Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Gender and Fieldwork
Gender and Fieldwork
Without any pejorativity – quite the contrary – I would say that fieldwork
is a little bit of ‘women's work,’ which is probably why women succeed
so well at it. For my part, I was lacking in care and patience.
The main focus of this chapter is on the flexible and wide-ranging approaches to the
negotiation of gender taken by both researchers and the subjects of their research. In
the field, various participants perform continuously and situation-ally different aspects of
their gender identity. As proposed in Chapter 1, this performance can fortify, challenge
or even mask gendered features and categories belonging to each of the gender
systems at hand. The micro-veins of power traverse all fields of life, but when analysing
gender and fieldwork, it is especially interesting to study the way power is negotiated
between the participants. We will also deal with some of the ethical questions which
must be faced by the researcher of gender.
We are not using gender as an explanation for different ‘objective conditions’ but
rather as an analytical concept to focus on the construction of gender in field research.
In that context, it would really be more instructive to use ‘gender’ as a verb (see
Chapter 1). The fact that gender is a discursive construct does not change the fact that
gendering has both practical and material consequences for both women and men. The
importance of gender should not be understated, because it is not an inconsequential
detail that may be ignored in research situations. On the contrary, it is a significant topic
of research as such (see van Maanen et al., 1988).
Many have pondered the etymology of the word ‘field’. ‘In the field’ is, after all, where
geologists, officers, missionaries, archeologists and natural scientists as well as
ethnographers work (Clifford, 1990). De Certeau (1984) asks what do we exclude when
we talk about the field? What are the similarities and differences between the kinds
of professional knowledge being produced through the spatial practices of the field?
In the everyday language of researchers the field is still usually a place, in which the
life of ‘the Other’ is being scrutinized. We find the definition articulated by Roy Turner
(1989) still very useful for all the practical purposes of this chapter. Turner considers
field to be a certain kind of an attitude or perspective, which brings into intersection
the interests of the researcher with the lifeworld of the subjects studied. As Järviluoma
(1991b) has suggested, sometimes it also useful to think of ‘the researcher’ in terms of
an attitude: ‘researcher’ as well as ‘gender’ become actualized in interaction. And it is
important to understand that these processes of actualization are themselves amenable
to analysis. That is, analysts need not and indeed cannot, step outside the practices
they are investigating. Even so, many research reports still try to mask and filter out the
corporeal presence and gender of the researcher.
Anthropologists have been interested in gender and fieldwork for longer than
sociologists. While sociologists only began such analysis in the 1970s, anthropologists
were writing systematically about gender as early as the 1920s and 1930s (Warren,
1988). This, in spite of the fact that the research perspectives of anthropology remained,
with a few notable exceptions, very masculine right up to 1960s. It was in the 1970s
when the ‘male biases’ of anthropological explanations and functionalistic fieldwork
began to be strongly interrogated, and the reinterpretations of past ethnographies
commenced (Assmuth and Tapaninen, 1994: 139). In the late and early 1980s to
1990s several major studies were published (Whitehead and Conaway, 1986; Golde,
1986; Warren, 1988; Bell et al., 1993; Assmuth and Tapaninen, 1994). Of particular
value to our study is Carol B. Warren's guide book Gender Issues in Field Research
(1988), which deals with the ways in which the gender of the researcher affects
the relationships in both the field and the final report. She discusses the research
preliminaries, the negotiations of one's positions in fieldwork, ‘objectivity’ and feelings,
corporeality and the sexual politics of the field. Another important collection here has
been the articles edited by Tony Whitehead and M.E. Conaway, Self, Sex, and Gender
in Cross-Cultural Fieldwork (1986).
The examples used by Warren derive from the ethnographic practices frequently
found in both anthropology and sociology. Warren pays particular attention to the
ways in which researchers have tried to control and modify the parameters defined by
gender. Ethnographers have different personalities, genders, frameworks and historical
situations: it is a myth that all of them could produce the same results. One of the main
conclusions of Whitehead and Conaway is that the flexibility of ‘gender roles’, rather
than the gender of the field worker as such is important in field work (Whitehead and
Price, 1986: 293).
Thus, one of the main themes of this chapter is the negotiation of gender in the field.
