Category Archives: Reflections

Fieldwork Challenges #1: Accessing Aid Workers

Any new doctoral researcher will arrive at their research site feeling nervous about the journey ahead. They may have spent the first year of their Phd learning research techniques, developing methodologies, mastering the art of investigative inquiry and active listening. But none of this really prepares the researcher for all the uncertainties that lie ahead during field research, particularly if it is in an unfamiliar environment.

I realised this pretty early on in my second year of my Phd, just days before I was due to leave for Nairobi. I had a year’s worth of study under my belt, which included a small research project in Brighton and several essays which examined various research methods – ethnography, life history, elite interviewing, research in conflict settings. And yet as I packed by suitcase and considered what I was about to embark on – at least 9 months of field research, on my own, in Kenya – I asked myself, ‘But what are you actually going to do there? How are you going to carry out your research? What is your starting point and where will you go from there?’

Six weeks in to my field research, and I’m still not sure I have the answers to these questions. And this comes as some surprise to me, as unlike many other doctoral researchers, I’ve returned to a place I’m relatively familiar with, to conduct research among a community whose profession I share – aid workers. My assumption had been that shortly after my arrival my research relationships would fall into my lap, much in the same way my previous relationships have with friends and colleagues when I lived and worked in Kenya, Uganda and Palestine.

But being a researcher in a foreign land is very different from being an aid worker, or anyone else in any other profession. For one thing, you are very much on your own. There is no organisation to cushion you and give you a safe landing into unfamiliar territory. No managers to guide you or structure your day with priorities and deadlines. And the only person who can really answer the sort of questions raised above is you, the researcher.

In addition, I’m realising that no matter how confident we feel in the community we are researching, we should never assume that access will be easy. Accessing research participants – identifying who exactly they may be and how we approach them – requires constant negotiation and self-reflection. As Hammersley and Atkinson note:

Not all parts of the [research] setting will be equally open to observation, and not everyone may be willing to talk…..If the data required are to be obtained, negotiation of access is therefore likely to be a recurrent preoccupation for the ethnographer.

Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007, Ethnography: Principles in Practice, 61

This may seem obvious but as so-called ‘insiders’ – those who feel ‘local’ to the community they are researching – we may often assume that we will gain immediate trust and interest from our research participants.

For me, I had gained some confidence about my research topic when talking to friends and colleagues in the aid sector. When I told them I would be investigating stress and burnout among aid workers, they were immediately enthusiastic and keen to tell me their own story or suggest others I could speak to. Yet the reality is that this topic is a sensitive one, for both individuals and organisations. Not all individuals want to recognise the personal challenges they face in doing this type of work, and not all organisations wish to address the thorny issue of why some members of staff appear to be struggling more than others. And even with those that do, I’m finding that this – perhaps understandably – is not a priority for them. We can enter our research site full of expectations around how willing people will be to talk to us about what we see as a vital and important issue affecting wider society, and find that although there may be interest, other ‘life’ situations get in the way. These may be work deadlines, family commitments, or in the case of aid workers perhaps a feeling that they should not spend too long seemingly navel-gazing when their mission is to help others. Any one of these circumstances are of course interesting research observations and findings in themselves – something we have to remember when we feel we’re not collecting the data we had wished for.

Having said that, some moving and relevant stories can come from the most unexpected of sources. Whilst I may spend some days still trying to figure out where I go next and what I ‘should’ be doing, on other occasions I’ve met with people on the pretext of simply finding out more about their work or getting to know them, and left feeling touched by some of the very personal stories they’ve revealed to me. This has taught me that we have to remain open to every new interaction, as we simply do not know where it may lead. And we must treat each relationship very much on its own terms – it may only be a fleeting exchange, but those few moments matter for connecting with people and trying to understand where they are coming from and how they feel about talking to you, as a researcher.

So whilst I try to navigate my way through the sea of humanitarian, development and human rights organisations in Nairobi – through their Directors, Human Resources Managers, programme staff and consultants – I’m doing my best to stick to what I feel are three important principles:

  1. Being open: to whatever opportunities arise, and to enter each situation and interaction without preconceptions or judgements
  2. Patience: to understand that making connections with people, particularly as a researcher, can take time. And that not every day will bring enriching data. There may be some days where little happens at all, except the opportunity to reflect on where I’m at so far and how I feel about it.
  3. Trust: despite the temptation to always question whether I’m doing enough or whether I’m doing things properly, I have to also see this entire process as one of learning – about myself as much as others. We have to feel our way into each day, each interaction, each space we occupy as researchers. Keeping this in mind encourages a sense of trust – that as a new researcher in the field I have to embrace the journey and be confident that each day brings with it a new lesson.

