Anthropological Irony II
From Theory to Lived Experience
In my last post, I talked about Geertz’s understanding of the moral act of thinking and anthropological irony. For a refresher… Geertz describes thinking as a moral act to be judged because thinking is serious and affects your behavior towards other people. He also discussed his typewriter being an item that exposed the anthropological irony of his relationship with his research assistant; the typewriter exposed who really had the power in this asymmetrical relationship regardless of how much he desired to have a more egalitarian relationship with his assistant.
I had my own experience of navigating anthropological irony in my Ugandan fieldwork. After settling into my life in Karamoja, I navigated my new networks and sought out a research assistant. My new research assistant’s main work would be to help translate and support my participation, interviewing, and meetings with women in two villages who had welcomed me into their worlds. My goal in spending time with the women, who had not been formally educated, was to get my own education in the skills and understanding of the lifestyle, livelihoods, and hopes of women in village life. I wanted to understand the contrasts and connections between women with formal and non-formal education. The research assistant would be critical in helping me continue to gain credibility and connection with village women and translate as my local language skills leave much to be desired.
I landed on my first research assistant. A lovely woman who was educated enough to speak English and still maintained family and social ties in village life. We will call her Stefania. Upon hiring her, I told Stefania that I would not have the final say in hiring her. We would go to the village for one final interview…with the ladies. It was the matriarch and the village ladies who would make the final decision of whether or not Stefania was a good fit. The women needed to like and trust her…and upon meeting all together at the matriarch’s home, I learned that they also needed to trace Stefania’s family and know her clan. It was a successful meeting and we were off!
At first our relationship was growing. We worked well together. Stefania was good at her responsibilities, dependable, and a great match. We got along well. We laughed. I introduced her to Kendrick Lamar and the Black Panther soundtrack. She introduced me to Emmy Kosgei. I enjoyed her company. She shared intimate stories of her life with me. I did my best to share what I felt was right and enough to maintain our relationship as human beings while recognizing how different my life experiences were from hers. We bonded. But almost a year into fieldwork, our relationship became distressing.
Stefania had become pregnant and we agreed to end her work with me. At this point, her belly was getting too big for us to share the back of a motorcycle together. Three on motorcycle is enough if you ask me, but adding a bulging belly is where I draw the line…and so did she. At this point, she needed to prepare for the birth of her child, and I wanted to be supportive.
We both agreed on the separation date and knew it was about life circumstances rather than quality of work. We both had an implicit belief that we would remain “friends” however each of us interpreted it. And so, I went out and successfully hired a new research assistant.
After I began working with the new research assistant, I heard from Stefania. I received the tragic news that her baby, born premature, had died just days after I last visited them at their home. It was devastating. I cried. We cried. There was community mourning for this little baby that would never grow up in Stefania’s loving arms.
I cherished a sweet photo I took when I visited Stefania and her baby; I was holding this sweet little bundle of joy. In the photo, it is just of our hands, no faces, no bodies. Her tiny little infant hand cradled inside mine. Even as an auntie, I wanted her to feel my love and support, my hopes for a loving, protected future. She was a sign of hope, that the future would be as bright as her pink little sweater and that her love would fill all of us adults who needed more love in our lives. I went away for a break in December and hoped that when I returned in January, I might be able to provide some moral support to Stefania as she coped with such a life-altering loss.
Upon my return in January, it became clear in the vaguest gestures that while Stefania appreciated moral support, that is not the only thing she wanted. Stefania had an expectation that she would return as my research assistant since she no longer had maternal responsibilities. The problem was, I already hired a new research assistant who had already started working with me. Stefania wanted a new work agreement…and doesn’t everyone need some money to live?!
The situation was particularly stressful because of each woman’s financial reliance on their work with me. Both young women who left their abusive husbands, were in need of opportunities to provide for themselves and their families. I was torn. I wanted to honor both women. I could only afford one in my research budget. I looked at my own bank account and wondered if I could afford to pay Stefania for something. But it didn’t feel right. I had to perform my research in a way that followed external and my own internal moral and ethical codes. I just couldn’t rehire Stefania.
Upon explaining my decision that I would not be able to re-hire her, Stefania was polite and forgiving. She did not sever our ties, much like Geertz’s assistant, but the ‘anthropological irony’ was fully exposed; our relationship was awkward, distant, yet somehow fragilely intact.
It took me a long time to stop ruminating on this anthropological irony. As much as I wanted us to be equals, we are not in this world. I’m still not over it and it still pains me.
There are some things that cannot be solved. There are some things that just are. Writing those two sentences and making those statements go against my own will and hope that I can be different…that I can make a difference. But the ways of the world can be outside our control. I can do my best to treat everyone I encounter in this world with the dignity, respect, and equality that they deserve as my fellow human being…but some things are outside of ourselves. Power relations are bigger than one-on-one relationships.
Stefania are equally human, full of emotion, desiring of family, love, fulfillment and joy in our lives. But we were born into different opportunities, with different prejudices against us, different possibilities that could be in reach…and we are not the same.
But that is also why we do the work. Not to be a saviour, but to be a human being who values other human beings. When you realize and truly believe and embody that my humanity, my freedom, my future is wrapped up in yours, then you choose to live a life that honors those equals whose chances are less than yours.
Preparing to return to Karamoja in 2024, it pained me to think about any new anthropological ironies I would encounter. More on my return in my next post.
