Peaks and Valleys of Building Community Rapport: Lessons Learned Through an Investigation of Adolescent Sexual Health

On my graduate school journey in medical anthropology at the University of Alabama, I became curious about HIV risk while conducting fieldwork in Mobile, Alabama. There, I worked on my thesis on intergenerational body image beliefs of working class African American mothers and daughters. Mothers in my study revealed that they could tell someone had HIV by looking at them. These insights solidified my interests in determining what African American adolescent girls in Alabama knew about HIV and how social ecological factors influence both knowledge and sexual health behaviors. Alabama is an abstinence only sex education state (Minimum Contents to be Included in Sex Education Program or Curriculum, Alabama State Code Section 16-40A-2). Sexual health education is focused on abstinence until marriage, and prevention of sexually transmitted infections, including HIV/AIDS, and teen pregnancy.

The Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance reports that while risky sexual activity is decreasing among adolescents, condom use among African American high school teens during last sexual intercourse declined from 70 percent in 1999 to 65 percent in 2011. Alabama is ranked lowest in rates of condom use among high school students (Eaton et al. 2012). African Americans represent 26 percent of the state’s population, but 64 percent of reported HIV infections are from this group. Adolescents in Alabama aged 13-24 comprise 5 percent of existing HIV infections, and 32 percent of new cases reported in 2014 (Alabama Department of Public Health, 2015).

When I embarked on my journey toward this project, I was driven by anthropological theory as a way to address a public health concern. Although I did not consider a strengths-based approach to lead my inquiry regarding sexual health, I understood and respected the importance of addressing community needs as a participant observer and researcher. I recognize that dismissing assets used to address sexual health concerns is problematic. However, given the taboo nature of what I wanted to explore, I believe acknowledging these assets pose additional challenges and would not have changed the peaks and valleys experienced in my community engagement and research. Following is a brief, partial list of lessons learned through my experiences working with an anonymous African American community in Alabama. It is my hope that the suggestions put forth will prove valuable to those committed to community engagement and scholarship.

  1. Find community members supportive about what you want to learn.

Two years prior to beginning my research, I met with many community members. Among them was a school board member who worked for many years as a nurse. She developed and implemented a health initiative program where I happened to volunteer one summer prior to meeting her. Because of this established rapport through familiarity of her program, she provided me with beneficial information about health issues, community life and how to effectively engage with other members. She recommended members and organizations, as she ended many of our conversations saying, “Tell them I sent you.” This type of advocacy was essential to discovering where my skills could be used in the community while simultaneously researching sexual health issues among teen girls.

  1. Understand that what scholars, governmental institutions, and non-profit organizations view as important, community members may not judge similarly.

When establishing rapport in the early stages of my research, a professor suggested I meet a pastor amenable to research. This pastor was extremely welcoming, although, early on in our conversation, he stated that his church members do not really talk about HIV or believe it is a major problem in the community. In addition, I attended a high school parent meeting provided by a local health organization discussing sexual health and sexually transmitted infections. Notably, only two school administrators and myself attended this meeting, even though parents were given advanced notice of the seminar.

I discovered early on that difficulty in trying to research a stigmatizing topic is the strong desire for community members to separate themselves from the issue through attempting to achieve mainstream social norms, values, and conduct. This also creates difficulty in using a strengths-based approach, since assets may not be used for the purpose of addressing a proscribed issue that community members approach in denial.

  1. Find a place where you fit in and build community relationships.

After explaining my project to numerous community members, I had a difficult time having people take me seriously, return my calls, or acknowledge me in public. Initially, I spoke with middle class community members to gain entrée into the community, establish where I could assist with community needs, and determine the best way to learn what young teenage girls knew about HIV risk. For example, I approached another pastor who was willing to assist, but was ultimately too busy to accommodate me in his church. This early acceptance and eventual rejection happened frequently. While this pastor was too occupied to assist me, he introduced me to the director of a neighborhood center centrally located in a working class community, and this introduction proved to be extremely valuable.

The neighborhood center resulted in collaboration with the director where I fulfilled both community engagement and research roles. The center provides residents with numerous services including computer classes, GED classes, a Chess Club, and after-school and summer programs for youth. Upon my introduction to the community, the director asked if I would be interested in teaching GED. classes. I jumped at the chance to serve this community that was welcoming to my presence and could utilize my academic skills. I taught math GED classes weekly for a fall and spring semester to men and women in the community.

The women I taught were extremely helpful to my understanding of community dynamics. Understanding community interactions was useful given that I took a social ecological perspective to HIV risk in my research. Women shared that conflict centered on arguing over men who were unfaithful in not only the local community where the center was centrally located, but also in an adjacent governmental housing area. Remarkably, one of the women revealed that higher sexual risk was associated with a woman’s male partner having a concurrent relationship with someone outside of the immediate neighborhood. If their boyfriend had a sexual relationship with a woman in the governmental housing neighborhood or beyond the immediate community, it was believed that sexual health risk increased greatly because the sexual partners that their boyfriend was concurrently dating was unfamiliar. Given that the women were aware of gossip regarding illnesses that other women in the local community held, it was viewed as a higher risk situation when information about the health of potential sex partners outside of the community was not readily available, whether this information is true or not.

After spending some time in the community, I interviewed younger girls in the neighborhood who shared various characteristics and behaviors associated with HIV risk which highlighted socio-ecological factors important to this topic. High risk was associated with lack of parental investment, hanging out in the neighborhood, running away from home, and transactional sex. In contrast, low risk was associated with parental investment, staying at home, interest in academic pursuits and future goals, and involvement in church.

  1. Do not take it personally when you run into a person or people who are unsupportive. Avoid flattery and move on to someone willing to assist.

A school administrator that worked closely with the students shared some of the experiences of the girls that attended the community high school where I observed. At the outset, she was forthcoming about issues faced by female students including domestic violence, sexual abuse, teenage pregnancy and abortions. Through this first conversation, this administrator mentioned that she mentored and advised two in-school programs for girls that experienced these concerns. I looked forward to observing these programs, hoping to get a sense of how these students understood sexual health through their lived experiences. Afterwards, the administrator noted that she would have to ask permission to allow me to gain access to these programs and observe students.

After a great deal of effort to contact her in the days and weeks following our conversation, I emailed her to see if I would be more successful in contacting her in that manner. This approach worked, with a brief email returned almost immediately. Unfortunately, the administrator noted that aside from the Principal of the school, she also answered to another supervisor at the department of education. Her supervisor advised that she was not under any responsibility to assist me in understanding issues related to sexual health, and wished me the best in my endeavors.

I was not surprised by the eventual demise of our communication, although the situation was extremely discouraging. After the dust settled, I asked some colleagues in anthropology and the school board member (see lesson #1 above) for advice on the situation. My colleagues thought I should try to establish rapport with her by finding out what she liked and buying it for her. This was not bad advice from anthropologists since we are trained that participant observation “involves getting close to people and making them feel comfortable enough with your presence so that you can observe and record information about their lives. […] Only by confronting the truth about participant observation—that it involves deception and impression management—can we hope to conduct ourselves ethically in fieldwork“ (Bernard 2006:342). With this training, it makes sense that fellow anthropologists would advise me to build rapport using this method.

In contrast, when I met with the school board member over lunch one afternoon, she stated that there would always be someone who does not approve of the work being done in the community, and that people would stand in the way. She advised that I should simply go around the school administrator and find someone able to help with what I need—a suggestion that really spoke to who I am personally. I could not imagine having a disingenuous relationship with this woman who is extremely busy with her own responsibilities. Eventually, I became grateful for the little time where we sat together and she shared valuable information about the girls that she serves through her employment at the school. Fortunately, I did bypass this school administrator and found allies with amazing teachers and other administrators who supported my observation in the school.

To conclude, this journey to understand sexual health concerns and risks among African-American teenagers taught me a great deal. I learned the value of community engagement on a level of incorporating my skills to meet the needs of those who valued my presence, even though they may have thought I was strange for asking about community dynamics or why some girls were viewed as high or low risk of HIV. One of the most valuable things I learned is that if there is sincerity in your desire to assist in what the community deems important, community members will value that goodwill and add to your scholarship by revealing more about their lives than initially hoped.


Tina Thomas (PhD, University at Alabama, 2016) is a Postdoctoral Fellow in Anthropology at Juniata College. She studies the intersection of culture, social ecology, and health in the U.S.

Replacing the Lone Stranger with Evidence-Based Theory: Collaborative Fieldwork in Anthropology

Drs. Michaela Howells and Christopher Lynn (author) in traditional business attire to meet with officials outside Samoan Affairs, Tutuila, in American Samoa.

Drs. Michaela Howells and Christopher Lynn (author) in traditional business attire to meet with officials outside Samoan Affairs, Tutuila, American Samoa.

An abridged version of this post first appeared in our column in Anthropology News: http://www.anthropology-news.org/index.php/2016/12/19/replacing-the-lone-stranger-with-evidence-based-theory/

At the 115th Annual Meeting of the American Anthropological Association this year in Minneapolis, MN, I was recruiting a graduate student whose former adviser was denied a promotion and who then told the student she should leave academia because she would never get hired or tenure at an R1 institution. There are several layers of things wrong with this scenario, but my pitch in gaining her interest in our program (as she has no intention of leaving academia) was that I absolutely refuse to send students into the field alone unless they essentially demand it, have already set up the field site, and have a proven track record of mature and independent work. There are several reasons for this. One, fieldworkers learn more from each other as part of a team. Two, there is emotional support when working with trained collaborators. Three, fieldwork teams conduct better science and collect more thorough data. Four, in theory, team fieldwork should be safer, provided the team makes safety a conscious priority and is ethically vetted. And, five, team fieldwork is a joyous, fun experience.

