and to describe qualitative inquiry, like: subjective/intersubjective, social constructionism, generalizable, empirical, and that all too prickly concept of bias. It concludes with Exercise 1.1: Finding the Story Behind the Numbers which enables the shift from asking quantitative questions to asking qualitative questions.

Asking Qualitative Questions From its formal beginnings in anthropology, qualitative inquiry has made aspects of the social world visible, heard, and felt in unique and sometimes jarring ways. Now researchers who have traditionally avoided qualitative inquiry and an increasing number of students—across disciplines—are asking qualitative questions. Those who have engaged in qualitative inquiry for decades are pushing the boundaries of comfortable or more established qualitative methodologies through, for example, the use of Indigenous, digital, arts-based, and social justice approaches. And researchers in government and community settings are incorporating qualitative inquiry into their information-gathering and policy-making systems. Why the proliferation? Researchers are asking more “why” or “how” questions of people and of the world, questions that can only be answered through qualitative inquiry. This was the case with a doctoral student I had the privilege of cosupervising. Dr. Jody Boffa explored the effectiveness and acceptability of tuberculosis (TB) preventive therapy among people living with HIV in a District of South Africa with one of the highest rates of TB-HIV (Boffa et al., 2018; 2019). She was aware that in settings with low TB and HIV burdens, drug treatment in the form of Isoniazid Preventive Therapy (IPT) can substantially reduce the likelihood that a person with latent (dormant or hidden) TB infection will develop active (show symptoms) TB. Quantitatively, Jody had numerous statistics and datasets available to her: prevalence of HIV/AIDs, TB incidence, estimated prevalence of latent TB infection in the region, antiretroviral use, disease progression rates, and IPT DOI: 10.4324/b23331-1

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Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry

efficacy, to name a few. Yet despite the statistical evidence supporting IPT’s effectiveness as a public health intervention, the uptake of IPT in South Africa has contributed only to a modest reduction in TB rates (Naidoo et al., 2017). “Why”, then, has IPT not contributed to a more substantial reduction in TB rates or not been the big “win” to help end TB in South Africa as proponents had hoped? Asking this kind of question is how many people come to qualitative inquiry; they start with numbers or trends and then ask “why” the numbers are doing what they are doing. The best way to find out “why”, as suggested by drug researchers Michael Agar and Nicholas Kozel (1999), is to “go out and listen to the people [to] whom the numbers referred, listen to their words and learn from their actions” (p. 1936). This will enable you to understand why the numbers exist as they do. Following their advice, Jody asked individuals living with HIV who were offered IPT why they took IPT, how they took it, and why they refused or stopped taking it (Boffa et al., 2018; 2019). By encouraging qualitative researchers to remember that “each data point is a person with a biography … who can show and tell what it is in their life that the data point reflects” (p. 1936), Agar and Kozel (1999) draw our attention to the difficulties of reducing the complexities of human experience to a numerical trend. I am reminded of a quote purported to have been on a sign hanging in Einstein’s Princeton office: “Everything that can be counted does not necessarily count; everything that counts cannot necessarily be counted” (Harris, 1995). We explore this issue (and some of the qualitative findings of Jody’s research) more in Exercise 1.1: Finding the Story Behind the Numbers. Regardless of whether you are a quantitative researcher who is starting to ask “why” questions, a qualitative researcher who will proudly be never anything but, or a multiple/mixed-methods researcher who is amenable to both approaches, the questions asked through qualitative inquiry may help explain crises, injustices, and everyday life in new and intriguing ways. And if we begin to understand why something is happening, why something exists as it does, and why the numbers are doing what they are doing, we can create understanding, compassion, and practically-speaking, policies, practices, and programs that will make life better.

What Is Qualitative Inquiry? What is qualitative inquiry? I hesitate to even include this heading, as qualitative inquiry is philosophically, theoretically, and methodologically diverse, making it somewhat impossible to define. In this section, I will attempt to be broad enough to be inclusive of various histories and perspectives but narrow enough to provide the person new to qualitative inquiry with a sure start. Here we go. Qualitative inquiry is primarily naturalistic, interpretive, and inductive. By studying naturally occurring phenomena in their naturally occurring states,

Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry

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qualitative researchers attempt to interpret and make sense of the meaning people attach to their experiences or underlying a particular phenomenon. Qualitative researchers must use creativity, sensitivity, and flexibility as we try to make sense of life as it unfolds. Consequently, we are not concerned with the control of specific variables within a setting but instead invite context, complexity, and “confounding variables”. This requires patience and the ability to live with enormous amounts of ambiguity. For this reason, I prefer to primarily use the term qualitative “inquiry” (continually learning and asking questions) over “research” (providing answers), although these terms can be used interchangeably. Because we are sensitive to the context, qualitative analysis is in-depth and focused on a small sample or a few individuals’ situations. Yet data do not come only from individuals’ situations or stories (i.e., through interviews). Qualitative data are found in various empirical sources (movement, image, text, sound, etc.). Hence, qualitative researchers aim not to limit a phenomenon—make it neat, tidy, and comfortable—but to break it open, unfasten, or disrupt it so that a description of the phenomenon, in all its contradictions, messiness, and depth, is (re)presented. The (re)presentation of the data from a qualitative study can take many forms, from art, music, poetry, novels, performance, and personal biographies to taxonomies, models, and theories. Qualitative inquiry can also be used to develop surveys and instruments and to generate hypotheses. But do not let this description fool you into thinking “anything goes”. Qualitative inquiry is a scientific pursuit with certain theoretical orientations and methodologies, each requiring a particular and systematic (yet flexible) approach to the question or phenomenon of interest. This is where one of the most important concepts for the newcomer to qualitative inquiry comes into play: methodological coherence. It is too premature at this point to go into this concept in detail, but for now you should understand that methodological coherence is designing and conducting your study so that there is congruence between your research paradigm; ontological, epistemological, and axiological viewpoints; theoretical orientation; methodology; data collection and analysis strategies, and so on. If this brief introduction to methodological coherence has you yearning to learn more, jump to Chapter 3: Methodology for a more developed discussion of this concept. Additionally, Chapter 3, Table 3.1 Methodological Coherence Guide brings methodology and methods together and serves as a helpful guide to think through the methodological coherence of a study.

Key Concepts in Qualitative Inquiry The purpose of this section is to introduce you to the quagmire of concepts associated with the qualitative inquiry that can be quite overwhelming to a qualitative newcomer. I outline some of the thorny and harder-to-pindown concepts used in and to describe qualitative inquiry, and refer you to

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the later chapters, where you can read about each concept in greater depth. Some concepts overlap a great deal (e.g., multiple truths, intersubjectivity, social constructionism). However, I keep these separate so that you have a reference for the array of concepts associated with qualitative inquiry. Refer back to this list when you go to your first qualitative inquiry conference; it will help when you go to the reception at the end of the first day and “talk shop” with your new qualitative friends. Social World(s)

You will read about “the social” or “the social world” in most of all descriptions of qualitative inquiry. “Social worlds” is a concept taken from interactionist sociology that indicates that the world is created through social actions and emerges as people communicate and interact with one another, often based on shared interests (Ritzer, 2004). Qualitative inquiry is used to examine social worlds and peoples’ beliefs, values, and perceptions. Michael Agar (2013) expresses it best: it is “understanding how people make it through their day” (p. ix) and “how they experience and act in it” (p. 5). And since the understanding of social worlds is important to many disciplines (e.g., business, education, nursing, medicine, political science, sociology), we have seen the rise of qualitative inquiry across these disciplines. Interpretive and Inductive

By studying naturally occurring phenomena (e.g., how people interact with one another and make it through their days), qualitative researchers attempt to interpret—or make sense of—the meaning people attach to their experiences or an underlying phenomenon. Qualitative researchers work inductively from individual cases (the data), and not from a pre-existing framework or a particular theory. We try to make sense of life as it unfolds. We welcome the context and complexity that, together, are part of the world in which people try to understand and act. Subjective and Intersubjective

Simply put, subjective means “belonging to the self”, which includes an individual’s beliefs, values, feelings, and interpretations of an experience. In qualitative inquiry, we acknowledge that each individual’s experiences are unique to that person, and mostly available through one’s consciousness. The intersubjective is what happens when two or more “subjectivities” meet; when my beliefs and perceptions bump into, or try to communicate with, your beliefs and perceptions. In this shared space, definitions, agreements, conflicts, and how we perceive and behave toward each other transpires. Intersubjectivity, in short, enables us to make meaning out of social experiences or interactions. Gillespie and Cornish (2009) describe intersubjectivity as the

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“variety of relations between perspectives”, which can “belong to individuals, groups, or traditions and discourses”, and “can manifest as both implicit (or taken for granted) and explicit (or reflected upon)” (pp. 19–20). In qualitative inquiry, we try to understand both the subjective and intersubjective. Multiple Truths

If individuals, due to their subjectivities, can perceive experiences or phenomena differently, then multiple meanings, experiences, and truths exist. When the subjectivity of the researcher is added into the mix, truth is (co) created through the interaction between researcher and participant (see social constructionism below). These truths endure only to the extent that they enable understanding, or comprehension, or explain, or make sense of a particular social reality (Lincoln & Guba, 2013). As sociologists Willian Isaac Thomas and Dorothy Swaine Thomas (1928) wrote, “if [people] define situations as real” or true, then “they are real in their consequences” (p. 572), and people will act accordingly. Relational

Qualitative inquiry is relational; it is about understanding how people are connected to objects, places, and each other in the past, present, and future. Through social constructivism (see below), we learn that we, as researchers, are enmeshed in these relationships and, consequently, cannot be separated from the inquiry. As part of the inquiry, we create a connection and have a “relationship” with our topic and our participants. An important implication of the relational nature of qualitative inquiry is that we must therefore be prepared for creating and ending this relationship, as well as managing the emotions that transpire while in relationship. See Chapter 9: Ethics and Emotion. Social Constructivism and Social Constructionism

Social constructivism and social constructionism are both important concepts, but many qualitative researchers use these terms interchangeably and incorrectly. Constructivism deals with an individual’s inner state. Psychologist Kenneth Gergen (1999) explains that social constructivism is about how the individual mind constructs reality in relationship to the world, which is heavily influenced by “societal conventions, history and interaction with significant others” (p. 60). Social constructionism, on the other hand, is a shared process. Sociologist Kathy Charmaz (2014), following the work of Alfred Schutz (1932; 1967) and Berger and Luckmann (1966), explains that how an individual understands the world is constructed through interactions with others; we learn and know through our social life. Charmaz (2014) uses the term constructionism to refer to “the researcher’s involvement in the construction and interpretation of data” (p. 14).

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Simply put, as a qualitative researcher, you should use social constructivism when referring to the individual meaning-making “taking place in the individual mind” as opposed to social constructionism when referring to a constructed interpretation of the “product of human relationships” (Gergen & Gergen, 2008, p. 816). “Bias”

The ultimate condemnation by critics of qualitative inquiry is that it is “biased”. Much pain and agony is felt by newcomers in considering how to manage their “bias” to preserve the quality of their work. Bias can be understood in two ways: as a biased sample, or as bias in the researcher’s perspective. First, critics might reject the results of a qualitative study on claims that the researchers used a biased sample. This criticism stems from the principle of random sampling in quantitative research, where each member of the defined population has an equal chance of being included in the study sample. This principle enables quantitative generalization. For example, after learning that many of the women who participated in a study I conducted had been incarcerated, a student asked how I was going to deal with my biased sample. In qualitative inquiry, there is no such thing as a biased sample. When a phenomenon is unknown (and a qualitative approach is necessitated), then we sample for the best examples of the phenomenon (Morse, 2006). We want to talk with those who have in-depth experience with the phenomenon so that we can describe the phenomenon in its fullness. In other words, we deliberately seek out bias; participants’ bias is exactly what we want to hear about. Second, critics will say that qualitative inquiry is biased because it is fraught with what the researcher wants to see and say about the data, so the work is not neutral or objective. It manifests through calls to somehow rid a researcher of their tendencies as human beings, going through life, so that we can achieve “objective knowledge” (Schwandt, 1997). Yet no social science research, qualitative or quantitative, is neutral, objective, unbiased, or value-free. Absolute objectivity is impossible, and even undesirable, because of the social nature and human purposes of research. Written reports are always selective and reflect the stance, or orientation, of the writer. Rather than trying to eliminate it, qualitative researchers embrace this subjectivity. Bias is not considered negatively, but understood as a strength of qualitative work, as a “characteristic quality unique to a particular researcher” (Roulston & Shelton, 2015, p. 337). Since bias or prejudice (or pre-judgement) is, in fact, a necessary condition of being human, and understanding ourselves and our world, what we must do is be reflexive, and enable bias or prejudice, rather than attempt to eliminate it (Schwandt, 1997). Bias should become a bit clearer in the contexts of ontology, epistemology, and theoretical orientation in Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry, and in discussing reflexivity in Chapter 10: Rigor.

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Empirical and Scientific

Some people think that the terms “empirical” and “science” are owned by quantitative research and shudder when they are used in conjunction with qualitative inquiry. I am not sure how this has all come about, but a qualitative inquiry is both empirical and a scientific approach. Empirical means observable through the senses. It is that which can be observed or experienced. Qualitative inquiry is empirical. Both quantitative researchers and, regrettably so, many qualitative researchers do not refer to qualitative work as science. They equate science solely with the positivist paradigm (see Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry), quantitative methods, and the study of the natural or physical world. But science is the process of discovery—saying something new or alternative or complementary or modified—a thoughtful, reasoned, systematic approach to understanding a phenomenon in the natural or social world. Thus, qualitative inquiry contributes to the production of social science because it asks questions of social worlds. Qualitative researchers are scientists and do science. Generalizable

Notions prevail that qualitative inquiry produces findings that are not generalizable and are, consequently, irrelevant to clinical, educational, business, or community practice. Indeed, qualitative inquiry is not generalizable if defined by the standards of quantitative research. However, if our research cannot be used by or is irrelevant to others, why would we do it? The paradox, well stated by Sandelowski and Barroso (2003), “is that qualitative research is conducted in the ‘real world’—that is, not in artificially controlled and/or manipulated conditions—yet is seen as not applicable in that world” (p. 784). While you may be uncomfortable using the word “generalizable”, a particular qualitative study can be used to understand the studied experience or phenomenon in another setting. For example, the findings from a study of how to maintain an individual’s privacy as a resident in a nursing home (see Applegate & Morse, 1994) may be useful to understand how to maintain an individual’s privacy in other collective living settings, such as a boarding school, hospital, or hostel. There is more on this in Chapter 10: Rigor. Political

All research is political. This is particularly true of social science research, but even applies to research in the natural sciences. Political considerations underlie what governments choose to fund, what universities choose to support, what questions researchers choose to address, and how policymakers interpret research findings. An individual’s demographics, worldview, training, and personal and professional environments all influence

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their view and interpretation of research. However, because questions asked through qualitative inquiry often explicitly go beneath or behind dominant thought, qualitative inquiry can bring to light new ways of understanding old problems, or problems that have been otherwise neglected. For example, Manda Hicks (2011) wrote a narrative piece on what it is like to be a female soldier that provided deep and uninvited insight into the experiences of herself and four other women. This is what qualitative inquiry does well. It can address the questions people would rather not have answered, the topics that people wish would remain hidden, and the perspectives that are silenced. A friend of mine works with individuals with intellectual disabilities to support them to become and be parents. When she meets new people and tells them what she does, there is an icy discomfort in the room; her work is something many people do not want to confront. When new knowledge causes people to feel uncomfortable, it means the status quo may have to change. It is not uncommon that qualitative researchers have become advocates for these changes as a result of their research. Complexity of Human Experience

Research cannot capture the full complexity of human experience. But through qualitative inquiry, we can try! Indeed, qualitative researchers do not look for simplified solutions isolated from real life. We invite context and draw our data from various empirical sources like movement, image, text, and sound. The qualitative researcher uses all five senses to work creatively and flexibly through a process that is neither neat nor linear. Connecting with people, taking risks to explore new ground, and managing the unpredictable nature of qualitative inquiry can produce rich and important knowledge about our social world. Indeed, qualitative researchers are likened to explorers because qualitative questions are “exploratory” and can take us into uncharted territory with the goal of discovering the depth and breadth of human experience. Because we try to capture complexity, the (re)presentation of the data from a qualitative study is not always well suited to text and as mentioned above, may take many forms, including those that are arts-based. Arts-based research is discussed further in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research.

Quantitative Research in Relation to Qualitative Inquiry According to my very good colleagues who reviewed drafts of this chapter, this section should have started the book. And indeed, for ease of understanding, they are correct. A standard approach, when trying to describe or define qualitative inquiry, is to first outline quantitative research and then describe how qualitative inquiry differs. I understand. Because quantitative research is still dominant, newcomers to qualitative inquiry appreciate this

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comparison. But can you imagine a quantitative text starting off with a description of qualitative research? Perhaps it is a bit immature on my part, but I do not want our approach to always be compared to quantitative research (so if this section does not feel like it fits here, please forgive me; I am making a point). Our qualitative approach can stand on its own and be understood for what it is, not for what it is not. If we continue to position ourselves in the shadows of the dominant, we continue to “other” ourselves, and perpetuate the belief that qualitative inquiry is inferior. As a long-time qualitative researcher and teacher, I have observed the tension between acceptance and dismissal of qualitative inquiry, sprinkled with a mix of adoration, animosity, and, eventually, acquiescence. While some funders increasingly require a qualitative component to be added to quantitative proposals, grant reviewers may still grade us poorly on our methodologies, and sometimes the relevance of the topics we study. Although our qualitative inquiry community is growing, we still lack experienced qualitative researchers to sit on grant review panels, advise students on supervisory committees, and lead large qualitative projects. I still receive phone calls from students meandering through their qualitative projects to say, “I have collected all of my data, now what do I do with it?”, or “I have a quantitative supervisor and I really need some help”. Many graduate programs require students to take a quantitative course, while qualitative courses remain optional, if even offered. Unfortunately, it remains common for qualitative researchers to be on the receiving end of comments such as: “It’s just qualitative research” or, “It’s not really research”, and questions like, “Should we allow a qualitative PhD?”, or “Is a sample size of 12 enough?”. I no longer accept these types of remarks. Qualitative researchers have played along with this banter for long enough, proceeding with goodwill and laughing off the “airy fairy” jokes, claiming these times as “teachable moments”. But it has grown tiresome. Qualitative inquiry has matured and changed how we think about science, partly because we are finally comfortable with our epistemologies (See Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry). Over a century, we have amassed a rich philosophical, theoretical, and methodological tradition that provides a thorough rationale for our approaches to knowledge creation. Qualitative inquiry is different—not better or worse—than quantitative research. Qualitative inquiry and quantitative research both illuminate a phenomenon, just different aspects of it. There are many ways to create knowledge, and we need all of them to better understand the human condition. If we value and use multiple and diverse ways to create knowledge, we have an opportunity to make things better, provide insight, create alternative narratives, and improve systems. Regardless of how you align yourself, qualitatively or quantitatively, do not take up the debate of which one is better; you will embarrass yourself. That argument is so old that I am mortified when I still hear it.

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Summary The aim of qualitative inquiry is to illuminate the breadth and depth of human experience and capture and communicate the stark realities of social life. Through qualitative inquiry, the researcher generates deep insight and understanding, unpacks meanings, and reveals social processes (Leavy, 2016). We answer “why” and “how” questions. We bring compassion to understanding our social worlds and how people navigate their daily lives. Qualitative inquiry tries to make sense of life as it unfolds. It acknowledges that individuals’ realities are constructed through societal norms, history, and interactions with others, as well as the significant role discourse plays in how the world is experienced and maintained. It is relational and political. It invites individuals’ beliefs, values, and feelings, and recognizes how these create multiple truths; it does not want to overcome difference. It is empirical and generalizable and uses bias as a strength. It is a scientific endeavor.

What Comes Next? Welcome to qualitative inquiry. I am captivated by the endless opportunities—provided through qualitative inquiry—to ask and wonder about the human condition. However, before we can begin data collection, a few foundational, yet cumbersome concepts need to be covered, such as paradigm, ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation; this is done in Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry. Following, Chapter 3: Methodology is devoted to just that, 19 various methodologies that can be used to explore a phenomenon or experience. An exemplar for each methodology is provided. Chapter 3 concludes with an expanded discussion of methodological coherence. If you can appreciate only one or two points from this book, methodological coherence is one of them. In Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research, text (e.g., fiction), the performing arts (e.g., dance), auditory (e.g., music), and visual (e.g., drawing) approaches to exploring experience are introduced, and an exemplar for each is also provided. “Other” approaches to conducting research that are not exclusively qualitative—reviews, mixed methods, and participatory approaches—are then outlined in Chapter 5: Other Approaches. How to develop qualitative research questions (and purpose and objectives) and how to sample is covered in Chapter 6: Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation. Finally, in Chapter 7: Data Collection we get to options for data collection including various types of one-on-one interviews, focus group discussions, dyadic interviews, participant observation, material culture, and document review. A way of keeping track of these kinds of data is also offered. Chapter 8: Data Analysis provides a review of coding and of the main analytic approaches involved in qualitative inquiry: qualitative content analysis, theming, constant comparison, and thinking with theory. Supplementary analytic approaches

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are also outlined: memoing, annotating, diagramming (drawing, recording, emailing), theorizing, peer debriefing, and writing. This chapter concludes with some common analysis questions such as: What is the difference between codes, categories, and themes? What is a negative case? Chapter 9: Ethics of Protecting Participants and Protecting Self outlines procedural (e.g., confidentiality and anonymity) as well as relational and situational ethics. It also includes a section on researcher safety: physical, emotional, and professional. Chapter 10: Rigor provides alternatives for choosing criteria and strategies for ensuring rigor, including a substantial section on reflexivity. To conclude the book, Chapter 11: Representation and Writing asks and provides options for the careful consideration of justly, respectfully, and worthily “representing” the human condition and experiences underlying a phenomenon. All chapters conclude with an exercise, which are typically suggested for a small group setting but can also be completed individually. In the end, while this book is just an introduction to the complex, broad, fascinating, and ever-evolving field of qualitative inquiry, it will still provide you with a solid foundation for conducting a good qualitative study. Enjoy.

Exercise 1.1 Finding the Story Behind the Numbers The objective of this exercise is to give you practice in moving from asking quantitative questions to qualitative questions to identify “the story behind the numbers”. We have been taught to think quantitatively. We almost intuitively ask: How many and how much? We are bombarded with and mesmerized by statistics. We function very well quantitatively; we have to because our world is structured in this way. But thinking quantitatively is very different from thinking qualitatively. To illustrate this difference, I return to Dr. Jody Boffa’s research (2018; 2019) on the TB and HIV/AIDS epidemic in South Africa introduced at the beginning of this chapter. What intrigued Jody to begin with was the staggering numbers for primarily a curable disease and the promise of a drug that could reduce the risk of active disease and mortality. To note: • • • • •

South Africa has the largest HIV epidemic in the world, with a prevalence of 18.3% among 15–49 year-olds in 2021 (UNAIDS, 2022). The prevalence of latent (dormant) TB infection in South Africa ranges from 26% up to 89% (Ncayiyana et al., 2016). People living with HIV are 15–21 times more likely to develop active TB (get sick; have symptoms) than people without HIV (World Health Organization, 2020). TB is the number one cause of death among people living with HIV (World Health Organization, 2022). Isoniazid Preventive Therapy (IPT), in combination with antiretroviral therapy, could reduce the risk of developing active TB among people living with HIV by over 80% (Golub et al., 2009).

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Jody also knew that some Black South Africans retained a mistrust in the formal health system due to historical injustices, clearly illustrated in 2000 when then President Thabo Mbeki publicly questioned the link between HIV and AIDS (Fassin & Schneider, 2003). To prevent the spread of this seemingly invisible ailment, people (disproportionately poor and Black) were told through public health messaging to abstain from sex or use condoms, reminiscent of population control rhetoric under the white minority rule of apartheid. In 2008, the World Health Organization (2015) recommended IPT as part of a comprehensive strategy to prevent TB in settings with a high burden of TBHIV, a policy that was implemented in South Africa in 2010. While Jody saw the potential for enormous impact, she also wondered how members of Black communities would receive the introduction of a drug to prevent an infection that, much like HIV, had no signs or symptoms. Might it also be viewed as suspect? To answer this query, Jody sought out answers from community-based advisory committees and research participants who told intricate and multilayered stories that the numbers alone were unable to capture. Through her qualitative work, we learned that some women accepted IPT so as not to seem ungrateful but may not always take it if it threatened their sense of safety or identity (Boffa et al., 2018). Others stopped taking it when it resulted in economic hardship, for example when the medication led to increased appetite and they could not afford extra food or when the cost of public transport for monthly monitoring and prescription was more than they could manage (Boffa et al., 2019). Some felt that taking daily medications built up toxins in the body, resulting in a need for routine cleansing by inducing vomiting and/or through enemas (note, these practices also exist in Western societies). Without asking qualitative questions, the barriers to medication adherence stemming from community members’ social realities and cultural norms would have gone unacknowledged. By understanding how community members used or did not use the drug, we can more effectively work with communities to promote regimen adherence and maximize treatment use and effectiveness. This kind of understanding comes from qualitative inquiry; qualitative inquiry illuminates the story behind the numbers. Now it’s your turn to practice thinking qualitatively. Individually or in a small group, select an issue for which quantitative data (i.e., numbers) are available to help explain the issue. In one to two pages, or in a class discussion, go through the following: • • • • •

What do these numbers tell you about the issue? What do the numbers not tell you about the issue? What information is missing? What kind of information do you need to complement your understanding of the issue? Construct open-ended questions that focus on eliciting the stories behind the numbers.

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References Agar, M. (2013). The lively science: Remodeling human social research. Mill Press. Agar, M., & Kozel, N. J. (1999). Ethnography and substance use: Talking numbers. Introduction. Substance Use and Misuse, 34(14), 1935–1949. 10.3109/10826089909039433 Applegate, M., & Morse, J. M. (1994). Personal privacy and interactional patterns in a nursing home. Journal of Aging Studies, 8(4), 413–434. 10.1016/0890-4065(94)90012-4 Berger, P. L., & Luckmann, T. (1966). The social construction of reality: A treatise in the sociology of knowledge. Doubleday & Company. Boffa, J., Mayan, M., Ndlovu, S., Fisher, D., Staples, S., Sauve, R., & Williamson, T. (2019). When prevention is dangerous: Perceptions of isoniazid preventive therapy in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. Public Health Action, 9(1), 24–31. 10.5588/pha.18.0040 Boffa, J., Mayan, M., Ndlovu, S., Mhlaba, T., Williamson, T., Suave, R., & Fisher, D. (2018). The role of agency in the implementation of Isoniazid Preventive Therapy (IPT): Lessons from oMakoti in uMgungundlovu District, South Africa. PLoS ONE, 13(3), e0193571. 10.1371/journal.pone.0193571 Charmaz, K. (2014). Constructing grounded theory (2nd ed.). Sage Publications. Fassin, D., & Schneider, H. (2003). The politics of AIDS in South Africa: beyond the controversies. BMJ, 326(7387), 495–497. 10.1136/bmj.326.7387.495 Gergen, K. J. (1999). An invitation to social construction. Sage Publications. Gergen, K. J., & Gergen, M. M. (2008). Social Constructionism. In L. M. Given (Ed.), The Sage encyclopedia of qualitative research methods (pp. 817–820). Sage. Gillespie, A., & Cornish, F. (2009). Intersubjectivity: Towards a dialogical analysis. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour, 40(1), 19–46. 10.1111/j.1468-5914.2009.00419.x Golub, J. E., Pronyk, P., Mohapi, L., Thsabangu, N., Moshabela, M., Struthers, H., … Martinson, N. A. (2009). Isoniazid preventive therapy, HAART and tuberculosis risk in HIV-infected adults in South Africa: A prospective cohort. AIDS, 23(5), 631–636. 10.1097/QAD.0b013e328327964f Harris, K. (1995). Collected quotes from Albert Einstein, http://rescomp.stanford.edu/~ cheshire/EinsteinQuotes.html Hicks, M. V. (2011). Making my narrative mine: Unconventional articulations of a female soldier. Qualitative Inquiry, 17(5), 461–465. 10.1177/1077800411405434 Leavy, P. (2016). Fiction as research practice: Short stories, novellas, and novels. Routledge. Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (2013). The constructivist credo. Left Coast Press. Morse, J. M. (2006). Biased reflections: Principles of sampling and analysis in qualitative inquiry. In J. Popay (Ed.), Moving beyond effectiveness in evidence synthesis: Methodological issues in the synthesis of diverse sources of evidence (pp. 53–60). National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence. Naidoo, P., Theron, G., Rangaka, M. X., Chihota, V. N., Vaughan, L., Brey, Z. O., & Pillay, Y. (2017). The South African tuberculosis care cascade: Estimated losses and methodological challenges. Journal of Infectious Diseases, 216(7), S702–S713. 10.1093/ infdis/jix335 Ncayiyana, J. R., Bassett, J., West, N., Westreich, D., Musenge, E., Emch, M., Pettifor, A., Hanrahan, C. F., Schwartz, S. R., Sanne, I., van Rie, A. (2016). Prevalence of latent tuberculosis infection and predictive factors in an urban informal settlement in Johannesburg, South Africa: A cross-sectional study. BMC Infectious Diseases, 16(661). 10.1186/s12879-016-1989-x Ritzer, G. (Ed.). (2004). Encyclopedia of social theory. Sage.

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Roulston, K., & Shelton, S. A. (2015). Reconceptualizing bias in teaching qualitative research methods. Qualitative Inquiry, 21(4), 332–342. 10.1177/1077800414563803 Sandelowski, M., & Barroso, J. (2003). Writing the proposal for a qualitative research methodology project. Qualitative Health Research, 13(6), 781–820. 10.1177/10497323 03013006003 Schutz, A. (1932, 1967). The phenomenology of the social world. Northwestern University Press. Schwandt, T. A. (1997). Qualitative Inquiry: A dictionary of terms. Sage. Thomas, W. I., & Thomas, D. S. (1928). The child in America: Behavior problems and programs. Knopf. UNAIDS. (2022). South Africa 2021: HIV and AIDS estimates. Country factsheets. https://www.unaids.org/en/regionscountries/countries/southafrica World Health Organization. (2015). Recommendation on 36 months isoniazid preventive therapy to adults and adolescents living with HIV in resource-constrained and high TB- and HIV-prevalanence settings. 2015 Update. https://www.who.int/publications/i/item/ 9789241508872 World Health Organization. (2020). Global tuberculosis report. https://www.who.int/ publications/i/item/9789240013131 World Health Organization. (2022). Tuberculosis & HIV. Global HIV Programme. https://www.who.int/teams/global-hiv-hepatitis-and-stis-programmes/hiv/treatment/ tuberculosis-hiv

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Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

Chapter 1: Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry provided a catalog of concepts often used in and to describe qualitative inquiry. Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry takes a step back and outlines the foundations or underpinnings of qualitative inquiry. It begins with a critique of conventional Western science, and then outlines and illustrates how the concepts of research paradigm, ontology, epistemology, and axiology intersect to position or situate the researcher and provide a “lens” for conducting an inquiry. Some time is then spent sorting out theory by distinguishing between theoretical orientation/meta-theory, formal theory, and substantive theory, and the terms concept and construct. At the end of the chapter, you will find tables summarizing some of the main theoretical orientations guiding qualitative inquiry. As you read, you may feel like you are sinking in a sea of new terminology. Do not agonize. While this chapter is undoubtedly the most unwieldy and overwhelming for the newcomer to qualitative inquiry, it can also be your life raft; the more you think and read about these concepts, the more afloat you will feel. In Exercise 2.1: Thinking with a Theoretical Orientation, you will be guided through some questions that will introduce you to thinking with theory; that is, a theoretical orientation or meta-theory.

Critique of Conventional Western Science: Epistemological Angst In his final book, Michael Agar’s (2021) central argument is that, long ago, the behavioral and social sciences “adopted the wrong epistemology” (p. xviii) by appropriating the epistemology of the natural sciences (epistemology refers to how we judge knowledge claims to be true). In other words, people interested in the human social sciences adopted the rules of the natural sciences and applied them to study people in their social worlds. This was a serious tactical error that we are still recovering from! We are doomed to failure if studying social relations is dependent on physical proof, mathematics, and the flow of matter. In this chapter, I outline various epistemologies so that newcomers to the qualitative inquiry can adopt one more suitable to their work. DOI: 10.4324/b23331-2

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However, just because those of us who conduct qualitative inquiry have finally become comfortable with our epistemologies does not mean others have caught up or bought in. Heavy critiques and dismissal of qualitative inquiry still come from those applying the epistemology of the physical and natural sciences to qualitative work. Consequently, even though qualitative inquiry across disciplines has increased, newcomers to the qualitative inquiry are nevertheless still entering tricky research terrain. I work, a great deal, with colleagues from across the health sciences. The concepts of ontology (what “is”; what exists; what is reality) and epistemology (what counts as knowledge; how knowledge claims are justified as true; the nature of the relationship between the knower and to-be-known) are mostly absent from students’ research training. Being socialized into a positivist epistemology (see definition below), many health sciences colleagues simply do not attend to these concepts, nor do they share them with their students. The implications of this are widespread and profound. These students do not have the capacity to ask questions about knowledge and how it is produced. They comfortably, but naively, believe that there is only one way to think about and do science; that is, positivism—executed through experiment and measurement, and the formulation and testing of hypotheses. Or, put simply, they believe “the only tool [you can] use to build a house [is] a caulking gun” (Agar, 2021, p. 11). These students are then incapable of dealing with the critiques of traditional research paradigms brought on through questions about the nature of knowledge and how it is justified. Yet critiques of traditional approaches to science rooted in positivism exist and are growing. The “post” era (e.g., postmodernism, poststructuralism, postcolonialism) has challenged and destabilized objectivity and neutrality. We now pay attention to notions of positionality and intersectionality. Through “post” thought, we have begun to critique dominant or “normative epistemological standards” (Harding, 2008, p. 213), and how conventional Western science has treated people and practices on the margins. We are finally interrogating—primarily through participatory, Indigenous, queer, critical, and constructivist approaches—pervasive positivist assumptions and research practices. Skepticism about conventional science has enabled us to realize that everyone possesses “plenty of knowledge-systems” (Harding, 2008, p. 216) that do not fit, will not be considered, or have yet to be “proven” or legitimated through conventional Western science. For example, complementary medicine (e.g., chiropractic and acupuncture) may “work”, but may not according to dominant Western science literature and practitioners. With postmodern thought, “the pursuit of ‘the truth’ has been replaced by the search to understand multiple, localized, contextual truths” (Power, 2004, p. 859). Accordingly, “‘facts’ are viewed not as a simple mirror of reality ‘out there’ but as empirically based constructions that are always socially mediated and interpreted” (Power, 2004, p. 859). With this acknowledgment then, there is no longer one set of epistemological standards

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but numerous “incommensurable heterogeneous ones” (Harding, 2008, p. 213). Thus, knowledge is not solely–or even barely–the product of conventional scientific inquiry. Knowledge is, instead, the “product of making sense of the world”, which “involves exchanges and constructions between ourselves and others” (Hicks, 2011, p. 465). And “making sense of the world” is what qualitative inquiry is really good at. If we enable students to engage in conversations about knowledge, truth, and fact (and how we justify what becomes knowledge, truth, or fact), then science becomes “a highly contested concept whose meaning and practices shift across philosophical approaches and historical and political moments” (St. Pierre, 2011, p. 614). Conversations then turn to understanding how “power, politics and economic factors influence” the production of knowledge in the sciences (St. Pierre, 2011, p. 12). Some days, I believe that the lack of engagement with the concepts of ontology and epistemology is unintentional; many academics in these fields may not have been exposed to these concepts. However, Spivak (1993) is not so understanding. Referring to academics who do not consider science broader than positivism, Spivak (1993) questions why “people who do not have the time to learn should organize the construction of the rest of the world” (p. 187). She considers their dismissal of these concepts as purposeful and as a mechanism to maintain the hegemony of positivism. It is the case that, in many disciplines, a caste system still exists; quantitative research dominates the production of sciences, where “experimental methods and mathematical equations” hold the most power (Agar, 2021, p. 3). I am convinced that the philosophy of science should be part of any research methodology course so that every researcher understands the conventional and dominant assumptions that structure our sense of knowledge, truth, fact, and approaches to research. I agree with Carter and Little’s (2007) assertion that it is irresponsible to engage in research and knowledge creation “without at least tacit assumptions about what knowledge is and how it is constructed” (p. 1319). Once exposed, a researcher becomes much more cautious, gracious, discerning, more tentative with research claims, and more open to alternatives and questioning. If we do not question dominant thought, we risk becoming, as St. Pierre (2011) says, “conventional, reductionist, hegemonic” and losing our “radical possibilities” to “produce different knowledge and produce knowledges differently” (p. 613). After this tirade, you would expect that all qualitative researchers, together in exploring the world in non-dominant ways, would join hands and unite. However, this is where much agreement among qualitative researchers ends.

Divisions in Qualitative Inquiry “There is a ghost in the room, an unspoken, lurking, and insidious energy or force that hangs like a vaporous and insoluble presence”. This is what a former student, and now friend, Lynn Eldershaw, described–quite

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dramatically and emotionally–after a tension-filled advanced qualitative inquiry seminar among interdisciplinary graduate students. What happened in that seminar, and in many of the ones preceding that event, was a division in how students thought about and approached their qualitative work. Some students read important theories of their disciplines— or those favored by their supervisors—which altered students’ worldviews and were revered. These students generally spoke about their research by referring to particular theoretical orientations or meta-theories (e.g., critical race, post-structural), or theorists (e.g., Derrida, Foucault). Conversely, other students talked about their research by referring to a pressing health or social issue and detailed a clinical, organizational, or community problem they wanted to address. Depending on students’ alignment, these quite opposite approaches typically garnered two responses: enthusiasm, as evidenced by head nodding and smiles if students liked or agreed with the position, or disgust evidenced by eye rolls and scoffs, if students disliked or disagreed with the position. Agar (2004) must have had a similar experience when he wrote that some qualitative researchers will “worship the puns that Derrida writes”, while others think “he’s the research Antichrist” (p. 103). What are these divides all about? Aren’t we all just qualitative researchers engaged in finding the stories behind the numbers or producing knowledge differently? The divides are about the “ghost in the room” and the notions of paradigm, ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation, also known as meta-theory. These concepts may be quite invisible or even unknown to us, but they are deep within us and part of our disciplinary training, language, and approach to research and “problems”. They construct a frame for our seeing and doing. When we consider these concepts, we are obliged to think about how we understand and appreciate research in general, how we do research, and even how we write it up. Consequently, spending time to understand the concepts of research paradigm, ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation or meta-theory is time well spent.

Introduction to Research Paradigms A research paradigm is an overarching set of basic beliefs, presumptions, concepts or propositions with a specific philosophical intent that orients our thinking and guides our actions (Bogdan & Biklen, 1998; Guba, 1990; Lincoln & Guba, 2016). Also described as a “worldview”, a research paradigm is not something that is “out there”, disassociated from the conduct of research. On the contrary, it provides the foundation for “choices regarding methodology, methods, literature or research design” (Mackenzie & Knipe, 2006, p. 194). Thus, a research paradigm consists of overarching, firmly held, conscious or unconscious convictions about what we can know about our world (ontology), how we can know it (epistemology), and the role of ethics and values in inquiry (axiology). More particularly, it can also include theoretical orientation. It is helpful to think about a research

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paradigm as the net that holds the researcher’s ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation (Denzin & Lincoln, 2018). The paradigms that I find most useful for the newcomer, especially those interested in applied research, are described in a later section, but before you can fully appreciate these descriptions, you must be comfortable with the notions of ontology, epistemology, and axiology.

Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology Ontology focuses on the nature of knowledge, epistemology focuses on theories of knowledge, and axiology focuses on values. In the late 1980s and into the 1990s, Guba and Lincoln outlined ontology, epistemology, and axiology, and how these concepts frame qualitative inquiry. I believe it has taken most of us (especially those of us doing applied qualitative work) the last 20 years to take up, integrate, and be explicit about these concepts in our teaching, research, and discussions or defense of qualitative inquiry, thus perpetuating the “adopting the wrong epistemology” problem outlined at the beginning of this chapter. Ontology

Ontology is the study of existence and reality (Dahnke & Dreher, 2015). The ontological question is: What is the nature of reality? It is helpful to understand ontology by comparing the nature of physical reality (bridge construction) with social realities (family relationships, poverty, bullying in workplaces, a prison system). As Agar (2021) explains, research with humans in their social world, by other humans, is not traditional science like the one created by Galileo and Newton. Dropping balls off the leaning tower of Pisa is very different from learning how people make it through their day. In other words, the social world that qualitative researchers study becomes problematic in ontological terms because social reality cannot be studied like physical reality. Social realities are not static or fixed, but rather dynamic, fluid, and subjective. This is why in qualitative inquiry we ask: “What can be known?” (Guba & Lincoln, 1994). What can we really apprehend? Thus, ontology is about whether things really exist, or whether we (humans) decide they exist (Lincoln & Guba, 2016). This is why in qualitative inquiry we say that there are “multiple truths”. Epistemology

Epistemology is the study of the nature of knowledge claims made by research, what counts as or is considered knowledge, and how knowledge claims are justified as “true”. The epistemological question is: What is the relationship between the knower (i.e., the researcher) and the “to-be-known” (e.g., the

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participant; Lincoln & Guba, 2016)? Is it one of the knower and the known, or is it one of two knowing participants (Gunzenhauser, 2006)? Due to the research paradigms (see below) in which qualitative researchers adhere, the relationship between the knower and known “is necessarily highly subjective, mediated by the knower’s prior experience and knowledge, by political and social status, by gender, race, class, sexual orientation, nationality, by personal and cultural values, and by the knower’s interpretation (construction) of the contextual surround” (Lincoln & Guba, 2016, p. 40). Accordingly, “knowledge is not ‘discovered’ but rather created; it exists only in the time/space framework in which it is generated” (Lincoln & Guba, 2016, p. 40). If you want an easy cue to remember epistemology, think relationship. In other words, do you believe you can stand apart from your research, neutral and objective, or do you believe that you engage with your research and create a truth through intersubjectivity or being in relation. Maybe it’s clearer now why qualitative inquiry matured only after getting its epistemologies (and ontologies) sorted out. If we use positivist epistemology (i.e., objectivist; see below), then we cannot justify or defend the knowledge that qualitative inquiry creates. Adopting a positivist epistemology is why qualitative inquiry has had so many problems, for so, so long. Axiology

Axiology does not get the same amount of attention as ontology and epistemology, but this is slowly changing. Research is a value-laden process and axiology acknowledges the role of ethics and values in inquiry. The questions we ask, our own personal values, our participants’ values, the values embedded in a culture or context or community, and even how we write up our research reflect our ethics and values. Thus, axiology acknowledges the role of ethics and ethical behavior in research, which manifest by identifying and making our values transparent (Lincoln & Guba, 2016).

Research Paradigms and Ontology, Epistemology, and Axiology Some scholars have proposed what they believe to be the major research paradigms, including, but not limited to: positivist, postpositivist, constructivist, interpretivist, transformative, emancipatory, critical, pragmatic, feminist-poststructuralist, and deconstuctivist paradigms. By no means do all researchers agree on these particular paradigms, but I believe the four paradigms I focus on below capture the evolution of our thinking about qualitative inquiry and are helpful for newcomer and applied researchers in outlining “the intent, motivation and expectations for the research” (Mackenzie & Knipe, 2006, para. 6). I draw heavily on Mertens (2020) exceptional writing as she, in turn, draws on Lather (1992), Creswell (2009), and most importantly, the many writings of Guba and Lincoln (1982; 1989; 1994; with Lynham,

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Table 2.1 Research Paradigms Research Paradigm Ontology

Epistemology

Axiology

Positivism/ Realism/Critical Postpositivism Realism

Objectivist

Institutional/Research Ethics Board (IRB/REB)

Constructivist/ Interpretivist

Relativist (multiple realities)

Subjectivist

IRB/REB & Relational Ethics

Transformative

Materialist Realist

Subjectivist

IRB/REB & Human Rights/ Social Justice Ethics

Pragmatic

Single Reality (but experienced differently)

Objectivist & IRB/REB & Democratic Subjectivist Ethics

2017) or Lincoln and Guba (1985). And it is Guba and Lincoln to whom we are indebted for establishing paradigms for qualitative inquiry when positivism was the only paradigm in town and reigned supreme. While the paradigms below are described so that original and underlying assumptions are clear, in reality, many researchers float between these assertions, and the boundaries separating paradigms are quite blurred. Table 2.1 summarizes each of the four research paradigms outlined below. Positivism/Postpostivism

Positivism has been the foremost paradigm over the last century. It is ideal for the study of the natural or physical world, and basic or bench science. Unfortunately, the underlying belief of positivism, and what has been presented in this chapter already, is that the “social world can be studied in the same way as the natural world, that there is a method for studying the social world that is value-free, and that explanations of a causal nature can be provided” (Mertens, 2020, p. 11). In positivism, ontology is known as realism which suggests one reality exists, and that this singular reality is knowable (Mertens, 2020). A positivist epistemology is objectivist (Guba & Lincoln, 1994), meaning phenomena are measurable and can be studied objectively and independently of the researcher. In postpositivism, ontology is known as critical realism and epistemology is also objectivist. Postpositivists share the assumption of positivism that there is a singular reality, but postpositivists believe that it is “only imperfectly and probabilistically apprehendable” (Lincoln & Guba, 2000, p. 165). While positivists believe that knowledge can be acquired in a purely objective manner, postpositivists claim that not everything can be understood through quantitative, experimental research design (Lincoln & Guba, 2000; Merriam, 2009). And unlike positivists, postpositivists are often inclined to draw on

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qualitative methods to include participant perspectives on quantitative findings (Markula & Silk, 2011). However, objectivist epistemology, within both positivism and postpositivism, is what has created a tough situation for all qualitative researchers. Reproachful questions or interrogations about how a researcher’s personal experiences, perspectives, and values create bias in a qualitative study come from an objectivist epistemology. Axiology in positivism/postpositivism involves typical institutional ethics board (IRB)/ research ethics board (REB) concerns regarding respect for persons, concern for their welfare, and justice or treating people fairly and is captured in the informed consent process. Constructivist/Interpretivist

The constructivist/interpretivist paradigm has as its core beliefs that understanding of the social world is dependent on how we interpret the world, which is inherent in our own subjectivity. Thus, knowledge is socially constructed among people engaged in the research process, and it is our job as researchers to understand the experience from the point of view of those who have lived or are living that experience (Mertens, 2020; Schwandt, 2000). The constructivist/interpretivist paradigm emerged from the philosophical foundations laid by Edmund Husserl’s phenomenology, as well as German philosophers’ study of hermeneutics, among them Wilhelm Dilthey (Clegg & Slife, 2009; Mertens, 2020). Put simply, hermeneutics is the study of interpretive understanding. Constructivists understand hermeneutics as a “way to interpret the meaning of something from a certain standpoint or situation” (Mertens, 2020, p. 16). Thus, ontology within a constructivist/interpretivist paradigm holds that reality is socially constructed; or “phenomena … mean different things to different people” (Mertens, 2020, p. 18). Epistemologically, the researcher and the participant interact with and influence each other through the research process. Thus, a constructivist/interpretivist paradigm has a relativist ontology asserting multiple realities, and a subjectivist epistemology where the researcher and participant co-create meaning (Denzin & Lincoln, 2018). Researchers who adhere to the constructivist/interpretivist paradigm pose broad research questions. During interactions with data sources (e.g., artworks, participant observation, interviews), researchers are attentive to how they interact, shape, and are shaped by the interactions, and attest to this in some way in the text or (re)presentation of the research. Research is about being in a relationship. It is, in the strongest and most powerful sense of the word, subjective. Constructivist/interpretivist researchers assume that there are multiple realities and multiple truths, and that we are representing just one possibility. Because inquiry is relational, axiology, or the ethics and values that guide inquiry, are embedded in relations. While adhering to the

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concerns of ethics boards, researchers within the constructivist/interpretivist paradigm also pay attention to caring and justice. Transformative

There is yet another way to think about a research paradigm in qualitative inquiry that has quite a different starting point than the constructivist/interpretivist paradigm: the transformative paradigm. The transformative paradigm has been adapted from Guba and Lincoln’s (Guba et al., 2018) critical theory paradigm, and other paradigms that underscore a participatory approach. It is grounded in social justice and forefronts not only the experiences of groups that have been marginalized (e.g., persons with disabilities, people of color, Indigenous peoples, people with mental illness, 2SLGBTQ+ people), but also the politics, policies, and systems that perpetuate marginality. Working with those who have been traditionally marginalized, researchers guided by the transformative paradigm research with marginalized communities. Importantly, they also study the ways “oppression is structured and reproduced” (e.g., the way policies create and reify a permanent oppressed class under the guise of social services); this work reveals the role of “asymmetric power relationships” and how and why inequities exist (Mertens, 2020, p. 21). Thus, not only are there multiple realities and multiple truths, but these realities and truths are structured by or are a consequence of factors such as race, class, ethnicity, gender, age, ability, sexual orientation, and sexuality, amongst others (material-realist ontology; Denzin & Lincoln, 2018). The researcher is in relation with participants or other data sources (subjectivist epistemology), and not only accounts for this in research texts but makes it explicit in the writing of the text (i.e., reflexive writing). A research text, in whatever form it takes, provides not “the answer”, but many possibilities and, indeed, poses many questions. Feminist, Queer, and Indigenous scholars find their home within this paradigm. Because the transformative paradigm emerged out of dissatisfaction with research situated in other paradigms “that was perceived to be irrelevant to or a misrepresentation of the lives of people who experience oppression” (Mertens, 2020, p. 29), axiology extends that which is found in the constructivist/interpretivist paradigm to the values embedded in human rights and social justice. See the work of educational theorists and human rights activists, Paolo Freire (1970) and Myles Horton (Horton et al., 1990) that exemplifies the transformative paradigm and its transformative social justice goals. Pragmatic

As the name would lead you to believe, the pragmatic paradigm, with its roots in John Dewey (1934, 1938), posits that the research methods chosen

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should be those that are most appropriate or practical for answering the research question. This is obviously where many multiple or mixed methods researchers find a comfortable place. Pragmatic ontology sits on the border with postpositivism. As Mertens (2020), drawing on Teddlie and Tashakkori (2010) and Morgan (2007) explains, pragmatists have “no problem with asserting both that there is a single ‘real world’ and that all individuals have their own unique interpretations of that world” (p. 36). Pragmatic epistemology is similar to the principles of community-based participatory research: working with community members (which assumes research is grounded in some form of relationship with them) to identify and solve a problem. The appropriateness of the methods is determined together with community members based on whether or not they can achieve the desired outcomes. The pragmatic paradigm represents a ‘low theory’ or practical approach, in which goals, theories, and methods often closely align with and are responsive to participants’ and/or communities’ needs that the research seeks to address. The ethical stance (axiology) for pragmatists is to follow a democratic model of research (Mertens, 2020), eliciting different perspectives “in the pursuit of desired ends” (Morgan, 2007, p. 69). After introducing ontology, epistemology, and axiology, methodology is typically the next concept discussed in research texts. But before we go there, I take two departures. First, I briefly introduce an Indigenous research paradigm to acknowledge this distinct worldview and the healing approach this paradigm offers to both research and living in our world. Second, before methodology, I discuss theory, in its multiple manifestations, as I think it has become muddled and needs a bit of clarification. Indigenous Research Paradigm

An Indigenous research paradigm must be included in the discussion of paradigms. However, as a white settler, I can only situate myself within this paradigm if I work with and through the guidance and teachings of Indigenous scholars and peoples. Thus, this description is informed by the literature and my lived research experience with Indigenous scholars and peoples, but it is not my place, nor do I have the experience, to write indepth about an Indigenous paradigm. While Indigenous people’s cultural perspectives, traditions, and colonial experiences have frequently been represented in research, the theoretical contributions of Indigenous researchers remain under-recognized and underappreciated both within and outside of universities and other institutions (LaRocque, 2010). Only recently have Indigenous ideas been recognized by Western science as legitimate “ways of knowing”. This is due to the work of Indigenous communities, Indigenous scholars, and non-Indigenous scholars partnering with Indigenous peoples to articulate the “knowledge that has always been present” (Blanchard et al., 2000, p. 7) in Indigenous communities. An

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Indigenous research paradigm “represents the diversity of Indigenous research processes that are grounded in Indigenous knowledges, cultures, and protocols in relationship to [the] place and nation within whose territory the research is undertaken” (Pidgeon, 2018, p. 418). As such, Indigenous research methods are difficult to define given connections with the specific ontological and epistemological commitments of a particular nation. However, an Indigenous research paradigm is generally characterized by an ontology emphasizing the interconnection between the physical and spiritual; an epistemology valuing experiential insight developed through storytelling, ritual, and ceremony, and interaction with the natural world; and an axiology centered on Indigenous control of research, respect, deep listening, and reciprocity (Hart, 2010; Walker, 2015). The research conducted through an Indigenous research paradigm often includes an analysis of relational accountability (between humans, the natural world, and the spirit world) and a focus on decolonization (Walker, 2015; Wilson, 2001). If you are a non-Indigenous person interested in learning more about an Indigenous paradigm and research methodologies, approach your learning with humbleness and a genuine commitment to decolonization and Indigenization (i.e., to transform the academy’s conception of knowledge production by embracing Indigenous worldviews, educational practices, and ways of knowing, while challenging the injustices of colonialism) (Gaudry & Lorenz, 2018). Now, onto clarifying “theory”.

Theory Muddle: Theoretical Orientation, Substantive Theory and Formal Theory, Concept and Construct “Theory” can be a very ambiguous and uninformative concept. When people talk about “theory”, I listen very carefully to figure out what they actually mean. Broadly, a theory is a way to capture the interrelationships of concepts or constructs (Mertens, 2020), but there are many different levels of theory, and researchers are often not explicit about what level they are referencing. Sometimes when researchers talk about theory, they are referring to a theoretical orientation or highly abstract meta-theories. Other times, they might be referring to formal theory or substantive theory. Theoretical Orientation

A theoretical orientation is a way of looking at the social world through the lens of collective, interrelated assumptions, concepts, and systems of explanation. While the description of a theoretical orientation sounds similar to the description of a paradigm, a theoretical orientation uses more specific constructs or concepts, and through these, directs research and highlights specific aspects of a phenomenon more than a paradigm. Generally, theoretical orientations appear in the qualitative literature as meta-theories

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(e.g., postmodernism, poststructuralism, postcolonialism, feminist, or queer theories), or through the names of particular philosophers or theorists (e.g., Spivak, Foucault, Derrida, or Bourdieu, Heidegger, and Husserl). Researchers can also make explicit the tenets of the philosopher along with the meta-theory they contributed to (e.g., Derrida and poststructuralism). Tables 2.2 and 2.3 at the end of this chapter summarize a selection of main theoretical orientations.1 A theoretical orientation can position the researcher (theoretical position) in or provide a perspective (theoretical perspective) of the world by which they can, for example, filter, view, read, or open up their data. If taking on a theoretical orientation, it is important to appreciate how strongly such orientations can provide a “lens” to guide all aspects of your research. Scholars talk about “thinking with theory” or using a theoretical orientation to read data. When qualitative researchers think with theory, they do not think of data analysis and interpretation as data reduction, revealing the meaning of the phenomenon for participants. In fact, thinking with theory tries to “work against” the interpretive nature of qualitative research because of the strong belief that what participants share and how they share it has an already “made meaning” (Jackson & Mazzei, 2013, p. 263) that was constructed through interaction with the researcher. Thus, when qualitative researchers think and read with theory, they “plug in” theory to see something anew to “critique the complexities of social life” (Jackson & Mazzei, 2013, p. 261). Exercise 2.1: Thinking with a Theoretical Orientation at the end of the chapter will introduce you to this process. Tables 2.2 and 2.3 summarize a very small selection of main theoretical orientations—the usual suspects—in qualitative inquiry. I provide only these few to simply give you a sense of what is available. They do not even come close to all the theoretical orientations that can guide qualitative work, nor are they mutually exclusive. And although common threads exist, the evolving nature and interpretation of each orientation means that some scholars, who may spend their entire careers studying a particular orientation, will emphasize certain aspects over others. As a result, it becomes more accurate to speak of queer theory(ies) or feminism(s), for example, or various understandings of Derrida’s work, than to uphold an absolute of each. And if, after exposing yourself to a few theoretical orientations, you still struggle (as I do) to comprehend this work, you will feel relieved by a very old quote from Michel Foucault (who is among those listed in Table 2.3), in which he honestly and unabashedly asked, “What are we calling postmodernity? I’m not up to date” (Foucault, 1998, p. 447). Be kind to yourself when you start to grapple with a particular theoretical orientation. If Michel Foucault could not keep up with the evolving nature of postmodernism at the end of the 20th century, do not expect yourself, as a newcomer to qualitative inquiry, to immediately understand the compendium of standpoint theory. Given the diversity within and among theoretical orientations, authors justifiably steer away from defining them. Yet, you need to start

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somewhere, so in this spirit, I try to define these orientations below! And keep in mind, if the ones listed do not work for you, please look into other possibilites that exist or are being advanced in your field. One of these possibilities, inspired by Sally Thorne and in the development of interpretive description, is to have your discipline act as your theoretical orientation. Thorne not only asks you to be aware of your own personal values, but to call on your discipline’s foundations, theories (see below) and specifically, your disciplines values, assumptions, and epistemologies to guide your work and build discipline-specific knowledge; she calls this a study’s “theoretical forestructure” (Thorne, 2016). A discipline’s foundations affect what researchers see as a problem, what they see and hear when they observe, and how they make sense of these observations (Thorne, 2016). Thorne draws on her discipline of nursing, but this notion can be used by researchers that align themselves closely with their discipline (e.g., physiotherapy, education/teaching, social work) and the promises they make to their practice, including their code of ethics, key terms, and beliefs that guide and inspire their work. Take a deep look at your discipline’s foundations and decide if this may be an option for you, especially if you are in a practice or applied discipline. Theoretical orientation, as a higher-level “theory”, is very abstract in relation to substantive theory and formal theory. But because we often use the term “theory” in such a cavalier way, theoretical orientation is often confused with substantive theory and formal theory. So as not to fall victim to this theory muddle, substantive theory and formal theory are outlined below. Substantive Theory and Formal Theory

Substantive theory is context-dependent and formulated for a closely defined content area (Glaser & Strauss, 1965), such as patient care or gang behavior. The contextual boundaries and novelty of the area being researched are key characteristics of such theories (Holmstrom et al., 2009). Grounded theory, a qualitative methodology discussed in Chapter 3: Methodology, generates early substantive theory. Substantive theories can be built into the formal theory. Formal theory is developed for a broad conceptual area that transcends the context specificity of substantive theories (Glaser & Strauss, 1965). Whereas a substantive theory may concern gang behavior, an associated formal theory may be stigma, deviance, or power. Formal and substantive theory must be used very carefully in qualitative inquiry. They can be drawn on in a literature review and can be used in the discussion of how your findings fit with, modify, or challenge extant theory. However, they should not be used deductively (i.e., coding according to the theory). I explain this further in Chapter 8: Data Analysis.

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Concept and Construct

Surprisingly, this little paragraph was one of the most difficult to write as there are no clear boundaries between, or definitions of, concept and construct. I believe the problem is because concept and construct are so general, the definitions are also general and overlap, and differ according to discipline. What one author says is a concept, another will call a construct. To provide a bit of a foundation, you can think of concepts as those that capture the main findings from research and are thought of as the basic building blocks of theory. Concepts are often found in everyday life and can be directly or indirectly observed. A construct is a kind of concept that is developed to express findings. A construct is more abstract than a concept, and represents the ways that researchers understand, interpret, and theorize data. One way to start thinking about the difference is that “injury” could be a concept and “pain” could be the construct; “belonging” could be a concept and “inclusion” could be the construct; “crime” could be the concept and “justice” the construct; “satisfaction” could be the concept and “happiness” the construct. Overall, Shoemaker and colleagues (2004) suggest that the differences between concept and construct are based on assumptions about how abstract the generalization is, with constructs being more general or abstract than concepts.

Summary These brief introductions to research paradigm, ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation just skim the surface. I hope these descriptions provide a path through the somewhat unclear and convoluted qualitative literature. Do not despair if you do not yet feel ready to “legitimize” yourself by naming your ontology and epistemology. Be patient and read about philosophy and theoretical orientations and, equally important, speak with fellow students and colleagues about these challenging works and ideas. If you spend time with these issues, even if you cannot, or choose not, to give a label to your theoretical orientation (e.g., “I am a feminist”), you will be able to handle these types of questions very well. The most important thing is this: Do not be lured into falsely claiming to “be” something, pigeonholing yourself into a particular theoretical place. To do research, you do not need a fancy title for yourself; you need to be able to think for yourself. After thinking through paradigm, ontology, epistemology, axiology, and theoretical orientation, we finally arrive to where most applied researchers start: methodology and methods. These are taken up in Chapter 3: Methodology.

Both a theoretical perspective and a methodology of qualitative inquiry (as you will discover in Chapter 3: Methodology). Developed by Edmund Husserl as a way of grounding the study of philosophy in concrete, lived experience ( Moran 1999). Studies experience “as we immediately experience it, pre-reflectively, rather than as we conceptualize, theorize, categorize, or reflect on it” ( Adams & van Manen, 2008, p. 614). Since Husserl laid the foundations for phenomenology in the early 20th century, his underlying philosophical assumptions have been critiqued and adapted by numerous thinkers, among them Husserl’s student Martin Heidegger. Phenomenology can be regarded as “a tradition of traditions” ( van Manen & van Manen, 2014, p. 610) with evolving emphases on description and interpretation. Looks to the everyday worlds of individuals. Focuses on relationships and sense of self; people are viewed as active in shaping their world, rather than simply acted upon by society ( Herman & Reynolds, 1994). Herbert Blumer (1969, p. 2–3) outlined three basic premises of the perspective: 1 “Humans act toward things on the basis of the meanings they ascribe to those things.” 2 “The meaning of such things is derived from, or arises out of, the social interaction that one has with others and the society.” 3 “These meanings are handled in, and modified through, an interpretive process used by the person in dealing with the things he/she encounters.”

Phenomenology

Symbolic Interactionism

Description of Theory

Metatheory

Table 2.2 Meta-theories

(Continued)

George Herbert Mead, Herbert Blumer

Edmund Husserl, Martin Heidegger

Key Thinkers

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry 29

Jürgen Habermas, Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer, Pierre Bourdieu

Karl Marx, Frederich Engles

Political economic theory developed in the mid to late 19th century to understand inequality based on class. Critiques “how the problems of a capitalist economic system encompass the social relations of the working class” ( Cunningham, 2014, p. 527). Understands capitalism as a system that relies on the exploitation of workers and increasing disparity between the ruling and working classes ( Cunningham, 2014). The many branches of Marxist thought that exist today are understood differently, but at their core consider socioeconomic conditions of inequality. Many Marxists also focus specifically on how individual behaviors are influenced by large-scale policies and societal actions. Considered an umbrella term that encompasses or has evolved into further theoretical orientations or metatheories (e.g., poststructuralism, postmodernism, postcolonialism, feminist). Focuses on unequal relations of power, positing that all thought is mediated by socially and historically constructed power relations ( Kincheloe et al., 2018). Consequently, knowledge is embedded in dominant values and ideology. Emphasizes that certain groups are privileged over others. Oppression (which may come in many forms, includes: classism, racism, sexism, and ageism) is maintained when those oppressed “accept their social status as natural, necessary, or inevitable” ( Kincheloe et al., 2018, p. 237). Critiques dominant research practices for, although often unintentionally, reproducing systems of oppression ( Kincheloe et al., 2018). Critical theorists attempt to use research “as a form of social or cultural criticism” ( Kincheloe et al., 2018, p. 237).

Marxist Theory

Critical Theory

Key Thinkers

Description of Theory

Metatheory

Table 2.2 (Continued)

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Postcolonial Theory

Postmodernism

Poststructuralism

A theory of knowledge and language, centering on analysis of how knowledge is produced (In what context? By whom?; Agger, 1991). Claims that language produces meaning and creates social reality, thus dividing and socially organizing the world. Links language with “subjectivity, social organization, and power” ( Richardson & St. Pierre, 2005, p. 961), seeking to understand how knowledge, language, meaning, power, and identity are all intertwined. Language creates centers of power through which one’s sense of self – one’s subjectivity – is constructed ( Richardson & St. Pierre, 2005). Rejects the modernist or enlightenment period, which claimed a purely rational route to knowledge and progress through positivist science ( Olsson, 2008). Claims that all knowledge is socially situated; the position of the knower is vital to understanding. Questions how methodologies serve particular interests. Acknowledges that knowledge is politically, historically, and culturally created ( Olsson, 2008). Often focuses on the everyday, local, and specific rather than making claims about larger groups. Grounded in “the historical phenomenon of colonialism” ( Ashcroft et al., 2007, p. vii). Devoted to “interrogating the colonial past” ( Gandhi, 2019, p. 4) and analyzing imperial power ( Ashcroft et al., 2007). Begins from the premise that assumptions and discourses associated with dominant Western ways of knowing must be challenged. Examines agency and whether individuals’ actions are in some sense determined by the ways in which their identities have been constructed ( Ashcroft et al., 2007). Focuses on destabilizing existing oppressive structures by recognizing and upholding Indigenous peoples’ rights and sovereignty, challenging colonization, and, where possible, restoring lands ( Mertens, 2020).

(Continued)

Edward Said, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak

Martin Heidegger, Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault, Jean-Francois Lyotard

Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Gilles Deleuze, Judith Butler

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry 31

Informed by the underlying assumptions of critical theory. Holds that the nature of reality “is unequal and hierarchical” ( Skeggs, 1994, p. 77). Uses a gendered perspective to conceptualize studies and collect, analyze, and present data. Aims to reveal and reverse the structured and systemic social position and gender inequity of women. Earlier feminist theories (often called “white feminism”) were critiqued for failing to recognize and account for the experiences of women of color. Contemporary feminist theories often intersect with other theories and dimensions of identity, including Black feminist theory, queer feminist theory, and transnational feminist theory. An approach rooted in women’s lived experiences, which have historically been marginalized and underrepresented. Seeks to grant “authentic expression and representation to women’s lives” ( Brooks, 2007, p. 56). Places women at the center of the research, beginning with their lives and seeking to understand their perspectives (as shaped by social and political experiences; Brooks, 2007). Critiques the unconscious (male-centered) biases of academic disciplines, asserting that: “All knowledge is knowledge from a particular standpoint, and what which has been claimed as objective knowledge of society conceals a male bias” ( Farganis, 2000, p. 371). Black feminist standpoint theory, introduced by Patricia Hill Collins in 1990 suggests that Black women can have “bifurcated consciousness”: Because Black women operate both in the dominant and marginalized worlds, they are able to see things from both perspectives ( Hill Collins, 2000).

Feminist Theory

Feminist Standpoint Theory

Description of Theory

Metatheory

Table 2.2 (Continued)

Dorothy Smith, Patricia Hill Collins

Audre Lorde, Kimberlé Crenshaw, Judith Butler, bell hooks, Simone de Beauvoir, Germaine Greer

Key Thinkers

32 Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

Critical Disability Theory

Critical Race Theory

Queer Theory

Queer is a “fluid concept with multiple meanings that collapse identity politics delimited by static understandings of sex, sexuality, and gender” ( Grace, 2008, p. 718). Challenges the male-female, woman-man, and heterosexual-homosexual dichotomies and rejects notions of “stable, unitary, and essentialized identities” ( Grace, 2008, p. 719) that serve to reinforce these binaries. Asserts that sexual acts and identities are socially constructed ( Mertens, 2020). Focuses on incongruities between [normative] sex, gender, and desire ( Jagose, 1996). Attends to the ways that sexes, genders, and sexualities “not sanctioned by heteronormativity” ( Grace, 2008, p. 718) have been excluded, oppressed, and labeled as deviant. Strong focus on discourse analysis, influenced by Foucault’s work in The History of Sexuality (1978/1990). Focuses on the conceptual systems that construct, legitimize, and normalize issues of race and racism ( Gordon, 1995; Mertens, 2020). Positions race as a social construct (that has been defined differently across time and place) with real social effects. Seeks to explain how race is socially constructed at the micro and macro levels, and how this construction influences individuals’ opportunities and life chances. Aims to uncover racism and determine actions for racial social justice ( Mertens, 2020). Central theme holds that “disability is a social construct, not the inevitable result of impairment” ( Hosking, 2008, p. 7). Understands disability as a “complex interrelationship between impairment, individual response to impairment”, and the physical, institutional, and attitudinal components that comprise the social environment ( Hosking, 2008, p. 7). (Continued)

Eli Claire, Danielle Peers, Nirmala Erevelles. Rosemarie GarlandThomson, Laura Hershey, Robert McRuer

Kimberle Crenshaw, Derrek Bell, Alan Freeman; Malinda Smith, Richard Delgado, Ronaldo Walcott

Michel Foucault, Judith Butler, Lauren Berlant, Leo Bersani, Lee Edelman, Jack Halberstam, David Halperin, José Esteban Muñoz, and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry 33

Intersectionality

Metatheory

Table 2.2 (Continued)

Holds that “it is the impact of ableist assumptions, institutions, and structures that disadvantage persons with disabilities” ( Devlin & Pothier, 2006, p. 13). By understanding disability as a socially created barrier, the responsibility for overcoming the challenges associated with disability shift from the individual to broader society ( Devlin & Pothier, 2006; Hosking, 2008). First coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw in 1989 and originated in the social justice activism of women of color ( Harris & Leonardo, 2018). Rooted in feminist and critical race theories ( Carbado et al., 2013). Critiques analysis performed along a single axis of identity, positing that no single facet of identity can adequately capture “what it means for an individual to travel in the world” ( Harris & Leonardo, 2018, p. 5). Proposes that various axes of identity (e.g., race, gender, class, sexuality) are “interactive and mutually constituting” ( Cho et al., 2013, p. 788). Reveals social identities and forms of subordination that have previously been subsumed within and obscured by hegemonic or broader identities ( Harris & Leonardo, 2018). Recognizes that identities are dynamic and shift over time ( Harris & Leonardo, 2018).

Description of Theory

Kimberlé Crenshaw, Patricia Hill Collins

Key Thinkers

34 Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

German philosopher recognized as the father of phenomenology; developed transcendental phenomenology. Husserl’s phenomenology is concerned with “how things show or give themselves” (their transcendence; van Manen, 2017, p. 775). Proposed that a person can understand and describe the essential meanings of objects as they appear in one’s consciousness ( van Manen, 2014). Aimed to capture an experience in its “essence”, without “interpreting, explaining, or theorizing” ( van Manen, 2017, p. 775). Prioritized systematic description of an object while excluding all of one’s past experiences or preexisting knowledge about the phenomena under investigation (phenomenological reduction or “bracketing”). German philosopher trained in phenomenology under Husserl, but who “radicalized Husserl’s phenomenology by pointing out that the proper focus on phenomenology is not epistemological but ontological” ( van Manen, 2014, p. 610). Heidegger’s hermeneutic phenomenology focused on being, or “the situated meaning of a human in the world” ( Laverty, 2003, p. 24). Theorized that the essence of being human was in the experience of being in the world (rather than the rational mind, for example) and through the temporality of human life. Diverged from Husserl in asserting that a person’s pre-understanding (one’s background and prior understanding of a phenomena) is inseparable from how they make sense of the world ( Laverty, 2003). Claimed that the individual and the world share a transactional relationship in that they constitute and are constituted by one another; “meaning is found as we are constructed by the world while at the same time we are constructing this world from our own background and experiences” ( Laverty, 2003, p. 24).

Edmund Husserl (1859–1938)

Martin Heidegger (1889–1976)

Description of Ideas

Philosopher/Theorist

Table 2.3 Philosophers and Theorists

(Continued)

Phenomenology, Postmodernism

Phenomenology

Associated Metatheories

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry 35

Michel Foucault (1926–1984)

Jean-François Lyotard (1924–1998)

Philosopher/Theorist

Table 2.3 (Continued)

Emphasized interpretation, claiming that every observation involves interpretation influenced by one’s individual history, background experiences, and understanding ( Laverty, 2003). French postmodern theorist. Rejected universals, meta-narratives and generalizations. Argued that society was in a postmodern state where there was a loss of belief in grand narratives, and no need for them to explain the world. Developed the concept of the “differend”, which suggests that language is unable to use reality as a reference, and that reality and events cannot be fully captured in language. French philosopher whose main themes include the production of knowledge and meaning through discourse, power and knowledge, and the “subject” ( Hall, 2001). Studied the development of ideas about society, such as sexuality, prisons, and punishment. In Foucault’s work, knowledge and meaning are produced through discourse. To Foucault, discourses are “ways of constituting knowledge, together with the social practices, forms of subjectivity and power relations which inhere in such knowledges and relations between them” ( Weedon, 1987, p. 108). Understood knowledge as “inextricably enmeshed in relations of power” ( Hall, 1997, p. 47), given that knowledge is used to regulate social conduct. Analyzed how different constructions of power/knowledge are used to produce, regulate, and discipline bodies ( Hall, 1997). Proposed that “the ‘subject’ is produced within discourse” ( Hall, 1997, p. 55), and must submit to the knowledge constructed through discourse. Many methodologies use Foucault’s approach, including critical discourse analysis and genealogical analysis.

Description of Ideas

Poststructuralism, Postmodernism, Queer theory

Postmodernism

Associated Metatheories

36 Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (1942–Present)

Jacques Derrida (1930–2004)

Pierre Bourdieu (1930–2002)

Concerned with power dynamics and the ways in which power and control are maintained and inherited across generations. Introduced concepts that build on Marxist theory, such as social, cultural, and symbolic capital—different forms of capital that confer power and privilege. Conceptualized power as dynamic—not only a top down and clearly visible hierarchy. Using the concept of “habitus”, Bourdieu thought of power as an interaction between free will and social structures ( Bourdieu, 1980/1990). Understood habitus as a system that organizes how individuals perceive and react to the social world around them. For example, he argued that people appreciate different art forms depending on their class and upbringing, and that this appreciation has implications in their everyday lives. Algerian-born French philosopher who developed the process of deconstruction, a critique of the relationship between text and meaning. Conceptualized language as a system of signs that only have meaning in relation to one another; meaning is never present, but rather acquires its meaning in relation to other (opposing) signs ( Derrida, 1967/1974). The goal of deconstruction is to upend these oppositions. Significant influence on literary criticism and poststructuralism. Concerned with reevaluating Western values such as reason and rationality, and reimagining classic Western dialetics (poetry vs. philosophy, reason vs. revelation, structure vs. creativity). Understood that texts outlive and outgrow the intent of their authors. Indian postcolonial theorist focused on the positioning of subaltern people and knowledge in relation to Western writing and institutions. Best known for her essay, Can the Subaltern Speak? ( Spivak, 1988), which centers on her concern for how marginalized groups (especially women) have been (mis)represented in Western institutions. Subaltern refers to a marginalized person or group of people oppressed by the “hegemonic domination of a ruling elite class that denies them the basic rights of

(Continued)

Postcolonial theory

Poststructuralism, Postmodernism

Critical Theory

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry 37

Judith Butler (1956–Present)

Philosopher/Theorist

Table 2.3 (Continued)

participation” in the nation ( Louai, 2012, p. 5). In Spivak’s work, the subaltern are excluded from dominant discourses ( Bracke, 2016). They are located in a “space of difference” ( de Kock, 1992, p. 45) Criticized the “imperialist complicities of male intellectuals” who have perpetuated domination, exploitation, and cultural erasure by “ignoring their privilege” and “freely [advancing] themselves as competent to speak for the subaltern, particularly subaltern women” ( Darder & Griffiths, 2018, p. 82). American philosopher who argues that gender is best conceptualized as a performance ( Butler, 1988, 1990). Borrowing from a theatre metaphor, Butler views gender as a “performative act” that has been rehearsed, much like a script (influenced by culture, those around us, the media, etc.). Gender identity becomes a reality through its repeated performance. Influenced by Foucault, postmodernism, and linguistics in the focus on discourse as a practice that produces gender identity. Postulates that identities are always being performed, and are thus both interactive and constructed in each iteration of performance. Everyday mundane acts such as speech, dress, hair, etc. serve to define and maintain identity. Also understands sexuality and gender as a performance—“doing” heterosexuality or “doing” homosexuality rather than being ( Butler, 2004).

