2022 Book FeministMethodologies
2022 Book FeministMethodologies
Feminist
Methodologies
Experiments, Collaborations and
Reflections
Edited by
Wendy Harcourt
Karijn van den Berg
Constance Dupuis
Jacqueline Gaybor
Gender, Development and Social Change
Series Editor
Wendy Harcourt, The International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus
University, The Hague, The Netherlands
The Gender, Development and Social Change series brings together path-
breaking writing from gender scholars and activist researchers who are
engaged in development as a process of transformation and change. The
series pinpoints where gender and development analysis and practice are
creating major ‘change moments’. Multidisciplinary in scope, it features
some of the most important and innovative gender perspectives on devel-
opment knowledge, policy and social change. The distinctive feature of
the series is its dual nature: to publish both scholarly research on key
issues informing the gender and development agenda as well as featuring
young scholars and activists’ accounts of how gender analysis and prac-
tice is shaping political and social development processes. The authors
aim to capture innovative thinking on a range of hot spot gender and
development debates from women’s lives on the margins to high level
global politics. Each book pivots around a key ‘social change’ moment or
process conceptually envisaged from an intersectional, gender and rights
based approach to development.
Feminist
Methodologies
Experiments, Collaborations and Reflections
Editors
Wendy Harcourt Karijn van den Berg
International Institute of Social University of Amsterdam
Studies Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Erasmus University Rotterdam
The Hague, The Netherlands Jacqueline Gaybor
Rutgers Kenniscentrum Seksualiteit
Constance Dupuis Utrecht, The Netherlands
International Institute of Social
Studies
Erasmus University Rotterdam
The Hague, The Netherlands
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publication.
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Preface
v
vi PREFACE
While the first book was full of strong political statements sharing
stories from feminist advocacy in public debates, this current book is
of a different tempo. It illustrates how feminists do research “other-
wise”, what methods are required to create knowledge, in academe,
learning from feminist practice and commitment. We broke out of tradi-
tional academic discussions in the Convento. We spent time learning from
each other, breathing in the history and beauty of the place, the food, the
animals, the plants, the sense of quiet and the chance to reflect. We went
for walks in groups in order to discuss inspiring articles on ethnography,
intersectionality, slow scholarship and intimacy in field research. We did
drawings, wrote collective poetry, experimented with connections with
the more-than-human. We ate light, delicious food, made from local
produce. We sketched the mythical pottery figures that decorated the
castle area. We ate ice cream and enjoyed the blue waters of the lake.
The beauty of the place formed the backdrop to our discussions.
We worked together in the mornings, and had time to wander, or swim
or write or paint in the afternoons. We would come together in the
evenings to drink wine and think what next. We explored the boundaries
of what knowledge counts. The seventeenth century building welcomed
us, as did the goats, the olives, the shade by the vines and pear trees, the
smell of lavender and the cool of the evening breeze that greeted us in the
open windows, courtyards and cloisters. We felt refreshed and energised
to share, to laugh, enjoy and to write.
We debated: how our feminisms shape research questions and
processes; how to understand our positionality as feminists in academic
processes; and how to share our research results beyond academic
avenues. These questions proved to be the starting point for this edited
book on feminist methodologies. We deepened our intellectual and
emotional relations during our time in Bolsena. We decided to continue
the conversations that had nurtured us by doing an edited book in
order to share our insights for others wanting to journey into feminist
methodologies.
The introduction tells more of this collective project and all that we
found together. Below is a group poem was written during the retreat that
captures something of the magic of that moment:
viii PREFACE
This project received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020
research and innovation programme under the Marie Sklodowska-Curie
grant agreement No. 764908-WEGO 2018-2021.
We are grateful for the support received from the Political Ecology
and Civic Innovation research groups of the International Institute of
Social Studies of Erasmus University Rotterdam, The Netherlands.
We also acknowledge with thanks the hospitality of the community-
based organisation Punti di Vista in Bolsena, Italy.
ix
Contents
xi
xii CONTENTS
xiii
xiv NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
xvii
List of Tables
xix
CHAPTER 1
Introduction: Feminism as
Method—Navigating Theory and Practice
projects, offering insights into the role of friendships for feminist research
more generally. Jacqueline Gaybor (Chapter 4) teases out the layered
complexity of using a menstrual tracking application, raising questions
about the unseen dimensions when intimate bodily processes meet
tracking software as she shares her own journey of using this technology.
Constance (Chapter 3) attempts to make visible her own clumsiness as
she attempts to trouble and be troubled by the ethical commitments of
feminist methodologies. The different forms of storytelling present in the
book allow for an exploration of the everyday aspects of feminist research
and what can be learned through deep listening.
This brings us to the different ways in which creative expression
emerges across the chapters. Creativity, in other-than-conventional-
academic-text form, comes out in the collection varyingly: as a companion
to theorizing or fieldwork, as infusing feminism into an existing method-
ology, as healing, and as methodology itself. The drawings by Wendy
Harcourt and Ximena Argüello Calle are a tool for their intergenera-
tional exchange as well as an outlet. “Our drawings which accompany
this chapter are also an attempt to probe beyond the academic text.
We draw not as artists but as feminists who are trying to capture
the sensing/feeling informing our subjectivities through these images”
(Chapter 5). Mahardhika Sjamsoe’oed Sadjad (Chapter 12) uses knitting
as a way for her to “check in” with herself emotionally and mentally
during her fieldwork. Using different colours to denote distinct feelings,
she tracks her own well-being by knitting at regular intervals and jour-
naling about why certain colours were chosen. She also explores how
the practice of knitting opened up other avenues through which she was
able to connect to research participants. In the context of exploring how
women navigate public transit in the city of Guadalajara, Azucena Gollaz
Morán (Chapter 9) uses various forms of creative mapping to bring corpo-
rality and emotion into conversation with more conventional and sterile
methods of maps. Emily speaks of the possibilities of research as healing
through poetry and creative writing, interweaving her chapter with her
own and others’ poetry. Rosa and Lillian explore feminist storytelling
as methodology as they interweave writing and drawing. In an experi-
mental and profoundly rich chapter, these authors push the boundaries
of creativity as a way of producing knowledge. While not always theo-
rized as creative methodology, these examples speak to the possibilities
of feminist research both accompanied by creativity and beyond written
academic text.
1 INTRODUCTION: FEMINISM AS METHOD ... 7
Intersectionality
Intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991) is by now a well-known feminist tool,
method and way of thinking originating in the activism and research
of Black women (Collins, 1986) The authors in the book recognize
this tradition and perceive intersectionality as a way to visualize co-
constituting identities, structures of power and oppression as well as
intersecting and overlapping political issues. There are several ways inter-
sectionality is approached in the book. For some, intersectionality is used
to recognize the embodied, situated and intersectional identities of them-
selves as researchers looking at the changing identities that a researcher
carries. Marina (Chapter 7) brings feminist methodologies of care and
collaboration in order to work with the Indigenous women rather than
about them. She speaks of the “strength, conviction and clarity to the
methodological and epistemic mosaic of intersectional feminist proposals”
that allows her as a mestizo/white woman in coalition with Indigenous
women to “reveal together exclusions, inequalities, injustices of colo-
nial patriarchy”. Wendy and Ximena (Chapter 5) describe how both of
them are shaped by collective and individual feminist positionalities and
how different sensations and memories “intersect” over time and space.
Martina (Chapter 6) offers a personal reflection of how being accompa-
nied by a child during fieldwork shows how “multiple identities intersect
in the process of field research”, including the personal and the profes-
sional, positioning herself as a “gendered, classed and ethnic subject”.
In the same candid way, Sathya (Chapter 8) scrutinizes her time in the
field and shares insights into how meanings of caste, class and gender
intersected and shifted in contesting understandings of her positionality
in interactions with the villager people. Azucena (Chapter 9) also analyzes
intersectionality in relation to identity, examining how gender, age, social
class, ethnicity/skin colour, corporality, religion, sexual orientation and
ability operate socially and spatially in Guadalajara. She uses intersection-
ality as a methodological tool by mapping out the different emotions
that are experienced by women across intersections (of gender, sexual
orientation, physical abilities, age, religion, race, class) at different (urban)
localities and time.
As well as recognizing the multiple identities of researchers or research
participants, intersectionality is also used as a methodology in the book
to analyze how different cultural and socio-political issues are entwined.
Constance (Chapter 3) shows how intersectionality can shed light on
1 INTRODUCTION: FEMINISM AS METHOD ... 9
ageing and environment, as well as what role “age” and ageing play
in existing work on intersectionality and intersectional environments
(Katz & Calasanti, 2015). In her use of intersectionality as a political loca-
tion Constance parallels race, gender, class or ability relations, in order
to underscore the importance of taking age seriously in intersectionality.
Karijn and Leila bring a further political dimension to intersectionality’s
concern with power and difference by asking feminist methodologies to
disrupt the boundaries of human and other-than-human beings as part
of an understanding of how capitalist science “oppresses women, people
of colour, gender non-conforming people and other-than-human beings”
(Chapter 2). Their chapter shows the importance of giving attention
to how other-than-human beings intersect with human worlds and how
relations among human and more-than-human worlds are implicated in
feminist research. While the understandings and applications of intersec-
tionality vary across these chapters they all attest to the importance of this
feminist tool as a method and way of thinking through research processes.
Embodiment
Doing feminist research is necessarily an embodied practice given that
bodies, embodied experiences and feelings are at the heart of feminism
(Sinclair, 2018). The book follows this long tradition of feminism by
inserting the embodied self into the text. Embodiment is evoked in reflec-
tions, memories, stories, illustrations and drawings as authors explore
the importance of bodies and feelings in the ways feminisms shape their
research and lives. The book is full of beautifully described embodied
encounters—from the touch of cabbage leaves, to the warmth of an
embrace, from the visceral pain of motorbike accidents to the touch of
a cotton sari and the feel of gold bangles, from the fear of walking in
dark streets to the hot tea served by a friend. As these snippets of descrip-
tion indicate, the book is a testimony to how embodiment as a concept
and practice informs the book, sometimes in surprising ways, bringing
agency, pleasure but also discomfort.
Constance (Chapter 3) speaks about embodiment in terms of ageing,
intergenerational care and well-being, analyzing the disruption of Covid-
19 materially and discursively in her research (Tronto, 1988). Karijn and
Leila (Chapter 2) point to the “importance of the sensory, affective and
10 C. DUPUIS ET AL.
and Fleur (Chapter 10) who speak of how their friendship enabled them
to write together, to the drawings of Rosa and Lillian (Chapter 11) that
give us the scent and taste of sharing food acknowledging the other-
than-human beings that provided it (Degnen, 2018). Marina (Chapter 7)
shares stories of food, coffee and adventures in rural Mexico as well as the
care and friendship shared, built in the stories that inform her research.
Her reflections as she walks in the woods in The Hague listening to the
tapes of her interviews take us to the core of embodied research method-
ologies. Similarly, we find ourselves walking with Azucena (Chapter 9)
and the women who work in crowded, racially and status divided
Guadalajara, as they make their way home in the dark, in unsafe places
and in crowded buses using WhatsApp to check the others’ safety. Her
thick descriptions of embodiment in urban dynamics socially and spatially,
suggest the everyday embodied identities of working women in a highly
urban and oppressive environment. The embodied experiences of Sathya
(Chapter 8) in a village in Tamil Nadu, India, are evoked as she describes
the dust and heat as well as the villagers’ expressions of care towards
her. Martina (Chapter 6) describes her embodied feelings as she works
through her personal and the professional intersecting and entangled
identities. She underlines how embodied knowledge is as important as
“conventional data collection” and how auto-ethnography can reveal as
much as graphs and numbers, describing how the “basic care for our
bodies entangles us with the geography of our neighbourhood”. She
analyzes how religion was sensed and felt—visible and audible—in her
surroundings and how she navigated the different embodied cultural
experiences, commenting: “feminist knowledge production is concerned
with emotional, bodily, and spiritual maintenance in place making”.
From so many different perspectives, the authors pay attention to
how the embodied, lived experience plays out in research interactions,
their analysis and writings. These embodied experiences, whether written,
visual or poetic, show how sensing, feeling, or what we feel on the skin
and in the heart, and on our bodies, informs how methods shape feminist
research.
Relationality
In a sense, most, if not all, research is at its core about relation-
ships—examining, looking at and unpacking connections from different
12 C. DUPUIS ET AL.
Emotion
Though emotions are often dismissed as less serious or not particu-
larly relevant to academic research, feminist research approaches have
a long tradition of paying attention to emotions, grappling with the
role of emotions in research and how to access and understand such
forms of knowing (Cahill et al., 2007). Building on understandings of
emotional geographies, emotion in feminist methodological approaches
is understood not so much as an internal process bound to individual
subjectivities, but as “being relationally produced between peoples and
places” (Sultana, 2007: 634). While feelings and emotions were touched
upon in our discussion of embodiment, it is also important to under-
score the ways in which emotions are linked to the ways the authors have
approached research as an integral part of feminist methodologies.
Several chapters illustrate how emotionally engaged feminist research
is guided by an ethics of care (Puig de la Bella Casa, 2017). Wendy and
Ximena (Chapter 5) explore how digital feminist and queer safe spaces
become places for emotional connection and care between known and
unknown others, who share similar concerns for a person, an issue, or
a community. Marina engages in the importance of care, which for her
entails “respecting the ideas of the collaborators, as well as recognizing
- naming - the bodies, the stories, the contexts that build them”. She
takes us to an emotional encounter with her participants, through what
she calls “reflective conversations”. Marina (Chapter 7) explores emotions
as departure points of inquiry. In her chapter, she is in tune with the
feelings of her research participants to ask questions around her role as a
researcher, her responsibilities for her research project and particularly, to
the participants.
Other chapters explore how feminist ways of doing research can
also be forms of healing. Authors engage in creative responses such as
writing/crafting poetry and knitting, respectively. As a survivor of IPV,
14 C. DUPUIS ET AL.
Emily explores how writing has provided her healing by helping “me
come home to myself” (Chapter 13). Her chapter is an invitation to
explore personal and political issues through emotions by looking at “how
they are embodied and felt, not just measured and observed”. Mahardhika
(Chapter 12) focuses on the emotional dynamics during her fieldwork
in researching migration. She documents these emotional dynamics by
knitting coloured yarns that represented the different emotions she felt
and wrote in her fieldwork diary. While knitting became a ground wire
and a “catalyst for these emotions”, it also became “a representation of
the emotional labour that goes into doing research”. The exploration of
emotions related to fieldwork is significant also in the process of feminist
knowledge production, as echoed in the reflections brought by Martina
(Chapter 6). In a beautifully written piece on her ten-month fieldwork
in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, in the company of her son, she reflects on the
importance of “listening with care to affects and emotions” as she thinks
on her son’s presence during her fieldwork.
By paying attention to the way the authors infuse emotions into the
text, feminist methodologies also open possibilities for exploring alterna-
tive ways of theorizing and expressing themselves through storytelling,
visual illustrations, and drawing. Rosa and Lillian (Chapter 11) justify
their choice of using storytelling and illustration as these forms of expres-
sion offer possibilities to “create dimensions and movement, provide an
atmosphere and give a face and emotions to the characters”. The drawings
authored by Wendy and Ximena (Chapter 5) “far from remaining inno-
cent or actionless” are powerful tools to shake “emotions and generate
empathy in different ways than descriptive text”.
Across the chapters more generally, there is a focus on how we feel
and what these emotions add to our research. In the sharing of a quiet
look of understanding while having a coffee with a research participant,
in the sinking into the listening to often-told stories, in moments of
mutual support, our own and others’ emotions are brought out and their
importance for the research process is examined.
In the process of how we have put together the book, even in this
introduction, we have tried to be transparent about how emotions inform
us. Emotions come through across the chapters in different ways, as they
relate to an ethics of care, to healing and well-being, and as we try to
transcend the limits of the written word.
1 INTRODUCTION: FEMINISM AS METHOD ... 15
Listening to Silences
In addition to the joys that we have found in the process of writing and
putting together this volume, we have also reflected on staying with the
“troubles” of doing feminist research, learning from the failures and what
the inevitable gaps in the book imply. In this section we speak to some of
those gaps and failures.
While the authors are from diverse ethnic and racial backgrounds, we
are all in one way or another connected to elite European academic insti-
tutions. Our shared privilege has meant that the tensions between Global
North and South has not dominated the book which might have been
expected. Coming from the Global South or the Global North is not
clearly discussed, rather the intersectional differences of class, caste, race,
gender, age. Our privileges permitted us to dedicate time to study, do
a Ph.D., conduct fieldwork, reflect, write, or connect via Zoom for our
write-shops. Indeed, that privilege enabled that first trip to the magical
Bolsena, in Italy, where the book began. Nevertheless, we are aware of our
privileges, and uncomfortable questions come across in the book about
whose voices are not there and what are the gaps.
The politics of citation is another element of the book that requires
listening, which we—as contributors to the book—did not speak about
together, and inevitably it has led to unevenness in the writing process.
This means that some chapters intentionally cite beyond the expected
feminist canon while others have paid less attention to whom they cite,
particularly given the way we are related to academic privilege and insti-
tutions that build on the hierarchies of the written text, the gate keeping
of certain voices through academic journal/books publication processes
and the dismissal of the wisdom and knowledge of oral traditions.
Here we also have to reflect on the issue of language and the domi-
nance of English (used synonymously with academic language). Being
able to speak and write in English determined whether authors could
contribute to this volume. English, as a global and academic means
of communication has served as a key bridge to communicate among
ourselves, carry out this collective process, and has been instrumental
for the realization of this project. Its dominance implies an absence in
the book of the voices that do not speak English as well as an absence
of who was cited and referenced. Although the authors spoke several
other languages and conversations were translated into English in many
of the chapters, these multiple exchanges across the language barriers
16 C. DUPUIS ET AL.
are mutely heard. For example, the experiences of the Cuir copensantes
project (Chapter 5) was conducted in Spanish and translated to English
for this book. Although the final written version of the project was trans-
lated by one of the copensantes (from English to Spanish), many nuances,
contextual particularities and probably some experiences were lost in
these translation processes. This and many other gaps can be seen in the
book. The gaps that lie between the layers of language and interpreta-
tion from Indigenous language to Spanish to English and from spoken to
written to digital spaces is evoked but not explored fully. The collabora-
tive process with its multiple exchanges in other languages had to use
English to enable it to happen, leading to an approximation of what
could be heard in the original language. Sathya (Chapter 8) explores these
tensions when narrating her visit back to Oru-oor village in India to show
the photographs and her published thesis. She describes that “although
almost none could read English, my book was held tenderly, flipped
through, as each one tried to guess who the woman was on the cover
(as I had blurred her face). With a general delight in my accomplishment,
they felt that they owned it because it was, after all, their stories between
the covers”.
The contributors to this volume have made important, sometimes
collaborative efforts among themselves not to lose the meaning of the
words in their original language and to do justice to the stories they tell
us and their protagonists. This was not easy. Even among Spanish speakers
from different Latin American countries, it proved challenging to under-
stand the depth and meaning of certain words or phrases in Spanish in
an effort to render them into English. The authors are aware of who and
what we erase or silence in the process of translating but it was hard to
give full attention, even if authors, with care, did try to do justice to the
translated conversations, words, and sayings.
These questions push us to reflect on which voices (although some-
times removed from their original language) are amplified in each of
the book’s chapters and, probably most importantly, how? Some delve
deep into these questions and inquire about what it means to do feminist
research with and for people. Daniela, Tamara and Fleur reflect on how
they engaged in a collective effort to create spaces of “co-learning and
reflecting” with social justice movements from Costa Rica, Brazil and The
Netherlands. They discuss some of the difficulties associated with creating
a collaborative process while dealing with the restrictions imposed by
academic research. Constance (Chapter 3) sees her research as “not only
1 INTRODUCTION: FEMINISM AS METHOD ... 17
as spending time with older people, which some colleagues have found to
be a sweet but not particularly serious research focus, but also as looking
for absences and listening to silences”. Through her research she wonders
“How can we (re)build intergenerational bridges?” Marina (Chapter 7)
develops “collaborative, respectful and caring methodological processes”
through which “I have adjusted my centre to their centre and created also
a common one”. In Marina’s experience, “to be able to shift the centre
of a study is necessary to be flexible and humble about our limitations as
researchers. It is necessary, as well, to listen, to pay attention, to care—
not only about our individual academic process, but about the people
involved, the processes triggered”.
Among the more subtle, if not silent, threads in the book is an explo-
ration of failure. Karijn and Leila (Chapter 2) suggest that though things
may not go as wished or planned in fact those failures can offer new possi-
bilities, indeed surprisingly creative ways of being in the world. Martina
(Chapter 6) builds intentionally on the “mistakes, detours and fears”
seeing them not as mishaps or fortunes, but rather as necessary to her
intellectual and emotional enquiry. As she states: “It has been an exercise
of imbalances and inconsistencies, but by identifying, by naming them I
have tried to balance, assume them”. Marina (Chapter 7) in her resistance
to “the normative” - the western, the patriarchy, the oppressive - learns to
shift the centre of her study from individual academic work to acknowl-
edging the limitation of researchers. Jacqueline (Chapter 4) deflects her
initial failed idea on how to study menstrual apps from a science and tech-
nology perspective into self-reflection about embodied reality, building
into the research her doubts and concerns.
The authors are all, as part of their feminist methodologies practising
the art and the politics of noticing—notably in terms of the everyday
emotions around care for others, including more-than-human others, in
creative and innovative ways. It is interesting to note what we were not
noticing. Sexuality is decidedly muted and referred to in terms of identity
not as an embodied experience. The quintessential notion of embodied
femininity—motherhood—features very little in the book and mostly in
relation to the need to balance the demands of work and care for children,
or one mention in relation to avoiding miscarriage and another about
abortion as a political struggle as well as the study of menstrual apps. This
reflects the age and experience of the authors generationally, as well as
being a reminder that motherhood and pregnancy figure less prominently
18 C. DUPUIS ET AL.
as subjects of feminist research than they once did in the second wave of
feminist writing in the late twentieth century.
Conclusion
While common themes and concerns run through the different chapters,
we don’t write from a single understanding of feminist methodologies.
The authors have different pathways into feminism and our feminisms do
different things. We have mapped out some of the patterns that as editors,
we are excited to see emerge across the collection. We also discuss the
different ways in which intersectionality, embodiment, relationality and
emotion are understood within the book as well as point to some of the
silences and creative failures. Even given the widely different actors, places
and emotions in the book, one thing that is clear is the desire to go
beyond the academic exercise of producing knowledge for an academic
audience only—these are committed stories. We have grappled with the
politics of knowledge production both in the community and in academia,
underscoring some of our feminist concerns. We leave you to enjoy the
volume.
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CHAPTER 2
Introduction
Leila: My memories of the Convento are suffused with a mellow golden
light. I think it was the sunsets, the way they filled the bowl of the sky with
rich, deep colour. The light was one thing, the water another—brown and
warm at the shores, dark and clear in the centre of the lake, holding shards
of light in hollowed wavelets. Both held us in our bodies, individual but
in shared awareness.
Karijn: I also remember the sun, in many colours, facets and shapes.
Warming our faces, creating beautiful sunsets, turning the sky pink.
A rose-tinted glow over our own “feminist community”, holding us
1 Our feminist methodologies workshop took place at the Convento in Bolsena, Italy
in August of 2019. Tending the seeds of ideas germinated there, we (Karijn and Leila)
wrote this chapter between early 2020 and the spring of 2021.