We begin with the concept of posture, which raises some new possibilites regarding the
dynamic, bodily and situational analysis of the established debate over ethnography and
gender. We then deal with the differing views of ethnographers regarding the following:
to what extent should they adopt the gendered practices, ‘postures’ and category-bound
features of the people or communities studied? The chapter concludes with a case
study by Järviluoma (1997; 2000) in which she discusses, among other things, the local
construction of gender in ethnomusicological fieldwork.
Utriainen (1998: 295) decribes a late summer evening when the researchers had been
walking along the paths of a Karelian village. When they returned to their quarters, a
house owned by an old woman, she was already asleep. When the researchers went
to their beds, the woman, however, began to ask questions about their lives, such as
why they didn't have any children. The room was suffocatingly hot, a different kind of
space from the well-ventilated city homes of the researchers. The old woman waited
until everyone was in bed before she began to ask intimate questions. This was her
home, her space, where she had the power. She was not a passive subject with no
other function than to wait for the visitors. For one reason or another, she was irritated,
perhaps because of their late evening walk, which had disturbed her sleep. They were
all in the same situation, lying down on their beds, in the dark room, microphones
undoubtedly out of reach in their bags. The only thing which existed was the voice
of the old woman, which they experienced in their bodies. The dialogue between the
researchee and the researchers proceeded without any eye contact and, therefore,
perhaps more directly, from ear to ear, from one female body to another.
The question of posture relates closely to the relationships of power and the subject-
object problematic, one which is much discussed in women's studies. It also connects
with the nature and quality of shared knowledge and with the body. At best, the
adoption of postures can be seen as a continuous process which includes all the
stages in information processing, collecting, analysis, interpretation and presentation
(Utriainen, 1998: 294).
The opposite position is taken by those ethnographers who try their best to learn and
apply the gender norms of the society. This is the attitude Leon and Regina Smith
Oboler, adopted in the research project led by Regina. The reason for their desire
to adjust to the local gender system (Nandi, Kenia) was their wish to distinguish
themselves from the colonial whites. This strategy, however, made it frustratingly
difficult for Regina to maintain her identity as the leader of the project. It also placed
considerable pressure on Leon (1986: 37). However, since he was a Jewish man
and had already been circumscribed, he passed the most significant Nandi test of
malehood. On another occasion, he did not shiver when swimming in cold water, which
significantly increased his prestige as ‘a man’. As these examples reveal, the adoption
of the right kind of posture may also happen by pure luck.
Gendered action in the field does not result solely from conscious and rational choice.
We often act with our bodies before we think or speak. Colin Turnbull (1986) has
studied the way our gestures and behaviour betray us if we act against ourselves. He
seeks honesty in the field, and first and foremost honesty towards oneself, which, in
his view, is the greatest honesty we can show towards our hosts and hostesses (ibid.:
20). For instance, he acted honestly when politely refusing to sleep with the Ndaka-
headman's daughter and, thereafter, his son – the family had both syphilis and leprosy
(ibid.: 18-19). Rational understanding is, in the early stages of the fieldwork, often
limited and it is important to learn to improvise and to react to others' actions in ways
that are, as far as possible in harmony with the local dynamics (ibid.: 20). These are
learned through action and interaction.
Many fieldwork guides (see, for example, Warren, 1988), note that cultures tend to have
certain gender positions into which scholars and foreigners are placed. For example,
the role of an adopted child, of ‘men's sister’, or a mascot may be assigned to a female
fieldworker. Women who do not care for norms or who modify them according to their
own needs may be placed in the categories of ‘loud’ or ‘mythic’ women, or even of a
‘creature’ being able to change from one gender to another.
The villagers obviously felt the need to situate the visitors into their own social system
in which caste, gender, and age together determine the status of a person. The gender
which was assigned to Moisala was that of a young man. She did not observe the
duties and norms imposed on women in the local society. As a woman, she should have
carried water for the household, and cleaned and prepared the mud floor before her
husband woke up. She also should have had bracelets, long hair and a long skirt. In a
society, where girls marry and begin to have babies as teenagers, she, as a 21-year-old
childless woman, was an odd exception. Consequently, she was greeted and treated
as the younger brother, kancha, and allowed, for instance, to participate in an all-male
meal at weddings. Local girls covered their faces at her presence as if she had been a
male stranger. During that visit, it was not possible for her to enter the female world and
Gurung females kept their distance.
