(Still) Writing A History Of Now: #Nocapitulation

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Introduction

On 12th March 2018, after six days of talks with ACAS, UCU, and Universities UK emerged to put a compromise proposal to members regarding the Universities Superannuation Scheme (Weale, 2018a). A day later, it was clear that UCU members were still engaged in their fourth week of industrial action and had rejected that compromise. Created by the UCL-UCU branch (Kobie, 2018), #NoCapitulation became an online rallying point for angry UCU strikers across the UK who saw the offer as unacceptable:

Many branches and members had earlier expressed their hostility to the deal, which was described as derisory. People used the hashtag #NoCapitulation on Twitter to call for the deal to be rejected (Weale, 2018b).

No Capitulation existed offline too. When I walked through Bloomsbury on 14th March, it was displayed both as a hashtag on a poster outside UCL Torrington Place and as a slogan on a placard attached to the railings outside UCL CenTraS. It was also visible in both forms at the ‘Break UUK: Win the Strike! National Demo’ (Climate Action Movement et al, 2018) rally on 15th March. This visibility made me ask: What would a history of the rejection of USS proposals look like if it was written solely using Tweets with the #NoCapitulation hashtag that were Tweeted on 13th March?

Methodology

Focus

To answer this question, inline with previous work I’d undertaken with social media (Hedges, 2017: 83), I was strict in the selecting—from an unmanageable potential data corpus—what data should be used to construct the narrative. I decided somewhat arbitrarily to limit my data set to the top 100 Tweets from 13th March with the hashtag #NoCapitulation including photos, film, links, and replies, alongside the profile description of the accounts Tweeting this material.

Starting the writing process as a Twitter user before adjusting this position in-line with the literature, I captured the first 100 results from a “top” Tweets search in a single PDF before archiving each Tweet. I had hoped that this would provide the most relevant content shared on 13th March, the day that UCU’s Higher Education Committee formally rejected deal (UCU, 2018). However, when I attempted to rerun the search to produce additional results several hours later, I realized that the results were produced by an algorithm that continually generating amended outcomes:

Top Tweets are the most relevant Tweets for your search. We determine relevance based on the popularity of a Tweet (e.g., when a lot of people are interacting with or sharing via Retweets and replies), the keywords it contains, and many other factors (Twitter, 2018a).

This became clear when accounts relating to a third student occupation suddenly appeared in the second set of search results. This algorithmic function means that the exact set of Tweets used to create the narrative will be unlikely to appear again and that therefore the data set could not be easily expanded.

Epistemology

Steve J. Jackson’s Repairer is a helpful starting point for thinking about constructing historical narratives using social media (Jackson, 2014: 237-238). The epistemological position of the historian is interpretivist (Bryman, 2008: 30); whilst considering social media data as a user is a helpful starting point, a epistemological break is eventually required, as forming into a narrative involves a selecting and reordering of the data ‘debris’ into something new that was never experienced by the social media user. Rather than replicating what was originally presented, the researcher is building something new in the ruins as the Angel of History is blown on into the distance. We are like Walter Benjamin’s rag picker, making something useful from discarded ‘debris' (Hedges, 2017: 84).

I previously used social media to write history that can be understood as longitudinal, exploring a rent strike through a relationship with a single actor that spanned months of material. The #NoCapitulation narrative is better described as latitudinal; it is shallow in terms of the temporal length of engagement, but conversely much broader in terms of the number of actors whose voices are included. In the former, the Repairer is following behind the Angel, gathering wreckage along a trail of sorts. There is a different ‘physicality’ to a latitudinal process, where the Repairer remains relatively static, focused on a particular area of debris. Moreover, because Twitter’s “Top” search is algorithmically amended, the debris available to the Repairer is unstable. Rather than imaging the Repairer picking through ruins, it is more appropriate to imagine her at sea, where debris floats and sinks periodically. The Repairer hauls wreckage that looks interesting on to the boat, assembling a history from this flotsam. The point here is that the raw materials are fleeting and in motion.

