Reframing Scholarship of Pain and Resistance: Praxis and the Politics of Voice

Someone recently asked me why my writing style differs from that of scholars who focus on gender, law, human rights, or governance. The answer lies in the perspective I bring to my work. As both an activist and a practicing lawyer, my writing is grounded in the lived realities of survivors, victims, and their families, with whom I engage directly. These are not abstract issues for me; they are deeply personal and urgent.

I didn’t begin with theory. I began by listening to stories of pain, injustice, resilience, and survival. I began by documenting what I witnessed and what was shared with me in spaces far removed from academic institutions or policy think tanks. These narratives became the foundation of my writing. From there, I started to reflect, analyze, and develop theoretical frameworks rooted in those experiences. This method, which I sometimes describe as a “bubble-based” approach, allows for theory to emerge organically from real-life contexts, rather than imposing pre-existing frameworks onto them.

In contrast, I have encountered several academic scholars—though certainly not all—who adopt what might be described as an “armchair” approach to theory. They produce work that is intellectually sophisticated and methodologically rigorous, yet remains curiously detached from the lived realities of the very communities they analyze or claim to represent. This disconnection between scholarship and the social worlds it purports to understand, in my view, reflects a troubling contradiction. It is a form of academic abstraction that, while cloaked in the language of neutrality, effectively sidelines the voices and struggles of those most impacted by the issues under study. The politics of divorcing research from on-the-ground realities is not just an epistemological choice—it is, I would argue, a hypocritical stance that sustains the very structures of inequality many scholars claim to critique.

The academic establishment often valorizes objectivity and neutrality, holding them up as hallmarks of legitimate scholarship. But in a world structured by systemic oppression, neutrality becomes complicit. As historian Howard Zinn aptly observed,

“Indeed, it is impossible to be neutral. In a world already moving in certain directions, where wealth and power are already distributed in certain ways, neutrality means accepting the way things are now.”

Neutrality, in this sense, is not a position of distance but of alignment—with the status quo. Zinn further argues that “objectivity is not desirable because if we want to have an effect on the world, we need to emphasize those things which will make students more active citizens and more moral people.” His call is a reminder that knowledge production is never apolitical.

Another important point is that laws and policies are often written by those in positions of power who benefit from privilege. As a result, the language used can be complex and inaccessible, creating barriers for ordinary people. To ensure fair access to justice, the public must simplify and decode this language. When academic or legal discussions rely on overly technical or elitist language, they alienate the very people they claim to serve. In this way, the language of the privileged becomes a tool of exclusion. This is why demystifying the law is not just helpful—it is necessary.

For me, research must be a practice rooted in both theory and praxis—it is a deeply engaged practice that must be rooted in both critical theory and lived experience, in both analysis and action. It should not only analyze the world but also engage with it—intervening where possible, proposing policy alternatives, and informing legal or structural change.

Scholarship should not be a passive enterprise, limited to the distant observation or interpretation of societal phenomena. Rather, it must be an active force that engages with the world—immersing itself in the urgent realities faced by individuals and communities. True scholarship carries a responsibility not only to understand and explain injustice but also to intervene where such injustice persists. This involves more than critique; it demands the courage to challenge entrenched power structures, to offer visionary alternatives to systems of oppression, and to contribute meaningfully to legal, policy, and institutional reforms.

Such engagement is not optional—it is central to the ethical mission of scholarship. It is about righting historical and present wrongs, advocating for those who have been systematically marginalized, and working toward the emancipation and liberation of all people. This kind of transformative scholarship recognizes that knowledge is not neutral. It can be a tool of domination or a vehicle for justice. Therefore, scholars must use their intellectual labor to advance equity, dignity, and freedom, both within and beyond the academy.

I believe in a mode of research that is grounded, participatory, and accountable—one that is developed in conversation with, and in service to, the communities it seeks to understand and uplift. This kind of intellectual work does not treat suffering as an object of curiosity but engages it as a site of resistance and possibility. Writing about pain and struggle is not an act of voyeurism—it is a weapon of theorization, a means of narrating survival, defiance, and hope. It stands in stark contrast to armchair scholarship that maintains the illusion of objectivity while remaining complicit in the status quo.

My writing often resists conventional academic norms, and this resistance is intentional. I write in ways that center the voices of those who have been ignored, silenced, or erased by dominant systems of knowledge production. I strive to amplify marginalized perspectives and construct knowledge from below—starting with lived realities, not imposed frameworks.

This approach to scholarship is unapologetically political. It acknowledges that all knowledge is produced within power relations and that choosing how and what to write is itself a political act. In doing so, I hope to contribute to a more just and engaged form of scholarship—one that does not shy away from the moral and political dimensions of intellectual work.

In that sense, my work is a form of rebellion—a refusal to conform to depoliticized intellectual traditions, and a commitment to using research as a tool for justice, resistance, and transformation. I see research not just as a way to understand the world, but as a step toward changing it.

 

 Zinn Howard (1990) Declaration of Independence: Cross-Examining American Ideology, Harper's Collins

Zinn Howard (2008) A People’s History for the Classroom