Nine years later, the gender assigned to her by the villagers was completely different.
On that field trip, she took along her son. The villagers called her didi, elder sister, and
visited her house frequently, sharing openly their life stories and allowed her to record
songs, even though it was not proper for a Gurung woman to perform in public and
the singing voice of an older woman was regarded as ugly. The male child made her
a woman in the eyes of the Gurungs even though this time she was not accompanied
by her husband and, again, she did not conform to the proper dress code nor fulfil the
duties of a woman. Perhaps these other ‘non-womanly’ aspects were ‘conceded’ to a
foreign female (Moisala, 1991; 2000).
The gender position of the scholar is negotiated within the prevailing cultural information
on sources and actions. The scholars are categorized and interacted with according to
those protocols. Many female scholars claim that yielding to the position defined by the
culture may eventually provide richer material than opposing it (see, for example, Abu-
Lughod, 1987; Utriainen, 1998: 296). ‘After all, the social place of women in Western
society has traditionally been to stand behind men, out of their sight: as mothers, wives,
nurses, secretaries, and servants,’ claims Warren (1988: 18). Thus, a female scholar
like Warren may be placed into the category of a female servant. As a servant, she
could move around in a mental hospital and in court, researching files without any
men – who were focused on more ‘important matters’ – paying any attention to her.
In hospitals she, a professor and scholar, was regarded as a visiting nurse student.
Male visitors hardly ever were thought to be nurses, instead they were assumed to be
psychiatrists.
The scholar can take assumptions to the field about how her/his gender will limit the
work which are too narrow. This is illustrated by Laurie Krieger's description of the
anxiety with which she approached her fieldwork in Cairo. Because she was afraid
of being categorized as a prostitute, she scrupulously followed every rule she knew
regarding a woman's role. Gradually she learned the norms and how to obey them
and, simultaneously, also how to adapt or work around them. By the conclusion of her
fieldwork she could cross many of the barriers she had visualized for herself at the
outset (Krieger, 1986: 117, 123).
Krieger (1986) constructs a useful model of the gender expectations in the field. The
researcher has to distinguish between (1) those prejudices which the researcher him/
herself brings to the field, and the expectations expressed by the researchees; (2) what
the local people expect from each other and what they expect from the researcher
or anthropologist; (3) those fundamental aspects of gender roles which not even
a foreigner can violate, as opposed to those norms which are less important. The
researcher has also to learn (4) how to adapt or work with gender expectations so that
he/she can collect the necessary research material.
Carol Warren (1988) and Pat Caplan (1988) also describe situations in which
tension, conflict and a lack of positive understanding between the researcher and the
researchees may provide better information than an overly mutually accommodating
relationship. The stay in the field may be more pleasant if the researcher takes a lover,
but does this give him or her access to the sources of information?
The positioning of a scholar in relation to the subject of enquiry has been actively
discussed for a couple of decades. Feminist methodologies have challenged us to
acknowledge the political and subjective nature of all kinds of research (Abu-Lughod,
1990). The ideology of objective research has given way to the demand for explicit
positioning and self-reflection. The point of departure is that every choice made by
the scholar, his/her theoretical background, methodological tool and resources of
interpretation, is loaded with ideological and other cultural assumptions. The scholar
him/herself is also a part of the research; another scholar working with the same
research material is likely to arrive at different interpretations and research results.
In fieldwork, the intertwining of the research and the researcher is particularly obvious.
Fieldwork material is collected at a certain time and in certain sociocultural situations
in interaction with certain people. It is impossible to imagine a researcher who can
maintain an objective distance from the subject of enquiry, and the influence of personal
experiences and contexts in the fieldwork, as well as in the writing of ethnography,
cannot be denied (see, for example, Barz and Cooley, 1996).
