Why is it that 'ethics' is seen as a
problem in anthropology? This paper seeks to explore this question by looking
at (a) historical shifts in the relation between ethnographers and their
subjects/informants and (b) anthropological practice. I am interested in past
anthropological practice to see whether it provides a reasonable guide to
future practice, specifically with regard to the ethical conduct of
ethnographic fieldwork.
A post-graduate conference examining new and innovative research techniques is
not the place to review the checkered history of ethics in anthropological
practice. I propose instead to address an issue that emerged implicitly from
the silence, on the part of conference delegates, to questions I asked from the
podium: (1) were they familiar with the discipline's ethical code? (2) How were
they dealing with ethical issues that arose in their fieldwork? It was clear to
me that many students perceived ethics as a 'problem': some perceived ethics as
a recent and unwarranted imposition by the state/funding organizations
(specifically in relation to 'informed consent'); others have not thought
seriously about how ethics arises in their work; still others seem to think
that their research does not raise 'ethical concerns'.
Perhaps this ambivalence towards ethics should not surprise us given the
general tenor of statements on this issue by leading social scientists. To
quote just a few:
'Ethical codes arrived late in anthropology and played a negligible role in the
professionalization of the discipline' (Pels 1999:110)
'[T]he main ethical issues and debates about ethics … are not really capable of
resolution. This is why the ethical debate has scarcely moved on since the
1960s' (Bryman 2001:476)
'Ethical codes … are likely to become more important as anthropological
research develops new fields, particularly those that bring it into contact
with policy makers and other professionals' (Shore 1999:124)
The first and third statements are from anthropologists; the second is from a
leading sociologist. Such statements probably represent the views held by most
social scientists, but can they all be correct? Pels' 'Prehistory of ethical
codes in Anthropology' (1999), and the range of comment which it attracted,
illustrates the extent to which the profession holds polarized views on this
subject. Perhaps we need to look no further to understand why today's
post-graduates see ethical issues ambivalently?
While Pels is probably correct about the negligible role that ethical codes
have played in socializing successive generations of professionals, it should
also be acknowledged that professional associations appear to be over
optimistic about the approach they now endorse, namely to teach ethics via a
'case-based, ethnographically grounded, debate that is not simply about our
professional practice but about our contributions to public debates about
ethical principles and practice in the world'.2 There are
several reasons why ethics has not been constructively or adequately addressed
within the discipline. First, as my undergraduate tutor used to say,
anthropology constitutes a 'broad church': there are significant differences in
training and orientation between individuals within and between countries (e.g.
the 'four-fold' nature of training is the US contrasts sharply with other
countries), not to forget the significance which sexuality, gender, politics
and nationalism has for anthropological practice. Furthermore as the discipline
has taken root outside of Europe new issues and orientations have emerged (e.g.
Welz 2009).
Second, as the quotations demonstrate, the profession is divided over the
significance that should be placed on 'ethics'. This disagreement frequently
arises in retrospective assessments of the discipline which depict individual
anthropologist's as being -- to paraphrase a popular film -- exemplars of
'good, bad and ugly' or uneasy virtue (see below)! Needless to say if
anthropologists and/or anthropological practice is excoriated, then our
professional associations also need to be examined. However most of the writing
on this subject fails to address the concern of this paper, namely whether all
forms of ethnographic research raise ethical concerns and if so, what are those
concerns?
The lack of consensus in the discipline spills over into the way in which
ethics is taught (i.e. along a continua between unpacking 'ethics' as a central
element of ethnographic research and merely asking students to be aware of the
ethical code). The unresolved issues involved are compounded by growing levels
of intervention in post-graduate training in the United Kingdom by the
Government and research funding councils (notably the Economic and Social
Research Council or ESRC) who have dictated the length3 and content of
research training for doctoral students 4 (Spencer 2000; Mills 2003; Spencer,
Jepson and Mills 2005).
The past 10 years in Britain has seen a major decline in funding for doctoral
research in anthropology via a process of institutional accreditation in which
funding has been reallocated to a declining number of institutions who have
been deemed to meet ESRC criteria. It is against this background that UK
research councils have announced the latest initiative, the 'Postgraduate
Training and Development Guidelines 2009'. 5 Under this proposal the number of
'outlets' is to be further reduced by requiring all higher education
institutions -- i.e. universities and institutes -- to collaborate and provide
joint training under the rubric of 'doctoral training units'. In short, to
obtain funding for doctoral students departments of anthropology will have to
become part of a larger unit -- with other disciplines -- to provide accredited
research training. The net effect of these changes will be to sandwich training
in 'ethics' together with instruction in ethnographic research methods in to a
one-term course.6 Quite simply too
little time is available to seriously consider the issue of ethics in research
(not to mention time to learn about interviewing, participant observation,
etc).
