In both of Lederach’s pieces, her connection to campesinos in the Alta Montaña is vivid. Her descriptions of the land, and the stories that she shares of the community provide a nuance that are not often included in the academy I have been exposed to. Lederach shares knowledge born from lived experience and campesino concepts, narratives, and social analyses that she argues are too often edited out, reduced to mere ‘data’ in need of scholarly interpretation. This really resonated with me as I feel we as people operating in colonial systems centralize data-based evidence for maximum efficiency. During my time working for the Department of National Defense I was always told that if it can’t be backed up with data based evidence, we can’t write about it, and to attain said data would be ‘too time consuming and resource intensive’. These are two characteristics I am learning to be essential for meaningful research. Trying to unlearn the notion that if it takes a lot of time, and resources, it is inherently bad, or not worth it. Lederach’s argument that “slowing down does not negate the urgency that animates the defense of territory in the context of the interlocking processes of political and environmental violence that persist…” particularly resonated with me but left me with a lot of questions about how to get buy in from institutions to achieve these types of research projects. I wonder if its possible for researchers (specifically GP2 researchers with limited resources and time) to ‘circumvent dominant/elite knowledge in favor of indigenous, marginalized, and peripheral knowledges’, as Abdelnour and Moghli advocate for without spending considerable amounts of time building trust in the community they are studying.
Ledarch also argues that the use of hotel conference rooms rather than communal spaces, food catered and shipped in from outside the territory, and detached communication practices all reduce the affective and political dimensions of social memory— including the recollection of intimate experiences of war, loss, fear, and violation—to technical matters of logistics. I found this to be particularly interesting given our recent experiences as researchers for GP2. Despite undergoing ethics review, and pre-departure cultural research, in some instances you could sense the discomfort from our participants. While we were willing to meet in communal spaces of farms, some Farm Managers insisted we take their offices, or conference rooms to undergo our interviews. We found ourselves juggling wanting to ensure our respondents were comfortable while also not offending our hosts. We attempted to ease the tension by acknowledging the power dynamics between us, the Farm Managers, and Farm Workers and assuring confidentiality and safety in the interviews. Along this, Abdelnour and Moghli discuss standpoint theorist’s advocacy for researchers to be aware of, transparent about, and accountable for their privileged research identities in relation to the people, processes, and contexts they study and knowledge they produce. While humanizing ourselves and verbally acknowledging our privilege as well as our respect and care for the community, I think that these practices must be paired with trust building which ultimately takes time and resources we were not granted. Because of this, I wonder if discussing positionality and confidentiality took us further away from our respondents as our discussions felt almost as though we were forcing these academic buzzwords into our conversations. Ba argues that anti-oppressive research ‘requires making a commitment to the people you are working with, personally and professionally, in order to mutually foster conditions for social justice through research’. However, as mentioned in the reading there are limitations to this collective commitment to social justice and of dialogue within the academy. With this, how can we as individuals work to deconstruct the research industry to decenter protocols and practices which reinscribe colonial difference, and with this how can we reconcile the professional consequences this may have.
After reading this week’s material, I’ve been wrestling with how power, history, and right and wrong show up in what we learned.
The “decoloniality continuum” particularly struck a chord with me. It unveiled that creating knowledge goes beyond simple data collection; it involves power dynamics that can perpetuate cycles of violence or contribute to their dismantling. This notion is crucial, especially when considering research within regions burdened by historical conflict, such as South Asia. In contexts like Pakistan, where legacies of colonialism and ongoing political strife shape society, research isn’t a neutral endeavor but a politically charged activity that could inadvertently sustain oppressive narratives if not undertaken with a conscious effort to decolonize and liberate.
The readings forced me to face an uncomfortable truth: as researchers, we might unwittingly participate in “extraction, expropriation, and erasure,” to use the authors’ terms. Our involvement isn’t limited to observation; it’s embedded in the very structure that governs academic inquiry, which often claims detachment and objectivity. The author’s acknowledgment of their own potential complicity is not merely an admission but a critique of a system that boasts impartiality while perhaps being inherently biased.
The critique of the ‘research assistant culture’ in the paper by Oumar Ba, mirrors colonial dynamics and resonates with the broader societal issues of systemic racism and inequality. This is evident in places where local researchers may find their roles and contributions undervalued, their career progression hampered by a global academic hierarchy that favours Western credentials and perspectives. This parallels societal structures where marginalized communities are relegated to subordinate positions, their potential for growth capped by institutional barriers.
Moreover, it was particularly thought-provoking to consider the notion of ‘undoing oppressive structures’ through research that amplifies and supports the rights and liberatory ambitions of affected people and communities. It’s an aspirational, albeit complex, goal that research should strive for – shifting from the passive documentation of suffering to an active engagement in the pursuit of justice and liberation.
This made me reflect on Pakistan’s diverse research landscape, from its urban centers to rural communities grappling with issues like gender inequality, educational deficits, and health crises, the role of researchers becomes paramount. For example, studies on the impact of climate change on rural farmers in Sindh or the socioeconomic repercussions of the Afghan refugee crisis in Pakistan should not only aim to inform policy but also to empower those directly affected, ensuring their voices lead the narrative.
This reflection brings me to two pointed questions that I hope will spark a vigorous class discussion: What role should researchers play in advocating for systemic change based on their findings, and where is the line between scholarship and activism? Reflecting on the idea that ‘knowledge is power,’ how can we ensure that this power is equitably shared with the communities that research aims to serve?
