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Public sociology, public scholarship,and community developmentJeffrey C. Bridger a & Theodore R. Alter aa Department of Agricultural Economics and Rural Sociology, ThePennsylvania State University, 7A Armsby Building, UniversityPark, PA, 16802, USA

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To cite this article: Jeffrey C. Bridger & Theodore R. Alter (2010): Public sociology, publicscholarship, and community development, Community Development, 41:4, 405-416

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Public sociology, public scholarship, and community development

Jeffrey C. Bridger* and Theodore R. Alter

Department of Agricultural Economics and Rural Sociology, The Pennsylvania State University,7A Armsby Building, University Park, PA 16802, USA

In his 2004 presidential address to the American Sociological Association,Michael Burawoy called for the creation of a public sociology that would be morerelevant and useful to the people whom we study and with whom we work. Thisvision represents one of many responses to the growing chorus of critics whoclaim that higher education and the various disciplines that comprise it are out ofdate, out of touch, and are failing to address pressing societal issues. Seen in thislight, public sociology is a laudable attempt to reinvigorate the discipline. Butthere are problems with Burawoy’s formulation that prevent it from fulfilling thispromise. In this article, we critically examine public sociology, and argue that abroader, alternative model of public scholarship—one that combines academicand civic benefits—will enable sociologists and other scholars to collaborate withthe public in ways that more effectively address the intractable problems facingcitizens and communities. This model has particular relevance to the theory andpractice of community development.

Keywords: community engagement; public sociology; public scholarship

Introduction

In his 2004 presidential address to the American Sociological Association, MichaelBurawoy called for the creation of a Public Sociology—a sociology that would, in hiswords, take ‘‘. . . knowledge back to those from whom it came, making public issuesout of private troubles, and thus regenerating sociology’s moral fiber’’ (Burawoy,2007, p. 24–25). This vision represents one of many responses to the growing chorusof critics who claim that higher education and the various disciplines that comprise itare out of date, out of touch, and are failing to address pressing societal issues(Bridger & Alter, 2006; Kellogg Commission on the Future of State and Land-GrantUniversities, 1999). Seen in this light, public sociology is a laudable attempt to makethe discipline more relevant and useful to the lives of the people we study and workwith. But there are problems with Burawoy’s formulation that prevent it fromfulfilling this promise. In this article, public sociology is critically examined. In itsplace, we argue that a broader, alternative model of public scholarship—one thatcombines academic and civic benefits—will enable sociologists, communitydevelopers, and other scholars to collaborate with the public in ways that moreeffectively address the complex problems facing contemporary communities. Tobegin, public sociology is described in more detail. Following this, our version of

*Corresponding author. Email: jcb8@psu.edu

Community Development

Vol. 41, No. 4, October–December 2010, 405–416

ISSN 1557-5330 print/ISSN 1944-7485 online

� 2010 Community Development Society

DOI: 10.1080/15575330.2010.519039

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public scholarship is described. The paper concludes with a discussion of theimplications for community development.

What is public sociology?

In Burawoy’s scheme, the sociological division of labor can be represented as afour cell matrix that includes policy sociology, professional sociology, criticalsociology, and public sociology. Policy sociology, as the name suggests, issociology that is explicitly aimed at developing strategies and providing solutionsto specific issues or problems. Policy sociology is sociology that serves the needsand interests of some client. An example would be expert testimony about theeducational consequences of disparities in school funding. In other cases, theclient’s agenda might be much broader. Charitable foundations, for instance,might fund research aimed at developing strategies to boost the graduation rates ofinner city youth. In either case, the overall goal of the research is defined by theclient.

Professional sociology is the sociology most typically practiced in sociologydepartments—especially large, research-oriented departments. Professional sociol-ogy lies at the heart of the discipline. And as Burawoy (2007, p. 32) argues, all theother variants depend on it for their existence:

There can be neither policy nor public sociology without a professional sociology thatsupplies true and tested methods, accumulated bodies of knowledge, orientingquestions, and conceptual frameworks. Professional sociology is not the enemy ofpolicy and public sociology but the sin qua non of their existence—providing bothlegitimacy and expertise for policy and public sociology.