In section (i) I discuss the context in which the American Anthropological
Association (AAA) -- the oldest professional anthropology association in the
world -- drew up an ethical code, and the events which triggered the
Association to re-define and re-iterate that code. Section (ii) attempts to
move the argument forward by looking at research in the 1990s when, as a result
of 'studying-up' to examine powerful institutions, a shift in the relationship
between the ethnographer and his/her subjects occurred which has allowed our
research subjects the right to object to our interpretations and accounts.
Section (iii) looks at an example of contemporary research to understand how
this continuing shift in the relation between ethnographers and their
informants/subjects has given some of our subjects considerable power over what
we write, say and do. The paper concludes by drawing out lessons for the next
generation of anthropologists regarding the intrinsic value of ethics in
fieldwork.
i. Ethics -- a view from the academy?
The American Anthropological Association (AAA), which was founded in 1902, drew
up its code in 1969 in reaction to accusations by university students that
anthropologists had been involved in counter-insurgency research funded by the
Pentagon (under the rubric of 'Project Camelot'; Beals 1967).7 The creation of
an ethical code emerged painfully following considerable internal controversy
including the rejection of an internal inquiry into the issue by a former
President, Margaret Mead.
There are two points worth noting about the AAA's decision in 1969 to create a
code, and indeed its subsequent modification of that code. First the code was a
direct response to events outside the discipline which were potentially
damaging to the reputation of the discipline. A very similar defensive reaction
occurred in 2000 in relation to the publication of an exposé of anthropological
practice in the Amazon (Darkness
in Eldorado written
by Tierney)8 and again in
2009 with respect to the employment of anthropologists in the Pentagons 'Human
Terrain Systems' Program. 9
Second, as Pels (1999) has argued, ethnographic research has historically
depended upon a degree of 'duplexity': an ethical code was/is used to invoke
the rhetoric of 'scientific truth', objectivity and/or lack of bias when in
fact research is premised on an unequal 'dyadic relationship between
ethnographer and people.' Pels argues that the rhetoric of ethics 'masks' the
politics of ethnographic research; that it obfuscates the production and
politics of knowledge in which ethnographers are more powerful than their
subjects.
This raises an important question: how have anthropologists dealt with ethical
issues? In a view that apparently represents the AAA's position on this
subject, Wax 10 has argued that until World War II
anthropological concerns about ethics were largely philosophical and/or were
'constrained by the methodological ideal of the natural scientist, who was
intrinsically detached from the objects of study' (1985). He goes on to say
that during WWII the majority of American anthropologists redefined 'ethics' as
a willingness to fight in the cause of 'the Free World' and agreed to work for
the US Office of Strategic Services (the precursor of the CIA). However the
next generation of anthropologists, who did fieldwork in developing societies,
adopted a more skeptical view which was reinforced by events surrounding
Project Camelot and US military actions overseas. It was at this point 'the
pendulum swung far in the direction where 'ethics' were defined as a refusal to
have any dealings with the military side of the [US] government, or with any
aspect of government that seemed to sustain an imperialistic orientation' (Wax
1985).
Wax's 'history' is, however, problematic because it presents American
anthropologists and the AAA as having acted honorably in the scientific pursuit
of knowledge (with the single exception occurring in World War II when national
ideology proved to be a stronger call on the individual than science). However
Wax also fails to consider the changing relationship between ethnographers and
their subjects. 11
Contrary to Wax's one-sided account, it appears that anthropologists have
routinely ignored or set aside concerns about professional ethics to pursue
their own interests. Thus Wax omits the debate on this issue raised by the
founder of the AAA, Franz Boaz, who expressed public outrage at the activities
of four anthropologists who, during World War I, used the cover of their
professional research to gather military intelligence. The AAA censured Boas
for his statement and failed to investigate the incident (see Fluehr-Loban
2003:2-3).