The Abdelnour and Moglhi reading spoke about objectification in violent contexts. It was interesting to see how reductionist labels of harmful events can simplify the lived experiences of individuals currently undergoing those traumatic events. Furthermore, the reductionist labels such as “Refugee Camp” appeared to me to construct the perception of “victimhood” onto an individual’s lived experience and overlooking the context in which those individuals may have arrived at the refugee camps through stories of resistance, overcoming adversity and survival. To me, this highlights the dichotomy prevalent in the global north in which individuals are either victors or victims and heroes or the oppressed. This standpoint also asserts a distanced viewpoint of the nuanced subjectivities that refugees fleeing violent settings are facing, and this may translate itself into writing about others solely through the lens of seeing what they have “lost”.”Moreover, this can be connected back to our other class on the moral economy of victimhood in which researcher, when writing about others, are coming from an extractive position with the intent to find the most gruesome or tragic lived experiences possible to make their research sound and look more profound. To this effect, the constant search of researchers for intensified lived experiences in conflict zones reifies the normalization of violence in these regional contexts. This then suggests to Global North countries that perhaps they don’t have to go the full way to stopping violence in these regions as it becomes constructed as an endemic issue. What’s interesting to note, though, is that researchers then profit off of this maintained cycle of violence by their expanding categories and nuances of victimhood that they are allowed to construct because they are professionally and economically rewarded to do so. The Ba article highlights that compassion responds to corpses and wounds but does not recognize human beings, pointing out that our research methods, such as translation and narratives, often don’t look at the entire picture of the lived experiences of individuals in conflict zones. It’s always fascinating to me to wonder about how we convert words and terminologies in different linguistic and cultural contexts where the words will never be the same thing. Moreover, how can research correctly write about another “Self” and get it right, or what constitutes getting it right enough? Additionally, academic writing can oftentimes take on bland and sanitized forms of sentence structuring, which diminishes the ability in which lived experiences can engage with the reader to make them question their current understanding of a region, individual or group of people. The Laderach (2020) reading adds to this, asking when an individual is allowed to be named or who remains invisible. The author’s candid introspection about their own failures and moments of realization adds a layer of authenticity to the narrative. It’s refreshing to see a researcher openly grapple with the limitations of conventional methodologies and reflect on how these may inadvertently render the contributions of the studied community invisible. This reflexivity underscores the humility required in engaging with complex, real-world situations, especially in the realm of peace and conflict studies. Based on this, my question for the class will be: “When writing about the lives of others for wider audiences, is it better to simplify their lived experiences in order to be more digestible for general audiences, or should the researcher maintain a nuanced approach when writing about others, regardless of whether this may be more confusing of offputting to a wider audience?”
Reflecting on the three readings, I find a common thread in the ethical complexities and power dynamics inherent in research, particularly in contexts marked by violence and cultural differences.
In Oumar Ba’s exploration of Western scholarly research in Africa, I see parallels to my own experience as an African in a Western country. The concept of being “Other-not-quite-the-Self-but-close-enough” resonates with me, encapsulating my ongoing struggle as an African Arab woman to understand and accept my differences in this foreign environment that is Canada.
The idea that “research is a violent process, a violation of those whom we study, whether we ourselves belong to the community under the magnifying glass or not” deeply resonated with me as I never thought of it from this particular angle. This perspective forced me to confront the inherent intrusiveness of research and of journalism in general (that I’m currently practicing and studying about in grad school)
Samer Abdelnour and Mai Abu Moghli’s call for political reflexivity in “Researching Violent Contexts” echoes my belief in the need for sensitivity and a deep understanding of complex settings. This perspective is universally relevant, especially when interacting with diverse cultures and communities.
Angela J. Lederach’s emphasis on the power of words in “Each Word is Powerful” aligns with my view on the importance of narratives in shaping realities. The focus on participatory research and amplifying local voices mirrors my desire to bring forth the perspectives of marginalized communities.
These readings have provoked new questions for me about ethical responsibilities in representing cultures and histories, especially those different from my own. They challenge me to consider how I can contribute to a more inclusive and respectful discourse.
Discussion Questions:
1. How can I, as a researcher, avoid perpetuating stereotypes or misrepresentations when dealing with cultures and histories outside of my own experience?
2. In what ways can I apply the principles of reflexivity and participatory research in my daily interactions to foster deeper understanding and respect for diverse perspectives and experiences?
The theme of “Writing the Lives of Others” is evident throughout Oumar Ba’s reflection on the complex dynamics of knowledge production. A particularly telling and strong case for this was in the context of research on Africa conducted by scholars with African backgrounds, based at Western institutions. While I understood that power dynamics do exist given the socio-economic and educational background imbalance between scholars and impoverished or suffering populations, I did not know to what extent these dynamics play into our writings. Ba’s argument on how research is far from being an innocent pursuit and can even be a form of violence really stayed with me. As metaphorically put by Ba, it is now hard to unsee how scholars do end up stripping individuals naked whether knowingly or unknowingly in their process of extracting knowledge. “Car un homme qui crie n’est pas un ours qui danse’” in translation ‘for a man who cries is not a dancing bear’ emphasizes that another’s pain and sacrifices are not mere entertainment or performances thus challenging reductionist and objectifying perspectives by recognizing humanity.
One of Ba’s quotes, in particular, struck a chord with me, “people like you are probably African, but your accent is different.” This evoked a personal resonance for me having straddled multiple linguistic worlds, notably now that I spend more time in a predominantly English-speaking country. Despite being raised in Pakistan my accent too bears an imprint of an educational emphasis on English, a language often associated with privilege in my own country. This linguistic journey, while opening doors to opportunities also comes with its own challenges and reflection such as self-identity and the way one is perceived by others – a sort of dance between societal expectations and personal identity. To me, it prompts questions about the expectations concerning authenticity and belonging.
The Abdelnour and Moghli reading was my absolute favorite. It acknowledged violence normalization that we see perhaps more clearly than ever before in the context of Palestine-Israel. While I knew of how a researcher’s decision to exclude controversial issues or the decision against adopting non-academic language may be deemed as “too political” it had not occurred to me that researchers also risk perhaps unknowingly silencing marginalized voices by choosing theoretical framings. Moreover, when we are detached from what contexts we study we then risk perpetuating further harm. For long I have read and heard of how my world geographically and also the Muslim world have been portrayed perpetuating either exotic or untrue stereotypes and how these reductionist narratives help further political or economic agendas that continue to justify Western military aggression and intervention. These stereotypes have become our identity markers here in the West something we cannot seem to rid ourselves of.