In the most recent issue of Annals of Anthropological Practice (an all-around great special issue called “‘Involve Me and I Learn’: Teaching and Applying Anthropology” edited by Toni Copeland and Francois Dengah), Max Stein and other students in my research group outline several advantages of this collaborative approach (2016). We draw on Philip Salzman (1989, 1994), who has written previously on problems with the implicit anthropological myth of the anthropologist as “lone stranger,” that of doing fieldwork alone in a remote location. As Salzman points out, we tend to be relatively uncritical of this model, which owes more to the heritage of our discipline and the predecessors we look up to than any value added to research. Similarly, Philippe Bourgois and Jeffrey Schonberg (2009) clearly articulate how the elicitation of “deep meaning” during data collection and analyses is improved through anthropological collaboration.

American Samoa is simultaneously a U.S. territory, a tropical paradise, and a developing country. WWII pillboxes remain all over Tutuila, the main island, such as this one near the village of Alega, 7/20/16.

American Samoa is simultaneously a U.S. territory, a tropical paradise, and a developing country. WWII pillboxes remain all over Tutuila, the main island, such as this one near the village of Alega, 7/20/16.

As we were preparing the AAP article and I was teaching with Bourgois and Schonberg’s book in my Anthropology of Drug Use course, I was invited by my friend and fellow biocultural anthropologist Michaela Howells (UNCW) to tag along as her research assistant for a trip to American Samoa to assess the influence of the Zika outbreak there on prenatal care access and utilization. Michaela and I have collaborated for the past several years on our Family and the Field Study, but we had never worked together in the field. This trip to American Samoa gave us an opportunity to test out this collaborative fieldwork model firsthand. I was recruited because, as a male with relatively high rank in the U.S. (as a tenured associate professor), I would be able to interview males in this traditional, hierarchical cultural system, where it is not appropriate for females to interview males, especially high status males, and vice versa. 

American Samoa is a small group of islands in the South Pacific and the southernmost territory of the U.S. It is characterized as the most traditional of the Pacific cultures, with village-based authority dominated by mostly male chiefs (Shore 1982). It is also strongly evangelical Christian and influenced by neoliberal identity politics. Women have been the primary resources for studies of prenatal care utilization, but in the American Samoan cultural system, resources are redistributed in the villages, with preferences given to elite members or relatives of chiefs (Howells 2013). Michaela and I spent several weeks making arrangements to interview males in the village of Fagasa, even buying ritual goods to give for the planned sua, a ceremonial gift-giving ceremony when interacting with matai or chiefs. However, the arrangements ultimately fell through; we collected survey data from 172 participants in the Department of Health clinics, but we failed to conduct any firsthand interviews. This situation could have been really frustrating, given the resources Michaela used to get me to American Samoa. Instead, it was the best, most productive field season I have ever experienced, primarily because we established and developed our team.

Working on the survey back translation with R.N. Tele Hill at the American Samoan Department of Health. (Photo by Michaela Howells).

Working on the survey back translation with R.N. Tele Hill at the American Samoan Department of Health. (Photo by Michaela Howells).

One of the best parts of this experience was watching each other work and learning how to communicate nonverbally with a good team member. One of the things I learned from Michaela is how easy it is to give a compliment to someone and how far that can go toward forging a relationship. Like many cultures of the world, one of the most important ethnographic skills to develop in Samoa is learning to hang out and shoot the shit. When you’re meeting someone, bring food to share, sit down with them (i.e., don’t hover over them, suggesting you’re in a rush and preparing to leave), and look for something to compliment. Michaela admired a lot of puletasi (traditional Samoan two-piece formal garment, worn by Samoan women to church or other formal events) while we were there. In turn, I learned to comment on the tatau (tattoos) I was noticing. I have brought this new skill home with me—I love good facial bling, colored contacts, tattoos, hairstyles, and clothes. People go to the trouble to deck themselves out, and it turns out they enjoy it when people do them the courtesy of noticing. The necessity of making small talk before getting down to business is common cross-culturally, but it’s not a norm in the U.S. and requires learning, especially for academic types, who are not necessarily known for their skills in verbal social grooming.

We talked with high school students in a health professions summer program through American Samoa Community College at LBJ Tropical Medical Center. Michaela and I intuitively traded off telling stories about medical anthropology to broaden these students' awareness of possible careers related to health.

Michaela talking with high school students in a health professions summer program through American Samoa Community College at LBJ Tropical Medical Center. Michaela and I intuitively traded off telling stories about medical anthropology to broaden these students’ awareness of possible careers related to health.

To figure out how to talk with people in Samoa, I watched Michaela and quickly learned how to show deference and when and how to reinforce what she was saying. But she also pointed out things I wouldn’t have noticed, such as that I am a resonant talker and tend to dominate a room. Ordinarily, and as a teacher, this works to my benefit; but in working with Samoans, I needed to tone it down, speak quieter, and literally lower my body so my head would be below that of the person I was speaking with. This behavior shows respect in a status-conscious, traditional society. This type of context is where our non-verbal communication came into play. As a feminist male, I defer to Michaela’s ethnographic expertise in American Samoa but am conscious to explicitly give her credit where it is due because others may assume that, as a male, I am in charge and that she is my student (or something else). I pointed out, for instance, that she developed the project and field site and that I was there as her research assistant.

I learned a lot about myself as well. I have never been observed by a colleague or superior in the field, though anthropology is not my first career or where I learned to teach or interview. However, aside from being hired for teaching jobs after demonstrating my approach, reading my teaching evaluations, or listening to my interviews and reading the transcripts, this was the first time I have ever received feedback on the job I was doing while doing it. For instance, I always try to maintain eye contact and to talk with people, not at them. Michaela noted that my eye contact seems to bring my interlocutors to life, like they are being seen, and my skill at turn-taking opens them up so that they feel like they are being heard. This was extremely validating and something I had developed on purpose but without realizing its effect. Our feedback to each other, thereby, reinforces our strengths and tweaks our skills while they are in use in the field.

Michaela working with Director of Nursing Margaret Sesepasara on the survey translation, 7/11/16.

Michaela working with Director of Nursing Margaret Sesepasara on the survey translation, 7/11/16.

One of the misnomers of fieldwork is that it is always a dream come true while it is happening. In fact, most anecdotal evidence and a significant accumulation of literature supports a different model. Conducting fieldwork alone, especially as an inexperienced student, is scary and can even be traumatizing. I often tell students about the first time I went into a Pentecostal church service, when I was beginning my dissertation fieldwork. I was in New Paltz, which I affectionately term “Portlandia East” (or the liberal vortex of the east coast). Despite feeling very comfortable in this, my hometown at the time, I was so nervous about walking into the “other” that I sat in my car until the service was half over. The result was that the only seat left was right up front, and I drew more attention to myself by arriving late than if I’d gone straight in. Most of us are nervous about fieldwork and lack anyone to talk to about these experiences. My wife does clinical work, part of which includes processing emotions and “transference” with a clinical supervisor or adviser. Anthropologists only get this if they have empathetic advisers and colleagues, which is certainly not guaranteed and, in my discussions with colleagues, may be relatively rare. Even as a professional, when I began setting up a second field site in Costa Rica, a veritable tropical paradise, I often felt alone and exposed and did not particularly enjoy it. By contrast, setting up a new field site in American Samoa (mind you, one that had really been set up in advance by Michaela) was truly pleasurable. I enjoyed every moment of it specifically because we gave each other emotional support while problems were occurring. Because Michaela and I share similar training, the support we could gave was qualified and credible. For instance, when we could not get the interviews in the short time we were there, we were able to remind each other that we were learning actual realistic things about navigating culture and that our process was as or more important for the long term project as was the survey data we were collecting for the short term project. Our sympathetic support of each other meant that we rolled with the frustrations of the field and took things in stride, without reacting in potentially negative ways.

Tuna, crackers, water, and beer we bought for the sua, for the interviews arranged in fagasa.

Tuna, crackers, water, and beer we bought for the sua, for the interviews arranged in Fagasa.

Team research is better research, whether for scientific or humanistic data collection and interpretation. We do both in Samoa. For instance, together Michaela and I constructed a better (though always imperfect nevertheless) survey in a rapid amount of time, complete with translations into Samoan and back-translations to ensure accuracy. It is always difficult to find a balance in survey questions when one is also soliciting native input, as emic and etic biases pull you in different directions. Michaela and I were able to continually confer with each other to ensure that the questions we asked addressed our research questions first and foremost, while remaining sensitive to cultural perspectives. This was particularly important and difficult when asking about condom use, the discussion of which is basically verboten in the Samoas. Furthermore, we were able to discuss the greater vision of our project. Is this 10-year plan that we envision practical? Can we do this? What are our resources? What should we include? Are we on the right track? Regardless of the expertise of one trained individual, two or more trained team members can observe more, have greater vision, and plan better. And, frankly, while we share training, Michaela and I have complementary but slightly different temperaments that enhance our abilities to connect with a variety of people. Finally, it is no coincidence that we follow in the footsteps of Margaret Mead in American Samoa. Mead realized immediately after her first field experience in Ta’o, the island we plan to return to, that fieldwork in the Pacific—and probably everywhere—is better conducted by a team of trained researchers that includes females and males (Shankman 2009).

Michaela meets the First Lady of American Samoa at the Nursing Association Centennial, 7/30/16.

Michaela meets Cynthia Malala Moliga, the First Lady of American Samoa, at the Nurses Association Centennial, 7/30/16.

As I said, Michaela and I  planned to interview men and get their perspectives. We went so far as to buy goods for ritual gift-giving for the sua and Samoan business attire for the occasion. (Michaela had puletasi already, but I needed Hawaiian shirts, which I borrowed from David Herdrich, an ie faitaga [male sewn lavalava in neutral colors, with pockets], and a kukui nut necklace.) However, our trip coincided with the planning and celebration of the American Samoa Nurses Association Centennial, which took place over the last several days we were there and dominated everyone’s time and attention, including ours. Since there were two of us, Michaela focused on refining our social networks to develop leads for later or the next field season, as well as collecting data for a project with Nicky Hawley and Micah van der Ryn on gestational diabetes, while I collected survey data from visitors to the Department of Health Physical Exam, Prenatal Care, and Well Baby Clinics.