Furthermore, it is clear that during WWII the majority of American anthropologists redefined
'ethics' to allow them to fight in the cause of 'the Free World' by working for
the US Office of Strategic Services, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the
Office of War Information, and the War Relocation Authority (which interred
120,000 Japanese-American citizens; Price 2008b). During the 1950s and 1960s
the CIA covertly funded a great deal of social science research using research
foundations as fronts for their work; in this way anthropologists and other
social scientists undertook -- some unwittingly, some knowingly -- research
which informed CIA policies including improved methods of torture (Price 2007a
& b). It is against this alternative reading of anthropological practice
that anthropological complicity in Project Camelot needs to be seen (and
subsequent calls by a small number of anthropologists to redefine the
discipline; Gough 1968; Asad 1973).
Why, then, did the AAA take so long to define and agree on a professional code
of ethics? The answer would seem to be that only in the face of a sufficiently
powerful external 'threat' (to borrow a metaphor from a well known ethnography)
was it possible for the discipline to set aside internal differences to unite
against external threats to its reputation and authority. Its defensiveness has
characterized subsequent objections to the imposition of Institutional Review
Boards (IRBs) which were set up to monitor and regulate university-based
research by the Association. In particular it attempted to differentiate
ethnography from other forms of research by emphasizing: (1) that the
professional code of ethics imposes clear obligations on anthropologists in
relation to 'the people, species, and materials they study and to the people
with whom they work'; (2) that ethnographic research requires researchers to
cultivate 'trust among all those involved'; and (3) 'the IRBs should view
informed consent12 in this
context as an ongoing and dynamic process' (AAA 2004). However the AAAs special
pleading fell on deaf ears (Bosk and De Vries 2004).
During the last forty years professional anthropology
associations have
argued that they lack the power to regulate or sanction members who infringe
professional ethical codes. Instead they argue that the code of ethics serves an
educative function by alerting members to potential 'ethical hazards' and that responsibility for unethical action falls on individual
members not the Association. Has anthropological practice during
the final decades of the twentieth century conformed to professional ethical
standards? It is impossible to say with any certainty. It is certainly the case
that the allegations which prompted the AAA to re-articulate its ethical code
were made against individuals in university departments (i.e. the controversy
over the Yanomami). The situation seems a little odd given the extent to which
anthropologists were increasingly working outside the academy.
Chambers (1987) reminds us that in the seventies there were very few jobs for
professionals in the American academy and that anthropologists increasingly
sought, and were recruited for, work in development. He also tellingly notes
that tenured academics have historically viewed 'applied' researchers and/or
anthropologists employed outside the academy as 'lacking in intellectual rigor,
ethically suspect, unimaginative, bereft of theoretical sophistication, and
somehow essential to our future' (p. 309).13 The extent to
which anthropologists were/are working for the private sector is attested to by
growth of the National Association of Practicing Anthropologists.14 The situation
has many parallels elsewhere. For example during the 1980s in Britain there was
an absolute decline in the availability of academic jobs for new graduates;
this period saw the rise of 'anthropology at home' and a movement of
professionally trained anthropologists into employment outside the academy
(Grillo and Rew 1984; Spencer 2000:11). 15
Many British anthropologists who graduated in the 1980s 'cut' their
professional teeth by working for aid agencies, NGOs etc as project managers/staff
and/or as consultants. In the early 1990s British universities saw an expansion
in the number of undergraduates studying anthropology which resulted in some of
us being recruited into university teaching departments while many
anthropologists were recruited into development studies centers at UK
universities where they were required to undertake commissioned
research/consultancies to underwrite their quasi-academic post.
ii. Anthropology in the 1990s: the implications of 'studying-up'?
The 1990s provides ample evidence that anthropologists accepted Nader's (1973)
injunction to 'study-up' seriously.16 In this
section I draw on the work of two individuals whose research on powerful
development institutions illustrates how the 'dyadic' relation between
ethnographers and their subjects has radically changed.
David Mosse worked briefly for the British Overseas Development Agency -- the
precursor of the UK Department for International Development -- in the early
1980s before returning to the site of his doctoral research in southern India
to work for an International NGO. Between 1990 and 2001 he worked as an
'anthropologist-consultant' 17on
a development project in southern India funded by British aid. As he put it,
'[B]ecause of this rare continuity , and the particular importance of this
project as a 'flagship' within the 1990s British aid programme … the DFID
agreed to support a study of the project experience from my particular
anthropological perspective' (2006:938). In short, Mosse sought to draw upon
his experience with, and knowledge about, the project to write an 'insider
ethnography' (Mosse 2005).