Description of Ideas

Poststructuralism, Feminist theory, Queer theory

Associated Metatheories

38 Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

39

Exercise 2.1 Thinking with a Theoretical Orientation The objective of this exercise is to introduce you to thinking with a theoretical orientation. The best way to use a theoretical orientation is to “think with it”. For example, look at the image (Figure 2.1) of a Perfect 1960s “Housewife”. Ask yourself:

Figure 2.1 Kunz, B. (2022) Perfect 1960s Housewife. Collection of the Artist. Edmonton, Alberta.

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Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry

• • •

What does this image say to you? How are you interpreting it? What orientations or meta-theories can you use to inform you of “what is going on”? When “plugging in” different theoretical orientations, how does it filter the image and bring certain parts to the forefront, while blocking others?

•

For example, try this exercise with Bourdieu. Bourdieu’s (1990) concept of logic of practice is a great place to start thinking with theory and can help us to understand the 1960s “housewife”. Bourdieu argued that an individual’s practices always have an underlying logic, even if they do not obey the principles of “rational” logic. Rather, this logic is always practical and oriented toward the situations of daily life. Thus, Bourdieu suggests that we can understand the logic of the 1960s housewife’s practices by apprehending the underlying social conditions that have shaped this general category of person, such as social class, gender, and culture. We could also “think” with other theoretical orientations. What would we learn if we examined this image through a Marxist lens, and the concepts of means of production, industrialization, and Utopia? What would feminist standpoint theory reveal about this image? Tables 2.2 (meta-theories) and 2.3 (philosophers/theorists) provide summaries of other theoretical orientations that you can use to guide qualitative inquiry and this exercise.

Note 1 Thanks to Dr. Katie MacDonald for helping in summarizing the theoretical orientations presented in Tables 2.2 and 2.3.

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Blumer, H. (1969). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. University of California Press. Bogdan, R., & Biklen, S. K. (1998). Qualitative research for education: An introduction to theories and methods. Allyn and Bacon Inc. Bourdieu, P. (1990). The logic of practice (R. Nice, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1980). Bracke, S. (2016). Is the subaltern resilient? Notes on agency and neoliberal subjects. Cultural Studies, 30(5), 839–855. 10.1080/09502386.2016.1168115 Brooks, A. (2007). Feminist standpoint epistemology: Building knowledge and empowerment through women’s lived experience. In S. N. Hesse-Biber & P. L. Leavy (Eds.), Feminist research practice: A primer (pp. 53–82). Sage. Butler, J. (1988). Performative acts and gender constitution: An essay in phenomenology and feminist theory. Theatre Journal, 40(4), 519–531. 10.2307/3207893 Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Butler, J. (2004). Undoing gender. Routledge. Carbado, D. W., Crenshaw, K. W., Mays, W. M., & Tomlinson, B. (2013). Intersectionality: Mapping the movements of a theory. Du Bois Review, 10(2), 303–312. 10.1017/S1742058X13000349 Carter, S. M., & Little, M. (2007). Justifying knowledge, justifying method, taking action: Epistemologies, methodologies, and methods in qualitative research. Qualitative Health Research, 17(10), 1316–1328. 10.1177/1049732307306927 Cho, S., Crenshaw, K., & McCall, L. (2013). Toward a field of intersectionality studies: Theory, applications, and praxis. Signs, 38(4), 785–810. 10.1086/669608 Clegg, J. W., & Slife, B. D. (2009). Research ethics in the postmodern context. In D. M. Mertens & P. E. Ginsberg (Eds.), The handbook of social research ethics (pp. 23–38). Sage. Creswell, J. W. (2009). Research design: Qualitative, quantitative, and mixed methods approaches (3rd ed.). Sage. Cunningham, J. (2014). Marxism. In D. Coghlan & M. Brydon-Miller (Eds.), The SAGE encyclopedia of action research (pp. 527–529). Sage. Darder, A., & Griffiths, T. G. (2018). Revisiting “can the subaltern speak?: Introduction. Qualitative Research Journal, 18(2), 8288. 10.1108/QRJ-D-17-00059 de Kock, L. (1992). Interview with Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak: New nation writers conference in South Africa. ARIEL: A Review of International English Literature, 23(3), 29–47. Dahnke, M. D., & Dreher, H. M. (2015). Philosophy of science for nursing practice: Concepts and application (2nd ed.). Springer. Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2018). Introduction: The discipline and practice of qualitative research. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of qualitative research (5th ed., pp. 1–26). Sage. Derrida, J. (1974). Of grammatology (G. C. Spivak, Trans.). Johns Hopkins University Press. (Original work published 1967). Devlin, R., & Pothier, D. (2006). Introduction: Toward a critical theory of discitizenship. In D. Pothier & R. Devlin (Eds.), Critical disability theory: Essays in philosophy, politics, policy, and law. The University of British Columbia Press. Dewey, J. (1934). Art as experience. Minton Balch. Dewey, J. (1938). Experience and education. Collier Books. Farganis, J. (2000). Readings in social theory: The classic tradition to post-modernism (3rd ed.). McGraw-Hill.

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Foucault, M. (1990). The history of sexuality: Vol. 1. (R. Hurley, Trans.). Vintage Books. (Original English translation published 1978). Foucault, M. (1998). Structuralism and poststructuralism. In J. D. Faubion (Ed.), Aesthetics, method, and epistemology (pp. 433–458). New Press. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. Seabury Press. Gandhi, L. (2019). Postcolonial theory: A critical introduction (2nd ed.). Columbia University Press. Gaudry, A., & Lorenz, D. (2018). Indigenization as inclusion, reconciliation, and decolonization: Navigating the different visions for indigenizing the Canadian Academy. AlterNative, 14(3), 218–227. 10.1177/1177180118785382 Glaser, B. G., & Strauss, A. L. (1965). Discovery of substantive theory: A basic strategy underlying qualitative research. American Behavioural Scientist, 8(6), 5–12. 10.1177/ 000276426500800602 Gordon, B. M. (1995). Knowledge construction, competing critical theories, and education. In J. A. Banks & C. A. McGee Banks (Eds.), Handbook of research on multicultural education (pp. 184–202). Macmillan. Grace, A. P. (2008). Queer theory. In L. M. Given (Ed.), The SAGE encyclopedia of qualitative research methods (pp. 614–619). Sage. Guba, E. G. (1990). The alternative paradigm dialog. In E. G. Guba (Ed.), The paradigm dialog (pp. 17–30). Sage. Guba, E. G., & Lincoln, Y. S. (1982). Epistemological and methodological bases of naturalistic inquiry. Educational Communication and Technology, 30(4), 23–252. 10. 1007/BF02765185 Guba, E. G., & Lincoln, Y. S. (1989). Fourth generation evaluation. Sage. Guba, E. G., & Lincoln, Y. S. (1994). Competing paradigms in qualitative research. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (pp. 105–117). Sage. Guba, E. G., Lincoln, Y. S., & Lynham, S. (2018). Paradigmatic controversies, contradictions, and emerging confluences, revisited. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of qualitative research (5th ed., pp. 108–150). Sage. Gunzenhauser, M. G. (2006). A moral epistemology of knowing subjects. Qualitative Inquiry, 12(3), 621–647. 10.1177/1077800405282800 Hall, S. (1997). The work of representation. In S. Hall (Ed.), Representation: Cultural representation and signifying practices (pp. 13–74). Sage. Hall, S. (2001). Power, knowledge and discourse. In M. Wetherell, S. Taylor, & S. J. Yates (Eds.), Discourse theory and practice: A reader (pp. 72–81). Sage. Harding, S. (2008). How many epistemologies should guide the production of scientific knowledge? A response to Maffie, Mendieta, and Wylie. Hypatia, 23(4), 212–219. 10.1111/j.1527-2001.2008.tb01442.x Harris, A., & Leonardo, Z. (2018). Intersectionality, race-gender subordination, and education. Review of Research in Education, 42(1), 1–27. 10.3102/0091732X18759071 Hart, M. A. (2010). Indigenous worldviews, knowledge, and research: The development of an Indigenous research paradigm. Journal of Indigenous Voices in Social Work, 1(1), 1–16. Herman, N. J., & Reynolds, L. T. (Eds.). (1994). Symbolic interaction: An introduction to social psychology. AltaMira Press. Hicks, M. V. (2011). Making my narrative mine: Unconventional articulations of a female soldier. Qualitative Inquiry, 17(5), 461–465. 10.1177/1077800411405434

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Hill Collins, P. (2000). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment (2nd ed.). Routledge. 10.4324/9780203900055 Holmstrom, J., Ketokivi, M., & Hameri, A. (2009). Bridging practice and theory: A design science approach. Decision Sciences, 40(1), 65–87. 10.1111/j.1540-5915.2008.00221.x Horton, M., Bell, B., Gaventa, J., & Peters, J. M. (1990). We make the road by walking: Conversations on education and social change. Temple University Press. Hosking, D. L. (2008, September 2–4). Critical disability theory. Paper presented at the 4th Biennial Disability Studies Conference, Lancaster University, UK. Lancaster, UK: Disability Studies Conferences Archive. Jackson, A. Y., & Mazzei, L. A. (2013). Plugging one text into another: Thinking with theory in qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 19(4), 261–271. 10.1177/ 1077800412471510 Jagose, A. R. (1996). Queer theory. New York University Press. Kincheloe, J. L., McLaren, P., Steinberg, S. R., & Monzo, L. D. (2018). Critical pedagogy and qualitative research: Advancing the bricolage. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of qualitative research (5th ed., pp. 325–260). Sage. Kunz, B. (2022). Perfect 1960s housewife. Collection of the artist. Edmonton, Alberta. LaRocque, E. (2010). When the other is me: Native resistance discourse 1850–1990. University of Manitoba Press. Lather, P. (1992). Critical frames in educational research: Feminist and post-structural perspectives. Theory and Practice, 31(2), 1–13. Laverty, S. M. (2003). Hermeneutic phenomenology and phenomenology: A comparison of historical and methodological considerations. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 2(3), 21–35. Article 3. 10.1177/160940690300200303 Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (1985). Positivism and the naturalistic inquiry. In Naturalistic Inquiry (pp. 14–46). Sage. Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (2000). Paradigmatic controversies, contradictions and emerging influences. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 163–188). Sage Publications. Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (2016). The constructivist credo. Routledge. (Original work published 2013). 10.4324/9781315418810 Louai, E. (2012). Retracing the concept of the subaltern from Gramsci to Spivak: Historical developments and new applications. African Journal of History and Culture, 4(1), 4–8. 10.5897/AJHC11.020 Mackenzie, N., & Knipe, S. (2006). Research dilemmas: Paradigms, methods and methodology. Issues in Educational Research, 16(2), 193–205. Markula, P., & Silk, M. (2011). Qualitative research for physical culture. Palgrave Macmillan. Merriam, S. B. (2009). Qualitative research: A guide to design and implementation (2nd ed.). Jossey-Bass. Mertens, D. M. (2020). Research and evaluation in education and psychology: Integrating diversity with quantitative, qualitative, and mixed methods (5th ed). Sage. Moran, D. (1999). Introduction to Phenomenology (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doiorg.login.ezproxy.library.ualberta.ca/10.4324/9780203196632 Morgan, D. L. (2007). Paradigms lost and pragmatism regained: Methodological implications of combining qualitative and quantitative methods. Journal of Mixed Methods Research, 1(1), 48–76. 10.1177/2345678906292462 Olsson, M. (2008). Postmodernism. In L. Given (Ed.) The Sage encyclopaedia of qualitative research methods, 655–659. Sage.

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3

Methodology

This chapter begins where some qualitative textbooks start, with methodologies: 19 of them. Philosophers and scholars have contributed for over a century, building on each other’s thoughts and theories, to create and modify the qualitative methodologies outlined below, ranging from the more traditional (e.g., phenomenology, ethnography, grounded theory) to ones that are growing in recognition (e.g., autoethnography, interpretative phenomenological analysis, interpretive description). This chapter also embraces good research design through the concept of methodological coherence and the methodological coherence guide. There are other methodologies not included here, such as photovoice and drama/theatre, that have developed into a new area called arts-based research that can be found in the following Chapter 4: ArtsBased Research.

Methodology and Method Methodology flows from the foundations of qualitative inquiry which include paradigms, ontology, epistemology, and theoretical orientation (outlined in Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry). Methodology is the study of methods (ology refers to a field of study). That is, methodology is the study of methods or “the description, the explanation, and the justification” of methods (Kaplan, 1964/2017, p. 18). Methodology involves “theorizing about how we find things out; it is about the relationship between the process and the product of research” (Letherby, 2003, p. 5) or “how research does or should proceed” (Harding, 1987, p. 3). Consequently, methodology provides the muchneeded direction and justification for the actual methods (Carter & Little, 2007) including sampling, data collection strategies, analysis techniques, and the production and presentation of findings. Which then begs the question, what are “methods”? Methods are the “practical activities of research” and can be thought of as “research action” (Carter & Little, 2007, p. 1318). They are techniques, procedures, or tools used in inquiry (Harding, 1987; Schwandt, 2001) and include purposeful sampling, data collection (e.g., one-on-one interviews, focus groups, diaries, photos), data management (e.g., software, transcription), data analysis strategies, and DOI: 10.4324/b23331-3

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(re)presentation/reporting (e.g., theatre, poetry, conference presentations, journal articles; Carter & Little, 2007). As such, methods are “praxis”; that is, practicing or acting on the foundations of the inquiry. Most of the remaining chapters in this book are devoted to methods.

Choosing a Qualitative Methodology The question of how to choose a qualitative methodology has one customary and very good answer: You choose a methodology based on how best to answer your research question. Beyond this, there are other reasons for choosing a methodology that the innocent and unsuspecting newcomer to research must appreciate. First, regardless of the phenomenon we wish to study, we tend to ask research questions based on how we like to engage with, ask questions of, and explain our world. For example, ethnographers see culture permeating our everyday lives and seem to constantly pick up on how norms influence and are perpetuated through everyday interaction. Grounded theorists see processes in everyday life and are intrigued with how someone gets through an experience. Phenomenologists may be intrigued by how a phenomenon shows itself to us and how individuals may live in, and with, an experience. Discourse analysts are taken by language and how it unwittingly influences us to think, construct, and behave. If you are fascinated by the world through culture, process, depth of understanding/insight, or language, you will likely want to study it in one of these ways. Refer to the example in Box 3.1 to see how these methodologies may play out in a coffee shop. Second, practical reasons sometimes come to the fore. For instance, if you have immersed yourself in the writings of Gadamer for three years, you might decide to undertake hermeneutical phenomenology. If you have studied the history and maturation of grounded theory since its origins in 1967, you will likely conduct a grounded theory, and if you have studied Foucault and find yourself the only person in your department or university teaching their theories, you will probably situate and conduct your research through a Foucauldian lens. Third, certain schools, departments, and faculties espouse particular methodologies, have expertise in one or two methodologies, or have certain non-negotiable requirements. You might hear, for example “this school does grounded theory”. Or “everyone here has to do a systematic review”. Or “all PhD dissertations must be mixed methods”. Be aware of this when choosing your graduate school: If you do not feel comfortable with grounded theory but all the research and theses coming out of the school are grounded theory, you might want to reconsider. With these reasons for choosing a methodology, keep in mind that it is your goal to become a competent researcher, able to discuss, in-depth, a variety of theoretical orientations and methodologies. I encourage you to be open to and study new branches and maturations of theoretical orientations

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Box 3.1

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Coffee

Four qualitative researchers enter their favorite coffee shop on a cold morning and become intrigued with studying its customers and the setting. The ethnographer will ask: “What is coffee shop culture?” and will look for symbols (e.g., coffee cup designs), patterns and norms of behavior, and particulars of language that help us understand coffee shop behavior. The ethnographer may try to distinguish between the “to stay” and the “to go” customers, the “latte” and the “regular” customers, or the “reusable” or “disposable” coffee cup customers. This ethnographer’s intent is to reveal the intricacies and explain the behavior of customers in a coffee shop, to make customers’ behaviors comprehensible to others. The grounded theorist may examine how ordering the coffee occurs, from the moment people enter the shop to when they leave it, including how choices are made, if and how people chat in line, and the task of paying. The core category might be about “waiting for coffee”. The grounded theorist asks questions about process: how things happen and how people go through an experience. The phenomenologist, on the other hand, might try to capture the essence of the “first taste”. Descriptions might include the feeling in the body: the smell, how taste buds “wake up”, how the heart starts pounding. This researcher feels compelled to study, in-depth, the first taste of coffee so that a non–coffee drinker can understand the essence of the experience of drinking coffee. The discourse analyst will focus particularly on the language and likely look for the power embedded in more elite or obscure coffee language—“I’ll have an el grande, decaf mochachino, no fat, no foam, extra hot”—versus the more “plain language”— “I’ll have a regular coffee”. This researcher will consider how this seemingly innocuous coffee language constructs social realities, reveals inequities, and places companies like Starbucks as a monolith of coffee culture.

and methodologies, and, with their histories as a guide, think through the research process. Doing this will help you to achieve methodological coherence.

Good Research Design: Methodological Coherence The notion of methodological coherence was briefly introduced in Chapter 1: Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry. Methodological coherence is the process of designing and conducting your study so that there is congruence between your research paradigm, your ontological, epistemological, and axiological

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commitments, the theoretical orientation (or meta-theory) you choose, your methodology, data collection and analysis strategies, and so on. Simply put, it is a good research design. Why is a good research design or methodological coherence such a big deal? I work on numerous multidisciplinary research teams, teach students from various disciplines, and work in a variety of government and community settings. I try to be patient when explaining qualitative inquiry, but am sympathetic when colleagues, who truly are trying to understand and appreciate qualitative work, conclude that it is poor quality. Many times, I have to agree: Some of the qualitative research published has been conducted badly. Part of the problem is made clear to me after I ask students, for example, how they want to conduct their research. I will often hear something like: “I like postmodernism, I think I will use phenomenology, I will conduct semi-structured interviews with about seventeen people, I will use constant comparison for analysis, and I will have a theory at the end of it”. The culprit, in this case, is a lack of methodological coherence (and supervisors who should but might not identify incongruence). In other words, these elements do not—at all—go together. Although it is important to be flexible and adapt your research question, sampling, data collection strategies, and so on, as the study-in-progress demands, you cannot just pick and choose from every possible qualitative strategy, throw it into your design, and expect it to work out. This makes qualitative work sloppy and unscientific. Unfortunately, some methodologically incoherent studies are published. Janice Morse (1999) introduced the idea of methodological coherence through the notion of, what she called an “armchair walkthrough”, which has proven over time to be one of the most important learning tools for novice qualitative researchers. The armchair walkthrough is a process of sitting in a chair, or wherever do your best thinking, and working through the methodological trajectory of an entire research project (for me, I think best with a massive whiteboard in front of me). For instance, you might think to yourself: “If I ask this question, then I will need this or that kind of data, and to get that, I will have to interview these people or observe this or that” (Morse, 1999, p. 435). In Table 3.1 at the end of this chapter, I provide a tool adapted from Morse’s (1999) concept of the armchair walkthrough to lead you through the process of thinking through the methodological coherence of a study. But before trying this yourself, you may want to read the example of using the methodological coherence guide provided in Box 3.2.

Qualitative Methodologies There are 19 methodologies outlined below. For learning purposes, these methodologies are introduced as distinct from one another. However, their histories intersect, and aspects of each methodology have been used to build and modify each one over time. In addition, because qualitative

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Box 3.2 Change

Children and the “Hot” Topic of Climate

Climate change is one of the most urgent issues of our time. Given escalating concerns over the consequences of climate change and the pressure that population growth (especially in industrialized countries) places on the planet’s resources, scientists, philosophers, and ethicists have begun questioning the ethics of bringing more people into the world ( Hedberg, 2019; Rieder, 2016). For people of childbearing age, this question is not merely theoretical. Numerous articles in American and Canadian popular media have drawn attention to how climate change concerns are influencing people’s decisions about family size, and whether to have children at all ( Astor, 2018; Fleming, 2018; Wray & Luksic, 2019). In some cases, the conversations that people are having are manifesting in collective action. For example, Conceivable Future is a woman-led network working to bring awareness to how climate change is shaping people’s decisions about childbearing and parenting, framing the climate crisis as a reproductive justice crisis. With this information, you begin to think through this topic by using the methodological coherence guide. You want to ask the question: How do people of childbearing age make reproductive decisions amidst concerns about climate change? This sounds like a grounded theory (methodology) research question. You align yourself with the relativist and subjectivist positions (ontology and epistemology; See Chapter 2: Foundations) and will anchor the study in symbolic interactionism (theoretical orientation: See Chapter 2: Foundations). Your participants are people of childbearing age (regardless of ethnicity, gender, parenthood status, etc.). You want to interview (data collection) people who consider themselves reflective about their reproductive choices given concerns over climate change. You know that the sample size of a grounded theory is approximately 20 participants. You know that people whose reproductive decisions are influenced by concerns over climate change likely associate with certain groups in your city (e.g., environmental nongovernmental organizations, sustainability-focused organizations, community events for climate change action). This is where you will start recruitment, and you plan to conduct interviews anywhere the individual feels comfortable (setting). You will use constant comparison for data analysis (plus other supportive strategies: See Chapter 8: Data Analysis) and your results will be a model or substantive theory describing the process of decision-making about childbearing given the climate change concerns.

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However, you decide that developing a theory is not really the outcome you want, so you try to think through the topic in a different way. You are intrigued by what it may mean and feel like to “be” a person of childbearing age grappling with the implications of climate change on your reproductive decisions. You want to think about this through a phenomenology of practice (methodology). You again align yourself with the relativist and subjectivist positions (ontology and epistemology), have read a great deal of philosophy, admire Husserl, and have been reading Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s (1945/2002) work (theoretical orientation). Your research question might be: What is the lived experience of decision-making about childbearing given the concerns about climate change? Your participants and recruitment methods will be the same as when you considered a grounded theory study, but you know that the sample size of a phenomenology is smaller; you will aim for around six to eight participants. You will still interview (data collection) people at the location of their choice (setting). Your analytic technique (data analysis) will draw on van Manen (1997), who has worked from Merleau-Ponty and Husserl, and his interactive aspects of inquiry and analysis. Your results may be focused on the moment a decision was made and will be a rich, detailed description to capture the essence of that moment. Continuing to think with the methodological coherence guide, you can decide what your study would look like if you took, for example, a poststructuralist, feminist orientation to your work, or if you wanted to use a discourse analysis or narrative inquiry methodology, and so on.

methodology has been around for more than a century and is evolving quickly, it is impossible to provide a description of each. If a student or colleague has thought seriously about using a given methodology in the past five years, I have tried to include it. This does not mean that others are less valuable, however, and I encourage you to go beyond the ones described here if none of them makes sense for what you want to do. As well, it is possible that someone you know or have worked with has done excellent, “legitimate” qualitative research for which there is yet no name (Morse, 1991). If this is the case, before judging it as inferior, consider the steps they have taken in their inquiry and determine if they logically fit together to produce the outcome. Finally, remember that choosing a methodology might not be necessary; a researcher may be guided by the tenets of a meta-theory/theoretical orientation (e.g., feminist, Foucault) throughout the research process and not need to choose a specific methodology. For an example of this, please see the exemplary work of a past student, Dr. Lisa Tink (2022), who completed a Foucauldian genealogy of recreation history in Canada. A

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researcher can also name the use of a theoretical orientation (feminist), a methodology (grounded theory) or explicitly combine them (feminist grounded theory). For example, an exemplary article by Wuest et al. (2004) used a feminist grounded theory to understand how mothers and their children regenerated their families after leaving abusive male partners. I begin this section with a description of traditional ethnography, followed by adaptations to the ethnographic methodology that, although rooted in traditional ethnography, have become stand-alone methodologies: focused ethnography, critical and feminist ethnography, institutional ethnography, autoethnography, collaborative autoethnography, duoethnography, and collective biography. Methodologies such as photovoice, photo elicitation, digital storytelling, etc. also have their roots in ethnography, but are included in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research. The ethnography section is followed by grounded theory, situational analysis, phenomenology, interpretative phenomenological analysis, narrative inquiry, discourse analysis, interpretive description, and concept analysis. Last, but not least, and likely very relevant for the newcomer to qualitative inquiry, I review qualitative description. Within the description of each methodology, I also provide the title of a research article or book that uses each methodology by way of an example. Exercise 3.1: Many Methodologies and the Methodological Coherence Guide is an opportunity to apply each methodology to an area of interest to note the similarities and differences among each. Traditional Ethnography

Ethnography, with its footing in late 19th-century anthropology, is considered the oldest qualitative methodology and the foundation of qualitative inquiry. With anthropology’s discipline grounded in the firsthand exploration of a particular social or cultural setting, primarily but not exclusively, through participant observation (Atkinson et al., 2001), ethnographers traditionally sought to understand cultures other than their own, especially those they considered “exotic”, alluring, or unfamiliar. They entered the field guided by generations of anthropological theory (e.g., structure that creates order; ritual that is part of identity; the meaning of symbols). Working within the concept of the culture (e.g., beliefs, values, behaviors, norms, symbols, artifacts, language) of a group of people, traditional ethnographers joined a group’s setting to learn about their way of life. A central focus of their study was the language of the group, how it developed, and how this served as clues to a group’s cultural specificities. When describing traditional ethnography, I refer to classic texts such as Margaret Mead’s Coming of Age in Samoa (Mead, 1928/2001; advised by Franz Boas), examining the experience of adolescence in Papua New Guinea. Other foundational ethnographic studies, further exemplifying early ethnographer’s tendencies to study isolated Indigenous communities in far-off locales such as the Pacific Islands or Africa, include Bronislaw

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Malinowski’s Argonauts of the Western Pacific (1922/2014), Gregory Bateson’s Naven: A Survey of the Problems Suggested by a Composite Picture of the Culture of a New Guinea Tribe Drawn from Three Points of View (1936/ 1958), and E. E. Evans-Pritchard’s The Nuer: A Description of the Modes of Livelihood and Political Institutions of Nilotic People (1940). Although ethnography has changed considerably since the late 19th century, many of the basic principles underlying the methodology remain. However, unlike in early ethnographies, we no longer believe that we need to travel to far-away places to study culture, nor is culture defined only along ethnic or geographical lines. William Foote Whyte’s Street Corner Society: The Social Structure of an Italian Slum (1943/1993), and St. Clair Drake and Horace Cayton’s Black Metropolis: A Study of Negro Life in a Northern City (1945/2015) were ground-breaking studies that turned the ethnographic lens on Western, urban cultures. Today, we appreciate that cultures and subcultures are everywhere and are found among people in a specific setting (e.g., a faculty, hospital, or community-serving organization) or among people who share a similar experience but might not know each other (e.g., houseless youth, graduate students, parents who have adopted, military personnel). Ethnographers use participant observation (fieldnotes), interviews, and documents to collect their data. This is not methodological triangulation (i.e., when researchers use different methods to understand a singular phenomenon), but the three data collection strategies that make up traditional ethnography. Other ethnographic data sources include cultural artifacts, photos, video, poetry, and art, amongst others. Ethnographers typically use qualitative content analysis to analyze their data (see Chapter 8: Data Analysis). As Morse (2016) describes: Each data set is a piece of the puzzle, to be reflected on in light of the others, to indicate the collection of further data to further confirm, or to illuminate, or to disconfirm what the researcher is thinking—or even provide what Agar (2000) called a “rich point”, a moment of insight about what is happening, that suddenly makes sense of the analysis, that then may be confirmed or refuted. (pp. 875–876) The end result of ethnography is an attempt to describe the culture of a given group as the individuals in the group see it. This is the emic (as opposed to etic) view: how individuals within a culture (not outside observers) describe and construct meaning about cultural norms and behavior. One of my favorite quotes that captures the essence of ethnography for me is from Spradley (1979) who wrote: I want to understand the world from your point of view. I want to know what you know in the way you know it. I want to understand the meaning of your experience, to walk in your shoes, to feel things as

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you feel them, to explain things as you explain them. Will you become my teacher and help me understand? (p. 34) An ethnography might appear as a thick description of a group’s social or cultural setting, or as a taxonomy or framework to name objects and their relations. The goal in traditional ethnography is to make the culture intelligible and comprehensible to others. It is crucial to note that the goal of traditional ethnography is not to critique, judge, or design action plans to bring about change within the culture, but to fulsomely and without pretention, describe the culture. I will add a cautionary note, however. As mentioned previously, ethnography is embedded in the concept of culture, which is, rightly so, very problematic in our postmodern world, as it is linked to colonialism, essentialism, typologies, generalizations, labels, and on and on: how we describe, define, and finalize people through a cultural account. Michael Agar (2006) valiantly took on the concept in an article, which I recommend that you read to help you wrestle with “culture”. Regardless of where you stand on the culture debate, do not let this discourage your interest in ethnography. Certainly, be aware of the debate and then proceed wisely ensuring you do not reproduce colonial practices and representations. Exemplar

Tourigny (1998) told the story of African American young people in innercity Detroit deliberately seeking HIV exposure. What seems implausible is made intelligible through in-depth fieldwork conducted with youth and their families over four years. After reading it, I understand why these young people, with “feelings of futility and hopelessness … within the context of marginalization, insensitive social policies, and demanding caretaking responsibilities” (p. 149) welcome HIV/AIDS. Focused Ethnography

Focused ethnography is a more targeted form of ethnography. Cultures and sub-cultures are still the focus; however, focused ethnographies are led by specific research questions and are conducted among small groups of people—within particular contexts, settings, or organizations—to inform decision-making regarding specific problems. Focused ethnography has been increasingly applied in health-related fields to understand health care settings and practices and their connections to wider cultural norms (Higginbottom et al., 2013). Compared to traditional ethnography, focused ethnography is more problem-focused, time-limited, and marked by the intensity of data collection. Participants in focused ethnographies are commonly purposefully selected because their knowledge and experiences contribute to the

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understanding of the research question (or issue in question or phenomenon of interest). Participant observation is usually either conducted at specific times and events, or not at all. Focus groups can be conducted along with or instead of interviews, and participants might not know each other but come together under the same experience (e.g., a cancer support group; Richards & Morse, 2007). In addition to interviews and/or focus groups, other data sources may be used to further develop the cultural description but are typically not relied on heavily. As in traditional ethnography, the analytic technique is often qualitative content analysis. Exemplar

Some of my students have used focused ethnography in their PhD research with different sub-cultures and areas of interest. One wanted to understand HIV medication success among HIV-positive individuals with “chaotic lives” lives (Lefebvre et al., 2018). This focused ethnography revealed that “control” was the cornerstone for maintaining adherence. Although participants felt they had little control over many aspects of their lives, they recognized that taking their medication daily empowered them to take control over their HIV and make additional positive life changes. Another student used focused ethnography to explore migrant women’s perceptions and experiences of health during pregnancy and postpartum after moving to Canada. In this case, focus groups were used to collect data, and women’s experiences of health were constructed by contrasting their stories from “back home” and “here” (i.e., Canada; Quintanilha et al., 2015; Quintanilha et al., 2016). Critical Ethnography

Critical ethnography and by extension, feminist ethnography, are examples where a theoretical orientation is explicitly named and combined with a methodology. If you think through the tenets of critical theory and ethnography, or feminist theory(ies) and ethnography, you will arrive at critical ethnography and feminist ethnography, respectively. Critical ethnography has been described as traditional ethnography with a political agenda. Thomas (1993) has depicted it as analyzing and opening “to scrutiny otherwise hidden agendas, power centers, and assumptions that inhibit, repress, and constrain” (pp. 2–3). It promotes and encourages questioning of taken-for-granted assumptions. Critical ethnography requires us to link participants’ experiences to broader structures of social power and control and explain how these structures reinforce existing social descriptions and images of our participants. The methodology compels us to ask: “Why should we be content to understand the world instead of trying to change it?” (Marx, 1846/1974, as cited in Thomas, 1993, p. 2).

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Exemplar

A critical ethnographic study conducted in Toronto, Canada challenged the assumption that securing housing is a panacea for people affected by homelessness (Thulien et al., 2018). Following formerly houseless youth for six to nine months, the researchers revealed how structural gaps forced youth into chronic precarity and poverty where they were overwhelmed by the struggles of day-to-day existence and felt isolated and excluded from mainstream society. Paradoxically, moving from houselessness to independent housing did not lead to meaningful social integration; rather, it “reinforced to study participants that they did not really have the same life chances as other young people” (p. 97), exposing their low socioeconomic position and the little control they had over their circumstances. Feminist Ethnography

Feminist ethnography, a form of critical ethnography, reveals the social inequalities among genders that are inherent in the culture or social setting under study. Feminist ethnographers, by linking the experiences of women and gender-fluid folks to broader structures of social power and control, explain how these structures reinforce existing social images of women and men. Exemplar

Although not labeled as such, Lather and Smithies’ (1997) book Troubling the Angels: Women Living with HIV/AIDS can be considered a feminist ethnography as it “explores the cultural meanings and social ramifications” (p. xiii) of women living with HIV/AIDS. As a reader of this book, I understood how these women tried to make sense of what was happening to them and what they could make happen for themselves. The analysis invites each of us to think about “meeting what we cannot know: death and the future”, and how we make these things “present in the way we live our lives” (p. xiii). The book is also a good example of a layered text, a form of experimental writing (see Chapter 11: Representation and Writing). Institutional Ethnography

As in other critical theoretical approaches, in institutional ethnography (IE) the researcher examines the role of power in our everyday lives and how it shapes what we think, say, and do (Smith, 1990). Canadian sociologist Dorothy Smith (1987; 2005) developed IE as a countermovement to traditional, maledominated sociology which she argued objectified people’s everyday experiences, valuing ideological over experiential forms of knowledge. Rather than starting an inquiry in abstract concepts and categories, IE begins from people’s

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embodied experiences in an actual, knowable world. IE provides researchers the opportunity to “map” out how things happen as they do, instead of trying to hypothesize or theorize why (Campbell & Gregor, 2002). IE pays particular attention to how people participate in the “ruling relations”, often unknowingly, by engaging with institutional texts (Smith & Turner, 2014). Participants are either standpoint participants (those engaged in social relations locally) or extralocal participants (those whose work intersects with that of standpoint participants). In IE, texts are interpreted broadly to include anything that can be replicated across time and space, like written documents or images. IE helps to illuminate the role of such texts in coordinating people’s experiences, pointing to possible levers for intervention. Notably, Smith (2005) refers to “institutions” not as brick-and-mortar structures, but rather, as networks of social relations organized by a distinctive function, like healthcare or education. Smith (2005) and Smith and Griffith (2022) also emphasize that IE is not just a methodology—it is a sociology unto itself, an alternative way of viewing the social world. Exemplars

Spina (2020) used IE to examine how growing global and national trends of quantifying teacher and student success through standardized testing are experienced by teachers and students in primary and secondary schools in Australia. Spina illustrates the ways in which the move towards standardized testing is tied to global neoliberal practices and how standardized testing results in a prescriptive pedagogical approach that, in turn, reinforces the neoliberal ideology and practices that have led to this method of teacher and student assessment. Ferdinands et al. (2021) conducted an IE in Canada to make young people’s body weight surveillance work (e.g., self-weighing, dieting) visible; “work” was interpreted generously to include any activity requiring thought and intention, as per Smith (2005). Through interviews with young people, who had grown up in larger bodies, Ferdinands et al. (2021) uncovered how institutional texts like the body mass index (BMI) were enacted in settings young people moved through each day (e.g., home, school, and healthcare systems). In doing so, they showed how moralistic biomedical weight and health discourses socially organize young people’s everyday work. Autoethnography

Between 1972 and 1984, Carolyn Ellis conducted a traditional ethnography for her graduate research, comparing two isolated fishing communities. During that time, she lived the disjunction between the way she had been taught to conduct her research— “observe from a distance, keep myself out of the story and even my line of vision, and dispassionately record what I saw and heard” (Ellis, 2004, p. 9)—and how she actually engaged with the

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community. On the heels of this experience, both her brother and her partner died, pushing her to explore what to do with the intense emotion she experienced. She believed that writing her story would help others understand their experiences sociologically. Ellis’s story, quite appropriately, tells how the methodology of autoethnography gained scientific grounding and popularity. Autoethnography is a self-narrative that connects the personal to the cultural by placing understanding of autobiographical experiences within a social context (Holman Jones et al., 2016; Reed-Danahay, 1997). Autoethnographies “are highly personalized accounts that draw on the experience of the author/researcher for the purposes of extending sociological understanding” (Sparkes, 2000, p. 21). This methodology has been criticized in scholarly literature as self-indulgent and narcissistic, and certainly not research. It has been argued, however, that because autoethnography focuses outward on the sociocultural aspects of one’s experiences, it is research. Indeed, the term “autoethnography” combines the self (auto) with both culture (ethno) and the process of research (graphy; Ellis & Bochner, 2000). Thus, an autoethnography should not be a selfnarrative alone but needs to be connected to its sociocultural meanings found in the literature (Chang, 2016). When I present autoethnography to students, many ask about the difference between autoethnography and other methodologies, such as personal narratives, self-ethnography, interpretive biography, or socio-autobiography, to name a few. Ellis and Bochner (2000) have greatly helped to clarify this persistent question, noting that the term autoethnography has been around for at least two decades, and that it can encompass those studies that have been referred to by terms, such as those above. Holman Jones and colleagues (2016) provide an extensive list of terms that they include under the rubric of autoethnography. Autoethnography has blossomed in the last decade, yet Adams (2017) noted that “such prosperity warrants responsibilities” (p. 62), and calls researchers to clearly declare, justify, and advocate for their perspectives. He also noted that despite the controversies around the evaluation of autoethnography, autoethnographers are responsible for continuing to “establish, articulate, challenge, and revise criteria for determining what counts as excellent autoethnography” (p. 64). Led by Tony Adams and colleague Andrew Herrmann, The Journal of Autoethnography made its debut in January 2020. If you are considering autoethnography, Sarah Wall (2006) wrote an autoethnography on learning about autoethnography that may be helpful to those who, as she states, might be “warming up” to this methodology (p. 148). Exemplars

One of the first autoethnographies was written by Andrew Sparkes (1996), whose “fatal flaw” in the form of a chronic lower back problem terminated

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his involvement in a top-class competitive sport. He tells his story within what Western culture has taught about “gender, age, ableness, social class, race, ethnicity, and sexuality” (p. 487). Tony Adams has also written numerous autoethnographies. One of my favorites (Adams, 2016) investigates the ways in which familial relationships continue to change years after “coming out”. Through four “post-coming out complication” stories, he describes how the positive and established relationships he had with family members before disclosure become increasingly strained with every interaction as family members continually disavowed his same-sex attraction. These stories are personal and deeply emotional. Simultaneously, they are about the larger topic of “queer melancholy, a prolonged sadness heavily informed by [the author’s] same-sex attraction and others’ reaction to/lack of acknowledgement of this attraction” (p. 70). In his conclusion, Adams weaves self-reflection and analysis of the issues that emerge after/“post” disclosure, unearthing how his family members silence his homosexuality and how, in avoiding this silence for the purpose of “self-care”, he reproduces this erasure. I continue to read this paper over and over as I can see how the dynamics Adams refers to are at play when other unwelcomed and unwanted issues are raised within families. Collaborative Autoethnography

As the name indicates, this methodology is collaborative, autobiographical, and ethnographic. Rooted in autoethnography, researchers come together with their individual stories and try to find meaning in them and in their sociocultural contexts. While both autoethnography and collaborative autoethnography have self-inquiry at the centre, in collaborative autoethnography, researchers work in community to generate their autobiographical data. Together, they analyze and interpret their data to “gain a meaningful understanding of sociocultural phenomena reflected in their autobiographical data” (Chang et al., 2016, p. 24). This is an iterative process that alternates between the group and individual work. Writing can be done individually or as a collective. It is worth noting that the nature of collaboration needs to be thoroughly discussed, as many issues can arise including ethics and confidentiality. Exemplar

Edley and Battaglia (2016) used collaborative autoethnography to tell their similar yet different stories of navigating the American healthcare system and alternative healthcare practices as women who live with a chronic, invisible illness. Their article is a look at the healthcare system and its inadequacies when “dealing” with chronically ill women. Collaborative autoethnography allows them to describe the ways in which they have been erased and silenced by the healthcare system and from public life, while also

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creating a collective, and thus powerful, account to combat this erasure and silencing. Through the telling of their individual experiences of illness and of supporting each other as friends and colleagues through the challenges of living with illness, they illustrate how the “whole person is both materially and discursively constructed” (p. 36) and conclude by urging other chronically ill women to contribute their stories to this collective in order to transform their healthcare system. Duoethnography

Duoethnography is built on William Pinar’s (1975) concept of currere, which views a person’s life as a curriculum—an autobiographical reflection on (educational) experiences that ultimately shape an individual’s selfunderstanding (Norris et al., 2016). Duoethnography then occurs when “two or more researchers of difference juxtapose their life histories to provide multiple understandings of the world” (Norris et al., 2016, p. 9). The “difference” that is contrasted can be anything identified as such by the authors. For example, Sawyer and Norris (2015) wrote from the difference of sexual orientation; Shelton and McDermott (2015) drew on urban/rural differences, and Lund and Nabavi (2008) contrasted different countries of origin. The writing reflects a dialogic process that makes explicit the divergent opinions of co-writers/authors. Duoethnography leads to discussions of social norms and social injustice, taking on topics such as race, social class, and beauty, and thus is participatory and can be emancipatory. Rather than understanding the meaning of lived experiences, it embraces the belief that research can change or shape the meaning of experiences so that one “can reclaim agency, authority, and authorship over one’s life” (Norris et al., 2016, p. 35). Exemplar

Kidd and Finlayson (2015) used duoethnography to explore the supervisordoctoral student relationship that took place during Finlayson’s production of a “creative thesis” in a faculty of science. The article is presented as a series of conversations that take place over email, phone, video chat, and inperson in which the authors reflect on questions and insecurities regarding risk-taking and responsibility in the supervisory role. In adherence to the central tenets of duoethnography, they resist concluding by “synthesizing [their] voices into a universal truth” (Kidd & Finlayson, 2015, para. 37) but instead, offer guidance on navigating the challenges experienced by students and supervisors in the supervisor-student relationship. Collective Biography

Collective biography grew out of poststructural theory and Frigga Haug’s method of memory-work (Haug, 1987/1999), and shares similarities with

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collaborative autoethnography. Memory is not considered “reliable,” “fact,” or “how it really happened,” yet “at every turn we rely on the powerful and flawed capacities we each have to remember and to make sense of what we remember” (Davies & Gannon, 2006, pp. 1–2). In collective biography, a group of participants (i.e., the researchers) work together to co-create data through ongoing dialogue in which they take turns talking, listening, writing, and re-writing. Throughout this process, the researchers aim to “move beyond the clichés and usual explanations to the point where the written memories come as close as they can make them to an ‘embodied sense of what happened’” (Davies & Gannon, 2006, p. 3). The ultimate goal of collective biography is to “bring theory into collision with everyday life and thus to rethink, collectively, both the discursive contexts within which our lives make sense and the uses to which we might put theory” (Davies & Gannon, 2006, p. 5). Exemplar

In a collective biography study questioning “what it means to be an academic in the precarious modern university” (Hartung et al., 2017, p. 53), six female early-career academics challenge conventional understandings of what it means to be an academic by drawing attention to the “emotive, corporeal and bodily mo(ve)ments central to [their] lives and work” (p. 54). In a series of vignettes, the authors share personal accounts that privilege the beauty, meaning, and creativity of their work over the processes and economic structures underlying academia. The vignettes also demonstrate a prioritization of intimate relationships, family, and motherhood above the work of the institution. By creating a space to reconcile those aspects of their lives typically positioned outside of or in opposition to the professional space of academia (i.e., the personal, emotional, humorous, and relational), the women perceive this scholarship as an act of resisting “being reduced to disembodied neoliberal subjects beholden to the economics of the university” (p. 54). Grounded Theory

Barney Glaser and Anselm Strauss initiated a transformation within the social sciences with their book The Discovery of Grounded Theory (1967). In it, they argued against the dominant view that quantitative study was the only form of systematic social scientific inquiry. With their work rooted in symbolic interactionism, they asserted that scientific inquiry and the building of substantive theories was possible through an inductive approach to collecting and analyzing data (Charmaz, 2000). Indeed, they believed that the only way in which everyday social life and theory can be closely related is if theories are induced from or grounded in the data. They called this approach grounded theory. The purpose of grounded theory is to

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develop a mid-range theory by identifying a core category and, possibly (but not always), a basic social process that captures a pattern of behavior that is relevant and problematic for those involved (Glaser & Holton, 2005). Glaser and Strauss proposed the analytic technique of constant comparison, which involves comparing numerous possibilities in the data: people (e.g., views, situations, actions), incidents, data within a category, categories themselves, etc. (Charmaz, 2014). Through constant comparison, along with line-by-line coding and the use of gerunds (“ing”), categorizing, memoing, and theoretical sampling, grounded theory can reveal the processes of human action or experience through their various stages and phases over a period of time (Charmaz, 2014). As Glaser and Strauss continued their careers, they began to conceptualize and conduct grounded theory quite differently from each other, publishing separate grounded theory texts. In Morse and colleagues (2016), key grounded theory methodologists pick up on the roots of Glaser and Strauss and outline the history, principles, and practices of varying approaches to grounded theory. If you are committed to using grounded theory but require clarification on the various approaches and particular areas of divergence, this book may be helpful. However, in response to original grounded theory and its criticism as positivistic, embedded in demonstrating objectivity and truth, almost all grounded theories today are constructivist grounded theory. Kathy Charmaz, who learned grounded theory from both Glaser and Strauss, has balanced the intent of the original methodology with a constructivist perspective in Constructing Grounded Theory (2014). For anyone embarking on grounded theory today, Charmaz’s (2014) book is the place to start. Exemplar

Using a constructivist grounded theory approach, Page and colleagues (2019) developed a middle-range theory to understand the trajectory of critical illness from the perspectives of both patients and their families. Their theory centered on the core category of ‘dualistic worlds’, where survivors of critical illness and their family members had very different experiences of the event. While family members experienced acute emotional trauma after their relatives were admitted to critical care units, survivors experienced a “liminal space between life and death” (Page et al., 2019, p. 604) and frequently had little or no awareness of this period of time. Following critical illness, survivors and their families both struggled to navigate their lives “from a state of disruption” (p. 604), experiencing complex and dynamic changes to their individual identities, as well as the interrelationships between their identities. Given these trajectories, the authors call for the development of support structures for survivors of critical illness and their relatives after leaving the critical care setting.

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Situational Analysis

In addition to constructivist grounded theory, situational analysis, developed by Adele Clarke (a long-time student of Anselm Strauss), is an approach to grounded theory “after the postmodern turn” (Clarke, 2005). Situational analysis is a research process that focuses on a situation as the unit of analysis, in contrast with grounded theory’s emphasis on a basic social process. The situational analysis involves mapping the “key elements, materialities, discourses, structures and conditions that characterize the situation of inquiry” (Clarke, 2005, p. xvii), drawing on three main cartographic approaches (situational maps, social worlds/arena maps, and positional maps). Because it draws together “studies of discourse and agency, action and structure, image, text and context, [and] history and the present moment” (Clarke, 2005, p. xxii), situational analysis is well-suited for analysis of complex situations, and is especially useful for multisite research projects. In her book, Clarke (2005) provides many examples of approaches to mapping narrative, visual, and historical discourses, accompanied by numerous helpful illustrations. Exemplar

Adrian and Kroløkke (2018) chose situational analysis to understand the movements of women (and their partners, where applicable) who travel to other countries for fertility assistance (i.e., “fertility travelers”). Data collection took place in two European countries: Denmark, which has recently become a destination for fertility assistance for other Europeans because of the restrictive legislation in their home countries, and Spain, the place many Danish women travel to when they no longer meet the legal requirements for fertility assistance in Denmark. Focusing their analysis on interviews with a single Danish woman traveling to Spain and a Swedish couple traveling to Denmark, the situational analysis allowed the authors to develop the notion of ‘reproductive pathways’ as a way to conceptualize how fertility travelers cross and negotiate corporeal, national, cultural, political and legislative boundaries. Phenomenology

Phenomenology began as a major philosophical movement in the early 20th century in continental Europe. Various schools of phenomenology, each one embracing different philosophers and interpretations of their work, have been established. These include transcendental phenomenology (Husserl), existential phenomenology (Heidegger, Sartre, de Beauvoir), hermeneutic phenomenology (Gadamer, Ricoeur), linguistical phenomenology (Blanchot, Derrida, Foucault), and ethical phenomenology (Scheler, Levinas, Lingis; Adams and van Manen, as cited in Given, 2008). Over

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time, phenomenology transformed into a human science and, specifically with the phenomenology of practice (Georgi, Moustakas, van Manen), the intent became to do phenomenology by describing experiential meaning or lived experience. Phenomenologists seek guidance from existential philosophy to study lifeworld and lived experience for the purpose of “gaining a deeper understanding of the nature or meaning of our everyday experiences” (van Manen, 2001, p. 9). The crux is that it is the study of a prereflective lived experience, or what we do automatically, without thinking about it. It is the experience not as it is thought to be, analyzed, or reflected on, but as it is lived. The researcher starts with the phenomenon as it presents itself as a conscious experience, and then tries to extract from it the essential features or the essence (that what makes a thing what it is) of the experience. Referring back to the example in Box 3.1, it would be the intent of the phenomenologist not to describe why they drink coffee or how they make their coffee or what coffee means to them, but instead to describe what that first sip of coffee is like for the person living that experience. Data sources include anything that will provide insight into the human experience, including interviews, diaries, poetry and art, short stories, and other sources. It is also possible to conduct a phenomenological study without interviewing, relying instead solely on literature or art, for example. The end result of a phenomenology is a thick description of the essence, or meaning of the phenomenon, or experience as it is lived. In my experience, many newcomers to qualitative inquiry claim to have used phenomenology to guide their inquiries, when in fact their research is not phenomenological—at all. I think newcomers get tripped up by the term “lived experience”. “Lived experience” in phenomenology is very different from the general understanding of “lived experience”, where to have “lived experience” means one can speak to an experience because they have lived through it. In phenomenology, the concept of lived experience refers to “the intent to explore directly the originary or prereflective dimensions of human existence” (van Manen & van Manen, 2014, p. 4). Phenomenology’s focus on lived experience entails a focus on “the living moment of the ‘now’”, exploring a phenomenon or experience “as it is lived through, rather than how we conceptualize, theorize, or reflect on it” (van Manen & van Manen, 2014, p. 4). Descriptions of phenomenology may be difficult to understand, and you may have just glazed over with what I just wrote. I have found the best way to learn about phenomenology is to actually read good phenomenological studies as suggested in the exemplars below. Exemplars

Max van Manen, a contemporary scholar who uses phenomenology for studies in education and pedagogy (an example of phenomenology of

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practice), is a trustworthy source for the curious newcomer. You might start by reading his chapter on phenomenology in the Encyclopedia of Educational Theory and Philosophy (van Manen & van Manen, 2014), which provides a broad overview of the historical origins of phenomenology and its applications to professional practice. Phenomenology Online (http://www. phenomenologyonline.com), a website curated by van Manen, is another excellent resource where you can read phenomenological accounts of the experiences of, for example: “being seen” for persons with disability (Saevi, n.d.), living with military-related post-traumatic stress disorder (Kroch, n.d.), and imagination in children’s play (Fahlman, n.d.), among other topics. Max van Manen recently co-authored a book with his son, Michael van Manen, Classic Writings for a Phenomenology of Practice (van Manen & van Manen, 2021), that highlights newly translated and largely forgotten but classic phenomenological texts (i.e., seeing the first smile of a child, feeling compulsive, being humorous). Austin and colleagues (2005) took a phenomenological approach to study moral distress among psychologists practicing in psychiatric and mental health care sites. Moral distress describes “one’s reaction when one believes one knows the right thing to do but does not do it” (p. 198). In their study, they examined how psychologists respond when they want to do something that they consider morally right and necessary for a client, but are constrained by such factors as institutional demands, team conflicts, and interdisciplinary disagreements. The authors draw attention to the importance of appreciating the “profound complexity of our moral lives” (p. 211). While Austin and colleagues’ example has clear implications for professional practice, other phenomenological studies focus on concrete, mundane, everyday objects or phenomena “for the purpose of understanding the practices of everyday life” (van Manen, 2007, p. 23). Linschoten’s (1952/1987) On Falling Asleep is an example of phenomenology in this style and offers what it is like to experience insomnia and falling asleep. For a more recent, and much shorter, example, see Robinson’s (2017) article where she weaves poetry, myth, and experience in a phenomenological study of the everyday experience of encounters with mirrors. By reading some of these exemplars, you will be struck, and frankly in awe, of how a good phenomenology reads. Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis

Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) is a methodology rooted in phenomenology, hermeneutics, and idiography that has been developed over the last two decades and was first introduced in the field of psychology by Jonathan Smith (1996). While most IPA research develops within the discipline of psychology (e.g., health psychology, social psychology, clinical psychology), Roberts (2013) explains that it can be used by other disciplines

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“that are interested in psychological questions” (p. 216), such as nursing and midwifery. Smith (2011) describes IPA as the “detailed examination of personal lived experience, the meaning of experience to participants and how participants make sense of that experience” (p. 9). Examples of IPA research questions include: “What is the meaning of diabetes to patients who have the condition? What is it like to experience a heart attack? How do carers make sense of looking after their loved one?” (Smith, 2011, p. 9). While the focus of a study using IPA is the meaning participants give to an experience, IPA researchers understand that they too have to engage in “sense-making” and thus they offer a qualitative analysis of another’s experiences. Thus, the researcher’s task is to establish a connection between the embodiment of the experience and the participant’s talk about the experience, including their sense-making of and emotional reaction to the experience (Smith, 2011). As such, Smith describes “the process of IPA as engaging in a double hermeneutic, whereby the researcher is trying to make sense of the participant trying to make sense of what is happening to them” (Smith, 2011, p. 10). There is significant debate regarding if and how IPA is embedded in phenomenology which has been taken up in Qualitative Health Research by van Manen (2017, 2018, 2019) and Smith (2018). It is a good idea to familiarize yourself with this debate if you are considering IPA as a likely defense question to the IPA student would be, “Explain to me how IPA is phenomenological”! Exemplar

Krause-Parello and Morales (2018) used IPA to provide insight into the lives of veterans who utilize service dogs to aid in managing physical and psychological challenges and reintegrating into civilian life. Dialogue between the researchers and veterans unearthed veterans’ “invisible wounds” (e.g., post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, suicidal impulses), but also revealed experiences of joy and healing surrounding the human-animal bond. Service dogs provided a coping resource and form of social support for veterans, as well as, contributed to improved psychosocial functioning and better overall health. However, barriers were also identified around accessing service dogs, public understanding of service dogs, and the continued stigmatization of veterans living with psychological challenges. Narrative Research: Narrative Analysis and Narrative Inquiry

Broadly speaking, narrative research provides methodological tools to capture and interpret personal, community, and social narratives. Central tenets that draw researchers to narrative are how stories and storytelling create meaning, or record and document lives. Storytelling is especially generative within research because people tend to contextualize

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experiences within social, temporal, and place contexts when asked to tell their stories, while direct questions (e.g., semi-structured interviews) often yield specific answers (M. Lavoie, personal communication, May 24, 2021). Spanning a wide range of disciplines, narrative research encompasses a broad array of approaches, perspectives, and methods and encompasses everything from the use of narratives as data, to the study of narrative structures, to narrative forms of content analysis, and uses of narrative forms to represent, translate, and mobilize findings (Clandinin, 2013). However, two main methodological approaches have developed within narrative: narrative analysis (Riessman & Speedy, 2007; Josselson & Lieblich, 1993; Mishler, 1995; Polkinghorne, 1988; 1995) and narrative inquiry (Clandinin and Connelly, 2000; Chase, 2005; and Frank, 2000; 2002; 2004). The ontological and epistemological distinctions between narrative analysis and narrative inquiry that highlight different approaches to being and knowing can be traced to two types of cognition: paradigmatic and narrative, respectively (Bruner, 1985). For instance, in narrative analysis, paradigmatic thought processes select, categorize, and theme; while narrative thinking is used in narrative inquiry to contextualize and recontextualize storied accounts within storied forms and contexts (Lavoie, 2021a). Importantly, analytical and narrative ways of thinking and being support different relational approaches within research (e.g., the importance of participants’ engagement within research; Lavoie, 2021a). For instance, within Labov’s (1982) social linguistic narrative analysis, participants’ stories are examined to understand how the minutiae of narrative structures function (e.g., sentence sequence and subject) to answer specific questions (Riessman & Speedy, 2007). Within this methodology, participants’ research engagement begins and ends with the telling of stories. Riessman (2008) created a typology of narrative analysis to describe and highlight the distinctions between the multiple forms of narrative analysis; these are: thematic analysis (focuses on the content of the stories by highlighting themes), structural analysis (focuses on the way stories are told), interactional analysis (focuses on interactions between those telling and those hearing stories), performative analysis (focuses on how stories are lived and told), and visual analysis (focuses on how images tell stories and what stories images tell). Clandinin and Connelly (2000) created narrative inquiry fundamentally to understand experience whereby participants actively engage in cocreating knowledge through the telling and retelling of stories and living research experiences. Relational ethics (Clandinin et al., 2018) grounds this methodology and calls narrative inquirers to walk alongside participant coresearchers to support their learning and experiences within research (Lavoie, 2021b). Interestingly, Reismann’s (2008) typology (i.e., thematic, interactive, performative, visual analysis) reflects some practices within narrative inquiry, but here narrative ways of thinking and knowing are foregrounded so that participants’ stories are presented in storied forms and

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contextualized in relation to larger familial, cultural, societal and institutional narratives (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). Grounded in Dewey’s (1938) pragmatic philosophy on the nature of experience, Clandinin and Connelly (2000) developed the three-dimensional space of narrative inquiry to understand multiple layers of experience. To reflect Dewey’s (1938) assertion that all experience is constituted by three interdependent criteria—interaction, experiences take place between people; continuity, experiences are continuous over time, and; situation, experiences take place within specific and situated contexts, Clandinin and Connelly (2000) created the three common places of inquiry (i.e., sociality, temporality, and place). As research progresses interim texts, called narrative accounts, are co-composed with participants to reflect both the content of shared stories and how knowledge has been co-constructed over time within relationships between researchers and participants. Final texts are composed by metaphorically laying narrative accounts side by side to see narrative threads running across accounts and to understand them in relation to each other, as well as, familial, cultural, societal, and institutional narratives (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). There is sometimes confusion among newcomers to qualitative inquiry who assert that because they are collecting stories or narratives, they are doing narrative inquiry. It is most likely that they are using stories as data and are likely focusing on narrative fragments to highlight themes, categories, or significant moments (Riessman & Speedy, 2007). Perhaps because narrative analysis and narrative inquiry have been used interchangeably, many narrative inquirers (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000) tend to refrain from the language of analysis (e.g., stories as data). Exemplars

Using narrative inquiry, Lessard and colleagues (2015) sought to understand how urban Indigenous youth engaged in “familial curriculum making” through their experiences “outside of school, within family, and [in] community places” (p. 198). The researchers engaged with urban Indigenous youth and their families in numerous conversations over a period of two years and kept detailed fieldnotes. The researchers found that the youth often had to negotiate and navigate two worlds of “curriculum making” that were at odds with each other – school curriculum making (i.e., their experiences with teachers, other students, and content) and familial curriculum making (i.e., cultural knowledge and traditions passed down within families and communities). They conclude by calling on the school system to acknowledge and work with students’ familial curriculum in a respectful way in the classroom to fully understand students’ lives and help them be successful in school. In a narrative inquiry methodological article, Lavoie and Caine (2022) explore how an art-making process (printmaking) facilitates narrative inquiries by creating spaces for participant’s co-inquiry and engagement

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through storytelling and artmaking. Researchers found printmaking processes created five interconnected participatory spaces. These included spaces of: community sharing and shaping; physicality and materiality; selfreflection, criticality, and self-expression; playfulness and imagination; and vulnerability and risk-taking. In this study researchers found that participants’ engagement as co-researchers was deepened through artistic practice alongside storytelling and acted to build relational assets to support themselves and strengthen their community networks. Furthermore, these creative processes helped researchers attend to complex experiences, and attend to silences and diverse ways of knowing. Discourse Analysis

Discourse, a concept born out of the works of Foucault, refers to fields of knowledge, beliefs, or practices that shape reality (McIntyre et al., 2012). Discourses therefore shape societies through the production and reification of power and knowledge, and the ways we understand our relationships and social environment. Discourse analysis is interested in understanding discourses through the analysis of language, explicitly challenging the assumption “that language is neutral and transparent” (Wetherell, 2001, p. 392). Researchers engaged in discourse analysis examine the context of language, how language is linked to power structures and social inequities, and how language plays into the organization of everyday life. Foucault (1978/1990) has asked us: … to account for the fact that it is spoken about, to discover who does the speaking, the positions and viewpoints from which they speak, [and] the institutions which prompt people to speak about it and which store and distribute the things that are said (p. 11). Put another way, when first examining a text, questions to start thinking about include: Why is this a topic being written about? Who is writing about it? What is the background and social and political position of the person who is doing the writing? What institutions, and what is it about them, that make these writings possible, considered truth, and reproduced as such? How is this text used to support current power relations? Discourse analysis therefore “emphasizes the discursive practices that construct social realities through texts (Greckhamer & Cilesiz, 2014), and is highly interpretive. Like most qualitative methodologies, discourse analysis is not strictly prescribed, however discourse analysis studies often share several common features, including the identification of the discursive object, subject, and predominant discourses, and exploration of the “relative positioning of the subject in relation to the object and discourses” (Altman et al., 2014, p. 339). McCloskey (2008) summarizes the main tenets of discourse analysis as follows: 1) it addresses social problems, 2) it acknowledges that power

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relations are complex and difficult to understand, 3) it is interpretive and explanatory, 4) it is a form of social action and, 5) it acknowledges that text plays an important role in shaping society. Exemplars

Kreis (2017) uses discourse analysis to unravel the meaning and function of American President Donald Trump’s “Tweet Politics”. The data consists of 216 tweets collected from Trump’s personal Twitter account between the time of his inauguration on January 20, 2017 and his first Congressional address on February 28, 2017. Kreis situates her analysis within a theoretical framework and analysis developed by other scholars that seeks to explain the current rise in right-wing populism across the globe. The findings of this study are twofold. First, Kreis illustrates how Trump uses a certain communication style to produce and reproduce the notion of a homogenous American people and a dangerous other that threatens the homeland. Second, Kreis shows how the “top-down” use of social media can lead to the normalization and mainstreaming of right-wing populism discourses. In alignment with their poststructualist perspective, Peers and colleagues (2020) use a Foucauldian discourse analysis to examine how the representations of para-athletes (or lack thereof) are reproduced and enacted within the websites of the ostensibly fully integrated athletics system in Canada. With a sample of 127 websites, the authors engaged with the content to gain an understanding of what is articulated about para-athletes, and “what such articulations do” (p. 116). The primary discourse traced by the authors was that of para-athletes being absent from and unimaginable within athletics programs in Canada. The authors conclude with a list of recommendations for organizations and individuals, to shake up the (often) taken-for-granted discourses of para-athletes (re)produced and reified within Canadian athletics organizations to rethink how para-athletes are represented on their websites. Concept Analysis

A behavioral concept represents a complex array of actions, aims, emotions, and perceptions. By asking various and numerous critical questions of a concept, a researcher using concept analysis determines the current state of knowledge about a concept to increase its pragmatic utility for applied work (Morse, 2000; Morse et al., 1997). While there are different approaches to concept analysis, all try to decontextualize a concept so that its meaning does not change in different contexts, although it might be perceived and experienced differently. For example, concepts that might be important to study are loss, suffering, anger, frustration, and disappointment. Concepts enable data to be organized and abstracted; they connect science to the world and, in so doing, link theory and research to practice (Morse et al., 1996).

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Exemplar

Hawkins and Morse (2014) analyzed the concept of courage to understand its applicability to nursing today, asking how courage is conceptualized in nursing practice. The researchers conducted a systematic review of literature from several disciplines, distilling the findings from their data collection into a “data collection matrix” allowing them to identify “implied and explicit assumptions, overt and inferred meanings, and implicit and explicit conceptual components” of the concept of courage (Hawkins & Morse, 2014, p. 265). They note that while courage is often cited in the nursing literature, possibly its lack of prominence in nursing theory may be because it has been subsumed by the concept of “care”. Interpretive Description

Interpretive description is a framework that guides a qualitative study design. It was developed in nursing in 1997 by Thorne, Kirkham, and MacDonald-Emes in response to the reality that traditional qualitative methodologies (e.g., grounded theory, ethnography, phenomenology) might not always meet the needs of more applied disciplines. They argued that what is known, either through formal research or clinical experience, provides the foundation or forestructure for the proposed research (Thorne et al., 1997). In particular, Sally Thorne (2016) appreciates that nurses often need more than description; they need to understand meanings and explanations underlying clinical phenomena that have implications for practice. A study using interpretive description often starts with a problem experienced in practice. The aim of interpretive description then is an interpretation that is “below the self-evident within a clinical issue …” (Thorne, 2016, p. 50), is articulated through themes, and “will make sense of something that clinicians ought to understand” (Thorne et al., 2004, p. 3). Although interpretive description grew out of a need for the development of nursing knowledge and practice, it can also be useful in many of the applied sciences, such as physical therapy, occupational therapy, education, social work, and human ecology. Exemplars

Two of my former students, Drs. Christine Daum and Maxi Miciak, used interpretive description in their doctoral research. Christine used interpretive description to explore the functions of everyday activities of older women residing in inner-city neighborhoods. As an occupational therapist, she knew that everyday activities impact health and successful aging. She also understood that activities influence, and are influenced by, the environments in which they occur. Yet, in her profession, the influence of neighborhood environments on health was not widely recognized.

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Christine conducted home and go-along interviews with older women in inner city neighborhoods to uncover their everyday activities (Daum, 2016). Such activities helped the older women become “neighborhood sage” (having the knowledge and the know-how needed to participate in everyday activities), “neighborhood connected” (creating ties to places and people), and ultimately “neighborhood embedded” (enmeshed in a neighborhood). Being embedded in a neighborhood facilitated older women’s participation in meaningful activities, despite the physical and social challenges present in the inner city. Maxi (Miciak, 2018; 2019) was interested in exploring the therapeutic relationship between patients and physiotherapists because she wanted to provide therapists with findings they could use directly in the clinic. Interpretive description’s practice-based aim to have “… at least one foot be firmly placed on the solid ground that is the ‘real world’” (Thorne, 2016, p. 201) was congruent with Maxi’s intention. Her study revealed three components of the therapeutic relationship in physiotherapy: the necessary conditions of engagement (Miciak et al., 2018); ways of establishing connections (Miciak et al., 2019); and elements of the bond (Miciak, 2015). The necessary conditions of engagement—being present, receptive, genuine, and committed—are especially relevant as they facilitate the development of therapeutic relationships by creating a “safe therapeutic container” (p. 8) for connecting and forming the bond (Miciak et al., 2018), and providing “the foundation for a patient-centred approach to be operationalized in clinical practice” (p. 10). Qualitative Description

Similar to Thorne et al.’s (2004) assertion that traditional qualitative methodologies (e.g., grounded theory, phenomenology, and ethnography) are not always appropriate for the nursing domain, others (e.g., Caelli et al., 2003; Sandelowski, 2000) contend that many researchers claim a methodology that they are not really using, instead of acknowledging the one they actually are – that of qualitative description. It is perfectly correct and acceptable to approach a problem through a descriptive qualitative methodology if a basic description and summary of the phenomenon is desired (Sandelowski, 2000). In qualitative description, the researcher works and stays very close to the data (not highly abstracted) to produce this summary and description. The theoretical orientation for qualitative description is based on the general tenets of naturalistic inquiry and may take on “hues” of others (e.g., feminist, ethnographic, etc.). Sampling is purposeful, data collection is likely through interviews, and data analysis is a qualitative content analysis (Sandelowski, 2000). After working with students over a period of time from various disciplines, many are relieved to realize that they do not have to fit into or herald a particular methodology, but can conduct a rigorous, useful, and significant study through a descriptive

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qualitative methodology. I would argue that most Masters students, or anyone just learning about qualitative inquiry, should use qualitative description or possibly, interpretive description (Thorne, 2016). Exemplars

In an example of a qualitative descriptive study from the field of nursing, Hutchinson and Van Wissen (2017) explored the experiences of the families of intensive care unit patients who chose to go home to die. While the home represented a familiar, private environment that often contributed to positive changes in the dying individual, leaving the intensive care unit also brought several challenges for families. Many struggled with caregiving responsibilities, as well as the rapidity of withdrawal of treatment and, consequently, the patient’s death. This study elucidates the complex outcomes associated with a patient choosing to go home to die, pointing to the need for healthcare professionals facilitating such transitions to provide sensitive counsel to help minimize the burdens placed on the families of patients who make this decision. Sandelowski and Corson Jones (1996) studied the experience of ‘choosing’ in utero fetal testing with women and many of their partners who had positive or unfavorable fetal diagnoses. There were subtle differences in how a choice was perceived (and constructed) following the confirmation of a fetal abnormality, such as: “nature’s choice, disowned choice, choice lost, close choice and choice found” (p. 353). The study has implications for the psychological well-being of and clinical interventions for these families. I have included this additional example not only because it is a well-done and interesting study, but also because it was conducted by Margarete Sandelowski, who writes about, as well as conducts research, using this methodology.

Summary The methodologies presented here provide a start for the qualitative newcomer. There are numerous methodologies available to answer, in varied and unique ways, qualitative inquiry questions, and all methodologies demand their own ways of thinking, working with data, and writing or (re)presenting data. Enjoy thinking through how different methodologies might land you in wildly different places and create diverse knowledge with implications for dissimilar audiences. As you grow through your research career, you will take on and push aside different methodologies (and orientations), and some will stay with you your whole life. You will become more adventurous in your approaches, and yet still appreciate more traditional studies that are done well and illuminating. The Methodological Coherence Guide in Table 3.1 will help you get started learning about and choosing a methodology. Please note that there was no easy way to organize the table and the number of caveats bulleted below are

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telling how difficult it was to complete it. Because there are many options in each cell for each methodology, the last thing I want to do is be prescriptive or, on the other hand, miss available information for a particular cell. I was only going to provide a few examples. However, with advice from a colleague who reviewed this chapter, all of them are included and organized according to foundational methodology, where appropriate. But please remember the following: •

• •

• •

•

Some scholars will argue that I have it wrong. For example, some of the theoretical orientations and methodologies that I list may indeed, according to some, not be orientations or methodologies. For example, Dorothy Smith argues, as mentioned, that institutional ethnography is a sociology unto itself and not a methodology (Smith & Griffith, 2022). However, from a practical perspective, and in a book providing an overview of qualitative inquiry, I do not know how to get around this. The purpose of this book is to provide the reader with a starting point and an organized way to consider options for conducting a qualitative study. When you choose a particular theoretical orientation and/or methodology, you will learn the nuances and be able to design your study accordingly. The word “multiple” is sometimes used under theoretical orientations. This does not mean you should use multiple theoretical orientations; it means that you can choose among various orientations for that methodology. For any of the columns, please go back to its corresponding chapter for further details (e.g., for the research question column, please refer back to Chapter 6: Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation); you cannot base your entire qualitative design and learning on this table. Most research questions are posed as: “What is the experience of …”. This, of course, is extremely general and your question will undoubtedly be more pointed to reflect your study. Sample size is based on participants (not number of documents, focus group discussions, art pieces, etc.). In Chapter 6: Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation please review the factors effecting saturation (e.g., quality of data and scope of study) which will influence the number of participants and other data you will need and demonstrates why providing guidelines and averages of appropriate sample sizes is somewhat futile. There is a “+” sign in this column which can be translated into “or more”; 1+ would read, “one participant or more”. The numbers provided were generated from a recent scan of each methodology that I did to offer a suggested sample size. I have not included the setting column (generally included after data collection) as most methodologies unfold in the place of the participants choosing: participants’ homes, coffee shops, meeting rooms, community organizations, art studios, etc. The only time you really need to detail the setting is if you are collecting data in the field or using participant observation.

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•

The data collection column is quite vague and most often lists “All data collection strategies”. This means you can use one or more strategy, including arts-based data collection strategies, online or in person. Some cells only contain minimal suggestions. For example, the data analysis column has at least one main analytic strategy named, but you will also need supporting analytic strategies as outlined in Chapter 8: Data Analysis. Methodologies evolve, experimentation that has a strong rationale is allowed (and encouraged when you have some experience), and as a reminder from Morse (1991), there may be excellent research for which there is yet no name! Your methodological decision-making does not end here, there is more to come in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research and Chapter 5: Other Approaches. Please take the name of this table literally. The table is a guide, not a fixed course of action. Think of it as the north star that beacons, “come this way”.

• •

•

One other cautionary, but critical, note: Based on the example in Box 3.2 on reproductive decisions in the context of climate change, what happens if your participants do not want to be interviewed or if they want to be interviewed but do not want to speak to the phenomenon (e.g., want to talk about how they decided to have children) or cannot articulate the phenomenon (e.g., cannot find words to describe their experience)? On the other hand, the local environmental organization staff has let you know they want to be interviewed about how they promote thoughtful decisionmaking around reproductive decisions, and since you are having a hard time recruiting people into your study, you want to avail yourself of this opportunity. What happens then? You change your design where needed, move to another horizontal space within the table if necessary, and follow that flexible, but guided, route. Back to the student at the beginning of the chapter who claimed to use phenomenology (“I like postmodernism, I think I will use phenomenology, I will conduct semi-structured interviews with about seventeen people, I will use constant comparison for analysis, and I will have a theory at the end of it”). This student is not thinking through their interest or question but is instead picking from all possible cells in the methodological coherence table. In other words, the methodological table is not a buffet table where you pick a little bit of whatever appeals to you! Yet as mentioned, it is important to be able to change your research question, sampling, data collection strategies, and so on as the study-in-progress demands, but you cannot just haphazardly pick from any cell in the table. The result is “lousy” research, and the student will have nothing to report at the end of their study, other than how not to perform one. Draw on Table 3.1 as a guide to help you think through your study, all the way from the development phase to the presentation of the findings, and you will be well on your way to a well-designed, and coherent, project!

What is the experience of …?

Critical Ethnography Critical theories

Feminist Ethnography Feminist theories

Members of a (sub)culture

What is the experience of …?

Focused Ethnography Discipline of anthropology & possibly others

Members of a (sub)culture

Members of a (sub)culture

What is the experience of …?

Traditional Ethnography Discipline of anthropology

Participants

Research Question

Methodology Theoretical Orientation

Ethnographic Methodologies

Table 3.1 Methodological Coherence Guide

6+

8+(typically around 10–15)

20+(typically around 30)

Sample Size

All data collection strategies, especially unstructured, one-onone interviews

All data collection strategies. Participant observation is rarely used; focus group discussions are often used

All data collection strategies but at minimum participant observation, unstructured & semistructured interviews, & documents, & most likely, material culture

Data Collection

Thinking with theory, theming, or qualitative content analysis & other supportive strategies

(Continued)

Description of a subculture linked to social inequities among genders

Description of a subculture linked to broader power structures

Focused description of a subculture with implications for decisionmaking around a specific problem

Thick description of a group’s social or cultural setting

Qualitative content analysis & other supportive strategies

Qualitative content analysis & other supportive strategies

Results

Data Analysis

Methodology 75

Researchers are participants

Researchers are participants

Collective Biography Multiple – but most likely poststructural, postcolonial

What is our experience of …?

