Organisational autoethnography: possibilities, politics and pitfalls Free

Welcome to this special issue of the Journal of Organisational Ethnography “Organisational Autoethnography: possibilities, politics and pitfalls”. This special issue acknowledges the growing interest in organisational autoethnography (OAE). To date, there has been no special issue in the Journal of Organizational Ethnography on OAE. However, OAE has always been important to this journal, first introduced as a research method in the inaugural issue (Doloriert and Sambrook, 2012). The interest in OAE as an approach/method of research continues to increase, as demonstrated by the number of citations this paper received. Furthermore, another 14 OAE related articles have been published across various issues in the Journal of Organizational Ethnography, with several others mentioning AE.

Interest in OAE goes far beyond the Journal of Organizational Ethnography. There is an increasing number of articles on OAE in a broad range of journals, across a broad spectrum of disciplines and subdisciplines (see for example, Boylorn, 2014; Butcher, 2013; Foster, 2017; Grenier, 2015; Herrmann, 2012b; Pelias, 2003). Closer to home, scholars are writing an increasing number of articles on OAE in leading business and management journals (e.g. Learmonth and Humphreys, 2012 in Organisation; Boyle and Parry, 2007 in Culture and Organization), as well as increasing number of book chapters (e.g. Sambrook, 2015, 2016) and texts (Herrmann, 2017).

The explosion of OAE is impressive. Autoethnographers have been tackling important organisational topics such as accounting (Davie, 2008; Haynes, 2013), human resources (Grenier and Collins, 2016; Sambrook, 2015, 2017; Sambrook et al., 2014), leadership (Kempster and Iszatt-White, 2013; Murphy, 2008; Parry, 2008), marketing (Hackley and Hackley, 2016; Holbrook, 2005; Patterson and Baron, 2010), organisational spirituality (Anderson, 2018), public relations (de Andrade, 2014; James, 2012), workplace discrimination and bullying (Sobre-Denton, 2012; Vickers, 2007) and work-life balance issues (Aubrey et al., 2008; Cohen et al., 2009).

Furthermore, there are OAEs exploring diverse types of organisations, including family businesses (Lindemann, 2017; Tull, 2017), health care organisations (Brommel, 2017; Ellis, 1999; Tullis, 2012; Foster, 2014; Foster et al., 2006), information technology (Cain and Trauth, 2017; Kidd et al., 2013), the military (Higate and Cameron, 2006; Hunniecut, 2017), non-profit organisations (Herrmann, 2011; Kramer, 2017), religious organisations (Nash, 2017; Hokkanen, 2017), public administration (Frandsen, 2015), retail establishments (Denker, 2017; Sidoti, 2015), sports organisations (Krizek, 2017; Trujillo, 2013; Trujillo and Krizek, 1994), the tourism industry (Mackenzie and Kerr, 2013; Neumann, 1999; Scarles, 2010) and of course academia (Bochner, 1997, 2008, 2016; Doloriert and Sambrook, 2009, 2011; Ellis et al., 2017; Herrmann, 2012a, b; Tullis and Holman Jones, 2014; Vicary and Jones, 2017).

Related to autoethnography are the notions of “at home” ethnography that have been introduced in the journal (Alvesson and Einola, 2018). Like OAE, at-home ethnography involves studying one’s own organisation. However, the focus is different. Alvesson and Einola, 2018 (p. 213) explain that “‘At home’ and ‘auto’ may overlap, but the former is interested mainly in learning about what goes on in the various interactions or events one observes and in which one has a limited personal stake. For instance, an at-home ethnographer may observe how others deal with hierarchical relations, and not focus so much on one’s own personal experiences of hierarchies”. In this special issue on OAE, however, we focus very much on the personal experiences of, with and within organisations.

