Avispas que se enamoran de orquídeas

The productive capacity of discourses (see Carpentier and De Cleen, 2007:

267; Gubrium and Holstein, 2003; Hall, 1997b: 45; Laclau and Mouffe, 1990) has two main implications: (1) an assumption that an ‘object’ of our study acquires meaning through discourse (more ontological point); and (2) the recognition that ‘scientific knowledge’ about this object is also discursively constructed (more epistemological point) (Foucault, 1972; for a similar discussion on social constructivism see Charmaz, 2008). It seems to me, though, that while the first tenet is commonly acknowledged, the positioned nature of social research largely remains implicit. Consequently, the post-structuralist knowledge production seems to rely on claims to objectivity and truth laid by positivists. To take my post-structuralist position seriously, in what follows I will attempt to demystify some of the ‘behind the scenes’ of a research process that goes into the production of seemingly authoritative knowledge claims (see Petersen, 2004: 3; St. Pierre, 2002).

In accordance with the epistemological premise of post-structuralism, I view the account presented in this dissertation as a (rendition of) discourse as well. For that reason, I want to explicitly acknowledge that the narrative I chose to present is but one of a myriad of alternative narratives of the same phenomenon, all of them equally (im)plausible and (non-)objective (see

Petersen, 2016: 6). Although I believe my account to be informed by adequate academic theories, recognised scientific research methods and meticulously documented empirical material, had I chosen different literature or techniques, or developed a different relationship with my participants, the findings could have potentially been very different (see Denzin, 2014). Thus, this methodological chapter serves, among other things, to reveal my personal investments and (some of) the detour routes that I took during my research to arrive at the present narrative.

As a discourse, this dissertation not only situates my research problem in the historical and cultural context, but also implicates myself as an agent in the process of ‘making sense’ through generating and analysing empirical material (Charmaz, 1995, 2008; Lindlof and Taylor, 2011). As Davies (2004:

5) argues, ‘[w]ays of making sense’ – and, thus, of producing knowledge – ‘are not innocent’. This epistemological position entails knowledge being situated, inevitably partial, positioned, locatable and embodied (Denzin, 2014;

Haraway, 1988; Lindlof and Taylor, 2011: 9). For me, this recognition implies a certain ethical position: an ethics of subjectivity (or objectivity achieved through reflexive subjectivity, see Marcus, 1995: 112; Wallerstein, 2011: 9), to which I now turn.

Conventionally, subjectivity is discussed (or left unsaid) in a binary opposition to ‘objectivity’, the latter being a preferred option. In fact, objectivity is often quoted as the core ethical principle of scientific knowledge production (see Boellstorff et al., 2012: 41; Haraway, 1988). In the most common and unproblematised understanding, objectivity denotes a lack of bias. As such, it demands that researchers remain detached from, and neutral towards, the topic and participants of their study. Objectivity requires researchers to strip away their personal beliefs, preconceptions and ideals. It enforces a certain mindset and vocabulary that sometimes occlude the agency of a situated researcher. While such a convention is supposed to constitute the bedrock of ethical research practice, to me – and many others before me (e.g., Charmaz, 2008; Grosfoguel, 2007; Haraway, 1988) – it begs the question of who bears the responsibility for research if the researcher as a human agent is effectively removed.

For some, the upholding of objectivity is what differentiates rigorous academic research from opinion, indoctrination or propaganda. Some are committed to protecting objectivity as a research standard even as it is being hollowed out of meaning before their eyes. From where I stand, such devotion might be ethically counterproductive in at least two ways. Firstly, it might fetishise objectivity, converting it into a ‘floating’ signifier emptied of its original significance, yet overflowing with meaning (see Carpentier and Spinoy, 2008: 8). Thus, if not problematised, objectivity is likely to create confusion as its meaning might vary from writer to writer, and from reader to reader of an academic text (see Carpentier and De Cleen, 2007: 268).

Secondly, objectivity might serve to mask a set of subject positions and deep-seated but not always conscious preconceptions that shape research, but

conventionally remain unacknowledged. Inevitably, every researcher infuses their knowledge production with both agency and a situated view (Boellstorff et al., 2012: 66; see also Charmaz, 2008; Tedlock, 2000). Echoing Donna Haraway (1988: 583), ‘only partial perspective promises objective vision’, and only on the condition that one embraces their ‘limited location’. Thus, it seems that for me, the only viable approach that permits some version of objectivity and is fully congruent with the post-structuralist paradigm is an ethics of subjectivity, whereby I endeavour to be tolerably transparent about my choices, subject positions and the emotional and personal investments that impinged on the research process (which were plenty) (see Charmaz, 2008:

402).

At the outset of my research, I was suspicious of the idea of an individualistic and consumerist solution to the problem of global inequality proposed by fair trade/ethical trade. This suspicion was primarily theoretical and sprang from the heavily critical literature. Only much later did I realise that this criticism was peculiar to the countries that had been the focal points of fair/ethical trade research, that is, the UK and the US. Of course, there are differences between the ethical trade narratives and discourses produced in the two countries, the American ones being considerably more skewed towards businesses and individual consumption (Bennett et al., 2011). Yet, both these countries are characterised by a permeating logic of commerce and commercialisation (see Trentmann, 2006), which has generated idiosyncratic tensions between a deeply moral imperative of fair/ethical trade and market interests (see Varul, 2009). Such conflicts appeared to be hardly pertinent to either the nascent fair trade market in Poland or the stubbornly persistent Finnish welfare state with its well-developed civil society.

Having freed myself from theory-induced suspicion and prejudice, I attempted to approach both the topic and the empirical cases open-mindedly, cool-headedly and ‘objectively’. However, I soon started to filter my

‘objectivity’ through a growing fondness for both the cause and the research participants. The ethical trade movement turned out to be inhabited by people, predominantly females, with whom I shared social sensitivity and sensibility, political inclination and a moral compass. Even though the only time we ever spent together was ‘professional’, the identification was inevitable. From my perspective, maintaining the position of a ‘professional stranger’ turned into an unattainable fiction (see Tedlock, 2000). The participants became my teachers, associates and, to an extent, friends. Thus, even the critical remarks expressed in this dissertation are underpinned by a deep appreciation of, and sympathy towards, their efforts, an understanding of the difficult choices they sometimes need to make and a willingness to contribute to their cause.

Eetti Helsinki, in particular, offered me a sense of belonging and social purpose that is at times difficult to achieve for a foreigner, particularly one situated in a context as enclosed and abstracted from the general society as academia. In enacting the practices of commitment, affection, dialogue, collaboration and accountability, I organically chose ‘friendship’ as my

fieldwork ethics (Lindlof and Taylor, 2011: 141). It would be utterly unethical to claim that such a mode of engagement had no influence over the generation and, later, analysis of empirical material. In conducting a research with the adjective ‘ethical’ in the title, I can only fully acknowledge my emotional investment and reflect on it critically.