He circulated chapter drafts for comment to all those who worked on the project
-- other consultants, project managers and field staff -- and he conducted
further interviews with DFID officials and consultants 'to verify my
understanding of project processes, to decentre my own view, and to extend the
analysis to the wider context of British aid in India' (2005:ix). The intention
of circulating the manuscript to others who exercised responsibility for the
project was also to learn from them by reflecting on their objections to his
interpretation (2006:939).
While project and social development staff endorsed his views, a small number
of UK consultants and DFID project advisers "took strong exception to my
'too negative and unbalanced' account, which was 'unfair and disrespectful',
'out of date', and even 'damming of all our work' (941). The specific
interpretations offered by Mosse and the allegations made by these consultants
can be found elsewhere (Mosse 2005, 2006). These consultants raised objections
concerning who was qualified to construct knowledge about a project, and how
that interpretation should be arrived at. They also refused to exchange
written comments, and proposed instead a socially mediated discussion in which
an agreed consensus would prevail. After several months Mosse wrote to these
individuals to say that he was proceeding with publication. They reacted by
writing to his publisher (asking that publication of the book be blocked) and
they wrote, e-mailed and phoned his head of department, the Pro Director in
charge of research at his university, and the Association of Social
Anthropology (UK) to demand an adjudicated resolution of the dispute. Their
demands now included the allegation that he had breached the ethical guidelines
of the ASA because of the way he had negotiated research consent and because
publication would have 'harmful effects'.
The ASA 'concluded that they had no remit to adjudicate, or act as a court, for
what were only ethical guidelines'.18 It was said
that officers of the ASA privately believed that neither the research process
used by Mosse nor the outcome of his research contravened the guidelines.
Consent to research had been given and, as a senior colleague put it, 'the
absence of flattery is not harm" (Mosse 2006:947). However the university
agreed to convene a one-day meeting in London at which it, the ASA and the two
parties to the dispute would meet. The meeting was not intended as a 'court of
arbitration' nor, it was emphasized, could it impose any obligations on him to
make specific changes to the book.
His erstwhile research collaborators submitted 56 pages of material
substantiating their claims. As Mosse commented:
While the language of defamation was sufficiently serious for me to take legal
advice, and while the objections had been helpful in indicating alternative
points of view or correcting certain factual errors, the more I examined these
comments, the less they seemed to be matters of substance (evidence or
argument) and the more they invoked the moral community. That is, their
concerns were matters not of ontology but of relational epistemology … They
were about a person not a text' (2006:948).
The day-long 'ritual of objection', which was chaired by a former DFID chief
adviser, allowed both parties to have their say but ended without Mosse making
any undertaking to revise the text of his book: 'In the end, I did not change
my analysis, although I clarified its purpose, and modified phrasings that
offended, where I judged this appropriate' (948,
emphasis in original).
The 'improvised procedure' gave a green light for the publication of his
ethnography to proceed by a 're-affirmation of the Malinowksian boundary
between desk and field' (p. 948). In other words the meeting reaffirmed
academic rules by recognizing the anthropologist's right to write about social
life even though the issue of 'factual accuracy' or ethnographic truth was not
resolved. As Mosse saw it, three issues were at stake. First
The challenge for anthropology today is not how to rearrange 'fieldwork' … or
how to re-frame writing, but how to get to grips with the changing relationship
between the two: change, first, in
how fieldwork relations shape writing, and, second, in how writing now alters
relationships of 'the field' (936,
my emphasis)
The final issue concerned whether the factual accuracy of ethnographic accounts
was dependent on a careful separation of 'facts' from interpretations (aka
Malinowski)? Or was it that a case study and 'discursive material' could, at
best, only illustrate an argument? Following Hastrup (2004:456-f) Mosse phrased
the issue in the following way:
… anthropologists can never prove the rightness of their generalizations with
reference to evidence or experience … since these are neither separate from,
nor prior to, the anthropologists own frame of interpretation … At the very
least anthropologists need to examine the social basis of their own 'evidence
making.' They need to examine their own 'point of view' -- their personal and
academic predilections, judgements, and aesthetics -- as the product of social
conditions ...' (949).