In this division of academic labor, professional sociology occupies a privilegedposition. It is the sociology that advances knowledge and provides the necessarytools and techniques that allow the other sociologies to flourish. Again, Burawoy(2004, p. 1609) is quite clear on this point:

As professional sociologists we are located in research traditions, sometimes going backto the founding fathers (Weber, Durkheim, and Marx) and otherwise of a more recentpedigree (feminism, poststructuralism). These research traditions may be elaboratedinto self-conscious research programs . . . with their grounding assumptions, distinctivequestions, exemplary models and appropriate techniques of research.

Research programs (Lakatos, 1978) advance by resolving internal contradictionsand absorbing anomalies (discrepancies between theoretical expectation andempirical observations). They require a community of scientists committed toworking on the important (collectively defined) puzzles that the research programgenerates. Flourishing public and policy sociologies increase the stakes of ourknowledge and thus makes the vigilant pursuit of coherent research programs all themore important.

Because sociology (including professional sociology) is part and parcel of thesociety (with its norms, values, ideologies) it studies, Burawoy argues that thediscipline needs a critical sociology that interrogates and at times criticizes thefoundations and assumptions upon which professional sociology rests. Such wellknown critics as C. Wright Mills (1959) and Alvin Gouldner (1970) are exemplars ofthis tradition. Each of these thinkers took professional sociology to task for failing

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to examine the ideological and normative underpinnings that unwittingly promotedparticular visions of society—visions that arguably benefited one segment of thepopulace at the expense of others. In this sense, critical sociology can be viewed asthe conscience of the discipline. It asks such hard questions as: what is the meaningof sociology, what is the point of the sociological enterprise, for whom is knowledgebeing produced, and to what end?

Public sociology, according to Burawoy, differs from the other three forms inthat it explicitly engages with publics beyond the university. Moreover, it does so indialogue with these publics about issues that are morally and politically important(Burawoy, 2004, p. 1607). And in contrast to policy sociology, it does not treat thepublic as a client. As Burawoy puts it, public sociology is relevant without beingfaddish or subservient. Dialogue, in this model, can take different forms rangingfrom mediated to unmediated to unilateral to bilateral to multilateral (Burawoy,2004). Public sociology can also engage with different kinds of publics includingnational publics, local publics, active publics, and passive publics.

Finally, Burawoy draws a distinction between what he calls elite (or traditional)public sociology and grassroots (or organic) public sociology. Elite public sociologyis akin to the work produced by such public intellectuals as C. Wright Mills or JohnKenneth Galbraith. This is scholarship designed to reach the educated public andperhaps spark debate about some issue. It is dialogic in a rather superficial sense, andit tends to be characterized by a one way flow of communication from author topublic. Additional dialogue may indeed occur, but there is rarely an ongoingconversation between the author and her readers. Grassroots public sociology, onthe other hand, engages directly with specific publics in specific settings such ascommunities and local organizations. Grassroots public sociology also focuses onthe specific interests of whatever public the sociologist is working with. Againthough, as Burawoy stresses, the public is not treated as a client in this relationship.Instead, the sociologist is there to offer advice and guidance.

What’s wrong with public sociology?

Public sociology represents an important step in making sociology more relevant tothe society it studies. At the same time, however, Burawoy’s fourfold sociologicaldivision of labor privileges a certain way of seeing and certain way of doingsociology, and this places important limitations on the potentialities of publicsociology. As noted above, Burawoy places professional sociology at the heart ofthe discipline. He argues that none of the other kinds of sociology could exist wereit not for professional sociology. What are the implications of this hierarchy? Forone thing, by granting professional sociology a privileged place at the table,Burawoy’s scheme has the practical consequence of reinforcing the positivistic ethosthat dominates what counts as professional sociology in most sociologydepartments. In doing so, it deligitimizes other ways of knowing and practicingsociology; policy, critical, and public sociologies remain marginalized and lessrelevant.

