Author: rae.hackler

Living on the Spectrum: Autism and Youth in Community by Elizabeth Fein, 2020

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What is autism? Is it a pervasive disease, or a vital aspect of the self? Elizabeth Fein utilises her experience as a trained clinical psychologist and anthropologist to explore the brain and identity within autistic youth through social and medical models. Fein employs a clinical ethnographic approach, which acknowledges the influences of her training, and looks critically towards ideas of cognition and culture. This is based on 2 years of participant observation on the East Coast, U.S.A, at a series of environments relating to or encompassing autistic youth.  

A key conceptualisation within the book is the notion of divided medicalisation. This is traced throughout as we encounter various perspectives from autistic youth, educators and clinicians. Through this process, autism is conceptualised through a medical model as a complex condition and is then “reduced to… [a] disease-oriented… paradigm” (pg 5). Fein provides insights into the clinical interventions used in America to develop skills for autistic people and contrasts this with more ‘socialised’ interventions such as summer camps and specialised schools. Through this divide, Fein encapsulates ongoing debates in disability studies surrounding models of disability.  

The first chapter of Living on the Spectrum consists of Fein’s observations from the ‘Journeyfolk Camp’ and the programme ‘ASPIRE’. Fein employs cognitive theories and participant observation to underscore how an inclusive social environment can be beneficial. This is followed by possible explanations of autistic behaviour; she explores culture as external mechanisms that humans rely on to govern their behaviour – autistic people can therefore be described as more dependent on culture than a neurotypical person, and roleplaying games at the Journeyfolk camp provided structured social interactions and shared behavioural norms to fit those needs.  

This is contrasted by chapter six, wherein Fein discusses the programme ‘Asperger Centre’ in a medical school. She observes demands for medical practices to evolve and include the social world. Fein uncovered tensions between those running the ‘Asperger Centre’ and the clinicians as the former began to blur boundaries between medical and social practices. The programme’s closure shows how these interventions can be impactful for autistic individuals, but they are shut down and underfunded, leaving the clinical interventions that perceive autism as a disease. This, Fein comments, is the end point of divided medicalisation – where a condition’s critical aspects are excluded. Her more complex scientific theories are complemented by relatable anecdotes from interviews, showing the reader how autistic youth struggle to find a sense of belonging in environments that employ interventions to help them operate within a predominantly neurotypical world.  

Despite Fein’s support of these environments, her use of language is problematic. As identified by Woods, “The language used to describe a topic affects how people treat the topic” (pg 1091). Fein’s recurrent use of person-first language (‘people with autism’) instead of identity-first is emblematic of the medical views of autism, which perpetuates this perception of autism by the public. Similarly, Fein refers to ‘Asperger’s Syndrome’ throughout, an outdated term with very little difference to the diagnostic criteria of ‘Autism Spectrum Disorder’. It is largely used to help individuals come to terms with their diagnosis, as autism has a deeply embedded stigma. However, viewing it as “autism in a milder form” serves to further ostracise autism. 

An inevitable result of the medicalised lens is discussions around prevention and cure. Fein spends chapter seven and eight exploring this with participants, their parents, and through medical organisations. Commonly, Fein found that autistic people view autism as part of their identity, whilst their parents view it as a separate entity. Most parents she interviewed were in support of a cure. One example is the mother of a participant, whose support was largely informed by her experiences with an underfunded school district that refused to provide educational support. In a wider sense, she and many others will fight the medical system and a capitalist job market that will be reluctant to provide any support. Fein is justifiably critical of organisations like ‘Autism Speaks’ that refuse to provide funding for the improvement of autistic people’s lives and instead solely fund research towards cures. However, she appears hesitant to dive deeper into the structural causes of these issues. Would participants’ parents be so passionate towards wanting a cure if these social structural issues did not drive them to?  