Collaborative Autoethnography Multiple – but most likely postmodern, poststructural, postcolonial

2+ but still very small

1

Researcher is participant

Researchers of difference are participants

What is my experience of …?

Autoethnography Multiple – but most likely postmodern, poststructural, postcolonial, queer

1+

Standpoint participants & extralocal participants

Duoethnography Multiple – but most likely postmodern, poststructural, postcolonial

What are the social relations organizing everyday activities?

Institutional Ethnography Multiple – including critical theories, feminist theories, marxism

Ethnographic Methodologies

Table 3.1 (Continued)

Dialogue based on personal experience, drawing on personal diaries, material culture, photographs etc.

Personal experience, drawing on personal diaries, material culture, photographs, etc.

Organizational texts, images along with any other data collection strategies, especially unstructured, one-onone interviews

Iterative theming process of talking, listening, writing, & re-writing

Theming (dialogic, iterative, individual & group)

Narrative that integrates theory & everyday life

Narrative that juxtaposes life stories

Autobiographical narrative

Self-narrative connecting the personal to the social

Thinking with theory, theming

Theming (dialogic, iterative, individual & group)

Map of social relations (written &/or diagram)

Indexing & mapping; points of contradiction & extralocal forces

76 Methodology

What is the process of …?

What is the lived experience of …?

How do participants make sense of …?

Phenomenology (of Practice) Phenomenology & Husserl & MerleauPonty

Interpretive Phenomenological Analysis Discipline of

Phenomenological Methodologies

Situational Analysis Multiple – including symbolic interactionism, feminist, postmodern, poststructural (Foucault)

Grounded Theory Multiple – including symbolic interactionism & constructivist

Grounded Theory Methodologies

Participants with experience of the phenomenon

Participants with experience of the phenomenon under investigation

Participants with experience of the phenomenon who can provide theoretical insight (iterative process of theoretical sampling)

1+ (typically 6–8)

0+ (typicality 3–10)

1+ (but typically 10–20)

18+ (typically 20–30)

All data collection strategies but primarily semi-structured interviews

All data collection strategies including unstructured interviews. For work without participants, all data collection strategies such as art, poetry, literature etc.

All data collection strategies but primarily one-on-one interviews

Theming & double hermeneutic; making sense of how people make

Theming & writing of the prereflective lived experience

Constant comparison, situational, social, & positional mapping & other supportive strategies, especially memoing

Constant comparison & other supportive strategies, especially memoing

(Continued)

Detailed description of lived experience

Description of the essence of a phenomenon or lived experience

Description of a situation highlighting complexity & diversity of social life

Mid-range theory/ theoretical model with a core category & maybe a basic social process

Methodology 77

Discourse Analysis Foucault

How are … discursively constructed? How are … enacted through such discourses?

What is the experience of …?

Narrative Inquiry Multiple – including feminist, postmodern, post structural, queer

Other Methodologies

What is the experience of …?

Narrative Analysis Discipline of linguistics

Narrative Methodologies

psychology, phenomenology

Ethnographic Methodologies

Table 3.1 (Continued)

NA

Participants with experience of the phenomenon as coresearchers

Participants with experience of the phenomenon

under investigation

0

1+ (typically 3–5)

1+ (typically 10+)

Any text (e.g., government documents, tweets, websites, interviews, annual reports etc.)

All data collection strategies along with unstructured interviews allowing for the telling of their stories

All data collection strategies along with unstructured interviews allowing for the telling of their stories

Theming by examining the context of language, how it is linked to power & social inequities, & how language organizes everyday life

Similar to above but telling & hearing is co-analyzed with participants

Thematic analysis; structural analysis; interactional analysis; performative analysis; &/or visual analysis

sense of a phenomenon

Description of how language is related to power structures & social inequities

Co-composed narrative accounts considering time, place & social interactions

Stories of people’s lives

78 Methodology

Participants with experience of the phenomenon

Participants with experience of the phenomenon

What is the experience of …?

What is the experience of …?

Interpretive Description Discipline of study (e.g., Nursing) & multiple

Qualitative Description Discipline of study (e.g., Public Health) & multiple

NA

What are the attributes or characteristics of the concept of …?

Concept Analysis

All data collection strategies but primarily with semi-structured interviews

All data collection strategies but primarily with semi-structured interviews

5+(typically 10–30)

10+(typically 15–30)

Texts or interviews (generated from other qualitative studies) in which the concept or related concepts appear

0

Qualitative content analysis & other supportive strategies

Theming & other supportive strategies

Determine the defining attributes of a concept by following a particular approach

Basic description & summary of a phenomenon

Description of the meanings & explanations underlying clinical/applied phenomenon

In-depth description & characteristics of a concept; possibly identification of a new concept

Methodology 79

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Exercise 3.1 Bringing it All Together: Many Methodologies and the Methodological Coherence Guide The Methodological Coherence Guide in Table 3.1 will help you see how different methodologies have their own corresponding, but sometimes shared, data collection methods, analytic strategies, and outcomes. The important point with respect to Table 3.1 is to work horizontally. While this table begins with a methodology and possible underlying theoretical orientations, your reasoning about any study should begin with Table 2.1: Research paradigms (and ontology, epistemology, and axiology; in Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry. Together, Tables 2.1 and 3.1 serve to guide you in developing a methodologically coherent study. Please, please, please do not think the contents of the cells in the guide are prescriptive (see the numerous bullets above!). The Methodological Coherence Guide must be understood as a “come this way” tool, rather than as a rule book; it will help you plan your study and think through methodological coherence. The objective of this exercise is to apply each methodology according to a chosen area of interest, noting the possibilities of each, the similarities and differences among them, and the results following from each methodology. This is best done in a group of two or three. To start, revisit the process of the methodological coherence described earlier in this chapter, outlined in Boxes 3.1 and 3.2, and illustrated in Table 3.1. With the use of Table 3.1, design a research study according to your area of interest and a potential or intriguing methodology. Pay attention to methodological coherence or the fit between the methodology you choose, your research question, and so on. Try to get as specific as possible (e.g., a more pointed research question, a particular data collection strategy). Note how identifying the kind of result that a methodology lends itself to influences what you will be able to “say” at the end of your research. To reiterate Morse (1999, p. 435), you may start by thinking: “If I ask this question, then I will need this or that kind of data, and to get that I will have to interview these people or observe this or that”. Identify the cells you cannot fill in to pinpoint areas for further reading.

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Page, P., Simpson, A., & Reynolds, L. (2019). Constructing a grounded theory of critical illness survivorship: The dualistic worlds of survivors and family members. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 28(3–4), 603–614. 10.1111/jocn.14655 Peers, D., Konoval, T., & Marsh Naturkach, R. (2020). (Un)imaginable (Para-)athletes: A Discourse Analysis of Athletics Websites in Canada. Adapted Physical Activity Quarterly, 37(1), 112–128. 10.1123/apaq.2019-0062 Pinar, W. (1975, April). The method of “currere.” Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Research Association, Washington D.C. Polkinghorne, D. E. (1988). Narrative knowing and the human sciences. State University of New York Press. Polkinghorne, D. E. (1995). Narrative configuration in qualitative analysis. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 8(1), 5–23. 10.1080/0951839950080103 Quintanilha, M., Thompson, J., Bell, R. C., & Mayan, M. J. (2015). Different approaches to cross-lingual focus groups: Lessons from a cross-cultural communitybased participatory research project. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 14(5), 1–10. 10.1177/160940691562141 Quintanilha, M., Mayan, M., Thompson, J., & Bell, R. (2016). Contrasting “back home” and “here”: How African-migrant women perceive and experience health during pregnancy and postpartum in Canada. International Journal for Equity in Health, 15, 80. 10.1186/s12939-016-0369-x Reed-Danahay, D. E. (1997). Auto/Ethnography: Rewriting the self and the social. Berg. Richards, L., & Morse, J. M. (2007). Readme first for a user’s guide to qualitative methods (2nd ed.). Sage. Rieder, T. N. (2016). Toward a small family ethic: How overpopulation and climate change are affecting the morality of procreation. Springer. Riessman, C. K. (2008). Narrative methods for the human sciences. Sage. Riessman, C. K., & Speedy, J. (2007). Narrative inquiry in the psychotherapy professions: A critical review. In D. J. Clandinin (Ed.), Handbook of narrative inquiry: Mapping a methodology (pp. 426–456). Sage. Roberts, T. (2013). Understanding the research methodology of interpretative phenomenological analysis. British Journal of Midwifery, 21(3), 215–218. 10.12968/bjom. 2013.21.3.215 Robinson, L. (2017). Mirror, mirror. Phenomenology and Practice, 11(2), 31–34. 10.29173/ pandpr29345 Saevi, T. (n.d.). The experience of “being seen” for persons with disability. https://www. phenomenologyonline.com/sources/textorium/saevi-tone-the-experience-of“being-seen”-for-persons-with-disability/ Sandelowski, M. (2000). Whatever happened to qualitative description? Research in Nursing and Health, 23(4), 334–340. 10.1002/1098-240X(200008)23:43.0.CO;2-G Sandelowski, M., & Corson Jones, L. (1996). Healing fictions: Stories of choosing in the aftermath of the detection of fetal anomalies. Social Science and Medicine, 42(3), 353–361. 10.1016/0277-9536(95)00102-6 Sawyer, R., & Norris, J. (2015). Hidden and null curricula of sexual orientation: A duoethnography of the absent presence and the present absence. International Review of Qualitative Research, 8(1), 5–26. 10.1525/irqr.2015.8.1.5 Schwandt, T. A. (2001). Dictionary of qualitative inquiry (2nd ed.). Sage.

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Shelton, N. R., & McDermott, M. (2015). Duoethnography on friendship: Continue to breathe normally. International Review of Qualitative Research, 8(1), 68–89. 10.1525/ irqr.2015.8.1.68 Smith, D. E. (1990). The conceptual practices of power: A feminist sociology of knowledge. University of Toronto Press. Smith, D. E. (2005). Institutional ethnography: A sociology for people. AltaMira Press. Smith, D. E. (1987). The everyday world as problematic: A feminist sociology. University of Toronto Press. Smith, D. E., & Turner, S. M. (Eds.). (2014). Incorporating texts into institutional ethnographies. University of Toronto Press. Smith, D. E., & Griffith, A. I. (2022). Simply Institutional Ethnography: Creating a Sociology for People. University of Toronto Press. Smith, J. A. (1996). Beyond the divide between cognition and discourse: Using interpretative phenomenological analysis in health psychology. Psychology and Health, 11(2), 261–271. 10.1080/08870449608400256 Smith, J. A. (2011). Evaluating the contribution of interpretative phenomenological analysis. Health Psychology Review, 5(1), 9–27. 10.1080/17437199.2010.510659 Smith, J. A. (2018). “Yes it is phenomenological”: A reply to Max van Manen’s critique of Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis. Qualitative Health Research, 28(12), 1955–1958. Sparkes, A. C. (2000). Autoethnography and narratives of self: Reflections on criteria in action. Sociology of Sport Journal, 17(1), 21–43. 10.1123/ssj.17.1.21 Sparkes, A. C. (1996). The fatal flaw: A narrative of the fragile body-self. Qualitative Inquiry, 2(4), 463–494. 10.1177/107780049600200405 Spina, N. (2020). Data Culture and the Organisation of Teachers’ Work. Routledge. 10.4324/9780429056192 Spradley, J. P. (1979). The ethnographic interview. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich College. Thomas, J. (1993). Doing critical ethnography. Sage. Thorne, S. (2016). Interpretive description. Routledge. Thorne, S., Kirkham, S. R., & MacDonald-Emes, J. (1997). Interpretive description: A noncategorical qualitative alternative for developing nursing knowledge. Research in Nursing & Health, 20(2), 169–177. 10.1002/(sici)1098-240x(199704)20:23.0.co;2-i Thorne, S., Kirkham, S. R., & O’Flynn-Magee, K. (2004). The analytic challenge in interpretive description. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 3(1), Article 1, 1–11. Thulien, N. S., Gestaldo, D., Hwang, S. W., & McCay, E. (2018). The elusive goal of social integration: A critical examination of the socio-economic and psychosocial consequences experienced by homeless young people who obtain housing. Canadian Journal of Public Health, 109(1), 89–98. 10.17269/s41997-018-0029-6 Tink, L. (2022). Fit to be Canadian? The recreation industrial complex in Canada. Friesen Press. Tourigny, S. C. (1998). Some new dying trick: African American youths “choosing” HIV/AIDS. Qualitative Health Research, 8(2), 149–167. 10.1177/104973239800800202 van Manen, M. (1997). Researching lived experience: Human science for an action sensitive pedagogy. Althouse. van Manen, M. (2001). Researching lived experience: Human science for an action sensitive pedagogy (2nd ed.). Althouse. van Manen, M. (2007). Phenomenology of practice. Phenomenology and Practice, 1(1), 11–30. 10.29173/pandpr19803

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Arts-Based Research

This chapter introduces arts-based research and then outlines various arts-based methodologies. These include text-based arts (poetry and fiction), the performing arts (drama/theatre, playbuilding, dance, digital storytelling, participatory digital archival research), auditory arts (sound/music), and visual arts (drawing, painting, and printmaking, collage, photographs, and quilting). The concluding exercise challenges the reader to consider some of the issues embedded in arts-based research and whether they are prepared for a journey into using arts-based methodologies.

Introducing Arts-Based Research Why do qualitative researchers have to use dry, banal words and passive voice when writing about our research and our social worlds? Why do we limit ourselves in this way? Why do we not use music, images, dance, film, theatre, or painting? Why does this dry and passive style of writing lead us to believe that what we are reading is objective and describes “the truth”? These are the kinds of questions that Gergen and Gergen (2012) ask of us and are considered by those interested in arts-based research. Arts-based research (ABR) is the systematic use of the artistic process to examine, understand, and represent human experience. It intertwines and builds on the strengths of art forms (e.g., music, dance, visual art, film, poetry, drama) with scholarly inquiry to advance knowledge (Knowles & Cole, 2008). As such, each art form can be used to collect data, analyze data, and/or represent findings. For example, you can create collages with participants (data collection), discuss the images and why they were chosen and placed the way they were (data analysis), and present the findings as a collage (sharing the findings/representation). So, is ABR a methodology, method, process, product, approach to research, or even a movement for social change? It depends on who you ask, but there is evidence in the literature to indicate that ABR can be all these things (Knowles & Cole, 2008). While I use the term “arts-based research” in this text, many other terms are used to describe an arts-based approach to inquiry, including artistic inquiry, arts-based inquiry, arts-based educational research, arts-informed inquiry, DOI: 10.4324/b23331-4

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arts-informed research, critical arts-based inquiry, performative social science, and aesthetically-based research.

The Power and Potential of ABR Rooted in the “posts” (e.g., postmodernism, poststructuralism, postEnlightenment, and social constructionism) Gergen and Gergen (2012) explain that arts-based research is a process and a way of thinking and being within research. ABR is the ontology, the epistemology, and the methodology. ABR calls researchers to privilege lived experiences—their participants’ and their own—as a source of knowledge. By calling on artful ways of knowing and being in the world, the representational, but also “evocative, embodied, sensual, and emotional” (Bochner & Ellis 2003, p. 508) aspects of art imbue the research process, analysis, outputs, and dissemination. Grounding research in the creative potential of ABR to create, reflect, and communicate tacit knowledge, “arts-based researchers make a rather audacious challenge to the dominant, entrenched academic community and its claims to scientific ways of knowing” (Finley, 2008, p. 72). Ironically, although many qualitative research methodologies are rooted in an understanding that “truth” and “facts” are socially constructed, they still prescribe written reports and articles as the only way to construct and disseminate these “truths” and “facts”. By operating within this construction, conventional scientific writing frames and confines knowledge to the parameters of this style of writing, effectively sidelining other creative ways of thinking, knowing, imagining, and communicating. The conventional scientific writing approach uses a top-down communication strategy by placing the scientist as the knower, and the reader or participant as not knowing. ABR, on the other hand, tends to privilege participants or readers as knowing, and valuing their experiences and expertise, a practice that challenges research conventions from data collection to dissemination. Thus, by privileging creativity as a valid way of knowing, analyzing, and representing data, ABR invites researchers to think beyond the restrictive boundaries of traditional modes of communication and the research report. However, text continues to be legitimized as the best way to communicate research in Western society. Those with “power” maintain their positions of power by removing themselves from their texts, telling us how they remained objective, and neutral, and stood separate from those with whom they did their research on (Ball, 2002). ABR is also almost always participatory, ensuring that the knowledge is created in a meaningful way—with and for those involved in the research. Through participatory methods participants, along with researchers, become producers of knowledge that can be transformed into products for community mobilization and action (Gubrium & Harper, 2013). In reference to visual images, Gubrium and Harper (2013) suggest that images may be a source of “power and social capital” so that, in particular,

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“members of oppressed groups may challenge dominant representations and make themselves seen and heard” (p. 34). Thus, one of the most potent possibilities of ABR is how it democratizes both research and the arts. ABR also makes research more accessible and consumable by bringing art out of museums and galleries to the everyday places where lives are lived. Art allows the researcher to communicate with those beyond the academy, and share both the findings and process with a variety of audiences, thereby expanding the scope, reach, and potential impact of research (Barone & Eisner, 2011). In doing so, ABR confronts the critique of research, as being produced for the benefit of researchers and for those in the academy, and provides an avenue for “truth” and knowledge to be produced “in the imaginative spaces created between the lines of a good book or an encounter with an evocative photograph, in an embodied response to a musical composition or interpretive dance” (Cole & Knowles, 2008, p. 59). By using forms of communication that make research more accessible, and that resonate with society, ABR opens the door for dialogue between science and society. In doing so, it can bring the excitement and energy of research into the public domain. ABR can present us with ideas that are novel, complex, exotic, and yet interesting, engaging, and meaningful. For example, Gergen and Gergen (2012) remind us that “Helmut Newton’s photographs of women opened a way for women to feel comfortable and powerful in their nakedness, Andy Warhol’s paintings helped us to see the aesthetic dimension of ordinary, [and] Bill Jones’s choreography made visible the beauty in the movements of the physically handicapped” (p. 28–29).

Arts-Based Research Methodologies I am not an arts-based researcher although I have worked with fiction, photovoice, and film-making, as well as with many talented students who have embraced ABR. Like so many other topics in this introductory text, I cannot possibly go through all of the ABR methodologies being developed, especially all of the possibilities available through digital technology. Below, I highlight those I believe the qualitative newcomer should be aware of, which are crudely organized by medium: text (poetry and fiction), performing arts (drama/theatre, play-building, dance, video), auditory arts (sound/music) and visual arts (drawing, painting and printmaking, photographs, collage, and quilting). Although employing different artistic mediums and approaches, you will notice that arts-based methodologies share several common elements. Poetry

I am not really drawn to reading or listening to poetry. However, if it is research poetry, I delight in it. I am not sure why I make this distinction, but it may just be the “special language” (Faulkner, 2009, p. 17) in which

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“poetry as/in research” can communicate (p. 20). That is, poetry can be a language that researchers want to access when: (a) they feel that other modes of representation will not capture what they desire to show about their work and research participants (Faulkner, 2020); (b) they wish to explore knowledge claims and write with more engagement and connection (Dutta, 2021; Ohito & Nyachae, 2019); (c) their story intersects or entwines with research participant’s lives (Helin et al., 2020); (d) they want to mediate different understandings (Beard, 2019; Borti, 2020; RogersShaw, 2021; (e) they want to reach more diverse audiences (Richardson, 2002); and (f) they wish to share embodied experiences with audiences—to show, not just tell, research (Faulkner, 2021; Iida, 2021). There are also different ways of writing “poetry as/in research”. Prendergast (2009) outlines three different types of voices in poetic inquiry: researcher, participant(s), and literature. Researcher-voiced poems are written from the perspective of the poet-researcher and use the researcher’s fieldnotes and journals as data for the poems. In contrast, participant-voiced work emphasizes the voices of the participants and uses interview transcripts or passages written by participants as data. In participant-voiced work, the researcher often uses the participant’s words directly, an approach called poetic transcription. Another form of participant-voiced poems is that in which the researchers use their own interpretations of the participants’ interview data. Finally, literature-voiced work is created by responding to, reacting to, or using research literature and theory to create a poem. Researchers employing poetry as/in research may combine different forms of voice outlined above. For example, Faulkner (2009) takes advantage of archival and historical documents (literature-voiced), along with interview methods (participant-voiced) to capture the intersections between the personal and the historical. The poetry that results creates a complex interweaving of multiple voices, and perspectives, and identifies what is missing in mainstream history or “‘unlanguaged’ in dominant discourses” (p. 36). If you are considering poetry as/in research, take a look at the different names it has been given to find the right term for what you want to do. You may choose to start your search with terms like poetic analysis, poetic reflexivity/reflective poems, relational poetry, Black feminist data analysis, poetic transcription, and poetic re-presentation (Faulkner, 2020). Exemplars

Within their autoethnographic research, Beard (2019) uses poetry to invite readers to share their sense of precarity in relation to their repeated experiences of homophobic identity violence in their neighborhood. Repeated incidents are reinforced by the poem’s structure and the spacing of the word “time”. The poem highlights how multiple experiences of homophobia impact Beard’s personal sense of safety and home. The word

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“time” in the poem also foreshadows a time and necessity for change. Skipping forward in time, Beard allows us to see how these negative experiences compelled them to move, reimagine and build a safe, inclusive, and creative space. As part of a doctoral course on narrative inquiry research, Lahman and De Oliveira (2021), asked students to cut lines from research interviews and use these lines of transcripts to create three-dimensional poems, which they called poem orbs, spheres, or flowers. By pinning groups of transcript lines at the top and bottom, these lines of transcription take on sculptural forms; poems appear as either spherical forms, like orbs, or flattened into forms that resemble flowers. The sculptural forms challenge researchers and audiences to find and discover new readings with new possible meanings and connections, because linear, top to bottom, readings are no longer possible. Fiction

Every night, I promise myself that I will read at least one article from the stack of scholarly papers on my nightstand just before I go to bed. But every night, my novel is much more inviting. When I read the historical novel, The Birth of Venus, by Sarah. Dunant (2003), I came as close as I ever will to understanding how it would feel to be a young woman living in late 15th century Florence, and having my behavior restricted by the convention and politics of the time. I felt trapped and monitored as I read it, and relished when the main character, Alessandra, quietly and secretly made her own decisions and acted against norms. This novel, and many others, did for me what historical fiction sets out to do: gain “access to a different time and/or place” (Leavy, 2016, p. 26). The advantage of fiction-based research is its ability to emotionally and intellectually engage with readers. Writing about characters’ inner thoughts, their interior dialogues, allows readers to create an empathetic and intense relationship with the “imagined other” (de Freitas, 2003). By sharing a character’s intimate thoughts and feelings, readers can develop a connection that enables them to reflect on their realities and vulnerabilities. Caine and colleagues (2017) identify further advantages of fiction. Fictionalizing in research serves to: (1) safeguard the privacy of participants and blur locations; (2) allow additional observations to be shared through the creation of fictionalized, sometimes composite, characters; and (3) create opportunities to imagine other and future possibilities for participants. The first two purposes (Caine et al., 2017) are implicit strategies to reduce harm and follow relational ethics. The last purpose opens possibilities for novel insights and understandings to emerge, alongside participants’ stories. If you are doing fiction-based research, including historical fiction, it is helpful to start with the question, “What is the story you want to tell?” (Leavy, 2015, p. 55). Through the act of writing, fiction can be created by using data collected through interviews, participant observation, etc., and

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by drawing on literature, theory, and other personal and professional experiences. If you are interested in writing fiction, refer to Leavy (2013) for details about design elements, including structure, characterization, and literary tools, as well as an outline for evaluating fiction-based research. Exemplars

My research team created fiction for the purpose of changing policy. Using qualitative and quantitative data from a comprehensive study of individuals experiencing poverty, we created fictional vignettes/short stories describing what life might be like for different individuals and families living in poverty (e.g., struggles with childcare, housing, transportation, racism). These fictional stories were used to demonstrate to decision-makers how existing policies keep or block people from exiting poverty, and specifically to convince stakeholders of the need for a municipal poverty elimination plan. Using fiction to evoke readers’ emotions, meaning-making, and imagination, Banks (2000) presents five holiday letters from the perspective of Ginny Balfour, the matriarch of the Balfour clan. Ginny, an imagined character, is inspired by the lives and works of multiple women writers. By reading these detailed letters sequentially, one gleans the family dynamics of lives in motion and insight into individual personalities. The letters necessitate reader involvement, calling for their subjective understanding, personal reflections, tacit, embodied knowledge, and imagination to interpret the texts. Banks confides that he drew on five years of holiday letters from friends and colleagues to flesh out the Balfours in his imagination; they are completely imagined, but inspired by actual people and events. Citing why fiction holds promise in research, Banks asserts that the interactive and interpretive aspects of fiction, how it accesses, bridges, and shares multiple worlds through imagination, elevates it above conventional forms of academic writing where these remain unobtainable. Drama/Theatre

In the performing arts, Saldaña (2011) has identified approximately 80 different terms that refer to a non-fictional, “researched reality” form of ethnotheatre or ethnodrama. While “ethnotheatre” and “ethnodrama” are often used as synonyms, Saldaña (2011) draws a distinction between the two and indeed has two separate books devoted to each. Ethnotheatre focuses on the art and craft of creating and delivering a theatre (or media) production based on participants’ and researchers’ experiences and interpretations, while Ethnodrama focuses on scripting and “dramatizing the data” (Saldaña, 2011, p. 13). The latter is sourced and scripted from research interactions (e.g., interviews, conversations, fieldnotes) and/or “print and media artefacts” (e.g., court documents, podcasts). For example, Saldaña (2011) describes how, Street Rat (Saldaña et al., 2005) an ethnodrama of homeless youth in pre-hurricane

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Katrina New Orleans was created by drawing on autobiographical, biographical, official, and historic textual materials, including letters and diaries, ethnodramatic adaptations of documents, scripts, and published accounts. Here, Saldaña describes how fragments of dialogue are stitched together from multiple sources to create credible conversations. Saldaña (2011) explained that ethnography is emphasized in these approaches. Ethnodrama and ethnotheatre are selected as “representational and presentation methods of ethnographic fieldwork or autoethnographic reflection because the researcher or artist has determined that these art forms are the most appropriate and effective modalities for communication observations of cultural, social, or personal life” (Saldaña, 2011, p. 15). Carol Smith (2005) created Hey Girlfriend, a performance text about her research working with women living in high-risk environments (e.g., poverty, HIV/AIDS). In response to a school shooting, Goldstein and Wickett (2009) investigated school safety which was adapted into a play, and performed for hundreds of teachers at a conference aimed at making schools safer. Gray and Sinding (2002) document how they transformed their research about breast cancer and prostate cancer into two separate plays Handle With Care and No Big Deal. Cancer patients joined the medical and public health professionals in acting out what their lives were like as a cancer patient in the care of these clinicians. Exemplar

Johnny Saldaña’s Second Chair (2008) is a one-person autoethnodrama, about his experience as a high school band member yearning to become the first chair clarinetist. Drawing on his perceptions of the status conferred on first chairs, Saldaña confides how self-esteem impacted both his drive to become first chair and his ability to compete for the position. The play highlights how competition can be experienced by those negotiating personal and societal expectations and assumptions. In the play, Saldaña reflects on his youthful perceptions of ascribing values while navigating multiple intersecting marginalizations (i.e., class, race, sexual orientation, and weight). Playbuilding

Joe Norris (2009) worked to establish another performing art called playbuilding, a methodology that brings a group of people together to discuss a particular social issue (e.g., gender (in)equality, bullying, hunger). Norris’ playbuilding is also participatory in the extreme sense, meaning the A/R/ Tors, or actors-researchers-teachers, are involved as co-creators, coresearchers, co-authors, and partners. This team actively collaborates during issue framing, data generation, interpretation, and knowledge presentation stages. Unique to playbuilding is that the A/R/Tors are not the only participants—the live audience is invited to participate in conversations

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about the issue to provide new data or ideas for future research. Also unique to playbuilding is that data are often generated, interpreted, and performed at the same time (Norris, 2009). To begin playbuilding, and as described in Norris (2009), the first step is to invite A/R/Tors to participate in the discussion about an issue, asking each participant to share personal stories. Next, he distributes index cards and asks participants to summarize these stories. Up until this point, data generation in playbuilding is autoethnographic. Through team discussion on embedded themes, stories move from specific examples to abstraction. This process is iterative, as the team moves back and forth between stories and themes keeping open to new ideas. By combining, comparing, and contrasting personal stories a composite is created reflecting multiple realities. In this sense, A/R/Tors tell their stories, and these “stories beget stories, and as conversations unfold … one person’s account triggers memories in others” (Norris, 2009, p. 24). A/R/Tors may also generate data from alternate sources (e.g., academic literature, newspapers, prose, audience feedback, guided imagery, and live audience participation). Over multiple rehearsals, the team maintains this iterative process through issue exploration to putting these themes into vignettes. Once the team is satisfied, they choose the vignettes that best represent the issue, sequence vignettes, and rehearse for performance. The way data is generated, translated, and mobilized, ending with live performances, sets playbuilding apart as a methodology. Unlike written texts, which generally remain unchanged after dissemination, playbuilding research remains fluid, transforming in response to each iteration (Norris, 2000). Every time the play is performed the audience has an opportunity to offer feedback. This opportunity for dialogue within dissemination often generates multiple, at times, even conflicting perspectives. Audience participation adds another level of complexity. For example, the audience can comment on the content of the play, how the actors might replay a scene, and may even go on stage to improvise their ideas. In this sense, playbuilding is continuously evolving “living research” (Norris, 2009, p. 33). Exemplar

Webb (2015) followed Norris (2009) and utilized playbuilding to explore why some African American folks leave the Black Church. This process, Webb felt, would allow an opportunity for attendees to be positioned as “experts on their own cultural identity” and express their critiques of the institution (p. 4). In this project, participants were considered cocollaborators and engaged in interviews, observations, and a focus group, as well as crafting the performance script, supporting with rehearsals, and engaging with audience members after the show. The play was performed to an audience of about 50 people and lasted 90 minutes. Please visit this article if you want to read the full play.

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Dance

Dance-based research as a performing art is situated within embodiment research. Drawing from phenomenology as well as feminist, postmodern, and structural theories of embodiment, we have learned that all “social actors are embodied actors”, and that experience is necessarily embodied (Leavy, 2015, p. 152, italics as original). Dance-based research acknowledges that the mind and body cannot be separated and that, subsequently, dance-based research offers us the possibility of combining a kinesthetic form (i.e., dance) and a cognitive form (i.e., writing) in order to “forge relationships between body and mind, cognitive and affective knowing, and the intellect with physical vigor” (Cancienne & Snowber, 2003, p. 237–238). Dance-based research is also unique in that it inherently situates the body as “a site of knowledge” (Cancienne & Snowber, 2003, p. 238). In other words, dance-based researchers see the body as a powerful (and largely unexplored) source of knowledge and a tool to use in ABR. Cancienne and Snowber (2003) assert that our bodies are tacit sources of learning, always readily available for use. And like all other ABR, dancebased research allows research to be shared beyond academia and captures how dance can be “the muscle of the imagination” (Snowber, 2012, p. 56). If you are considering dance-based research, before you start, think about how you will translate one form of data (e.g., spoken words from an interview, written words from participant observation) to dance. For researchers without an extensive background in dance, co-research with a choreographer or trained dancer is a common strategy to aid in representing data using dance. Exemplar

Danielle Peers’ and Lindsay Eales’ performances use dance and movement to make visible and critique perceptions of “able-bodiness” and “disability”. Playing with audience expectations, they highlight unspoken assumptions about tools (e.g., wheelchairs, crutches) that help us see or “materialize disability” (Peers & Eales, 2017, p. 105). In a performance on crutches, Peers and Eales, walk in opposite directions, in a figure eight pattern. Each time they meet, Eales asks Peers questions about their use of crutches. Peers answers showcase their constant negotiation of their private information and another’s comfort level. The audience sees Peers’ double-work, negotiating social conventions, and managing expectations. Peers’ speaking to the audience while externalizing their thoughts, brings the audience into the conversation. Here dialogue, visible in both movement and speech, highlights the challenges of navigating normative assumptions of able-bodiness and disability, and vulnerabilities involved in personal disclosures and learning alongside.

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Digital storytelling is also considered a performing art and includes an array of approaches including participatory videomaking, videovoice, visual sociology, visual anthropology, visual culture image-based research, and cultural studies (Pink, 2011). Digital storytelling allows researchers to hear and learn from the stories people tell about their experiences. Digital stories are visual narratives that synthesize images, video, audio recordings of voice and music to create compelling stories (Lambert & Hessler, 2018). They usually consist of firstperson narratives, are about two to five minutes, and are used as a way for the creators/participants to tell their story about their own experiences with a particular phenomenon (Gubrium, 2009; Jernigan et al., 2012). As such, each story contains characters, scenes, conflicts, successes, failures and/or reactions from the storytellers’ personal lives (Davis & Weinshenker, 2012) and can, in turn, be viewed as mediums for the “production and transformation of identities of the individuals and groups that produce them” (Gubrium & Harper, 2013, p. 125). Because of the potential of storytelling to construct and reflect meaning, along with digital media techniques to create platforms to collaborate and share stories, this method offers enormous possibilities to both create and disseminate research. While many arts-based methodologies can be highly participatory, accessible, and shared broadly, digital storytelling has become a part of everyday experience for people, for example, through YouTube or other popular social media platforms. For more on digital storytelling research turn to Joe Lambert who has been credited for leading this area of ABR. Lambert’s work is known to expose audiences to previously silenced and not necessarily safe stories. Lambert and Hessler (2018) highlight how stories people tell may be traumatic and previously withheld until safe spaces are opened up for the telling. They explain that because these stories are also usually spoken, the audience sees and hears the teller and as such, we are called to witness these sometimes very difficult experiences and stories. Exemplar

When Elizabeth (Lambert, 2013) speaks her family’s story, she first describes her father and brother arriving to Ellis Island after escaping pograms (violent riots against Jews) in Russia, and her mother moving from Canada to Harlem. She tells of her parents meeting, becoming involved in labor unions, and later the American Communist party. She describes her father being charged with sedition and how fear from that experience permeated her family, even after the charges were dropped. She recounts how other family stories of trauma and violence began to surface after years of silence. Elizabeth’s story ends with the tragic passing of her mother, who

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had just requested Elizabeth attend counseling with her, to tell and hear long silent stories. Elizabeth’s Story can be viewed online: Elizabeth Ross, https://www.silencespeaks.org/case-studies/40.html Participatory Digital Archival Research

While straying from what we traditionally think of as performing arts, participatory digital archival research enables archives—historical items, often written materials, images, and/or media files—along with the audience, to (re)create or rewrite a story from the past. By taking collections (called “digital archives” or “online museums”) online to the public, researchers invite the public into the role of “the archivist”. Thus, unlike traditional archival research in which the researcher chooses the content of the archive and directs the meaning ascribed to it, a participatory digital archive allows researchers to ask questions about the significance of the past and why particular artifacts, places, and stories are important. Specifically, a participatory digital archive allows us to ask: “How do participants understand the past?”; “What stories are told?”; “What meanings are attached to people, places, and artifacts?”; “How do different participants negotiate conflicting meanings and stories?”, and “How are stories received by new audiences?” (Gubrium & Harper, 2013, p. 38). This move toward participatory archives (and a similar approach with museums) has forced us to reconsider epistemological questions involving the expertise and power of knowledge-making and presentation, given that archives and museums have typically highlighted and given eminence to the stories of the dominant, as defined by class, ethnicity, gender, and colonialism (Gubrium & Harper, 2013). As such, by involving the public in making and interpreting an archival collection, we democratize museum and archival collections, as well as research that uses these collections. Exemplar

The Edmonton Queer History Project (EQHP: edmontonqueerhistoryproject.ca) is an online publicly accessible community archive co-developed through a community-university partnership. Beginning in 2015, this project sought to make queer lives and histories visible. Because queer lives have frequently been stigmatized, criminalized, erased, hidden, or ignored within public records, archives, histories, and curriculums, grassroots research was needed by Two Spirit, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, and Queer (2SLGBTQ) academics, community activists, and organizers to unearth these histories. The Project began with life history interviews with key knowledge holders. These were made accessible on the EQHP YouTube Channel. These stories were also featured along with community artwork, artifacts, photographs, and documents at the Art Gallery of Alberta’s We Are Here multimedia public art exhibition in June 2015. This exhibition morphed into

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the EQHP digital archive that showcases the stories of the people and places that contributed to Edmonton’s Queer history. This collection of personal stories, write-ups co-developed in community, artwork, photographs, and documents, records and shares Edmonton’s 2SLGBTQ community stories. Acting as a digital hub, the online resource, created by and for 2SLGBTQ communities provides written, researched histories with contextualizing images, documents, and links provided by community partners. Downloadable maps and walk tours, with additional community resource links, archival images, and a podcast, are also created and shared by EQHP through audio, visual, and text references. The Edmonton Queer History Project showcases and celebrates Edmonton’s 2SLGBTQ communities and provides what Stuart Hall (2001) calls a “living archive”, that highlights past and present in support of future queer worldmaking. Making Edmonton’s queer history visible cultivates civic pride, a sense of belonging, and connection to communities, while also serving as public education in support of 2SLGBTQ lives, histories, and future resources and policies. Sound/Music

Within some small qualitative research circles, a growing number of researchers are starting to pay attention the sound (i.e., auditory art). Iversen and Simonsen (2010) have addressed it within ethnographic and documentary film, yet sound as an approach to ABR has been neglected primarily because anthropology—the initial field in which qualitative research was legitimized—relied primarily on the “eye” and recording of fieldnotes (Iversen & Simonsen, 2010). However, there is no doubt that when we observe we unconsciously include all our senses and use more than just our “eye”: we see, smell, touch, (maybe taste), and we hear. As such, Crawford (2010, p. 23) notes that our senses are intimately connected, and we rarely create an understanding of our world through the use of just one sense and thus, calls for an “anthropology of the senses”. For example, think about what happens when there is no sound. It can be quite uncomfortable. This silence (and discomfort) can be very telling about what is happening in a situation. Silence between partners that have been together for 20 years may not be the same as silence between two people on a first date. The point is that the way in which we construct knowledge through sound is multifaceted, and one “truth” or “reality” as the product of research is unattainable. As a form of sound, we know the power of music to affect mood, yet we are only beginning to explore how to use music in research (Bresler & Stake, 2012). When researchers use music-based approaches, they use its expressive potential to communicate layered social interactions. In songs, “words unfold over time and take on multiple and metaphoric meanings” (Leavy, 2015, p. 133). These musical meanings give us another tool to create new insights, understandings, and questions about how we live in

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our world. In music-based research, participants may also create music as part of the research. Or, researchers may use traditional qualitative methods but rather than producing a written report on findings, a song could be produced. Most researchers who explore and teach how to use music in research are trained musicians (artist-researchers). While this does not mean nonmusicians are unable to use music in their research, reading, composing, and creating music does require specific training and knowledge. Thus, most non-musicians (researcher-artists) work with musicians as co-researchers. In short, take note of the attention being paid to sound, music, and other senses (touch, smell, vision, and who knows, maybe taste!) as qualitative inquiry continues to evolve in so many exciting ways. Exemplar

Walter Gershon (2013) works with sound to understand the interrelationships between space, place, race, and identity in urban schools. Beginning by recording sounds in classrooms, Gershon attends to the shifting and multiple narratives that sit in space. Gershon layers sound, both that recorded in place and those he creates in relation to the dynamic of people living in places and spaces, to represent a type of sonic ethnography, he names sonic cartography. He notes how students’ speech patterns, for instance, reverberate with ease or pause within places and spaces, and shift in relation to peers, within the classroom and larger school settings. Gershon (2013) concludes this type of sound mapping makes implicit experiences visible and highlights the interrelatedness of space, place, and identity. Drawing, Painting, and Printmaking

Traditional visual arts practices such as drawing, painting, and printmaking are taken up by ABR researchers seeking to address social issues or problems. Using artmaking in research opens a host of creative possibilities to create and disseminate research. Highlighting research findings through art exhibitions, for instance, allows researchers to showcase creative outputs to audiences far beyond academia and knowledge held in academic journals. So what sets visual art methods in ABR apart from traditional art practice? In both ABR and traditional art practice, each begins with an idea or inspiration. Artistic processes unfold as artist-researchers and artists respond creatively to artworks, reflecting on and responding to emergent meanings, even as these continuously transform throughout the process. Because artmaking is a dialogic process, meaning-making unfolds first as artists interpret and respond to artworks in progress, and later when artworks are interpreted by audiences. Artists may or may not consider their art practice research, while researchers often draw distinctions between art creation, research-creation, and art and research. In reality, these lines often blur.

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By focusing on differences in intention, audience, methodology, ethics, and rigor the distinctions between art for art’s sake and ABR sharpen. ABR asks questions such as: What is the purpose of research? What problems does this research address and hope to solve? What scholarly literature informs the work and creates the gap for new knowledge? What audience does the work seek to inform? To this end, ABR researchers often create a series of questions to answer and art practice often functions within methodological parameters. This type of methodological framing helps expand questions and informs research commitments to ethics and rigor. Artists, on the other hand, usually work without this type of research frame. Researchers should collaborate with artists because the liminal space between art and research opens creative possibilities for novel approaches, methods, findings, and exchanges to emerge. Exemplar

Caine and Lavoie (2015) show and tell how a researcher and an artist can come together in a research collaboration, with each bringing specific expertise and approaches (i.e., narrative inquiry and printmaking). When rigor, ethics, and framing of a narrative inquiry functions with/in the creative potential of visual art practices (e.g., photography and printmaking), the resultant research is unique in form and how it communicates content. Beginning with photography, at the site of Caine’s research participant’s disappearance, Caine and Lavoie used creative writing to think through and reflect on their processes of mourning. They later printed digital photographs and returned to a printmaking studio to emboss and scrape the surface of the images, in the process creating images that embody and communicate a felt sense of scarring and loss. Lavoie and Caine (2022) also used printmaking alongside trans young adults and refugee families. Lavoie worked with trans young adults seeking to understand if arts-based practice might serve as an asset-building resource for these young adults while Caine used printmaking to reflect on stories and elicit stories by Syrian refugee families. Using printmaking within narrative inquiry (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000), Lavoie and Caine (2022) found printmaking, because of its specific qualities (e.g., creating artwork within the shared communal print studio), fostered agency and a sense of belonging and community for participants. They also found that printmaking created spaces for participants’ self-reflection, criticality, and pause to re-imagine futurefacing stories. Printmaking by researchers in response to participants’ stories also created places to bridge silences and allow words to come to stories later. Finally, printmaking helped the researchers embody relational ethics alongside participants to create and hold open spaces for silent and silenced stories to be seen and told (Lavoie, 2021). Figure 4.1 is an image from this work. Printmaking plates created by Michelle Lavoie and gifted to Adebayo from top to bottom: Two Sides of the Same Hand referencing a statement

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Figure 4.1 Lavoie, M. ( 2019). Two Sides of the Same Hand, Map of Africa and Mandela’s solidarity symbol. [Linocut Plates]. Collection of the Artist. Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

Adebayo made about differences in the 2SLGBTIQ+ communities being like two sides of the same hand, but people not being able to see that connection; Map of Africa to imagine possibilities of 2SLGBTIQ+ inclusion; and Mandela’s solidarity symbol to pay homage to one of Adebayo’s heroes and imagine a world without racism (Lavoie & Caine, 2022, p. 58). Figure 4.2 is an image of an oil painting by Whiskeyjack in her exploration of Indigenous women’s leadership roles. Lana Whiskeyjack’s Flying Up Moon reflects the reclaimed roles and responsibilities of Indigenous women in traditional governance and leadership roles. In

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Figure 4.2 Whiskeyjack, L. ( 2021). “ohpahhowipîsim” (Flying Up Moon). [Oil Painting]. Collection of the Artist, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

1876, at Treaty Six (represented through the black pattern on the painted pony) gathering in Fort Pitt Saskatchewan, the male Canadian government representatives would only negotiate with male chiefs, excluding the iskwêwak (women). The iskwêwak are restoring their roles as the homefires of their families, communities, and Nations. The children were the foundational purpose and center of traditional governance systems, iskwêwak worked with napewak (men) to make the best decisions for those who have yet to be born. This painting symbolizes an autonomous iskwêw (woman) standing in her element of beauty, power, and authoritative position. Collage

The word collage comes from the French verb coller which means “to stick”. Traditionally, collages are made from cutting and pasting images from primary paper-based mediums (e.g., magazines, newspapers, and/or textured paper onto a flat background such as paper or cardboard (ButlerKisber, 2017). Collage, however, is not limited to paper-based materials. For example, Kay (2013) created a collage method called “bead collage” where she asks her participants to use beads and other materials to create a collage that tells their stories. She then uses their bead collage in their

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interview as a bridge between their thoughts, feelings, and emotions, expanding the interview beyond words alone. Although the definition of collage may appear simple, collage has a rich history going as far back as 1,000 years ago when Japanese poets enhanced their calligraphy with cut-up pieces of paper (Butler-Kisber, 2017). Collage was used to create German greeting cards, and families in the early 1800s used collage to create scrapbooks of their daily lives. In the early 20th century, Pablo Picasso and George Braque used collage to bring the arts to a wider audience and question political and social norms (Butler-Kisber, 2017). Researchers who use collage take this visual art form one step further by systematically identifying, coding, and categorizing reoccurring patterns in the data. This systematic approach to looking at collage enables the researcher to identify new thoughts, ideas, intuitions, and connections that may have gone unnoticed if not for the visual (Chilton & Scotti, 2014). Specifically, researchers use collage in research in three ways: as a reflexive process, as a writing or a discussion prompt, or as an approach to address a research question (Butler-Kisber 2010). Researchers use collage reflexively (as one may use memoing in qualitative research) by focusing on the phenomenon, selecting images that represent the phenomenon, and then creating a visual composition to reflect their thoughts about the phenomenon. However, unlike memoing, collage allows the researcher to work outside the boundaries of linearity: the researcher first thinks about the feelings and emotions the phenomenon evokes, and then moves to create ideas. The resulting collage gives a “‘sense’ of something” (Butler-Kisber 2008, p. 269) and often brings forward new ideas, thoughts, and ways of understanding that may have been understood but not articulated (ButlerKisber 2008; 2017). In fact, Butler-Kisber (2008) offers that “the ambiguity that remains present in collage provides a way of expressing the said and the unsaid, and allows for multiple avenues of interpretation and greater accessibility” (Bulter-Kisber, 2008, p. 268). Although collage and other arts-based approaches are exciting and becoming popular among researchers, Butler-Kisber (2008; 2017) cautions us to think through questions such as: How do we develop collage expertise? How do we know when or even if we should use collage? Who should actually do collage work in research—researcher or artist? How can we ethically create collages when we use the images created by other people? And how (or can) we critique collage? Exemplar

An example of a collage comes from Margot Jackson’s (2014) doctoral dissertation, titled, See me through this: A visual narrative inquiry into the lived experiences of high risk and/or homeless youth and mental health. Jackson, now an Associate Professor of Nursing, uses collage (Figure 4.3) in her work with vulnerable and underserved people and populations. In her doctoral work,

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Figure 4.3 Jackson, M. (2014). Life-line, [Digital Collage]. Collection of the Author, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Jackson worked with a small group of Indigenous youths to understand their mental health journeys and explore how the youths’ understandings of their lived experiences informed their choices and impacted their lives. Working through a visual narrative inquiry approach (Bach, 2007; Caine, 2007; de Mello, 2007; Caine & Lavoie, 2011), Jackson’s work began in conversation with the youths to hear their stories. Further storytelling was then elicited by engaging the youths in participatory activities grounded in visual methods. For instance, in the image above, Stephanie, a participant, drew a life-line, a path into which she marked major events in her life. The life-line in its entirety spans 20 years and begins to show patterns and disruptions of patterns over the course of Stephanie’s life. Stephanie’s life-line is a compelling and powerful image, based on real events. The image gives voice to Stephanie’s moments of hope and despair and currents pulling in multiple directions over time. The creation of life-lines may create space for participants and researchers to reflect on and consider disrupting patterns and imagine alternate future paths. Using a second visual method, participants in Jackson’s (2014) study were also gifted cameras and asked to document significant, people, places, and events in their lives. Participants who visually document their lives in this fashion, often create rich and personally meaningful images, that may elicit further reflection and storytelling. Finally, Jackson turned to collage to stitch together the rich storytelling and insights that had occurred through visual methods (i.e., participants’ life-line drawings and photography) in a way that reflected the depth of participants’ experiences and stories. The collage process through its inherent layering of images also showcases how understandings are layered and built over time. In Jackson’s study, these digital collages were taken back to the participants for their input and approval to ensure that the final collages reflected and accurately represented participants’ voices, stories, and lived experiences. See Narrative Inquiry approaches in Chapter 3: Methodology, for more information on Narrative Inquiry and visual narrative inquiry methodological approaches.

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Photo Interviewing/Photo Elicitation

The use of visual data was traditionally found within anthropology through the methodology of ethnography. Researchers produced images (took photos) or relied on visual representations as a way to collect data in the field. However, with the proliferation of digital technology, most people, researchers, and participants, can now use photography and video for exploring phenomena. Photo interviewing or elicitation is the process of using photographs, selected or created by the researcher, in an interview to help participants articulate their thoughts, feelings, and beliefs about a phenomenon (Harper, 2002; Hurworth et al., 2005). While photo interviewing and photo elicitation are terms that are often used synonymously, if you look deeper into the literature you will find that some researchers distinguish between the two photos by asserting that photo interviewing is guided solely by photographs taken by the researcher, while photo elicitation can include photographs taken either by the researcher or participants. Margaret Mead was among the first to use photos in her interviews with Balinese people in the early 1920s. Mead and colleagues presented a sequence of photos showing people playing games, talking, and interacting with each other (Harper, 1987), supplementing the photos with anthropological text to guide the reader. Importantly, because Mead’s technique of using photographs as part of the interview process was criticized for being subjective and unsystematic, it was not acknowledged or written about until the mid-1970s (Hurworth et al., 2005), when seminal works were starting to be published in this area (see Ruby, 1976; Wagner, 1979). That said, it was only after Collier & Collier (1986) Visual Anthropology as a Research Method that the scientific community started to accept using photography in research (Hurworth et al., 2005). Today, arts-based researchers use photo interviewing as an effective technique to understand a phenomenon that is often abstract or difficult to articulate. Photo interviewing can also assist with building trust and rapport, promoting more detailed conversations, and may be especially helpful for bridging barriers to verbal communication between researchers and participants due to age, ability, language, or culture. Hurworth et al. (2005) remind us, however, that when we use the photo interviewing technique we, the researchers, are the ones who select the photographs to be discussed and, as such, prompt our participants to discuss what we value. Exemplar

An example comes from John Collier (1957), a photographer and researcher, who is credited with coining the term “photo elicitation”. Collier (1957) and colleagues wanted to examine psychological stress and how families adapted to living among ethnically diverse people, and to new forms of work in city

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factories. They found this difficult to explore using surveys and in-depth interviews so instead, used photos of participants’ old and new living environments to support the interview process. Alongside photo elicitation, they also conducted one-on-one interviews with the same families without using photos and compared how each method worked. Collier and colleagues noticed that the families were able to recall feelings and events much easier when asked to talk about a photo of their living environment, which also enabled researchers to clarify areas of misunderstanding. Photovoice

One of the first photovoice articles ever published involved Chinese village women (see Wang et al., 1996) taking photos of their everyday lives engaged in long days of heavy farm labor. Photographs of babies in tobacco and cornfields, exposed to sun and heavy rain, as well as unsupervised older children led to the establishment of a daycare program. Images showing the lack of birth support and the widespread use of unsterilized instruments, such as scissors, helped bring about a midwifery program. Photographs of rural girls taking care of younger siblings during school hours drew attention to the lack of importance placed on girls’ education and provided the impetus for a scholarship program. This work by Wang and her colleagues was innovative as they were among the first researchers to work with participants to bring together participatory photography, critical discussion with community members, advocacy, and activism (Gubrium & Harper, 2013). Accordingly, Wang and colleagues suggest that photovoice aims to: “a) enable people to record and reflect their community’s strengths and concerns; b) promote critical dialogue and knowledge about important community issues through large and small group discussions of photographs; and c) reach policy makers and people who can be mobilized for change” (Wang et al., 2000, p. 82). Photovoice blends a participatory approach with photography and social action by giving cameras to participants (or asking participants to use their phones) to photograph their everyday lives and concerns and, in turn, become co-researchers (Gubrium & Harper, 2013). Through photography, participants act as recorders of their own experiences and are in control of how they represent themselves and their lives. Participants take photos and findings are created with the intention of asking “what was”, “what is”, and “what could/should be”. In other words, participants use the photos to talk about their relationships with people or objects that appear in the photos and discuss what change they imagine and how they want to create that change (Gubrium & Harper, 2013; Leavy, 2015). In this regard, photovoice is based on the assumption that images are powerful because they can teach and communicate needs, concerns, and stories in ways that are unavailable through written text. For example, photos provoke questions such as: “Why does this situation exist? Do we want to change it, and if so, how?” (Wang

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et al., 2004, p. 911). Thus, essential to photovoice is the involvement of policymakers, media, funders, and other stakeholders in the project who might, through the discussion of the photos, instigate change. If you are considering the use of participatory methods like photovoice, Gubrium and Harper (2013) warn us that “bad things can happen” when we move too fast and “rush headlong into ‘handing out cameras’” (p. 73). They suggest that researchers thinking of using photovoice should, at a minimum, provide basic photo training to participants and discuss ethical issues such as how to protect those they photograph. Further, while photovoice is often cited as a powerful participatory method to engage with community members in order to create social and policy change (Wang & Burris, 1997, Catalani & Minkler, 2010; Leavy, 2015) and “empower” community members, questions about the ability of photovoice projects to affect systems-level change remain: Does policy change actually happen as a result of participatory photovoice efforts? Like all participatory methods, it is critical to manage participants’ expectations of what the outcomes of the project may be. Indeed, policy change using any methodology, is rare. Exemplar

In an example from my own research, we used photovoice to examine lowincome women’s experiences of accessing health and social services (Mayan et al., 2011). One photograph taken by a participant (see Figure 4.4) was that

Figure 4.4 (2011). Traffic Laws. Collection of the Researcher. [Photograph]. Edmonton Alberta, Canada.

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of a traffic light with the light showing yellow. In discussing the photo, she described her frustration with the city’s focus on enforcing driving infractions at the expense of “the real problems”. In our project, a deeper analysis of this photo by the photovoice participants led to a discussion about how these women see government intervention infiltrating their entire lives. Traffic surveillance cameras become unreasonable when you have had numerous and long-term involvement with social services and child welfare, while the government continues to neglect the larger issue—namely, poverty. Fotonovela

Fotonovela (or photo novella) is a participatory ABR methodology used to understand how participants make-sense of, or “story”, events, or circumstances through the creation of visual narratives (Emme et al., 2006a; 2006b). While you may see it referred to as photo novella, colleagues Emme and Kirova choose to use the Spanish spelling to acknowledge the origins of the fotonovela as a post-war form of popular literature in Mexico that didn’t demand a high level of literacy to be enjoyed by the adults who read them (M. Emme, personal communication, June 4, 2022). It begins with participants and researchers identifying a story important to individuals and audiences to whom the story will be told. The methodology uses photography, digital image manipulation, and storyboarding techniques common to popular culture (e.g., comic strips) (Emme et al., 2006a). Generally, fotonovela begins with participants creating images using photography but importantly, researchers refrain from telling participants what to photograph (Emme et al., 2006a). These images are often later manipulated by a software program (e.g., Photoshop) either by participants or researchers, to generalize a scene and create a comic-book quality (Emme et al., 2006a). A selection of images is then chosen by participants and/or researchers. These images are used to elicit conversations and to create stories. Two distinct processes facilitate storytelling: participants sequencing images to create a story they wish to tell, then creating and filling text balloons with dialogue to narrate scenes. The overall look approaches the style of a comic-book strip or graphic novel (Emme et al., 2006a; 2006b). Although text and image has been used extensively in modern visual art practice to comment on culture, extend meanings into liminal, in-between meaning-making spaces between text and image, and playfully engage ideas of embodiment and temporality (Morley, 2003), it is still a novel approach within arts-based research. Kirova and Emme (2008; 2017) assert that fotonovela creates a “hybrid photo-image-text that opens new spaces for dialogue, for resistance, and for representation of a new way of knowing” (Kirova & Emme, 2017, p. 138). Fotonovela typically appeals to researchers interested in working with participants situated in institutions (e.g., schools or clinics). Both photovoice and fotonovela are known as unique research methodologies for the

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opportunities they provide participants to share and researchers to see and hear important stories that communicate the complexities of participants’ lived experiences (Emme et al., 2006a; 2006b). And while this methodology has not gained much traction over the years, with the increasing acceptance of creative ways to work with participants who may have difficulty articulating their experiences, along with the popularity of graphic novels, I hope fotonovela becomes more prevalent, especially for those who work with children and youth. Exemplar

Working with immigrant children to support their comprehension and use of non-verbal communication to assist their navigation of peer relationships, Emme and Kirova first invited children to participate in the research by taking photographs. Photography, in this context, is seen as a way to make visible and share unseen and unnoticed, as well as, tacit experiences. After some image manipulation by researchers, the images looked like comics. Then the children organized their images into sequences to create stories. Finally, by adding and filling thought bubbles with their words, the child “literally inserts himself or herself into the story” (Kirova & Emme, 2017, p. 143) (see Figure 4.5 ). Through the process, newcomer children were able

Figure 4.5 Emme, M., & Kirova, A. (2017). Life on the Playground. [Digital Image]. Collection of the Researchers. Edmonton Alberta, Canada.

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to show and tell their experiences in ways other research processes, such as interviewing, could not (Emme & Kirova, 2017). In the space between visual and verbal language, opened by methodologies like fotonovela, possibilities for new ways of speaking, thinking, and knowing may emerge. Quilting

People have used quilts for hundreds of years to share stories (Ball, 2002; 2008). For example, quilts have been created, predominantly by women, to tell stories about family events such as births, weddings, and deaths (Federico, 1983). Quilts have also been used to commemorate historical events, such as wars, and to honor individuals both living and dead. In the 1980s, the AIDS Memorial Quilt was created to commemorate the lives of those who had died of AIDS (Capozzola, 2002). Today, volunteer quilters across several countries recognize the service of veterans and military members with “quilts of valor”. At first glance, a quilt appears to be a collection of fabrics stitched together. Boss Mann (2002) however, describes quilting as an “epistemological process disguised as a woman’s hobby” (p. 28). Ball (2002; 2008) argues quilts are actually a social text. She suggests quilters come together to tell their stories through the images they create in their quilts. Ball (2008) maintains quilts are the perfect medium to share these stories: Quilts contain symbolic messages and stories that are told and that exist beyond the life of the quilter. In some cases, quilts are used as subversive acts—as a medium for the expression of resistance, rage, grief, and celebration. The irony is that, while these stories were created, not a word needed to be said (p. 365). Ball’s (2002; 2008) research about exploring multiple ways to represent experience is an interesting example of how quilting can be used as an arts-based research approach to push boundaries and hold space open for marginalized stories to take center stage while challenging dominant narratives. Exemplar

Curious to learn what would happen if she used quilting as a methodological choice to create a space for people with posttraumatic stress, Ball (2002) invited participants to create a quilt piece (quilt block) representing their experience (see image of one quilt block below in Figure 4.6). Eventually, the quilt blocks were sewn together by professional quilters to create three quilts. Ball (2008) observed using quilts allowed participants to move into the space between words and images “that does not express either and yet expresses both” (p. 366). In fact, one of her participants

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Figure 4.6 Ball, H. K. (2002). [Quilt]. Collection of the Artist.

offered, “using this media to express myself and [my] experiences allowed me to express more of myself than I do in words and voice alone” (p. 20). Behar and Gordon (1995) remind us that engaging with arts-based methodologies and alternative writing strategies is risky business. But it is “also a crucial struggle. Essentially (paradoxically) this struggle is about writing outside the lines, transgressing the rules, while staying (subversively) within the lines of dominant discursive practices” (Ball, 2002, p. 2).

Summary The above foray into ABR highlights unique methodologies across textbased arts, performing arts, sound, and visual arts, yet collectively, ABR advances and accomplishes very similar things. ABR does more than simply

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address the shortcomings of conventional methodologies and scientific writing. ABR is chosen when conventional methodologies do not invite or actually silence certain voices and erase certain identities. It serves well those who are marginalized and oppressed, and who want to counter the dominant narratives and representations of themselves. Through an arts medium, the complexities of participants’ lives can be captured, new understanding can be provoked, and empathy can be created. ABR is most often highly participatory and is celebrated for democratizing knowledge and making it more accessible, unleashing knowledge into public spaces for all to contemplate. ABR ensures that knowledge is no longer held and controlled by the academy. Because of the power and potential that lies with ABR, it is certainly enticing, yet researchers untrained in the medium they are considering need to tread carefully. I believe Sandra Faulkner (2020) had similar concerns. She argues that her interest in research as poetry was driven out of annoyance with some poor and ill-conceived published academic poetry. She argues that poetry researchers should approach learning about poetry with the same time and intensity devoted to learning research methodology. It seems, for many methodologies, a collaboration between the artist and the researcher is likely the ideal. If the whole point of research is to learn, to think anew, to appreciate a phenomenon differently, to entice empathy, and to act otherwise and compel change, then ABR provides a grounded, realistic, and refreshing path forward.

Exercise 4.1 Considering Arts-Based Research The objective of this exercise is to challenge you to consider some of the issues embedded in arts-based research. Over a decade ago, I worked with a group of students on a conference presentation considering rigor in artsbased research (Lavoie et al., 2012). Our group, who included an artist, had many questions. Get into small groups and discuss the following: • • • • • •

Who can do arts-based research? Is there any danger in using art to collect or communicate data when you are unaware of its foundations, processes, theories, and histories? Should ABR have criteria developed to evaluate its processes, impacts, and outcomes? Can researchers utilize creative methods without naming their projects “arts-based research”? What ethical considerations might be unique to arts-based research? What barriers/challenges might researchers encounter in their attempts to publish arts-based work in academic journals? What do you think artists think of arts-based research?

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Arts-Based Research 115 Capozzola, C. (2002). A very American epidemic: Memory politics and identity politics in the AIDS Memorial Quilt, 1985–1993. Radical History Review, 82, 91–109. https://www.muse.jhu.edu/article/30227 Catalani, C., & Minkler, M. (2010). Photovoice: a review of the literature in health and public health. Health education & behavior: The official publication of the Society for Public Health Education, 37(3), 424–451. 10.1177/1090198109342084 Chilton, G., & Scotti, V. (2014) Snipping, gluing, writing: The properties of collage as an arts-based research practice in art therapy. Art Therapy, 31(4), 163–171. 10.1080/ 07421656.2015.963484 Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (2000). Narrative inquiry: Experience and story in qualitative research. Jossey-Bass. Cole, A., & Knowles, J. (2008). Arts-informed research. In J. G. Knowles, & A. L. Cole (Eds.), The handbook of the arts in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples, and issues (pp. 55–71). Sage. 10.4135/9781452226545.n5 Collier, J. (1957). Photography in anthropology: a report on two experiments. American Anthropologist, 59, 843–859. Collier, J., & Collier, M. (1986). Visual anthropology. University of New Mexico Press. Crawford, P. I. (2010). Sounds of silence. The aural in anthropology and ethnographic film. In G. Iversen & J. K. Simonsen (Eds.), Beyond the visual: Sound and image in ethnographic and documentary film (pp. 21–49). Intervention Press. Davis, A., & Weinshenker, D. (2012). Digital storytelling and authoring identity. In C. Ching & B. Foley (Eds.), Constructing the self in a digital world (Learning in doing: Social, cognitive and computational perspectives) (pp. 47–74). Cambridge University Press. 10.1017/CBO9781139027656.005 de Freitas, E. (2003). Contested positions: How fiction informs empathic research, International Journal of Education and the Arts, 4(7), 11–22. de Mello, D. M. (2007). The language of arts in a narrative inquiry landscape. In D. J. Clandinin (Ed.), Handbook of narrative inquiry: Mapping a methodology (pp. 203–223). Sage. Dunant, S. (2003). The birth of Venus: A novel. Little, Brown & Company. Dutta, U. (2021). The politics and poetics of “Fieldnotes”: Decolonizing ethnographic knowing. Qualitative Inquiry, 27(5), 598–607. 10.1177/1077800420935919 Emme, M., & Kirova, A. (Eds.). (2017). Good question: Arts-based approaches to collaborative research with children and youth. The Canadian Society of Education through Art. Emme, M., Kirova, A., & Cambre, C. (2006a). Collaborative storytelling: Researching the spaces between image, text and body. Exposure, 39(2), 45–51. Emme, M., Kirova, A., Kamau, O., & Kosanovich, S. (2006b). Ensemble research: A means for immigrant children to explore peer relationships through fotonovela. Alberta Journal of Research in Education, 52, 160–182. Faulkner, S. L. (2009). Poetry as method: Reporting research through verse. Left Coast Press. Faulkner, S. L. (2020). Poetic inquiry: Craft, method and practice. Routledge. Faulkner, S. L. (2021). Trigger warning: Poetry as feminist response to media headlines Qualitative Inquiry, 27(3–4), 325–333. 10.1177/1077800420917408 Finley, S. (2008). Arts-based research. In J. G. Knowles & A. L. Cole (Eds.), The handbook of the arts in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples, and issues (pp. 72–82). Sage. Federico, J. (1983). American quilts: 1770–1880. In C. Robinson (Ed.), The artist and the quilt (pp. 16–25). Knopf.

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Gergen, M. M., & Gergen, K. J. (2012). Playing with purpose: Adventures in performative social science. Left Coast Press. Gershon, W. (2013). Sonic cartography: Mapping space, place, race, and identity in an urban middle school. Taboo: The Journal of Culture & Education, 13(1), 21–45. 10.31390/ taboo.13.1.04 Goldstein, T., & Wickett, J. (2009). Zero tolerance: A stage adaptation of an investigative report on school safety. Qualitative Inquiry, 15(10), 1552–1568. 10.1177/ 1077800409343069 Gray, R., & Sinding, C. (2002). Standing ovation: Performing social science research about cancer. AltaMira Gubrium, A. (2009). Digital storytelling: An emergent method for health promotion research and practice. Health Promotion Practice, 10(2), 186–191. 10.1177/152483 9909332600 Gubrium, A. & Harper, K. (2013). Participatory visual and digital methods. Left Coast Press. Hall, S. (2001). Constituting an archive. Third Text, 15(54), 89–92. 10.1080/095288201 08576903 Harper, D. (1987). The visual ethnographic narrative. Visual Anthropology, 1(1), 1–19. 10.1080/08949468.1987.9966457 Harper, D. (2002). Talking about pictures: A case for photo elicitation. Visual Studies, 17(1), 13–26. 10.1080/14725860220137345 Helin, J., Dahl, M., & Guillet De Monthoux, P. (2020). Caravan poetry: An inquiry on four wheels. Qualitative Inquiry, 26(6), 633–638. 10.1177/1077800419843949 Hurworth, R., Clark, E., Martin, J., & Thomsen, S. (2005). The use of photointerviewing: Three examples from health evaluation and research. Evaluation Journal of Australasia, 4(1–2), 52–62. 10.1177/1035719X05004001-208 Iida, A. (2021). “I feel like I can’t avoid Dying”: A poetic representation of a survivor’s traumatic experience in the great east Japan earthquake. Qualitative Inquiry, 27(1), 45–58. 10.1177/1077800419897695 Iversen, G. & Simonsen, J. K. (2010). Beyond the visual: Sound and image in ethnographic and documentary film. Intervention Press. Jackson, M. (2014). See me through this: A visual narrative inquiry into the lived experiences of high risk and/or homeless youth and mental health [doctoral dissertation, University of Alberta]. Jernigan, V. B., Salvatore A. L., Styne, D. M., & Winkleby, M. (2012). Addressing food insecurity in a Native American reservation using community-based participatory research. Health Education Research, 27(4), 645–655. 10.1093/her/cyr089ht Kay, L. (2013). Bead collage: An arts-based research method. International Journal of Education & the Arts, 14(3), 1–18. http://www.ijea.org/v14n3/ Kirova, A. & Emme, M. (2008). Fotonovela as a research tool in image-based participatory research with immigrant children. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 7(2), 34–57. 10.1177/160940690800700203 Kirova, A. & Emme, M. (2017). Fotonovela as a research tool in image-based participatory research with immigrant children. In M. Emme & A. Kirova (Eds.), Good question: Arts-based approaches to collaborative research with children and youth (pp. 138–162). The Canadian Society of Education through Art. Knowles, J. G. & Cole A. L. (Eds.). (2008). The handbook of the arts in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples, and issues (p. 176–185). Sage. Lahman, M. K. E., & De Oliveira, B. (2021). Poetry spheres, flower poems: A dimensional poetry experience. Qualitative Inquiry, 27(5) 622–625. (Special Issue: New Approaches to Inquiry). 10.1177/1077800420941050

Arts-Based Research 117 Lambert, J. (2013). Digital storytelling: Capturing lives, creating community. Routledge. Lambert, J. & Hessler (2018). Digital storytelling: Capturing lives, creating community. Routledge. Lavoie, M. M. (2021). Walking alongside: Relational research spaces in visual narrative inquiry. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 20(1), 1–13. 10.1177/16094 069211053107 Lavoie, M. (2019). Two Sides of the Same Hand, Map of Africa and Mandela’s solidarity symbol. [Linocut Plates]. Collection of the Artist. Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Lavoie, M. M. & Caine, V. (2022). Contemplating framing: Unpacking the possibilities of printmaking in narrative inquiry. International Review of Qualitative Research, 15(1), 42–61. 10.1177/1940844721991088 Lavoie, M., Miciak, M., Daum, C., & Mayan, M. (2012, June). The difficulty with dabbling: Considering rigor in arts-based research. Poster presented at the 2nd Global Congress for Qualitative Health Research, Milan, Italy. Leavy, P. (2013). Fiction as research practice: Short stories, novellas, and novels. Left Coast Press. Leavy, P. (2015). Method meets art: Arts-based research practice (2nd ed.). Guilford Press. Leavy, P. (2016). Blue. Sense Publishers. Mayan, M. J., Gray, E. J., Lo, S., & Hyshka, E. (2011). Punishing progress and expecting failure: Alberta families’ experiences accessing Social Service systems. Canadian Social Work Review / Revue canadienne de service social, 28(1), 107–126. Morley, S. (2003). Writing on the wall: Word and image in modern art. University of California Press. Norris, J. (2000). Drama as research: Realizing the potential of drama education as a research methodology. Youth Theatre Journal, 14, 40–51. Norris, J. (2009). Playbuilding as qualitative research: A participatory arts-based approach. Left Coast Press. Ohito, E. O., & Nyachae, T. M. (2019). Poetically poking at language and power: Using Black feminist poetry to conduct rigorous feminist critical discourse analysis. Qualitative Inquiry, 25(9–10), 839–850. 10.1177/1077800418786303 Peers, D., & Eales, L. (2017). Moving materiality: People, tools, and this thing called disablity. Art/Research International: A Transdisciplinary Journal, 2(2), 101–125. 10.18432/ R2JS8W Pink, S. (2011). Doing visual ethnography (2nd ed). Sage Prendergast, M. (2009). “Poem is what?” Poetic inquiry in qualitative social science research. International Review of Qualitative Research, 1(4), 541–568. 10.1525/irqr.2009. 1.4.541 Richardson, L. (2002). Poetic representations of interviews. In J. F. Gubrium & J. A. Holstein (Eds.), Handbook of interview research: Context and method (pp. 877–891). Sage. Rogers-Shaw, C. (2021). Enhancing empathy and understanding of disability by using poetry in research. Studies in the Education of Adults, 53(2), 184–203. 10.1080/02660830. 2021.1920740 Ruby, J. (1976). Anthropology and film: The social science implications of regarding film as communication. Quarterly Review of Film & Video, 1(4), 436–445. Saldaña, J. (2008). Second chair: an autoethnodrama. Research Studies in Music Education, 30(2), 177–191. 10.1177/1321103X08097506 Saldaña, J. (2011). Ethnotheatre: Research from page to stage. Left Coast Press. Saldaña, J., Finley, S., & Finley, M. (2005). Street rat. In J. Saldaña (Ed.), Ethnodrama: An anthology of reality theatre (pp. 139–179). AltaMira.

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Smith, C. A. M. (2005). Performance text for Chicago women I love or “hey, girlfriend.” Qualitative Inquiry, 11(2), 152–156. 10.1177/1077800404273407 Snowber, C. N. (2012). Dance as a way of knowing. In R. L. Lawrence (Ed.), Bodies of knowledge: Embodied learning in adult education (pp. 53–60). Wiley. Wagner, J. (1979). Images of information: Still photography in the social sciences. Sage. Wang, C., & Burris, M. A. (1997). Photovoice: Concept, methodology, and use for participatory needs assessment. Health Education & Behavior, 24(3), 369–387. 10.1177/ 10901981970240030 Wang, C., Burris, M. A., & Ping, X. Y. (1996). Chinese village women as visual anthropologists: A participatory approach to reaching policymakers. Social Science and Medicine, 42(10), 1391–1400. 10.1016/0277-9536(95)00287-1 Wang, C., Cash, J. L., & Powers, L. S. (2000). Who knows the streets as well as the homeless? Promoting personal and community action through photovoice. Health Promotion Practice, 1(1), 81–89. 10.1177/152483990000100113 Wang, C., Morrel-Samuels, S., Hutchison, P., Bell, L., & Pestronk, R. (2004). Flint photovoice: Community building among youths, adults, and policymakers. American Journal of Public Health, 94, 911–913. 10.2105/ajph.94.6.911 Webb, J. (2015). Last Sunday: Using collaborative playbuilding to understand why some African Americans leave the Black church. The Journal of African Diaspora Drama, Theatre and Performance, 2(1), 1–25. Whiskeyjack, L. (2021). “ohpahhowipîsim” (Flying Up Moon). [Oil Painting]., Collection of the Artist, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

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This chapter is the “other” chapter, meaning that the content does not fit solely in Chapter 3: Methodologies nor in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research, but are approaches that students are being asked to know and do. The first section is called “metas” and reviews and outlines different ways to survey the literature and describe its characteristics. Many students are now required to use one of these review approaches as a first chapter or manuscript for publication, replacing a traditional narrative literature review. The second section is on mixed methods and is included due to the increasing popularity and pressure on students to be savvy in both quantitative and qualitative methodologies and methods. The third section, participatory approaches, includes community-based participatory research, participatory action research, and community mapping. The chapter concludes with a brief description of case study and secondary data analysis.

