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10 Tips for Surviving Anthropological Fieldwork

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Borobudur Buddhist temple near Yogyakarta, Indonesia. A picturesque respite from the hard work of ethnography.

In two weeks I will have been in Java, Indonesia, for a full year conducting ethnographic fieldwork for my PhD. I’m pretty certain most students who have completed this anthropological rite of passage (yeah I went there) will agree that the theory and methods courses we undertake for close to a decade before entering the field do little to prepare us for it.

I’d say I’ve been pretty lucky so far in terms of my experiences, having chosen a wonderful field-site without any (knock-on-wood) massive obstacles. The people who have taken me into their home and their community have been warm and willing to aid me in my academic endeavors. Yet despite all of their support, every budding anthropologist will encounter difficulties that may hinder their progress.

Below are some tips that might help the pre-fieldwork candidate adapt to their surroundings (assuming they are in a new setting) and perhaps even enjoy the process of gathering data. Veterans of the field are welcome to submit their own suggestions in comments.

Sometimes, I feel, learning how to be human while studying humans is the toughest part.

 1. Choose a site you won’t hate

My Master’s field-work was nearly disastrous because I underestimated the emotional intensity of the site I chose. In my blinding naiveté, I had decided that doing three months of intensive interviewing and participant observation in Rwanda might not be so emotionally draining if I just focused on the subject matter rather than the nation’s gruelling history. Wrong.

Even though I planned to just do interviews in primary schools about the use of One Laptop Per Child computers in the education system, daily conversations about any topic almost always included a discussion of some aspect of the 1994 genocide. While the history and social consequences of that tragedy are crucial to know and understand, especially from an anthropological perspective, I should have predicted from the start that my own personality was not particularly suited to stomaching the sheer weight of the tragedy on a daily basis. Had I paid attention to that I might have known to choose a different site.

For my PhD work I almost made the same mistake. I thought spending a year in Mongolia might be fun and adventurous, and almost drafted a proposal to do so, but at the last moment took an opportunity to go to Indonesia instead. This year, while reading the Facebook status updates of friends and family back home, I realized it was the right choice. Seeing their complaints about the “Polar Vortex” winter from a tropical climate made me realize I had dodged a weather-induced misery bullet.

Of course there are many other factors to consider when choosing a site, but make sure that you pick one you will potentially enjoy (depending on your objectives). Hedonism isn’t the point, but if you hate your field-site, I guarantee it will haunt you in the year or two it will take you to write up.

2. Learn the language

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If you don’t learn the language(s), you’re gunna have a bad time.

Any anthropology student would say “Well, duh!” to this piece of advice. But it’s not as simple as it seems. Sometimes there is more than one language to master in the relatively brief time we have to gather the rich data we need to write something of substance.

Many of my peers and I were funded to conduct 3-4 months of pilot research in another country to take language courses that were unavailable in Canada, and to choose a suitable field site. This luxury made all the difference for me, and I imagine for those in the same boat.

The basic skills I picked up in Bahasa Indonesia served as a foundation for deepening my conversational abilities during the first six months of my fieldwork. Without it, I might not have been able to conduct the in-depth interviews I’ve been working on recently.

But Bahasa Indonesia is only the national language in Indonesia. While it ties the nation together in terms of educational and media transmission, the people I study prefer to chat with each other in Javanese. While I have picked up enough of it to understand the basis of most conversations and interject questions, I would have had much more success in terms of building rapport if I had mastered it early on.

If the opportunity arises to learn the language in-depth, take it. Otherwise you might be stuck speaking to Quebeckers in English, for example, rather than in the beloved French language.

3. Pay attention to gender norms

This is something that I underestimated from the start. As a white woman from a relatively Liberal society, I was as yet unaware of the subtleties of gendered social interactions when I arrived.

My initial tactic was to just be friendly and open with everyone, as I would be in Canada. I would have friendly conversations with both men and women in public settings. No big deal, right? I would conduct interviews on my own to prove that I was a capable and independent anthropologist. That’s how it’s supposed to be done, right?

But as time went on I became more and more aware of how subtle queues in speech and body language could dramatically affect my position within the neighbourhood and how people thought of me.

For example, I learned that it was more respectful for me to be accompanied by someone if I was to interview someone of the opposite gender, even though there was no hard and set rule for it.

Also, crossing my legs by resting my ankle on my knee is a big “no-no” here. While men are expected to sit in a relaxed position, often with a knee raised and feet resting on benches, proper women must keep their feet firmly planted on the ground, or neatly crossed when sitting on the floor.

Smoking for women is also considered inconsistent with propriety or modesty.

The point is that if you want to respect the people who are being generous with you in terms of their time and patience, and in turn be respected, it’s a good idea to try to observe local queues. Things that might be considered normal or innocent in Liberal Western settings may have different connotations in another.

4. Don’t take things so personally

Twelve months (or more) is a long time to be sad and stressed out about social mishaps, awkward moments, misunderstandings, and hurtful gossip. If anything, it’s a great opportunity to learn that it’s impossible to make everyone like you, and that’s fine. There’s absolutely no way to cater to every segment of society, and trying to do so will only make people more wary of your apparently disingenuous approach.