In that short time, we made two significant observations. The first is that public health initiatives need medical anthropologists on their teams from the design stage through implementation. This is by no means a novel finding, but it is the first observation specifically with regard to the Zika outbreak. We have written a short commentary on this that is currently in review, but journalist Jessica Carew Kraft recently published an NBC News piece about our work on Zika and the role of culture in American Samoa. Second, according to our data, there is a general consensus among Samoans that prenatal care is more urgent for married mothers than for unmarried mothers, despite believing that all pregnant women should get prenatal care and be screened for Zika. Such attitudes place an additional burden on lower status women and their babies, reinforce social inequities, and play a role in the “biosocial inheritance” of health disparities trans-generationally (see Schell 1992 and 1997 for how risk is focused across multiple generations like this and Hoke and McDade 2014 for a thorough integration of risk-focusing and related models under the theoretical paradigm of “biosocial inheritance”).

Gaualofa Msipili, ??, Michaela Howells, Sivai Miki Kupu, and Chris Lynn at the American Samoa Nurses Association Centennial Celebration, 7/30/16.

With friends at the American Samoa Nurses Association Centennial Celebration, 7/30/16.

Conducting fieldwork with partners with the same professional status does not guarantee safety, but I would like to think it reduces the chances of sexual harassment. There are few ways to guarantee that sexual harassment and assault won’t happen, but there are ways to minimize their potential and it is important to be explicit in addressing them with students. Safety in the field is discussed in most graduate programs but generally with respect to human subject protections and the stability of the site. Less discussed until recent publications by the SAFE team (e.g., Clancy et al 2014) and others is safety with regard to sexual harassment by peers, supervisors, and advisers in the field. While I hoped we were entering a new era of increasing scrutiny within our disciplines of microaggressions that lead to sexual harassment, the U.S. public’s willingness to be represented by President Pussy-Grabber leads me to believe that people really do think there is a problem with so-called “political correctness.” In reality, the backlash against being politically correct is a frustration by those in positions of privilege at the inconvenience of having to consider the feelings of those previously invisible to them. Such microaggressions start with professors or supervisors feeling they can put their arms around undergraduate student shoulders without permission and get worse from there. And it’s not restricted to aggressions by males toward females. When I was an undergrad on a study abroad program in Ecuador, a male professor plied me with whisky and began kissing me. The difference is that I felt brave and protected enough as a white male to tell the program administrators, and they were probably homophobic enough that they fired him immediately with absolutely no process to confirm or check my story (maybe he’d been reported before—I don’t know—but I still feel guilty about this 15 years later).

Fieldwork environments and experiences like the one Michaela and I created become, as a consequence, downright joyous and fun. Working this past summer in American Samoa with a friend and partner with the same training was more exciting than any field experience I’ve had before. Therefore, the work we did was enormously satisfying WHILE we were doing it. This was the type of experience that we tell our students about that inspires them to become anthropologists and the kind we have that validates our own career choice and keep us going. My goal going forward is to purposively create such experiences for my students by being explicit and concrete about how to design research, where to conduct it, how to get support, and how it should feel while doing it. There are no theoretical or methodological reasons to send out any more lone strangers. 


Christopher Lynn (PhD, University at Albany) is an Associate Professor in the Biocultural Medical program and director of the Evolutionary Studies program. He studies the cognitive science of religion, human behavioral ecology, and health in the U.S., Costa Rica, and American Samoa.

Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

“Making a Bill” in Search of Health

2763601981_606c3a670a_b

CC 4.0 by TravelingOtter

The Poorest, Sickest State

Mississippi is the U.S.’s poorest state and has the lowest rates of insurance coverage. Mississippi also has very poor health outcomes including the highest or second highest rates of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and age-adjusted death rate due to cancer (Mississippi State Department of Health 2014). These rates are nothing new and Mississippi has a history of health disparities that stretch back to the Depression and beyond. In spite of this, the Affordable Care Act has had little impact on the nation’s poorest, sickest state. Mississippi opted out of the Medicaid expansion, which left 138,000 Mississippians, most of whom are African American, without any insurance options (Kaiser Health News 2014). Refusing the federal subsidies has increased the burden on rural hospitals, forcing some to close entire departments and lay off staff.

During the course of my thesis research on health seeking behaviors of the working poor, I defined a cultural model that primarily included the usage of safety net providers, delaying treatment, or “making a bill,” which I will discuss more in a moment. Participants were particularly open about the competing demands for resources that have to be weighed before they decide to seek health care, like whether to pay for groceries or a doctor bill. Some participants were very frank about having to go without in order to go a doctor. One participant talked about sacrificing food so they could go see a dentist, in her words, “One thing has to take the place of the other.” When seeking health care requires making such sacrifices… it’s not really fair to characterize it as a choice, but, for lack of a better word, I will now discuss the “choice” between delaying treatment or making a bill, something that the working poor frequently brought up during interviews.

Delaying treatment or “Making a Bill”

With few good options for affordable health care the working poor openly discussed delaying treatment so they could avoid “making a bill.” By making a bill, what participants were literally referring to was the creation of a new monthly bill. For the working poor, seeking health care outside of the free clinics is almost synonymous with the creation of a new long-term payment commitment. Participants discussed waiting until it was unavoidable to go to the doctor’s office or the ER/ED and “make a bill.” While they were speaking literally, this language also indexes to others their place in society and the tough decisions that the poor are faced with every day including those concerning their health and those of their family members. money-256312_960_720“Making a bill” indexes a position in society that is deemed unworthy of access to affordable health care. During the entire course of fieldwork and interviewing, not one participant said that a doctor’s visit would mean emptying their savings or bank account. A few participants mentioned borrowing money from family or friends, but “making a bill” was the more likely outcome. When asked if some people without insurance don’t seek health care when they are sick, one participant said:

Yeah, cause they can’t afford it. Sometimes before you can be seen they need money and you don’t have it cause you need it for groceries or to pay a bill. They pray to get well. They try to do a home remedy, try to get better on they own. Get on their knees and pray to God to get better.

This was not an uncommon response. When another participant was asked what he did for health care, he said:

If I ain’t got no money, if it’s an emergency, then I just have to charge up a bill and make a payment. […] I do anything to not get sick. That’s one thing about being a small business owner, no insurance. […] I primarily use the free clinic. I have medical bills right now. I try to pay them off. I’m a small business owner. I want a good credit rating.

This participant ran a small food cart and needed a good credit rating so he might expand his business in the future. He was one of a handful of participants who brought up credit ratings. The very real possibility of not being able to make consistent payments was yet another consideration for the working poor when deciding whether to seek medical care. Treating even relatively minor acute illness episodes could turn into years of monthly payments making it increasingly difficult for the working poor to make ends meet and to afford future health care costs.

This intersection of culture and biology finds the working poor making decisions based on financial needs in the moment that have repercussions for their long term health. The participants and providers I worked with indicated that outside of the free clinics, health care for the working poor came at cost they were ill able to afford out of pocket. When delaying treatment became unavoidable, they reported that “making a bill” was the only option. A circumstance which has become so normalized in this community that there is an effective shorthand for simultaneously conveying the situation they found themselves in and the outcome of seeking care.

It is important to note that the link between delaying treatment and poor health outcomes was not lost on patients or providers, but no one knew how to break the cycle within the current health care system. Medical and non-medical participants alike discussed changing the system. They were frustrated with a system that seems to be working against the working poor at every level of health care. One doctor told me that the hardest part of his job was getting people the care they need but can’t afford. Affordable health care for the poor seems to be continually out of reach.


378022_10151115653575790_2036455217_n

Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

Avery McNeece is a doctoral student in the department who has conducted research in northeast Mississippi.

Building professional social networks through the American Anthropological Association annual meeting

A few years ago, I’d all but decided I wasn’t going to go to the American Anthropological Association main conference anymore. This was the year it was in San Francisco (111th Annual Meeting, 2012). Ironically, that was a memorable conference. I had several good meals in the Vietnamese neighborhood nearby (it was hosted in the Tenderloin—mm, bahn mis), was part of a great neuroanthropology session convened by Daniel Lende and Greg Downey (and out of which, ultimately, a publication about my lab’s teaching model came out in Anthropology Now), met Sonya Pritzker, who we ultimately wooed to Alabama to become a faculty member in my department, and spent at least two whole days walking around and exploring San Francisco with Max Stein and my best friend from graduate school, Courtney Kurlanska (Courtney likes to remind me about how it appeared that I was courteously pulling her out of the rain when in fact I was pulling her into a spot where I could see the a football game across a street through a sports bar window in which a bizarre set of losses actually led to Alabama getting back into the BCS Championship game to beat LSU).

Among the joys of anthropology, traveling, & conferencing is food, natch. Dinner at The Bachelor Farmer, Mpls, MN. Photo by Michaela Howells.

Among the joys of anthropology, traveling, & conferencing is food, natch. Dinner at The Bachelor Farmer, Mpls, MN. Photo by Michaela Howells.

My main complaint was that there were not enough biocultural anthropology talks or sessions or things where I obviously felt like I fit in. What I failed to recognize was that I was already doing the things these conferences are really for—building my network. But then the next year in Chicago, there were several big biocultural sessions that I felt spoke to me, and Katie MacKinnon, Julienne Rutherford, Robin Nelson, and others reached out to me as a fellow Tweeter and blogger and made me feel welcome. I realized I’d found my people, and things clicked. I’m now going the other direction and trying to get MORE involved in the organization to promote the need for the AAA to better represent four-fieldness, and I feel like part of a cohort of others doing the same.

AAA 2016 Roomies: Marc Kissel, Michaela Howells, Chris Lynn. Photo by Michaela Howells.

AAA 2016 Roomies: Marc Kissel, Michaela Howells, Chris Lynn. Photo by Michaela Howells.