To be fair, Burawoy mentions feminism, poststructuralism, and postmodernismas recent additions to the corpus of professional sociology. But, as Agger (2007, p.270) points out, he does not draw on these perspectives (especially postmodernism)to show how positivism remains firmly entrenched as the dominant force thatdominates and thus disciplines all variants of sociology:

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Although the term postmodern crops up in his work, he does not offer a discourse-theoretic version of a critical sociology of sociology, which prevents him fromrecognizing that positivism is predatory and will never allow his version of publicsociology to go forward. Fourfold tables always collapse because one quadrant becomesdominant and disciplines the others.

Many, of course, would argue that there is nothing wrong with a public sociologydominated by positivism. After all, the standard course of graduate training in methodsand statistics emphasizes the importance of objectivity and the development of empiricalgeneralizations that are ‘‘. . . capable of explaining behavior across social and historicalcontexts’’ (Fischer, 2005, p. 71). Not only are these generalizations seen as essential totheoretical progress, they are also essential to the development of effective (andobjective) solutions to social problems. That this approach has failed to solve our mostvexing social problems is due in large part the fact that there is nothing objective ornonideological about this process (Agger, 2007; Fischer, 2005; Fischer, 2009; Flyvbjerg2001). To the contrary, reliance on positivism and its associated method is really anargument or text ‘‘. . . that polemicizes quietly for a certain view of the world’’ (Agger,2007, p. 2). This is a view, that, to use Agger’s (2007, p. 9) phrase, takes social facts andfreezes them into social fate by portraying them as if they were analogous to physicallaws. And when research findings are presented in this manner, they are stripped fromthe social, cultural, psychological and linguistic factors that give themmeaning (Fischer,2009). A positivistic sociology (or more accurately the professional sociology thatdominates the sociological division of labor) is, in this sense, inherently conservative:

The science text . . . intends to reproduce the existing social world by portrayingit as inevitable and necessary. It does so by appearing to be simply a mirror of nature,not a deliberate human version replete with ontology, theory, values, politics(Agger, 2007, p. 9).

How does this process work? According to Agger (2007), the appearance ofnecessity and inevitability is created by doing away with narrative. Narrativity isreplaced with representationality, that is, with numbers, figures, charts, and graphswhich create the appearance that science mirrors nature. Instead of using oldfashioned argument, sociology has increasingly embraced the use of figures andtechnical jargon that purports to depict the world as it is. By portraying issues andproblems in seemingly objective and scientific terms, it is easy to lose sight of the factthat research findings are social constructions like other interventions in the world.And once this happens, bias, ideology, values, prejudices are effectively suppressedand hidden from view. As Stone (2002, p. 165) (quoted in Fischer, 2009, p. 207) putsit, whenever we count something we are categorizing it, and the very act ofcategorizing means that we select a ‘‘. . . feature of something, assert a likeness on thebasis of that characteristic, and ignore all the other features.’’ In the course of thisprocess, certain features are created at the expense of others, and the resultingpolicies decisions are based on a particular way of seeing an issue.

Obviously, this approach rules out certain courses of action and alternativesolutions to social problems. And perhaps more importantly, by emphasizing ahierarchical approach to ways of knowing and acting, the sociological division oflabor proposed by Burawoy maintains the traditional expert-citizen dichotomy.Those practicing professional sociology collect data and develop theories andconcepts that are then used by those practicing other forms of sociology. Theproblem with this model, as several observers have noted (Batie, 2008; Fischer, 2005;

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Rittel & Webber,1973) is that the expert-citizen dichotomy that it embodies hasprevented us from dealing with the ‘‘wicked problems’’ that have becomeincreasingly common in recent years