There are inequalities and cleavages in every part of society, and trying to act immune to them may simply infuriate people. Best to be fair and be friendly, while knowing your limits. In the end, these boundaries may actually produce more interesting material. For example, trying to figure out why people gossip every time you try to hang out on the other side of the neighbourhood might offer clues as to the nature of the social cleavages in the community.

5. Harness the power of your introversion

When I was conducting my pilot research last year I worried that I wasn’t being social enough. As a result I felt like I had to constantly force myself into uncomfortable situations to be a good anthropologist.

But when I noticed that my own supervisor is usually a quiet figure, I asked him casually what his strategy was for getting people to talk. I imagined that he probably did the same sort of thing, just trying to be everywhere at once and asking as many questions as possible. While that works for some people, I was surprised and relieved to learn it wasn’t his favoured approach.

He told me about what he called his “Teh Botol approach.” Teh Botol is a popular jasmine tea drink usually served chilled in a glass bottle. It’s often consumed in small diners or food stops called “warung,” where people like to order rice dishes and have a chat. When my supervisor wanted to meet new people, he explained, he would choose a warung, order a Teh Botol, and sip it slowly until someone addressed him.

Sometimes the server would be busy and the diner empty and he would sit in silence, losing hope of any meaningful conversation. But just as often a deep and fascinating conversation would start up from insignificant chit-chat just as he was paying to leave. If that didn’t work, he would just take his leave and move on the next warung, starting the process over again until he came upon something interesting.

I realized then that my own instinct to sit and observe rather than force an awkward interaction was probably best, and that has led to far more interesting conversations than constantly asking annoying questions. Sometimes patience is better than force.

6. Have fun!

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Building sand castles = fun in progress.

It’s often difficult to turn off your brain when conducting fieldwork. Every conversation, every observation, every minute of every day is spent watching, listening, learning, and trying to speak with a discernable accent. When you’re not constantly absorbing, you’re writing and recording, and hoping that nothing happens to your precious data.

Don’t over-do it. Make sure to do things that please you and that take your mind off of your work, even if it is your passion. You’ll come back to it with a fresher perspective.

Bring movies. Watch them. Bring trashy (or good) novels. Read them. Malinowski did it, ain’t no shame in it. Go out to dinner (if you can). Go swimming. Take a walk. Whatever is at your disposal that will take you away from the persistent analytical thoughts of an anthropologist.

7. Find a routine that works for you

Equally important is to figure out your own routine or schedule. I found early on that trying to force myself to write 2000 words of field notes at the end of the day, when my head was still swimming from half a day of language classes, a funeral, and several conversations, often led to debilitating migraines. When I switched to writing scratch notes in my blackberry as mnemonic devices, I could still write excellent notes the morning after, and spare myself a sick day nursing a pulsating migraine in bed.

Don’t forget that you also need to take into account the daily routines of the people who live in your field site. If people are busy or working in the mornings and afternoons, but usually free and relaxed at around 7pm, reserve your interviews for the evenings and spend the days writing, exploring, and chatting with people who are free rather than imposing your own schedule on them. They will be much more receptive that way.

8. Keep a log book

I started doing this a couple of months into my field work, after I had finished with language classes. I use one of those clichéd black hardcover notebooks since they last long (and fine, because they look cool). Use the left side for planning your day.

Write down what information you’re looking for, who you want to interview, where you want to go and why. On the right side write down what you actually accomplished, where you went, who you saw, and what you learned or failed to do. The two sides are often different because unexpected things happen (ex. a funeral) but that keeps things interesting.

It also shows you that you’re actually accomplishing more than you imagined or remember. Sometimes it seems that you’re not doing anything, but the list of people and topics you’ve encountered on any given day will prove to you that you’re not actually a slacker (unless, of course, you are, and the logbook will show you that you need to get a move on).

9. Never reject an invitation (within reason)

Any anthropologist will tell you that you should never reject an invitation when you’re in the field. That includes boring governance meetings, religious events, funerals, going to coffee with a group of youths, or watching a soccer game (even if you can’t tell the teams apart).

Within reason, I would say this is good advice. Keep in mind the tip about gender norms though, and always make sure you take your safety into consideration. Although that political rally might seem interesting or crucial, ask around to see if it’s usually peaceful. If several people talk about how the rally is going to turn to into a  “battle” because of the rival parties, consider whether the risk is worth the invitation. Just two days ago there were rumors, photos, and reports (though no news coverage) of several young men murdered during political rallies, a reasonable deterrent for me even though I’m interested in the election process.

10. Become a foodie

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Because, you know, chilli dogs are super gourmet…

Anyone who knows me is aware that cooking is not my forte, (for which I shamelessly blame my lovely mother). I have no interest in engaging in it, and any attempts so far have led to mediocre meals at best.

