Do we need to decolonise bereavement studies?
Sukhbinder Hamilton
School of Education and Sociology, University of Portsmouth
Berenice Golding
School of Human and Social Sciences, University of Huddersfield
Jane Ribbens McCarthy
Open University; University of Reading
Jane.McCarthy@open.ac.uk
At this
re-launch of the journal Bereavement,
we explore the question, 'Do we need to decolonise
bereavement studies?' We do not offer definitive answers, but rather seek to
open up conversations. We briefly explore some of the main debates and
explanations of what 'decolonising' means. In its
broader understandings, this entails questions about the nature of the
knowledge that underpins claims to 'expertise', since knowledge inevitably
reflects the socio-historic position and biography of those who produce it.
This raises uncomfortable issues about the 'universality' of that knowledge,
and how to understand what is shared between human beings, including how to
understand experiences of pain and suffering. In addressing the nature of 'bereavement
studies', we first consider complexities of language and translation, before
observing the heavy domination of the 'psy'
disciplines in the affluent 'Minority World' (Punch, 2016), oriented towards individualised, medicalised and
interventionist perspectives. We indicate work that seeks to challenge these
limitations, including the decolonising of psychiatry
itself. We argue the need for such decolonising
approaches to go beyond cross-cultural work originating in the affluent 'Minority
World', beyond interdisciplinarity, and beyond
crucial work on equality, diversity and inclusivity. Bereavement, as a field of
study and a set of practices, needs to take account of the legacies of complex
colonial histories of exploitation and harm that continue to shape the world in
general, and in particular, the aftermath of death in the continuing lives of
the living. We conclude with some implications for 'bereavement' practice, from
a UK perspective.
bereavement, aftermath of death, decolonisation, diversity, colonialism, grief
Beginning a conversation
Despite
spending almost the entirety of our lives in England, each of us has heritage
from various parts of the world: Sukh (Punjabi,
Indian), Berenice (dual heritage: white British and
Jamaican), and Jane (white English, with a little touch of Irish). While our
own biographies are now UK based, our discussion is global in scope, which
necessarily informs our understandings. In different ways we are ourselves on a
steep learning curve here, in attempting to address these topics. We start with
extracts from a conversation we had before embarking on writing together:
Sukh: As this is a viewpoint article, it
should be about trying to open up conversations around bereavement
which are more representative of society. There should be open spaces
for dialogue; spaces to open up conversations and
acknowledging that actually we do bereavement in different ways. Ways that are
deeply rooted in cultural practices, traditions and values that we have from
our ancestors. One of the key things for me is understanding
what is behind the rituals and practices and how to convey these (and the value
of them) to the younger generation who often dismiss them as mumbo jumbo because
that is what the education system, which is rooted in the colonial past, leads
them to believe.
Berenice: I think for me, which goes back to
Sukh's point, is that the bigger question is about
the colonial past, and who is doing the decolonial
work. There is a need to challenge the structures, the systems that mean that
we don't learn about the legacies of empire, colonialism, and imperialism in
the ways that we should. It is important that we do because of the effect that
they have on us and how we develop a deeper understanding of
the world that we live in.
Jane: Yes, and I'm aware in the field of decolonisation in academic work in general, there also seem
to be strong moves towards starting from somewhere else, ie
decentring 'the West'.
Berenice: I agree Jane. I have distinctly
different experiences of funeral practices, rites, and rituals because of my
dual heritage. We do things differently. When I think about the practices
associated with my Jamaican heritage, they are built on a historic framework that
can be traced back to slavery and the legacy of colonialism. There are
traditional practices around bereavement, grieving, burial rites and practices,
and the way we honour those, the ancestors, who have
departed before us. It is important to me that we learn these practices and
pass them on to the next generation so that they continue. For example,
ensuring that the importance of the wake and 'nine night' are understood.