These are problems that differ fundamentally from the more ‘‘tame’’ problems wefaced in the past. Wicked problems are intractable, poorly structured, and tend tohave only temporary or uncertain solutions (Rittel & Webber, 1973). Examplesinclude climate change, AIDS, and the siting of hazardous waste incinerators. Eachof these issues contrasts markedly with the ‘‘tame’’ problems, such as increased foodproduction, that have relatively straightforward, technical solutions. For wickedproblems, there are no unambiguous criteria by which to judge their resolution. Infact, it is often difficult to define these problems in the first place because theytypically involve complexly intertwined normative criteria and empirical conditionsor situations. Fischer (2005, p. 128–129) puts it this way:

A problem, in this respect, is not a given fact, or something from the outside world. It isitself a social construct. A policy problem thus involves a gap between norms and anempirical situation. Neither the standard nor the situation is an objective datum exteriorto the social actors. Both are social constructs based on social actions and judgements.We can only say that they command more or less consensus, and that there aresituations about which there are greater or lesser amounts of certain knowledge.

In their now classic article, ‘‘Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning,’’ Ritteland Webber (1973) point out that one of the most important characteristics ofwicked problems is that they cannot be addressed in isolation from the publics thathelp to constitute them. People, with their fears, hopes, emotions, biases, values, andprejudices are inextricably bound up with the most intractable problems we face.What this means is that every wicked problem is essentially unique and will requirethe participation and input of the relevant publics if it is to be addressed effectively.

From public sociology to public scholarship

Because of this complexity, wicked problems require a fundamental rethinking ofexpert knowledge, the role of the expert, and the relationship between experts andcitizens. A reliance on the one-way transfer of knowledge from expert to citizen is nolonger sufficient to address our most pressing problems. To take one of the morevexing issues facing the US in recent years, consider the controversies that inevitablyaccompany the siting of incinerators and other noxious facilities. Anyone who hasever studied this issue knows that arguments for or against siting a facility are rarelywon on technical or scientific grounds. In fact, norms, emotions, gender, ideology,class, race, power, and culture play a more important role in determining differentoutcomes. Residents trying to make sense of a facility siting are much more likely torely on cultural rationality—which is based on life experience—than the technicalrationality used by experts to frame arguments.

The interplay between different forms of rationality changes the role of theexpert. The task is now much more hermeneutic in nature. To use Gadamer’s (1990)term, it requires a fusion of horizons between expert and citizen. Fischer (2005, p. 80)describes the process well when he says that:

From this perspective, the postpositivist expert must function as an interpretivemediator operating between the available analytical frameworks of social science and

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competing local perspectives (Innes, 1990). Such criteria are employed to organize adialectical exchange that can be likened to a ‘‘conversation in which the horizons of boththe scientist and local citizens are extended through confrontations with one another’’(Dryzek, 1982, p. 322). Thus interactions among analysts, citizens, and policy makers arerestructured as a conversation with many voices (Park, 1993). Given the reduced distancebetween expert and citizens, the role of both can be redefined. Whereas the citizenbecomes the ‘‘popular scientist’’, the anlyst takes on the role of a ‘‘specialized citizen’’.

From this perspective, the postpositivist expert must function as an interpretivemediator operating between the available analytical frameworks of social scienceand competing local perspectives. In the process, a set of criteria is consensuallyderived from the confrontation of perspectives (Innes, 1990). Such criteria areemployed to organize a dialectical exchange that can be likened to a ‘‘conversation inwhich the horizons of both the social scientists and the local citizens are extendedthrough confrontation with one another’’ (Dryzek, 1982, p. 322). Thus interactionsamong analysts, citizens, and policy makers are restructured as a conversation withmany voices (Park, 1993). Given the reduced distance between the experts and thecitizens, the role of both can be redefined. In effect, whereas the citizen becomes the‘‘popular scientist,’’ the analyst takes on the role of a ‘‘specialized citizen.’’

This reconceptualization of the relationship between expert and citizen points toone of the key distinctions between Burawoy’s version of public sociology and abroader approach that we call public scholarship. By moving to a more equalrelationship between expert and citizen, public scholarship creates new spaces andopportunities for democratic participation and capacity building. In the traditionalexpert-citizen model, citizens play a passive role while experts supply the knowledgeand advice upon which policy decisions are made (usually by elites). Moreover,because they often take their orders from, and are paid by management orgovernment, experts tend to adopt the system’s definition of issues and problems(Fischer, 2005). When this happens, experts often—perhaps unwittingly—speakmore to the needs of the system than to those of ordinary citizens, even when theyare ostensibly serving the public.