This has probably been my greatest woe during my year in Indonesia. While I can enjoy the fact that food is super cheap (70 cents to two dollars per local meal), so that I can eat out every day, I’m not a huge fan of the local cuisine. Growing up in a Quebecois household has taught my palette that Heinz Ketchup or maple syrup can accompany almost any meal, and that spicy foods are a source of torture rather than pleasure. Unfortunately for me, almost every meal here has hot chilli peppers mixed into it, or is accompanied by hot chilli sauce (sambal). Rice is the staple, so that any local might tell you that if they haven’t yet eaten rice, they don’t feel full “kalau belum makan nasi, berarti belum kenyang.”

If I had had the patience to take up cooking when I first arrived, I might not have overdosed on the massive amounts of rice and chillies served to me every day and actually enjoyed my meals. My advice would be to make some effort to become a “foodie.” It’s a great way to socialize with people, to share stories and recipes, and an even better way to be content during your year long stint in your chosen field site.

Obviously there are many other ways to make your field work an enjoyable and productive experience and not all will agree with the tips I’ve put forth, but hopefully some of them will have been helpful. Happy fieldworking!

by Jessika Tremblay

 

 

Behind the King’s Bath: A Visual Tour of an Indonesian Cyber Village

Taking a look at a fascinating “internet community” wedged in the historical and cultural hub that is the Sultan’s complex in Yogyakarta.

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RT stands for Rukun Tatangga, an administrative unit of about 20-40 houses. Taman translates to “garden” and corresponds to the several hundred homes in the area around Kampoeng Cyber, my main research site.



Kampoeng Cyber, which translates roughly from Indonesian to “Cyber Village,” is a small, densely packed neighbourhood of about 150 people located next to the famous Sultan’s palace, or Kraton, in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. The community has gained local notoriety for being one of the first in Indonesia to connect most of its residents to high-speed cable internet through their own initiative.
Since 2008 these denizens have consciously been building their identity around a pool of symbols that draw from their Javanese roots, batik-making skills, and now, their integration into the “high-tech” and “globalised” world. Now, a number of families make use of the internet to sell batik, advertise their fried chicken, or manage their fishing hobby groups. Social interactions are also increasingly mediated through social media.

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A typical, narrow street in Kampoeng Cyber.

One of the strongest motivating factors for starting Kampoeng Cyber, claims its elected leader, was to give locals a chance to compete economically with the larger, more successful batik and curio shops that line the main streets. The neighbourhood is literally built into part of the Sultan’s palace complex, and directly adjacent to the famous Taman Sari Watercastle, which was completed in the mid-18th century to serve, allegedly, as the Sultan’s personal bathing and resting area.

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Inside the Sultan’s former bathing complex, now a tourist attraction.

While the Watercastle and Kraton once attracted a large volume of tourists, the 1998 Asian financial crisis saw the collapse of the tourist and batik industries, forcing local residents to find new ways to make a living. The narrow alleyways leading to the rear entrance of the Watercastle no longer yielded sufficient tourist traffic to produce sustainable livelihoods.

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Houses crammed in between heritage sites like Pulo Cemeti, part of the ruined Taman Sari complex. Photo credit to andieyoesoef http://www.panoramio.com/user/3805641

Kampoeng Cyber now actively makes use of both urban space and cyber space to navigate its cultural, political, and economic identity in a post-reform context that has seen an increasing tendency for individual neighborhoods to develop independently of direct government support.

It’s fascinating to see how the geography and history of Taman Sari has influenced the manner in which the internet is perceived and used in Kampoeng Cyber.

The Kraton was designed as the symbolic center of the city of Yogyakarta, and originally conceived of as the cosmological center of the universe. The complex was built along a north-south axis that drew its power from Mount Merapi, Indonesia’s most active volcano, in the north, to the South Sea.

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Map of the Kraton (Sultan’s Palace) complex. From http://www.tembi.org/keraton_yogja/

The city’s grid system, then, drew its orientation by aligning the main boulevards along this imaginary axis. Thus, the famed Malioboro street which was once the sultan’s main ceremonial thoroughfare and now constitutes the heart of the commercial and tourist district in Yogyakarta, runs south to north directly into the main entrance of the Kraton, and other main streets run east and west from the side gates of the palace.

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A map of Taman Sari as it used to look, before the lakes were drained in the 1867 earthquake. Kampoeng Cyber cropped up in and around the Taman Sari buildings. Image credit to lowobiru http://www.panoramio.com/photo/48932370

The hundreds of densely populated neighbourhoods in the city, known as kampung, find themselves squeezed into the narrow alleyways encased within this original grid.

Above is a 3D animation of what Taman Sari looked like when originally constructed. The lakes have since been drained and houses built in their place.

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Gedhong Gapura Hageng, part of the Taman Sari complex before Kampoeng Cyber existed. Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taman_Sari_%28Yogyakarta%29

 

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The same building, restored, during present day. Note the batik shop that has sprung up next door.

Kampoeng Cyber was originally part of one of the kampung located inside the outer walls of the Kraton, and initially reserved for the homes of the Sultan’s staff known as abdi dalem. While the descendants of these workers inherited land, the droves of regular people who moved into the space once exclusively reserved for the Sultan have no land rights. They only borrow their lots in a system known as magersari.

Precariousness has defined the lives of those who live within the walls of the Kraton complex. While they identify strongly with the values of royal culture, which they often define as “sopan santun” or refinement, the uncertainty of when and if the government will re-appropriate their homes is a heavy burden.