Jane: As a white English woman, I haven't much
noticed the dominant assumptions surrounding bereavement in the UK, and it's
been the work on family deaths in Senegal that has opened my eyes, and it's
been so rewarding. Clearly, in the UK, if you have a heritage that isn't part
of the dominant white British experience then that does provide another
perspective, but does that itself get changed by living and working in Britain
and within British institutions, as you are each suggesting? And that
inevitable accommodation with mainstream ideas has always been true for
feminist academic work too – dominant disciplines and knowledge have
represented 'male' hegemony (which does oppress men as well as women); but how
to really start from somewhere else? We end up always having to engage with the
dominant knowledge forms. But I suppose the first step is to let go of the
assumption that white 'western' knowledge is superior, and to begin to recognise and know what 'we' don't know.
Berenice: Absolutely. I suppose I'm thinking
about the students that I work with and how their experiences of death, dying,
grief and bereavement may be different. We experience bereavement differently
but how much more might this differ based on our culture/heritage? I think
that, at just, at a very basic level, you know, when we're making decisions
about deadline extensions, for example, perhaps, if we are not sort of cognisant, you know, not aware of how different
traditions/practices may affect that particular student, it might create
further problems for them. I know that we treat students as individuals but I
think that that's where some of this speaks to as well.
Sukh: The way we acknowledge, and if
need be challenge these assumptions is absolutely key to moving forward. Recognising that decolonising is
a tall order and being cognisant about this and, as
we have discovered, agreeing on terminology that explains but is not itself
detrimental is not straightforward or for the faint hearted.
Jane: Yes, questions of concepts, language and
words are so important in all of this...
*
Beginning to write: The re-launch of the journal in its new
format presents a great moment to reflect on the field of 'bereavement studies'.
This is particularly appropriate in a journal that focuses specifically on 'bereavement',
when so often this field is subsumed within the study of 'death, dying and
bereavement' rather than clearly focusing on the continuing lives of the living
over time after a significant death. This preliminary discussion seeks to open
up constructive conversations from a decolonisation
perspective, a process that has the potential to the benefit of all
communities, and across the globe – which is arguably a very tall order.
For many readers the term 'decolonisation' may be
unknown or regarded with some anxiety as the most recent bandwagon trendy
campaign. As academics and teachers, while the term has become reasonably
familiar, we are ourselves endeavouring to learn and
explore what a decolonial
perspective brings, or indeed adds, to work on equality, diversity and
inclusion. We consider, what is the basis of this knowledge that forms the
primary foundation for 'bereavement studies', a knowledge base
which also underpins professional and voluntary bereavement services. We
ask, what is the nature of the 'expertise' that practitioners offer 'the
bereaved', and what might decolonisation entail for 'the bereavement sector' as well as 'bereavement
studies'?
As might be
expected, this terrain is strongly oriented to global colonial histories. These
histories have entailed the forceful removal of people from their land, the
plundering of resources, slavery, genocide, the subjugation of peoples, as well
as the denigration and destruction of 'their' own heritage (Lentin,
2020; Weisberger, 2021). The history of global
colonialism is of course extremely complex and colonial powers have waxed and
waned over millennia. If we consider western European imperial nations from the
late 16th century, starting from trading relations, Britain in particular came
to rule over the largest empire in history, claiming to be bringing
enlightenment and civilisation to all corners of the
globe. Notably, ideas of separate 'races' coincided with colonialism, as the
framing of 'othering' (Hamilton & Riordan, 2016),
alongside imperial claims to be bringing enlightenment (Wade, 2014), and the
rise and domination of eurocentrism (Said, 1978).
The legacy
of colonialism is multifold. While former imperial powers have prospered (and
continue to prosper) greatly from accumulated wealth, much of the 'Majority
World'1 is still struggling with the fallout of colonial
exploitation. This destructive legacy lives on in forms of global neo-colonial
economic systems and institutions, exploitation and harm – including the
terrible impact of the unfolding and catastrophic climate and ecological crisis
– as well as historic, intergenerational trauma which
lives on in families and communities.
