I was recently challenged by a participant with regards to research integrity and my capability (real or imagined) of publishing “awkward” findings. I have some thoughts.
A colleague and I recently ran a focus group. Overall, it went well and we got a lot of good data. However, it started with a very challenging provocation from a participant who expressed scepticism regarding our interest in – and ability to publish – any “awkward” results which may counter the wishes of our supposed governmental overlords.
We were totally unprepared for such a question. Because my colleague and I are so assured of our independence as researchers, we simply didn’t consider that as something a participant might raise as an issue. After about 20 minutes of back and forth, I felt we had reached an impasse and reminded the participant that he was under no obligation to participate and that he could simply leave. He decided to remain, and we ran the discussion session as planned.
Looking back on that interaction, it seems clear that a core issue is that the general public has no clear understanding how research funding works in the UK – and that even we, as researchers, were unable to explain it with clarity when put on the spot.
Government funding for research in the UK is channelled through the Research Councils e.g., the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC). All the research councils are independent, and linked together under the umbrella of UK Research and Innovation (UKRI). Government allocates a budget to each research council, which they are then able to manage as they see fit. The councils will often choose to align their funding with issues of current importance, like the Covid-19 pandemic or Net-Zero targets. The independence of the research councils is crucial. Here in the UK and in most other places there is an in-built understanding that the value we can provide as researchers is directly underwritten by how free we are to research issues we feel are important, in ways we know are appropriate, and our ability to publish and disseminate findings regardless of their content.
The basic principle is that the knowledge a person, a group, or a government wants is not necessarily the knowledge they need. So, while technically the funding for my current project is via (quasi-)governmental sources, it has been purposely channelled so as to prevent meddling and to assure researcher independence. There are gatekeepers at every point in the chain.
A linked point of mutual mis-understanding was around why we as individuals had applied for a project role studying such a technical and/or industrial topic. How could this be of interest to social scientists? There must be some nefarious, instrumental purpose at work; maybe we’re in the pocket of Big Industry*.
*Just to be clear, we are not in the pocket of Big Industry. We’d have better clothes and fancy watches if that were the case.
Snide anti-capitalist comments aside, what motivates a researcher like myself to pursue a particular line of enquiry is often not the headline ‘topic’ of any particular project or study. For me, the primary interest underlying all the projects I’ve been part of has been a core interest in how we (humans – individuals, communities, societies) conceive of ourselves within the natural environment, what the ‘correct’ human-environment relation is considered to be and how it might be attained. These questions are been the foundation from which I have engaged with issues of nuclear power, gene editing, and now next-generation aviation.
In a data collection situation there is seldom time to explain those deeper motivations. We are conscious that we are requesting a lot from our participants: anywhere from a one-hour interview to perhaps a full day for a focus group, once you factor in travel time as well. We can’t waste that time talking about ourselves. Often, not explaining our deeper, behind-the-scenes motivations and thinking is a deliberate decision made with methodological rigor in mind. We don’t want to prime a participant to speak in terms that we use, or unintentionally feed them viewpoints which are then reflected back to us in the transcript. Another reason for downplaying our direct research interests could be to prevent a participant feeling that we don’t take their personal interests seriously. I might want to interview champion vegetable growers: not because I’m intrinsically interested in huge onions,* but because I want to get an understanding of how they think about soils, microbial life, agrichemicals and fertilisers.
*Of course, an intrinsic preoccupation with mammoth alliums may spontaneously arise in the course of such a study. All things great and small, etc. etc.
Ultimately, we all hope that our overlords – governmental or otherwise – understand that here is no point in spending public money on the research equivalent of toadying ‘yes-men.’ Ensuring that you only ever hear the information you want can prevent you from receiving information you need. We’ve all seen the damage wrought to society through the unwitting creation of social media echo-chambers: the algorithm feeds you the type of content you have a history of engaging with, thereby shielding you from alternate viewpoints. That is not to say, however, that ‘hearing the other side’ will automatically balance the information landscape we find ourselves in. In the words of one of my favourite political commentators,* don’t be taken in by “glory-seeking clickbait or fringe views disguised as plurality.”
*Alex Andreou – very clever, very funny… the epitome of verbal incisiveness, even when doing an advert for the Economist
Over and out!
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