About this dictionary

There are many ways to define the field of narrative practice (narrative therapy and community work). One way to define it, my favourite, is as a particular form of politics. It was the politics of narrative practice that drew me to these ideas and ways of working: the politics of gender partnerships to seek to address gender injustice; the politics of developing non-pathologising forms of therapy; the politics of responding to the injustices of Aboriginal deaths in custody and further to question the existence/ reliance on prisons; the politics of questioning ourselves, considering how to not only acknowledge privileges but use them well through partnerships and accountabilities; the politics of sponsoring diversity not conformity, and so on.

If you are also drawn to the politics of narrative practice, I hope the diverse entries and stories that you will find within these pages are of interest to you. This political dictionary has been inspired by A feminist dictionary compiled by Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler back in 1985. A feminist dictionary is unlike any other I have turned to. To read it brought challenge, new knowledge, and at times, laughter.

Kramarae and Treichler explicitly acknowledge ‘the socio-political aspects of dictionary-making’ and at times within one entry offer contradictions without resolving them (pp. 161–162). What’s more, they describe how their dictionary was created ‘not to authorize but to challenge and envision ... (and to) ... elucidate and complicate the terms of feminist discourse’ (pp. 12–14).

Following their example, this dictionary doesn’t seek to authorize a particular version of narrative practice but instead hopes to elucidate and complicate the terms of narrative practice. If you are looking for clear and concise definitions, all written in the same style and voice, I’m sorry but you will not find them here. What you will find are definitions, descriptions, examples, and quotes from multiple authors and perspectives.

This is a partial dictionary in two senses of the term. It is incomplete and biased. I have deliberately included entries that emphasise what I consider to be political considerations and dilemmas; tried to amplify some of the more overtly political voices, histories and concepts in the field; and at the same time I’ve drawn from the Michael White archive some of the political aspects of Michael’s work that might otherwise slip from view.

I hope this in some way takes up an invitation that Ron Findlay made in A memory book for the field of narrative practice:

When we are engaging with narrative practices now, I think we shouldn’t forget that our therapy practices are also political practices. Like heads and tails, two sides of a coin. For instance, the narrative practice of using people’s own words instead of professional definitions can have a positive therapeutic effect, but it is also a political act ... of enabling people to represent themselves. If we forget the political history and political side of our practices, we risk losing some of the understanding of them, and we risk making invisible the real political effects of our practices. (Ron Findlay in White, 2016, p. 24)

Of course, as soon as some entries in this (or any other) dictionary are written, they already need updating! I am drawn to the words of genderqueer radical copyeditor Alex Kapitan (2017). In relation to the ways in which the language of gender identity and expression is ‘evolving at lightning speed’, Alex suggests we:

Choose to celebrate this rapid evolution of language because of what it means: that people who have been marginalized for centuries are finding ways of reclaiming agency and legitimacy; that those of us who have been written out of existence are finding ways to rewrite reality ... The purpose of language is to communicate, not to regulate. (Kapitan, 2017)

The purpose of this incomplete, biased dictionary is also to communicate, not to regulate. If there are entries in these pages that you find helpful, I’d be really interested to hear from you. And if there are omissions, errors, and/or complexities that you notice, I’d love to receive your feedback as well as any additional entries that you and/ or your communities might suggest.

How is narrative practice political?

If narrative practice is to be understood as ‘political’, then how is this politics characterised? And what does this form of politics make possible? The process of compiling this political dictionary has invited, cajoled and finally demanded of me that I clarify my own views about this. In doing so, I have found helpful the following quote from Michel Foucault:

I was telling you earlier about the three elements in my morals. They are (1) the refusal to accept as self-evident the things that are proposed to us; (2) the need to analyse and to know, since we can accomplish nothing without reflection and understanding—thus, the principle of curiosity; and (3) the principle of innovation: to seek out in our reflection those things that have never been thought or imagined. Thus: refusal, curiosity, innovation. (Foucault, 1988a)

Perhaps the politics of narrative practice can be considered through these three principles.

Refusal

Narrative practice, to me, represents a number of refusals. Firstly, a refusal to pathologise or cast people, families or communities as problems. Linked to this, a refusal to participate in the psychologisation of life or traffic in languages of psychoanalysis, psychodynamics, or psychopathology. And furthermore, narrative practice represents a refusal to demonstrate expertise over the lives of others – a refusal to know what is ‘healing’, ‘healthy’ or what constitutes a ‘good life’ for others.

