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What is Frugal About Gig Platforms?

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M-PESA, a fintech platform, created alternative banking for those previously excluded from formal finance. While it advanced financial inclusion, it also highlighted deep inequalities and the extraction of value from vulnerable users. In this blog, Anna Elias, Erwin Tuijl, and Jasmin Hofman remind us that frugal innovation is not just about low-cost solutions — it is about addressing the social and political dimensions of exclusion and examining who truly benefits from digital progress.

M-PESA is often cited as a landmark example of frugal innovation in the digital era. This fintech platform created an alternative banking infrastructure for people in informal economies who previously lacked access to formal banking. While M-PESA has significantly advanced financial inclusion, it has also been criticised for deepening inequalities between those who have and those who lack access, as well as enabling its operators to extract value from vulnerable users in informal settlements . This case highlights an important nuance: frugal innovation should not only be understood as delivering low-cost and simple solutions, but through a more holistic lens that embeds social and political dimensions to actively tackle exclusion and inequality  This broader framing pushes us to critically examine how digital platforms do more than just lower entry barriers, they shape who ultimately benefits and who remains excluded.

This tension between increased accessibility and persistent exclusion also appears in social media platforms like YouTube and Facebook. These platforms empower grassroots innovators in the Global South to reach wider markets, but gaining visibility often requires additional investments in advertising or search optimization, reinforcing inequalities based on users’ resources. In contrast, in refugee camps, semi-literate women use WhatsApp for voice messages and photo sharing, fostering new forms of collective agency and entrepreneurship despite limited formal infrastructure.

These examples show that digital platforms can enable users to overcome resource constraints in innovative ways. Frugal innovations aim to “do more with less for more people,” characterized by low cost, simplicity, and ease of access. Yet frugal is not always inclusive.

So, where do gig platforms fit within this framework? Are they truly frugal, that is easy to use, affordable, accessible and do they effectively address livelihood challenges in informal economies? Gig platforms connect people offering short, flexible tasks or “gigs” with customers. They broadly fall into two categories: remote digital work such as coding, translation or data entry on platforms like Amazon Mechanical Turk, and location-based services like ride-hailing, food delivery or home maintenance via SafeBoda, Uber, PedidosYa or Urban Company.

To understand how these platforms operate, we highlight the case of Sonal, a beautician in a Mumbai suburb, whom one of the author’s engaged with during fieldwork. At 5 AM, she prepares her kit and checks her Urban Company app, which has scheduled six appointments for her that day. Before joining the platform, Sonal struggled to find steady work, relying on informal networks and occasional beauty parlour jobs, opportunities that diminished further after COVID-19. Urban Company now connects her to customers she would not otherwise reach. Yet, her income fluctuates with the platform’s algorithms: her rating dropped after a couple of three (with five being the maximum) star reviews, affecting her visibility and job allocation. She is also repaying her smartphone in instalments, a vital tool for her livelihood, which reduces her daily take-home pay. Many workers like Sonal navigate this digital frontier across many contexts, balancing new opportunities with precarious conditions.

Gig platforms lower entry barriers by providing affordable, ready-made infrastructure: mobile interfaces, algorithmic client matching, payment processing, and marketing reach. Traditionally, workers in informal contexts needed not only monetary capital like owning a vehicle or renting space, but also social capital: trust, networks, and knowledge to secure steady work. Access itself becomes a form of capital determining livelihood security and autonomy. Platforms like SafeBoda or Urban Company bypass these hurdles, enabling workers with limited resources to enter new markets.

Ease of use is critical, especially for workers with low formal education or technical skills. Many gig platforms offer intuitive interfaces with regional language support, voice commands, and simple navigation. For example, the Urban Company app supports multiple regional languages and provides features like earnings dashboard for workers to track payments. Sonal highlights the convenience: “I can see my earnings by day, week, or month all in one place, indicate my availability, and manage my schedule through the app”.

Affordability is another dimension of frugal innovation. Many platforms have minimal or no registration fees, making them more accessible than traditional business setups requiring large upfront investments, buying a vehicle or setting up a salon, for instance. Platforms also reduce marketing costs by aggregating demand and matching it to workers directly, mitigating risks associated with finding customers independently.

At first glance, gig platforms appear to embody frugal innovation by offering low-cost, accessible means to improve livelihoods in informal economies.

Challenging platform frugality

Access to digital infrastructure remains a fundamental prerequisite for using digital platforms. Participation depends on reliable mobile networks, smartphone ownership, and basic digital literacy. While often taken for granted in urban areas, these conditions can be major barriers in rural regions, especially across parts of Africa where network coverage is patchy. Moreover, rural areas’ low population density limits demand for location-based services like ride-hailing or food delivery, deepening the urban-rural divide in gig work opportunities.

Costs of participation also challenge the frugality claim. For example, Jane from the Mathare informal settlement in Kenya sometimes skips meals to afford internet bundles. As for Sonal, she must repay her smartphone in instalments. Some platforms charge fees to service providers or merchants, for instance restaurant owners using Just Eat Takeaway may pay to be featured higher in search results or face fierce price competition [iv]. Beyond platform fees, workers bear costs of smartphones, internet subscriptions, loan repayment for vehicles, or workspace rent. Such expenses create dependencies and exacerbate precarity.

Formal registration requirements can exclude many people. Drivers in India can sign up on Uber with a valid driving license, but residents of informal settlements like Mathare often lack official IDs needed for the registration. Similarly, Syrian refugees in Lebanon are excluded due to their lack of a legal status, and strict SIM card registration rules in Uganda prevent some citizens from accessing mobile platforms at all.

Conclusion

These access barriers and costs suggest that gig platforms are less frugal than other digital platforms. Similar to critiques of M-PESA and lending platforms like Jumo, gig platforms may expand economic opportunities in the short term but also deepen dependency on platforms and create new inequalities. Participation divides are likely to persist or widen, with those lacking digital access or formal documentation left behind.

Understanding platform frugality requires a holistic view of frugal innovation that goes beyond low cost and simplicity. It calls for embedding social and political dimensions that address exclusion and power dynamics shaping who benefits. Only through such a comprehensive lens can we critically assess the promises and perils of gig platforms as vehicles for inclusive economic development.

 

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the authors:

Ana Elias

Anna Elias is a PhD researcher at the International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University. Her research examines how digital platforms reshape livelihoods within the informal sector, focusing on workers’ experiences in economically disadvantaged, socially hierarchical, and resource-constrained contexts of the Global South. She co-coordinates the Platform Labour Group at Erasmus University and is affiliated with the Platform Work Inclusion Living Lab (PWILL).

Erwin Tuijl

Erwin van Tuijl (PhD, Erasmus University Rotterdam) is researcher and lecturer in Urban Studies at the TU Delft, and at the International Centre for Frugal Innovation (ICFI). He is also affiliated with the European Institute for Comparative Urban Research (Euricur). His current research focuses on just sustainability transitions (with a focus on mobility and energy), digitalisation, (frugal) innovation, and regional development.

Jasmin Hofman

Jasmin Hofman is a strategic professional and coordinator of LDE Global and the International Centre for Frugal Innovation. She develops crossover initiatives that bridge research, education, policy, and practice. With experience in designing educational programs, workshops, and innovative concepts, she leverages her expertise to foster collaboration and deliver impactful projects.

 

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From Content Production to Meaningful Engagement: A Collective Reflection on Communicating Development Research Online

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The communications landscape around us is changing — seemingly at breakneck speed. Since our last meeting as EADI Research Communications Working Group more than five years ago, especially the online communications environment has all but been transformed. These changes are forcing us to reflect on how we are communicating and whether it’s sufficient, also from a social justice perspective. The recent workshop for EADI members held in Bonn, Germany, was a moment for us to get together and reflect on recent changes and our responses.

Get with the times or fall behind

As the communications environment changes, we as research communications professionals are changing how we communicate scientific research. Sometimes this change takes place naturally. The recent changes to Twitter (X) — a platform long favoured by (development) researchers and research institutions for keeping vital discussions alive online — is a prime example. What we see now is a call coming from within the research community to find alternatives to a platform that no longer aligns to the mission of researchers and research communications professionals. We are not being forced to abandon Twitter; it is a choice that we make.