 

 

 

 

How to be Vulnerable in Research and Aid Work

I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability lately, as I spend the first days in Nairobi figuring out what I’m really doing here and how I should spend my time.

Whilst I’m here with a purpose – to conduct field research on stress and burnout in the aid sector – the actual reality of what this entails for me as a doctoral researcher, with no person or organisation here to guide me, is hard to grasp. I’ve come here alone and it is only I who can make my time here successful. When a doctoral researcher arrives to conduct their field research, there is no great fanfare or welcoming party, nor a fixed agenda with specific deadlines. We simply have to get on with it, whatever ‘it’ may be.

For me this has meant setting up several meetings and networking with aid workers. This side of things is in itself a bit nerve-wracking; working out when it is I’m being a researcher and when it is I’m just being ‘me’ – a new arrival to Nairobi (although I have the advantage of having lived here before), who is genuinely wanting to meet people and make friends.

The challenge I’m describing will be familiar to anyone doing ‘insider research’ – in other words, researching one’s own social or professional community. Putting aside the debate as to whether any researcher, given their status, can ever truly be an insider, I do think having experience in the community one is researching brings its own dilemmas and difficulties. We do not want to appear a fraud in our relationships with research participants, and the chances are as an insider we are sympathetic towards their cause. Yet at the same time we are aware of the ulterior motives that often lie behind each interaction with individuals who may be both friends or colleagues and potential informants. This becomes even more problematic if informants who we have a relationship with outside the research open up emotionally in an interview in a way they haven’t done in normal friendship conversations. How do we respond? As a researcher or as a friend or confidant?

This potential challenge in my research highlights how vulnerability is at the heart of the interaction between researcher and informant, and none more so than in my chosen study topic. I do suspect that for some aid workers, who operate in an organisational culture that discourages the display of too much raw emotion, speaking to a researcher about their feelings may be easier than revealing them to their friends or colleagues. Many aid workers avoid showing their emotional discomfort when assisting poor or war-affected populations or documenting human rights abuses. To do so seems inappropriate in the face of far greater human suffering. And in this way vulnerability is repeatedly pushed aside and denied. This denial becomes so commonplace that it can at times seep into friendship interactions as well, so that when asked how you feel about the work you are doing it is difficult to articulate in a genuine, emotional way.

Being vulnerable is difficult for everybody, not just aid workers. As Brené Brown, vulnerability ‘expert’ says,

The difficult thing is that vulnerability is the first thing I look for in you and the last thing I’m willing to show you. In you, it’s courage and daring. In me, it’s weakness.

And it’s difficult for researchers too. Like aid workers, researchers feel they must maintain a level of professionalism that hides vulnerabilities such as self-doubt and guilt over not ever doing ‘enough’, over not meeting our own expectations or those of our informants.

I have a growing belief that recognising and working with these vulnerabilities rather than pushing them aside has value both for aid work and the Phd research process. Staying with our emotions as they arise can help us gain insight into the emotional behaviour of others. Mindfulness, which I discussed in more detail in another blog post, is one tool with which to practise this emotional presence and awareness. Through mindfulness we can observe without judgement our emotions as they come and go in the present moment. By recognising our own suffering, we become more in tune with and compassionate about the suffering of others – whether these are friends, colleagues, research informants or populations being assisted by aid workers. At the same time, acknowledging emotions as they arise through the practice of mindfulness may be an important way of developing resilience in the field, as an aid worker or as a researcher.

Being emotionally engaged – and vulnerable – can deepen researchers’ understanding of themselves, including their status and position in relation to those they are researching. For researchers of development and aid, this level of emotional awareness may enrich their insights into the hopes, passions and desire for justice that underscore much aid practice. It is these same emotional states that are often the drivers for academic research and which should be integral to understanding how data is collected, generated and ultimately used for constructive ends.