This role is turned upside down when experts and citizens are viewed equally ascitizens working in partnership to solve problems. In this new relationship, both areparticipants, and the expert is repositioned from being a functionary of the system to‘‘. . . operating from the local context on its own terms, rather than prescribingpremises from above’’ (Fischer, 2005, p. 82). Instead of imposing his or her ownunderstanding of the situation, the expert now works with fellow citizens to developan alternative understanding that includes the interests, values, perceptions, andemotions of people in a specific context. Although the expert may bring a unique setof skills and specialized knowledge to the public realm, she is, in the first place, acitizen working with other citizens to tackle problems that affect us all. In doing thiswork, expert and citizen are jointly building democracy in a much more meaningfulway than when exercising the right to vote, sign a petition, or engage in otheractivities that require a minimal level of effort and participation.

The fusion of horizons between expert and citizen, and the mutual learning thatoccurs during this process, breaks down the division of labor that characterizesBurawoy’s scheme. A public scholarship approach fundamentally repositions theexpert within the structure of knowledge making and dissemination. The one wayflow of information and knowledge is replaced by a reciprocal, relationalarrangement. Experts become partners in the production of knowledge, drawing

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on the unique experience of those in a specific situational context (Batie, 2008;Fischer, 2005). By including the public as key partners in the production ofknowledge, public scholarship can advance both civic and academic agendas:

What the academic offers to his or her local culture is the intellectual power oftheoretical abstraction that derives from an academic discipline. The locality, inturn, offers to the academic the particularity, the concreteness, of lived experiencein time and place. The language and thought of each, academic intellectualand public life would both be recognized and changed in a civic conversation(Bender, 1993, p. 145).

When this civic conversation is successful, public scholarship can even lead todisciplinary advances (Peters, Jordan, Alter, & Bridger, 2003). And when thishappens, the distinction Burawoy draws between public and professional sociologydisappears. Indeed, a public scholarship approach points to the speciousness of theintellectual hierarchy and division of labor embodied in Burawoy’s version of publicsociology. All forms of scholarship can make major contributions to both civic andacademic discourse, as demonstrated in the next section (Bridger and Alter, 2006).

It is also important to note, as the passage quoted above indicates, that publicscholarship is rooted in the problems and issues of specific places. And while larger,more general concerns may be at stake, the problems scholars study in these settingsinvolve what Toulmin (1990, p. 186 cited in Fischer 2005, p. 75) calls ‘‘. . . matters ofpractice’’ that are inevitably situational and fraught with the messy complexities oflife on the ground.

Given this context, it makes little sense to pose the (supposedly) value-neutralquestions that guide traditional conceptions of scholarship. Indeed, as Flyvbjerg(2001, p. 60) suggests, we have a responsibility to confront explicitly value-laden issues:‘‘Where are we going? Is it desirable? What should be done? And who gains and wholoses; by which mechanisms of power?’’ Answers to these questions require a close,reciprocal relationship between scholars and the people and issues they work with.

This view, of course, flies in the face of the quest for timeless, spaceless truths thathave dominated both the natural and social sciences. In its place, is a more humbleagenda that emphasizes the importance of the ‘‘particular, local, and timely’’(Fischer 2005, p. 75). And, as Geertz (2000, p. 134–135) argues, this stance isultimately more realistic and more relevant to both academic and practical concerns:

My own view . . . is that most (conceivably all) universals are so general as to be withoutintellectual force or interest, are large banalities lacking either circumstantiality orsurprise, precision or revelation, and thus are of precious little use . . . The search foruniversals leads away from what in fact has proved genuinely productive . . . that is,particular ‘‘intellectual’’ obsessions . . . toward a thin, implausible, and largely unin-structive comprehensiveness. If you want a good rule-of-thumb generalization fromanthropology, I would suggest the following: Any sentence that begins, ‘‘All societieshave . . .’’ is either baseless or banal.