Most non-Western societies are used to strangers. However, it is not always easy to
categorize a female researcher as a ‘woman’, as in the example from Nepal reported
by Pirkko Moisala (see also Dee, 1975). Category mobility, in Moisala's case from
‘the younger brother’ to ‘a woman/mother’, is one of the keys to understanding the
negotiation of gender and of sexuality in the field. In this connection, Colin Turnbull uses
the term ‘role-mobility’ (1986: 18): he has observed how the researcher can be moved
from one role to another either during one field trip or during several consecutive trips
(ibid.: 21-6). Over several field trips Turnbull was repositioned by the Zairean Mbuti
hunter-gatherers from ‘a child’ into ‘a youngster’ and finally to ‘a grown-up’ and ‘an old
man’. During the first period of fieldwork he did not know much about life by the local
standards, and he was also unable to feed himself: obviously he was ‘a child’. By the
next visit he was considered ‘an adolescent’, thus sexual, allowed to sleep in groups
either around the fireplaces or in the bachelor sheds. During the next visit Turnbull was
accepted as an adult man, who was allowed to live in celibacy if he so wished. In the
final journey he was categorized as belonging to ‘the old men’, and he became once
again in a way free of gender. This ‘role cycle’ was only possible thanks to a series of
visits to the field, and it is important to remember that he was moved from one category
to another: he was not able to make these moves of his own accord.
People are always dressed up for the evening and when the orchestra is playing,
the dance floor is full. Women are dressed in an older style of glittering, provocative
clothing: dresses and high heels and plenty of make-up. The men wear white shirts
and jackets. Everyone has dancing shoes. The dress code is also socially controlled. A
woman belonging to the group of researchers taking part in the experiment, who was
wearing regular walking shoes, was asked by a stranger pointing at her shoes, if she
was really hoping to dance. Another, who was dressed in a scholarly ‘gender-neutral’
style – in jacket and trousers – was scrutinized so intently by both women and men
that she hardly dared to walk through the hall. A woman without make-up was stared at
with astonishment. The dress code of men was even stricter and more uniform, and the
researchers saw no deviations from it.
In the discussions following the dance event, it became obvious that the past
experiences and histories as well as the current identity factors – such as age, ethnicity,
race, world-view, body, and feminism – of the researchers affected the observations
made and the negotiation of gender in the dance restaurant. The older participants who
had gone to similar kinds of dances in their youth perceived the situation as a desirable
opportunity for communication between the sexes and as a positive performance of
maleness and femaleness. The Asian-American scholar observed details relating to
race and ethnicity, and a student studying competitive dancing of disabled people made
observations about how her own disability was perceived by other customers.
The theoretical stances taken by the observers also framed the observations made.
The feminists noticed the power inequities between the sexes whereas non-feminists
did not observe these. Proponents of theories of gender performativity were more
sensitive to the distinctions in gender performance than those whose attentions
were underpinned by theories emerging during the first wave of women's studies;
they tended to observe roles more straightforwardly in terms of women versus men.
The character of observations reflected also the level of prior fieldwork experience,
particularly the capacity to balance distance from, and participation in, the event.
Fieldwork experience equipped the researcher to observe the situation, including her
own gender performance, from a theoretical point of view, whereas the lack of it made
the observations more or less detached.
The role of the scholar enabled the observer to establish some distance from the
situation, to play ‘a fly on the wall’, but at the same time the restaurant with its ‘staged’
gender roles made the researchers become aware of their own gender performances.
The conspicuous gender codes of the situation forced them to re-identify their own
gendered selves. They all reacted to the situation as women who are socialized into
the Western dance culture: they were waiting to get an invitation to dance and felt
disappointed and discouraged if they did not, because a dance invitation means
acceptance as a ‘woman’. A feminist was even afraid that her feminism would show and
deprive her of opportunities to dance. Many of the researchers did not even dare to look
at the men. The youngest one was an exception, and she received the greatest number
of dance invitations; she experienced a sense of power and had the courage to take
the initiative to ask men to dance. When she did so, she felt that she ‘helped the poor
guy out’. Power does not always lie in the hands of the male, but, instead, is always
negotiated anew.
Finally, it seemed that the only way to understand the meanings of music was through
ethnomethodological ethnography, where the ethnographer is interested in the everyday
methods that the members of a certain community use when producing the social order,
which is a result of human interaction (Dingwall, 1981; Garfinkel, 1984/1967). She
joined a pelimanni musicians group consisting of 25 members, and reformulated her
research problem. How did this group construct and maintain itself through its social
practices? What kind of category work did it do, what kind of boundaries are drawn
both within the group, and in relation to groups outside? How, when and why do the
different dimensions of the group's identity become actualized? She was interested in
the detailed and observable practices through which the musicians brought their reality
into being. (Järviluoma, 1997; 2000).
