Advocacy, Chapitre Du Livre

The SAGE Handbook of Human
Geography: Two Volume Set

Advocacy
Contributors: Audrey Kobayashi & Meghan Brooks & Sarah de Leeuw & Nathaniel
Lewis & Catherine Nolin & Cheryl Sutherland
Editors: Roger Lee & Noel Castree & Rob Kitchin & Victoria Lawson & Anssi Paasi &
Chris Philo & Sarah Radcliffe & Susan M. Roberts & Charles W.J. Withers
Book Title: The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two Volume Set
Chapter Title: " Advocacy"
Pub. Date: 2014
Access Date: June 30, 2015
Publishing Company: SAGE Publications Ltd
City: 55 City Road
Print ISBN: 9780857022486
Online ISBN: 9781446247617
DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.4135/9781446247617.n19
Print pages: 404-421
2014 SAGE Publications, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
This PDF has been generated from SAGE knowledge. Please note that the pagination
of the online version will vary from the pagination of the print book.
Universite de Sherbrooke
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http://dx.doi.org/10.4135/9781446247617.n19
[p. 404 ]
Chapter 18: Advocacy

AudreyKobayashi MeghanBrooks Sarahde Leeuw NathanielLewis CatherineNolin
CherylSutherland
We all hope that our work will make a difference in the world, that a great lecture
will result in a few students shifting their understanding, that something we write will
inspire others, that one of our ideas will be taken up in better public policy. Sometimes
geographers also take their ideas into the world to advocate directly for social change.
Advocacy occurs in diverse ways and at different scales: at the formal political level
through petitions or direct interaction with politicians and policymakers, or informally
through chance encounters when an individual changes his or her ideas or actions.
Sometimes it takes to the streets to protest or demonstrate. When we choose to
become advocates, we also face moral, ethical challenges, choices over how to
manage our time and energy, and scholarly challenges over how to incorporate our
research interests within the situations in which we find ourselves directly involved, and
questions about how our modest advocacy contributes to larger and sustained social
change.
Moreover, our advocacy has distinctive meaning precisely because we are
geographers. It makes a difference where we advocate, how the individuals and
institutions with whom we advocate are placed, at what scale we can effect changes,
and how the spatial relationships that make up social life are shifted in the process.
A turning point in the history of advocacy geography occurred in North America in the
late 1960s. In the context of the Civil Rights Movement and amid controversy over the
Vietnam War, geographers began to question the relevance of their discipline and their
role as individuals in influencing social change. The journal Antipode began publishing
in 1969 with articles devoted to advocacy as a regular feature. Advocacy geography
refocused the question of What do geographers do? to What can geographers do?
without which We have lost sight of our own product society, and it, blind to us,
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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

Volume Set: Advocacy
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strikes its own destructive course (Roach and Rosas, 1972: 75). As Ron Horvath (1970:
36) opined:[p. 405 ]
By participating in the community, a sensitivity to needs will emerge.
After needs are identified, solutions can be considered.
I submit that participant observation is eminently suitable for the
task because it is a technique where the scholar, the citizen, and the
community member merge. And the distance between the street and
the academy diminishes accordingly.
Roach and Rosas (1972: 73) emphasized that advocacy occurs through small-scale,
on-the-ground research:
Advocacy Geography, then, can be viewed as an extension service to
people, which would be directed at the improvement of the quality of
their lives. Advocate Geographers should avoid becoming handmaidens
of oppressive groups while lending as much support as possible toward
the abolition of societal ills. Advocate Geographers should concentrate
their efforts at a micro-level, making the shortrun solution of immediate
problems a possibility and increasing one-to-one communication.
Suggestions ranged from involvement in planning (Wisner, 1970), mitigating human
environmental impact (Zelinsky, 1970) to involvement in grassroots demands for more
social justice (Earickson, 1971). Bunge (1971) advocated a reversal of the careerorientated campus to a community-orientated research focus. As Merrifield (1995: 63)
argues in retrospect, That is why radical geographers have a vital contributing role to
play. Through expeditions it is incumbent upon the geographer to become a person
of action, a radical problem-raiser, a responsible critical analyst participating with the
oppressed.
For Peet (1977), however, early advocacy approaches were insufficient because they
did not address the larger questions of how social inequalities are created. The problem
with the advocacy idea, he argued (1977: 15), was that its relationship with a deeper
and more all-embracing revolutionary movement was always tenuous at best, while
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at worst advocacy might be considered a liberal diversion of political effort. Peet and
many other radical geographers distanced themselves from the parochialism of direct
advocacy to focus instead on understanding capitalism as the engine of modern society,
addressing contradictions at the global scale rather than contradictions that occur
locally.
The pages of Antipode reflected this shift, with lessening attention to community-based
research from the mid-1970s until the 1990s, when the discipline saw a resurgence
of interest in geographies of the local, in feminist methodologies, and in questions
of situated knowledge, which required an assessment of the role of the geographer
as advocate and which benefited from the participation of the geographer in actual
1
social life. The past two decades have seen such a rapid increase in geographical
advocacy that the concept of critical engagement has become a central principle of
human geography (Blomley, 1994; Castree, 1999; Cloke, 2002; Pain, 2003; Massey,
2004; Chatterton, 2006; Kindon, Pain, and Kesby 2008; Routledge, 2009).