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One of the last expert batik makers remaining in Kampoeng Cyber.

One way for residents to improve their leverage in relation to the Kraton has been to take good care of their neighbourhoods, and to maintain the heritage sites and ruins that make up the Taman Sari Watercastle complex. For instance, the two neighbourhoods closest to Kampoeng Cyber have labeled themselves Kampung Hijau (Green Village) and Kampung Batik (Batik Village). Respectively, they maintain gardens and an environmentally friendly atmosphere, and hone their batik making skills and businesses to attract tourists. Their logic is that if they maintain their environment and attract tourism, the government will less likely see fit to appropriate their land for tourism projects.

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Sign showing the boundary between Kampoeng Cyber and Kampung Hijau

The excess of signs associated with the early period of the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, during the late 18th and early 19th centuries, continues to saturate the streets of Yogyakarta with a nostalgic denial of the potential space for manoeuvrability within the specific symbolism associated with the founding of the city. As the government and tourist industry continue to market Yogyakarta as a traditional city with a valuable heritage worth preserving, attitudes about what it means to be Javanese in a constantly shifting urban social environment, must find spaces for negotiation outside of official narratives that attempt to stamp “Java” as timeless. Yet these spaces must sometimes open up in the tension-filled gaps immediately adjacent to some of the most powerful symbols of “Java” and of social inequality.

 

 

Networked Community: the Old Social Operating System?

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The tightly packed homes of Kampoeng Cyber, an urban community in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, seen from above.

When I woke up yesterday I didn’t realize that pastries would get me thinking about the role of Facebook in the lives of urban Indonesians. But in a strange way, they did.

I spent the better part of yesterday morning delivering cakes to my neighbours. I hadn’t planned to do so, but like most mornings in Kampoeng Cyber (Cyber Village), this one was quiet and open to possibility. I was chatting with a neighbour and grudgingly contemplating tackling the mountain of field notes that needed typing when two local women strolled by. “Come on, Jess, help us deliver the cakes,” they implored. Having just learned that a thirteen year old boy had been circumcised two hours earlier and was celebrating in the traditional Javanese fashion by having his mother deliver rice dishes to the community, I immediately connected the pastries to the affair.

I followed the women to a nearby house, where I found the boy lying on a mattress near the doorway in a cotton sarong, silently watching a movie on a laptop to while away the pain. His mother and several other women were busy counting and boxing hundreds of shoe-box sized parcels for delivery to each of the household heads in the community. Circumcisions, births, and other rites, it seems, require that the family deliver the news and share the celebration with such offerings.

I interpreted this to be part of a system of generalized reciprocity, where at a later date another family would do the same for them. But the mother also specified that only members of the boy’s neighbourhood, which has a set administrative boundary, and family members who live nearby (even if they’re outside the boundary), receive these deliveries. This made it clear to me that in Yogyakarta, neighbours make up a much more important part of an individual’s core of “significant ties” than in North American cities, where according to Lee Rainie and Barry Wellman (2012), they only comprise about 10% of an individual’s principal network.

It was significant to me that neighbours with no blood ties would receive cake in favour of blood relations who live farther away, an indication that geography may sometimes trump relatedness in the formation of social bonds, even 10 years into the age of social networking sites. The amount of familiarity between community members is also astounding in this context, with the women systematically naming the household heads from memory and instinctively putting the boxes into piles by location so that they could be delivered in batches, although that familiarity became shakier as the houses grew farther and farther away from the limits of the neighbourhood.

Delivering the cakes cemented the obvious importance of neighbourly ties in my eyes. The women would enter the houses one by one, and sit down briefly while explaining what the cake was for. Almost invariably the receiver would nod their head in comprehension and appreciation when they were told who had been circumcised, sometimes asking who the father was in confirmation. Those who lived nearby needed no explanation, while relations only a few houses away sometimes needed reminding about the familial relationship “Oh, you mean so-and-so’s son?” again revealing how geographical proximity sometimes outweighed blood.

I decided to test this idea further in an afternoon interview with a local couple about their social networking site practices. When asked who they would go to in times of financial or familial emergency, the couple responded without hesitation that they would knock on a neighbour’s house before they tried to contact relations who lived farther away. In this case though, their next-door neighbour was a sibling, which demonstrated the high degree of closeness between many community members, a good percentage of whom were born and raised in the same neighbourhood. While they confirmed that geographical closeness was important in cementing ties, they added that it wasn’t everything. “One has to have sympathy  or tepo seliro (Javanese),” the young mother added. The husband explained that “silaturahmi (Indonesian)” or the act of often visiting with each other, was essential in order to produce a sense of closeness or “akrab” (Indonesian), that was never automatic, no matter how close you live to your neighbours.

This is where I see the importance of understanding the role of social media in settings that have different systematic social foundations than in North America or Europe. Just as in any other part of the world, social relationships or “ties,” which can be either weak or strong, require cultivation and maintenance. What is fascinating is that we can see through the work of scholars like Rainie and Wellman that in the West (or “developed” countries) social media have helped to solidify an already long-standing revolution in the way people relate to each other. Rather than relying on close-knit neighbourly or familial ties for social support, they claim, “networked individuals” now rely on expanded and more fragmented social networks of weaker ties, which can more easily be cultivated with social media.

