Search results

Cultural portraits usually begin with a description of the context, but as this material is covered elsewhere in this volume, this introduction will be mercifully brief. At any time during the last four decades, there have been dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of Stanford University faculty and doctoral students interested in studying organizations. They have been scattered across the campus, often in small groups within larger schools and departments. They have been based in the Sociology Department and the Organizational Behavior and Strategy areas at the Graduate School of Business. There were always a handful at the Education and Engineering schools, as well as a scattering of individuals doing related work in Psychology, Political Science, and Anthropology. In spite of their numbers, before the Stanford Center for Organizational Research (SCOR) was founded in 1972, many of these faculty, postdoctoral fellows, and doctoral students felt rather isolated. They had little contact with colleagues across campus who shared their interest in organizations and little collective clout when resources were being distributed.

In this chapter, I suggest that institutional guidelines and principles for conducting ethical research within Indigenous and cross-cultural contexts (see for example, the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Guidelines for Ethical Research in Indigenous Studies, 2012) may not, in themselves be enough to promote the ethical practices nor lead to innovative outcomes if the fundamental premises of Western research in Indigenous contexts remain the same. Alternatively, valuing and applying Indigenous conceptions of Being, relationality and knowing when engaging with Indigenous participants and also, within actual procedures of research may lead to greater ethical know-how and a deeper understanding of how Indigenous modes of knowledge production can extend the frontiers of knowledge to solve real world problems. Such possibilities are predicated on recognising the limitations of our own epistemologies and ontologies and addressing the question of how we might refigure the role and positioning of ‘outsider’ researchers in ways that imbed, more self-reflexive and culturally appropriate modes of engagement and the application of Indigenous notions of Being, knowing and doing into research procedures to enhance the impact and benefits of research both within and beyond Indigenous communities.

Language emanates from the individual who articulates from a coding system, whether oral or written, a construct of relational and communicative devices that determines who they are and what they would like to be. The concept of Being or ‘to be’, foregrounds a diverse range of definitions and extrapolations into the attributes of individuals, individuality, communities, and societies. The aim of the chapter is to unravel issues in the theorising of the concept of Being and its relationship to Indigenous Knowledge Systems for research students, through a teaching framework. A further aim is to explore the correlation of Being and Indigenous Knowledge Systems with the changing face of research relationships in a contemporary global setting. I shall, firstly, draw on relevant conceptualisations of what is Being under a Western framework. I, then, problematise this concept through Indigenous Knowledge Systems with a review of the literature on the issues surrounding its use. In the third part of this chapter, I focus on the changing face of research relationships by exploring the alignment of Being with the principles of Indigenous Knowledge Systems and their connectivity within a global framework. In this way, I foreground a significance of differentials and a re-imaging of thought and perception in the way research into Indigenous and Aboriginal societies is positioned.

This chapter explores the importance of the multifaceted levels of Aboriginal Being through my personal story. I, as the author will not only be the Researcher but also will be the researched. It is my journey that exposes me as the student, researcher, and teacher. By drawing on my life’s journey I narrate who I am and where I come from through both autoethnographical methodology and self-reflexivity. It is through this that I open up a space for wholistic education. It is envisaged that this work will uncover some of the complexities associated with Connection and Disconnection that has contributed to my personal growth and educational journey, connected to my Being. It is this experience I now transition onto my students. I am working with like-minded Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People, towards the vision and mission for my College. We as a collective continue to elaborate on the extremity and prevalence in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People, and their need for a safe space. It is within this space that we as a College understand the importance of flexibility, ensuring healing, decolonisation, and transitioning in allowing for the development of a culturally appropriate wholistic education in the vocational and education sector.

In social work, as in other disciplines, activism receives mixed responses within the academy, in professional practice and for those who cling to unyielding professionalism. There is a gulf between those who favour research and practice neutrality and those striving for systemic change. The co-option of non-state actors into political discourses, policies and practices is increasingly normalised. Drawing on reflections, observations and campaign examples, this chapter discusses social work activism as resistance to racialised neoliberal politics. It highlights endeavours by civil society actors of conscience, devised to restore humanity at a time when national and international norms have severely ruptured. Two illustrative examples from Australia are used: ‘illegalised’ people seeking asylum and Islamophobia. Although dissent and disruption are hallmarks of critical social work, with social workers having the potential to position themselves as human rights defenders, this prospect is weakened through expectations in research, teaching and practice.

Government secrecy is often portrayed as antithetical to transparency¹ as well as an affront to the general right to know, citizen participation, administrative oversight, and democracy itself.² Furthermore, government secrecy is connected to “much broader questions regarding the structure and performance of democratic systems” (Galnoor, 1977, p. 278), and in instances, is “more dangerous to democracy than the practices they conceal” (Fulbright, 1971).³ This condition has led to what Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. (1987) describes as a secrecy state, whichhas extended the secrecy system far beyond its legitimate bounds. In doing so, the target is far less to prevent the disclosure of information to enemy governments than to prevent the disclosure of information to the American Congress, press and people. For governments have discovered that secrecy is a source of power and an efficient way of covering up the embarrassments, blunders, follies and crimes of the ruling regime. (p. 5)

In the periods, following the First and Second World Wars, colonial states across the British empire underwent waves of reforms that were geared toward improving human well-being, from enhancing social conditions, such as health and education, to expanding opportunities for economic and political engagement. The literature on the colonial state typically traces these state-building efforts to the agency of European colonial officials. However, evidence from a historical analysis of Trinidad and Tobago reveals a different agent driving state reform: the colonized. A local labor movement during colonialism forced the colonial state to construct a number of state agencies to ameliorate the economic, political, and social conditions in the colony, thereby resulting in an increase in state capacity. This study, therefore, provides critical intervention into the colonial state literature by showing that the agency of the colonized, as opposed to just the colonizers, is key to state-building, and specifying the mechanisms by which the subaltern constrained colonial officials and forced them to enact policies that improved colonial state capacity.

Law on the screen goes beyond film. It takes us to the domains of mind and culture, power and politics, technology and rhetoric, and the changing contours and norms of professional practice, craft, and pedagogy. Law on the screen is a multidisciplinary affair. It embraces empirical/descriptive, political/normative, and jurisprudential/theoretical dimensions of scholarship. By codifying what we know and how we know it, culture and technology mimic the regulatory force of law. But just as law is shaped and informed by technology and culture so, too, are technology and culture shaped and informed in turn by law's power to regulate. Code is a two-way street. Who gets to design the code, how, and with what effect? That is the political question par excellence of our day.