Tecnologías asociadas a la coordinación de servicios web

In this section, I explain how the conduct of my research is related to my biography.

In early life I experienced a tight-knit industrial working-class culture rich in social capital, but one that was sadly lacking in economic and cultural capital. However, on leaving a secondary modern school at the age of fifteen, and entering employment, I worked hard to compensate for my lack of economic and cultural capital. I made a start on this project by ‘escaping’ the industrial Black Country by taking up horticultural employment in the nearby city of Birmingham with all of its cultural ‘sophistication’. I read the Manchester Guardian on my bus journey to work each day.

However, not all of my disadvantages (of early life) can be attributed to a lack of cultural and economic capital. I have been ‘diagnosed’ as dyslexic as has my son, and as I have for many years, suspected my brother to have been. Both my brother and I were the victims of an education system that failed to recognise dyslexia as a disability, and sent us into the employment market with minimal academic skills. However, with a working-class mother who had aspirations for her children, lack of ability in one area of life could be compensated for in other ways. For her, this involved using the natural skills one had, and applying these through hard work and this came to be the challenge of our lives.

The diligence of ethnography was therefore appealing, as was the challenge it posed to my academic capabilities and, particularly, my writing ability, which at best was poor and generally inadequate. Nevertheless it is the sort of challenge to which I respond, and which I rationalise as being both the consequence of genetics and cultural experience. From my reading of ethnographic monographs, it soon became apparent to me that ethnography, as a form of research, is a form of hard work to which I could apply myself.

When I entered the academic world as a fifty-year-old, mature student I was confused about the role of the researcher in research. I was greatly relieved

when I discovered reflexivity, and the acceptance of the centrality of the researcher’s biography to the research process. Mills (2000 [1959]) was a leading contender in emphasising the role of biography in the direction and form taken by an individual's sociological research interests, and this is also noted by Wolcott (2008). The constructive contribution ethnographic research can make to the life of the researcher is also important to me as a researcher. If, as I now understand it, reading the Manchester Guardian was the first step I made in adding to my cultural capital, doing ethnography now appears to be yet another step in the same journey.

In my early days of academic study I read classical ethnographic monographs with great enthusiasm such as Whyte's (1995) Street Corner Society, Evans- Prichard’s (1937) Witchcraft Oracles and Magic Among the Azande and the more current works of Wacquant (2004) Body and Soul, Desmond (2007) On the Fireline, and Duneier (2001) Sidewalk Society. I used these to develop my understanding of ethnography and to set a standard of what was possible for ethnographic research. My view of the value of the ethnographer being visibly present is also that of Atkinson (1990 p.110) who considers that the ethnographer’s narrative 'does not, therefore. detract from the credibility and plausibility of the ethnographic account. On the contrary, its very confessional quality can help to reinforce the narrative contract between the text and the implied reader’.

In accepting the role of my biography in my research, I recognised that I should embrace my practical 'doing' strengths and use these in the most effective way possible. To this end I conducted my research from Geertz’s (1973) perspective that ethnography is defined by how the research is done rather than by its theoretical construction. I therefore ‘threw’ myself into engaging with the landscape and wildlife of the reserve, and with the Trust’s social networks.

Insider–Outsider

During my fieldwork, I became a regular member of the Thursday volunteer group and participated in many other Trust activities. I became accepted as a regular Trust volunteer. My research and I became integrated into the research

setting, and my interest in sociology came to be treated by the staff and volunteers as simply another ‘passion’ similar to theirs for birds, moths, fungi, butterflies, poetry or science. Although natural history interests were generally considered to have some obvious value, sociology was stereotyped as the pursuit of the obvious and a long and complex route to common sense. My research became something of a ‘mascot’ for the Thursday volunteer group. Many of my informants appeared to think that their group being identified as worthy of study enhanced the standing of the Thursday volunteers.

The only time when my relationship with members of the Thursday volunteer group was problematic was when I personally failed to understand the rules and ‘play the game’ that was expected of me as a researcher within the group. Through my preoccupation with my research I on one particular occasion lost touch with the ‘rules’ for a time and crossed an invisible line. For example, I was reprimanded by my gatekeeper for appearing to give, as some participants interpreted it, kudos to some members by interviewing them and denigrating others by not interviewing them. I was in fact just working through the group as people became available for interview. However, no long-term harm came to my relationship with the staff and volunteers because of this episode.