But in settings like Yogyakarta, where the “urban village” or “kampung” (Indonesian, Javanese) encourages strong neighbourhood ties based on kin and geography, the question of how social media fits into social life is not yet clear. The young father I interviewed last night complained that he felt Facebook, the most popular social networking site in the neighbourhood, was really just a silly and frivolous communication tool. He expressed that he thought it has entertainment value and is useful for keeping in touch with old high school friends, but that for Indonesians, what’s really important is “face-to-face” communication. He lamented the fact that most of his Facebook friends seem to regard the network as a platform for seeking vacuous attention, declaring Facebook in Indonesia to be identical with “attention whoring” (Facebook di Indonesia jadi identik dengan caper [cari perhatian]) (Indonesian).

The last few months of my research will be dedicated in part to understanding how social media fits into the lives of people who experience social networking differently than networked individuals do. Could it be that I observing a “networked community” phenomenon where close-knit ties, groups, and the traditionally reified “community” has absorbed social media into an existing system of strong social ties? Is the networked kampung (hamlet/village) different from one where the internet is not as readily available? And is the “social operating system” in communities like Kampoeng Cyber experiencing a revolution, continuity, or something else? I don’t think it’s as easy as a clear-cut dichotomy, but I think it’s worth it to explore the different ways in which new technologies find their social niches.

 

 

What about the Anti-Politics of Social Media?

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An Indonesian Facebook user posts a photo of Vladimir Putin weeks before the crisis in Ukraine, and jokingly asks his friends “which of you looks most like him?”

 

A good amount of news coverage and scholarship about the role of social media in political movements has been trending for some time.  Most recently, news articles and blogs have documented how the use of social media like Twitter helped fuel and organize the protests in Ukraine, which ultimately led to the expulsion of its president, and the escalating crisis in Crimea.  Just a few weeks ago I attended an academic conference investigating the relationship between the ‘cyber’ and the ‘urban,’ especially in the context of social or political movements. But my own research has forced me to beg the question: what about the anti-politics of social media?

For those of you who have been following my blog, you will already know that I have spent the last several months conducting an in-depth anthropological study of a self-proclaimed “internet community” in Indonesia. This tight-knit urban neighbourhood of roughly 25 houses has dedicated the last six years to improving the quality of socioeconomic life by disseminating access to the internet.  But while the community has banded together for the explicit purpose of using technology to promote self-sufficiency based on social values, there is no indication that this translates to political action via the internet.

There seems to be a kind of paradox emerging in the neighbourhood, known to locals as Kampoeng Cyber.  Even as the access to their internet was made possible by the political wile of their elected leader, it appears that most residents are almost systematically averse to expressing political views via social media. By contrast to more widespread “movements” that have built their momentum on the astute use of such technologies, many of these residents will have nothing to do with politics, a word that sometimes even makes them cringe.

One informant, for instance, claimed that he intentionally deleted three of his Facebook friends after he realized that too much of the content they posted was political in nature, encouraging heated discussions that completely put him off. Annoyed that these posts were intruding on one of his favourite forms of entertainment, he opted to remove the irksome perpetrators to restore the balance on his newsfeed. Now he could return to enjoying the silly or funny (konyol) posts that he regularly logged on to read.

In fact, it appears that many of the posts that might be interpreted as political in nature are often presented in comedic light.  The only time I saw a photo of Vladimir Putin, the President of Russia, posted to Facebook was from someone asking, in the style of an inside joke, who among his friends was his doppelganger. Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY) has appeared once or twice on my newsfeed as a humorous internet meme, along with the once notorious, and now nostalgic image of the former President Suharto.  But beyond eliciting a few comic remarks in the comments section of the post, these political images usually quickly get lost in the sea of posts that come after.

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An example of political memes found in Indonesian social media. This one, featuring the late President Suharto, reads roughly: “How are you? How great was my era, right?” evoking a sense of nostalgia towards the once autocratic ruler. From http://yonasukmalara.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/soeharto-enak-jamanku.jpg

 

One of the standard questions I ask during interviews about social media use patterns is whether they like to post or read ‘political’ content on their favorite social networking sites (usually after a brief discussion eliciting what politics means to them). Most of the responses I have received so far have been negative, yet more detailed explanations of why that is so are difficult to come by. Many simply shrug their shoulders and reiterate their dislike for politics, noting corruption as a major reason for which they find the subject not only tedious, but fruitless.

One Facebook user has gone so far as to describe her political views on the “about” section of her page as “bah, politics just gives you a headache/makes you dizzy” (lha POLITIK Kui Nggawe MUZZMET… ).  Another explained in more detail that she felt there might be a general fear, or uneasiness, about posting political opinions on news links, for example, because there have been cases where commentators have been singled out by the government and punished for their opinions. Although I cannot verify these cases, her comments speak to a possibility that the legacy of Suharto’s autocratic rule might still be affecting a sense of free political expression in Indonesia.