2 In this chapter, we use both “other-than-human” and “more-than-human”. We recog-
nise the unwieldiness of these terms as well as the ways they may reinscribe the very
dualisms we hope to undo by naming humans as the centre against which the other is
2 SENSES OF DISCOMFORT … 23
defined. However, we also use these terms to indicate the academic lineage of multi-
species studies, or “anthropology beyond humanity” (Ingold, 2013) in which they are
defined, which holds that the human is always constituted by its relationship to other
non-conspecifics (Haraway, 2003; Sagan, 2011), personhood is not limited to humans
(Degnen, 2018; Kohn, 2013; Viveiros de Castro, 1998), and that the environment and
its inhabitants are active participants in shaping the research process (Country et al.,
2015).
3 Here we follow ethnographic understandings of fieldwork that can be broadly defined
as an interpretive method, focused on understanding collective, negotiated processes of
meaning-making through investigating human action and discourse, social processes and
institutional structures (Atkinson & Hammersley, 2007). Ethnography is often posited
as uniquely suited to feminist research because its “contextual, experiential approach to
knowledge eschews the false dualisms of positivism”, creating a more egalitarian relation-
ship between researcher and subject while problematizing the separation between known
and felt, personal and academic (Stacey, 1988: 21).
24 K. VAN DEN BERG AND L. REZVANI
Moving in the pace of the farming season, which is sometimes fast, some-
times slow, often linked to weather, plant growth and day length, gave me
a vantage point from which to critique the breakneck pace of academic
life, the punishing schedules and focus on “productivity” we know all too
well, in which care for self and others fall away in the face of deadlines.
Feminist academics and scholars have long critiqued how the neoliberal
paradigm values output rather than depth, disciplinary boundaries and
competition rather than collaboration, and those departments that can
pull in big grants rather than the fringes (where the most radical ideas
often originate) (Caretta et al., 2018; Mountz et al., 2015). How to
alter the pace of life (and research) to that of a photosynthetic being or a
human whose life is more closely linked to the seasons and the land? How
to bring ideas about the power of plants to affect political change into
the decidedly anthropocentric realms of development and critical agrarian
studies (the disciplinary context in which I did my Master’s)?
When I returned to my home university after my summer in the field,
I fell into an anxious tailspin: everyone around me was comparing the
number of interviews, hours of transcription, coding methods, tables
and charts. The general sentiment among other Master’s students was
that more hours of transcribed interviews, more complicated coding, and
more charts and tables meant better research. I had little to show besides
pages of scribbled notes and journal entries, hundreds of photographs, a
few long recordings and seed packets, lovingly hand-labelled and dated;
less in the way of quantifiable data and much in the way of embodied
learning. As a researcher a bit further along in your “career”, I wonder
if you have had similar experiences? Did you have to face resistance or
misunderstanding?
K: The anxiety you describe upon your return is, I think, such a big
part of this type of research. Though usually I think it is something that
is common before one undertakes field research, when you worry about
how everything will go and whether you are prepared “enough”. Which is
also a myth: if we have to wait around for the moment that we feel ready
and perfectly prepared, the fieldwork itself may still surprise us and present
us with the unexpected. This is something I experienced during my own
field research, when I felt I had done everything I could to prepare, on
paper anyway. I had printed flyers describing my research to hand out
to environmental activists and organizers whom I wanted to interview, I
had forms with questions for the interviews and how they would follow
each other. But of course, as soon as I entered my different field sites
30 K. VAN DEN BERG AND L. REZVANI
North does not travel well to other contexts. One interviewee described
that in her rural context being environmentally conscious is not about
“expensive green products in special stores”, and that we need to recog-
nize a plurality of ways in which subjects may engage in environmental
practices, and with what is perceived as “the environment” in and of
itself. Thinking of our (environmental) practices in terms of relational
engagements involves us becoming aware of how our lives and practices
are embedded in, connected to, affected by and affecting others and envi-
ronments. In the end, my empirical material reflects that those activities
that appear as individual or individualistic are in fact always connected
to wider networks of others (van den Berg, 2021). This idea, that indi-
viduals and their practices (environmental or otherwise) are embedded
in webs of relations means that such practices necessarily have “conse-
quences for ourselves and our kin”, and that, vice versa, our connections
with others “transform our personal life” (Puig de la Bellacasa, 2017:
147), a conviction I think that not only applies to my analysis of “individ-
ual” environmental practices, but also extends to the doing of fieldwork.
More-than-human and relational thinking thus became a part of my
methodology as they helped me make sense of some of the contradictions
and the messiness that came out of my fieldwork.
L: Exactly. The messiness and unpredictability can be so generative— it
reminds me of one afternoon I spent working with a young farmer and
his mule Danech in hilling green beans. The farmer taught me how to
call out the orders so Danech would walk the row in a straight line at
the correct speed and turn right at the end. He emphasized confidence—
a steady hand and loud voice were crucial. I had never worked with a
draft animal before and I was uncertain, but we hilled the beans with few
problems besides a few munched plants. As I was leading Danech back
to his enclosure after the field was hilled, he stopped short, looking at
me and refusing to budge. I tugged his lead, calling “Allez! Allez!”. His
farmer turned to me and said simply: you have to wait until he decides
to move—it could be ten minutes; it could be an hour (thankfully it was
the former). Pausing for a moment with Danech, I looked up to notice
the lengthening late afternoon shadows, the farmers in the next field
over harvest broccoli with a giant conveyor belt-tractor, the rich brown
soil studded with potatoes leftover from an earlier harvest. Adjusting
to the rhythms of other-than-human creatures opens space for different
“arts of noticing” (Tsing, 2015), removing humans from the centre of
knowledge-making—an endeavour that is critical to feminist studies of
2 SENSES OF DISCOMFORT … 33
L: I think both of us feel very deeply what Kim TallBear calls the “femi-
nist ethical imperative to study a community in whose projects [we] could
be invested” (2014: NP). As a farmer, I felt I was studying the practices
of those I was working with not as an outsider, but as one inhabiting and
invested in the same world, the same daily practices and the same polit-
ical goals. Being able to care for and be invested in these farmers’ work
“compromised” my ability to stand by objectively and “report”, some-
thing TallBear calls “standing with in the act of inquiry” (2014). I am
wondering if and how you experienced this in your work, and how you
negotiated the roles of being at once a researcher and wanting to learn
from and strengthen the political project of your interlocutors? What were
challenges you had to navigate in this position?
K: Yes, I feel very similar. I think this relates to ideas on situating
oneself as well as traditional notions of objectivity. What are the implica-
tions of studying those one sympathizes with and how does this affect not
only our investment but also the outcomes of our study? If we recall the
work of feminist STS scholars such as Donna Haraway, such an implica-
tion in our work, what we study, why and how, is inevitable. I also do not
think we should shy away from the subjects we are invested in because we
may come too close or are too embedded. As I reflect above, the negoti-
ation of this investment as well as my positioning as “researcher” was not
something I “did” and resolved before I entered the field, but it consti-
tuted an important process throughout, and was also different depending
on every field encounter I had. One way to negotiate this, for me, was
to be open, not just about my aims or intentions as a researcher, but to
reflect my own motivations for doing this research, and to discuss how my
research could also be of interest to them. This reflects a central concern
of feminist methodologies: challenging the hierarchy between researcher
and researched and the one-way extraction of knowledge that character-
izes colonial research paradigms. But beyond challenging this hierarchy,
working and participating in plural and more-than-human worlds impor-
tantly challenges also the binary positioning of subject-object, possessor
of gaze and gazed-upon, which holds even within feminist critiques.
Could you elaborate on how your work with plants and farmers helped
you locate yourself within these multi-directional and shifting lines of
relationship?
L: I can think of one day spent on a farm in Morbihan, a province in
central Brittany:
36 K. VAN DEN BERG AND L. REZVANI
mobilized, and act in the world” (Roelvink & Zolkos, 2015, 48). To
be alive and act in the world then, involves a process of “learning to
be affected” (Latour, 2004; Roelvink & Gibson-Graham, 2009). Within
this frame, both my fieldwork encounters themselves, as well as the envi-
ronmental practices at hand that I was studying, became performative
outcomes of the interdependencies between environments, humans and
more-than-human beings.
Ultimately, this also affected my own sense of self and how I came
to reflect on supposedly “individual” “environmental” practices as these
categories were called into question through my research. I started to
consider myself and my practices of research, care and activism as mutually
constitutive and embedded in plural webs of relations. As I reflected in
my research diary during our week in Bolsena:
As such, by sitting with and “staying with the trouble” (Haraway, 2016)
of the contradictions that my fieldwork brought about, rather than
seeking clarity, I was able to shift my thinking and remain open to
alternative possibilities.
This negotiation of different identities and positionalities is something
inevitable to fieldwork, to embodying being a “feminist researcher” or
taking on feminist methodologies, but certainly not limited to that. I
think it is a process exemplary of how we negotiate and embody different
2 SENSES OF DISCOMFORT … 39
identities through our lives, and acknowledge how this affects the ways in
which we enter research spaces and worlds. Most clearly, feminist inter-
sectionality has brought this to the fore: how we always inhabit entangled
elements of gender, race, class, sexuality, location and ability (Cren-
shaw, 1991; Puar, 2012). Queer theory, activism and thinking, however,
feels particularly apt to me in articulating a fluidity of identities, and a
negotiation of binary categorizations that can become a source of discom-
fort in and of itself. Here I refer to queer as both an adjective and a
verb, signifying “the continual unhinging of certainties and the system-
atic disturbing of the familiar” (Hird & Giffney, 2008: 4). In this way
embodying queer identities, informing ourselves through queer politics
and theory is helpful in making sense of our identities as researchers in
a “field”, and in negotiating feminist methodologies and feminist spaces
more widely. Queer theory for me connects the personal with the polit-
ical, as well as the personal and the “academic”. How I have come to
think of myself, and more widely of my sense of self as something fluid
and non-linear through the term queer, inevitably affects how I take on
positionalities of researcher or feminist, as well as a combination of the
two. Still, feeling or being exposed/outed as queer in some spaces can
lead to strong feelings of discomfort: to stand out, to question binary
positionings and assumptions, outside of but also within feminist spaces.
This confirms, as Sara Ahmed (2014) describes, the unconscious comfort
and ease that accompany positionalities of normativity. However, when
discomfort is experienced, even when it cannot be clearly articulated,
something else happens, existing narratives and assumptions—regarding
gender or sexuality, but also extending to “being a researcher” or “doing
fieldwork”—can shift or be disrupted. I think both of us, throughout the
writing of this chapter, have experienced how when discomfort is felt and
expressed the status quo is no longer taken for granted—this can in turn
become a great source of comfort. How do your own experiences with
the more-than-human and with doing (feminist, fieldwork) research relate
to your sense of identity and queerness?
L: As a queer and non-binary person whose research does not deal
explicitly with either women or gender, I’ve always felt somewhat out of
place in feminist spaces—as if I had to explain or justify my presence.
This discomfort sometimes made me feel hyper-visible, sometimes as if I
wasn’t really there or had nothing to offer. Working outside, with plants,
is one form of refuge I’ve found, a way to access comfort: Ahmed tells us
that “comfort is about an encounter between more than one body; the
40 K. VAN DEN BERG AND L. REZVANI
Conclusions
In this chapter, we have shared aspects of our individual and shared expe-
riences of doing fieldwork, engaging with the more-than-human, our
intellectual lineages and responsibilities, and working with/through femi-
nist methodologies. Experiences such as these, that focus on the affective,
and our personal embodiment of “researcher”, “feminist”, “individual” or
“farmer” often do not make it into academic texts or curricula. Rather
than providing neat narratives or recommendations of how to engage
with or “do” feminist methodologies, our experiences reflect the messi-
ness and open-endedness of such an endeavour: a process riddled with
anxiety, discomfort and failure. In this sense, our chapter cannot offer
2 SENSES OF DISCOMFORT … 41
slick and precise suggestions, but instead reflects how discomfort is not
only part of the process, but can also be generative.
In writing this chapter together we have reflected the generativity of
discomfort, recognizing how to take advantage of that “subtle sense that
something usually clear, predictable, and scripted is being disrupted and
opened up to negotiation” (Murray & Kalayji, 2018: 19). How can we
as queer feminist thinkers use discomfort and its range of affects to start
to imagine new ways of relating within spaces of (feminist) knowledge-
making, to use it in order to experience “pleasure and excitement about
a world opening up” (Ahmed, 2014)? How can we seek out and create
spaces of refuge and comfort in which to recuperate, with more-than-
human and queer kin? How can we parse the different forms of unease we
feel—in fieldwork, in embodying being a “researcher” and our politics of
citation, in academic or activist spaces—learning when to recognize that
we lack the emotional resources to take on feeling out of place or discom-
forted? We hope to outline queer feminist methodologies as a “necessarily
contradictory practice”, a practice of “doing imperfectly with a view to
someday doing better but inevitably never quite right […] which aims to
hold the past in one hand and the future in the other, living the same
realities we endeavour to undo” (Murray & Kalayji, 2018: 17). This sort
of prefiguration is what queer and feminist thinkers and organizers have
always excelled at and the legacy we hope to build on and extend.
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CHAPTER 3
Constance Dupuis
Introduction
My academic trajectory has been guided by my interest in research’s
ethical entanglements—the possibilities and the responsibilities of
research. An early encounter with these entanglements was, for me, the
work of Maori Indigenous education scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith. I have
been troubled and deeply challenged by Smith. She begins the ground-
breaking volume Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous
Peoples as follows:
C. Dupuis (B)
International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam, The
Hague, The Netherlands
e-mail: [email protected]
From the vantage point of the colonized, a position from which I write,
and choose to privilege, the term ‘research’ is inextricably linked to Euro-
pean imperialism and colonialism. The word itself, ‘research’, is probably
one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary. (Smith,
2012: 1)
Though I did not grow up knowing and feeling research’s role as a tool
of domination, Smith, and others teach me about the non-innocence of
research.
On the surface, Smith is speaking out against dominant forms of
research that are rooted in positivism’s quest for the truth and extractive
inclinations which seek to do research on and about people, rather than
with and for people. There is also a deeper questioning of the drivers of
knowledge production; why and for whom is knowledge sought? At what
cost? And perhaps most importantly: whose role is it to answer these ques-
tions? Who should set the terms within which research takes place? I begin
here not to argue that research is unredeemable, but to underscore what
is at stake when research goes wrong. As Unangax scholar Eve Tuck and
co-author Wayne Yang put it, “as fraught as research is in its complicity
with power, it is one of the last places for legitimated inquiry. It is at least
still a space that proclaims to care about curiosity” (2014: 223). Tuck and
Yang underscore that curiosity is worthy of nurturing in research, while
simultaneously cautioning that “[r]esearch is just one form of knowing,
but in the Western academy, it eclipses all others” (ibid.: 237). This brings
me back to the importance of the questions I pose above. In grappling
with these questions, Black feminist thinker bell hooks has been another
guide for me. She speaks of theory as without the possibility of purity;
theory, and by extension research, is what we make of it. “Theory is not
inherently healing, liberatory, or revolutionary. It fulfils this function only
when we ask that it do so and direct our theorizing towards this end”
(1994: 61). From this, I take the possibilities and responsibilities of doing
research. If research, as Smith says, is a dirty word, how can research also
be otherwise?1
limit our imaginaries of what it means to age well (Katz & Calasanti,
2015; Lamb et al., 2017; Ranzijn, 2010; Rubinstein & de Medeiros,
2015; Sandberg & Marshall, 2017; Wellin, 2018). I wanted to learn from
other imaginaries of what the end of a life well-lived could be. I had
planned to focus on different collectives of older people, in both Uruguay
and Canada, who are actively reimagining and creating the possibilities to
age how they want to, beyond the logics of dominant discourses. I had
hoped, as I will discuss below, to learn from these hopeful experiments in
living well.
The Covid-19 pandemic and the resulting emotional, social, and
economic upheaval have shed light on assumptions in my research. While
I knew I would inevitably get some things wrong in the research process,
I was surprised to be confronted with assumptions that I hadn’t real-
ized I had made as core to my research. Having arrived in Uruguay in
the last week of February 2020, I was three weeks into a several months
research stay when questions about the ethics of seeing older people face-
to-face surfaced for me. Only when a global health crisis meant that my
physical presence had become a threat to my research collaborators did
I realize that my being non-threatening was a core assumption of my
research design. I believe this gap in my own self-reflection has something
interesting to add to discussions about ethics in feminist research.
In the context of a volume on feminist research methodologies, I set
out to explore the complexities of navigating feminist research ethics in
the context of a pandemic. This chapter begins by situating how I entered
the research process and where my thinking about research ethics began,
discussing how my assumptions were partially validated in my early data
collection. I then explore how the Covid-19 pandemic has flipped some of
these assumptions on their head, underscoring some of the unexamined
ageism that fed these assumptions. I also reflect on how my understanding
of risk in research has been problematized as a result of Covid-19. I
close with a reflection on feminist research ethics as a practice of femi-
nist methodologies, and gesture toward how I might put what I have
learned about unpacking assumptions into practice.
Starting Points
We, each of us, carry our histories and our experiences with us into
the research process. Often called biases, these are the impacts of how
our lives have shaped us. We are marked by our chosen and socially
52 C. DUPUIS
5 By care institutions, I mean long-term care facilities as well as retirement homes and
other assisted living institutions, both public and private.
54 C. DUPUIS
6 I would like to note that the adjectives I use here generally evoke positive connota-
tions. I am not trying to paint aging with rose colored glasses, ignoring the difficult and
painful realities of getting old. A politics of hope, and living in “connected” ways requires
work, hard work.
3 FEMINIST ETHICS AMID COVID-19 … 55
7 Mate is an infused caffeinated bitter tea popular in Uruguay, Argentina, Paraguay and
southern Brazil, shared often among friends.
56 C. DUPUIS
speak with me, they invited my questions, and were keen to showcase
their work, their thinking, and most of all the stories of how they came
to be working on care for the old and care for the environment. Not
encountering much friction or resistance, I interpreted this as being “on
track”.
In the Uruguayan context, the strong Montevideo-interior divide also
played a role in how my positionality was read.8 Because I was spending
time with initiatives outside of Montevideo, I was aware that my interest
was often read as validating the work of the people I was interviewing.
Through this, I came to understand that my interest in these initiatives
was being utilized to underscore the importance of their work; I was often
asked to speak on television and radio with members of these groups to
explain why I was interested in what was taking place. I was happy to be
able to lend support in these kinds of ways and understood this as a form
of reciprocity.
I returned to Uruguay at the end of February 2020 with plans to pick
up the many connections and conversations that had begun nearly one
year earlier. By mid-March, I was told by my university that I had to
leave.9
Covid-19 has made more visible many forms of ageism and age dispari-
ties around the world. It is important to examine who has had to bear the
majority of the costs of both the pandemic and the consequences resulting
from governmental pandemic responses. The death toll of the virus within
long-term care institutions, where the majority of residents are elderly,
has exposed the consequences of “warehousing seniors” in care facilities
(Muscedere & Williams, 2020), what aging studies scholar Stephen Katz
calls “state-sponsored elder abuse” (Katz, 2020). More broadly, narra-
tives of decline and vulnerability have, almost overnight, stripped an entire
generation of their autonomy and agency in the name of protecting high-
risk people (Ayalon et al., 2020; Ehni & Wahl, 2020). And yet, as the
pandemic drags on, the mental and physical consequences of loneliness
and isolation are showing themselves.
8 With roughly one third of the country’s population living in Montevideo, and with
a long history in disparities between the interior and the capital, the interior of Uruguay
is sometimes overlooked. The urban/rural divide means those based in Montevideo often
find themselves closer to the center of political, economic and cultural power.
9 Being “evacuated” by the university made explicitly clear whose risk is valued by the
university.
3 FEMINIST ETHICS AMID COVID-19 … 57
For my own research, this has meant that I now encounter far less
bewilderment when discussing my research topic; I no longer have to
justify the importance of asking questions about aging and wellbeing in
later life. As I will discuss in the conclusion, the consequences of the
pandemic for older people have also meant that I recognize a certain
level of urgency, with the consequences felt so disproportionately by older
people, when thinking about how to do aging differently.
The far-reaching effects of the Covid-19 pandemic have made visible
many of my assumptions and cast conversations about risk in research in
a whole new light. This is what I turn to next.
Unpacking Assumptions
Having defended my research design in mid-February, I had only been in
Uruguay for a short time when Covid-19 became real for me. While there
were not yet any cases of the virus in Uruguay in early March 2020, I
realized that my research had become much more ethically complex. Was
it ethical for me to continue connecting with potential research collabo-
rators in person in light of the virus? What was the risk of transmission
involved, particularly as my research relates to older people? Was it ethical
to even suggest face-to-face interactions, when someone may have to
weigh the risks of severe illness or death in order to meet with me?
I became physically threatening in the eyes of my research collabo-
rators, and this reversal has put into relief this and other assumptions
that have underpinned my research design. My early fieldwork experi-
ences reinforced the narrative that I had constructed about who I am as a
researcher and validated many underlying assumptions. Thinking through
how Covid-19 has shifted my understandings, I am brought to confront
these assumptions.
Looking back, I see that, despite setting out with the goal to be
reflexive, I spent much more time thinking through the subjectivities
of the people that I would do research with than truly thinking about
how I am read and where I fit. Why was my being non-threatening so
important to my project? I think this was the case, in part, because I
thought that being with people would be the easy part. I have also come
to understand that this process of reflection was cut short by my having
to leave Uruguay. I am reminded of Sultana’s description of the fluidity
of positionality: “[m]y experience has been that positionality and subjec-
tivity are tempered both spatially and temporally, and are unstable and
58 C. DUPUIS
not fixed. Dynamics change with context” (Sultana, 2007: 382). Writing
this chapter has served as a way for me to continue these processes of
reflection.
I see now that I had also assumed that some people would want to
talk to me. This assumption was based on my being a relatively young
woman, interested in the life experiences of older people who aren’t often
heard. Compounded with whiteness and nationality, I had assumed that
my interest would be enough for some to want to spend time with me.
An extension of this is the assumption that someone would be pleased
to participate in my research. I see now that I would have problematized
this assumption in so many other contexts, but I hadn’t questioned it here
with regards to age. While I did meet and spend time with many people
who were eager to share their stories of both triumph and frustration, and
happy for me to spend time with them, there is a layer of discomfort for
me in realizing this gap. I have had to continue to unpack the underlying
thoughts about older people that enabled this assumption, and this expe-
rience has served as an important reminder that unlearning ageism is a
perpetual process.
Reflections on Risk
As I am sure it has for many, Covid-19 has also shifted my understanding
of risk. Discourses of risk have been instrumentalized in many ways in this
pandemic, particularly when it comes to older people.
[W]e are seeing in public discourse an increasing portrayal of those over the
age of 70 as being all alike with regard to being helpless, frail, and unable
to contribute to society. These views are being spread by social media, the
press, and public announcements by government officials throughout the
world. (Ayalon et al., 2020: 1)
Concluding Thoughts
Now, one year later, we know more about the virus, about how it spreads,
how to diminish risks of transmission; we are beginning to see the effects
of vaccine rollout. And yet, it is still very unclear what the post-pandemic
world will look like and feel like.
This has been a necessary period of unlearning and relearning for me.
This has also served as an important reminder that even with commit-
ments to feminist research ethics and principles of mutuality in research,
even while trying to do things differently, I get things wrong. We all come
to research with gaps. The question then becomes how do I build research
practices of noticing my own unconscious assumptions? And how does
this add to conversations about feminist research methodologies more
broadly?
Feminist ethics in research is understood as always in process; it is
a commitment to continuing to work through the messiness of asking
questions. This sometimes means making visible one’s own clumsi-
ness, as I have attempted to do here. Decolonial approaches to ethics
remind us about relational accountability and ensuring mutuality in the
research process. Resisting the narrow understandings of institutional
review processes, we can choose more ample understandings of ethics.