Fear the algorithm — it does as it pleases (or does it?)

At other times, we don’t have a choice; we are forced to change our communications strategies to prevent what we’re communicating from going unheard, from not making the impact we want it to, or from being misused. At the workshop, several participants highlighted difficulties they were facing when producing content for social media: the algorithms for platforms such as Instagram and Facebook decide which content is visible — and we don’t always know why. Algorithms all but govern social media, one participant observed.

Another recounted that the organization’s Facebook page was disabled because the word “climate” had been used. The word was considered politically inflammatory. The organization didn’t realize that this had happened until they investigated it, and even then, it took some puzzling to determine that it was that specific word that had triggered the freezing of the account. Something similar happened at another organization that had posted political content on TikTok — the account they used was banned from the platform. In both cases, they later knew what had triggered the ban but not how to prevent it.

At other times, the algorithm suppresses or highlights content seemingly at random. Many of us do not fully understand how this works. What we do know is social media platforms want to keep people on them for as long as possible. For this reason, content with links is suppressed because it takes users to another site. Embedding content on these platforms or on website pages might be one way to circumvent this – but this is not always possible, especially when we link to longer texts that simply cannot be posted on social media.

Too much information

This is linked to the problem of oversaturation: there is a wealth of content that gets posted on social media, meaning that content gets ‘lost’. And if the algorithm sends ‘undesired’ content to the bottom of the pile, the chances are even smaller that the post will be seen. How can we deal with this problem? Perhaps cross-posting on social media can ensure that it reaches more people. Researchers themselves could possibly also play a key role, as their online presence complements that of research communications teams and their voices are preferred over the more ‘generic’ voices of those who do so professionally. How to get researchers to want to communicate their research is discussed in another blog article on the workshop that follows this one.

We still need Twitter — but we don’t want to

Getting back to quitting Twitter, moving away from the platform is not as easy as we would imagine it to be. One participant remarked that they use the platform to reach journalists and that they’d simply fail to do so if they stopped using it. There also is not a strong enough alternative to the platform. Several participants had joined BlueSky but have not yet been able to determine whether the platform is useful or not; not many researchers have joined the platform, either.

And until everyone who’s important for our communications efforts has joined an alternative platform like BlueSky (both researchers and our target audiences) — or enough people to start a new community join it — Twitter will probably remain the dominant platform. A coordinated migration by development research and education institutes to a new platform was suggested as one possible way to make this shift, but the loss of followers that had taken several years to amass was identified as one disadvantage of this suggested strategy. And yet again other platforms such as Threads do not allow political content to be posted, something which several of the organizations wish to do.

LinkedIn is more important than ever

The discussion clearly showed the rise of LinkedIn, which not only performs well but is also becoming preferred by (development) researchers and practitioners alike. While other platforms such as Facebook are also used for personal reasons, LinkedIn is used by professionals to find information they need to do their work, one participant commented. This includes what’s happening in the field — new developments and possibly new partners to collaborate with. LinkedIn Groups are also useful for locating epistemic communities and those researchers and practitioners working on particular subjects or in particular fields. One participant shared how she had spent time on LinkedIn scanning groups to (re)post relevant content in.

Accessibility is key, but the digital divide persists

Accessibility is also becoming increasingly important. Videos are being produced with subtitles for those who cannot access the audio, or for those who watch them while commuting, for example. Other platforms remain less accessible; these include podcasts, which like videos require data to listen to that is expensive in many countries (where there is also limited access to Wi-Fi networks). In such contexts, mainstream media – television, radio, and newspapers – are still seen to play an important role.

Building and nurturing relationships

One of the important lessons we learned at the workshop is that communicating is more than simply producing and disseminating content; it is much more than that. One participant commented — and this struck me — that we need to focus not only on the “media” aspect of social media but also on its “social” aspect. We have a responsibility as research communicators to create and nurture social spaces.

Related to this, another participant commented that communication is about building relationships. From this perspective, we need to focus on enduring engagement that means nurturing the social spaces for dialogue we’ve created. Focusing only on spreading content is not enough.

And, last of all, meaningful engagement should be a key priority that drives our communications strategies so that our messages are not only heard but also heeded.

This blog article was first published here

Image: Taken from the workshop

About the author:

Lize Swartz is an academic blogging specialist, academic editor, and development researcher. She is Editor of Bliss, the blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, where she also conducts PhD research on experiences of and responses to water scarcity in urban contexts.

 

Caring About Peace: Care as Inclusion and Transformation in Peacebuilding

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Drawing off interviews with peacebuilding practitioners working in Palestine, Sudan and Yemen, this blog considers how peacebuilding practices can be enhanced with a lens of care. How does centring care relations of interdependency impact what is understood as peacebuilding? How can decision making and participation become more inclusive? And what are the implications for the construction of Global North/South dichotomy informing humanitarian intervention?

Image by artemisgone/Pixabay

Puig de la Bellacasa (2017) sits with the trouble of understanding the significance and ambivalence of care by stating “care is omnipresent, even through the effects of its absence” (p. 1). The ‘absence’ of care is particularly visible during conflict, as care tasks may become more urgent and challenging. Likewise, care relations are severed when people die or become displaced, and numbers of injured people requiring care may increase (Robinson, 2011 p. 96). In the context of peace and conflict, some scholars argue that care, and the gendered power relations that go with it, cuts through social practices (Vaittinen et al., 2019, p. 3).

With this framing of care, my thesis research sought to explore how peacebuilding with a care lens can enable inclusion and strengthen extant situated caring practices. I explored this in conversations with peacebuilding professionals implementing programs under the Dutch NAP-IV, Security Council Resolution 1325 on Women Peace and Security (WPS), in Palestine, Sudan and Yemen.

Analysis of peacebuilding programs with a care lens

Across three country contexts, every conversation revealed how care relations are constituted in a lineage of unequal power structures – specifically, colonialism, patriarchy, and racism.

These conversations revealed how without explicitly considering people with care roles and their specific needs, peacebuilding programs inadvertently excluded people with care roles in their approach. This exclusion is in direct contradiction to the NAP-IV outcome of increasing women’s equal and meaningful participation in decision-making in peace and security processes. Moreover, excluding people with care roles – who may face multiple aspects of structural marginalisation – impedes upon their needs, rights, expertise and experiences shaping the discourse of what peace and security means, for whom, and how it is attained. This exclusion furthers the devaluation and marginalisation of people who care – and the role of care itself – in society. So, , what could embedding a care lens add to these programs?

Embodying caring values: attentive listening and responding to needs

Practicing caring values such as attentive listening, patience, humility and seeking to understand the context can support better understanding and response to needs of affected communities in peacebuilding programs. This can include asking ‘How are care relations disrupted by the conflict? Have sites of care (e.g. community spaces and homes) been destroyed in the conflict? How are gendered dynamics impacted by the conflict? How are marginalised groups impacted by the conflict? Whose needs are being met, and whose are not?’ This echoes the recommendations in the Peace Direct et al. Decolonising Aid (2021) report where practitioners advised INGOs to “listen, listen, listen”, and “act with humility” (p. 36).

Designing to include

In my conversations with peacebuilding professionals, I heard examples of listening and responding to needs in practice. Based in Sudan, Amina* spoke of advising colleagues in the program, “Always, I tell them that we need to do our listening before conducting any activity in the community. Just go to the community, listen from them directly. Listen for the women, listen for their stories. And after that, let us come and sit and think and try to know the kind of intervention that we need for this community”. This practice of attentive listening, utilising relational ontology and situated knowledge of the context, can be embedded in the needs assessment prior to program design and implementation.

Based in Palestine, Sahar* reflected on a lack of understanding of unpaid care work as a barrier to participation: “This is a huge burden that might prevent women from engagement and participation in public life in general … we are talking about women’s political participation and participation in decision-making process”.

A needs assessment must embody an ethics of care, and be attuned to structural barriers to participation. Practically, this entails specifying who does the listening (e.g., someone with existing relations to the community), who is listened to (e.g., marginalised communities), and identifying existing relations of care and seeking to strengthen these, while being attuned to how different forms of power exist and are distributed in society, impacting relations of dependency as mutual or exploitative.