During her first attendances at group rehearsals Järviluoma noticed that the males were
in the majority. There were only two women actively participating in the group, though
occasionally some other female musicians participated. Interestingly the subject of
gender was evident right from the start when the researcher played with and observed
the group, and tape-recorded the rehearsal discussions.
the kinds of activities usually associated with the identity of ‘researcher’. She is a
‘fairytale creature’, whose knowledge is not threatening to the knowledge of musicians,
but conversely the knowledge of the musicians is not threatening to the princess.
She has to be treated with respect. At the same time, those who characterize her
as ‘princess’ become categorized as ‘gentlemen’. This was evident in the fact that
the group avoided rough jokes when the female researcher was present. It became
apparent that ‘the princess’ was some kind of a mascot, when Järviluoma was assigned
to another, more mature category, when she returned to the group 6-7 years later.
Now, she was called by her first name, Helmi, and the new young 14-year-old keyboard
player was called ‘the princess’.
The fact that during her main field research period Helmi Järviluoma was categorized
as princess by the musicians she was studying contrasts interestingly with the fact that
she did not actively seek to foreground her ‘feminine’ side (see also Chapter 4). The
category ‘researcher’ is, like that of ‘woman’, something being continuously socially
constructed and maintained in practice. When Järviluoma participated in the group,
she foregrounded the features appropriate to the ‘researcher’ aspect of her identity,
not ‘motherhood’ or even ‘musicianship’. Patricia Ticineto Clough talks in her book
The End(s) of Ethnography (1992; see also Bell et al., 1993) about the ways in which
researchers try to construct for themselves a coherent gender identity. Järviluoma
continually had to negotiate between feminine and masculine categorizations: while the
conductor of the group insisted on describing her in feminine terms (princess, wife), she
herself tried to suppress these aspects of her identity while conducting her research.
In the same set of data compiled by Helmi Järviluoma, there is another scene which
is very revealing in relation to the gender categorization and identity practices of rural
Finland and its researcher (Järviluoma, 2000; see also Chapter 4). She noticed that it
was the women of the group who always prepared coffee for the breaks. Out of the 23
men only two participated in coffee-making. In 50 per cent of the cases the only two
women in the ensemble made the coffee by themselves, in the other 50 per cent it was
one of the women, Anna, together with a man. The conductor of the group made coffee
on his own on one occasion.
Järviluoma became interested in the thoughts of the women regarding the fact that they
could lose so much practising time because of the coffee break. Anna, for example,
would almost without exception leave the rehearsal hall half an hour before the break
and go to the kitchen, pour the coffee for the men, then gather up and wash the
cups. Some years later, when neither was any longer participating in the ensemble's
rehearsals, Järviluoma interviewed Anna. The ensemble had been extremely important
to Anna and she had been a member for almost 20 years. She felt that she had been
very bold in joining, since at the time she could not play any instruments at all. In fact,
20 years later, when Järviluoma was doing her research as a member of the group,
Anna still did not play her instrument much at all: when playing her mandolin, she only
moved her right hand.
Nevertheless, she obviously felt that she was a full-blooded pelimanni musician, and
a full member of the group. She participated in all the group activities and was the
first to volunteer to sell tickets for concerts. It is possible to interpret her participation
in the kitchen work and other voluntary work ancillary to performance as giving more
legitimation to her membership of the group. But the question remains as to why
Anna had not involved herself more in playing her mandolin – after all, 20 years was
certainly enough time to gain competence. One answer, however morally or ethically
questionable it may be, is that she was a useful and legitimate member of the group
only as long as she put the interests of the men above her own.
In interviewing Anna, Järviluoma was extremely sensitive to the delicacy of the topic,
and especially so because Anna had fallen seriously ill just before the interview,
being diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. The interview had to be conducted with
her husband present, although he sat at a distance from the two women. Anna took
pleasure in reminiscing about her time as a member of the music ensemble, and she
remembered those ‘old times’ with affection, but on some occasions she would look at
her husband, who answered several questions for her.
In this interview extract there is a lot of laughter. The laugh means different things at
different points in the discussion: sometimes Anna's words reminded the researcher of
the long duration of the research project. Sometimes laughing is a way of easing the
discussion of the subject at hand, delicate not only because of the reference to a now-
dead member of the group (Mikko), but also to alleviate the possibility that Anna might
hear the researcher's comments as criticism. The researcher softens her own account
of the ‘kitchen situation’, partly by always starting from her own point of view on the
matter.
