Data Storytelling

In the beginning of our Ethnography of Communication class, one of the students asked about the kinds of papers one writes about an ethnography. It seemed like a simple question at the time. In order to report on ethnographic data, the researcher chooses a theme and then pulls out the parts of their data that fit the theme. Now that I’m at the point in my ethnography where I’m choosing what to report, I can safely say that this question is not one with an easy answer.

At this point, I’ve gathered together a tremendous amount of data about DC taxi drivers. I’ve already given my final presentation for my class, and written most of my final paper. But the data gathering phase hasn’t ended yet. I have been wondering whether I have enough data gathered together to write a book, and I probably could write a book, but that still doesn’t make my project feel complete. I don’t feel like the window I’ve carved is large enough to do this topic any justice.

The story that I set out to tell about the drivers is one of their absence in the online public sphere. As the wife of a DC driver, I was sick and tired of seeing blog posts and newspaper articles with seemingly unending streams of offensive, ignorant, or simply one sided comments. This story turns out to be one with many layers, one that goes far beyond issues of internet access, delves deeply into matters of differential use of technology, and one that strikes fractures into the soil of the grand potential of participatory democracy. It is also a story grounded in countless daily interactions, involving a large number of participants and situations. The question is large, the data abundant, and the paths to the story many. Each more narrow path begs a depth that is hungry for more data and more analysis. Each answer is defined by more questions. More specifically, do I start with the rides? With a specific ride? With the drivers? With a specific driver? With a specific piece of legislation? With one online discussion or theme? How can I make sure that my analysis is grounded and objective? How far do I trace the story, and which parts of the story does it leave out? What happens with the rest of the story? What is my responsibility and to whom?

This paper will clearly not be the capstone to the ethnography, just one story told through the data I’ve gathered together in the past few months. More stories can be told, and will be told with the data. Specifically, I’m hoping to delve more deeply into the driver’s social networks, for their role in information exchange. And the fallout from stylistic differences in online discussions. And, more prescriptively, into ways that drivers voices can be better represented in the public sphere. And maybe more?

It feels strange to write a paper that isn’t descriptive of the data as a whole. Every other project that I’ve worked on has led to a single publication that summarized the whole set. It seems strange, coming from a quantitative perspective where the data strongly confines the limits of what can and cannot be said in the report and what is more or less important to include in the report, to have a choice of data, and, more importantly, a choice of story to tell. Instead of pages of numbers to look through, compare and describe, I’m entering the final week of this project with the same cloud of ambiguity that has lingered throughout. And I’m looking for ways that my data can determine what can and cannot be reported on and what stories should be told. Where, in this sea of data, is my life raft of objectivity? (Hear that note of drama? That comes from the lack of sleep and heightened anxiety that finals bring about- one part of formal education that I will not miss!!)

I have promised to share my paper here once it has been written. I might end up making some changes before sharing it, but I will definitely share it. My biggest hope is that it will inspire some fresh, better informed conversation on the taxi situation in DC and on what it means to be represented in a participatory democracy.

Marissa Meyer, Motherhood and the Public Sphere

Marisssa Meyer has made quite a few waves recently. First, she was appointed CEO of Yahoo, an internet mainstay with an identity crisis, in a bold act of assertion and experimentation. She made headlines for her history of making waves in internet companies, and she made waves for being female. The headlines about her gender had barely receded before the news broke that she was pregnant. This was huge news, news that had barely receded before she again made headlines for talking about motherhood.

As a working parent, I’m moved to say a few things about motherhood and work.

The first point is an obvious one. Pregnancy is a state that primarily affects the pregnant. As a working, pregnant woman I remember the absolute fear of my coworkers discovering that my pregnant head was a blurred and rearranged rendition of its normal self. There is no public acceptance or public discussion of pregnancy brain, only private, informal corroboration of the phenomena. I felt sympathetic for Meyer as she navigated the intense public scrutiny of her every move within her new position while potentially mucking through “pregnancy brain.” Granted, we are adaptable creatures. I navigated the world of working while pregnant with a minimum of catastrophic errors, mostly through subtle adjustments in my work patterns, and I’m sure that she did as well. And, just as my consuming hatred of onions disappeared during the labor process, my thinking again found clarity. Motherhood does not necessarily affect a woman’s ability to work, nor is it necessarily a negative effect. In fact, we found in a survey of physicists the world over that mothers often discover that they work much more efficiently than they did before they gave birth (may be covered in this report). The wider sense of context and greater array of responsibilities can significantly improve worklife.

The assumption underlying fears about motherhood and work life is that the mother is the sole or primary source of childcare. This is not universally true. Parents make parenting work with whatever tools they have. Some parents have partners with varying degrees of involvement, and some don’t. Some live with family, some don’t. Some have dependable community networks or friends who help out with childcare. Some have financial means that can be used to find help with childcare or to help with other areas of life, in order to make more time for childcare. There are no assumptions that one could make straight out of the gate about a person’s childcare options or preferences.

Meyer made a point of calling her child “easy.” I don’t really see how this should bear on anyone else. I have often called my own kids easy. Maybe a more technical way of saying this would be that their actions generally jive with my own needs and preferences. There are times when that description couldn’t be further from the truth (like when they scream! or puke at dramatically inconvenient times. or cover me in Spaghetti at lunchtime in the office cafeteria!), and times when it seems gloriously true, like the times I couldn’t find a reliable childcare option and my quiet second child hung out in my office all day without most of my coworkers noticing. The truth is that children are people, with a full set of emotions and physical states that they are just learning to reconcile. They start out very dependent and grow independence before we’re ready for them to. Sometimes they are a lot of work, or a lot of frustration. And sometimes they enrich our lives in ways we never could have imagined.

The part of Meyer’s statement that most struck me was that she spoke about her enjoyment of motherhood. Motherhood has plenty of little joys, plenty of cute moments, and plenty of little smiles. They don’t often get as much press as the frustrations, especially from moms who are working on their careers. In a professional world that seems to be eying moms for any sign that motherhood is negatively influencing worklife, moms are often thrust into this dynamic, where being a parent is thought to be at odds with a career. I have often been caught in this dynamic. I enjoy my career and enjoy motherhood and in fact enjoy being able to do both. I rarely hear this dynamic echoed- almost like we need to chose a side and stick to it. But the need to pick sides is an old one, one where the mother is thought to be the primary caretaker, leaving her child adrift if she chooses to also pursue other activities.

Instead, I try to use my enthusiasm for work and school as a model for my kids. I want them to know that it is possible to find and pursue work that they find interesting. And I work to let them know how much I care about them and enjoy spending time with them. And I rely heavily on the networks available to me for help. My system is far from perfect. In November, after being out of town for a few days, I returned to a severely wheezing child. Nothing can make you feel worse as a parent than taking a child to the doctor when they are seriously ill and you know nothing about the history of their illness. And now the wave of finals is creeping over us like an ominous tsunami, threatening to swallow our homelife whole in its voraciousness.

Motherhood is complicated. Parenthood is complicated. Meyer may be moved to characterize parenthood one way in one interview and then in a completely different way fifteen minutes later. As a fellow parent, I would like to issue my full support for her speaking publicly about parenthood at all. I wish her  a string of lights in the thicket of family life and work life and a cord to hold it together in the points between.

And I wish her press about her professional life that isn’t defined by her personal life.