All of this reflects on the growing awareness and attraction of novel research methods to examine and better understand complex cultural organisational issues. So, it is our immense pleasure to introduce this special issue focussing on the possibilities, politics and pitfalls of OAE. First, we briefly define and discuss the nature of OAE. In doing so, we identify some of the formative work in OAE, setting the scene for this edition. We then introduce the papers in this special issue. We end revealing some of the possibilities, politics and pitfalls, not least some of the ethical issues, that we have faced on this interesting editorial journey.

Boyle and Parry (2007) contend that the prime focus of an OAE is to illuminate the relationship between the individual and the organisation. As Herrmann (2017) suggests, the individual’s relationship with the organisation is ubiquitous: “An organization was involved bringing you into the world, and an organization will be involved in burying you” (p. 6). When we define organisation, as academics, we normally first think about our universities or Higher Education Institutions (HEIs). Alvesson and Einola (2018) note “it is surprisingly uncommon that academics study the “lived realities” of their own organizations or other phenomena they have good “natural” access to” (p. 212). However, sociological and anthropological studies of academic organizations go back at least to 1970s (Bloland, 1979; Griffiths, 1979; Ramsey, 1975). For a variety of reasons, we organisational scholars were, unfortunately, a little late to recognise the importance of this form of research on our own institutions (see Herrmann, 2017).

Some of this is due to our vastly different disciplinary backgrounds. For Sally, until recently, employed in a traditional British (Welsh) University, she was located in a business school. Within this type of organisation, there are departments of accounting, business, economics, finance, management, marketing, organisational behaviour (OB), strategy, etc., each of which could provide rich AEs (e.g. Haynes, 2006). Drilling down further, for example, Sally has focussed on AEs of human resource development (HRD) along with other HRD colleagues in the UK and USA (Grenier, 2015; Grenier and Collins, 2016; Lee, 2016; Sambrook, 2015, etc.). So Sally tends to think of organisations in terms of OB and organisational studies. Yet other social science studies of organisations are different from this, and take a non-business approach. For example, Andrew’s edited collection is derived from the communication studies discipline (Herrmann, 2017). Here, authors narrate their life experiences in various organisations, tackling issues, such as sex, gender, stigma, illness, economics, masculinity, socialisation, quitting, disappointment and mistreatment. The organisations written about include a local bar, family businesses, the military, a news organisation, dialysis clinics and information technology, illustrating the wide range of contexts for OAEs.

Organisational autoethnographers not only investigate their own organisations (Learmonth and Humphreys, 2012) but collaborate with practitioners and students from other organisations, crafting “co-produced” AE (e.g. Kempster et al., 2008) and/or “collaborative autoethnography” (e.g. Chang et al., 2012, Jones and Sambrook, 2016), or co-authored (Herrmann et al., 2013). Such co-authored pieces can also address some relational ethical concerns (Ellis, 2007). The range of organisations on which to focus is expansive – from public sector, including health and social care (Jones, 2012; Jones and Sambrook, 2016; Roberts, 2007; Wainwright, 2010) and the military (Hunniecut, 2017) to private organisations, including SMEs (Lindemann, 2017) companies (Kempster and Stewart, 2010) and third sector/social enterprises (Land and King, 2014).

To address these differences, this SI incorporates diverse conceptualisations of organisation. Perhaps unsurprisingly to us, the majority focus on public sector Higher Education organisations across the globe, ranging from the UK (Brewis et al., Campbell and Beattie, who also includes Russia), to the USA (D’Souza and Pal), New Zealand (Fitzpatrick and Farquhar) and South Africa (Mayer and May). Still in the public sector, Lee reflects back on her (British) high school organisation and Jonrad’s research is situated in a health care organisation. We have just two examples in the private sector: Nycyk focusses on a (large) Australian construction organisation, and Herrmann’s is set in a (small) North American comic book shop. These fit reasonably well with Doloriert and Sambrook (2012)’s categorisation below.

The AE method allows for insightful and emotionally-rich readings of organisational life. As highlighted in the inaugural issue (Doloriert and Sambrook, 2012), we suggest organisational AE can occur within at least three contexts.

