Editorial
Article Type: Editorial From: Housing, Care and Support, Volume 17, Issue 3
Confidence and complexity
In our editorials for this journal, we have often commented that both research and narratives of the development and effectiveness of particular policies or practices need to take into account the full complexity of social context. We need to be aware of, and situate specific practice within, the links between local practice and wider historical, cultural, political and administrative frameworks that we otherwise might take for granted, and so miss.
If we do not do so, we fall into the self-made trap of recent psychology, which has only belatedly realised that so much of its research and subsequent findings are in fact based largely on available (“convenience”) samples of students – a small and actually entirely unrepresentative population, being predominantly from countries that are, overwhelmingly, WEIRD – that is to say White, Educated, Industrial, Rich and Democratic (Heinrich et al., 2011). Such conclusions cannot be generalised with any confidence across cultures, to the whole of humanity.
Our first paper in this issue, an account of homelessness policy and practice in Prague by Ales Strnad and Petr Mašát, begins with just the kind of contextualising we have called for. To help understand the strains in practice for homelessness services and service users in contemporary Prague, Strnad and Mašát first explore the historical roots of Czech social structure, law and attitudes towards homelessness and vagrancy. They trace the pathways from the era of serfdom, when migrants were seen as “masterless”, and so falling outside of society and citizenship and were thus an implicit threat; through the Communist era, when homelessness as such was seen as a product of capitalism (as were all social ills, in this ideology) and so simply buried; and so to the present day.
The account they then offer of the services and approach to homelessness in present day Prague presents a fairly bleak picture. Strnad and Mašát describe three tiers of services, each operating on a “carrot and stick” basis; homeless people, still it seems seen as deviants and by implication anti-social, are expected to work their way up through these three tiers, to earn their place in any settled housing scheme by engaging in rehabilitation programmes, offering greater security in return for greater compliance.
Those able to manage some limited demands, but not to progress, will be given an ultimatum, supposedly to counteract “dependency”. But, as Strnad and Mašát observe, many simply cannot manage these escalating demands, and will simply drop out of these programmes. Yet even for those that can cope with these rising expectations, move on is still a challenge, through the sheer paucity of resources; and this in turn reflects the reluctant acceptance of the settled community and its politicians towards any further demands on the resources of the system. Outreach healthcare, meanwhile, is scarce, and hospitalisation, even where it is an option, is of limited scope, with further barriers and hurdles to re-integration into society.
This grudging, corrective, almost punitive approach to homelessness nevertheless suggests, with the historical and political perspective that Strnad and Mašát bring, the deeper cultural roots of a model that elsewhere has come to be known, by its critics, as the “Staircase” model. The most vociferous criticism of this model has come in recent years from the proponents of a radical alternative going by the name of housing first, or “HF ” (Shelter, 2008; Evans, 2012). This school of thought argues – with an impressive body of evidence, originally from the US, but now rapidly growing in Europe (Busch-Geerstsema, 2012) – that such a treadmill of endless challenges is un-necessary. A more effective approach is to first house the vagrant, and then, in the stability of their own home, offer the care and support they need – on their own terms.
However, as the HF approach has set out to appeal to evidence-based policy makers, the evidence base has lately been subject to more challenging questions – for example, as to how consistently this model is applied; how comprehensive the services involved; possible varying effectiveness for specific populations; and concerns at the possible negative impact of HF policies in disrupting hostel developments that are more positive (Pleace and Brotherton, 2012; Greenberg et al., 2012; Johnsen and Texeira, 2010; Chevrier, 2014).
Meanwhile, an alternative approach to HF has been developing over a number of years, concerned to improve the quality of hostel provision, and look more purposively at the opportunities that hostel life can offer for engagement, positive role taking,social re-enforcement, and creating a sense of membership of an intentional community etc. This alternative, which concentrates on making hostel care more fulfilling, constructive (and typically user-led), goes now often by the name of “psychologically informed environments” or PIEs. (Keats et al., 2012). Yet how far the HF and PIE approaches actually differ remains a moot point; and it may be that there is more complementarity between them than meets the eye – a question to pursue perhaps in future issues.
In their paper in the last issue of this journal, Quinney and Richardson (2014) outlined a new way of thinking about quite what kind of psychology might actually be helpful, for those wishing to create a more constructive environment in homelessness resettlement and hostel services. Arguing for a greater use of a strengths-based approach, emphasising aspiration and possibility, they point to the value of a psychology which can be applied as much to the organisation and the staff as to the services users, if the intention is to create a fully psychologically informed environment.
Laced with an explicit critique, in their earlier paper, of over-reliance on “pathology-based” psychology, this was a welcome challenge, to stimulate new thinking. In this, the second of their two-part study of the potential of positive psychology, Quinney and Richardson now describe the application of this approach in practice, on a trial basis, in a hostel in central London: and the outcomes that were identified.
This was, as they say, an experiment, and therefore inevitably the sample size is too small to draw definitive conclusions. But the same is true of any exploratory development; and just as we can apparently know either the position or the momentum of an electron, it seems that in the social sciences, too, we can have either certainty or depth, confidence or complexity. Whereas studies of large cohorts of subjects may achieve statistical significance, the holy grail of objectivity in the positivistic traditions of science, they must do so by sacrificing the in-depth understanding of recognisably real persons, with all their confounding complexity of individual circumstances and reactions. The modesty of Quinney and Richardson's conclusion – that “further investigation of the potential contribution of AI based approaches to PIEs is merited” should not be taken to underestimate the value of this very different use of “psychology”.
