Abstract
This issue of Dialogues in Urban Research is a meditation on what “urban research” and “urban researchers” are. These two things—who we are and what we do—are both identifiable and contested. It is not controversial to say urban research comes in various forms, or that many different types of scholars consider themselves urbanists. Rather, contention occurs when we ask questions about who defines what counts as urban research, or who gets counted as this or that type of urban researcher. Our two forum papers, and their excellent accompanying commentaries, help us understand why these remain contentious questions and provide ample assistance on how to navigate them.
Loretta Lees’ forum paper, an extended version of her inaugural 2023 plenary talk for Dialogues in Urban Research, reflects on what dialogue means in urban research. The essay's tone is simultaneously personal and global. Loretta's self-declared “insider–outsider” status frames much of the discussion and reveals the enduring classed dimensions of being a (urban) scholar. One can be, as Loretta is, a globally renowned urbanist and, at the same time, seen (by some) to be lacking in academia's cultural credentials: My own positionality I now realise has been significant in more ways than one, and I continue to be an ‘outside-insider’ in urban research in the academy. This position in which I feel and operate outside but have gained enough academic recognition to have been given some insider status is a complex one. (Lees, 2024: 1)
Loretta's paper is remindful because the complexities of her professional experience are certainly shared. When reading Loretta's paper, I recalled Kingsley Amis’ novel Lucky Jim (Amis, 2012). This comical, mid-20th century tale depicts a scholarly community marked by perverse exclusions and social tribalism. Jim Dixon, the novel's academic anti-hero, is the outsider desperately seeking insider status. He is certainly a forerunner of the adjunct laborers that today do so much heavy lifting in university lecture halls. Jim's precarious status at an unnamed red brick university means he is always destined to be outside looking in. The novel concludes with Jim publicly sabotaging his fated pursuit, drunkenly giving a lecture where he brazenly condemns the whole scholarly enterprise.
That Amis thought it fruitful to fictionalize the peculiar social and cultural conventions of academia makes one wonder why we do not reflect on them more; not that further naval gazing is to be unconditionally encouraged. For anyone not raised or educated in close proximity to academia, entry into it can be a strange and testing experience. Once we acknowledge this, it seems obvious to ask if this might impact the type of urban research many of us do.
As Loretta's paper proceeds, it becomes clear that her insider–outsider status is not disconnected from the type of work she does. Her engagements with those people so often othered by the academic community—urban policy makers, citizens, institutions, entrepreneurs—have not been straightforward. Moving in policy-making circles can bring with it a perception that the purities of academic thought are somehow sullied. Likewise, becoming enmeshed and understanding of the inevitable social and political complexities of life outside of academic corridors can make urban research harder to produce and publish. Here the social dogmas humorously depicted by Amis are accompanied by intellectual and political dogmas. Loretta's personal account makes it clear that speaking truth to academic power—its gatekeepers, cultural norms, political prejudices—is not easy within academia, despite proclaimed aspirations of free thought and debate.
Since we are raising these topics, I am thrilled to have Bas van Heur's forum essay on “What, where and who is urban studies?” accompany Loretta's contribution. Bas gives us an insightful bibliometric analysis of contemporary urban studies. There are some illuminating findings presented, some of which are condensed into four concluding propositions. I do not want to steal Bas's punchlines here. However, I do want to pull out a couple of points to tie Bas and Loretta's contributions together.
Bas's analysis reveals that knowledge production in urban studies remains, perhaps unsurprisingly, dominated by the UK and US: The general overview is one in which Northern Europe, Western Europe and Northern America dominate the discussion — or to be more precise, in which authors based in these countries are centrally positioned in co-authorship networks of authors affiliated with urban studies centres in our dataset. (van Heur, 2024: 13) The simple lesson seems to be: if you want to publish an article that has a chance of receiving high citation rates, co-author with someone based in the US or UK. The few researchers based in the Global South who manage to have highly cited papers without co-authorship links to the Global North are based in South Africa, China or Hong Kong, and other regions completely disappear from the map. (van Heur, 2024: 25)
At the same time, Bas's analysis shows that much of the urban research conducted within these influential hubs has a local focus. For example, Chicago is home to globally influential urban theorists and deeply embedded and regionally focused research programs. In other words, the citation domination identified by Bas does not mean a homogeneity of style or substance.
This is a crucial point that links our two forum papers. Loretta's personal insider–outsider account tells us that even within the echelons of the highly cited, not everyone is the same, and that not everyone relates to academic practices in the same ways. Even amongst apparent homogeneity and well-established power hierarchies, there is a need for us to make distinctions. Yes, places like the UK and US dominate urban studies publication, but not all work within these global hubs is the same. Nor does all this work have the same reach or influence. So, yes, urban research has its hierarchies and cliques, but not all its practitioners are cut from the same cloth.