This could potentially be improved by exploring intersectionality within her participants’ lives. Fein acknowledges that most of her participants are male, which echoes the tendency to model autism on white, middle-class men. It would have been more impactful for Fein to forefront the experiences of other genders. For example, understanding how sexism can inform autistic women’s lives may provide fuller insights into their self-perception. By focusing purely on one subcategory of autistic people, arguably, Fein contributes to identity spread, wherein one’s disability label becomes dominant over other aspects of identity, such as class and ethnicity. Furthermore, Fein argues that the neurodiversity movement tends to emphasise valuable qualities of autism whilst ignoring the challenges that it creates. Whilst I agree that it is important to foreground both within the lived experience of autistic people, this emphasis on positive values of autism is in response to the social construction of autistic people’s identities as ‘others’.  

To conclude, Fein’s Living on the Spectrum is an insightful contribution to the experiences and perceptions of autistic people. Her perspective as a clinical psychologist allows her to eloquently employ medical theories of the brain and the self alongside stories of her participants. Her writing style is compelling, but her outdated use of language and lack of intersectionality leaves something to be desired. I would recommend Living on the Spectrum as a book to provoke further discussion around how we can improve interventions for autistic people to ameliorate their quality of life. Due to its accessibility, its audience does not have to be limited to disability scholars, allowing the public to contribute to these discussions. 

Developed as part of coursework for the MA unit Disibility and Difference

Author

Charlotte Goodwin is an MA Anthropology student with an interest in studying disability, particularly autism and disability expertise, which is the focus of her dissertation

Osteoarchaeology: the bridge between biology and materiality/material culture

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Human osteoarchaeology is the study of excavated human skeletons from archaeological sites. Whilst Sofaer (2006) argues that the body is a contested site, torn between biology and material culture, this essay instead proposes that the osteoarchaeological body is a middle ground between these two theologies. The body itself can be regarded as a form of material culture: it exists and “moves” through the material world, which is constructed by both objects and people. Miller defines material objects as a “setting”, they are the backdrop of human life, where agency is played out and social constructs are formed in a physical environment. During the practical, the change from isolated objects, incomplete as separate artefacts, to a whole assemblage impacted my perception on human remains and their materiality. 

Osteoarchaeology bridges biology and material culture is through the grave context itself. The boundary of the body is extended to the walls of the grave. In such close proximity objects and body have no choice but to be viewed together, both shaping interpretation of the other. Therefore, not only does the grave restrict what is associated with the body during excavation, the body is constructed by the grave – person and object are intrinsically linked together. However, the issue arise post excavation – bones are often treated as passive objects, in academic literature processes such as disease or epiphyseal fusion are described as happening to the bone, rather than the body being participatory. Furthermore, objects are not passive, they construct and restrict human life – just like a burial context. They should be studied in parallel with each other, not necessarily completely together or completely separate. 

Grauer and Miller’s (2017) research on violence, gender and trauma illustrates the intersectionality of material culture and osteoarchaeology. They used the Calendar of Patent Rolls (CPR), a collection of administrative records, alongside skeletal remains to determine the relationship between gender and violence in the medieval period. The CPR also illustrated the perception of violence and its use in the socio-political context of Britain during this period. This enabled a critical analysis of modern ideas concerning medieval violence. For instance; Pitchforks, knives and other dangerous equipment composed the “everyday work-kit”. It is not that these were more likely to cause accidents or that medieval people were inherently more violent – rather the “backdrop” these objects created facilitated violent acts. Subsequently, not only is material culture being used in tandem with osteoarchaeology – CPR was written and catalogued by medieval people, it shaped laws, expectations and most importantly; social norms for medieval Britain. Nevertheless, there are issues with using contemporary ‘objective’ data. If a crime was of no interest to the Crown, there would be no representation of it in this official administrative record.  

Whilst osteoarchaeology generates valuable information surroundings past people, it rarely considers culture and personhood. This gap can be supplemented by historical sources – like CPR. Whilst the CPR does not provide a complete picture of violence in medieval England it bridges informational gaps which are not always answerable using osteoarchaeology. For example, the CPR illustrates that women’s tongues and eyes were targets of violence, osteoarchaeologists would be unable to know this as natural tissue decays. This further reinforces the over-arching theme of the essay: in order for osteoarchaeology to obtain in-depth, rich data about past people, the research process must be interweaved with other perspectives and disciplines. Of course, this is not without fault: historical bias of the CPR is unavoidable.  