Maxey (1999) points out that advocacy, or activist geography, is discursively produced
across a range of situations, not all of which involve active or radical resistance to
authority. For Maxey, engaging with even the most mundane aspects of peoples
lives enables geographers to advance their understandings of lived experience and
of the potential and capacity for social change. Continuing debates along the theory
action continuum involve the discursive positioning of geographers around questions
of relevance, which ranges from pertinence to public policy to commitment to social
change to potential application, and occurs at a relative, and politically negotiated,
distance from the disciplines central paradigms (Staeheli and Mitchell, 2005, 2010;
McKinnon, 2007).
Methodologically, participatory action research, a more recent development of
participant observation, has developed into a major strand of research in human
geography (Cameron and Gibson, 2005; Kindon et al., 2008). It is now widely accepted
that geographers have an ethical responsibility to [p. 406 ] conduct relevant research,
and that collaborative research towards social justice is an important goal. Questions of
responsibility for social change, or lack thereof, remain. But as Kindon (2010: 535536)
asserts, there is a role for social geography in the repoliticisation of participation, and
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a role for participation in revitalising social geography. It is the recursive relationship

between the two that we hope to demonstrate here.
Our Stories
2
When Audrey was asked to write a chapter on advocacy, she immediately thought
of the many ways her graduate students have worked as advocates while completing
their own research. She asked several of them to write down their stories, told here as
individual vignettes. These stories reflect a variety of personal encounters between the
geographer-as-researcher and the geographer-as-activist. Each story can be read as
a journey. For Audrey, circumstances three decades ago, at a time when there was
little context or precedent for the activist scholar, tossed her from the ivory tower into
a public forum in which political and social changes were actually taking place. The
experience shifted her scholarly trajectory towards community-based research. Her
students, in contrast, entered graduate school at a time when advocacy had become
an accepted and valued aspect of social science, and their stories reflect some of the
more recent challenges. Meghan started out to study advocacy itself, by analysing the
anti-racist strategies of non-government organizations (NGOs). She found herself often
in everyday conversations where what she said about her work as a geographer could
make a difference to the understanding and attitudes of individual people. Sarah was
an advocate before entering graduate school, on behalf of women subject to domestic
violence. The interaction depicted here with one woman motivated her to undertake
graduate research that would integrate her activism and academic understanding of
social justice. Nathaniel set out as a gay man to understand the migration experiences
of gay men, and learned that to tell their stories also meant to expose the need for
community-based social justice advocacy. Cheryl worked with immigrant women on
a project designed as participatory action research (PAR), but in the process made
surprising discoveries about the kinds of places that racialized, immigrant women
find dangerous; she set about with her participants to do something about it. Finally,
Catherine made an early transition to advocacy in both research and teaching and
found herself dramatically enmeshed in a life-changing situation. These are their stories.
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Audrey
Unlike my students, I was not always a scholaradvocate. I was trained as a historical
geographer and wrote a dissertation on Japanese migration to Canada. During the
1980s, I began a tenure-track position at McGill University, and a few years later
Japanese Canadians, like their American counterparts, began negotiations with the
federal government to reach a redress settlement for the human rights violations they
had experienced during the 1940s. As an expert on the demographic history of the
community, I was asked in 1986 to join the committee that negotiated a settlement
with the Canadian government in 1988. Over the course of two years of intensive
negotiation with policy-makers and high-level politicians, my research career was
transformed. I shifted from documenting migration to analysing the historical geography
of racialization. I moved my laboratory from office and archive to the community itself. I
shifted my range of publications to pieces that would be read by community members
and others interested in social justice, and reorientated my teaching from asking
students to read and assimilate facts to asking them to incorporate questions of social
justice into everything that they learned.
[p. 407 ] Looking back, several aspects of this experience made a difference not
just to the way I conducted myself as a scholar but also to the kind and depth of my
knowledge. In the course of the negotiation, we worked as intently at the community
level as at the political. Reaching a settlement depended on having broad community
support that was developed by groups across the country holding information sessions,
focus groups, and rallies. The local meetings were as important as, albeit less public
than, the demonstrations on Parliament Hill. The settlement also depended upon
incorporating the voices of the more than 20,000 individuals affected. Understanding
the voices and their experiences became as important to my research as the mountains
of archival data that had previously made up my primary data. And working as a
representative of the community also involved collaboration with other advocacy groups,
representing a range of ethnocultural and indigenous communities also seeking social
justice. The constellation of interests profoundly influenced my understanding of the
process of racialization, and of the intersection of identities according to which people
are spatially and socially situated, and through which they launch projects of resistance.
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Realizing the significance and potential of geographical advocacy took me a long time. I
struggled for years to match community activism with theoretical understanding, leaving
one or the other to the side for long periods because I could not seem to integrate them
seamlessly. Nor was becoming an advocate without professional costs. During the
1980s, few scholars were involved in community-based research, and participatory
action was not widely recognized as legitimate social science. When it came time for a
tenure decision, I faced a university committee that stripped my CV of community-based
work before making a decision (thankfully, a positive one) on the basis of what was
considered legitimate scholarship. Having made it past that, hurdle, however, I can now
recognize that, whereas community-based work takes an emotional (and sometimes
physical) toll, and whereas it is essential to be able to look beyond the politics of the
moment to see the larger picture of social change in which theory and action form a
syncretic whole, the value of such work is both in sometimes being able to make a
social difference and in achieving a higher level of scholarly understanding that comes
from the ground.
That struggle has demanded questions that connect advocacy and radical social
change. The example cited here represents an important achievement of justice
for some 20,000 people, effected within the very liberal system through which their
human rights were violated. One such victory perhaps does little to overcome centuries
of colonialism and racism, however, and Peets (1977) caution about re-inscribing
liberalism still weighs heavily. Three decades later, I nonetheless remain committed to
community involvement, recognizing that gains may be modest and that the relationship
between theory and practice is problematic and incomplete. But I know a lot more
about racialization now, and even lay claim to advancing theory; I could not have done
so without direct community connection. For my students today, the connection is
axiomatic. They still face moral, ideological, and theoretical challenges, but do so in an
institutional environment in which their research is recognized.