This is increasingly popular, due not least to the convenience of researching one’s own organisation (see Doloriert and Sambrook, 2009, 2011; Sambrook et al., 2008). Contributions here explore the autoethnographer as a researcher/teacher/administrator etc. doing scholarly work, and/or as an employee working in an organisation (that happens to be HE). Many HE autoethnographies fit into both categories as the autoethnographer reveals their complex and multifaceted story (Doloriert and Sambrook, 2009, 2011; Duarte and Hodge, 2007; Ellis, 2007; Etherington, 2007; Haynes, 2006; Humphreys, 2005; Jago, 2002; Krizek, 1998; Medford, 2006; Pelias, 2003; Poulos, 2010; Rambo, 2007; Riad, 2007; Sambrook, 2010; Sambrook et al., 2008; Scott, 2009; Sparkes, 2007). Several of the papers in this special issue feature university organisational settings – such as Beattie, Brewis et al., Campbell, D’Souza and Pal, Fitzpatrick and Farquhar and Mayer and May.

Autoethnographers sometimes write about their experiences elsewhere, particularly their work experiences prior to entering HE, although this could include work experiences simultaneously with HE. Examples of these types of organisational AE include Blenkinsopp (2007), Vickers (2007) and Zavattaro (2011). A good example of this in this special issue is Lee, who reflects back on her experiences as a (gay) school teacher, harassed by a neighbour and unsupported by her head teacher and writes about it in her new context as an academic doctoral researcher. Another is Nycyk, reflecting on his research/project management experiences in a construction organisation.

AE as complete member research is perhaps more difficult given the tensions and impracticalities of becoming a complete member researcher in an organisation other than the researcher’s own. Doloriert and Sambrook (2011) have observed that recently there are several examples of works that show organisational AE (Goodall, 1994; Van Maanen, 1998), but only a handful that outwardly call themselves organisational AE (e.g. Kempster et al., 2008; Kempster and Stewart, 2010; Yarborough and Lowe, 2007). Opportunities arise through what Kempster et al. (2008) refer to as co-produced AE where at least one author is researcher and at least one other a practitioner working in an “other” organisation (Boyle and Parry, 2007; Kempster et al., 2008; Kempster and Stewart, 2010; Yarborough and Lowe, 2007). In this special issue, we have potentially two papers in this category. The first is where Eve Jonrad reflects on being a psychiatric nurse in a healthcare organisation where a smoking ban is resisted by other nurses. Yet, could we add Andrew Herrmann’s paper as a (mere) participant – and not complete member – in a comic book store?

As Herrmann (2017, p. 1, emphasis in the original), notes, “If autoethnography begins with “a person, an individual researcher, who interrogates their self and their positionality” it is not necessary to be a fully enmeshed “complete member” organisational participant to write organisational autoethnography. So, this can helpfully expand Doloriert and Sambrook’s (2012) at least three contexts and provide more possibilities for organisational autoethnography (Herrmann, this issue).

With these different forms of organisational AE in mind, the aims of this special issue are to:

• introduce early career researchers to the benefits and challenges (possibilities, politics and pitfalls) of doing AE in various organisational contexts;

• encourage and promote the dissemination of organisational autoethnographic research; and

• demonstrate, despite its lack of generalisability and focus on the individual/self, how AE can illuminate and inform organisational practice, and potentially effect change.

This special issue has three themes that each explores the possibilities, politics and pitfalls of AE as a growing and diverse method of organisational inquiry. The papers in the “doing” theme mainly exemplify some of the possibilities and insights of OAE, but also touch upon (potential) politics and pitfalls. Those in the “ethics” theme focus especially on the considerable associated with pitfalls but also offer glimpses of possibilities and cannot avoid issues of politics. Those in the “critical” theme address issues of power, privilege and possible persecution, again highlighting some possibilities and ethical concerns along the way.