Järviluoma also reports that she had heard Mikko complaining about his coffee-making
duties. She defines her position interestingly as that of a ‘third person’, who happens
to be a man, rather than as someone actually present in the interview situation. By
reporting Mikko's speech she avoids the impression that she personally is taking a
critical position. This way she is ‘preserving solidarity’ with Anna. In the way she reports
Mikko's grievance, however, the researcher discloses her own position: she is observing
the situation so-to-speak over Mikko's shoulder, and it is her voice that is heard in the
smiling tone ($make coffee$). Anna's first answer is, ‘Well no’, but she seems to take
the researcher's points, and talks about how long it took to do the washing up. However,
she generously stresses that she really did not mind. Because she was a member of the
group for so many years she felt that, even with lengthy ‘coffee- making’ breaks, she still
accumulated enough practice time.
We have to remember that it is the researcher who raises the issue. She does not bring
it up from the perspective of gender, but begins from the membership category (see
Chapter 4) of the pelimanni musicians group. Thus it is consistent that Anna does not
choose to speak from a gender perspective either, but as a member of the ensemble.
The ensemble is similar to groups like ‘family’ or ‘gang’ in the sense that belonging
to them presupposes some kind of loyalty and sense of belonging. Pelimanni women
of the group could well have formed a ‘team’ internal to the group as well, but such a
membership category does not exist in Anna's repertoire, and she does not choose
an overtly gendered speaking position. Anna's comments can be read as showing her
loyalty to the group. She does not arrange her activities into strict hierarchical order; it
is through the researcher's questions that the hierarchical positioning intrudes into the
discussion. On the contrary, Anna is contesting the hierarchies by emphasizing that
the (male) director of the ensemble also made coffee at times. She creates a new sub-
category for the ensemble: the coffee-makers. If the director is a member of the coffee-
makers, it can be seen as an important and select group. Thus Anna constructs herself
as part of an important activity.
Anna considers herself to be bolder than the other women since she came to the
male-dominated ensemble without having played her intrument before. She considers
herself to be independent, but attends to others' needs at the same time. What kind of
effects does this sense of responsibility towards others have on Anna, and on women
musicians in general? The division of labour in the Finnish countryside, at least for the
elderly or people in their late middle age, often duplicates the foregoing model: the
kitchen is the women's space. From one point of view we could ask: in whose interests
would it have been had Anna become a virtuoso mandolin player at the expense of
her woodwork hobby, her membership of the school administrative delegation, her
grandmotherly duties? Should we as researchers wave the flag of enlightenment and
declare that our reading of the situation is the right one: that is, that this is against the
spirit of human progress and that the whole group should be ashamed of its behaviour?
She has problematized the powerful emotional presupposition of even the most recent
girl studies: that the aim of the feminists is to save the girls, to empower them. But to
save them from what and to empower them to do what? She does not try to downplay,
for example, the value of the 1970s' Birmingham Centre girl studies: it was necessary
to pay attention also to the cultural practices of girls, when up to that point, boys had
represented the whole of the ‘youth culture’. However, the imperative of emancipation
involved a double standard where girls were concerned: they were not only supposed to
rebel against capitalist society but also against the patriarchy. Their bedroom fan culture
was not seen to be especially creative.
Lähteenmaa derived great inspiration from the Birmingham Centre girls scholars in
the early 1980s: she wanted to free Finnish girls from the chains of patriarchy which
prevented them from playing rock. The problem was that most of the girls that she
interviewed, scrupulously using contemporary feminist in-depth interview methods,
said they did not want to play rock. They had many other things to do. Gradually the
researcher understood that if she, as a researcher, wanted to do a favour for the girl
fans, she could do so by introducing the creative aspects of their fan culture into the
public debate. Even so, her research also generated a range of valuable data and
raised significant questions. Why is it, for example, that girls playing drums is still
considered to be inappropriate?
From another point of view, however, there are obvious disadvantages in the fact that
we women are expected to divide and fragment our attention. It is not unequivocally
a virtue. A woman should at least have the opportunity, for example, to develop
her expertise on her favourite instrument, as indeed many women do. The endless
taking care of others is a honey trap. (See also Cohen, 1991; Näre and Lähteenmaa,
1991:329-35).