This year, the meeting was held in Minneapolis, MN, and I attended Wednesday, 11/16 through Sunday, 11/20. I shared a room with Michaela Howells and Marc Kissel, who are on the executive committee for the Biological Anthropology Section (BAS) of the AAA. So I tagged along with them to as many events as possible and tried to insinuate myself. Agustin Fuentes has been chosen as chair of next year’s AAA meeting and determined the theme to be “Anthropology Matters” and hosted a get-together in his suite to gather ideas. I think anthropologists have often felt embattled, but for the past 8 years, we have had a U.S. president whose mother was an anthropologist (I shared a bit on this a few weeks ago). I felt the anthropological perspective was implicit in Obama’s worldview and approach to politics and leadership. However, that has changed dramatically (and painfully), and there is urgency to explicitly demonstrate our relevance. The world does need us, and we need to articulate why.

In the Anthropology Dept at the University of Alabama, Lynn Funkhouser and I have developed a fantastic elementary (and middle) school outreach program at Alabama that conveys why anthropology matters. The opportunity to convey an anthropological perspective and influence humans to think about and appreciate diversity is most salient when they are young, before they self-select (in part) for their post-secondary lives. We rarely reach these kids, so most anthropological perspective is taught to largely upper middle-class white kids who go to college and chose to take anthropology courses (and the same is true of evolution courses, since this blog is about evolution—though evolution is one of the foundational theories of anthropology, so when I talk about anthropology, I imply evolution as well). Lynn and I and our students and colleagues have developed a model for teaching anthropology to elementary school students that we administer through a service-learning course to a few local schools, which we’ve received Wenner Gren funding to expand and just published an article about in Annals of Anthropological Practice.

BASAA executive committee dinner that I was allowed to tag along to (thanks, Michaela!). Clockwise from left: Marc Kissel (not pictured---sorry, I couldn't back up enough & clipped you), Rachel Caspari, Milford Wolfpoff, Cathy Willermet, Sang-Hee Lee, Jim McKenna, Andrea Eller, Jim's wife (sorry! name escapes), Melanie Beasley, Karen Rosenberg, Agustin Fuentes, Michaela Howells. Dinner at 102 Eatery.

BASAA executive committee dinner that I was allowed to tag along to (thanks, Michaela!). Clockwise from left: Marc Kissel (not pictured—sorry, I couldn’t back up enough & clipped you), Rachel Caspari, Milford Wolfpoff, Cathy Willermet, Sang-Hee Lee, Jim McKenna, Andrea Eller, Joanne Mack, Melanie Beasley, Karen Rosenberg, Agustin Fuentes, Michaela Howells. Dinner at 102 Eatery.

I was pleased to be able to share our ideas for next year’s conference and to have them so well received. The next day, these ideas came up at an executive lunch and then again at the business meeting, which was open to all members. Agustin, Michaela, and Marc urged me to share our programs ideas in more detail with the entire BAS membership in attendance, which, again, was well received (and also includes the upcoming Kids Evolutionary Perspectives Society pre-conference!). I talked to BAS president Rachel Caspari and BAS web manager Andrea Eller about it in more detail during the reception and to others about coordinating an executive session (contact us if you’re interested or have ideas!). Afterward, I was lucky to be invited to join the executive committee for dinner afterward and discuss these things further, as well as catch up on shared interests and hear several fantastic war stories from Milford Wolfpoff, Jim McKenna, Karen Rosenberg, Agustin, Michaela, and others (Sang-Hee Lee took several good photos that she posted to the BASAA Facebook group, which I encourage y’all to join).

On Wednesday, between these events, was a humbling interjection by keynote Melissa Harris Perry. She is not an anthropologist, but I think that’s good, as we needed some outside voice to give us a shake, I think. Or me. I needed a shake. The message I took away was, ‘White liberals, stop acting so surprised about the election. If anyone had bothered to do a cross-tabulation of female voters in the U.S., you would know that white women vote Republican. Why would the revelation that Trump is a pussy-grabber cause them to change their minds? The only surprise was that Trump got caught on camera saying it. The reality is that almost every woman in the world has had her pussy grabbed and had to deal with it because it’s behavior we all ignore or perpetrate. Many women are married or related to pussy-grabbing men and protect them and apologize for or defend their behavior on a daily basis. We’ve probably all grabbed a pussy, ass, or boob without permission. What does our culture imply about this? That it’s OK. It’s not, but we’re all reacting instead of acting.’ Oof. But yeah.

On Thursday, I was supposed to have lunch with Sidney Greenfield, whose wonderful book Spirits with Scalpels is one of the best sources out there related to the neuroanthropological work I do. Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t attend the meetings at all, but he asked me to chair a session, show two short films, and read a paper for him for the Society for Senior Anthropologists. The session was on the work of Phil Singer and Greenfield and their efforts to document the process and thoughts of anthropologists who are over 80 years old about their impending death. Although it sounds rather heavy and macabre, it wasn’t. The overarching theme was that people don’t necessarily become preoccupied with thinking about or preparing for their own deaths—most of them seem to continue thinking about work and anthropology all the way till the end. Though a few of the interviewees had recently died, including Phil Singer, which added a sobering element to the session, the message overall was very validating and hopeful. I was glad I could be part of it.

There were several other highlights of the conference that I’ll highlight with Tweets and photos, but I will also summarize them here. I met a few prospective graduate students, which is exciting, as I need to replace the amazing work Max Stein has been doing in my lab. Max is the lead author on another AAP paper that just came out about how we do things (in an excellent special issue compiled by Toni Copeland and Francois Dengah), and he has been instrumental as lab and project manager this year. But he should soon have his PhD in hand and be ‘out there,’ as it were, hopefully with a job in hand (or you should be contacting him if you have a biocultural position opening, because he is awesome).

A row of excellent mustaches and shoes. Photo courtesy Michaela Howells.

A row of excellent mustaches and shoes . Photo courtesy Michaela Howells.

Courtney and I had our annual date (though I missed last year because my grandmother died and I was at her funeral), but we forgot to get a selfie together! We hung with some other UAlbany alumni, braved the yucky Mpls. snow (OK, it melted in a half hour, but I was only wearing canvas shoes) to go have dinner at a local Vietnamese place (with, apparently, everyone else attending the conference), then met up with Francois Dengah and Max Stein for a bit more hanging before calling it an evening. In the process, I realized what The Replacements song “Skyway” was about, after walking through it for several days. Perhaps two other people in attendance appreciated my revelation.

Over the course of Friday and Saturday there were three excellent biocultural sessions convened by Morgan Hoke, including one in which Michaela presented on our work this past summer in American Samoa. In the middle of that, Sonya and I convened a session on biocultural anthropology and linguistics with us, Daniel Lende, Avery McNeece, Mandy Guitar and Sabina Perrino with Jim Wilce and Carol Worthman as discussants.

I thought it went great. Sonya says the editor of Ethos is interested in a special issue about the session. I met a few people with further interest in the work, including Josh Brahinsky, a postdoc in Tanya Luhrmann’s group. We talked after about future collaboration possibilities, which I find exciting. Then there was a BAS-sponsored networking workshop for students organized by Michaela (great photos of that event here) that I was supposed to participate in, but I went to the Zika Interest Group and Roundtables instead, to make sure Michaela and I could get involved with that for our work in American Samoa. Those were VERY helpful.

I also met with several publishers while there to pitch the book I’ll be writing while on sabbatical next semester. It was disheartening but not surprising to hear how much marketing considerations want us to narrow our focus and put us in boxes, while in the biocultural sessions there was explicit commentary on breaking down disciplinary boundaries. After working in music distribution and schlepping music to stores by appeal to genres, this is an obvious intersection of idealism and logistic practicality. However, I do feel that if the AAA wants to represent itself as four-field, the book editors’ narrow focus on cultural anthropology is a BIG problem.

Despite the issue with editors, I got some good books in the book room on the premise that I might someday teach a course that might someday use this or that book. On the other hand, Michaela got this excellent bib, modeled here by her anthro dog extraordinaire Uli, which she sent me when I asked her for relevant photos.

Despite the issue with editors, I got some good books in the book room on the premise that I might someday teach a course that might someday use this or that book. On the other hand, Michaela got this excellent bib, modeled here by her anthro dog extraordinaire Uli, which she sent me when I asked her for relevant photos.

For us, the conference wrapped up with an unfortunately unpublicized and, thus, underattended talk by Frans de Waal. It was mostly the same talk I’ve seen previously, but he’s still one of the best ALLELE lectures we’ve ever had and does a great job articulating a clear message to educated lay audiences and selling a compelling idea about human empathy.

This post originally appeared at on the EvoS Studies blog: Cheap Thrills through Evolution.

Mortality Among High-School Educated Whites in the U.S.: An Anthropological View

Fig. 1. All-cause mortality, ages 45–54 for US White non-Hispanics (USW), US Hispanics (USH), and six comparison countries: France (FRA), Germany (GER), the United Kingdom (UK), Canada (CAN), Australia (AUS), and Sweden (SWE).

Every so often a piece of research comes along that is a real game-changer—it literally shakes the earth under your feet.  I had that experience about a year ago when Anne Case and Angus Deaton, two economists, published an analysis of recent mortality trends in the United States.  If you electronically search “mortality trends” for the U.S., you will see that, overall, mortality rates are declining, as they are for Canada and Western Europe.  What Case and Deaton did was to separate out mortality rates for non-Hispanic Whites.  Starting about the year 2000, rather than continuing to decline like everyone else’s, mortality for this group bucked the trend and started to climb.  When causes of mortality were examined, deaths from lung cancer were declining, from diabetes were stable, and for three causes were climbing, dramatically.  These were chronic liver disease, suicide, and what Case and Deaton refer to, by default since that’s what the feds say, “poisonings” (read: unintentional drug overdose).

I’ve taught epidemiology off-and-on for a long time, and mortality rates just don’t jump around like this, unless, that is, something catastrophic is happening.  An example of a catastrophic event leading to high mortality rates was the fall of the former Soviet Union.  In the decade following that political upheaval mortality—especially male mortality—climbed, fueled by a potent combination of vodka and cigarette smoke.