Another thing that stood out to me was Prasad’s experience at the Israeli checkpoint and how he became forcefully aware of his positionality, how such reflective journeys can become a sort of moral compass to guide researchers toward more responsible engagement with the people they seek to understand or report on. The Lederach 2021 reading spoke of the concept of “memoria viva” which serves as a powerful reminder that what we see as scars of history aren’t really distant echoes but living entities etched into both the physical terrain and the collective memory. In the second Lederach reading the assertion that “all that we have done has great literary value” can be seen as an act of resistance, one that I welcome. Bell Hooks statement “We haven’t said yes to our collective grief” to me is a confrontation admitting the presence of this unspoken collective pain.
I wonder how researchers in situations marked by violence and trauma work to balance the responsibility of accurately portraying the lived experiences of individuals or whole societies without perpetuating further harm such as retraumatization? Also, how can we as researchers engage in decolonisation practices when writing on the lives of those whose lives have been shaped by historical and ongoing inequalities, stereotypes, and power imbalances?
One of the main concepts from this week’s readings that are percolating in my mind is what Lederach (2023) beautifully presents as the “Practices of Slow Peace” and the “Ethics of Attention”. In some ways, the invitation to pay attention is not only to pay attention to and be fully alive to the world as it actually is – neither diminishing the evil and heartbreaking nor diluting the joy and wonder; but also to, as Abdelnour and Abu Mogul probe, is to be deeply self-aware and aware of how we (both consciously and unknowingly) show up within and alongside systems and identities. I find a lot of hope in the practice and invitation of paying attention, or what I have begun to call my “practice of wonder” – mirroring some of my winter-break reading by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s writing about the wisdom and collective community of mosses and their interwoven, let largely unnoticed existence and role in both the beauty and function of our ecosystems. As I reflected on these concepts though, I realized how much I’ve compartmentalized my practices of care and reflection to my non-professional self and how underdeveloped my intentionality with practices of slowness and carefully paying attention within the realms of work or research are. I wonder then, how can researchers, policy workers, and those endeavouring to face the realities of the world face on, begin to practice slowness and attention in our day-to-day realities of work, analysis, and curiosity?
Another resonating aspect is that of research as extraction, or even as Ba calls it “extractive collaboration”. Ba speaks to the ways that research can be a form of extraction, expropriation, and erasure; Abdelnour and Abu Mogul echo that sentiment with their articulation of objectification, violence normalization, and silencing; and Ledrach (2021) introduces the concept of invisibilización, all realities that I worry are far too normalized in the ways we are taught to research and write, including even the ways we are taught to think and suggest “solutions”. I question how much academic inquiry has actually taught us how to engage in different ways of being, or has it simply given us different ways of speaking? Ba piercingly writes about this dichotomy: “We use glossy terms such as ‘capacity building’, ‘empowerment’ ‘giving voice’, yet, our local research partners are still typically confined to data collection, and despite their expertise which we rely on, their professional careers do not progress like ours.” The question of whom is knowledge generated and why haunts me, especially in relation to projects like GP2 (or similar consultancy roles), where our collection of data (both qualitative and quantitative) is rushed and driven by external factors of degree validation more than the local context or honour of local agency. Is there a way to practically engage with data without perpetuation the dehumanization, oversimplification, or erasure of those whose lived experience illuminates and contextualizes the information? If so, what does that look like?
Oumar Ba’s article pushed me to reflect on myself and face the hard truth. He highlights the potential exploitation, voyeurism, and violence inherent in the research process, questioning the role of scholars in perpetuating oppressive systems. This is mostly caused by the power dynamic between researchers and the people to whom the research is being conducted and the researchers’ will to extract knowledge for their own interests.
I deeply resonate with the part where he grapples with his own positionality as an African researcher in Western institutions, acknowledging complicity in the extractive industry of knowledge production. I can relate with my experience, supporting Western researchers in Africa, especially in my home country Rwanda. Most of this work involved genocide survivors, who are vulnerable and speak only Kinyarwanda, while research interviews were in English. My role was to translate. I remember being frustrated by traumatizing questions asked to survivors, especially those who endured rape during the genocide, with no professional counselor available to support the crisis. Some survivors shared or responded because it was me who was asking—I look like them, speak their language, and share the same history. Some of those researchers, we never heard from them since. We don’t even know how they used the knowledge extracted from those survivors. On the other side, some researchers/experts developed positive friendships with local communities and used their work, extracted knowledge, and privilege for advocacy. Now I am thinking, was I complicit in this colonial process? How did I use my positionality and ‘privilege,’ in some research support experiences?
The article raises questions about the enduring legacy of colonial dynamics in research collaboration and calls for a deeper examination of the ethics of such engagements. This is emphasized by Abdelnour and Moghli’s and Lederach (2021) articles that encourage scholars to be aware of their roles in shaping narratives and acknowledge power dynamics when conducting research in violent contexts. I may sound like a dreamer, but my hope is that one day, we will live in a world where researchers are more conscious and use an anti-oppressive approach, especially when conducting research in developing countries with vulnerable communities and people they have power over. From experience, I believe there is much harm that can be caused by research, but if we are intentional about making an everlasting positive impact using research, there is a possibility to do so.
Lederach (2023) encourages an ethical research approach that prioritizes the lived experiences and perspectives of those directly affected by violence and peacebuilding processes. She also emphasizes the power of slowing down to build meaningful connections with communities: ‘The call to slow peace gives primacy to the everyday, where relationships are deepened, ancestral memories reclaimed, and ecologies regenerated.’ This serves as a crucial reminder, particularly in a fast-paced world obsessed with immediate results. The pressure increases, especially in research, where the focus tends to be solely on outcomes and findings. This approach often restricts our opportunities to establish genuine connections with communities and cultivate meaningful relationships, hindering our ability to leverage our work for lasting impact. Therefore, it is imperative to adopt a thoughtful and conscientious approach to ethically represent peace and conflict narratives, ensuring a more profound engagement with the communities involved.