This first theme shares some examples of doing OAE. What types of organisations can we research and write about? What organisational topics can autoethnographers focus on? How can they craft their stories? We have four papers that offer insightful examples.

Elaine Campbell bravely broaches the stigmatised subject of (her own) depression and anxiety in academia. This is a beautifully crafted evocative autoethnography, drawing on diary entries collected during her three-month sickness absence. Elaine poignantly articulates how she worked through the decline in her mental health, experiencing loss of identity and how she managed to reconstruct it during and after recovery. Elaine offers a personal “happy ending” but alerts us to the political and ethical pitfalls associated with deeply reflexive research.

On another potentially taboo topic, Jo Brewis et al. share their experiences of researching the intimate subject of menopause. Through a “moderate” autoethnography (Wall, 2016) harnessing “emotional recall” (Ellis, 1999) from elements of memory work, Jo, Vanessa and Andrea use vignettes to reveal the impact this had on their various academic work situations, illustrating how researchers can influence, and be influenced by, their research topics. To challenge the stigma of the menopause, they found themselves constantly negotiating the alleged public–private divide in their own employment contexts. Their research attempts to both empower women experiencing menopausal transition in other economic activities and researchers engaging with other taboo subjects, thus also offering a critical perspective.

On another thorny “everyday” issue, Eve Jonrad draws on experiences as a psychiatric nurse on an inpatient ward to provide first an autoethnographic “story”, then a commentary of an agency nurse resisting the “policing” of a smoke free policy. It is through writing out the story that Eve is able to reflect on the social meanings of this memory and theorise that the agency nurse was practising a form of passive “resistance”. In addition, from a critical perspective, Eve offers various implications for public policy that we are invited to consider.

Andrew Herrmann uses narrative vignettes to examine rituals and communicative practices in a local comic book shop from the first person perspective of a collector, a cultural participant and geek insider. The autoethnography, in a “novel” organisational context, connects communicative and ritual practices to organisational culture, hegemonic masculinity, geek culture and personal identity. Andrew also argues that we do not need to be an embedded organisational insider to perform organisational autoethnography.

These papers offer a glimpse of the broad range of possibilities available to autoethnographers in terms of organisational type, choice of topic and ways of capturing and narrating the story. As well as telling, they show (and sometimes perform) some of the delicate issues autoethnographers confront.

Our next theme builds on the precarious and perilous nature of OAE relating to its ethical issues. This encompasses relational ethics (e.g. Ellis, 2004, 2007), the ethics of “I” (the researcher), as well as the researched (Doloriert and Sambrook, 2009; Wainwright and Sambrook, 2010). How do autoethnographers grapple with issues of consent, confidentiality when they are revealing so much of themselves and, by inference, their colleagues, family and friends? To what extent can Humphreys and Watson’s (2009) fictionalisation strategy address these intricate issues? What experiments have been conducted with alternative autoethnographic ways of doing research to attempt to protect researchers and the researched and what has been learned through the process? Andrew (2017) goes some way to addressing these issues in his search for an autoethnographic ethic, but not necessarily in the organisational context.

Responding to these, we have two articles that focus on ethical issues. Catherine Lee carefully considers culture, consent and confidentiality when sharing a deeply disturbing personal experience with a neighbour, implications for her former job as a school teacher and her headmaster’s response. In doing so, she explores the incompatibility of her private and professional identities, and reflects on the impact of homophobic and heteronormative discursive practices in the workplace, on health, well-being and identity. Catherine reveals much about her self in the paper, but takes great care not to reveal others. In the review process, there were concerns about giving the neighbour a pseudonym but Catherine justifies calling him (ironically) Mr Freeman!

Employing vignettes, Michael Nycyk exposes some of the ethical dilemmas he encountered in a construction organisation during a design management ethnography project. This raises fascinating tensions between design “science” and ethnographic “craft”. Michael faced communication issues, political conflicts, discipline differences between social science and engineering research practice and the need to maintain positive relationships with field informants during data collection. These papers expose some of the challenges autoethnographers face and offer strategies for addressing them.