The Western approach towards the “other” (in this case, the dead) is rooted in a specific metaphysical paradigm which is often ignored under the guise of objectivity (Ion, 2016). One such example is the supremacy of scientific knowledge, obtained through osteoarchaeology. In many cases, osteoarchaeology is regarded as respectful and justified – by “giving a voice”  to marginalised communities whom are often omitted or absent from the historical record. On the other hand, in some cultures removing the dead from their resting place is an act of structural violence and disrespect. Cases such as these showcase the divide within osteoarchaeology – where biology and the dominating paradigm of science prevents agency being acted out against the backdrop of material culture, negatively impacting marginalised communities.  

The ‘contested nature’ of the osteoarchaeological body enables conversations surrounding belonging, meaning, ritual and agency. This is extremely relevant in contemporary debates such as repatriation.  Material culture is still at the forefront of this issue; the meaning attributed to Native American bones is different from the perspective of academia. Bones are viewed as a scientific resource, whilst for Native Americans they are their ancestors and family. An anthropology professor from UCLA argued that “(repatriation) implies that you’re giving something back to people who own it. They don’t own it, and never did”. By attaching the verb “own” to the repatriation discussion, it reinforces discourse that human remains are solely an artefact; that repatriation and reburial are at the expense of archaeologists who serve a higher purpose – education and science; knowledge. Bones have fundamental links to rituals – their removal diminishes agency of living descendants, amplifying the colonial and racist roots of osteoarchaeology. Repatriation enables a discourse to be established, through different perspectives and understanding of the body.  Archaeological excavation and research has to be justified and collaborative between these communities for the true potential of osteoarchaeology to be achieved.  For an archaeologist the past is something to be discovered through excavation and can thereby be analysed and constructed. For Native Americans the past is a part of daily life through spirituality and rituality. Rather than being a middle ground between biology and material culture, osteoarchaeology has the potential to become a meeting point, creating a discipline where the communities involved share the past, rather than archaeologists imposing their own version of it.  

Developed from coursework in Post Excavation Analysis unit at the University of Bristol Anthropology and Archaeology Department

Author

Mia Bessette Potts is a current 2nd year studying Archaeology and Anthropology BA. She focuses particularly on how social anthropology and archaeology intersect. She is especially interested in how personhood is constructed for human remains displayed in museums, and re-thinking archaeological methods and practices that viewed as the norm.

Rest At Ease: State Power in Arnos Vale’s Sailors Corner

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Military graves are often associated with orderliness, and Arnos Vale is no exception. Even in non-military contexts the graves are seen as rigid: think of some network TV actor with teeth “like soldiers’ graves”. It’s commonly expected that military graves be organised and uniform, whereas civilian plots are often decorative and individualised. The questions remaining are why this might be the case, and how an influence is maintained on soldiers’ lives so much that they reflect this in death.

State Power vs(and) Pastoral Power

Foucault argues in “Discipline and Punish” (1977) that since the modern nation-state emerged in the 18th century, the threat of state power has taken on a much subtler form than fear of execution, which was more characteristic of earlier forms of government, like absolute monarchy or feudalism. While violence previously exerted control, now internalised societal norms do. Foucault links this to the beginning of the rehabilitating and reforming prison structure, characterised by lenience and correction being prioritised rather than violence. He argues that state power is still being enacted subtly in this setting, however it is transferred through environmental norms, like the construction of a strict routine and the surrender of personal liberties like privacy. As these conventions are normalised over time people internalise the taught behaviours and begin to self-correct any deviances, conforming to state power without violent influence.

The prison system and the military are both state security institutions containing vast norms of conduct; arguably many of the norms established within the prison sector of the judicial system extend to the military as well. This could extend to one’s last will, ensuring even the body’s posthumous movement occurred within these norms, especially if posthumous ritual was enacted within a military context.

