Recently, I attended a lecture on ethics in research and let me tell you—it wasn’t one of those sessions you sit through half-heartedly while strolling through emails. This one hit home. It made me take a step back and really think about how ethics shapes not just research, but its impact on the communities we work with. For someone like me, working on Mapping Marginalization: Towards Equitable Water and Sanitation Governance in Kibera, the connections were immediate and personal.
One of the main takeaways from the lecture was that ethical research isn’t just about following rules or ticking boxes. It’s about relationships—how you engage with your participants, whose voices you prioritize, and whether your work truly serves the communities it claims to. That’s a whole different level of responsibility, especially when you’re working in a context like Kibera, where the stakes are already so high.
The idea of “power dynamics” came up a lot in class, and honestly, it’s something I’ve struggled with. Even with the best intentions, research can reinforce hierarchies, especially when researchers (like me) come into a community with resources, academic privilege, and the ability to leave. The question is: How do I avoid being another cog in the wheel of extractive research?
For my dissertation, I’ve been mapping how governance systems around water and sanitation often marginalize Kibera’s residents. But this lecture made me realize that even my research could contribute to marginalization if I’m not careful. It’s one thing to document inequities, but am I also unintentionally overlooking the agency of the people I’m writing about? This class really pushed me to think about ways to design research that challenges these power dynamics rather than reinforcing them.
Another big point was consent. It’s such a basic principle, but the lecture showed how often it’s misunderstood. Consent isn’t just about getting someone to sign a form; it’s about ongoing dialogue, transparency, and trust. In Kibera, this means being honest about how the findings will be used, who will benefit, and what the community gets out of it. It’s not enough to “do no harm”—ethical research should leave communities better than they were before.
What really resonated, though, was the emphasis on accountability. The lecturer talked about how research isn’t neutral—it’s always influenced by our own biases, the questions we ask, and the frameworks we use. For my project, this has meant asking myself tough questions: Am I framing Kibera’s residents as passive victims, or am I highlighting their resilience and resourcefulness? Am I privileging governance systems over lived experiences? Accountability, in this case, means not just listening but letting the community guide the narrative.
After that lecture, I’ve started rethinking how I share my findings. Traditional academic outputs often don’t reach the people they’re about. How can I ensure that my research benefits Kibera directly? Maybe it’s about co-creating solutions with residents rather than presenting abstract policy recommendations. Or maybe it’s finding ways to turn maps and data into tools that the community can use.
At the end of the day, the lecture reminded me that ethics isn’t just a checkpoint in research—it’s the foundation. And for me, as someone trying to contribute to more equitable water and sanitation governance in Kibera, it’s a reminder to keep the community’s needs, voices, and dignity at the centre of everything I do.