This week’s readings shed light on the importance of fully understanding the context, which is often missing. Both of Lederach’s pieces demonstrate deeper context and understanding of Alta Montaña and its people. Her exploration of the displacement of the people as a result of conflict not only touches on the themes that are often discussed in the academia, but also, a very human side of the experience, which provokes an emotional understanding. Her telling of Miguel’s life demonstrates how our understanding can be skewed due to narratives, and probes us with the opportunity and privilege to tell this story to accurately represent the stories, while paying attention to the details. Abdelnour and Abu Moghli’s piece further argues on the importance of understanding the positionally and privilege, which is an important concept that has been repeatedly discussed in our program and yet often absent from many researches. Ba’s piece critically explores the intentionality behind researches — for whom is it for? This question changes the way in which the story is told, narratives that are used, how it is extractive, and expropriated. These are important considerations to have as researchers in order to accurately reflect the findings by stepping outside of Western-centric narratives and thinking, and really consider the issues from a local context. After all, the research is supposed to be serving the local population, not academics in the Global North.
These pieces helped me reflect deeply on my own research in Kenya, and critically examine whether I have been able to do that to do justice. In such complex setting such as Kenya, I feel as though two-month preparation prior to the fieldwork was not at all a sufficient amount of time to fully understand the cultural and historical dynamics, and I regret not being more aware of the contexts before going into the fieldwork. Some findings during the interviews shed light to some complexities, but it was not until an Uber ride that I found out about the 2007-2008 Kenyan crisis, which would have been critical to understanding prior to conducting interviews. Furthermore, there were so many complex issues that I was not fully aware of — the extent of patriarchy, the alarming rate of sexual violence/harassment, human rights violations, and so forth. As a researcher, since the fieldwork, I have been reflecting deeply on the ways that I could have better understood and prepared for the research, and I hope that I can use this as a learning opportunity to follow the advice of these scholars to be fully aware of the contexts, positionally and privilege, and tell the story in a way that encapsulates their experience accurately.
While acknowledging the lack of time provided to diligently research about the local context prior to the fieldwork, I do wonder if this is an issue that is faced by many researchers, where they find that their research on the local context was insufficient once they are in the region, facing the reality of the situation. One can read and research endlessly on a region or a topic, but they could be surprised by the reality once they are physically there to witness it. My question then becomes, how much research is enough to fully understand the context, if ever? As an outsider, how can we best delve ourselves into the local understandings and norms?
From the Ba reading, some insights have left me pondering the complexities of communication and translation during encounters in the field. The question of what is communicated and what is miscommunicated becomes crucial in understanding the impact of information extraction on the communities involved.
The Abdelnour et al. reading advocates for heightened political reflexivity, urging researchers to critically engage with their own political biases and positions when undertaking studies within violent contexts. In this way, it allows us to consider the ethical implications of our research methodologies, emphasizing the potential impact of our perspectives on the communities we study. Moreover, it challenges one to not only be aware of their positionality but also to actively engage in self-reflection and dialogue, fostering a more inclusive and responsible research practice. The film “The Look of Silence” underscores the impact of violence on individuals and communities, emphasizing the need for researchers to approach their work with sensitivity and empathy. Researchers should consider the ethical implications of their studies on the communities they engage with.
In this week’s reading, what was pleasantly surprising was the notion of slow peacebuilding. Lederach highlighted the concept of slow peacebuilding, requiring intentional and careful navigation of complex realities. The idea of “vigías de la esperanza” (watchers of hope) and constructores de paz (peacebuilders) highlights the role individuals can play in cultivating hope and facilitating dialogues in the wake of violence.
Some key takeaways from the Lederach reading include creating a process of informed consent, sharing written work with campesino peacebuilders, and incorporating peer review with the community as effective research strategies. Additionally, recognizing and incorporating intimate knowledge from lived experiences with theoretical frameworks can offer profound insights into peace, violence, conflict, and healing.
In reflection, I am both inspired and unsettled by the responsibility that comes with researching and writing about violence and peace. I am prompted to reflect upon my own work within the gp2 project. These insights help me consider how academia can further prioritize wider, collective processes and meaningful interactions with communities. A question worth considering is how can we navigate the balance between theory and lived experience in research, ensuring that our narratives respect the complexities and nuances of the contexts we study?
This week’s readings reminded me of our discussion last semester on how knowledge is produced and for whom; and the deep responsibility of the researcher/author/storyteller when doing so. Ba’s article really resonated with me. Conducting research has become such a norm in Western institutions, with little to no collective reflection on positionality, power dynamics, and conducting research in a non-extractive way.
These readings have led me to think about my GP2 fieldwork and methodologies…I recognize my positionality and power in daily life. And having studied and worked in international development, I’m acutely aware of the colonial presence and dynamics at play (but of course, I sometimes still miss something). There’s a lot of discussion of what has historically been harmful to communities, despite the ‘good intentions’ of Western figures. Because of this, I know what NOT to do, but leave sometimes feeling paralyzed. I certainly don’t want to inflict more harm on communities, but don’t feel confident in ways to (in this case) conduct research that serves the people and stories we’re telling. I have some regrets about our GP2 fieldwork feeling extractive and not approached with community-based methodologies.
I appreciated Abdelnour and Moghli’s article on political reflexivity in research, the danger in being neutral, and outlining forms of harm (objectification, normalization, silencing). I think their section on silencing voices was particularly important. I was challenged when they wrote about researchers unknowingly silencing voices in a project, simply by the choice of what research questions and theoretical frameworks are used! Silence is then reinforced by methodologies and exclusion of literature (deemed not academic enough). Research, in whatever form, cannot be a passive process. We are given such privilege of having the opportunity to ask questions and dig deeper. This requires us to push our ways of thinking and the ways our Western institutions push us to produce knowledge.
I wonder, how can we push/challenge our ways of thinking? How does our Western institution push us to produce knowledge? As we write our GP2 final reports, is there a way to challenge the way we’re pushed? What could this look like?