While it is possible to say much more about this case, it is instructive to
turn to the work of an American anthropologist who was undertaking fieldwork at
roughly the same time. Janine Wedel examined neo-liberal economic reforms in
the 1990s and in particular at the way that the US government had delegated its
authority to unaccountable non-state actors -- specifically 'consultants',
non-governmental organizations, private enterprises etc -- to make policy,
allocate funding and implement programs. She describes these organizations as
'chameleon-like entities' which perform a variety of official and semi-official
functions that primarily benefited the individuals who participated in the
policy process (Wedel 2001).
Wedel writes about the 'agendas' of powerful individuals involved in
foreign-aid/ development policy and has argued that
[A]id policies, like any policies … involves people and institutions: people,
with their own interests and cultural frameworks; institutions, grounded in
culture and politics. The lack of attention paid to the agendas of real people
involved in both sides of foreign aid … has played a major role in its
shortcomings' (2005:36).
She conducted research into the aid-mediated relationships established by
USAID, specifically the relationship between economists at Harvard University's
Institute for International Development and the 'Chubais' Clan, a close-knit
group of individuals with links to the Russian state. This clique, which
managed 'technical assistance' worth US$400 million, failed to realize stated
policy objectives (indeed the process caused a major abreaction to western
policy in Russia) and individuals misused their positions 'to advance their own
and their spouses private financial interests' to the tune of US$31 million.19
Wedel has also written about the role of Washington 'neoconservatives' who were
active in formulating and implementing the Bush Administrations policy
vis-à-vis Iraq and Iran (2005, 2009a). Both cases illustrate the manner in
which the US 'outsourced' responsibility for key areas of foreign policy by
relying upon a small, tight-knit group of individuals who were/are positioned
within and between key institutions in the US and the Middle East. These
cliques operate as privileged insiders to western policy-making in respect of
countries which the US sought to reform and/or re-build. With respect to Iraq,
the key actors were Richard Perle and Ahmed Chalabi who created shadowy and
unaccountable organizations to influence policy in Washington and Iraq after
the US-led invasion in 2001. While Wedels 'informants' do not appear to have
publicly 'objected' to her conclusions, it is probably because they have
exercised one of their defining characteristics, namely institutional
deniability to obfuscate their role in the policies she has examined. 20
Both Mosse and Wedel sought to 'study through' -- a term coined by Shore and
Wright (2000) -- to establish the policy connections between key institutions,
organizations and actors. 21 Whereas Mosse knew all the
actors/institutions and had permission to write an ethnography, Wedel had to
establish her credentials at each stage of her research in order to persuade
individuals to speak to her. The contrast is between two very different
approaches to policy research, namely ethnography produced by an 'insider' and
hard-nosed research conducted by an outsider.
While in certain respects Mosse and Wedel share a similar focus, namely
'studying through' development policy, their research differs markedly, thus:
(1) research objectives differ (an examination of the policy process v a close
scrutiny of policy makers); (2) their approach to 'evidence making' is very
different22 ; finally (3)
their epistemological approach differs radically. It is worth noting that
unlike previous generations of anthropologists who enjoyed a relatively
powerful position vis-à-vis their informants, in studying-up Mosse and Wedel's
subjects voluntarily participated in their work fully knowledgeable about the
research process (even if they later disagree with the
interpretations/arguments of the researcher).
iii. Fieldwork in the new millennium: dealing with threats from the field?
Today anthropologists undertake fieldwork in settings marred by high levels of
violence. Whether this situation is characteristic of the times or whether it
reflects a decision to study a potentially dangerous subject is difficult to
say. In any event violence changes the experience of fieldwork and raises new
concerns about ethics, research methods and the anthropologist's relationship
to their informants.
A particularly good example comes from the work of a Jamaican student I had the
privilege to supervise. As with many overseas students studying in the UK,
Herbert Gayle was a junior member of staff at his national university where he
taught and became involved in a fairly high profile university initiative that
sought to understand inner-city violence and to mediate between gangs of youth
and the police. As a result of his involvement in these initiatives he built up
a certain level of social capital in inner city areas which enabled him to
undertake a comparative study of violence in two areas of Kingston, Jamaica,
and two inner-city areas of London where Jamaican gangs operate. As he noted:
The use of violence can be made to seem necessary, even 'Justifiable',
especially when it is claimed to be part of a process to achieve public order.
With this knowledge, I have chosen to act upon Riches' (1986) suggestion to
assess the complete performance of violence, including that carried out by the
state against citizens. As a result violence is defined in this thesis as all
intentional rendering of physical hurt to another person or group. The central
concern of the thesis is homicide, the most severe form of violence.
(2007:17-18).