Meghan
Sometimes the most meaningful discussions happen when we least expect them. As
a researcher of racism and anti-racism, I spend considerable time conversing with
colleagues and students about interesting events and the latest news and articles on
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the topic. But despite the time I dedicate to thinking about and researching racism on
the academic front, there are personal encounters in which I am made most acutely
aware of how I engage in advocacy.
The question: What do you do?
An answer: Well, I research racism and antiracism. Right now I am
doing research on what strategies are effective at addressing racism.
[p. 408 ] A pause. I take a moment to breathe deeply and gather my thoughts. While
the initial invitation to share my work and passion has sparked tremendous excitement
within me, a tinge of anxiety quickly follows. There are many directions this conversation
may go, they may be challenging and even uncomfortable. I have become conditioned
to expect the unexpected in the brief moment that follows after someone asks the
question.
Thats great! Its about time people studied how White people are
discriminated against!
I dont know why people are making such a big deal about Torres
costume! [referring to a National Hockey League player who dressed
up as rapper Jay-Z for Halloween using blackface]
What, do you mean there is racism in Canada?
Geographers study that?
As I start to explain my work, I know that one or two sentences will not be enough, and
that expressing my work and ideas will be no simple task. An answer to the question
What do you do? actually requires me to address some fundamental questions,
including for what or whom do I advocate? Who am I to advocate? So I begin. I open a
dialogue about what we believe in and value, and also who we are and how we impact
the world around us. Its probably not what they expected.
I am seldom surprised by the responses of those individuals brave enough to ask what I
research. The responses that I have chosen to highlight earlier are particularly important
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ones because they point to not only a general lack of knowledge about racism, the
forms it takes, and its effects on racialized individuals and groups, but also a failure
to associate geographers with work on such issues. The openings created in those
spontaneous moments of dialogue what I call advocacy encounters represent
important opportunities to spark personal reflection, raise awareness on issues and
research in the discipline, and hopefully even promote change.
As the histories of race and racism show, social change takes time. Much as the forms
of racism change, so too do the strategies effectively adopted to address it. I have
studied how advocating for equity-related issues blurs the boundaries between public
and private thought and action. On one hand, advocacy is a public process since racism
is one of the most pressing social issues of our time. Conversations about racism also
occur in a variety of institutional settings including schools, workplaces, policy forums,
and in the media.
But conversations about race and racism are also intensely personal as they draw in,
and draw from, an individuals beliefs, experiences, and identities. The conversations
reflect ideological beliefs and attitudes, social and cultural identities and histories, and
most importantly, real-life experiences. When the individuals quoted in the opening
stated that they did not see racism as a problem in Canada, it is likely that they either
never experienced racism themselves or do not recognize racist acts as such. They
possess a particular view of the world that, while based in their own experiences, denies
those of others. Although research shows that overt forms of racism, including violence
and hate crimes, are on the decline in Canada, it is troubling that individuals of colour
continue to experience discrimination in other, more subtle forms (Statistics Canada,
2002; Brooks, 2008).
An individual engaged in anti-racism is, I believe, by definition an advocate for equity.
On a general level, anti-racism can be understood as both a political discourse and an
action-orientated strategy for change (Lentin, 2004). When I participate in encounters
like the ones described earlier, I am actively engaged in anti-racist advocacy. By
inviting and encouraging the enquirer to reflect critically on the words they use and
on the way their jokes or stereotypes marginalize others, I engage them in analysis
of discourses of race [p. 409 ] and racialization. When they are open to it, these
encounters can even motivate individuals to become involved in different kinds of
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social transformation, ranging from acting and speaking in a more inclusive manner to
volunteering. While my encounter with the individual who did not understand the harm
caused by blackface used in Halloween costumes was difficult and contained moments
of tension, I was fortunate to witness this individual query the appropriateness of
various Halloween costumes in a subsequent conversation. In this case, the individual,
who once perpetuated a racist act through inaction, became an ally and advocate for
inclusive behaviour.
Participating in advocacy encounters can be an intimately personal experience.
Dialogues on the topics of racism and anti-racism have been especially personal for
me and have demanded that I am willing not only to share my beliefs with the other
person but also to receive their response thoughtfully. In some encounters, my identity
as a white woman has had the effect of enticing other people to think about racism
and the role we play in perpetuating and confronting it in interpersonal and systemic
ways. In these situations, other white individuals see that addressing racism is the
responsibility of all citizens, not only those who are victimized. Unfortunately, I have also
seen how my skin colour arouses the suspicion that I am a race traitor who seeks to
make problems where none exist.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to talk about processes of marginalization, racialization,
and discrimination without drawing from key geographic theories. Concepts such as
place, spatiality, scale, power, discourse, and representation frame how we study
and interpret social racism, but also provide analytical frameworks for understanding
and organizing to confront it. In many advocacy encounters, I find that enquirers are
interested in knowing what it is that human geographers (they didnt know that kind
existed!) do and how research on racism is geographical. As geographers, we are wellequipped to conduct research on equity. We can draw from our theoretical, conceptual,
and methodological toolbox to understand how processes, variables, and contexts
intersect in our everyday lives. It appears that our greatest challenge as geographers is
to communicate what we do and why we do it. Advocacy encounters are one way that
we can open dialogues about our unique contributions. Creating the opportunities to
have these conversations, or recognizing when these opportunities are presented to us,
is half the battle.
