Encounters With Hostility

As an anthropologist, my interest is people. Some may even say that my business is people. And truly, I want to talk to others (most of the time), and have them explain their world to me. I want to see things as they see them. Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as walking up to someone and saying, "Hello, my name is Krystal. I'm an anthropologist. I see you're eating an orange. I don't like oranges. Why do you?"

At least not all of the time. Interactions are dynamic. Any number of factors can color the situation—the social context, the person's mood, your clothing, etc. can all alter the interaction and the person's willingness to relate to you. Any number of things can put someone off. My earliest forays into fieldwork were frustrating until I accepted that while you can do everything in your power to make an encounter or interview go smoothly, it can still go wrong. There are just too many factors beyond your control. If your informant has a stomach ache, she may be shorter with you than she might otherwise be, causing you to think that she is unhappy or uncomfortable with you and the situation. Think about how this could color your relationship: She may in fact be embarrassed at how she is treating you, but unable to correct it, and you, the anthropologist, thinking you have offended her in some way, may leave her out of the ethnographic record for fear of imposing on her.

Things can and will go wrong. I thought at this point in my life I had truly accepted this lesson, and then I started writing this blog and had an encounter that showed me that this is a lesson we can learn over and over again.

My earliest forays into fieldwork had me working with a adult immigrants of West Indian descent I quickly learned to say I was a student collecting information or a researcher. I was never anything as fancy as an "anthropologist"—primarily because none of my would-be informants knew what that meant. They were convinced that I was in league with immigration officials and would have them deported. Interviews would be canceled when I called to confirm the appointment after informants had time to think about the meeting. I could feel the tension on their end just as they could likely feel my discomfort. Some would be hostile if I bumped into them on the street, keeping their responses to my greetings curt or avoiding me entirely. What could I possibly want to talk to any of them for? I was an American-educated girl who spoke with no trace of her native accent. I couldn't be there to help them, or even harmless for that matter. I survived the process though, and I did it by simply getting over it. I learned to see myself through the eyes of my "other" and how to break the ice gradually, how to restrain my energy and how to wait. Essentially, working with this group helped me build up a pretty extensive toolbox of disarming techniques that I have relied on time and time again to get different people to talk to me—until that it, I crossed paths with her.

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I use photos in my posts to help place my reader in the context of my words. You can't be there, unfortunately, readers, so I try and help you see what I have seen. Maybe you'll have a different analysis—which would be exciting! In any case, I'm careful in my photo-taking though I don't ask permission unless it's a sensitive issue. And I try and leave identifying characteristics, such as addresses, names, etc. out of the photo. If I'm caught in the act of photographing a subject, I always introduce myself and talk a little about the work I'm doing. (E.g., "You have a great bag! I'm looking at the different types of bags people are using to transport items for a piece I'm writing for my blog.") And for the most part, people open up. Some want to know more. Some just want to know what I'm doing. And some could care less once they know I'm harmless, and we part ways without causing too much stress to each other.

A few weeks ago, I went to take some pictures of a street near my home at dusk for this blog. I walked about 20 feet from my driveway to a T-intersection and began to take some shots. I was standing in the street, probably 3 feet from the curb trying to get the last glimmers of sunlight through some impressive trees. Presently, a woman emerged from one of the houses midway up the block, and got into her car. She sat there, and I continued to take photos. She was not in my shot, and even if she was there was no way you could see her in her car from where I was positioned.

Suddenly, the car's lights came on and the engine roared to life. The car sped to my location, causing my to beat a hasty retreat back to the sidewalk. The car and driver stopped suddenly at the spot where I had been standing. She looked at me. I waved. Though we don't know each other personally, this woman is my neighbor. She lives up the block from me—surely she has seen me before just as I have seen her. She didn't wave back. Instead she growled, "What are you doing?" Still friendly and upbeat, I said "Well, I'm a writer. I'm just trying to get some shots of the street for my blog." For whatever reason, I think she chose not to hear me. "Why don't you go take your pictures somewhere else?" "I'm taking a picture of this tree. It isn't anywhere near you or your home." "I wonder what the police would think if I called them and told them about your little photo shoot," she continued. At this point, I was a little shocked. This was my block, and as far as I was concerned I had a right to take photos there. I was not however going to point out my house to someone who was clearly being hostile. I was livid. I had done nothing wrong, but I held on to my composure and tried to channel everything I had learned from my initial attempts at fieldwork. Thinking that she thought she was the subject of the photographs, I tried an apology. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I said, trying to dispel her hostility. "I'm taking pictures of the street. You aren't in any of them." I tried my explanation again.