Curiosity

In turning away from interpreting, evaluating or correcting the lives of others, narrative practitioners turn instead toward particular curiosities. This includes a curiosity that supports people to name their experiences in their own words and terms. It also includes a curiosity that seeks to make visible the operations, effects and social histories of problems, including the influence of individual and collective histories. This is a curiosity that is open to the ways in which people’s stories represent not only personal experience, but also the effects of broader social issues.

A further curiosity associated with narrative practice resurrects and richly describes local knowledges and skills of living that can be brought to bear on local problems. No matter the degree of hardship, individuals, groups and communities will be responding to the situations they are in. There will be initiatives they are taking, and skills and knowledges they are using, to try to reduce or redress the harm and/or to care for and protect others.

By exploring how the skills and knowledges of people enduring hardships can make contributions to the lives of others, the person is no longer the problem, the problem is the problem, and the solution becomes not only personal.

From my perspective, the curiosities of narrative practice seek to generate what Michel Foucault described as, ‘an insurrection of local knowledges’ (1980, p. 81). These forms of curiosity sponsor diversity not conformity and revel in the sacraments of everyday non-conformities.

Innovation

Crucially, rather than being satisfied with critiquing existing pathologising practice, narrative practitioners innovate alternative practices – practices which look different depending on their locations. I am particularly interested in the politics implicit in two sorts of narrative practice innovations.

Partnerships: Inspired by the work of the Just Therapy Team (Waldegrave, Tamasese, Tuhaka & Campbell, 2003), narrative practitioners prioritise the development of innovative partnerships and accountabilities. These partnerships involve recognising and naming privileges and the politics of gender, race, class, age, ethnicity, heterosexism, etc. and create possibilities for collaboratively using privileges and knowledges generated in resistance to marginalisation for social good.

Developing practices most relevant to the most marginalised: Narrative practice began in collaboration with two groups of people whose knowledges are profoundly marginalised within dominant Western culture – young children with emotional/ psychological difficulties and adults who had received serious psychiatric diagnoses (see White, 2016). From its origins to today there remains a commitment to innovate forms of practice that are most relevant to the most marginalised.

Of course, dear reader, you may have ideas about further refusals, curiosities and innovations that ought to be included in this list. Or you may propose an entirely different framework!

It’s my hope that this political dictionary for the field of narrative practice can spark conversations and debate about the politics of narrative practice. I very much welcome your feedback.

Sources, acknowledgements and inspiration

I have drawn upon diverse sources for the entries within this dictionary. Some of the most helpful have included:

• Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler’s (1985) A feminist dictionary
• The Michael White Archive, Dulwich Centre: Kelsi (Sassy) Semeschuk’s work as an archivist/researcher was influential in finding quotes from Michael’s teaching tapes.
• Alex Kapitan’s (2017) The radical copyeditor’s style guide for writing about transgender people
• Meg-John Barker’s (2018) Good Practice across the Counselling Professions 001 Gender, Sexual, and Relationship Diversity

Claire Nettle contributed the following entries: insider knowledge; homophobia; narrative justice; normalisation; patriarchal power; post colonialism; and productive power.

Tiffany Sostar offered rigorous critical and creative feedback on an earlier version of this dictionary that has led to its significant improvement. They also contributed to the following entries: accomplice; assigned sex; biphobia; disability, monosexism; intersectionality; open non-monogamies; polyamory and transphobia.

Mary Heath also offered influential feedback and contributed to entries on: neo- liberalism; place; and relationship anarchy.

John Winslade contributed the entries on discourse and neoliberalism.

Gipsy Hosking wrote the entry on ableism and contributed to the entry on disability.

Thanks also to David Newman and Manja Visschedijk for their early reading, suggestions and enthusiasm for this project.

And three broader acknowledgements:

To Michael White, whose political commitments, brilliance and hard work generated new ways of understanding and forms of practice that fill many of the pages of this book.

To David Epston, who not only co-founded narrative therapy, but whose creativity and generosity also provided the precursors for collective narrative practice.

And to Cheryl White whose joyful, intelligent politics has made possible this project and so many others.