National Science Foundation Samples

NSF PERSONAL STATEMENT I am an anthropologist, and disciplinary tradition has it that we spend roughly a year abroad conducting dissertation research, or sometimes multiple shorter trips over several years, and the financial requirements for such research can be considerable. While I successfully secured funding in the end, the path to that point was not always easy. With the benefit of hindsight, I can identify a few lessons learned along the way. Most of these simply confirm what everyone knows, i.e. start the process early, write numerous drafts, cite the pertinent authorities, don’t shortchange your research methodology, etc., but they are nonetheless worth repeating.

My first lesson was to identify the appropriate program(s) to which to apply. You can spend several weeks writing a pretty good proposal with an awkward fit for the program and get rejected. You can also rush to get many mediocre proposals to many different programs. Focusing your time and energy on those programs best suited to your project is the worthwhile solution. Program officers are often very accessible and sending them a brief blurb about what you have in mind may give you an indication of whether it is worth pursuing. I was lucky to get a supportive response from the program director of the National Science Foundation’s Law and Social Science Program, and I decided to focus on that proposal (and only apply for two other grants, as opposed to the dozen or so opportunities for which I could conceivably apply).

A second lesson was framing the proposal. I had an area of research and had identified some key institutions and sites where I should do my research, but I had yet to come up with an answer to that dreaded question: “what is your research question?” (or, arguably more horrific, “what is your hypothesis”)? Within the confines of anthropology, a “soft” social science that some might think more properly belongs to the humanities, I had been able to ignore the issue of a research question but I also suspected that a crossdisciplinary program evaluating hundreds of proposals to fund a handful might not be too impressed by “I am an anthropologist, and we don’t really have research questions.” This was perhaps the most difficult part of the proposal: it is easy to describe interesting situations to explore, but how to condense that into one or two questions that can be tested? I found thinking in terms of w(ho/hen, etc.)/how questions or do/does questions useful. While asking “how does X impact Y” may resonate better with the work of other scholars, asking “does X impact Y” may make it easier to construct the appropriate research methodology and, hence, the proposal itself. In my proposal, I wanted to examine the interaction between ideas of cultural difference and human rights, and suspected these interactions to be multiple, contradictory, and often confusing—but, still, framing the research question as I did (as a ‘does’ question) made my work a little bit easier.

A third lesson is borne out of the second lesson. A grant proposal is not the place to demonstrate that you know every journal article or book chapter, can understand every nuance, or link your research to every intricate debate in your discipline or sub-discipline.

As graduate students, we are encouraged to ‘problematize,’ critique, and even prevaricate, none of which are terms apt for a good proposal. As much as it pained me, I

had to cut some of my writing down, ignore some literature that I found interesting but not directly relevant, and so on. Remember that many reviewers are not from your field of expertise (disciplinary, geographical, etc.) and may not care one iota about some details you feel strongly about. That being said, your questions should not be simplistic and your literature review should not have gaps, but you do need to be judicious with the information while giving enough to demonstrate your talent and giving sufficient context for the non-specialist to follow your train of thought.

A fourth lesson was that proposal writing does not have to be a lonely process. For one thing, having somebody else (your adviser/committee members, of course, but also fellow students, other faculty, friends and family, etc.) read your proposal can help you identify weak spots, gaps in the literature, and oddly worded arguments and sentences.

You should also take full advantage of Penn’s faculty. Even the most nomadic graduate student may only have had interactions with half a dozen or so faculty members, and you may be missing out on relevant expertise and experience in other departments and schools—and these faculty may be happy to chat with you for a few hours to help you along the way. I was fortunate to have found somebody in Penn’s Law School with extensive experience with socio-legal scholarship (a body of scholarship relevant for my research but not particularly represented in Penn’s Department of Anthropology) and the Law of Social Science Program.

The final key lesson was to be positive. This applies both to you as you torment your friends, significant other, pets, etc. with bitter litanies about the evils of proposal writing, and to the proposal itself (see lesson four, above). Highlighting what you will do and what contribution your research makes for a better proposal than highlighting what other people haven’t done—if for no other reason that Professor X who failed to have done something might be the one reviewing your proposal. Also remember that granting agencies want to give their money away—you just have to give them a good an argument why they should give the money to you and not somebody else.

In the end, proposal writing was an oddly rewarding experience (but perhaps it would have been less so if I had been unsuccessful). It is a rare opportunity to sit down and really wrestle with your ideas, engage with a range of literature, and even plan ahead for the next couple of years.