Decolonial
work thus raises wide-ranging global issues, including racialised
histories of inequalities of resources and wealth. It is also concerned with
very specific localised struggles, for example by
indigenous communities over land rights. But there is a further question: what
impact have these colonial histories had in terms of the dominant forms of knowledge which originated in the affluent 'Minority World'?
Many of the key relevant disciplines were rooted and developed in colonial
countries at the height of colonisation.
Developmental psychology, for example, was largely established in the context
of compulsory schooling in imperial Britain and elsewhere. Attachment theory
was developed in the aftermath of the displacements of war, but is being
increasingly questioned as to its relevance beyond the affluent Anglophone
locations in which it originated, and the ethics of applying it without
recognition of this diversity (Keller, 2014; 2018; Rose & Rose, 2016; Granqvist et al, 2017).
Decolonisation of this knowledge base requires a recognition that all knowledge is
shaped by the social, political and cultural contexts in which it is produced
– a viewpoint familiar to some in terms of feminist as well as Black
standpoint theory (Mohanty, 2003; Harding, 2004). As Meghji observes, 'knowledge produced by dominant social
groups tends to reproduce their worldview(s) while knowledge produced in the
academy by marginalized people produces alternative "outsider"
perspectives' (2020, p29). Thus, what uncomfortable questions does this raise
about claims to the universality of that knowledge?2 What
are the assumptions and omissions associated with that knowledge base? How are
we to understand 'scientific facts', for example in the fields of health or
psychology? Can we move beyond the binaries of truth and falsehood, functional
and dysfunctional? What happens if we start from somewhere else? And who is
this 'we' who are in a position to ask and answer such questions? Who is
included, and who is excluded?
So, a decolonising perspective draws focused attention to the
legacies of the past, through systems and structures that perpetuate
inequalities and oppressions, or in terms of shared histories of trauma and how
communities have collectively responded. Equally, it is about how this historic
colonial legacy has shaped knowledge production and its underpinning
assumptions that continue into the present. Further, how have these multiple,
complex colonial histories shaped understandings of, and responses to, death
and its aftermath? The picture that emerges is one of great historical and
geo-political complexity, not least in terms of the diverse locations in which
indigenous and previously colonised and enslaved
peoples now reside around the world. And of course, some of this results from
international migration that may itself be driven by these colonial histories
and the vast global inequalities of the contemporary world.
One of the
first awkward issues raised by this question is the
recognition that the terms 'bereavement' and 'grief' themselves do not
translate straightforwardly between different languages. Importantly, these are
not minor matters, since language is integral to socio-cultural norms and possibilities which literally make experiences speak-able
(Evans et al, 2017; Klass, 2017). Even within
Anglophone worlds, do these terms convey or even indicate all that may be
happening in the aftermath of a death, over time and space, in the continuing
lives of the living?
As with
many areas of study, 'bereavement studies' has the potential to be highly
interdisciplinary, but the history of this field highlights how psychiatry and
psychology have been, and continue to be, heavily dominant. And across the
decades (O'Connor, 2019), empirical and theoretical models have continued to be
overwhelmingly based in the affluent 'Minority World', with a medicalisation and individualisation
of bereavement and grief largely oriented towards interventions designed to
promote 'healthy' or 'functional' outcomes (Granek,
2017). Such work is heavily shaped by the cultural assumptions of the 'Minority
World', in terms of individualised internal emotional
processes of 'grief' (Rosenblatt & Bowman, 2013; Klass,
2017). Indeed, the focus on the 'individual' itself marks affluent Anglophone
cultures as quite atypical from a global perspective (eg
Chan & Chow, 2017; Davies, 2020; Eyetsemitan,
2021).
This in
turn points to key anthropological and sociological questions about the
cultural embeddedness of 'emotions' and whether, and
how, they are spoken (Scheper-Hughes &Lock, 1987;
Palmer & Occhi, 1999; Jakoby,
2012). It also highlights the potential range of questions, theoretical
perspectives, and conceptual analyses that may be possible with a more
interdisciplinary approach (Walter, 1999; Thompson et al, 2016; Ribbens McCarthy et al, in progress). Even within the
affluent 'Minority World', more challenging perspectives on bereavement and
grief, that raise political and sociological issues such as social justice and
inequality, have only very recently been raised in relation to bereavement
studies (Bordere & Harris, 2016).