In both of Lederach’s pieces, her connection to campesinos in the Alta Montaña is vivid. Her descriptions of the land, and the stories that she shares of the community provide a nuance that are not often included in the academy I have been exposed to. Lederach shares knowledge born from lived experience and campesino concepts, narratives, and social analyses that she argues are too often edited out, reduced to mere ‘data’ in need of scholarly interpretation. This really resonated with me as I feel we as people operating in colonial systems centralize data-based evidence for maximum efficiency. During my time working for the Department of National Defense I was always told that if it can’t be backed up with data based evidence, we can’t write about it, and to attain said data would be ‘too time consuming and resource intensive’. These are two characteristics I am learning to be essential for meaningful research. Trying to unlearn the notion that if it takes a lot of time, and resources, it is inherently bad, or not worth it. Lederach’s argument that “slowing down does not negate the urgency that animates the defense of territory in the context of the interlocking processes of political and environmental violence that persist…” particularly resonated with me but left me with a lot of questions about how to get buy in from institutions to achieve these types of research projects. I wonder if its possible for researchers (specifically GP2 researchers with limited resources and time) to ‘circumvent dominant/elite knowledge in favor of indigenous, marginalized, and peripheral knowledges’, as Abdelnour and Moghli advocate for without spending considerable amounts of time building trust in the community they are studying.
Ledarch also argues that the use of hotel conference rooms rather than communal spaces, food catered and shipped in from outside the territory, and detached communication practices all reduce the affective and political dimensions of social memory— including the recollection of intimate experiences of war, loss, fear, and violation—to technical matters of logistics. I found this to be particularly interesting given our recent experiences as researchers for GP2. Despite undergoing ethics review, and pre-departure cultural research, in some instances you could sense the discomfort from our participants. While we were willing to meet in communal spaces of farms, some Farm Managers insisted we take their offices, or conference rooms to undergo our interviews. We found ourselves juggling wanting to ensure our respondents were comfortable while also not offending our hosts. We attempted to ease the tension by acknowledging the power dynamics between us, the Farm Managers, and Farm Workers and assuring confidentiality and safety in the interviews. Along this, Abdelnour and Moghli discuss standpoint theorist’s advocacy for researchers to be aware of, transparent about, and accountable for their privileged research identities in relation to the people, processes, and contexts they study and knowledge they produce. While humanizing ourselves and verbally acknowledging our privilege as well as our respect and care for the community, I think that these practices must be paired with trust building which ultimately takes time and resources we were not granted. Because of this, I wonder if discussing positionality and confidentiality took us further away from our respondents as our discussions felt almost as though we were forcing these academic buzzwords into our conversations. Ba argues that anti-oppressive research ‘requires making a commitment to the people you are working with, personally and professionally, in order to mutually foster conditions for social justice through research’. However, as mentioned in the reading there are limitations to this collective commitment to social justice and of dialogue within the academy. With this, how can we as individuals work to deconstruct the research industry to decenter protocols and practices which reinscribe colonial difference, and with this how can we reconcile the professional consequences this may have.
After reading this week’s material, I’ve been wrestling with how power, history, and right and wrong show up in what we learned.
The “decoloniality continuum” particularly struck a chord with me. It unveiled that creating knowledge goes beyond simple data collection; it involves power dynamics that can perpetuate cycles of violence or contribute to their dismantling. This notion is crucial, especially when considering research within regions burdened by historical conflict, such as South Asia. In contexts like Pakistan, where legacies of colonialism and ongoing political strife shape society, research isn’t a neutral endeavor but a politically charged activity that could inadvertently sustain oppressive narratives if not undertaken with a conscious effort to decolonize and liberate.
The readings forced me to face an uncomfortable truth: as researchers, we might unwittingly participate in “extraction, expropriation, and erasure,” to use the authors’ terms. Our involvement isn’t limited to observation; it’s embedded in the very structure that governs academic inquiry, which often claims detachment and objectivity. The author’s acknowledgment of their own potential complicity is not merely an admission but a critique of a system that boasts impartiality while perhaps being inherently biased.
The critique of the ‘research assistant culture’ in the paper by Oumar Ba, mirrors colonial dynamics and resonates with the broader societal issues of systemic racism and inequality. This is evident in places where local researchers may find their roles and contributions undervalued, their career progression hampered by a global academic hierarchy that favours Western credentials and perspectives. This parallels societal structures where marginalized communities are relegated to subordinate positions, their potential for growth capped by institutional barriers.
Moreover, it was particularly thought-provoking to consider the notion of ‘undoing oppressive structures’ through research that amplifies and supports the rights and liberatory ambitions of affected people and communities. It’s an aspirational, albeit complex, goal that research should strive for – shifting from the passive documentation of suffering to an active engagement in the pursuit of justice and liberation.
This made me reflect on Pakistan’s diverse research landscape, from its urban centers to rural communities grappling with issues like gender inequality, educational deficits, and health crises, the role of researchers becomes paramount. For example, studies on the impact of climate change on rural farmers in Sindh or the socioeconomic repercussions of the Afghan refugee crisis in Pakistan should not only aim to inform policy but also to empower those directly affected, ensuring their voices lead the narrative.
This reflection brings me to two pointed questions that I hope will spark a vigorous class discussion: What role should researchers play in advocating for systemic change based on their findings, and where is the line between scholarship and activism? Reflecting on the idea that ‘knowledge is power,’ how can we ensure that this power is equitably shared with the communities that research aims to serve?