While the virus has made the need to rethink wellbeing in later life
painfully clear, I feel compelled to ask more immediately change-oriented
questions. By change-oriented I mean that the pace at which Covid-19
is changing how lives are lived, or making visible unjust logics dominant
in society, is not compatible with the markedly slow pace of academia. I
feel now more than ever that the academic work I am able to do at the
moment must be coupled with more tangible contributions to justice-
seeking processes—because academia functions in temporalities not always
compatible with human lives.
60 C. DUPUIS
As the pandemic wears on, I have also begun to question some of the
assumptions I made early on in the pandemic. Is distancing myself from
older people, because they are more at risk of Covid-19, denying older
people’s agency? What of the consequences of staying away? In the first
weeks of the pandemic, I was confronted by the question of whether it
is ethical to see people. I now wonder whether it is ethical to not see
people.
Funding My work has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon
2020 research and innovation program under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie grant
agreement No. 764908 WeGO-ITN on “Well-being, Ecology, Gender, and
cOmmunity—Innovation Training Network”.
References
Ayalon, L., Chasteen, A., Diehl, M., Levy, B. R., Neupert, S. D., Rothermund,
K., Tesch-Römer, C., & Wahl, H.-W. (2020). Aging in times of the COVID-
19 pandemic: Avoiding ageism and fostering intergenerational solidarity. The
Journals of Gerontology: Series B, 718; 6(2), e49–e52.
Bradley, M. (2007). Silenced for their own protection: How the IRB marginal-
izes those it feigns to protect. ACME: An International Journal for Critical
Geographies, 6(3), 339–349.
Cahill, C., Sultana, F., & Pain, R. (2007). Participatory ethics: Politics, practices,
institutions. ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies, 6(3),
304–318.
Calasanti, T., Slevin, K. F., & King, N. (2006). Ageism and feminist: From
“Et Cetera” et center. National Women’s Studies Association Journal, 18(1),
13–30.
Collins, P. H. (1986). Learning from the outsider within: The sociological
significance of black feminist thought. Social Problems, 33(6), 14–32.
Escobar, A. (2007). World and knowledges otherwise. The Latin American
Modernity/Coloniality Research Program. Cultural Studies, 21(2), 179–210.
Fabbre, V. D. (2015). Gender transitions in later life: A queer perspective on
successful aging. The Gerontologist, 55, 144–153.
3 FEMINIST ETHICS AMID COVID-19 … 61
Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
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the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
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The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 4
Jacqueline Gaybor
J. Gaybor (B)
Rutgers Kenniscentrum Seksualiteit, Utrecht, The Netherlands
e-mail: [email protected]
always had very regular periods. I used the old fashioned “analogue”
menstrual-tracking method through which I rely on my memory or pen
and agenda.
Nevertheless, I became puzzled by the questions I was asked and
started to reflect on the possibilities of building body awareness through
a digital technology. I was interested to know how the different inter-
actions between the user and the MTA could give rise to different
forms of experiencing the body and the menstrual cycle. Could self-
knowledge be gained by sharing, then collecting, and ultimately reflecting
on information produced by the MTA out of the user’s data? Could my
relationship with my body be reconfigured through a self-tracking app
that is powered by my personal digital traces? And most importantly, how
should I approach this exploration? While such questions motivated me
and guided me throughout this journey, they will be addressed in a some-
what different way. Rather than theorizing and problematizing the results
of my journey while using the app, I focus on the process of knowledge
production grounded in my own messy experience of familiarizing myself
with the world of MTAs by becoming a user of one of them.
In this chapter, I describe and reflect on this journey, which I took
from the summer of 2019 to the winter of 2021. The first stage, which
I call “the overwhelming period” is when I first approached these apps,
and where my personal bias about the MTA combined with my training
as a lawyer complicated the process of adopting the use of an MTA.
Then, I moved into a different stage, characterized by intimate encoun-
ters with others, which I call “analogue intimacy”. In this stage, I left
my individual research quest and interaction with the digital realm and
found myself sharing emotional and embodied life stories with friends
who are users of MTAs. These encounters pushed me to question my
own preconceptions and biases. In the next stage, called “Flo and me”, I
share my first impressions of Flo, the MTA I ended up adopting for this
journey. During this last stage of the journey, “the production of disem-
bodied knowledge of the body”, I reflect on the tensions and dilemmas I
encountered as a user of Flo. In “final thoughts”, I highlight the impor-
tance of creating “dedicated times, spaces and contexts within which to
be reflexive” (Mauthner & Doucet, 2003: 425) in an effort to be trans-
parent about how my pre-conceived ideas and assumptions influenced the
process of knowledge construction and production.
To document the MTA journey, I used a “field” diary, the field being
mostly located in my house in The Hague, where I have spent most of
68 J. GAYBOR
my time during the Covid-19 quarantine in 2020 and 2021. In this diary
I documented my embodied and emotional experiences, which I consider
central to the process of knowledge production. This has been a crucial
aid for my memory and has supported my process of reflexivity as a tool
“for analysis whereby the representation of this process of understanding
is as important as the product of this process of knowledge production”
(Willemse, 2014: 38).
1 I recognize that not all people who menstruate are women and that not all women
menstruate. As a biological event, menstruation can be experienced by women, girls, and
other bodies and identities. I find the term “menstruators” (Bobel, 2007) useful here.
70 J. GAYBOR
instance, has been criticized for invading user privacy through its contin-
uous surveillance for commercial and political purposes (Shaw, 2016), or
Instagram, for the censorship of certain information over other informa-
tion (Kaur, 2015). Furthermore, I was not eager to include MTAs in
my previous self-exploratory journey with menstrual technologies since
I was concerned with privacy violations when personally identifiable
data is collected through digital technologies (Mahdawi, 2019; Privacy
International, 2018; Shipp & Blasco, 2020).
you sign up to use the App, we may collect Personal Data about you such
as […]”.
This both disappointed and worried me. All the privacy policies I
reviewed were difficult to understand. They used verbose, unintelligible
and confusing language. As I feared, I did not find one MTA with which
I could feel comfortable or at least safe to start this exploration. As
I navigated these confusing waters, trying to seek clarity and devoting
time to learn about GDPR and privacy protection, without noticing,
I was deviating from what I wanted to write in this piece. At this
stage, I wondered: what is the purpose of this investigation? Should
I be rather writing about data privacy or embarking on a legal explo-
ration on how MTA developers are obtaining, using and handling user’s
data? At the same time, I was puzzled. There is an abundance of MTAs.
Millions of people have installed them on their phones. They voluntary
share their private and intimate everyday life information: the day they
menstruate, the consistency and quantity of the discharge, when they
have sex, whether they use protection, or their mood swings, etc. It is
difficult for me to picture people sharing this information in an analogue
way with complete strangers. The stigma and taboo that surrounds this
topic normally prevents having these conversations even with close friends
or family members. At what point does sharing this information lose
its intimate aspect? Is it because an app is distanced from the physical
body? Does this act of separating private information from the phys-
ical body, the analogue body, allow it to feel anonymized, despite the
reality that the information can potentially be accessed by others? This
made me think that MTAs might be offering users an opportunity to
escape, yet not challenge the stigma associated with menstruation. On
the other hand, Karlsson (2019) argues that privacy concerns do not seem
to play a significant role in influencing the use of MTAs. She states that
when the female body is put into data through MTAs, users expect to
disappear in the abundance of data, assuming that the information that
corresponds to their bodies cannot be traced to them. This emphasizes
why “privacy continues to be such an important issue for feminist theory,
beginning with the attack on the public/private divide and progressing
to an ongoing investigation of privacy related to the female body in off-
and online spaces” (Karlsson 2019: 120).
72 J. GAYBOR
Analogue Intimacy
After an intense initial phase of reading the apps’ privacy policies, familiar-
izing myself with what had been published in the context of mobile health
and MTAs, and imagining my personal experience of using them, I started
to speak about this topic with friends and family who were long-term
users of these apps. Reading my diary back, I see that this process was
challenging as I struggled to cope with my own prejudices of the apps,
the emotions of helplessness that I felt when reading the privacy policies
and at the same time listening to different and more positive perspectives
and views regarding MTAs. I see how listening to people who have lived
through the experience of using the apps, was an important step in my
overall reflective process. As Sörensson and Kalman (2017) state, knowl-
edge is developed in connection and dialogue with others of a community,
not in isolation from them.
As I took part in these dialogues with users of MTAs, I often found a
common language and relatable menstrual stories. This, I believe, is partly
because users of MTAs belong to a specific minority, mostly young, socio-
economically privileged, health-conscious and technologically oriented
(Lupton, 2016). It is a privileged minority of which I am part. I could
relate to some of these stories, I noted peoples’ tears and feelings of
despair that I could understand and empathize, even if not personally
relate to from my own experience of menstruation. Intense physical pain
because of endometriosis, or emotional wounds because of health prob-
lems that led to problems of conceiving, were among the reasons that
people had begun to use the apps. These were not my reasons.
Here it is probably important to say that MTAs are promoted as
technologies that allow for a close observation and monitoring of the
cycle, measurement of other vital signs, and support with the detection
and estimation of the ovulation timing, which is critical for concep-
tion. Observing and having access to processed personal data, I heard
on multiple occasions, helped to see patterns, understand symptoms, and
sometimes explain causes that could lead to a diagnosis. MTAs were used
as normative standards of comparison.
When I worked with reusable menstrual technologies, I found
engaging in dialogue with others about MTAs was incredibly enriching.
It brought me closer to people; to an intimate space where we could both
share and listen. These narratives, where people shared their lives, both
in the past and in the present made me realize how fortunate I was to
4 OF APPS AND THE MENSTRUAL CYCLE … 73
enjoy a healthy body. It was perhaps for this reason that I did not see the
need to use MTAs earlier. These conversations were an important step
into questioning my vision of these apps as superfluous, which I became
conscious of while in dialogue with others. I had to learn to be aware of
my own biases about the apps and leave my prejudice aside in order to
understand other people’s perspectives and embodied experiences when
using them.
Revisiting my diary notes, I see how my perspective on these apps has
been continually nuanced as more questions emerge with the passing of
the days. This diary turned out to be an important document for tracking,
in an analogue way, my thought process and emotions throughout this
research journey. I began to better understand how the automated inter-
pretation of personal data could be informative and even necessary for
some health purposes. In cases where conception was desired, the MTAs
represented something more than a digital tracking method, they were a
form of materialization of hope. Something to hold on to in extremely
difficult and emotionally draining circumstances.
I was navigating the tension between the optimistic outlook, which
endorses the resounding celebration of MTAs from medical professionals,
fashion, and beauty magazines. MTAs have been widely advertised as
being able to revolutionize health care, medical research and help to
achieve well-being (Sanders, 2017). This narrative reinforces the idea
that having the possibility of knowing more about ourselves and our
bodies through data can be experienced as powerful, educational and can
lead towards self-improvement (Lupton, 2016). This positive outlook was
contrasted in my mind with a more careful and critical stand that ques-
tions the insidious effects of MTAs in placing an unnecessary burden on
people’s lives and on commodifying their personal data. Along similar
lines, I found myself questioning, more and more, the presumed bene-
fits of neutrality offered by digital data and their accuracy, for instance, in
diagnosing and in predicting fertile windows to aid conception (Setton
et al., 2016). How to balance the digital data vis-a-vis people’s own
embodied knowledge of their bodies?
74 J. GAYBOR
Flo and Me
Despite the hesitations outlined above, I became one of the “over 130
million women”2 users of Flo around the globe (Flo, 2020). For the
readers who are not familiar with Flo, I would like to introduce the app
briefly as part of the contextualization of my research journey. The app
offers two versions: free and unlimited access. The free version offers
users varying degrees of information and engagement. In the “insights”
section of the free version, a series of topics and articles are displayed in
different categories. These range from information and advice on how to
balance nutrition and female health, reproductive health, self-care, cycle
phases, and periods. However, not all the content within these categories
is freely accessible. To gain unlimited access, users are required to upgrade
to the “Premium” version. For this, payment of 9.99 Euro per month is
required. While I was writing this chapter, there was also a promotion that
included a 30-Day free trial, but that requires payment for the full year in
advance. There the cost drops to 4.17 Euro. The app was constantly,
but unsuccessfully, inviting me to unlock the premium version, which
included: “a daily well-being plan, advance health assistance chats, video
courses with top experts … and more created with top medical experts”
(Flo, 2020). Throughout the research, I stayed with the free version of
the app.
Regarding the design and interface of Flo, I realized that contrary
to the digital calendars of for example my iPhone, Outlook, or Gmail,
whose interface looks gender-neutral and “serious” or “professional” in
terms of the neutral colours that are used, Flo, like most of the menstrual-
tracking apps I initially explored, used stereotypically feminine attributes
in their calendars. Pastel colour palettes, a display of images of flowers,
hearts, and cartoons or photos or drawings of only young women, in their
20s to late 30s. Sometimes from different racial backgrounds, but mostly
white. These characteristics appear to be a common trend in menstrual-
tracking apps (Epstein et al., 2017). Flo also assumes that the user is
both a cis-gender and a heterosexual woman. This is evident for example
in the wellness advice the app gives to the users and on the use of the
language, being its default user a “woman”, not a menstruating person,
or a menstruator or ultimately, a more general term such as: a user.
2 As stated above and as it will be discussed, most apps, including Flo, assume the user
is both a cis-gender woman and heterosexual.
4 OF APPS AND THE MENSTRUAL CYCLE … 75
I read Flo’s aims with a certain degree of cynicism: “to improve the
health and wellbeing of every girl and woman worldwide”. Therefore,
[the app] helps women put themselves first. Flo exists to empower women
by giving them a space they can access the knowledge and support they
need to prioritize their health and wellbeing.
Today is your cycle day 10. What you may experience: tender breasts, high
sex drive, bloating. The hormones responsible: Two hormones dominate
your body now – estrogen and luteinizing hormone (LH). They both may
cause ovulation symptoms like high sex drive, bloating, and others.
Or,
Today is your cycle day 18. What you may experience: Oily skin and
hair, sugar cravings strong stamina. The hormones responsible: Today the
concentrations of progesterone in the blood are at their maximum, so you
may feel a surge of strength and experience sugar cravings.
Or,
Today is your cycle day 22. What you may experience: Cramps, mood
swings, tearfulness. The hormones responsible: The closer the menstrua-
tion gets, the less progesterone there is in the body. Estrogen levels have
been low for a while. You may experience fatigue, swelling, acne, problems
with the gastrointestinal tract, or mood changes.
reoriented with information on the negative side effects of, for example,
low oestrogen that corresponds with the end of the menstrual cycle and
possible emotions to be wary of as they might interrupt pursuits of happi-
ness and productivity. Or, the opposite, the app described the positive side
effects of high levels of oestrogen in my body and what to look forward
to in the coming days. The predictions of sadness and discomfort and the
incentives for happiness or success were placed on me as the individual
user. These narratives fuelled by a grammar of individualism were making
me, or my hormones, solely responsible for how I was feeling, replacing
“notions of the social or political, or any idea of individuals as subject to
pressures, constraints or even influence from the outside” (Elias & Gill,
2018: 64).
Leaving behind the questioning on whether this information is accu-
rate or not, I was intrigued by how predictions were framed. The language
used gave me the impression of offering a precise assessment of the state
of my body, as if the app knew me well or as if it had a standard to which
I should compare myself. I could hardly see this as a way of reclaiming
knowledge of my body. Instead, it resembled more a digitalized form of
control or self-surveillance of my body. It is hard for me to condense
or rather, reduce the complexity of elements that make up my under-
standing and experience of my body in just the flow of hormones during
the different stages of my menstrual cycle. I see my body as an inter-
connected system of muscles, nerves, hormones, emotions, cycles, and
actions and as having the capacity to memorize physical and emotional
pain, joy, and pleasure. That same body is part of a web of cultural norms,
power relations, beliefs, and identities. Moreover, my body’s biology, its
performative dimensions (Butler, 2011), and its cultural meanings are in
a continuous state of change due to inner and outside factors.
Final Thoughts
In this chapter, I shared my research journey of becoming acquainted
with the world of MTAs. This journey led to my encounter with Flo. I
am reflexive about how my standpoint constituted my meaning-making
processes while writing this chapter (Harding, 2004). The observations
and reflections I presented here emerged through a process of knowl-
edge production that resisted the notion of presenting an objective reality
(Harding, 2004). I did not attempt to give a complete view of what it is
to experience the use of Flo or any other MTA. This story reflects a partial
4 OF APPS AND THE MENSTRUAL CYCLE … 79
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Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 5
Introduction
Our chapter builds on an intergenerational transnational exchange about
how feminists can create safe places of engagement via the internet as
part of embodied active research processes. The focus of the chapter
is two stories separated by over two decades that illustrate how safe
feminist and queer places are co-created and embodied as vital for connec-
tions and communication in cyberspace. Inspired by feminist geographies,
we employ the term “place” as a term to explain a virtual sense of
belonging where people could explore possibilities of embodied politics
within cyberspace. We follow Doreen Massey in differentiating space as
the “simultaneous coexistence of social interrelations”, from place as the
hosting of social interactions that are unique and particular that “will in
turn produce new social effects” (Massey, 1994: 168). Our two stories
illustrate how embodied sexuality and gender power relations are shaped
in the digital world. It explores the potential for feminists in online worlds
to create places where individual and collective transformative processes
are possible.
The chapter brings into conversation what is similar, as well as what is
particular and unique to each of our stories. Women on the Net (WoN),
the first story, comes from the very early days of the internet in the late
1990s when feminists began to see the internet as a possibility for transna-
tional organizing. At that moment transnational feminism was beginning
to explore how to connect in the digital world, and where internet (basi-
cally just email) was (tentatively) being seen as a potentially accessible and
safe place in cyberspace where feminist dialogues on intimate and political
levels could engage.
Cuir Copensantes (CC), the second story, explores the process of orga-
nizing feminist and cuir/queer1 research digitally in 2020 during Covid-
19. In this historical moment, cyberspace becomes the only completely
safe space for social interaction (no risks of infection). Online platforms
(particularly video call platforms) offer the possibility to create connec-
tion and be “close” among physically “distanced” people during chaotic
times. The term “physically distanced” speaks both to Covid-19 measures
and also for cuir (queer) people to the idea of distance as safe and where
conversations about intimate emotional lives can be expressed safely.
The chapter reflects on how feminist methodologies enabled us
to participate in unorthodox research processes that crossed different
borders of time, space, knowledge and embodiments as we created femi-
nist digital places that unpacked meanings of technology, gender and
1 Following Sandra Harding’s work (1992) on situating knowledge, the project paid
particular attention to the situated context and embodiments of the participants. For
this reason, the word “cuir” was employed as a feminist (and cuir/queer) act. While
“queer” no longer carries a negative connotation in the Spanish-speaking world and thus,
its appropriation does not represent a political act, the term “cuir” is an “epistemological
point of departure, while also acknowledging its insufficiency to speak from the global
South” (Chernysheva et al. as cited in Trujillo, 2016: 5). “Cuir” speaks to the necessity
to situate struggles and decolonize the concept of “queer”, all without disregarding the
transformative potential and the political history of the term queer. Employing “cuir”
was a decision informed by a feminist (and cuir) embodiment that has developed in me
(Ximena), a strong desire to stay loyal to situatedness of knowledge while still seeking
inspiration from others’ resistances.
5 EMBODYING CYBERSPACE: MAKING THE PERSONAL POLITICAL … 85
sexuality. As we tell the stories of how these digital places were created,
we explore the possibilities as well as the troubling tensions in digital
communications. We ask: what does digital embodiment mean? How is
care constructed and experienced online? What does it mean to build trust
digitally? How safe is safe as we communicate through technologies and
machines? How do feminist ideas travel over time as well as between phys-
ical places and cyberspace? How do these spaces become border-crossing
places?
Our methodological approach reflects our strong feminist ethics which
we believe are required to build places of trust and care. Such an ethical
approach enabled us to create and embody digital safe places. It is impos-
sible to disentangle the feminist and the queer/cuir approaches that
informed this safe place that provoked and intrigued us throughout the
process. Our experiences, ways of seeing and interacting informed a
particular form of understanding. In writing together, we intentionally
aimed to live our feminist values of empathy and care that were the base
of our ethical exchanges. We simultaneously celebrated our struggles and
wounds by respecting our diversity. Our shared feminist ethics also helped
us to breakdown hierarchies of age and academic positioning in our co-
production of the chapter. We believe in the importance of raising our
voices as feminists and also to embody the transformative potential of
doing/researching/living otherwise.2 In this sense, the chapter has the
ambitious intention of bringing our diverse yet collective digital subjec-
tivities to a discussion on feminist methodology through stories across
time and place.
In this chapter, we decided to use art with a feminist and queer/cuir
political intention of not only dismantling the traditional forms of
knowledge production, but also questioning (and queering/cuiring) the
concepts of talent and expertise. We propose that art should be seen not
as a professional construct that requires talent and artistic learning, but
instead can be embraced as self-expression that can be freely explored,
in ways that disrupt academic boundaries and cross borders of what is
acceptable knowledge. We see art as a powerful tool for making visible
3 This safe place was organized by the 2019–2020 master students who were part of the
Sexual Diversity Committee of the International Institute of Social Studies. The objective
was to support each other during the academic journey, and to reclaim visibility and space.
We shared stories, mostly related to sexuality and the challenges of our own experiences.
It quickly became a network of connection and relief.
4 A research paper or RP is the equivalent to a thesis for obtaining a master degree.
5 EMBODYING CYBERSPACE: MAKING THE PERSONAL POLITICAL … 89
Feminist Genealogies
While WoN and CC inhabited different eras and were formed through
different technologies, the projects shared the goal of politicizing and
embodying cyberspace through very different interactions and embodi-
ments. In both projects we created a place of intimacy and connection in
order to explore our embodied lives as expressed through digital commu-
nication. In these discursive explorations the importance of a safe place
emerged, as part of feminist and queer resistance. This politics of place
grounded and connected our feminist and queer/cuir lives, and our
networked connections, where the body as place (in the flesh or digital)
could be embraced as the first entry point to feminist and queer/cuir
political change.
At the heart of both stories is the feminist adage that the personal is
political as the participants used different digital formats to explore images
90 W. HARCOURT AND X. ARGÜELLO CALLE
constructed meanings and conceptions that are ascribed to bodies can also
be unpacked. With this, social inequalities and violence against queer/cuir
bodies that rest upon the natural/unnatural distinction can be unveiled
(Stein, 2010: 286) and resisted through employing Haraway’s concept of
natureculture5 (Haraway, 2003). In CC the role of art was essential, as it
allowed the Copensantes to explain the forms in which “queernaturecul-
tures” (Bell, 2010: 143), or rather cuirnaturecultures, informed injustices
but also released the force to reclaim the body and its cuirness. The possi-
bility of “masculinity” and “femininity” to coexist in flowers, the difficulty
of explaining the role of bees and external agents in flowers’ reproduc-
tion under heteronormative understandings, the freedom that emanates
from a flying dandelion puff that disintegrates in the air, are some of the
rebellious cuirnaturecultures that Copensantes depicted in artistic forms
and that also inspired their desire for denouncing violence and resisting
heteronormativity in CC and in their everyday lives.
CC employed art as a medium to explore wounds, memories and
experiences (see Fig. 5.3). By crossing the border of the “conventional”
methods of research, the digital exchanges acquired a different dimension
and allowed the unspeakable not only to be said but to join a collec-
tive political intention. As a fluid, diverse and malleable tool, art allowed
the Copensantes to feel unrestricted when sharing stories, therefore art
contributed to CC’s main aim: to resist constraints and limitations.