Garcia’s work on pastoral power acts as a means of explaining how state power structures have an influence on ritual surrounding death, with self-discipline continuing posthumously. Pastoral power is explained in two aspects linked to the ability to heal: the first is the aesthetic ideal of the pastoral harkening back to Arcadia and Idyll, an idealised stretching countryside, characterised by a simpler life capable of inner healing; the second is the pastoral relating to the pastor, regarding the power of a priestly or generally religious presence to heal. Both aspects and their intersections are explored in “The Pastoral Clinic” and mingle in the setting of a military gravesite as both an interaction with the environment and a sacred site. Pastoral power normalises salvation as the ultimate healing in a group, and this is sought after through priestly guidance and the landscape in the Espanola Valley setting of “The Pastoral Clinic”. Although in “The Pastoral Clinic” this salvation is reached while alive through rehabilitative processes, which is itself like Foucault’s observation regarding the removal of executionary power in the nation-state, the salvation in Arnos Vale is a posthumous goal.

Combining both approaches helps explain a place of salvatory and military importance, like a soldier’s gravesite.

Arnos Vale and Sailors Corner

Sailors Corner is composed of two evenly spaced lines of forty naval headstones of sailors who died in Bristol hospitals during the Second World War (Figure 1). This is different to many of the other plots, which are often directly next to one another, crooked, ornate either in design or decoration left by visitors, descriptive, and featuring above-ground box plots in a multitude of colours. Sailors Corner is notable as well for the headstones’ smaller shape, muted grey colour, and limited information and decoration, particularly as it comes to characteristics of personality.

The main manifestation of Foucauldian notions of state and pastoral power in the Sailors’ Corner is the internalisation of disciplinary and salvatory norms accumulated in the militaristic setting of the sailors’ service. Militaristic norms of routine and unity are reflected posthumously in the same shape and colour of stone, the same font, the same symbols engraved in the headstone for minimal decoration and the same information given on each of those buried (Figure 1). Foucault argues that a notable difference between typical state discipline and a pastoral power is that the pastoral power is acted on a group, as though a flock of sheep, and as such the uniformity may also reflect influence on a group led by religious rather than state discipline.

For instance, the existence of identical graves in other areas of Arnos Vale suggests under certain circumstances or with certain opportunities one could opt out of being laid in the Sailors’ Corner, exemplifying a multidirectional movement of power and jurisdiction over one’s remains which does not solely depend on the state. This aligns further with Foucault’s (1982) thinking, and thus suggests burial in or out of Sailors Corner is dependent on disciplinary influences in the sailors’ posthumous matters.

Joseph Albert McGill

Foucault argues state power can act subtly through control of the intimate life. In Sailors Corner this manifests as most of the headstones being congregated there, away from their families, but also as the headstones of sailors not in the Sailors’ Corner, like Joseph Albert McGill (Figure 2). Sailors dying in Bristol during the Second World War, not putting their headstone in Sailors Corner, and still retaining their naval headstone in an unrelated plot exemplifies a level of conformity to these norms from not only themselves but their families and estates, as it becomes clearer a member of such oversaw the sailor’s will. This also shows the leading of a different group in these subtle forms of power.

However, although these sailors died in Bristol hospitals, that does not mean they were Bristol inhabitants who would have had family plots in which to be buried: their presence in Arnos Vale at all does suggest instead a Foucauldian subjectivity that would trump this suggestion – their militaristic life was chosen over their familial. Their presence in a military site marks them one-dimensionally as soldiers posthumously, but their presence in a site in Bristol ties their citizenship and their salvation explicitly to the place of their last service, regardless of any familial ties. This works to subjectify them as in service to the state over any other institution and is a further example of Friedman’s display of how the state can exercise control over intimate life, only in a different context.

On his family’s headstone Joseph McGill is considered first a husband, whereas on his sailor’s headstone he is considered most in his connection to the navy. The phrasing on the headstone is particularly subjecting, with Joseph McGill’s occupation in the navy not mentioned, only his rank – the cohort he was part of represented in a record of which ship he served on. The demarcation of ship creates a uniformity and group further to the one relating to norms of routine and the pastoral: each sailor is uniform in death in the Sailors’ Corner, but each was uniform in life as identifiable solely as part of a whole ship, returning to ideas of a group. Further, the inclusion of rank allows for a posthumous exercise of power between those buried, continuing to display power as diffuse. Overall, McGill’s plot suggests the creation of several directions of Foucauldian subjectivity.

