Lately within my classes, there has been a discussion around something termed “me-search.” For those unfamiliar, me-search is a disparaging term that certain individuals use to describe the work that scholars with marginalized identities do that in some way involves these same identities. Even at first glance, this definition has its obvious issues. For starters, people with privileged identities (oftentimes, white, straight, able-bodied, males) have been doing research on themselves for years with no one having anything to say about it. Why is it that identities only become politicized when they are outside of the hegemonic norms? I don’t have an answer, though I am sure someone has done research in this area.
 
Identity. Power. Privilege. These terms cannot be separated from each other, and to flex my new rhetorical muscle, I would argue that they are also consubstantial; three different strands of the same rope. But I am getting ahead of myself. This blog, casual, fun blog, is not one of my term papers, so suffice to say, these words really, really matter, and taken together they have connotations far greater than one could have alone.
 
Individuals that are against “me-search” – so desperately against it that they went far enough as to even create this derogatory term to describe scholarship done by their own colleagues with minoritized identities – often question the capability of these scholars in doing this work. They are worried that a personal connection may taint the objectivity of the prose or that their colleagues’ work will not be generalizable enough and thus not fit for mainstream journals. This blog post will look to address these accusations and act as a form of emotional catharsis as I continue to navigate this crazy ride called graduate school. Thanks for joining me, reader.
 
Objectivity is a myth. I will write it again. Objectivity is a myth. Objectively, it does not exist. (See what I did there?). Jokes aside, the idea of a scholar, aka a human (as opposed to a cultureless, faceless creature that exists only to produce quality academic work) being completely objective and set apart from literally any issue ever is laughable. In my department in particular, the Department of Communication, we look at issues of communication. So long as all of my colleagues have communicated at least once in their life, I accuse them of subjectivity in each piece that they write (even you, my dear Health Communication friends, lean into it!).
 
I love my colleagues and thus their subjectivity in my mind is not a problem. When I see them and discuss my work, I think to myself, “This person is human doing work about humans for humans, and so do I!” I find myself at times in awe that theirs is a separate consciousness than mine if I am being honest. Stop and think about it; no, really, take a moment... each of you that read that stopped to think about it in a different, unique, individual way. In my mind, that is nothing to run from. It adds colour and beauty to our world (as does my choice to use the British spelling of “colour” simply because I wanted to). You’re willing to disagree, maybe relative objectivity is needed in some senses. I believe my professor put it best when she said, “Do you want a bunch of rhetoricians testing the COVID vaccine? I sure don’t!”
 
Put simply; we need all types, arts and sciences alike (although in the same college – let’s just say I am not sold, but again, beside the point). Inherent in this conclusion is the inclusion of my part. If he is allowed to seek objectivity in his scholarship, she should be allowed to subvert it in hers. Neither one without the other. You want your rights to be right? So do I. And I don’t even purport to be right, all I ever am is myself.
 
This brings me to the second point, “We love you, Delaney, of course. You can be queer all you want. But could you maybe not do it here? I mean, I don’t really want to read about that, you know. It’s niche and it just doesn’t apply in the broader landscape.” To which I would say to this theoretical person, “You literally study *insert topic here*, who are you to talk?!?” Actually, I would not say that, which is why I left out a topic. Because, in all honesty, there were multiple topics that I thought could fit here, things that are of absolutely of no interest to me that I think the world would be perfectly fine never knowing about. But if a friend, a colleague, or a professor writes about it and I don’t care for it, I don’t have to read it. I am allowed to gatekeep my own mind (although I try not to). What I would not do, as someone with a modicum of power and many privileges, would be to gatekeep other people’s minds or scholarship or academic contributions.
 
So maybe my work is not generalizable enough. Maybe no one wants to read about what I write about; there are just simply too many heterosexual individuals out there for me to properly do the work I care about. If that sounds facetious, it is because it is. I hope more than just queer, middle class, white, Methodist, able-bodied, non-binary individuals from Oklahoma read my work, or my i10-index on Google Scholar will be atrocious (but if you are out there mythical reader, other party of one, let’s meet up and be friends). Jokes aside, work does not have to be representative of a certain group of people to be valuable and major publishing outlets would do well to accept articles from scholars of different backgrounds, orientations, methodological standpoints, and interests. After all, is the point of all this not to learn from one another? I don’t learn well in echo chambers and I am guessing… you may not, either.
 
For the majority of this blog, I have vibed with no plan, made inside jokes with myself, and frankly had a great time spending thirty minutes writing something where I do not have to use the word “exigency” or “telos” or “ideograph.” (And there, I ruined it, didn’t I? I wrote all three of them. Dang.) I was inspired to write this blog not simply to have fun, but also to talk seriously about myself, and how, as of late, I have learned how to love myself. This blog, with all its craziness and its moments of sincerity, stemmed from this note I wrote to myself last week after attending a concert of an artist who is a queer Christian, an artist I am writing a paper about. I have left it here for you. Here are some of my last thoughts on this subject.
 
“I’m interested in me. I’m allowed to be interested in me and my experiences. I need to write about why my me-search is important and even emancipatory. How can you free someone else if you can’t free yourself? I must fight alongside my queer siblings.”
 
Do the “me-search.” Because who is better to represent your voice than you? You matter. You deserve to be heard. Here is your pass to do exactly that, as unapologetically as you can. I am right beside you.
 
– Delaney Couri
 
Delaney is a first-year Ph.D. student in the College of Liberal Arts.