The Role of Mindfulness in Aidwork

Using the terms mindfulness or meditation in the work setting of a humanitarian or human rights NGO can often feel inappropriate or irrelevant. In a sector that focuses primarily on caring for others, this method of self-care may seem at best of secondary importance, at worst in contradiction to the principles of selflessness that are associated with aid work. In the wider Western world, these terms also have negative connotations – of being hippie or ‘New Agey,’  therefore only understood and respected by people who have chosen a spiritual path. And a common accusation is that meditation is a navel-gazing exercise, which allows us to be detached from, or to escape, the realities of the world we live in but has no value in bringing any sort of change to those realities. This accusation can be found in, for instance, an article by Guardian columnist Suzanne Moore, which claims that mindfulness is all about self-help, but does nothing to change an unjust world. I would like to take issue with some of these assumptions about mindfulness and meditation, whilst also highlighting and attempting to address the uneasiness that exists towards the practice, both in the humanitarian and human rights sector and the wider world.

But first, what is mindfulness and how can it be distinguished from meditation? I see mindfulness as a practice, or exercise, that can be applied at any point in any day, no matter what we are doing. Meditation is one tool in which to practise mindfulness – a way of stepping out of what one is doing in the day, and dedicating 5, 15, 20 or 50 minutes to simply sitting and being present. Focusing on the breath is a common way of anchoring ourselves in that present moment. Mindfulness, whether through quiet, solitary meditation or otherwise, is an opportunity to transcend the endless chatter in our heads – the grievances about the past, the anxieties about the future – and simply focus on experiences as they happen, in the present. We can practise mindfulness without needing to meditate. The moment may be something as mundane as doing the ironing or as challenging as physical or emotional pain. Or the enjoyment of eating chocolate or walking in the woods. How often do we actually taste the food we are eating, when most of the time we are eating whilst working, or reading, or talking to others? How often do we actually feel our physical pain, when our instinct is to distract ourselves from it or be so consumed in worries about the possible future implications of the pain? Mindfulness puts us in touch with the immediate sensory experience, so that we are able to really feel what is happening, and acknowledge what that feeling is. It helps to deepen our awareness of all the thoughts, feelings and emotions that make up who we are, not only as individuals but as part of the human race.

Relating this back to humanitarian and human rights work, being mindful is a way of ensuring that we are not continuously led by our emotional responses. This is not to say that emotional responses to injustice, or human suffering, are not important. I think the problem that Suzanne Moore and others – including myself at times – have with ‘spiritual’ practice is the notion that it is too inward-looking, and makes robots out of human beings; real, raw emotions may in fact be lost in the search for authentic and transcendental enlightenment.

But mindfulness is as much about connecting with the outer world as it is with navigating our inner world. Both of these are important – we cannot help or show understanding to others if we are unable to help or understand ourselves. This is why compassion plays such an important role in Buddhist teachings of meditation. By exploring what is happening within, we can connect with deeper truths about human existence, consciousness and suffering that we so often overlook, ignore or avoid in everday life. Mindfulness also enables us to take a moment to watch the emotional reactions we have and guage whether they are helpful for us and for others. Anger and rage may be common experiences when working on issues related to oppression and injustice, but they are not always helpful. I have worked in settings where these emotions, displayed bombastically, provocatively and argumentatively serve to alienate the sympathisers to our cause as much as our opponents. Is that what we really want to achieve each time we disagree with something or someone we don’t like? Breathing in to and observing those emotions, instead of always getting lost in them, helps us to gain some clarity over how it is we really wish to respond, and what it is we really wish to convey when we react to human suffering. We are mindful not only in observing our thoughts and emotions, but also in putting those thoughts and emotions into action, for a particular effect or outcome. This is why it is an essential tool to bring into all that we do.

The debate over the relevance of mindfulness in aid work and activism is far from over, and in fact has only just begun, as more and more people take up the practice as a means to relieving stress and burnout. Whilst I try to practise various forms of mindfulness in my everyday life, I also continue to ask myself certain questions about its scope and use in the sector I work in. How can it help aid workers interact more effectively and compassionately with people around them? What role can it play in the quest for social justice? Is it merely a practice for the privileged or can it have meaning for the communities served by aid workers? Perhaps some readers have experiences to share that can help answer these questions.