“Metas” and Reviews Gone are the days when all a student had to do was construct a narrative literature review that would make the case for or justify the research question. “Metas” and reviews are generic terms used to describe the process of surveying the literature and describing its characteristics and are done to provide a broad and comprehensive summary of a topic area (Grant & Booth, 2009). Essentially, they are studies of the literature; a research question is posed, and the literature is accessed and then assessed to answer the question. This section draws heavily on Grant and Booth (2009) who developed a typology of reviews. Narrative Literature Review

In a narrative review, findings and analysis of the literature are provided in narrative or descriptive form and generally include a search of the most recent literature, though more exhaustive searches may seek to trace the literature as far back as the inception of a concept or theory. A narrative review does not include a formal quality assessment, although authors may comment on the DOI: 10.4324/b23331-5

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quality of the article to further the rationale for their proposed study. The narrative literature review may be presented chronologically, conceptually, or thematically. In students’ theses or dissertations, a narrative literature review is quite comprehensive and demanding in comparison to what is required for a published article. While narrative reviews allow for a summation and consolidation of work that has been recently published, choices made about what to include or omit are up to the researcher (Grant & Booth, 2009) which is a critique of this approach. Exemplar

An article we wrote on community settings as a determinant of Indigenous peoples’ high rates of tuberculosis has a succinct (needed for publication with word limits) narrative literature review (Mayan et al., 2019). It concludes with the objective of the study: “to understand how community setting may help explain the high rates and advanced presentations of TB among Indigenous Peoples in the Prairie Provinces” (p. 2). This narrative literature review is a good example of a straightforward review that provides a strong rationale for conducting the resulting study. Scoping Review

A scoping review is a preliminary assessment of the “scope” (breadth and depth) of the literature which generally serves to identify the nature of the research evidence on a topic. Following a systematic approach, a scoping review maps “evidence on a topic” and “identifies main concepts, theories, sources, and knowledge gaps” (Tricco et al., 2018, p. 467). Scoping reviews generally ask broad questions such as, “What is the nature of the evidence for this intervention?” or “What is known about this concept?”(Tricco et al., 2018, p. 467). This type of review provides information on the quantity and quality of the literature, often by commenting on the study design and other important features, but there is typically no formal quality assessment process (Grant & Booth, 2009). However, scoping reviews have evolved significantly over the past few years and the Preferred Reporting Items for Systematic reviews and Meta-Analyses (PRISMA), guidelines have now been extended to include scoping reviews (see Tricco et al., 2018). Exemplar

Lee and colleagues (2021) mapped published accounts of parent interventions for pediatric chronic pain. Recognizing that previous reviews on the topic prioritized the inclusion of randomized control trials, the authors aimed to analyze and describe the breadth and depth of this literature base. The authors identified potential articles through database searches, screened the titles and abstracts, then moved to full-text review. This process resulted in a sample of

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54 articles. Following established scoping review guidelines, a quality appraisal of the sample was not conducted. Based on their analysis, it is evident that parents play a vital role in supporting their youth with chronic pain and can benefit “from interventions aimed to help them support their youth” (p. 842). Systematic Review

A systematic review is an exhaustive search that aims to methodically search for, assess, and summarize research evidence (Grant & Booth, 2009). A systematic review always involves choosing an established guideline and then conducting a formal quality assessment of the chosen articles (Paterson, 2012). Take a look at Preferred Reporting Items for Systematic reviews and MetaAnalyses (PRISMA) http://www.prisma-statement.org. Generally, a systematic review is done for a very specific question, such as “Does this intervention improve specified outcomes when compared with a given comparator in this population?” (Tricco, 2018, p. 467), the findings and analysis is presented in narrative form with some information presented in tables for synthesis. The analysis includes “what is known, recommendations for practice, what remains unknown and recommendations for future research” (Grant & Booth, 2009, p. 95). The strength of the systematic review lies in its exhaustiveness. Exemplar

Passos De Luca and colleagues (2020) conducted a systematic review to evaluate the impact of having a parent present during dental treatment. The authors were interested in understanding whether parent presence shaped the behavior and feelings of fear at the dentist, in children 12 years or younger. Upon completion of the initial search, screening, and eligibility assessment, 16 articles were selected for inclusion in the review. Based on their review of included articles, the authors determined that the parent’s presence did little to change child behavior and feelings of anxiety during dental exams. However, based on their quality appraisal, the authors identified broad methodological limitations in the studies included in their sample, leading to a call for more research with standardized approaches on the topic. Meta-analysis

A meta-analysis is a statistical procedure that assimilates data from quantitative studies, that ask the same or very similar questions, to yield a more exact effect of the findings from across the identified studies (Field & Gillett, 2010). By taking into account the mean and variance of underlying population effects, variability in effects across studies, and moderator variables, a meta-analysis can more accurately answer the research question (Field & Gillett, 2010). For example, a meta-analysis could be conducted on the following research question, “Are social media apps efficacious in treating reduced consumption

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of alcohol”? A meta-analysis involves a comprehensive literature search, determining inclusion/exclusion criteria, calculating effect sizes for the included studies, performing meta-analysis, considering more advanced analyses (e.g., publication bias analysis, moderator variables), and then writing up the findings (Field & Gillett, 2010). One purported strength of a metaanalysis is the ability to take studies lacking in statistical significance and combining their impact to inform practice and policy. Exemplar

O’Neill and colleagues (2021) investigated the link between caregiver sensitivity and preschool attachment with the aim of cultivating and understanding the potential mechanisms that may ameliorate attachment issues and lead to enhanced childhood mental health. The authors systematically reviewed and meta-analyzed the 36 papers included in their sample. Higher levels of caregiver sensitivity were linked to secure preschoolers, leading the authors to conclude that “implementation of programs to assess and improve the sensitivity in which caregivers interact with their infants and young children is paramount to improving attachment and mental health outcomes in childhood through adulthood” (p. 33). Qualitative Meta-Synthesis

The term qualitative meta-synthesis can capture other similar terms such as: meta-ethnography, qualitative meta-analysis, and qualitative systematic review. Fundamentally, the purpose of a qualitative meta-synthesis is to invite scholars who studied the same topic, often in varying context and settings, to generate knowledge enriched by their different disciplines, methodologies, samples, and theoretical orientations (Thorne, 2017). As such, a qualitative meta-synthesis offers a pathway to knowing more fully and deeply about the phenomenon under investigation (Thorne, 2017). However, some scholars fear that the qualitative meta-synthesis approach has taken a misguided turn away from its original purpose. Sally Thorne (2017; 2019) provides a reminder about what qualitative meta-synthesis was designed to do and what it has become. Thorne refers to writing from her very good colleague, Margarete Sandelowski and her colleagues (1997) who warned: By its very nature and purposes, qualitative research appears resistant to, and endangered by, efforts to synthesize studies. Just as it goes against the nature of poetry to attempt to summarize even one poem about love, so it seems both epistemologically and ethically inappropriate to attempt to summarize findings from one or more qualitative studies about human experiences of health and illness. (Sandelowski et al., 1997, p. 366)

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Thorne (2017; 2019) cautions that the qualitative meta-synthesis review is in danger of being utilized in such a way that mirrors meta-analysis, an approach designed to enable researchers to uncover a ‘singular truth’. Such a goal (the discovery of a singular truth) remains in contradiction with the aims of qualitative research. Exemplar

Oh and colleagues (2020) drew on the meta-synthesis approach outlined by Sandelowski and Barroso (2007) to synthesize the findings from 37 qualitative projects that explored the experiences of caregivers of individuals living with dementia. The approach consisted of 5 phases: “searching for and retrieving qualitative research reports, appraising the quality of the studies to be synthesized, classifying the findings of qualitative research reports, synthesizing qualitative research findings, and optimizing the validity of qualitative research synthesis studies” (Oh et al., 2020, p. 61). The synthesis revealed that the impact of caring for someone with dementia goes beyond the primary caregiver, and effects the family as a whole.

Mixed Methods Some researchers have argued that qualitative and quantitative research belong to incompatible epistemologies and ontologies and as such, believe that qualitative and quantitative methods should not be combined in a single study. Others though, see immense value in combining the methods to study complex phenomena and answer multifaceted research questions (Leech & Onwuegbuzie, 2009; Morse & Niehaus, 2009). I fall into this category, especially due to the applied nature of my work and the need to both explore and explain. But aside from this, it is the research purpose and research question that will dictate whether it is appropriate to use a mixed methods design (e.g., Creswell et al., 2011; Halcomb & Hickman, 2015; Hesse-Biber, 2010). Research ethics may also play a role, which becomes clear in Exercise 5.1: The Need for Community-Based Participatory Research and Mixed Methods. There are several key researchers that I list below who specialize in mixed-methods research design and have contributed to the growth of the field over the years. If you want to continue to explore mixed-methods research, consulting these works will definitely help. However, it can be overwhelming to try and understand all the views and designs that currently exist, and the breadth seems almost limitless. Because of this, if I were you, I would start by choosing one scholar (e.g., Morse or Poth or Tashakkori and Teddlie) and follow their logic over time. I was trained by Janice Morse, so my writing primarily adheres to her perspective, but since most of my students use Creswell and Plano Clark (2011; 2018), I appreciate their work

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in advancing the field. In addition to Morse and her colleague, Niehaus, some of the early developers and current practitioners of mixed methods research are: Mertens (2015); Mertens with Hesse-Biber (2010); HesseBiber (2010); Hesse-Biber with Johnson (2015); Creswell with Plano Clark (2018); Creswell with Klassen; Plano Clark and Clegg Smith (2011); Creswell (2015); Plano Clark with Ivankova (2016); Tashakkori and Teddlie (2010); Greene (2007); Onwuegbuzie with Bustamente and Nelson (2010); Poth with Onwuegbuzie (2015); Halcomb and Hickman (2015); and Leech with Onwuegbuzie (2009). As you can imagine, there is little consensus among these researchers on the types and validity of mixed-methods research designs (Tashakkori & Teddlie, 2010). As you may have noticed, I have not even provided a definition of mixed methods because there is disagreement as to whether mixing is qualitative and quantitative, or if it can be qualitative with qualitative, or quantitative with quantitative data (Morse & Cheek, 2015). However, there are a few shared key features across mixed methods designs: the dominance or priority of each method in answering the research question, the timing of each method (e.g., concurrent or sequential), and the timing of mixing or integration of methods (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2007; Greene, 2007; Leech & Onwuegbuzie, 2009; Tashakkori & Teddlie, 2010). First, in designing a mixed-methods study, there is typically a method that is a dominant, core, or main method that will address the research question and will take priority. The additional method is included to gather further information that will add to answering the research question, provide context, or fill in smaller missing pieces. In some designs however, no method is prioritized and both methods are given equal consideration (see convergent design below). Second, the timing of each method and whether data are collected and analyzed at the same time or sequentially, and when interpretation takes place, also needs to be considered. Third, it must be decided when to mix, or in what phase of the research process the data will be mixed, merged, or integrated. This last point on integrating the data is important. Believe it or not, some mixed methods studies actually do not integrate the data. They do indeed have two separate data sets but report on the findings from one and then the findings from the other, and mixing of data, analysis, or interpretation do not occur. If there is any consensus in the mixed methods literature, it is that methods need to be integrated at some point! The point of interface usually occurs after analysis, when writing up the findings (but before interpretation). However, depending on the research question and the mixed methods design being used, the point of the interface can occur at any stage of, and at multiple times in, the research process (Greene, 2007; Leech & Onwuegbuzie, 2009; Tashakkori & Teddlie, 2010).

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Below I outline two sets of mixed methods designs. I include Morse and Niehaus (2016) and then touch on Creswell and Plano Clark (2018) (who provide a handy table of selected typologies of mixed methods design classifications). However, know all of the above-listed scholars have their own designs, adapted from each other, that you may want to consider. Morse and Niehaus (2016) refer to a mixed methods project as one that has a core component (and complete study) that is either qualitative (QUAL) or quantitative (QUAN) and is combined with a supplementary component, either qualitative (qual) or quantitative (quan). Note the capital letters refer to the core component and the lowercase and italicized letters refer to the supplementary component. Additionally, the core and the supplementary components can be done either simultaneously (concurrently) or sequentially, expressed as (+) or (→) respectively. QUAN + qual: If the research question is quantitative and the additional information sought is qualitative, the research design will be quantitativelydriven with a simultaneous qualitative supplemental project. That is, the quantitative project will be complete in itself, and the qualitative supplemental project is usually qualitatively incomplete and cannot be published separately, but answers a sub-question when considered in relation to the quantitative study. This research design is then written QUAN + qual. For example, a survey could be conducted with an appropriate and adequate sample and a subset of the respondents could also be interviewed. QUAL + quan: If the research question is qualitative (i.e., a qualitativelydriven study), but an additional quantitative measure is required to add to the description, the research design will have a qualitative core component, and quantitative supplemental component, written QUAL + quan. For example, the QUAL could be a study using interviews and the quan could be a standardized scale given to the interview participants to gauge their experience, and if the instrument has external norms, scores from the small qualitative sample can be interpreted within the normative population. QUAN→qual: If a project commences as a quantitative study, and the researcher recognizes at the beginning, or even partway through, or at the completion of the analysis, that a sub-question could be asked that uses qualitative strategies, a qualitative component may be added. The research is then quantitatively-driven and sequential, written as QUAN→qual. For example, a survey could be conducted with an appropriate and adequate sample and after analysis of the survey data, a subset of the respondents could be interviewed (perhaps those with a particularly intriguing score) to help explain the findings. QUAL→quan: Mirroring the above example, if a project commences as a qualitative study, and the researcher recognizes that it would be valuable to add a quantitative component after the qualitative analysis is complete, the research is then qualitatively-driven and sequential, written as QUAL→quan.

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For example, interviews could be conducted with an appropriate and adequate sample and after analysis of the interview data, the respondents could be given a survey to measure the concepts identified in the qualitative phase. Creswell and Plano Clark (2011) define mixed methods research as those studies that include at least one quantitative and one qualitative “strand” or component, and in 2011 offered five mixed methods designs: explanatory sequential, exploratory sequential, convergent parallel, embedded, and multiphase. However, in 2018, and after years of studying mixed methods, they identified that mixed methods research can be captured in one or more of three core designs. They dropped embedded and multiphase and synthesized the work to: Explanatory sequential, exploratory sequential, and convergent (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2018). Be forewarned that these descriptions are vague. The authors actually have extremely helpful visuals of each design, and a full description of the intent of the design, when to choose it, philosophical assumptions of, procedures, challenges, and examples using the design; I encourage you to take a look at them. The explanatory sequential design has two distinct phases. It starts with quantitative data collection and analysis, followed by qualitative data collection and analysis, which helps to explain or expand on the quantitative findings; interpretation of the entire data set is completed at the end (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2018). This is likely the most popular mixed methods design and is similar to Morse and Niehaus QUAN→qual which could involve, for example, administering a quantitative survey, then analyzing that survey, then interviewing a subset of the sample based on an interesting or surprising or unanticipated finding from the quantitative analysis. The exploratory sequential also has three separate phases but instead of starting with the quantitative core, it starts with a qualitative (exploratory) study. Based on the qualitative findings, the researcher develops a quantitative feature such as “the generation of new variables, the design of an instrument, the development of activities for an intervention, or a digital product such as an app or website” (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2018, p. 67). The third phase involves quantitatively testing this new feature to advance or test the concepts identified in the qualitative phase. In this design, the researcher establishes and describes how the quantitative findings are built on the qualitative findings. This design is appropriate for a topic that is considerably understudied where exploration to determine the phenomenon’s main concepts is needed. For example, a researcher could interview participants and identify the main concepts that answer the research question, these concepts could be used to develop an online assessment tool, and then the researcher could administer the assessment tool and analyze the findings. This design is similar to Morse and Niehaus’s QUAL→quan.

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The convergent design captures the process of bringing together the findings of the quantitative and qualitative data analyses “so they can be compared and combined” (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2018, p. 65). Data collection and analysis are conducted concurrently and independently and then analyses are compared and interpreted. This is an important distinction against other designs; data collection happens at the same time rather than one being used afterward to explain/explore and both quantitative and qualitative are viewed as equally important. Thus, the convergent design is useful for comparing and contrasting quantitative with qualitative or validating quantitative with qualitative. By doing so, the researcher can acquire a more comprehensive understanding of the research problem. For example, a researcher can administer a survey and analyze these data, then conduct interviews with the same population and analyze the interview data, and then compare the findings (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2018). Exemplar

To draw on another mixed methods scholar, and to highlight a complex convergent design, Poth and her colleagues (2020) undertook a convergent mixed methods case study design to assess the impacts of competencybased approaches to evaluator education. The case involved a 13-week competency-based evaluation course and the experiences and perspectives of 11 learners enrolled in the course. Specifically, the research team sought to illuminate who contributed to the course, the competencies intended to be developed as learner outcomes, the learning experiences facilitated, and the assessment strategies used in the course to support learning. The data collection followed two strands: a quantitative strand and a qualitative strand. The quantitative strand consisted of a pre- and post-course competency self-assessment in which participants rated their perceived level of competence, both in program evaluation expertise and individual competencies, on a four-point Likert scale. Their ratings were analyzed using descriptive and inferential statistics to identify domain scores and statistically significant gains among individual competencies. For the qualitative strand, the learners were asked to describe their rationale for their ratings in the quantitative self-assessments as well as participate in an end-of-course reflection and focus group. The qualitative data (i.e., learners’ descriptions of their self-assessments, end-of-course reflections, and focus group transcript) were analyzed using a thematic coding approach. The integration of the findings (where the two strands converged) involved using the resulting qualitative themes as an organizational framework to interpret and integrate the quantitative data and generate mixed insights. Poth and colleagues used a visual plot and a joint display to represent their mixed insights (e.g., a table depicting the competencies and learner scores alongside an associated theme and illustrative quote).

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Participatory Approaches Participatory approaches to research are known by many different names including participatory action research, action research, collaborative inquiry, appreciative inquiry, popular education, public ethnography, participatory research, community-based participatory research, community-based collaborative research, community-participatory partnered research, and community-directed research, to name a few. The common thread among most participatory approaches is captured by the well-known expression: “nothing about us without us”. While having its roots in Europe, the slogan in the North American context is attributed to James Charlton, an activist for disability rights, who wrote a book with this title (see Charlton, 1998). As applied to research, the slogan means that no research should be conducted on a group of people, but instead, should be conducted with a group of people; this notion underpins all participatory research. Participatory research is a long-term commitment to work together by meaningfully involving community members in all stages of the research— from identification of the research problem, design of the study, data collection and analysis, and interpretation of the findings, through to dissemination and knowledge mobilization (action) of the findings. Notably however, the impracticality and undesirability expressed by community members of participating in all stages of the research has resulted in having community members determine when and in what ways they would like to be involved in the research. Thus, through a collaborative process that equitably involves all partners in the research process, participatory approaches honor and highlight the knowledges, unique strengths, and degree of involvement that each community member or partner brings to the research process. The outcomes of participatory research include: skill-building and capacity-building within the community and among researchers; relevant and meaningful action plans and policy recommendations, and possibly social change; and trust-building between researchers and the communities they are to serve. In this vein, individuals and communities are not “subjects” or “objects” of research, but are considered experts of their own experience with complementary knowledge and skills to contribute to the research process. And since research is guided by community members or partners, according to the research question they need to be answered, it can be qualitative, quantitative, or mixed methods. And if it is not apparent by now, participatory approaches are deeply political. As such, a participatory researcher must deeply commit to what Lilla Watson (2022), an Indigenous Australian—a Murri woman—said: If you have come here to help me you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together. Participatory research is not about helping people and communities, it is about focusing on the causes of marginalization and ways to mobilize against systems of inequity. The two most common participatory approaches are participatory action research and community-based participatory research.

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Participatory action research (PAR) grew out of the empowerment, liberation, and consciousness-raising works of Paulo Freire in the 1970s. It is based on the notion that “people have a universal right to participate in the production of knowledge” which is a process of both “personal and social transformation” (Freire, 1997, p. xi). PAR entered the Western research world at a time when distrust of traditional research was increasing and, simultaneously, researchers were being asked about their role and responsibility, or lack thereof, in advancing social justice issues. The PAR process starts with engaging community members in what was (how their community lived in the past), what is (the needs, resources, and constraints within their present community), and what could be (the community they envision). Engaging community members through these questions is considered a consciousness-raising, health-promoting activity in itself, and of equal importance to the research outcome. Through PAR, not only do communities understand power relations and their own oppression, but they become agents of social change. Just to note, action research is not PAR. Action research is participatory research without the political agenda. Action research emphasizes “the integration of theory and practice” but does not “challenge the existing power relationships in either knowledge or material production” (Stoecker, 2005, p. 20). Community-based participatory research (CBPR), attributed first to Barbara Israel in 1998, and Meredith Minkler and Nina Wallerstein in 2003, is a collaborative research approach that aims to generate knowledge about and take action to improve the lives of people facing health, social, economic, political, and environmental inequities. CBPR approaches emphasize the socially created (co-constructed) nature of knowledge and prioritize the participation of non-academic researchers as equal partners in the research processes (Israel et al., 1998). A key principle of CBPR is for research partners to harness and enhance the existing strengths within the community to address concerns and inequities (Israel et al., 1998; 2001). Sometimes CBPR gets confused with community-placed research. Admittedly, all research with humans happens within a community—a city, neighborhood, a classroom, a hospital, on the streets, etc. But there is both a conceptual and practical difference between doing research with people in a community and conducting research with people in a particular location. The first is embedded in principles of participatory research, the second simply names the location. While PAR and CBPR share similar qualities, PAR grew out of Brazil in the 1970s and the history of social movements; is embedded in the liberation, emancipation, and empowerment of peoples; and is rooted in the discipline of Education. Inspired by PAR, CBPR was developed in the late

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1990s/early 2000s in North America, is embedded in partnerships with individuals effected by “the problem”, and is rooted in the health disciplines and health inequities. Exemplar

Yohani and Kreitzer’s (2021) CBPR study on migration resettlement and integration of survivors of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi of Rwanda in Canada highlights how research done with communities can support community members and provide critical policy guidance to strengthen communities. This study was initiated by community organizers of the Memory Keepers Association (MKA), a community of survivors of the 1994 genocide against Tutsi in Rwanda. MKA prompted researchers to investigate mental health supports for Rwandan Canadians who had survived the 1994 genocide. MKA members guided the study and participated throughout the research by generating questions, analyzing data, and reporting findings. This study found that Canadian immigration policies systematically discriminate against survivors of genocide. In particular, those who migrated in the past 10 years had been children during the genocide and arrived without family support. These individuals could not apply through Canadian immigration standard family reunification pathways that focus on reuniting families because many had lost most, if not all their family during the genocide. These claimants also faced additional barriers to accessing services due to their refugee status not being connected to a specific event. Actionable policy suggestions included creating super visas to allow faster processing for those who are immediate family, but do not fit within current criteria (e.g., an adult sibling) or act as close relatives or caretakers to survivors genocide (e.g., uncles, cousins). Additionally, researchers suggested allowing non-biological sponsors to sponsor refugee claimants, who are without an immediate family due to genocide, as a humane response to the unique migration challenges of genocide survivors. Participatory Community Mapping

The relationship between the environments in which we live, and our health and well-being is well established. Participatory community mapping acknowledges that space, and how it is used, matters (Gubrium & Harper, 2013). It is a process that invites community members to pool their knowledge and experience of the community and represent this in a graphic form, or map. Indeed, maps enable us to visualize and then attempt to solve problems facing particular communities. Participatory community mapping can rely on geographic information systems (GIS) mapping which can provide the foundation for a community to answer “where” questions about the social use of spaces, the history of a place, or the distribution of resources or risks in a neighbourhood,

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“making it possible to identify patterns” (Gubrium & Harper, 2013, p. 152). Participatory community mapping can target both the physical and social landscape of the community and how they need to be changed to improve the health and well-being of the community. Depending on the research purpose, data collection may involve having community members think through and locate the historical, physical (transportation routes, factory, sanitation stations, shops), social and recreational (community centers and agencies, sports fields), cultural, and spiritual attributes of the community, and even cherished places within the community. Through maps, community members can then identify such things as where children play and who watches them; where the elderly and disabled are; what ethnicities community members are, who lives together (e.g., extended families); what the role of faith organizations, community organizations, and the police are; and the values they hold as a community. Thus, data analysis is a circular process of continually meeting, discussing, confirming, and verifying the places within the community. Regardless if GIS is used, by creating and modifying their community map, members create an awareness of their community and what they want it to become. And like all participatory methodologies, it is as much about the process (engaging community members and other stakeholders) as it is about the product (the map), and the resulting recommendations for action. Resulting maps are often used as a planning and advocacy tool to influence decision-making. Exemplar

A study by Fang and colleagues (2016) illustrates how participatory community mapping was used to understand the sense of place (i.e., aspects of place identity, sense of purpose, belonging, and living a meaningful life) and identify facilitators and barriers to accessing the built environment among older people and their service providers in Western Canada. Specifically, a series of four participatory community mapping workshops (PCMW) were conducted in a seniors’ community center to identify the features within the community that made it a positive place to live as an older person. Two key methods were used in each of the PCMWs. First, in small groups consisting of seniors, service providers, and researchers, participants went on experiential group walks around the community and around the building. Second, following the experiential group walks, participants were asked to locate services and supports on a large map. Each workshop had a unique objective, and the group walks and mapping exercises were used in each workshop to offer a visual cue to help participants describe their experiences in relation to the workshop’s objectives. The PCMWs enabled the participants to identify different features that could enhance their aging experience (e.g., create more opportunities for social participation and activities that are rooted in different cultural beliefs and practices) and centrally-positioned the older adults and their stories and co-created maps to generate knowledge.

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Case Study Case study can be qualitative, quantitative, or mixed methods. What you need to know is that doing a case study is not a methodological choice. Case study is an approach to understanding a bounded system; it is a choice of what you are going to study (Stake, 2005). In other words, if a case study approach is chosen, a methodology through which to understand the case must still be decided, and thus, it can be qualitative, quantitative, or mixed methods; it could also use secondary data (see below). Case study can also be viewed as a “strategy of inquiry” or “comprehensive research strategy” (Creswell 2007, p. 73) that can be descriptive, exploratory, or explanatory (Creswell, 2007). The focus, though, is on the case and understanding the complexities of it, and the blurred boundaries between the phenomenon (e.g., case) and the context where it is embedded (for instance, a project, program, or organization). Obviously, approaches to conducting a case study vary, but if the case were, for example, a methamphetamine program, the focus might be on the history of the program, the physical setting, other contexts in which the case is situated (e.g., economic, political, legal, aesthetic), and/or other cases through which the case is recognized (Stake, 2005). Exemplar

In a qualitative, multiple-case study, Rubuliak and Spencer (2021) explored the perspectives of children experiencing disabilities regarding inclusion during recess. The case study was informed by narrative approaches in the analysis and interpretation of the data. The study findings are represented through a series of poems, vignettes, and short stories. Inclusion at recess for children experiencing disability was shaped by policy (related to physical activity promotion), social interactions and connections with peers, school timetables, and physical barriers. The qualitative, multiple case study enabled the authors to individually analyze each participant’s (three children experiencing disability) perspectives and stories, prior to looking for connections across each case.

Secondary Data Analysis Secondary qualitative data analysis, as you likely guessed, involves the use of previously collected data (e.g., interviews, fieldnotes, diaries, etc.). The data are then reanalyzed using a research question that is distinct from the question asked of the original work (Heaton, 2008). While secondary data analysis is complimented for maximizing resources and answering pressing and relevant research questions, there are two main concerns to keep in mind. Briefly, scholars question if reanalyzing qualitative data compromises the fundamental purpose or principles of qualitative inquiry that is gathered through context, emphasis on certain words, and other tacit knowledge the

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researcher gains from being in the setting (Heaton, 2008). Additionally, there are critiques as to whether the nature and scope of the data set collected for the primary purpose is sufficient or appropriate for the secondary purpose (Hammersley, 2010). For example, it is important to consider whether the data set will allow for data saturation and whether the data are appropriate for the methodology chosen for the secondary analysis. For example, it is unlikely that a phenomenological inquiry could be conducted on an ethnographic data set. Overall, if the researcher who is conducting the secondary analysis has access to the investigator who conducted the primary research (e.g., student and their supervisor), some of the above concerns can be addressed. However, the concerns articulated with using secondary qualitative data analysis are not only echoed but amplified in the growing interest in and pressure felt by researchers to place their qualitative data in data repositories. Exemplar

Gibson and colleagues (2020) used secondary qualitative data analysis to explore goals and delivery of person-centred care (PCC) within rehabilitation and to advance discourse across disciplines. In this study, a team of researchers from various disciplines (i.e., bioethics, psychology, physiotherapy, speechlanguage therapy, and sociology) with diverse approaches and epistemological commitments came together to evaluate their past qualitative studies with a new focus on PPC. Researchers hoped that working as a team might create space for novel insights to emerge to inform what constitutes “good” rehabilitation practice and its delivery. Describing their process, Gibson and colleagues (2020) state that although their “point of departure was PCC … Discussion inevitably considered the multiple and intersecting logics and assumptions underpinning contemporary health and rehabilitation, and how these shape care practices” (p. 1530). Importantly, researchers note that they did not always agree on what qualifies as “good” care and attempted to highlight tensions and multiple views within their analysis and findings. In this process, researchers reread and re-analyzed the data using three “trigger” questions: 1) What assumptions, principles, and/or goals of rehabilitation recur in the doings of practice and its representations? 2) What is produced and promoted as “good” or “best” practices or PCC? and 3) How do the normative categories of good practices and PCC overlap and diverge?” (Gibson et al., 2020, p. 1531). Researchers found that those who gave and received care often enacted scripts or conventional practices that reified standards rather than imagining and embodying alternatives. Additionally, findings revealed patient compliance was often acquired through enacting “benevolent manipulations” or convincing patients that practitioner suggestions would be the best course of action for patients’ health and wellbeing. Finally, researchers found careful tinkering was a responsive approach that practitioners often engaged in to continuously respond to patients’

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evolving needs. Final insights revealed that PCC must emerge in relation and best courses of practice cannot be predetermined.

Summary This “other” chapter needed to be included in this book as they are approaches that are becoming part of our overall qualitative and quantitative research endeavors. These approaches may need to be incorporated into your research especially when you are studying complex, wicked, and intractable issues that require you to tackle them from numerous angles. The exercise below is an example of how, in particular, a participatory, mixed methods approach is argued to be not only good research design but also required to ensure that the study is both relevant and ethical.

Exercise 5.1 The Need for Community-Based Participatory Research and Mixed Methods Malcolm King, Letter to the Editor: Summary The objective of this exercise is to consider the outcomes of research when mixed methods and participatory research are combined. Please read the synopsis below and then get into a small group and discuss the following: • •

Should the knowledge gleaned from Ryan et al. (2015) be considered valid, valuable, or ethical? Why or why not? Can it be valid without being ethical? Can it be valuable without being ethical? Does all epidemiological research need to have a qualitative component that provides context?

In a 2015 letter to the editor of the Canadian Journal of Public Health, Dr. Malcolm King, a member of the Mississaugas of the New Credit First Nation and an illustrious and highly respected health researcher highlights how necessary community-based participatory research, and qualitative inquiry are for certain research studies. In his letter, Dr. King comments on a study in the journal by Ryan and colleagues (2015) who surveyed 6,610 adult Métis using the 2006 Aboriginal Peoples Survey, to investigate factors correlated with current smoking. The authors considered culturally-specific factors, as well as demographic information, geographic location, and other health-related variables in their analyses. Dr. King takes issue with statements by the authors who note their findings “might be explained by social factors not captured in the models” and “focus group methodology could help contextualize” the relationships found among study variables in future research (Ryan et. al., 2015, p. e275). Dr. King respectfully suggests that “such focus groups/discussion circles” be included as “part of the protocol in statistical analyses such as this one” (King, 2015, p. e457). He states that

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The meaning of these relationships between smoking and spirituality and Aboriginal language is clearly beyond the frame of reference of this epidemiological study. Rather than suggesting a future direction of research (always seen as self-serving from the funders point of view), the interpretation of research findings through community contextualization should be built into the study protocol. (King, 2015, p. e457) Dr. King goes on to refer to Chapter 9: Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self (Research Involving the First Nations, Inuit and Métis Peoples of Canada) in the Tri-Council Policy Statement: Ethical Conduct for Research Involving Humans (Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR), Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (NSERC), and Social Sciences & Humanities Research Council (SSHRC, 2014) that requires “Aboriginal community involvement in the interpretation of data”. While there is “no specific requirement for such community involvement in the secondary analysis of de-identified data”, as was the case with this article, King refers to Article 9.21 which says “where the information can be identified as originating from a specific community or from a segment of the Aboriginal community at large, seeking culturally informed advice may assist in identifying risks and potential benefits for the source community”. In his argument, Dr. King encourages readers to consider whether the knowledge gleaned from the Ryan et al. (2015) study should be considered valid, valuable, or ethical, given the lack of contextualization and validation from members of the community under investigation. Dr. King suggests that it is more appropriate and necessary in this type of research to form “an Aboriginal advisory group, inclusive of people relevant to the group whose data are being analyzed” (King, 2015, p. e457). Dr. King concludes by urging researchers to offer appropriate levels of contextualization to their statistical analyses, something that can only adequately be accomplished by the expert interpretation of relevant knowledge holders. I encourage you to read his full letter to the editor.

References Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR), Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (NSERC), and Social Sciences & Humanities Research Council (SSHRC). (2014). Tri-council policy statement: Ethical conduct for research involving humans. https://www.cmcc.ca/Tri-CouncilPolicy Statement.pdf Charlton, J. I. (1998). Nothing about us without us: Disability oppression and empowerment. University of California Press. Creswell, J. W. (2007). Qualitative inquiry and research design: Choosing among five approaches (2nd ed.). Sage.

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Creswell, J. W. (2015). A concise introduction to mixed methods research. Sage. Creswell, J. W., & Plano Clark, V. L. (2007). Designing and conducting mixed methods research. Sage. Creswell, J. W., & Plano Clark, V. L. (2011). Designing and conducting mixed methods research (2nd ed.). Sage. Creswell, J. W., & Plano Clark, V. L. (2018). Designing and conducting mixed methods research (3rd ed.). Sage. Creswell, J. W., Klassen, A. C., Plano Clark, V. L., & Clegg Smith, K. (2011). Best practices for mixed methods research in the health sciences. Report commissioned by the Office of Behavioral and Social Sciences Research. Fang, M. L., Woolrych, R., Sixsmith, J., Canham, S., Battersby, L., Sixsmith, A. (2016). Place-making with older persons: Establishing sense-of-place through participatory community mapping workshops. Social Science & Medicine, 168, 223–229. 10.1016/ j.socscimed.2016.07.007 Field, A. P. and Gillett, R. (2010), How to do a meta-analysis. British Journal of Mathematical and Statistical Psychology, 63, 665–694. https://doi-org.login.ezproxy.library.ualberta. ca/10.1348/000711010X502733 Freire, P. (1997). Foreword. In S. E. Smith, D. G. Willms & N. A. Johnson (Eds.), Nurtured by knowledge: Learning to do participatory action-research. Apex Press. Gibson, B. E., Terry, G., Setchell, J., Bright, F. A. S., Cummins, C. & Kayes, N. M. (2020). The micro-politics of caring: Tinkering with person-centered rehabilitation. Disability and Rehabilitation, 42(11), 1529–1538. 10.1080/09638288.2019.1587793 Grant, M. J., & Booth, A. (2009). A typology of reviews: An analysis of 14 review types and associated methodologies. Health Information & Libraries Journal, 26(2), 91–108. 10.1111/j.1471-1842.2009.00848.x Greene, J. C. (2007). Mixed methods in social inquiry. (1st Edition). Jossey-Bass. Gubrium, A., & Harper, K. (2013). Participatory visual and digital methods. Left Coast Press. Halcomb, E. & Hickman, L. (2015). Mixed methods research. Nursing Standard: Promoting Excellence in Nursing Care, 29 (32), 41–47. 10.7748/ns.29.32.41.e8858 Hammersley, M. (2010). Can we re-use qualitative data via secondary analysis? Notes on some terminological and substantive issues. Sociological Research Online, 15(1), 47–53. 10.5153/sro.2076 Heaton, J. (2008). Secondary analysis of qualitative data: An overview. Historical Social Research, 33(3), 33–45. https://www.jstor.org/stable/20762299 Hesse-Biber, S. (2010). Qualitative approaches to mixed methods practice. Qualitative Inquiry, 16, 455–468. 10.1177/1077800410364611 Hesse-Biber, S. N. & Johnson, B. (2015). The Oxford handbook of multimethod and mixed methods research inquiry. Oxford University Press. Israel, B. A., Schulz, A. J., Parker, E. A., & Becker, A. B. (1998). Review of communitybased research: Assessing partnership approaches to improve public health. Annual Review of Public Health, 19, 173–202. 10.1146/annurev.publhealth.19.1.173 Israel, B. A., Schulz, A. J., Parker, E. P., & Becker, A. B. (2001). Community-based participatory research: Policy recommendations for promoting a partnership approach in health research. Education for Health: Change in Learning & Practice, 14(2), 182–197. 10.1080/13576280110051055 King, M. (2015). Contextualization of socio-culturally meaningful data. Canadian Journal of Public Health, 106, e457. 10.17269/CJPH.106.5328

Other Approaches 137 Lee, S., Dick, B. D., Jordan, A., & McMurtry, C. M. (2021). Psychological interventions for parents of youth with chronic pain: A scoping review. The Clinical Journal of Pain, 37(11), 825–844. 10.1097/AJP.0000000000000977 Leech, N. L., & Onwuegbuzie, A. J. (2009). A typology of mixed methods research designs. Quality and Quantity: International Journal of Methodology, 43(2), 265–275. 10.1007/s11135-007-9105-3 Mayan, M. J., Gokiert, R. J., Robinson, T., Tremblay, M., Abonyi, S., Morley, K., Long, R. (2019). Community setting as a determinant of health for Indigenous peoples living in the prairie provinces of Canada: High rates and advanced presentations of tuberculosis. The International Indigenous Policy Journal, 10(2), 1–21. 10.18584/iipj.2019.10.2.5 Mertens, D. M. (2015). Research and evaluation in education psychology: Integrating diversity with quantitative, qualitative, and mixed methods (4th Edition). Sage. Mertens, D. M., & Hesse-Biber, S. (2013). Mixed methods and credibility of evidence in evaluation. In D. M. Mertens & S. Hesse-Biber (Eds.), Mixed methods and credibility of evidence in evaluation. New directions for evaluation, 138, 5–13. (Special Issue). 10.1002/ev.20053 Minkler, M., & Wallerstein, N. (2003). Community based participatory research for health. Jossey-Bass. Morse J. M., & Cheek, J. (2015). Introducing Qualitatively-Driven Mixed-Method Designs. Qualitative Health Research, 25(6), 731–733. 10.1177/1049732315583299 Morse, J. M., & Niehaus, L. (2009). Mixed method design principles and procedures. Left Coast Press. Morse, J. M., & Niehaus, L. (2016). Mixed method design principles and procedures. Routledge. Oh, S., Yu, M., Ryu, Y. M., Kim, H., & Lee, H. (2020). Changes in family dynamics in caregiving for people with dementia in South Korea: A qualitative meta-synthesis study. Qualitative Health Research, 30(1), 60–72. 10.1177/1049732319871254 O’Neill, M. C., Badovinac, S., Pillai Riddell, R., Bureau, J. F., Rumeo, C., & Costa, S. (2021). The longitudinal and concurrent relationship between caregiver sensitivity and preschool attachment: A systematic review and meta-analysis. PLOS ONE, 16(1), e0245061. Onwuegbuzie, A. J., Bustamente, R. M., & Nelson, J. A. (2010). Mixed research as a tool for developing quantitative instruments. Journal of Mixed Methods Research, 4(1), 56–78. 10.1177/1558689809355805 Passos De Luca, M., Massignan, C., Bolan M., Butini Oliveira, L., Aydinoz S., Dick, B. D., De Luca Canto, G. (2020). Does the presence of parents in the dental operatory room influence children’s behaviour, anxiety and fear during their dental treatment? A systematic review. International Journal of Paediatric Dentistry, 31(3), 318–336. Paterson, B. (2012). “It looks great but how do I know if it fits?”: An introduction to meta-synthesis research. In K. Hannes & C. Lockwood (Eds.), Synthesizing qualitative research: Choosing the right approach. Wiley. Plano Clark, V. L., & Ivankova, N. V. (2016). Mixed methods research: A guide to the field. Sage Publications Inc. Poth, C., & Onwuegbuzie, A. J. (2015). Editorial: How Mixed Methods Informs and Enhances Qualitative Research. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 14(2), 1–4. Special issue on Mixed Methods Research. 10.1177/160940691501400201

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Poth, C. N., Searle, M., Aquilina, A. M., Ge, J., & Elder, A. (2020). Assessing competency-based evaluation course impacts: A mixed methods case study. Evaluation and Program Planning, 79. 10.1016/j.evalprogplan.2020.101789 Rubuliak, R., & Spencer, N. L. I. (2021). ‘Everyone’s just like, they’re fine, and when in reality, are we?’ Stories about recess from children experiencing disability. Sport, Education and Society, 27(2),167–181. 10.1080/13573322.2021.1891041 Ryan, C. J., Cooke, M. J., Leatherdale, S. T., Kirkpatrick, S. I., & Wilk, P. (2015). The correlates of current smoking among adult Métis: Evidence from the Aboriginal peoples survey and Métis supplement. Canadian Journal of Public Health/Revue Canadienne de Santé Publique, 106(5), e271–e276. Sandelowski, M., & Barroso, J. (2007). Handbook for synthesizing qualitative research. Springer. Sandelowski, M., Docherty, S., & Emden, C. (1997). Qualitative metasynthesis: Issues and techniques. Research in Nursing & Health, 20, 365–371. Stake, R. E. (2005). Multiple case study analysis. Guilford Press. Stoecker, R. R. (2005). The Goose Approach to Research. In R. R. Stoecker, Research methods for community change. Sage Publications Inc. Tashakkori, A., & Teddlie, C. (2010). SAGE handbook of mixed methods in social and behavioral research (2nd Edition). Sage Publications Inc. Thorne, S. (2017). Metasynthetic madness: What kind of monster have we created? Qualitative Health Research, 27(1), 3–12. 10.1177/1049732316679370 Thorne, S. (2019). On the evolving world of What Constitutes Qualitative Synthesis. Qualitative Health Research, 29(1), 3–6. 10.1177/1049732318813903 Tricco, A. C., Lillie, E., Zarin, W., O’Brien, K. K., Colquhoun, H., Levac, D., Moher, D., Peters, M., Horsley, T., Weeks, L., Hempel, S., Akl, E. A., Chang, C., McGowan, J., Stewart, L., Hartling, L., Aldcroft, A., Wilson, M. G., Garritty, C., Lewin, S., … Straus, S. E. (2018). PRISMA Extension for Scoping Reviews (PRISMA-ScR): Checklist and Explanation. Annals of Internal Medicine, 169(7), 467–473. 10.7326/M18-0850 Watson, L. (2022, June 8). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lilla_Watson Yohani, S., & Kreitzer, L. (2021). Migration, resettlement and integration of survivors of the 1994 genocide against Tutsi in Rwanda in Canada: A community-based study. International Migration, 00, 1–16. 10.1111/imig.12920

6

Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation

This chapter begins by outlining how a researcher’s assumptions play a role in determining the research problem and question, and the pressure researchers put on themselves to choose the “right” research question. Following, definitions of research questions (and sub-questions) and research purpose (and objectives), with examples, are provided. Qualitative sampling and a list of common qualitative sampling strategies are included. The chapter ends with saturation, the difference between data saturation and theoretical saturation, and the factors influencing both. The first exercise asks you to make explicit the assumptions you hold about your research topic and the second exercise walks you through various ways you can pose your research question.

Questions We Ask Years ago, I was invited to talk about qualitative inquiry to a group of pediatric organ transplant surgeons and specialists. They explained to me how advances in transplant science, since the 1960s, have saved the lives of neonates, infants, and children. They shared their data on: the number of infants born each year with congenital heart disease and neonatal cardiomyopathy; the number of transplants each year, and the success, infection, and rejection rates. But this professional group also shared their experiences as clinicians and some of the other questions they wished they could answer: Why do some parents choose not to proceed with a transplant? What is the nature of teenagers’ peer relationships prior to and following a transplant? What is life like for parents after their child’s transplant? What is a “successful” transplant, and according to whom? And the one I found most chilling: Given the possible growth and developmental delays following transplant, do parents ever regret their decision to proceed? One surgeon added, “And do I really want to know the answer?” Just because we can perform the surgery, is it the “right” thing to do? These are the kinds of questions to which qualitative inquiry responds. They can be complicated, all-absorbing, grueling, and gripping. The answers may compel us to think and act in different ways. But determining a research question depends on many factors, including what the literature DOI: 10.4324/b23331-6

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outlines as the “next step” in your field, what your supervisor tells you to do, and what there is funding for. Or, like the transplant specialists, what you believe is important to create understanding and improve lives. Regardless of your question, it is critical to be intimately aware of the assumptions that underlie your research question.

Exploring Your Assumptions Assumptions are assertions about a topic or phenomenon we believe to be “true”. Research questions—and the problems they try to address—are built from our assumptions and are embedded in our disciplines and personal histories. Thus, our research questions are not value-free. What some individuals assume to be a problem, others do not, and that is what brings richness to the study of our social world. It is critical to explore your assumptions surrounding a topic and underlying a proposed question. This might seem trite—at least until you are challenged to think otherwise. Let us now think through the following scenario concerning access to health care. A student finds that she cannot get a family physician (i.e., general practitioner) for herself or her children, as general practitioners are not accepting new patients. Beyond her personal experience, there are media reports and government documents, including various documents from the American and Canadian medical associations, reporting the shortage of family physicians. She becomes interested in studying the process of foreign-trained physicians attempting to have their credentials recognized to practice in Canada or the United States. If she can study the process, she might find a way to alleviate some barriers within the process and subsequently make recommendations that will enable more foreign-trained family physicians to practice in these countries. In this scenario, the student’s assumption is that a shortage of family physicians is restricting access to health care in the United States and Canada. This student presents her question in class, only to find that another student challenges her. Are we really experiencing a shortage of general practitioners, or is the role that nurses play in our health system the issue? Does the problem lie in restrictions that prevent nurses from performing tasks that are currently under the purview of physicians? For example, could nurses deliver babies, give anesthetics, order or complete tests like blood work and mammograms, and write prescriptions such as those for painkillers or antibiotics? This might ease the physicians’ workload and help address what is considered a shortage of physicians. Neither of these assumptions, nor the research questions that would be attached to them, are wrong. It is just very important that within your topic area, you identify your assumptions, as they can lead to asking very different research questions. The first student will proceed with studying the process of foreign-trained physicians attempting to have their credentials recognized. The second student will examine the structure of health care and the power of medical organizations to be gatekeepers of the system and to define legitimate

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medical knowledge and practice. Both students are interested in the topic of access to health care, with the same starting point or problem—not being able to access a health care practitioner—but are asking very different questions based on their assumptions concerning where the problem lies.

Choosing the “Right” Question Spending time thinking through and determining a research question (or purpose) is difficult and important. A question forms the boundaries of the study. When you feel sideswiped by someone who asks, “Why did you not examine this or that?” you can often go back to your research question and confidently state, “That was beyond my research question” or “That was outside the purpose/intent of my study”. So, having a good research question really does help in very practical ways. But I get worried when students spend days, months, and—yes—years trying to find the “right” research question. Choosing the right question seems to consume them until one day they emerge, haggard, with a thesaurus in hand, and announce, “I finally have it!”, as if the thesis will now write itself. Choosing a research question should not be this laborious. The reason I am not advocating the year-long approach to determining your research question is the exploratory nature of the qualitative inquiry. No matter how long you spend preparing for your research, it rarely goes as you have laid out in your proposal. For example, if your research question was, “What is the process of becoming a police officer”?, you may find the participants you chose did not have the time or interest to speak with you; the timing of when you asked participants about the phenomenon was all wrong (e.g., you asked them two weeks after training); the setting was inappropriate (e.g., you thought that you would conduct interviews at the station, but people kept interrupting); or the data demanded to be treated like a narrative, not a grounded theory as initially conceptualized (e.g., you need to write the story of the experience of being a new police officer, not break it down into the stages and phases of the experience). So, your research question might change. Clearly, this is unsettling to many funders, supervisors, and students, yet it is one of the privileges of qualitative inquiry. Not changing your research question when you clearly need to is like “nailing jello to the wall”, meaning you are engaging in an endeavor that is unworkable, and you have continued doing something long after you should have stopped (i.e., collecting data to try to answer your unanswerable research question). It is also a threat to the rigor of your study (see Chapter 10: Rigor). Here is an example. I wanted to study the implementation of social policy within government, and I conceptualized my study when our government was led by a politician with a specific social policy agenda. However, by the time I started data collection, that politician had stepped down and had been replaced by a new controversial neo-liberal leader who began to dismantle government and the public sector (e.g., laying off

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teachers, nurses, social workers). What did my participants speak about? No matter how hard I tried to get them to talk about policy implementation (I really did not want to re-do my literature review), they were preoccupied with being a civil servant under this new leader. In the end, I listened to my participants, changed my research question, and learned about what it was like to be a civil servant at a time of radical government restructuring. My question changed from something like “How are social policies implemented by the provincial/state government?” to “What is the experience of being a civil servant at a time of radical restructuring?” So, labor all you want over the “right” research question, but it is likely that the question, along with other aspects of your study, will change as you proceed. It is also possible that your final research question, which actually fits with your data/findings, will be the last thing you write.

Research Question, Sub-Questions, Purpose, and Objectives Sometimes students confuse research question and sub-questions, and purpose and objectives. Depending on your funder, supervisor, or discipline, you may be asked for one, or combination, of these. Research Question and Sub-Questions

A research question assists in defining a study’s aim and context, and selecting a methodology. Reflecting on what the researcher really wants to explore, the question takes into account the reason for doing the research and the information that is already known about the area of interest (Maxwell, 2012). The question should be specific enough to provide some boundaries around the topic, while broad enough to invite the unanticipated. Creswell and Creswell (2018) provide helpful tips for writing a qualitative research question. A qualitative inquiry research question typically starts with “how” or “what”, and less so, “why” (you can often answer the “why” behind a phenomenon through questions using “how” or “what”). You should also avoid words in your research question associated with quantitative inquiry, such as “relate”, “influence”, “impact”, “effect”, and “cause” (Creswell & Creswell, 2018). Most often, you will only need one main research question to guide your inquiry. However, sub-questions can be written if the main research question is uncomfortably broad and you believe you need to ask more specific questions that target particular aspects of the phenomenon (and help limit your literature review). For example, a research question could be focused on the experience of living in poverty, but sub-questions could focus on the experience of accessing housing, medical care, and transportation. Drawing on Creswell and Creswell (2018), Tables 6.1 to 6.4 provide examples of how to set up a main research question, taking into account

Questions, Sampling, and Saturation 143 Table 6.1 Setting up a Research Question Research Question Format

Example Research Question(s)

What does it mean for ________ (participants/social group) to ________ (central phenomenon)? How do ________ (participants/social group) describe ________ (central phenomenon)? What is the experience of ________ (central phenomenon) by ________ (participants/ social group)?

What does it mean for graduate students to experience loneliness? How do graduate students describe the experience of loneliness? What is the experience of loneliness by graduate students? What are graduate students’ experiences of loneliness?

Table 6.2 Setting up a Grounded Theory Research Question Research Question Format

Example Research Question(s)

How do ________ (participants/social group) describe the process of ________ (central phenomenon)? What is the process of ________ (central phenomenon) by ________ (participants/ social group)?

How do graduate students describe the process of becoming lonely? What is the process of becoming lonely by graduate students?

Table 6.3 Setting up a Phenomenological Research Question Research Question Format

Example Research Question(s)

What is the lived experience of ________ (the central phenomenon)?

What is the lived experience of loneliness?

Table 6.4 Setting up a Research Question Using Other Data Sources Research Question Format

Example Research Question(s)

What do ________ (images/documents/ sound/poetry) convey/reveal about ________ (central phenomenon)?

What do posters about mental health convey about loneliness?. What do campus mental health policy and program documents convey about loneliness?. What does the sound in the students’ union building convey to graduate students about loneliness?. What does poetry reveal about loneliness?

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various methodologies and data collection strategies. I use the phenomenon of loneliness, and the participant or social group of graduate students, as an example to illustrate each type of research question. Keep in mind that participant or social group can refer to oneself if doing an autoethnographic work, collaborative autoethnography, etc. Table 6.1 may be the most informative for the newcomer to qualitative inquiry. While these questions are relevant to many methodologies, you will find that they lend themselves to a qualitative description approach and fit well with data collected through interviews (e.g., one-on-one interviews, focus groups, dyad interviews, etc.). If writing a grounded theory question, “process” is often used to get at the stages and phases of an experience (see Table 6.2). When writing a phenomenological research question, “lived experience” is often used (see Table 6.3 for an example). However, as mentioned in Chapter 3: Methodology, this term has proliferated beyond the research context to capture engaging directly with individuals who have actual or personal experience with a phenomenon. Therefore, you should not assume that the use of the phrase “lived experience” necessarily denotes a phenomenological research question. Although the questions above will likely be appropriate across data collection strategies, the research question in Table 6.4 captures one way to set up the exploration of a phenomenon that is not informed directly by participants or social groups, but through images, documents, or other data sources. While you will likely only need one main research question to guide your inquiry, if you want to pay unique attention to aspects of the main question (e.g., influences on loneliness), then you may want to write some sub-questions. Ensure all your sub-questions relate directly to, and when combined, will answer your main question. As a guide, I would not have more than three sub-questions, or you may find yourself, instead, writing your semi-structured interview guide and not sub-questions (see Chapter 7: Data Collection). Purpose and Objectives

The purpose statement essentially serves the same role as the central research question. Articulating the obvious, the purpose comes in the form of a statement, and the research question in the form of a question. The purpose, however, often emphasizes more of what you are going to do through the inquiry: “discover”, “generate”, “explore”, “identify”, “describe”, “determine”, “develop”, “establish” (Creswell & Poth, 2018, p. 174). Objectives also use these active words, and often serve the same role as sub-questions. The purpose will be fulfilled by achieving the stated objectives.

Questions, Sampling, and Saturation 145 Table 6.5 Contrasting Research Question/Sub-questions and Purpose Statement/ Objectives Research Question

Purpose Statement

What are graduate students’ experiences of loneliness?

The purpose of this research is to explore graduate students’ experiences of loneliness.

Sub-questions a When do graduate students feel lonely? b What triggers the feeling of loneliness in graduate students? c What would improve graduate students’ experiences of loneliness?

Objectives a To describe what makes graduate students feel lonely. b To detail what triggers the feeling of loneliness in graduate students. c To determine what would improve graduate students’ experiences of loneliness.

Generally, you either write a research question and possibly sub-questions, or a purpose statement and possibly objectives. Table 6.5 is an example of how a main research question and sub-questions can be transformed into a purpose statement and objectives, again using the example of the experience of loneliness among graduate students.

Sampling Nothing highlights the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodologies more explicitly than the logic that underlies sampling. The aim of quantitative sampling is the generalization to the larger population based on random sampling and statistical probability theory. Thus, the sample size is calculated while designing the research and recruitment continues until the target is reached (or close to it). The aim in qualitative sampling, on the other hand, is to understand the phenomenon of interest in-depth and varies widely between methodologies. While there are guides on approximate sample sizes, they can never be fully determined during the design phase. Purposeful Sampling

Qualitative inquiry depends on samples that are selected purposefully. In the broadest sense, purposeful sampling is the process of selecting information-rich sources (of any empirical materials), from which a great deal can be learned about the central phenomenon. Purposeful sampling can be applied to choosing places/contexts (e.g., schools, hospitals) for your study, as well as individuals (e.g., for one-on-one interviews, focus groups) and exemplars from other data sources (e.g., documents, images, meeting

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minutes, and so on). The researcher makes these choices by asking questions such as: • • • •

In which places/contexts will I be able to gather the most and best information about my topic? Where can I find the best examples of my topic? What kind of characteristics of the ______ (place/context/individuals/ exemplar) am I looking for? Who can give me the most and the best information about my topic? What events/meetings should I attend that will give me the most and the best information about my topic?

The following example illustrates the difference between random sampling and purposeful sampling. If a researcher wishes to understand conflict among graduate students in university health science departments, a quantitative approach would require the researcher to select a sample randomly from all graduate students in the health sciences so that everyone in that population has a chance to participate. The researcher could then send those randomly selected students a questionnaire structured around the experience of conflict within their departments. The use of a questionnaire presupposes that the researcher knows enough about the experience of conflict to be able to craft appropriate questions, or that someone else has developed a suitable measure. The researcher, however, could also take a qualitative approach and purposefully sample by considering questions (like those in the bulleted list above) to identify information-rich sources that can illuminate the phenomenon under investigation. The researcher may want to start with (or purposefully sample) a particular department that is known to have significant conflict (answering the question, “Where can I find the best examples of my topic?”). The researcher could then interview graduate students who are highly involved in the department (e.g., come in to work every day, serve on student council, work as research assistants) and will likely have experienced or witnessed conflict (answering the question, “Who can give me the most and the best information about my topic?”). If the data and analysis are good, the findings can be abstracted to a degree that we can talk about the generalizability of the work (see Chapter 10: Rigor). Just to be aware, there are more than a few critiques about sampling floating around. First, be mindful that some individuals refer to purposive sampling instead of purposeful sampling. However, purposeful sampling is unique to qualitative inquiry, whereas purposive sampling can be considered a quantitative sampling method (as introduced in 1925 at the International Statistics Institute meeting; Patton, 2015). To avoid confusion, I would stick to using purposeful sampling. Yet, there is a movement affront to distance ourselves from the term “purposeful sampling” because it is argued that all sampling is purposeful, it just depends what your purpose is (e.g., statistical generalization or rich description).

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Second, not only is the word purposeful considered problematic by some individuals, but so is sample in that it may mislead others into thinking that whomever or whatever was chosen comes “from some larger universe of like-cases, undesirably reigniting the specter of statistical generalization” (Yin, 2018, p. 40). While Yin (2018) wrote about this in the context of case study, many other qualitative methodologists would agree with him and instead would prefer to talk about the processes of “selection”. Third, in a review of the methodological literature, and specifically pertaining to grounded theory, phenomenology, and case study, Gentles et al. (2015, p. 1779) found that “the arbitrariness and lack of agreement among methodology authors regarding what qualifies as purposeful sampling” makes it difficult to know exactly what purposeful sampling is and if we are actually doing it. I see this as a symptom of our growing field and how each methodology and corresponding purposeful sampling approach is becoming more mature and unique unto itself. This is perhaps beaconing the end of the introductory qualitative inquiry textbook (like the one you are currently Table 6.6 Purposeful Sampling Strategies Sampling Strategy

Definition/Explanation

Critical case (or crucial case)

Evidence from a single critical case is so strong that it allows for maximum application of information to other similar cases. All cases that meet certain criteria are selected and studied. The researcher seeks maximum variation on dimensions of interest by purposefully selecting very different cases to either document diversity or the commonalities across the diversity. The researcher starts with one or a few information-rich interviews with key participants, and through those individuals, recruits additional relevant contacts who can add to the understanding of the topic. A common sampling strategy in ethnography or community-based participatory research, it embraces the serendipitous opportunity to interview someone or observe an activity during fieldwork. Purposeful selection (or exclusion) of politically important cases to draw (or avoid) attention to the study. Initial data and fieldwork create the basis for subsequent sampling with the goal of describing and refining emerging categories and theory.

Criterion-based case selection Maximum variation (heterogeneity sampling)

Snowball or chain sampling

Opportunity sampling

Sampling politically important cases Theoretical Sampling

Note: Adapted from Patton (2015, pp. 266–272).

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reading!) and pointing to the need for more specific methodological textbooks and more exacting sampling strategies. For now, however, it would be prudent (unless you are a phenomenologist) to use purposeful sampling and describe exactly how you will/did sample. If you would like more detail or information on a specific strategy, Patton grew his list of 15 sampling strategies in the third edition of his qualitative inquiry textbook (2002) to 40 sampling strategies in the fourth edition (2015), capturing how quickly our field is growing and developing new sampling strategies. Of those 40 strategies identified by Patton, I have selected seven that I believe are most commonly used and helpful for the qualitative newcomer (see Table 6.6). Theoretical sampling is described in the table, but because it needs a bit more attention, it is also described in further detail below. Theoretical Sampling

A purposeful sampling strategy you should be fully aware of is theoretical sampling. Theoretical sampling is primarily associated with grounded theory. Charmaz (2014) describes it as “seeking and collecting pertinent data to elaborate and refine categories in your emerging theory” (p. 192). The purpose is to “elaborate and refine the categories constituting your emerging theory” by developing the properties of each category until no new properties surface (Charmaz, 2014, p. 192). Thus, theoretical sampling aims to develop or integrate conceptual categories; it is not theoretical sampling if you are just following leads in the data to select the next participant/ exemplar (Gentles et. al., 2015). Consequently, when you are theoretically sampling, you select ideas or concepts or events, and not people per se. You want to theoretically “saturate” (see below) the category by finding data/ examples that fit with/fill out the category according to its properties and dimensions, whatever the data source may be (i.e., memo writing, additional/subsequent interviews, recoding existing data, gathering other data). Complete Sampling

Finally, you may find yourself asking (as I did to my mentor, Dr. Janice Morse) what to call the sampling strategy where a researcher collects data from everyone in an organization, on a committee, or project, or gathers all meeting minutes, or uses all images in a collection, etc. This is referred to as complete sampling, and this strategy may be relevant to you if, like several of my students, you conduct your research within the context of a specific organization, group, or project. You do not have the opportunity to sample purposefully as everyone/everything is included in the research. For example, one of my students used complete sampling to study how an eightmember research team worked together over the life of a politically charged and controversial project.

Questions, Sampling, and Saturation 149 Recruitment and Sampling

One other word of caution: the terms recruitment and sampling seem to be getting mixed up. I have seen in numerous theses a statement like, “Purposeful sampling will be used to recruit participants”. But recruitment is how you will get individuals to sign up for your study: a poster, through social media, email to a listserv, or word-of-mouth through an intermediary (e.g., someone tells a potential participant or participant group about your study). Then, once the potential participants have shown interest, you will purposefully sample from this group. For example, a past graduate student of mine (Dr. Megan Lefebvre, whose research you encountered in Chapter 3: Methodology), worked with HIV-positive individuals who lived chaotic lives (e.g., homelessness, addictions) to understand how each managed to take their antiretroviral medication every day. The HIV clinic helped her recruit by introducing her study to those individuals that met the inclusion criteria. After that, she still had to purposefully sample among those eligible to determine, as best she could, “Who can give me the most and the best information about my topic”? That is the difference between recruitment and sampling.

Saturation When should you stop collecting data? The formal answer, and the seeming gold standard, is: when you have reached saturation. But there are two kinds of saturation: data saturation and theoretical saturation, which are linked to purposeful sampling and theoretical sampling, respectively. Data saturation is understood as repetition in the data. You can say you have reached data saturation when you hear/see the same things over and over again, no new data emerge, all leads have been followed, negative cases have been checked, and when doing another interview or analyzing another document or image adds little or nothing to the analysis. This is the clean answer; in reality, it is much more tricky than this; more on this below. Theoretical saturation (as the result of theoretical sampling) occurs when the properties and dimensions of each category are complete. Charmaz (2014) adds that theoretical saturation is reached when “you have defined, checked, and explained relationships between categories and the range and variation within and between your categories” (p. 213). Identifying theoretical saturation requires analytic precision, insight into patterns within categories, and the ability to form abstract theoretical relationships between categories (Charmaz, 2014). In relation to reaching data or theoretical saturation, graduate students inevitably ask: “How many”? “How much”?, and/or “How long”? The questions follow like this: “How many sites do I need to collect data from?”, “How many individuals within each site do I need to interview or build a collage with?”, “Do I need to do more than one interview per

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participant?”, “How long do interviews need to be?”, and “How many images do I need to collect?” Or, if collecting participant observation data, “How long do I need to spend in the field?” or “How many events/ meetings do I need to attend?” Because of the iterative nature of qualitative inquiry, there can never be an exact answer to these questions; however, we can anticipate numbers based on experience with different methodologies. In other words, how many participants does a phenomenology typically require? The best way for you to answer this is to read similar phenomenological articles (or your chosen methodology) and find out the number of participants reported across a few studies, and then use this as your rationale for your proposed sample size. Mason (2010) has given you a head start on this by reviewing 560 doctoral dissertations and calculating the average sample sizes used in various methodologies. Morse (1994) and Creswell and Poth (2018) also provide guidelines for sample sizes for some common methodologies. Those delving into qualitative inquiry for the first time may find this useful for estimating a sample size range for their study. I also worked with these numbers, along with reviewing studies that use each methodology (as mentioned above) to determine the suggested sample size in Chapter 3: Methodology, Table 3.1: Methodological Coherence Guide. As you read on, you will see why providing guidelines and averages of appropriate sample sizes is somewhat artificial. For instance, Emmel (2013) and Morse (2000) have outlined several factors that influence both data and theoretical saturation. Although Morse describes these factors in relation to interviews, they can also be applied to other forms of data (e.g., observation, images, or documents). These factors include: •

•

•

•

The quality of data: Saturation is more easily obtained if the quality of data is good—whether the interview was recorded, if the recording (or image) was clear, if you had time to make detailed interview notes or fieldnotes, if the transcripts were cleaned (accurate as checked against the original audio file), and so on. The scope of the study: If the scope of the study is limited, saturation will also come earlier. For example, saturation will be experienced sooner if the study is about parents’ opinions of the new sexual health curriculum for grade 4 students (narrow scope) than if it addresses parents’ opinions of the new sexual health curriculum implemented across the grades (broad scope). The nature of the topic: The nature of the topic, or the degree to which participants can speak easily about (or images or other data can easily be gathered regarding) the phenomenon, also influences saturation. For example, it might be easier for participants to speak about their experience caring for an elderly dying parent than to discuss caring for a dying child. The amount of useful information: Saturation is also influenced by the amount of useful information acquired from each participant, setting,

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•

•

image, or document. This means that saturation will be experienced sooner if participants, for example, have a lot of experience with the phenomenon, can describe their experiences well, and can spend a reasonable amount of time with the researcher describing their experiences. The number of interviews per participant: A larger number of interviews per participant, particularly if “good” participants are interviewed more than once and if they speak primarily about their own experiences, rather than reporting another’s experience (“shadowed data”), will enable earlier saturation. The qualitative methodology used: The qualitative methodology and study design used will also affect sample size and saturation. As stated above, to learn more about typical sample sizes for particular methodologies, it is best to review and learn from articles that follow the methodology you are interested in.

Yet again, saturation is another concept that is a thorny issue for many people, sounding all too “clean” for the complexity of people’s experiences and the messiness of qualitative inquiry. Again, formally, you can say you have reached data saturation when you hear/see the same things over and over again, no new data emerge, all leads have been followed, negative cases have been checked, and when doing another interview or analyzing another document or image adds little to the analysis. But, to be honest, you will never hear/see the exact same things over and over again; there will always be slightly new data, you can never follow all leads, and analysis can always be deepened or extended. However, there does come a point when you believe that you can say or write or present something about the phenomenon, in whatever form you choose (e.g., text, art, performance). You keep going, collecting and analyzing data, until you are convinced that you can do this. Indeed, participants keep diverging and saying interesting things, or more images appear that you cannot quite account for. At this point, return to your research question or purpose and ask yourself whether you have answered it to the best of your ability; not whether you have it “right”, but whether you have something important to contribute, or to problematize. If that is the case, you can say you have reached saturation. The “stuff” you cannot quite account for provides the foundation for your next study.

Summary Your research question must be interesting to you, valuable to your discipline, and aligned with the assumptions of both. It should provide some boundaries to your inquiry but be broad enough to invite the unexpected. Your research question, alongside your methodology, should also guide your decisions about sampling and saturation. Without a doubt, the research question carries a heavy responsibility. Pay due attention to developing your

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research question, but also “enjoy the ride” of your research and remind yourself that if you need to change your research question, it is likely that you are doing a good job (following your data; inviting the unforeseen) rather than a poor one.

Exercise 6.1 Settling on a Research Question There are two exercises you can complete that will get you thinking more about your topic and research question. Similar to the “shortage of physicians” example described earlier in this chapter, the objective of the first exercise is to have you identify your assumptions about your topic. First, write down a list of assumptions you have about your topic or area of interest. These should be assertions you believe are “true” about your topic. Ask a friend or colleague to critique your assumptions to determine if there may be another “truth” that collides with your assumptions. Having your assumptions challenged will broaden and inform your inquiry and ensure you are savvy to other interpretations of the experience. The objective of the second exercise is to have you become familiar with the various forms your research question may take. Choose a “central phenomenon” (based on your research) and corresponding “participants” or “social group” and play with the options for posing a research question outlined in Tables 6.1 to 6.4.

References Charmaz, K. (2014). Constructing grounded theory (2nd ed.). Sage. Creswell, J. W., & Creswell, J. D. (2018). Research design: Qualitative, quantitative, and mixed methods (5th ed.). Sage. Creswell. J. W., & Poth, C. N. (2018). Qualitative inquiry & research design: Choosing among five approaches (4th ed.). Sage. Emmel, N. (2013). Sampling and choosing cases in qualitative research: A realist approach. Sage. Gentles, S. J., Charles, C., Ploeg, J., & McKibbon, K. A. (2015). Sampling in qualitative research: Insights from an overview of the methods literature. The Qualitative Report, 20(11), 1772–1789. Mason, M. (2010). Sample size and saturation in PhD studies using qualitative interviews. Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 11(3). 10.17169/fqs-11.3.1428 Maxwell, J. A. (2012). Qualitative research design: An interactive approach (3rd ed.). Sage. Morse, J. M. (1994). Designing qualitative research. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (pp. 220–235). Sage. Morse, J. M. (2000). Determining sample size. Qualitative Health Research, 10(1), 3–5. 10.1177/104973200129118183 Patton, M. Q. (2002). Qualitative research & evaluation methods (3rd ed.). Sage. Patton, M. Q. (2015). Qualitative research & evaluation methods: Integrating theory and practice (4th ed.). Sage. Yin, R. K. (2018). Case study research and applications: Design and methods (6th ed.). Sage.

7

Data Collection

Chapter 7: Data Collection begins by outlining the shift from the use of the term “data collection” to “data making”, “data construction”, or “data generation”. Six specific and well-established data collection strategies are then described, including one-on-one interviews, focus group discussions (including group interviews, focus group interviews), dyadic interviews, participant observation, material culture, and document review. A brief comment is made regarding online data collection. Transcription and notes (interview notes, fieldnotes, and other notes including methodological, theoretical, and reflexive notes) are discussed as the outcomes of these data collection strategies. The more creative data collection strategies are found in Chapter 4 on arts-based research. Appendix A holds a document analysis template. The first concluding exercise in this chapter provides you an opportunity to reflect on the shifting insider-outsider dynamic among a researcher, the research setting, and participants. The second exercise offers an opportunity to practice participant observation.

The “Collection” of Data? The title of this chapter is a misnomer: It should be “Data Making” or “Data Construction” or “Data Generation”, yet the methodology section of any thesis or article still likely has the title “data collection”. The shift to “making” or “constructing” or “generating” data is borne out of the tenants of constructivism, feminism, or any “post” perspective that has made us more honest about the data collection process. Referring to data as being “collected” implies that “data preexist, ready to be picked like apples from a tree” (Richards & Morse, 2007, p. 107). We know that we do not initiate a study as disinterested bystanders but, rather, come to it with interests and assumptions. In interaction with the data source, we create, or make, data. The researcher must make decisions about where to point the camera, which images to focus on and which ones to scan (and later delete), which sounds to strain to hear and which ones to block out, and which questions to ask the interview participant and which ones to let go. Think about writing fieldnotes. The researcher cannot possibly take down everything that is happening in the setting; a choice must be made about what, DOI: 10.4324/b23331-7

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and what not, to write down. Furthermore, even if it were possible to take everything down, the words chosen to describe the setting are already a representation, or an interpretation, of what is actually happening. The same applies to other data sources. An interview, for example, is not a direct representation of the participant’s life but a representation filtered through the participant’s relationship with the researcher and a reflection of the researcher’s interest. As soon as we interface empirically with scents, touch, sounds, images, and people, we make choices about what will and will not become data. And please do not be alarmed by the word “empirical”. I am not sure how this happened, but some people think empirical means “experimental”; this is a case of a definition gone awry (see Chapter 1: Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry). Empirical means that which can be observed or experienced through the senses: we see, hear, taste, touch, and smell. Qualitative research is empirical. To demonstrate to my students how we make or construct or generate data, I show my classes a videotaped unstructured interview that was conducted in a previous research project (Morse et al., 2003) of a woman in her mid-forties sharing her experience of having Guillain-Barr syndrome. She talks about life with her husband and children, her career, her aging mother, her efforts to keep up with everyday life, and her treatment and recovery. When the participant pauses after answering an interview question, I stop the recording and ask the students to think about what they would ask the participant next, and then to write it down. I pick another spot in the interview and ask them to do the same thing until they have three or four questions jotted down. We then go back to the first clip, and I replay it. It sounds something like this: It took me a long time to get diagnosed. I was feeling increasingly weak and my husband wasn’t very understanding, at the time. I tried to keep going, thinking it would get better. But it didn’t. I even started going to yoga [laughs]. I then poll the students regarding what they would have asked the participant at that pause. Questions vary. For example, some students want more detail about her medical history and the diagnosis journey, some want to ask about her relationship with her husband, and others think they would simply ask her to “go on” or say, “then what happened”? This exercise reveals how, even though we were all working from the same research question, the interview would have unfolded very differently depending on who conducted the interview, influenced by that individual interviewer’s interests and assumptions. We make data and, in turn, create or produce knowledge about a phenomenon. Yet, to the disappointment of many of my qualitative friends, I still most often use the term data collection in my writing (including this chapter); it is just my personal choice. But “data generation”, “construction”, or “making” is arguably better, and definitely more accurate. Before getting into data collection strategies in more detail, one gripe that I have is when researchers add a few open-ended questions at the end

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of the survey and claim they are doing qualitative research. They are not. These add-on questions do not require the iterative process of data collection, analysis, collection, analysis, and so forth. The purpose of these few open-ended questions is to solicit comments, nothing more. Arts-based data collection strategies are found in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research. The ones outlined below are those that the newcomer to qualitative inquiry will likely use: one-on-one interviews, focus group discussions, dyad interviews, participant observation, and document review.

One-on-One Interviews There is an extremely narrow conception of qualitative data collection as one-on-one interviews alone. This may be the case because the interview has become such a taken-for-granted of both research and everyday life. Physicians interview us about our health behaviors, teachers about our child’s progress, employers about our productivity, and the media about the “breaking” story. And what about the seemingly inexhaustible daytime and late-night talk shows, and podcasts? That being said, interviewing is also based on having a conversation—a common everyday human interaction—which helps to make one-on-one interviews an acceptable and comfortable data collection strategy. Through one-on-one interviews, we can ask “how?”, “what?”, and “why?” questions and speak with participants about experiences and perceptions that may be deep-seated or concealed, but may be shaping their thoughts and actions. Through one-on-one interviews we can learn about behaviors, but also representations, identities, imagined realities, cultural ideals, and emotional states (Lamont & Swidler, 2014). While interviews will all be different due to their content, there is often a typical tempo or process to them. One-on-One Interviewing Processes

There are many books and handbooks devoted to interviewing. In them, you can find chapters on interviewing processes, including “dos and don’ts”. They generally start with the processes involved in preparing for an interview and designing interview questions. There is also literature focused on the researcher that covers how best to present yourself if you want to build rapport and trust (e.g., perhaps introduce yourself as a mother if you are researching mothers’ experiences), as well as good researcher qualities to possess (e.g., being a good listener, being comfortable with the topic) (Bernard, 2000; Rubin & Rubin, 2011). This literature on examining the self prompts readers to consider, amongst many things, what their assumptions are about their topic, and what makes it easier or more difficult for them to conduct the interviews. Rubin and Rubin (2011) also list researcher pitfalls to avoid—for example, asking multiple questions at once, changing direction before the participant is finished, or asking closed questions.