The Abdelnour and Moglhi reading spoke about objectification in violent contexts. It was interesting to see how reductionist labels of harmful events can simplify the lived experiences of individuals currently undergoing those traumatic events. Furthermore, the reductionist labels such as “Refugee Camp” appeared to me to construct the perception of “victimhood” onto an individual’s lived experience and overlooking the context in which those individuals may have arrived at the refugee camps through stories of resistance, overcoming adversity and survival. To me, this highlights the dichotomy prevalent in the global north in which individuals are either victors or victims and heroes or the oppressed. This standpoint also asserts a distanced viewpoint of the nuanced subjectivities that refugees fleeing violent settings are facing, and this may translate itself into writing about others solely through the lens of seeing what they have “lost”.”Moreover, this can be connected back to our other class on the moral economy of victimhood in which researcher, when writing about others, are coming from an extractive position with the intent to find the most gruesome or tragic lived experiences possible to make their research sound and look more profound. To this effect, the constant search of researchers for intensified lived experiences in conflict zones reifies the normalization of violence in these regional contexts. This then suggests to Global North countries that perhaps they don’t have to go the full way to stopping violence in these regions as it becomes constructed as an endemic issue. What’s interesting to note, though, is that researchers then profit off of this maintained cycle of violence by their expanding categories and nuances of victimhood that they are allowed to construct because they are professionally and economically rewarded to do so. The Ba article highlights that compassion responds to corpses and wounds but does not recognize human beings, pointing out that our research methods, such as translation and narratives, often don’t look at the entire picture of the lived experiences of individuals in conflict zones. It’s always fascinating to me to wonder about how we convert words and terminologies in different linguistic and cultural contexts where the words will never be the same thing. Moreover, how can research correctly write about another “Self” and get it right, or what constitutes getting it right enough? Additionally, academic writing can oftentimes take on bland and sanitized forms of sentence structuring, which diminishes the ability in which lived experiences can engage with the reader to make them question their current understanding of a region, individual or group of people. The Laderach (2020) reading adds to this, asking when an individual is allowed to be named or who remains invisible. The author’s candid introspection about their own failures and moments of realization adds a layer of authenticity to the narrative. It’s refreshing to see a researcher openly grapple with the limitations of conventional methodologies and reflect on how these may inadvertently render the contributions of the studied community invisible. This reflexivity underscores the humility required in engaging with complex, real-world situations, especially in the realm of peace and conflict studies. Based on this, my question for the class will be: “When writing about the lives of others for wider audiences, is it better to simplify their lived experiences in order to be more digestible for general audiences, or should the researcher maintain a nuanced approach when writing about others, regardless of whether this may be more confusing of offputting to a wider audience?”
Reflecting on the three readings, I find a common thread in the ethical complexities and power dynamics inherent in research, particularly in contexts marked by violence and cultural differences.
In Oumar Ba’s exploration of Western scholarly research in Africa, I see parallels to my own experience as an African in a Western country. The concept of being “Other-not-quite-the-Self-but-close-enough” resonates with me, encapsulating my ongoing struggle as an African Arab woman to understand and accept my differences in this foreign environment that is Canada.
The idea that “research is a violent process, a violation of those whom we study, whether we ourselves belong to the community under the magnifying glass or not” deeply resonated with me as I never thought of it from this particular angle. This perspective forced me to confront the inherent intrusiveness of research and of journalism in general (that I’m currently practicing and studying about in grad school)
Samer Abdelnour and Mai Abu Moghli’s call for political reflexivity in “Researching Violent Contexts” echoes my belief in the need for sensitivity and a deep understanding of complex settings. This perspective is universally relevant, especially when interacting with diverse cultures and communities.
Angela J. Lederach’s emphasis on the power of words in “Each Word is Powerful” aligns with my view on the importance of narratives in shaping realities. The focus on participatory research and amplifying local voices mirrors my desire to bring forth the perspectives of marginalized communities.
These readings have provoked new questions for me about ethical responsibilities in representing cultures and histories, especially those different from my own. They challenge me to consider how I can contribute to a more inclusive and respectful discourse.
Discussion Questions:
1. How can I, as a researcher, avoid perpetuating stereotypes or misrepresentations when dealing with cultures and histories outside of my own experience?
2. In what ways can I apply the principles of reflexivity and participatory research in my daily interactions to foster deeper understanding and respect for diverse perspectives and experiences?
The theme of “Writing the Lives of Others” is evident throughout Oumar Ba’s reflection on the complex dynamics of knowledge production. A particularly telling and strong case for this was in the context of research on Africa conducted by scholars with African backgrounds, based at Western institutions. While I understood that power dynamics do exist given the socio-economic and educational background imbalance between scholars and impoverished or suffering populations, I did not know to what extent these dynamics play into our writings. Ba’s argument on how research is far from being an innocent pursuit and can even be a form of violence really stayed with me. As metaphorically put by Ba, it is now hard to unsee how scholars do end up stripping individuals naked whether knowingly or unknowingly in their process of extracting knowledge. “Car un homme qui crie n’est pas un ours qui danse’” in translation ‘for a man who cries is not a dancing bear’ emphasizes that another’s pain and sacrifices are not mere entertainment or performances thus challenging reductionist and objectifying perspectives by recognizing humanity.
One of Ba’s quotes, in particular, struck a chord with me, “people like you are probably African, but your accent is different.” This evoked a personal resonance for me having straddled multiple linguistic worlds, notably now that I spend more time in a predominantly English-speaking country. Despite being raised in Pakistan my accent too bears an imprint of an educational emphasis on English, a language often associated with privilege in my own country. This linguistic journey, while opening doors to opportunities also comes with its own challenges and reflection such as self-identity and the way one is perceived by others – a sort of dance between societal expectations and personal identity. To me, it prompts questions about the expectations concerning authenticity and belonging.
The Abdelnour and Moghli reading was my absolute favorite. It acknowledged violence normalization that we see perhaps more clearly than ever before in the context of Palestine-Israel. While I knew of how a researcher’s decision to exclude controversial issues or the decision against adopting non-academic language may be deemed as “too political” it had not occurred to me that researchers also risk perhaps unknowingly silencing marginalized voices by choosing theoretical framings. Moreover, when we are detached from what contexts we study we then risk perpetuating further harm. For long I have read and heard of how my world geographically and also the Muslim world have been portrayed perpetuating either exotic or untrue stereotypes and how these reductionist narratives help further political or economic agendas that continue to justify Western military aggression and intervention. These stereotypes have become our identity markers here in the West something we cannot seem to rid ourselves of.