The Repairer concept draws upon thesis IX from Benjamin’s Theses on the Concept of History; I additionally want to ground this expanded model in thesis V (Lowy, 2005: 40-42). Twitter’s algorithm provides a different example of the present impacting upon the past; if the “Top” searches are continually affected by user interactions after the Tweets are posted, then the interests of the present retrospectively shape the electronic flotsam that this history is built upon. The difficulties in achieving the same “Top” search results twice mean that future historical narratives using this methodology will be constructed from a shifting set of sources. I am particularly drawn to the sense of movement in the thesis, where …“the past can be seized only as an image which flashes up at the moment of its recognisability and is never seen again”. I have sought to demonstrate this motion and transience through rhetorical techniques, such as suggesting that the voices “interrupt”, images “flash” and the reader is “wrenched” from location to location. The “…past flits by (ibid 40).”

Writing the History of Now

Inspired by Eric Hobsbawm’s observations on writing modern history (Hedges, 2017: 87-89), a final iteratively-identified filter was applied. Understanding that the long-term fallout from rejecting the offer will impact upon how the narrative is presented, my draft was completed before 19th March 2018 in order to present a history written without this influence. Whilst I continued to revise other sections, Section 3 was completed by this strict deadline using only the sources identified. The value of this exercise will be uncertain until the strike is resolved, when it may be insightful to contrast this history with other narratives. Once the outcome is certain, will the enthusiasm I have tried to depict seem ill-fated?

Ethics

Much Twitter content is considered public (Twitter, 2017); however, researchers have a responsibility to prevent harm to those that they study (BSA, 2017: 4). Discussions undertaken at the Archives, Activism and Social Media workshop (Allman, Jules, Mitchell & Pell, 2017) in particular highlighted the right to be forgotten—the right to delete your content from social media later if it proves potentially harmful.

Given that the UCU strike is ongoing at the time of writing, I decided not to include Tweets from personal accounts that did not contain a reference to a political or (student /trade) union role in their profile description. This distinction was based upon personal experience suggesting that long-term activists indicate this on their accounts. This filter remains an imperfect method as replies to any included Tweets still potentially highlight non-activist/organisational accounts and strikers may be identified in photos, but it remains preferable to deliberately raising the profile of strikers who might later regret their public comments should there be any recriminations. Arguably overly cautious, this filter reduced the number of Tweets to around a third; inspired by the Social Data Science Lab (unknown)[1], I sought to further mitigate harm by directly contacting the remaining accounts to offer the right to veto the use of their data. Of the 19 accounts contacted, 18 replied, confirming that they were happy for their Tweet to be used. I have not included data from the 19th account.

I have also reproduced the full Tweets with this blog post so as to comply with Twitter’s (2018b) display requirements whilst being able to draw upon them more flexibly in Section 3.

Conclusion

Rereading my answer to the research question (section 3), it is worth asking what I have written. A partial narrative that requires triangulation in order to be robust, it captures only part of a conversation. It is closer to a mapping of a particular data set, generated in a manner that is arguably unrepeatable and rendered into a stylized narrative that attempts to represent a particular theoretical framework. Insomuch as it is ever possible to present a definitive account, it is inappropriate to present this as a picture of a key point in a strike. It is the beginnings of a fuller exploration, one that uses its deliberate limitations to stimulate discussions around historiography and methods.

This research question excludes many voices. For example, of the 100 Tweets, not one came from an account identifying as a UCU activist. Pending confirmation through further research, these findings hint that those who were vocal about rejecting the offer from their personal accounts did not prominently identify as active trade unionists or conversely, maintain Twitter profiles where declaring this would be a disadvantage. And reflecting again on Thompson, a latitudinal approach starkly foregrounds the lack of context and the nature of pre-existing activist cultures (Hedges, 2017: 83).

Focusing upon a hashtag is an example of how the researcher’s “...values should determine the questions we ask...” (Zinn, 1997: 504; Hedges, 2017: 85-86). Hashtags relating to a certain conversation will inevitably shape the topics covered. For the historian, this could be one way to write radical history. Coupled with other methods that the increase empirical robustness of the study undertaken, writing a history of these conversations could be useful for generating questions that allow the researcher to look at an event from a critical perspective.