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Many texts also devote sections to the typical stages of an interview and discuss what to think about and do at each stage. Rubin and Rubin (2005) have set out five stages of an interview, presented below, but warn that they “are not meant as a rigid guide” (p. 121). Rather, these stages are offered to help the new qualitative researcher move through, and possibly anticipate, difficulties throughout the interview. As the interviewer, in the first stage of the interview you will introduce yourself and the topic of discussion. This introductory stage focuses on putting both the researcher and the participant at ease through informal conversation, and by reviewing the topic and how you intend to use the participant’s information (i.e., informed consent). After asking some easy questions and showing empathy the more formal part of the interview begins. This second stage emphasizes rapport building, by expressing to the participant that you are interested in what they are saying and want to learn from them. After easing the participant into the questioning, in stage three, you will ask the participant the “tougher” questions or introduce more sensitive topics. In the fourth stage, the interviewer tones down the emotional level in order to end the interview on a positive note. This may be accomplished by returning to less sensitive topics. Finally, the fifth stage involves gently bringing the interview to a close. The interviewer thanks the participant, and usually closes with a comment such as: “You have given me a lot to think about”. It is also recommended that you keep the door open by asking participants, for example, if they want a copy of the report, or whether you can talk to them again in the future. It is important to start your learning about interviewing with these basic, and somewhat boring and sanitized, tips and processes. Once you are familiar with this literature, you will go forth fearlessly and conduct a few interviews, and will likely find you are doing well. However, after some time you may start questioning the interview experience and realize that the textbook tips that you relied on so heavily may be missing a few things. Some of your interviewing experiences will not be found in this literature. This issue is taken up below in the section interviewing critiques, but also later in Chapter 9: Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self and includes relational and situational ethics, and researcher emotions, that may come into play during data collection. Interviewing Critiques

Since the early 1990s, there has been evolving critique about the interview process and the data we think we garner through interviews (Fontana & Prokos, 2016; Gubrium & Holstein, 2003). Although these critiques do not advocate ridding our research of interviews, they ask us to think about how our theoretical orientations situate them and encourage us to consider their limitations and how issues of authority, reflexivity, and representation live within and beyond the interview interaction (see Chapter 10: Rigor).

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Authors writing from a postmodern perspective critique all we have learned from modernist textbooks about how to conduct an interview: through a modernist lens, the textbook researcher develops a list of questions aimed at answering the research question, pilot-tests them, and then meets (or connects via phone or internet) the respondent (not participant as a participant is indicates an active or co-created exchange) at a mutually convenient time and place (Fontana & Prokos, 2016; Gubrium & Holstein, 2003). Throughout this process, the researcher must remain neutral to avoid any action “that would imprint his or her presence onto the respondent’s reported experience” (Gubrium & Holstein, 2003, p. 31). To start, the equipment is tested, and the interview begins. Both researcher and “respondent” know their roles: The researcher asks questions, and the respondent answers. The respondent is not active in the inquiry and often asks, “Is this what you want?” The skill of the researcher is measured in their ability to keep the respondent “on track”. The assumption of this modernist approach to interviewing is that valuable information lies inside the respondent and that the researcher simply goes in and gets it. The researcher “collects” the data without disturbing— “and, therefore, biasing or contaminating”—the respondent’s answers (Gubrium & Holstein, 2003, p. 31). This indeed describes how I was trained. Consequently, I was shocked and devastated to see my first interview transcripts (as typical of most new researchers). I was so chatty! Why did I say that? Why did I interrupt? Why did I not keep my mouth shut? There are two issues here. First, as outlined by Gubrium and Holstein (2003), I was engaging participants in an unstructured conversation, whereby our perspectives were brought together and knowledge was constructed (working from a constructivist paradigm and subjectivist epistemology). Second, my personal style, but more so my methodology, led me to conduct unstructured interviews (Richards & Morse, 2007), revealing that there are different types of interviews. Before outlining some various types of interviews, I want to quell a couple of concerns I sometimes hear from students. First, students will ask: “What if your participant is not being completely accurate with their retelling of events or experience”? The concern about “being completely accurate” is a critique of all data collection methods, both qualitative and quantitative. Participants respond to an inquiry at a specific moment in time with a particular intention, and do their best to answer questions and recall that which is most important for them to share. Second, students will sometimes ask: “What if your participant is lying to you”? I find the concern about lying a bit absurd. This assumes that the participant is intentionally misguiding your research. When an individual takes the time to respond to your request for participation in an interview and meet you, they are likely interested in the topic due to their prior personal experience with it. Therefore, it is highly unlikely the individual is there to deliberately sabotage your research and lead you astray. If it does indeed happen, and after careful consideration, you determine that the interview was a ruse, you would need to remove the interview from the data

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set. Third, is the often-heard, but slowly fading comment that qualitative inquiry is “only anecdotal”. An anecdote is a story based on someone’s personal life experience. Like any good story, it tries to make a point. In the context of qualitative inquiry, anecdotes, are transformed into stories that become data to be thoughtfully and theoretically analyzed to create knowledge and build evidence. Types of One-on-One Interviews

In the tables below, I provide examples of the most cited types of one-onone interviews. In Table 7.1, the interview type is directed by its structure. These are the most commonly reported kinds of interviews, and to collect your interview data my guess is you will likely be using an unstructured or semi-structured approach. However, because there are so many other kinds of interviews identified in the literature, that are not easily categorized, I want to give you a sense of the breadth of types of interviews reported. The types of interviews summarized in Tables 7.2 to 7.4 are directed by paradigm/epistemology/theoretical

Table 7.1 Examples of Interview Type Directed by Structure Interview Type

Description

Structured

• Also known as standardized interviews. • The researcher asks questions of participants in the same way and order, with no deviations or changes made to the questions asked across participants ( Carter & Henderson, 2005; Qu & Dumay, 2011). • Not commonly used in qualitative research. • The researcher has a sense of the broad themes and questions to cover during an interview, but does not adhere rigidly to a predetermined order of questions or a specific way of phrasing them ( Qu & Dumay, 2011). • The researcher may develop a set of interview questions that guide the interview, but adapts how and when the questions are asked in response to the unfolding conversation with the participant. • Very common in qualitative research. • The researcher does not predetermine the complete list of questions and the order they will be asked, but rather asks one broad “grand tour” question about the topic to invite participants to share their stories ( Qu & Dumay, 2011). • The researcher generates additional questions throughout the conversation in response to participants’ stories. • The questioning is spontaneous and depends entirely on what the researcher is hearing or understanding while interacting with the participant ( Gall et al., 2003; Turner, 2010). • Intentionally lacks a predetermined structure or script.

Semi-Structured

Unstructured

Informal

Data Collection 159 Table 7.2 Examples of Interview Type Directed by Paradigm/Epistemology/ Theoretical Orientation Active

Epistemic

Feminist

Queer

• The researcher focuses on what is said by the participant, as well as how the “meaning-making process unfolds” ( Holstein & Gubrium, 2003, p. 68). • The interview is viewed as a “collaborative construction between two active parties”, not a neutral forum for sharing knowledge and experiences ( Gubrium et al., 2012, p. 10). • The interview and its interpretation occur concurrently ( Kvale & Brinkmann, 2014). • The researcher confronts and challenges participants to give reasons and justify why they believe and say what they do, rather than merely providing a descriptive account ( Kvale & Brinkmann, 2014). • The researcher addresses the experiences of women and members of the 2SLGBTQ+ community through the lens of feminist theories, focusing on developing ethical relationships with participants and doing research that forward feminist agendas ( Roulston, 2010). • The researcher and participant must become co-equal partners in the dialogue they are creating together ( Gubrium et al., 2012). • The researcher is concerned with deconstructing the interview by drawing attention to whose voices and perspectives have been excluded, marginalized, or misrepresented, leading to questions of “who can speak for the other, from what position, and on what basis” ( Kong et al., 2001, p. 96). • A Queer approach problematizes conceptions of interviews by highlighting their historical use as tools for perpetuating ethical and political transgressions against queer communities ( Kong et al., 2001), and reifying structural and systematic oppressions and barriers. • Contends that awareness of the historical and cultural moment in which the interview is situated is a necessary feature of interviewing ( Kong et al., 2001).

Table 7.3 Examples of Interview Type Directed by Medium Face-to-Face

Go Along

Telephone

• Interviews are in-person • The location of the interview is often chosen by the participant and may include places such as the participant’s home, a coffee shop or restaurant, or research space offered by the interviewer. • Interviewing and observation are combined where the researcher goes into a participant’s natural and familiar environment, usually on a walk or drive, to discuss their experiences in and perceptions of that environment ( Gubrium et al., 2012). • Participants assume the role of tour guide ( Carpiano, 2009), telling stories about their routines and the places and people that are important to them. • Chosen if geography limits travel to the participant, or if it is important for the participant to be in a familiar or intimate space where their privacy is protected ( Trier-Bieniek, 2012). • May be advantageous for the participant to be in a familiar setting if the interview provokes emotional distress ( Trier-Bieniek, 2012). • Convenient, as the interview can occur at the time of the day most suitable for the participant ( Mealer & Jones, 2014). (Continued)

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Table 7.3 (Continued) Online

• Interviews conducted online via internet chat groups, email, video calls, either in real-time (video call) or asynchronously (email) • For some types of electronic interviewing (e.g., done in chat rooms), there is no face-to-face contact and interactions become ‘virtual’ ( Gubrium et al., 2012). • Similar advantages as with telephones interviews

Table 7.4 Examples of Interview Type Directed by Methodology Ethnographic

Phenomenological

Oral History

Narrative/Life Story

• The researcher’s experiences, reflections, and questions about things observed in the research site inform the questions asked and the topics raised for discussion (e.g., how routines unfold; Roulston, 2018). • The researcher may pose questions that are more descriptive, structural (e.g., how knowledge about an issue is organized), and that contrast how objects and events in the participant’s world are differentiated based on the meaning attributed to them ( Flick, 2009). • The researcher encourages participants to describe their experiences in rich detail, with little input or comment from the researcher ( Roulston, 2018). • The researcher uses participants’ descriptions of their experiences to construct an interpretation or “manifestation” of the phenomenon under investigation ( Roulston & Choi, 2018). • Not only a retelling of what people did or experienced, but also captures the thinking of the participant at that time in history, and how they think about the event now ( Hajeck, 2014). • Often involves groups of people who are marginalized or excluded in conventional retellings or representations of histories ( Hajek, 2014). Provides insight into the diversity of experiences of different groups of people at different points in history ( Shopes, 2002). • A way to “democratize the historical record [and] promote change and empower the marginalized” ( Hajek, 2014, p. 3). • A very personal type of interview where the researcher guides participants through the telling of their life stories as a sensitive and respectful listener ( Atkinson, 2012). • A way to “step inside the personal world of the storyteller” ( Atkinson, 2012, p. 2–3). • Helps us understand how life stories contribute to meaning making for many different audiences (i.e., the storyteller, listener, readers, and scholars; Atkinson, 2012).

orientation; medium (or the means through which the interview occurs); and methodology, respectively. It should be noted that for each of these, it is likely the researcher will still need to determine how the interview will be structured (e.g., unstructured, semi-structured). And of course, types are not mutually exclusive.

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The literature identifies further types of interviews in addition to those described above, but you will need to determine if these truly offer a unique approach to interviewing. For example, elite/expert interviews, understood as interviews with people who are influential, hold positions of power, and have knowledge that is not easily accessible to researchers (Littig, 2009), could actually be a sampling strategy. Whichever type of interview you choose, it is important to be intentional in naming the kind of interview you are using. In most cases, simply stating your interview approach (e.g., “semi-structured”) within a well-developed methodology section, should be a sufficient explanation.

Focus Group Discussions One of the first published references to a group interview appeared in 1926 (Morgan, 1997). In the 1940s, sociologist Robert K. Merton and his associates developed “focused interviews” to study individuals’ and group’s responses to propaganda and radio broadcasts during World War II (Merton, Riske, & Kendall, 1956, cited in Morgan, 1997). After the war, and in recognition that people make consumer decisions in a social context (Patton, 2002), focus group discussions became the foundation of broadcasting, marketing, and public opinion research (Kidd & Parshall, 2000), but were largely neglected in academic research. It was not until the 1980s that qualitative researchers started paying serious attention to the potential of focus group discussions as a data collection strategy. But, as you will see below, there are differences between group interviews, focus group interviews, and focus group discussions (or focus groups, for short) that I provide so you can be clear on the terms. The spoiler alert is that focus group discussions are what we now have come to refer to simply as “focus groups”. A group interview is an umbrella term for numerous kinds of interviews that occur with a group of participants, including brainstorming interviews, nominal/Delphi interviews, natural field interviews, formal field interviews, and focus group interviews (Barbour, 2007; Fontana & Prokos, 2016). In other words, focus group interviews are a type of group interview. Generally, in group interviews, a moderator asks the same question of each participant, asks for clarification, probes, etc., and in doing so, the interaction is primarily between each participant and the moderator. Typically, a research report from a group interview centers on what was said (through a qualitative content analysis) and not the nonverbal behavior or interaction that created or accompanied what was said. I realize this gets confusing, but the point is, whether you call it a group interview or focus group interview, the emphasis is on the interaction between moderator and participant, not the discussion among participants. On the other hand, a focus group discussion is just the opposite. Focus group discussions are unique and important for generating qualitive data because the emphasis is on the discussion or interaction among participants. Through discussion, attention can be paid to how meanings are negotiated, how

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identities are shared, how certain information is processed, how misconceptions arise, and how a collective sense of information is created (Barbour, 2007). Because people form their attitudes and beliefs relative to others’, this interaction is an integral part of the meaning of the data generated (Barbour, 2007; Marshall & Rossman, 1995). Therefore, focus group discussions are useful for studying group norms, meanings, and processes (Bloor, et al., 2001), and are able to provide unique insights into the process of deliberation, rather than the outcome of that deliberation (Barbour, 2007). Think about focus group discussions as an example of collective sense-making (Wilkinson, 1998), and as a moderator, you are involved in “structured eavesdropping” (Barbour, 2007). Focus group discussions are useful if the research question is about gaps between different groups of people (i.e., patients and health care providers); the motivations and meanings people attach to their behavior (e.g., attitudes about infant immunization among different groups of families); and the range of views and experiences within a phenomenon (e.g., developing a program for individuals with early on-set dementia). Focus group discussions are also helpful if you are considering a less-researched topic (e.g., adoption by trans individuals), as they can assist you in identifying the main issues and the perceptions of these issues (Richards & Morse 2007). Focus group discussions are also relied on heavily to generate appropriate wording and questions for questionnaire development, as well as to clarify the findings of other data collection strategies (Morgan, 1997). In addition to the obvious benefit to researchers, focus group discussions also have the potential to benefit participants who may feel isolated in their thoughts about the topic and crave the need to connect with others who have similar experiences—a safety in numbers feeling (Barbour, 2007). Also through their interactions with others, participants may identify something new about themselves (or revive something that was buried) and begin to reconstruct their own story in response to others’ stories. I have provided a section of a focus group discussion transcript in Appendix E for the exercise in Chapter 8: Data Analysis so readers can practice focus group analysis. However, if you just want to see how a focus group discussion flows, please take a look. The final term that needs attention before moving on is focus groups. Today, this term is commonly used as a shortened version of focus group discussion. However, some researchers will use focus groups to refer to what I would consider focus group interviews. To determine a researcher’s approach, look at their data analysis section and see if they analyze the interaction among participants. Often, researchers write about using focus groups and never refer to the interaction among participants, although, ironically, researchers commonly state the opportunity to observe interaction among participants as the rationale for choosing focus groups as their data collection strategy. The bottom line is, the main scholars writing about focus groups use the term to refer to discussions, not interviews. Consequently, when the term “focus groups” is used in the literature, as it often is, you should assume it refers to the discussion (including throughout this text).

Data Collection 163 How to Conduct a Focus Group Discussion

There is no shortage of literature on how to conduct focus group discussions. In their focus group kit, David Morgan and Richard Krueger (1998) outline a very practical approach to planning focus groups, developing questions, facilitating or moderating the group, evaluating effectiveness, and analyzing and reporting focus group findings. Morgan (1998) offers guidelines on session length (i.e., 2 hours for 90 minutes of data collection) and incentives, suggests overrecruiting by 20% to ensure 6 to 20 participants, and recommends approximately 3 to 5 groups. In a detailed discussion of the role of the moderator, Krueger (1998) provides tips on managing the focus group encounter, including how to handle certain types of participant behavior (i.e., experts and influentials, dominant talkers, disruptive participants, ramblers and wanderers, quiet and shy respondents, and inattentive participants). Focus group discussions consist of approximately six to ten participants, which is small enough to permit everyone to share their insights but large enough to provide a variety of perceptions (Krueger & Casey, 2009). Sampling for focus group discussions can be quite tricky. Sampling is done with the aim to reflect diversity; the attention is on the different perspectives that individual participants can bring to the issue (Barbour, 2007). But the group cannot be too diverse, or there will be no congealing of ideas, nor can it be too similar, or there will be no depth to the data. Thus, those who are invited to a focus group discussion should have enough in common with each other to engage in meaningful discussion, yet have sufficiently varying experiences and perspectives to allow some debate or differences in opinion (Morgan, 1988). To conduct a focus group discussion well, three main jobs must be performed: moderator, note-taker, and researcher. The moderator runs the focus group discussion by actively encouraging and being attentive to the group interaction. The notetaker records the order in which participants speak; this is necessary for transcription purposes. If the focus group is videotaped, the notetaker can pay more attention to non-verbal behavior and other group nuances. The researcher then can listen carefully, watch closely, and be vigilant in examining how the participants operate as a group. At minimum, you should have someone dedicated to each of these three roles to adequately run a focus group. When choosing the location, be mindful of how the setting may impact participants. When choosing staff (especially the moderator), be mindful of their personal characteristics (e.g., age, gender, experience) and how these can impact the participants. Ethics in Focus Group Discussions

Confidentiality within the context of focus groups also needs some mention. Because you cannot control what people say when they leave the group, you cannot guarantee participants’ confidentiality or anonymity. As

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such, you should ensure that participants understand this shared responsibility for upholding one another’s privacy before they agree to participate in a focus group, and remind them of their commitment at the end of the discussion. You might say something like: “I will keep any information that is gathered today confidential. This means that I will not share what was said with anyone outside of the group. I will also not tell anyone that you participated. However, I cannot guarantee confidentiality because of the group setting. Please respect each other’s privacy by not sharing with anyone who attended the focus group (anonymity) or repeating what was said (confidentiality)”. You will also need to include a similar explanation in your information letter and consent form. This is again mentioned in Chapter 9: Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self. Furthermore, being mindful of the impact a focus group discussion can have on participants and researchers, it is important to hold a debriefing session after the audio recorder has been turned off. Provide further refreshments and “decompress” by talking about things that were not part of the focus group discussion (e.g., weekend plans). After the debrief with participants, it is also important to have the “debrief on the debrief” with the research team, possibly at a nearby coffee shop. It is important to discuss what went well, any non-verbals you noticed, how you interpreted an interaction between participants, etc. And if the topic is highly sensitive or emotionally draining, having time to “get back to normal” is even more important. See again, Chapter 9: Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self. Finally, if you hire a transcriptionist, please take the time to check in and ensure that this person has a support system or, if hiring from an online company where the transcriptionist is anonymous to you, check with the company to see how they support their transcriptionists through emotionally difficult topics. Lastly, I sometimes worry about new researchers or students who want to conduct focus group discussions. There is an assumption that focus group discussions are quick, cheap, manageable, and, even more disturbing, easy to analyze. Do not be fooled. It takes an enormous amount of time and money to organize focus groups (online or in person) including recruiting, confirming participation, and managing honoraria. If in person, you must also secure a space, and possibly arrange transportation and child care, buy doughnuts and brew coffee. If online, you must triple-check your technology and your technological skills. And in both cases, online or in person, you must do this several times over. You should double the estimated time involved if you are working with a harder-to-reach group. If you are paying a transcriptionist, you should budget six to seven hours of transcription time for one hour of focus group time, depending on the quality and kind of the recording (audio only or video), and whether your notes on the speaking order of participants are complete. A talkative group that is moderated well can be a positive experience for participants and provide excellent data. A difficult group, one that is beyond the best moderator’s skill, can be a negative

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experience for participants and for the study, and provide scanty data. It is not my intention to scare new researchers away from conducting focus groups. What I am saying is do not approach them flippantly. Take the time and energy necessary to make them seem effortless.

Dyadic Interviews Dyadic interviews bring together two participants who interact and cocreate or co-present responses to interview questions (Morgan, 2016; Polak & Green, 2016). One participant’s comments draw forth responses from the other and stimulate ideas that might not have been elicited otherwise. Students sometimes wonder if dyadic interviews are just “mini focus groups”. However, because more data are collected from each participant than in focus groups, dyadic interviews allow a more personal narrative to develop. In addition, when two people share and compare their responses, they can find similarities and differences in their experiences (Morgan et al., 2013) and truly engage in a dialogic process. One of the challenges with dyadic interviews, and perhaps the biggest one, is setting up the pairs for interviewing; this is a sampling decision and researchers must strike a balance between heterogeneity and homogeneity (Morgan et al., 2013). Dyads, for example may be brought together based on gender, age, health status, acquaintanceship, or previous experiences in relation to the research topic. Note that some researchers use the term “joint interviews” to specify dyads that have a preexisting relationship, such as couples or patients and their caregivers. Like focus group discussions, data analysis of dyadic interviews pays close attention to the interaction between the two participants. These interactions create what Polak and Green (2016) describe as analytic possibilities, including shared storytelling and sense-making, and can “explicate what is often tacit knowledge” (Polak & Green, 2016, p.1647). Also, like focus group discussions, confidentiality and anonymity cannot be guaranteed; however, researchers need to be prepared to address ethical issues that might be aggravated by a dyadic interview between two strangers, two acquaintances, or two people who have a longstanding relationship (e.g., over-disclosing making one participant uncomfortable).

Participant Observation Participant observation is the process of personally participating in the research setting. It was developed initially as a data collection strategy among anthropologists studying cultures early in the 20th century, and, although it is primarily a data collection strategy within ethnography, it is also used in many other methodologies. Participant observation can help the researcher access everyday life in a very unique way. For example, if you are interested in fanatic behavior at sporting events, your ability to capture the experience is enhanced if you

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can see how the behavior unfolds as it occurs, rather than interviewing participants about their sporting event behavior retrospectively. Participant observation can occur almost anywhere, including, for example, hospital units, schools, faith gatherings, athletic clubs, conferences, shopping malls, and grocery stores, and professional corporations. As you participate and observe, the goal is to gain an understanding of why people do what they do, within that particular setting. Four types of participant observation are frequently identified in the literature: complete observer, observer as participant, participant as observer, and complete participant. Again, although this schema rarely reflects what actually happens in the setting, I just provide it to help you start thinking about the degree of involvement a researcher can have in a setting. Returning to fanatic behavior at a sporting event, a complete observer will simply observe the fans, possibly sitting away from them, without engaging in any activity. Although we can imagine that this could happen, the longer you are in any setting (returning to future games), acting as a complete observer becomes quite suspect and artificial. You are observing people, not mice. The observer as participant will primarily watch the situation but will also be involved in the activity on a secondary basis. In this case, the researcher could cheer on the home team. The participant as observer will be fully involved in the activity but take time to record observations. The researcher could dress in team apparel, sit with a group of fans, and continue to cheer on the home team. The complete participant will be fully immersed in the setting and will join in tailgating parties, yell at the referees, and have a beer and hotdog so that eventually people start seeing the researcher as a fan and as part of the event, and possibly forget that they are a researcher. The type of observation used by the researcher and the nature of the setting will determine the format of the fieldnotes (see below). Sometimes it might be appropriate to take extensive fieldnotes while something is occurring; at other times, this may be completely inappropriate. During these times, the researcher might discreetly jot down brief phrases or even single words at a time. These “jottings” (Morse & Field, 1995, p. 112) will serve as reminders of the observation when the researcher makes an expanded record of the day’s events. Ultimately, the type of participation can vary during the study, and the length of time spent in the setting will depend on the purpose of the observation and the questions to be asked. The four types of participant observation described in the example above are fairly “clean”. We generally choose research questions, however, that come from personal experience and that lead us to research settings and phenomena of which we are a part. Nurses want to study nursing units, teachers want to study the classroom, soccer coaches want to study the team, people recovering from anorexia want to study those who live with anorexia, and mothers want to study mothering. But can or should a teacher study classrooms? Can or should a coach study team building?

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These questions bring to bear the insider-outsider debate. For years, researchers had to state whether they were “insiders” or “outsiders”, and list the benefits and disadvantages that would be had as a result. Typically, insiders would state ease of access to the setting and ability to build rapport, as well as shared understanding and language, as advantages. Outsiders, on the other hand, would admit that they might struggle with access and rapport but, to their advantage, could question taken-for-granted assumptions and openly query the meanings behind behavior. Rubin and Rubin (1995) illustrate the difference between insiders and outsiders with an example using language. An insider to a setting might hear a participant use the word “pig”, know that the participant is referring to a police officer, and not get sidelined by the word. In contrast, an outsider to the setting might hear “pig” and, on realizing that the participant is not referring to a barnyard animal, discern from cues in the setting what pig means in the specific context (e.g., a forbidden food, a person who eats too much, a person who drives using too much of the road, or a police officer). It also can be argued that researchers who consider themselves more as insiders actually have to be quite careful in the research setting, as they might have more to lose. If they are assumed to be the same as the people they are studying (i.e., insiders), but through the course of the study demonstrate to their participants that they, for example, hold different values or do not know the language well, the penalty could be rejection. On the other hand, by being different, outsiders can get away with asking “naive” questions. However, the outsider risks keeping the data at a superficial level (noting the obvious), and possibly frustrating participants through their inexperience. In the end, the strength of one position is the disadvantage of the other: familiarity (i.e., insider) and inexperience or ignorance (i.e., outsider) produce different findings. Thankfully, the strictly insider or outsider issue is now passé. We realize that no researcher can truly be an insider or an outsider. This insideroutsider role, instead, sits on a continuum and changes and is negotiated as the study progresses. At one moment, a researcher could be an insider and, in the next, an outsider. For example, a young Egyptian American woman, while studying in Egypt, moves from being an insider (i.e., someone who looks the same and speaks the language) to being an outsider when she does not attend mosque and observe the Muslim practices associated with Ramadan (see Sherif, 2001). A black female academic who interviews other black women is an insider as a result of their shared ethnicity, gender, and language, but quickly moves to outsider status because of her lighter skin color (see Merriam et al., 2001). In other words, we are complex human beings, yet we ascribe insider or outsider status, and assume commonality of experience, based typically on a single characteristic of ourselves. You must evaluate these trade-offs when thinking about your relationship to the setting and participants, and be prepared for a possible identity crisis.

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Power is another issue to think about with respect to the insider-outsider continuum. The literature too often reminds us that researchers have power, and sometimes newcomers to the qualitative inquiry are almost paralyzed with guilt in considering how much power they may have over their participants. We do need to be aware and cautious of how we can assert power over our participants, yet power is also fluid in the research setting. The young, educated Egyptian woman who has some power because of her American studies, loses her power when she is found not to be married, but regains it when she begins to dress in ways considered more appropriate by participants (i.e., makeup, fashionable hair, gold jewelry, veil) (Sherif, 2001). Merriam et al. (2001) explain how a black female academic has power in some contexts, but describe how power shifts as her participants tell her how to run a business (a more valued activity to them than study) and what to write in “the book” (i.e., the outcome of her study). In my career, interviewing politicians, senior officials, executive directors, business executives, etc., I certainly did not hold absolute power; the participants controlled what they said, how they said it, how much time they gave to me, and when and where the interview occurred. Even with individuals living with poverty, many had learned over time how to protect themselves from systems and had significant control over the interaction. It is incorrect to assume that researchers consistently and under all conditions hold the power in the setting and over their participants. In the end, it is extremely important to think through the assumptions we make about access to the setting, commonality with participants, and who holds power (Merriam et al., 2001), and how this will change and be negotiated throughout the research. Yet one overriding factor continues to be important in this discussion, and that is trust. Trust is gained through the researcher’s disposition. In the book Sidewalk, Mitch Duneier (1999), a male, white, Jewish Princeton academic, studied with poor, primarily black, male street vendors in New York. On the surface, considering the researchers’ and participants’ characteristics, this study was doomed. But the insider-outsider debate aside, Duneier’s participants may have wanted to speak with him simply because of who he is as a person: nonjudgmental, kind, committed, and a compassionate advocate. Lofland and Lofland (1984) say it best: The research will likely be enhanced if the researcher can provide a reasonable justification for the research, and is ultimately perceived by those in the setting as a decent human being. To begin grappling with these insideroutsider issues for yourself, see Exercise 7.1: Insider-Outsider Dance. Covert Observation

Perhaps no issue in participant observation has been as fraught with ethical controversy as covert observation, where the researcher observes, and sometimes participates in, a group, setting, or organization but does not share “the nature and even the existence of the research” (Vinten, 1994, p. 33). By limiting disturbances that might influence participants’ natural behaviors,

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covert observation can provide access to “knowledge that would otherwise remain unavailable” (Roulet et al., 2017, p. 512; see also Calvey, 2017). Indeed, some of the most fascinating research of our time was covert. Consider David Rosenhan’s (1973) classic study where researchers secretly gained admission to psychiatric wards and posed as patients to test the validity of psychiatric diagnoses (see Calvey, 2017 for a description), Calvey’s study on bouncers (2019) and Laud Humphreys’ (1975) study on male-male sexual behavior in public places. Clearly, it is unlikely that many of these past covert studies, which rely on participants’ unawareness that they are being studied, would pass the institutional ethics boards of today, which emphasize full informed consent and freedom from deception (Roulet et al., 2017). Those considering covert observation should tread carefully, given past abuses, but also become acquainted with new scholarship that aims to rehabilitate covert observation and re-situate it as a legitimate method in one’s methodological toolkit (Calvey, 2019; Roulet et al., 2017). Also take a look at the study by Li (2008) as she tells her story of studying female gamblers in a covert fashion, and the ethical and personal challenges she faced.

Material Culture Inspired by archeology, qualitative researchers can include material culture, and the intended and unintended physical residues of human activity (Hodder, 1994, p. 395) as data collection. This data collection method would likely be part of an ethnographic study (along with participant observation). Zimmerman (2013) explains that archaeology is about studying “stuff”, whether that stuff existed a millennium ago or just minutes ago, and asks some fundamental questions: “What things did people use? How did they get or make them or where did they get them? How and in what situations did they use them? What did the things mean to the people? How did they dispose of things when they were done using them? What happened to the things after people got rid of them?” (p. 336). He argues that answering these questions can “provide useful information about people’s lives” (p. 336), even people with whom the researcher has no direct contact, as with people of the past. For studies of modern populations, what people do and what they say they do are not always the same; studying the physical traces of their behavior can provide different findings than interview or observational data. It also allows for the noninvasive study of otherwise muted populations (Hodder 1994, p. 401). To understand how this relates to what may concern you as a qualitative researcher, Zimmerman and Welch (2011) studied homeless material culture and describe not only how some objects are carried as reminders of “home” and others are disposed of, but importantly, link this to recommendations for social policy and practice change. For example, studying a homeless encampment, the authors found many bashed, hacked, and burned but unopened tin cans, results of distributions from a food bank that lacked the simple addition of a can opener to allow the recipients to access what was inside the cans.

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Document Review Gathering documents is perhaps one of the most commonly stated data collection strategies, but is the least widely debated or well understood. Documents can include anything the researcher is interested in, such as policy and procedure guidelines, diaries, letters, minutes of meetings, program evaluations, annual reports, products from the media, textbooks, clinical guidelines, and historical pieces. Documents can be important for telling a cultural story, providing the context to the research question, or tracking the development of a project. They are often easily accessible and available and can be inexpensive and unobtrusive ways of collecting data. They are useful for determining such things as value, interest, positions, political climate, attitudes, and trends. While documents are rarely a standalone data source, they provide an interesting record of a particular perspective of a phenomenon and, in many cases, could be used as the sole data source for a qualitative study. Like most qualitative work, however, gathering and analyzing documents can be very time-consuming. Researchers commonly propose purposefully selecting relevant documents and analyzing them through a qualitative content analysis or a discourse analysis. Although there are some open-access software programs for document analysis, explicating the process of document analysis is generally overlooked in qualitative inquiry. Appendix A includes a document analysis template that we used to understand the developing relationship between researchers and community partners in a large-scale, long-term, communitybased research project called Families First Edmonton (Mayan et al., 2008). The template was developed inductively as the documents were reviewed. I have included it to demonstrate the depth of data and other possibilities available through a document analysis, although each researcher’s template for analysis will be different, depending on the researcher’s theoretical orientation, methodology, and research question.

Online Data Collection New technologies, online platforms, and of course, a global pandemic, have led to exciting changes in the types of qualitative data we can collect, and how we can collect our data. For many people around the world, using new and evolving technologies (e.g., smart phones, tablets, etc.) and accessing online platforms (e.g., social media sites, blogging sites) have become common, everyday practices. Many people now rely on these technologies and online platforms as their preferred or main way of communicating (Kazmer & Xie, 2008; Lunnay et al., 2015; Onwuegbuzie et al., 2010). As a result, cyberspace can be seen as a new frontier for social science research (Hookway, 2008). Yet the vast amount of data that exists in cyberspace can be both exciting and overwhelming. Some qualitative researchers have used “posts” from different social media sites as data (e.g., Meta/Facebook posts or pages,

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Twitter “tweets”), and others have sought out blog entries that detail personal reflections or commentaries (Branthwaite & Patterson, 2011). Online discussion forums centering on a range of topics can also be an excellent source of data. For example, Seale et al., (2010) gathered discussion forum data that contained rich accounts of people’s experiences with breast cancer and prostate cancer. These researchers found that these types of data, in comparison to face-to-face interview data with people also experiencing these types of cancer, contained more detailed accounts of people’s experiences with their illnesses. The discussion forum posts also captured people’s feelings about their illnesses in the moment, rather than retrospectively, and the anonymity afforded by these forums meant that people did not filter their comments out of self-presentation concerns. Online Data Collection Methods

The internet, with all its places for people to “post” their thoughts, feelings, and opinions about any topic, can be seen as a repository of primary data (Seale et al., 2010). For instance, instead of giving each participant a camera with which to take photographs (e.g., photovoice), researchers in one study asked participants for permission to access the photos they had already posted on Facebook (Lunnay et al., 2015). The internet is also a place where researchers can access “big data”—data that can be aggregated and cross-referenced across large data sets (e.g., Twitter; Facebook posts) (Boyd & Crawford, 2012). Since many of these data are openly shared online, they are considered in the public domain, and easily and freely accessible (though this is not always the case, as is discussed later). Data can also be collected online using more traditional qualitative methods, like interviews. These online interviews can be conducted in a number of ways: with video messaging programs (e.g., Skype, Facetime, Zoom, Microsoft Teams, GoogleMeets), using instant messaging programs (e.g., Messenger, chatrooms), and using other computer-mediated communication (e.g., emailing; Onwuegbuzie et al., 2010). Each of these methods has its pros and cons; for example, instant messaging interviewing can automatically record the interactions with text, but researchers are unable to see participants’ non-verbal reactions or aspects of the interview context (Branthwaite & Patterson, 2011; Kazmer & Xie, 2008; Seale et al., 2010). Researchers contemplating the use of online data collection methods just need to be aware of their strengths and limitations, and how these can impact the researcher’s ability to answer their research question. Limitations of Online Data Collection

One limitation of using online data is that it can be very difficult to clean and organize to make them ready for analysis (Kazmer & Xie, 2008). So, while it is true that more data can be gathered online in a much shorter

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amount of time (e.g., data from social media sites), compared to traditional data collection methods, there will be more time needed to make them readable, anonymized, and organized for analysis (Hookway, 2008). The second, and arguably the most significant limitation of online data, are the ethical concerns tied to the access and use of these data. While information posted online can be seen as public domain and freely accessible to anyone (Lunnay et al., 2015; Seale et al., 2010; Hookway, 2008), just because someone posts something online, does not mean they intend for it to be used by anyone, for any purpose, without permission being granted (Boyd & Crawford, 2012; Zimmer, 2010). Furthermore, researchers using these types of data need to be held accountable to the ethical standards of participant anonymity and confidentiality. There have been incidents where researchers accessing “big data” thought they had appropriately anonymized the data gathered, but did not fully understand how to protect the privacy and confidentiality of participants, and released information that could have made participants identifiable (Zimmer, 2010). This example demonstrates that researchers using online data may not have the necessary background to handle the anonymization of these data. In addition, ethics review boards may also lack the knowledge to judge whether researchers are handling online data in an appropriate way (Zimmer, 2010). Researchers using online data need to have the knowledge and skills to understand the systems in place to protect people’s privacy and ascertain whether these meet the ethical standards of participant anonymity and confidentiality for research (Lunnay et al., 2015; Zimmer, 2010). A final limitation that is documented in the literature is whether the ways people present themselves online is how they would actually present themselves in-person, and if they are sharing “truths” (Branthwaite & Patterson, 2011; Seale et al., 2010). Critics say that some people may take on an “online persona” that is very different from how they would act, think, or feel when face-to-face with people. But the argument can be made the other way as well: some people may take a face-to-face persona that is different from their online persona, or focus group discussion persona, or any data collection opportunity where they can present themselves in a particular way. Thus, while some researchers have raised concerns about the reliability of online data, it is the researcher’s obligation to know the benefits and limitations of each data collection strategy they are considering and ultimately, choose. As already discussed, the ability to ensure the “truth” of the data provided in any research scenario is debatable (Hookway, 2008).

Data Collection Outcome: Transcription Your interviews (one-on-one and dyadic) and focus group discussions will need to be transcribed. You cannot underestimate the importance of transcribing your own interviews. By transcribing your own interviews, you

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contribute to the trustworthiness or rigor of your study (Easton et al., 2000; Olson, 2011), and advance analysis as you begin to make connections and conjectures while you transcribe. However, you will likely use a software program or hire a transcriber. In either case, adopting a transcription key outlining what particular symbols represent is important for your data analysis. There is not one standard approach to transcription or the format of transcripts; a researcher must decide what transcription process will best serve the research objectives (Olson, 2011). Basic information for a transcript should include: the participant code (name removed and replaced with a number), the number of interviews you have done with this participant, the location and date of the interview, and the page number. If the project has more than one interviewer, you will need to assign a number to each interviewer as well. In addition to this labeling, lines should be numbered so that you can easily find exact quotes. A software program should look after this for you. You also need to decide how anonymous you will make your transcripts. You will generally remove names (unless participants have asked you to use their real names), but you also need to consider job titles, job positions, places, and other possible identifying information. I recommend, if possible, leaving some information in the transcript for context important to the analysis. However, if you promised anonymity or your transcripts are going into a data repository, you must remember to remove these identifiers after you have completed your analysis. Because transcription is primarily considered an objective-technical process it has, unfortunately, been taken for granted in the research process (Davidson, 2009; Hammersley, 2010). Transcription is very much an interpretive process and is influenced by the transcriptionist, or software program, completing the transcription (Bailey, 2008; Davidson, 2009; Hammersley, 2010; Lapadat, 2000; Poland, 2002). Like one-on-one interviews, focus group discussions, or dyadic interviews, a transcription is a reconstruction (Davidson, 2009; Hammersley, 2010; Lapadat, 2000; Poland, 2002). The transcriptionist/computer can end up making decisions (e.g., choosing to eliminate certain elements of speech) that may remove or alter information critical to the purpose of the research (Poland, 2002). A transcriptionist’s experiential and cultural knowledge, or (un)familiarity with the topic, may also influence the transcription (e.g., unacquainted with slang). If it is only an audio recording, then nonverbal gestures will also be missing. Even things as simple as transcriber fatigue and sloppiness can lead to transcription errors (Hammersley, 2010; Tessier, 2012). For example, transcribers and computers make decisions about where to insert punctuation, such as periods, commas, and question marks that, depending on their location, can influence how the text is interpreted (Easton et al., 2000; Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009; Olson, 2011). A popular example portraying the power of the comma is: “Let’s eat, Grandma!” or “Let’s eat Grandma!”. Are the children inviting Grandma to the table to eat, or are they exclaiming that they want to eat her? The comma decides Grandma’s fate!

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It is critically important, although a luxury on tight timelines and actually more uncommon than you think, to clean your transcripts. This means listening to the audio recording to make sure the typed version is accurate. I learned my lesson the hard way. In a study on individuals who were caring for a dying parent or partner, a participant recalled the night before her partner died from cancer. The transcript of her interview read something like: “The night before Michael died, he drank a lot of booze. Can after can. He must have had at least four drinks and then he went to sleep”. “Booze” is a colloquial term for alcohol. But individuals who are dying do not typically drink heavily the night before they die, and this did not fit with the rest of the data. It was a “negative case”. After trying to figure out why this may have happened, I finally went and listened to the original recording and compared it to the transcript. The transcriptionist typed “booze” instead of “Boost”; Boost is a nutritional drink supplement. Clearly, if I went with “booze”, I would have made some serious analysis and interpretation errors! One thorny issue for newcomers to qualitative inquiry is how some participants may appear in naturalized transcription, where all utterances and spoken words, including swear words, are represented verbatim, including every instance of “like” and “um”. Keeping a verbatim transcript can present participants in ways that are unflattering (e.g., participants seem inarticulate). In some cases, verbatim transcription can also indicate participants’ class, ethnicity, or other social-cultural attributes and possibly threaten anonymity (Oliver et al., 2005). My advice is, as long as it does not alter the meaning, it is okay to remove some of the “likes”, “ums”, curses, and other utterances or repetitions, because if overly used, they may reproduce stereotypes or invoke prejudices. As a reminder, I also ask students to look at how their own speech appears in the transcription. It is often the same as participants: there are often more “ahs” and “ums” than we want to admit! Overall, we spend very little time learning about the transcription process and how decisions can affect analysis and findings (Nikander, 2008). As a newcomer to qualitative inquiry, you should be aware of this dynamic and, at minimum, acknowledge the role and influence of the transcriber (person or machine) in the research process (Lapadat, 2000) and always clean your transcripts!

Data Collection Outcome: Notes Interview Notes

After you have completed a one-on-one interview, focus group discussion, or dyadic interview you will need to make interview notes. Interview notes are just that, notes taken after an interview or focus group discussion that give researchers space to comment on how they felt the interview went, about their interaction with the participant(s), and any methodological learning they may want to consider. There is certainly an overlap in what is recorded for interview notes and fieldnotes but they are distinct in that fieldnotes

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are used exclusively for participant observation. Please see Table 7.5 for a description of notes for both interviews and participant observation as well as other notes that are important during the research process. Fieldnotes

If you use participant observation, including material culture, you will describe, as well as you possibly can, that which you observe in the setting. Fieldnotes can include methodological notes, descriptive notes, and analytic notes (Bernard, 2011). Methodological Notes

For Bernard (2011), methodological notes deal with the “technique in collecting data” and researchers’ “own growth as an instrument of data collection” (p. 3i). Researchers are encouraged to note decisions they make with regards to data creation; how they arrived at particular points in their project journey. Bernard also encourages researchers to look inward during data collection, and note what they are learning about doing work in the field, along the way. Descriptive Notes

A great way to learn how to effectively record descriptive notes is to practice doing so alongside other novice observers (Bernard, 2011). Therefore, in many qualitative courses, professors have their students choose a public place, spend 10- or 15-minutes taking notes on what is going on in that space, and then write a summary that includes some of the interesting things observed. I have provided more details about this exercise at the end of this chapter (see Exercise 7.2: Observation and Fieldnotes). At a football game, for example, some students will record the physical layout of the stadium and describe the lighting, the seating, and the signs; others will note when spectators stand up and sit down and when they yell or are quiet; and others will note what is going on when people get up from the seats and when they return. These are descriptive notes; or as Bernard (2011) explains, “the meat and potatoes of fieldwork” (p. 3j). Observers should focus on gathering information by watching and listening; aim to capture the various behaviors and environmental elements of the situation being observed (Bernard, 2011). But how do you record “what is important” in the setting? Just as there are how-to guides for one-on-one interviews and focus group discussions, there are guides for writing descriptive fieldnotes. Schensul et al. (1999) have suggested that “to make sense of the bewildering array of new visual, aural, olfactory and social stimuli in the field, ethnographers usually start by observing settings”, observing and tracing events, counting and mapping, and “searching for indicators of socioeconomic difference” (pp. 96–97). Of the numerous frameworks that may help you to structure your observations,

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some are distilled into convenient acronyms that capture several key dimensions of the setting. For example, Hymes’ (1972) SPEAKING framework may be instrumental for those focusing on communication and the interactions between people, and outlines the description of the setting, participants, ends (goals), act sequence, key (tone), instrumentalities (dialect), norms of interaction, and genres (culture; see Daas & McBride, 2014 for a brief overview). Spradley (1980) outlines a similar list of dimensions, including space, actors, activities, objects, acts, events, time, goals, and feelings. For those looking for a more exhaustive set of guidelines, LeCompte and Preissle (1993) provide a helpful framework, which is still relevant today, for directing participant observation and descriptive notes. Selected questions (see pp. 199–200 for the complete list) included in their framework that are helpful for descriptive note-taking are: • • • •

Who is in the group or scene? What is happening here? What are the people in the group or scene doing and saying to one another? Where is the group or scene located? When does the group meet and interact?

Whichever framework you choose, whether you are drawn to a more comprehensive list of categories or one that emphasizes certain characteristics of the setting relevant to your topic, using a guide will assist you in making more organized and thoughtful descriptive fieldnotes (Daas & McBride, 2014). However, it is important to recognize that descriptive fieldnotes are not data that really happened, and quotes are not exact. As mentioned earlier, fieldnotes are a reconstruction. While in a setting, there are some things that pass us by because we did not see them, we are not trained to see them (nonverbals), we are not knowledgeable enough about the setting to see them, and even possibly too tired to note their occurrence (Fine, 1993). In all likelihood, you may start with a template, but as you spend more time in the field, you will develop your own approach and style to creating fieldnotes. Analytic Notes

Researchers likely spend the least amount of time recording analytic notes, but they are nonetheless, still very important to record (Bernard, 2011). These notes should contain ideas related to how the researcher understands the phenomenon, or culture—very broadly speaking—they are exploring. Bernard provides an example of an analytic note that he made while studying Greek culture: “when I finally figured out the rules for showing up on time for evening functions in Greece, that was worth an analytic note” (p. 3k). Analytic notes often emerge out of researcher engagement with their descriptive and methodological notes.

Data Collection 177 Other Notes

In addition to interview notes and fieldnotes that both include methodological notes, descriptive notes, and analytic or theoretical notes, much of the literature encourages researchers to keep a record or log of daily activities, an audit trail, a personal journal or diary, and a reflexive journal (also see Chapter 10: Rigor). Please see Table 7.5. All types of notes can also be used in arts-based data collection (see Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research) and all eventually become part of the data analysis process and support the rigor of your study. However, researchers often begin a study with good intentions to keep their notes separated and organized, but find that these records start to “merge” as the study progresses. Ultimately, how you organize your notes, whether integrated or kept separate, is your personal preference.

Table 7.5 Types of Notes Interview Notes and Fieldnotes Methodological Notes

Descriptive Notes

Interviews

Participant Observation

Notes related to decisions made during interviews, challenges, and information that will inform subsequent research encounters. For example: • What questions worked well? • What topics seemed difficult to talk about? • What can I do the same or differently next time?

Notes related to what is being observed, and how those observations are shaping research decisions. For example: • What happened when I moved to a different location? • What happened when I jotted down notes? • What can I do the same or differently next time?

Interviews

Participant Observation

• Notes that describe what is happening in a given space • This should include as much detail as possible about the situation like behaviors, interactions, spatial and environmental elements, etc. Analytic/ Theoretical Notes

Interviews

Participant Observation

• Notes that document moments of confusion, hunches, conjectures, and possible interpretations • Considerations on how ideas are connected or interrelated, either from the participants’ point of view or from the researcher’s perspective • Notes linking interviews/ observations to literature/theory; for example, “this reminds me of postcolonial theory” (Continued)

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Table 7.5 (Continued) Interview Notes and Fieldnotes Other Notes Log

• Notes that document daily activities

Jottings

• Notes the researcher makes when things strike them, with enough information needed to recall details at a later time • Great for moments when the researcher does not have a lot of time to take detailed notes and/or in a sensitive situation where taking notes might be inappropriate ( Bernard, 2002)

Audit Trail

• Notes that record primarily methodological decisions and a justification for decisions (e.g., a change in sampling strategy, a change in setting, etc.)

Personal Journal

• Notes that describe your personal experience during the research (e.g., extreme frustration with your supervisor!) • Is private and not shared with the committee

Reflexive Journal

• Notes that challenge personal reactions, how the researcher interacts with participants or other data sources, personal assumptions, and overall, how the researcher affects and is affected by the entire research process.

Summary There are many ways to collect or make data, and all ways are exhausting as they require you to be “in the moment”, extremely attentive, and use all of your senses. In this chapter, the more traditional approaches were described with online data collection also included. Think about data sources as everything empirically available to us, whether they are participants, a setting, or the latest best-seller, poetry, newspapers, art, film, photographs, social media posts, blog entries, video, graffiti, pop culture artifacts, movement, and even sound. If it helps elucidate the phenomenon, “collect” it, consider it, think about it, and proceed with analyzing how and why how the data make us think about the world in a new way. If you ever find yourself bogged down in “unproductive” debates over the supremacy or inferiority of particular data collection techniques, it may be useful to revisit Lamont and Swidler’s words on the subject: Our stance is that each technique has its own limitations and advantages and that a technique does not have agency: all depends on what one does with it, what it is used for. In other words, there are no good and

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bad techniques of data collection; there are only good and bad questions, and stronger and weaker ways of using each strategy. (Lamont & Swidler, 2014, p. 154)

Exercise 7.1 Insider-Outsider Dance This exercise invites you to reflect on the ways your experiences may make you an “insider” and/or an “outsider” in your research setting. This exercise is designed to be completed individually, but you may want to discuss your reflections in small or large groups afterward. Think of a research topic that lends itself to interview or participant observation; this may be the topic of your thesis or dissertation, or purely hypothetical. Keeping in mind the study setting and participants, think through the following questions: • • • • •

How are you an insider? How are you an outsider? Under what circumstances might your insider and/or outsider status change throughout the research? What power differentials may be at play given your individual characteristics or the setting in which you conduct your research? How might these shift? What advantages and/or disadvantages might your individual characteristics confer on the research process?

Exercise 7.2 Observation and Fieldnotes The objective of this exercise is to demonstrate the complexity behind the data collection strategy of participant observation and writing fieldnotes. The first part of this exercise is completed individually; it is followed by a group discussion. Choose a public place and spend 10 to 15 minutes taking notes on what is going on in that space. Write a one- or two-page summary that includes some of the interesting things you observed. After you have completed this task, come together in a small group and discuss the following questions: • • • • •

What types of things did you record in your notes? What did you observe that you did not think was important to write down? Did you jot information down as keywords or did you have an opportunity to write more? Did you record direct quotations? If you had the chance, what else would have you written after leaving the setting? In what types of settings and with what topics and/or questions can you envision using participant observation for collecting data? Why would participant observation be appropriate in these instances?

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What could you learn through this data collection strategy that would not be available through interviewing?

Typically, students are surprised with the markedly different ways they approach this exercise, yet they agree on one thing: doing participant observation and writing fieldnotes is very very difficult.

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Lofland, J. A. & Lofland, L. (1984). Analyzing social settings: A guide to qualitative observation and analysis (2nd ed.). Wadsworth. Lunnay, B., Borlagdan, J., McNaughton, D., & Ward, P. (2015). Ethical use of social media to facilitate qualitative research. Qualitative Health Research, 25(1), 99–109. 10.1177/1049732314549031 Marshall, C., & Rossman, G. B. (1995). Designing qualitative research (2nd ed.). Sage. Mayan, M., Gray, E., Richter, S., Drummond, J., & Rebryna, R. (2008). [Families first Edmonton: Document analysis]. Unpublished manuscript, University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada. Mealer, M., & Jones, J. (2014). Methodological and ethical issues related to qualitative telephone interviews on sensitive topics. Nurse Researcher, 21(4), 32–37. 10.7748/ nr2014.03.21.4.32.e1229 Merriam, S. B., Johnson-Bailey, J., Lee, M., Kee, Y., Ntseane, G., & Muhamad, M. (2001). Power and positionality: Negotiating insider/outsider status within and across cultures. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 20(5), 405–416. Morgan, D. L. (1988). Focus group as qualitative research. Sage. Morgan, D. L. (1997). The focus group guidebook. Sage. Morgan, D. L. (1998). Planning focus groups. In D. Morgan & R. Krueger (Eds.), Focus group kit (Vol. 2, pp. 1–139). Sage. Morgan, D. L. (2016). Essentials of dyadic interviewing. Routledge. Morgan, D. L., & Krueger, R. (1998). The focus group kit (Vols. 1–6). Sage Morgan, D. L., Ataie, J., Carder, P., & Hoffman, K. (2013). Introducing dyadic interviews as a method for collecting qualitative data. Qualitative Health Research, 23(9), 1276–1284. 10.1177/1049732313501889 Morse, J. M., Beres, M., Spiers, J., Mayan, M. J., & Olson, K. (2003). Identifying signals of suffering by linking verbal and facial cues. Qualitative Health Research, 13, 1063–1077. Morse, J. M., & Field, P. A. (1995). Qualitative research methods for health professionals (2nd ed.). Sage. Nikander, P. (2008). Working with transcripts and translated data. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 5(3), 225–231. 10.1080/14780880802314346 Oliver, D. G., Serovich, J. M., & Mason, T. L. (2005). Constraints and opportunities with interview transcription: Towards reflection in qualitative research. Social Forces, 84(2), 1273–1289. Olson, K. (2011). Essentials of qualitative interviewing. Routledge. Onwuegbuzie, A. J., Leech, N. L., Collins, K. M. T. (2010). Innovative data collection strategies in qualitative research. The Qualitative Report, 15(3), 696–726. Patton, M. Q. (2002). Qualitative evaluation and research methods (3rd ed.). Sage. Polak, L., & Green, J. (2016). Using joint interviews to add analytic value. Qualitative Health Research, 26(12), 1638–1648. 10.1177/1049732315580103 Poland, B. D. (2002). Transcription quality. In J. Gubrium and J. Holstein (Eds.), Handbook of interview research (pp. 628–649). Sage. Qu, S. Q. & Dumay, J. (2011). The qualitative research interview. Qualitative Research in Accounting & Management, 8(3), 238–264. 10.1108/11766091111162070 Richards, L., & Morse, J. M. (2007). Readme first for a user’s guide to qualitative methods (2nd ed.). Sage. Rosenhan, D. L. (1973). On being sane in insane places. American Association for the Advancement of Science.

Data Collection 183 Roulet, T. J., Gill, M. J., Stenger, S., & Gill, D. J. (2017). Reconsidering the value of covert research: The role of ambiguous consent in participant observation. Organizational Research Methods, 20(3), 487–517. 10.1177/1094428117698745 Roulston, K. (2018). Interviews in qualitative research. In C. A. Chapelle (Ed.), The encyclopedia of applied linguistics (pp. 1–9). Blackwell Publishing. Roulston, K. (2010). Asking questions and individual interviews. In Reflective interviewing: A guide to theory and practice (pp. 9–32). Sage. 10.4135/9781446288009.n2 Roulston, K., & Choi, M. (2018). Qualitative interviews. In U. Flick (Ed.), The sage handbook of qualitative data collection (pp. 233–249). Sage. Rubin, H. J., & Rubin, I. S. (1995). Qualitative interviewing: The art of hearing data. Sage. Rubin, H. J., & Rubin, I. S. (2005). Qualitative interviewing: The art of hearing data (2nd ed.). Sage. Rubin, H. J., & Rubin, I. S. (2011). Qualitative interviewing: The art of hearing data (3rd ed.). Sage. Schensul, S., Schensul, J., & LeCompte, M. D. (1999). Essential ethnographic methods: Observations, interviews, and questionnaires. AltaMira. Seale, C., Charteris-Black, J., MacFarlane, A., & McPherson, A. (2010). Interviews and internet forums: A comparison of two sources of qualitative data. Qualitative Health Research, 20, 595–606. Sherif, B. (2001). The ambiguity of boundaries in the fieldwork experience: Establishing rapport and negotiating insider/outside status. Qualitative Inquiry, 7, 436–447. Shopes, L. (2002). What is oral history? In L. Shopes (Ed.), Making sense of oral history. http://historymatters.gmu.edu/mse/oral/ Spradley, J. P. (1980) Participant observation. Wadsworth/Thomson Learning. Tessier, S. (2012). From field notes, to transcripts, to tape recordings: Evolution or combination? International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 11(4), 446–460. Trier-Bieniek A. (2012). Framing the telephone interview as a participant centered tool for qualitative research: a methodological discussion. Qualitative Research, 12(6), 630–644. 10.1177/1468794112439005 Turner, D. W. (2010). Qualitative interview design: A practical guide for novice investigators. The Qualitative Report, 15(3), 754–760. http://www.nova.edu/ssss/ QR/QR15-3/qid.pdf Vinten, G. (1994). Participant observation: A model for organizational investigation? Journal of Managerial Psychology, 9(2), 30–38. Wilkinson, S. (1998). Focus group in health research: Exploring the meanings of health and illness. Journal of Health Psychology, 3(3), 329–348. 10.1177/135910539800300304 Zimmer, M. (2010). “But the data is already public”: On the ethics of research in Facebook. Ethics Information Technology, 12(4), 313–325. 10.1007/s10676-010-9227-5 Zimmerman, L. J. (2013). Homelessness. In P. L. Graves-Brown, R. Harrison & A. Piccini (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of the archaeology of the contemporary world (pp. 336–350). Oxford University Press. Zimmerman, L. J., & Welch, J. (2011). Displaced and barely visible: Archaeology and the material culture of homelessness. Hist Arch, 4(1), 67–85. 10.1007/BF03376821

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This chapter describes coding and then some of the main analytic techniques that are used across methodologies (see Chapter 3: Methodology, Table 3.1: Methodological Coherence Guide) including: qualitative content analysis, theming, constant comparison, and thinking with theory. In addition to these main strategies, there are supporting analytic strategies that can be used across methodologies to help organize and advance your analytic process and include: memoing, annotating, diagramming (drawing, recording, emailing), theorizing, peer debriefing, and writing. The section concludes by clearing up some confusion, through a series of questions and answers, that typically come up during data analysis. There are also five appendices that correspond with this chapter: Appendix B is an example of a memo; Appendix C is a description of memoing and diagramming; Appendix D is a description of peer debriefing; Appendix E contains the beginning of a focus group transcript; and, Appendix F includes a full interview transcript. The chapter concludes with two exercises. The first exercise is on thinking with theory, theming, and categorizing; the second exercise is on focus group analysis. This chapter starts with outlining the introductory analysis concepts of deductive, inductive, and abductive.

Describing Qualitative Data Analysis In the past, I was in a faculty that offered a course entitled “Inside Analysis” which focused in-depth on the techniques of analysis in qualitative inquiry. One of the ways we approached the class was to ask colleagues from across campus to do a guest lecture and present how they conducted analyses from their theoretical orientations or methodologies. These colleagues presented on participatory action research, ethnography, discourse analysis, phenomenology, visual methods, narrative, and so on. Their comments following their presentations were as enriching as the class itself. They thanked us for getting them to think through—and find words—to describe what they did when they analyze data as they had never had to explicate it before. Indeed, overall, qualitative researchers do a poor job of describing or articulating their data analysis processes. “The category emerged from the data” or “The data were DOI: 10.4324/b23331-8

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analyzed for themes” is no longer sufficient. This is one reason why students, and almost everyone, struggle with data analysis; it is just not explained well. But why is describing or articulating our data analysis process so difficult? There are a few reasons. Different theoretical orientations and methodologies create different kinds of data that demand to be treated or analyzed in distinct ways. Thus analytic processes within each methodology are unique to the methodology, yet are fluid and flexible. And within methodologies, data come in different forms (e.g., digital visual, text, facial expressions, art). Additionally, creating themes is a very different process from building categories. There is also a need to be clear and somewhat linear when writing up the analysis stage, yet resisting simplifying complex analytic processes as if, for example, participants speak on their own, “rather than through the researcher who makes choices about how to interpret these voices” (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003, p. 418). Data analysis methods are not “neutral techniques” in that “they carry the epistemological, ontological, and theoretical assumptions of the researchers who developed them” (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003, p. 415). Needless to say, describing qualitative data analysis is anything but simple, but there is hope on the horizon. As this issue gains more attention, increasingly sophisticated qualitative and methodology-specific texts that detail data analysis are being made available. This chapter provides you only with analytic strategies that are generally shared across orientations and methodologies. You can certainly start your learning here, but when you decide on a particular theoretical orientation or methodology, I would encourage you to turn to a scholar who is known for their contributions to and advancement of a particular orientation or methodology to actually learn the associated analytic processes. But as with everything, starting with the foundations is best, and this includes the concepts of deductive, inductive, and abductive.

Inquiry as Deductive, Inductive, and Abductive Quantitative inquiry is primarily a deductive activity. A simple puzzle analogy can benefit this description. In quantitative inquiry, a researcher has most of the 1000-piece Dalmatian dog puzzle figured out and is testing the fit of one or two pieces. In other words, a deductive process involves testing a hypothesis (a puzzle piece) within a preexisting framework or theory (the entire puzzle) to see if it does or does not hold within that framework. Qualitative inquiry, on the other hand, is primarily an inductive activity. The 1000-piece Dalmatian dog puzzle has been dumped out on the table, and the researcher must try to put it together or make sense of it. The researcher will be guided by the border pieces (i.e., the literature and personal/professional experience with the phenomenon), but otherwise, a picture is there (i.e., the description of the phenomena), waiting to be rendered. The pieces are tested against each other—over and over again—until the picture (e.g., model, description, narrative, theory) is complete or makes sense. The pieces cannot be made to fit together, pounded down with a strong fist. The pieces that you do not

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think go together need to be tried and, surprisingly, sometimes snap together perfectly. This process is inductive because it starts with individual pieces or ideas and, as the researcher moves around one piece at a time (or makes small, incremental analytical steps) an overall composite, or theory, or story, or description is created. Even though the puzzle analogy can be critiqued by post sensibilities for the creation of only one right picture or truth coming from the data, I find the puzzle analogy helpful for understanding the concepts of deduction and induction. Further help with induction is provided by Morse (1994) who describes the cognitive process of inductive thinking, moving from comprehending, to synthesizing, to theorizing, and to recontextualizing. Comprehending begins when you start thinking about your topic and your setting, and learning as much as you can through the literature, and continues through data collection, and analysis, and concludes when you can begin writing a detailed and dense description of the data. Synthesizing is the process of “weeding,” merging stories and experiences to describe patterns and how people act, react, or connect. It is being able to describe the typical and atypical and provide stories as examples. Theorizing is making your “best guess” to explain your data. You do it through selecting, revising, and discarding—over and over again—to find alternate explanations or ways to understand the phenomenon. Finally, recontextualizing is placing your findings in the context of the literature, to note how findings support extant knowledge and to claim new contributions. Overall, this process of induction is the root of qualitative inquiry. The stages are not meant to be used as a checklist as you move through your research but instead, think of them as part of your job description as a qualitative researcher and use them to help you move from an interest or topic to working with your data—regardless of its source or form—to making contributions for understanding the human condition. Although we emphasize induction in qualitative inquiry, it is also important to be familiar with the concept and process of abduction. Abduction (not of the alien kind) is quite absent from qualitative writing, yet it helps explain how qualitative work is a cognitive process that blends both inductive and deductive reasoning. Abductive reasoning starts with data, and in particular, with intriguing findings from which researchers “make an inferential leap” to consider all possible theoretical explanations (Charmaz, 2014, p. 200). The word “inference” is key in abduction. As described by Charmaz (2014, p. 201) abductive inference “entails considering all plausible theoretical explanations for the surprising data, forming a hypothesis for each explanation, and checking these hypotheses empirically by examining data to arrive at the most plausible explanation”. In other words, instead of starting with a hypothesis and then testing it by collecting the data (deductive), the researcher collects data and then generates hypotheses, or guesses, in an attempt to explain the data (abductive). (Please do not worry about the use of the term hypotheses here; they are simply guesses about what is going on with your data that you are going to check out). But abductive reasoning does not end with hypothesis generation

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and inferences—as good as they might seem—as researchers need to go back to their data or collect new or additional data to ensure theoretical interpretations are well supported and plausible. It is a process of thinking about all the possibilities of the data: making guesses, speculations, and conjectures about why the data are the way they are and then checking these guesses with further (including previously collected) data. If the hypotheses are not well supported, then the researcher considers other possibilities. If the hypotheses are supported and quite plausible, the researcher moves on until an overall interpretation of the data is complete (to the extent that it can be). The abductive analytic process is apparent through a “systematic pattern of data collection-analysiscollection-analysis, ad infinitum” (Morse, 1999, p. 573) that characterizes most qualitative work. The qualitative researcher collects data, analyzes them, collects more data to fill in gaps, analyzes them, collects more data, and so on. Morse (1999) describes working with data as the process of observing patterns in the data, asking questions of those patterns, constructing conjectures, deliberately collecting data from specifically selected individuals on targeted topics, confirming or refuting those conjectures, then continuing analysis, asking additional questions, seeking more data, furthering the analysis by sorting, questioning, thinking, constructing and testing conjectures, and so forth (p. 573). Through this process, understanding grows so that the researcher can begin to decipher relationships in the data, make links with the literature, seek relationships among concepts or categories, or do whatever the methodology being used demands (Morse, 1999). And it all begins with coding.

Coding All qualitative analysis starts with coding. And by stating this, I am already in trouble with many of my qualitative colleagues, especially those who adhere to a “post” orientation. Coding has become somewhat of a contentious issue in qualitative inquiry. Some researchers say that they do not “code” and trip all over themselves trying to avoid the term. I suppose that they think it sounds too prescriptive, positivistic, or reductionist. But we all code. As soon as you interface with your data, work with your data—any data at all—you are coding. In other words, if you want to do anything with your data, other than leaving them in their raw form, you have to code. You can code for categories, for themes, to map, to form concepts and you can code to problematize or trouble. Coding is simply the first step by which the researcher becomes familiar with and starts to organize the data. It is needed to make comparisons or ask questions about the data. When you assign a word or concept to a part of your data (no matter how big or small), note something in the margin of a transcript, read with theory and identify how concepts are coming through, focus on a

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specific part of a visual, clip a segment from a video recording, etc., you are coding. Coding, then, is the process of assigning a word or short phrase to symbolically capture “a summative, salient, essence-capturing, and/or evocative attribute for a portion of language-based or visual data” (Saldaña, 2021, p. 5). A code can be assigned to a line, portion, or an entire page of a transcript or document, or to a minute detail or larger portion of an image or video, or even to the image itself. Any data then can be coded, for example: interview transcripts, fieldnotes, your journal, reports, and other documents, drawing, artifacts, photos, fiction, video, social media, etc. (Saldaña, 2021). Coding is a continuous and taxing process of reflexively thinking about your data, and assigning a word, term, or phrase that best describes it—for the time being, anyway. While coding, you can also make comments that might include overall impressions, points of interest, further plans for working with the data, and so on. Making those kinds of comments is part of coding. Coding helps to summarize and condense raw data but coding the same data, in the same way, by two or more different researchers just will not happen. This is when research paradigms, theoretical orientations, methodologies, knowledge of the topic and the literature, and level of engagement with participants become key to how individuals code. This is also why inter-rater reliability is not something we want to achieve in qualitative inquiry. Saldaña (2021, p. 12) quotes a bold but accurate statement made by Sipe and Ghiso (2004, p. 482) that says, “All coding is a judgement call”—a judgement call made by a researcher that holds their own paradigms, beliefs, and perceptions of the data and participants’ experiences. This does not take away the validity or legitimacy of coding, but it does mean that researchers may need to use other analytic strategies (offered below) to record thoughts and decisions that support overall interpretations. Coding can be done individually or as a team; it can be done manually but is a bit easier if you use software. When more than one person in a team codes the same data, each individual should work together over a period of time, coding initial data, to establish a coding framework that outlines some generally agreed-upon, first attempt, malleable codes. With this approach, it is important to come together often and reflexively discuss how the codes (and later categories and/or themes) are working, how they are morphing, and into what, for what reasons. This takes an enormous amount of time and patience, but hearing from multiple perspectives can only enrich the research. To note, the morphing of codes also happens when you work solo. Your codes will change as you move through your data, as you refine and find words that capture the meaning—just a little bit better each time. It is often frustrating to me when a student is asked (or a reviewer asks an author) to provide their coding framework. In this circumstance, I reply, “which version to you want”? A tell-tale sign of a good qualitative project is when the codes do change overtime. This means the researcher is “hearing the

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data”, challenging assumptions, struggling with the surprising or difficult or challenging data, and working beyond the obvious. As a side comment, many scholars also recommend, before actually coding, that you “set down your pencil” and read transcripts or fieldnotes, or view your artifacts or art, or watch the video—to get a feel for your data—and develop a thorough working knowledge of it. This is very difficult to do. We instinctively want to get into our data, start messing around with it, and start making interpretations. It takes significant restraint to just read or view the data without making some kind of notation of what you think is going on, but give it a try. It will be worth it. I believe coding is misunderstood and has been given a “bad rap” (a bad reputation). As a result, it is like you somehow are not a real qualitative researcher, or a very sophisticated one, if you code. Do not be afraid of coding, it is simply the first step in being able to say something about the data, and the phenomenon. And if do not like the word, maybe say “sorting” your data, although I think this only confuses rather than clarifies. Saldaña (2021) describes coding in great detail through first-cycle and second-cycle coding and then outlines numerous coding options within each cycle; they vary greatly in complexity and depend on the analytic approach desirable for each qualitative study and research question. Johnny Saldaña writes like no other and if you are looking for outstanding texts (he has a few!) to help you through your project, his work is impeccable.

Main Analytic Approaches The analytic approaches outlined below are generally shared across theoretical orientations and methodologies, yet take on particular hues of the orientation or methodology as analysis proceeds. For example, many methodologies would name theming as their main analytic technique, but how it is done and unfolds is very different across methodologies. Resultantly, below is just a general description of the main analytic techniques to help you think about the differences among them and how they will produce different findings. Qualitative Content Analysis

I start with qualitative content analysis because many new qualitative researchers choose methodologies that require this analytic technique. But there is one needed caveat before this technique is described: it is important to refer to content analysis as qualitative content analysis. Sometimes content analysis is assumed to mean a counting technique whereby data are searched for recurring words or phrases, and then numbers generated typically to signal the significance of the word or phrase; it is assumed the more time it is said, the more important it is for explaining the phenomenon. There is a type of content analysis that does this, called classic or summative, but it is not qualitative content analysis. Counting is pointless for the qualitative

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researcher as the underlying meaning and context of the words or phrases are not taken into account. Another form of content analysis is called directed (Hsieh & Shannon, 2005) or deductive content analysis which is commonly used to validate or conceptually extend the use of a theoretical framework. It is the process of looking for the theoretical concepts in the data to see if they exist and can be a very serious threat to the purpose of qualitative inquiry (see using theory deductively below). In contrast to the above approaches, qualitative content analysis is primarily an inductive technique whereby codes and categories are derived from the data and is helpful for determining what is in the data (Morse, 2008). Qualitative content analysis stays close to the data and is used when thick or deep description of the phenomenon is needed, like in ethnography. Qualitative content analysis is the process of coding and categorizing the primary patterns in the data. It begins by identifying persistent images, objects, words, phrases, concepts, sounds, etc. within the data “so that the underlying patterns can be identified” (Morse & Field, 1995, p. 241). As coding is done, similar codes are put into categories; this is why we talk about qualitative content analysis as “building” categories. As data are categorized, the researcher reads through the excerpts in the category, ensuring that they all “fit”. You will not get it right the first time and must be willing to move excerpts around, relabel, dissolve categories, or develop subcategories. Subcategories are created if there are two distinct ideas or perspectives within one category. Often associated with a qualitative content analysis is a diagram illustrating the relationship between categories and subcategories. Once you are satisfied that the excerpts in each category are part of that category, you will need to write a summary for each category and subcategory. Very generally, a qualitative content analysis has no more than 10 categories, and that is quite a lot. If you have more than that, you will likely need to abstract, and work more conceptually or theoretically, to bring the categories up to a higher level. And a question I always get asked is, “Can the same piece of data fit into more than one category”? Yes, it can. The categories are then judged by two criteria, attributed to Guba (1978): internal and external homogeneity. Internal homogeneity refers to the individual categories. Do all of the data reflect the category and fit nicely into it? Does the category make sense? External homogeneity refers to the relationships among the categories. Are they all distinct and separate? The differences among categories should be bold and clear. The final step is to theme. Themes are ideas or processes that weave through the categories and tie them together. Theming, then, in qualitative content analysis, is the process of determining the thread(s) that integrate and anchor all the categories. To form themes, the researcher returns to the “big-picture” level and determines how the categories are related. Once categories are refined and well-defined, it becomes easier (and almost natural) to identify the pattern that weaves the categories and elevates the data toward findings that are more thematic, conceptual, and theoretical

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(Saldaña, 2021). You will typically have only one or two, possibly three themes. If you have more, again, you are likely not abstracting enough. Through the categories and then the themes, the researcher can make overall conclusions about the research. When people ask, “What did you find in your research”, I often hear myself restating my themes as they do become the overall answer to your research question. Theming

Theming, or thematic coding, or coding for themes, is another analytic technique that is used across theoretical orientations and methodologies. The definition sounds, well, almost exactly the same as the definition of qualitative content analysis: Thematic analysis “is a method for systematically identifying, organizing, and offering insight into patterns of meaning (themes) across a data set” (Braun & Clarke, 2012, p. 57). “It minimally organizes and describes your data set in (rich) detail” (Braun & Clarke, 2006, p. 6). Yet Braun and Clarke, after defining thematic analysis, do admit what we all experience, “there is no clear agreement on what thematic analysis is and how you go about doing it” (Braun & Clarke, 2006, p. 6). I take a bit of a different slant on theming, drawing on Janice Morse and Johnny Saldaña, and understand theming very differently than categorizing. It almost starts where qualitative content analysis, and building categories, ends. It is the process of standing alongside your data, reading the pieces, thinking interpretively, and asking, “What is going on here?” (Morse, 2008, p. 727). This is why we talk about “building categories” (putting similar codes together) versus “creating themes” (interpretation to capture meaning). Themes are the outcome of analytic reflection (Saldaña, 2016). Theming is really capturing what data means; it does not involve a lot of time spent on description. Overall, theming asks broader questions about the data and identifies the essences that weave or “run through the data” (Morse, 2008, p. 727). Citing the fact that categories and themes are often conflated Morse (2008) describes the difference between the two (and their associated analytic processes). The main distinction drawn by Morse (2008) is that a category acts as a repository of similar data, and categorization is the act of sorting and selecting similar data into one place to later discern similarities and differences between categories. Whereas categories, and the act of categorizing, deal with sorting and the minute nuances of data, themes and theming, takes a birds-eye-view of the entire inquiry seeking to understand the ‘“essence” that runs through the data” (Morse, 2008, p. 727). While categories allow researchers to compare and to contrast chunks of similar data to begin to see and analyze emergent relationships and patterns, themes seek to understand what these patterns mean within the context of the research and ultimately what meanings emerge from the findings to impact scholarly literature and hopefully society. Categories tend to decontextualize the data and make it more generalizable (Morse, 2008), while themes begin

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to illuminate and help explicate research findings in relation to larger societal and institutional narratives - the meaning or “so what” of research; in effect re-contextualizing the data through interpretation. Following an example set out by Morse, consider the concept of inclusion. If we set out to examine inclusion as a category, we may have data to identify the characteristics of inclusion, and what constitutes being included, and being excluded. With categories, we could even aim to understand the distinctions between inclusion and belonging. On the other hand, as a theme, researchers would have data about what inclusion means, and the essence of inclusion. Perhaps Rossman and Rallis’s (2003) description is even more helpful as they consider a category as that which is explicit, evident, or concrete, while a theme is more subtle, tacit, or abstract. Constant Comparison

Constant comparison was established through the development of grounded theory but can be used across methodologies and has also been proposed as useful for focus group analysis. What is constantly compared in this analytic approach? Just about anything. You can compare: data between participants, including their views, situations, actions, accounts, and experiences; data from the same participant at different points in time; incident with incident across all data; data within an evolving category; a category with other categories and so on. What a researcher discerns in these comparisons matter to the analytic process because meanings and actions that have yet to be identified in the data (already collected or to be collected using theoretical sampling) may be able to test previously conceived ideas (Charmaz, 2014). As such, constant comparison is a recursive process of comparing for similarities and differences across the data in order to make analytic distinctions, refine the analysis, and gradually determine a conceptual structure of the data (Charmaz, 2014). Researchers should move between and across the pieces of data in their data set to code, establish categories, and finesse the boundaries of those categories in a “cycle of comparison and reflection on “old” and “new” material” that “can be repeated several times” (Boeije, 2002, p. 393). For the purposes of grounded theory alone, constant comparison assists in building categories in terms of properties (i.e., characteristics of the category) and conditions (i.e., circumstances that foster the category) that are necessary for theory development (Glaser & Strauss, 1967). Reading or Thinking with Theory

For those who work with and through theoretical orientations (do not choose a particular methodology) (as described in Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry) your analytic technique would be reading or thinking with theory. To read or think with theory is to indulge in a critical reading of qualitative data in search for “newness” and as a way to critique the complexities of social life. When qualitative researchers think with

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theory, the goal is not to conduct data analysis and interpretation that aims to create a neat narrative of what participants mean. In contrast, thinking with theory refutes (or “works against”) interpretivism because of the strong belief that what participants share and how they share it has an already “made meaning” (Jackson & Mazzi, 2012, p.3) that was constructed by them as words and truths were selected and shared with researchers. Thus, thinking with theory involves “plugging in” theory to produce something new in a fluid process of “making and unmaking” (Jackson & Mazzi, 2012, p. 1). To achieve this, pieces of data are repeatedly examined for new meanings grounded in the theoretical orientation being used (or plugged in). One important aspect that qualitative researchers who think with theory are urged to do is clearly outline what research questions are possible from their chosen theoretical orientation.

