On the Floods in Santo Domingo

Problems Encountered on the Research Path: a Reflection from the Field

Originally, I took this pause in my research to write a progress report on my dissertation fieldwork, but such a report morphed to include a discussion of quandaries in the field. In mid-October, I traveled to Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic to study the incorporation and survival strategies of various categories of Haitian migrants. My research was focused on how they dealt with race, citizenship, gender, and pressures of capitalism, making sure I was sensitive to specific aspects of urbanity which affected their incorporation. Within two weeks of my arrival, Tropical Storm (later Hurricane) Noel thrashed the island of Hispaniola, an event that scuttled my work schedule and raised broad and pressing questions for anthropologists at all stages of their studies.
The damage from this disaster, better understood as social and ecological rather than strictly natural (see Oliver-Smith 1996), does not match Noel’s designation as a mere storm. As I write, reports suggest the number of people who died has almost reached 200. Thousands have been displaced due to flood waters overtaking their homes, and even more have been affected after streams and rivers ripped away chunks of several bridges. Further infrastructural devastation rendered impassable a main highway between Haiti and Santo Domingo. Such havoc immediately impacted vulnerable populations, and it will inevitably affect both countries on the island, as major Dominican agricultural areas that supply the two are under water. It remains to be seen whether this will mean a prohibitive price spike for staple crops grown in-country or a semi-permanent restructuring of the Dominican economy as cheap or free foreign products also flood the country.
Fortunately, I live in a slightly elevated area of the capital, so besides losing power for a few days and being confined to my quarters due to the rains, I was relatively unaffected. Though I faced no major problems in food, clothes, or shelter, I was confronted with an issue that anyone doing fieldwork understands: how should one deal with serendipity[1], unpredictability, and possibilities of change in research? I raise this concern in this forum as a gesture toward, as Comitas (2000:197) puts it, “enhancing sensitivity to and facilitating research in the face of ever-growing social and cultural complexity”.
The specific choice I faced was whether to continue my research as I planned, or to follow a new research topic surrounding the disaster. Both projects were problem-oriented, a key element in applied anthropology: migrant incorporation or social aspects of disaster. Both topics were important in their specific ethnographic context: the long-standing (mis)treatment of Haitians by some Dominicans, and the very current devastation of Noel. Additionally, both cases could highlight important issues when compared with parallels in the US context: Mexican migrants in the US, and emergency response vis-à-vis Hurricane Katrina and the latest California wildfires. Making a choice demanded some reflection.
Of course, reasons existed for me to continue on my initial path. I had spent almost a decade studying and developing linguistic and social knowledge to work among Haitians (in Haiti, in Cuba, in the US, and in the Dominican Republic), so I was personally invested in maintaining focus on these migrants. In fact, pursuing my original question met the five criteria Bernard (2002) suggested are required of a good research question: high degree of personal interest, methodologically rigorous approach, appropriate resource allocation, minimized ethical considerations, and relevance to the discipline. Also, keeping my present bearings meant I would not have to wait for new IRB approval, though it could be possible to gain retroactive approval. Further, I was obligated by terms of disbursement and by professional codes of ethics to make it known to my funding agencies if I changed my research direction. Doing so would require navigating a significant amount of communication and paperwork, which would take time and, in the end, still might not be deemed acceptable.
Beyond reasons to keep the original topic, the new one raised its own issues. On one hand, wouldn’t it be harder on my conscience to work in the capital while many people are suffering due to the effects of Noel less than an hour away than to work directly in flood areas? In other words, I was faced with the dilemma of researcher “detachment” versus “contribution” (AAA 1998:V,3). On the other hand, given the strong community and institutional support for my original project, could I postpone such work, perhaps indefinitely, or would that contradict the need for researchers to “preserve opportunities for future fieldworkers to follow them to the field” (AAA 1998:III,B3)? Further, ethical considerations suggest that I should explain my actions to the people with whom I would no longer be working (AAA 1998:III,A1), so how would I account for my departure? Finally, assuming the similar quality of work, there are some research topics that attract more attention than others, so how much significance should profitability or career payback figure into such a decision?
My answer to these questions was located squarely inside that tangled conceptual ball of values, morals, and ethics. In the end, I decided that rather than either-or, I opted to prioritize my original project while contributing what I could to those in need. Working with a progressively-minded and grassroots-oriented collective based in Santo Domingo, I volunteered time to help translate (Spanish to Haitian Creole) and distribute emergency health-related pamphlets for those affected by the storm. The time requirements of this work allowed me to contribute to relief efforts in a meaningful way, while still maintaining my original research focus.
One might agree or take issue with my actions. Perhaps I have not considered certain ethical aspects of this situation well enough, or at all. Maybe my reasoning was too utilitarian and my deeds just compassionate enough for me to feel good about myself. If that is the case, rather than judging me either as inadequate or as exemplary, we should discuss it, for I can think of no better way to begin dealing with the ever-changing and always-complex concerns involved in these endeavors. So for now, my ethical concerns have cleared up. Further, the clouds have parted and the rains have stopped, thus leaving me with Caribbean sun filled mornings and mosquito filled nights. And so I return to the joys of dissertation fieldwork[2].

