How many research themes do you have?

Quite a few! I began my research career as a historian of cinema and film culture. I still teach a module called the Archaeology of the Moving Image which explores moving image practice and technology from a critical historical perspective. I have written about vernacular memory practices and urban change. I have an enduring interest in the (historical) infrastructures that support and sustain informal learning and auto-didacticism: public libraries, adult education, public service broadcasting. I consider each of these themes live and open, awaiting renewal.        

The thread that runs through these themes has not always been apparent to me at the time. In retrospect I can see that I have been repeatedly drawn to examine the tensions between professions, their forms of expertise and authority and lay people—non-specialists, or to put it another way, the hierarchical relationship, asymmetries and frictions between codified, institutionalised knowledge and situated or experiential knowledge.

Why do you find your research topic interesting?

Smart urbanism has been presented to citizens as the new common sense, a persuasive formula for efficient urban governance in a context of scarcity. It struck me as both interesting and necessary to ask: who is the smart city for? Who benefits most from the smart city? Who is empowered by this particular vision of the future? Of course, many other researchers have been posing these same critical questions—one never works alone. In Thailand, however, my sense was that the technocratic vision of smart urbanism, especially when carried on the powerful currents of entrepreneurial localism, tapping into sentiments of provincial civic pride and identity, had been appraised rather uncritically.

The radical geographer Doreen Massey memorably described space as the sphere of “contemporaneous plurality.” There is plurality because space is composed of a multiplicity of interactions, the implication being that space is always in the process of being made, it is always unfinished. As researcher I am compelled to ask: what else is going on here? How can we multiply the readings of this space? In this case, what alternative futures, alternative modes of collective action, are suppressed or struggling to be heard? 

How did you get started in your research and how did you come to focus on your current research?

I came to higher education as a mature student fairly late in life. I was hungry for learning. Studying anthropology and then cultural studies provided me with tools for a more disciplined critical examination of the world and my place in it. I wanted to continue that journey and embarked on a PhD researching the history of amateur film clubs. At the time I was a big cinephile, and I decided to make the institutionalisation of film culture the focus of my research. In hindsight I think that was because cinephilia had provided me with a solid framework for auto-didacticism, self-directed informal learning, in the absence of formal educational institutions. Over time my interests have shifted away from cinema, and the cultures of critical understanding and appreciation constructed around it, to consider how we live with the technological infrastructures of contemporary urban life. As much as anything I think this was simply because I wanted to learn new things and I wanted those things to be closer to the pulse of contemporary life.

Which books or people have influenced you?

What is your ideal image of a researcher?

I’m not sure that I have an ideal image. And I’m not sure if it is helpful to idealise research and researchers when the demands made on early career researchers seeking a foothold in academia get more and more unrealistic and outlandish each year. The researchers I admire go their own way. They are not followers of fashion or fad—they dance to their own beat. They have the courage to undertake slow research, to resist the metrics by which researchers are often judged by their peers. They undertake forms of inquiry that are ethically informed and politically engaged. They are listeners first and foremost, people capable of crossing social thresholds and barriers whilst never forgetting how they themselves are socially situated. They commit to communicate their research to others with candour. They reflect openly on their failures and learn from them. They can readily articulate the larger forces at stake in the specific areas with which they are concerned.

The Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci insisted that everyone has the capacity and capability for intellectual inquiry, for developing a critical conception of the world and their place in it. So our image of research or intellectual life should not be exclusively concerned with academia as a profession. Perhaps in an ideal world, universities would be spaces dedicated to lifelong learning which would have the role of nurturing those critical capacities and capabilities throughout life and throughout the population. Universities as centres of specialised knowledge production would build strong reciprocal links with researcher educators in social movements, community organisations and trade unions.

What is your must-have gear for field research and writing?

A laptop, a universal plug adaptor, a voice recorder, lots of notepads and pens. And Zotero, of course, which is free and open-source bibliographic software.

What would you say to people who want to become researchers?

In the UK where I work, I am often approached by people interested in researching and writing a PhD who are seeking advice. Understandably the idea of pursuing a PhD and a career in research beyond it crystallises some very powerful ideals and desires: autonomy over one’s work; a sense of meaningful, purposeful work; the pursuit of an intellectual life and self-directed inquiry; a chance to grow creatively and intellectually. Many of us are denied these things in our working lives so the desires are powerful and the motivations strong. It is undeniable that for some embarking on a research career may help them realise some of these goals. In the UK, however, higher education is in a state of prolonged but intensifying crisis caused by a combination of chronic underfunding, marketisation and the long-term erosion of the autonomy and independence of universities. Academics wages have fallen dramatically, and their pensions have been slashed. In arts and humanities disciplines in particular, departments are closing in universities around the country, including my own. In these circumstances so many of my good friends, brilliant researchers, writers and teachers have spent years precariously employed on short-term contracts while the pool of permanent academics in these areas shrinks year on year. A recent survey of 7000 university staff found that two thirds were considering leaving higher education. In the UK currently postgraduate researchers who are funded for the duration of their PhD are currently protesting the fact that their stipend corresponds to a material existence below the poverty line. In these circumstances, undertaking a PhD and embarking on a research career looks like a massive gamble with the odds stacked against you, and as much as I recognise and respect the desire motivating people toward that path, I would have to urge caution. That said, leaving aside professionalised institutions and careers, I believe cultivating a love of research and inquiry is an essential element of the good life.

(July 2022)