Supporting Analytic Strategies In addition to the main analytic strategies, there are additional strategies that can be used across theoretical orientations and methodologies to support the analytic process including memoing, annotating, diagramming, theorizing, peer debriefing, and writing. Memoing

Memoing is the process of writing analytical notes about the data. Primarily associated with grounded theory, memoing can be used to enrich any qualitative data analysis process. Indeed, we cannot stop ourselves from memoing. As soon as we say, “I wonder if … ” or “Could this be about … ?” or “Does this mean … ?” we are memoing. We are making conceptual connections and asking questions about why something is the way it is. Thus, memoing encourages the back-and-forth conversation between data and analysis and promotes digging into implicit and unstated meanings. Again, memoing looks slightly different depending on your theoretical orientation or methodology. Memoing in a grounded theory, for example, might be focused on comparing two categories, whereas in an autoethnography it might include asking questions about how one’s experience counters a particular dominant narrative of the phenomenon. Overall, memoing “assists the researcher in making conceptual leaps from raw data to those abstractions that explain research phenomena in the context in which it is examined” (Birks et al., 2008, p. 68). You need to memo. Do not be tricked into thinking that you will remember the riveting thought, connection with the literature, or link to a metaphor you just had. I learned most about memoing from Dr. Julie Corbin. An example of memos she and Anslem Strauss wrote, in a study on chronic illness, can be found in Appendix B. Please note, these memos were written at quite an advanced stage into their grounded theory analysis;

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memos do not have to be this involved, especially early on in your analysis. Additionally, a former student and now friend and I, wrote a piece for Corbin and Strauss (2015) Basics of Qualitative Research, where we describe our understanding of memoing (and diagramming). With permission, I have adapted it and it can be found in Appendix C. Annotating

An annotation “is like a stick-on note” (and looks as such in some qualitative software) that is attached to a certain place in the data (Richards, 1999, p. 96) marking an idea. Annotations can also contain free-flowing reflections, rough ideas, and questions about the data (Daum, 2016); they are not as involved in conceptual development as memoing. Annotating can be considered a middle step between coding and memoing. Theorizing

Qualitative researchers need to also engage in theorizing as they analyze data. Essentially, theorizing is our job as researchers. Theorizing, as a supportive analytic technique and in contrast to thinking with theory, is moving from the particular instances in your data, to speculation, and possible explanations. Theorizing means thinking more abstractly about your data and entertaining theoretical notions about the phenomenon. Even in a descriptive study, you theorize about the ideas or events you are describing and relate it to the extant literature. You need to theorize to do research, but you can also theorize without building a theory (which is a more complex process—outlined in grounded theory—that commonly includes theoretical sampling, constant comparison, saturation, and abductive reasoning). The importance and challenging nature of data analysis within the context of theorizing is highlighted below. Please replace “subject” with “participant’ in your reading. Regardless of which analytical strategy you employ; what you must not do is simply say—“this is what my subjects said and did—isn’t that incredibly interesting”. It may be reasonably interesting, but your work can acquire significance only when you theorize in relation to it. Many researchers are wary of this – they worry that, in the process of interpretation and theorizing, they may fail to do justice to what they have seen and heard; that they may contaminate their subjects’ words and behavior. This is a risk, but it has to be balanced against the fact that your findings acquire significance in our intellectual community only when you have reflected on, interpreted, and theorized your data. You are not there as a mere mouthpiece. (Bryman, 2001, p. 402)

Data Analysis 195 Peer Debriefing

If you look up peer debriefing in the literature you will see it listed under strategies for attaining rigor, and this is accurate. Peer debrief is a process whereby a “critical friend” (Foulger, 2010; Miles & Huberman, 1994) or “devil’s advocate” (Creswell, 1998) reviews and asks questions of the researcher to ensure findings are thorough, sound, and defendable. But done throughout the research, peer debriefing also serves as an analytic strategy. A critical research friend invites the researcher to challenge and defend their interpretations, often offering alternate interpretations. Questions in a peer debrief may be: “Have you thought of it this way”?; “Does this interpretation hold with another cultural group”?; “Why did you change that theme since we last chatted”?; “This reminds me of my experience with the phenomenon, are you finding something similar”?. As questions are asked and answered, the analysis goes beyond the obvious to a much deeper, intricate, and evolved end. Never have I experienced peer debrief as an analytic strategy play out as beautifully as between two former PhD students who met weekly, sometimes bi-weekly, over three years to peer debrief. I joined them occasionally. They wrote up their peer debriefing experiences as to clarify what is and generate the new which can be found in Appendix D. Diagramming, Drawing, Recording, Emailing

Other simple strategies to advance your analysis include diagramming, drawing, recording, and emailing. Diagramming as you move through analysis helps visualize relationships and how ideas, concepts, categories, notions, themes, and passing thoughts may link together. Ideas that do not fit are made very clear as they are relegated to the side of the page and the researcher has to figure out what to do with them. More complex diagrams at the later stages of the research may very well stand alone as an explanation of intricate phenomena, while earlier, more simplistic diagrams might act to augment and clarify analysis and text. Diagrams, therefore, serve several purposes, for example, to act as a direct and indirect means of analysis, representation and catalyst for discussion” (Buckley & Waring, 2013, p. 149). Similar to diagramming is drawing. Ideas can appear in visual symbols before a written word. Exploring the visual through the physical gestures of drawing can help flesh out the meaning of a code or an idea. For example in her interpretive description analysis, Miciak repeatedly drew the image of a “hook”, which had been in her mind while memoing about the notion of “connect” (see Miciak et al., 2019). The physical act of drawing the “hook” freed her from the effort of trying to find the right words to describe “connect”. In addition, diagrams and drawings can remain in the memory as a visual cue, acting as a platform for the analysis to jump forward. But do not let great thoughts slip you by if you are not in front of your computer or do not have paper handy, you can audio record your thoughts and even audio record your analysis conversations with your

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supervisor. My students also make it a practice to save all of their emails to me regarding their data, ideas, struggles, etc. and use these to clarify their thoughts and deepen their analyses (saved emails also help with the audit trail described in Chapter 10: Rigor). Writing

Finally, but not literally, is writing. Writing concludes this section but should not be seen as a final task at the end of a research project or graduate degree; writing is a part of analysis. Have you ever had the experience of not really knowing what you think about an issue until you were asked to write it down? Richardson (2000, p. 923) says that “writing is also a way of “knowing”—a method of discovery and analysis”. Richardson and St. Pierre (2005) say, “Writing is thinking, writing is analysis, writing is indeed a tangled method of discovery” (p. 967). In phenomenology, van Manen (2001) explains that writing is a reflective process wherein the researcher continues to analyze the data: There exists a relation between the writing structure of a text and the addressive effects that it may have on the reader and even the writer. So, another feature of researching lived experience is the recognition that phenomenological inquiry is importantly a writing practice (p. 469) Even when attempting to simply summarize overall impressions of data, a process suggested by Miles and Huberman (1994) new perspectives never considered or slighted early on can be brought to the fore. Writing qualitative research is not sitting down at the end of a study with an outline that clearly marks the beginning, middle, and end. It requires the analytic and iterative process of bouncing ideas and lines back and forth while being open to new ideas and discoveries.

Clearing Up Some Confusion This last section is provided to answer some questions that typically come up during data analysis. What Is the Difference Between Codes, Categories, and Themes?

Codes label portions of the data that allow researchers to group codes under categories or codes that can summarize or question portions of data to identify themes. Categories and themes are the outcomes of coding, albeit in very different ways. Categories capture similar or like codes, or contrasting or differing codes, that still refer to the same experience. Themes are the main “patterns of meaning” that describe the data, that answer the research question, and move the field forward. You do not have to categorize before theming; theming can be your analytic approach.

Data Analysis 197 What Is Concurrent Data Collection and Analysis?

A foundational principle of qualitative inquiry is concurrent data collection and analysis. It is terrifying to me when many new researchers triumphantly announce, “I have collected all my data. Now I just have to analyze them”. To do qualitative analysis you must work concurrently, through an iterative process of data collection-analysis-collection-analysis, and so on. If you do not work concurrently, it is likely that you will end up with quite an ordinary study, adding little to the literature, policy, or practice, because you missed a “gem”, for example, in the third transcript that if you had caught and followed up on, would have changed the nature of the research altogether. In a study of fathers caring for a child with a gross motor developmental disability, a father might have stated in that third interview that the disability was welcomed and he feels no sense of loss. This idea might have been missed if the researcher did not analyze that interview shortly after it was conducted and then follow it up in further interviews to see how it fit, or didn’t with the evolving understanding of the phenomenon. Just to note, the only time it is acceptable to have collected all your data without analyzing them concurrently is for structured interviews, in which many participants are recruited, the questions do not change, and all participants are asked the same questions, in the same order, and the answers to each question are studied together. Because structured interviews are conducted and analyzed in this manner, more than one person can conduct the interviews and analyze the data. Each question might become a category. What Is the Role of Context in Interpretation?

Qualitative researchers honor and argue for the importance of context. Indeed, qualitative inquiry would be nothing without context. Context is that in which the data are embedded, storied, shared, and created and includes both the macro—or the larger social, political, cultural, and economic conditions—as well as the micro, or more intimate circumstances in which the data are created. In my research, I create a file for holding newspaper articles, policy statements/briefs, as well as a log of events (e.g., elections, community challenges) so to more fully understand what is influencing the creation of data and to assist with interpretation. Context is critical for interpretation which asks, “What do these data or what do these findings mean”? At the most basic level, context is important to understand how words are used differently. For example, in the rhyme about Humpty Dumpty, did Humpty Dumpty fall from the wall, or did he enjoy a lovely fall—or autumn—going for long walks, carving pumpkins, reading books, and picking apples? If you analyze the phrase “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall”, the context is not clear. If you analyze the context, by reading the preceding and following phrases, (“Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Wall”, “all the kings horses and all the kings men, couldn’t put Humpty together again”),

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Figure 8.1 Greenberg, R. ( 2018). Humpty Dumpty Had A Great Fall. [Drawing]. Authors Collection. San Diego, California, USA.

the context becomes slightly clearer, but not really. You must really ask a lot of questions about the data (the rhyme) when it was written, and for what purpose to understand what Humpty Dumpty “is”. Some people believe Humpty Dumpty is an egg, others say it’s a chicken, and others say it refers to a cannon as the rhyme was written during the English Civil War and suggests that the opposing side attacked the wall where the cannon was sitting so that it fell to the ground in pieces. If you are struggling to find a research topic, perhaps you can write a definitive dissertation on the identity of Humpty Dumpty! (Figure 8.1). Context is also critical for interpretation beyond, of course, the meaning of particular words. Answering, “What does this mean?” is much more involved. For example, in a study I was involved in seeking to understand mechanisms of tuberculosis transmission in Indigenous reserve communities, a finding suggested overcrowded housing due to various family members and friends, coming and going, but all sleeping in one home was a factor. Without community members to provide context, I would have written this up as solely a negative finding, arguing for the need for better housing on reserves. And this would have been fine, but also extremely limiting. My community partners, bringing in culture and history, spoke about overcrowding as a community strength as it demonstrates that no individual is left sleeping outside. Even if an individual is not a close family member, they would always be welcome to sleep inside, for however long they needed. Although we still argued for better housing, the interpretation brought the strength and assets of the community to the fore.

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Now that I have argued for the importance of context, it is also critical to shed context when abstracting your findings so that your work becomes “generalizable” or transferable. In other words, consider the context when analyzing data but then abstract data so that context does not tie down the findings to your particular study alone. See Chapter 10: Rigor. What Is the Difference between Analytical Thinking and Critical Thinking?

Analytical thinking and critical thinking are very different processes. Analytical thinking is generally the ability to identify and define problems and break down large pieces of data into central parts, like categories or themes, and then embed these in the literature to advance our understanding of a particular phenomenon. This process can result in very good work. However, many students often do not develop their analysis far or deep enough and produce work that identifies a few categories and a list of quotes under each. As a reminder, Bryman (2001, p. 402) mentions that what participants said can indeed, be interesting, but is not significant until “you have reflected on, interpreted, and theorized your data. You are not there as a mere mouthpiece”. Morse (2020) has shared a similar concern and argues that qualitative researchers have forgotten how to “conceptualize our data deeply” and thus, the field is currently laden with a “rapid, mindless sorting of data” and stating of obvious themes (Morse, 2020, p. 3). Use the analytic strategies above to ensure your analysis goes beyond the obvious. Critical thinking is the ability to apply “good thinking” (Facione, 2011) to our research and its objectives, meaning, and impact. Overall, critical thinking is not just considering all angles of a problem, it is to critique what is happening in society and how certain groups of people and ideas are marginalized or celebrated (Fontana, 2004). For me, critical thinking really dwells in the question, “Why is this the way it is”? to expose power differences occurring among groups of people in our society. Critical thinking is not passively and objectively trying to understand a phenomenon, but instead involves proposing alternative explanations to the way society is purposefully built to maintain dominant structures of power. Analytical thinking is always involved in qualitative inquiry but not necessarily critical thinking. What Is a Negative Case?

Sometimes data are quite contrary to the general direction of the inquiry or how most data are linking or fitting together. These data are called a “negative case” (and are not data that are negative or disparaging in tone). When such data exist, the researcher must look for similar cases or experiences, which requires going back to previously collected data to see if you missed something similar. You may have ignored certain data until stumbling across the “negative

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case”. In these instances you need to go back or check the negative case in previously collected data to see if similar cases/data are identified, then you will have to adapt your analysis to include and work from these new insights. If no similar cases are found, then that negative case is considered an anomaly, and while we may just want to pretend we did not come across it, it still must be accounted for in the explanation of the data, even if it is just in a section called “future research”. For example, in a study I conducted that included how community-based organizations interface with the government (their funders), one individual spoke about how he most recently has taken to scolding and embarrassing the government, which included going to the media. This was a negative case as it did not fit with the cautious approach others took in their relationship with the government. When we tried to figure out what was going on with this individual, we discovered he was close to retirement and upon his retirement, his organization would fold. In other words, he had nothing to lose, which helped explain his atypical behavior. What Is Focus Group Analysis?

Certain analysis strategies come alive through their methodologies and as mentioned above, you need to learn the analytic strategy associated with your methodology. However, focus group discussions, as a data collection technique, need comment as they are generally, analyzed very poorly. In the literature, you will find that focus groups are likely analyzed with qualitative content analysis: coded, categorized, and maybe themed. However, because the intent of focus group discussions is to generate interaction and discussion among participants, this interaction and discussion must be but rarely is, analyzed. Indeed, a qualitative content analysis can be used with focus group discussion data, but there needs to be coding and memoing about the context, the overall nature of the discussion, and the impact of the group dynamic on the data generated. Since individual comments are contingent on group members’ responses to others’ contributions (for an example of the interrelation between group members’ comments, see the focus group transcript in Appendix E), coding should note, for example, when participants change their minds about an issue. Indeed, even if there seems to be general consensus within a focus group discussion, the close analysis will often highlight inconsistencies and contradictions. As you become aware of these, make sure to describe these intra-group commonalities or differences and how they may possibly be explained (e.g., gender, age, experience). Furthermore, Kitzinger (1995) also suggests researchers use special categories for certain types of data, for example, jokes and anecdotes, and types of interactions, such as “questions”, “deferring to the opinion of others”, “censorship”, or “changes of mind” (p. 302). It is important to emphasize that focus group discussions are not about reaching a consensus but exploring different experiences within the phenomenon and that you should consider that the things left unsaid (possibly noting a socially sensitive issue) may be just as important as thoughts that are repeated.

Data Analysis 201 Why Should I Not Use Theory Deductively?

Another problem, which I warned about earlier (see Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry) is the inappropriate use of a substantive or formal theory. As a reminder, substantive theory is context-dependent and formulated for a closely defined content area whereas formal theory is developed for a broad conceptual area that transcends the context specificity of substantive theories (Glaser & Strauss, 1965). Substantive or formal theory can be used in a literature review and drawn upon in a discussion section (e.g., how your findings fit with, modify, or challenge extant literature or theory) but should not be used deductively (i.e., coding according to the theory). In other words, you take the established concepts from a theory and code according to them; you look strictly for examples of the concepts in the data. What is wrong with this deductive approach (also described above as directed or deductive content analysis above) is that it squashes any opportunity for new ideas or notions of the phenomenon to be identified, and instead, is an exercise that simply confirms the substantive theory. This is not what we set out to do in qualitative inquiry. Why Is The Use of Software Not Analysis?

Since the 1990s, software has been widely available to help researchers gather, code, and analyze vast amounts of data. However, this software does not think for you; it is perfect and purely for organizing data. Not that it is a crime to say, for example, “I used NVivo to analyze my data” but it does give the wrong impression. It is more appropriate to say, “I used NVivo to organize my data”. I Have Never Done a Qualitative Study, What Methodology and Analytic Technique Should I Use?

I find many newcomers to qualitative inquiry will name a methodology (e.g., discourse analysis, grounded theory, narrative inquiry, phenomenology) but will actually use a descriptive qualitative methodology and perform a qualitative content analysis: they code and categorize, and sometimes theme, or not. This becomes abundantly clear when you read their work. However, the analytical techniques lying within theoretical orientations or methodologies must be followed if you say you are taking that approach. To actually take on and use a particular theoretical orientation or methodology requires the newcomer to have strong mentorship and supervision in the approach, and have read texts and histories by founding authors of, and countless articles that use, the orientation or methodology. Better still, is taking a class or minimally, at least a few workshops, that are dedicated to and allow time to practice the approach. Never take on a particular theoretical orientation or methodology if you do not have these supports and opportunities in place. So where does that leave the newcomer to qualitative inquiry, the Masters student, for example? I would not actually expect a new researcher, doing their first-time ever applied

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qualitative project, to take on anything but a qualitative description, or an interpretive description. It is not that new researchers are incapable, it is just they do not have the time to engross themselves in the learning that is required to do other work (using more complex methodologies or theoretical orientations) well. So, if you are new to qualitative inquiry, consider a qualitative description or interpretive description; they are excellent choices to learn qualitative inquiry while also providing insight into the human experience that can change how you view and go through everyday life.

Summary This chapter provided some of the main analytic techniques found across different theoretical orientations and methodologies. They come alive in different ways depending on the theoretical orientation or methodology used. However, given the nature of qualitative inquiry, the processes of data analysis are poorly articulated. Qualitative data analysis is an iterative, and seemingly endless circular process, that uses established processes—along with the researchers’ creativity, sensitivity, and flexibility—to share deep and unapologetic truths about our social world.

Exercise 8.1 Thinking with Theory, Theming, and Categorizing The objective of this exercise is to experience the difference between the analytic approaches of reading or thinking with theory, theming, and categorizing. Work on this exercise in a group of three. Each learner should take on an individual analytic approach; that is, one person “reads/thinks with theory”, one person “codes for themes”, and one person “codes for categories”. This will take some time and you will want to do it as homework. When each learner has finished, come back together and discuss your process by comparing and contrasting how you approached the transcript and how your findings are the same or different. • •

Read through the transcript found in Appendix F; names and places have been anonymized. Learner 1. Pretend that the transcript is in a dark room and is unreadable due to the darkness. Take a theoretical orientation that you are somewhat familiar with and then “plug in” the orientation into the transcript. As you read the transcript, using this orientation, ask yourself: When I “plug in” this theoretical orientation into the transcript, what is illuminated or brightened or highlighted? What comes to the foreground? Write down a few statements and discuss what you “found” or what you understand or appreciate about the phenomenon that you did not before you read it with the theoretical orientation. Also note if you wrote annotations, or diagrammed, or undertook any other supportive analytic strategies as you worked with the transcript.

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Learner 2. Read the transcript and code for themes by pausing, as you read, and ask yourself: What is going on here? What does this mean? What is the participant trying to say? Write down a few statements and discuss what you “found”, or now understand or appreciate about the phenomenon, that you did not before you tried to capture the meanings within the phenomenon. Also note if you wrote annotations, or diagrammed, or undertook any other supportive analytic strategies as you worked with the transcript. Learner 3. Read the transcript and code to build categories. Begin by making comments in the margins regarding persistent words, phrases, concepts, points of interest or anything that is striking. Group similar codes together and provide a label that captures the codes. You will have a difficult time building categories from only one transcript so expect to identify the beginning of possibly only two or three categories. Write down a few statements and discuss what you “found”, or now understand or appreciate about the phenomenon, that you did not before you tried to build a few categories. Note if you wrote annotations, or diagrammed, or undertook any other supportive analytic strategies as you worked with the transcript. You may have already noticed that you were not provided a research question before you started. To conclude this exercise, please discuss how not having a research question influenced your analysis, both the positives and challenges.

I would like to thank Dr. Alexa Ferdinands for allowing me to include one of the transcripts from her weight bias study as an appendix. If you are interested in reading more about her work, please see Ferdinands et al., 2021; Ferdinands et al., 2022a; Ferdinands et al., 2022b.

Exercise 8.2 Focus Group Analysis The objective of this exercise is to first, become familiar with what a focus group transcript reads like and second, briefly experience the analytic approach required for focus group discussions. Work on this exercise in a small group; it can be completed during class time. Each learner should analyze the transcript individually and then come back together and discuss by comparing and contrasting your process (how you approached the transcript) and findings (how they are the same or different). •

Read through the transcript found in Appendix E. Pay attention to the transitions between speakers and how individual comments are contingent upon the previous members’ responses. Note if participants agree with each other and if so, how they add or build on to previous comments. Are there any inconsistencies? Note if jokes are used, if participants pose questions to each other, or if they censor what others say.

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Write down a statement or maybe two, and then discuss what you learned about the phenomenon through paying attention to the interaction among participants.

References Birks, M., Chapman, Y., & Francis, K. (2008). Memoing in qualitative research: Probing data and processes. Journal of Research in Nursing, 13(1), 68–75. 10.1177/ 1744987107081254 Boeije, H. (2002). A purposeful approach to the constant comparative method in the analysis of qualitative interviews. Quality & Quantity, 36(4), 391–409. Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2006). Using thematic analysis in psychology. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3(2), 77–101. 10.1191/1478088706qp063oa Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2012). Thematic analysis. In H. Cooper, P. M. Camic, D. L. Long, A. T. Panter, D. Rindskopf, & K. J. Sher (Eds.), APA handbook of research methods in psychology, Vol. 2. Research designs: Quantitative, qualitative, neuropsychological, and biological (pp. 57–71). American Psychological Association. Bryman, A. (2001). Social research methods. Oxford University Press. Buckley, C. A., & Waring, M. J. (2013), Using diagrams to support the research process: Examples from grounded theory. Qualitative Research, 13(2), 148–172. 10.1177/ 1468794112472280 Charmaz, K. (2014). Constructing grounded theory. Sage. Corbin, J., & Strauss, A., (2015) Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory. Sage. Creswell, J. W. (1998). Qualitative inquiry and research design: Choosing among five traditions. Sage. Daum, C. H. (2016). Living in the city: Exploring the everyday activities of older women residing in inner city neighbourhoods [doctoral dissertation, University of Alberta]. University of Alberta Education and Research Archive (ERA). 10.7939/R30863D4F Facione, P. A. (2011). Critical thinking: What it is and why it counts. Insight Assessment, 2007(1), 1–23. Ferdinands, A. R., McHugh, T. L., Storey, K., & Raine, K. D. (2021). The ruling of weight: An institutional ethnography exploring young people’s body weight surveillance work. Social Science & Medicine, 289, 114404. 10.1016/j.socscimed.2021.114404 Ferdinands, A. R., McHugh, T. L., Storey, K., & Raine, K. D. (2022a). Reflections on applying institutional ethnography in participatory weight stigma research with young women. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 21, 1–13 10.1177/ 16094069221100939 Ferdinands, A. R., McHugh, T. L., Storey, K., & Raine, K. D. (2022b). “We’re categorized in these sizes—that’s all we are”: Uncovering the social organization of young women’s weight work through media and fashion. BMC Public Health, 22(1193), 1–16. 10.1186/s12889-022-13607-w Fontana, J. S. (2004). A methodology for critical science in nursing. Advances in Nursing Science, 27(2), 93–101. Foulger, T. S. (2010). External conversations: An unexpected discovery about the critical friend in action research inquiries. Action Research, 8(2), 135–152. 10.1177/ 1476750309351354 Glaser, B. G., & Strauss, A. L. (1965). Discovery of substantive theory: A basic strategy underlying qualitative research. American Behavioural Scientist, 8(6), 5–12. 10.1177/ 000276426500800602

Data Analysis 205 Glaser, B. G., & Strauss, A. L. (1967). Grounded theory: Strategies for qualitative research. Aldine Publishing Company. Greenberg, R. (2018). Humpty Dumpty Had A Great Fall. [Drawing]. Authors Collection. San Diego, California, USA. Guba, E. G. (1978). Toward a methodology of naturalistic inquiry in educational evaluation. Monograph 8. UCLA Center for the Study of Evaluation. Hsieh, H. F., & Shannon, S. E. (2005). Three approaches to qualitative content analysis. Qualitative Health Research, 15(9), 1277–1288. 10.1177/1049732305276687 Jackson, A. Y., & Mazzi, L. A. (2012). Thinking with theory in qualitative research: Viewing data across multiple perspectives. Routledge. Kitzinger, J. (1995). Qualitative research: Introducing focus groups. British Medical Journal, 311(7000), 299–302. 10.1136/bmj.311.7000.299 Mauthner, N. S., & Doucet, A. (2003). Reflexive accounts and accounts of reflexivity in qualitative data analysis. Sociology, 37, 413–430. Mayan, M., & Miciak, M. (2015). Insider insights: Memoing and diagramming. In J. M. Corbin & A. L. Strauss (Eds.), Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory (4th ed., pp. 128–130). Sage. Miciak, M., Mayan, M., Brown, C., Joyce, A. S., & Gross, D. P. (2019). A framework for establishing connections in physiotherapy practice. Physiotherapy Theory and Practice, 35(1), 40–56. 10.1080/09593985.2018.1434707 Miles, M. B., & Huberman, A. M. (1994). An expanded sourcebook: Qualitative data analysis (2nd ed.). Sage. Morse, J. M. (1994). Emerging from the data: The cognitive processes of analysis in qualitative inquiry. In J. M. Morse (Ed.), Critical issues in qualitative research methods (pp. 23–43). Sage. Morse, J. (1999). Myth 19: Qualitative inquiry is not systematic (Editorial). Qualitative Health Research, 9(5), 573–574. 10.1177/104973299129122063 Morse, J. M. (2008). Confusing categories and themes. Qualitative Health Research, 18(6), 727–728. 10.1177/1049732308314930 Morse, J. (2020). The changing face of qualitative inquiry. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 19, 1–6. 10.1177/1609406920909938 Morse, J., & Field, P. A. (1995). Qualitative research methods for health professionals (2nd ed.). Sage. Richards, L. (1999). Using NVivo in qualitative research. Sage. Richardson, L. (2000). Writing. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The sage handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 923–948). Sage. Richardson, L., & St Pierre, E. (2005). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The sage handbook of qualitative research (3rd ed., pp. 959–978). Sage. Rossman, G. G., & Rallis, S. F. (2003). Learning in the field: An introduction to qualitative research (2nd ed.). Sage. Saldaña, J. (2016). The coding manual for qualitative researchers (3rd ed.). Sage. Saldaña, J. (2021). The coding manual for qualitative researchers (4th ed.). Sage. Sipe, L. R., & Ghiso, M. P. (2004). Developing conceptual categories in classroom descriptive research: Some problems and possibilities. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 35(4), 472–485. 10.1525/aeq.2004.35.4.472 van Manen, M. (2001). Professional practice and ‘doing phenomenology’. In S. K. Tombs (Ed.), Handbook of phenomenology and medicine (pp. 457–474). Springer.

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Ethics: Protecting Participants, Protecting Self

In this chapter, the origins and foundational principles of research ethics that have been established to protect research participants are summarized. Three types of research ethics to consider in qualitative inquiry are then outlined: procedural, situational, and relational. The appendices for this chapter include: Appendix G which contains an information letter template and consent form template; Appendix H which is an example of an information letter and consent form; Appendix I provides an example of a confidentiality agreement; and, Appendix J outlines a description of ethics in participant observation research. The chapter concludes with a section on researcher safety and what researchers need to consider to protect themselves. The concluding exercise asks how one could “train” new researchers to be prepared to manage procedural, situational, and relational ethics.

What Are Ethics? Before you proceed with your research, you will likely have to secure ethics approval from your institutional review board (IRB) or research ethics board (REB). The main purpose of this approval is to demonstrate how you will ensure participants’ rights are respected and they will be protected from any harm during the research. For many researchers, conducting an ethical inquiry has come to mean providing participants with an information sheet and having them sign or verbally agree to a consent form. Our obsession with this formulaic and narrow process has led us to believe, falsely, that by attaining this verbal acknowledgment or signature, we have done our duty to ensure the ethical treatment of participants. Your obligation as a newcomer to qualitative inquiry is to understand that ethics is much, much more than this. To begin to understand our present-day concerns and processes surrounding ethics, we start by considering the definition of ethics and the origins of the research ethics board. The term “ethics” can be used to refer to a field of study (e.g., health ethics, human rights) that focuses on “the systematic study of reasoning about how we ought to act” (Singer, 1994, p. 4). The term can also mean a “set of rules, principles, or ways of thinking that guide, or claim authority to guide, the DOI: 10.4324/b23331-9

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actions of a particular group” (Singer, 1994, p. 4). For example, many professions, including teachers, health care providers (e.g., physicians, physiotherapists), and indeed researchers, have ethical guidelines on “how to act”. It is important to emphasize that ethics are guidelines; purposefully, they cannot and do not tell you what to do. Rather, ethics only directs you to ask yourself, what should I do now?, rather than prescribing, this is what you should do now (Bergum, 1998 as cited in Ellis, 2007). Please note that the stories below under the Origins of Research Ethics are deeply upsetting and profoundly entrenched in racism and ableism. If you are not up to reading these stories, skip this section and start re-reading when you reach the heading: Guiding Principles for the Ethical Conduct of Research.

Origins of Research Ethics The relationship between IRBs/REBs and researchers has always been a bit contentious and in flux, and ethical guidelines are in constant evolution. Many researchers believe IRBs/REBs tend to overstep and tell researchers what they can and cannot do. As such, researchers often heavily criticize these boards, for example, for being too conservative, being “paranoid”, and limiting what researchers can do. However, it is important to understand where some of this presumed rigidity comes from. It was not too long ago that the Nuremberg Code (1947)—a set of 10 points for the ethical conduct of research—was created as a result of the Nazi human experimentation carried out during World War II. The Nuremberg Code is the foundation for much of our ethical requirements today (e.g., informed consent, absence of coercion) and sparked the development of several international documents outlining adequate standards of human dignity. However, despite the Nuremberg Code, many controversial studies were conducted after World War II, including the infamous Tuskegee Syphilis Study and the Willowbrook Studies. The purpose of the “Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male”, a 40-year study spanning 1932 to 1973, was to trace the natural history of the disease. Physicians told Black men living in poverty that they were being treated for “bad blood”—a cultural term commonly used to refer to several different conditions—and persuaded them to participate in the research by offering free medical exams, treatments, and meals. In reality, exams were performed to track the disease, but treatment was never provided, even after penicillin was found to be an effective cure in the late 1940s (see https://www.cdc.gov/tuskegee/timeline.htm). To note, this is an example of not only medical racism but also demonstrates that research cannot be an ahistorical act. Willowbrook was a New York state school for children labeled as “profoundly cognitively impaired”. From 1956 to 1972 (16 years), physicians infected approximately 800 of these children with the hepatitis virus in order to study the course of the disease. Entry to Willowbrook was initially most

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rapid if parents consented to the hepatitis research; later, because of overcrowding, there was only room in the “hepatitis unit” so consenting to the research was the only way for parents to get their children in. The Willowbrook studies had parental informed consent, but according to today’s standards, coercion was also clearly present (see https://science.education. nih.gov/supplements/nih9/bioethics/guide/pdf/master_5-4.pdf). Consequently, if individuals on your IRB/REB are a bit “uptight”, you may now appreciate why. Because research seeks to understand something not yet exposed, it “is a step into the unknown”, and often introduces risks that “can be trivial or profound, physical or psychological, individual or social” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 5), the responsibility bestowed on ethics boards, in an often ambiguous domain, is weighty. Much of what was considered ethical in the past is unlikely to be considered ethical today. Indeed, it may be the case that the researchers and parents involved in Willowbrook believed they were doing the “right thing”; reasoning that because hepatitis was already rampant in the school and children would likely be infected anyway, they had an opportunity to learn about the disease for the benefit of society. Before we get too righteous about ethical transgressions of the past, we should consider that 70 years from now, future academics may look back at our research practices and deem them unethical too. With this as context, it is understandable that doing the “right thing” or determining how we “ought to act” is in the purview of national research bodies, funders, and IRBs/REBs, and it all is grounded in human dignity.

Guiding Principles for the Ethical Conduct of Research The respect for human dignity in research transcends disciplines and methodologies, and guides national academic institutions, professional associations, funding agencies, as well as international organizations in the development of ethical standards that govern the protection of humans involved in research (Office for Human Research Protections & U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2020). While guiding principles are similar across many contexts, I draw on the Canadian context and the following three guiding principles: respect for persons, concern for welfare, and justice. Respect for persons refers to the “dual moral obligations” that rest with researchers: to respect the autonomy of individuals involved in research as participants and to protect those “with developing, impaired or diminished autonomy” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 6). The key manifestation of participants’ autonomy is their ability to give free (not coerced/ persuaded), informed (they know exactly what they are getting into by participating in your study), and ongoing (they can withdraw/stop participating at any time) consent. Furthermore, special attention needs to be taken when doing research with individuals who lack the capacity to fully exercise their right to consent, due to their age, cognitive ability, illness, or some other specific circumstances. It could mean, for example, requiring

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both assent from these individuals (e.g., children) and consent from those who have the legal right to make decisions on their behalf (e.g., parents). Concern for welfare takes into account the risks and benefits for individuals and groups participating in the research; some groups “may benefit from the knowledge gained from the research, but may also suffer from stigmatization, discrimination, or damage to reputation” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 8). For example, a school with very low high school completion rates may open itself up to “damage to reputation” if an intervention intended to improve high school completion rates was implemented but “failed”. Justice ensures that people participating in research are treated fairly— with equal respect and concern—and equitably, “distributing the benefits and burdens of research participation in such a way that no segment of the population is unduly burdened by the harms of research or denied the benefits of the knowledge generated from it” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 8). For example, research with many migrant groups is often avoided because it may require extra funds or training (e.g., may require interpreters and translators, cultural humility training, and considerations of working with people living in poverty). Consequently, these populations often do not have their experiences captured and do not benefit from the knowledge or changes to programs or policies that may improve the circumstances in which they live. The Tri-Council Policy Statement (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018) warns that sensitivity to context is a key issue when applying these core principles and that the principles are not absolute and may actually, at times, conflict. For example, it is possible that research is conducted with migrant groups (justice), but the findings have the potential to stigmatize (concern for welfare). What and how the principles apply will depend on the context and the type of ethics being considered.

Types of Ethics To ease into the complexity underlying research ethics, we start with the familiar “procedural” ethics, concerning the guidelines typically dictated by IRBs/REBs, and often referred to by many students as “getting through ethics”. But there are two other types of ethics that need to be considered that relate to being with an individual or group in a research relationship, which go beyond procedural ethics and highlight the complexity of ethics in qualitative inquiry. These are known as relational and situational ethics. Procedural Ethics

Procedural ethics are generally quite recognizable and well-taught, and pay attention to respecting the rights of research participants and protecting them from harm. Procedural ethics are concerned with ensuring participants understand: the purpose of the research, the potential risks, and benefits, that participation is voluntary (e.g., participants are not coerced

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through money or by a person in power), and that they can withdraw at any time, refuse to answer any question, choose how much and to what degree to disclose information, and so on. A researcher largely ensures procedural ethics by going through the information sheet/letter and consent form (written at an appropriate reading level) with a participant and making sure they understand every statement. With permission, the University of Alberta Research Ethics Office has approved the sharing of its information letter template and consent template which can be found in Appendix G and I have included an example from one of my research studies in Appendix H. While it is critical that a researcher understands everything written in the information letter and consent form, many students actually confuse a few key concepts. Worthy of some clarification are the terms: privacy, confidentiality, and anonymity (and anonymous). Privacy

Privacy refers to “an individual’s right to be free from intrusion or interference by others” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 57). In the context of research, it means that participants have the right to control the information they share with you. In other words, they do not have to tell you everything. Participants exercise their right to privacy by consenting to collection, use, and/or disclosure of information, but they can also withhold (refuse any participation) or withdraw (change their mind and refuse further participation) consent (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018). Confidentiality

Confidentiality refers to the requirement to protect “entrusted information” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 58). This involves ensuring that information is not accessed or used by others who are unauthorized (e.g., those not part of the research team), and that it is not disclosed, modified, lost, or stolen. In other words, you cannot let a family member read your transcripts, you cannot alter data so that they say what you want them to say, you cannot leave data in your car, and you are not even supposed to leave data on your desk while you use the toilet. Confidentiality is usually captured in your information letter by a statement like All documents with identifying information will be kept inside locked cabinets and password protected computers. Only the research team will have access to the information that you have provided. Just to note, transcriptionists and others involved in the research (e.g., translator, transcriber, research assistant) who are not explicitly named in the information letter (e.g., the principal investigator or co-investigators) are often required to sign a confidentiality agreement indicating that they understand their responsibilities for upholding the confidentiality of the data. An example of a confidentiality agreement is found in Appendix I.

Ethics 211 Anonymity

Anonymity in research means that individuals outside the study team will not be able to identify participants. But that goes beyond just not using participants’ names when writing or talking about your research. An individual may also be identified by location, a unique saying, expressed opinions and/or behaviors, life circumstances, or social categorization (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018). This means that if you are doing research with teachers in a particular school, for example, you should not name the specific school, nor should you share quotes that could identify specific people within the school. Consider how the quote “funding cuts to arts programs will hurt the band” could identify the music teacher as a participant in your study. When information could be used to identify a participant, you must anonymize the data, which means removing any identifiers to ensure the identity of the participant (i.e., the music teacher) cannot be “traced”. Describing anonymity for the purposes of consent is usually captured by a statement like, No data relating to this study that includes your name or any other personal identifiers will be released outside of the researcher’s office or published by the researchers. Other Considerations

A few extra procedural ethics pointers are needed for focus groups and participant observation. As mentioned in the data collection chapter, a researcher cannot control what participants say outside of a focus group. Consequently, the confidentiality and anonymity of participants cannot be guaranteed if you are conducting focus groups. This is put explicitly in the information letter/consent form and reads something like, “The research team expects you to keep confidential what is said and who is participating in the focus group. However, the team cannot guarantee that the others in the group will keep this information confidential”. Participant-observation research also raises concerns about the privacy of those being observed, and the researcher has to consider how much privacy an individual can assume within the context. Appendix J provides more guidance on the ethics of participant observation research. Furthermore, I write this section in the midst of a global pandemic and the necessary restrictions imposed on in-person communication and thus the need to consider ethics online. Qualitative research has been deeply affected during this time. All in-person data collection has been moved to the digital space, often supported by online video conferencing platforms. While the use of new technologies in research is well-considered, the global pandemic amplifies questions about ethics protocols in the digital space. For example, the process of obtaining informed consent may be more complicated and the confidentiality and anonymity of participants could be at risk (e.g., conducting interviews at home, possibly exposed to family members or friends, or having intruders entering the virtual space and “bombing” the conversation; Fox, 2017). The protection of confidentiality

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and anonymity can be impacted by the method of recording (using a standalone device vs. using a platform’s recording function) and storing the data (on the researcher’s password-protected computer vs. on the server of a third-party software provider). It is also noteworthy that data collection online may be much more difficult for researchers to detect any changes in participants’ responses, react to possible distress, and minimize possible harm (British Psychological Society, 2017; Fox, 2017; Salmons, 2016). Finally, you may hear about data linkage or data repositories. New technology, requests for more accountability of publicly funded research, attempts to avoid repetitive data collection, and the idea of “maximizing the utility of available information” (Ross et al., 2018, p. 138) are some of the reasons driving the growing expectation to share primary qualitative data with other researchers and authorize secondary data use. However, as you might expect, there are some important concerns that go beyond ensuring that data is accurately anonymized. Qualitative researchers argue that the act of anonymizing the data, so that they can be used outside of the research team, would mean stripping the data so much from their original context that they would become unusable. Furthermore, concerns have been raised about the misuse of data by unqualified researchers and/or data that could be manipulated to harm not just individuals, but whole communities (Ross et al., 2018). We all need to watch closely how the demands for sharing data evolve over time. This section was about procedural ethics. But ethics can get much more involved when ethics rely more on the researcher’s own internal gauge of how to be with another person while maintaining the role of researcher, known as relational and situational ethics. Relational and Situational Ethics

As noted throughout the book, modernism and the dominance of rationality in Western scientific thought pervades the conduct of research and, you guessed it, this includes research ethics as well. Because many of us have been socialized as academics to value objectivity and neutrality, suppress our emotions, and distance ourselves from our participants (I can’t force myself to write the word “subjects”), we can get muddled ethically. When thinking about relational ethics, the question to ask is, “What is ethical to do within a relationship”? While we can look back to many classic ethnographies and see glimpses of researchers considering relational ethics (e.g., writing on issues in fieldwork), it was Carolyn Ellis that explicitly asked researchers to recognize and value “mutual respect, dignity, and connectedness between researcher and researched, and between researchers and the communities in which they live and work” (Ellis, 2007, p. 4). Relational ethics is foremost about the relationship among researcher-participant-community and is built on reciprocity, caring, intimacy, and collaboration (Tracy, 2010). It has been well-developed by

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feminist and Indigenous scholars. Feminist scholars believe that ethical decisions are social in their nature and “take place in a specific time and place among particular individuals who connect to one another in some relationship” (Preissle & Han, 2012, p. 587). Indigenous scholars embed their research in the concept of relationality and acknowledge that relationship permeates all aspects of knowledge development (Wilson, 2008). Indigenous research ethics is “built upon the concept of relational accountability” (Wilson, 2008, p. 77) and requires that the researcher is equally responsible for the integrity of the research process as for the usefulness of the research findings for Indigenous communities and their people. Relational ethics counter what researchers have been taught and warned about knowing “your boundaries” and not becoming too involved with participants (Morse et al., 2008, p. 205). However, Ellis (2007) would say the problem comes not from being too close or being friends with participants, but “from acting as a friend yet not living up to the obligations of friendship” (Ellis, 2007, p. 10). These relational concerns surface especially in ethnography and its variations, and in community-based and/or participatory research, where the research relationship is highly involved and does not have a definite beginning or end. Ellis (2007) encourages us to think of questions such as: 1

Is it ethical to become friends with those we study? Is it ethical to refuse to form friendships? How might one research from an “ethic of friendship” (Ellis, 2007, p. 13)? 2 How do our responsibilities change as our relationships grow closer? What does “informed consent” mean in such circumstances? 3 How do we decide what to include in our research reports or presentations, and what to leave out? We also need to ask: 4 How do we deal with the interpersonal dynamics of our relationships? What does one do for example, if a participant asks for personal favors? 5 What do we do when we dislike the participants we are engaging with? Furthermore, some methodologies are developing their own methodologyspecific guidance on relational ethics. For example, The Relational Ethics of Narrative Inquiry (Clandinin et al., 2018) deals with relational ethics as well as situational ethics. Situational ethics refers to “ethics in practice”, otherwise known as the moments of, “Oh my gosh, what should I say right now or, what should I do right now?” Situational ethics are context-specific, and although a researcher can imagine and anticipate possible ethical issues that may arise “in the field/context”, situational ethics are the response to the unexpected, unpredictable situations, where the researcher has little control over events (Goodwin et al., 2003). Situational ethics can occur at any moment, in any interaction. Situational ethics can be subtle or overt, and although may last just a

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moment, can have lingering consequences for both the participants and the researcher, positive or negative. What do you do when a participant asks for a ride home after an interview or for $20 to buy groceries for their family? What do you do if a participant makes a racist, homophobic, sexist or other derogatory remark? What do you do when a participant is upset after an interview and asks if you can pay for counseling services or go for coffee? In the past, ethics boards seemed to deal with these situations by making sure the researcher had a counseling referral established, typically a phone number for a support line, for anyone who demonstrated need or distress. However, if distress is evident during an interview, the researcher (not a post hoc referral) is the only one who can alleviate the immediate situation (i.e., situational ethics; Morse et al., 2008). Furthermore, distress during an interview may indeed be normal, given the topic being discussed (e.g., caring for a dying loved one), and crying, for example, during the telling of one’s story may not constitute harm but may actually be a benefit (Morse et al., 2008). It is how you handle this expression of emotion that is critical to ethical inquiry. Indeed, situational ethics assume “that each circumstance is different and that researchers must repeatedly reflect on, critique, and question their ethical decisions” (Tracy, 2010, p. 847). Overall, individual researchers, teams, as well as ethics boards are becoming more savvy and attentive to the challenges qualitative inquiry poses to conventional ethics, including the relationships formed and the “situations” that arise during the research process. Accepting various forms of consent is becoming more typical (e.g., verbal consent or consent “given” by means of participants simply engaging in the conversation), as is when consent is actually needed (e.g., no need for parental consent for youth living as adults, such as those who are houseless or parenting). Accommodations may also be made to allow researchers to be in the setting and build relationships before approaching potential participants with the consent process. And the evolution of more participatory methods whereby participants want their real names used and their data shared has also disrupted notions of anonymity and confidentiality. Indigenous research ethics, such as the Principles of Ownership, Control, Access and Possession (OCAP), guards against helicopter research where researchers have “landed” in communities, taken Indigenous stories/data, and left to publish about them (First Nations Information Governance Centre, 2014). OCAP clearly outlines that First Nations have jurisdiction over their information, and own and control how their information can be stored, interpreted, used, or shared; it also reinforces First Nations communities’ decision-making power throughout the entire research process. A positive move in approaching ethics in a more nuanced, culturallyappropriate, and informed way has been a change from disciplinary-based ethics boards (e.g., health sciences) to methodology-based boards (e.g., randomized control trials, qualitative inquiry, Indigenous methodologies, community-based participatory research). One outcome of this move at my

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university was the exemption of ethics approval by research using particular methodologies, such as autoethnography and oral history. However, despite these advancements, some researchers wish for the model followed by many European and other universities where ethics boards do not exist. Although some researchers are aghast with this apparent lack of concern and regard for the ethical conduct of research, others argue that researchers are actually better prepared to conduct ethical inquiry because they think about and appreciate ethics beyond procedural or “getting through” ethics. Exercise 9.1: Ethics without IRBs/REBs addresses this issue.

Researcher Safety: Looking after Yourself Physically, Emotionally, and Professionally Another evolution in ethics is the move away from being focused solely on ensuring participants’ protection and well-being, to attending to the potential risks faced by qualitative researchers themselves. This includes physical safety, especially in the context of often unpredictable fieldwork, but also emotional and professional safety. Physical Risk

In recent years, more thought has been given to where research is conducted. It is much more difficult now for researchers to work in locations where risks are high, such as in participants’ homes, in spaces of civil disturbance or war, or under circumstances in which no one can easily find or get a hold of them (Morse et al., 2008). This is known as ambient risk because the setting itself is perceived to be volatile or dangerous. We are often reminded of the murder of anthropologist Myrna Mack Chang in 1990 during her fieldwork on internally displaced people in Guatemala (see Lee-Treweek & Linkogle, 2000). However, there has been growing criticism to the restrictions imposed by IRBs/REBs as a challenge to academic freedom and researchers’ responsibilities to engage with “issues of poverty, conflict, structural violence, political oppression and resistance, injustice, or ‘terrorism’” (Sluka, 2020, p. 248). As Sluka (2020) describes, IRB/REB restrictions can be veiled in the language of “safety and security”, but instead may actually be an epistemological threat, representing institutions’ censorship and control, challenging academic freedom, and possibly moving “towards the recolonisation of … social science research” (Sluka, 2020, p. 243). As part of the response to growing IRB/REB restrictions, researchers gathered at the “Ethics Rupture” Summit in Fredericton, Canada and created the New Brunswick Declaration on Research Ethics, Integrity, and Governance. This declaration states that the practice of research should “privilege the possibility of benefit over risk” (The New Brunswick Declaration, 2013, para. 5). As a mediating solution between the institutional concern for safety on one

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hand, and academic freedom on the other, researchers must develop a wellthought-out safety plan (more on this below). Situational risk is somewhat different than ambient risk; it is when the presence of the researcher in the setting may provoke risk (Lee, 1995). A situational risk may arise if a researcher, for example, unsettles a cultural norm, existing power structure, or is clearly an outsider. For instance, research on family violence, illegal activities, or with certain sub-cultural groups could be perceived as a threat to an established social dynamic and may provoke a hostile reaction. Researchers have reported incidents where they have been stalked, threatened with weapons, had their personal belongings stolen (including tape recorders) and cars vandalized, and been approached for sex (Paterson et al., 1999). It is important to say that in these situations, a researcher’s gender does shape the experience, including the types of intimidations they might encounter and the ways to respond to them (LeeTreweek & Linkogle, 2000; Peterson, 2000). The story in Box 9.1 captures how a researcher naively created a situational ethics risk. It is common for new researchers, filled with notions of justice and change, to romanticize their projects, settings, and participants and act in ways that would be inappropriate for the setting. In their enthusiasm, new researchers may provoke reactions that could threaten themselves, as well as their participants. The responsibility squarely lies with researchers to “do their homework” to anticipate possible risks and develop a safety plan, not to eliminate, but at least to minimize the risks associated with their research. This plan should be shared broadly with supervisors, family members/ friends, and trusted community confidants. There are excellent examples of safety protocols online, such as https://sru.soc.surrey.ac.uk/SRU29.html

Box 9.1

Situational Risk: A Friendly Hug

Sara was conducting a community-based research study in a Central American town, exploring the role of local community-based food cooperatives. Her work also took her to different surrounding villages. Being a White, outgoing, attractive young woman, passionate about her research topic, Sara developed many relationships with different people in the town and the surrounding villages. One day, on a visit to a remote farming area, she was getting out of the car when an older man selling vegetables, previously unknown to Sara, called to her from across the street, saying, “hey, come over, give me a hug!” She smiled, crossed the street, and gave the farmer a big friendly hug. He and his fellow male workers then burst out laughing. Sara had not only disrupted conventions of appropriate behavior between strangers, her friendliness was sexualized.

Ethics 217 Emotional Risk

Through the conduct of research, qualitative researchers are continuously exposed to—and feel and absorb—the range of their participants’ experiences and emotions. After a long tradition of being excluded from the research process, qualitative research has finally been recognized as “intimacy work” (Gilbert, 2000), and that “affect, emotion, and the senses” aroused while doing research are critical to the research process (McIntosh & Morse, 2009, p. 85). The relevant literature on emotions in qualitative research often focuses on the impact of “sensitive” topics such as sexual abuse, loss and grief, and experience of violence, on researchers’ emotional well-being. But a lot of qualitative inquiry that could be considered innocuous (e.g., participants’ experiences of home-based physiotherapy) can expose the researcher to participants’ struggles with aging, loss, social isolation, and loneliness; researchers can see, hear, and experience much more than they expect. The “unpredictability of the participant’s emotional state” (Morse et al., 2008, p. 204), and the participants’ potential unawareness of what upsets them until they start to articulate it, can suddenly put the researcher in an unexpected position. The literature is consistent in reminding researchers to attend and respond to emotional expressions by being sensitive, respectful, authentic, empathetic, honest, caring, compassionate, concerned, and interested (Noddings, 1984). However, sometimes participants provoke within a researcher multiple, conflicting emotions that are “socially constructed, something to be actively engaged in, and interwoven with one’s value system” (Gilbert, 2000, p. 10). A past student who was getting ready to interview a mother of a critically ill child heard her making a racist comment about another mother of an equally critically ill child. While the student was initially empathetic to the participant’s experience of losing her child, the comment hurt and angered her, and confused her about what to do next. Should she respond to the comment or pretend she did not hear it and carry on with the interview? She chose the latter but struggled to stay engaged with the participant and re-establish compassion for her. A qualitative researcher collects, filters, reacts to, and analyzes data, while simultaneously experiencing, accumulating, and reacting to a gamut of emotions being provoked within themselves. Emotional reactions are sometimes immediate, but can often linger and can affect not just researchers personally, but also other areas of their life, including relationships with their family, friends, and colleagues. They can be displayed in an unexpected manner. The story in Box 9.2 highlights the emotional risk for a researcher during data collection and in Box 9.3, how family relationships may be affected. Emotional responses in research are normal and expected, yet the denial of them can have serious consequences for a researcher’s well-being. You

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Box 9.2

Emotional Risk: When A Researcher Needs a Hug

A colleague and friend, Tatjana Alvadj, was conducting a focus group with mothers and fathers whose infants died in neonatal intensive care. Her story is written and shared below with her permission. I knew that the focus group was going to be difficult. I just did not know how. A group of bereaved parents, mothers and fathers of infants who died in neonatal intensive care, were asked to talk about the palliative care they received in the unit and how to make it better. Remarkably, they did. Through tears and gasps, openly, fullheartedly, like people who have nothing left to lose, they shared their stories of fear, struggle, hope, acceptance and sorrow. A tsunami of raw human emotions was coming my way, taking me under, into the space where rational thought was losing its grip. “Do not cry! Do not dare to cry!” echoed through me as the last attempt my brain was making to keep the façade of a composed researcher doing her job. I listened, but I struggled to “facilitate”. Formulating the “next question” felt like an impossible effort. The questions written on the sheet neatly placed in front of me lost their humanity. Verbalizing them felt like an insult to the broken hearts of the people around me. So, I let them talk. Only from time to time could I hear my hoarse, shaken voice saying: “What, if anything, could have made it … (a pause: what is the right word here, my brain was racing, “better?”, “easier?”, “consoling?”) … for you?” And they would talk. At the end, I felt a sense of relief. It was almost over. My emotions started to calm down, my rational being began to take over again. We went around the table. “Debriefing”, we call it. I asked the standard question: “How do you feel?” “It was helpful to talk to people with the same experience”, they said. I added, “There is additional support available for you on-site, if you need it”. They nodded. I was about to thank them and say a final goodbye, when a woman, a bereaved mother, slowly came to my chair and asked, “And how about you? How are you holding up? Do you need a hug?” I paused for a tiny moment. “Yes”, I said, standing up. I started to sob uncontrollably in her generous embrace.

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Box 9.3

Emotional Risk: A Shawarma and a Slap

I did a focus group with women whose husbands were in an extended care center. We met the women at the center and talked to them about how to make the center more “homelike”. What would they like to see to make the dining area, the bedrooms etc., more like “home”? A pretty innocuous question, don’t you think? There was talk about plants and pictures of family. But one woman also related how her husband walked around naked, one woman’s husband repeatedly tried to run away from the center, another’s husband blamed his wife for not taking care of him and leaving him there to die, and on and on. They talked about their shame, loneliness, guilt, and emptiness, in a study that I thought would generate data on the placement of plants and the use of paper cups. I felt unsettled after. But it was a beautiful Friday evening and I picked up shawarmas on the way home for dinner; our children had never eaten them before. My family was sitting on the deck waiting for me to arrive with the take-out. And when my nine-year-old turned his nose away from his shawarma, full of sauce, heavily spiced meat, and onions, I slapped him—hard—across the face.

need to pay attention to emotions and emotional risks in your research and include, in your safety protocol, how you will process your emotions in healthy ways, such as journaling, reflecting while transcribing, debriefing with a mentor, meditating, or even getting professional support. Professional Risk

Qualitative researchers are encouraged to conduct research that advances human rights and social justice. As described in Chapter 1: Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry, this means qualitative inquiry can address the research questions people would rather not have answered, the topics that people want to be silenced, and the perspectives that are different than what we want to know. Our current research environment, to some degree, supports a human rights and social justice approach. Researchers are now expected to go beyond conventional research dissemination (i.e., publishing in academic journals and presenting at conferences) to participating in and sharing knowledge with individuals and communities who may benefit from it. Furthermore, there are calls for qualitative researchers to not just interpret the world, but to take an activist role in it: “to change the world and to change it in ways that resist injustice” (Denzin & Giardina, 2009, p. 13).

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While principled in their intentions, this new set of expectations has pushed researchers out into unfamiliar, political spaces of community action, practice, and policy. As a result, researchers may find themselves in circumstances of conflicting expectations from their academic institutions (to produce objective, neutral, apolitical, non-controversial work), the community (to use research findings for advocacy), policymakers (to translate research findings into practical recommendations), and/or broader political establishments (not to disturb the status quo). Navigating these circumstances is not riskfree. For example, what happens if a researcher’s methodological approach is “unconventional” according to current academic standards? What happens if researchers expose their political identity in publications and other public appearances? What happens if research exposes injustice, such as a racial or gender discrimination, in academia, government, or any other powerful institution? What happens if research findings are perceived as damaging to a community, and the community would rather them not be shared? What happens if the findings are misinterpreted in the media? What happens if research findings challenge the existing political establishment or entrenched knowledge and views? It takes courage for a researcher to work in these areas, and the accompanying professional risk could possibly threaten the researcher’s career and advancement. Researchers may experience the inability to publish in mainstream journals (an obstacle to career advancement), criticism or isolation from their peers, pushback from the public through social media, or the denial of further funding. Consequently, the fear from these consequences could “constrain what social science researchers feel able to study, to say, or to challenge” (Lee-Treweek & Linkogle, 2000, p. 22). While these situations and concerns are real, my intention here is not to scare you off, but to remind you that in research—like in life—we are vulnerable to these risks when we speak up on the topics of critical importance for making our world better.

Summary Risk assessment, prevention, and mitigation are the continual responsibilities of the researcher and must be considered prior to the research beginning, but should also be reflexive and ongoing. Researchers must pay attention to their own vulnerability (physical, emotional, and professional) and that of the research team, and keep in mind that their responsibility is first to the participant and the setting and second to the goals of the research (Morse et al. 2008). Once we start thinking of research ethics in this way, we will then be able to shift our focus from “getting through ethics” to thinking and acting ethically, including taking care of ourselves, within the context of our highly relational and emergent inquiry.

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Exercise 9.1 Ethics without IRBs/REBs The objective of this exercise is to question the predominance of procedural ethics and IRB/REB approval as the holy grail of conducting ethical qualitative research. This exercise is best completed in a small group but can be completed alone. •

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You are a new professor at Smart Students University (SSU) where no IRBs/REBs exist. Describe how you would “train” students so that by the time they do their own independent project, you would feel comfortable that they would be able to manage procedural, relational, and situational ethics. You may revisit the examples provided in the floating boxes above to start your thinking. Consider the value of both having and not having IRBs/REBs.

References British Psychological Society. (2017). Ethics guidelines for internet-mediated research. https:// www.bps.org.uk/sites/www.bps.org.uk/files/Policy/Policy%20-%20Files/Ethics %20Guidelines%20for%20Internet-mediated%20Research%20%282017%29.pdf Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR), Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (NSERC), and Social Sciences & Humanities Research Council (SSHRC). (2018). Tri-council policy statement: Ethical conduct for research involving humans. https://ethics.gc.ca/eng/documents/tcps2-2018-en-interactive-final.pdf Clandinin, D. J., Caine, V., & Lessard, S. (2018). The relational ethics of narrative inquiry. Routledge. Denzin, N. K., & Giardina, M. J. (2009). Introduction. In N. K. Denzin & M. D. Giardina (Eds.), Qualitative inquiry and social justice: Towards a politics of hope (pp. 11–50). Routledge. Ellis, C. (2007). Telling secrets, revealing lives: Relational ethics in research with intimate others. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(1), 3–29. 10.1177/1077800406294947 First Nations Information Governance Centre. (2014). Ownership, control, access, and possession (OCAP): The path to First Nations information governance. https://fnigc.ca/ wpcontent/uploads/2020/09/5776c4ee9387f966e6771aa93a04f389_ocap_path_to_ fn_information_governance_en_final.pdf Fox, F. (2017). Meeting in virtual spaces conducting online focus groups. In V. Braun, V. Clarke, & D. Gray (Eds.), Collecting qualitative data: A practical guide to textual, media, and virtual technologies (pp. 256–274). Cambridge University Press. Gilbert, K. (2000). Introduction: Why are we interested in emotions? In K. Gilbert (Ed.), The emotional nature of qualitative research (pp. 3–15). CRC Press. Goodwin, D., Pope, C., Mort, M., & Smith, A. (2003). Ethics and ethnography: An experiential account. Qualitative Health Research, 13(4), 567–577. 10.1177/ 1049732302250723 Lee, R. (1995). Dangerous fieldwork. Sage. Lee-Treweek, G., & Linkogle, S. (2000). Putting danger in the frame. In G. LeeTreweek & S. Linkogle (Eds.), Danger in the field: Ethics and risk in social research (pp. 8–25). Routledge.

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McIntosh, M. J., & Morse, J. M. (2009). Institutional review boards and the ethics of emotion. In N. K. Denzin & M. D. Giardina (Eds.), Qualitative inquiry and social justice: Towards a politics of hope (pp. 81–107). Routledge. Morse, J. M., Niehaus, L., Varnhagen, S., Austin, W., & McIntosh, M. (2008). Qualitative researchers’ conceptualizations of the risks inherent in qualitative interviews. International Review of Qualitative Research, 1(2), 195–215. https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/ irqr.2008.1.2.195 Noddings, N. (1984). Caring: A feminine approach to ethics and moral education. University of California Press. Office for Human Research Protections & U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. (2020). International compilation of human research standards: 2020 edition. https://www.hhs.gov/ohrp/sites/default/files/2020-international-compilation-ofhuman-research-standards.pdf Paterson, B. L., Gregory, D., & Thorne, S. (1999). A protocol for researcher safety. Qualitative Health Research, 9(2), 259–269. 10.1177/104973299129121820 Peterson, J. D. (2000). Sheer foolishness: Shifting definitions of danger in conducting and teaching ethnographic field research. In G. Lee-Treweek & S. Linkogle (Eds.), Danger in the field: Ethics and risk in social research (pp. 181–191). Routledge. Preissle, J., & Han, Y. (2012). Feminist research ethics. In S. N. Hesse-Biber (Ed.), Handbook of feminist research: Theory and praxis (2nd ed., pp. 583–605). Sage Publications. Ross, M. W., Iguchi, M. Y., & Panicker, S. (2018). Ethical aspects of data sharing and research participant protections. American Psychologist, 73(2), 138–145. 10.1037/ amp0000240 Salmons, J. (2016). Doing qualitative research online. Sage Publications. Singer, P. (1994). Ethics. Oxford University Press. Sluka, J. A. (2020). Too dangerous for fieldwork? The challenge of institutional riskmanagement in primary research on conflict, violence and ‘Terrorism’. Contemporary Social Science, 15(2), 241–257. 10.1080/21582041.2018.1498534 The New Brunswick declaration. (2013, February 13). Social Research Association. https://the-sra.org.uk/SRA/Ethics/New-Brunswick-Declaration/SRA/Ethics/TheNew-Brunswick-Declaration.aspx?hkey=2ea5b0a6-c499-45e4-9595-626bea495ff1 Tracy, S. J. (2010). Qualitative quality: Eight “big-tent” criteria for excellent qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 16(10), 837–851. 10.1177/1077800410383121 Wilson, S. (2008). Research is ceremony: Indigenous research methods. Fernwood Publishing.

10 Rigor

Chapter 10: Rigor has three main sections. It starts with a brief story about the contentious issue of rigor and a sample of how rigor criteria has changed over the past 40 years. The second section provides five options for managing rigor. The third section outlines the strategies that researchers can use to ensure rigor in their work. Appendix K holds a table that outlines the evolution of suggested criteria for ensuring rigorous or good qualitative research. The objective of the exercise at the end of the chapter is to understand how particular criteria compare and contrast and how strategies can be used to meet these particular criteria.

What Is Rigor? I like rigor. I like talking and thinking about rigor in qualitative inquiry. Rigor is demonstrating how and why (through methodology) the findings of a particular inquiry are “worth paying attention to” (Lincoln & Guba, 1985, p. 290). Some synonyms for rigor are: being thorough, exhaustive, meticulous, careful, and diligent. Essentially, rigor means that, at the end of your research, you should be comfortable and certain with what you wrote (or performed or created). And you should be able to describe why you are comfortable with it; what you did along the way to ensure that your research is worth paying attention to. And that’s it. Rigor should not be any more complicated than this. But it is. Why Is Rigor Contentious?

There is a great deal of confusion and contention in the area of qualitative rigor (or “trustworthiness”). It all started with Guba and Lincoln (1981) and Lincoln and Guba (1985) and their work on developing alternate criteria to judge the quality of qualitative research. Lincoln and Guba’s (1985) position was that because qualitative and quantitative research are associated with different traditions, different criteria for evaluating research within the traditions are necessary (their work is explained below). While Lincoln and Guba’s (1985) work was a gift for qualitative researchers and a much-needed DOI: 10.4324/b23331-10

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contribution to qualitative inquiry that is still relevant today, it also brought to our qualitative community a circus of rigor criteria (i.e., different people performing different acts but with no main purpose). Scholars threw various definitive terms and criteria into the qualitative research ring. On this issue, Pamela Brink (1991)—over 30 years ago—stated it best: In the literature on reliability and validity, I find the terminology execrable! We have so many terms to cover the same concept. Nobody is talking to anybody. Anybody who does anything at all on reliability makes up a new term to cover what has previously been discussed in another field (p. 164). Brink is right and her concern, I am pained to say, is still somewhat relevant today. Sandelowski and Barroso (2002) described that for decades, scholars have sought to define and provide consistency on what a good, valid, or trustworthy qualitative study is, to map the history of the efforts to achieve such a definition and to describe and codify techniques for both ensuring and identifying good studies. Indeed, qualitative researchers have debated, through both quick commentary notes and lengthy texts, what makes a good qualitative study. As Seale (1999) stated, “The urge to generate criteria for judging good-quality studies seems irrepressible” (p. 43). The abundance of criteria has been anything but sublime to the qualitative newcomer and certainly gives the impression that we, as qualitative researchers, are uncertain about what we do. In my attempts to continually keep up with the literature in this area, I created a table (found in Appendix K), from just a slice of the literature, starting with Guba and Lincoln (1981) through to Li and Ross (2021) to demonstrate the initial and persistent creation of qualitative research criteria. Despite all this effort, we seem to be no closer to establishing a consensus on quality criteria, or importantly, even whether it is appropriate to try to establish such a consensus (Sandelowski & Barroso, 2002). Why? Qualitative inquiry is “home” to a variety of scholars from all different disciplines, adhering to different paradigms (e.g., Postpositivism; Constructivist/ Interpretivist; Transformative; Pragmatic; See Chapter 2: Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry) and different methodologies (e.g., Ethnography, Institutional Ethnography, Narrative Inquiry, Arts-based, Phenomenology, Grounded Theory; See Chapter 3: Methodology and Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research). It is not surprising that different communities of qualitative researchers have emphasized different rigor or quality criteria (Sandelowski & Barroso, 2002). Ask yourself: Should research be judged on its clinical or practice implications, or on the meaning of the text? Should it be judged on its involvement of participants as co-researchers, or on its theoretical elegance? Should it be judged according to ethical, moral, literary, political, critical, and/or creative intentions?

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Indeed, the variety of cumbersome qualitative criteria has been difficult for our qualitative community, but looking back, perhaps it was a necessary evolution that has resulted in a much better state for rigor in qualitative inquiry. The table in Appendix K is getting, to my delight, much more difficult to populate. I consider this a good sign for rigor in that it is likely the evolution of criteria is happening within theoretical orientations or methodologies and we are moving away from an overall, eagle-eye, ordained view of criteria. However, given past confusion and contentions, there are a range of responses from scholars when rigor is brought up. Some scholars tackle rigor “head on” and comfortably talk about the criteria and strategies they used to ensure rigor (this is my preference!). For others, questions about rigor make them freeze, turn red, or avert their eyes from the questioner. This often happens with graduate students, who silently plead during their dissertation defenses that the question about the generalizability of their findings not be raised. Others do not avoid the questioner’s gaze; on the contrary, they answer the question with a piercing critique of how rigor is deliberately damaging to what we are trying to accomplish through qualitative inquiry. Primary Critique of Rigor

The researchers who consider rigor to be damaging to qualitative inquiry link rigor with power and positivist thought, which produces and reproduces a certain type of knowledge. If this is how rigor is used, then yes, the institutions and researchers that use rigor in this way are those whose interests are served through the maintenance of the status quo or certain truths. The researchers who use a positivist approach to qualitative rigor continue to gain at the expense of those whose realities do not penetrate dominant structures or discourses. Take a look back at Chapter 2 (Foundations of Qualitative Inquiry) and the importance of qualitative inquiry adopting the “right epistemology”. As a reminder, Michael Agar explained that the behavioral and social sciences “adopted the wrong epistemology” and instead, applied natural sciences epistemology to our study of the social world (Agar, 2021, p. xviii). But the natural sciences do not, nor are they supposed to, create knowledge from “exchanges and constructions between ourselves and others” (Hicks, 2011, p. 456), embedded in power, politics, and economics (St. Pierre, 2011). Thus, the rules of natural science and a positivist/post-positivist tradition, including the concept of and rules around rigor (e.g., internal validity, reliability), when applied to behavioral and social science, judge it to be inferior, inadequate, and unacceptable. But rigor in qualitative inquiry cannot be a positivist pursuit. We need to rethink rigor by reminding ourselves of the paradigms that guide qualitative work and what various theoretical orientations and methodologies are trying

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to accomplish. However, leaving the explanation of rigor at this does little to satisfy those, especially students, who want and need to say something more than “I do not hold an objectivist epistemology; I hold a subjectivist epistemology”. We all need specifics on what qualitative criteria to use—and the resulting strategies to demonstrate you have met these criteria—to ensure we are thorough, exhaustive, meticulous, careful, and diligent in our work. I will provide five options for consideration: Alternate Criteria, Same Criteria, Methodological-Specific Criteria, Big Tent Criteria, and No Criteria. These options tell the evolving story about rigor, starting with the prolific, respected, and cherished wife-husband team of Yvonna Lincoln and Egon Guba.