Having a more comprehensive understanding of the specific needs of people in a conflict-affected community can support inclusive program design, such as providing childcare during program events and scheduling events in times and places which are not restrictive for people to attend. Addressing these barriers enables peace and security discourse to be more reflective of the lived realities, needs and aspirations of all people affected by the conflict.

 

Implications for humanitarian intervention

Thinking about peace with a care lens supports us to centre a recognition of interdependence across national borders, and challenges the construction of power within the longstanding Global North/South dichotomy in humanitarian intervention. A care analysis highlights the capacity and expertise of people who are situated in a conflict-affected context to understand and respond to needs of particular others, as such relations of giving and receiving care exist before, during and after the conflict. This framing aligns with the broader localisation agenda.

This does not suggest international actors have no role or responsibility in supporting conflict-affected communities. Ethics of care highlights the experience of interconnected needs, dependency and vulnerability transcending national borders, and is attuned to the historical and ongoing impacts of colonisation which influence whose needs are met, and whose are not. From here, the role of humanitarian intervention must be to strengthen local activities/approaches, and redistribute resources to do this, rather than undermine or overshadow local initiatives.

Everyday peace theorists contend that without a consideration of how care operates in peace efforts “it follows that various mundane practices of caring that are crucial in creating trust and peaceful conflict transformation are either taken for granted, or remain invisible” (Vaittinen et al., 2019, p. 3). As the conflicts in Sudan, Yemen and Palestine continue and civilian deaths increase every day, care relations are severed, strained and remade. Humanitarian intervention must seek to strengthen mundane, everyday practices of care in efforts to support and sustain peace that is by, and for, people situated in the conflict context.

References

*Note, interview participant names changed to maintain anonymity

Peace Direct, Adeso, Alliance for Peacebuilding and Women of Color Advancing Peace and Security and Conflict Transformation. (2021) Time to Decolonial Aid – Insights and lessons from a global consultation. Peace Direct, London. Available at: PDDecolonising_Aid_Report_Second_Edition.pdf (peaceinsight.s3.amazonaws.com) (Accessed 19 October 2023).

Puig de la Bellacasa, M. (2017) ‘The Disruptive Thought of Care’, in Puig de la Bellacasa, M. (ed.) Matters of care: speculative ethics in more than human worlds. United Kingdom: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 1-24.

Robinson, F. (2011a) The Ethics of Care; A Feminist Approach to Human Security. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Vaittinen, T., Donahoe, A., Kunz, R., Bára Ómarsdóttir, S. and Roohi, S. (2019) ‘Care as everyday peacebuilding’, Peacebuilding, 7(2), pp. 194-209. doi: 10.1080/21647259.2019.1588453 https://doi.org/10.1080/21647259.2019.158845 3.

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the author:

Ebony Westman holds a MA in Development Studies, specialising in Peace and Conflict Studies from ISS (2023) and a MA in Gender Studies from Utrecht University (2017). Ebony is committed to intersectional gender advocacy and exploring this in the context of peace, conflict and care.

 

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Mind the Queer Gap: Bisexual Invisibility in the Women, Peace, and Security Agenda

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With several ongoing conflicts, researcher Isabella Cordua considers how Bisexual invisibility in general has contributed to a lack of attention paid to Bisexual people in conflict, and calls for more focus to be placed on LGBTQI+ people, and Bisexual people in particular in the WPS Agenda. [

Image by Adobe Stock

The LGBTQ+ community worldwide continues to grapple with violence, discrimination, and marginalisation, all of which are intensified during conflicts. Reports of violence are all too common – last year, a store owner in the United States was killed following a dispute over displaying a rainbow Pride flag outside her business. Meanwhile, in Uganda, a 20-year-old man faces “aggravated homosexuality” charges, punishable by death under recent homophobic legislation. In Australia, a new report shows that one in two transgender Australians have experienced online and offline anti-trans hate this year, intensified by the proliferation of unchecked anti-trans rhetoric.

However, there is a significant lack of efforts targeted at addressing violence against the queer community, especially during conflict. Resolution 1325 on Women, Peace and Security (WPS), adopted by the Security Council in 2000, largely neglects LGBTQ+ experiences. This oversight persists even though the hatred directed at members of the LGBTQ+ community is fundamentally rooted in the same harmful gender norms and heteronormative female/male binary that create a permissive space for violence against women and girls.

Obtaining LGBTQ+ statistics, especially in countries that criminalise identities outside of the heteropatriarchal binary, can be difficult. However, a study in the US, Canada, Australia, and Norway found that bisexuals make up the majority of the LGBTQ+ community. Paradoxically, they remain under-researched and overlooked by the peace and security community, even when we consider the lack of focus around LGBTQ+ people as a whole.

 

Bisexual Invisibility in Society as a whole

Bisexual people often receive limited support and representation within the LGBTQ+ community, leading to minimal dedicated efforts and funding, of which bisexual women, for example, receive less than 1%. Bisexual men face even greater invisibility due to social stigma, and programming for bisexual genderqueer individuals is virtually non-existent.

The term bisexuality has long been the subject of debate. While it is assumed that the prefix “bi” refers to attraction to only two genders, bisexuality is better understood as homosexual and heterosexual attraction. Thus, bisexuality is a radical critique of heteronormative patriarchal morals and monosexual identity.

 

Compounded Vulnerabilities of Queer and Bisexual Individuals in Conflict

Bisexual individuals tend to be excluded from both heteronormative culture and the LGBTQ+ community, especially when they are in heterosexual relationships. They are labelled as “confused” or merely going through a “phase”. Exclusion thus occurs twice: deemed “too gay” and “too straight” at once, they are pressured to conform to monosexual norms and often feel “alienated” and emotionally “homeless.”

The pressure to conform to hegemonic masculine norms can endanger bisexual men, whose sexuality may be seen as conflicting with societal expectations of the “real man”. Top of FormBottom of Form Meanwhile, bisexual women may face comparable discrimination and abuse to lesbians when they are in same-sex relationships or express same-sex desires, betraying patriarchal assumptions around women’s perceived dependence on men.

Bisexuals often feel compelled to conceal their sexual orientation, particularly during conflicts, to conform to societal norms. While the ability to “pass” as heterosexual may be seen as a privilege, the necessity to do so to avoid harm constitutes a form of violence in itself.

Bisexuals’ nonconformity can see them stereotyped as promiscuous and untrustworthy. These harmful perceptions make them more vulnerable to sexual and gender-based violence, particularly “corrective” rape perpetrated in an effort to “cure” them. In sexually repressive communities, these stereotypes heighten risks, driven by the urge to control bodies, particularly female bodies, and sexuality against heteropatriarchal norms.

Since violence and targeting of those who do not conform to hegemonic masculinity intensify amid conflict, bisexual people’s challenge to binary expressions of sexual orientation deserves greater attention from peace and conflict specialists. To start with, the WPS agenda needs to be reframed to better accommodate intersectional gender perspectives that address the multiple ways that gendered discrimination is experienced. This approach can provide better insights for addressing violence in both times of peace and war.

 

Expanding Gender Inclusion in the WPS Agenda

Resolution 1325 marked a shift in recognising women in conflict beyond victimhood, yet embraced an essentialist interpretation of their role. Critics argue that the WPS agenda conflates ‘women’ and ‘gender,’ promoting a binary view and limiting its focus to cisgender, heteronormative women, ignoring broader gender perspectives in conflict.

This binary and essentialist approach limits the scope and effect of the WPS agenda, which fails to address any departure from the ideal of the “asexual good woman.” Expressions of sexuality challenging this norm are seen as barriers to women’s participation in peace efforts. Indeed, the WPS agenda overlooks lesbian, bisexual, and transgender women, leaving their unique experiences of conflict-related violence unaddressed.

As is, the WPS agenda fails to recognise that all forms of gender-based violence stem from harmful gender norms that perpetuate the subordination of women and devalue femininity in favour of a specific hegemonic masculinity. This omission alienates gay and bisexual men and transgender and non-binary individuals, who face violence due to their identities and sexual orientation. It also hinders conflict resolution efforts and perpetuates the invisibility of queer experiences.