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While racism is continually produced, reproduced, and contested at the level of society,
the geographies of racism and anti-racism are intimately and inextricably linked to the
individual. Personal geographies draw individuals together in advocacy encounters
where there exists potential for both the enquirer and the advocate to be changed.
There is no one position from which to begin the process of advocacy. As I have
learned, often the hard way, engaging in advocacy on the topic of racism can only
begin where the other person stands. In some situations anti-racist advocacy involves
showing the ways in which racism persists today. In others, it may involve a thoughtful
discussion on the causes of, and solutions for, racial discrimination. In either case, it is
critical that an advocate understand and work from the position of the enquirer.
Advocacy is a process a series of actions, changes, and functions that involves
negotiation between individuals in everyday, mundane, and often subtle ways. While
the process underlying advocacy for equity undertaken by geographers may vary
depending on the situation, it is important that we are mindful that processes take shape
and transform over time. As I have learned from those brief moments that follow the
question What do you do?, the views of individuals are seldom transformed in one
conversation. Luckily, engaging in advocacy encounters creates an opening where the
process of change can begin.
[p. 410 ]
Sarah
When I was 24 years old, I began a job coordinating a womens centre in northwestern
British Columbia (BC), Canada. That region of the province, lauded in tourist brochures
as a vast expanse of untouched wilderness with unparalleled opportunities for hunting
and fishing, is also home to communities of people living with some of the countrys
greatest burdens of ill health (British Columbia Provincial Health Officer 2001, 2007);
the most transformative litigation concerning the rights and title of First Nations to nontreatied lands (Sparke 1998; Asch, 2002); significant expansions of global resource
extraction interests; the provinces only modern-day non-urban land claim treaty; and
some of the highest rates of unemployment and lowest rates of education in BC (British
Columbia Provincial Health Officer, 2002). In short, northwestern BC is comprised of
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complex socio-cultural, legal, political, economic, and health geographies. I would not,
however, have used any of those words when, about two days after I started the job in
that womens centre, a woman walked through the front doors and asked for help to get
her kids back. I had no idea what she meant. Get her kids back? I thought. Had they
been misplaced?
Despite my confusion at the time, those questions was the starting point of what today
amounts to over a decade and half of work trying to understand what I think, write,
speak, and advocate about as enduring power imbalances and social injustice. I am
interested in the many divisions between Indigenous peoples and non-Indigenous
peoples (both of which are complex, variable, and heterogeneous groups). When
I think about those imbalances and injustices, and advocate changing them, I do
so with words, tools, and conceptualizations afforded both by frontline advocacy
work and by the discipline of geography. Social injustices and power imbalances,
particularly between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, are the outcome of a long
colonial geographic history and a potent colonial present. Social injustices and power
imbalances are lived and experienced; they bear down on peoples and communities in
real, material, and embodied ways. Appreciating the simultaneity of these is a result of
frontline advocacy work and academic studies in geography.
Returning to my work that morning in the womens centre and how it started me thinking
about advocacy and geography, Sandy (pseudynom) was a First Nations woman
with five children. An anonymous allegation about her drinking and neglecting her
children led the Ministry for Child and Family Development (MCFD) to apprehend all five
children. As she explained, Sandys situation was as follows. Although she struggled
with addictions, she had recently stopped drinking. She had just moved into town
from a nearby Indian Reserve with the explicit intention of leaving a drinking scene
because MCFD had given previous warnings about apprehending her children. She
was waiting to get her furniture moved into town and for her mail to be delivered with a
cheque she depended upon. She and her five kids were living in a barren two-bedroom
rented apartment and depending on the local food bank until a few things lined up.
The morning Sandy contacted the centre, a social worker had showed up at her door,
said there had been an anonymous complaint that MCFD was obligated to investigate,
looked around the apartment and, noting no food in the fridge and no beds for the
children, had removed the five children ranging in age from 3 to 12. Sandy needed to
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be in court the following week so a judge could approve (or not) the apprehension. In
the interim, Sandy was not sure where her children were, if they were living together, or
what she needed to do while she waited. Hence her decision to approach someone in a
womens centre for help to get her kids back.
In 2012, the issue of child apprehension in Canada reached a boiling point; more
Indigenous children were in the care of the state than were in Indian Residential
Schools in the mid-20th century (Assembly of First Nations, 2006). [p. 411 ] Removal
of Indigenous children, with tragic and violent results, is increasingly being referred
to as Canadas new national colonial crime (Hughes, 2006; Foster and Wharf, 2007;
Pivot Legal Society, 2008). Working with Sandy to have her children returned opened
my eyes to how advocacy and scholarly enquiry can work together, particularly for
geographers interested in social justice. At the applied, embodied, and micro-scale
site of Sandys particular needs, advocacy involves filling in forms, helping to drive
someone to the court house, being present in meetings with lawyers and social workers,
and/or just listening and strategizing about financial crisis and how to afford food and
furniture. These steps awoke in me a deep appreciation about how confusing and
alienating powerful social systems can be for those who are not fluent in them or who
feel subjugated by them. Community-based advocacy work requires building systemnavigation skills while consistently advocating for system change.
More than three years of continuously advocating with individual women, primarily
within the boundaries of one community, left me feeling that broader and more systemic
change might require tackling macro-scale issues like anti-Indigenous racism, the
ascendance of Eurocolonial normativities into hegemonic systems with the power to
intervene into spaces of poor and historically marginalized people and families, and
even the taken-for-grantedness of white settler colonialism. Advocacy work with an
individual woman in a womens centre in northern BC, therefore, compelled me to begin
advocating for social change and social justice across broader geographies, in books
and journals with national and international reach, with government policymakers in
power and post-secondary students who will go forward into positions of power, and
with organizations often run by and devoted to lobbying for the health and well-being of
Indigenous peoples.