A further component to their findings was that the changes in mortality rates were highest among non-Hispanic Whites who had a high-school education or less.  In 1999, rates of death from “poisonings” were 4 times higher for people with a high-school education or less than they were for people with a college degree.  In 2013 those death rates were 7.2 times higher for the less-well educated versus the well-educated.

I felt so compelled by this evidence that I dropped what I was doing in my classes—one on cognitive anthropology and one on the history of anthropological theory—and taught the Case and Deaton paper.  Even though it caught a lot of attention in the national press, at least for awhile, I was afraid that it would escape the notice of many of my students and, furthermore, that they might not really appreciate the magnitude of the results.

The pattern of results suggests that non-college educated Whites are experiencing some kind of profound stress and that in response they are self-medicating with alcohol (hence chronic liver disease) or with prescription opioid pain medication (with its attendant risks of overdosing), and that they are responding with major depression and the associated risk of suicide.  In their interpretation, Case and Deaton emphasized the stress of economic insecurity for working class Whites, noting that widening inequality might account for the trend.  This would seem to me to affect other population groups—like African Americans—even more than non-college educated Whites, yet the trend toward higher mortality from these causes is not observed in other population groups.  Case and Deaton also suggest that it might be specifically the transition in retirement programs from guaranteed benefit plans to defined-contribution plans, with their associated stock market risk.  In this interpretation, looking forward to an uncertain and possibly impoverished future is the source of stress.

For obvious reasons—and I’m talking about the election season in which we find ourselves—I have continued to think about this research, given the prominent place that Whites with a high school or lower education seem to be playing in support of one of the major candidates.  Is it, to quote a political strategist from a past campaign associated with the other major candidate, “the economy, stupid!”  Or, is it that, and something more?

As I considered the findings, I was reminded of an old paper by James P. Henry and John C. Cassel from the American Journal of Epidemiology in 1969.  They examined cross-cultural data on age and blood pressure, noting that, while many physicians believed the rise of blood pressure with age to be “natural,” it was in fact “cultural.”  In many communities around the world, especially those that had yet to be drawn very closely into capitalist, market economies, there was little evidence of an increase of blood pressure with age.  In what were called (back in the day) “modern” communities, blood pressure rose with age.

To explain these results, they drew on a process that Cassel had been thinking about for some time, namely, the inconsistencies and incongruities that can accompany profound culture change.  Cassel’s preferred research strategy had been to follow migrants into a new setting, where he predicted that the incongruity between the culture they arrived with, and the culture of their majority host community, created a period of stressful and taxing adaptation, as the migrants tried to adjust to their new setting.  The end result of this stressful adjustment, especially if it was not especially successful, was an increased risk of disease.  Henry and Cassel suggested that the same process could be occurring across the life-span of an individual, arguing that in the modern world, with the ever increasing pace of social change, an individual is born into and socialized in one culture, yet ends up living in another, as the world changes around him or her.

This strikes me as an eminently plausible interpretation for the Case and Deaton findings.  Non-college educated Whites are indeed facing economic stresses, but the broader cultural changes they are experiencing are even more profound.  And what can more effectively and graphically communicate to them that the world around them has changed than the fact that they will shortly trade their first African American president for their first female president?  (I trust Sam Wang and his Princeton Election Consortium.)

Cassel drew heavily on culture theory for his insightful interpretation of epidemiologic data.  Case and Deaton’s findings suggest that those insights are still relevant.


Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

Bill Dressler, a professor in the department, has conducted research in social epidemiology in Brazil and the U.S.

Fieldwork then and now: from graduate student to professor

""

Dr. Weaver interviews a woman whose garden is the only consistent source of fresh vegetables for purchase in the Brazilian study community.

I just returned from two fieldwork trips: one to India for 6 weeks, and the other to Brazil for 4. The purpose of the first one was to scout new sites for my ongoing work on women’s mental health in India, the country where I did my doctoral research. The second was to continue my NSF-funded research project on food insecurity and mental health in rural Brazil.

More so than almost ever before, these two trips brought to the forefront the challenges of maintaining an active international research program as a young faculty member, and I want to talk about that in this post.

First of all, here’s an obvious truth that nobody ever told me: fieldwork changes once you’re out of graduate school. In the department where I studied, a year of fieldwork was the unstated minimum for anyone doing research with ethnographic components, and almost all of this work was international; those who stayed longer got extra hard-core points. Because this was simply the way things were done, it never occurred to me that this was the exception–rather than the rule–to most fieldwork experiences for anthropologists in academic positions. Faculty simply don’t get that time very often: most sabbaticals are only a semester, and a full year only comes about if you receive an external fellowship, are willing to go with half-pay, or something similar. Also, sabbaticals are increasingly few and far between; in my current department, I will get my first sabbatical after receiving tenure. That’s six years, typically. During my doctoral fieldwork, I was fortunate to have few other major life responsibilities, and no other professional ones. By contrast, faculty anthropologists doing fieldwork are often expected to supervise online courses, prep syllabi, write the book or paper about the last major fieldwork project…the list goes on. I didn’t know any of this as a graduate student, however.

IMG_6238

A woman carries a pot of freshly-caught swordfish to market in Southwestern India.

In so many ways that I only now realize, fieldwork in graduate school is a golden period. Not “golden” in the sense that it is always happy and wonderful, but golden in the sense that it was a one-time deal.

So, changes have come about, and many of these I believe are relevant for anthropologists at any stage. The obvious first change I’ve made in my approach to fieldwork is to stop judging an anthropologist’s mettle based solely on the length of time they have spent in the field. Ethnographers fetishize extended time periods. Just think of Malinowski, out there stuck in the Trobriands, a political exile for years on end–his experience is the model on which we’ve judged the acceptability of our fieldwork for a century. Now, this is not without reason; immersion is indispensible for good ethnographic fieldwork and must be done at some point, but generally academic employment isn’t set up for that. Increasingly, neither are the funding structures on which we rely to pay for this research.

I’ve come to realize, rather, how incredibly much can get done in six weeks, or even three weeks, if you know the right questions to ask. So much of fieldwork is figuring out what to ask, to whom, and when. If you are returning for a short time to a place you already know, it goes much faster. Thank goodness for that.

This depends, of course, on having already spent extended time in a place so that one has the necessary familiarity. “Parachute ethnography,” as it is sometimes rather pejoratively called, can be highly problematic, and this is not what I am advocating. Yet at the same time, I find myself pulled to make more happen in shorter periods of time, and figuring how to do that without losing authenticity is an ongoing challenge. So perhaps my point is that returning to a former field site as a junior faculty member can be highly rewarding and extremely productive, even if time allows for only a few weeks of work. If one were to go to a brand new field site for only a few weeks of work, things might look very different, but many anthropologists make this work. I’m not sure how yet, to be honest. Stay tuned.

A second change I’ve made is to prioritize regular contact with friends and acquaintances in my research sites during the 9 months when I am teaching in the US. This is true both for older field sites and for the brand-new ones I just began developing in India. Social media has been great for this. Now, I can get on Facebook and tell Arlete that I will be coming back to Brazil for 3 weeks in June, and can she work with me again as a research assistant? This smoothes the entry, too. I remember spending weeks–perhaps months–setting up this stuff as a graduate student. Now, it is much easier for me to hit the ground running when I arrive in India or Brazil. And again, this is true even for newer field sites, and exploiting that to its full potential is, I think, key to getting the most out of short fieldwork periods.

A third change I’ve made is to develop research projects that proceed in discrete phases and span multiple years. A good example is my current project in Brazil, Food Insecurity and Mental Health in Global Perspective, a 3-year, 3-site study I am conducting with colleagues Craig Hadley and Bonnie Kaiser (Craig works in Ethiopia, and Bonnie in Haiti). Phase 1 was dedicated to freelisting and ethnography only. Phase 2 is for ranking and rating exercises on freelist items plus participant-observation surrounding food buying and preparation, and Phase 3 will consist of questionnaires using instruments developed in the first two phases, biomarkers, and anthropometrics. Each of these can be done in a summer, especially with the help of graduate students. (Speaking of, I am currently seeking a new Master’s or Doctoral student to assist with this project in summer 2017. Read more about this here.)

And this brings me to the fourth change: increased collaboration. I wanted to do a cross-cultural comparative study with multiple phases of instrument development and mixed methods. Don’t have time to spend a full year in each of 3 countries? No problem! Team up with colleagues who can each work in one country, then split the work into short phases. This way, each person ends up with a manageable chunk of work in a single country to do each summer. Fortunately for me, biocultural work is especially well suited to this phase-based work because it often involves methods that build on one another.

Fifth and finally, I have learned tricks that help me capture more data from shorter periods of time. Good, deep ethnography takes time and investment, no question, and you have to give that time at some point. But there is so much that goes on in the everyday interactions of fieldwork that rarely made it into my fieldnotes when I was a graduate student because I was so singularly focused on what I imagined to be Ethnographic Experiences. At some point in my early research, however, I started voice-recording interviews where I was doing anthropometrics, blood tests, and questionnaires. So much valuable material has come out of those recordings. I didn’t expect this; these seemed to me like the most cut-and-dried structured interviews one could have, not those real Ethnographic Experiences. Yet, when I began transcribing them, people’s side comments about the questions I was asking added up to rich qualitative material. Now I always voice record interviews, no matter whether they are “ethnographic” (i.e. unstructured or semi-structured), or whether they are structured interviews organized around pilesorts, freelists, questionnaires, or other exercises. It creates a lot of work after the return from the field, but these recordings allow me to pick up on extra data that I would otherwise miss. They help me get the most out of those short fieldwork periods.