When it comes to research ethics, it seems that returning to the field after the analysis
of tapes, field diaries, and other data, and following up the issues with the people being
studied, is important. Järviluoma's study was enhanced when she also took into account
the ‘mandolin woman's’ own interpretations of her rich life in pelimanni music.
On the one hand, the people studied have to meet ‘strangers’ who transgress or try
to transgress familiar gender boundaries. On the other, feminist researchers end up
meeting women who do not always conform to a researcher's expectations of what
is appropriate and emancipative. Faye Ginsburg (1993) was studying a right-wing
American anti-abortion movement and had to ask herself how she, as a feminist,
should respond to this kind of women's movement, whose members actually claim to
be working on behalf of women. Elizabeth Lawless confronted similar problems when
she studied female preachers in the USA. As a feminist, she felt obliged to interpret her
data in a way that showed that in the case of one particular, preacher, male oppression,
in the form of her husband, had restricted her career (Lawless, 1992: 307). Later,
however, even though still wanting to sustain her interpretation, she deeply regretted
that she had not shown her interpretations to the preachers before publishing the
book. In particular, the preacher mentioned above had her own interpretation which
challenged the researcher's reading. Lawless believes that her book would have been
better if both interpretations had been included. (ibid.: 308-11; see also Koskoff, 1993;
Ribbens and Edwards, 1998).
David Silverman (1993c: 199-201) has argued, however, that from the point of view of
validation it is not necessary to have the findings endorsed by the members of the group
studied. According to Silverman, it is the duty of the researcher to make her or his result
available to the people studied and let them draw their own conclusions from them.
Often the researchees use the results in such creative ways far beyond the researcher's
imagination.
The question has also been raised as to whether the claim that a researcher should
be empathetic is to be accepted uncritically. This claim is often advanced in integrative
ethnography, in which the sequences of ethnographic observation are related to the
whole of culture (Baszanger and Dodier, 1997: 8). In order for the researcher to form
an understanding of the view-points and listening-points of the other, there is an initial
phase of questioning in field-work, which
Conclusions
The epigraph to this chapter perpetuates the myth of the superior abilities of women in
fieldwork. Lévi-Strauss also denies that this is a pejorative comment, but in doing so,
reaffirms it as such (Jackson, 1990; Caplan, 1988). This recalls an attitude referred to
in Chapter 1 (see also Heinämaa, 1999; Oakley, 2000): it is often thought that women
are better at qualitative research because they are ‘more co-operative and empathetic’.
Yet it is clear that the difference between good field workers does not correspond to the
distinction between men and women. Lévi-Strauss's claim is unsound.
Carol Warren (1988) laments the fact that the interactional sequences described by
researchers lack information about the semiotic process, through which the interactions
This is an example of the researcher ‘interrupting’ (see Silverman and Torode, 1980)
her data. The material is ‘interrupted’ at some point in the analysis. The researcher
forms her own interpretations, and goes back to the people she has studied in order to
present those interpretations to them as sensitively as possible. It may then appear that
their interpretation is different. Do we have to select the right interpretation?
In the case above, Järviluoma used the interview to illuminate the ways in which one
of her research subjects, a female participant in the ensemble, constructed meanings
in relation to her actions. Later the researcher carefully analysed situationally the
postures assumed in the interview, not only the situations that arose, but how they were
negotiated. Even if the interviewee was ill, she could in subtle ways take ‘power’, and
was able to enhance the picture which the researcher had formed according to her
observations and theories about the ‘status’ of women in the group studied.
Researchers cannot ignore the norms of the groups they are studying, but nor must
they always totally submit to them. Both the researchers and the people studied use
norms: their actions cannot be reduced to norms. The unity of the researcher with the
field can well constitute a dialogic unity: not univocal, and accepting many different
views.
observing
(Pirkko Moisala)
How is power negotiated between people? Make observations about activities that
cross gender conventions. What is your own gender performance in the situation? How
does it affect the situation and the observations you make?
Exercise 2.2
Read again Case 2.1. Negotiating gender in the Himalayas. Analyse and discuss the
ways in which Moisala negotiated and renegotiated her gender in interaction with the
Gurung people in Nepal. Then discuss the way notions of gender differ between your
own culture and the Gurung, and the differences in research ethical questions that
these imply.