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Analysing the spatiality of social injustices provides a powerful means through which
to work out how power operates: the apprehension of Sandys children, for instance,
was intricately linked to powerful assumptions about what constitutes safe and morally
correct spaces for a family. Sandys migration to the city where I worked involved
crossing colonially imposed boundaries of Indian Reserve and non-Indian Reserve,
boundaries etched in law, land, and socio-cultural imaginations about where some
people belong and others do not. Advocating for and with Sandy was transformative
for me, in great part because it made clear the geographic undergirding of social
injustices that are so punitively lived and experienced by far too many people. If power
is underwritten by eminently geographic structures, so too might it be destabilized by
geographers advocating for social justice.
I continue to work with womens and First Nations organizations and I tackle questions
about social injustices from a feminist anti-racist geographic standpoint. I do so in great
part because I know Sandys children were never returned to her. Nor did they ever
again live together as a family unit. My ongoing frontline work and academic research in
health and geography is anchored in the deep belief that what Sandy experienced was
unjust and even inhumane. Change needs to be advocated for, one person at a time.
Nathaniel
Several years ago, as a new PhD student, I hadnt considered myself an advocate per
se or even someone with the type of political or leadership role who could provide a
worthwhile account of advocacy in the academy. I was openly (and proudly) gay but
had never been directly engaged with political campaigns and fundraisers, and I had
never seen myself as an activist. My concept of my work (and myself) was probably
influenced by too much pragmatism rather than not enough politics. I had just finished
an intensive Masters program and was embarking on a new degree that required
devising a project, funding it, and publishing it especially if I [p. 412 ] wanted to find
a job afterwards. I was, admittedly, more worried about how to do all of those things
than I was about whether or not my research would effect change or make a political
statement. Yet I had also made a substantive change in my research at that point,
shifting my focus from Canadian immigration policy to queer migration. Little did I know
that this would be a first step toward becoming an unexpected advocate.
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I had chosen to study gay mens migrations within North America, originally by looking
at the role of mental and emotional health, but ultimately through the broader lens of
the life course. As it turned out, the next few years were a formative or at least, visible
time for issues of gay rights, identities, and other factors that might influence the
mobility of gay men and other queer people. And my point of view would now seem
to matter more than it had before, not because the events of 20092011 signalled
an increase in anti-gay stigma or a backlash against previous progress (mostly the
opposite, in fact), but because they seemed to flatten already simplistic popular
conceptions of the way that gay lives, identities, social stigma, and migration are
intertwined. During these years, Iowa, Vermont, New Hampshire, and New York joined
Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Canada as North American jurisdictions legalizing
3
same-sex marriage. The trends that seemed most to capture the imagination of
North America, however, were more discursive than legal. In September 2010, the It
Gets Better Project sponsored by the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network
(GLSEN) created a series of videos in which celebrities advised gay youth experiencing
bullying, depression, and other struggles that their circumstances will improve with
age and over time. This programme has been critiqued elsewhere (see Puar, 2010) as
a neoliberal program that asks young gay people to grin and bear it until they have
the opportunity to among other things move to a university campus or a big city,
but it was not this trend that bothered me the most. The same period of time had also
produced a rash of articles in the gay media of many cities employing the figure of
the post-mo, a usually white, usually middle-class, and apparently already liberated
gay male who eschews pride parades and gay villages in favour of better, cooler,
alternative options (see, for example, Aguirre-Livingston 2011).
What was concerning about these events was not any kind of anti-gay ideology
they each reflected a notion of progress in their own way but the ways in which
they seemed to flatten gay peoples experiences of place in a way to that made it
consumable or understandable. As I began conducting field research in Ottawa,
and meeting new friends along the way, I was frequently faced with the inevitable
question, So, whats your research on? When I answered gay migration (the most
straightforward description I could think of), I was surprised to find that many people
gay and straight alike tended to express what they felt was an implicit understanding
of the project: Oh, so you study how gay people move to cities? This is not to say
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that these types of responses were directly informed by the media discourses of the
moment; more that they reflected a long-standing idea of gay migration as a form of
making do that somehow results in emancipating oneself in the big city.
Increasingly, I found myself positioned as an everyday advocate (Thompson, 2004)
for more nuanced understandings of queer peoples mobilities. Far from a special skill
or special field, these everyday conversations involved carefully explaining how the
research uncovered the centrality of migration for gay men throughout the life course,
not just before age 25 (when many are assumed to come out) or before escaping to
a city like Ottawa or Washington, DC. I found myself drawing on the narratives from
my research to illuminate for others the point that the force of anti-gay stigma did not
terminate with any particular age, place, or move. I talked about men who moved to
a new place only to re-closet themselves for a particular job, or those [p. 413 ]
who moved from ostensibly liberal places (Seattle, WA, or Austin, TX) because the
fear of coming out to family members or friends was so overriding that they felt more
comfortable managing the process from afar. I found myself arguing that the gay village,
which might be just an antiquated collection of bars to a disaffected (and privileged)
Torontonian or San Franciscan, was perhaps the most important first point of contact
with the community for a young person who had just arrived from a far-off town in say,
the Ottawa Valley or western Virginia.