To truly address gendered violence in conflict and promote lasting peace, the WPS agenda must evolve to include the experiences of LGBTQ+ individuals. Queerness can be a major factor that makes individuals vulnerable to violence in conflict settings and needs to be better understood.

The bisexual community navigate unique challenges due to their defiance of heteropatriarchal norms and monosexual morals. Yet, their experiences remain invisible also because they are often grouped within the broader LGBTQ+ framework, which is itself overlooked.

Image Credit: https://stock.adobe.com/ie/images/a-rainbow-flag-standing-tall-amid-the-destruction-of-war-lgbtq-pride-flag/631638932

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the author:

Isabella Cordua is a Rotary Peace Fellow at the University of Queensland. Before receiving the fellowship, Isabella worked as Research Coordinator at the Network for Empowered Aid Response (NEAR). She has previously led research and advocacy for other renowned organisations, including Global Insight, the Cyrus R. Vance Center for International Justice, AdvocAid, and Defence for Children Sierra Leone.

 

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Women’s Week 2023 |“I am a girl, not a woman”: how recognizing diverse girlhoods can foster the inclusion of young mothers in debates on womanhood and girlhood.

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In Uganda, young mothers are predominantly called women, although some young mothers contest that representation and prefer to be called girls.  The normative insistence on categorizing young mothers as women despite girlhood being a transitional phase locks young mothers in an in-between category, a space in which they can be neither girls, nor children, nor women. International Women’s Day celebrations further risk widening the gap between such girls whose daily realities centre on survival, writes Annah Kamusiime. The need to recognize diverse girlhoods is a first step in ensuring that girls are included in discussions on womanhood and girlhood.

During one of the interviews I conducted in 2021 for my PhD research on representations of young motherhood, Nandi, a 16-year-old Ugandan mother, told me, “Even though I am a mother, I am a girl, not a woman”. Her statement is an example of the agentic manoeuvres of girls whose voice remains silenced and their existence pushed to the liminal space – liminal because as mothers, they are in an in-between category where they are not girls anymore, nor children, and nor women, especially when they are not married.

Being a parent is the main marker of transition to adulthood/womanhood; in most of Uganda others also include menarche, a sexual debut, and wifehood. But the young mothers I spoke to did not consider themselves to be adults – women – despite having borne children. And, having borne children, they were no longer children themselves. As a result, their needs as young mothers may not be adequately addressed by efforts that separately target girls, children, or women. Young mothers who fall into none of the marked categories of girl, child, or woman thus face marginalization and exclusion.  In this article, I discuss why the recognition of a distinct category of diverse girlhoods is necessary to further their inclusion – also in celebrating International Women’s Day.

 

‘Girl’ or ‘woman’? How words make worlds

The terms we use are not neutral – the way in which words are combined allows for certain meanings to flourish and for others to be minimized. For instance, consider these two statements: “The girl-child is pregnant” versus “The girl is pregnant”. Both can be used to describe an adolescent mother. But an emphasis on a pregnant girl as a child (as the first statement does) may elicit a different interpretation and response when compared to using only the word ‘girl’. And often such word choices are deliberate. Words make worlds; struggles over meaning are not just about semantics – they are strategic, they have an effect, they shape discourses, actions and rhetoric, and they are contested. Thus, there is a need to be reflexive on how we frame different categories of persons because conceptions shape engagement.

Another example that shows how words matter for girls: While I was writing this article, my 18-year-old daughter read it and told me that at school, their teacher told them that a girl becomes a woman on the day of her sexual debut. I asked her whether that mattered and whether it would make a difference if a girl would be referred to as a woman or a girl. Yes, she said, ‘girl’ and ‘woman’ mean different things, and it matters which is used. As in the case of Nandi, the labels  ‘woman’ placed on a ‘girl’ has specific connotations – it means she engaged in sexual intercourse yet she is expected to be asexual, she is a mother at the wrong time, and she has ruptured normative notions of conceptions of ideal childhood and youth because she is expected to be innocent.  As a result, young mothers are stigmatized and are seen as a threat to the social morals and social order, which fuels their exclusion.

These two examples show that yes, the label of a woman that is placed on girls who are young mothers matter to them even when everyone else may not acknowledge it. Many of the young mothers I have spoken to choose to be called girls, not children, or girl-children, or women. The failure to consider the desire for this distinct categorization means that these young mothers’ voices remain unheard. I therefore argue that we need to reimagine and reconstruct girlhood as diverse and distinct in policy, practice, and debates at different levels-national and international.

 

Girls just wanna be girls

Several renowned scholars studying girlhood, including those highlighted by Claudia Mitchell, have advocated for what they have referred to as the girl-method. Rather than continue to lump girls under either the categories ‘children’, ‘young women’, or ‘women’, they argue that it is vital to add ‘girls’ as a distinct category.  This would remove girls from the shadows and place them in the centre of the discussion on diverse girlhoods, including those of young mothers.

My argument above does not mean that we should dismiss distinct moments like the UN Decade of the Girl Child (1991-2001) and International Day of the Girl Child. Indeed, such moments have been and continue to be an open platform for considering and rethinking issues girls face. However, a merger of ‘girl’ with ‘child’ in what is celebrated as the day of the ‘girl-child’ has been problematized as being passive, essentialist, and homogenizing. My sentiments of the ‘girl-child’ label are that it emphasizes their innocence, vulnerability, and dependency and brings out connotations of powerlessness while also infantilizing girls.

It also poses a risk of illuminating the ‘child’ and marginalizing the ‘girl’ because the ‘child’ may take precedence over the ‘girl’. There are words which are nice sounding, such as ‘girl-child’, and the nicer they sound, the more useful they are for those seeking to establish their moral authority. To counter the risk of applying labels to exclude and marginalize girls, the category ‘girl’ ought to be conceptualized, deconstructed, and reconstructed from their perspective.

 

How International Women’s Day can exclude girls

This is my first ever blog article. I decided to write it because I wanted to reflect on how International Women’s Day (IWD) celebrations relate to the experiences of young mothers in urban poor locales, such as those that I have continued to engage with as part of my PhD research. In rethinking this year’s IWD theme (‘DigitALL: innovation and technology for gender equality’), several questions came to mind. For example, are girls considered in this debate on gender equality? How relevant is this debate on the role of technology and innovation for young mothers living in poor locales in Uganda where only 9% of the populations aged 15 years and above own a smart phone? Moreover, where only 8% of females use internet? And why should young mothers care about such discussions? How will tech-driven developments benefit them?

Unable to answer these questions, I decided to read up on International Women’s Day. What initially sparked IWD were spontaneous demonstrations to protest inhumane working conditions women faced and to press for improved working conditions. Other issues, such as the right of women to vote, were consequently included, and today IWD marks efforts to enact gender equality more broadly.

What is interesting is that International Women’s Day is assumed to be for everyone, everywhere, and is intended to celebrate and encourage collective action in pursuit of gender equality and extended rights for women. However, discussions about women’s suffrage, gender equality and parity are often far removed from the daily realities of many girls and women, including the young mothers in impoverished areas that I worked with – those who are primarily concerned with meeting their survival needs. In this way, specific categories of girls, or even women, including young mothers, may find themselves being excluded from efforts to enact gender equality and from celebrations of these.

International Women’s Day was initiated by working-class women and while it has since significantly highlighted the plight of women and efforts to close the gender gap, it is at a risk of becoming too universalized and corporatized to include women who face a range of intersecting struggles that stretch beyond voting rights and workplace equity. In celebrating International Women’s Day, it is important to remember those girls and women whose voices still go unheard, who move around in the shadows, and whose intersecting struggles leave them far behind.

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the author:

Annah Kamusiime is a PhD researcher at the International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam (ISS-EUR). Her research interests are in gender and adolescent and youth sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR). She is also a Director of Programmes at Nascent Research and Development Organization Uganda.

Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.

“Nothing about us, without us!”: Disability inclusion in community-based climate resilient programs. A case study of Indonesia

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In design of climate-resilient programs for community development, there is growing awareness of the benefits of gender assessments, but it is far less common that disability is considered. The meaningful inclusion of people with disabilities can reveal their knowledge and capacities to contribute, and result in more contextualised and socially-just responses to climate change.