For King and Country

Pastoral power becomes most explicit when considering the United Kingdom during the Second World War as a Christian state. State power and the power of the Church exist nearly as one and the same, with much political overlap, such as the presence of bishops in the House of Lords. To serve King and Country, then, as the sailors in the Sailors’ Corner had sworn to do, was to serve a pastoral power and a state power at once, this power thus being multidirectional and subtle in its complexities. There is material evidence in the gravesite for this position of equal prioritisation in the choice of engravings on the sailors’ headstones. Joseph McGill’s (Figure 2) features an anchor and a crucifix at roughly the same size. This suggests an equal importance of both service to the country and faith being pushed by the norms of culture (including symbols) of the military at the time, as well showing the tight partnership of church and state being exercised to create this specific subjectivity.

A second example of pastoral power is the countryside setting of Arnos Vale. A common thread among more propagandising military literature speaks of being granted peace in the rich earth and flowing pastures of the United Kingdom, such as in “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke or “And did those feet in ancient time” by William Blake. In these situations, the aspect of pastoral power as priestly salvation comes through the rural as conducive to spiritual health and ultimate peace. This connects salvation to a green landscape, like in Idyll and Arcadia, within the context of a burial fit for a British defender. In this way, Arnos Vale’s landscape perfectly encapsulates the promise of the pastoral.

Conclusion

Foucault’s approach to self-discipline and pastoral power, particularly its application by Garcia, is very useful in understanding the networks of self-discipline present in a military setting, even one without any active personnel, like a gravesite. This is certainly true of the United Kingdom, where the State and the Church for a long time were valued as equals, creating a unique intersectional subjectivity of soldiers.

 

Developed from coursework in Social Theories unit at the University of Bristol Department of Anthropology and Archaeology 

Author

Imogen McAra is an MPhil student in Anthropology focusing on English Change Ringing.

Planting Anarchy

Posted on by rae.hackler
Aerial view of the site at Lower Hazel (photo credit HARP,2022). Archaeobotanical specimens (photographed using an AHRC funded Keyence VHX7000 3-D digital microscope (AHRC award AH/V011758/1) at Fort Cumberland Laboratories, Historic England.)
Aerial view of the site at Lower Hazel (photo credit HARP,2022). Archaeobotanical specimens (photographed using an AHRC funded Keyence VHX7000 3-D digital microscope (AHRC award AH/V011758/1) at Fort Cumberland Laboratories, Historic England.)

A recent pilot study investigated the archaeobotanical remains from our medieval site at Lower Hazel in South Gloucestershire. Charred botanical specimens were extracted from soil samples using flotation methodology and then analysed under a microscope to identify them and provide a better understanding for the use of plants in the diet and agriculture of the medieval period*.  

Plants, as biological organisms will decompose with time. Despite this, they can often survive within the archaeological record in myriad ways. The study of plant remains from archaeological sites is known as archaeobotany, and seeks to identify the external morphological features of, for example seeds, through a comparison of the ancient remains with their modern plant equivalents.  

Understanding the correlation between people, plants and the environment in which they exist is one of the main aims of archaeobotanical analysis. Plant assemblages can be used to answer questions relating to food such as what certain groups of people were eating and trade in food commodities, as well as questions relating to agriculture including differing approaches to crop cultivation, scales of production, and how these affect the regional flora. By exploring how these vary throughout pre-history and history we can gain better insight into this ever-changing relationship, which is increasingly important when considering existing fears surrounding climate change caused by human activity.  

Plant remains range from tiny microfossils such as pollen, to macrofossils, for example grains and seeds. Carbonised plant remains are those most commonly encountered on sites in the UK due to the climate here. These burnt assemblages provide an avenue through which to explore past anthropogenic action, such as crop processing or food preparation processes. The questions that can be asked are dependent upon the site being excavated due to biases in preservation*.

