Research and the Theoretical Field - Pauldowling.me

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... I and many sociologists spend available Saturday afternoons observing
professional football: as far as we are aware we hope for skilled and creative
performances, an enjoyable match and possibly a victory for the favoured side,
and are much less motivated to attend matches by the opportunity to observe
crowd behaviour or interaction between professionals. Inevitably, however, there
are moments when one's observation is guided by sociological principles and I
have even recorded notes after a match. It would be absurd to announce that
there was a sociologist on the terraces making casual observations and to
explain his purpose and methods. For those who pay their money at the turnstile
sociological observation is, unlike throwing beer bottles or running on to the
pitch, an acceptable and unobtrusive activity.
(Homan, 1980; pp. 56-7)
No, I’m not talking about football research, but informal or opportunistic
research. Homan makes the point that sociologists (and presumably
educational researchers as well) often regard the world with a researcher’s
gaze even when they are not on duty, so to speak. Certainly this is true in my
case. One example is described in slightly different ways in Dowling, 2004b
and 2004c. At the start of each of these papers is a brief description of my
observations from the window of a bus whilst on a holiday in India. Here’s the
story as told in the latter paper:
Picture a scene in rural Rajasthan in December. A narrow, roughly metalled road
divides fields of mustard plants. The road is sparsely lined with trees, foliage a
darker, greyer green than the emerald mustard leaves. A tourist coach chugs
along the road passing, every now and then a village of grey-brown low
dwellings, men in drab walking or cycling along dirt paths. Women are working in
the fields, brightly visible in their bright-coloured saris, each one different. Now:
how do you read this visual text
***
Some years ago I took a coach tour in northern provinces of India. The fields of
green mustard leaves behind the trees sparsely lining the road between Agra
and Jaipur were radiant against the pale blue mountains in the distance.
“Look at the women in the fields,” prompted one of my fellow tourists,
“aren’t their colours beautiful.” And indeed they were. Though quite a distance
away and mainly bending down, working in the leaves, the women dazzled in
purples and blues and reds, each one different, jewels in Rajasthan’s own vast
emerald silk sari. The other passengers on the coach agreed and cooed and
photographed and felt happy in the warm sun and the mild intoxication of beer at
lunchtime. As a sociologist I felt obliged to speak.
“What about the men” I asked.
“What do you mean, there aren’t any men, we haven’t seen any men”
“Yes you have, you saw them in the villages that we’ve driven through.
What colours were they wearing”
“Well, mainly drab khakis and greys.”
“So you probably wouldn’t notice them even if they were in the fields.”
“No.”
“Tell me, in an agricultural environment in which people work spread out
over a large area that is pretty much monochrome, what do you think is the best
way to ensure that you can keep control of your women and still be free to get up
to whatever takes your fancy” My colleagues were aghast.
“You’ve ruined our afternoon.” And so I had, and perhaps mine as well. Jeremy
Bentham could not have designed a more efficient rural panopticon; the vivid
markings of this particular beast now merely warned of the sting in its tail; idyllic
culture had been stripped of its lustrous garment to reveal the hard core of the
social structure that wears it as a veil: sari-technology. Tourist discourse was a
cutaway to an idyllic dream; sociological discourse here, a beauty’s awakening,
but I was no Prince Charming.
(Dowling, 2004c; no page numbers)
RESEARCH & THE THEORETICAL FIELD