At the same time, by generating empathy and solidarity, art made CC
an emancipatory environment. The power of art allowed the embodied
emotions to travel and be embodied by those who witness it. According
to Eisner (2008: 11) art can “generate a kind of empathy that makes
action possible”. In this sense, sharing stories through art and perceiving
them through their situatedness allowed CC to produce “difference and
equality, at the same time” (Lorenz, 2012: 17). For instance, CC hosted
a dance performance where one of the Copensantes was able to express
his embodied emotions resulting from the restrictions he experienced as
cuir during Covid-19. The search for freedom, the despair, the pain, the
courage he experienced were unavoidably embodied by its audience (the
other Copensantes and the attendees to my RP seminar), and translated
Fig. 5.3 Cuir, digital y floreciendo (Cuir, digital and flourishing) by Ximena
This drawing reflects the isolation and confinement within Zoom squares. But
it also depicts the disruptive potential of art as a medium to connect, resist and
break boundaries in the cyberspace when also finding the beauty of our diverse
histories, identities and subjectivities, together…
into tears and empathy behind a screen from where we observed, feeling
profoundly moved.
priorities seemed to dissolve. I was far away from my family, friends and
country, feeling worried, scared and lonely, but still having a master’s
degree to complete. At the same time, outstanding questions and inner
conversations about my own sexuality became unavoidable, probably also
because the courses I was following—which were readjusted for the online
mode—were related to the topic. Seated on the couch, I took the time
to reflect about my own body, an unknown terrain I had not had the
time and courage to explore. Many conscious and unconscious sensa-
tions/thoughts/emotions/memories intersected at that specific time and
space: my questions about the relevance of a RP, the search for a topic and
method, the process of self-exploration I had started, and the empathy
that my cuir history has produced in me. This messy combination of
sensing and feeling motivated me to create a safe place as a research
method, which was met with a positive response by my supervisor. I
had not known that something so personal and intimate could be part of
academic knowledge! Now that I look back, my surprise indicated how
internalized the sense of research needing to be “objective” and “neutral”
was for me.
part of the web of relations we create with the human and the more-
than-humans (animals, plants, sea, lakes, mountains and landscapes) in
our surroundings.6
~~~
which we met, that night I could not sleep well. I was nervous of not
waking up on time. I jumped out of bed to avoid falling asleep again.
While I was getting dressed, I reflected on the topic of that session
“stories of oppression and discrimination related with the ‘unnatural’
discourse”. One of the Copensantes volunteered to prepare the session
with me and proposed the use of poetry as our medium of discussion.
She suggested that everyone could come with a poem evoking the feel-
ings and emotions that being called “unnatural” generated in us, that way
no one would feel pressured to narrate (painful) stories, if they did not
feel comfortable. The Copensantes took turns to lead the sessions and
propose artistic expressions to explore together. With this dynamic, my
role as the “researcher” started to be less loud. Their ideas and creativity
took over. This made it less of a space for constructing an RP and more
a place to be together, share and care about each other. When this last
thought was crossing my mind, I finished my tea in the silence of 2.50
a.m. and started to turn on the computer, not realizing how much that
session would change us. After checking on each other, we shared our
poems and stories. We spoke about what had been silenced for a long
time, many of the stories were related to our coming-out processes with
our families. Tears, smiles, and support travelled over the Internet waves.
Once the session was over, I went back to bed around 5.30 a.m., finally
finding the beginnings of the answers to my inquiries about the relevance
of my RP and my engagement in academia.
Three: Transitions
WoN (Wendy): As we ended the project, the connections we had made
in WoN morphed into another project called women and the politics of
place (Harcourt & Escobar, 2005). The WoN conversations had allowed
for the possibilities of even deeper conversations. In the project on women
and the politics of place, we built on the WoN experience to theorize
how digital connectivity was one of the places (cultures) women could
create, the body being the first. What had emerged from WoN is how the
internet was not confined to specific expert knowledge which required
technological knowhow but was something feminists could engage with
and shape. I recall when I was writing up my chapter “cyborg melodies”
(Harcourt, 1999), I reflected on how connections about our personal
and embodied lives were interwoven with stories of how we were using
102 W. HARCOURT AND X. ARGÜELLO CALLE
the technologies materially. One woman described how she was liter-
ally putting up the physical infrastructure needed to connect islands in
the Pacific. Others shared their advocacy strategies for equity in the ICT
policy board rooms. Our deeply felt personal stories were also marked by
the darker side of the internet. We discussed how capitalist corporate and
military interests were determining the internet. The fears of what sort
of world had produced the internet can be seen reflected in the popular
(now cult) film “The Matrix” (1999). The film was released with imme-
diate popularity in the same period we were writing. The Wachowskis
sisters’ (who are transwomen) sci-fi horror film was released in 1999. In
the film technology takes over humanity. Humans are plugged into the
Matrix (a computer simulated programme) as a source of electrical and
heat energy by the Artificial Intelligence that rules the world. Humans
sleep throughout their entire lives in a simulated dream created by the
Matrix.
Our WoN project helped us confront these fears, and think through
the possibilities of the internet. We found ways to communicate in a place
of safety, despite the newness. The moments of email connectivity were
used to share intimate and important moments in our lives. At the same
time, we were aware that this technology was not innocent, even if not
necessarily the Wachowskis’ monstrous vision. We discussed how govern-
ments, corporations, technicians and military research set the rules that
could constrain our access and use. However, in that moment, and in
that community, we felt ICTs had opened up a world where we could
be freed from material constraints and let our imagination for a positive
feminist world emerge and flourish.
CC (Ximena): Several times we discussed the potential of the safe place
to generate empathy among us and from that empathy understand our
histories in different ways; to be receptive and respectful. Learning from
each other became almost our mantra. All this was happening online, a
site that I did not trust at the beginning of this research journey. My
scepticism towards the online environment was slowly being replaced by
my curiosity of all the possibilities it could bring for creating safe places,
and for us, as cuirs, to exist, interact and speak up. At the same time, in
cyberspace everything was different. Feeling, sensing and interacting did
not mean the same. It is impossible to allocate this difference to dualisms
such as: personal/impersonal or better/worse. The differences were far
more complicated than that. Lockdown due to Covid-19 was not only a
period to re-learn in-person interactions: distances, lack of contact, when
5 EMBODYING CYBERSPACE: MAKING THE PERSONAL POLITICAL … 103
and how to touch our faces, when and how to cough… It was also a
time to re-learn how to interact online. Although the internet existed
already before the global outbreak, online interactions changed when they
became the norm to replace in-person interactions. In our sessions, when
hugging or holding our hands was not possible, tears and pain had to be
addressed through other forms, such as singing for each other, dedicating
songs, reading poems or simply contemplating the screens, motionless
and in silence but with evident facial gestures that emanated love.
sense of loss in communications when you cannot touch, hug, feel the
body language when in person. Ironically, the digital places allowed us to
speak about embodied realities and tensions which in person we may not
have found easy or possible. To return to Haraway’s (1991) image of the
cyborg, we created a digital embodied natureculture where the digital self
could shape the material self. So, while these places were not where people
physically met, they were real in feeling and sensing and in memory. The
places held care and love and provided support personally and politically
as fears and hopes around pregnancy or gender/sexual expression were
shared and felt.
In this way, the places we created contributed to a digital exploration of
body politics. In the case of WoN these contributions were fourfold. First,
it was a space for participants to voice their embodied experience of preg-
nancy, miscarriage and abortion. To speak about abortion, miscarriage
and doubts around pregnancy which were in many places taboo in public
was a radical act. Second, WoN contributed to the shift in body politics in
development discourse by writing about these concerns in an international
project funded and endorsed by a UN body. Third, WoN in discussing
technology and body politics from the perspective of different cultures
was also challenging western ways of seeing, further politicizing embodied
digital interactions. Fourth, WoN conversations raised twenty years before
“me too” the spectre of online sexual harassment and the need to prevent
online stalking. We were looking at how ICTs connect the private to the
public, the local to the would-be global, intimate, face-to-face commu-
nications with distant, non-proximate intimacies. They reconfigure our
sense of embodiment and understanding of mind–body relationship, and
social-ness and our entanglement with the environment (Franklin, 2010:
367) (see Fig. 5.4).
In the case of CC, the way body politics was experienced reflected
the borders crossing/disruption intention through which the project was
created. First, this place allowed rebellious bodies to speak up and exist,
something that was sometimes not even possible in the material places
from where they were connected (home). Second, CC was a place for
singular voices to meet the collective and become louder. Finding the
“we” voice within diversity was not easy, especially when the aim was
to also highlight the particular, but it was necessary for collective poli-
tics to happen. Third, CC showed the political character that digital art
holds, especially related to the body. It allows the unspeakable to be said
and travel across time and space navigating internet waves and inspiring
108 W. HARCOURT AND X. ARGÜELLO CALLE
Epilogue
Writing this chapter was fun. We had planned to complete it in our
digital living room while watching Grace and Frankie Season 7 (which
was sadly postponed due to Covid-19). We discovered early on our love
of that Netflix sitcom—and how feminist methodology goes way beyond
academe. We see the potential of many different feminist digital places
that travel across time and space and are unashamedly part of our everyday
lives to express, connect and build loving and caring relations. We know
things will change, and we are part of the change, the machine in us will
overcome the monsters. We trust our cuir/queer and feminist selves to
110 W. HARCOURT AND X. ARGÜELLO CALLE
continue to connect, find safety and flourish in and out of digital spaces
(Fig. 5.6).
Acknowledgements Thank you to the editors of this volume for their comments
and encouragement and to our friends past, present and future, too many to
name. Wendy’s work has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon
2020 research and innovation programme under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie
grant agreement No. 764908 WEGO-ITN “Well-being, Ecology, Gender and
Community”—Innovation Training Network.
References
Argüello, X. (2020). Becoming a free dandelion: Exploring rebellious cuirna-
turecultures through the creation of an online safe place with cuirs in the
Andean Ecuador during Covid-19 times (ISS Working Paper No. 679). ISS.
Bell, D. (2010). Queernaturecultures. In C. Mortimer-Sandilands & B. Erickson
(Eds.), Queer ecologies sex, nature, politics, desire (pp. 134–145). Indiana
University Press.
5 EMBODYING CYBERSPACE: MAKING THE PERSONAL POLITICAL … 111
Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
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work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 6
Martina Padmanabhan
M. Padmanabhan (B)
University of Passau, Passau, Germany
e-mail: [email protected]
Theory: Accompanied
by Children in Field Research
The impact of children on fieldwork and the challenges of being accom-
panied in the field have been discussed widely (Brown & Dreby, 2013;
Cupples & Kindon, 2003; Flinn et al., 1998; Frohlick, 2002; Levey,
2009; Scheyvens, 2014; Sutton, 1998; Starrs et al., 2001). They consider
the balance between work and family for field researchers and the need
to think through logistics in a different light. The mutual influence of
children on researching parents and vice versa is central to a change
of positionality and destabilising of professional identities (Cornet &
Blumenfield, 2016). The research process might become more complex
and multi-faceted due to parenting while in the field, but all research
encounters are mediated by more experiences than just being in the field.
6 MULAI LEAVE—DATANG ARRIVE—PULANG … 115
With this paper I aim to reconstruct the effect of caring for a child during
fieldwork, data collection and analysis and reflect on how I navigated
bringing Jacob’s presence into academic writing and reasoning.
The implications and challenges of accompanied fieldwork with a child
is not very straightforward. Braukmann et al. (2020) direct their atten-
tion and efforts to analyse what it means to be a parent in the field. They
specifically investigate, how caring for dependent young ones influences a
researcher’s positionality and the production of ethnographic knowledge.
They explore the methodological, theoretical, and ethical dimensions of
accompanied fieldwork. Interestingly enough their edited volume sprang
out of informal hallway conversations and did not receive major funding,
as parenting in academia mostly disappears into the invisible circumstance
and thus forgoes epistemic gains such as creating other encounters, read-
ings and affects. In this chapter, I would argue that reviewing such hidden
care work with a feminist lens can enrich and demystify the concept of
the “lonely genius” out in the field collecting data, and move towards
a coproduction of knowledge (Millora et al., 2020). This applies not
(only) in the sense of insights through the offspring themselves, but rather
because of the magnifying/looking-glass effect their presence induces.
Instead of revealing the “truth” we investigate, the staged character of
the research enterprise becomes much more obvious by the ambivalent
enacting of “family” and “academy”. Thus, the notion of coproduction
of knowledge encompasses not only lay experts, but everyday encounters.
Stolz et al. (2020) claim that such invisible family conditions are the
stuff that rich and thick descriptions are made of. While studies of family
lives tell us something about the engendered ways, stages and constel-
lations of raising children, the (mis)fit of offspring into data collection
further illuminates gendered positions within academia. Though liter-
ature provides insights into the field and its boundaries, accompanied
fieldwork is rarely addressed as a methodological, counselling or insti-
tutional issue. Interestingly, multinational companies and development
agencies run large human resource departments to organise and cushion
intercultural translocations of accompanying families, while the equivalent
family transitions for the purpose of research are less institutionalised or
perceived in relation to a generalised notion of “rite de passage”.
Just as academic procedures on the surface resemble each other at the
German home university and at the hosting one in Indonesia, parenting
seems a universal practice, but the field puts cherished cultural relativistic
attitudes to test (Haug, 2020) and questions the idea of proper cultural
116 M. PADMANABHAN
What might turn into knowledge are in the very first place emotion-
ally charged affects, which eventually provide epistemological insights
(Studoka, 2019). But they come at a price. Accompanied fieldwork
is “undoubtedly hard, frustrating and anxiety provoking” (Cupples &
Kindon, 2003: 217). More than the rather intellectual “labour of deriving
a hypothesis” (Kunze & Padmanabhan, 2014), affects heighten conflicts
and provide insights disguised in pain. As no fieldwork is without affects,
those caused by the intimate emotional relationship with a dependent
minor pose a challenge in an academically induced framing exactly
because the scholarly world derives from the tradition of unworldly, celi-
bate and cerebral male monks (Lauggass, 2021). These tensions arise
because of the ideas of the professional and the personal selves, between
child and parent and are visible in the frictions that surrounds the field.
As already indicated in the binary concepts of professional/private and
grown-ups/minors, by ignoring the company of children we compart-
mentalise our research and ourselves. As Kleis (1987 in Shea 2016)
argues, single parenting researchers have to adapt more than a lone
researcher or a married pair as the needs are more diverse, but there are
less hands to accommodate and ultimately cater to them. This multiplies
the impact of cultural and environmental shock. The demands on the
comforting and cushioning parent are much more felt and drastic.
My son caused me to be seen specifically as a mother and ex-wife,
and not just as a visiting foreigner. Especially male researchers report
how accompanying family made them more human to the community
(Lozada & Lozada, 2016: 116). Frohlick (2002) observes that women
as professional researchers in the field continue to be more anomalous
than footloose men because of wider continuing gendered conceptions
of work and family. The critique of masculinist, disembodied models of
fieldwork displays the double standards, where the double burden born by
women professionals with family have to face disapproval, while the male
version gains “street credibility” (Lozada & Lozada, 2016: 116). Unsur-
prisingly, it is mostly women who write about accompanied fieldwork and
the double challenge to be both a good professional social scientist and
a good mother. In the background lurks the unspoken norm, that chil-
dren should not be plucked from their safe home environment predictable
routines and take them to unknown places away from their father (Tripp,
2002: 802).
The review of literature on doing fieldwork with a child by one’s side
reveals a number of feminist issues. Bringing the hidden care work in
118 M. PADMANABHAN
family life immersed in the research field to the limelight opens up the
possibility of theorising this constellation as one among others in the
field. Further, it helps to disenchant the aura of the lone male explorer
to embrace an entangled coproduction of knowledge. The feminist lens
rather emphasises the anyway staged character of the research enterprise
and its simultaneous prosaicness. Nevertheless, there is no escape into
the observer position, when participating as a concerned parent. Further-
more, the standing out of children in the field illustrates continuous
gendered experiences within academia and as a deviation from the suppos-
edly universal norm. The critique of masculinist, disembodied models of
fieldwork displays the double standards, where women professionals face
disapproval, while men go for glory. A feminist idea of fieldwork is not
one despite of company, but because of being accompanied by children.
name under German family law in the 60s—shares his name with the
oldest grammar school in our host city of Yogyakarta.1 What appears as
a pleasant coincidence that opened doors within the academic strata of
Yogyakarta, points to my positionality as a bicultural/intercultural person,
embedded in century old privileges and to the syncretic nature of Javanese
culture despite contemporary emphasis on an Islamic identity.
The personal and the professional self are hopelessly entangled
and create intersecting identities. Simultaneously, we enact hybridity
(Narayan, 1993) as those identities are mutually constitutive. We thus
created this mother-and-son-package to be observed, related to and
compared. As we behave differently when accompanied, interacting and
sometimes breaking local norms of behaviour, we reveal ourselves, thus
company makes differences more salient. The possible epistemological
advantage of this often-shameful loss of control when impression manage-
ment fails, is the chance to make us and the research situation more
egalitarian, like emotional fits over mundane issues compelling me to let
the mask of the self-controlled adult slip. Cupples and Kindon (2003:
212) state that the epistemological bearing of being accompanied by less
self-controlled relatives lies precisely in this. The norm violating reaction
to a child’s transgression in return provokes in the very sense feedback and
interaction, that allows insights into the rather controlled and hierarchical
Javanese culture. If data is constructed through the research process itself,
the multiple blurring between personal and professional identities affect
the knowledge produced. But they also wonder whether the company
of children prohibit necessary introspection for reflexivity? I would argue
the contrary, but in unexpected ways. Inevitable homesickness, aggres-
sion and even boredom in the child (and the mother) as expressions of
lost connectivity, frustration and loss of agency are common in cultural
shock. These strong emotions tell us something about frames of meaning,
emotional need and connectedness.
The embodiment of these feelings and reactions are of epistemological
and theoretical importance, when we consider with Okely (1992: 2) that
“the personal is the theoretical!” or with Moss (2001) that our autobio-
graphical selves are a source of information. Especially forms of embodied
knowledge are as telling for developing understanding as conventional
data collection, when combining cultural analysis and interpretation with
narrative details as in auto-ethnography (Heewon, 2008: 46). I would
even go as far as to state a need to write through these 10 months of
fieldwork and the preparatory time as well as the necessary recovery or
reconciliation to arrive at my ability to analyse the core interest, the data
concerned with organic farming itself. Writing through goes beyond the
constant keeping of a diary and revealing WhatsApp notes throughout.
Further it encapsulates the working through and reconstruction of the
emotional and practical conditions of data creation. I dug out the circum-
stances of muddling through by analysing the inherent cognitive tensions
with a feminist lens. What is constitutive for the resulting insights might
resemble the data cleaning exercises required in surveys. While the latter
terminates deviations, the feminist methodology exactly looks for these as
a source of knowledge.
When recollecting my hopes, aspirations and expectations that moti-
vated my pursuit of a long field stay, I cannot help but refer to Barack
Obama’s narration of his childhood in Indonesia (Obama, 1995). I read
his memoirs in 2009 when I became the mother of Jacob and at that
time did not imagine I would undertake field work in Southeast Asia.
However, the story of in between, of biculturality and biracial origins
in a third tropical country resonated with me and certain episodes stuck
with me. In retrospect they inspired and shaped my idea of doing accom-
panied fieldwork in an indirect way. Revisiting our own experience, I
recollect images from the autobiography that subconsciously turned into
iconic emblems (like the plastic sandals see below), fuelling my deter-
mination. Only now, when rereading Obama’s autobiography, it occurs
to me, that his mother Ann Dunham engaged in anthropological field
research close to Yogyakarta years later when her son was no longer
living with her, but she was engaged in care work of his sister (Scott,
2012). Nevertheless, certain remarks acted as benchmarks and thus turn
snapshots of Obama’s childhood memories into a reoccurring theme.
Interestingly, the anthropologists Dewey and Cooper (Dunham et al.,
2009) as editors of Dunham’s dissertation keep quiet about her fieldwork,
obviously conducted while her daughter was around. Hefner (2009)
remarks in passing that the reflexive turn had then not yet occurred
as evident in the writing, while himself avoiding any methodological
6 MULAI LEAVE—DATANG ARRIVE—PULANG … 121
2 Subtitle of the German translation reads “Die Geschichte meiner Familie” (Obama,
2009).
122 M. PADMANABHAN
Emotional Maintenance
The arrival to Yogyakarta was marked for Jacob by school attendance
from almost the very first day onwards, with exiting encounters, followed
by desperate claims to “I want to go back to Germany—immediately”
while hiding behind mountains of pillows in his bed equipped with
an mp3 player, featuring German radio dramas. Soon we were invited
by Indonesian friends, acting as our adopted family to attend a huge
wedding with 1000 guests in Surabaya. Here, Jacob intensively and
silently observed the massive make-up application and my transforma-
tion through Javanese hairdos, thereby embracing cultural codes, thus
oscillating between resistance and accommodation.
Shea (2016) describes the entering of the field with her daughter as
no model rite of passage, but rather as loud and raw when she was
struck with the sense that she was stuck in a strange place, unable to
escape. The culture shock at young age is equally a culture shock and
makes fieldwork with children “very messy indeed” (Shea, 2016: 50).
Given the tremendous emotional work children have to go through them-
selves, it seems odd to read about their importance in place making. As
Lozada and Lozada (2016) point out, children can provide not only a
speedy introduction to neighbours in an unfamiliar field site, but also
help develop future research relationships. They may further allay the
anxieties of the researcher-parent by providing the pretext for a familiar
routine (Blumenfield, 2016). It is comforting that exactly these cultural
biases make us fully human (Glover, 2016) and enlarge the likeliness of
insightful encounters. Children express their emotional needs. As adults
we entertain different culturally determined strategies to cater for these
needs, but the shared humanity is seen in the dependent children. The
adult has voluntarily left the familiar herd to learn other ways of being.
The child demonstrates the will to belong to a group and is less inhib-
ited and self-censoring to express discomfort. A feminist claim is that of
emotions as an entry point to emic understanding beyond the etic rational
individualistic framework.
126 M. PADMANABHAN
Bodily Maintenance
Place making in a very fundamental sense is to familiarise ourselves and
get accustomed with the chain of care, or rather the network of needs. We
had to first explore the material and practical care. My language course
notes focus on everything that enables us for shopping: gas cylinder, elec-
tricity, internet, food, water and vegetables, getting laundry done and
buying fresh fruit juice. When the landlord helped us to get a new gas
cylinder, he asked Jacob to accompany him in the car. Jacob enthusiasti-
cally reported back that at one point he was able to talk English: “I could
talk just like magic”. Via inquiries about stationary shops, postal services
and home-made snacks sold on the street, we wove a fabric of social
relations, which grounded us in routine, place and mutual recognition.
Through the organisation of bodily needs, we connected to families and
made friends, though the central vocabulary of the arrival period reads
sulit difficult. The sounds of the neighbours also structured our day. The
nearby Yoga school inserted me into a wild mix from hijabi housewives
to beauty queen yogis, a seamless transition to spiritual maintenance.
Thus, the repetitive task of reproducing our working and learning
capacity by eating and drinking, cooking and washing—the basic care
for our bodies entangles us with the geography of our neighbourhood.
These daily encounters create a fabric of the everyday out of which femi-
nist insights are made when we take the whole of life worth considering
as an expression of the larger picture of the economy and of provisioning.
Spiritual Maintenance
While the early morning sweeping of the street marked the start of the
day in a mundane way of female routines, the call for prayer five times a
day from a very close-by local mosque punctured the air with a constant
reminder of the obvious spiritual dimensions of Java. Not only did the
prayer times structure workshops and meetings, they also underlined the
Indonesian concern with the religious dimension of human existence.
Surrounded by fancy headscarf wearing students and the obvious pious
fashion options, there was no escape. The religious dimension as perceived
as a fundamental human trait is visible and audible in our surround-
ings. Recent Wahabitic Islamic traditions compete with old Javanese
syncretic versions deeply influenced by Hindu and Buddhist heritage,
6 MULAI LEAVE—DATANG ARRIVE—PULANG … 127
while different Christian faiths are clearly visible in the academic land-
scape. The mosque next door allows us to observe the neighbour going
for evening prayer. Jacob is invited by the landlord to join him and his
sons and to learn about the religious and social centre, as a kindergarten
is attached.