Leaving aside the difficult methodological issues involved in a cross-national
study of this type, I want to focus on issues of research access and the
personal safety of the researcher which is exemplified by Gayle's fieldwork. In
attempting to understand violence, he had to negotiate access to key actors and
to locales where violence was 'performed' on a daily basis (successful entrée
into communities also meant that he could easily have been subjected to the
violence he sought to understand). At each fieldwork site he negotiated access
with key gate-keepers -- elders, gang leaders ('dons') and the police -- before
entering a community. While participant observation and interviewing were
important research tools, he deliberately relied upon a variety of
'participatory research methods' 23 which allowed him to purposefully and
publicly draw a wide cross-section of the community -- including youth in
gangs, young women, parents, gang leaders etc -- into his research. This had
the advantage of creating a group of local 'research assistants' who were paid and
trained to assist him and it ensured that the wider community knew who he was
and what he was doing.
As he noted, fieldwork in the context of extensive violence called for a very
transparent research process. He had to ensure the anonymity of his subjects
and his research site in part because it was not possible to predict the agenda
or the action of 'policy makers' -- or indeed of the police and politicians, as
events were to show -- but also because
[E]xperience has taught me that even with a high degree of transparency, trust
is difficult to establish and easily broken in environments such as the inner
city where people have learnt as a rule of survival not to trust outsiders.
Covert research in this setting was therefore not only immoral but also illogical
(81).
This meant that 'research was overt and totally negotiated' in
public.24 This approach
yielded rich dividends in terms of the quality of his fieldwork material even
if, at times, it generated a degree of closeness with certain informants that
caused intense personal discomfort:
Yet it is equally dangerous to get too close. I was particularly uncomfortable
in meeting, travelling and partying with drug-smugglers. There were times when
I felt that I was allowed to learn too much. There were also times when I got
too emotional. On a few occasions I found myself crying with the respondents.
(ibid).
Lest his remarks be taken as a reflection of the injunction that
anthropologists should build up a degree empathy with ones' subjects, it should
be pointed out that on numerous occasions he was directly confronted by armed
gangs who questioned his presence; that he was a witness to a gangland
confrontation involving the use of automatic weapons; that he had to deal with
the consequences of murder and rape which were the stock in trade of gang
violence; and that in Britain he was picked up by the Metropolitan Police
whilst hanging out with informants in South London.
In addition to the 'threats' that arose during fieldwork, life did not get
easier after he completed his thesis and returned home. For shortly after
arriving home he was interviewed on Jamaican radio and television about his
research, and the two part television program was rebroadcast several times
during national elections. Following these interviews he was 'asked' by a
'messenger' from one of the two main political parties to stop speaking
publicly about his work (the request was accompanied by the threat that 'life
would not be the same if I insisted that the country needs to change the way in
which votes are sought'). His life was later threatened, and his university
office was broken into and his research material including his computer, back
up files and notes were taken. Ominously the police refused to investigate the
incident (fortunately the material was coded and the identity of his informants
was not compromised). Badly shaken by these experiences he left Jamaica to
return after the elections were over.
The nature of contemporary fieldwork exposes ethnographers to a range of
threats from their interlocutors and from various agents of the state who now
take an interest in what we have to say and how and when we talk about our
research. These threats range from verbal assaults, to pressure to self-censor
and/or withdraw from public fora, to attacks on our integrity as
anthropologists (from individuals/organizations who seek to repudiate our
arguments and/or prevent us from speaking out; e.g. Scheper-Hughes 2010), to
direct intimidation 25 (e.g. the threat of
arrest/interrogation) and to death threats.
Conclusion
The point of acknowledging the checkered nature of unethical practice in
anthropology and the changing relationship between anthropologists and their
informants is to argue that we must take a long, hard look at our profession and at our own practices. It will simply
not do to ignore past unethical practice, to claim that our research does not
raise ethical issues (perhaps our inability to see the wider picture leaves us
blind or indifferent to important moral issues), nor to assert the high moral
ground and condemn those who do not accept our position and arguments (pace Fassin 2008).