For another way to approach the lived experience of homelessness, Russell Moore has adopted, in his paper, a research method from a different psychological perspective entirely, that of interpretative phenomenological analysis, or IPA – an approach to study which aims to bring methodological rigour to the understanding of individual experience, from the perspective of the individual – and thus helps us recognise the constant, complex interplay of personal and organisational/structural features.
The choice of large-scale studies or more individualised, in-depth methods such as IPA will often be a matter of preferences, reflecting as much the psychology of the researchers as that of the subjects. But there are some subjects that will be exceptionally hard to study in large cohorts; and pregnancy in homelessness must surely be one such. It would be impossible to plan in advance a research programme with an expectation of a sufficiently large number of subjects in one area being conveniently both homeless and pregnant.
To use a larger area, simply to get sufficient numbers, would inevitably introduce so many new contextual factors, that true comparability cannot be assumed; or the scope of investigation must be restricted to a very few predefined factors, that may then miss the full impact, which is the real human significance. IPA allows researchers not only to get in depth with the textures of an individual's own sense of their life world, but it also allows us to appreciate more fully how the individual experiences and responds to and mediates the stresses and the inter-weaving of the different elements of their own life.
Extensive direct quotations here brings to life the insights and conclusions form other cited research. Thus here, we see Moore's subject, “Amy”, negotiating a beleaguered sense of self worth, beset by external, structural features – such as homelessness legislation and policy, and the rights it confers, blended with the realities of lack of available housing, all equally beyond her control – and battling a sense of personal failure, to be so dependent on others. Her pregnancy, which in other circumstances might be a source of joy, is here a source of some resilience; as was family support.
Such a response is bound to be quite individual; but the insights it offers are so human, there is something in here which is quite generalisable. But it is up to us all to find it, in our dealings with each other; and however particular the circumstances,any psychological research that helps us achieve informed empathy is making a valuable contribution. Workers from any discipline, finding a client who is homeless and pregnant, may find this description of coping strategies a useful source of awareness of the issues she may be facing; and it is a useful complement to other studies that consider stress from a mental health perspective (Housing, L.I.N., 2008).
Thus both the Quinney and Richardson and the Moore papers, for their different reasons, are working with necessarily small samples. By complete contrast, our final paper, by Love Chile and her colleagues, exploring the sources and significance of social isolation among the residents of high rise developments, addresses an issue at population level – and indeed, this is a housing circumstance that concerns one of the most rapidly growing populations in the world. Exploring especially the association of isolation with both age and ethnicity, Chile and her colleagues’ study is exceptionally interesting in that a significant segment of the population they studied was made up of students.
Young people make up a huge and growing part of the population of whole countries, and of many cities. There is now growing concern, and there are now many studies of the mental health of young people. As tenants of housing services, they are better recognised now as a vulnerable group – as well as one with communication needs and skills an older generation needs to appreciate better (Coatham et al., 2011). There are also many studies of the mental health of students in particular. But studies of student health tend to focus on the student experience per se; it is relatively rare to see the housing angle addressed. A simple Venn diagram that points out that students are often tenants – and dislocated migrants – is perhaps long overdue.
Whereas our first paper locates current provision and attitudes towards homelessness in historical and cultural development, alongside current strains in Czech society, and Moore's paper shows one individual negotiatating these issues in her own life,this study, from the opposite side of the planet, shows a similar complexity of factors at work. Chile and colleagues’ study looks first at the wider social contexts of isolation, seen here as the converse of social connectedness – which allows them usefully to bring into play the theoretical analyses and researched data for both, to trace the possible links to health and wellbeing.
This being an extended paper, beyond the usual length of pieces in this journal, there is also scope for the authors to explore in some depth the methodological challenges in drawing generalisable conclusions from such studies, as this is still one location in a far wider world. Tellingly, they too aim to show in some detail some of the illustrative personal statements than run alongside large-scale survey methods, to give them their full character.
Exploring also the possible associations of isolation with ethnicity, Chile and colleagues in their paper note the particular significance of home and belonging for indigenous populations as compared to those who have actively chosen their changed circumstances by intention, in migration. For students, a change of domicile may reflect a valued, aspirational stage in life, a willing, positive transience. For other migrants, driven by work or other pressures, it may equally reflect a lack of choice, as much loss as gain. But for indigenous populations, the changes in their world are fully beyond their power to control.
The same, of course, might also be said of older residents in any town, estate or housing development, even in a care home,when the world gradually fills with new residents, or younger people who are “not from round here”, bringing different music, food, and life styles. Whether here the changes in what was once their home are experienced as a loss or a gain, may depend on how emotionally invested, and how socially connected the older inhabitants may feel in the new world they find forming around them.
The distinction that Chile and colleagues make here between structural and functional isolation, combined with their data, allows them to then draw conclusions and make recommendations for social policy, to respond to the risks of isolation and the poor health which is associated with such isolation by addressing the active side, of functional connectedness.
In a world of increasing social and economic mobility, the different meanings of connectedness to place may thus have different symbolic and emotional value within different communities – and bring different vulnerabilities. The pace and complexity of change in the world may lead all or any of us, at some times and to some degree, feeling “un-homed”. Yet overall, the “take home message” seems to be that, whether migrant or resident, worker or client, it is in the willingness of people from all backgrounds to meet and communicate that any on-going sense of belonging, enriched by new experiences and new meetings, can survive.
Robin Johnson
References
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