Ethics

[Field Notes, December 2015] Liam’s problematic relationship to food became an

issue in the workshop again today. He continues to refuse to eat the nutritious food served at lunchtime [at the Grassmarket], relying almost solely on crisps, sweets and up to two litres of Irn Bru (we have no idea how much he drinks at home, after workshop hours, nor what he eats there, but from his stubborn behaviour it’s

unlikely to be much different).

We’ve all become entangled in his welfare at this point, shaking our heads, trying to talk sense into him, concerned by his pasty skin and the unhealthy look in his

eyes. We tried again to convince him to at least try something that doesn’t contain sugar as its main ingredient. We’ve discussed it openly and we all genuinely think it will, on a yet-unknown timescale, be the thing that’s going to kill him. I’m not

sure I intervened as I should have, though, when Brian [another volunteer] began teasing Liam after lunch, saying that it was the quantity of Irn Bru which had turned his hair ginger. Brian, as always, toes a fine line between humour, intelligence, and

outright obnoxiousness. The point is serious, but Liam’s anger made it apparent that he is tiring of other people’s desire to change hisdiet. I shouldn’t have laughed,

though I did end up talking to Tommy about the tension arising between the two, to try to protect Liam.

This mundane example hints at just some of the questions raised around researcher responsibility working in dynamic social environments. Cloke et al. (2000: 136) highlight something of a paradox that, with the upturn in interest in

practising ‘interpretative social science’ over recent decades, research is seen as

“morally more acceptable” – that is, less objectifying and positivistic – while

“concomitantly the room for ethical dilemma has undoubtedly increased.” While an institutional ethics board granted permission for the present study, and formal steps have been taken to protect anonymity where possible, it is true that this is only the starting point when it comes to the relational ethical considerations in qualitative research (Gillan and Pickerill, 2012).

On some fronts, the ethical issues for this project appeared minimal. These were relatively thriving, well-established community groups, operating in a sphere –

making and craft skills – which seems largely devoid of ethical uncertainties and tensions. Participants were all over the age of 18 and able to consent to taking part in the study. It seemed that, having got to know people, they were happy to contribute to ‘help me’, reciprocating the way we helped each other day-to-day in the workshop, by answering relatively innocuous questions about making in their lives. Ethically, obtaining access was relatively unproblematic. These were not

‘over-researched’ groups and the word ‘research’ wasn’t a dirty one amongst them, unlike, for example, its connotations among many indigenous and global South communities around the world (Smith, 2012). However, while the topic of making cannot be deemed an ethically sensitive issue, in the way that, say, the study of homelessness and addiction could be, some sensitive issues related to health and wellbeing are raised in the thesis, particularly in Chapter 6.

Other ethical dilemmas stayed with me throughout the period of study, not least

the danger of veering into research ‘extractivism’. Was I just a ‘research tourist’

groups? How could I not be a ‘research tourist’ in a place like the Hacklab, where people were expressing specialised interests which had been developing over many decades and which, in some cases, I had little knowledge of. Could I actively harm them or impact negatively on internal group dynamics? Would my presence cause tensions? How did my enrolment as a PhD candidate colour my choices? On balance, was I doing this for me, for them, or for some broader purpose relevant to neither party? Or all three, simultaneously? Such were just a few of the meta- ethical questions I asked myself consistently and which would probably never be comprehensively resolved or answered.

Participatory methods and action research are, by now, reasonably widespread in qualitative research (Kesby, 2007), and ones which, in their ‘strong’ form, I admire. It did weigh on me that I hadn’t taken that more testing route, by actively including participants in research design, for example, or responding specifically to a self- identified need or imperative within the community. This was due, in part, to a lack of confidence in my ability to engage and enthuse potential participants for deeper engagement.

Cloke et al. (2000: 141) note “the sheer difficulty of holding in tension the very different roles and discourses demanded of an academic researcher dealing with marginalised others”. At the Grassmarket particularly, I felt a pressure that I was expected to be of use, as an ‘outsider,’ to somehow ‘evaluate’ their work, when I felt that I was really there to respectfully learn from it. To be framed as an evaluative project would have changed the feel of the entire process. To

counteract such pressures, I tried, as much as possible, to emphasise that I wasn’t there to ‘evaluate’ anything, but that I did hope that there would be lessons to be learnt which I would feed back after the duration of the project.

While my project never claimed to ‘make a difference’ in the mould of

participatory methods, and was not action research in a ‘deep’ sense (Kesby, 2007), I do take seriously Gibson-Graham’s (2008b: 623) assertion that research is inherently methodologically performative, and that projects such as the one

undertaken here can “[make] credible those diverse practices that satisfy needs,

regulate consumption, generate surplus, and maintain and expand the commons , so that community economies in which interdependence between people and environments is ethically negotiated can be recognized now and constructed in

the future.” This was tangibly evident, for example, through my active participation in helping to construct the very material infrastructure of the Remakery, or the work I contributed which would, among other things, help to ensure the financial viability of the Grassmarket.

Ethical issues regarding consent, which can plague ethnographic studies, were also a concern for me. In practice, I would confront the blurring of overt and covert study which often takes place in busy public environments. Gaining permission to access a field site is just the very beginning and it proved simply practically impossible, for example, to inform everyone passing through a public workshop on a busy open night, that I was going to go home that evening and write up notes on my observations.

This concern is redoubled in ‘netnographic’ work, whether in recruitment, data

collection, analysis or dissemination (Caliandro, 2017). Ethical processes in the latter relatively new realm of qualitative study are often unclear, a fact not helped by a relative lack of discussion in the human geographical literature (Madge, 2007). For example, I made my presence on the list known at the outset, but had concerns in doing so. When sending these e-mails to recruit participants, I was conscious of not derailing the list for my own purposes, and so made sure to send such e-mails weeks, or months, apart.

Other factors which need to be taken into account with digital methods include whether the information is of a sensitive nature, whether it has been made deliberately available in the public domain, and whether that ‘public domain’ is a

passively-viewed forum or a mailing list (in which case messages are actively sent into unknown others’ inboxes). As one participant stated, “If I said it on an open forum then, as far as I'm concerned, it's a public statement that can be used for

any purpose by anyone” (William, personal communication). However, how should archived data be treated when the contributor has withdrawn from the forum or is non-contactable? Much like qualitative research generally, there are simply no ethical rules which can be strictly followed in every case, when it comes to the capture and use of online qualitative data (Townsend and Wallace, 2016).