Soil sample processing at Lower Hazel using a siraf-style flotation barrel (Photo credit HARP 2022)
Soil sample processing at Lower Hazel using a siraf-style flotation barrel (Photo credit HARP 2022)

The medieval period characterises a significant stage in British history for the development of diet and agricultural practices in which cultivation of fruits and vegetables broadened and there was a shift from spelt, barley and emmerged as the main cereal crops, to barley, wheat, oat and rye which we still grow today. In addition, disparities in food provisions between different societal classes increased as connections between towns and rural areas developed.  

The study was designed to address the lack of any previous formal environmental investigation at Lower Hazel, and so, soil samples were taken during excavations in May 2022, for the extraction and analysis of any plant remains. Systematic flotation which separates the soil from the botanical specimens, was conducted on site using a siraf-style flotation barrel and sieve meshes of differing sizes in which to ‘catch’ the plant remains. These were then brought to the laboratory for analysis*.  

Although only a small study, it has nonetheless resulted in some interesting contributions to knowledge about the site at Lower Hazel during this period*. 

Charred Triticum aestivum/T. turgidumPhotographed using an AHRC funded Keyence VHX7000 3-D digital microscope (AHRC award AH/V011758/1) at Fort Cumberland Laboratories, Historic England
Charred Triticum aestivum/T. turgidum **

The crop plants found in the samples are indicative of the medieval period (Carruthers and Hunter Dowse 2019:132): wheat (Triticum turgidum/aestivum), and oat (Avena sp.). There is some uncertainty as to which free-threshing wheats are present since the chaff is absent in these samples and this is vital for diagnostic purposes. This is a common problem for archaeobotanical investigation since processing waste for free-threshing wheats would likely be created where it was harvested rather than near settlement buildings, thus rendering it less likely to appear in the archaeological record. The reason for difficulty of identification is due to the distortion of grains which happens when they are exposed to heat. Furthermore, since waste products from cereal processing were utilised in other ways such as for animal fodder or bedding for both humans and animals, as well as in building materials like thatch or daub, they would likely only become charred in a few circumstances such as when used for fuel or tinder.   

A single oat specimen was found in the samples, analysed and later radiocarbon dated using the Bristol Radiocarbon Accelerator Mass Spectrometry (BRAMS) facility. The result was an uncalibrated date range of 1031- 1162CE with a 95.4% probability which helped confirmed the theory that the site was in use during the Anarchy period*.  

A specimen of burnt straw as well as tiny fragments of daub were found in samples <2> and <3>. These are likely the materials used for the building structure. The lack of further burnt straw fragments could serve as evidence for the burning down of the property during the Anarchy period since it would indicate that the fire was of an intensity such that no further remains of the thatched roof were left*. 

Fields during the medieval period were sown with combinations of cereals which increased the likelihood of a successful harvest of one sort or another, for example ‘maslin’ (a mixture of rye and wheat) which was sown in winter, and ‘dredge’ (a mixture of oats and barley) which was sown in spring. The individual properties of different cereals often shaped the ways they were used. Just as today, free-threshing wheat was favoured for bread making since it produced the whitest and lightest loaf. Rye produced darker and more dense loaves but was able to survive in more hostile environments. Barley and oats were also used in bread making but both were more commonly used in ale production and for fodder. In addition to their role in medieval diet, cereal crops also had a wide range of other uses which included cereal straw as bedding, in building materials such as thatch and daub, temper for ceramics and as fuel.   

Archaeobotanical evidence shows that medieval fields also contained a diverse range of arable weed floras. These vary depending upon factors such as tillage methods and soil fertility. Understanding whether they are annual or biennial as well as their ecology allows us to identify field environments from which we can better comprehend techniques of production reconstruct seasonal sowing and crop rotation patterns. 