Qualitative Criteria Option One: Alternate Criteria of Credibility, Transferability, Dependability, and Confirmability

In the early 1980s, Guba and Lincoln (1981) directly tackled the issue of rigor in qualitative research. As they stated, and as many have reiterated since then, qualitative research does not adhere to the positivist prescriptions of rigor (validity, generalizability, and reliability), and it is detrimental to apply the quantitative rules of rigor to qualitative research. Consequently, Guba and Lincoln argued for a different way of speaking about rigor in qualitative research and different criteria for evaluating it. In 1981, they proposed using trustworthiness (to replace rigor) with the criteria of credibility, fittingness, and auditability. In 1985, Lincoln and Guba maintained trustworthiness but revised their original criteria to credibility, transferability, dependability, and confirmability as outlined below: Credibility replaces the quantitative criterion of internal validity. It assesses whether the findings make sense and if they are an “accurate” representation of the data. Strategies such as member checks, prolonged engagement in the setting, thick description, triangulation, peer debriefing, persistent observation, and negative case analysis can assist in ensuring credibility (see below for a description of the strategies mentioned in this section). Transferability replaces external validity. It assesses the applicability of the findings (being transferred) to other settings and is achieved through the strategy of providing detailed thick descriptions of the setting and participants. Dependability is referred to instead of reliability. It refers to providing adequate information about the rationale for analytic and interpretive decisions so that the logic of the study conclusions is transparent. It is important to understand how and why decisions were made and are attained by ensuring credibility and the use of an audit trail. Confirmability replaces objectivity and is used during the data collection and analysis phase to ensure that the findings can be corroborated by others. While qualitative inquiry is subjective and co-constructed, it should capture the data

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generated to make conclusions about the phenomenon. Strategies to ensure confirmability involve triangulation and, again, the audit trail. However, confirmability has evolved further through the practice of reflexivity, journaling, peer debriefing, and a confirmability audit. Lastly, Lincoln and Guba (1985) suggested the use of a reflexive journal to address all of the criteria. This important work, published more than forty years ago, was critical to the development of rigor (or trustworthiness, as Lincoln and Guba prefer) in qualitative inquiry, including their continued work in this area. If qualitative researchers think we have it tough today, imagine what it must have been like for those who had to defend their qualitative research (me included) when modernity (order, control, universality) and positivist thought completely controlled the academy. Many of my students still use the criteria from 1985 described above in their own work, especially if they are using a descriptive qualitative methodology. Your first option for making a choice about what criteria to use to capture the rigor or trustworthiness of your study would be to take a serious look at Lincoln and Guba (1985), or something similar, especially if you are using the qualitative descriptive methodology or a theoretical orientation or metatheory (without a particular methodology). Option Two: Same Criteria of Validity, Generalizability, and Reliability

The proliferation of criteria for qualitative research had another outcome for some scholars: it backfired. These scholars, with Morse (2015) at the forefront, have argued for the use of the original terms of validity, generalizability, and reliability and their argument for doing so is sound. It is also more than sound to some of our European qualitative colleagues who never went down the “alternative criteria” path (see Kvale, 1989; 1995). To reiterate, Lincoln and Guba’s (1985) contention was that because qualitative and quantitative research are associated with different traditions, different criteria for evaluating research within the traditions are needed. As initially proposed, qualitative-specific criteria mirrored quantitative criteria (credibility-internal validity, transferability-external validity, dependabilityreliability, confirmability-objectivity). The point of the creation of these criteria was to move researchers away from applying the quantitative rules of rigor to qualitative research. But researchers that are comfortable with using validity, generalizability, and reliability wonder if this requires a change in terminology. Can we not use these terms that represent good science but apply different rules or strategies (see below) for ensuring qualitative rigor accordingly? Consequently, your second option is to use the criteria of validity, generalizability, and reliability (see Morse et al., 2002; Morse, 2015; 2018). To be clear, it is the criteria or terms that may be used, not the definition of these criteria/terms as provided from a positivist/post-positivist perspective. We

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need to re-conceptualize and redefine the criteria of validity, generalizability, and reliability through a qualitative lens. A simple argument demonstrates how they can make good sense in qualitative inquiry. In quantitative inquiry, internal validity is about whether all of the extraneous variables were controlled so that the independent variable truly produced the observed variation in the dependent variable. In qualitative inquiry, we are concerned with whether the story, the description we give of the phenomenon, is found in the data (Morse, 2015). The essence in both quantitative and qualitative inquiry is that we have confidence that our conclusions, however un-finalized or problematized they are, come from the independent variable or the data (e.g., the text or images). In other words, we are sure that what we are writing came from our data and not from a vision in the sky. To consider “how well the research represents the actual phenomenon” Morse (2015, p. 2) prompts us with the questions: “Can the description be recognized by others who have had the experience, or appreciated by those who have not had the experience? Is the description detailed? Decontextualized? Abstracted? Expressed Logically?” (p. 2). Yet in this pursuit, Finlay (2006) reminds us to ask: “Whose reality is the research addressing?” (p. 320). Generalizability in quantitative inquiry, obtained through an adequate and random sample, assumes that the findings from the sample are similar to those in the entire population and thus permits the effect in the sample to be generalized to the larger population (Morse, 1999). In qualitative inquiry, on the other hand, participants, images, documents, and so on have been selected purposefully to capture a range of experiences with the phenomenon. They have been selected for the contribution they can make to developing the theory or understanding the phenomenon broadly and in-depth. Because the resulting theory or representation has included a variety of experiences, it can be used to understand similar scenarios, topics, or problems. I find it odd that the criticism that qualitative inquiry produces findings that are neither generalizable nor applicable to clinical or community practice prevails. If our research is irrelevant and not generalizable, why would we do it? The paradox, well stated by Sandelowski & Barroso (2003) “is that qualitative research is conducted in the “real world”—that is, not in artificially controlled and/or manipulated conditions—yet is seen as not applicable to that world” (p. 784). When we do qualitative inquiry, it is “the knowledge that is generalized” (Morse, 1999, p. 6). And this knowledge, depending on how abstracted it is, can be transferred and may have meaning or relevance when applied to other “individuals, settings, times or institutions” (Finlay, 2006; Maxwell & Chmiel, 2014; Polit & Beck, 2012, as cited in Morse, 2015, p. 1213). By way of an example, Wendy Austin (see 2012; 2016; 2017) has written about moral distress. Moral distress is the physical response (e.g., sleeplessness, headache, nausea, anxiety) of an individual who is unable to fulfill their moral obligation toward their patients, despite having made a moral judgment about

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the appropriate ethical action that should be taken. Individuals who experience moral distress may fail to voice their ethical concerns due to real or perceived internal and external constraints, such as fear or team conflicts. Although the term originated in nursing ethics, the knowledge about moral distress is generalizable to any context, setting, or issue in which individuals feel or experience the inability to respond to an individual or group in the way they believe is moral, right, and required in fear of negative consequences. Think about moral distress for social workers, teachers, police officers, physicians, or any professional that works with people who are in vulnerable circumstances where these professionals’ “hands are tied” and they cannot act in the way they are compelled. Moral distress can be generalized to understand some of the experiences of these professionals. In quantitative inquiry, reliability is concerned with replication. If the analytic strategy were repeated by the same or a different investigator, then the results should be the same. Replication in qualitative inquiry, however, comes through as repetition or duplication within the data set. For example, it comes with hearing/seeing, over and over again, similar common experiences among participants, or in other data, even if there are both common and contradictory experiences in the same data set. “These data are similar and supportive, and they replicate or add additional information about the dimension of the … phenomenon” (Morse, 2018, p. 1375). It can also be understood through data saturation (see Chapter 6: Research Questions, Sampling, and Saturation). Some qualitative researchers report inter-rater reliability when analyzing their data. In other words, they code their data and then ask someone else to code the same data to determine whether they “discover” similar things. The concept of inter-rater reliability contradicts some basic tenets of qualitative inquiry because coding and analyzing data depends on the researcher’s theoretical orientation, cultural and political backgrounds, experience with the phenomenon and participants, knowledge of the literature, and so on. Although it is likely that two researchers may see similar things, inter-rater reliability is not a feature for judging rigor in qualitative research (see Morse, 1997). Finlay (2006) explains that qualitative research is not about achieving consistent or stable results; rather, “it seeks to elicit the responses of a participant or researcher at a specific time and place and in a specific interpersonal context” (p. 320). Furthermore, Finlay (2006) asserts, “what emerges in an interview is seen as contingent on the researcher’s approach and the specific interviewer-participant relationship and context. Another researcher, or even the same researcher, interviewing the same participant at a different time or place would not elicit exactly the same ‘story’” (p. 320). Inter-rater reliability or checking to see if researchers coded in the same way is different than coding by a research team, especially those teams that span geography, where constant checking-in is more difficult. When working in a team, it is possible to inductively develop a coding frame to be used by all investigators as they move through the data, with the caveat that

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codes will change, and flexibility and creativity will be built into the process. Indeed, some of the best qualitative work is done in teams because of the constant, distinct and possibly conflicting interpretations brought forth by diverse team members. If reconceptualized as outlined above, the criteria of validity, generalizability, and reliability make sense for qualitative inquiry. I believe that using conventional terms still encourages a deep understanding of our social world through the empirical senses, yet also allows us the freedom to be creative, critical, and political. Thus, it is quite plausible to call qualitative work valid, generalizable, and reliable while adhering to the hallmark of good qualitative research: variability, not standardization (Popay et al., 1998). Using conventional terms also clarifies, for all scientists, how all of us (e.g., in natural or social sciences, experimental or applied) aim to rigorously develop new knowledge and improve the human condition. And if nothing else, using conventional criteria diminishes the bewilderment and slight mayhem that sets of alternative criteria evoke in new qualitative researchers. Many of my students who are in health sciences, as well as those who do mixed methods work, choose to use the criteria of validity, generalizability, and reliability by defining them qualitatively and then outlining the strategies that were used to make the work rigorous. Option Three: Methodological-Specific Criteria

One of the most important outcomes of the evolution of qualitative criteria has been criteria that reflect the advances we have made theoretically and methodologically. These sets of criteria have pushed us as qualitative researchers to deeply contemplate and determine what to aim for in our research. It has also, thank goodness, introduced methodological-specific criteria. I repose the following questions from earlier in the chapter: Should an article be judged on its clinical or practice implications, or on the meaning of the text? Should it be judged on its involvement of participants as coresearchers, or on its theoretical elegance? Should it be judged according to ethical, moral, literary, political, critical, and/or creative intentions? The answer is, it depends on the methodology. For example, an appropriate criterion for Bochner (2001) and narrative inquiry or poetic social science is to suggest, whether in the text, the author demonstrates “ethical selfconsciousness” and shows “concern for how other people who are part of the teller’s story are portrayed” (p. 271). An abundance of criteria also exists for individuals conducting autoethnography. Ellis and Adams (2014), for instance, expect that autoethnographers: 1) use personal experience, 2) have a familiarity with existing research, 3) describe the cultural experience, 4) illuminate insider knowledge, 5) reclaim voice regarding a topic, 6) maneuver through different emotional experiences, and 7) are accessible. Whereas Richardson (2000) judges all forms of ethnography on its substantive

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contribution, aesthetic merit, reflexivity, impact, and expression of reality. Table 10.1 lists some specific methodologies and the criteria attached to each. If you are using a methodology that have particular criteria assigned to it, use them. You absolutely cannot go wrong with this decision and it adds to the methodological coherence (see Chapter 3: Methodology) of your study. You may want to add to or adapt them as you become more comfortable in your qualitative career, but for now, using the criteria designed specifically for the methodology is a great starting point. Option Four: “Big Tent” Criteria

The final option is to look at criteria that are associated with best practices or the overall quality of qualitative research. These criteria are not about rigor alone, methodologically speaking, but overall criteria that capture what we should be striving for in our research endeavors. By far, the most influential work along these lines is Tracy’s (2010) and Tracy and Hinrich’s (2017) “Big-Tent” criteria, picking up on Denzin’s (2008) challenge to include all qualitative researchers under one “tent”. In this work, they delineate eight universal criteria for high-quality qualitative research: “worthy topic, rich rigor, sincerity, credibility, resonance, significant contribution, ethics, and meaningful coherence” (Tracy & Hinrichs, 2017, p.2). These criteria can be “approached via a variety of means, paths or crafts—the combination of which depends on the specific researcher, context, theoretical affiliation, and project” (Tracy & Hinrichs, 2017, p. 2). As you can see, a study can be methodologically rigorous but not ethical or a worthy topic. Thus, option four is not to consider Tracy’s criteria in place of Lincoln and Guba (1985), or methodological-specific criteria, or the criteria of your choice, but to keep them as a backcloth to your study to ensure your work is principled, genuine, and good. Option Five: No Criteria

I said above that the fourth option is the final option, as option five, avoiding the use of criteria altogether, is unlikely to be a realistic option for a newcomer to qualitative inquiry. Those scholars who suggest this option remind us that rigor is rooted in positivism and a natural science model and that the quest for criteria is founded in “rationality”, “the desire for objectivism”, the belief in the “certainty of empirical data” (Schwandt, 1996, p. 59) and that this is incompatible with research that relies on more contextually complex and nuanced data (Smith & Deemer, 2000). Thus, Schwandt (1996) argues one thing we must do is to “learn to live with uncertainty”, with the absence of final claims, and without solutions “in the form of epistemological guarantees” (p. 59) but instead, look for some “guiding ideal” (p. 65). Stige et al. (2009) propose something similar to Schwandt, but call it an “evaluation agenda”. I argue however, that our

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qualitative community is getting a bit caught up in terminology and that it is not really what you call your approach to rigor (e.g., “guiding ideal”, “criteria” or “evaluation agenda”) but how you define, operationalize, or how you bring them to bear on your work. Regardless of what you “follow”, as long as it is not what Stige et al. (2009) calls “rule-based” but more of a “reflexive dialogue”, then you will be able to manage and ensure the rigor of your work. I am of the opinion that ignoring criteria will only hurt our qualitative community and our inquiry. If we do not embrace rigor and criteria and define them for ourselves, then judging our work will be taken over by those in power, who may not acknowledge or value perspectives or approaches that are different from their own (Smith & Deemer, 2000). Having been in this situation, I strongly suggest you avoid this unnecessary hurdle by defining your criteria and outlining the reasons for your decisions. Summary

Although a great deal of effort has gone into the formulation of criteria for establishing rigor/trustworthiness, and despite work like Tracy’s, it seems we will never establish consensus on an overall set of criteria to judge the quality of qualitative research. If we were to come to some consensus on the best criteria to use, there is no guarantee that scholars “will use them the same way, agree on whether a study has met them, or if they agree, have the same reasons for agreeing” (Sandelowski & Barroso, 2002, p. 75). Further, as seen above, criteria fluctuate based on paradigms, methodologies, disciplines, researcher’s own viewpoints, and beliefs on what we should be achieving through our research overall. And criteria continually evolve as we get better at what we do, and as our qualitative possibilities expand (e.g., arts-based research). However, this does not mean that you should abandon rigor and criteria. In the beginning of this chapter, I stated that this entire rigor conversation is very confusing and through this section, I have tried to provide some clear pathways or options for establishing rigor. I encourage you to embrace criteria for your work that enables you to demonstrate that you were thorough, exhaustive, meticulous, careful, and diligent, and that your study is worth paying attention to. Below are some strategies that can help you achieve this.

Strategies for Ensuring Rigor It is one thing to be able to talk about rigor criteria in qualitative inquiry, it is another to be able to share how you do rigor. While not all that we do (or how we think) can have a corresponding “strategy”, there are some that can be extremely helpful. Most strategies can be employed during the research process that helps the researcher identify what to do next, including when to continue, stop, or modify the research to ensure rigor. Morse et al. (2002)

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have called this the process of verification which involves—during the research process—checking, confirming, disconfirming, and accounting for variability, even if your goal is to represent uncertainty. Their verification strategies include researcher responsiveness, methodological coherence, adequate and appropriate sampling, collecting and analyzing data concurrently, and thinking theoretically. Additionally, there are strategies that can be employed during, near the completion, or at the completion of the research, that can help ensure rigor. Some suggested strategies include those that were initially introduced by Lincoln and Guba (1985), such as prolonged engagement, participant checks, journal writing, peer review, audit trails, thick descriptions of settings and participants, and triangulation. Morse (2015) went on to take an in-depth look at these strategies (and added a few others) to determine if and how they actually map onto ensuring validity or reliability. Taking a birds-eye-view of the multiple strategies for assessing criteria, it makes sense to me to present them in relation to how they are directed or operationalized. This includes: researcher-directed strategies, methodologydirected strategies, and other-directed strategies. While the categorization of these is meant to help with comprehension, strategies in each category are not mutually exclusive. Please note that I am fully aware that terms such as rigor, verification, validity, confirmability, etc. raise the ire of many qualitative researchers. In our current context and appreciation of qualitative inquiry, never should strategies of rigor be interpreted as aiming for a fixed truth, confirmed by a participant, colleague, or external auditor. The many strategies below need to be used to celebrate the co-creation of our work and the comfort and maturity we have, as researchers, knowing full well that our work is beautifully subjective and never complete. The strategies below just help us along in demonstrating why our work should matter. Researcher-Directed Strategies

While all strategies need to be initiated and implemented by the researcher, the ones below are those that only the researcher knows the extent to which they engage with and intentionally incorporate into their work. These include researcher responsiveness, keeping a personal journal, and reflexivity. Researcher Responsiveness

Researcher responsiveness refers to the researcher’s “creativity, sensitivity, flexibility, and skill” (Morse et al., 2002, p. 5). This makes some quantitative as well as qualitative researchers very nervous. You will have likely heard the saying that in qualitative inquiry, “the researcher is the instrument”. The notion that the researcher is the instrument for ensuring rigor is contrary to all that we have learned about objectivity. But a strength of

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qualitative inquiry comes from the ability to be flexible. For example, it is vital that the researcher be open to the data and “willing to relinquish any ideas that are poorly supported, regardless of the excitement and the potential that they first appear to provide” (p. 5). The lack of responsiveness of the investigator may be due “to lack of knowledge”, adhering too closely to instructions or prescriptions, the inability to abstract or get beyond the technicalities of coding, working deductively (implicitly or explicitly) from a theory, or “following instructions in a rote fashion” (p. 5). Furthermore, different data might demand to be treated differently, so the methodology, research question, or sampling plans may need to be changed slightly or altogether. For example, a student was studying child sex workers in Vietnam and proposed a grounded theory to understand how they became involved in prostitution. While collecting her data, however, she described how she could not chop up her data into categories, finding a core category and basic social process. These girls spoke to her in stories, and the data demanded she stay in this form; thus, she changed her methodology to narrative inquiry. Personal Journal

Keeping a personal journal serves as a record of the researcher’s assumptions, perspectives on how the research is unfolding, frustrations, challenges, highlights, and perhaps complaints about their supervisor! A bad day in the field might alter the way in which the researcher works with the data, and recording this is helpful when analyzing the data and for ensuring rigor. Although the journal is a source of data, it is the researcher’s alone and does not have to be shared with a committee or team members. It is also separate from fieldnotes. In one of my studies, I found one participant abhorrent and wrote extensively about my interaction with her in my journal. When I went to analyze her interview, I re-read my journal entry, which forced me to work intently with her data, even though I wanted to disregard and dismiss it. A journal can keep you accountable to your participants and their data, regardless of your personal feelings toward them. Reflexivity

In the not-so-distant past, qualitative researchers spent a great deal of effort explaining how we were neutral and how we erased ourselves from our qualitative accounts. We now understand that being neutral is not possible, nor is it desirable. It is not if, but how the researcher influenced the research. As discussed in earlier chapters, a researcher’s subjectivity—their background and experience—affects the way in which they use language, choose theoretical orientations, determine a problem, pose questions, and overall, construct the world, which influences how they make meaning and determine conclusions from the data. Indeed, there is a widely held recognition that qualitative data analysis is an inherently reflexive exercise

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through which meaning is created rather than found (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003). Reflexivity is becoming perhaps the single most important part of the research process since it directly affects the very trustworthiness of a study and the basis by which “the researcher establishes and articulates the basis of that trust” (Probst & Berenson, 2014, p. 815). The issue of reflexivity has been in the literature since the turn of the century but became more accessible through the translations completed during the 1960s of works by, for example, Merleau-Ponty (1964), Wittgenstein (1969), and Schutz (1967). Although these authors contributed to the philosophical foundation of reflexivity, reflexivity became a broader methodological concern in the 1980s during the transition between author-evacuated, realist ethnographic texts and more mindful, transparent, and constructed ethnographic texts. During this transition, various forms of reflexivity were introduced that compelled scholars to create typologies, inventories, and other categorizations to try to capture what it is (see Clough, 1994; Marcus, 1994; Wilkinson, 1988; and Woolgar, 1988). Babcock (1980, p. 2) talks about reflexivity as the “capacity of language and of thought” … “to turn or bend back upon itself, to become an object to itself, and to refer to itself”, thus the researcher becomes the object or the study of themselves. As such “to be reflexive is to have an ongoing conversation about the experience while simultaneously living in the moment” (Hertz, 1997, cited in Finlay, 2002, p. 532). Finlay (2017) has defined reflexivity as “the use of a critical, self-aware lens to interrogate both the research process and our interpretation and representation of participants’ lives in our social world” (p. 120). It is the process of being highly attentive to how and why you make decisions and interpretations along the research way, critically examining your personalresearcher role and how it interfaces with all, even the most minute, aspects of the research. Thus, qualitative researchers need to engage in a process of reflexivity in which they are continuously self-evaluating their positionality (Berger, 2015). Ironically, despite a great deal of attention reflexivity has been given as fundamental to the qualitative research process, rarely is it translated into a concrete data analysis practice. Actually, how you do it and, better yet, whether it is even possible to do are two outstanding questions. Regarding how you do it, Pillow (2003) remarks that we talk about reflexivity “as if it is something we all commonly understand and accept as standard methodological practice for critical qualitative research” and admits she remains puzzled by “how to teach students how to be reflexive” (pp. 176–177). Scholars writing about reflexivity still echo Pillow’s sentiment today. Mitchell et al. (2018) use Pillow and others as a framework to ask the question: “How can we deepen our reflexive practice to better confront our challenging research experiences while making effort to take our reflexive practice beyond self-soothing”? Lynch (2000) has stated that although researchers trumpet the importance of reflexivity and state that

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they have “done it”, they rarely provide any narrative outlining the process, making it “difficult to establish just what is being claimed” (p. 26). Some advances have been made on the “how to do it” front! Rae and Green (2016), drawing on both Finlay’s (2002) stages of research and Bourdieu’s (2004) levels of objectivation, constructed a reflexivity matrix for qualitative health service (applied) researchers. While acknowledging that there are limits to self-awareness, they propose eight separate cells, each with corresponding considerations. For example, they ask researchers to consider: their motivations or their intentions for the research, their relationship with the “field”, their interests in interpreting the existing literature, the differences between themselves and their participants, their assumptions based on existing power differences, what current scholarly opinion on the topic is and how this influences their research process, where authority for data analysis lies, and their reasons for study conclusion (ensuring it is not premature). This last cell then circles back to the first cell and the researcher’s motivations for conducting the research. They also include the use of arts-based methods in the reflexive process. Another helpful article is Band-Winterstein et al. (2014) who, in the context of sensitive or “hard-to-swallow” research, focus on the stages of research and reflectivity at each stage (p. 530). It demonstrates how researchers’ assumptions and perceptions are broken down to open up the researchers’ to the genuine humanness at the core of the phenomenon. While the literature and practice on “how to do” reflexivity has evolved, the question of whether it is even possible to do is unresolved. In other words, how we can be both the gazer and, at the same moment, the one gazed at? (Davies et al., 2004). Davis et al. have written that the reflexive process is like “being held within a hall of mirrors” (p. 386). “Standing in front of one mirror, our reflection is caught in another, and that other reflects yet another image in a ceaseless infinite regression” (p. 386). “How are we to conduct our reflexive work if the one who gazes and the one who is sometimes gazed at are themselves being constituted in the very moment of the act of gazing by discursive and political and contextual features constituting the moment of reflexivity?” (p. 368). Spivak (1991), too, has warned that our “practice is a broken and uneven place … heavily inscribed with habit and sedimented understandings” (as cited in Lather, 1993, p. 674). The limits of our consciousness and our ability to be reflexive, as proposed by some scholars, collide with the notions of others, who wonder what the reflexivity fuss is all about. These scholars believe that we are by nature reflexive beings and that reflexivity is that which makes us human. In other words, as thinking beings, we all practice some form of reflexivity (Foley, 2002). Reflexivity “is an unavoidable feature of the way actions (including actions performed, and expressions written, by academic researchers) are performed, made sense of and incorporated into social settings” (Lynch, 2000, pp. 26–27). These scholars generally consider

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reflexivity to be an “academic fad” (Patai, 1994, p. 64) associated with navel-gazing, pretentiousness, self-indulgence, and narcissism. Where does this leave us well-intentioned, thoughtful qualitative researchers? The questioning has not made reflexivity superfluous, nor has it dampened the reflexivity enterprise. On the contrary, reflexivity has become a hallmark of qualitative inquiry. Although it is truly impossible to “nail down” self-awareness in the hall of discursive, political, and contextual mirrors, it is important not to lose the point of reflexivity. Reflexivity needs to be about grappling with self-awareness and politics, and how we frame reality, as we conduct our research and as we write. This cannot be done by “looking harder or more closely, but of seeing what frames our seeing—spaces of constructed visibility and incitements to see which constitute power/knowledge” (Lather, 1993, p. 675). Research is never undirected. Research is not free-standing. There are many possible agendas; it is important to know yours and what consistently constitutes it. It is important to seek to know but at the same time situate this knowing as tenuous (Pillow, 2003). This is the point of reflexivity. Do not be worried if you are still puzzled about reflexivity; there is no reflexivity checklist to ensure that you did it “right”. Do not be concerned if you do not think you had “an ongoing conversation about the experience while simultaneously living in the moment” (Hertz, 1997, cited in Finlay, 2002, p. 532); as you mature as a qualitative researcher, you will be able to think more about these processes. The bottom line is that you cannot become complacent about engaging in a continual reflexive process—however that looks and feels for you—in order to be attentive and diligent in your work. Methodologically-Directed Strategies

The strategies below are those that can be demonstrated by following your methodology and providing thorough descriptions of each in your methodology section. These include: methodological coherence, prolonged engagement, adequate and appropriate sampling, collecting and analyzing data concurrently, thinking theoretically, providing a detailed thick description of the setting and participants, keeping an audit trail, and using triangulation. Many of these strategies are just briefly outlined below as they are detailed elsewhere in the book; I have referenced the corresponding chapter if more detail is needed. Methodological Coherence

Methodological coherence, as fully described in Chapter 3: Methodology, will ensure congruence between your paradigm (epistemology and ontology), your theoretical orientation, the methodology you choose, your research question, and so on. For example, if the researcher’s theoretical orientation does not fit with the methodology, and the research question, rigor is

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compromised. To restate, your methodological coherence and rigor alarm bells should go off if you hear some say: “I like postmodernism, I think I will use phenomenology, I will conduct semi-structured interviews with about seventeen people, I will use constant comparison for analysis, and I will have a theory at the end of it”. Prolonged Engagement

Prolonged engagement is about spending a considerable amount of time doing your research or in the setting to avoid making grandiose interpretations based on limited information or contact. The researcher must become familiar with the context, people, and everyday situations to be able to distinguish between routines, common occurrences, and unusual events. For example, a researcher interested in the culture of a young offenders’ center needs to visit more than once or twice to understand the nuances in such a setting. One visit and a subsequent write-up of the research will not produce rigorous research. This strategy holds even if you are not doing research that is heavily dependent on a particular setting. Prolonged engagement can also be understood as not rushing through your research, allowing time to pass to capture nuances that might alter data collection, analysis, and interpretation. Adequate and Appropriate Sampling

As outlined in Chapter 6, sampling must be adequate and appropriate (Morse et al., 2002). To be adequate means to have “enough” data. To be appropriate, your sample must include participants, images, text, etc. who/that can “speak” to the topic or phenomenon and can provide sufficient data to enable an in-depth and rich description of the phenomenon. Seeking negative cases (see Chapter 8: Data Analysis), or those data that are contrary to the general direction of the inquiry or how most data are linking or fitting together, is also essential to developing the analysis and for rigor. If the sampling plan invites participants that cannot “speak” in-depth to the phenomenon or includes images or text that are not relevant to understanding the phenomenon, then your data will be thin, your findings will be shaky, and rigor will be jeopardized. For example, for my study on cultural competence in hospitals, I was thrilled when senior-level decision-makers agreed to be interviewed. However, I learned quickly that it was important for these decision-makers to support and reinforce hospital policies; the interviews sounded like a reading of the hospital policy and procedure manual. Of course, I could glean some information from what they did not say, but this was not the purpose of my study. I changed my sample to mid-level managers, those who had some decision-making power and responsibility for ensuring the practice of culturally sensitive care but who still worked very closely with the nurses in their day-to-day practice.

Rigor 239 Collecting and Analyzing Data Concurrently

Also introduced in Chapter 8 Data Analysis, collecting and analyzing data concurrently forms a mutual interaction between what is being learned and what one needs to learn (Morse et al., 2002). Shifting back and forth between data collection and analysis allows the researcher to move with the data and learn about unique and untold aspects about the phenomenon. If all the data are collected and analysis follows, as captured by the phrase “I have collected all my data, now I just have to analyze them”, the research will not have been modified as necessary, and rigor will be compromised. A current student of mine, Landon Turlock, is studying the reporting of hate crimes and incidents. As he went along in his research, he started hearing that participants “wanted justice” for their perpetrators. It struck him midway that he really did not know what “wanting justice” meant and that this was important to understand their experience of reporting a hate crime or incident. If he had not been doing concurrent data collection and analysis, he would have missed what could very well be a critical concept in his research. Thinking Theoretically

In writing this chapter, I moved this strategy back and forth between “researcher-directed” and “methodologically-directed” strategies as I do not think how you “thought theoretically” can be detailed in your methodology section. However, it really is a methodologically-driven strategy. The ability to think theoretically, which requires working with the data from a macromicro perspective, cautiously using the literature, and “inching forward without making cognitive leaps” (Morse et al., 2002, p. 6), is what might be in a qualitative researcher’s job description. If a researcher does not dwell with the data but instead leaps to conclusions after viewing the first few images or reading the first few interviews, the research is not rigorous. In research on sport parenting and data collection with parents, we might leap to conclusions about what is “good” or “bad” parenting based on parents’ level of involvement in their children’s lives. If a parent describes that they rarely attend their children’s activities or take their children to the park, this tends to be viewed as bad parenting (Pynn et al., 2019). However, after working theoretically, you may find that parents face an incredible amount of responsibilities to satisfy the changing expectations of what constitutes “good parenting” in modern society. Parents can easily fall into a “social trap” in which they are simultaneously expected to join the workforce to provide their children with the best opportunities and be highly involved in their children’s lives. The reality is that “good parenting may involve, for some, working long hours to provide financially for their families rather than spending time together” (Pynn et al., 2019, p. 271). It is also important to recognize how our own expectations and perceptions of

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parents may be framed by a variety of macro-level factors (such as social class, race, and diverse cultural values and belief systems). Providing Detailed Thick Description of the Setting and Participants

A thick description is an extensive account, portrayal, or depiction of the interactions and communicative processes that occurred during the research (Tracy & Hinrichs, 2017). Thick description provides researchers with “a detailed account upon which to base their claims” (p. 6), allows them to “paint a picture of how life unfolds” (p. 7), and serves the purposes of credibility and transferability. In addition to a thick description of the setting, I have seen an increase in the need for more details about participants. Some researchers are now collecting and reporting participants’ demographic data and others are creating participant profiles. While anonymity must be front of mind when developing participant profiles when done well, they can provide further insight into participants’ lived experiences and depth to the conclusions of the research. A former student, Dr. Stewart McLennan, did a study on understanding and addressing pain in a correctional setting and provided participant profiles that outline each participant’s approximate age; previous employment, activities, injuries, and experiences with pain; past and current pain management; and participants’ hopes for the future. Keeping an Audit Trail

The audit trail is a documentation of “the researcher’s decisions, choices, and insights” (Morse & Field, 1995, p. 144). Think about it like your tax preparation and the documents you must be able to provide to support your claims if audited. Similarly, the research audit trail enables the researcher to document why, when, and how decisions were made throughout the research process. The rationale for a decision, if left undocumented, might not make sense later in the research process. The researcher might have a difficult time building on or defending the analysis if major analytical decisions cannot be supported or recounted, which compromises rigor. For example, if you decide to change your sampling strategy (e.g., like interviewing hospital middle management instead of senior management in the culturally sensitive care study mentioned above) this would be a critical note in your audit trail. It may read like: “After three interviews with senior hospital management (when the decision was made), I realized that I was obtaining “sanitized” data or politically acceptable responses to my questions, and not hearing what it is really like to ensure health care is delivered in a culturally sensitive way (why the decision was made). Therefore, in consultation with my supervisor (how the decision was made), I decided to change my sampling plan and interview mid-level managers. We thought they will be able to articulate the phenomenon of the experience of ensuring

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the delivery of culturally sensitive care because they have the responsibility for ensuring culturally sensitive care is done well, and also work very closely with the nurses in the struggles of their day-to-day practice”. Triangulation

Triangulation comes from the notion that any single research strategy has its own limitations, so by adding or combining more strategies to the study of the phenomenon, the findings will be more complete, complex, and robust and your study will be more rigorous. Norman Denzin (1978) proposed four basic types of triangulation: data, investigator, theory, and methodological triangulation. These types of triangulation are still quoted today but the language by which to describe them has been updated. Data triangulation refers to when researchers use “as many different data sources as possible” (Denzin, 2009, p. 301). For example, if you were conducting a study on the operations of your police service, you might choose a single method (e.g., semi-structured interviews) and deliberately employ that method with different groups of people (data sources) within the service, such as constables, sergeants, support staff, and administrators, to gain their perspectives on the phenomenon. Investigator triangulation is when multiple researchers conduct the research and thus, bring different perspectives to the analysis of data. For the study with the police service, investigator triangulation would be achieved by having researchers on the project from the disciplines of, for example, psychology, anthropology, criminology, and organizational behavior. Theoretical triangulation involves approaching the data with multiple theoretical points of view or theoretical orientations to highlight or illuminate different aspects of the research and analysis of data. You could “plug in” and see what is learned about the service through these different orientations. Lastly there is method triangulation, which is done when different methods are used to examine the phenomenon. For instance, you could choose to study constables in the organization, but decide to observe them at work, ask them to complete audio diaries, and conduct semi-structured interviews with them. Other-Directed Strategies

We need to rely on others to ask wise and discerning questions about our work to ensure that it resonates, that it is rigorous, and/or to generate additional data and insights. The strategies below are those that invite others to use their experience and knowledge to critically examine our research processes and products and include: participant or member checks, peer review, peer debriefing, and an external (confirmability) audit.

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Participant or Member Checks

The process whereby the researcher verifies developing hypotheses and interpretations with participants (Guba & Lincoln, 1989), to determine whether they “make sense” from the participants’ perspectives, is known as a participant or member checks. Please note that participant or member checks are not the way to achieve value- or subjective free findings—this is not what we strive for—but to embrace how the participant will and should influence knowledge claims. There is significant debate about when to use participant checks, or if to use them at all. It may be useful at the initial stages of analysis and interpretation when the researcher can and is willing to adapt to the participants’ feedback. This strategy however, may become less useful later on in analysis and interpretation when participants’ individual stories have been joined together with others, synthesized, and abstracted into a collective story about the phenomenon. If you seek verification at this point, participants may critique that you have not captured their experiences because they cannot see their particular stories in the findings. However, you know that it is there, it is just appearing in different words or is part of a larger category or theme. Be careful if and when you use participant checks. If used early in the research process, they might contribute to rigor, but if used later on, they actually might jeopardize it by breaking down the advanced analysis and interpretation. The only exception to this is when conducting community-based or participatory research. The nature of these approaches requires participants to be co-researchers, analyzing and interpreting alongside the researcher throughout the research process. Another practice that must also be considered carefully is giving participants their transcripts back for review. I am not a big fan of this strategy. Oftentimes, a participant will not like how they “sound” or how their transcript reads (similar to our experience as interviewers!) and may want to adjust the transcript accordingly. A participant may also want to alter their responses, yet the original responses are arguably what captures best the experience of the phenomenon. For example, Hagens’ and colleagues (2009) found that most participants that received their transcripts altered them in “such a way that the transcript no longer reflected accurately the verbal exchange during the interview” (p. 4). Some researchers have also raised ethical concerns regarding the use of member checks and transcript review (e.g., Goldblatt et al., 2011; Thomas, 2017; Hagens et al., 2009). Given the sensitive nature of some research topics, participants may feel embarrassed or surprised when being confronted with their own narratives or upset when they must revisit their disclosure of painful experiences (e.g., sexual abuse or receiving bad news; Goldblatt et al., 2011). There is also the risk that participants will seek to remove information that casts themselves, or powerful people, in a negative light, leading to a sort of censorship that “protects powerful people from having the consequences of their decisions

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revealed” (Thomas, 2017, p. 37). If a participant decides that they are not happy with the first interview, you may want to simply do a second interview rather than give them their transcript to adjust. A caveat to this is if you negotiated ownership of the data to the participants or their community (see The First Nations Information Governance Centre, 2014). If this is the case, then transcripts must be returned, but are done so for the purposes of data ownership, privacy, and protection and not as a strategy for ensuring rigor. Peer Review or Peer Debriefing

Peer review is the process of engaging another research colleague in an extended and extensive discussion of one’s process in working with the data (Morse & Field, 1995). By having a critical and supportive colleague ask questions of tentative analyses, the researcher can attend to rigor. Most often, students have their supervisors fill the role of the peer reviewer. While used interchangeably with peer debriefing, I consider peer debriefing as a bit more involved than peer review. Peer debriefing can be done with your BRF (best research friend) whereby you get together weekly or bi-weekly, maybe for coffee or drinks, and talk through your research processes in-depth. As outlined in Chapter 8: Data Analysis, peer debriefing has the BRF asking critical questions of the researcher’s interpretations, often offering alternate interpretations. To restate, questions in a peer debrief may be: “Have you thought of it this way”? “Does this interpretation hold with another cultural group”? “Why did you change that theme since we last chatted”? “This reminds me of my experience with the phenomenon, are you finding something similar”? Additionally, because a researcher’s underlying assumptions, and how these effect the research process, are brought to the fore during peer review or debriefing, they also serve to enhance reflexivity. Confirmability or External Audit

A confirmability or external audit generally comes in the form of a checklist that has the “auditor” or reviewer determine, after the study has been completed if the criterion of confirmability has been met. The auditor should be someone who is in a similar discipline and understands and values qualitative inquiry, perhaps another professor in the department, but one who has not been associated with the research. The auditor reviews the overall research design including a selection of raw data, the audit trail, and some analytic notes, to follow how the findings were developed. This process is not done to determine if the researcher is right or accurate, but to appreciate the steps taken throughout the research to thoroughly develop the narrative or findings, regardless of their form.

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Table 10.1 Methodological-Specific Criteria Author

Year

Methodology

Criteria

Richardson

2000

Ethnography

Bochner

2001

Narrative Inquiry

Yin

2009

Case Study

Charmaz

2014

Ellis & Adams

2014

Constructivist Grounded Theory Autoethnography

Thorne

2016

Interpretive Description

Van Manen

2016

Phenomenology

Substantive contribution, aesthetic merit, reflexivity, impact, expression of a reality Detail of the commonplace, structurally complex, sense of author, stories about believable journeys, ethical selfconsciousness, moves reader at the emotional and rational level Trustworthiness, credibility, confirmability, data dependability, construct validity, internal validity, external validity, reliability Credibility, originality, resonance, usefulness Personal experience, familiarity with existing research, cultural experience described, insider knowledge illuminated, voice regarding a topic reclaimed, emotional experiences maneuvered through, and accessible Epistemological integrity, representative credibility, analytic logic, interpretive authority, moral defensibility, disciplinary relevance, pragmatic obligation, contextual awareness, probable truth Heuristic questioning, descriptive richness, interpretive depth, distinctive rigor, strong and addressive meaning, experiential awakening, inceptual epiphany

Summary I understand why some researchers embrace rigor, why others reject it, and why many are just plain confused. Qualitative research involves the hard work of checking, confirming, reconsidering, and being uncertain. It is not just about finding themes. It is scientific, it is thoughtful, and it provides “evidence”. A light does not shine down, the heavens do not open up, and words or images do not fall from the sky and land on your hard drive. There is a logic behind the decisions we make in our research. Why we excluded or included and focused on certain things all relate to rigor. If

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someone asks, “Why did you say this or that about the phenomenon?” you are able to give a reasonable explanation. Even if you present a collage representing the experience of parents whose child committed suicide, the choice of colors and the placement of images is deliberate, meaningful, and purposeful. It tells a story. Furthermore, as the researcher, you know why it tells a story and you can answer why the color blue is used as the overall hue; it is not because your favorite color is blue. Consider your options for addressing rigor. Choose criteria, and then corresponding strategies, that fit with your discipline and your theoretical orientation or methodology, but that also invite, envelop, and encourage thinking courageously and creatively about your work. It is important to do work that will open people’s minds. Revisit what you are trying to do in your research and make decisions, in consultation with critical and supportive others, that make sense and allow the phenomenon to be unfastened or opened up. Together, the criteria and the strategies presented here, incrementally and interactively contribute to ensuring rigor. So, do not shy away from questions of rigor. Instead, conduct your research and write in a way that demonstrates why your research is excellent so that its integrity and rigor are apparent. Make sure you can answer how and why this is good science.

Exercise 10.1 Examining Criteria The objective of this exercise is to become familiar with various criteria for ensuring rigor and determine strategies that demonstrate how each can be met. This exercise is completed in a small group. Prior to the day you want to discuss rigor, get into a group of three or four people. Each person should choose and become familiar with one set of criteria for ensuring rigor in qualitative research. You may choose to find new ones or use the ones listed in Appendix K or Table 10.1. On the day of the group discussion, compare and contrast the criteria. • •

Which ones are essentially the same (with different names) and which ones are unique? Among all of the criteria, choose at least four that you like best and describe why. a b

•

From this list describe, in the process of doing your research, what strategies would be used to meet each criterion. Discuss whether there are additional strategies that could be used that are not listed in this chapter.

Finally, discuss if using the terms validity, reliability, and generalizability would be accepted in your discipline; why or why not?

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Maxwell, J. A., & Chmiel, M. (2014). Generalization in and from qualitative analysis. In U. Flick (Ed.), The Sage handbook of qualitative data analysis (pp. 541–553). SAGE. Merleau-Ponty, M. (1964). Signs (R. C. McClearly, Trans.). Northwestern University Press. (Original work published in 1960). Mitchell, J., Boettcher-Sheard, N., Duque, C., & Lashewicz, B. (2018). Who do we think we are? Disrupting notions of quality in qualitative research. Qualitative Health Research, 28(4), 673–680. 10.1177/1049732317748896 Morse, J. M. (1997). “Perfectly healthy, but dead”: The myth of inter-rater reliability. [Editorial] Qualitative Health Research, 7(4), 445–447. Morse, J. M. (1999). Qualitative generalizability [Editorial]. Qualitative Health Research, 9, 5–6. Morse, J. M. (2015). Critical analysis of strategies for determining rigor in qualitative inquiry. Qualitative Health Research, 25(9), 1212–1222. 10.1177/1049732315588501 Morse, J. M. (2018). Reframing rigor in qualitative inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (5th ed., pp. 796–817). SAGE. Morse, J. M., & Field, P. A. (1995). Qualitative research methods for health professionals (2nd ed.). SAGE. Morse, J. M., Barrett, M., Mayan, M., Olson, K., & Spiers, J. (2002). Verification strategies for establishing reliability and validity in qualitative research. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 1(2), 13–22. Onwuegbuzie, A. J., & Leech, N. L. (2007). Validity and qualitative research: An oxymoron? Quality & Quantity: International Journal of Methodology, 41(2), 233–249. 10.1007/s11135-006-9000-3 Patai, D. (1994). When method becomes power [Response]. In A. Gitlen (Ed.), Power and method: Political activism and education research (pp. 61–73). Routledge. Pillow, W. S. (2003). Confession, catharsis, or cure? Rethinking the uses of reflexivity as methodological power in qualitative research. Qualitative Studies in Education, 16(2), 175–196. 10.1080/0951839032000060635 Polkinghorne, D. (1983). Methodology for the human sciences. SUNY Press. Popay, J., Rogers, A., & Williams, G. (1998). Rationale and standards for the systematic review of qualitative literature in health services research. Qualitative Health Research, 8(3), 341–351. Probst, B. & Berenson, L. (2014). The double arrow: how qualitative social work researchers use reflexivity. Qualitative Social Work, 13(6), 813–827. 10.1177/1473325013506248 Pynn, S. R., Neely, K. C., Ingstrup, M. S., Spence, J. C., Carson, V., Robinson, Z., & Holt, N. L. (2019) An intergenerational qualitative study of the good parenting ideal and active free play during middle childhood, Children’s Geographies, 17(3), 266–277. 10.1080/14733285.2018.1492702h Rae, J., & Green, B. (2016). Portraying reflexivity in health services research. Qualitative Health Research, 26(11), 1543–1549. 10.1177/1049732316634046 Richardson, L. (2000). Evaluating ethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 6(2), 253–255. 10.1177/107780040000600207 Sandelowski, M., & Barroso, J. (2002). Reading qualitative studies. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 1(1), 74–108. Sandelowski, M., & Barroso, J. (2003). Writing the proposal for a qualitative research methodology project. Qualitative Health Research, 13(6), 781–820. 10.1177/10497323 03013006003

Rigor 249 Schutz, A. (1967). The phenomenology of the social world (G. Walk & F. Lehnert, Trans.). Northwestern University Press. (Original work published in 1932.) Schwandt, T. A. (1996). Farewell to criteriology. Qualitative Inquiry, 2(1), 58–72. 10. 1177/107780049600200109 Seale, C. (1999). The quality of qualitative research. SAGE. Smith, J., & Deemer, D. (2000). The problem of criteria in the age of relativism. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 877–896). SAGE. St. Pierre, E. A. (2011). Post qualitative research: The critique and the coming after. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of qualitative research (4th ed., pp. 611–625). SAGE. Stige, B., Malterud, K., & Midtgarden, T. (2009). Toward an agenda for evaluation of qualitative research. Qualitative Health Research, 19(10), 1504–1516. 10.1177/ 1049732309348501 The First Nations Information Governance Centre (2014). Ownership, control, access and possession (OCAP™): The path to First Nations information governance. https://achh.ca/ wp-content/uploads/2018/07/OCAP_FNIGC.pdf Thomas, D. R. (2017). Feedback from participants: Are members checks useful in qualitative research? Qualitative Research in Psychology, 14(1), 23–41. 10.1080/14780887. 2016.1219435 Thorne, S. (2016). Interpretive description. Routledge. Tracy, S. J. (2010). Qualitative quality: Eight “big-tent” criteria for excellent qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 16(10), 837–851. 10.1177/1077800410383121 Tracy, S. J., & Hinrichs, M. M. (2017). Big tent criteria for qualitative quality. The International Encyclopedia of Communication Research Methods. 10.1002/9781118901731. iecrm0016 Van Manen, M. (2016). Phenomenology of practice: Meaning-giving methods in phenomenological research and writing. Routledge. Wilkinson, S. (1988). The role of reflexivity in feminist psychology. Women’s Studies International Forum, 11(5), 493–502. 10.1016/0277-5395(88)90024-6 Wittgenstein, L. (1969). Notebooks, 1914–1916 (G. E. M. Anscombe, Trans.) Harper. (Original work published in 1961). Woolgar, S. (1988). Reflexivity is the ethnographer of the text. In S. Woolgar (Ed.), New frontiers in the sociology of knowledge (pp. 14–34). SAGE. Yin, R. K. (2009). Case study research: design and methods (4th ed.). SAGE

11 Representation and Writing

This final chapter introduces the ideas of representation, writing, and alternative ways to represent “others”. It is intended to provide an overview of these issues to new researchers and enable new researchers to carefully, justly, respectfully, and worthily represent the human condition and experiences underlying a phenomenon. The final exercise reflects on the issue of representation and the extraordinary power researchers have to create knowledge and a reality about particular issues and groups.

Representation You have drawn on the literature and called on your most beloved theorist to problematize or explain your data in the most sophisticated, yet simple way. You have made your contribution to build knowledge, provide insight, instill appreciation, solve “the problem”, and/or make change. Your study is written up and “done”. But you hesitate for one very good reason: you are writing a truth about—or representing—a group of people. It is a very heavy responsibility to carry. The issue of representation in qualitative research is concerned with lofty and fixed generalizations that researchers make about those whom they study, otherwise known as our “results” or “findings”. The issue of representation started with concerns stemming from traditional ethnography, which crudely translated from Greek means writing about others. The concerns about representation grew and swept through most of the social sciences, and across all qualitative methodologies, during the late 1980s and through the 1990s, making writing about others quite a delicate venture. I like to use Edward Said’s (1978) Orientalism as an example of the seriousness of the issue of representation. Through his work, Said demonstrated how academic knowledge and writing from the West produced and reproduced, consistently and over time, the stereotypes and structures of the orient that were “crucial to Western fantasies of itself as the world of enlightenment, progress, and evolutionary superiority” (Marcus, 2001, p. 111). Writing about others can also be understood through Trhinh T. Minhha’s (1989) chilling account of power relations and “othering”. DOI: 10.4324/b23331-11

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A conversation of “us” with “us” about “them” is a conversation in which “them” is silenced. “Them” always stands on the other side of the hill, naked and speechless, barely present in its absence. Subject of discussion, “them” is only admitted among “us”, the discussing subjects, when accompanied or introduced by an “us” member, hence the dependency of “them” and its need to acquire good manner for the membership standing. The privilege to sit at a table with “us”, however, proves both uplifting and demeaning. It implies “them” to partake in the reduction of itself and the appropriation of its otherness by a detached “us” discourse (p. 67). Just as a teacher writes in a report card that a child is “difficult” or a nurse writes in a chart that a patient is “uncooperative”, when a researcher, whose authority has significant currency in our society, writes about others, they represent them. What they write becomes a truth, a reality (e.g., the West as superior to the orient), and an illustration of a particular group of people. Representing others through writing or other expressions is an exceptional form of power. I ask all my students to ponder a line from one of the greatest classic films (from a Western perspective, that is). While they wait for a line from Citizen Kane or perhaps Gone with the Wind or The Godfather, I refer to Stan Lee’s (1962) superhero Spider-man. After Peter Parker realized he has great physical powers, the narrator of the story (in 2002, this line was transferred to his Uncle Ben), states: “With great power there must also come—great responsibility” (see Exercise 11.1: Uncle Ben’s Last Words). Although many academics unfortunately think of themselves as superheroes, I reference this line in the context of representation. The privilege and power associated with writing about a group is daunting, and it should be. You will write something about someone and publish it. Never hide behind the belief that, as some students have expressed about their participants, “They won’t read it anyway”. Some students, on the other hand, leave research because of the overwhelming responsibility that comes with writing about another and the fear that no matter how hard they try, they will not be able to avoid illtreatment of the group. As Pillow (2003) asks, “How do I do representation knowing that I can never quite get it right?” (p. 176). Indeed, all researchers must ask: Who are we representing in our research, and who benefits from our representations? Pillow (2003) further queries: “Are representations valid? Do they matter? … Whose story is it—the researcher or the researched?” (pp. 175–176). Through writing and representation, the researcher portrays, but might also betray, the group. The researcher might “essentialize” the group, making the characteristics of the people they are writing about singular and permanent. The author may assert, for example, that people of a particular group behave in a certain way and do so because of their culture or their condition, without variation. This type of writing better describes a robot than a group of people and their experience with a phenomenon. Considering all these issues of representation, you may ask yourself: What to write? How to write?

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What to Write With the burden of representation looming with every word you write, you must think through the words you choose when describing your “findings”. Are you simplifying a phenomenon? Are you glorifying or infantilizing or stereotyping participants? Are you romanticizing or denigrating a setting? The language you choose will communicate something about the stability or permanence you believe your “findings” to have. The word “findings” itself relates to a sense of discovery, of claiming a newfound knowledge that was unavailable until the researcher descended from the heavens and revealed it to the rest of the world. Even beyond your findings, the literature review and discussion also need to be considered carefully. Do you pull literature about peoples’ experiences that is deficit-based, as opposed to strengths-based? What to write is a question all researchers, qualitative and quantitative, need to ask themselves. But why does this question weigh particularly heavily on qualitative researchers? It is because qualitative research is a relational endeavor and research relationships are always infused with power. Even if your data collection is a onetime, one-on-one interview, we create moments of emotion, reciprocity, connection, and possibly friendship. When we speak with participants, we give the message that “you matter”. And when people hear that “they matter”, connections are made and relationships may begin. And it is because of these connections and relationships, that we are plagued with what to write. In a study, I did on cultural sensitivity in hospitals, I did interviews with nurse administrators. A colleague joined me in analyses and writing. From an ethnographic and organizational change perspective, the purpose of the study was to look at how hospitals are organized, their culture and norms, and how this helps us understand how people practice cultural sensitivity (now we would refer to cultural humility). He, on the other hand, was studying critical race theory at the time and all he could see in the transcripts was racism. He had amazing insights and our discussions were allabsorbing. But how could I write (and represent) that these nurse administrators perpetuated racism in what they said? They really struggled with how to “do” cultural sensitivity, and openly shared with me their difficulties and struggles and anxiety and frustrations. How could I turn around and write how their discourse perpetuated racism? They trusted me with their struggle and stories. Do I write it and hope they never read it? Returning to consider my commitments to relational and institutional ethics, my informed consent agreements with my participants made the decision for me. Examining discourse was not what I had outlined as the objective of the research, so I could not use their data for this purpose. But I felt a tension. Was I was copping out or was I maintaining their trust by sticking to the objective of the study? In the end, I provided a report to the participants outlining how the structures of hospitals make it difficult to practice cultural sensitivity (humility), but we never published anything

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in an academic journal. The point is, as Carolyn Ellis (2007) has asked: How do we decide what to write and what to leave out? Are there situations in which it might be permissible—even more ethical—not to share our work with those in our stories? What roles do loyalty and trust in close relationships play in our decisions? Another example about relationships that develop between researchers and participants, and how this influences representation, is Harry Wolcott’s (2002) Sneaky Kid story, detailing his gay relationship with “sneaky kid”, a young man who came across and ended up living in a small shed on Wolcott’s property. Wolcott shares how the relationship evolved in the context of the larger research project on the education of youth. The questions about what to write are: Is illuminating the interplay between researcher and participant essential if we are to understand how the research relationship influenced data collection and interpretation? Or, do we protect participants’ privacy in the research relationship, and to what degree? Wolcott’s writing garnered a great deal of attention in the qualitative research community and has become known as the Ethics of Discretion. Again, what do we write? The answer is not straightforward. Wolcott’s story also points to the issue of reflexive writing, and the extent to which we write ourselves into our research. Including Your Self

Reflexive writing, whereby researchers are present through the text, is another method of addressing representation (the concept and practice of reflexivity is detailed in Chapter 10: Rigor). It is well established in our qualitative community that our research is not unidirectional; it is relational. Conducting qualitative inquiry is an act of engagement and our research is co-constructed. Through this engagement, the researcher deliberately, and more-or-less depending on methodology, attends to their “self” as part of the research process. Attending to the self demands much more than simply accounting for your background or what interested you in your topic. It also includes how much you explicitly draw on and include your experience as data and in the representation of the findings. Making explicit the self in your research, thus creating a co-produced story or text, removes some of the fear of representing others. But as de Freitas (2007) warns, the yearning or pressure for presence in our research “is never innocent and never without complication. In tracing that presence—in writing reflexively—the writer inscribes silence and absence while simultaneously making her/himself visible” (p. 1). With that, you can understand how divisive Wolcott’s story was to the qualitative community. When we admire, glorify, and insist on a researcher writing to illuminate the interplay between researcher and participant, we are sometimes unsure where the line should be and exactly how much to “illuminate”! You need to be aware of the story you are telling and what this says about your participants, yourself, and what you created together. When a story is written down, it becomes a “truth” that is almost impossible to

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undo, so proceed carefully. Again, as we learned through Spider-man, with great power comes great responsibility. But representation is not only about “what to write” but how to write it.

How to Write When learning to write, qualitative researchers should take a field trip to the children’s section of a bookstore. Children’s books are visually magnificent, simply written, and multisensory. There are light-up, pop-up, peek-a-boo, and folding books where images rise off the page or hide behind flaps. Some are scratch-and-sniff books: Scratch a jug of lemonade and it smells like lemons. Buttons are pressed to hear a cow moo or a train chug. Children can pet the fabric fuzzy lion or scratch the steel wool crocodile. We want our children to learn a story through sight, smell, sound, and touch (i.e., empirically). As we leave the children’s section and move into the young readers and youth sections, and eventually the rest of the bookstore, the colors, smells, sounds, and touch disappear, replaced with black-and-white printed text. There are two ways to move beyond the conventional black and white text, one is through experimental or alternative writing, and the other is through arts-based research. Years ago, I went to an alternative writing workshop with Yvonna Lincoln. After the obligatory introductions, she asked us to go and find a comfortable place in the building and take the next 45 minutes to write a layered text. So, I gathered my things, walked out, and never returned; I had no idea what she was talking about. But now I do. A layered text comes out of postmodernism and as such, interrogates the authority of traditional science. A layered text, or account, confronts conventional texts which are believed to force-feed the reader a particular understanding of “the truth” (Ronai, 1995). The layered account, instead, “offers an impressionistic sketch, handing readers layers of experience so they may fill in the spaces and construct an interpretation of the writer’s narrative” (Ronai, 1995, p. 396). A layered account captures a multitude of “reflexive voices that simultaneously produce and interpret a text” (Ronai, 1995, p. 396). Texts become layered when fonts, italics, capitals, and symbols are changed to differentiate and represent various positions. They become layered when pages are split, juxtaposing two or more sides of a story, creating a dialogue, or questioning what one side of the page declares. The book Troubling the Angels by Patti Lather and Chris Smithies (1997) is a layered text that shares, for example, in different parts throughout the book: interview dialogue, emails, letters, poetry, and in some sections, juxtaposes data on the top half of the page with the researchers’ reflexive engagement with the literature and their personal thoughts, on the bottom half of the page. Furthermore, as we learned in Chapter 4: Arts-Based Research, we also have arts-based approaches available to us (e.g., plays, poems, paintings, collages, cartoons, films, and fiction, to name only a few) to create products

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that represent participants and the complexity of their experiences. While writing is still a part of many arts-based creations, it can be done so that the richness of participants’ lives can be captured, new understandings can be stirred, and empathy can be evoked. Because arts-based research is highly participatory and acknowledged for democratizing knowledge and sharing it widely, representing participants and their experiences as static and onedimensional is much less of a concern. There is one more thing to consider in how to write. All writing, whether it is a conventional article, a layered text, or is arts-based (like a script for a play) uses literary technology to involve or convince its readers that the work is worthy of consideration. Indeed, all research uses literary techniques whereby authors rhetorically use devices such as “correlation coefficients, p values, metaphors, coding schemas” and emotive quotes to convince readers to accept their research as good (Sandelowski & Barroso, 2002, p. 6). As Richardson (2000) says: Increasingly ethnographers desire to write ethnography which is both scientific—in the sense of being true to a world known through the empirical senses—and literary—in the sense of expressing what one has learned through evocative writing techniques and form (p. 253). We all engage in creative convincing. Words in qualitative research carry meaning and power, and because of their importance, writing is not only a tool for knowledge dissemination, but also engagement and, in many cases, sociopolitical action. Writers of qualitative research have significant power to “portray participants, to describe their context and realities, and to present their experiences to the world” (Richardson, 1994, p. 518). Thus, regardless of form—a conventional article, a layered text, or an arts-based piece—“no textual staging is ever innocent” (Richardson, 1994, p. 518). Overall, writing reflexively, and presenting findings as important yet impermanent, helps to decentralize the researcher’s authority. When researchers write in this way, texts are able to move around and richly communicate inherent ambiguities and various realities and positions. Indeed, many qualitative researchers are now much more tentative in their claims and often present intertwining and sometimes contradictory stories, with numerous perspectives and possibilities. Writing with some tentativeness and impermanence removes some of the issues of representation as you leave room for yourself or others to change or refute your account. If, in representing a group or phenomenon, you want to share diverse perspectives and open rather than foreclose possibilities, then experimental writing, arts-based approaches, and reflexive writing offer promise. And if you become immobilized by the notion of representation, consider a participatory research approach and read Saldaña’s (2011) remarks on representation in the context of the arts-based approach of ethnodrama. In his frank and forthright style, Saldaña (2011) says:

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… one of the most contested tensions of writing ethnodrama is the ethics of representation and presentation—in other words, the moral and authentic use of participants materials in the form of interview transcripts, field notes, writings, and so forth as the basis for dramatic adaption and performance. I often muse that with all the reflexive angsting, fretting, and hand wringing over such matters these days, it’s amazing researchers ever get anything written at all … . Rather than needlessly navel gaze about these issues and paralyze yourself into stalemate or writer’s block over whether you should write an ethnodrama, or whether you are or aren’t representing your participants fairly and ethically, collaborate instead with your participants on how it can best be done (p. 39).

Summary Can we ever, in good conscience, write anything about anyone anymore? It is a slippery slope indeed. “Writing is not an innocent practice” (Denzin, 1999, p. 568). As such, researchers have incredible power; I hope this keeps you up at night, but not for too long. It is important to remind ourselves of the spirit of qualitative inquiry. Qualitative inquiry demands the relational, the dialogic, and an understanding that our research is not “a final statement of who the research participants are, but as one moves in a continuing dialogue through which those participants will continue to form themselves, as they continue to become who they may yet be” (Frank, 2005, p. 967). Qualitative research insists—thank goodness—that we can never adequately describe or capture the human condition. In the end, do not be disappointed in yourself if you write a conventional article. Just remember, through qualitative inquiry, regardless of form, you can construct sensible, complex, fascinating, and indefinite accounts of reality that simultaneously evoke wonderment and unease about what it means to be part of our social world.

Exercise 11.1 Uncle Ben’s Last Words The objective of this exercise is to consider the extraordinary power researchers have to create knowledge and a reality about particular issues and groups. This exercise is best suited for a small group. In Raimi’s (2002) version of Spider-man, Peter Parker’s dying uncle Ben spoke these last words to him: “With great power there must also come—great responsibility”. Refer to Uncle Ben’s words within the context of representation and within each group member’s area of research. Discuss the following questions: • •

Who and/or what phenomenon will you be representing in your research? What strategies can you put in place during the research process that may help with issues of representation?

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• • •

How can you write or produce findings that may address the issue of representation? What is worse? Having to deal with issues of representation, or not doing the research at all? How might you invite your participants to collaborate with you in research?

References de Freitas, E. (2007). Compos(t)ing presence in the poetry of Carl Leggo: Writing practices that disperse the presence of the author. Language and Literacy, 9(1), 1–11. Denzin, N. K. (1999). Two-Stepping in the ’90s. Qualitative Inquiry, 5(4), 568–572. 10.1177/107780049900500409 Ellis, C. (2007). Telling secrets, revealing lives: Relational ethics in research with intimate others. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(1), 3–29. 10.1177/1077800406294947 Frank, A. W. (2005). What is dialogical research, and why should we do it? Qualitative Health Research, 15(7), 964–974. 10.1177/1049732305279078 Lather, P., & Smithies, C. (1997). Troubling the angels. Westview. Marcus, J. (2001). Orientalism. In P. Atkinson, A. Coffey, & S. Delamont (Eds.), Handbook of ethnography (pp. 109–117). Sage. 10.4135/9781848608337.n7 Minhha, T. T. (1989) Woman, native, other: writing postcoloniality and feminism. Indiana University Press. Pillow, W. S. (2003). Confession, catharsis, or cure? Rethinking the uses of reflexivity as methodological power in qualitative research. Qualitative Studies in Education, 16(2), 175–196. 10.1080/0951839032000060635 Raimi, S. (Director). (2002). Spider-man. [Film]. Columbia Pictures Corporation & Marvel Enterprises. Richardson, L. (1994). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (pp. 516–529). Sage. Richardson, L. (2000). Evaluating ethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 6(2), 253–255. 10.1177/107780040000600207 Ronai, C. R. (1995). Multiple reflections of child sex abuse: An argument for a layered account. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 23(4), 395–426. 10.1177/ 089124195023004001 Said, E. (1978). Orientalism. Pantheon. Saldaña, J. (2011). Ethnotheatre research from page to stage. LeftCoast. ProQuest Ebook Central. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ualberta/detail.action?docID=795261 Sandelowski, M., & Barroso, J. (2002). Reading qualitative studies. International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 1(1), 74–108. Wolcott, H. (2002). Sneaky kid and its aftermath: Ethics and intimacy in fieldwork. AltaMira.

Appendix A Document Analysis Template

1.

Name/title of document/doi

2.

Type of document (e.g., journal article, newspaper article, advertisement)

3.

Date of document

4.

If an edition of a document, explain

5.

Author/creator(s) of document

6.

Position/organization(s) of author/creator(s)

7.

Background of author/creator(s) (e.g., credentials, faculty, experience)

8.

General overview of the document (brief, broad perspective)

(Continued)

Document Analysis Template 259 9.

Unique characteristics of the document (does anything stand out?)

10.

Tone/mood of the document (what feelings does the document stimulate?)

11.

Audience for which the document was written (e.g., public, specific to organization, colleagues)

12.

Language of the document (e.g., research, medical, layperson)

13.

Patterns within the document (e.g., style, paragraphing, numbering)

14.

Symbols, diagrams, pictures, visuals in the document (e.g., logos, photos)

15.

Viewpoint from which the document was written (may not only be the author’s)

16.

Purpose/objective of the document (e.g., to convince, provide information)

(Continued)

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17.

Topic/issue of document

18.

Description of topic/issue in the document

19.

Consistency of definitions and objectives in relation to other documents

20.

Conflict or agreement with other documents about the topic/issue

21.

Question(s) left unanswered by the document

Additional Notes:

Appendix B Memos by Strauss (AS) and Corbin (JC)

Summary Memo AS/JC 10/29/81 Reciprocal Sustaining

Reciprocal sustaining refers to members of a couple working together to keep things going. In our research, it pertains to cohabitating couples. It can either be present or absent to varying degrees and pertain to various aspects of a relationship. The involvement of each party in each aspect of the relationship will vary dimensionally depending upon the condition of the ill person and the situation. There are times when it becomes more or less important. Though it happens in all relationships to varying degrees our concern is couples where one or both have a chronic illness. 1 2

3 4

Home Keeping—has to do with maintaining the home, money management including outside work, bringing into the home outside resources, or mobilizing those from within. Relationships—has to do with maintaining relationships with each other but also with the outside world through socializing, etc. Also with re-stabilizing relationships when they are threatened or thrown into disequilibrium by outside sources. Life support—basic maintenance of life such as regimen following, monitoring symptoms, protecting from harm or crises, feeding, etc. Identity—preventing identity hits or intervening to raise self-esteem when identity is threatened or injured, like making the person feel needed, loved, and important.

There can be sustaining of the self or other. What happens to bring about the need for sustaining? What are the strategies for self and other-sustaining, when do they come into play? How well do they seem to work? What is the meaning of sustaining or the consequences of doing it or not doing it? Obviously in fieldnote 34 our person states that his first wife left him after the accident taking the boy with her. There was no sustaining of any kind there and one could see the impact on his identity and self-esteem.

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Which member of the couple is most dominant in the relationship has to do the majority of the sustaining? Is it equally shared as it seems to be in fieldnote 34? Some of the conditions that seem to affect the need or ability to engage in “reciprocal sustaining”. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Perception of the severity of the illness at any given time, # of symptoms, and how symptoms or disabilities affect activity performance. Developmental stage of the couple and of their relationship, young, older, mid-life, newly together, together many years when illness occurs or at a later stage when disabilities or symptoms increase. Reaction to illness or disability for each member. Marital closeness or distance. One or both spouses having an illness or disability. Immediacy and degree of threat to home, identity, relationship, etc. Feelings of indebtedness or duty. Access to resources.

Memo Some Properties and Dimensions of Sustaining AS/JC 11/3/81 Intensity: Can be more or less intense. Intense at one level like the physical and less so at the emotional depending upon need and situation. Visibility to other: can be overt or covert in terms of the other knowing what is going on. Shifts and moves according to conditions such as severity or illness/ disability, situation. Can be from one to another that is spouse to ill/disabled mate and vice versa, and can be self-sustaining, or reciprocal sustain.

Appendix C Memoing and Diagramming

Adapted from Mayan, M., & Miciak, M. (2015). Insider insights: Memoing and diagramming. In J. M. Corbin & A. L. Strauss (Eds.), Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory (4th ed., pp. 128–30). SAGE. Memoing. It is not well understood nor appreciated. We are happy to share some of our observations about memoing from our perspectives as student and supervisor. We see some students who “do” memoing by having a never-ending conversation with their data, spinning around in their thoughts as the months, and then years pass by. The result is a bunch of jottings lying around without any coherence among them, as well as whispers by others questioning, “Why is it taking her so long to finish?”. Some other students, however, think memoing is something to be checked off on a list. They create the one “perfect” memo to demonstrate to their supervisory committees that they know how to memo and then they move on. Memoing is understood as peripheral or getting in the way of analysis. But memoing is analysis. Findings cannot be found and dissertations can’t be completed, without memoing. For us, we use memoing to clarify, magnify, and generate. We use memoing to clarify ideas because it requires us to flesh out the possible qualities, circumstances, and consequences of an idea. Memoing also magnifies important ideas that may not immediately jump out of the data. Spending time writing about a seemingly tangential idea can shed light on an aspect of the data that may go unnoticed while coding. Memoing also generates meaning by taking the analysis to places it would not have gone if we did not pay particular attention to documenting the tensions in and, questions, and hunches about our data. Furthermore, clarifying, magnifying, and generating all inform the coding process. For example, future codes can come out of memoing. So, memoing moves the analysis forward. We think about it as “thawing”. Perhaps we think about thawing because we write this on the first day of spring in our northern climate, but

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thawing captures for us how our thoughts become fluid—or move from a solid to a liquid—in order to take a different shape. Like an ice cube melting. This fluidity not only allows our thoughts to move but to move in different and unanticipated directions. When we allow our thoughts to thaw, we allow ourselves to actively wander and wonder. It’s easier to understand memoing or thawing when you juxtapose it with coding. Sometimes we generate hundreds and hundreds of codes, especially at the beginning of the analysis, and build our categories from these codes for a stable structure. Coding can promote a very compressed way of thinking about the data. The process can result in freezing around the data while searching for the ‘right’ words. Coding may make you rigid. Trying to come to some kind of resolution. Like that block of ice. Memoing opens up the analytic space to many possibilities taking us in unanticipated directions. Eventually, there will be a contraction (winter eventually returns), but only after appreciating broader possibilities. What we like best of all about memoing is that we believe it is the cure for analytic inertia. It is most effective when you are trying too hard, when you are trying to see something, in a highly logical and linear way.

Appendix D Peer Debrief as an Analytic Strategy Christine Daum and Maxi Miciak

Analysis is often equated with coding, categorizing, and theming. This is not surprising since many methodologies (e.g., grounded theory) and analytic approaches (e.g., qualitative content analysis) have these processes at their roots. However, we explain, from our first-hand experience, how peer debriefing is an analytic process. More specifically, when at its analytic best, we believe that peer debriefing can clarify what is and generate the new. This is process of clarifying and generating is achieved in four different ways: (a) orating the position, (b) challenging and critiquing, (c) brainstorming and generating, and (d) telling of serendipitous stories.

Orating the position Simply having to speak about a particular concept, theme, or tension can help crystallize or give shape to ideas that are unclear or nebulous. The act of translating ideas into messages demands that we communicate them cohesively. In other words, to get to the point, you have to make the point. In making the point, we must stumble and sift through all possibilities. This is when important pieces of the analysis surface—through this process of thinking while speaking in the presence of another person. However, a clear and concise message is not magically produced just because we orate a position in this way. It can take many iterations of an oration to land on a solid idea or statement. However, orating in the presence of another person demands that we communicate, not just talk; this can move us one step closer to a cogent statement.

Challenging and critiquing One intention of debriefing with a peer researcher is to receive a critique of the ongoing analysis. During a peer debriefing session, making a statement opens it up to being challenged, not only from a fellow peer debriefer, but also from ourselves. When we hear our own point spoken aloud we can begin to question whether it is really true - and so can our debrief partners. A good debrief partner searches for holes in arguments and openly

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questions statements and ideas, asking “why this and not that”? This process not only forces us to reconsider and re-orate our position, but also to communicate a defense. We all make claims that appear obvious because we have access to our own overt and covert reasoning, not to mention a grasp of the relevant literature, the history of engaging with our participants, and the reams of memos stored in journals and data management software. However, we must make defenses that seem implicit (to us), explicit to everyone else; peer debriefing can create the space and opportunity for this to happen.

Brainstorming and generating The counter position to challenging and critiquing is brainstorming and generating. Even though brainstorming can come out of challenging and critiquing, it can also be a separate process. Brainstorming during peer debriefing involves deliberately trying to cultivate new lines of thought and avenues of exploration. This relational process can spark enthusiasm and creative energy, opening doors that we did not even know existed. When we brainstorm, we ‘piggy back’ or ‘leap frog’ on one another’s statements, generating new ideas, seemingly from thin air; this is opposed to linearly scripting the next logical thought. Working in relationship, feeding off of one another, can help to free up analytic sensibilities, giving us permission to step ‘out of the box’ to try on new and sometimes tangential ideas. In fact, a tidal wave of unanticipated thoughts and ideas come out that might not have been achieved in isolation.

Telling of serendipitous stories Humans are social beings, which means we have lived experiences that involve interactions with others. Stories come out of these lived experiences. Qualitative research is about unpacking the accounts of our participants’ lived experiences. However, important stories do not only come from our participants. When we peer debrief, memories can be triggered in our fellow debriefer and ourselves. Regardless of what we research, memories that are similar or related to our research topic can be evoked—a personal story of a similar struggle or a relative who ‘sort of went through the same thing’. In hearing these ‘serendipitous stories’ we consider the ways that they fit into or resonate with the analysis. Hearing serendipitous stories may reelicit ideas we might have considered but were too hesitant to pursue. And because the story is not a part of the data, we feel a greater freedom to speculate. For example, we tighten around coding, wondering if it is the right word or the right interpretation. So we hold our data tightly because we don’t want to make a mistake and jump to conclusions. But with serendipitous stories, we can jump because we do not have to “fix” our

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incorrect conclusions later. Even though these stories are not data per se, they run parallel to our data, pushing us to flesh out our ideas, categories, and concepts. They can validate and clarify our ideas by illuminating nuances; they can also challenge our thinking and point out a potential negative case. Although it may seem like a rogue story, it can become a tool that stimulates us to further analyze and consider our claims. We might even begin to talk about the story as a case and consider it in relation to our work, comparing and contrasting. If we recognize the value of a serendipitous story, it can evoke richer conversation between our debriefing partners and ourselves. This is because it is in the moment, outside of the data so it’s fresh, and synchronous so it can be thoroughly interrogated.

Conclusion Peer debriefing is about harnessing the power of relationship (a cornerstone of qualitative research) to shift our analysis into a different gear. The act of talking through our analysis with a peer debriefer can be catalytic, sparking a new idea or a deeper dive into an already established one. However, just showing up does not catalyze anything. The process is not about going through the motions, but rather one of intent and robust investment by both researcher and debriefer.

Appendix E Focus Group Transcript

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So what was it like to be diagnosed with autism as an adult? When I was growing up I never felt like I fit in. It always seemed like other people just understood … how to be … they didn’t have to think about and over-analyze every little thing like I did. So after feeling like I had to pretend to be ‘normal’ for so long, and not understanding why things were so difficult for me, to get that diagnosis finally was like—yes, this is me. This is why, you know. After seeing so many doctors who would give me a diagnosis for something that didn’t feel like me, I’d gotten to a point where I’d pretty much stopped looking for answers to why I am the way that I am. But when I was told I was on the spectrum and started learning everything that I could about autism, the more that I read the more that I felt like this could be the answer. Yeah, and for me when I was diagnosed I started thinking back all the way to when I was a kid, and it was like I could see why I was like that. Like why certain things bothered me so much that wouldn’t bother other people. But then I started thinking about what if I had been diagnosed earlier, would my life have been different? And so sometimes I feel kind of angry that I didn’t get diagnosed sooner. But even with a diagnosis, I still get comments all the time from people who don’t understand. I’ve heard from other people—several times—that I don’t seem autistic. What does that even mean? Like they seem skeptical or don’t believe me because I don’t fit some stereotype of what they expect someone with autism should be like. So what are some of those stereotypes? Well, that people with autism are basically like how you see them in movies or TV, like really good at math but basically no social skills at all … Yeah, like really bad at communicating. No people skills.

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That we don’t feel emotions or understand emotions. Like, that we have no sense of empathy. That it’s always boys and men who have autism. Mm-hmm. Well, and really I’ve become very good at passing as what people would think of as “normal”. But just because on the outside I can seem like everyone else, they don’t know what’s going on inside my head.

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Yeah, “passing” is a good way to put it. And sometimes it’s kind of like a good thing when people say they couldn’t tell that I have autism because I don’t want people to basically reduce me to this thing that makes me different, right. But then that can also lead to this disconnect where people—when someone sees me having a hard time with something that probably wouldn’t bother someone else, they wonder why I’m acting like that. Right, and that’s such a weird tension but it’s something that I deal with at work all the time. And so now for me if people don’t understand, now I just don’t care. Like if people think I’m odd before I would take things so personally. But I’m starting to just be able to accept myself rather than try to change myself or force myself to fit in, and getting a formal diagnosis was a big part of the reason why I feel like I’m able to accept those parts of myself. And I feel like that’s so important for me to be a good role model for my son, who also has autism. Can I ask, when was your son diagnosed? He was around 4 when he got the diagnosis. And everything we went through to get the diagnosis for him is actually what made me start thinking “what if I also have this”? A lot of what we were learning about with him really sounded like me. So that’s when I got the assessment for myself, and then eventually I also got a diagnosis. But if it wasn’t for going through all that with my son, I don’t know if I ever would have even thought to get the assessment.