Being attached to a private catholic university, the presence of spiritu-
ality in higher education is visible in its representation (Chang & Boyd,
2011) and among staff. Co-parents at Jacob’s school teach at other Chris-
tian Universities and act as student ministers and invite us to Sunday
services; our sons become best friends. Nevertheless, faith-based educa-
tion institutions embrace other religions and enter into fruitful dialogues,
crossing the narrow path of method and arts. At the former Jesuit
seminar Sanata Dharma University I experience a deeply satisfying and
very personal debate on transdisciplinary methods (Padmanabhan, 2018)
motivated and framed by spiritual and social concerns. Just as affects and
accompanying children as a human constant slowly enter the debate on
knowledge production via feminist concerns for methodology, so does the
spiritual aspects remain a well-guarded taboo as a source for insights in
western academic thinking (Chang & Boyd, 2011).
Much of the writing on accompanied fieldwork focuses on the advan-
tages when settling in. A feminist research ethic will ask for the invol-
untary child labour kids are supposed to do, when turned into an
instrument for accessibility and as the human factor—just as wives are
often used/employed. Therefore, a feminist knowledge production is
concerned with emotional, bodily, and spiritual maintenance in place
making. The effect of multiple standards applied to working mothers
on top of that in a new social environment can feel emotionally over-
powering. The virtue of feminist methodology is not to swallow the
overload, but to analyse and unpack these dissonances for knowledge
production beyond the hegemonic. Similarly, bodily maintenance in
everyday reproduction is the stuff feminist insights are made of, taking
the mundane as an expression of the power structures in provisioning.
Spiritual maintenance as well as childcare have remained understudied in
field methodology. A feminist concern may bring both under-researched
aspects into the heart of knowledge production.
128 M. PADMANABHAN
Bidding Farewell
With the school term coming to an end, I conducted the last interviews
and we prepared for resettling by downsizing our household to luggage
size. We conducted farewell visits, attended official closing dinners and
threw a farewell party at Filosofi Kopi at the edge of a paddy field
under large trees illuminated by lampoons. All the persons that had
made Yogyakarta a place for us gathered to share food and coffee in the
wonderful Javanese mix between formal speeches and informal chattering.
The children roam around, exploring the terrain in the ultimate moment
of most familiarity at the verge of leaving. In their chasing games, Jacob
slips and falls into the rice field, showing up muddy, wet and happy to
change into a dress to continue his chases. Soon we are seen off by Jacob’s
family friends as “his fifth best friend in a row”, pointing to the transitory
nature of expatriate communities and the challenge to transform newly
formed relations.
The long-envisaged return meant entering the ongoing school
and teaching term in Passau. While I met with the compas-
sionate/understanding environment of the Chair focusing on Southeast
Asia and a visit of the Indonesian Consul, Jacob was confronted with
the hard task of resocialisation into a provincial school. Obama remem-
bers the shift in value systems and categories when arriving in Hawaii
vividly epitomised in the sandals that served him well in Jakarta, but were
no longer good enough, thus experiencing a devaluation of his reference
system.4 Though socially welcomed into the old and seemingly familiar
class and neighbourhood, Jacob was not able to catch up with the German
curriculum while his effective learning journey was totally ignored, if
not denied. The multiple challenges of being unable to cope with the
expectation in his mother tongue German in class and the non-existent
mattering of his achievement made him fidgety. The reprimand of his
Bavarian teacher “You are not any longer in Bali!” illustrates the humil-
iating mix of assuming unruly behaviour as the norm in the far away
oriental place, while exchanging one Indonesian island for the other to
underscore the irrelevance of it in an offhand way. This hard time coming
back was totally unexpected for both of us, as home was supposed to be
a comforting place (Christofi & Thompson, 2007).
4 “The Indonesian sandals that had served me well in Jakarta were dowdy” (Obama,
1995: 60).
6 MULAI LEAVE—DATANG ARRIVE—PULANG … 131
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fiction: A study of female victims, perpetrators and detectives. Brill.
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an era of constant connectedness lessons from fieldwork with children in
Southwest China. In C. Cornet & T. Blumenfield (Eds.), Doing fieldwork
in China…with kids! The dynamics of accompanied fieldwork in the People’s
Republic (pp. 69–85). NIAS Press.
Borzello, F. (2000). A world of our own: Woman as artists since the renaissance.
Thames & Hudson.
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a parent in the field: Implications and challenges of accompanied fieldwork.
transcript Verlag.
Brown, T. M., & Dreby, J. (2013). Family and work in everyday ethnography.
Temple University Press.
Cassell, J. (Ed.). (1987). Children in the field. Anthropological experiences.
Philidelphia: Temple University Press.
Chang, H. (2008). Autoethnography as method. Left Coast Press.
Chang, H., & Boyd, D. (Eds.). (2011). Spirituality in higher education:
Autoethnographies. Routledge.
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material.
CHAPTER 7
1 My Ph.D. research is done from the International Institute of Social Studies of the
Erasmus University Rotterdam (ISS-EUR), The Netherlands.
2 I will use the term “Indigenous” or “original peoples” interchangeably as both are
equally used by the research participants.
3 Probepi has been sponsored by the National Council of Science and Technology
(CONACYT). Both programs have been administered and executed by the Centre for
Research and Higher Education in Social Anthropology (CIESAS).
7 METHODOLOGIES FOR COLLABORATIVE, RESPECTFUL … 141
positioned practices that recognize and assume the individual and collec-
tive responsibilities implied. Practices—reflective and narrative—that are
not exempt from inconsistencies in the representations produced, but
which, when assumed, locate the arguments from that imperfection,
depicting complex realities and intricate power relations in the production
of knowledge.
To talk about feminist methodologies is, for me, to recognize that
thought is collective and contextual, in time, in space, in circumstances.
It is also about sharing. It is about time. Time to dialogue—with the
participants and collaborators, with oneself—to digest, to marinate the
ideas and perspectives from where to reflect, question and transform the
social problem we are looking at. My methodological journey, hence,
has entailed a constant exercise of reflection—confrontational and ques-
tioning—on the implications that producing knowledge implies. It has
required paying attention to the forms, to the substance, the background,
the contexts, the personal and collective interests, to temporalities—
the ephemerality of an encounter and the permanency of a memory;
to the vulnerability of shared emotions. It required fluency. It required
care. Caring not as frailty, but quite the opposite. Caring to generate
partial and situated knowledges (Haraway, 1988; Harding, 1991), which
contributes with the strength, conviction and clarity to the methodolog-
ical and epistemic mosaic that intersectional feminist proposals (Crenshaw,
1989; Collins, 2000; Hooks, 2015), as well as Indigenous and decolonial
(Brown & Strega, 2005; Smith, 2012; Walsh et al., 2002; Wilson, 2008)
have inspired.
That is why, looking to find a common ground with the participants
of the research, I used what I have called “reflective conversations”6 :
discussions, encounters that depart from common and mutual under-
standings—the IFP-Probepi but also the graduate studies or our diverse
feminisms—through which we find and examine ourselves in multiple
times and spaces. Through conversation I was looking for a link beyond
obtaining information, systematizing it and presenting it as a final and
individual product. I wanted us to look at each other, to recognize who
6 I have not found much literature that deepens or describes this method. Morgan’s
work Beyond Method (1983) mentions the importance of conducting critical conversations
between researchers and participants as an epistemic and methodological basis for the
“scientific method”, from which plural perspectives are promoted.
7 METHODOLOGIES FOR COLLABORATIVE, RESPECTFUL … 143
we were and who we are; that they knew me not only as the program
officer and the executive coordinator of IFP-Probepi with whom they
worked on logistical issues, but the researcher interested in understanding
and shedding light on their struggles and resistances.
The research was the initial motivation to contact them again. The
process itself required several meeting points: first by e-mail and other
electronic means to share my objectives; later, in personal encounters in
their communities or places of residence. Afterwards, in group virtual
meetings, in which I shared the preliminary findings from those face-to-
face conversations: individual talks that resulted in some—unexpected—
coincidences that I thought worthy to be discussed in groups. And finally,
an ongoing, permanent process of sharing texts produced with the protag-
onists involved. This last process has implied that I write in Spanish (our
common language), receive feedback, adjust their suggestions, have their
approval to publish, etc. It has been a feminist, collaborative approach
that has required time, trust and care.
After considering an initial framing to develop my research, I contacted
36 IFP-Probepi alumni who completed their graduate studies between
2002 and 2014 (out of a total of 71 until 2015), explaining the objectives,
scope and implications of my Ph.D. project. With the intention of having
a diverse group, I invited women from different Indigenous groups and
states, as well as with diverse academic interests and understandings of
community belonging. Such understandings vary depending on multiple
circumstances, such as if they had to migrate from their villages, towns or
regions of origin; or those whose parents are from two different Indige-
nous groups, etc. The final group was made up of 17 of them: three
Maya women from Yucatan; one Nu Savi woman (Mixteca), six Zapotec
women and one Huave woman from Oaxaca; two Nahua women from
Veracruz; one Chol woman, one Tseltal woman and one Tsotsil woman
from Chiapas; and one Rarámuri woman from Chihuhua. Their areas
of specialization are Sociology, Gender, Law, Anthropology, Education,
Agronomy and Rural Development, among others. Some completed their
degrees more than ten years ago and the most recent one did so in 2014.
Their current age ranges vary between 25 and 57 years, and the age range
when they completed their degrees was between 24 and 40 years; two of
them were mothers then and four others had children later on (in total 6
144 M. CADAVAL NAREZO
of the 17 are currently mothers).7 Two did Ph.D.s’ and fifteen of them
pursued master’s degrees. The majority studied outside of Mexico and
those that stayed in the country, moved outside their states or regions
of origin. Three did not complete their (master’s) degrees. Their inclu-
sion in the group was deliberate in order to know and understand their
motives, as well as the implications on a personal and professional level.
They are fundamental stories to look at and to disentangle the inter-
sections between race, gender and class that should inform educational
policies directed at racialized women.
While working at IFP-Probepi, I was closer with some than with
others. I would dare to say that in general there was mutual respect and,
in some cases, mutual affection and care. Therefore, the methodological
process of the research started from those bonds of respect, affection and
care. In this chapter I will describe how respect, caring and collabora-
tion played a valuable methodological role. They allowed me not only to
understand in a much clearer way their paths, the importance of the IFP-
Probepi in their journey and to address my research questions, but also to
build knowledge that goes beyond the very objective of writing a doctoral
thesis, and is more closely linked to the reality we want to transform.
I present two encounters that, on the one hand, reflect these three
elements—respect, affection and caring—in the process to build my
research, and on the other, they are a sample of diverse narratives or
“texts-in-context” (Willemse, 2014) resulting from the same method-
ological process. They are narratives that represent and happen at a certain
time and in a certain space. They imply changing positions, not only
due to the political, social, economic, religious variations of a place that
are modified and modify us (Willemse, 2014), but also due to our own
individual journeys that lead us to reflect or see differently. The two
encounters took place in the cities of residence of each participant. One in
Oaxaca city and the other in Valladolid, in the state of Yucatan. Meeting
in the cities was important to talk in spaces that are familiar to them and
The Narratives
Marcela. The Food and the Microbus8
After having lunch at a restaurant near Marcela’s work in Oaxaca city
where we began our conversation, we went together by micro9 to our
respective destinations. She went home to prepare for the next day’s trip
to the neighbouring state of Chiapas in her role as inspector of organic
products in rural communities. I at the hotel where I had come to meet
other IFP-Probepi alumni to discuss my research. Our route, up to a
point, was the same. We accompany each other. We take care of each
other. The food was as a preamble to talk a little about everything and
nothing, about our health, about food, about sexism in Mexico. Despite
the differences that separate us, the dissimilar stories that have forged
us, we also have coincidences and empathies that unite us: the diffi-
cult journey of graduate studies, our diverse feminisms, our anti-racist
positions. And it is from there that our conversation was built.
The restaurant where we met turned out to be close to Marcela’s work.
I suggested it but she knew it well. A simple fonda 10 run by Doña Luz,11
a Tehuana woman12 who, while cooking, served us, and continuously
interrupted our conversation—in a very casual, friendly way—to tell a
little about each dish, about her colourful clothing, about her personal
history. At one point she sat down with us and joined our reflections.
We were commenting on some of the problems in Marcela’s commu-
nity when Doña Luz referred to the Indigenous people of the Isthmus of
Tehuantepec with distance and with a certain condescension and a patron-
izing tone. Marcela and I looked at each other with complicity, not saying
anything, we silently understood the complexities of the sense of identity.
8 The quotes in this narrative correspond to the reflective conversation with Marcela
Avella. Oaxaca, Mexico, November 19, 2019 (audio).
9 Microbuses, peseros or colectivos in Mexico are the most used public transport, generally
characterized by their poor condition, and the careless driving of the drivers. They cost
between $3 and $10 pesos ($0.15–$0.50 USD) depending on the region and the distance
travelled.
10 Fondas are local restaurants characterized by homemade food, normally prepared by
the same owners, who also attend the costumers.
11 I use a pseudonym to respect the anonymity of the women involved in the narrative.
12 Originally from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a Zapotec region known, among other
things, for the strong presence of merchant women, who proudly wear beautiful petticoats
and colourful huipiles (embellished blouses or dresses).
7 METHODOLOGIES FOR COLLABORATIVE, RESPECTFUL … 147
Tehuanas like Doña Luz are Zapotec, “Indigenous” if we use one of the
official terms to name and group the original peoples.13 However, she did
not identify as such. That moment, that comment, our crossed gazes led
Marcela and me to reflect on the subject later. The place mattered, the
physical space of our encounter helped to contextualize the conversation,
for the ideas to flow and for us to find various references from which to
bridge and connect our ideas.
During the trip in the pesero, having already addressed all the issues
related to my research, the recorder turned off,14 our hearts met in
memories that were also part of that present, and other reflections arose.
In the brief story that I share below, that transition between ideas and
spaces that allowed us to talk in a loose, deep and respectful way is
reflected. The text weaves my narrative with Marcela’s stories and words.
It provides some analytical elements around topics such as the relevance of
graduate education and identity tensions that are valuable for discussing
the intersections between gender, race and class in higher education, but
which are not the reason for this chapter. I wrote the text immediately
after meeting Marcela, inspired and excited to have spent a warm after-
noon with her (physically and emotionally speaking). It was a reunion
that has kept us close.
13 Mexico has 68 groups that represent 20% of the total population (more than 25
million people). Although they live throughout the country, the Southeast region has
the highest concentration. Only between Oaxaca and Chiapas live almost 30% of the
total of the Indigenous persons. Oaxaca is the state with more groups, 16 different
groups representing 14.4% of the total of the Indigenous population of the country (El
Economista, 2018).
14 At the beginning of each of the 17 conversations carried on, I asked for authorization
to record them, justifying the importance for my reflective process. To do so, I followed
the ISS-EUR ethical protocols (https://www.iss.nl/en/research/research-excellence/res
earch-ethics).
148 M. CADAVAL NAREZO
parents through the moon. Every night she looked at it for a long time,
whether full, waning or new. For her, the moon was a convex reflector
that transported her to her village, where she imagined her parents also
looking up at it. She portrayed them mirroring her lying on the bed,
scared, and they comforted her by talking in silence. It was not a cliché.
Neither she nor her parents, as in a novel, had agreed to meet on the
moon to close the distance. For Marcela this was a concrete fact, a practice
that ran in her Zapotec blood, and at that moment she used it to find love
and care. It was a way of feeling accompanied and making sense of the
need to study so far away from home.
When she was interviewed for the IFP scholarship in 2002 to do grad-
uate studies in Rural Development, the selection committee members
asked her if she thought she had leadership skills. Marce said that she
would be the first woman in her town to do a master’s degree if she got
the scholarship. She didn’t know if they would understand and translate
what that meant, if they would have the faintest idea about her academic
trajectory. She also wasn’t sure if that was a good answer, but that was
the only thing that passed through her mind.
With the first sip of coffee that Doña Luz served us, Marcela immedi-
ately recognized: it has cardamom. “How can you tell?” I asked surprised
and embarrassed by my lack of palate.
I am a producer and coffee taster. It’s my personal project with my mom and
dad. We even have our own strain! Coffee allowed us to become commoners
with hearts of small landowners —she laughed—although our family project
has influenced the community. Several families have resumed planting and
selling coffee that had been lost due to lack of resources. I have helped them
manage support from the government and other institutions to get grain and
machinery. (Avella, 2019)
15 This is how the Volkswagen sedan model is called and that was the most accessible
vehicle in Mexico until 2003, when it was discontinued.
150 M. CADAVAL NAREZO
We said goodbye in the pesero. She got off before me. I stayed with the
reggaeton, the shaking and the immense satisfaction of having met her
again, of having shared valuable reflections to understand the complexi-
ties and tensions that being a professional Indigenous woman means. But
above all I was pleased for having confirmed that we are women looking
to promote dynamics and spaces of inclusion, respect and equality. In
some way we agreed, even without naming it as such, that we live what
writer Sarah Ahmed calls “a feminist life” (2017). That is, in our daily
actions, in the way we understand and relate with others and within our
own surroundings, we challenge and discuss the structural sexism that still
oppresses.
How do I link this narrative to my understanding of a feminist method-
ology? I think that, in one way it was an encounter of sharing, caring,
bonding, thinking together. A space, a moment where we coincided and
reflected on topics that I was interested in for my research, but that
Marcela said she thinks about all the time. She told me she was happy
to find someone with whom to discuss, lean on, complain, laugh about
those thoughts, her experiences. To remember part of who she is and
recognize the value of her professional trajectory: important reflections
for the self-esteem. On the other hand, the narrative itself and the possi-
bility of publishing a chapter that includes our encounter became an
excuse to continue discussing the text in distance, as I am back in The
Netherlands. Some of the writing has been done while drinking Marce-
la’s coffee BI’AVELLA that I brought from my last trip to Mexico at the
end of 2020. Academic processes that go beyond doing a research and
are more connected to the reality we live in, that we question and want
to transform. Relationships, processes built from and with care.
16 The quotes in this narrative correspond to the reflective conversation with Miriam
Uitz. Valladolid, Yucatan, Mexico, October 9, 2019 (audio).
7 METHODOLOGIES FOR COLLABORATIVE, RESPECTFUL … 151
The materiality of the landscape was a reference that facilitated the reflec-
tion (Wickson et al., 2015: 245). Walking it, feeling it and knowing it by
the hand of Miriam, allowed me to contextualize her frustrations and the
dimensions of her struggles.
17 The tambora is an instrument (drum and cymbals) and a type of music from the
North of the country characterized by its percussion sound.
7 METHODOLOGIES FOR COLLABORATIVE, RESPECTFUL … 153
She told me that her dreams fell apart because she didn’t have the right
networks and because, she said, “I was nobody’s daughter” “There is no
graduate degree that compares with networks. Neither the title, nor the
experience, or the social commitment could face the institutional interests
and favouritism” (Uitz, 2019). She moved to the academy. A foreign
world that she never thought to work in but that has allowed her to do
what she loves most: audio-visual and radio production in Mayan, by and
154 M. CADAVAL NAREZO
for Mayan people. It was the academic environment that recognized her
capacities and gave value to her studies. It seems that universities are a
business that produces and feeds on itself, we both concluded.
After the walk, in which we stopped to buy pastries and local prod-
ucts, Miriam invited us to her home to meet her family, consisting of her
husband and two little ones. She seemed proud of her family project, but
also of the physical space that she and her husband built. We had a glass
of water and headed back to Merida, it was already dark and we still had
almost two hours of driving. Opening the doors of her home was a caress
to the heart, a bridge of affection that has no return.
A year later, while walking through the woods in The Netherlands, I
was again thinking about the complexities of a highly educated Mayan
(Indigenous) woman like Miriam. Successful and with some professional
and economic stability, her journey has been painful due to the structural
discriminations of a racist system that, despite its discourses of inclusion
and diversity, deepens inequalities. Nonetheless, the strategies she uses
to strengthen her language and culture begin at home with her children
and are extended to her students and to the university where she teaches.
The effect is manifold. It does not erase, however, the pain and the frus-
tration due the racism and tokenism18 rooted in many “intercultural”
institutions in Mexico. Her shared experience has made me question the
expectations about graduate education to overcome certain exclusions
Indigenous women face at the core of my Ph.D. research.
Only by having a face-to-face reflective conversation, with a contex-
tual walk, and honestly trying to bridge those who we were in 2004
when we first met, and those who we are now, the story could go the
way it went. Only because of sharing, caring and connecting we continue
developing projects together.19 Thanks to getting inspired by our walking
intention which led me to validate each text, each story, each representa-
tion with the protagonists and produce something that, even though it is
my responsibility, was shaped by the participants.
Along my methodological reflections about caring, I also came across
with a nuance that I consider important to differentiate here. One has
to do with the forms of producing knowledge as well as its translation
into academic language; and the other has to do with the substance,
with those concerns—discomforts—that drive us to look more deeply
at a social problem. Caring in terms of forms refers, I consider, to
the written production and the process that it entails: the importance
of respecting the ideas of the collaborators, as well as recognizing—
naming—the bodies, the stories, the contexts that build them. The forms
consider paying attention to ethical aspects of confidentiality and security
of each participant and follow institutional regulations to guarantee the
proper use of the information generated.21
As for caring in terms of substance, I mean the foundation, the origin
that leads us to carry out an investigation and that has to do with that
social problem we are interested in exposing, questioning, solving. It is
this ground that must be linked or shared with those who are part of
the research and from where to seek a meeting point to reflect together.
In other words, what is important in the research process is what moti-
vates it, and how that curiosity, that discomfort, that dissatisfaction or
that social concern arises and is echoed among researchers and (potential)
collaborators or participants.
Although my research began with a specific personal objective, the
methodological process has taken me much further. I think that on the
one hand it has been a valuable contribution to, among other things,
promoting what Hooks (2015) calls “talk [about] race”. That is to say, a
political struggle to expose and position the own perspectives and voices
of Indigenous women, as a contribution to a still missing body—under
construction, I would say—of social and political criticism of racialized
women on racism (Hooks, 2015) and other exclusions. But on the other
hand, and more important methodologically speaking, to try to build
collectively, recognizing our individualities within the set of voices that
we are and openly share the reflective processes that we deal with. It is
about constructing knowledge that roots and shapes us as conscious social
beings, critical of a reality that we must transform so that we all have a
worthy place in it.
To talk about collaboration, care and respect as the backbone of my
research has been talking about everybody, about them, about me, about
us. It has been about sharing, about taking individual and collective deci-
sions; about interpreting silences, complicities. It has been about putting
ourselves as women at the centre: various, diverse, opposed, partisan, in
coalition. It has been an exercise of imbalances and inconsistencies, but by
identifying and naming them I have tried assume them. Thinking about
the possibility of producing knowledge based on these three principles has
been encouraging. They are values that emerge from feminist approaches
in manifold ways. Approaches that are teaching us to look at and recog-
nize privileges, work with them; to look at the pains and take care of
them; to look at ourselves, value our contributions. I am learning to think
from all of these. From there, I am sharing my experience, hoping to
continue challenging, transforming conventional methodologies and the
exclusions they entail.
Acknowledgements I want to deeply thank Miriam Uitz and Marcela Avella for
having helped me to build this text. Not only did they give me the encounters
that I describe and without which my arguments would not make sense. They
are enough for me to look at life differently. They have also been generous in
reviewing my ideas, clarifying some of their inconsistencies. Above all, I thank
them for allowing me to stay close. That Marce shares her photos of those coffee
seeds turned into “little soldiers” and “butterflies” that years later will reach a cup
of BI’AVELLA. That Miri tells me about her family entrepreneurship and makes
me carve for the fried bananas (Don Ja’as) they distribute around Valladolid. That
I can share with them how my children are growing; what The Netherlands is
like. I thank them simply for being a part of my life.
