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.

Ayahuasca Visions in the Peruvian Amazon

As a psychological anthropologist interested in alternative healing options, I recently traveled to Peru to experience ayahuasca with a shaman I had been corresponding with for some time. Ayahuasca is being used to help treat war veterans and others suffering from PTSD and depression. Its use as a treatment option for addicts has also become widespread. For thrill seeking millennials ayahuasca tourism has become a trendy activity.

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Ayahuasca

Ayahuasca was first described outside of indigenous communities in the early 1950s by Harvard ethnobotanist Richard Evans Schultes. When sending his advisee, Wade Davis, to the Amazon he told him not to come back without trying it. The word “ayahuasca” comes from the Quechua who have used it for thousands of years. Ayahuasca is made by combining Banisteriopsis caapi, a liana, with Psychotria viridis, a perennial shrub. P. viridis contains about 0.10-0.66% alkaloids, approximately 99% of that is dimethyltryptamine (DMT), a psychedelic compound of the tryptamine family. It is a structural analog of serotonin and melatonin and a functional analog of psilocybin. DMT is not activated when ingested unless a MAOI is added. B. caapi contains harmine, harmaline, and tetrahydroharmine, all of which are both MAOIs and beta-carboline harmala alkaloids. People who have consumed ayahuasca report having spiritual revelations regarding their purpose on earth, the true nature of the universe, and gaining insights into their lives. Individuals also report connection to “spiritual” dimensions and contacting spiritual or extra-dimensional guides and healers.

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Virginia

Feeling the need for a break from a year of fieldwork in the Costa Rican jungle, I decided it was time to satisfy my academic curiosity and experience ayahuasca. I traveled to Peru where it is legal and where shaman Antonio Bracero and his teacher, a Shipibo woman named Virginia Vasquez Alavuelo, were to meet me. There was also a local woman, Carmela, who cooked for me. That night we continued the discussions we had started through email about my interests and desires concerning the ayahuasca ceremony. We decided I would participate in three ceremonies over a one week period, beginning the following evening.

The ceremonies began with cleansings and prayers before the ayahuasca was administered. Each time I was a little scared- as Tim Plowman told Wade Davis “(it) is many things, but pleasant isn’t one of them.” However, for me, after the initial uneasiness passed I found the experiences not only enjoyable, but blissful. I experienced profound altered states of consciousness and gained novel insights concerning my life goals and existence. Each ceremony was unique- my mind focusing on different domains of my life each time.

From my journal following the first ceremony:

 I soon began to see black and white geometric patterns. Antonio began singing an icaro. Then Virginia sang- her icaro sounded Japanese; I had the impression it was very ancient, like from the dawn of human consciousness. Soon my sense of self began to dissolve and all I could do was breathe and listen to the icaros- which they alternately sang, accompanied by various shakers and rattles- at one point Antonio played the guitar. I could see and feel the music. I had the sense that other people were there with us, as the sounds seemed to be coming from all around me. Sometimes I felt people standing over me- all with positive and healing intent.

The ceremony lasted from 7:00 pm to 1:00 in the morning. Some of the few thoughts I remember are “wonder” and “wonderment” and later “gratitude.” When I came down from the high I felt a little melancholy (if that is the right word- it was more like the Japanese term “mono no aware”) and I still feel a little like that today- but at peace. Last night I told Antonio how intense, but how ecstatic, joyful, and caring the medicine was. He said, “The medicine is just a reflection of yourself, it was a real good first ceremony.”

gb-3Research suggests ceremonial use of ayahuasca can provide mental health benefits. Da Silveria and colleagues conducted a comparative study of adolescents subscribing to an indigenous Amazonian belief system that sacramentally used ayahuasca and their urban Brazilian counterparts. They measured frequencies of substance abuse disorders, anxiety, depression, body image disorders, and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. As compared to the control group, ayahuasca-using adolescents scored on average seven times less likely to experience these problems. Harris and Gurel surveyed individuals who had used ayahuasca at least once in North America. They found similar spiritual experiences amongst the ayahuasca users and a comparison group of worshipers who had attended a Catholic spiritual retreat. They also found that the ayahuasca users had made life changes after their experience with ayahuasca- they had reduced their alcohol intake, ate healthier diets, gb-4experienced greater self-acceptance and improved mood as well as reporting an increase in the experience of love and compassion in their relationships. They also stated that they received ongoing guidance and support from the spirit of the ayahuasca.

There are, however, problems concerning the booming ayahuasca tourism business. With the influx of money, there are now people providing it who have poor training or bad intent. There have been reports of molestation, rape, and negligence at the hands of predatory and/or inept shamans. In the past few years alone, a young woman was allegedly raped and beaten by two men who had administered ayahuasca to her and two people died while staying at ayahuasca lodges. Stories persist about unwanted sexual advances and people experiencing difficulties after being given overly potent doses.

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Antonio and Carmela

As anthropologists know, the set and setting of healing rituals involving altered states of consciousness are of vital importance. My experience took place in an aesthetically pleasing location with shamans who were attentive and nurturing. To protect people who seek out this ancient medicine as a healing modality, regulation may be necessary. Anthropological, psychological, and botanical research can aid in defining how best to regulate the booming ayahuasca business, creating a safe option for those desiring alternative mental health treatment.