Another thing that stood out to me was Prasad’s experience at the Israeli checkpoint and how he became forcefully aware of his positionality, how such reflective journeys can become a sort of moral compass to guide researchers toward more responsible engagement with the people they seek to understand or report on. The Lederach 2021 reading spoke of the concept of “memoria viva” which serves as a powerful reminder that what we see as scars of history aren’t really distant echoes but living entities etched into both the physical terrain and the collective memory. In the second Lederach reading the assertion that “all that we have done has great literary value” can be seen as an act of resistance, one that I welcome. Bell Hooks statement “We haven’t said yes to our collective grief” to me is a confrontation admitting the presence of this unspoken collective pain.
I wonder how researchers in situations marked by violence and trauma work to balance the responsibility of accurately portraying the lived experiences of individuals or whole societies without perpetuating further harm such as retraumatization? Also, how can we as researchers engage in decolonisation practices when writing on the lives of those whose lives have been shaped by historical and ongoing inequalities, stereotypes, and power imbalances?
One of the main concepts from this week’s readings that are percolating in my mind is what Lederach (2023) beautifully presents as the “Practices of Slow Peace” and the “Ethics of Attention”. In some ways, the invitation to pay attention is not only to pay attention to and be fully alive to the world as it actually is – neither diminishing the evil and heartbreaking nor diluting the joy and wonder; but also to, as Abdelnour and Abu Mogul probe, is to be deeply self-aware and aware of how we (both consciously and unknowingly) show up within and alongside systems and identities. I find a lot of hope in the practice and invitation of paying attention, or what I have begun to call my “practice of wonder” – mirroring some of my winter-break reading by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s writing about the wisdom and collective community of mosses and their interwoven, let largely unnoticed existence and role in both the beauty and function of our ecosystems. As I reflected on these concepts though, I realized how much I’ve compartmentalized my practices of care and reflection to my non-professional self and how underdeveloped my intentionality with practices of slowness and carefully paying attention within the realms of work or research are. I wonder then, how can researchers, policy workers, and those endeavouring to face the realities of the world face on, begin to practice slowness and attention in our day-to-day realities of work, analysis, and curiosity?
Another resonating aspect is that of research as extraction, or even as Ba calls it “extractive collaboration”. Ba speaks to the ways that research can be a form of extraction, expropriation, and erasure; Abdelnour and Abu Mogul echo that sentiment with their articulation of objectification, violence normalization, and silencing; and Ledrach (2021) introduces the concept of invisibilización, all realities that I worry are far too normalized in the ways we are taught to research and write, including even the ways we are taught to think and suggest “solutions”. I question how much academic inquiry has actually taught us how to engage in different ways of being, or has it simply given us different ways of speaking? Ba piercingly writes about this dichotomy: “We use glossy terms such as ‘capacity building’, ‘empowerment’ ‘giving voice’, yet, our local research partners are still typically confined to data collection, and despite their expertise which we rely on, their professional careers do not progress like ours.” The question of whom is knowledge generated and why haunts me, especially in relation to projects like GP2 (or similar consultancy roles), where our collection of data (both qualitative and quantitative) is rushed and driven by external factors of degree validation more than the local context or honour of local agency. Is there a way to practically engage with data without perpetuation the dehumanization, oversimplification, or erasure of those whose lived experience illuminates and contextualizes the information? If so, what does that look like?
Oumar Ba’s article pushed me to reflect on myself and face the hard truth. He highlights the potential exploitation, voyeurism, and violence inherent in the research process, questioning the role of scholars in perpetuating oppressive systems. This is mostly caused by the power dynamic between researchers and the people to whom the research is being conducted and the researchers’ will to extract knowledge for their own interests.
I deeply resonate with the part where he grapples with his own positionality as an African researcher in Western institutions, acknowledging complicity in the extractive industry of knowledge production. I can relate with my experience, supporting Western researchers in Africa, especially in my home country Rwanda. Most of this work involved genocide survivors, who are vulnerable and speak only Kinyarwanda, while research interviews were in English. My role was to translate. I remember being frustrated by traumatizing questions asked to survivors, especially those who endured rape during the genocide, with no professional counselor available to support the crisis. Some survivors shared or responded because it was me who was asking—I look like them, speak their language, and share the same history. Some of those researchers, we never heard from them since. We don’t even know how they used the knowledge extracted from those survivors. On the other side, some researchers/experts developed positive friendships with local communities and used their work, extracted knowledge, and privilege for advocacy. Now I am thinking, was I complicit in this colonial process? How did I use my positionality and ‘privilege,’ in some research support experiences?
The article raises questions about the enduring legacy of colonial dynamics in research collaboration and calls for a deeper examination of the ethics of such engagements. This is emphasized by Abdelnour and Moghli’s and Lederach (2021) articles that encourage scholars to be aware of their roles in shaping narratives and acknowledge power dynamics when conducting research in violent contexts. I may sound like a dreamer, but my hope is that one day, we will live in a world where researchers are more conscious and use an anti-oppressive approach, especially when conducting research in developing countries with vulnerable communities and people they have power over. From experience, I believe there is much harm that can be caused by research, but if we are intentional about making an everlasting positive impact using research, there is a possibility to do so.
Lederach (2023) encourages an ethical research approach that prioritizes the lived experiences and perspectives of those directly affected by violence and peacebuilding processes. She also emphasizes the power of slowing down to build meaningful connections with communities: ‘The call to slow peace gives primacy to the everyday, where relationships are deepened, ancestral memories reclaimed, and ecologies regenerated.’ This serves as a crucial reminder, particularly in a fast-paced world obsessed with immediate results. The pressure increases, especially in research, where the focus tends to be solely on outcomes and findings. This approach often restricts our opportunities to establish genuine connections with communities and cultivate meaningful relationships, hindering our ability to leverage our work for lasting impact. Therefore, it is imperative to adopt a thoughtful and conscientious approach to ethically represent peace and conflict narratives, ensuring a more profound engagement with the communities involved.