It would, of course, be unfair to claim that there is no political expression on social media beyond spreading jokes. There have been a few cases where users have claimed to make it their aim to use such media as a way to express their political beliefs, such as social and gender equality, while others who live outside of Kampoeng Cyber have regularly posted political views or news articles, though these have tended to be the most highly educated among my informants. As I continue my study I hope to add cases and nuance to what I have observed so far.

Yet what I find most puzzling and intriguing about the apparent tension between politically motivated internet-access programs and the lack of political expression via social media, is that it doesn’t seem to be isolated to Kampoeng Cyber.  While the community I have chosen as my field site is the first to have dubbed itself a “cyber village” in the area, it is not the only one. Last week five representatives from a large neighbourhood in Solo, Yogyakarta’s sister city located two hours away, visited the leader of Kampoeng Cyber for advice on how to improve their own “Internet Community.”  This neighbourhood, consisting of about 30 internet connected houses (though in a larger population), has obtained funds from the city government to promote social cohesion through connectivity. Like Kampoeng Cyber, they have been operating since 2008, yet have independently established similar goals. In the meantime, another neighbourhood in Yogyakarta that now goes by the name of “Suronatan Digital Village” has set up cheap neighbourhood-wide WiFi access only a stone’s throw from my field site, a government initiative meant to encourage education and economic development.

As I move forward with my research, I will be looking systematically at the objectives and manifestations of these different internet communities to gain a better understanding of how the explicitly political goals of producing economically independent, socially-based moral communities results in the production of anti-politics in social media.

Virtual Worlds vs. Networked Environments: A Question of Method

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A handwritten note announcing the death of a community member, pinned to an outdoor bulletin board. One of many media through which information travels in Indonesian kampung.

I came to realize today, that the applicability of the term “ethnography” or “netnography” to my own research is somewhat limited.  A comical but unsettling story that happened today demonstrated the limits of treating social media like Facebook as social “worlds” to be investigated holistically. It became clear to me that applying ethnography to virtual worlds like Second Life or World of Warcraft (Boellstorff 2008, Nardi 2010) is different from integrating virtuality into ethnography.

Before breakfast today, as on most days, I stopped by the house of a friend and informant, Patricia,* for a chat. After some small talk, Patricia launched into a brief tirade about how rumours, misconstrued as truth, can sometimes lead to uncomfortable situations.  An hour or two before my arrival, she said, friends and neighbours started to show up unannounced at her neighbour, Dwi’s, house, which opens into and is shared with her own home. They seemed shocked and confused that the place was so empty, asking Patricia why no one had yet arrived.  Having not been informed of any events happening today, Patricia returned the question to them.

“We’re here for the funeral” they said, matter-of-factly.

“Who’s funeral?” asked Patricia, concerned.

“Dwi’s,* of course” they replied.

Incredulous, Patricia exclaimed “What do you mean, Dwi? She’s not dead, she’s doing laundry in the back! See for yourselves.”

The guests were taken to the back where Dwi, alive and well, was indeed washing clothes.  Brushing it off as though it were a common occurrence, Dwi simply went back to washing after the situation was cleared up.

Confused about how something so untoward could happen, and how Dwi could be so nonchalant about it, I asked Patricia how they could have been so misinformed. She speculated that someone in the neighbourhood might have jokingly told someone that she had passed away, and taking the news seriously, that person might have begun to spread the false report.

I asked if this was something that happened often, and though Patricia denied it, she added that a few years ago, a similar thing happened.  Someone had made the claim that Dwi had been hit by a car, and her leg being badly injured, was taken to hospital, to later recover at home. People started to show up at her home to offer fruit baskets and sympathies (the correct thing to do in this context), only to find Dwi in perfect health.

When I asked Patricia how news could spread so quickly, she explained offhandedly that people just “talk.”  This implied that one person tells another and the news spreads mouth to mouth, often with people just chatting as they meet people along the street. In other cases where residents have actually passed away, I have heard that information is commonly disseminated through the Mosque’s loudspeakers, by pinning messages to community bulletin boards, and increasingly through text messaging and social media.  I have personally seen death announcements posted to the Kampoeng Cyber Facebook page, offering the time and place of the wake and burial, along with condolences, but this is usually several hours after most people in the community have been informed, and preparations are already underway (funerals always happen at home).

This story, which involves different methods and different media for spreading information, whether true or false, made me reflect upon the ways in which such media need to be incorporated into a study about a “cyber village” like Kampoeng Cyber.  Unlike studies of “virtual worlds” like Second Life and World of Warcraft, where the medium can be equated with the field of study, my own research requires that I treat social media like Facebook as one of many forms of media used for sociality and communication. In cases of death announcements for instance, we see the use of speech, text messaging, and Facebook to disseminate information, but the death itself did not take place in any of these media, as it could have in either Second Life or World of Warcraft.