Caption: Plan Indonesia and PERSANI staff in hybrid workshop to provide recommendations for the Guidance on assessments for climate-resilient inclusive WASH. Photo credit: Silvia Landa, Plan Indonesia (2020)

Climate change poses huge challenges for the wellbeing of individuals and communities, especially those reliant on their local environments for subsistence. As the latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change 2021 report demonstrates, we are experiencing changes to our climate at an unprecedented scale and intensity. There is growing awareness that the impacts of climate change are not merely biophysical, but embedded in social processes. To varying degrees of success, non-governmental organisations and local governments are mainstreaming climate resilience in their community development programs. In designing programs, it is important to involve diverse community members in assessing climate change impacts and finding solutions, including those who are often marginalised.

The catch-cry of disability rights organisations of “nothing about us, without us” draws attention that all people have the right to self-determination and to have a say in development outcomes and policy that affects them. This blog provides three arguments for inclusion of people with disabilities in community-based climate-resilient programs, with a case example from Indonesia.

Improving community sanitation in Manggarai district, Indonesia

Together with Yayasan Plan International Indonesia (Plan Indonesia), Institute for Sustainable Futures – University of Technology Sydney (ISF-UTS) conducted a research-practice project to collaboratively inform how Plan Indonesia addresses the impacts of climate change on their inclusive sanitation program. In 2019, ISF-UTS and Plan Indonesia co-designed and trialled seven participatory methods/activities to assess how climate change affects water, sanitation and hygiene (WASH) services, and gender and social inclusion outcomes.

All activities considered inclusion of marginalised groups and people with disabilities, but the assessment of climate impacts on sanitation accessibility was most specific in addressing disability inclusion. Adapted from the WaterAid “How to conduct a WASH accessibility and safety audit” guide, this activity identifies: barriers that currently affect sanitation accessibility; how climate extremes can potentially worsen and create new barriers; and how the community and local government can help people overcome barriers.

The activity was piloted in Manggarai district in the central part of Flores Island, Indonesia. In recent times there has been increasing intensity of rainfall, causing landslides, floods, and soil erosion. Increasing seasonal variability, longer dry spells, and more extreme weather events were also noticed by villagers, and have been in line with climate change projections for the region. The case shared below shows three benefits of inclusion of people with disabilities in climate change assessment for inclusive WASH programming.

First, people with disabilities are likely to experience climate change impacts most severely. Their vulnerability to climate change is linked to multiple disadvantages they experience. For example, people with disabilities globally are disproportionately represented among the poor, have higher levels of unmet health needs, and are twice as likely to be unemployed. Due to these differentiated impacts, their voices are critical for identifying the issues so they can be addressed. For example, in Manggarai, we met with a young woman, with a physical disability, who told us about accessibility issues with the lack of ramp and handrails at the public toilet. To access the toilet, people needed to step across a drain, which fills and overflows during heavy rain.

Second, people with disabilities are routinely excluded from education, jobs, leadership roles, and often denied the opportunity to contribute to public forums. Through including people living with disabilities in community decision-making on climate-resilient programs, they have an experience of being treated with dignity and respect. Through meaningful participation, there may be growing awareness of the actual capacities and contributions of people with disabilities to their community. This helps to shift their position and perception from being an aid beneficiary, to an agent driving their own development, with perspectives worthy of inclusion.

As a result of the inclusive design of the participatory activities, people with disabilities in Manggarai joined the assessments, and other participants created space for them to voice their concerns. In one village forum, an elderly man with disabilities was vocal in requesting assistance from government. A Plan Indonesia team member reported, “we talked about how people with disabilities can have a voice and be heard, using Pertuni (disability people’s organisation) as an example. We want to try changing thinking about people with disabilities as charity recipients, so they can also be empowered and involved in the community”.

Third, drawing on information gathered from a diverse range of community members of different ages, genders, ability levels, and occupations can inform new pathways forward for surviving well in the face of climate change, and possibly positive transformation. This approach pays attention to contextualised and place-based knowledge on the changing environment. Inclusive programs are more likely to be effective, sustainable, and align better with the values of communities.

The community assessment revealed the difficulty of accessing sanitation facilities in challenging weather conditions, such as heavy rain and drought. Learning about experiences of people with disabilities and their carers could then be used to help identify solutions that could be implemented by the community or the government. For example, in all villages, community members suggested using collective funds and labour to build toilets, and provide support to facilitate equal access to water and sanitation for people with disabilities.

Benefits of disability inclusion

Through this case study of a WASH program in Indonesia, we can see the benefits of people with disabilities participating in climate-resilient development programming. Representation of people with disabilities can contribute to a breakdown in negative stereotypes and misconceptions of their capacities. The meaningful inclusion of diverse perspectives ensures a nuanced and contextualised program that benefits all community members with an inclusive outcome.

Although the empowerment and leadership of people living with disabilities is critical in responding to climate change, external assistance is also needed. With the perspectives and needs of people with disabilities in mind, development actors can work alongside disabled people’s organisations, and provide more targeted support for climate change resilience and adaptation.

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the authors:

Tamara Megaw is an ISS alumnus who graduated in 2015 from the MA program in Social Policy for Development. After graduating, she worked in global education at Nuffic NESO Indonesia and then consulted for Transnational Institute. Since late 2017, she has worked at the Institute for Sustainable Futures, University for Technology Sydney (ISF-UTS) on research related to development effectiveness, gender equality and social inclusion.

Anna Gero is a Research Principal at ISF-UTS. Anna is a climate change and disaster resilience leader and specialist with over 13 years’ experience in the Asia-Pacific region.

Dr Jeremy Kohlitz is a Water, Sanitation and Hygiene (WASH) researcher at ISF-UTS with interests in climate change impacts on equitable WASH service delivery in the Asia-Pacific region.

Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.

 

Epistemic Diversity| Understanding epistemic diversity: decoloniality as research strategy by Olivia U. Rutazibwa

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How do we make sure that our efforts to diversify knowledge production go beyond a window-dressing/Benetton operation? How can we move beyond merely adding some colour and other markers of ‘diversity’ to existing structures—a move that too neatly serves the neoliberal project embedded in our institutions, and their related unquenchable thirst for all that looks new, ‘shiny’ and exciting? I propose that an explicit decolonial engagement with epistemic diversity is one of the ways to productively address and navigate these challenges of co-optation and commodification.

A decolonial engagement[1] draws our attention to the need to foreground at least two important concerns. First, that epistemic diversification needs to explicitly speak to the issue of coloniality. Second, that we need to address the practical and institutional implications of anticolonial epistemic diversity.

The first concern invites us to understand that the (little) everyday institutional progress when it comes to more diversity in colour, gender, faith, ability, and sexuality, is merely the absolute minimal condition for a more just society. Hence, we should not mistake them for sufficient accomplishment. More importantly, we cannot lose sight of the fact that the ‘plussing-up’ exercise of the visible diversification is more damaging than simply not enough. We need to keep in mind that it is also a way through which coloniality can continue with a nicer face; and that that is the real and often most depressing danger.

The second concern points at the importance of moving beyond mere discursive deconstructions on what is wrong with our actual knowledge systems; the aim is to invest our efforts in material and immaterial (re)constructions of what and who has been erased or silenced.

In this regard, we could conceive of decoloniality as a research strategy consisting of three related sub-strategies: (1) the need to de-mythologize, pertaining to issues of ontology; (2) the need to de-silence, which more explicitly relates to epistemology; and (3) the need to anticolonially de-colonize, addressing both the tangible, material and the normative of knowledge production/cultivation.

De-mythologizing: where do we start the story?

In relation to the need de-mythologize, in International Relations and International Development Studies, this invites us to consider how we understand the world. A first question that arises is: where do we start the story? What is our point of departure? For example: many international development courses start with American President, Harry Truman, who in his inaugural address of 1949 declares that the USA will help the world and embark on a new program for the improvement and growth of the ‘underdeveloped areas’. It is a point of departure that systematically sustains the logic of development. If we instead start the story with how these areas became ‘underdeveloped’ to begin with, it becomes impossible to sidestep or minimise the constitutive force of transatlantic enslavement and colonialism in both International Development and International Relations thinking and practices. It becomes even more difficult to sustain the epistemic, technological and moral superiority of the West – the myth par excellence on which much of International Relations and International Development Studies is built.