The reason that the statement ‘‘all societies have . . . .’’ is either baseless or banalis because context matters. Unlike the natural sciences, where elements can beabstracted from their surroundings in order to predict and explain somephenomenon, in the social sciences context is part and parcel of what we are tryingto explain. Findings cannot be detached from their social context, because everysubject under study is context-dependent (Fischer, 2009). For this reason, it makesno sense to try and hold context constant in the search for universal generalizations

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or predictions. Instead, research must be based on ‘‘. . . people’s situational self-interpretations’’ (Flyvbjerg, 2001, p. 47). And this means that findings are only stableas long as these self-interpretations hold. When interpretations change, research(and policy for that matter) must reflect these changes.

Public scholarship in practice

To see how this view of scholarly engagement works in practice, consider theseemingly non-social (and some might say non-contextual) field of wildlifemanagement. For much of its history, wildlife management was dominated bybiology, the assumption being that if the science of wildlife management wasunderstood, it would be possible to effectively manage issues like the relationshipbetween animal populations and habitat. Gradually, however, experts working inthe field began to realize that non-biological and social factors also play animportant role in the fate of animal populations. One of these people was DanDecker, who is a pioneer in the study of the human dimensions of wildlifemanagement. Early in his career, Dan realized that an exclusive focus on biologywas not the most effective way to manage natural resources. People had to beincluded—in both theory and practice. More to the point, though, was that theirinterpretations, values, and beliefs had to be included in management plans. At thetime, the wildlife expert model didn’t make room for these ‘‘soft’’ factors. But itwas also clear that the expert model wasn’t working particularly well. As Danexplained in an interview:

The top-down expertmodelwas going by thewayside really quickly. If it everworked at all,it wasn’t working starting in the late 1970s. In the Adirondacks in NewYork, for example,the political folks got together because of the pressure from their constituents up there, andone-third of the state became off-limits for wildlife agencies to do any deer management.That was a bit of a problem. That’s not a success story (Peters et al., 2003, p. 79).

In other words, contrary to received wisdom, wildlife management was inherentlysocial. And after watching established management procedures fail time and again,Dan came to the realization that the prevailing model of wildlife management wasfundamentally flawed. Up until then, wildlife managers focused exclusively onwildlife and the needs of hunters, paying little or no attention to the wider range ofstakeholders—hikers, farmers, forest owners, land owners, and others—with aninterest in how wildlife populations were managed.

Over the next three decades, Dan and his colleagues created a combined researchand education program designed to address the human dimensions of wildlifemanagement. Both of these components depended heavily on the interrelated input ofcitizens and wildlife professionals gained through direct dialogue and engagement. Inthe course of this process, Dan came to view his work as a platform for creatingmechanisms that ‘‘. . . question behaviors, attitudes, assumptions, and goals, ratherthan . . . passively providing educational ‘‘services’’ to meet felt needs’’ (Peters et al.,2003, p. 80). The resulting outputs have not only created new practical approaches towildlife management, they have also pushed the theoretical frontiers of the field.Indeed, Dan’s work has introduced key concepts such as ‘‘threshold of tolerance’’ and‘‘wildlife acceptance capacity.’’ At the same time, it has enhanced the capacity ofpeople in particular places to become active partners in the management of naturalresources in a way that is necessary for sustainable community development.

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This, of course, is only one approach to public scholarship. In other instances,public scholarship can involve citizens and experts in directly addressing a specificissue. The case of Woburn, Massachusetts and the citizen-expert collaboration inconducting a popular epidemiological analysis of leukemia and other cancersprovides a good example of how public scholarship can lead to communityempowerment and socially just solutions to abuses of power while simultaneouslymaking a scholarly contribution (Fischer, 2005).