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CHAPTER 8
C. Sathyamala
Introduction
This chapter tells the story of my fifteen-month ethnographic study in a
village in Tamil Nadu, India, for a doctoral degree. When I set out for my
Ph.D. “fieldwork”,1 even if inexperienced in ethnography, I carried to the
“field” a certain worldview shaped by Marxist and feminist theories along
with critical readings of other axes of oppression such as caste and race.
In addition, irrespective of whether it was for the purposes of research
or not, there were certain ethical values that I considered indispensable
while working with people. These were to respect people, not practice
discrimination and above all to do no harm. I would term these universal
1 I place the word fieldwork within quotation marks as I am not comfortable using this
word to describe interactions with people particularly after I found out that it is also a
military terminology (Asher, 2019).
C. Sathyamala (B)
International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam, The
Hague, The Netherlands
e-mail: [email protected]
2 The intention was to go beyond just combining academic disciplines in order to break
disciplinary boundaries and move towards a new holistic approach.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 165
3 My first major struggle was to accept “social” sciences as “science” because from
school days “social studies”, as it was known, were allocated for students who could not
make it to the natural science grades.
4 Though I received help from many, for their guidance during this period, I am
particularly grateful to my promoter Ashwani Saith, co-promoter Amrita Chhachhi, John
Cameron and Shanti George. Special acknowledgements are due to the International Insti-
tute of Social Studies (ISS) for opening the door of opportunity, and to the Netherlands
Fellowship Programme (NFP) for financial support through much of my Ph.D. years.
166 C. SATHYAMALA
Go to the people. Live with them. Learn from them. Love them. Start
with what they know. Build with what they have. But with the best leaders,
when the work is done, the task accomplished,
the people will say “We have done this ourselves”.5
While my initial decision to work with the people was impulsive and
emotional as I was moved by their suffering, it later drew its inspira-
tion from Marxist and left-wing literature. Though an instinctive feminist
from the age of five (Sathyamala, 1998: 7), I discovered feminism by
being part of the autonomous women’s movement in India6 and together
with others spearheaded some of the important campaigns in reproduc-
tive health rights.7 I learned to listen to the wisdom of the “have-nots” as
they negotiated their lives against unimaginable odds,8 and in the process
I learned social theory from them. For instance, in a training programme
5 This saying by Lao Tsu is well quoted on the web but it is difficult to find exactly
which writing it was included in. For more on Lao Tsu see Wei-bin (2001).
6 In India, the autonomous women’s groups emerged in the late 1970s, comprising
mostly middle class educated women, many of whom were from the left tradition, but
who had become disenchanted with patriarchy and sexism experienced there (Sathyamala,
2005). These groups were non-party affiliated and refrained from taking external funds
to support their work. For a critique of the autonomous women’s groups in relation to
the caste question, see Rege (1998).
7 Notable among these are the campaigns against the E-P drugs (high fixed dose
estrogen-progesterone combination drugs), sex-determination tests and sex-selective abor-
tions, and the hazardous long-term contraceptives such as the injectable Net-En and
Depo-Provera.
8 For instance, it was by listening to the survivors of the Bhopal gas leak tragedy of
1984, in Bhopal, India, that I and my two male colleagues could design a study in 1989
that challenged the faulty categorization of injuries by the medical establishment. This
later formed the basis of interim relief for the survivors (see Sathyamala et al., 1989).
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 167
Behanji (sister) when you talk of equality, are you talking of equality with
my husband who is a landless labourer, or of equality with my landlord
who owns 60 acres of land, or of equality with you who earns about fifty
times my wages? (Sathyamala, 1995: 15)
It was when I began to read theory after joining the Ph.D. programme,
that I learned that the multiple, multi-layered inequalities had been
conceptualized as intersectionality by Crenshaw (1989).10 Without any
formal grounding in the social sciences, coming from a country where
inequalities of every sort are present in every walk of life, and are clearly
visible to the naked eye, I had positioned myself as a Marxist-feminist,11
conscious of other intersecting inequalities due to caste and religious iden-
tities. I concluded that public health required “taking sides”, a positioning
which I explored in a co-authored book, with the same title, on the polit-
ical economy of health (Sathyamala et al., 1986). Training in a care-giving
profession,12 gave me the ability to observe, to listen with the eyes and
empathize, as I tried to live up to the German physician Rudolf Virchow’s
(1821–1902) maxim, that “a physician is a natural attorney of the poor”
(Brown & Fee, 2006: 2104).
For my Ph.D. “fieldwork”, although I have never lived in Tamil Nadu,
I chose a village from this state as Tamil is my mother tongue and I
am well-versed in it. I went through an elaborate process for selecting
the study village: two major considerations were, one, that it should be
of mixed caste groups and two, be large enough to provide adequate
9 She tragically died later of a non-pregnancy related cause for want of timely medical
help.
10 Although bell hooks had talked about sexism and racism in 1981, the concept
intersectionality is attributed to the American black feminist Kimberlé Crenshaw (1989).
See Davis (2020) about contestations over who owns intersectionality.
11 “Marxist feminism explores how gender ideologies of femininity and masculinity
structure production in capitalism” (Armstrong, 2020: NP).
12 Here I would like to acknowledge the faculty at the Christian Medical College,
Ludhiana, Punjab, India, where I trained as a physician for inculcating in us a strong
sense of the ethics of care.
168 C. SATHYAMALA
numbers for statistical purposes but not too large to make participant
observation impossible. As I describe below, the final village selection
was based on intuition and emotion both of which are valued in feminist
methodological approaches.13
13 My research was based on multiple sources of data ranging from direct observations
(with regular journaling), interviews, discussions, documents, village records, newspapers
as well as two quantitative surveys.
14 The gram panchayat (village council) is a democratic body at the village level with
the council members elected by the village people. To encourage women to be elected as
presidents of the village council, a specified number of villages in a state are reserved for
women Panchayat presidents.
15 The word aaraichi appeared to be well understood as “finding out”.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 169
Later, living in the village, depending upon the time of the day
(morning, noon, or evening), the query “chaapteengala”16 inevitably
followed a greeting when I met someone (both men and women) who
knew me well. This way of greeting was mostly rhetorical but was also
meant to convey concern and care. The hospitality of the Indian people,
particularly in rural areas, has been noted by others. Gold (2015) writes
about her experience in a North Indian village,
I visited the village again in 2010 and my initial feeling of ease was
confirmed, and, after my design seminar presentation at the end of my
first year of doctoral studies, I “entered” the village to live and formally
do my research from January 2011 to March 2012.
To her interaction with the participants, the researcher brings her location,
culture, motivations, limitations, ignorances, skills, education, sources,
familiarity with theory and methodology, the trained incapacities of social-
ization in dominant institutions, and an outside perspective that may be
useful as well as troublesome. (Gorelick, 1991: 469)
17 I have given the pseudonym “Oru-oor” to the study village, words which mean,
literally, one village/city/town. In Tamil Nadu, the administrative word for a village is
the sanskritized word, kiramam, but village people refer to their village as oor. However,
in practice, this word denotes only that part of the village where the upper castes reside.
The area where the former “untouchable” groups reside is called cheri or colony. By
naming it Oru-oor, I reclaim the word to denote the entire village comprising both the
upper caste and lower caste localities. Moreover, it is a Tamil word which has no religious
connotations. I thank S. Gopalakrishnan IAS, for brainstorming a pseudonym for the
study village and for suggesting the categorization of caste groups as given in footnote
22.
18 I had more than 1000 pages hand-written “field notes”. In the final submission of
my thesis, I excluded or glossed over incidents which could cause harm were it to be
placed in the public domain and also those that did not add to the substance of the
chapter.
19 I was born in a family practising Catholicism, but I gave up organized religion
during my teen years. It is since the early 1990s, that with the rise of Hindutva forces
in my country, I have had to grapple with my ‘minority’ status and the meaning of my
religious identity at birth; Christians of all denominations form approximately 2% of the
Indian population. See Sathyamala (2017) for a discussion on the dilemma it poses in
contemporary India.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 171
My Identity as a Researcher
As I began my Ph.D. “fieldwork”, I was faced with a serious ethical
dilemma. During my Design seminar, I had stated that I was,
…entering the village with the knowledge that this study is not being
conducted because of the village people’s expressed need. Doing so will be
a first time for me as my other research work, where I have been personally
involved in data collection, have been on issues which emerged directly
from people’s expressed needs. (Sathyamala, 2010: 48)20
The key is to take the role of a researcher immediately when you arrive at
your field site… Let people know from the first day you arrive that you
are there to study their way of life. Don’t try to become an inconspic-
uous participant rather than what you really are: an observer who wants to
participate as much as possible. (Bernard, 1994: 182)
Right from day one, when I spoke to anyone who asked me what I was
doing in the village I said that I was doing aaraichi. Initially, I carried a
notebook openly but when I began writing, I realized it made people very
nervous because I was writing in English. Therefore, I stopped taking
out my notebook to write immediately after a conversation or when I
was with people who were not familiar with me. It also made me realize
the importance of writing in Tamil so that it could be read by others if
they felt curious and the process would make them feel less anxious and
20 The reason why I had refrained from choosing for my Ph.D. research any of the
issues that I had been actively associated with in the past as an activist was due to
reluctance to capitalize for personal benefits the trust I had gained through my activism.
172 C. SATHYAMALA
My Caste Location
Choosing a place of residence in an Indian village is a critical decision
as there are no neutral spaces. I found out that the place of residence of
an ethnographer locates their identity in the village people’s perception
and colours their interactions in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Oru-oor
village had three major settlements, a central part where the upper castes
resided known as male-oor (high village), flanked on the East and West
by settlements of the lower caste groups.22 I took a considered decision
to reside in that part of the village where the lower caste people resided
as I felt that my acceptance by them was critical for my research and this
could be facilitated only if I lived among them.I found keezh-oor (low
village) on the east better suited as the larger proportion of the lower
21 This was both because I am more fluent in English and because I did not want
anyone to read my unedited and un-anonymized account of everyday lives, containing
personal stories, conversations, often of confidential nature. When I was in the village, I
carried my notebook with me all the time, even sleeping with it under my pillow.
22 The groups I categorize as “upper castes” were almost all belonging to the “Other
Backward Classes” or “Most Backward Classes” as per classification by the Tamil Nadu
government. Those I categorize as “lower castes” belonged to the former “untouchable”
caste groups. Untouchability was abolished legally in post-independence India and the
“untouchable” caste groups were categorized as “Scheduled Castes”. The term Dalit,
(oppressed) has been adopted by some of these groups particularly in the western and
northern parts of India, as an emancipatory term. Caste is a hereditary system of inequality
legitimized by the Hindu religious texts and maintained by strict endogamy.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 173
caste residences was located there and the approach road to the land on
the east side of the village passed through this (see Fig. 8.1).
I found that at an everyday social level, more than class or economic
status, caste was often the defining identity in the village. I should have
realized that this would be a sensitive issue because in Tamil Nadu the
lower caste people have had a long history of emancipatory struggles.
This was brought home to me during my preliminary visit when I went
searching for the house of the woman I had met during an earlier visit. I
knew she lived in the lower caste part of the village and not being familiar
with the village, I asked some people the jaadhi (caste) that lived there.
One of them responded that they were all the same jaadhi, manusha
jaadhi (human caste). I had not thought that my question would give
offence. Because of this experience, in the first quantitative baseline survey
(carried out in the fourth month of my stay in the village) I did not
include the caste question. Later, I learnt the word aatkal (people) was
an inoffensive way of enquiring about caste and would produce the caste
name without much hesitation.
because now I resided in the lower caste keezh-oor. The irony was that
the caste my family was said to belong to is supposed to be higher than
the owners of the potential rental house. It appeared that my prolonged
residence in the lower caste area rubbed off on me and “polluted” my
caste identity and made me also “untouchable” in the upper caste view.
My Class Background
In Tamil Nadu, one way the wealth of a family is assessed is by how much
gold jewellery the women of the family wear. I generally wear very little
gold on my person, and it was in the second month of my stay in the
village that I learnt that my lack of gold jewellery had been discussed
among the women. One day, in the course of a conversation, a woman
burst out in anger against me, saying I was play-acting at being poor.
This woman was well-known for being abrasive and outspoken. It was
alleged that she had once slapped her son-in-law for beating her daughter,
his wife. Still, I was taken aback both by her charge and by her venom.
When asked to explain, she said I must have lakhs of rupees23 worth of
gold ornaments at home and here I was pretending to be poor by wearing
brass earrings, a gold-plated chain around my neck and no gold bangles.
She said I behaved just like the upper caste women in the village (she was
from the lower caste group), pretending to be poor when they had a lot
of gold ornaments which they brought out to wear only during festival
days. I told her that my small earrings and the chain around my neck were
made of gold (but gold ornaments made in north India have a different
hue than that in the south because of the proportion in the alloy) and that
I had always been averse to wearing heavy gold. She was not convinced
because I had also once worn costume jewellery which I had not known
then that it was worn only by those who did not possess gold ornaments.
There was another reason why women thought I was play-acting at
being poor. Initially, I chose to wear synthetic saris. This was because the
cloth did not crease, and one could sit anywhere, even on the dirt floor
(all it required was a pat to get rid of the dust when one got up), were
easy to wash, drying within minutes under the hot sun. But it was unbear-
ably hot to wear them as synthetics do not absorb sweat and retain heat.
I soon discovered that the cotton saris that the Tamil Nadu government
supplies were very suitable for the heat. These are made of cotton, hand-
woven, and given as free gifts for the harvest festival pongal through the
ration shops (they are called elavasa pudavai—free sari; later the term
changed to villai-illa pudavai—unpriced sari); old age pensioners also
get an additional sari during the year. They are light, easy to wash, and I
thought were pretty with contrast-coloured borders. I bought about six,
at an extremely nominal rate ranging from Rs. 25/- to Rs. 50/- (25 to 60
euro cents) each. Only old women wear them, but other women sell them
as they prefer to wear synthetic saris. When I wore these saris, it evoked
unexpected reactions. Many marvelled that I wore them at all as they
are easily recognizable. I received mixed reactions; some felt that it was
not worthy of my status given my level of education and position; others
said that these saris looked much nicer on me than on them. However,
the women found it difficult to reconcile to the fact that I liked wearing
them. Occasionally, when I was invited to a wedding, I wore a silk sari.
Again, these were found wanting by some of the women, since they were
simple and did not have heavy gold borders. After a while, as I continued
wearing the elavasa pudavai on and off, these kinds of comments stopped
as women got used to my “differentness”.
In the later months I found out that wealthy upper caste women
indeed kept their economic status hidden. During festivals I found many
women from the upper caste who looked not-well-off during ordinary
times, wear a lot of gold on their person. Later I wore some moderately
heavy gold bangles to show that I did indeed possess them but that I
chose not to wear them every day. The days when I wore my gold bangles,
every woman who met me (on the lanes, at the bus stop) would pull at
my arm to take a closer look at the bangles and make an estimate of how
many pavuns they were and its value in the then gold price.24
By the end of my stay, there was general agreement in the village
that although I came from a very rich family I chose to live without any
outward show of wealth. This fitted with their worldview that it was not
the traditional rich but the nouveau riche who flaunted their money.
24 One pavun is equal to 8 gm of 22-carat gold. While I could not make out the
difference between gold ornaments and gold imitation jewellery, the women were very
apt at seeing the difference.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 177
Gendered Lives
As part of my feminist consciousness, I have made it a practice in my life
to perform most of the household chores myself in a country where, in
middle class homes, it is the norm to employ other women for house-
work.25 Therefore, it was natural that in the village too, I had decided to
perform all the household chores myself although I knew it would absorb
considerable amount of time from my “research”. I also wanted to send
out a signal that I was quite capable of carrying out these daily tasks of
living in the same way as the other women in the village. The only task I
was prevented from doing was to fetch water from a public tap a few yards
in front of the house. An elderly woman, past her seventies, who lived in
a broken-down part of the house where I resided, insisted on carrying
out this task for me. This was as a mark of affection and was genuinely
affronted when I offered her cash for the service. During my stay in the
village, she became a close companion and her photograph is no longer
at the end of this chapter (Fig. 8.2).
Since in India marriage is the norm for both men and women, my
status as an unmarried woman was a major source of astonishment and
concern. In the initial period of my stay, when someone struck up a
conversation with me, the conversation would go like this:
Some of the older women would ask in a lowered voice if I had any
“body problem” (udal prachinai); this was because in their experience,
women who remained unmarried had a problem with their reproductive
system (for example, they did not “come of age” by menstruating). When
I assured them that there was nothing wrong with my reproductive organs
they would look bemused. My unmarried state was generally viewed as a
tragedy, but the fact that I had parents still alive as well as a brother,
meant I was not that pitiable creature, a destitute woman. This attitude
25 This was a hotly debated topic in the early period of the Indian autonomous women’s
movement.
178 C. SATHYAMALA
surprised me because it signalled that for them it did not matter that I
was educated, had an independent income and had been living alone and
making independent decisions for most of my adult life.
Sometimes I was a bit facetious in answering the question why I did
not marry. Once, when I was asked this question by a group of women
at a work site, I responded: “What is in a marriage? If you get married,
he will drink, beat you up, steal your jewellery and so why this headache!
(avan kudippan, adipaan, nagai thiruduvan, yenn inda thali vali)”. This
was greeted with laughter because this was the reality in most of their
lives. After the women dispersed as I went around chatting with them,
I saw two women sitting alone, weeping. When I asked them what the
matter was, they said that what I had said described the reality of their
lives. They were siblings and both had experienced domestic violence in
their married lives. I felt terrible that my remark had hurt them. They
assured me that it was not my remarks that they were hurt by; I had only
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 179
stated the reality. But it had set them thinking about their own unhappy
married lives and how their father had died because his heart was broken
when both his daughters returned to their maternal home driven out by
their husbands.
The men, depending on their age, reacted differently to my unmarried
state. Two men, both educated and outsiders who came daily for work
in the village commented on separate occasions that I must have had a
“jolly” life (jolly was the word used, appo jolly daan ponga) and looked
at me meaningfully, broadly hinting at a life of promiscuity. I was taken
aback at this comment dripping with sexual innuendo that they would
not have made (dare to make) to a married woman living with a husband.
One 80-year-old man was so troubled that my parents had not done their
duty by me that he declared that he would visit my parents and persuade
them to find me a groom or else he himself would search for a groom
for me. But the question “why did I not marry” persisted. I do not know
how much of my explanation that I became too focused on my work to
think of marriage, or that I valued my autonomy too much to want to
exchange it for the protection a marriage offered, were accepted as good
enough reasons.
But the worst times were when there were needless tragedies in the
village. For instance, a young woman committed suicide by setting herself
on fire when I was in the village. The death of another young woman,
who I had diagnosed with tuberculosis and had helped to initiate treat-
ment from the government Health Centre, left me with a sense of utter
helplessness. When she lay dying, I ran from pillar to post trying to get
support for her from various individuals in the village. Once again, I
was faced with the inability of modern medicine to deal with diseases
of poverty and deprivation, the reason I had opted for public health in
the first place.
Many began to commiserate that, living in the village, I had become
thin and dark like a dry fish (karuvaadu). Gone was the rosy bloom of
my Den Haag days. When a young woman spontaneously burst out that
my feet had begun to resemble theirs—dark, dusty, and dirty—I realized
that I had indeed “de-classed” myself without intentionally setting out to
do so. She, of course, did not mean this observation as a compliment.
27 In Tamil culture one does not say a definitive goodbye when leaving. It is
always poivittu varuhiren (translated as ‘I will go and come back’ and pronounced
poittu vaaren) and the response would be vaanga (come back). Only when paying
a visit for commiserating a death (thukkam visarippu) does one say pohiren (am
going).
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 181
On the day of the funeral, eleven persons from the village, belonging to
different caste groups, came to pay respects to the departed as is done for
close relatives and neighbours. They had hired an auto-rickshaw, and had
come in the morning, foregoing that day’s wages, and waited till I arrived
at 2 P.M. from The Netherlands. I was surprised to see that four of them
were men as they did not interact with me as closely as the women did.
My offer of auto fare was refused. Others came on the fourth day as per
custom to offer condolences to the family. When I said that I was moved
by their visit and concern, their response was that I was now a part of their
family. I felt that I must have done some things right to have overcome
the caste/class/gender barriers.
Postscript
Since the time of my “fieldwork” I have continued to maintain contact
with several of the Oru-oor village people on a regular basis. When I am
in The Netherlands, I speak to them via telephone conversations, and
during important festivals to exchange greetings.28 Except for 2020, due
to Covid-19, I have visited Oru-oor every year. When I visit the village,
I am generally dragged by the hand to someone’s home to share a meal
or have tea. That people of all walks were keen to know the results of my
aaraichi was brought home to me when a bus conductor who had earlier
worked on the study village route but was now working on a different
route asked me, as he punched my ticket, if I had completed my thesis.
In 2017, a few months after my defence, I visited the village to show the
photographs and my newly minted thesis. Although almost none could
read English, my book was held tenderly, flipped through, as each one
tried to guess who the woman was on the cover (as I had blurred her
face). With a general delight in my accomplishment, they felt that they
owned it because it was, after all, their stories between the covers .28
Reflecting on My Methodology
In this research, although I did not enter the “field” with the explicit
intention of applying feminist methodology(ies) to my study, my research
has all the important elements that underscore feminist research: It
28 While I have tried to share the broad findings of the research at every opportunity,
the promised summary and Tamil translation is yet to be made for wider circulation.
182 C. SATHYAMALA
29 All buses under the public Tamil Nadu State Transport system have one of the
Thirukkural couplets transcribed inside the bus.
30 Translation by the author: To discern truth, wisdom lies in enquiring into what is
said and what is heard, irrespective of who has said it.
31 Kumar (2016: 36, 37) comments that ‘none of the researchers and founder members
of Indian Sociology [M.N. Srinivas, Andre Beteille, A.M. Shah] stayed in Dalit localities’,
because of which their studies could not ‘portray a reality of the social structures … they
were studying’. Mangubhai (2014) and Priya (2001), stayed with the dalit community
during their respective fieldwork period because their study focused on these communities.
I could say that I am perhaps the only one, so far, who chose to stay with the former
‘untouchable’ caste groups to study the entire village.
8 IMMERSION, DIVERSION, SUBVERSION … 183
groups from the vantage point of the lower caste people. Taking residence
among the economically and socially marginalized community became
not only a strategy to gain a deeper appreciation of their worlds, but a
political act of reversing the gaze from top-down to bottom-up.
Feminist researchers have grappled with the power relations between
the researcher and the researched and the dilemmas around “knowing,
representing, and advocating for others” (Doucet & Mauthner, 2007:
41). Carastathis (2008: 30) argues that.
under constant surveillance by the people. Every move I made was noted
and commented upon, in a role reversal of the observer being observed.
But despite trying to act as equals, the reality was that power differentials
existed albeit operating both ways. While the control on how they were
to be represented lay in my hands, I was only too aware that my life in
the village completely depended upon their good will. Throughout my
stay, I was constantly stressed and on tenterhooks, afraid of making some
serious mistake which would impact adversely on my well-being. That I
would not be able to complete my research was not my most abiding fear
or concern. I sensed the presence of an undercurrent of violence which
was ready to erupt into physical violence at a moment’s notice.