Our final theme embraces critical autoethnography in an organisational context, which turns “personal stories into critical investigations and interventions, about power, of difference, and for organizational change” (Herrmann, 2017, p. 7, emphasis in the original). Here, we are interested in how scholars and practitioners grapple with telling and showing AE from a critical perspective (King, 2015; King and Learmonth, 2015). What are the possibilities afforded by AE as a means of enquiry into the political, ethical and practical issues that arise through engaged forms of work. Some forms of AE, particularly evocative AE, have been accused of being insular and lacking in self-reflexivity (see Allen’s (1997) critique of Ellis (1986, 1995), or offer naïve realism (Coghlan, 2007) that do not create wider sociological understandings (Sparkes, 2002). Some suggest that, by combining evocative with analytical AE (Learmonth and Humphreys, 2012), AE can provide (critical) ways of investigating the experiences, understandings and practices of engaged political ethnography. To what extent can autoethnographies be radical (Holman-Jones, 2005), effecting organisational change?

Here, we have selected four articles that attempt to achieve a critical perspective and effect change. Interestingly, they are all situated in an apparently dynamic – yet often domineering, oppressive – higher education context. Liana Beattie shares an autoethnographic journey examining the idiosyncrasies of leadership across two different socio-political environments. Employing critical analysis of her embodied autobiographical accounts, Liana detects some parallels between current “transformational” leadership within the UK higher education and a soviet system of “clientilism” – and also uses autoethnography as a tool to explore power conflicts.

Similarly, Esther Fitzpatrick and Sandy Farquhar offer a duoethnography as a means of critical engagement and discussion leading to personal transformation. Employing their conversations about the inter-related issues of duty, gender and leadership, they expose the shift from “service” (their “calling”) to “leadership” in the New Zealand academic context. Esther and Sandy share a sense of existential crisis in their negotiation of who they may be (allowed to become) in what they see as the narrowing pedagogical space of an education faculty. They call for more inclusive and transformative service and leadership in the academy.

Employing narratives, Ryan D’Souza and Mahuya Pal draw on their personal experiences as postcolonial students and teachers in north America. Ryan and Mahuya make a compelling case for transnational diversity, revealing ways of dealing with the dominant Eurocentric discourses and practices of diversity in academia that demand assimilation with Western expectations and norms that maintains the status quo.

In a similar vein, Claude-Helene Mayer and Michelle May draw on their own personal experiences as women leaders in the South African higher education context, from a systems psychodynamic stance. Claude-Helene and Michelle utilise various notes and reconstructive memory to create narratives, offering a critical perspective on issues of racialised and gendered roles, marginalisation and inclusion, authority and decision-making, workplace stereotyping, gendering and racism. They call for South African HEIs to open space for discussion and awareness of, and respect for, female leadership roles.

These papers reveal some of the critical issues autoethnographers face in their own work organisations and call for ways of addressing, challenging, and changing them.

Having introduced the papers in this special issue, we now briefly share some of the possibilities, politics and pitfalls we faced on this editorial journey. As Guest Editors, we obviously wish to champion the possibilities of organisational autoethnography, whilst acknowledging all the ethical dilemmas this might raise and the political fallout it may present. During our journey, we have certainly encountered ethical dilemmas, which we share below, and we hope to have revealed a critical perspective in this concluding autoethnographic section.