A second consideration of de-mythology is that of Eurocentrism, be it geographic, imaginary or methodological. The question that arises from this is: what would our research questions or teaching look like if Europe, or the European experiences and knowledges were not the centre of our story? What would it look like when other places and experiences are centred? More importantly maybe, what if the European experiences were no longer cast as universal? It would again jeopardise the natural North-South capacity-building logic that is so central in much of our global knowledge systems and relations.

The third de-mythology consideration has to do with fragmentation. Much of colonial knowledge production is built on chopping up parts of the story that fundamentally belong together. Modernity (with the Enlightenment and Industrial Revolution, i.e. epistemic and technological (re)discoveries) and Coloniality (with Enslavement and Colonialism, i.e. genocide, epistemicide and ecocide) are hardly ever brought to us as sides of the same coin. So is our understanding and study of the origins of wealth and poverty, which are institutionally fragmented into different departments and disciplines. This allows us to study poverty without systematically engaging with the fact that the wealth in the global North has literally been sourced from the poverty in global South. Consequently, when we seek to explain poverty in, let’s say ‘Africa’, our students and many of our colleagues turn to the issue of corruption; a locally contained phenomenon which becomes the lead character in a tale from which we – the global North – can mythologically write ourselves out.

De-silencing: who are the experts? What is expertise?

If we look at de-silencing, the two main questions that arise are: who are the experts, and what do we consider expertise? Who has the microphone, who has the megaphone, and why? Who/what type of knowledge is (not) around the table and why?

When it comes to types of knowledges, we see that in the hegemonic global Northern canon, rationality is put forward as the one legitimate (i.e. ‘objective’) way to know and understand the world. Both feminist and decolonial scholarship have challenged this, yet the empiricist, linearly incremental, competitive, zero-sum, logic of colonial knowledge production continues to dominate the field – be it in our classroom, what we value and mark, how we teach, or in our own research designs.

When it comes to the ‘who are the experts’ question, we can see the literal silencing of peoples that are supposed to be the protagonists; take for example the systematic absence as experts of Muslim women in debates on the headscarf in continental Europe. Silencing can also manifest itself in binary representation, hierarchized difference, whitewashing or overexposure; think for instance of how whenever crime or terrorism comes up, there is an almost automatic invocation of Muslim men. Silencing also bears on our use of languages, on how some of them (like English) are overrepresented in our systems of knowledge and more importantly, how we forget to remember how little we can actually know about a place when we do not know its languages. So, as a first and minimal step, de-silencing invites us revisit the implications of the incredibly limited pool from which we source our knowledges in our quest to understand the world. In practical terms, but in the classroom and in our own research, it invites us to revisit not only what we include or exclude, but also what we foreground, start with, where we theorize from.

De-colonizing: fighting coloniality through knowledge cultivation

The third and last strategy, to anticolonially de-colonize, invites us to be explicit about the purpose of our knowledge production endeavours and connect it to the material consequences of coloniality. Why am I researching this? Who does it empower? How does this serve or work against the colonial status quo? One way to look at this is by asking ourselves the extent to which our knowledges contribute to, or fight processes of epistemicide, ecocide and genocide. Put differently, we can ask ourselves whether we cultivate knowledges to address the quality or possibility of life (of those denied by coloniality) or feed the colonial status quo; knowledges at the service of the will to power or the will to life?

As such, a decolonial research strategy pushed to its logical implications, invites us to re-consider the purpose and contents of our syllabi, disciplines and departments. In the case of International Development Studies for instance, once we have discursively addressed the myth of white western superiority, colonial amnesia and re-/de-centred/pluralised the logic and voices of knowledges, the decolonial invitation is to revisit the institutions in which we do this. When the logic of ‘aid’ and linear development reveals itself as highly problematic, its will-to-life alternative would rather propose something like a Department of Global Justice and Reparations instead; for instance. It is in our embracing or resistance of such drastic engagements with the implications of diversification that our commitment to dismantling coloniality reveals itself. Maybe we should start the conversation of epistemic justice here.

[1] The ideas in this blog entry are further elaborated on in Rutazibwa, O. U. (forthcoming, September 2018), “On Babies and Bathwater: Decolonsing Development Studies”. In: de Jong, S., Icaza, R. and Rutazibwa, O.U. (eds.). Decolonization and Feminisms in Global Teaching and Learning, London: Routledge.
With special thanks to Umbreen Salim for voluntarily transcribing this presentation that was recently presented at the ISS.
This poem forms part of a series on Epistemic Diversity. You can read the other articles here and here and here and here

IMG_2442.JPGAbout the author: 

Olivia Umurerwa Rutazibwa is senior lecturer in European and International Development Studies at the University of Portsmouth in the UK. Her research centres on ways to decolonise thinking and practices of International Solidarity by recovering and reconnecting philosophies and enactments of dignity and self-determination in the postcolony: autonomous recovery in Somaliland, Agaciro in Rwanda and Black Power in the US. She is the co-editor of The Routledge Handbook of Postcolonial Politics (2018) and is associate editor of International Feminist Journal of Politics.

 

Epistemic Diversity | From ‘do no harm’ to making research useful: a conversation on ethics in development research by Karin Astrid Siegmann

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Ethical dilemmas are part and parcel of the research processes that researchers are engaged in. This article details a recent conversation between ISS students and staff in which they tried to make sense of some of the ethical issues that researchers face. While the ‘do no harm’ principle was emphasised as an overall yardstick, the discussion went beyond that, raising broader questions about epistemic and social justice.

With thanks to Andrea Tauta Hurtado, Zhiren Ye, Kristen Cheney, Roy Huijsmans and Andrew Fischer.

Scholars in Development Studies are quick to brag about how relevant their research is for the underdogs of society. The reality is that representatives of marginalised groups rarely knock at our office doors to ask for scholarly support. In fact, development research often does harm by justifying economic and social inequalities, reproducing stereotypes and stigma, and misrepresenting or even erasing knowledge about the lives of marginalised people.

How can scholars prevent such harm from being done through their research? This question was discussed by ISS students majoring in Social Policy for Development and staff members in a workshop on “ethical, integrity, and security challenges”. The discussion aimed to prepare ISS students for their fieldwork. While in our conversation the ‘do no harm’ principle was emphasised as an overall yardstick for our research, the discussion went beyond that, raising broader questions about epistemic and social justice.

Challenges to informed consent and ensuring anonymity

Roy Huijsmans’ example from his masters’ research on Dutch school-going children’s employment experiences illustrated that research participants’ informed consent is crucial, but also complicated by the power relations structuring the research arena. Teachers in his former school had facilitated meetings with their students. Several of these students, in turn, had expressed interest in and consented to participating in Roy’s study. When conducting telephone interviews with these children, however, in some cases parents became suspicious: who is that adult male calling their child? Roy’s experience raises the issue of whether it is adequate to understand informed consent individually. If not, what role do we give to the—in this case generational—power relations wherein consent is embedded? Can ethics protocols that require consent from parents or other gatekeepers alongside children’s own answer these questions?

In my own research, class-based power relations motivate special attention to research participants’ anonymity. Referring to a recent study on working conditions in South Asian tea plantations, I flagged that if workers’ and unionists’ statements could be identified, this could lead to their dismissal or worse outcomes. Our research team addressed this concern by not providing names—neither of people, nor of research locations. Andrew Fischer challenged me: would that really prevent identification? It is likely that few people are probably willing to stick their necks out as labour leaders, making those that do more easily recognisable.

One student followed up and asked how she could protect the identity of chemsex users— people having sex while using hard drugs—whose experiences she plans to investigate. Referring to the do no harm principle, Roy encouraged her to reflect on the consequences of research participants’ names leaking out: the Dutch government tolerates illegal drug consumption. Hence, in the current scenario, enforcement agencies are unlikely to arrest users. However, such political priorities can easily change over time. Andrew therefore recommended the anonymisation of transcripts, with their key to be stored outside the computer.