As I see it a key task is to critically examine our research with regard to
three sets of ethical concerns. First, we should expect to be challenged by our
subjects and by those who fund our research regarding the way we conduct
fieldwork and write up our material. A central element of these challenges will
be our 'research ethics', broadly construed to mean how we conducted fieldwork,
as well as whether we obtained 'informed consent' from our subjects. Failure to
our ethical responsibilities seriously increases the risk that our work will be
seen as biased, unbalanced and unethical (it also makes it easier for our work
to be vilified by powerful people). To answer such criticisms it is not enough
to pay lip service to ethics as a 'code of conduct'; rather it is essential to
critically assess how our research may put our informants at risk of harm. This
requires careful thought, repeated explanations to informants in ways that they
understand, and where relevant public negotiations to explain our research
and obtain access. Ethnographic research requires the consent and/or trust of those
we seek to understand.
Second, research may confront certain problems where the best strategy is to
rethink one's approach and/or redefine one's research project. For example
research on or about particularly vulnerable categories of persons -- children,
the elderly, the chronically ill etc -- from whom informed consent cannot
realistically or legally be obtained needs to be approached carefully. Access
to key 'gatekeepers' and to social domains where illegal/quasi-legal activities
occur also present special problems: the benefits of access, including
justification for covert research, need to be carefully weighed against the
potential 'costs' (which may include being forced to terminate your research
and/or being hurt). It is advisable to rethink and re-design a project
rather than push ahead at all costs.
Finally there are lessons which the discipline should learn from the issues
raised by contemporary research. First we cannot ignore the threats that
confront us today. Whether these threats arise from a rebalancing of the dyadic
relation between ethnographers and our subjects or from 'globalization', it is
clear that the people and institutions we seek to understand exercise
considerable power. To meet this challenge we need to better prepare students
to understand the place of ethics in fieldwork, which means we must rethink the
way we teach ethics -- this requires that we squarely address the problems
inherent in undertaking fieldwork, in ensuring that no harm comes to our
informants, and in the production of anthropological knowledge.
One final issue remains: does the discipline need 'an alternative code of
ethics that takes power into account' (Sluka 1999:126), one which enables
anthropologists to undertake research into the world of powerful individuals
and organizations? Do we owe the same professional responsibilities and duties
of care to all research participants, the poor,
sponsors, funding agencies, employers, our own and host governments, and the
powerful? Several anthropologists have already suggested proposals for how to
take this issue forward. Wedel (2009b) has advocated a pragmatic approach by
suggesting that anthropologists should borrow from the ethics of journalism
when interviewing powerful individuals by agreeing at the start of each
interview whether the discussion is to be "off the record' (used to
advance the researchers understanding or acquire other sources'), 'on
background' (used without attribution) or 'on the record' (used with
attribution)'. She argues that only in this way will it prove possible to
interview powerful informants and that 'our code of ethics must be tailored to
fit the world that its practitioners encounter.' Scheper-Hughes (2009) has
taken this argument to its logical conclusion by arguing that 'militant'
anthropologists have a duty not just to respond to public issues but to bring
issues into the public domain that need to be heard. She sees this as a
professional obligation. Fassin (2008) takes a more philosophical position. He
notes that 'moral discourse evaluates, judges, sanctions. Critical analysis
proposes a possible intelligibility by considering the sense that words and
acts have for social agents but also by inscribing them in their broad
historical and political context. Moral discourse simplifies for the purpose of
its cause … whereas critical analysis renders the complexity of issues and
positions' (339). The resolution of this issue will no doubt be decided on the
basis of a careful consideration of individual cases and as a result of an intense
debate.
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About the Author
John Campbell is a Senior Lecturer in the Anthropology of
Development, Department of Anthropology, at the School of Oriental and African
Studies. He can be contacted at jc58(AT)soas.ac.uk.
Endnotes
1 I would like to thank Robert McKenzie,
Herbert Gayle and Lisa Wynn for their comments and suggestions on this paper.
All omissions and mistakes are my own. In late March 2009 after I had completed
this paper the ASA brought on-line a valuable new resource which looks at
ethics and research, see: Social Science Research Ethics available at: http://www.lancaster.ac.uk/researchethics/index.html.
2 Source: 'A statement on ethics from the Chairman' of the
Association of Social Anthropology UK.' This can be found at:http://www.theasa.org/ethics.htm.
3 In the
early nineties doctoral students were required to complete their degree within
five years of their initial registration; recently this has been reduced to
four years.
4 In 2001
the funding councils dictated the specific topics that were to be taught to
research students to which were added a range of 'generic' skills.
5 This document was issued by the UK's Economic and Social
Research Council and can be found on their website.