Appendix F Interview Transcript

May 6, 2022 Participant’s house in Cumberland Length: 80:44 I: P: I: P: I: P: I: P:

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OK. Um, So, um so I guess to start off, if you just want to tell me a little bit about who you are in general? Like. So I can um so like your age, um what you’re doing right now like you said you’re going to college and yeah just like what you’re studying that kind of thing. Um so [laughs] I’m Emma, I’m 20 years old. And I am at the University of Cumberland, but at the um Whitmore campus. I am currently a psychology major and a biology minor. And yeah. So, have you, you’re renting a place there in the school year? Yeah, that’s what I was doing. Trying to go like I’m going back there next year and just two more years left in my degree. What motivated you to go to psychology? I was a biology major and psych minor at first but I hate biology [laughs]. I just learned that it sucks, so. Um. I’m doing psych because, I don’t know, it’s interesting. Like it’s very interesting like to see how the brain works and stuff. And um and like I also like deal with generalized anxiety disorder so I wanted to like I wanna kinda like know more about it as well as, be able to learn and yeah. Yeah. Um. Do you have an idea of what you wanna do after? Um [laughs] maybe be a psychologist or psychiatrist or maybe speech pathology. I don’t know yet. Cool. Um and what do your parents do? My mother works for the city of Cumberland, she does safety stuff and my dad does like car stuff. Oh okay. I’m not too sure what he does. And do you have siblings?

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Yeah I’ve an older sister, she’s 21, and then a younger brother who’s 18. So like actually if you need like an extra person my sister is also overweight. Yeah. So she probably be okay she’s just working. Do both your siblings live here as well? Mhm. OK cool. So you’re the middle and how about your brother and your dad and mom, are they overweight? Um my brother’s kinda like, not super overweight just kinda like taller, a little like, but um my parents have been like dealing with weight issues since they were kids as well. So like they’re also overweight. Ok right yeah. Um and then so you went to like elementary and high school in this area of the neighborhood then? Um yes? I went to uh high school with Emily [participant who referred this participant] so to Oak Grove. And then elementary was like just around here somewhere like 5–10 minutes away. OK. So then you met Emily in high school is that it? Mhm. OK. Um, and what kinds of things do you like to do when you have free time? Um it’s actually funny that it’s a Chapters gift card [honorarium for participating in the study] cuz I love books. I collect books. Whole bunch of that. I like make up, I spend a lot of money on that. I play the guitar. I draw a lot. Yeah. So kinda artsy then. Yeah. That’s cool. I guess if you wanna just tell me a little bit about like your elementary and high school and growing up kinda stuff. How would you describe your or how did it feel to kinda grow up in your body? Um. Uncomfortable it’s always kinda been uncomfortable. Being overweight. When everyone is smaller. And then, always, so I started like noticing, I was obese when I was nine. It was then where I was like okay, I need to lose weight and like, but obviously if it was that easy, I would have done it by now. [laughs] So it’s um just like it was difficult. Like luckily for me, I wasn’t bullied when I was growing up, which isn’t the same for a lot of people, it wasn’t the same for my sister, and it wasn’t the same for Emily. Like. I was never bullied. So that was nice. I do remember once though this boy who was like uh the one instance of bullying was this boy was like “at least I’m not fat like you”. And I was like grade 4. And I still remember it. And yeah. Sometimes it feels gross when I think about it. Weight has always been like a really topic in our house. Like weight and eating and stuff like that, and like I feel like my family in particular has like a negative way of thinking about food. So um like so my parents aren’t, like they’re also overweight. They’ve been struggling with weight their whole lives but it seems like it’s always a topic of discussion in our house. It

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has been since I was a kid. Um they just kind of bring it up a lot. And also like when I was in elementary—grade 4—I went to Kenya. Which is where my family is from. And like people there will just like say what they like are thinking. Like just like they’ll just say it, so I’d be called fat while I was like walking down the street or something, like people just say it in a different language or say it in English or. Just say it at me. So that was rough and then like also when you go to Kenya, like all your relatives are like calling you fat and that like, I guess that’s when I started to notice cuz that’s when I was nine, like grade 4. I was nine. And like my grandma, and my aunt, and uncle would just like say that I was fat and getting fat and I need to lose weight and when I go back to Kenya they wanna see me as small as my one cousin there. So that was for elementary. Are your family in Kenya, are they skinnier? Yes, they are. Like the yeah my cousins and stuff like that. Actually that’s kind of like tricky cuz like some of them they’re not skinny but they’re not fat. So. Kinda like just regular. Um. And yeah. I’m just had like a negative like thing with food so it’s like a coping mechanism and stuff like that. And like a lot of times I know this from psychology, that parents will tend to use food as a reward. And so it becomes like ingrained in you and it becomes, like a thing to make you feel better so. Yeah. Like I use it when I’m sad, happy, tired, like lonely, all of the time. And I’m trying to like get rid of the association. Um especially being in university, like I’ve gained so much weight since starting. Cuz of stress. And then high school. Junior high I was a bulimic. And I was a bulimic consistently like from grade 8 to maybe grade 11. And then it’s like sporadic since. Um. I haven’t for a while, but it was definitely a problem before so all throughout junior high. And I went to an allgirls school and girls are mean. They can be. Also I wasn’t bullied in junior high as well, that was good too, but it was just like they were a little bit more catty. Or whatever. And um it’s like if I were to go to shopping with all of them, I can’t go anywhere that they go. Or like I’ve like tried to fit in something that they would and they like, oh you look great, but I know I don’t look great. I look like I’m a potato stuffed in a burlap sack. [laughs] [laughs] It’s not a good look. But I mean, and then they’d like talk about it behind your back. And stuff like that. So that. And I don’t know like I’ve always felt like, why are you always be like people were paying a more lot attention to me than they were. Like that. My like people would be looking at me and be like ‘oh she’s fat’ or like ‘hmm’ saying and thinking oh she’s fat or like ‘ew that’s gross’. And um stuff like that and it also yeah, I think it got in the way a lot but, for me, because it just I always like I’m worrying about what other people think. And then I got into high school. I feel like it was just like, I was like always

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thinking about the space that I took up. Like and I was, I’m always worrying about infringing on someone else’s space because of how big I was, being scared that I wasn’t able to do things cuz I’d break it. And like and for some reason, I think things always seem to be funnier when a fat person does it. Like if somebody fat falls it’s funnier, if they get hurt, it’s funnier. And if like it’s not. But then. That’s what I’m thinking about so I’m trying not to embarrass myself I try not to take up too much space. Yeah. Um. One thing [clears throat] that like also is when I was … am I talking about the right stuff? No keep going! Absolutely. Yeah you’re totally talking about the right stuff. [laughs] [laughs] While I was in elementary as well. I we went on a skiing trip, and I’m no good at winter sports or sports but [laughs] not at winter sports in particular. We went skiing, and I didn’t know how to ski, but then in my sixth grade year we went, and I was going down the hill at snow valley. And I hit into the side of the building like there was like a balcony type thing, and like there’s glass all around it and I went down and I hit my face and I got a concussion. But I slammed right into the building and my ski fell off, and everything, and I like was planted on the ground, and these boys behind me, like they didn’t go to our school, but they were like, ew this is why you shouldn’t get that fat. They said something like along those lines, it’s like ew, this is like fat people are so gross or something like that. And like kids are mean. But then my one friend Olivia felt the need to like remind me that they said that. Like really loudly. There was that. High school I was still like, was the space thing and um, and like I guess high school and junior high, like you’re like worried about boys and stuff like that and then all your friends are, all your friends are like talking about boys and whatever and I remember in junior high, I really liked this guy and he was, and I thought it was like going well or whatever, but then this other guy on the bus like made fun of him he’s like, ew you like her? And he’s like no! And then he started liking my friend. Because, and she was, and I associated it with, she’s thinner than me, she’s prettier, and a lot of times like weight is like associated with beauty so if you’re not skinny, you’re not pretty. And so that was a thing always a thing where it’s like the reason nobody likes me is because I’m overweight or like I’m gross. So When you say things were like going well, were you like dating or like, what were you? Like he’d like, we’d like talk every day, on the bus together, like talk to me everyday, and yeah. And like he’d come and sit beside me on the bus. And everyone else thought that oh, he likes you and then this guy made that comment. Gotcha. Um and so you said junior high was all girls is that right, was your elementary school all girls??

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No. just regular. OK. Um, and Emily was saying Oak Grove, it’s like more academic oriented? So was that um like how did you get into Oak Grove or how was that process? Um. My grades were good. Yeah and my I kinda, like my parents, bless them. They’re very um controlling. Like I went to all girls because my mom said I had to go to all girls, I went to Oak Grove, we call it OG, because I had no choice but to go there. And uh yeah my grades were there so I went there and I think I’m glad that I went to OG actually. Because I feel like other schools have a lot more drama than it’s worth and OG had none of that. And I feel like there was like no bullying, if there was bullying it was like about grades or something. Yeah. OK. And then in junior high you were saying like how girls can be mean and stuff. And but you said it’s more like the silent kind, is that so it’s like you said like side-eye or something? So I’ve always been kind of like a people-person like I can I if I have friends I have like a lot of them. And um so it wasn’t like I wasn’t a matter of not having friends, but like I’d be friendly with everyone but it was just like a girl can be friends with you and still talk poorly about you behind your back. And like um one of my best friends were best friends my closest friends right now um she once, we were in, she didn’t like me in junior high, but she won’t admit it now. She’s like, I’ve confronted her before like you didn’t like me and she’s like no? Cuz once we were all hanging out and she sent a text that was meant to be for my friend Jamie, but she accidentally sent it to me, and we were all in the same car. And I’m like what? So it was just like girls can be like that. Mhm. Yeah. Um and then have you gone back to Kenya since that first time in grade 4? No but we’re actually going this summer so I’m worried. Really worried about that. Just because of the whole being called fat thing, like weight is a big topic in our house and we talk about it a lot, and I get don’t get called fat but told that I’m big and I need to do something to change it but in Kenya it’s gonna be a lot more people. It seems like many of the people that I’ve spoken with, um many of them are actually international students so they’re all going back home this summer, and they said the same thing about how back home, like they’re from a variety of countries but their families there are much more vocal about, and they are like preparing to go back by dieting and stuff because they’re worried and yeah, it’s another girl framed it as like you said, people just kinda say what they think or say what comes to them, whereas here people are more like catty and sneaky about it. But then it’s like which is worse? I don’t know.

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I prefer them not to say it. Everyone like has their own like thoughts, they already have their preconceived whatever, but I don’t wanna hear it. Like you can think it all you want, and like it’s not great and but I know it’s happening. But I prefer not to hear it like. Um so how do you kind of like how do you cope with that stuff? Um not well. [laugh] I mean eating. So that’s not good. Um. I used to cut myself. Because of it. Um so that was also a thing for a bit. And then I like tried for a while to like be super body positive and like start following all those accounts that show body positivity. But. It just stressed me out. Cuz I don’t wanna be fat forever. Yeah. I also don’t know how to change it and then I’ll like go through like, I’m gonna lose weight and never do. So. Yeah. Have you seen people like therapists or dietitians or doctors or anyone for any of those? No. but like I just recently talked to my um GP, family doctor and she I like said I don’t know what to do about my weight anymore. Like it’s getting out of hand. And I don’t wanna be like six hundred pounds at 24 or something. So um she was like I could get you in with the dietitian which, I did actually go to a dietitian with my mom when we were actually like when I was 10. And um that didn’t work [laugh]. I like she talked about uh bariatric surgery. Like and I’m like genuinely thinking about it. And also a little worried. Because there’s a lot of complications. That can happen. Yeah. So I thinking about that as well. Right yeah. Oh I don’t know if so I actually work I’m a dietitian by training and I work at the bariatric clinic here actually. Oh really? Just very sporadically like once a month kinda thing. And then you said when you went when it was 10, it didn’t really work. Do you remember why or what was it like a one-off kinda visit? Yeah it was a one-off kinda visit. Like my whole family went and we were like seeing like the changes that we could make in the house to be better. And how about your siblings, are you guys close?. Yeah we’re very, I think, we are very close. We talk to each other a lot. What do you mean by that like? [laugh] Yeah like, I know some people, for example me and my sister aren’t super close just because, we don’t fight a lot, but would you like, hang out with your siblings? Oh yeah like we’ll spend a whole bunch of time just doing nothing together. Or yeah we can be in the same room and hang out yeah. Cuz you and your sister are pretty close in age then. Yeah like she’s one of my like, she’s my best friend, aside from mom. And like we all really, we get along, we talk about stuff, we annoy each other, but like all siblings do. We don’t do a lot of fighting.

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Um and do you talk to any of your friends or your family about how you feel or your concerns sometimes, like with your body or anything like that? Yeah. I talk to my mom a lot about a lot of things when it comes to my weight when it comes to my mental health, when it comes to all that. I will pick people like actually, I’m like pretty vocal about mental health as well as about weight. Because it’s like the reality that I’m living with like, I’m not like saying that’s who I am, but I’m saying that’s what I deal with. And like I’m still working on it. But like if there’s a problem or like I’m really stressed about something, when it comes to weight, um my mom and I talk to my friend Samantha, um she’s not overweight but she’s like a really good listener and stuff like that. If it’s totally stressing me out, yeah. Um in Camrose do you have a roommate or do you live on your own? Yeah I was living with uh four girls, so five of us in this house. Yeah I mean one of them was Alyssia, she was my roommate from first year, so we first met in first year. You’re not in residence, are you? No, not anymore. So you have to go do your own grocery shopping and that stuff? Yeah Did you have that last year? No first year I lived on campus so, I was fed and stuff like that. So that made it easier to not gain a whole bunch of weight. Then I got to this year and it all downhill, like, hey I could make a salad, or I could just go buy fast food. And then come home. And so you were saying that in your household like weight and food was always kind of a topic, and that kind of stuff. Like were your parents so were they trying to lose weight or? Yeah they always are. I mean like right now, like my dad will like try to lose weight and then lose a whole bunch of weight. So like he’s been trying to lose weight for like a month and a half and he’s lost forty pounds or something. And my mom has been trying to lose weight since December, lost like twenty pounds and it’s like. Which is, I’d say, the best that they’ve, I mean my dad lost like a hundred pounds a few years ago in 2016. But um it’s always a thing in the house. And my parents don’t let us forget that we’re overweight. And that we’re fat and that like diabetes, and high blood pressure run in our family. And stuff like that. Which is, I mean it’s important for us to know, but we know. Like we’ve been that way, it’s always been brought up. So when you say like that they don’t let you forget can you tell me more about that? Like um. Um like it’s always, it’s always just a topic. Like I like um [pause] like you’ll get food or like I mean like you’ll like serve yourself to eat and like my mom will be like or my dad will like, give us side-eye or say

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something um side remark or and it’s just yeah and then a lot yeah. I’ll like when we were younger it was like a lot of fights and arguments were about us eating. But like we also were kinda, I don’t there’s always there’s a point where it’s no longer your parents fault that you’re fat. You know. [laughs] So I definitely like, I’m not like, oh my parents are the reason I’m overweight. It’s like but like I’ve learned a few things and like it kinda, like sticks. So like once you get older it’s kind of harder to break these cycles that have been in your life like, cuz my parents were immigrants they came here. And then they brought us over. And they were always working or going to school or something like that. And um so we would eat out a lot. And like we’d bring food home cuz my mom wouldn’t be home until like 12, or I started making dinner for family like when I was nine so like grade three I was like making dinner for everybody and we’d eat at like 12 pm like 12 am or whatever. And then we’d wake up late for school, I’d make breakfast and I’d make lunches for everybody like I was kind of like the center person. Who was always like doing that kind of stuff. How did that get fallen on you? Cuz your sister’s older? Yes, she’s older. [laughs] Not to like she’s not [laughs] as responsible. I don’t know, I’m quite a bit more mature than she is. When it comes to that. OK. Um so is it kind of like a daily conversation in the house? It used to be and I always kind of wanted to get away from this house. Like not, it’s not horrible or anything living here, but there’s now and then again, there’s things where it’s like, I could’ve done without that. It’s nice to live on your own. Um. It’s used to be like a daily topic it used to be like, are you sure you’re gonna eat that, like you guys should be running like doing exercise more, and it like became like, now I’m a closeted eater so like we don’t like eat dinner together or like eat meals together, we just kinda like get our food and do whatever. So um it I feel like my sister all of us are closeted eaters. Yeah except my parents. Actually except my mom, my dad’s also, so we all like because we don’t wanna be judged for eating. And like even though my brother isn’t like obese or anything, not like me, he’s like still like hidden. Yeah. Um and so how about with like friends and stuff will you eat with friends at restaurants? Yeah, no, I’m not like scared of eating in front of people I used to be, um like in elementary and junior high I would not eat lunch because I didn’t wanna eat in front of my friends at all. Um it was very rare that I ate in front of people. I still don’t love it. Um or anything um it still like um cuz I’m sure you’ve heard this where it’s like if you eat something healthy it’s like, well you didn’t get that fat eating that. And

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then if you eat something unhealthy it’s like no wonder you’re this fat. So. Um it’s like that it’s a continuous like and then you’re worried about what other people think and yeah. So. I’ve kind of learned to not care as much because I don’t think people care about like my mom tries to remind me now that, like really nobody’s looking at you; people are too self absorbed to worry about you’re doing. Unless you’re doing something really embarrassing. Especially with cell phone generation. Yeah they’re not worried about you so. Um now she’s kind of like been saying that like, nobody cares but yeah. Um you said something and I forgot … um what was I gonna ask. Um how do you find like university campus, like in terms of I don’t know do you feel like you’ve been treated differently there at all there because of your weight or anything? Hm [pause] no. I don’t feel like weight is I mean, so like Whitmore is such a small campus so people from all around Alberta are coming to the campus and international students like we have a lot of those as well. So there’s a very small population, so there’s a very small population of overweight people. Um yeah no I don’t feel like it’s, I don’t think I get judged for it by professors or anything, I feel like it just kind of, like I’m self conscious and worried what other people are thinking a lot of the time, but I’m not thinking that, like I don’t feel like I’m being like, there’s prejudice or anything really. And you had talked about like feeling like you take up too much space at times. Have there been any other scenarios where kinda, like the environment you felt like wasn’t accommodating for you or? Yeah um even in, I did chemistry last year and like the seats were too tight. And like, then I just kind of like have to l make myself smaller or in high school high school that’s where I felt a little bit more weight bias. Um cuz they had lab coats, oh I guess university too. Lab coats big enough. And like it’s kind of like um, fat people can’t be scientists. Or like whatever. So. Um there was no lab coats big enough for me. Um and then Emily’s dad actually in high school complained to the school saying like there are overweight students in your school and the overweight students were me and Emily [laughs]. So. There’s others too. I mean, I think we were the biggest ones in our school there really wasn’t big Oak Grove doesn’t really have big people at all. Yeah. So. We were like singled out and like they got us bigger lab coats, but like they put it away from everybody else’s. And like my teacher once came up to me and was like, your lab coat’s over there. And I’m like okay, now I feel like shit. Yeah. Um and so there was that and then um for my first day of chemistry, chemistry in university I got a lab coat I was like okay cool, I have my lab coat, I tried it on in the bookstore. And I was like I’m gonna try it on again I’m just gonna get to my lab

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and put it on. And I got to my lab it was too small, and I guess like the sizes of the ones I tried versus the one I bought was different. And then like I’m crying on my way to the bookstore to get a new lab coat. And like the lady was really sweet and she’s like okay get to your lab and she just switched it out quickly and let me go but it was still like too small but it fit better. I could actually close it. And yeah. So I ran into my lab and then I get into my lab and I feel like super uncomfortable cuz it’s hot over. And each time I get into a lab, like they don’t like pre-determine your lab partners. So like I’ll come in and I’m like whoever’s stuck with me is gonna hate their lives. And stuff like that. And I just feel like it’s happened every time I had a lab and I had seven labs. So. Eight. Eight labs. So university. Um and like the lab chairs are painful. Mhm. In biology do you have labs as well? Or. Yeah. Did that have anything to do at all with your switch to psychology major? Um I really hated wearing the lab coat. I felt really restricted I felt like I looked horrible like, lab coats aren’t supposed to be flattering. But. They’re also not meant to look like they did on me. Like. That was one of the things I just did not want to put it on again, I do not want to put it on again. And labs suck. Three hours long. Those were the most stressful parts of undergrad. I used to have like panic attacks in the lab. I hated them so much. Cuz it’s like time pressure, and like ugh. It’s just horrible. So that’s one of the reasons. But, and the chairs hurt a lot, and the tables are like an awkward height. And yeah I don’t know. Yeah and also labs are like super tight in space so like that’s where I’m also really worried about my size, cuz like well I don’t wanna knock anything over. Be in the way of anybody else and. Like stepping on a big fear of mine is like stepping on somebody’s foot and breaking it. Oh. Yeah. So there’s that. And in how about in like gym class seems to be come up with a lot of people that I talk to? Did you have any like negative experiences in that? With me gym I feel like I kind of took like the opposite spectrum where I was like, well because I’m fat, I need to prove to people that I’m not lazy. Or like gross or whatever. So I would like try really hard in gym, um elementary wasn’t great. For gym. I remember one time in particular we were playing soccer outside and this boy like fell and like hit into my like, he fell into my butt whatever. So that was embarrassing in itself, cuz all kids and everyone saw it. And then they were like ‘ew’, like whatever and um so that is something that that’s particular one that I remember, but I don’t remember like any bad experiences in gym. Um it’s obviously harder with a lot more weight

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on you to like do the same stuff as everybody else but I like always tried to. Gymnastics wasn’t my friend. [laugh] I couldn’t like, couldn’t do like gymnastics so in elementary junior high I would make sure that I did above and beyond everybody else just to show that I wasn’t just an obese girl who can’t do anything. So when the teacher was like we have to run three laps around the soccer field, everyone else would be walking and I would make sure to run them out. And track day, which obviously is no fun. But like track day we had to like we have to do a running one. So the first year like grade 7 I did the 200 like the one where we had to go 200m. I don’t know. We had to go around the soccer field. And that one I was the last one to come in. And then one hundred, um metre dash, I was also last one to come in and like this girl Izzy, who was bigger than me, but and shorter than me, I was like oh okay and like it sucks because like your brain is wired to like always like worry about other people around you so like, I’m like I won’t be as slow as her. So it’ll be fine. And of course I was slower than her. And I came in last. I think it was just kinda like karma. Where it’s like you’re being a bad person so um but yeah, that’s a lot of the time when I think of like, I’ll walk into a room my first thought is am I the biggest person in here? And the answer’s usually yes. Um. And then uh gym, I did gym in summer school for high school, because I didn’t wanna do it in high school like I assumed if I did it with summer school then there’s a lot of people who are also in the same boat who are like, they don’t wanna do it so yeah. So I but, [laugh] the teacher um the teacher for this class were like ruthless, we’d do like a two hour like run in the morning, so like we’d you know Sunny View high school? I’ve heard of it So like that area we’d like go and like run around all of downtown area like and like I’d like try to stay at the front, cuz if I’m at the back and people are like oh it’s cuz she’s fat. So I tried to stay at the front. So I’m not embarrassed. I didn’t even know you could do gym in summer school. So how does that, is it like a whole day of gym? Yeah it’s eight hours of gym. Or something. What?! Like June, July or sorry July, August? It’s actually only two weeks. It’s two weeks of that. But. And then I also did CALM at the same time. We did a lot of different things but for the first full week or no actually for two weeks we did that running the morning. Each time. And I lost so much weight during that summer cuz it was intense. Um. Two hours of running that’s like. It was so intense. Um but it was good, like I wish I’d kept with it cuz that would’ve been great but, uh in junior high we had uniforms for like everyday, but also in gym. And it was too tight so I’m like the shorts would always like ride up. My big [pause] thighs would be like.

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You can swear, it doesn’t matter [laughs]. [laughs] Um like my thighs would like rub together and like stuff like that. Or I just tried to make it a point to not seem like the lazy fat girl that everyone already assumed I was. Yeah. In university we, for this semester we have to do like an outside lab um in the winter. And it was horrible. Like so. Whitmore is very hilly, there’s a lot of hills so like the university’s on a hill, so we had to like go down the hill, and then up another hill to go to this forest-y area like it’s the jubilee park. And like we’re trudging like through the snow and I was getting so winded. And like I was like trying to keep face and like get up so when we were done we had to like walk all the way back up, and um I was like incredibly winded, I was like I’m gonna die, like I got to the top and I had to like stop, and I was like I can’t breathe. And my lab partners looked back at me and they’re like, is she okay. The thing is like I have to continue to try to not be like [breathes in and out loudly] or say I can’t do this walk at the very beginning or like. I like always try to be yeah just like not be fat. Even though like it’s very obviously like, very visually obvious, that I’m overweight, like I don’t want to be that way and I don’t want that to be like a reason why like people don’t invite me places or I don’t do things or like oh we shouldn’t like or if teachers have to something to say, or I don’t know. So what was that lab? Like you said it was a lab? It was ecology lab. Measure the diameter of trees I don’t know. Oh god I hated that [laugh]. [laugh] It was so annoying. That sounds awful. It was. Do you remember learning anything in school about like weight and health or obesity? Yeah. Um it was like I mean in school like in elementary we talk about like diet and like exercise and stuff um there was that I don’t remember like the whole bunch of talking about it though. Um. Yeah. Do you want me to close the window? Oh no I think I’ll just put my vest on. [laugh] OK. So no, I don’t like I remember a little bit in elementary, junior high probably talked about it, in high school probably talked about it, I just don’t remember. So you didn’t like pick up anything from it then. No. How about um like, going to the doctor as a kid or anything, did you encounter anything in those situations at all? Like weight related? Um always just been too fat. Um it’s never oh actually. This past, I just went to the doctor Friday. And they had to move me to three different scales. Cuz they were like are you sure this is your weight? And so

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like they moved me from one to another, to another. And then I was finished. Like and nobody told me like, hey you can go now. And I was just standing there like thinking oh they’re gonna come back and they come back in the room and they’re like why are you still here? You can go. And I’m like, okay. Was that in Cumberland? Mhm. Just at your, do you have a family doctor? Yeah my family doctor. And like I was like okay and like the nurse the nurses, I don’t know what’s wrong with nurses but all of them are mean! And so like she was the one who had to like weigh me and like she just had an attitude the whole time. And like she’s like a small little Asian lady and I was like okay cool, I don’t care. But like, she’s like, I don’t know another thing is like when you’re obese, people think you’re stupid. Um I don’t know why. Why, like I understand the whole like, oh they think you’re lazy cuz you got big, there’s a way you got big. But they also seem to think that you’re stupid. So like the lady I was like taking off my shoes to like go on the scale and she’s like you need to take off your shoes and I’m like that’s what I’m doing. And um. I like step on the scale and she’s just like ‘hm’ and just like and that was just irritating. It’s interesting that you mention that cuz I recently went to the doctor as well and it was like, to get like allergy prescription refill, but then they took my weight and height and I was kind of like, how is this related cuz, I’m more attuned to it all now, and I asked her and I was like, I don’t understand why you need to weigh me and she’s like ‘well you can refuse if you want to’. I just don’t understand the whole like protocol thing, they’re taking my blood pressure, I’m like this is irrelevant to my request. Um yeah and I think a lot of times when you’re overweight they just kind of dismiss everything as just being overweight so like if you come in and you’re like I’m I don’t know like I have a cold, it’s like hm, maybe if you lost weight and it always seems to come back to weight. Which I mean weight is important and like I’m obviously not healthy but it’s it if I’m coming in for um if I’m coming in for a like let’s say my medication for my anxiety I don’t need you to check my weight. Like I need a refill on my prescription. Exactly it’s irrelevant. So there’s that. Which is always kind of annoying um yeah I mean it’s a doctor’s job to like make sure that you’re healthy and stuff like that but it just when you’re overweight it just always comes back to your weight. Yeah. Um and uh so you said doctors always say like ‘too fat’ do you did they provide like recommendations or anything? Or Um no. It’s just usually um not that I remember. Like we went to the doctor’s.

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They’re just like ‘too fat’ and then that’s it? That’s it. Yeah. OK cool. I don’t, can’t recall ever like the most helpful thing I’ve gotten was the last one where it was either dietitian or bariatric surgery. Yeah. Huh. Um and you talked, you referred to yourself as obese, um so like why would you use that word instead of say like overweight or fat or? Um I feel like if you have more negative connotation, like I feel like, when you think obese you’re like, obese. And I don’t know why I say it. [laugh] like I feel like ‘fat’ doesn’t do the job, like it still stings and overweight it feel like is like at least for me it’s a light way of saying that I’m like, it’s not true. Like I’m not overweight. I am obese. Um, it’s definitely a different thing um my doctor’s office, there’s like a BMI scale and it’s like underweight, healthy weight, overweight, or obese. And I’m like in the obese category. And like I just kind of, I feel like overweight is like just too like it’s sugar-coating what I am. So And do you know remember like where you learned about BMI or? Hm probably elementary? I don’t know I think so. Yeah, so pretty young. Mhm. In yeah, so, and do you have like a, like you said different words have like different connotations, do you think I don’t know, I’ve just been trying to figure out like if there’s a certain cuz I don’t know, have you heard about like “person first” language? No. So that’s like saying like person with obesity instead of obese person. Cuz like a person is not their disease first, is essentially what they’re trying to say. Do you have like a preference for which terms are basically not as mean than others or do you think they’re just I think that there are words that are more mean than others. But I don’t really like to sugar coat things like, I don’t wanna like, I do not believe that I am my ailment like I don’t think that I am my anxiety, I don’t think I am my obesity. Like I do realize that I have both of those things or I deal with both of those things, and I just wanna call it what it is. I feel like a lot of the times like people just don’t wanna hurt your feelings and it’s not well, I feel like it doesn’t help, it just makes you kinda feel like I’m a kid. Like you’re talking to me like I’m a kid. I don’t wanna hurt her feelings so I need to soften the blow. Like it’s, I don’t like it. Yeah. Personally. Yeah. Um. What do you think kind of shaped your view of what bodies are supposed to look like? Um, I think my parents but I also think um just like the friends. And um unfortunately which I I find embarrassing but, like I do care like a

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lot about what guys think. Um and like I hate to be like that kind of person or whatever. That’s not embarrassing, that’s just normal! I know it’s normal I just I hate I wanna be like that girl who doesn’t care, but I care. Um so like whereas like there’s guys that I like that always end up liking my friends who are skinnier. And so I’m like, well that’s what people want. That’s what people see as like good looking. And like you talk to everyone’s always worried about being fat. Like and all of my friends are like oh I look fat or I’m’ getting fat and you’re like ‘mhmm’. Which I mean it’s completely valid. Like they’re allowed to feel that way because that’s like you’re allowed to, but it just kind of like, well then what am I? You know? And it’s very selfish, but yeah, like that’s the kind of stuff that like has shaped the way like I see myself and then even with this body positivity thing that I went on for a while, it’s like I still um, I was like looking at all these like amazing women, like beautiful people, and I’m like, I don’t look like any of them. Like even though they’re like a bigger and stuff like, that I’m still not them. You know what I mean. like they’re always the body positivity people are always pretty. That’s my problem. Yeah. What do you mean by ‘pretty’, like? Like it seems like you’re allowed to be fat if you look a certain way. Yeah. OK I think I know where you’re going, so like it’s kinda like if their face is pretty or something and you’re like ‘oh if you lost weight’ or that kind of? Yeah. OK And then also doesn’t help that like, so it doesn’t help that I’m also black. You know. So like that also has a factor in it, so like not only am I, it’s one thing to be fat but then you’re also black and then you’re also a woman. So like triple, triple whammy. And it just kinda sucks. And um of course like a lot of people online date now or like from Tinder or like Bumble stuff like that. And I not that guys are anything classy especially [laughter] on these sites, but I get so many of the oh I’ve never slept with a fat girl before, I’ve never slept with a black girl before, I’ve never slept with a fat black girl before and it’s just like, it starts to feel like a fetish so whenever a guy shows interest in me I just automatically am like, you have a fetish for fat people. And like I feel like that’s always my first initial question is like, do you is there uh attraction to fat people, and I don’t wanna be anybody’s fetish, I really don’t. It’s nothing, it’s not what I want. Like I absolutely like I’m sure some people are okay with it, I’m not. Like no. like I want someone to like me for who I am. Not because I fit a certain mould and that’s what and it’s gross to me, and I don’t like the thought of that, so when it

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comes to like caring about what guys think, it’s also just, I think it’s very discouraging where it’s like, that’s all that I am. So. Yeah. I think that’s definitely a problem with online dating nowadays, it’s like, it’s like, they weren’t superficial enough to begin with [laughs]. Yeah and now a platform to do so. Hide behind a screen. It’s gross. I know, it’s one of those things where it sucks, but then it’s like also sometimes the only option cuz it’s like well … Cuz where else do you go to meet people? I don’t go out! [laughs] if I go out it’s like, that’s when I need to get a hobby. I really need to get a hobby because, I don’t need to leave the house! No one’s gonna meet me doing that. Watching Netflix with my friends. [laughs] At the same time you’re like ooh it’s like that’s kinda the only place you meet people and also like in your 20s you’re like I’m 20. And like it, like kicks in where it’s like, I need to get married and have children. [laughs] And yes I’m only 20, but like I’ve never been in a relationship and I kinda think that’s because of my weight and my face. And then I’m like, how am I planning to like stay and then get married and then have kids all while I’m never even dated anybody and nobody’s ever wanted me and if they do, it’s creepy. Or they’re old. [laughs] I feel like literally only old men are okay with your weight. Well like k it’s fine that you’re bigger but. Younger guys are just creepy about it. I know. It’s one of those things where I think people just say like ‘it’ll happen when it happens’. Ughhh. Which is so annoying. And you want to throttle them. When!! [laughing] When! Yeah. I know I was talking to uh a 15-year-old girl and she was saying how her mom is like on her case about, like she needs to look pretty to find a husband basically. Of course. Yep And I’m like cool, you’re 15. I’m like double your age. And like, it’s not happening. Yeah [laughs]. I mean actually yeah I got the comments from my mom when I was a bit younger. Not as much now when I’m older a little bit older but like fifteen, around there too. Um how about your sister like has she like is the rest of your family like your brother, your sister have they been in relationships or anything like that? No. Oh. Ummmm [laugh] actually yes. [laughs] A secret one? [laugh] Not that my parents are like no you can’t date but both of my siblings are gay [laughs]. OK.

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Yeah um uh. Do your parents know or not know? Ummm [high voice] I think my brother’s out now. To my mom at least and I’ve always known. My sister’s like pansexual and so she’s like she’s been in uh two relationships or three. But like two of them were with girls so obviously you wouldn’t like know, so no one’s allowed to know and one of them was with a family friend so that was also super quiet. So, I mean both of my siblings are a lot more attractive than I am. So there’s that. That factors into it. have you always been into like makeup and stuff? Mhm. I mean since I was like fourteen, fifteen. Yeah. My mom didn’t want me to wear it before but now I can. Enough. To like if I save that money I could’ve bought something better but [laugh]. Yeah. I have a lot of makeup. Mhm. I’m like inept at makeup. So. I feel like there was a certain age where you were supposed to learn and I just bypassed it so that’s not happening. [laughs] I mean it’s not everyone I mean it’s fun for me but not for everyone. Like if I’m going out with my friends, like if my face looks fine, like I’ll do an intense amount of makeup and then um like, because like if my face isn’t ugly then people won’t notice my body. So. That’s what I like I do. I it used to be earrings I used to wear massive earrings cuz like if my ears were really big people won’t look at my body. And like that was yeah. A lot of things were obviously not true but it’s just like a way of thinking about it. so. Um maybe that with makeup now or I used to do makeup I used to do my makeup every day like my face would always be like too much. Like even though like I’d not be going to class or leaving the house and I’d put on makeup. But now I I don’t. usually and like concealer and mascara and my eyebrows. If I feel like it on a weekday. Yeah. So this summer so you’re probably going to Kenya, for like a month. Um and then the rest of the summer are you just kind of like chilling and taking a break? I need a job. [laughs] I’ve been looking for a job since like You should work at a makeup place! I’ve been trying! They don’t want me. Cuz like if you’re not like trained they’re like. Like a course thing. Like I didn’t go to school for it but I think I’m pretty good! [laughs] like yeah, I mean and actually don’t laugh at me I made like I started like a YouTube channel for make up. yeah um and also like weight was a thing as like um oh like people will not take advice from me because I’m overweight. You know what I mean? On YouTube?

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On YouTube yeah. Where I’m also when it comes to looking for a job it’s kinda need to look a certain way. Like so like I know I’d never get a job at Starbucks because I’m not thin. And like somewhere like OG, like the makeup store I wouldn’t get a job there because I’m not thin. So there’s that as well and they’d be like, oh we’re looking we want to diversify or like we care about diversity and then everybody’s like same size. Um actually I guess the colour thing isn’t as noticeable now like there’s more like uh differentiation in colour, but not in size. And yeah. So there’s that. Where have you worked before? McDonald’s for three years. Indigo, Winners, I’ve worked at a bible camp, I’ve worked at a convenience store, my aunt’s convenience store. Have you ever experienced like discrimination anything in those settings? Um yeah in McDonald’s. I mean, it’s McDonald’s. [laughs] Everyone was like a high school student and in my high school, like nobody like people weren’t bullies, for the most part. But there’s people from a whole bunch of different high schools and like they would comment on my weight. Like my friends or “friends” like Justin, Abe, like all of the guys would like be the ones who felt close enough to me would say something about my weight. And then yeah my boss Nadine as well. Yeah. She would say stuff to you about your weight? Like she lost a whole bunch of weight when she was in junior high so she’d be like ‘well you can too’ and that kind of stuff. Yeah. Mhm. That’s also super interesting cuz I have talked to a couple kids who have lost a significant amount of weight um and I kind of get this and it’s maybe me over interpreting but I kind of get this vibe of like, oh well, I did it so you can do it too. Yeah! And I’m like … okay. [Laughs] [laughs[ I mean. Like I’m talking to this guy right now who lost a hundred pounds. Um like he’s like well I did it and like. Like good job! [laughs] If I could, I mean not that I can’t, but like I need to figure out something that works for me. I definitely I tried like keto before. And then I lost weight, and then I gained it all back. Tenfold. And then bulimia doesn’t work. And like I mean, I don’t know. Did your – sorry go ahead. No I was just gonna say like I don’t know. Like what’s gonna work. And that’s why I’ve been like thinking about bariatric surgery but also I’m so scared of like complications. Well with like bariatric surgery too I mean you see like a whole team of people before for quite a length it’s like a year basically so you have lots of time. I shouldn’t be like promoting it but I’m just like you have lots of time.

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My mom also she just recently told me that she considered it a few years ago and that she went through like the whole course talk to psychologist and she did it for a year did all these classes for like a year and then she decided not to do it. and yeah. But yeah you’re young. It’s like a lot of time to figure things out. Yeah … . I mean I wanna k [laugh] here’s my problem like I don’t I want to be in my twenties and be able to experience my twenties. Like not be worried about what I’m eating, um like in front of people, or like not being worried about walking to a store and not being able to wear something. I don’t wanna be like with my kids and now doing that kinda stuff and like cuz I don’t wanna have kids and then also make them obese. And then make them hate their lives for being obese. And like, if it’s, if I learn the skills now so that they don’t have to go through it. then it’d be great. Cuz like I don’t know. I don’t wanna give like those um same um lessons like teaching them that and then they think that’s the only way to do it. Yeah. Yeah no you seem really proactive so I think um yeah. And do you have like resources to like connect like with bariatric or any like professionals and things like that? Yeah um my family doctor said that next time I come back she I could think about it and next time I come back she’ll try to start me because. Cuz there is also a waitlist I think Yeah To even get in so and I know there’s like dietitians in Whitmore as well too. So it’s like. Interim cuz I think sometimes we have people seeing yeah dietitians in their community setting since Cumberland is far from Whitmore. But yeah. Um oh yeah so you said you’ve tried a bunch of different diets. Um tried bulimia, didn’t work. Um and does your mom know about like the bulimia and stuff? Mhm yeah. She did. Um or she does. She tried to get me to see a psychiatrist about it but then I was like I’m fine. Um every now and again like the tendencies come back, but like just try not to ruin my body from it cuz it’s very unhealthy and like not to do it all, like every now like I don’t do it anymore but like sometimes I’ll be like I really want to. Because it just kind of makes you feel better even though it’s very destructive and it’s not helping it really doesn’t do anything. Besides yeah. Um yeah. But my mom knows a lot, she knows a lot. Sounds like you guys are really close. You said she’s like your best friend. Mhm. Um what do you I guess do you think there’s anything that we could do or like what would you suggest as like next best steps to like work on reducing this issue? Or like if there was anything that you think that would be like helpful for reducing weight bias in society?

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Um I think even though they’re trying now to like um like make it more apparent that there are different weights and stuff um when it kind of portraying people like on TV or like in ads and stuff, first of all making them different sizes and actually different sizes not just like, they do like every body is beautiful, but then there’s like they’re all the same size. Or then when they do portray a bigger person they’re always a specific weight, they’re always really loud. Which I mean I am [laughs] but I don’t, like not everyone is that way. And um like not making it seem like if you’re fat, you kind of have only one choice, like you have to be the funny friend if you’re fat. Um that’s something that like uh I wish wasn’t a thing or like you have to be yeah like there’s always a way that fat people are portrayed in media and it’s always the same way. And so like I’m sure schools already do this but like teaching healthy reward systems besides food. Um like I don’t know what I could maybe tell you what a different one would be that wouldn’t give unhealthy habit but like um yeah like not food not being the reward, like pizza day. Like that’s where it’s like oh you guys did well, you get pizza or something like that. Another thing that could happen is [long pause] yeah having lab coats having more diverse sizes. Um. Not making it such an embarrassing thing that people are bigger I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s like kids are like they’re taught what’s fat and what’s skinny or like what the difference is, but like kids seem to always know like if someone’s fat or if someone’s skinny and they always have to feel the need to say something about it. So um I don’t know how to combat that. But like that’s also a thing. And I’m guessing it’s media? Um [laugh] I’m not sure that you can help with this but like like stores carrying sizes for bigger people. And like not making it such a hassle. Um. Yeah. It’s kind of not a great feeling. Where all your friends are like wearing the same things like my friends would like talk about shopping at lululemon and um or Gucci or something like I can’t fit in any of that. Or yeah. I don’t know. That’s something and like reinforcing um furniture. [laugh] Where its like, I feel like I don’t think, oh no I have I broken like two chairs before in my life. Which something like that and it’s just super traumatizing and very embarrassing. And like we used to have a this suede couch and like Emily came over once and sat on it and it broke. And I felt so bad and like I tried not to make it a big deal or anything because like, it’s embarrassing. Like nobody wants to be scared that they’re gonna break and be scared to sit down cuz you’re like, I’m gonna break it, or like I don’t know. You know so there’s that reinforcing furniture and stuff like that would be nice. Yeah I’ve seen some initiatives recently like in hospital furniture they’re like labeling weight limits on their furniture and stuff to kind of reduce some of that. But on general furniture too yeah.

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It’d be nice. Like I do realize I’m not like the biggest person in the world but it still doesn’t feel great to be as big as I am. And I feel like people look at me and they’re like ew. And yeah. What would you say is kind of like your greatest strength or what you’re most proud of about yourself? [pause] I think I’m a good friend. I think I’m a like I’m a good listener and I’m there for my friends when they need me. So I’d say that’s probably my best. That would make you a good psychologist then. Like, I think so. But I’m also just like there’s other reasons why I might not be a psychologist I’m just like I’ll probably take people’s problems home with me which might not be great for me. Being that I have anxiety and I’ll just take it home. With the anxiety like, has that been since you were a little kid or? I think so, but I was diagnosed with anxiety um when like generalized anxiety disorder when I was 16. Yeah and it started after I became depersonalized. I’m not sure if you know what that is a lot of people don’t. No not really. It’s like not, you can’t, it’s hard to explain, it’s like watching yourself do stuff like, I guess it’s different for everyone, but I feel like I’m in myself but I’m not controlling anything I’m doing, and like everything feels like a movie like everything that’s going on. And I heard like depersonalized right now and I have been since February. But it was a lot worse when I first got it. when I was 16 and then it lasted a year started meditation I’ve been okay and then it came back [small laugh]. And so is that linked with anxiety then? Yeah. Mhm. And so treatment is? There’s no treatment for it. like there’s no cure for depersonalization. Some people deal with it for like a day or two, months, weeks, like years, some people live with it their whole lives. Like I know this is so not part of it but like Elon Musk like the Tesla guy he like deals with derealization which is part of it like dissociation disorder. Right right okay I’ve heard of dissociation I just haven’t heard of depersonalization. Okay. Um. So like you take anxiety medication for the anxiety which is kind of somewhat intertwined with it. yeah. Like it stopped after like the first time it stopped after I started taking Prozac. Then it came back. Um and I just got the last time I went to the doctor I just got my thing bumped up. um so there’s that. And I I start to eat a lot more when I’m depersonalized. Or like when anxiety is really bad because coping. Yeah. Mhm. Um is it do you think its related to weight stuff at all?

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I think if I wasn’t fat I’d have a lot less mental health like I know skinny people also have mental health issues it’s not like specific to a specific weight but um I do feel like weight the bigger you are the more health problems you get both mentally and physically. So. I do think like if I never got this big to begin with or like if I was never like associated being okay with like um eating and stuff, like that I’d have a lot better mental health. Like my mental health would be a lot better. Huh. Well thank you for sharing all of this with me I know it’s a lot to just tell to a random stranger. So I really appreciate it. You’re really easy to talk I was just like going on [laughs] Oh thanks, this is great, it’s awesome, like, you know yourself best

[irrelevant conversation, end]

Appendix G Information Letter and Consent Form Template

Information Letter and Consent form Study Title: [Name] Research Investigator:

Supervisor: (applicable for student-led research)

[Name]

[Name]

[University Address]

[Address]

[City, Province, POSTAL CODE]

[City, Province, POSTAL CODE]

[E-mail Address]

[Email Address]

[Phone Number]

[Phone Number]

Background

• • • • •

Invitation to participate in a research project – (i.e., you are being asked to be in this study because “X”) Where appropriate, the researcher should indicate how they got the contact information for the potential participants. For degree/faculty research/etc. (i.e., personal benefit disclosure – “The results of this study will be used in support of my thesis”) & funder (if applicable) Disclosure of the possibility of commercialization of research findings (if applicable) Include the following statement, “Before you make a decision, one of the researchers will go over this form with you. You are encouraged to ask questions if you feel anything needs to be made clearer. You will be given a copy of this form for your records”.

Information Letter and Consent Form Template

293

Purpose

•

Purpose of research (in plain language) including general benefits to scholarship and society

Study Procedures

• •

Description of research procedures and explanation of participant responsibilities, including approximate time commitment for the participant per research activity and overall length of the study Detail all type(s) of data to be collected, e.g., • • • • • •

•

interviews/# of, length of time, format, selection of interviewees observations/# of, length, conditions of observation(s) surveys/time commitment, arrangements for return personal records, documents, or artifacts/how collected, possible linkage with other data about subjects/how returned focus groups/# in group, time commitment, selection procedures sounds or images/how collected: equipment used, arrangements necessary

Indicate procedures (if appicable) for • • • •

returning transcripts/images etc. for verification or permission returning synopses verifying data collection and checking observations about data (“member checks”) storage of study information in a secure data repository to facilitate future research.

Benefits

• •

Statement of reasonably foreseeable benefits to the participant that may arise from their participation–if there are none– state this (i.e., You will not benefit from being in this study). Statement of reasonable benefits to society for completing this study. (i.e., We hope that the information we get from doing this study will help us better understand “X”).

Risk

• •

•

Statement of reasonably foreseeable risks to the participant that may arise from their participation in the study. If not all risks are known, it is reasonable to state this (i.e., There may be risks to being in this study that are not known. If we learn anything during the research that may affect your willingness to continue being in the study, we will tell you right away). Describe the procedures in place to mitigate any identified risks.

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Cost of Participation (if applicable)

•

A clear statement regarding any direct personal costs to participation.

Reimbursement or Remuneration (if applicable)

• • •

Describe any reimbursement received (parking/transportation costs, food, gift cards or payment for participation, daycare, or extra course credit). Add a statement regarding what will happen to the compensation if the participant withdraws early from the study. Studies employing the use of a lottery or prize draw must include the odds of winning the prize.

Voluntary Participation

•

•

Assurance of no obligation to participate (i.e., You are under no obligation to participate in this study. The participation is completely voluntary.) or not obliged to answer any specific questions even if participating in the study. Assurance that the participant can opt-out without penalty and can ask to have any collected data withdrawn from the data base and not included in the study (i.e., Even if you agree to be in the study you can change your mind and withdraw at any time). In the event of opting out, how will the withdrawal of data be handled? Specify what can be done and until what point of the research such withdrawal of their data can occur (i.e., if you withdraw, we will continue to use the data we have collected).

Confidentiality and Anonymity

•

• • •

Specify all intended uses of the research, e.g., thesis/dissertation, research articles, presentations, teaching, and web posting. Be clear as to whether participants may be personally identified in any of these. For arts-based research, you will need to ensure participants know that you plan to use their words, images, etc. for an arts-based product (e.g., play, poem) Indicate that data will be kept confidential, but indicate who will have access to the data Indicate to what extent anonymity can be guaranteed (e.g., anonymity cannot be guaranteed in a group context) and whether participants will be identified or not in the dissemination of the research. Focus Groups: “While we will make every effort to protect the confidentiality of what is discussed during the focus groups, we cannot guarantee that others from the group will do the same. Please respect the confidentiality of others outside of the focus group.”

Information Letter and Consent Form Template

•

• •

•

•

295

Outline the safeguards in place for the security of data (i.e., data are to be kept in a secure place for a minimum of 5 years following completion of the research project, indicate if electronic data will be password protected or encrypted) and when appropriate, destroyed in a way that ensures privacy and confidentiality. Indicate if the participant will receive a copy of a report of the research findings and how participants can indicate an interest in receiving such materials (If applicable) If a participant is likely to reveal reportable activities they should be informed that absolute confidentiality may not be possible (i.e., “The only exception to this promise of confidentiality is that we are legally obligated to report evidence of child abuse or neglect”). (If applicable) If there is a possibility that you may use the data from this study, in future unspecified research projects – this should be communicated in this section (i.e., We may use the data from this study in future research, but if we do this it will have to be approved by a Research Ethics Board). For studies wishing to deposit data into a repository: “After the study is done, and with your consent, study data will be stored in a secure data repository (name repository here, if available), to facilitate re-use of the data by approved researchers. Any personal information (e.g., name, address, telephone number) that could identify you will be removed or changed prior to sharing the data with other researchers. Any researcher who wants to use these data must have the new project approved by an ethics board and sign an agreement ensuring your confidentiality and restricting data use only to the approved project. Your data may be linked with other data for research purposes only to increase the usefulness of the data, as subject to scientific and ethical oversight as mentioned above

Contact Information

• •

List researcher contact information and third-party contact information. (e.g., If you have any further questions regarding this study, please do not hesitate to contact [List researchers here]). The following statement should also be included: “The plan for this study has been reviewed by a [name of the research ethics board]. If you have questions about your rights or how research should be conducted, you can call [Phone number of the Research Ethics Office]. This office is independent of the researchers”.

Consent Statement

I have read this form and the research study has been explained to me. I have been given the opportunity to ask questions and my questions have

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been answered. If I have additional questions, I have been told whom to contact. I agree to participate in the research study described above and will receive a copy of this consent form. I will receive a copy of this consent form after I sign it. _________________________________________

___________________

Participant’s Name (printed) and Signature

Date

_________________________________________

___________________

Name (printed) and Signature of Person Obtaining Consent

Date

If a method of consent other than signed consent will be used, the signature section should be modified accordingly.

Note: • • •

Information letter should be on applicable letterhead. Reading level should be around grade 8 or 9. With permission, the University of Alberta Research Ethics Office has approved the sharing of this template. Please also see https://www. ualberta.ca/research/support/ethics-office/forms-cabinet/forms-human

Appendix H Information Letter and Consent Form

Exploring Strategies for Livable Incomes Interview Information Letter Research Investigator:

Dr. Maria Mayan (Principal Investigator) Contact Information: xxxx Background and Purpose:

EndPovertyEdmonton (EPE) is collaborating with the CommunityUniversity Partnership for the Study of Children, Youth, and Families (CUP), University of Alberta to conduct a research study to explore approaches to promoting incomes above the poverty line or “livable incomes” for all Edmontonians. The objective of this project is to generate knowledge to aid in the development of a livable income strategy for Edmonton. Procedures:

As part of this study, we are conducting interviews with people who are involved in the various sectors or “nodes” involved in achieving livable incomes, including: • • • • • •

Non-profit organizations Regional economic development organizations Industry/employers Education/training Workers Government

You are being asked to participate in an interview because of your involvement in one of these sectors. We would like to have a conversation

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about your work, its relationship to poverty elimination, and the potential to work with other sectors involved in Edmonton’s economy to build economic strategies that could help promote economic prosperity for all Edmontonians. This interview will be a one-on-one discussion with a researcher and will last no more than one hour. The interview will be held at a time and location that is convenient for you, and the conversation will be audio-recorded. The researchers will transcribe the recording to create a written version of what was said. Your name and any personal information will be removed to protect your identity. The data collected in this study may be used for: • • •

Teaching purposes that use anonymized data, Presentations and publications that will be available to the public, and Secondary data analyses that use anonymized data.

The research team is happy to share reports and findings resulting from this research with you. Benefits:

Although there may be no direct benefits to study participants, what we learn from this study will help to support the development of economic strategies and policies in Edmonton. The results of the study will also be shared in presentations and publications, so others can benefit from and act on what we learn. Risks:

The risks of taking part in this study are minimal, but talking about experiences that were challenging could contribute to some emotional distress. To ensure you are as comfortable as possible: • • •

You can choose not to answer any questions that you do not want to answer. You can stop participating at any time during the interview. You can ask the researcher for support services to reach out to if you would like to speak to someone after completing the interview.

Voluntary Participation:

Taking part in this interview is entirely your choice. Whether your choose to participate or not, your decision will in no way affect your or your organization’s relationship with EndPovertyEdmonton or the Community-University Partnership for the Study of Children, Youth, and Families. You are free to stop participating at any time during the interview

Information Letter and Consent Form 299

by letting the researcher know. You can ask the researcher to remove your information (audio recording and written transcript) up to two weeks after the interview. Confidentiality:

The research team will maintain strict measures to protect your confidentiality. The only people who will be able to see your information are the researchers. All information that you share with us in the interview will be anonymized. This means that your name will be replaced with a unique identification number so that even when the researchers are reading your information, they will not know who you are. Any personal information that could identify you will be removed from the written interview transcript. Your information will be saved in password-protected files on a locked computer in the research lab that only the research team can access. No information that could identify you will be made public. Additional Information:

If you have any questions regarding this study, please contact the research assistant, xxxxx or the research investigator, Dr. Maria Mayan at xxx. The plan for this study has been reviewed for its adherence to ethical guidelines by a Research Ethics Board at the University of Alberta (Study ID: xxxx). For questions regarding participant rights and the ethical conduct of research, contact the Research Ethics Office at xxxx.

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Interview Consent Form Study Title: Exploring Strategies for Livable Incomes Research Investigator: Dr. Maria Mayan (Principal Investigator), University of Alberta Email: xxxx Phone: xxxx I understand that I have been asked to take part in a research study. I understand what the study is about and what I will be asked to do in the study. I have read and understand the attached Information Sheet. I understand the benefits and risks involved in taking part in this research study. The issue of confidentiality has been explained to me. I understand that I am free to stop participating in this study at any time. I have had an opportunity to ask questions and talk about this study with the researchers. I understand that the interview will be audio-recorded and transcribed. I agree to take part in this interview.

Yes ⃞ ⃞

No ⃞ ⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞

⃞ ⃞ ⃞

Name (printed):

__________________________________________

Email:

__________________________________________

Phone number:

__________________________________________

Organization:

__________________________________________

Date:

__________________________________________

Signature of participant:

__________________________________________

Witness:

__________________________________________

Appendix I Confidentiality Agreement

Date Confidentiality Agreement Study: ____________________________________________________ Principal Investigator(s): ____________________________________ I, _____________________, (CIRCLE: translator/transcriber/research assistant/other) have been hired to assist with this study. ___________________________________________________________ I agree to: 1 2 3

keep all the research information shared with me confidential and will not discuss or share the research information in any form or format (e.g., disks, tapes, transcripts) with anyone other than the Researcher(s). keep all research information in any form or format (e.g., disks, tapes, transcripts) secure while it is in my possession. return all research information in any form or format (e.g., disks, tapes, transcripts) to the Researcher(s) when I have completed the research tasks.

(Print Name)

(Signature)

(Date)

(Signature)

(Date)

Principal Investigator:

(Print Name)

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The plan for this study has been reviewed for its adherence to ethical guidelines and approved by Research Ethics Board at the University of xxxx. For questions regarding participant rights and the ethical conduct of research, contact the Research Ethics Office at xxxx.

Appendix J Ethics in participant observation studies

Researchers conducting participant observation need to pay close attention to privacy, and the privacy assumed by those being observed. Sometimes, “researchers will need to identify themselves and seek consent from individuals in that setting; in others, researchers will be allowed to engage in covert observation and not seek consent” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 138). In making decisions about ethical conduct in participant observation, researchers and IRBS/REBs need to take into consideration different interrelated factors: research design and objectives, location, type of activities observed and the role of the researcher in the setting, data recording tools, and dissemination methods. Informed consent is not required if observing people in public places (including web-based research) where particular criteria are met. These criteria include: • • • •

•

No personally identifiable information is collected No direct interaction with individuals by the researcher No intervention staged by the researcher No presumption of privacy by the person being observed (in other words, it can be assumed that people observed are aware of the public nature of the location, such as shopping malls, sports events, and political rallies) No identifiable information is disseminated

In other words, researchers “should pay close attention to the ethical implications of such factors as the nature of the activities to be observed, the environment in which the activities are to be observed, whether the activities are staged for the purpose of the research, the expectations of privacy that prospective participants might have, the means of recording the observations, whether the research records or published reports involve identification of the participants, and any means by which those participants may give permission to be identified” (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018, p. 139). Informed consent is required, however, when participant observation is conducted in a contained setting and the number of people observed is

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limited, for example: classrooms, hospital emergency wards, and private internet chat rooms, communities, or organizations. Of course, there are always exceptions to the above. It is possible that research may be conducted without disclosing the purpose of the study (and participants’ involvement) or only partially disclosing (CIHR, NSERC, & SSHRC, 2018), if the researcher explains why an exception to the principles of consent is justified (i.e., how fully informed consent would compromise the objectives of the research) and demonstrates that the potential risk for the individuals observed is minimal and that their privacy will be protected. Some Research Councils/Statements (e.g., Tri-Policy Council Statement and the UK Economic and Social Research Council) require that the lack of fully informed consent may be substituted by debriefing with participants following their involvement in the research and, once they are aware of the purpose of the research, offering them the choice to withdraw their data from the study.

Appendix K Qualitative Research Criteria

Author(s)

Year

Criteria

Guba & Lincoln

1981

Credibility, fittingness, auditability

Polkinghorne

1983

Vividness, accuracy, richness, elegance

Lincoln & Guba

1985

Credibility, transferability, dependability, confirmability

Kirk & Miller

1986

Quixotic reliability, diachronic reliability, synchronic reliability

Eisenhart & Howe

1992

Completeness, appropriateness, comprehensiveness, credibility, significance

Maxwell

1992

Descriptive validity, interpretive validity, theoretical validity, evaluative validity, generalizability

Leininger

1994

Credibility, confirmability, meaning in context, recurrent patterning, saturation, transferability

Lincoln

1995

Positionality, community as arbiter, voice, critical subjectivity, reciprocity, sacredness, sharing perquisites of privilege

Popay, Rogers, & Williams

1998

Interpretation of subjective meaning, description of social context, evidence of theoretical or purposeful sampling, evidence of adequate description, evidence of data quality, evidence of theoretical and conceptual adequacy, potential for assessing typicality, relevance to policy

Madill, Jordan, & Shirley

2000

Internal coherence, deviant case analysis, reader evaluation

Ballinger

2006

Coherence, evidence of systematic and careful research conduct, convincing and relevant interpretation, sensitivity to role played by researcher (Continued)

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Author(s)

Year

Criteria

Finlay

2006

Clarity, credibility, contribution, communicative resonance, caring

Onwuegbuzie & Leech

2007

Qualitative Legitimation Model: examines threats to internal credibility and external credibility. Internal credibility: the truth value, applicability, consistency, neutrality, dependability, and/or credibility of interpretations and conclusions within the underlying setting or group. External credibility: pertains to the confirmability and transferability of findings and conclusions.

Tracy

2010

Worthy topic, rich rigor, sincerity, credibility, resonance, significant contribution, ethics, meaningful coherence

Creswell

2013

Validation, intercoder agreement (reliability)

Cope

2014

Primary criteria: credibility, dependability, confirmability, transferability, authenticity Secondary criteria: explicitness, vividness, creativity, thoroughness, congruence

Morse

2015

Reliability, validity, generalizability

Amankwaa

2016

Credibility, transferability, confirmability, dependability

Bochner

2018

Rigor, pragmatic, dialogic, partial, situational, relational

Dennis

2018

Validity through doing, praxis-oriented, performative, interactive, inferential, interpretive, self-reflexive

Li & Ross

2021

Transformative validity, dialogic, unfolding, emergent, intersubjective, relational

Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables abduction see abductive abductive 185–187, 194 Adams, T. 57–58 Adorno, Theodor 30 Agar, Michael 2, 4, 15, 18–19, 52–53, 225 Amankwaa, L. 306 analysis 3, 26, 45, 48, 74, 75–79, 184–185; annotating 194; categorizing 61, 104, 190–191, 196, 202; coding 61, 104, 187–189, 190, 196, 200, 229; concurrent data collection and 197; constant comparison 48, 61, 77, 192; content 54, 71, 75, 79, 189–191, 200; context 197–199; diagramming 195, 263–264; drawing 195; memoing 61, 77, 193–194, 200, 261–262, 263–264; peer debriefing 195, 226–227, 265–267, 241, 243; recording 195; software 201; themes see theming; theorizing 186, 194; thinking with theory 26, 40, 75–76, 192–193, 202; writing 196 armchair walkthrough 48. see also methodological coherence arts-based research 88–90; collage 103–105; considering 113; dance 96–97; digital storytelling 97–98; digital archival research 98–99; drama/theatre 93–94; drawing, fotonovela 109–111; painting, printmaking 100–103; fiction 92–93; playbuilding 94–95; poetry 90–91; sound/music 99–100; quilting 111–112 assumptions 140–141, 152 autoethnography 51, 56–58, 76; collaborative 58–59, 76; rigor 230, 244

axiology 18, 20, 21–22 Ballinger, C. 305 Bateson, G. 52 Barroso, J. see Sandelowski, M. Bell, D. 33 Berlant, L. 33 Bersani, L. 33 bias 6 Blumer, H. 29 Bochner, A.P. 57, 89, 230, 244, 306 Boffa, J. 1–2, 11–12 Bourdieu, P. 26, 30, 37, 40, 236 Butler, J. 31–33, 38 case study 132, 147, 244 Charmaz, K. 5, 61, 148–149, 244 Claire, E. 33 Clarke, A. 62 collective biography 59–60, 76 Collins, P. H. 32, 34 concept 15, 25, 28; analysis 51, 69–70, 79 construct 15, 25, 28 Cope, D. 306 Crenshaw, K. 32–34 Creswell, J.W. 20, 123–127, 132, 142, 150, 195, 306 critical 16, 20; realism 21; theory 23, 30, 32, 37, 54, 75–76; race theory 33; disability theory 33–34; discourse analysis 36 data collection 70, 74, 75–79, 153–155; notes 174–178; online 170–172; sources 3, 22–23, 52, 54; transcription 172–174

308

Index

de Beauvoir, S. 32, 62 deduction see deductive deductive 27, 185–186, 234; content analysis 190; using theory 201 Dennis, B. 306 Deleuze, G. 31 Delgado, R. 33 Derrida, J. 18, 26, 31, 37, 62 Dewey, J. 23, 67 Dilthey, W. 22 discourse 10, 38, 62, 68, 252; analysis 33, 36, 46–47, 68–69, 78. see also critical discourse analysis document review 170; analysis 170, 258–260 Edelman, L. 33 Eisenhart, M.A. 305 Eldershaw, L. 17 Ellis, C. 56, 212, 253 empirical 7, 10, 16, 145, 154, 178, 230–231, 254 empirically see empirical Engles, F. 30 epistemology 6, 49–50, 21, 22–25, 28, 45, 49–50, 80, 89, 157–158, 159, 237; angst 15–18, 225–226; definition 19–20 Erevelles, N. 33 essence 35, 47, 50, 63, 77, 188, 191 ethics: boards 21, 22, 23, 169, 207–209, 214–215, 295; consent document examples 297–302; definition 206–207; procedural 209–212; relational 212–213, researcher safety 215–220; situational 213–214. see also axiology ethnography 51–53, 75, 94, 100, 106, 147, 165, 190, 213, 230, 244, 255; critical 54–55, 75; duo 59, 76; feminist 55, 75; focused 53–54, 75; institutional 55–56, 73, 76 Evans-Pritchard, E. E. 52 feminism see feminist feminist 23, 26, 30, 34, 71, 91; ethics 213; ethnography 54–55, 75; poststructuralist 20; standpoint theory 32, 40; theory 32, 34, 38, 50–51, 54, 75–78, 96, 159 fieldnotes 52, 67, 91, 132, 150, 188–189, 256; arts-based 93, 99; data collection 153–154, 174–177, 177–178; participant observation 166, 179–180 Finlay, C. 228–229, 235–237, 306

focus groups 45, 54, 73, 75, 95, 127, 134, 144–145; analysis 192, 200, 203–204; data collection 161–162; ethics 163–165, 211, 218–219, 293–294; how to conduct 163; transcript 268–269 Foucault, M. 18, 26, 31, 33, 36, 38, 46, 50, 62, 68–69, 77–78 Freeman, A. 33 Freire, P. 23 funding 7, 140, 208, 211, 220; grant reviewers 9 Garland-Thomson, R. 33 generalization 6, 28, 36, 53, 145–147, 250 Glaser, B. G 27, 60–61, 192, 201 Greer, G. 32 grounded theory 27, 46–47, 51, 60–61, 77; analysis 192–194; constructivist 61, 77; research question 49, 141, 143–144; rigor 244; sample 49–50, 147–148; situational analysis 62, 77 Guba, E.G. 5, 18–21, 23, 190, 223–224, 305. see also rigor Habermas, J. 30 habitus 37 Halberstam, J. 33 Halperin, D. 33 Haug, F. 59 Heidegger, M. 26, 29, 31, 35, 62 Hershey, L. 33 Hicks, M. 8, 17, 225 homogeneity: external 190; internal 190 hooks, b. 32 Horkheimer, M. 30 Horton, M. 23 Howe, K.R. see Eisenhart, M.A. Husserl, E. 22, 26, 29, 35, 50, 62, 77 indexing 76 Indigenous 16, 23, 31, 51, 67, 102, 105, 120, 198; research paradigm 24–25; research ethics 213–214 induction see inductive inductive 2, 4, 60; data analysis 185–186, 190, 229 insider-outsider 167–168, 179 interpretative phenomenological analysis 64–65, 77 interpretivist 20, 21, 22–23. see also paradigm interpretive description 27, 70–72, 79, 195, 202, 244

Index 309 intersectionality 16, 34 interview(s) 22, 45, 48–49, 52, 54, 63, 71, 74, 75–79, 154; critiques 156–157; dyadic 165; group see focus groups: one-on-one 155–156, 158–161; types of 158–161 interviewing see interviews Jordan, A. see Madill, A. Kirk, J. 305 knowledge mobilization 128 Kozel, N. 2 Kvale, S. 159, 173, 227 Leech, N. L. see Onwuegbuzie, A. J. Leininger, M. 305 Li, P. 306 Lincoln, Y. S. 5, 18–23, 254, 305. see also rigor literary criticism 37 literature review 27, 70, 119, 201, 252; meta-analysis 121–122; narrative 119–120; qualitative meta-synthesis 122–123; scoping 120–121; systematic 121 lived experience 29, 32, 50, 63, 65, 77, 89, 104–105, 110, 143, research question 144; stories 266; writing 196, 240 Lorde, A. 32 Lyotard, J-F. 31, 36 Madill, A. 305 Malinowski, B. 52 mapping 62, 76, 77; sound 100. see also participatory approaches marginalized 23, 32, 37, 199, arts-based research 111, 113; interviews 159–160 Marx, K. 30, 54 Marxist theory 30, 37, 40, 76 material culture 75–76, 169, 175 materialist realist 21 Maxwell, J.A. 305 McRuer, R. 33 memo see memoing memoing 61, 77, 193–194, 200, 261–262, 263–264 Merleau-Ponty, M. 50, 77, 235 Mead, G.H. 29 Mead, M. 51, 106 meta: narratives 36; theory 18, 26, 29–30, 35–38, 40, 48, 50, 227. see also theoretical orientation

method: definition 45–46 methodological coherence 3, 45, 47–50, 72, 74, 75–80; rigor 231, 233, 237–238 methodology: applying 80; choosing a 46–47, 49–50, 142; data analysis 185, 187, 189, 201; data collection 160, 170; definition 45; ethics 213; rigor 230–231, 237–241, 244; sampling and saturation 147, 150 Miller, M. 305 mixed methods 24, 123–124, 132; designs 125–127; participatory 134–135; rigor 230 modernist 31, 157 moral distress 64, 228–229 Morse, J. 7, 50, 52, 54, 74; concept analysis 69–70; data analysis 186–187, 190–192, 199; data collection 153–154, 157, 162, 166; ethics 213–215, 217; grounded theory 61; methodological coherence 48, 80; mixed methods 123–126; rigor 227–229, 231–233, 238–240, 243, 306; sampling 6, 148, 150 multiple truths 4–5, 10, 19, 22–23 Muños, J.E. 33 narrative 76; analysis 65–67, 78; inquiry 51, 65–68, 78, 92, 101, 104–105, 213; Reismann’s typology 66; rigor 230, 240, 244 neutrality see objective objective 6, 16, 20–22, 32, 61; arts-based research 88–89; ethics 212, 220; rigor 226–227, 231, 233. see also research questions objectivist see objective objectivity see objective ontology 16–18; definition 19; related to paradigms 21–25, 28 Onwuegbuzie, A. J. 123–124, 171, 306 paradigm 16, 18, 20–21, 25, 28; data analysis 188; data collection 159; definition 18–19; constructivist/ interpretivist 21, 22–23; methodological coherence 27, 80, 237; positivist 7, 16, 17, 21, 21–22, 31, 61; pragmatic 21, 23–24; rigor 224–225; transformative 21, 23. see also Indigenous Research Paradigm

310

Index

participant observation 22, 51–52, 54, 73, 75, 165–166; covert 168–169; ethics 211, 303–304. see also fieldnotes; insider-outsider participatory approaches 23, 119, 128; arts-based 88–89, 94, 98, 107–109; community-based participatory research 24, 129–130, 134–135; community mapping 130–131; ethics 213–214; participatory action research 129–130; rigor 242; sampling 147; writing 255 Peers, Danielle 33, 69, 96 performative analysis 66, 78 phenomenology 22, 29, 35, 48, 50–51, 62–64, 77–78; analysis 185, 201; drawing from 96; hermeneutical 46, 62, 64, 77; rigor 244; sampling 147, 150; writing 196 philosophy 17, 22; philosophers see theorists photo: interviewing 106; elicitation 51, 106–107; voice 45, 51, 109 political 7 Polkinghorne 66, 305 Popay, J. 305 positionality 16, 235, 305 power 37, 54–55, 68, 75, 78, 89; artsbased research 89; data analysis 199; data collection 168, 179; ethics 210, 216, 220; rigor 225, 232, 236; writing 251–252, 254, 256–257 postcolonialism 16, 26, 30–31, 37, 76, 177 postmodernism 16, 26, 30, 35–38, 48, 53, 62, 76–78, 157, 254 post-positivism 20–22, 24; rigor 225, 227 poststructuralism 16, 26, 30–31, 36–38, 50, 59, 76–78 pragmatic see pragmatism pragmatism 20, 21, 23–24, 67, 244, 306 qualitative description 71–72, 79, 144, 202, 227 quantitative: in relation to qualitative 8–10 queer theory 16, 23, 26, 33, 36, 38, 78 realism 21. see also critical realism realities 19; multiple 21, 22 reflexive writing 23, 253, 255 reflexivity 91, 156. see also rigor

relational 5, 11, 25, 60, 66; ethics 21–22, 66, 92, 212–215, 221; writing 253, 256 representation 250, 256–257; how to write 254–256; self 253–254; what to write 252–253 research question 22, 24, 46, 48, 75–79, 139; assumptions 140–141; choosing 139–142; methodological coherence 49–50, 80; in mixed methods 123–126, 128; research purpose 144, 145; setting up 143 results 49–50, 75–79, 229, 250, 292, 298 rigor 223; big tent criteria 231; confirmability 226–227, 233, 241, 243, 244, 305–306; credibility 226–227, 231, 240, 244, 305–306; criteria 224, 226, 231–232, 245; critique 223–225; dependability 226–227, 244, 305–306; generalizability 146, 225–228, 230, 245, 305–306; methodological 230, 237–241, 244; other strategies 241–243; reliability 172, 188, 224–230, 233, 244–245, 305–306; researcherdirected 233–237; transferability 226–227, 240, 305–306; validity 123–124, 188, 224–228, 233, 244–245, 305–306; what is rigor 223 risk 215, 293, 298; emotional 217–219; physical 215–216; professional 219–220; situational 216 Rogers, A. see Popay, J. Ross, K. see Li, P. Said, E. 31, 250 sampling 48, 139, 145; biased 6; complete 148; focus groups 163; method-driven 71, 74; purposeful 145–148; recruitment 149; rigor 233–234, 237–238, 305; saturation 149–151; size 73, 75–79; strategies 147; theoretical 61, 77, 147–148 Sandelowski, M. 7, 71–72, 122–123, 224, 228, 232, 255 Schutz, A. 5, 235 Sedgwick, E.K. 33 sense-making 65, 162, 165 Shirley, C. see Madill, A. Smith, D. 32, 55, 73 Smith, J. 64 Smith, M. 33 social: construct 33; constructionism 5–6; constructivism 5–6, 16, 20, 21, 22–23; justice 23, 34; world(s) 4

Index 311 Sparkes, A. 57 Spivak, G.C. 17, 26, 31, 37–38, 236 storytelling 25; digital 51. see also narrative Strauss, A. 27, 60–62, 192–194, 201, 261–262 structural analysis 66, 78 subjective 4–6, 20, 21, 22–23, 31, 36, 49–50; data collection 157; inter- 4; rigor 226, 233–234, 242, 305–306 subjectivity see subjective subjectivist see subjective symbolic interactionism 29, 49, 60, 77 Tashakkori, A. see Teddlie, C. Teddlie, C. 24, 123–124 thematic analysis 66, 78, 191 theoretical: model 77; orientation 3, 15, 18, 25–28, 30–31, 39–40, 46, 48, 54, 71, 73; perspective/position 26, 29 theory 24–28, 29–31; substantive 15, 25, 27, 60; theorists 18, 26, 35–38 thick description 53, 63, 75, 226, 233, 237, 240

Thomas, D. S. see Thomas, W. I Thomas, W. I. 5 Thorne, S. 27, 70, 123 Tracy, S. J. 212, 214, 231–232, 240, 306 transcription: arts-based 91–92; data collection 163–164, 172–174; ethics 210 transformative 20, 21, 23, 306 triangulation 52, 226–227, 233, 237, 241 values 20, 22, 27. see also axiology van Manen, Max 29, 35, 63–65, 196, 244 visual analysis 66, 78 Wang, C. C. 107 Walcott, R. 33 Wilkinson, S. 162, 235 Williams, G. see Popay, J. Wittgenstein, L. 235 Woolgar, S. 235 worldview 24, 25. see also paradigm Wuest, J. 51