"Apology not accepted!" she snapped and gunned her engine. I stepped off the curb back onto the street, now convinced that this was woman was not going to bully me. "It's not a crime," I said, "to take photos of my street." "Yeah, well we'll see what the police have to say!" "So call them! I've done nothing wrong. I'll wait right here." At that point she put the car in reverse and backed up to her house with a fair amount of speed. I refused to leave the scene. I continued to take photos even though the shot had long disappeared. When I finally returned to the house, I was furious. S suggested that I should have pointed out our house as it might have calmed her down. I felt that she had already decided not to hear me, so that it wouldn't have made a difference—and I don't think I wanted her knowing where I lived anyway.

I don't know this woman personally. Perhaps I should have apologized and put the camera away. I think I expected more from her—as both a neighbor and as a resident of the community, which reveals something of my own bias, I know. In this instance, my tools failed me—reminding me that my toolbox is not concrete. But it also confirmed my ability to see myself in the eyes of my "other" because believe it or not, I can understand her: A perceived stranger standing on the street in pajamas near dusk is weird! I get it. We're all worried about anything out of the ordinary. The problem is that this anxiety clouds people ability to hear. If she had been anything but bent on being angry and telling me to get off of her street, she would have seen me what I was: a young woman who has walked by her home on many a summer night, in her pajamas, trying to take pictures of a row of trees. In her mind, she was probably doing her block a favor, but it still left me angry.

I've played this scenario over in my mind a few times, trying to understand what caused her reaction: What was it in my manner that put her off? Was it the fact that I was in my pajamas? Was it the color of my skin? Was it my glasses? Does she have contempt for writers? Has she never heard of a blog? Why didn't she recognize me?

But I also have questions for myself: Why did I expect her not to care that I was taking photos? Why did I instinctively identify myself as a writer to her? Why did I expect her to recognize me? And why didn't I hold on to that lesson: things can and will go wrong when interacting with others?

I wanted to share this story to show that ethnographic work isn't predefined.The social context colors all of our interactions and it's not something that can be easily read. She could have been having a bad day, perhaps her home had been recently broken into, or it could have been something darker that any of these explanations. I haven't seen her since in person though I have seen her driving by in her car from time to time. I was tempted to follow-up with her, but thought it best to let it go. I am interested in hearing your take on this encounter—as well as any of your own difficult encounters with your "others." What particular techniques do you have in your toolbox? Share below.

Understanding Otherness: 10 Lessons We Can Learn From Tourists

When anthropologists go into the field, they do so to study the "other"—i.e., the people and their culture that is different and distant from the anthropologist's own native history. Globalization has reduced some of the alien nature assigned to the other. Ethnically diverse neighborhoods, like Jackson Heights, reveal a mixing of cultures and traditions that was not possible in the early beginnings of anthropology. Yet the other still encompasses a sense of the foreign.

Entering their fieldwork sites, anthropologists are as much others to the host culture as their ethnographic subjects are others to them. In those early months, while becoming acclimated to the host culture and finding their places in the host society, anthropologists are very much like tourists—although I have to stress that no anthropologist would think of herself in that way. The worst thing one could anthropologically be is a tourist. After all, tourists are largely ignorant of the host society's norms and are transient whereas anthropologists look for acceptance to the host society by adopting the host culture as their own and establishing lifelong ties to the community where they work.

Nonetheless, anthropologists on their earliest field forays tend to stick out sorely. And in truth, it's to be expected to a certain degree—culture shock can be minimized, but not avoided entirely. However brief the period of adjustment, it does place a certain degree of stress on the host culture which is also experiencing a period of adjustment. To explain this point, let's consider tourists in New York City—the ever-present others who walk among us regularly. In New York City, tourists are tolerated. Yes, they bring revenue to the economy, but they also clutter the sidewalks and transportation systems. New Yorkers flow around them, accommodating them with barely concealed expressions of annoyance. The cultural and social stress they generate is real, but ethnographic researchers can learn a great deal from this group. Persons interested in responsible tourism may also find this information worthwhile. (Responsible tourists don't simply consume the host cultures they visit; they are mindful of their potential for social disruption and take steps to minimize interrupting social flow.)

Minimizing this type of transitional stress is integral to successful ethnography. Tourists can teach us much about signals of otherness. Here are 10 identifying markers drawn from observing tourists that can be interpreted as social otherness:

1. They are not dressed for work on a work day. 

As the saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Nothing makes you stand out more than your mode of dress—which is certainly held as a primary form of self-expression in the United States. Nonetheless, anthropologists looking to establish themselves in their field sites would be well advised that if their hosts wear hats made out of palm leaves, they should do so as well. In fact, the State Department's website actually cautions travelers to certain countries—women in particular—to adopt conservative fashion styles and to research customs and traditions. Of course, tourists are on vacation, and there are many people who don't have a prescribed form of "business" dress, but there is an overall sense of colors and style that infiltrate a region or even a locality. The bottom line is that you should know where you are going—do some research beforehand.