Originally, the Guest Editors for this SI were going to be Sally and Alex Lewis (pseudonym), offering us another exciting possibility to work together. But as we wrote the proposal and call for papers, “work” started to get in the way (we both had heavy workloads, and Sally was only working part-time). We had to sit down and very carefully (and honestly) evaluate whether we could pull this off[…] Yes, we could! Then, as the months rolled on, Sally decided to take early retirement and go off travelling, raising issues of whether she could continue with the SI, and in what capacity. Alex approached Andrew to explore whether he would like to join us to share the load. Yes, he would! Of course, we then had to consider the politics of editorship, which are probably similar to those faced by our authors. Who would be the lead; how to divide up the work; what order of names? We had an exchange of e-mails:

But this issue did not trouble us for long. Sadly Alex had to withdraw from the project for personal reasons, so that created a number of further possibilities and potential pitfalls. Sally desperately did not want to give up this SI, and so offered to lead (her need for control?). She had not worked with Andrew before – how would that work? What was his work ethic? Sally has admitted to being a workaholic, setting tough standards and deadlines (which Alex could certainly confirm)! Yet, just as she was now trying to let go off her academic shackles, she found herself back in the game, and quickly playing catch up. We (Sally and Andrew) had never met in person, so how would we gel in this new online editorship? The automated ScholarOne system provided some solutions but created other problems. It was difficult to “share” access to all the manuscripts and therefore all the associated activities. Sally could have “muddled through” with Alex as they were closely located geographically and had worked together successfully over a number of years. As lead Guest Editor, how would she (could she?) share the load with Andrew, located across the Atlantic Ocean, in a different time zone?

Andrew experienced similar concerns. Luckily – or perhaps sadly – he too is a workaholic. He was actually in a conference call regarding a different special issue of a journal on popular culture when he received the e-mail from Alex about having to give up this special issue. Having never met Alex (although they had had e-mail and Facebook Messenger conversations) he felt they had a decent rapport. Sally, although he had read much of her work, was an unknown. Needless to say there was, to put it in terms of Weick (1998) a lot of ambiguity, organising and sensemaking for all of us involved. We can attest to the fact that we sent and received emails at all hours of the day and night.

As well as these editorial team edits, we also faced two other contrasting ethical issues: anonymity and disclosure, in both the review and publication stages. During the process of submitting manuscripts, Jo Brewis et al. alerted us to the fact that they could be easily identified by the specific funded project they were reflecting on. The authors were not unduly worried about revealing themselves. We suggested Humphreys and Watson’s (2009) fictionalisation strategy as a means of disguising the project – and authors – for the review process but, given the topic, there were limits to this.

More alarmingly, one author requested anonymity if the manuscript was accepted for publication, not wishing to be revealed for fear of personal (professional and political) harm. This immediately draws our attention to the potential (perilous) pitfalls of autoethnographic research. When we write autoethnographies we are warned to protect our accomplices (work colleagues, friends and family) and ourselves. There are various strategies available to us, such as fictionalisation, but how can you become a fictional author? One possibility is the use of a pseudonym, but this also raised practical problems for us, culminating in a series of questions to the managing editor and publishers. Sally has been an Associate Editor on another journal for a number of years and never faced this ethical issue. Was this solely “caused” by the autoethnographic element? How might this be addressed? An email from the publishers noted:

Conversely, our other ethical dilemma featured disclosure. One reviewer requested to be “outed”, to reveal her identity to the manuscript’s author. AE allegedly gives voice to the silenced, and Sally wondered whether reviewers’ voices (not exactly silent but “protected”) could be revealed? Again, Sally had never encountered this before but in the spirit of autoethnography wished to respect the reviewer’s request. Again, we needed to “check” with managing editors and publishers. It would be interesting to consider the author’s perspective, too. How did she feel knowing her reviewer? What does this add – or detract – from the review process?

Of course, the final problem we faced was selecting papers for this special issue. This reveals our “power” as guest editors, although we tried our best to ensure the selected papers matched our hopes (and declared aims) for the special issue. We are grateful to those authors whose work we were unable to include here and wish them well in their writing careers.

So, after our own editorial endeavours, we are truly delighted and relieved to share this special issue with you, and extend our sincere thanks to the authors, reviewers, managing editors and publishers.