The implications for methodology are that, as Tom Boellstorff, Bonnie Nardi, Celia Pearce, and T.L. Taylor have asserted in their book “Ethnography and Virtual Worlds: A Handbook of Method,” social networking sites like Facebook must be treated as “networked environments” rather than virtual worlds (2012:7). This means that rather than applying ethnography to the study of social media, I need to be looking for which tools within ethnography’s  “palette of methods” (Boellstorff et. al: 2012:15) work for understanding how such media fit within my informants lives.  While I can indeed conduct interviews through Facebook, and actively participate in online discussions while observing them, it is important to make the distinction that I am not conducting an ethnography of Facebook, but instead an ethnography that includes Facebook as an object of study.

*All names have been changed to protect the privacy of informants.

By Jessika Tremblay

References

Boellstorff, Tom, Bonnie Nardi, Celia Pearce, and T.L. Taylor

2012 Ethnography and Virtual Worlds: A Handbook of Method. Princeton: Princeton University

Press.

How to do Netnography?

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Going out for dinner with friends is the perfect time to browse Facebook, in Yogyakarta.

How does one do ethnography of the Internet? In the early days of anthropology, stepping “off the veranda” to experience life from the native’s point of view offered a new holistic approach to studying society.   Is it appropriate, or even possible, to transfer that approach to study how social interactions manifest themselves online?

The immediate danger would be imposing an artificial separateness between the virtual and the real, a widely acknowledged drawback of attempting to integrate digital media into studies of the social. Yet despite the near ubiquitous rejection of the online/offline divide, the practical exigencies of designing research that treats the Internet as “embedded” within social life is less than straightforward.

I tend to adopt the view that Internet-based social media should be studied as part of, rather than as external actants upon, unbounded, yet locally specific social spaces. For this reason I decided to experiment with the method of netnography; what Robert Kozinets has dubbed a “specialized form of ethnography” (2010:1) adapted to the Internet.

I disagree that the purpose should be to investigate how social groups turn out online because that relies on the assumption that bounded groups reproduce their culture online. I prefer instead to emphasize, as William Mazzarella (2004) does, how all cultural forms are mediated, and that the Internet is one of many such media. For example, just as ritual simultaneously produces and represents an aspect of culture to its onlookers and participants, so does social media produce and document cultural meaning to its interlocutors and observers.

Practically speaking, this means that I have had to adapt my year of ethnographic study in Indonesia’s Kampoeng Cyber to incorporate systematic gathering of Internet-mediated social data. I have also come to the conclusion that any contemporary ethnography should also take the approach of gathering data from all media that feature prominently in the lives of one’s informants, be it television, cell phones, social media, or music.

For purposes of documentation and discussion (in fact I hope that readers can contribute to this in comments), I have roughly outlined my data gathering techniques below.

Apart from spending days interacting with Kampoeng Cyber residents as they work, socialize, and attend official events and ceremonies, I dedicate a significant portion of my time gathering data on the most frequently used social networking site here: Facebook. Although this was never intended to become and ethnography of Facebook, its consistent use by residents necessitates that I pay attention to how it mediates sociality.

On days when time permits, I take print-screens of the first ten or so Facebook status updates of residents of Kampoeng Cyber, whether or not they seem ethnographically “interesting.” I crop out the unnecessary background information to make space for comments and translations, which I add to a text box inserted to a simple “Paint” software.

Following this I upload the print-screens to the Atlas.ti software that I purchased for the purpose of archiving, coding, and analyzing the qualitative data that I have gathered. The software allows me to select the areas of the images I wish to code, add codes and definitions to those selected areas, and save them to a database. I always code the entries according to the date they were uploaded so that in the future I can also connect the Facebook posts to any field-notes that I have written on that day, which frequently document the relationship between the posts and day-to-day interactions. The field-notes are also uploaded to the same Atlas.ti “project,” and also coded, so that anytime I wish to explore a specific theme for dissertation or article writing, all I have to do is look up a code, like “marriage,” and see which field-notes and print-screens pop up.  I have also done the same for Twitter posts and profiles, though these are much less frequent.

What I have found to be crucial in this style of gathering online data is that it permits me to make connections and discover patterns that would otherwise be lost without archiving and coding. The typical “oh, no, it’s raining” post, for example, might go unnoticed as boring and irrelevant if not coded as a “complaint.” But after finding that many such posts often engender long comment threads mostly unrelated to the original post, it becomes clear that they sometimes act as conversation openers.

More potently, this method allows me to observe how a particular conversation topic circulates through segments of the community, sometimes even revealing who feels excluded. For instance, after someone gave birth and posted photographs of the mother coddling her child in hospital, one photo comment revealed a pre-existing fissure in the community exacerbated by the geographic separation of its two main parts. A resident located farther away from the mother wrote: “You gave birth already, why didn’t you tell us?” Seeing this interaction online hints at who has been left of out of “big news” circles after I witnessed the family of the newborn hand out traditional food-and-flower baskets meant to announce the birth, evidently forgetting to notify some residents. Coding that particular comment as “Community – Fissure” will allow me to later investigate other instances of such an occurrence.

The point of this post is to show how I have been thinking about using method as a way to remedy the persistent problem of artificially dividing the virtual and the real, by treating Internet-mediated data as one of many forms of mediation that both produce and express culture.