Wolcott (2008) identifies ethnographic research as being appealing to researchers for many reasons. The reason I most identified with it was the opportunity of integrating professional and personal life-skills that I have acquired through taking a practical hands-on approach to the challenges of life with my research. Wacquant’s (2015 pp.4-5) advice to ‘dive in’ resonates with me; but from my experience of life one should, as he notes, be cautious of ‘reckless abandon’.

To make the most of ethnography, the field sociologist must methodically mine and thematize the fact that, like every social agent, he [sic] comes to know his object by body; and he [sic] can leverage carnal comprehension by deepening his social and symbolic insertion into the universe he studies. . . . The methodological stipulation here is to dive into the stream of action to the greatest possible depth, rather than watch it from the bank; but to dive and

swim along with method and purpose, and not with reckless abandon that would cause us to drown in the bottomless whirlpool of subjectivism.

To my research, Wacquant’s caution over reckless abandon is a salutary message, as from time to time my own enthusiasm for ‘diving in’ has led me to experience not only the advantages but also some of the disadvantages of ‘going native’. The phrase ‘going native’ is often attributed to Malinowski in his reflections on the relationship between the anthropologist and the objects of study in ethnographic fieldwork (Kanuha, 2000 p.439). I consider that my experiences would be better conceptualised as that of an insider participant observer rather than as ‘going native’. There is substantial literature on going native, and the role of the insider-outsider researcher (see Labaree, 2002). Two incidents amongst many stand out as illustrating the value and dilemma of being an insider researcher. On my first visit to the reserve to negotiate access with Ted, who became my gatekeeper, a bird that had not been seen in the reserve before made us aware of its presence by its piping call. I was able to identify it from its call and general appearance but Ted was unsure. However, he later told me that this incident reassured him that giving me access would be OK as my natural history knowledge would give me credibility in the eyes of the other volunteers. Labaree (2002 p.104) identifies insiderness as being a:

categorical advantage cited in the literature . . . that insiderness facilitates greater access at the start of one’s research, to special groups within the community, and to critical information. This is perhaps the most universally accepted advantage given to being an insider.

The second incident involved some responses George gave when interviewed. I developed my interview schedule on the basis of my knowledge of social actors’ behaviour and it included questions about favourite places in the reserve, plants and animals and seasons of the year. Most of my interviewees responded as expected: they had favourite places, plants and animals and times of the year and often situations where these occurred in particular combinations. When I

interviewed George however, he appeared to prevaricate and gave only what seemed to be the most general of replies. He said he would just walk anywhere in the reserve at any time of the year and just ‘mooch’ around. This was not the reply I was expecting. My insider knowledge of the ways of social actors with a general interest in the outdoors and wildlife caused me to expect a reply about his ‘favourites’ in the natural world. However, I later realised that for George the natural world is his favourite. Without doubt, at the time, I failed to recognise issues that were relevant to my research because I was too close to them, and in consequence I failed to critically observe and analyse what was obviously of significance to my understanding of what the woodland and wildlife of the reserve meant to the staff and volunteers. I expected others to act towards and to experience the reserve in the way I experienced it, and find meaning as I had, just because we shared similar interests in the natural world. In this instance, being an insider was a disadvantage.

In his review of the literature, Labaree (2002) found that there is a general assumption that, for participant observers, being an insider has advantages and aids access and understanding of the culture, but he also found that being an insider creates ethical issues around disclosure, relationships and disengagement. However, as it is argued in the literature, and as I found myself, being an insider or outsider is a false dichotomy. I found, as Labaree (ibid. p.101) did in his research that: ‘the boundaries of insiderness are situational and defined by the perceptions of those being researched’. My interest, knowledge and approach to the natural world in the eyes of my informants made me one of them at the same time as my biography and role of researcher set me (to some extent) apart. Although I was an insider in the case of the immediate social network of my informants, at no time was I an insider to the Trust’s organisation, administration and social network. My situation conformed to Deutsch’s (1981 p.174) idea that as researchers ‘we are all multiple insiders and outsiders,’ and that in this situation a tension is created that, if engaged with, can aid the researcher in taking advantage of being an insider, without incurring the problems that are associated with ‘going native’.