Our concern
here is not to suggest that existing bereavement studies are not useful and
important – we are seeking to avoid such binaries – but to begin to
consider their limitations and acknowledge their structural underpinnings and
cultural assumptions, particularly in regard to what are sometimes referred to
as the 'psy' disciplines. Such work has already
started with some psychiatrists reflecting on the nature of their profession,
including its financial as well as its cultural underpinnings (Kleinman, 2012). Bracken and colleagues (2021), for
example, suggest the decolonisation of psychiatry
requires: critical thinking and education – without defensiveness –
about the history of psychiatry; the involvement of grassroots organisations and those with lived experience; and openness
to understanding indigenous approaches to distress. Indeed, with regard to the
latter point, both anthropologists and anthropological psychiatrists (eg Schweder et al, 1997; Kleinman, 2006) have offered extensive consideration of
variable experiences of suffering and distress across the globe, which links
also to the decolonisation of trauma studies (eg Goozee, 2012, Craps et al,
2015).
There are
some sensitive issues here about how far decolonising
and cross-cultural approaches overlap. Work on the cultural significance of 'grief'
has been increasing over time, with Rosenblatt observing that 'No knowledge
about grief is culture free' (2008, p207). Cross-cultural work may highlight
this, creating challenges to dominant ways of thinking about 'bereavement'
(Walter, 2010; Ribbens McCarthy et al, 2019). But
cross-cultural work does not necessarily analyse the
key historic origins of the structures of power and resources relevant to
variable understandings and experiences of life after death. Nevertheless,
implicitly, cultural narratives themselves have political significance, since
they are bound up with collective discourses and power structures: 'A cultural
narrative that guides individuals and families through their grief is the same
cultural narrative that justifies some people having political power and not
others' (Klass, 2017, p440).
So a decolonisation approach potentially requires us to go much
further, beyond cross-cultural work originating in the affluent 'Minority World',
beyond interdisciplinarity, and beyond the concerns
of equality, diversity and inclusion (crucial though these all are). Decolonising bereavement studies requires letting go of the
certainties of current ways of thinking and current evidence based on models
that have been theorised in the 'Minority World'. It
requires consideration of how the colonial legacies of knowledge production may
require us to start from somewhere else, perhaps from multiple starting points.
This can be an unnerving, challenging and difficult prospect, but has the
potential to bring new wisdom.
The
challenge requires us to be open to the variability of human experience, and
the implications for thinking, being and relating, in the presence of death and
its aftermath in the lives of the living. But, besides being personally
challenging, such work also faces the deeply embedded institutionalised
structures that uphold the current field of bereavement studies. Such
structures include, for example: formal international networks; the powerful
medical organisations and professional associations
that underpin psychiatry and psychology; and the
access to resources that link with those. Recognising
the limitations of such institutionalised 'expertise'
may be the first step. In this regard, it is notable that the UK Childhood
Bereavement Network refers, not to bereavement expertise, but to 'communities
of practice', potentially raising the question of which communities' practices
are being drawn upon.
Decolonisation opens up major complex questions. Some of these are very painful and
raise key issues of social justice, but they also have the potential to bring
benefits. What does 'grief' look like, and is it really appropriate to frame 'bereavement'
in terms of internal emotions such as 'grief'? Perhaps emotions and the
materiality of life are inextricably bound up together (Ribbens
McCarthy et al, 2020). What do people regard as a hopeful outcome of death and
bereavement – perhaps death offers a welcome release from a terrible life
of exploitation and hardship (Fletcher, 2021)? And perhaps a semblance of peace
to those left behind? What really lies behind the diversity of rituals,
funerals and bereavement customs? How are they experienced, and how are they
embedded in very different understandings and beliefs? Such variability may
include beliefs concerning what life is about, what it means to be a human
being living in the world in particular circumstances, and how people relate to
each other. What is the significance of ancestors and the continuing
intergenerational ties and responsibilities between the living and the dead? It
is clear that human beings manage life and death in multiple ways, but often
prevalent expectations and assumptions themselves can have a power that
potentially turns into disenfranchisement and 'policing' of 'grief', along with
self-monitoring about what constitutes 'appropriate' responses to death.