Despite the constraints of short fieldwork periods, I think I am a happier fieldworker now than I was in graduate school. It is not an easy thing to pick up and leave one’s life for a year (or more). Increasingly, work by anthropologists about anthropologists is documenting that fieldwork can be particularly hard on mental health (see, for instance, Rebecca Lester’s and Eileen Anderson-Fye’s presentations at 2015’s AAA meeting). For me, the hardest part about long-term fieldwork was missing the people and the rhythms of my everyday life. Short periods of fieldwork like those I now have to do are in some ways positive because they allow me to maintain that balance more effectively. It’s more feasible to bring my children on shorter trips. I won’t have to be out of contact for as long with my aging parents when I am away on shorter trips. I can–and indeed am expected to–keep working on other projects during fieldwork. All of this adds up to fieldwork becoming a part of everyday life, part of the yearly rhythm of my and my family’s existence. This to me is what being a career anthropologist is all about.

Lesley Jo Weaver (PhD/MPH, Emory) is an Assistant Professor in the Biocultural Medical program and an affiliated faculty member in UA’s Asian Studies program. She studies health and illness in India and rural northern Brazil.

Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

Advancing Critical Food Systems Education through Service Learning

David Meek, Author

David Meek, Author

In anthropology departments across the country, food systems courses are becoming increasingly prevalent. Their rapid growth makes sense, because there is significant overlap between the study of food systems and traditional areas of anthropological inquiry, such as food security, the anthropology of nutrition, and ethnobotany. Yet, despite anthropologists’ attention to cultural politics, food systems education is still open to the same long-standing critiques of the alternative food movement. As critical food scholars point out, the alternative food movement is characterized by an “unbearable whiteness,” where its agrarian ideals, such as the importance of “getting your hands dirty,” reflect whitened cultural histories and ultimately produce racialized spaces of social exclusion.  Anthropologists are increasingly seeking to address these apprehensions by integrating critical perspectives into their food system pedagogies. In this commentary, I discuss an alternate pedagogical framework, known as critical food systems education (CFSE), through which anthropologists can potentially redress these concerns.

CFSE is at once a theoretical perspective, set of pedagogies, and vision for policy (Meek and Tarlau 2015, 2016). By drawing upon this perspective, we are called to critically reflect on what kind of community projects our courses are supporting. Are these projects similar to many in the alternative food movement that are motivated by an honest desire to “bring good food to others,” but end up reproducing racialized conceptions of communities of color as defined by poor food choices? Or do they seek to help develop students who have the mobilizing skills and critical consciousness needed to transform the food system? In redesigning my own courses, I’m striving to connect classroom pedagogy with the actual movements that are attempting to transform the food system.

The first time I taught a course I developed called “The Politics of Food Sovereignty and Society” in a traditional setting, it was at times disappointing. The discussions were lively, but student evaluations highlighted their desire to get out into the community and connect critical theory with praxis. I committed to transforming this course and applied to the University of Alabama Faculty Fellows in Service Learning Program to gain specialized training and for a Learning in Action grant to carry out this change. In redesigning the course around CFSE, I started with what community members identified as the pressing needs of marginalized groups. I developed a partnership with the Sand Mountain Seed Bank (SMSB) in Albertville, Alabama, which is trying to preserve heirloom seed varieties throughout the Southeast. The SMSB was just beginning the process of creating a digital inventory of its seed stock. My students spent approximately fifty hours entering seed records into the online database, helping the SMSB move towards its goal of making the seed library publicly accessible.

One of critical food systems education distinguishing features is that it seeks to advance food sovereignty. As part of the 2007 Declaration of Nyéléni, La Via Campesina, an international federation of rural social movements, defines food sovereignty as “the right of peoples to healthy and culturally appropriate food produced through ecologically sound and sustainable methods, and their right to define their own food and agriculture systems.” Throughout the course, my students struggled to connect with the idea of food sovereignty. For many, it seemed like a concept from a different reality—one from the Global South, from countries where people still identify as peasants and where access to land is key to survival.

Through the service-learning project, students gained a first-hand understanding of food sovereignty. They first watched the documentary film Eating Alabama and learned about the complex dynamics of agrarian change in the state—from the loss of family farms to Monsanto’s litigation against farmers who save seed. They then came upon a critical realization while digitally entering the seed records into the online database—many of the seeds had not been grown in approximately ten years, the period after which the seeds may be unviable. Their work creating a digital inventory of the seeds might be worthless if no one grew the seeds before the ten-year period passed.

We reflected on this realization as a class and collectively decided that we could move our class project beyond simple data entry and towards creative action. We organized a seed swap as a way to generate awareness about the SMSB situation and get area farmers, gardeners, and horticultural enthusiasts to help grow and preserve the seeds. On Saturday, April 23rd, my students and I hosted the first West Alabama Seed Swap at the Tuscaloosa River Market. The event included speakers on food sovereignty and food ways, as well as the dissemination of seeds from the SMSB to the interested public. Following the seed swap, Charlotte Haygood, one of the driving forces behind the SMSB, described the event to me as a widely successful, because “many folks came up, made connections, exchanged information, and took home seeds.”

I found teaching a course grounded in critical food systems education to be an incredible learning experience. As part of a collective course evaluation at the end of the semester, students highlighted how valuable it would be in the future to experience first-hand competing forms of productions—such as a large-scale agroindustrial monocrop operations and small-scale organic farms. Similar to Guthman’s experiences, I also recognized that many of my students truly struggled with understanding the intersection of their white privilege with the food system. As I move forward in educating for food sovereignty, I will increasingly attune my pedagogy to the complicated terrain of racial and class-based identities and the structural relations between the local and global food system.


Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

David Meek is an assistant professor in the department who conducts research on food sovereignty in Brazil, India, and the U.S.

Biocultural Anthropology & Linguistic Anthropology: Points of Possible Convergence?

Sonya Pritzker

Sonya Pritzker

Biocultural anthropology offers an inherently interdisciplinary, cross-subfield approach to anthropological research. As such, it draws heavily upon various biological, cognitive, and sociocultural theories, among others, to point researchers towards certain methodologies and variables for inclusion in their research design. The outcome of such an approach yields a growing genre of work that articulates the ways in which the human body, at every level, both shapes and is shaped by cultural practices. As one of the four major subfields of the discipline, linguistic anthropology also engages questions regarding bidirectional connections between culture and body. Such work emphasizes the ways in which embodied experience is constantly mediated by interactions that involve words, gestures, and prosodic features such as rhythm and emphasis.

Despite a shared interest in demonstrating links between culture and body, theoretical and methodological approaches within biocultural and linguistic anthropology have only rarely been actively combined. Besides a few outlying studies by, for example, Erica Cartmill, bioculturally oriented research has rarely engaged seriously with language as a multi-modal process shaped by and shaping embodiment. Researchers in linguistic anthropology have likewise, for the most part, chosen not to focus on the biological implications of complex, culturally mediated interactions.

From my current vantage point as a linguistic and psychocultural medical anthropologist working in a department with a strong biocultural program, I am beginning to question what researchers in each area might be missing out on when they choose not to include either linguistic or biocultural perspectives when they design their research. While I fully acknowledge that it is not always possible to do everything in every study, I would like to propose that the two fields are at a point where they could fruitfully be joined together more explicitly and consciously. This is both a methodological and theoretical endeavor.

Methodologically, for example, biocultural work draws upon methods such as cultural domain analysis (including cultural consensus analysis), and inclusion of biological outcomes, in addition to traditional long-term ethnography and interviews. From my perspective, there is ample room in such studies for incorporating additional methods from linguistic anthropology, such as audio and/or video recording and the use of conversation analysis to transcribe and interpret data. For biocultural anthropologists, such an approach can arguably increase the ‘grain’ of research, enabling scholars to track how difficult-to-operationalize concepts, such as “stress” or “belief,” emerge over time in interaction. Likewise, the inclusion of biocultural methods offers linguistic anthropologists an opportunity to study how conversations literally get under the skin.

The incorporation of additional methods alone, however, does not automatically lead to such enhanced results. Research seeking to combine biocultural and linguistic methods must thus be held together, at every level from research question to data analysis, by theory. Here, biocultural theories that recognize bidirectional links between large-scale sociocultural and economic processes and individual human biologies (e.g., Goodman and Leatherman 1998) are a good starting point. Even more relevant, perhaps, for scholars seeking to incorporate a linguistic anthropological perspective is the specific theoretical construct of cultural consonance, described here by Bill Dressler. As Dressler describes, cultural consonance theory pushes past generalized theories of “culture as context” to develop nuanced connections between cultural meanings and individual meanings, further linking such connections to individual biology. Although admittedly I am not yet an expert in this theory, it strikes me as an excellent opportunity to incorporate theories from linguistic anthropology that focus on the emergence of culture as an uneven process that occurs in specific interactions (see, for example, Duranti and Goodwin 1992 or Tedlock and Mannheim 1995). Some specific examples of areas where both the theories and methods of biocultural and linguistic anthropology might be productively combined include, then:

  1. Research on illness and healing: Biocultural anthropologists have made significant contributions in demonstrating the link between cultural processes and health outcomes A lot of work is being done in this realm across anthropology. Some examples from our department include Oths 1999, Lynn 2014, Weaver et al 2015, Dressler et al 2016. At the same time, many linguistic anthropologists, often in collaboration with medical anthropologists, have drawn upon recordings of doctor-patient interactions, and the fine-grained analysis of conversations between suffering individuals and their families to demonstrate the role of micro-interaction in the experience of illness and healing. Future work combining approaches might examine how, for example, conversations with physicians or family members work to mediate stress and other biological outcomes.
  1. Research on child development: Several biocultural anthropologists, including Carol Worthman and Jason DeCaro, have made great strides in demonstrating the ways in which cultural and social circumstances affecting children translate into lasting physiological characteristics. In linguistic anthropology, the field of language socialization observes the role of interaction between caregivers, children, and peers in shaping children as participants in culture, as well as speakers of language. Future research combining approaches offers the possibility of measuring the ways in which different kinds of interactions, over time, form the basis for how children become embodied participants in culture.
  1. Research on emotion: Most subfields of anthropology have considered emotion in some way. Biocultural approaches to the emotions have challenged traditional divides between nature and nurture when it comes to emotional experience. Studies of emotion in linguistic anthropology, on the other hand, have shown that emotion, rather than being a product of individual or a simple reflection of culture upon individual, is a jointly produced phenomenon. Again, future collaborative research might demonstrate how the biology of emotion is similarly mediated by interactions with others.

