Almost ABD

If I succeed in keeping my foot out of my mouth, by this time tomorrow I will be ABD (All But Dissertation). After countless revisions--I estimate about 10 rounds, eight based on faculty feedback and two resulting from my own attempts at "tightening" the argument--my committee finalized the prospectus on Monday morning and gave me the thumbs-up to defend. In my department, the defense is a formality. No doubt it is a useful exercise, giving you a chance to explain your research and practice answering questions. No one in institutional memory has failed the defense, though, and I doubt I will be the first. I'm anxious about saying something stupid, but I think my committee has decided that I'm ready to move on to the dissertation.

For those who have never attended the defense of a dissertation prospectus, it's a pretty standard format across humanities and social science doctoral programs. The student presents their project, and then your committee takes turns asking tough, penetrating questions. Sometimes these questions address shortcomings in the proposal, other times they attempt to ascertain the feasibility of the research (for example: how will you find records that convey the thoughts of the actors/subjects you will research?). After the committee is satisfied, they allow the grad students in the audience to ask questions. Finally, the committee dismisses the student and the audience and confers. If they agree that you successfully defended, they sign a form stating that you have been advanced to candidacy for the degree of Ph.D. and are now ABD!

Wish me luck!

Abstracted

Yesterday, while waiting to receive back comments from my committee on the finalized prospectus draft, I finally wrote my abstract. The dissertation abstract distills the project down to one page, emphasizing the major questions, arguments, interventions, and case studies that underpin the study.  I dreaded this task for weeks. My study is SO BIG! I intervene into three historiographies using three case studies, which gives the study a national scope yet focuses on three very local examples. I examine the issues I'm interested in from both a top-down and bottom-up perspective, reading the reports and records of leaders and organizations and gleaning the "lived experience" and agency of grassroots actors. How the heck can you summarize a project like that in one page!?

Well, the truth is, you can't. I managed to draw out the most salient points and arguments I plan to make, but the abstract feels very flat to me. That's the whole point, and in fact it's what makes an abstract useful. It's oversimplified and easy for a non-expert reader to digest. I struggle with it, however, because it feels somehow untruthful. It's an obfuscation,  by definition, of all the complexity and nuance that really explain why events in the past happened the way they did. The best arguments manage to hint at this messiness while delivering clarity, but this project is still so new that my argument has yet to develop this sophistication.

The good news is that the abstract may evolve along with the dissertation, and I'll have more than ample opportunities to revise and rewrite it. I'm sure that by this time next year I'll be on my tenth version, and I'll still hate the abstract--but by then, I hope it will just be because I'm sick of re-doing it!

Outlining the Dissertation Chapters

After the introduction and historiographical overview, the prospectus has three more mandatory sections: a description of methodology and sources, a chapter outline, and a bibliography. Rather than complete these sections in order, I've approached the prospectus by beginning with the historiography. Outlining how I intend for the dissertation to contribute to extant scholarship and fill in gaps in the literature helped me to refine my argument and decide on the scope of what I should study (and what topics require no duplication of effort, on my part). Having clarified the argument and scope, I am now working to outline the six chapters I plan to write for the dissertation. 

This section was effortless to begin, but has been much more difficult to complete than I ever anticipated. After writing the historiographical overview, I had a very clear idea of how the chapters should chronologically progress, and what the thematic focus of each chapter should be. I also had a good sense of what questions I would attempt to answer in each chapter. Where I have gotten hung up, however, is in identifying what each chapter will argue and what case studies or sources I will use to support the argument. Obviously the prospectus is speculative, and these decisions are bound to change as archival research progresses, but your committee really wants to see that it is possible to complete a dissertation on this topic. Are there sources available that will yield a coherent narrative? Is it feasible to write a full chapter on the topic of interest, or conversely is the scope of the chapter or project too large?

I'm currently struggling with the relationship between scope and case studies. I would like to include three case studies in the dissertation, of JCCs in New York City, Los Angeles, and Miami. Unfortunately, I'm only sure that sources exist for the NYC case. The other two are merely speculative. Additionally, a majority of my advisors think it is not feasible to complete three case studies in the short time we are given to write the dissertation (3 years) and that I should focus closely on one case, especially since I am not proposing to do a comparative study. I'm now deciding whether the Los Angeles and Miami examples could be incorporated by using a secondary source base (historical studies that have already been written) rather than doing the archival research for these Centers all by myself. 

