By Jan Watson

The long-held tradition of avoiding “I” and eschewing the use of first-person pronouns in academic writing is premised upon the goal of scholarly objectivity. This blog post takes the somewhat contrarian view that there may be a place for first-person perspectives in scholarly writing. I will discuss why the “I” has heretofore been excluded from research essays and why we are beginning to see a changing attitude toward what constitutes evidence in the social sciences.    

As anyone who has survived college knows, formal writing means delivering the findings of credible experts and analyzing this evidence from a considerable psychic distance. Metaphorically speaking, we can think of hard evidence as the driver; personal, experiential evidence is not just relegated to the back seat but locked away in the trunk, not to be seen or heard in the essay itself.  However, an emerging trend in research points to the utility of first-person voices in academic writing, creating interesting implications for the future of the essay as we know it (Harding, 1993).

Historically, scholarly writers have adhered to the passive voice when presenting their firsthand research findings. A typical science article in the traditional mode might state something like this: “Samples were tested to determine the presence of neurotoxins.”  In this instance, the human element is removed, leaving the focus squarely on the test itself (and, by extension, on its results). One might argue that this is where the focus belongs. However, it is not so uncommon to see a telling shift in language: “We tested samples to determine the presence of neurotoxins,” or even “I tested samples to determine the presence of neurotoxins.” Suddenly the conceit of an invisible agent is lifted, revealing a more accurate depiction of what happens during the process of scientific testing (Webb, 1992). Could this shift in agency and the active presence of the first-person researcher be extended to student writing as well?

 My argument is that many of our students have a specifically trained eye and unique firsthand experiences that could add value to their research papers. Often, they have illuminating situated knowledge that they alone have the capacity to articulate. Take, for example, the student who spent his early life going from foster home to foster home, is now a foster parent, and wants to write an essay advocating for more rigid screening for potential foster parents. Certainly, the student will be able to find sufficient research to support the idea that the existing foster care system is not without faults, and his experience can drive and direct their research. But what if this student has an experiential perspective, underrepresented in existing research, that could shed further light on his subject? This was the case of a student whom I will call David, who wrote an “idea for change” suggesting that foster students in should be supplied with suitcases before transitioning to a new home.  In one paragraph of his CM220 (College Composition II) persuasive essay, he recalled the shame of his own experience gathering his scarce belongings in garbage bags as he was shuffled from temporary home to another. When it came time for him to pick up his foster son, he bought the child new suitcases so that he would not have to undergo the same dehumanizing experience.

Another student of mine, whom I will call Isobel, wrote an argument on behalf of accessible mental health services, specifically for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) therapy, for emergency medical technicians and paramedics. In the penultimate paragraph of her Composition II essay, Isobel shared one harrowing example of an emergency call that served as the very catalyst of her “idea for change.” She told the story of a night when she and her team were unable to save the life of a nineteen-year-old girl whose car had rammed into a tree. Before the young victim expired, she managed to ask Isobel, in a very small voice, “Is my dog all right?” (The victim’s Black Labrador was riding with her in the passenger seat. Miraculously, it survived.)  For several years, Isobel continued, she was haunted by this evening and her perceived failure to help this young woman. This story was a powerful lead-in to a rhetorically forceful conclusion with a strong call to action, and her anecdote brought her research findings starkly into context. The essay might have been fine without the inclusion of the anecdote, but the anecdote is what gave the essay its pathos and potency, and the example was all the more effective because she had experienced it personally.

While the use of first-person perspective in academic writing may transform the way we think about research, there is no doubt that it should be used sparingly and with utmost judiciousness.  That is where the proposition gets tricky. Not every student writer has the discretion or the critical skills to use first-person experience in a manner that benefits the essay and bolsters their “hard” evidence (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003). The variable, complex, and highly subjective nature of perception means that not all first-person perspectives are created equal. A problematic instance of first-person perspective would be a student writing something like, “I believe that most people don’t care about protecting their homes against fire hazards.” Not only is this a wildly generalized assertion, but the use of “I believe” weakens the argument, making it sound less assertive and more equivocating. But if a student were to write something like, “In my experience as a firefighter, I have observed many surprising acts of bravery,” they are couching experiential knowledge in language that is at little risk of being questioned for its validity and truthfulness. For the instructor who wishes to introduce the possibilities of first-person perspectives in student essays, clarifying these distinctions must be part of the learning curve. Nevertheless, when the “I” is used minimally and strategically, its potential to invigorate the essay warrants consideration.

As educators who teach writing, we often uphold a paradoxical system of beliefs: We love writing and language because of its staunch traditions, its precision and “correctness,” but we also love language and writing because of its malleability, its ability to adapt and change and find new forms of expression. An acceptance of the emerging “I” in academic writing may feel like a decline of scholarly integrity to some, but perhaps we will see a future when first-person perspective is more widely accepted—and even welcomed— as an adaptive expression of twenty-first-century college writing and research.

References

Davies, P. (2012). Me, me, me: The use of the first person in academic writing and some reflections on subjective analyses of personal experiences. British Sociological Association, (46)1, 744-751. https://doi.org/10.1177/00380385124

Harding, S. (1993). Rethinking standpoint epistemology: What is “strong objectivity”? In L. Alcoff & E. Potter (Eds.), Feminist Epistemologies (pp. 49-82). Routledge.

Mauthner, N.S. & Doucet, A. (2003). Reflexive accounts and accounts of reflexivity in qualitative data analysis. Sociology, 37(3), 413–31. https://doi.org/10.1177/00380385030373002

Webb, C. (1992). The use of the first person in academic writing: Objectivity, language and gatekeeping. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 17(6), 747–752. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2648.1992.tb01974.x