I have listed just a few examples here. The list could go on. Whatever the specific research topic, however, it is important to reiterate that the combination of biocultural and linguistic anthropology is both a methodological and theoretical endeavor that has certain practical implications. While it would certainly be possible for individual biocultural researchers, for example, to stretch their work to incorporate video or audio recording and analytic theory from linguistic anthropology, this could easily become unwieldy without the participation of a researcher trained in linguistic anthropology. The reverse is also true. From this vantage point, it becomes incredibly important to think about managing the logistics of creating multidisciplinary research teams working with mixed methods. Tom Weisner has, in fact, written that “the future of our field and the social sciences is far more likely to be characterized by interdisciplinary methodological pluralism.” This blog post is obviously in agreement with this. As a linguistic anthropologist, I would just like to note that, at a practical level, this kind of work demands efforts at understanding one another’s language, and developing communicative strategies that serve the project. From my perspective, such strategies can serve to enrich rapport among colleagues, but also form the basis of an enhanced ability to conduct research that addresses pressing social issues in ways that can have a lasting and beneficial impact on human lives.

How Social Networks Shape Cultural Consonance

The Embeddedness of Cultural Knowledge

The relationship between social networks and health has been established in anthropology since Émile Durkheim identified a link between social isolation and suicide. Medical anthropologists have also long recognized that people with more diverse social ties and greater emotional and economic support are typically healthier, but how this association is intensified by culture remains under-explored. Specifically, how does “embeddedness” in a social network influence health and interact with internalized cultural beliefs?

Author (middle) with Dr. Kathy Oths (left) collecting data in the Peruvian highlands (Courtesy Adam Booher).

Author (middle) with Dr. Kathy Oths (left) collecting data in the Peruvian highlands (Courtesy Adam Booher).

Sociologist Mark Granovetter coined the term embeddedness to describe how social relations shape economic behavior and institutions. Douglas Massey later applied this idea to migration, pointing out that specific families, groups, and classes of people disproportionately gain access to movement via more diverse network ties and social relations. In other words, embeddedness in a migrant network entails status, prestige, or position, which may influence cultural success and well-being. Cultural success is determined by shared knowledge, such as migration goals and lifestyle expectations, which is cognitively embedded in people who then enact these cultural beliefs to varying degrees, depending on the level of power they derive from their position within a social network.

Chugurpampans Embedded in the Trujillo Migrant Network

I recently concluded two years of ethnographic fieldwork in Peru, amassing social network data for hundreds of people. My research involves a group of internal migrants from the hamlet of Chugurpampa in the north Peruvian Andes (pop. ~600), where my adviser, Kathy Oths, began longitudinal research of sickness and treatment choice over 25 years ago. While serving on a research team she assembled for a 2012 restudy of the village, we discovered that overwhelming economic and political pressures, coupled with effects of climate change on the highland agricultural system, have forced many Chugurpampans to pursue work in the coastal city of Trujillo.

Trujillo is a bustling metropolis of over 1 million residents, many of whom establish residences in informal neighborhoods called pueblos jóvenes (‘young towns’) on the outskirts of the city (Courtesy Author).

Trujillo is a bustling metropolis of over 1 million residents, many of whom establish residences in informal neighborhoods called pueblos jóvenes (‘young towns’) on the outskirts of the city (Courtesy Author).

Across Trujillo, Chugurpampans maintain a network of kinship and social ties, including a hometown association in which members develop collective financial and material resources for their hamlet. However, there is a rising middle-class within the group’s  leadership, while less integrated Chugurpampans struggle to feed their families. Thus, some migrants are more successful than others in achieving shared migration goals and lifestyle expectations. My research focuses on whether one’s embeddedness within the migrant network influences their individual capacity to implement shared cultural expectations and how this impacts well-being.

The concept of embeddedness for this group is best illustrated during Chugurpampa’s annual harvest festival (‘fiesta patronal’), an agro-religious celebration in which migrants attempt to gain and reinforce their social status by making large material and financial donations. Each year, the hometown association selects an organizer known as a mayordomo, whose challenge is to surpass previous years, usually at no small expense. During interviews, high-status Chugurpampans like the mayordomo and other collaborators were most likely to be identified by respondents as close family or friends, even if these highly-embedded individuals did not always return the sentiment. Individuals with lower prestige desire to associate with those whom they see as successful in achieving shared migration goals and lifestyle expectations, such as having a secure job with stable pay, owning a house, or having vacation time, all of which communicate socioeconomic achievement. Essentially, more embedded Chugurpampans serve as cultural prototypes of success in migration.

Combining Social Network and Cultural Consonance Approaches

My research explores interactions between social structure and cultural models–or the cognitively embedded cultural information—to understand how culture mediates relationships within social networks to influence health and well-being. Cognitive theory, in particular Bill Dressler’s theory of cultural consonance, provides a way to measure how fulfillment of such cultural expectations can influence health.

The mayordomo of the 2015 harvest festival achieved widespread acclaim for providing free daily meals and hosting all-night dances at a level never before seen in previous celebrations (Courtesy Author).

The mayordomo of the 2015 harvest festival achieved widespread acclaim for providing free daily meals and hosting all-night dances at a level never before seen in previous celebrations (Courtesy Author).

Dressler found that individuals in Brazil with larger perceived social support networks are generally more consonant with an ideal cultural model of social support. My research takes the next step by evaluating cultural consonance in a whole network. This encompasses the entirety of a community’s social relations shared among individuals and households, rather than the ego-centered perspective of a personal network design. I measured the quality and strength of Chugurpampans’ collective social relations to assess whether embeddedness in the migrant network influences consonance in shared models of migration goals and lifestyle expectations.

Cognitive and network approaches are structuralist in nature, meaning that cultural models and social networks exist as part of lived realities. Each method provides the tools to take a ‘snapshot’ (as Dressler calls it) of sociocultural forces in situ, which can then be tested for associations and used to supplement insights from detailed, ethnographic fieldwork. Chugurpampan migrants are strongly-connected via a social network based on shared community origin, and using social network analysis, the power that individuals derive from respective network positions can be compared to consonance with migration goals, lifestyle expectations, and health outcomes. I predict, judging from previous cultural consonance work, that more highly-embedded Chugurpampans will have the highest cultural consonance and lowest blood pressure, perceived stress, and depressive symptoms.

Based on 24 months of fieldwork and preliminary data analysis, it’s clear that combining cognitive and network orientations can improve our understanding of culture’s crucial role in mediating interactions between social networks and health.

Biocultural Systematics is written by members of the University of Alabama Biocultural Medical Anthropology program.

Max Stein is a doctoral student in the department who has conducted research in Honduras, Costa Rica, and Peru.

Family Matters: We Talk the Talk, but Do We Walk the Walk?

Diversity is Our Business1: We Talk the Talk, but do we Walk the Walk?,2

Plain fear of not being able to support these guys drove me like a plow horse thru grad school. Cute though, aren't they? Lux, Jagger, and Bailey Lynn at NY's AMNH in 2008 (Photo courtesy author).

Plain fear of not being able to support these guys drove me like a plow horse thru grad school. Cute though, aren’t they? Lux, Jagger, and Bailey Lynn at NY’s AMNH in 2008 (Photo courtesy author).

As academic anthropologists, my colleagues and I talk diversity all the time, but it refers to more than heritage, socioeconomic status, or gender. Jo Weaver and I have convened a session at the upcoming AAA conference about “Problems and Priorities in Biocultural Research” (see Jo’s summary in last month’s AN column), but our session is really as much about diversity as it is bringing non-research design-related issues to the fore. What other biases influence who can become an anthropologist? What if I am reliant on medication to stabilize my mood and that medication is poorly understood and my dose-response is sensitive to environmental change? Do I risk going abroad away from my support system to do fieldwork? Do I even bring this issue up with my advisers when I am applying for or in graduate school? Or do I just avoid field-based anthropology or drop out of my program? In another scenario, what if my own experiences of trauma are triggered by the culture shock of going abroad or trauma I witness in the field and I shut down emotionally? Do I fess up to my adviser that I’m in psychological turmoil?3 These may seem like clear-cut examples of issues fairly likely to occur among students of anthropology4, but when are they ever brought up and directly addressed in classes or advisement?

Similarly though perhaps more banal, when is a student ever given to permission to say ‘I love anthropology and I want to go to ___, but I have children and I could not emotionally handle being away from them’? This was an issue I faced. My children are triplets. They’re 12 years old now, but they were 1 when I started graduate school. Balancing children and a career is not easy for anyone, but what if your chosen vocation traditionally involves traveling great distances away for long periods of time? This is a stereotype in anthropology, but I have been surprised by the students and professionals whose expectations reflect this notion.5

Ann Dunham was a role model for me as an anthropologist who took her son with her to conduct fieldwork (Barack Obama with stepdad, mother, and half-sister; US Embassy, Jakarta, CC BY-ND 2.0)

Ann Dunham was a role model for me as an anthropologist who took her son with her to conduct fieldwork (Barack Obama with stepdad, mother, and half-sister; US Embassy, Jakarta, CC BY-ND 2.0)

Let me be clear—no one in my graduate program told me I needed to leave my family behind to become a real anthropologist. I did my fieldwork in, essentially, my own backyard (which comes with difficulties I wrote about for AN in 2008); and I received NSF funding to do it. But my wife and I made ends meet by the skin of our teeth.6 We lived 1 hours 40 minutes away from campus for the first few years so we’d be near family who could help take care of our children while I fulfilled my obligations as a graduate teaching assistant, took classes, and cloistered myself to get work done.7 I recall asking NSF Cultural Anthropology Program Director Deb Winslow and my advisers if could I use my grant money to pay living expenses? The financial and moral support I got for research was great, but my major expense was the cost of buying salivary cortisol kits and sending them out to be assayed. To save money and build up my skill set, I learned to assay them myself from Jason Paris in Cheryl Frye’s Biopsychology Lab at UAlbany instead of paying to send them out, saving around $9,000. Meanwhile, I had three toddlers at home, and taking care of them was a full time job, which left nothing for rent.8 As you can imagine, a graduate teaching assistantship stipend does not really cover expenses for a family of 5.  Answer: We sympathize but, no, NSF funds can’t be used to cover rent unless it is for living somewhere else, where one doesn’t usually live, to do fieldwork at a distance from the usual home. And federal funding can only cover that expense for the researcher.