AAA (American Anthropological Association)
1998 Code of Ethics.

Bernard, H. Russell
2002 Research Methods in Anthropology.
Walnut Creek, CA: Altamira Press.

Comitas, Lambros
2000 Ethics in Anthropology: Dilemmas and Conundrums.
Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 925:196-210.

Oliver-Smith, Anthony
1996 Lima, Peru: Underdevelopment and Vulnerability
in the City of the Kings. In Disasters in Megacities.
JK Mitchell, ed. Tokyo: United Nations University Press.

[1] The slightly positive connotation of this word renders it somewhat inappropriate for the context of disaster, but I believe we should consider the question in other contexts, too.

[2] The author would like to thank the J. William Fulbright Foreign Scholarship Board and the Office of Policy and Research at Teachers College, Columbia University for their support.

An early writing from Santo Domingo

Television Vampire, part one

When I first looked at it, the wires weren’t hooked up properly, so it appeared that I didn’t have use of the TV. Somewhere deep in my soul, I longed for it, but I was outwardly happy, as I wouldn’t be bothered by it. Ever since that long, strange night in the summer of 1991, when scenes of camp were etched deep in my brain, the television vampire held a mysterious sway over me whenever I looked into its eyes. It could take hold of me in a flash, and when I finally came to my senses, hours had passed. And so, I was glad to have the TV rendered dormant by the mysterious sunshine of electronic incompatibility.
After a few days, I decided to tempt fate and play around with the cables to see what would happen. As the menu popped up in Spanish, I was a little tense. Surely, I had studied Spanish for years, and I had been speaking it (more or less) in Spain, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Kansas, Florida, and New York for a few years, too. But I was still hesitant to fumble around with those things, as the necessary technical terms were not yet in my mental dictionary. What the hell does _____mean? The closest English cognate is ______. Still, I was no closer to animation than I was before.
I made my guesses, punching up, down, menu, enter, or whatever I thought might awaken the creature. I was starting to work more quickly now, as I learned what worked and what led to a technological dead end. After a minute or two longer, a flicker of light. I stretched my neck out to look at the back and extended my sleeveless arm to manipulate a wire. With a flick of the wrist, the dark screen suddenly lit up. A channel came in clearly. In that slightly aggressive voice which middle-aged male talk show hosts use in this country, the one which renders the interlocutor quiet and passive, the Dominican man on TV was telling me something about la patria. His charcoal and white pin-striped tie on a pastel yellow background was much louder than he was, as it violently screamed at the beige suit which had already begun swallowing its lower quarters. It was on.
I slowly retracted my body from the TV, with my head centering over my shoulders and my arm dropping limply to my side. Like a person in the arms of a lover during their first tryst, I lowered myself to the edge of the bed. My spine relaxed and reclined, and my head was gently placed on the pillow. My whole body stretched out before me, basking in the glow of the TV. In those last moments of consciousness, my thumb slid over the soft plastic buttons of remote control while my other digits curved around its backside. I remember pressing up just before I succumbed to the allure of the TV.

Long time

It's been a while since I wrote. I've been to Brazil and threatened to go to Liberia. It got postponed, like the India trip. Probably better that way.

Reading and writing, working and living...all the time, loving. You are so beautiful to me.

