Reflexivity: The Qualitative Researcher’s Best Armour Against AI

I have been lucky to be very busy this summer. My work as a proofreader took off and I had the privilege of reading a number of PhDs. Even better, I got paid for it. This work keeps me in the loop of social research, and it makes me read outside of my areas of interest and expertise. I learn things and see how different disciplines work.

A human proofreader is a good investment for PhD candidates, especially if English isn’t their first language or they feel uncomfortable inhabiting the world of academic vocabulary and writing.

Also, in a world where AI is being used to review the literature, a good proofreader not only checks the format of references but also whether the references actually exist. Doing this thorough check can point students to gaps in their reading and arguments.

But it isn’t eliminating ghost references or the use of the em dash (a perfectly fine piece of punctuation) that will ensure our writing lands as human-produced. Our biggest weapon, to ensure human connection through research and writing, is our own reflexivity.

I noticed a trend this summer – too many students appear to be anxious about injecting their own personality into the writing, even when they claim the research methodology includes reflexivity.  Reflexivity is not just a paragraph in Chapter Three, and briefly revisited in the conclusion. It is an approach which takes humanity, creativity and connection seriously – things AI currently can’t do.

I know reflexivity is a difficult term to define – it’s one of those “I know it when I see it” aspects of research and writing.

“The etymological root of the word ‘reflexive’ means to bend back upon oneself’. In research terms this can be translated as thoughtful, self-aware analysis of the intersubjective dynamics between research and the researcher.”

(Finaly and Gough, 2003: ix)

Ferguson (2003: 199) defines reflexivity as a competency, as:

 “the ability to act in the world and to critically reflect on our actions and in ways that may reconstitute how we act and even reshape the very nature of identity itself.”

In other words, reflexivity is the uneven surfaces, the messes, the complications we encounter when we undertake research that involves other human beings. Those encounters with other people can be face-to-face, over Zoom, via a telephone line or though their writing. Reflexivity is what happens on the edge of the focus group, in the notes or the margins, in the walk away from the interview. It is a genuine attempt to understand our impact on someone else and theirs on us.

The PhD is one of the places where reflexivity can have the space to be more fully explored. Journals often have word limits and other criteria that can squeeze it out, but a thesis is a place to show the depth of the researchers’ understanding of the process, the findings, and the analysis. It is a place to put the researcher central to the research.

What this means to me as a proofreader, is that I need to ensure that the journey of the research is clear to a reader.  What it means for the writer, is learning to give their writing the full texture of the experience of undertaking research. Qualitative research has the potential to change a researcher. Good writing lets the reader into that transformation. This is why it should be found in every chapter of a PhD.

All qualitative research is contextual (Dodgson, 2019). If a researcher can impart the contextual relationship between the participants and themselves, this increases the credibility of the writing and deepens understanding. It is also outside of the capacity of a Large Language Model. It can only be human-generated.

Let me give some examples of where reflexivity can add depth to a thesis.

Introductions should not just be a dry statement of a potential gap in the literature (although they absolutely should include this). But I want to read about why this subject and why now for the researcher. I want to gain some understanding  of the experiences that led to the topic, that provided empathy for their subject, or the obstacles in their understanding.

A reflexive literature review acknowledges the difficulties with some texts, and why others resonated. Don’t just give me the summary of the research. Tell me something only you, from your position in the world, can relate to. Does the research reflect your experience? Does the language alienate you? What was a finding that changed your thinking or nudged your opinion?

Methodology is too often written as if research with human beings can be recorded like reactions in a test-tube. I know what a semi-structured interview is and why it is useful (and your external examiners will know this too). But what I don’t know is how easy it was to recruit, or what it felt like to be in a room with someone deeply touched by your subject matter. I don’t know how it feels for you to interview someone with similar experiences, so tell me. I want to know how you prepared for interviews differently once you had a few under your belt. What did you wish you’d known about yourself before embarking on the task? Did you trust all the responses you were given? Why, or why not?

Did being hungry or thirsty or tired or on your fifth interview of the day make a difference? Give me the granular details of the focus group. Tell me about your excitement when survey questionnaires began arriving in your inbox. What were the ethical issues that tripped you up?

Question, analyse and evaluate yourself alongside your findings. Tell me about the disappointments and the uncomfortable data. Give me that ta-dah! moment where something fell into place.

No robot has ever had to cry over the lack, or the overwhelming expanse, of data following fieldwork. This matters to anyone evaluating your research as they need to know there was a person who made it happen. But it also matters to the wider research community. Researchers need to read some honesty about what undertaking research really feels like, so that they don’t berate themselves when their own projects don’t flow neatly along the pre-ordained lines.

I understand the need to show you’ve approached the work as a mature professional. Candidates will worry that an examiner needs them to tick all the boxes around methods, data collection and analysis. All of that is true, but don’t let it stilt the story-telling.

Much of my feedback over the summer used the words “authenticity” or “credibility” – specifically when I felt the writing was missing those things. This was a call to reflexivity.

I am also aware that some reflections hold more sway than others in the classed, racialised and gendered space of academia. I know some students need to take more care around their personal boundaries than others. So, whenever, I made a comment about using personal experience, I also suggested that the student discuss this further with their supervisory team so that the right balance can be found. (And this summer provided the very worst example of the misuse of power and position for anyone in academia, if we are prepared to acknowledge it. Jason Arday is not just another name or lesson to be learnt. He was a human being, worthy of our compassion and respect, with insights that should inform our own practice).

I know I am stepping a little outside the role of proofreader, when I discuss content. My first and foremost duty is to ensure that the sentences make sense, flow in the right order and are appropriately referenced, with the correct formatting. I smooth out clunky sentences and check for repitition. I spend swathes of my time going through reference lists with a fine-toothed comb. 

However, I am always impressed by anyone who completes a doctoral thesis. It is a test of stamina and resourcefulness. Therefore, I want to let a student know what I enjoyed about the writing, what interested me, the impact it had on me, because they employed me and not a robot.

Even proofreading is about human connection.

Good academic proofreading is a reflexive practice.

 References

Dodgson, J. E. (2019) ‘Reflexivity in Qualitative Research’, Journal of Human Lactation, 35(2), pp. 220 – 222

Ferguson, H. (2003) ‘Welfare, social exclusion and reflexivity: The case of child and woman protection’, Journal of Social Policy, 32(2), pp. 199–216.

Finlay, L. and Cough, B. (2003) (eds).  Reflexivity: A Practical Guide for Researchers in Health and Social Sciences London: Wiley Publishing

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Rachel Robbins | Vocal