In 1979, construction workers in Woburn found 180 barrels of waste buried in avacant lot along a river. After the existence of the barrels became public knowledge,the Woburn police department notified the State. Tests were conducted and theyrevealed high levels of carcinogens in several nearby wells. The wells were closed andthe problem was thought to be solved—but it wasn’t. In fact, the contamination hadbeen causing problems for years. Even before the barrels were discovered, AnneAnderson, a local resident whose son had been diagnosed with leukemia, begancollecting stories about other cases of leukemia. She took her concerns to a stateagency, but they refused to pursue the matter.

Several months after the initial discovery, the local press reported that the statehad found another toxic waste site in the area, but had refused to disclose anyinformation about it. At this point, Anderson and a local minister placed an advertin the town newspaper asking residents to come forward with any information aboutother cases of leukemia. The response was overwhelming, and a local physician,alarmed by what he saw as a significant clustering of cases, contacted the Centers forDisease Control (CDC) about the problem. At about the same time, residentsformed a group called For a Clean Environment (FACE) and pressured the citycouncil to address the issue. Shortly thereafter, the Woburn city council made aformal request to the CDC to investigate. Eventually, the CDC dispatched a teamthat worked with the Massachusetts Department of Public Health to conduct a studyof cancer rates in Woburn. They found higher than average rates of leukemia andkidney cancer but concluded that the data did not warrant any further actions.

Residents were not satisfied, and this is when public scholarship entered thepicture. A Harvard professor had been following the case, and he invited Andersonand another resident to discuss Woburn’s cancer clusters in a seminar at theuniversity’s school of public health. Marvin Zehlen, a biostatistician who attendedthe seminar was intrigued with what he heard and agreed to partner with FACE toconduct a major epidemiological study. FACE organized 300 volunteers to conducta telephone health survey designed by Harvard researchers, who also trained thevolunteers on how to avoid bias in asking questions and recording responses.

Together, the scientists and citizens conducted extensive research that included adetailed report on 20 cases of childhood leukemia, an analysis of data collected bythe state on the distribution of water from the local wells, and the results of thecommunity health survey. The Harvard researchers also ran a number of tests todetect bias in the findings. At the end of this process, the team concluded that therewas a statistically significant relationship between Woburn’s high rate of leukemiaand exposure to contaminated well water. And although the findings were harshlycriticized by those who were skeptical of public participation in a scientific study,they played a key role in reaching a settlement with the corporation responsible forthe pollution.

This kind of popular epidemiology can uncover trends and causative factors thatare often missed in traditional epidemiology, which tends to ignore or obscure

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‘‘. . . the interrelationships between physiological and sociological factors in theanalysis of health disorders’’ (Fischer, 2005, p. 156). In particular, traditionalepidemiology often overlooks the disproportionate risks that the poor and people ofcolor are exposed to in the workplace and in their communities. Popularepidemiology overcomes the ‘‘. . . decontextualized individualism of traditionalepidemiology by focusing attention on the connections between specific local-ities—workplaces and communities—where the health of people is endangered’’(Fischer, 2005, p. 156). It does so by combining standard epidemiological data withdetailed information provided by community residents that can identify the possiblesources and consequences of local industrial and environmental hazards. In theprocess, the combined efforts of citizens and experts paints a fuller picture of therelationship between environmental toxins and health outcomes than standardepidemiological research could ever hope to achieve. This kind of partnershipexemplifies public scholarship because it provided important benefits to citizenswhile providing the field of epidemiology with new tools to better identify publichealth hazards. And perhaps more importantly, the process built local capacity toact, created connections between local groups that could be mobilized to addressother issues, and returned power and agency to local residents. In short, it fostereddevelopment of community (Wilkinson, 1991).