These types of conversation-based exchanges are not the same as the more
concentrated, smoother messaging of an organized campaign or op-ed piece (perhaps
those are yet to come), but they may offer something different. My casual conversations
that had begun with someone invoking the big city trope usually ended with a pause
and, sometimes, a realization that he or she had never thought of it that way before.
Gay friends and colleagues who read the research found pieces of their own experience
within it, while many of the interviewees themselves felt that providing a narrative
offered a sort of post hoc lens for journeys that they had previously conceived as part of
just getting by. In the past few years of everyday conversations, I hope, too, that I have
shown that gay migrations are not simply a wandering search for identity or a process
of getting by, but a symptom of a highly variegated North American landscape of gay
rights, social acceptance, and stigma that is still fundamentally insecure and uneven.
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Cheryl
Nestled in the midst of Queens University, Ontario, is the Ban Righ Centre, the only
university facility in Canada designed specifically with mature women students in mind.
The centre is a home away from home for women students of all ages due to its
intentional creation as a safe place. Situated in an historic brick building, it looks more
like a house than an institutional setting, and it is used by groups who take seriously the
difference that place makes.
I begin this story with a description of the Ban Righ Centre because it exemplifies
the importance of creating safe, welcoming, and comforting places, especially for
individuals who may be marginalized in some way. My personal use of the Ban Righ
Centre has included using it as a meeting place for the women who participated in a
research project that explored immigrant womens experiences of vulnerability after
arriving in Canada. I wanted to provide a safe and comfortable place in which immigrant
women could share their emotional geographies.
The research involved conducting focus groups where participants shared photographs
and told stories about their experiences in particular places within the city (photovoice).
The groups met on numerous occasions, enabling them to explore deeply and share
emotional experiences, but also to enhance the rapport between the participants, as
well as between the participants and myself. They created moments of sharing that
became more personal as time went on.
It was ML who first shared her frustrating experiences with the transit system. ML had
been waiting for the city bus and was standing at the bus stop only to be ignored by the
bus driver, who simply drove by. ML was upset because not only did this incident make
her late for the focus group but it also was not the first time that such an experience
had occurred. ML had personally endured or witnessed numerous experiences of
discrimination at the hands of city bus drivers. After she told her story, other participants
began sharing their own experiences of having been ignored or treated badly by bus
drivers. One participant had even had a bus driver get out of the drivers seat, walk
to the back of the bus, and yell at her because she had asked for a transfer. Others
had had bus drivers comment on their appearance or perceived ethnicity. By the end
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of the third focus group, it was obvious that participants were being discriminated
against based on their race, [p. 414 ] since all of the participants who shared bad
experiences were non-white. They began discussing what we should do to deal with the
problem.
We decided that one means of addressing the issue of discrimination was to use
various techniques to make the public aware of the types of experience encountered
by women.One important aspect of the photovoice methodology is to use photography
exhibitions to share what was learned during the focus group segment of the research,
and so the participants and I began planning how to go about conveying the issue of
transit discrimination in an exhibition setting. We did so by focusing on their emotional
experiences in different places and we created themes (such as places of vulnerability,
safe places, and places of comfort) to provide a framework of understanding for the
audience. Invitations to attend the photography exhibition were sent to the public,
including the mayors office.
Although the exhibition of the photographs was a powerful means of conveying
how immigrant women were experiencing the city, we also needed to approach the
subject of discrimination in a more direct manner. With the permission and support
of the participants, I began contacting local media, who quickly responded and set
up interviews with myself and any participant who wanted to be included. Three local
newspapers ran stories in which the subject of discrimination was discussed. One
newspaper even wrote a three-part series and sought feedback from the participants,
myself, and city officials.
After our interviews with the media, I began sending email messages to the mayors
office and the city transit office, who both responded to my appeals to meet and discuss
the issue. Meetings took place and, in some cases, focus group participants attended to
share their experiences and provide suggestions for change. Our goal in meeting with
public officials was both to make them aware of what was going on as well as to discuss
viable options for dealing with discrimination. We wanted to ensure that city officials
realized that there was a problem and that it was their responsibility to find ways to stop
discrimination from occurring, at least at the hands of city employees.
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Advocating for social change is an ongoing process that takes time to realize. By
focusing on the emotional geographies of my participants, my research project
highlighted how women with different social identities can experience place in very
different ways. When those who have the power to shape place pay attention to the
creation of safe and welcoming places (like the Ban Righ Centre), individuals who
frequent those places can feel comfortable and make the most of their time within that
place; whereas when there is a lack of attention to the creation of safe and welcoming
places (like in cities where little attention has been paid to how to create inclusive
places), immigrants (and other marginalized individuals and groups) can feel alienated
and vulnerable to discrimination.
Advocating for change within the context of my research did have an impact. After
numerous meetings with the transit office, those in management began to take the issue
of discrimination much more seriously. The research participants also felt empowered
by their role in bringing the issue to the public and have since commented that they
have noticed bus drivers being more courteous. By paying attention to the role of place
and emotions, my geographical research was able to positively affect the lives of not
only my participants but also the greater public.
Catherine
How could we turn away? How could we simply leave and do nothing? Impossible. It
was the middle of May 2010, just days into the rainy season when we made the trip to
Lote 8, one of the dozens of Maya-Qeqchi villages scattered within the Sierra de Santa
Cruz in far eastern Guatemala. Where to begin? Lote 8 - testimonies and faces now
etched in our minds forever. I continue to see the anguished faces, trauma without end,
[p. 415 ] hunger, complete insecurity, a community in shock after surviving a series
of violent evictions at the hands of more than 800 military, police, and private security
forces at the request of a Canadian mining company three years earlier in January
2007. Ever since INCO sold the Fenix mine to Vancouver-based Skye Resources in
2004 and the serious potential for mining arose again, the companys tactics to clear out
individuals and communities living within the concession had become more and more
brutal and deceitful.