Image: In a "suit" culture, the non-suit tends to stand out.

 

Image: Can you identify the tourists in this photo based on dress?

2. They travel in groups.

There is certainly some truth to safety in numbers, and it's wonderful to share new experiences with people you love and care about, but groups attract attention. It's easier to fold an individual into the social rhythm, than it is for a group to blend in.

Image: Tour group in front of Federal Hall.

3. They prominently carry, display, and use cameras.

Photos provide timeless records—but be mindful of what and whom you are photographing. Don't lose awareness of where you are just to get a photograph.

 

Image: Photo opportunities are everywhere—but don't lose awareness of your surroundings in seeking that perfect shot.

4. They take "unusual" photos.

Of course it's new to you—but "natives" pass it every single day, and they probably take it for granted. And if they do notice it, they really aren't creating artful poses for the camera—unless perhaps they're looking for a new Facebook photo. Again, photos provide a valuable record, so take them! But again, consider the image you are projecting with your camera strapped prominently around your neck. Ethnographers may want to opt for something a bit more discrete.  And don't lose sight of social context. There are plenty of native shutterbugs. If you're trying to blend in, figure out when they come out and time your photographic adventures accordingly. And if you need an unusual shot for your Facebook profile—and it breaks with the ebb and flow of the host culture—do it quickly and without attracting too much attention.

Image: "Artful" picture taking on a street corner.

5. They carry fanny packs/large backpacks.

Okay, so I spent some time talking about the increased presence of large bags on the subways, but this goes back to the first signal—if fanny packs aren't the norm, don't carry them! And unless you're working and living with a nomadic people, there's no need to carry all your belongings with you. Plus large backpacks can make you a target for less savory characters—bottom line: you want to be able to move with the flow of pedestrian traffic easily and comfortably.

Image: Carrying large backpacks all day is surely tiring.

 

Image: Are fanny packs the universal symbol of tourism?

6. They lounge.

In most work environments, people move purposefully. Of course, ethnographers will eventually want to meet people in a relaxed environment when they are more apt to talk, but unless you're in a recreational area, such as a park, or a social meeting place, lounging about signifies that you have no where else to be—and ultimately, that you don't fit into the social milieu.

Image: George Washington's statue is a popular resting spot for tourists.

7. They often look confused.

So you're in a new place on your own, and it's the first time you've ventured out. The sights and sounds are unfamiliar and the language is different. Yes, even the smells are different. This is not home! Don't panic and don't stand around looking lost and confused. Anthropologists—and really anyone looking to settle into an unknown—have to work at fitting in. So do some research before you leave your hotel room or apartment: read maps, check guidebooks, etc. Create a plan for each day that takes you farther away from your comfort zone. Make friends with a "native" if possible until you're comfortable wandering about on your own. If you want to belong, you have to plan to do so.

 

Image: "Where do we go from here?"

8. They openly read guidebooks.

See No. 7.

Image: Leave your trusty guidebook in your apartment.

9. They disrupt the social flow of traffic.

I think this one is the most important. I talked briefly about the stress the other creates for the host. One of the ways this occurs is through the disruption of the social rhythms of the host society. Every society has a flow, a pattern. It's not necessarily something you can learn from books. To fully understand the social flow of a place, you have to witness it, and your body needs to adjust to it. Research is still important—it will give you a sense of what to expect. A good way to acclimate to the social ebb and flow is through observation. In the early days of fieldwork, finding a good "people-watching" spot is key (and you can bring your maps and guidebooks with you for some reading on the side).

Image: Stopping on a street corner to answer a phone call holds up the pedestrian traffic and interrupts the social flow and rhythm.

 

Image: Note what the "natives" do and follow along—take phone calls out of the line of traffic.

10. They ride tour buses while wearing yellow ponchos.

In this age of globalization, every country has a tourism trade. If you don't want to get lumped in with these others, learn what the tourist traps are and avoid them. If the natives aren't doing it, you probably want to avoid it as well—unless, of course, you're studying tourism.

Image: Downtown tour bus.

The general theme that emerges regarding signals of otherness is that there are patterns to every culture and society. Ethnographers don't come into a social setting unarmed. They sometimes spend years preparing before reaching their field sites. Nonetheless, transitions can be difficult. Understanding markers of otherness can be the first step in easing the disruptions a lack of social knowledge can cause.

Do you think there are additional markers of otherness that tourists can reveal?