My research was sensitive to not only gender but paid attention to
the complex interplay of class, caste and religion in the everyday lives of
the Oru-oor people. I continued to position myself as a Marxist-feminist
which makes a critical distinction between the concepts of oppression
and exploitation (Foley, 2019: 11). Using class not “as an identity or an
experiential category, but class analysis as a mode of structural explana-
tion” (ibid: 11; Mojab & Carpenter, 2019; Wallis, 2015) and by applying
gender and caste sensitive lenses to the entire population of Oru-oor,
allowed me to conclude that:
Oru-oor was transformative in several ways, not the least of which being
the further clarity of purpose that I gained about my own life. I could also
say that perhaps for those I closely interacted with in Oru-oor, my pres-
ence was transformative. The values my everyday living exemplified, and
the stereotypes which I sought to break down, demonstrated other possi-
bilities and a different world to the village people. I am left wondering if
feminist methodologies can be applied, rather, I think they may need to
be lived.
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obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 9
Introduction
For many years, I had to take long trips by public transportation in
Guadalajara, Mexico. I spent about three hours every day riding buses,
waiting at bus stops, taking the metro and walking the streets. In those
trajectories, I often witnessed and experienced gender-based violence. I
perceived the spatial dichotomy between public and private spaces and
observed that the urban infrastructure was mostly set up to fulfil working
conditions with a focus on the productive needs to get to work, rather
than reproductive work which particularly impacts women. Those expe-
riences led me to realized that my urban experience was gendered and
embodied. My body was constantly (sexually) attacked because I was a
woman. It was also clear to me, that it was through my body that I expe-
rienced the city. I felt on my skin every unwanted touch I got on the bus.
I felt the fear in my chest every time I had to walk down a dark and empty
street while being followed by a man. Adding to that, I became aware of
how other axes of my identity, like my social class, ethnic/racial mark-
ings and age, were part of that gendered and embodied experience. And
I began to wonder: how do other women experience the urban geog-
raphy, its divisions and the structural inequities? What are their embodied
experiences of their daily trajectories in a public transportation system that
mostly responds to productive needs?
I decided to put these reflections and questions at the centre of
my Ph.D. research. My aim was to shed light on how the intersec-
tion of certain power structures and identity axes shape women’s urban
embodied experience and on how women transform urban spaces through
their daily practices. To perform this analysis, I mapped women’s daily
trajectories to work by public transportation. The cartographies I made,
aimed to problematize the urban experience in relation to the identity axis
and power structures of gender, age, social class, ethnicity/skin colour,
corporality, religion, sexual orientation and disability because those are
the most important assemblages of privilege and oppression that operate
both socially and spatially in Guadalajara.
I used mapping methods and reclaimed them as a feminist tool to
graphically portray the intersectional geography of exclusion that operates
within urban spaces and the ways it shapes women’s embodied urban lives.
I used feminist cartography to chart the ways in which women transform
the urban every day through their daily trajectories. Feminist cartography
places the subject, their embodiment and their experience at the centre
of producing cartographic media; contrary to the patriarchal tradition of
creating maps in a disembodied manner, claiming the neutrality of the
territories (D’Ignazio & Klein, 2020; Pirani et al., 2020). In this way
feminist cartography helps to shift the ways spaces are imagined, created
and recreated.
From October 2019 to March 2020, I worked with ten women who
worked outside their homes from the ages of 23–50 and together navi-
gated Guadalajara1 (Mexico). I mapped their daily trajectories to work
1 Guadalajara is the second biggest metropolis in Mexico and among the ten largest
cities in Latin America (LA). It is inhabited by 5 million people (IIEG, 2017). Metropolis
all over the world are part of a global dynamic in which urban spaces are highly contested
9 EMBODIED URBAN CARTOGRAPHIES … 191
as cities have become the centres of political decision-making and where most of the
population live. Latin American cities are considered the most unequal in the world based
on their high rates of spatial and social segregation and divisions. Latin America is also
the most urbanized, with 80% of its population living in cities (UN-Habitat, 2012: 167).
2 I use the term corporality to conceptualize women’s physical complexion. The women
I worked with highlight the relevance of their body shape and size in their urban
experience which I theorize as a power structure and identity axis.
192 A. GOLLAZ MORÁN
The Intersectional
and Embodied Urban Experience
In this section I go further into the spatial and social public–private
dichotomy operating in Guadalajara. I look at the multiple implications
for the intersections of gender, social class and ethnicity/skin colour
power structures, and thus for the intersectional urban experience of
women.
In the case of Guadalajara, the spatial dichotomy between public and
private spheres creates a labour geography dynamic based on the sexual
division of work and contributes to establish binary and rigid normative
gender roles. The productive zones are mainly in the central areas, while
the housing sectors are mostly concentrated in the peripheries (Cuadra
Urbanismo, 2016). The urban growth pattern marked by developing
large neighbourhoods far away from the central zones—isolated from
formal jobs, services and public transit—promotes the full-time gender
role of the household caretaker, making it very hard for women to access
the formal job market. To commute from the peripheries to the central
areas requires time and resources, but recently, living in the peripheries
was the only option for most of the population in need of a house due
to the high housing prices in the central areas and the growth patterns of
the metropolis (Cuadra Urbanismo, 2016). Because women in Guadala-
jara are still the main caregivers and dedicate more time to household
activities than men, they have less time and more spatial constraints when
it comes to seeking remunerated jobs. In recent years, there has been
a massive incorporation of women into the paid labour force (Calonge
Reillo, 2014; Ramírez Saíz & Safa Barraza, 2009). They have taken the
jobs which are more precarious, flexible and less well remunerated, under
the heteronormative ideology that their earnings only complement the
main household income earned by men (Calonge Reillo, 2014; Jalisco
Cómo Vamos, 2018).
In the metropolis, there is another division that intersects with the
gendered dynamic of centre–periphery, which is the one between the
East and the West. It responds to a segregation of the population based
on ethnicity and class when the city was founded by the Spanish colo-
nizers in 1542 (De la Torre, 1998: 46). The first settlements created by
the Spanish colonizers are in Guadalajara’s downtown, around the central
square, the cathedral and the royal and administrative buildings, on the
East side. Then, on the West side, popular barrios (neighbourhoods) were
194 A. GOLLAZ MORÁN
3 Translated by author.
9 EMBODIED URBAN CARTOGRAPHIES … 195
face in different spaces based on their subjective experience, and (2) the
use of maps to collect emotional data, which consists of the use of maps
to ask for the emotions and memories that people have lived in a place
(Griffin & Mcquoid, 2012: 292–295). Following these two ways of data
collection, I gathered the following information:
The first main challenge I faced was to identify the moments and spaces of
the women’s trajectories. I first had long conversations with three of the
women (M.A., R.O. and M.I.) and systematized the narratives of their
journeys in order to identify the most important spaces they go through
daily and the differences in terms of time (day and night) and season
of the year (rainy season, Christmas season). Another challenge was to
decide how to do the mapping. I grappled with the decision of whether to
use only questionnaires or to also use Geographical Information System
(GIS)4 tools. I had thought of giving them a cell phone with an app.
After these first meetings, I realized that using GIS tools would represent
danger for the women in terms of safety because of the very high rates
of robbery in public transportation or in the streets. One of the strategies
that the women use is to not use their cell phones in public or even to
carry a very cheap one not to put themselves at risk. I decided to gather
the information by notes, questionnaires and voice recording and analysed
this data using GIS, which allowed me to represent the results in the form
of a map (Fig. 9.1).
To deepen the understanding of the information, I used two comple-
mentary methods: relief maps and walking interviews.
Fig. 9.1 M. A.’s Trajectory map. Author’s data. Moovit App (2019)
Relief Maps
As explained above, in order to gain insight into the embodied and
intersectional experiences of the urban spaces in women’s daily trajec-
tories, I used the method of Relief Maps developed by Rodó-de-Zárate
(2014). This technique was helpful to think through the lived experi-
ence intersectionally and in relation to different spaces, in a way that can
be systematized. To collect the data, I used a set of matrixes based on
emotions of comfort and discomfort and asked women to describe how
they feel in different places according to different intersections (gender,
ethnicity/skin colour, class, etc.). The chosen places were decided on by
first mapping their trajectories and identifying the different moments of
their journeys. Then, the information was represented in a graphic way
through the online software also developed by Rodó de Zárate.
200 A. GOLLAZ MORÁN
worried about me, especially when I had to go back home, which usually
was late at night. Most of them checked via WhatsApp that I arrived home
safe. That is one of the strategies women normally use to take care of their
daughters, mothers or female friends.
Fig. 9.2 M.A.’s Relief Map. Author’s data. Relief Map (2020)
EMBODIED URBAN CARTOGRAPHIES …
203
204 A. GOLLAZ MORÁN
Conclusion
Mapping women’s daily trajectories from an intersectional and embodied
perspective sheds light on the ways in which power structures shape
women’s urban experiences. It leads to a deeper understanding of the
mutual constitution of embodiment and space and how such inter-
play is mediated by the intersection of certain power structures. In
my research, I problematized the power structures and identity axes of
gender, age, social class, skin colour, corporality, religion, sexual orien-
tation and disability through the methods of emotional mapping, relief
maps and walking interviews. These methods helped me to analyse the
ways in which specific power structures (which are always geographically
and historically contingent) shape women’s urban lives.
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9 EMBODIED URBAN CARTOGRAPHIES … 207
Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 10
Introduction
This chapter is the result of a journey of three feminist researchers
threading their way through academia and feminist socio-ecological strug-
gles. While we come from three different countries and backgrounds, our
own histories converge in The Hague, The Netherlands during our MA
in Development Studies at the International Institute of Social Studies
(ISS) in 2018–2019. We were part of a common friend group where,
because of our interests and research topics, we would often find ourselves
D. Flores Golfín
San Jose, Costa Rica
e-mail: [email protected]
T. Rusansky (B)
Florianópolis, Brasil
F. Zantvoort
Utrecht, The Netherlands
asking each other questions related to our research, sharing material and
giving each other suggestions. Writing this chapter has allowed us to
reflect on the interconnectedness of our MA research experiences and the
ways in which we value feminist research. We have written this chapter
together, seeing it as an exciting process of thinking and working together
as friends.
When we began writing we were all living in The Hague and seeing
each other regularly. After the MA however, we moved to different coun-
tries, time zones and making decisions on our next steps, while facing a
pandemic. We continued “meeting” each other online; mixing work and
fun in our conversations. We adjusted to this new reality, worked online
and most importantly, checked on each other in this difficult context. As
a result, our chapter is highly informed by our knowledge of each other,
our strengths and our perspectives. It gave us a welcome excuse to meet
frequently in circumstances where the importance of friendship was felt
by all of us.
In this chapter we take the reader through our own personal grappling,
with critical feminist research and struggles for social justice, as well as
of our friendship and thinking through of what it means to do research
with social movements using feminist research methodologies. It explores
the challenges, ethics and possibilities this entails in relation to the three
movements that we have aligned ourselves within the context of our MA
theses research—Extinction Rebellion in the Netherlands, the Movement
of People Affected by Dams in Brazil and the Abortion Rights Move-
ment in Costa Rica.1 The three movements span different struggles and
continents, yet in our research we encountered similar methodological
questions, concerns and challenges. Reflecting from these different but
related experiences, we explore the role of critical feminist research and
knowledge generation in contributing to these specific social struggles.
First, we explore what feminist research methodology means to us,
based on feminist epistemologies as well as social movement research
that understands social movements as creating other ways of knowing
and being (Casas-Cortés et al., 2008; Escobar, 2016; Haraway, 1988;
Harding, 1987; Icaza & Vazquez, 2013; Motta & Esteves, 2014).
Second, we delve further into how we related to movements throughout
our research. We reflect on how our methodological approaches varied
1 For the original MA theses see Flores (2019), Rusansky (2019), Zantvoort (2019).
10 INTERCONNECTED EXPERIENCES: EMBODYING FEMINIST … 213
2 I use the concept of belonging mainly as elaborated by Carrillo Rowe (2005) and
Wright (2015) as “being and longing, as subjects and their belongings desire to connect
and reconnect differently” (Wright, 2015: 399), as a way of thinking of subjectivities and
power relations as relational.
10 INTERCONNECTED EXPERIENCES: EMBODYING FEMINIST … 215
I struggled, because I recognised that I did not have enough time to take
on a participatory approach, therefore I knew that I had to be reflexive
and adapt myself, and the methodologies, to the possibilities of the partic-
ipants and not the other way around. Especially when discussing care, my
focus was to be caring in my interactions with the activists. I initially
wanted to conduct focus groups, to not only talk about individual self-
care, but collective care. I wanted to facilitate self-care workshops to
provide a space they were struggling to create for themselves and, in my
mind, to contribute in some way during my research. Nonetheless, this
proved difficult for them for several reasons (such as time and internal
conflicts) and I found myself reflecting if this was an actual demand or a
reflection of my own perception of their needs.
The participants’ time constraints and concerns with the group
methodologies were a limitation throughout the research, but also a
reflective practice that allowed me to adapt to, and prioritise the possi-
bilities of the participants, as well as remain critical to my own ideas and
practices. After several adjustments, I decided to have individual inter-
views and within those conversations I received more input as to why
the group methodologies did not work for this specific research. I got an
inside look into the movement and realised that some of the dynamics that
were creating pressure for the activists were related to the relationships
between them and their communication. Infighting as an obstacle for care
was eventually one of the findings of my research and an additional reason
to uphold individual experiences and not only the commonalities between
them.
Furthermore, I made efforts to nurture my bonds with the activists and
to stray from the idea of “objectivity” using my feelings and thoughts as
material that informed those relations, instead of tarnishing them. This
was something the three of us did (in different ways) that resulted in
enriching discussions and the formation of bonds that went beyond that
of researcher and participants. Eventually, after the research was done I
continued to have conversations with the activists and was contacted to
facilitate self-care workshops for some of the groups, which confirmed to
me how much more fruitful conversations can be when started by the
communities and not the other way around.
Finally, as a psychologist I could not ignore the fact that mental health
was always a concern for me when getting involved in activism and a topic
that kept recurring every time I had discussions with friends that were
more involved than me. It was a priority and it is part of my positionality
10 INTERCONNECTED EXPERIENCES: EMBODYING FEMINIST … 223
Furthermore, I had to deal with the fact that not all the activists were
interested or thought it was relevant to discuss how academic research
could be useful to the movement. Some of them showed excitement and
openness in talking to me about their experiences of struggle, but not
necessarily interest in discussing what I was going to write based on those
conversations, while others were keen to know more about my theoretical
framework, for instance. Asking the activists how academic research could
be useful for them also involved receiving sincere (and sometimes ironic)
answers, such as invitations for me to join the movement, implying that
I would contribute more by moving to the territory affected by the dam
and building the resistance on the ground with them.
An important aspect of my experience of mobilising a feminist method-
ological approach to come close to the MAB that I want to reflect on
is related to the arpilleras, my guides in this process. Metaphorically,
my research was guided by the arpilleras, through which the stories of
women affected by dams resisting in different parts of Brazil initially
reached me. Approaching women affected by dams through their embroi-
deries was also a process of collectively giving value to alternative forms of
knowledge and tools of resistance. The arpillera is a form of knowledge
and a tool that is frequently diminished because it is not considered really
political, especially by men who see arpilleras as something secondary
that women do. I share with Daniela the conviction that the valuation of
what is frequently side-lined in political practice or not considered polit-
ical—self-care and art—is extremely relevant. Bringing artistic expressions
of women affected by dams to the centre with the activists that have
been claiming its meaning as a political tool was an important choice
of my practice of relating with the movement and contributing as a
researcher-activist.
With their art-based resistance, women in the MAB have been
constructing their own “popular education feminist methodology”
(MAB, 2015)—in which arpilleras work as a tool for creating spaces
for women to debate about power relations within the movement and
to reflect on and translate their experiences of struggle and resistance,
enunciating what has systematically been silenced, both individually
and collectively, through the act of embroidering. The feminist activist
research practice I aimed to build relates with the popular education
feminist methodology of arpilleras in the sense that it materialises
through encounters, collaborative work, moments of listening and sharing
emotions and letting stories come together and blend into one another.
228 D. FLORES GOLFÍN ET AL.
Final Thoughts
All three of us have been guided by a commitment to make the social
movements we have been working with not merely the objects of our
investigation, but to build a collaborative approach that prioritises the
questions that are relevant to ask for the movement, building long-term
relationships and offering up our insights to support and strengthen the
movements. This however demands deep involvement, which is very hard
to achieve within the limited scope and time of a MA thesis process
(Trzeciak, 2020). We felt that the restrictions imposed on graduate
research conflicted with what we perceive to be important for feminist
research: participatory, collaborative, action-oriented, reciprocal and rela-
tional rather than extractive, contributing to transformative change. This
led us to frequently question the value of doing research within this
framework, and in what way it is complementary to or, as put by Leyva
(2015), in tension with political activism. Together with our co-feminist
researchers we often lamented what we perceived as the insignificance of
our research, questioning the relevance of the many hours spent behind
the screen while the activists we worked with were busy organising.
Although we were inspired by feminist research approaches seeking to
collapse the divide between academia and activism (Casas-Cortés et al.,
2008), we have come to feel that this is neither always possible nor
always desirable. We do find the idea of moving between these terrains as
complementary (and sometimes conflicting) ways of making sense of the
world (Moss, 2009) or perceiving research as possibly residing within the
sphere of activism more useful (Maxey, 1999). Rethinking the academia-
activism dichotomy (Leyva, 2015) can help us redefine what academia
is, what activism is, and challenge a hierarchy of what counts as “real”
10 INTERCONNECTED EXPERIENCES: EMBODYING FEMINIST … 231
References
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Barbosa da Costa, L., Icaza, R., & Talero, A. O. (2015). Knowledge about,
knowledge with: Dilemmas of researching lives, nature and genders otherwise.
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Berger, R. (2015). Now I see it, now I don’t: Researcher’s position and reflexivity
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232 D. FLORES GOLFÍN ET AL.
Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 11
Introduction
Feminists use a variety of methodologies1 to make women’s lives and
experiences epistemologically, socially and politically relevant. One of
these methodologies is storytelling, which allows for the inclusion of life
histories and personal accounts in research, giving academics the chance
to experiment with different ways of gathering and communicating data.
Storytelling is a customary practice of transmitting histories, knowledges
and cosmologies and has historically been done in various ways. Stories
can be told through dance, drawn on rocks with different colored stones,
told around a fire, written down in books, recorded in podcasts, shown
1 Lillian’s Research was supported by the Secretaría de Energia and the Consejo Nacional
de Ciencia y Tecnología (SENER-Conacyt) through its post-graduate grant program.
Methodology: Imagining
Imagining a chapter together about feminist storytelling started next to
a lake in Italy, in a small village called Bolsena. Here, we were part of a
feminist methodologies summer school in which this book was first envi-
sioned. We were staying at a convent surrounded by nature where we
enjoyed communal spaces, told each other stories, shared food and partic-
ipated in a variety of workshops. Its spirit has not changed, however, the
space in which we have been creating this chapter has been quite different
from where it originally sprouted. We are now in the middle of a world-
wide pandemic which requires us to stay inside our homes as much as
possible.
The Steps
We took different steps to agree on the content of this chapter. First, we
met three times in which we came together to draw, craft, talk, be in
silence and to connect our ideas. We trusted each other to organize the
meetings, their location and the activities that would help us to develop
our ideas and working schedule. We explored what we understand as
stories and storytelling from a feminist perspective. Doing this, we docu-
mented our work and archived it as a way to inform the final writing stage
of crafting this chapter.
During our meetings we agreed that we wanted to write this chapter
together, to prioritize women authors’ voices and to do feminist story-
telling by using a combination of words and more than words. We
committed to take care of each other during the working process,
meaning that we shared and contributed equally, based on the activi-
ties we enjoyed the most. Also, we acknowledged that we are different
in various ways, but just like nature needs biodiversity for the ecosystem
to be healthy, we needed to nurture our differences to work and learn
together.
We soon learned that both of us have been interested in storytelling,
from a young age as a way of getting to know the world and as art form,
additionally we were both using it as research methodology. Moreover, we
realized that we were at different stages of our research, which allowed us
to learn from each other by engaging in a dialogue about our knowledges
and experiences of using storytelling as a methodology. Rosa already used
11 FEMINIST STORYTELLERS IMAGINING … 241
The Positioning
Finally, we write this chapter from a place which cannot be pinpointed on
a map as it is informed by and connected to a variety of places, spaces,
territories and lands in which we are rooted: The Netherlands, Mexico,
2 “The Dinner of Relations” is the inspiration for the dinner in this chapter. It was
an imaginary setting created by Rosa for her master’s research. At this dinner, farmers,
loved ones, writers and academics were invited to have a dialogue about food, eating and
relationality at a Dutch farm in a province called de Flevopolder. We (Lillian and Rosa)
were dining there and having a conversation. For this chapter we imagined a similar
setting in which we could share food and our thoughts with each other. We imagine
that, as we nourish ourselves with food, our words and minds are also nourished by the
company and dialogues, making eating together into something that connects us with
each other and our surroundings.
242 R. DE NOOIJER AND L. SOL CUEVA
our bodies and our imagination. We want to occupy the specific geogra-
phies of the imaginary to have a dinner and tell stories together, while
refusing the fortification of the rational ground, the certitude of already
“knowing” where to go with our narratives and the practice of silencing
our voices to hear the “wise” man that rules in Patriarchyland.
Similar to the impossibility to pinpoint one location from which we
write, our thinking is not singular either but the result of many women’s
thoughts (Rowe, 2005: 15). Who we are and what we do is shaped by
women who we love, respect and admire. It is also shaped by the women
whose books, poetry and stories we have read, movies we have watched
and art we have seen. As Aimee Carrillo Rowe (2005) argues, “[t]he
meaning of self is never individual, but a shifting set of relations that
we move in and out of, often without reflection” (3). In this piece in
particular, we are shedding light upon our connection to the words and
work of Octavia E. Butler, Brenda Navarro, Donna Haraway, Ursula K.
Le Guin, Gabriela Cabezón, Gloria Anzaldua, women farmers’ voices, the
women in our families, our ancestras , compañeras and friends, who root
us and teach us. You can see some of them sitting with us at our imaginary
dinner table in one of our drawings.
We know that storytelling is not particular or exclusive to feminism,
rather it is one of the many ways in which phenomena and theories
about the world are described. However, we focus on the work of femi-
nists because we find ourselves in it. It welds us together in alliances “to
transform and narrate [us] who go unrecognized and whose existence is
considered impossible” (Toupin & Spideralex, 2018).
Conclusion
As we see how storytelling is increasingly used as a methodology in social
sciences research, it is important to deepen the discussion about what
storytelling entails and how it can be done. In this chapter, we have
attempted to reflect on feminist storytelling by looking into what it means
but more importantly by exploring how we can put this methodology into
practice. By attending dinner together, being in dialogue with each other
and drawing, we discussed essential elements of feminist storytelling, how
it can be a useful research tool for feminists to write differently, and which
other ways of listening to and sharing of stories we can use in research.
We also reflected on storytelling as a way to challenge hegemonic narra-
tives which are written based on the idea of objectivity and universality
in science. More so, we pointed out that feminist storytelling might help
feminists to achieve change.
We conclude that storytelling, from a feminist perspective, is neces-
sarily an active and interactive practice that usually includes diverse women
being together. We also established that an essential element while writing
stories, is leaving space for the imagination, which can result in the
creation of new words and therefore new worlds. We found that inter-
weaving a plurality of voices and knowledges can allow us to write our
own stories based on our own terms and rules. In this process of creation,
there are endless possibilities, which we have tried to illustrate in various
ways in this chapter.
Due to its experimental nature, the chapter has put new questions on
the table and opened new doors to keep exploring feminist storytelling.
We wonder “why visuals are important in academic writing, especially
now that we are constantly surrounded by images?” and “how we can
prevent the over exposition of readers to visuals?”. Simultaneously, we
invite researchers who want to use visual arts not to fall into the trap
of treating readers as “incapable of understanding complex thoughts”.
Rather, we hope that they are used to enhance the reflective process and
communication of research findings.
In addition to the already mentioned questions, we would like to know
“how feminist storytelling can be used as a methodology when working
in larger groups?” and “how feminist storytelling can be done when we
are unable to meet people in person?”. These questions are specifically
informed by the current context in which Covid-19 is making it difficult
to meet in person.
11 FEMINIST STORYTELLERS IMAGINING … 253
Finally, and needless to say, this chapter has been a learning process for
its authors. What you, as a reader, see in this chapter is only a snapshot of
all the conversations we have had while working on it. We wholeheartedly
enjoyed the process of writing/drawing this chapter together. During this
work, we asked questions, imagined, drew and challenged each other.
While doing all of this, we learned about the complexities of feminist
storytelling as a methodology and we explored how to use visual arts in
research. In our experience, feminist storytelling entails more than just
the act of creating stories and writing them down, it is an interactive,
reflexive and deep process that requires creativity, vulnerability and a will
to maintain a critical and collaborative praxis.
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CHAPTER 12
excerpts and the yarn colours that I associate with them. Finally, I will
reflect on what my knitting can say about my fieldwork experience. What
I offer through these reflections are further explorations on the potential
contributions of fibre arts in informing feminist methodologies.
My Seed Stitches---Knitting,
Mental Health, and Fieldwork
During the first phase of my fieldwork, five people I knew (some closely
while others at a distance) had passed away; including an uncle, a good
friend, and a former colleague. I did not really understand my own sense
of loss. I only was aware of a constant presence of darkness in my thoughts
and mood. One day, after my return to The Hague, I had run out of
food after staying in my room for almost a week and was forced to go
out to do groceries. It was during this walk out that I happened to bump
into an ISS colleague who casually asked me how I was doing. I tried
to respond, but the standard answer, “I’m fine”, was stuck in my throat
and instead I just started crying on the sidewalk. I was obviously “not
fine”. This colleague kindly invited me to her home and over a warm cup
of tea gently suggested that I might need to seek therapy to unpack the
emotions I was feeling. I took this advice.
During a session with my therapist, I happened to mention that I had
recently learned how to knit. My therapist advised me to use it as a means
to practice mindfulness and to manage the anxieties and insecurities I
was feeling. Her suggestion echoed studies that discuss the benefits of
knitting to people’s mental health and well-being (Brooks et al., 2019;
Potter, 2017; Riley et al., 2013). Using my hands for an activity other
than typing and producing usable knitted goods at far greater speed than
my dissertation gave me a much-needed sense of accomplishment. Until
this day I still remember the strong feeling of satisfaction I felt when I
finished knitting my first winter hat. This is where I got the idea to start
documenting my fieldwork experiences through my knitting.
Before going back to Indonesia, I bought enough yarn that could keep
my fingers busy during the next 6 months of fieldwork. Among my knit-
ting loot were ten balls of cotton hand-dyed yarn of five colours: grey,
blue, purple, tan, and a subtle orange that came close to light brown.
I chose cotton yarn instead of wool because cotton would be better
suited for the tropical Indonesian climate. My plan was to associate these
different colours with certain emotions and every Friday afternoon to
12 A FIELDWORK STORY TOLD THROUGH KNITTING 261
choose the colours that best described my week to knit into the project.
I wrote the emotions I associated with each colour in my diary:
By the end of my fieldwork, it became clear purple and orange were two
colours that often went together. My emotions were highly dependent
on my sense of accomplishment. A repeated theme in my fieldwork diaries
was the awkwardness of interviews and my successes and failures in getting
over my own timidity in approaching strangers to request one. Taking the
12 A FIELDWORK STORY TOLD THROUGH KNITTING 263
During these moments I could not find enough motivation to write, but
I still found refuge in my knitting. In fact, I started to knit more rows per
week than I had originally planned. I started my knitting project by doing
a total of six rows a week. However, by week 6 I felt I wanted to do more.
This was partially for visual reasons: the “scarf” was not getting as long
as I wanted it to be and I realised by week 4 that I needed to always end
264 M. SJAMSOE’OED SADJAD
with an even number of rows so the excess yarn for each colour would
end on the same side of the scarf. The main reason though was that I just
wanted to keep on knitting. While doing research in Cisarua, my Friday
afternoon journal-writing and knitting sessions gave me some structure
to my otherwise unstructured research process. While sipping a hot cup
of tea, sitting outside on my balcony overlooking an informal school set
up by a non-profit organisation for refugees in my landlord’s bungalows,
I would write, think, reflect, and knit. Overtime I wanted to sit and knit
a little longer and so my rows increased to become a total of 16 rows a
week.
Without me realising it, my weekly presence knitting on my balcony
attracted some attention. One refugee from Afghanistan, who later
became a good friend of mine, came by my rented room one afternoon
when I was knitting on my balcony. She showed interest in my knitting
and started to talk about her own hobby of weaving bracelets and writing
poetry. She showed me photos of some bracelets she made and poetry she
wrote and posted on Instagram and her personal blog. Our conversation
about our hobbies evolved to discussions about her experience living in
Indonesia, where she had been living for about five years. Without any
opportunity to access education nor employment her life felt like a slow
and silent torment where she had close to no influence over the direction
of her future as long as she was stuck in “transit”.
The next morning, as I was heading out for the day, my landlord’s
wife started a conversation. I was surprised. The year before, during the
first phase of my fieldwork, I had tried to interview my landlord and
his wife about their experiences renting bungalows to refugees and to
the non-profit organisation that had started an informal school there.
They agreed to be interviewed but would offer only very short answers
without much elaboration. While living in their rented room, our interac-
tions were limited to polite smiles and nodding of heads. That morning,
however, she started to chat about knitting.
She went inside her house and came back with a huge plastic bag filled
with balls of yarn. It turned out that she enjoyed crocheting. Seeing my
refugee friend visit me and try out knitting on my balcony the day before
sparked her own interest. She talked about how every week a group of
refugee women would come to a gathering organised by the non-profit
and did embroidery.
“Did you ever join them?” I asked.
She shrugged, “No. I crochet not make embroidery”.
12 A FIELDWORK STORY TOLD THROUGH KNITTING 265
Many studies have highlighted the precarious positions that many grad-
uate students find themselves in, as the number of people pursuing
doctoral degrees have increased over the years while the number of
academic positions decline in intensively competitive neoliberal academic
environments and polarising political landscapes (Loher et al., 2019;
Nature, 2019; Siegel & Keeler, 2020). Based on a survey of 2279 grad-
uate students (90% Ph.D. and 10% Master’s students) from 26 countries
Evans et al. (2018: 282) found that graduate students were six times more
266 M. SJAMSOE’OED SADJAD
feel. We try to feel. We want to try to feel. The social guidelines that direct
how we want to try to feel may be describable as a set of socially shared,
albeit often latent (not thought about unless probed at), rules”. She calls
these social guidelines to reduce the emotive dissonance between the
“want” and the “ought” as “feeling rules”, which often reflect patterns
of social membership. This emotion work is constantly present during
and beyond the various stages of doing research but is not often made
visible in the work that we publish. Perhaps, this is partially due to
the institutional silences and stigmatisation of mental health struggles
that permeate academia, particularly as experienced by graduate students
(Siegel & Keeler, 2020). Furthermore, emotions are often left out in the
reporting of research findings as we worry that it will be taken as signs
that a researcher lacks objectivity and mental strength to “make it” as a
serious scholar.
These emotions, however, were constantly present in every page of my
diary and every row that I knitted. How could it not be, as I accompa-
nied a refugee friend to visit a psychiatrist due to her own mental health
struggles, or when another refugee I interviewed talked about his friend
who committed suicide a few months after mine did the same, or when
crossing the street in Kalideres, West Jakarta, I coincidently came across a
refugee child that I used to teach and finding out that he was now living
on the streets with his family? “Where are these emotions meant to go?”
I asked myself as I knitted rows of blue or grey seed stitches.
Sometimes these emotions found relief through the connections I
made along the way. While my sense of loss and anxiety during fieldwork
cannot be compared to the experiences that refugees endured during their
journeys, especially considering my relative privilege as an Indonesian
citizen and Ph.D. researcher who travelled transnationally, it inevitably
informed and framed my research and the relationships I cultivated.
As academic research has become increasingly transnational, researchers’
may develop a propensity to emotional identification to groups that
become the subject of their study, thus contributing to growing interest
in transnational migration, albeit at the cost of omitting other forms
of sub-national migration from international research agendas (Elmhirst,
2012). While my research focused more on Indonesians’ responses and
reaction towards the presence of refugees and I maintained relationships
with volunteers and advocates working to support refugees obtaining
268 M. SJAMSOE’OED SADJAD
1 Indonesia does not offer any legal pathway to become a permanent resident or citizen
of the country, meanwhile refugees’ opportunities to be resettled to a third country has
declines leaving them in a state of limbo (for more about this, see Missbach, 2015).
12 A FIELDWORK STORY TOLD THROUGH KNITTING 269
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270 M. SJAMSOE’OED SADJAD
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reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
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if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 13
Emily R. O’Hara
Introduction
As a graduate student writing about intimate partner violence (IPV)
programming at an academic institute1 I was encouraged to find hard
evidence and data that could substantiate my claims. I read the reports,
I talked to stakeholders and I analysed statistics. The consensus from the
global agenda is that IPV is a pandemic which derives from one partner’s
desire for power and control over the other partner (UNODC, 2018).
The majority of these cases are perpetrated (per my access to current data
The words in this chapter were written on Native Land belonging to:
Duwamish + Coast Salish people,
Ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga (Haudenosaunee), Mohican + Mohawk people, and the
Nacotchtank (Anacostan) + Piscataway people.
E. R. O’Hara (B)
Washington, DC, USA
until we hear that which is the thing itself/are the things themselves:
that jellied nothingness that is everything. That spontaneous combus-
tion of random interaction stolen from us during this pandemic. Raw,
unadulterated story. There is no survey design. No prefabricated param-
eters corralling any potential outcomes. No inputs, only out. Except for
that internal work which is necessary to arrive fully present in the work of
“looking for”. Rechercher in French is to search and it seems that the
dilemma lies within the word itself: research. Resurface. Resurrection.
Perhaps our work now should be less excavation-oriented and more about
putting back from whence we took. Perhaps I am not a researcher at all.
(Yes, I think that’s it.) No more pioneers in their fields. No more colo-
nialist extraction of “pulling stories from the data” or positing of “what
the data is trying to tell us”. Expeditionary, nay. I am a healer. I don’t
seek to understand. I understand to seek. My only expectation is that I
expect to be surprised. No more “unearthing” of knowledge. Let’s put it
back. A call for restorative methods. Answer me that.
In this chapter, I will discuss how reflective practice—specifically reflec-
tive and reflexive writing—helped me heal from the experience that was
also the subject of my dissertation, i.e. preventative IPV programming. I
will share snippets of poetry and musings that helped me process my own
trauma as well as organize and inform my research. I often threw what I
thought was my whole Self into writing or working as a survival mecha-
nism, but I realized that I actually only threw part of myself into the work
as a distraction (or as a survival mechanism during abusive relationships).
If I truly threw my whole Self into my work, then I would be bringing
my emotion and my pain. Instead, I was sublimating. I was screening
and editing out a lot of my Self in my papers so as to make it fit the
acceptable shape or rubric as demanded by western, colonial academic
standards/norms/expectations as reinforced by the institute. A certain
number of words per paragraph. A certain number of paragraphs per
section. A certain order of sections in each paper. Then, when it came time
to write my most significant piece of graduate work, i.e. the one with the
most words and pages (quantity; counts; numerical figures), I thought: if,
“We… write to become what and who we are” (Hwu, 1998), what about
actually throwing your whole Self into your work as a feminist research
methodology, Emily? As one of the editors of this book put it, mine is
276 E. R. O’HARA
Then
That is what I tried to do in my dissertation by writing as a feminist
researcher, a feminist political ecologist: I planted my Self in the work. I
attempted to ground my personal experience as the roots of my research
in expanding upon Heise’s “Ecological Model” (1998: 265). Lori L.
Heise first used an ecological framework “to establish what factors emerge
as predictive of abuse at each level of the social ecology” (Heise, 1998:
262). She built upon an existing conceptual framework to create a deeper
understanding of gender-based violence (GBV). Heise addresses reasons
for why men hurt women in her overview of pre-existing “individual
explanations for violence […]” or “social/political explanations” (Heise,
1998: 262). Due to work from theorists like Heise, it is widely under-
stood that GBV does not occur for one specific reason. Rather, multiple
factors are responsible. However, multiple factors extend from the focal
points of the patriarchy, power and control (UNODC, 2018: 24, 30). It
is important to understand the differences in definitions of VAW, GBV
and IPV (see Table 13.1). While Heise’s “Ecological Model” concept
from 1998 uses GBV as a form of violence between a woman and her
male partner, when referring to this specific form of violence, the more
common term is now IPV. This distinction is necessary as I move ahead
and distinguish IPV from other types of VAW programming abroad.
The literature outlines the complexity of the issue and the need for
a multi prong approach to address IPV. This same sentiment is echoed
by those I spoke with for my qualitative interviews. For instance, as
outlined by the World Health Organisation (WHO), there are several
overlapping “causes and risk factors found to be associated with intimate-
partner violence and sexual violence at the different levels of the ecological
model” (Harvey et al., 2007: 9). There is ample evidence about what is
missing. However, which type of current environment exists and how can
it be leveraged? Which lessons can be learned from other countries where
ecological conditions are developed to ensure programmatic success? This
is the gap that I address in my research. This was seen by the exam-
iners at IDS as using mixed language, which they defined as switching
between academic and activist language. We were told: pick one thing
and be specific, then stick to it and stitch every sentence back to that
idea. But I didn’t want to do that, so I screeched off in my own direction.
After all, “Good critical/feminist theory emerges from placing ourselves
in community with visions of social justice” (Carrillo Rowe, 2005: 35). As
I progressed in my studies at IDS, taking such courses as Reflective and
Creative Practice for Social Change, I realized that the “hard evidence”
could not be the only story. And so I wrote from a hard place: from the
scars of my heart. Through my writing, I wanted to demonstrate how
there is more to the story than what “the numbers” represent. There are
a number of faces behind formalised figures. I tried to show my face in my
research to illustrate the richness of those innumerable faces that cannot
be captured by counting. My thesis was marked down for being “too
ambitious” and because my language was both “activist and academic”.
278 E. R. O’HARA
3 In this instance, “women and girls” are people who identify as women since the data
that informed this finding neither separates out nor accounts for those outside of other
identifying characteristics.
13 SCARHEART: RESEARCH AS HEALING 279
Now
I can only share my story. My experience is an “ethnography of one” as a
colleague and friend wisely gave name to my experience (Behar, R. 1999).
Her story was actually quite similar to mine. And over time, that is what
I continue to find: a decrypted code, a shared rallying cry, a sequenced
crucible. A sample so large that it can be neither counted nor compared.
How do you measure the insidious injustice that is domestic violence?
How does one measure violence that has not yet occurred or may, in fact,
never happen?
A reduced number of incidences reported qualifies as success for some
organizations that are working to combat IPV. Yet if it is not reported,
does this mean that it does not occur? This seems to imply that IPV
only occurs if it is reported. Captured. Qualified. Activists, researchers and
survivors know this is not the reality. In this chapter, I am inviting you
into a story about the use of artistic mediums as research and as a form of
healing when writing about the very thing that has caused you so much
personal hardship. In my case, it was a battle of deciding where to weave
in my own experience with IPV as a survivor’s solo “ethnography of one”
and when to instead use traditional more “distant” research methodolo-
gies in the form of interview accounts from stakeholders who work on
IPV.
“We also ‘do structure’ when we write” (Irwin, 2006: 171). I had
lofty goals of hoping that by writing my dissertation, I could humbly
attempt to, “decolonize the power relations inherent in the representation
of the Other” (Behar & Gordan, 1995: 4). In other words, by choosing
to expose myself in my research, I thought I could somehow bring some
more meaning to the numbers.
Next
One funder can see a program as effective while another funder can see
the same program as wasteful. Agencies like the UK Department for Inter-
national Development (DFID) allocate funding and inject programming
into regions of the world like Sub-Saharan Africa yet do not take lessons
back to its respective biospheres. A colleague of mine from Zimbabwe
told me that in their country, when someone rapes someone else, the
rapist has to apologize to the entire community, not only the person
whom they raped.
I realize that the pandemic of IPV is measured to speak to funders
for global health gains (WHO, 2013). I provided some facts and figures
about this public health epidemic in my dissertation so that it would
hold clout and receive a passable mark. Calculations on the impact of
violence by United Nations agencies like the WHO have been one way
of communicating the issue. That is what must be done to “make the
case” to those in charge of funding. I understand this; I repeat: I get
it. I am not here to shame the work or the current approach to the
work as necessitated by funders. The catch here, to me, seems to be at
what point are “enough” reported incidences of violence, enough to take
widespread immediate action through intensive preventative treatment?
In the UK context specifically, more money is spent on the acute so-called
response piece of the “Life Course Approach”, i.e. reactionary spending
13 SCARHEART: RESEARCH AS HEALING 281
Table 13.2 Sequential diagram of the “Life Course Approach” (O’Hara, 2019:
18)
with a scar. A story to tell. You are a warrior. A survivor. You have been
to hell and back. Now, go forth, and use that: only look back to learn,
then bring the good to the present and leave the rest back there so that
you can be here now. How? Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Hold
your stomach and your heart. Read this map. This is how you navigate
the heart’s chambers and the brain’s neurons. This is where we start: the
future.
I was constantly triaging. Haemorrhaging in silence. No one knew
what I had been through—how I had survived; how far I had come;
how this year was actually three years in the making. “You shouldn’t
make funny faces”. “I remember when you used to fill out those pants
nicely”. “If your butt gets any bigger, we’re breaking up”. “What’s up
Skeletor?” Ex. 2017 would ask first thing in the morning. “Wow, you are
so massive”, said Ex. 2019.
It is utterly astounding to me how one man can view your body as too
skinny and another as too fat.
For Ex. 2017 and Ex. 2019 and any other ex that I have had: if I just
held 2019 while he had a panic attack, if I just gave myself to 2017 after
he refused to look at me, if I just tried a little harder, loved a little more,
died another bit. Scarheart. That is what I am. It might be who you are.
Although, I will never know for certain or be an “expert” for who am
I to analyse another’s experience? Our research proposals at IDS had to
undergo vetting to be deemed ethical yet I feel that it would have been
unethical for me to leave my own experience out of the research. Where
was that on the University of Sussex’s questionnaire?
“It sounds like he didn’t want to hurt you. It sounds like he cares
about you so much and he told you that he was afraid he might hurt you.”
These words came out of the British white cisgender heterosexual male
police officer’s mouth as he sat next to his identical haircut of a counter-
part who asked: “Do you think this was coercive control?” I had explained
to them both how my partner had told me he thought he might be gay;
then said he would kill himself if I left him. So, I stayed. A couple of days
later, he pointed to a knife in the kitchen drawer and said, “I keep seeing
images of me stabbing you. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you”. His hand
was clenched into a fist as though gripping a knife and he motioned it up
and down, stabbing the air. “I don’t know”. I told the officers. “I’d like
to think he wasn’t trying to manipulate me into staying, but as I speak the
events aloud to you, I don’t know”. The stakeholders with whom I spoke
as part of my research after this incident had occurred told me that many
13 SCARHEART: RESEARCH AS HEALING 283
Scarheart4
I’m not telling you I know how you feel
because I can’t possibly; nor is it my place to know.
I am here to tell you that I have survived. Surely, at one point in
time, when I
sat by the water, I thought I could not: I only felt grief and
terrible pain.
For I had lost a lover, and a labor of my love. (That’s the piece that
few talk of,
the feeling of failure and shame for loving someone who hurts
you.)
Your experiences are your own. I can listen
to your stories, your truths. I can share
some of my own or sit with yours
284 E. R. O’HARA
—
As my Master’s thesis writing came to a close and the submission date
drew closer, I realized that I had spoken to people “on the ground” and
“experts in the field” yet I also went “into the field” of my heart. I thought
the M.A., Gender and Development degree would bring with it the title
of becoming a “gender specialist” yet the more I dug deeper, the more I
realized that it really meant I was becoming.
I know others in my program are becoming in their own right as well.
See how a colleague, my friend Deeksha, says poetry is a form of obser-
vation and healing: “I believe that each poem that I write is a way to give
words to an emotion that accumulates within me, owing to anything I
see, hear, or feel. While some poems or writings are more helpful towards
healing me, others are written to acknowledge the pain or the discomfort
of an event or thoughts”.
The inclusion of their poem in this chapter is to show how alternatives
to traditional research using feminist research methodologies, can illumi-
nate issues like IPV or, in the case of the poem, what has been termed
“menstrual health management” (MHM) in the development sector. Let
the experience of reading the poem soak in. Maybe read it again. Then,
read a report issued by a funder or policymaking institution. Are there
overlaps? What is missing? Whether IPV or MHM or any development
issue, the reliance on a numerate perspective is a form of violence for
the development discipline itself. My suggestion is that there is more
tactile content in a few staggered stanzas of tacit recounting than can
be produced in a publication of dense pages. Through story, a deeper
truth appears, and a new belief can be held.
My Stained Skirt
—
The healing, for me, is in the writing of the words and not so much
the words themselves. This is similar to how it is the relational process of
feminist research that is transformative. More traditional, scientific ways
of “knowing” see a certain side of things; they only tell part of the story.
Feminist ways of knowing, such as writing, situate us in place; they shift
us into “being”. Reading reports, talking to stakeholders and analysing
statistics was re-traumatising as a survivor. My writing brought me back
288 E. R. O’HARA
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Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.
CHAPTER 14
The process of engaging with and learning from each other that culmi-
nated in this book has been a beautiful experiment in community
building. We are grateful for the time and care that each contributor has
put into this—beginning with shared laughter and good food in an idyllic
• Whose work are we reading and citing? With whose thoughts are we
thinking through our research questions?
• Which stories do we centralize and how do we tell those stories?
• How do we reflexively work through our privileges and multi-fold
positionalities and how they affect our research and relationships?
Such questions are not only part and parcel of engaging with feminist
methodologies and doing research as feminists, they are also critical to
understanding what we can and what we cannot “produce” as knowledge.
Being “troubled” by questions around our responsibilities, feminist
ethics and our research practices means that we need both to learn and
unlearn. Unlearning entails an undoing of the normative frameworks and
paradigms in which we find ourselves. It also means we can end up with
more questions than answers. A practice of unlearning, of not knowing,
requires the sort of openness that is central to a feminist ethics and prac-
tice of care. So, while many of the chapters seek to learn and to share
experiences of self-learning, this collection may leave the reader with
new openings and questions rather than necessarily new empirical knowl-
edge. The different authors are honest in the challenges of doing feminist
research. These are challenges that will continue, reflective of feminist
methodologies as being confrontational and uncomfortable.
The threads of learning to unlearn that run throughout the book are
not only challenging but also inspiring as they give space and importance
to the “in between” parts of research, the quiet moments of insight and
14 EPILOGUE: LEARNING, UNLEARNING, AND RELEARNING 295
1 Tuck, E., & K.W. Yang. (2014). R-Words: Refusing Research. In D. Paris & M.T.
Winn (eds.) Humanizing Research: Decolonializing Qualitative Inquiry with Youth and
Communities, pp. 223–47. Los Angeles: Sage.
296 K. VAN DEN BERG ET AL.
Open Access This chapter is distributed under the terms of the Creative
Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, duplication, adaptation, distribution and
reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to
the original author(s) and the source, a link is provided to the Creative Commons
license and any changes made are indicated.
The images or other third party material in this chapter are included in the
work’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line;
if such material is not included in the work’s Creative Commons license and
the respective action is not permitted by statutory regulation, users will need to
obtain permission from the license holder to duplicate, adapt or reproduce the
material.