Not much has changed since I’ve become a tenured professor. I will admit that, although I love anthropology, one of my motivations in pursuing biological anthropology was a mistaken notion that biological know-how would get me paid better.9 But I also looked around at professors with kids and saw the wonderful experience and perspective this life provides to children of anthropologists. One of my advisors, Walter Little, would often take his daughter to Guatemala with him when he conducted fieldwork. I thought, ‘that is the life I want for my children.’ They’ll learn to speak Spanish early enough that it’s not a chore and have an invaluable worldliness (like our President—ahem, raised in a unique family situation by an anthropologist mother). But what I’ve learned is that there is little money out there to support a family while doing fieldwork. We must pay their fares out of pocket if we take them with us. So here my kids are, 12 years old, and they’ve still never left the country. Heck, I think even I had been to Canada by the time I was their age.

What We Know about Family-Career Balances of Anthropologists

I was loathe to talk to my professors about the stresses of supporting my family while going to graduate school. They didn’t have to hear that from other students, I imagined. But I had to. My very first semester, one of my sons was hospitalized for dehydration because of persistent diarrhea caused by an intestinal bug. Not a month later, during finals week, another bug hit the household and took everyone down. Because I saw it coming, I had outlined my answers to our take-home final. When the virus finally got me, everyone else in my house was down for the count and could not so much as get me a glass of water. But I still had one essay to write that was due the next day. I faded in and out of consciousness through the night transforming each outline fragment into a sentence and adding a few qualifiers. It’s probably the worst essay I’ve ever written and it got me a dreaded B (like a D in grad school), but, under the circumstances, it was good enough. As I recovered slightly, I tried to go back to work only to get a call from my wife that one of the kids was vomiting again. Because there was a bug in the house, neither the mother’s helpers we’d hired nor my wife’s family wanted to come in and help out for fear of catching it. But taking care of three sick toddlers was too much for any one person to handle. It pained me, but I explained my situation to my adviser, Larry Schell, and his response has always stayed with me. He said, “No one ever says on their deathbed that they wish they’d spent more time with at work. It’s always that they wish they’d spent more time with their family.”

Family is hard to manage. School is hard to manage. Work is hard to manage. This is life. No one wants to tell their professor or adviser or boss that work or school is putting a strain on their marriage, but we know that many marriages break up over issues like these (the literature on this is huge—this is in no way unique to anthropologists or people who do fieldwork for a living). Stress, as Gary Evans pointed out in a guest lecture at UAlbany when I was in grad school, is not necessarily about having a life full of stressors—it’s often about not having a buffer when there are stressors one is not expecting or has not planned for. I always refer to a poem by Charles Bukowski called “The Shoelace,” which refers simply to the last straw, when you’re dealing with “…roaches or flies or a broken hook on a screen, or out of gas or too much gas, the sink’s stopped-up, the landlord’s drunk, the president doesn’t care and the governor’s crazy. light switch broken mattress like a porcupine; $105 for a tune-up, carburetor and fuel pump at sears roebuck; and the phone bill’s up and the market’s down and the toilet chain is broken, and the light has burned out – the hall light, the front light, the back light, the inner light; it’s darker than hell and twice as expensive…”10

Table 1. Work-life balance. Males and females appear roughly equal in their work-life balance, whether they have kids or not. But what do we know about the choices made between parenthood and careers in anthropology?

Table 1. Work-life balance. Males and females appear roughly equal in their work-life balance, whether they have kids or not. But what do we know about the choices made between parenthood and careers in anthropology?

So the culture of academia (not just anthropology) makes balancing parenthood and fieldwork difficult, but how is that biocultural? As Jason DeCaro points out in previous posts for our blog (here and here), biological theory is implicit in studies of family and human development. But let me spell it out in a different way, one I alluded to above. There are certain notions about maternal investment in children that give moms a (justifiable) pass when it comes to saying, ‘I can’t do that because I have to think about my kids.’ And we applaud fathers who do the same (e.g., Joe Biden [maybe], sports athletes). But while there are few institutional accommodations for things like maternity leave, there are even fewer for paternity. I am not crying foul. I’m saying, ‘I love my children so much that it hurts me to leave them behind while I do fieldwork, and it is emotionally hard to handle.’ As you can imagine, I’m a big fan of Peter Gray and Kermyt Anderson‘s Fatherhood: Evolution and Human Paternal Patterns and work by Lee Gettler and others on the hormonal physiology of fatherhood. There is a real physiological change when we become fathers. I want us to think about this diversity more, talk about it more, and support diverse family models and needs more.

Study: Family and the Field

To wrap up and tease you for our November talk and future conferences and papers, these experiences inspired a study I started with my friend and UNCW assistant anthropology professor Michaela Howells this past summer called “Family and the Field.” I was primarily interested in the experiences of fathers and wondered if attitudes, experiences, and paternal investment by anthropologists has changed over the years. However, Michaela pointed out that the whole paradigm of parenting and family is interesting and understudied among anthropologists (but not by anthropologists). We don’t know the answers to questions like, if you want to have a bunch of kids and don’t want to leave them behind to do fieldwork, do you just choose another discipline? Or, do you forego having children for a period of time to complete graduate work and any major field studies? There’s not a lot of data on this within our discipline that we’ve been able to find (but encourage readers to send us sources if we’re wrong).

Our study is preliminary, using an internet paradigm, and hope to follow up in the near future by being able to conduct more intensive interviews. (Perhaps we will be cornering you, dear reader, at next year’s AAA!) So far, as Table 1 shows, we’ve collected data from over 350 anthropologists, nearly 85 of whom are males, and 31 of whom are fathers (mean age = 43.3, SD = 9.33). Of these fathers, 18 self-report their life-work balance as poor or acceptable, while 13 report it as good or excellent. Average perceived stress among these fathers is 33.6 (SD = 1.38), which is consistent with the full sample (33.1, SD = 2.51) (This study is still recruiting professionals and graduate students trained in anthropology, so please consider participating).

In sum, do we structurally bias our training system to undermine some types of diversity in our field? And, what do we really know about diversity, if indeed it is our business. Join us in Denver for “Hidden motivations and glossed justifications” Problems and priorities in biocultural field research” on Thursday, November 19, 4-5:45 PM to explore these questions.


NOTES

1. Anthropologist Ulf Hannerz (2010) writes convincingly about the identity problem anthropology has, that we need PR help in cultivating what is essentially “brand identity,” and that identity should be diversity—“diversity is our business.” See Greg Downey’s Neuroanthropology piece for further discussion of this (and where I learned about Hannerz’ article). Incidentally, another piece by Hannerz that addresses the identity we as individual anthropologists create for ourselves also appeals to me. “Confessions of a Hoosier Anthropologist” (2014) outlines how Hannerz works, though he is Swedish and has spent his career at Stockholm University, was marked by the year he spent as a Master’s student at Indiana University. Folks from Indiana and who go to IU are known as “Hoosiers.” Just among the Biocultural Medical faculty here at UA, Jo Weaver and I are both Hoosiers by birth and upbringing, and Keith Jacobi and I are Hoosiers by education. Funny. Ha ha.

2. “You talk the talk. Do you walk the walk?” is a quote by Animal Mother from the classic 1987 Stanley Kubrick film Full Metal Jacket.

3. These will be among the topics to some extent addressedat our November 2015 AAA session by, respectively, Eileen Anderson-Fye, Rebecca Lester, and others.

4. In 2011, the CDC reported that 1 in 10 people in the U.S. age 12 and over (11%) surveyed from 2005-08 were taking antidepressant medication. The youngest among those are college-age now. I don’t have a citation handy, but we have estimated that as many as half of our undergraduates in anthropology at any given moment are taking anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medication.

5. The criteria that render one a ‘Real Anthropologist’ would be a great blog topic, but I will save that for another time.

6. Actually, it was the skin of creditors’ teeth, and we have massive student loan debt as a consequence.

7. I rose at 5 AM most days to make the drive and would be so sleepy, I’d lay down in the shower to get a few minutes more rest and ensure I didn’t fall back to sleep. I was such a regular at the New Baltimore rest stop Starbuck’s on NYS I-87 that they began giving me the “Trucker Discount,” which later became free coffee. I’d hear employees whisper, “he gets a free coffee” as I walked up, so that by the time I finished grad school, the manager who had started this gratuitous gesture was gone and current staff had no idea who I was, just that I merited free coffee for some reason.

8. Either my wife or I needed to stay home or whatever money she earned working covered the cost of childcare [barely] and that’s it.

9. I am the first generation in my family to finish college, let alone go to grad school, let alone become a college professor. So what did I know? Nothing. That’s what I knew. Similarly, another mistaken notion was that my kids would get free tuition wherever I worked.

10. One of my sons was taking lots of photos during one of these periods for me and caught me in a moment when I was working as a GTA at Albany, teaching a course as instructor of record at Marist College, finishing data collection for my dissertation, writing my dissertation, and interviewing for jobs all at the same time. It seems like a lot, right? It was, but that was OK because I accepted those stressors knowingly. It was after getting t-boned in my Prius by a tractor-trailer that I broke down. I wasn’t injured, the truck driver took full responsibility, and my car was fully fixed by insurance; but that extra thing was more than I could handle at that moment.