I'm hoping that taking a little break from the prospectus today will help me find some perspective on this question. I'd like to finish up the chapter outline by the end of the week, because I cannot really discuss my methodology and sources until I figure out what I want to do! 

Talking It Out

I spent half an hour this morning struggling to articulate my reaction to an important book in the historiography of social work. I kept coming back to one critique over and over, but could not really put my finger on how this critique related to my proposed dissertation project. After writing and deleting, writing and deleting, thinking, getting a cup of tea, and thinking some more, I felt stuck. I wanted to stay in front of my computer because my writing timer was on--I needed to keep going in order to reach my goal of two hours for the day.

Finally, I realized that I would not be able to clarify this point on my own, and I asked a colleague if I could attempt to articulate my critique to her. After two minutes of explaining the premise and arguments of the book, I began to levy my objections. Her dissertation, while on a different topic entirely, also had to deal with class relations between social workers and their clients. She was able to offer insight from her own experience grappling with this question, and helped me identify what parts of the book's argument I should carry into my own research, and what parts to discard.

The conversation was a nice reminder that writing is an inherently collaborative project, and that no project can be done alone. I have a tendency to hold up these amazing works of history and admire how these scholars could succeed at crafting something so brilliant. I have to remember that, yes, they did spend many many hours alone in front of their word processors hammering out their thoughts--but just as many hours were spent in conversation, stimulating and clarifying their proto-arguments.

Historiography

Historiography is the word that trained historians use to describe a subset of scholarly literature on a historical topic. There is a historiography on every major era, from the American Revolution to Maoist China, as well as on thematic topics like African American history and women's history. There are also theoretical or methodological historiographies, which are a group of studies that use the same framework or technique--comparative international history or an "ecological approach" to understanding historical incidences of disease.

For example, one of the historiographies I have learned through my coursework and exams is African American urban history. In the 1960s, at the height of the civil rights movement, historians explained urban segregation as the result of white racism and housing restrictions that prevented black urbanites from living within white communities. This "ghetto synthesis" thesis (and then the "second ghetto" thesis which arose to explain postwar segregation) dominated until the late 1980s, when a group of historians who were influenced by the Black Power struggles of the 1970s began critiquing these studies for not acknowledging black agency. African Americans were limited in their choices, this new group of historians agreed, but they did exert powerful influences in their own spaces and spheres. More recently, historians have pushed us to look at the postwar city as multicultural rather than as a space of tension between black and white. They have pushed African American urban historians to consider race relations with Asian and Latino neighbors, in addition to the white majority.

A historiographical essay, like the miniature version I just offered above, is an explanation of how historical writing on a topic has changed over time. Historiography papers are the bread-and-butter assignment for many graduate seminars in the discipline, because they reinforce the main learning objective of the course--to learn what has been said and argued about the subject at hand. Contrary to popular belief, professional historians spend very little of their graduate training learning the actual dates/places/battles of their historical topic (though this varies according to the priorities of the student's advisor). You learn the history through research and teaching--especially teaching, which turns your fear of looking stupid in front of students into an incentive to learn the nuts-and-bolts details they are sure to ask about--and so your graduate coursework is really dedicated to learning what has already been said by earlier scholars. After all, the ultimate requirement of the PhD is a dissertation, and who wants to spend 3 years and 200 pages of effort on a redundant study? The goal of research is to contribute to our understanding of the past and further the field, and if you do not know where the field came from, how will you know where to take it?

That's why historiography is such a big part of the dissertation prospectus. You begin proposing a dissertation after completing your doctoral qualifying exams, which test your knowledge of the historiography. You then parlay this fresh appraisal of the recent literature into your prospectus, declaring how you plan to further the research in your distinct subfield(s).

I have spent the last month trying to weave together three distinct historiographies: postwar urban history, American Jewish history, and the history of social work professionalization (which is embedded within the history of medicine, public health, and social welfare more generally). This is not such an easy task, since each of these fields is engaged in divergent debates at the current moment. It has taken me over ten pages to lay out the major historical studies and debates in each of these fields, and to declare how I intend to intervene or further these debates. Until this intellectual work is complete, I cannot move on to the other sections of the prospectus.