6 General or 'generic' research
skills, which all doctoral students are expected to complete, is provided by
training consortia in the form of specific lectures or short courses which run
in parallel with formal training provided by departments.
7 Interestingly, The Society for Applied
Anthropology, formed in 1941, established its ethical code in 1949. See: 'SFAA
Presidents letter', in Newsletter for the Society for
Applied Anthropology of
November 2000 (11, 4: 2) available at:http://www.sfaa.net/newsletter/nov00nl.pdf.
It is notable that SFAA included the need for informed consent in its code in
1983, where as the AAA did not add this to its code until 1998.
8 See: `CA Forum: Anthropology in Public
- Perspectives on Tierney's Darkness in Eldorado', Current
Anthropology (42, 2,
265-76) and documents on the AAA website.
9 For the AAAs
deliberations and recommendations about HTS, see: http://www.aaanet.org/cmtes/commissions/CEAUSSIC/index.cfmFor
a critique of anthropological engagement with HTS, see Price (2009).
10 Wax's dated paper is still listed on
the website of the AAA; also see Price's (2008a) review of the AAA's
representation of its history.
11 During the late
1950s and early 1960s the inequality that characterized the relationship
between ethnographers and their subjects was beginning to change, a process
linked to economic development and growing literacy which allowed our erstwhile
subjects to read our accounts and undertake research themselves (Campbell
2006). This process also contributed to the indigenization of local/national
anthropologies.
12 The AAA argued that
'Informed consent includes three key components: communication of information,
comprehension of information, and voluntary participation'. See footnote no.17
on this issue.
13 The ASA (UK) had
historically been opposed to professionally trained anthropologists working
outside the academy. This entrenched position came to a head in the early 1980s
when its former President, Evans Pritchard, argued vociferously that applied
subjects should not be taught. Ultimately this position was successfully
opposed as the discipline slowly embraced new applied subjects and sought to
prepare graduates for work outside the academy (Spencer 2000: 14).
14 See NAPAs website and information on
its membership at: http://practicinganthropology.org/practicing-anthro/.
I have been unable to find evidence indicating the extent to which professional
associations have taken steps to enhance the status and protect the rights of
non-academic members.
15 The extent to which anthropologists
were working outside the academy was recognized in the 1980s by the
establishment of a new 'network' which was much later absorbed into the
Association of Social Anthropology (UK) as the 'Anthropology of Britain
Network' (see:http://www.theasa.org/networks/aob.htm). Also
in 1984 the ASA (UK) finally changed its membership criteria to allow
non-academic members to join.
16 Nader's paper is a reaction to the
charge by anthropology students that the discipline lacked relevance; she
argues that students use their 'indignation' as a motive for studying the
powerful in American society.
17 By the early 1990s
he was also employed as an 'academic-consultant' at the The Centre for
Development Studies, University of Wales, Swansea; in the late 1990s he moved
to the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the School of Oriental and
African Studies, London where he is today.
18 Interestingly, at about the same time
the AAA was accused of 'contravening its own policy prohibiting ethics
adjudication' in its inquiry into the charges made by Tierney (see: Gregor
& Gross 2004; Jaschik 2005; Glen & Bartlett 2009).
19 See the statement by USAID: 'Harvard
Defendants Pay Over $31 Million to Settle False Claims Act Allegations' (3
August 2005) at:http://www.usaid.gov/press/releases/2005/pr050803_1.html.
20 I understand that one individual
studied by Wedel sought to use his influence to get her removed from her
university post. If this was the case, it represented a direct threat to her
integrity as an anthropologist and to her livelihood.
21 It is interesting to reflect on their
very different takes on key individuals as 'brokers', a term with a long
pedigree in anthropology.
22 One way of
characterizing this difference might be to say that they place differing weight
upon the opinions expressed by their interlocutors, and to secondary sources of
data including material that might be subject to numeric/statistical analysis
and/or 'off-the record' briefings where sources cannot be
attributed/identified.
23 These tools were popularized by the
Participatory Learning and Action (PLA) Network to facilitate community-based
analysis of development needs.
24 The model of
verbally agreed informed consent which emerged approximates to the AAA
2004 statement.
25 As Anne de Jong
(2010) indicated in a recent seminar, the polarization of politics in Israel is
such as to lead to systematic state campaigns against intellectuals and
researchers as well as the use of violence to intimidate individuals at peace
rallies. See also: 'The New McCarthyism sweeping Israel', The
Independent, (Donald Macintyre, 13 February 2010).