This week’s readings shed light on the importance of fully understanding the context, which is often missing. Both of Lederach’s pieces demonstrate deeper context and understanding of Alta Montaña and its people. Her exploration of the displacement of the people as a result of conflict not only touches on the themes that are often discussed in the academia, but also, a very human side of the experience, which provokes an emotional understanding. Her telling of Miguel’s life demonstrates how our understanding can be skewed due to narratives, and probes us with the opportunity and privilege to tell this story to accurately represent the stories, while paying attention to the details. Abdelnour and Abu Moghli’s piece further argues on the importance of understanding the positionally and privilege, which is an important concept that has been repeatedly discussed in our program and yet often absent from many researches. Ba’s piece critically explores the intentionality behind researches — for whom is it for? This question changes the way in which the story is told, narratives that are used, how it is extractive, and expropriated. These are important considerations to have as researchers in order to accurately reflect the findings by stepping outside of Western-centric narratives and thinking, and really consider the issues from a local context. After all, the research is supposed to be serving the local population, not academics in the Global North.
These pieces helped me reflect deeply on my own research in Kenya, and critically examine whether I have been able to do that to do justice. In such complex setting such as Kenya, I feel as though two-month preparation prior to the fieldwork was not at all a sufficient amount of time to fully understand the cultural and historical dynamics, and I regret not being more aware of the contexts before going into the fieldwork. Some findings during the interviews shed light to some complexities, but it was not until an Uber ride that I found out about the 2007-2008 Kenyan crisis, which would have been critical to understanding prior to conducting interviews. Furthermore, there were so many complex issues that I was not fully aware of — the extent of patriarchy, the alarming rate of sexual violence/harassment, human rights violations, and so forth. As a researcher, since the fieldwork, I have been reflecting deeply on the ways that I could have better understood and prepared for the research, and I hope that I can use this as a learning opportunity to follow the advice of these scholars to be fully aware of the contexts, positionally and privilege, and tell the story in a way that encapsulates their experience accurately.
While acknowledging the lack of time provided to diligently research about the local context prior to the fieldwork, I do wonder if this is an issue that is faced by many researchers, where they find that their research on the local context was insufficient once they are in the region, facing the reality of the situation. One can read and research endlessly on a region or a topic, but they could be surprised by the reality once they are physically there to witness it. My question then becomes, how much research is enough to fully understand the context, if ever? As an outsider, how can we best delve ourselves into the local understandings and norms?
From the Ba reading, some insights have left me pondering the complexities of communication and translation during encounters in the field. The question of what is communicated and what is miscommunicated becomes crucial in understanding the impact of information extraction on the communities involved.
The Abdelnour et al. reading advocates for heightened political reflexivity, urging researchers to critically engage with their own political biases and positions when undertaking studies within violent contexts. In this way, it allows us to consider the ethical implications of our research methodologies, emphasizing the potential impact of our perspectives on the communities we study. Moreover, it challenges one to not only be aware of their positionality but also to actively engage in self-reflection and dialogue, fostering a more inclusive and responsible research practice. The film “The Look of Silence” underscores the impact of violence on individuals and communities, emphasizing the need for researchers to approach their work with sensitivity and empathy. Researchers should consider the ethical implications of their studies on the communities they engage with.
In this week’s reading, what was pleasantly surprising was the notion of slow peacebuilding. Lederach highlighted the concept of slow peacebuilding, requiring intentional and careful navigation of complex realities. The idea of “vigías de la esperanza” (watchers of hope) and constructores de paz (peacebuilders) highlights the role individuals can play in cultivating hope and facilitating dialogues in the wake of violence.
Some key takeaways from the Lederach reading include creating a process of informed consent, sharing written work with campesino peacebuilders, and incorporating peer review with the community as effective research strategies. Additionally, recognizing and incorporating intimate knowledge from lived experiences with theoretical frameworks can offer profound insights into peace, violence, conflict, and healing.
In reflection, I am both inspired and unsettled by the responsibility that comes with researching and writing about violence and peace. I am prompted to reflect upon my own work within the gp2 project. These insights help me consider how academia can further prioritize wider, collective processes and meaningful interactions with communities. A question worth considering is how can we navigate the balance between theory and lived experience in research, ensuring that our narratives respect the complexities and nuances of the contexts we study?
This week’s readings reminded me of our discussion last semester on how knowledge is produced and for whom; and the deep responsibility of the researcher/author/storyteller when doing so. Ba’s article really resonated with me. Conducting research has become such a norm in Western institutions, with little to no collective reflection on positionality, power dynamics, and conducting research in a non-extractive way.
These readings have led me to think about my GP2 fieldwork and methodologies…I recognize my positionality and power in daily life. And having studied and worked in international development, I’m acutely aware of the colonial presence and dynamics at play (but of course, I sometimes still miss something). There’s a lot of discussion of what has historically been harmful to communities, despite the ‘good intentions’ of Western figures. Because of this, I know what NOT to do, but leave sometimes feeling paralyzed. I certainly don’t want to inflict more harm on communities, but don’t feel confident in ways to (in this case) conduct research that serves the people and stories we’re telling. I have some regrets about our GP2 fieldwork feeling extractive and not approached with community-based methodologies.
I appreciated Abdelnour and Moghli’s article on political reflexivity in research, the danger in being neutral, and outlining forms of harm (objectification, normalization, silencing). I think their section on silencing voices was particularly important. I was challenged when they wrote about researchers unknowingly silencing voices in a project, simply by the choice of what research questions and theoretical frameworks are used! Silence is then reinforced by methodologies and exclusion of literature (deemed not academic enough). Research, in whatever form, cannot be a passive process. We are given such privilege of having the opportunity to ask questions and dig deeper. This requires us to push our ways of thinking and the ways our Western institutions push us to produce knowledge.
I wonder, how can we push/challenge our ways of thinking? How does our Western institution push us to produce knowledge? As we write our GP2 final reports, is there a way to challenge the way we’re pushed? What could this look like?