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We were there to explore these issues on the ground as part of the University of
Northern British Columbia field delegation organized every two years with Grahame
Russell of Rights Action which is connected to the Geographies of Culture, Rights
and Power course that I run most years. We explore issues of justice-seeking, power/
disempowerment, genocide, impunity, gangs and so on as national issues with local
expression and has having wider North-South implications. If we really want to see
more than the surface that reveals itself as extreme violence and dysfunction, we have
to talk with the people who are experiencing injustice in their everyday lives, with people
who are trying to change these conditions, and with artists, anthropologists, lawyers,
filmmakers, academics, activists, company executives, government representatives,
Canadian Embassy staff, and so on. Therefore, these delegations never happen without
a whole lot of emotion. Sadness, grief, rage but also hope, inspiration, and love.
Since my first days in Guatemala in 1992, I have attempted for some 20 years, to
understand power, violence, genocide, exile, impunity, and justice-seeking. To do this
impossible task, I value testimonio as a tool for individual and community recollection
of traumatic events. Some 12 years ago, my friend Finola Shankar and I wrote about
the need for geographers and others interested in understanding political violence to
embrace testimonio, a method that honours the authority of men and women to speak
for themselves. We note that testimonies recount personal experiences and communal
struggles that are shared with the community of the narrator; thus, the subject of these
memories speak not only for him/herself, but on behalf of the whole community. We
saw testimonio as a flexible alternative to more structured interviewing when we are
positioning ourselves as researchers in solidarity with the people with whom we work.
In this spirit of testimonio gathering, we started off on this most difficult task of collecting
testimonies of the violent evictions at the request of the community of Lote 8. We left
the town of El Estor in the back of a pick-up truck, drove past the mine site itself, down
the rough, gravel road until we reached Chichipate and turn north on to an even rougher
road to climb into the mountains. We reached the original site of the community
burned down during the violent evictions where several community members met
us to guide us up into the new site. Such a seemingly peaceful scene, but here were
investigating massive human rights violations. Approximately, 60 people awaited our
arrival: men, women, children, infants, sitting in the open-air, community meeting space.
Community activist Maria Magdelena Cuc Choc served as a translator from Qeqchi
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to Spanish and Grahame Russell translated from Spanish to English. Beginnings are
difficult, but once the memories turned to words, these strong and determined people
spoke for more than an hour. Why do they treat us like animals? Like something they
do not know? It was on January 9, 2007, when they arrived, Ral told us: hundreds
of national police, Guatemalan military soldiers, and the companys private security
forces fired tear gas and bullets, forcing them out of the village and into the surrounding
woods, took their possessions and burned down all 100 homes.
I sat among many women and children who smiled and chatted during the mens
testimonies. My heart stopped when Ral turned to us and said, And this was when the
[p. 416 ] women were violated. It is time that their stories are heard. One by one the
women around me stood up to tell of the outrageous trauma they experienced during
the evictions. The first woman to stand came forward and said I am scared. After
hearing that, one by one, several more women came forward with her to recount the
gang rape, loss of pregnancies, and death of a young child during the violent evictions.
None of us was ready for this story. How could we be? The women had not spoken of
these rapes before the trauma of remembering what happened led many to having
headaches and body aches just as if it all happened yesterday. A fire ceremony brought
the testimonio-giving and gathering to a close. Please denounce this. Please take this
to the President of Canada. We demand that your leaders get this company out of here.
And then they blessed us: Bless your paths whichever way they go and as long as it
took for the candles to burn, this beautiful community prayed and cried and fell to their
knees, and sobbed. Praying for us and for themselves.
Our connection to this place and these people is forever. We immediately knew that we
would follow through on their request. We can offer so little and we always emphasize
that but we can dig deeper into their story, document it, track down sources, and
share anything that we find with them. As a group, that very evening, we decided to
submit a formal human rights violation complaint to the Canadian Embassy, in person,
and to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. We made this decision to act, not on their behalf,
but in response to their requests that we demand from our leaders to get the company
4
out of there. We delivered that formal complaint and received only silence in reply.
Therefore, the graduate students and I made the decision to return a few months later,
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after funds could be found, with Rights Action, a documentary photographer (James
Rodriguez) and a human rights lawyer (Cory Wanless) to revisit the communities, reconfirm details, dates, and damages, and to work towards the development of a lawsuit
since the human rights violation complaint seemed to had no impact.
I am proud to say that, supported by our research, on 28 March 2011 a civil lawsuit
was launched in Toronto against Hudbay Minerals (the new mine owners) and its
subsidiary, HMI Nickel, asking for $55 million dollars in general and punitive damages
5
for the negligence of HMI and its previous owner, Vancouver-based Skye Resources.
Eleven Maya-Qeqchi women from the community of Lote 8 allege in the lawsuit that
the company failed to prevent gang rape at the hands of uniformed company security
guards, the Guatemalan national police, and the military, during a violent eviction from
their ancestral lands in January 2007. The community lives on what Hudbay claims
is company land within the concession of its Fenix Mine, one of several communities
being told that they are intruders on company property and that they must leave.