Previous finds from the site by the Thornbury Archaeology Group include large deposits of charred free-threshing grains*. These are morphologically the same as grains retrieved in this investigation which could be seen as evidence that the site is a Norman hunting lodge or Norman manor* since historical documentation indicates that wealthier households consumed a higher proportion of wheat and rye, whereas the poor, ate proportionately more barley. Further research on site could test this theory through examining crop ratios as suggested by Bogaard et al.

* Harman, C. (2023) ‘Planting Anarchy: Exploring archaeobotanical remains from the Lower Hazel 2022 excavation’, Undergraduate dissertation, University of Bristol, Bristol. Unpublished

**Charred Triticum aestivum/T. turgidum. Photographed usinging an AHRC funded Keyence VHX7000 3-D digital microscope (AHRC award AH/V011758/1) at Fort Cumberland Laboratories, Historic England

Text and photos taken from an undergraduate dissertation by Charlotte Harman, submitted to the University of Bristol in May 2023.  

Author

Charlotte Harman is a MPhil student in archaeology focusing on archaeobotany

Inward Gaze, Outward Vision: the subjective turn in social research.

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As a final-year student undertaking a four-year anthropology program, I can confidently say that I have been able to delve deeply into the discipline’s toolbox and experiment with diverse approaches to conducting social research. As my academic journey came to an end, there remained a facet of modern anthropology that I had yet to explore. A documentary enthusiast, I encountered several cutting-edge anthropological movies that blended art and social research to bring to life a new way of seeing and thinking about the world. Attuned to emotions and sensoriality and driven by notions of retribution and justice, the framework for comprehending others and the social realms they inhabit introduced by these visual pieces struck me as groundbreaking. Embarking on my final placement, I was determined to take advantage of this experience and found a place working alongside the Royal Anthropological Institute (RAI) Film Festival through my university. ”Showcasing the best in groundbreaking and innovative anthropological documentary filmmaking from around the world,” the selection of films showcased at the festival was meticulously curated so that each creative piece seemed to add a layer, revealing an emerging form of complex anthropology, led by movements of decolonization in research methods and newfound conceptions of knowledge as plural and dialectic. 

 Reflecting on my past internships, summer jobs, and placements, I came to realize that my inability to find a balance between producing useful content and nurturing a sense of self-accomplishment had been a recurring theme. Whether I was blindly fulfilling required tasks without incorporating my perspective or impulsively diving into my interpretations of how things should be done, my previous approach to work had hindered my ability to strike that equilibrium between delivering valuable output and cultivating a sense of personal fulfillment. Taking lessons from these experiences, I approached my placement at the RAI with a firm intention of crafting a role for myself that would benefit the festival as well as satisfy my curiosity and push me to develop new capabilities. One of the available openings was for an editorial content creator position and involved providing viewers with contextual information about the films while infusing a sense of enthusiasm. Being a French student accustomed to academic writing in English, the prospect of embracing a more creative style enthralled me. Additionally, I found the task of adding meaning to the films by highlighting anthropological ideas and making them relatable to viewers quite fascinating. It was especially interesting as we were encouraged to explore our viewpoints and connections to the creative pieces. 

 While I acquainted myself with the program, I observed a consistent motif of self-awareness. Across numerous works, there was a clear tendency for the filmmaker’s introspection, revealing their preoccupation with their own perspective, filming approaches, and how they portrayed their subjects. At the extreme of this motif were filmmakers such as Karen Boswall in Sing My Sister, who fully surrendered their authorship, discarding voice-over narratives and encouraging subjects to guide the cameras themselves. Affected by their dedication to learning to speak alongside rather than speak for, I struggled with my own positioning as an author and the choice between self-effacement (objective tone) versus a subjective and self-aware standpoint. This issue was accentuated by the medium I was tackling, as I had to decide whether to evoke the topics of the documentaries as objective realities (e.g., a film about transgender issues in Colombia) or present them as the filmmaker’s own interpretation, an “act of personal witness.” 