#NoCapitulation

We wake up to digital noise, to spam, to click-bait and personalized advertising. The first clear voice that we hear from 13th March is that of the philosopher and would-be politician. At almost ten part 8, Catherine Rowett reminds the BBC in clear terms that the compromise offer is not acceptable and hasn’t been accepted by UCU members. Formerly a Green Party candidate for South Norfolk, Rowett also points out that it’s not just lecturers on strike but “…all the staff your sons and daughters rely on in the library and other services too”.[2] 40 minutes later, students in Edinburgh cut through our timelines to announce that the University is occupied. Some of their demands: that Principal Peter Mathieson hold joint meetings with staff and students to end the pensions crisis, publically support the defined benefits scheme and refuse to levy salary deductions from strikers.[3]

The first picket lines can be heard from Exeter at a little past nine. Declaring #NoCapitulation, one striker reminds the VC that she’s struggling not only with pension cuts but also the gender pay gap, holding a hand written placard that doubles as a personal letter.[4] A while later, University of Stirling UCU deliver the same message via a stern-looking baby, presumably from a family-friendly picket line.[5]

Edinburgh makes itself heard again after ten, with a red “students in solidarity” banner and rows of raised fists; the George Aikman Lecture Theatre is now occupied[6], as is the pavement outside the UCU head office, where a “huge” crowd gathers to protest the pensions offer[7]. In the West Midlands, members at the University of Warwick gather at a hastily planned emergency general meeting. Attending at 12 hours notice, the UCU branch decisively votes down the proposed compromise, 115 to reject with just 5 abstentions[8] as red and orange smoke drifts down from equally fired up pickets at the Williamson Building, University of Manchester.[9]

At eight minutes past eleven, Warwick flashes us an image of the UCU head quarters, and we see an ocean of protesters filling out the road as far as the camera can show[10]. It’s just gone ten past eleven and there’s a sense that Rowett was right to warn the BBC, that the done deal could be more an undone deal. As if to prove the point, UCU at Cardiff University suddenly cut through the noise to proclaim that they “…pretty as dammit [sic] unanimously” voted at a “packed open meeting” to reject the offer.[11] Off to lobby the Welsh government, we don’t hear from them again until after one o’clock, when Cardiff UCU reappear outside parliament with Darth Vader, complete with a placard proclaiming in his best James Earle Jones voice that “I find your lack of pensions disturbing.”[12]

Meanwhile, Labour MP Chris Williamson damns the offer as “…woefully inadequate”[13] before being interrupted by Oxford Brookes UCU, who are proclaiming a list of branches that have rejected the proposals. Ulster, Cambridge, Sussex, SOAS, Goldsmiths, Bath, Manchester, Reading, Sheffield, Nottingham, Leicester and Warwick… Strathclyde, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Newcastle, Keele, Liverpool, Hull, York, LSHTM and Exeter… Stirling, UEA, QMUL, Bristol and Cardiff.[14] We could have checked one of the Google docs of course to find this out[15], but that somehow seems to detract from the drama of Twitter accounts proudly listing where the offer is getting kicked back.

In this spirit, UCU at University Of Warwick share their own list[16] after reminding us they aren’t playing ball[17]. Sheffield UCU declare at almost ten minutes to midday:“Motion rejecting the deal passed by our EGM.”[18] St Andrews make a similar statement close to half past.[19] Nottingham UCU take until five to one to chip in but when they do, it’s via a carefully worded letter damns the deal as a “…betrayal not only of our own members but also of our allies in the labor movement.[20]”After all this, it’s Birkbeck UCU who answer what we’re all wondering: “All reject it; none accepting so far. [21]”

These voices coming in from branches around the UK mingle with voices on the street outside and roar into the UCU headquarters.

“…[N]ot a single delegate has supported [the] rotten deal… - all reports from membership are unanimous or near unanimous rejections…” The union “…cannot squander what has been achieved...”[22]

These voices make us wonder who thought this offer was acceptable in the first place.

It’s in that spirit that, while still digesting Nottingham’s letter, we are pulled down into a Cambridge street. The protest is outside Old Schools, where a hand painted banner proclaims “Cambridge Betrayal—Staff Are Not For Sale!” as dozens gather.[23] A couple of minutes later, UCU at Oxford Brookes inject —at 12.58pm, they proclaim the tally stands at 45 reject, none accept[24]—before we are wrenched back to the rival city to be reminded that the dozens protesting in front of the great wooden doors of the college are “…what democracy looks like”.[25]

It seems like everyone has spoken. The chatter becomes click-bait again. At almost two thirty, Exeter UCU inform us that the “…Higher Education Committee now going into closed meeting to decide what to do with that information.”[26] We check again in the evening to find Old Schools occupied and a subvertised out of order sign that reads: