Dust
I woke up and saw that some dust has accumulated in our apartment. It was wonderful to observe it. Before cleaning, I decided to contemplate this dust and learn something from it. Dust is not something that I can disinvite once. It keeps coming back, and cleaning the floor is always a humbling experience. It reminds me that so many things require perseverance. For example, practising sustainable and slow living is an everyday exercise, in the material and spiritual domains. I often wonder if we will ever live in a perfect post-growth world. And if we do, will it really be perfect? Will there still be issues?
In my practice, I try to persevere in relation to these four things: material aspects of life (my consumption of resources and energy, my own embodiment/materiality), social relations, social structures, and the inner world. These four things are called the four planes of social being in critical realist philosophy of science that my partner and I use in our academic work. Though these planes come from philosophy, I think they are very useful in one's everyday life. They are useful because they are holistic. For example, if I only focus on living zero-waste and ignore my spiritual growth, I don't think it would be truly sustainable living. Or, if I vote for some party with a green agenda (thus taking part in the change of social structures) but treat my fellow humans horribly in my everyday life, it's not sustainable living either. This is not to say that every single day I try to do something in relation to all these four things. Some days, I focus on my spiritual practice. Other days I dedicate to my fellow humans. But I try to be mindful of all these four aspects.
In my previous entry, I mentioned that I received unfair comments on my autoethnographic work that misrepresent my life. They were part of a review process in a journal. Anonymity/anonymous peer review unfortunately oftentimes creates space for humans to attack others and say things that they would never have said face to face. I decided to write to the editor to explain my feeling of sorrow. I think it's important to share when something goes wrong, when there is disappointment. For example, I write to businesses when something is wrong with their product. I contact government agencies when I feel that something is wrong, too. It's part of everyday activism. Of course writing to an editor to call out a fellow human's offensive comments will not change academia. But it makes a small difference. If more humans engage in giving feedback and sharing their feelings and experiences, I think there will be change in culture, and fellow humans will clearly see what is acceptable and what is not acceptable. Currently, many of the things that should be unacceptable have been normalised. Such things in academia include, for example, temporary and precarious jobs, expectations of mobility, lack of transparency, exploitation of those "at the bottom" of the academic hierarchy, offensive reviews, harassment, unfair treatment and so on.
"Dear [editor],
thank you for sharing the reviews. Could you share the comments of the third reviewer as well please? From your email, I couldn't understand which field it was (degrowth, critical realism, or autoethnography) and I'm not sure what they are asking us to reflect on/address 😊
[My partner] and I, like anyone else, at times receive critical comments which we are always happy to contemplate and address. We never write to editors about such comments, but on this occasion I wanted to share some reflections with you because I find some comments of reviewer 1 ill-meaning and offensive. Hope it's ok to share. I'm sharing because I believe that this practice of communicating openly makes academia a better place.
While I understand and appreciate reviewer 1's invitation to say more about the context, the following text I find unacceptable: "pious/smug naval-gazing/narcissistic over privileged academics playing at solving a problem by withdrawing from the world". There is no reason for the reviewer to believe that this is what fellow humans would think, so to me it feels like the reviewer's own judgement. What is the point of being offensive towards the people they don't know or towards people in general? I am especially unhappy about the assumption about over-privilege. I'm an immigrant on a temporary visa, from a European ethnic minority. I've never had a safe and secure position in academia. My PhD supervisor plagiarised my work, and I left one of my academic workplaces due to sexual harassment (me and 5 other women complained, but nothing was done). I've not been employed for over a year. I can continue with more details of some awful things that happened on my journey of being in academia, but these are just some insights into my story to say that I wouldn't call it "over-privilege". And the same goes for the reviewer's assumption that we are academics with secure, well-paying jobs (this is simply not true) and no surveillance. What sort of surveillance are they talking about? Why should humans work under surveillance?
Why would anyone assume that our practice is "playing"? I've been a practitioner of an alternative lifestyle for 15 years, for 2 years my autoethnography has been public. My data has been viewed over 25000 times, and I published several autoethnographic works and interacted with hundreds of persons in and outside academia. No one has ever assumed anything close to what the reviewer is saying.
I find it sad that the reviewer marginalises everyday practice as a form of activism. Why would everyday practice be "withdrawing from the world", while e.g. being part of a network (which we also are) is degrowth activism? How about plural ways to be an activist? The reviewer doesn't know us. I live with a condition that prevents me from doing some forms of activism (I still try to do as much as I can).
The reviewer seems to paint an unrealistic picture of us in their own mind and attack that picture. For example, they wonder about other humans who pay rent and feed their children, perhaps assuming that we are not paying rent and do not have children. We do exactly the same thing as others (pay rent, feed a child), though in another location. We cannot speak for fellow humans located elsewhere and their unique lived experiences. Why would experiences of someone in Copenhagen be less valid than elsewhere? They are just as valid.
Why would the reviewer mention "doing less of their own job"? When I worked, I often worked overtime and weekends.
I find the following ill-meaning: "would be incredibly easy to dismiss it and mock the authors. This is not a good outcome if you have taken the time in your slow day to write a thing for some purpose other than career". As I said above, no one in the past 15 years has felt the desire to mock me/us. Why would someone even have a desire to mock persons who try to live more sustainably/slowly/with less? I find that it's the reviewer's personal attitude. And if they find it within themselves a desire to mock authors (rather than feel empathy, compassion, solidarity etc.), I'm really sorry about that. Their constant mentioning of our career in the review is disturbing. As I said, to me it feels like they imagine something about us and run with it.
What is puzzling to me is that the reviewer seems to be an expert in degrowth/sustainability. It's heartbreaking to see so much bitterness, hatred, and a desire to mock someone exists in such a person, when for sustainability we need more care, empathy, kindness etc. I'm not saying that invitations to improve and clarify should not be there. But being rude and offensive is not the way forward.
Best wishes,"
For those fellow humans who are interested in what happened next, the editor responded. I disagreed with some points they made in their email. Here is my response:
"Dear [...],
thank you for your response.
I respectfully disagree with some of the points in your email. I think that truth matters. If someone is unemployed, it would be wrong to say that they have a well-paying secure job. It's ok to ask for clarifications, to say that this needs to be addressed. But it is not ok to simply assume something about the authors.
I do not agree that the responsibility for the impression created by a manuscript lies wholly with the author. One can read a manuscript with gentleness, care, kindness, a desire to help the authors improve. One can also read it with anger, hatred and other negative emotions. When I handle manuscripts as an editor, I can see that the same manuscript is handled very differently by reviewers. And I can see that oftentimes it is not the authors' fault, but the reviewers' own attitude. I also think that it's impossible to satisfy all kinds of audiences, and for this reason it's good that commentaries exist. For example, the reviewer can publicly share their view (or what "someone" might think, as they say and you quote) on such modes of relating with the world that we describe in the paper. I am certain that they would be more careful in their writing, as they would risk presenting much misinformation and being factually wrong. Moreover, the second reviewer, or hundreds of other fellow humans who read my work, don't seem to have the same impression as the first reviewer, so once again I think that the issue lies within the first reviewer's attitude.
Best wishes,"
On my academic journey, many fellow academics came to me because they wanted to share feelings of frustration, sadness, disappointment they experience in academia. Sharing in safe spaces is such a beautiful, liberating, empowering and healing practice. But apart from sharing with friends and close colleagues, it is also important to share with those who have power or control in a certain situation. I hope that more fellow humans will be doing it. With kindness, gentleness, compassion.