The importance of making these distinctions is illustrated by a strange chapter in philosophical history. On a cold January evening in 1766, David Hume greeted Jean-Jacques Rousseau in Dover, England. In a story beautifully told by Edmonds and Eidenow (2007), Hume had travelled to welcome a presumed philosophical brother in arms. Both men were beacons of Enlightened thought. Hume, at only 26, had published his groundbreaking Treatise of Human Nature and subsequently forged himself a formidable literary and diplomatic reputation. This was despite him being rejected for posts at both Edinburgh and Glasgow's universities. Rousseau, who by the time he landed in Dover was in his 50s, had published works such as Emile, On the Social Contract, and Confessions. These were some of the greatest minds of their age, courted by aristocrats and politicians for their social cache and intellectual insights. Like Hume, Rousseau's contributions had not always found a welcoming audience. So fleeing gathering enemies in France and Switzerland, he arrived in England expecting to find a warm welcome from a kindred spirit.
If the Enlightenment had its insiders and a center of gravity, much of both was located on the Dover dockside that night. Rousseau disembarked with his dog, Sultan. He immediately embraced the waiting Hume. Both parties seem to have acknowledged that this was a meeting of great intellects, and that future conversations might yield significant philosophical advances. Of course, as Edmonds and Eidenow (2007) tell us, this anticipated partnership did not come to pass. This failure was not for a lack of trying. Hume had arranged for Rousseau to receive a pension from George III and secured him comfortable lodgings. Yet despite Hume's civility and magnanimity, Rousseau would exhaust his host's generosity. Their friendship would descend into hostility, deception and subterfuge. The feud would eventually go public, becoming yet another gossip-fueling spat between famed intellectuals. It is hardly a legacy either philosopher would appreciate.
With hindsight, the meeting was always going to end badly. Hume's eagerness to help another world-historical figure seemed blind to their deep differences. Hume's philosophy and character was temperate and conciliatory. Rousseau was single-minded and relentless. Both were famous within European intellectual and political circles, their reputations already cemented as leading Enlightenment figures. But beneath this veneer, on almost every intellectual position and character trait, they were on opposite sides. Their shared Enlightenment had taken them to separate poles. Hume would champion civility and compromise. Rousseau's glorification of nature sparked the romantic movement and caused him to deem corrupting the prevailing age of reason. If Hume and Rousseau's works are read as moral and political roadmaps, one directs you north and the other south.
That two brilliant thinkers could see their presumed comradeship turn into pyrotechnical parlor gossip gives us an emblematic example of how two members of a small intellectual community can be so completely different. Both were central figures of a new age. Both were also insider–outsiders. When they met on the dockside, both understood themselves to be on the same team. In short order, they became feuding opponents.
The story of Hume and Rousseau's doomed acquaintance is a riveting example of how the glue binding intellectual communities is often brittle. This might be obvious when we talk about urban scholars at the global scale, but it also extends to the smallest scales. When Bas identifies research centers in urban studies, we must grasp both their institutional and individual dimensions. Institutions have objectives, incentive structures, and communal characteristics. For example, urban research centers within the UK are undoubtedly conditioned by infamous central government evaluations and funding policies. Elsewhere similar institutional conditioning occurs using different mechanisms, be it student recruitment, newspaper rankings, or the conditions set out by philanthropic donors.
Institutional structures ensure some degree of alignment. But different individuals work within these structures. Within urban studies, these individuals might be united by a desire to understand and explain urbanization, just as Hume and Rousseau presumed their friendship would be fueled by a shared commitment to establishing an enlightened modern age. And yet, this glue is only so strong. Stick around any academic department long enough and you will find clear fissures. The “insiders” of urban research might well be comfortably embedded within institutional power structures. But, as we read in this issue, others are not. In fact, some are deeply uncomfortable within the belly of the beast.
For historical and resource-related reasons, global disparities continue to explain the differential reach and influence of various urban research hubs. Working in the Global North brings with it clear privileges. And yet, when we zoom into the debate-defining centers of urban studies, we will likely find a variety of researchers. Some will be insiders. Some will be insider–outsiders. Others will be outsiders looking to get in (see Jim Dixon). We will likely also find people who work outside of these definitions. As an undergraduate, I remember being taught by a committed and connected regional specialist who played a critical role in connecting students with stakeholders and communities. Such figures are difficult to locate in a world of grants, citations, and press releases. This variety of academic professionals is to be celebrated, even as metrics and manufactured competitiveness has the effect of reducing it.
Today the work of some urban researchers is elevated above others in the clamor for international rankings and ratings. It is easy to not look beyond our institutional framings and lose sight of the internal differences that exist within even the most influential places or highly ranked departments. We are poorer when we miss these differences. This applies even in the context of trying to understand and correct unjust global disparities. It is for these reasons that I am so pleased to present our two forum papers together. It is only by reflecting on our communities that we can improve them. We need the global perspective that Bas offers to be accompanied by the more personal perspective written by Loretta. To be attuned to these different levels—from the global down to the individual—seems the only productive way to make the “inside” more accessible, open, inclusive, and intellectually vibrant. Indeed, it might be the only way to make the insider–outsider distinction redundant.