The quest for epistemic justice and diversity

In recent years, I have become increasingly concerned with the responsible representation of the lives, concerns and demands of the people who participate in my research, or, put differently, with epistemic justice. For instance, how will I represent the plantation workers who generously shared their experiences in our tea study? In a way that responds to the academic pressure to publish in highly-ranked journals with specific theoretical fancies? Or do research participants’ concerns guide my writing? This relates to questions that Marina Cadaval and Rosalba Icaza raise in their earlier post on this blog: ‘who generates and distributes knowledge, for which purposes, and how?’

Other participants in the discussion shared this concern for a fair representation. The student who engages with chemsex users’ experiences was acutely aware of the role of race in her research. In exploratory interviews, she learned how race shapes the exercise of power in chemsex users’ sexual relationships and how it either enables them to get support from or bars their access to the healthcare system. How to do justice to participants’ narratives without simultaneously repeating and reinforcing the underlying stereotypes?

For me, one way to deal with this quest for epistemic justice has been to engage in processes of activist scholarship, i.e. in collaboration and joint knowledge production with people who struggle for recognition and redistribution. Activist scholarship involves moves towards epistemic diversity, challenging the widely assumed supremacy of scientific knowledge heavily produced in Northern academic institutions. For instance, I have been involved in the campaign of a Florida-based farmworker organisation for making the Dutch retailer Ahold sign on to their programme for better working conditions in US agriculture. In dialogue with that organisation, the Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW), I have written about lessons from that campaign for how precarious workers can effectively organise. Sruti Bala points out that this implies ‘to listen to articulations radically different from the frameworks that I may be trained in, but more than good listening is required in order for those articulations and insights to translate themselves into what we might call knowledge’. These processes of listening, dialoguing and learning didn’t lead to “consensus-based writing”, though. We had disagreements and I tried to make them visible in my writing.

Besides, there may be internal power hierarchies within the movements with which we collaborate. My colleague Silke Heumann earlier warned that through our decision of who participates in our research and who doesn’t, we run the risk of reinforcing existing power relations and of legitimising an elite’s perspective of a movement.

This approach may not be feasible for a masters’ thesis. What is possible in most cases, though, is to get research participants’ feedback on, critique and validation of how they understood our conversations or my wider observations about their lives. Time is a key resource in this effort to respect their knowledge as experts on their own lives. Taking time for research participants—rather than racing from one respondent to the next—enables us to conduct research in a more responsible manner. I want to integrate this principle more and more in my research due to the belief that this not only helps to prevent harm. Over and above that, it enables me to treat my research participants and their concerns with care. The more time I plan and spend for engagement with those who participate in my research, the greater the likelihood that it will embody epistemic justice.

 

This article forms part of a series on Epistemic Diversity. You can read the other articles here and here

csm_5abd70057687ec5e3741252630d8cc66-karin-siegmann_60d4db99baAbout the author: 

Holding a PhD in Agricultural Economics, Dr Karin Astrid Siegmann works as a Senior Lecturer in Labour and Gender Economics at the International Institute of Social Studies (ISS) of Erasmus University Rotterdam in The Hague, the Netherlands. She is the convenor of the ISS Major in Social Policy for Development (SPD).

Epistemic Diversity | The challenge of epistemic poverty and how to think beyond what we know by Sruti Bala

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Researchers face the challenge of engaging with the topic of epistemic diversity. We know that we should consider diverse knowledges in our research, but how can this be operationalised? This blog post engages with this question and shows us that it first of all means calling into question what we hold dear—the very ground on which we stand as researchers and the means by which we distinguish knowledge from non-knowledge.

I am not sure if I can claim with any certainty that I practice epistemic diversity in my research. At first glance, following from epistêmê, the Greek word for knowledge, one could assume epistemic diversity to mean a diversity of knowledge. Sounds straightforward, for who would not seek a diversity of knowledge? Yet following Michel Foucault, the brilliant innovator of method, an episteme is not literally knowledge (connaissance)—something that is out there waiting to be known—but a historical set of relations or founding assumptions that unite, formalise, and systematise what comes to be regarded as knowledge.

An episteme tends to consist of unspoken, tacit modes of sensemaking that allow us to recognise something as knowledge, i.e. scientific, and therefore distinguish it from what is not knowledge, and call this by other names, like belief, ritual, gossip, superstition, crime. Epistemic diversity, in this Foucauldian sense, implies a diversity of ways of recognising knowledge and distinguishing it from non-knowledge. This is anything but straightforward!

What if my system of knowledge formation has taught me that knowledge must have a name, a language? Then I will try to acquire knowledge by naming the things I encounter, by making them enter an episteme through nomenclature, typology, or categorisation. If it cannot be named or ordered, then it must not be knowledge, but belonging to another realm—that of dreams or fantasies, for instance. What if my system of knowledge conceives of knowledge as something to be acquired, possessed, or accumulated? Then knowledge to which no ownership is attached will not count as knowledge. It may come to be regarded as folklore or rumour. What if the episteme I have been inserted into by way of education gives great importance to empirical verifiability or to linear progression? Then something that defies the rules of empirical verifiability and does not move in a straight line from simple to complex may come to be regarded as superstition or ritual or magic, but not as knowledge.

One might argue that epistemic diversity tends to come to our notice primarily when certain forms of knowledge production are in danger. Foucault’s conception of the episteme in The Order of Things (English translation 1970) points to such moments of rupture, and theorisations following from his, such as Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s notion of “epistemic violence” in her essay ‘Can the subaltern speak?’ (1988), reveal how certain types of practices and ways of life are criminalised and destroyed, not necessarily through physical violence, but through modes of knowledge production. The extinction of a language or of an art form are instances of epistemic violence. The silencing of certain aspects of history in public memory, such as the history of colonialism and resistance to slavery, is another. To some extent it feels simpler to say that we have to strive to preserve subjugated knowledge forms, because that is a charitable task, undertaken elsewhere, as it were. It is far more difficult to know how we should practice epistemic diversity within the four walls of our own edifices of research and study. It means calling into question what we hold dear, the very ground on which we stand as researchers and the means by which we distinguish knowledge from non-knowledge.

Where Spivak emphasises the issue of epistemic violence done to subjugated knowledges, the challenge I face in my research is better described as epistemic poverty, the loss that accompanies my set of epistemic assumptions and privileges. As a researcher I realise that it is important to listen to articulations radically different from the frameworks that I may be trained in, but more than good listening is required in order for those articulations and insights to translate themselves into what we might call knowledge. Just by desiring epistemic diversity, or proclaiming it, doesn’t mean it will have been accomplished.

Placing ourselves in others’ shoes

The task of epistemic diversity could perhaps begin with persistently training ourselves to recognise how certain epistemic privileges are ingrained in our disciplinary histories, and train ourselves to challenge and revise them. It is about learning to imagine the conditions of knowledge formation differently. One must be able to first imagine that something might be valuable, even if it does not appear valuable to oneself at all. One must be able to break the habitual rejection of something because it appears distant and irrelevant at face value. The absent potential of what one does not yet know can only be recognised when its possible presence can be imagined.

There is a specifically gendered and sexual politics at play when epistemic diversity becomes a matter of accumulation and possession of difference. I regularly encounter public declarations of the idea that the intimate encounter with difference, especially with minoritised, primitivised others, is full of pleasure and has the capacity to transform and redeem the dominant self. Authoritative claims, for instance, of intimacy with a certain culture on the grounds of one’s spouse or sexual partner being from that culture, are indicative of this stance. Bell Hooks brilliantly reflects the underlying desire for pleasure and their erotic connotations in popular cultural expressions and fantasies in Black Looks (1992). Under which conditions is the longing for and affective appreciation of otherness a move of acknowledgement, when is it a form of ‘imperialist nostalgia’ or primitivism, or fantasy of possessing and claiming the other?