Seeking to
know and appreciate the multiple ways of responding to death and its aftermath
in a deeply unequal world, shaped by colonial histories and forms of neo-coloniality, is a deeply challenging prospect. There are
existing bodies of work that can help, including anthropological and
cross-cultural endeavours, but there are also long
histories of mistrust, histories that are ongoing in a world structured in ways
that continue to fundamentally exploit and harm people with less power. For
individuals to get past such mistrust, and speak up, is sometimes a very big
ask, too big perhaps. But there is so much to be learned from each other in
opening up conversations. Some insights may have direct policy implications in
countries affluent enough to have formal bereavement provisions. And in a world
facing catastrophe through climate and ecological crises, new forms of
political or climate grief are emerging, and humanity needs all the resources
that we can muster – personal, socio-cultural, material, emotional
– in the face of such existential threats.
There will
be valuable riches and wisdom in those conversations. And these will also be of
benefit to all peoples in the affluent 'Minority World' who are minoritised, whether through racialised
colonial histories, skin colour, faith group, sexual
orientation, dis/ability, gender or deprivation and social class. As Kinouani asserts '...it's important to remember that
colonialism did not only give us whiteness and white supremacy; colonial and
imperial logics also gave us the foundation of eugenics, of disability, of
homophobia... all those things come together. They can't be separated' (Kinouani & Ellis, 2021).
Asking
these questions raises the most fundamental issues of what is shared and what
differs between us as human beings and our experiences of
life and death, and how that is shaped by historic and continuing
inequalities of power and resources and contemporary diversity. Can we trust
each other sufficiently to engage with such conversations?
In this
Viewpoint discussion we have argued that a decolonisation
approach potentially requires us to go beyond cross-cultural work originating
in the affluent 'Minority World', beyond interdisciplinarity,
and beyond the concerns of equality, diversity and inclusion (EDI) (crucial
though these are). In considering the implications for practice we are very
conscious that these thoughts we offer here are particularly rooted in the UK
and our experiences of 'bereavement' in this context, where EDI work is a
widespread concern of many organisations. For readers
in other locations, these may or may not be helpful suggestions, and might
indeed be quite inappropriate and irrelevant.
Decolonial
approaches to practice will be challenging but potentially rewarding, and will
require flexibility in response, to recognise the
complexity of people's situations and the long histories that have shaped their
experiences of life. Such approaches require a focus on listening, respectfully
and with humility, a readiness to learn and to be an ally, a friend walking
alongside, rather than an expert. A decolonial
awareness requires attention to how histories of marginalisation
and inequality may be deeply ingrained over many centuries as well as within an
individual's lifetime, creating significant harm, injustice, and barriers to
trust. At the same time, the histories of individuals, their families and their
communities, may be distinctive, leading to variable adherence to, and
understandings about, traditional rituals, customs and practices, and the
beliefs and philosophies on which they're based.
Acknowledgements:
We would like to acknowledge the very helpful feedback we have received from
some of the editorial board members of Bereavement.
Notes
1. 'The terms "Majority World"
and "Minority World" (see also Panelli et
al, 2007) are used to refer to what has previously been known as the "third
world" and the "first world" or more recently as the "Global
South" and the "Global North". This acknowledges that the "majority"
of population, poverty, land mass and lifestyles is located in Africa, Asia and
Latin America (ie the "Majority World"),
while also encouraging us to question unequal global power relations where "western"
and "northern" populations and issues tend to be privileged despite
being the minority.' (Punch, 2016: 353).
2. Such questions, including the
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and epistemology that may be familiar to social scientists but less familiar to
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