World Humanitarian Day: Remember the Human Behind the Humanitarian

Welcome to my blog site, Life in Crisis, which I’m launching on the 19 August to mark World Humanitarian Day.

Although I would not strictly call myself a humanitarian worker, I have operated within the humanitarian sphere for many years, in Palestine, Kenya and Uganda among other places. As someone who has worked for human rights and development organisations, and with local communities living in or recovering from conflict, I am fully aware of the challenges of this sort of work. These challenges relate both to our external environment and our internal emotional landscape.

On the one hand, living in unfamiliar terrains, often isolated from close friends and family and exposed to untold suffering on a daily basis takes its toll on even the most hardened aid worker. On the other, we’re often fighting our own inner battles of guilt, anxiety and self-doubt; constantly asking why we’re doing this job, whether we’re making any difference, whether our egos are getting the better of us, whether in fact our presence in the countries we’re operating in is doing more harm than good. We may have our own expectations of what this job was meant to be, or may be frantically trying to meet the expectations of our managers and colleagues. And so often it can feel like we’re failing on both counts, because we simply cannot respond to all the demands that the work places on us. And we cannot solve all the world’s problems, or the problems of the country we’re working in, or even the problems of one person asking for our help.

World Humanitarian Day is important as it forces us to remember the complexities of the challenges faced by aid workers. What do I mean by this? Firstly, that who we call the humanitarian worker encompasses hundreds of thousands of different people, of all ages, nationalities and backgrounds. They may currently be working on the Ebola response in West Africa or assisting refugees from Syria, but they were also the first responders during Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and are providing food and shelter to people fleeing the ongoing violence in Ukraine. Many are volunteers who have given up their day job to respond to something they feel deeply concerned about; many others are doing this work as a career, within the UN or international NGO sector.

And they are not all white and from the Western world, as one might assume from portrayals in the media. The popular image of the caring and nurturing twenty-something – often female – holding a sick African child, is one snapshot of a far more diverse and complicated sector. An estimated 90 per cent of humanitarian workers are nationals who operate in their own country. In other words, nationals from countries undergoing natural or man-made disasters and conflicts such as Syria, Nepal or Afghanistan are all playing a crucial role in humanitarian interventions, and the chances are they are putting their lives at far greater risk than their expatriate counterparts in doing so.

This is because of the high risks they face of being targeted or attacked in their own environments, and the unfortunate reality that they are unlikely to receive the same sort of support from their employers as would their expatriate colleagues. 

So today is an opportunity to remember the human face of the humanitarian worker, whether they be from the US, Europe or the developing world. It is a chance to recognise the complexity of each and every personality in the sector, and their associated morals, values and motivations.

There are two dominant narratives that describe the humanitarian worker. One is of the selfless hero – the popular image promoted by aid agencies themselves and by the media. The other is the selfish and privileged careerist – portrayed often by aid workers themselves who wish to debunk the selfless hero myth. But neither narrative gives a fair representation of the many thoughts, beliefs, feelings and emotions behind every humanitarian intervention. Aid workers are not always heroes, but they are not villains either. They are often walking a fragile tightrope between responding to the suffering of the communities they are assisting and to their own personal and emotional needs. All too often the latter plays second fiddle to the former and the desire to maintain the facade of the humanitarian hero. And it is this neglect of ‘the self’ – of understanding and working with complicated personal interests, motivations and feelings – that can lead to far greater emotional difficulties such as chronic stress and burnout.

This blog site will be examining and reflecting on these issues in more detail over the coming months. But for now, suffice to say, if we are to really ‘reshape aid’ we need to consider the personal as well as the professional aspects of aid work. We need to remember that feelings and emotions matter for the humanitarian as much as they do for any other human being. They shape their choices and their actions, and therefore have a huge role to play in how humanitarian work is done. This is why the current petition calling for staff welfare to be included on the agenda of the World Humanitarian Summit in 2016 is so important. It highlights that aid interventions – as flawed as they may be at times – cannot be efficiently administered or improved unless we address the emotional suffering of aid workers and the impact this has on what they do. World Humanitarian Day may seem an uncomfortable way of recognising the existence of this suffering alongside the suffering of the populations receiving aid.  But it’s also an opportunity to keep pushing the issue of staff welfare and self-care onto the agendas of all aid workers – managers and field officers alike; it is a collective responsibility and one that we can start addressing today.