It is my strong belief that the quest for epistemic diversity must be accompanied and guided by what Rolando Vazquez and Rosalba Icaza, following Maria Lugones, call a ‘politics of coalition building’ (Pilgrimages/peregrinajes: Theorizing coalition against multiple oppressions, 2003). I am acutely aware that appropriation, theft, erasure, blind spots, equivocation and over-simplification are real problems in research in the humanities and social sciences. The relationships between researcher and researched or between disciplinary formations continue to remain painfully asymmetrical when it comes to the life worlds of the Global South or of those marked as minorities. Yet we cannot overcome these asymmetries without reaching out and learning from and with each other. Epistemic diversity calls upon us to engage critically with all kinds of bodies of knowledge, even and especially if we don’t (fully) agree with them.

This article forms part of a series on Epistemic Diversity. You can read the other article in this series here

About the author: 

Sruti BalaDr Sruti Bala is Associate Professor at the Theatre Studies Department of the University of Amsterdam and Research Affiliate with the Amsterdam Centre for Globalisation Studies and Amsterdam School of Cultural Analysis. Her research interests are at the crossroads of theatre and performance studies, cultural analysis, post- and decolonial thinking and feminist theory.

Epistemic Diversity | “I am where I think”: research and the task of epistemic diversity by Marina Cadaval and Rosalba Icaza

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Epistemic diversity in research is sorely needed in the academia. But what is epistemic diversity and why is it so important? This post—the first of a series on epistemic diversity— introduces the topic and illustrates the importance of discussions on the political economy of knowledge production taking place in our universities. 

On Monday 7 May, the ISS Diversity and Inclusion (D&I) Team organised the first of four Research Seminars taking place at the ISS that will focus on epistemic diversity in research. The main objective of these seminars is to provide a different angle to ongoing discussions about the appalling state of diversity at universities. Often these have remained focused on demographic diversity and the absence of women in higher ranks of academia. [1] To redress this absence we have seen the implementation of individually-based ‘solutions’ in universities (e.g. bias trainings).

But these interventions rarely consider structural and institutional elements behind the lack of demographic diversity in positions of leadership in universities. On the other hand, these interventions remain silent about the intersectional conditions of knowledge production in universities along axes of differentiation based on race, class and gender.[2]

Unfortunately, the emphasis on demographic diversity—who is at the university—also tends to render invisible the political economy of knowledge production at universities: who generates and distributes knowledge, for which purposes, and how?[3] Bringing epistemic diversity to the discussion means opening critical conversations on the geo-politics and body-politics of knowledge at universities. This angle emerges from an understanding of knowledge as contextual and situated: “I am where I think”, as decolonial feminist thinkers insist.

But, of course, we are aware that across time and place, the different models of knowledge generation at universities have responded to a diversity of social, cultural and ecological contexts, and to diverse aspirations. For example, let’s think about the foundation of the first universities in the Americas in the 16th Century. These institutions were founded—literally—over conquered First Nations people’s lands and with the exploitation of the labour of enslaved African peoples.[4] What kinds of aspirations were driving these violent interventions and who has benefited from this?

Another example that we can think of is the 1910 creation of the journal Foreign Affairs—which has a higher impact index in the field of international relations (IR)—under the name Journal of Race Development. Despite this, IR has been considered a “colourblind” discipline due to the neglect of “race” as a critical theoretical lens and research agenda and the absence of women and people of colour in IR curricula.[5] This neglect has been widely documented[6] in current efforts to decolonise IR canons. We wonder in which ways the present context that pushes universities’ regulation and normalisation through international ranking systems produces and reproduces neglect and silencing in our disciplines?

Between epistemic poverty and the decolonisation of knowledge

 In our first D&I research seminar, we ask to our keynote speakers—Dr Olivia Rutazibwa (University of Porthsmouth, UK) and Dr Sruti Bala (University of Amsterdam, NL)—to engage with the following questions:

What does academic research in the social sciences and humanities look like when epistemic diversity is considered? 

Which kinds of questions emerge? 

Which kinds of ethical and methodological challenges are opened?

Dr Bala started her presentation by sharing what epistemic diversity has meant for her in research and teaching. She shared a powerful reflection regarding academia as characterised by epistemic violence, injustice, and epistemic poverty when a translation of embodied experiences and their exposure in academic languages occurs. Bala invited us to think about practices in knowledge production that are critically attentive to the translations we carried on and that encourages coalitional ethics.

Meanwhile, Dr Rutazibwa spoke about the absence(s) and silence(s) in academic research in international development and its articulations with eurocentrism and colonialism. She introduced a decolonial-anticolonial methodology centred on integrity, dignity, intellectual curiosity, and generosity. Their arguments will be presented in future blog entries on Bliss.

For us, one of the most interesting quotes was the statement by Olivia Rutazibwa: “Being in the academy, not of the academy’. Rutazibwa mentioned this when one ISS student asked her how to navigate universities as institutions that do not welcome black women and people of colour in general.

“I am where I think”

 Our title is not accidental, but is rather an invitation to think critically about the implications of positioning our thinking when addressing epistemic diversity in research. This means for us not to suppress the epistemic, political and body locations from where we generate knowledge, but, on the contrary, to consider this as a possibility for enriching our learning experiences. This also means to locate—historically, epistemically and politically—this discussion in the Netherlands, where the ISS is based.

So, how is Dutch society rethought throughout its transatlantic kingdom?

How do decolonial efforts in the academia, the streets, in theory, and anti-colonial consciousness contribute to this rethinking?

Why does this rethinking matter for the study and practice of International Development?

In our next D&I Seminar on June 26th, we will have the opportunity to address these questions with Dr Melissa F. Weiner, Associate Professor of Sociology at The College of the Holy Cross, and Dr Antonio Carmona , President of the University of St. Martin, at Philipsburg, Sint Maarten. They are the editors of the book “Smash the Pillars: Decoloniality and the Imaginary of Colour in the Dutch Kingdom” (Rowman and Littlefield), which will be launched at the ISS on this date.

About the book, Professor Nelson Maldonado Torres (Rutgers University) has commented the following:

“For too long the Netherlands has been considered an innocent and benevolent country, without apparently a significant colonial past or a racist present. This volume not only completely shatters this illusion, but also demonstrates the significance of multiple contemporary efforts to critically engage and decolonize Dutch society, culture, and political life.”

At the book launch Dr Carmona and Dr Weiner will be joined by two contributors to the book: Dr Patricia Schor from Amsterdam University College and an ISS alumnus, and Egbert Alejandro Martina, Queer Activist and Anti-Racist Intellectual and creator of the blog “Processed Life”.

 The event is open to the public and we warmly invite you to attend.

This article forms part of a series on Epistemic Diversity. You can read the other article in this series here
[1] Read, for example, the Bliss article ‘The university of paleness’ by Willem Schinkel, which discusses the author’s discontent following the Erasmus University’s decision not to appoint women professors despite possessing adequate funds to do so.
[2] See: Icaza, Rosalba and Rolando Vazquez “Diversity or Decolonization? Researching Diversity at the University of Amsterdam” Decolonising the University. Pluto Press, 2018 with Rolando Vazquez
[3] “Let’s do Diversity”. University of Amsterdam Diversity Commission Report. Wekker, Gloria; Marieke Slootman; Rosalba Icaza, Hans Jansen, Rolando Vazquez, UvA: Amsterdam, October 2016.
[4] http://www.harvardandslavery.com/
[5] Race and Racism in International Relations: Confronting the Global Colour Line Edited by Alexander Anievas, Nivi Manchanda and Robbie Shilliam, London and New York: Routledge, 2015.
[6] ibid

About the authors: 

MarinaMarina Cadaval is currently a PhD student at the ISS, where she also completed her Masters’ in Development Studies in the major of Social Policies for Development (2015-2017). She works on topics of inclusion of indigenous women in graduate education in Mexico, analysing the processes of formation of educational policies that have taken place in the last twenty years. Before returning to the academia, she worked for more than 10 years in the implementation of the first policy to promote graduate education for Mexican indigenous peoples.Rosalba2.jpg

Dr Rosalba Icaza is Associate Professor in Global Politics, Gender and Diversity at the ISS and Chair of the ISS Diversity and Inclusion Team. Her publications can be accessed at https://ricaza.academia.edu/research