By Jessika Tremblay

References

Kozinets, Robert V.

2010 Netnography: Doing Ethnographic Research Online. London: Sage Publications.

Mazzarella, William

2004 Culture, Globalization, Mediation. Annual Review of Anthropology 33:345-367.

Miller, Daniel, and Don Slater

2000 “The Internet: an ethnographic approach. New York: Berg.

The Social Function of the (Annoying) Cryptic Status Update

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Men (unknown) having an afternoon chat in a rice paddy outside Yogyakarta

Many of you can relate to the irksome experience of scanning through Facebook status updates and landing on one that is so cryptic that it becomes undecipherable: “I can’t believe that just happened!” or “Just made a huge mistake, what now?”   The number of blog posts dedicated to listing the insufferable act of “vaguebooking” as one of the top 10 most annoying Facebook habits attests to that. Often decried as being an immature and thinly veiled attempt by teenaged girls to garner attention from their peers, the trend has mostly been dismissed as unnecessary and vain. Yet to people who do not live in the world of “networked individualism” (Rainie and Wellman 2012), where the “loose” and “fragmented” nature of their social networks seem to somewhat limit the impact of social media posts, the practice has a more concrete role.

In urban neighbourhoods like Kampoeng Cyber, where close-knit social networks based on family and neighbourship thrive alongside the global relaxing of group ties in favour of flexible networks, social media content becomes the subject of conversation. For Javanese people living in kampung, or densely populated urban communities that ideally (though not necessarily) value closeness and sociability, status updates become embedded in a broader communicative system that incorporates various media. Thus, rather than being isolated as a case of poor use of one particular medium, Facebook, the social value of vague status updates may better be located in the totality of communicative options available to the poster (see Miller and Madianou on polymedia).

The best way of illustrating this, from my experience so far, is by looking at gossip. The word gossip usually evokes the image of shifty-eyed interlocutors (usually women) leaning in for whispers and quieting down at the approach of the victim of their dubious tales. While usually garnering a negative connotation for causing social rifts and ruining reputations, scholars have also attributed it to promoting social cohesion (by finding a scapegoat), and serving individual interests (Besnier 2009). From this view, the political side of gossip allows poor, marginalized, or otherwise disadvantaged people the opportunity to discretely voice concerns and affect social outcomes, sometimes to their own benefit, without fear of direct conflict.

My own experience as a foreign woman entering a somewhat conservative neighbourhood has involved a failure of impression management, resulting in becoming the object of gossip. Despite what I would interpret to be excessive efforts of discretion and politeness, many of my actions (speaking to men, commenting on male friends’ statuses, or briefly leaving the country) have been interpreted as unseemly for a woman, and have relegated me to a position of cautionary acceptance among a few people in the neighbourhood.

The gossip that has fueled this precarious position has made use of various media for its dissemination, including face-to-face conversation and Facebook. While women have at times made indirect comments to me insinuating, falsely, that I had “many boyfriends”, other informants have told me that they had received private Facebook messages lying to them about how I had been text messaging with certain men (an almost sure sign of flirtation if with someone of the opposite gender).

But the most telling expansion of gossip through Facebook came through a status update of someone who hinted, but didn’t explicitly state, that people who went out on Saturday evenings (which I often do, in search for food) were probably engaging in more naughty activities. The status update, to my dismay, was almost immediately deleted so that it couldn’t be analyzed in more detail. But it revealed something about how gossip is filtered indirectly by innuendo through various media, not just whispers and winks.

For example, in another instance, one informant became irritated when they heard through the grapevine that certain members of the community had been gossiping about them.  Instead of addressing the situation directly and risking conflict, they posted a vague status update deploring the practice of talking behind other people’s backs as a waste of time, and an indication that those who engage in it have nothing better to do. No names or context were mentioned. I was surprised to learn that this almost immediately yielded a face-to-face apology from one of the perpetrators, who became aware of the unpleasant effects of gossip on its targets. This is something that seems to contrast with the notion of the anonymous urbanite whose diffused social networks don’t engender the kind of dense, constant, and close interaction found in Kampoeng Cyber, where status updates enter into the broader repertoire of communicative practices.

Watching the politics of gossip unfold in this neighbourhood has allowed me to see how the “encryption” of status updates plays into a social system that privileges social inclusion as a main conduit of access to information. The status updates don’t bring any new information to the fore, but bring those who are already in-the-know closer together, and further alienates those who are not. In other words, if you don’t understand my status update, you probably aren’t close enough to me socially to have already been privy to the context necessary for its decoding. Even worse, if you’re too far out of too many circles, your marginalization makes you an easy target for gossip.

And this, methodologically, is one of the greatest challenges for a budding anthropologist trying to decipher the fast moving conveyor belt of status updates that grace Facebook daily. While gaining trust has been tenuous at best, at worst, it has forced me to learn and to write about gossip from the target’s perspective.

By Jessika Tremblay

References

Besnier, Niko

2009 Gossip and the Everyday Production ofPpolitics. University of Hawaii Press.

Rainiee, Lee, and Barry Wellman

2012 Networked: The New Social Operating System. Cambridge: MIT Press.

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