We await the decision of the Canadian courts will this case be heard? It is out
of our hands now - but soon I am to return to Guatemala with some of the same
graduate students and new undergraduate students in our most recent delegation full
of commitment and a sense that we are activists/scholars who will keep chipping away
at the impunity that surrounds human rights violations and crimes in Guatemala. We
will keep returning, writing, documenting, advocating, denouncing. Mara, Rosa, Sofa,
Dominga, Luisa, Carmelina, Irma, Amelia, Luca, Elvira, Aurelia, Elena, and Margarita
we will not forget you.
Discussion
These are stories not about geographers fixing the world, but about how geographers
have participated in changing the world, and about how they have themselves
been changed in the process. The stories highlight how each of us advanced our
understanding [p. 417 ] and ability to move from the small changes that occur at
specific advocacy moments to the larger questions of understanding, and possibly
affecting, systemic injustices. For Sarah and Cheryl, already established community
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advocates, research provided a means of connecting from the grassroots to larger

theories of social change. For Audrey, Meghan, and Nathaniel, it was the opposite:
research demanded that they go beyond established scholarship to become advocates.
For Catherine advocacy itself defined the process from beginning to end. The stories
also tell of a range of scales, from national to local policy to the politics of the personal.
Advocacy is a recursive process that involves intersections of the scholarly and the
social. If it is axiomatic that all research is social (Staeheli and Mitchell, 2005), it is
not axiomatic that advocacy is equally effective in outcome or in scope. Indeed, the
geography of advocacy geography makes a difference. We advocate in small and
large ways, in short- or long-term time sequences, sometimes with detailed planning
and strategy and sometimes spontaneously. We work in a range of political contexts,
where sometimes the ground upon which our actions play out is ready to be cultivated,
and sometimes it is hard and unyielding. And if sometimes the results are partial or
ineffective, there is always a possibility that our efforts can backfire, creating unintended
consequences that may be worse than the original situation. The political context in
which we advocate also has an enormous effect on consequences.
If the point is to change it (Castree et al. 2010), we also need to ask difficult questions
about our motivations and methods. Of course, we are ideologically and normatively
motivated to seek social justice. It is difficult for those committed to justice to pull back
from trying to make a world without racism, sexism, and homophobia. The strength of
our advocacy is in the extent to which our actions accord with our geographical theories,
those ideas that make sense of the world and also allow us to imagine a different world.
Relevance in application (Staeheli and Mitchell, 2005: 364) may not always involve
pushing our complex theories directly upon communities, but those theories inform our
actions and, hopefully, our advocacy experiences enrich and inform our theories. The
theoryaction dialectic is immensely complex.
We often find ourselves advocating within the discipline of geography to change
theoretical perspectives on social justice. The discipline as a whole (notwithstanding
early interventions in Antipode) was little invested in questions of anti-racism, antihomophobia and the intersections of oppression in the 1980s. In 2012, there was
widespread commitment to understanding and overcoming the effects of racism,
colonialism, and masculinism, but both our theories and our social actions address
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moving targets: intellectual and social conditions that shift, transform, replace and eke
out new landscapes. They respatialize and in so doing challenge us to develop new
theories and new advocacy strategies. More than four decades after the debates over
advocacy began, we inhabit a world in which neoliberalism has affected profoundly the
very landscapes in which we advocate. The array of theories and methodologies has
also expanded to the point that there is now debate over whether radical geography
has been enriched or impoverished by the interventions of feminism, anti-racism,
postcolonialism, and poststructuralism in general.
But we need to return to Peets (1977) argument about the dangers of reinforcing
liberalism while ignoring the bigger picture. We still face the gargantuan task of
maintaining sight of the big theoretical picture when circumstances on the ground
threaten to consume all our energy. Not since the 1960s has the world seen such an
upsurge of civil society engagement, ranging from the violent confrontations in the
Middle East to rising activist movements across Asia, and the Occupy movement in the
West. Geographers are involved as participants and observers in those movements,
but they are also and more numerously involved in small-scale, mundane, everyday
situations where seeing the big picture change is difficult. [p. 418 ] The weight of
research in recent decades, and our own modest experiences, tell us that we need
geographers to cover the full spectrum of actions and changes, recognizing that our
impacts will vary and our choices may not always result in outcomes we can control.
The challenge to work simultaneously on understanding the big picture and advocating
on a small scale is huge, but one informs the other.
Finally, consider this. A few women of colour and a geographer in the small city of
Kingston, Canada, stood up to some racist bus drivers, not unlike Rosa Parks who
became a rallying symbol for the US Civil Rights Movement after she refused to move
to the back of the bus in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955. Neither of those women in
Kingston nor Rosa Parks remade the world on their own, but together they resisted and
their voices were heard.
Notes
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1 The fascinating comments of the Antipode editors reflect the changes and
challenges of the journal since its inception, available at: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/
journal/10.1111/%28ISSN%291467-8330/homepage/editor_s_past_reflections.htm
(accessed 16 April 2012).
2 This chapter uses the first names of all co-authors throughout.
3 This is not intended to downplay or obscure the amendments passed by Maine and
Arizona during this time, the ongoing US Defense of Marriage Act (1996), or the laws
in several states that either restrict marriage to one man and one woman or restrict any
legal recognition of same-sex unions.
4 The updated formal human rights violation complaint is available at: http://
www.unbc.ca/geography/guatemala_2010/index.html
5 Full details of the lawsuit are available on this website, maintained by
the Toronto-based law firm Klippensteins, Barristers and Solicitors: http://
www.chocversushudbay.com
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http://dx.doi.org/10.4135/9781446247617.n19
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Chapter 18: Advocacy

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a role for participation in revitalising social geography. It is the recursive relationship

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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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advocates, research provided a means of connecting from the grassroots to larger

The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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The SAGE Handbook of Human Geography: Two

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