Conclusion

Many, if not most of the problems facing our communities have become increasinglycomplex in recent years and thus require expert advice and skills. But from theperspective of community development theory and practice, the role of experts andexpert knowledge presents a thorny dilemma: How can experts be brought into thedecision-making and policy formation process without abdicating the public’s roleand agency? Public sociology would address these issues by taking knowledge backto the public. The problem with this approach is that while there is dialogue betweenthe expert and the public, the relationship remains hierarchical. The publicsociologist frames the tone and content of the conversation by drawing on a specificbody of knowledge that is by definition superior to lay knowledge. For instance, indiscussing how sociologists can participate in the construction and transformation ofpublics, Burawoy (2007, p. 29) notes that ‘‘. . . part of our business as sociologists isto define human categories . . . and if we do so with their collaboration, we createpublics. The category of ‘women’ became the basis for a public . . . becauseintellectuals, sociologists among them, defined women as marginalized, left out,oppressed and silenced, that is, defined them in ways that they recognized.’’Although women were certainly involved in this process, the important point here isthat the defining was done largely by the expert.

A public scholarship approach, by contrast, addresses problems by involving therelevant public as a full partner with knowledge and skills that are every bit aslegitimate and valuable as those of the expert. And by bringing the public into theconversation as an equal participant, ordinary citizens are empowered andencouraged to become part of the solution to the wicked problems that consistentlydefy expert solutions. The expert’s role in this process is to facilitate dialogue anddebate that stimulates new ways of looking at problems and developing solutions. AsHawkesworth (1988, p. 192) (quoted in Fischer, 2009, p. 126) puts it, the main task isfor experts to collaborate with the public to expand the range of possible solutions

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by creating a larger ‘‘awareness of the dimensions of contestation, and hence, therange of choice’’. In this process, experts and citizens jointly build communicativecompetencies and learning in ways that contribute to the formation of the kind ofdeliberative democracy that builds the local capacity that is essential to thedevelopment of healthy communities (Fischer, 2009).

Because public scholarship is discipline neutral, it also increases the range ofprofessions and activities that can contribute to the community developmentprocess. Indeed, public scholarship can be practiced not only by the usual suspectssuch as planners and social workers but also by professions ranging fromarchitecture to engineering to epidemiology, as pointed out earlier in this essay.But for the community development component to happen, experts must explicitlyreject the subservient role in which they typically place the public and embrace anegalitarian relationship. And as Fischer (2009, p. 241) argues, this in turn will requirethat professionals acknowledge ‘‘. . . the interests, world views, the ways of thinking,and especially the concerns and questions of the nonprofessionals—in effect,acknowledging both the professional and nonprofessional as adult learners . . .’’ Formany experts, this will not be easy. Professional education and socialization teachesexperts that their knowledge is privileged. And although there is not room to go intodetails here, an important change in professional education must entail areexamination of the belief in the supremacy of expert-driven technical solutionsand a reexamination of expert-client relationship (Gottlieb and Farquharson, 1985).

This shift is a necessary step in reinvigorating both the professions and thecommunities they serve. As Sullivan (2005) argues, over the course of their evolution,the professions developed a contract with the larger society. In return for the right tocontrol how they do their work, regulate who can enter that world, and largely policetheir members, the professions committed to an ideal of public service.Professionalism, according to Sullivan (2005, p. 4) ‘‘. . . entails a partnershipbetween the public and functional groups, organized to advance social values in theinterest of those they serve.’’

For a variety of reasons, this contract with the public—literally, the public partof professional work—has come under strain in recent years. Public scholarshipholds the potential to revitalize the public mission of professionals—both academicand nonacademic professionals. By explicitly focusing on partnerships and mutuallearning, public scholarship embodies the relationships and reciprocity that are at theheart of what Sullivan (2005) calls civic professionalism. This is a professionalismthat is committed to disciplinary excellence but not at the expense of a largerpurpose. Civic professionalism, in Sullivan’s (2005, p. 181) words, stands ‘‘on theboundary of interaction between systems of technical capacity and the moral andpolitical processes that aim to integrate these powers into humanely valuable formsof life.’’ It is, in short, a conception of professionalism that moves away from theheavy emphasis on technical rationality in favor of greater concern for strengtheningcommunity life and civic politics. Public scholarship can contribute to this goal bycombining scholarly and civic agendas in ways that contribute to both.

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