 Exploring literature around the topic of subjectivity to guide my approach led me to Devreux’s relentless subjectivity principle: ”The subjectivity of the observer, he noted, influences the course of the observed even as radically as ‘inspection’ influences (‘disturbs’) the behavior of an electron.”  This observation led him to conclude that doing social research more subjectively will increase its objectivity. This relentless subjectivity principle requires that one is aware of their own subjectivity and its influence on the research undertaken and requires the ability to ”bring in our own experiences and perspectives to bear on the questions we ask and the answers we find” without ”rejecting ”all analytical standards or scholarly rigor” to ”engage in a dialogue in which we not only learn from our subjects but also from ourselves” as cultural anthropologist Renato Rosaldo articulates. This second requirement reveals a need for the ability to include oneself in the research, one’s own perspective, experience, and emotions in relation to what is observed, and addressing this dialogue between the self and the observed with scholarly rigor. 

 I set my focal point to be that of an ethnographic writer, considering each film as a singular universe created by the encounter between the filmmaker’s perspective, the observed subject, and the audio-visual medium. This led me to learn how to harness my immediate experience of a film, with my knowledge of documentary filmmaking and anthropological frameworks to add to the viewers’ understanding of the creative piece.  For instance, working on ”Sing My Sister” by Karen Boswall I aimed to highlight the complexity of this research piece, which draws on both ethnomusicology and visual anthropology to seamlessly stitch together a layered approach to the emancipation and empowerment of Mozambican women in a trilogy format. The ingenious underlying structure of the documentary and specific stylistic choices made by the filmmakers risked going unnoticed, affecting the overall appreciation of their work.  

 As an ethnomusicology documentary, I felt a large part of the ‘message’ conveyed by the film was in its rhythm although I was initially reluctant to expand on this. As I reflected and furthered my reading into subjectivities, I crossed paths with Ruth Behar’s eulogy to vulnerable ethnography and Clifford Geertz’s reflections on aesthetic forms of communication and their central role in the ways people construct and communicate meaning:  

‘‘Grasping other people’s inner lives like grasping a proverb, catching an allusion, seeing a joke, (..) reading a poem”; ‘‘You don’t exactly penetrate another culture, as the masculinist image would have it. You put yourself in its way and it bodies forth and enmeshes you.”  

Encountering literature that legitimizes and extols a more sensitive understanding of cultural research gave me the freedom to give into a more lyrical tone to my writing (when of use in communicating meaning both theoretically and aesthetically). For example, while working on La Nave by Carlos Maria Romero (aka Atabey Mamasita) I relied heavily on the use of lyrical accents and a segmented structure to prepare the viewer for a documentary that functions as a collage of interviews and clips, weaving a portrait of segmented hybrid identities and they’re piecing together during the carnival of Barranquilla (Columbia).  

 Warned by Daphne Patai’s critique of the genre she defines as ”nouveau solipsism,” previous reflection on self-awareness came into play as I noted my writing was becoming excessively sensationalist. An evident downfall of including emotions and experiences is the risk of falling into ‘‘miniature bubbles of navel-gazing” or suffocating cultural research by choosing to focus solely on our own experience of otherness menacing to reduce social research and especially ethnography to a consumption of cultural experience. Self-reflection is not an end in itself. We have to ask ourselves: How do you write subjectively into ethnography in such a way that you can continue to call what you are doing ethnography? 

 In consonance with philosopher Roland Barthes‘ perspective, I believe anthropology, or any scientific research or artistic approach to the world in that matter, has never been about describing reality but rather adding or removing layers to evidence new possibilities for understanding the world.  Poetry and literature through their inherent ability to convey subjectivity and disrupt established ways of thinking can set solid grounds for the discovery of ”new meaning and a higher order of relations” and can therefore be an impactful tool in the bridging of worlds. To me the act of bridging subjectivities is fundamentally anthropological whether that is between a fictional world contained in a moving image and an individual, between two cultures or two languages, anthropology is about ”finding commonalities and connections between different ways of understanding the world,” holding space for the appreciation of ”multivocality” and the ”reimagination of our shared social worlds.” 

 Author

Lilas Privateer is a recent master’s graduate in Anthropology with Innovation. Her interest lies in looking at how art as a space can become a research tool in Anthropology.