Greg Batchelder studied counseling psychology at Colorado Mesa University, psychological anthropology at Colorado State University, and is currently conducting doctoral research among the indigenous Bribrí in the Costa Rican rain forest of Talamanca.

 

 

 

 

Engaging Activism in Anthropology of Disability

Mirjam Holleman (author, left) presenting on the topic of (dis)ability and social inclusion to a small audience at a festival (Slot Art Festival) in Poland, summer 2016. Photo courtesy Mirjam Holleman.

Mirjam Holleman (author, left) presenting on the topic of (dis)ability and social inclusion to a small audience at a festival (Slot Art Festival) in Poland, summer 2016. Photo courtesy Mirjam Holleman.

The anthropologist is frequently construed as an ideally detached observer who doesn’t let his or her own ideals or visions for society interfere with or steer her research. But sometimes it’s hard not to care. As Sally Merry has described, pressing issues of social justice challenge the border between scientific disengagement and ethical activism and “open up important possibilities for rethinking what anthropology is and does, and what contributions it can make to global activism concerning social justice.“

This past summer I was in Poland, conducting preliminary ethnographic field research for my dissertation project about attitudes toward and experiences of people with disabilities in Poland. While I was in the field as a researcher, I didn’t feel personally affected by the things I was observing or hearing. I was (and still am) very thankful that my informants didn’t treat me with kid gloves. They spoke candidly to me about their and their society’s attitude toward people with disabilities and ‘the issue’ of disability and accessibility. But now that my goals my have been reached, it’s time for some personal processing. I guess it’s undeniable that I have a disability too, and I’ve experienced firsthand the huge difference that a few simple accommodations and an accessible environment can make. It’s the difference between inclusion and exclusion, participation and marginalization, recognition and invisibility. That is why I can’t simply be a detached observer.

Jennie Fenton’s  TedX Talk begins with an illustration of the caste system in India, where a segment of society, by virtue of birth, is excluded from certain public spaces and events. In the talk, she asks the audience to imagine if this kind of marginalization were happening in their own society, wouldn’t they be outraged? Well, Jennie points out, it is happening in our societies, and this segregated group are people with disabilities, who, by virtue of the body they were born into (or developed through no fault of their own), do not have equal access to many parts of their society. And yet we turn a blind eye or make up excuses like ‘there isn’t enough money to change this’ or ‘the disabled people themselves prefer to stay in their homes and be lazy and let other people care for them’ or the idea that ‘disability is something that doesn’t concern me’ or only affects a small segment of society. ‘Why go through the trouble of making the world more “comfortable” for a few [unfortunate misfits] who are too blind, or too lame, or too deaf, to function in the ‘normal’ world?’ (these quotes reflect some of the statements and sentiments I heard in Poland).  But why should those who can walk always be privileged over those who can’t? Why should those who can see and hear be privileged over those who can’t? It doesn’t hurt anyone to make it possible for blind people to cross the street safely, or for wheelchair users to have access to buildings and make use of public transportation too.

Sometimes I feel like I’m shouting this to a stone wall though. Sometimes I feel like I ought to acknowledge that, well, this is just one of the many ‘issues’ in the world. And of course, everyone thinks their cause is the most important. Sadly, it makes sense to me that “mine” isn’t seen as the most important or the most popular cause out there. At times I found myself beginning to adopt the emic perspective and almost agreeing with the statements of some of my informants in the field, such as:

Creating a secure economy is most important here. After that, you can start dealing with the comfort of the people.”

This statement equates accessibility with comfort, ease, or even privilege, rather than an issue of equality and inclusion.

“Everyone struggles in this society. The majority needs to be served/content first, before people can start to think of such first world issues as ‘minority rights.”

This comment suggests that disabled people are some kind of second rung citizens who need to wait their turn patiently, to be ‘served’ and have their needs met, rather than full members who could already play an active role in building and shaping society.

Such sentiments make sense to me, but also left me feeling discouraged at times–why do I bother? Maybe this is just a ‘first world’ luxury issue, and I shouldn’t be bothering or annoying these people with it. On the other hand, creating accessible spaces really doesn’t have to be an issue of having the right amount of money (and believe me, even when all the money and resources are there, people could, and do, still neglect it), it’s about having the right amount of motivation for it. I’ve also heard encouraging stories, of neighbors getting together to build a ramp for one of their neighbors who uses a wheelchair, for example. Even though there was just one man in the apartment that needed this accommodation, the neighbors cared, and they built a ramp for him. Nothing fancy, and it probably doesn’t meet ADA requirements in terms of safety and durability, but it works, and now he can get in and out of his house. Poles are very creative and, if they care, they’ll always come up with clever solutions and help one another. Stories like this give me hope.

In activist anthropology, the researcher utilizes personal convictions as a strength, rather than avoiding them as though they were a trap. It challenges the notion that the anthropologist is a detached observer who simply has an academic and impersonal curiosity about the habits, customs and believes of the ‘natives,’ rather than one who holds a shared commitment to improving their situation.

Full version posted on my research blog.


Mirjam Holleman is a graduate student in the Biocultural Medical Anthropology Program at the University of Alabama. For her dissertation project, she will be investigating attitudes toward and the experiences of people with disabilities, in terms of their social integration and participation, in Polish society.

Fieldwork then and now: from graduate student to professor

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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.

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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.