Wish me peace and luck on my exams. They start in September.

Tomorrow

Annie says: The sun will come out tomorrow.
Shadow says: Tomorrow never comes until it's too late.

So it's another day. Things aren't great, but they're something.
I don't feel like writing, but feel somewhat compelled to include something here.

Oh, well.

Not a great day.

So, I'm not going to India, due to the fact that Nixon opened up China and pissed off the conservatives in his party. Long story. That's okay. It's not going anywhere.

Two granting agencies turned me down. They were both filtered through GSAS people, so perhaps that had something to do with it. Oh, well. Now it's down to Wenner-Gren (yeah, right), NSF (doubt it), and IAF (I don't think so). 2 out of 8 isn't bad.

Tomorrow is another day.

Travel Travail Travaille

Less than a month before my Brazil trip. Later, to Liberia. After that, India. Back to NYC in between, before I drop down to the DR for a good, long spell.

One love, though people seem convinced otherwise.

3.5 for 4, so far.

Dissertation Funding.

Up to today, I had received an internal grant for my research. I got the mail today, though, and found out that I received a Fulbright for my dissertation work. Also, my application is being reviewed in the second/final stage for Wenner Gren. I did get shot down for SSRC funding. Oh, well. That makes 3.5 out of 4 grants with a positive response.

I still have 4 more grants that I have yet to hear from: Inter-American Foundation, Fulbright-Hayes, National Science Foundation, and Columbia GSAS.

But already, I'll be doing well while in the DR.
All things that are good are of God.

From...the beginning.

It's a slow and steady process...putting yourself back together again. I'm on my way, but to where, I have no idea. It is the yoga of putting life on track and following it that is important, not where it takes you.

To the love that will never die: myself as others as they are of and in everything, including myself.

"And I heard 'em say, 'nothings ever promised tomorrow, today' ".

Travel ho!

But if anyone else calls me a "ho", I will not only slap you with righteous indignation, but also wonder about how well you really know me in the process.

Tomorrow begins trip #2 of 7 for this year. Tampa for my presentation at the annual Society for Applied Anthropology meetings.

My flight leaves tomorrow morning, and I haven't packed yet, so I'll end this post here.

David Sedaris sings Billy Holiday

How amazing is David Sedaris's rendition of Billy Holiday singing the Oscar Meyer theme song? Check it out on www.thisamericanlife.org and listen to the show entitled "Music Lessons" from 25 April 2003.

In my solitude

Billy Holiday's pitch is the perfect portrait of painful beauty.

So here I am, in my solitude. My body has grown in girth as to render a feeling of alienation from my soul. My spirituality is in ruins. For some reason, my intellectual pursuits continue in an unabashedly promising manner. This isn't to be a "pity-party" or some "woe's me" post. It's simply me venting a little bit. The challenge is whether or not I will actually post this. [I chose to remove details, but if you know me, you know what I'm writing about--or do you?] It opens me up, potentially exposing me to the eyes of the world as a the creature that I am: a timid, loving, scared being in a male body who is constantly either misunderstood or misrepresenting himself. Do I love myself, am I battling with imagined (not fictitious) notions of what I am, or still more confusing, is it both?

To the NOLAs

Yo, Maria. New Orleans. FEMA. Participate in the act of f%$king off! People were dying and displaced...you wrote about blogs by wealthy white women.

Turning the page

This post's theme music is "Get by" by Talib Kweli.

This afternoon was mellow. Light reading and locking myself out of my apartment for the first time ever in my life. Good thing Eric (the current roommate #3) was there to let me in.

It's been a busy time since returning to NYC.

1. Compiling, packaging, and sending off another grant for dissertation research...this time to the Inter-American Foundation/Institute of International Education (sent in Thursday).
2. Preparing for (as his TA) and attending Comitas's class on Practical Field Techniques (Tuesday).
3. Reading and giving feedback on Anthropology Colloquium drafts (Thursday).
4. Prepping for and participating in a Donor's and Partner's meeting with the Liberian Minister of Education, which included lunch with people from UNESCO, UNICEF, the University of Liberia, representatives from the governments of Japan, Sweden, Norway, and several schooling and education related NGOs.
5. Helping facilitate the weekly AnthroChat meetings.

March is the trip to Tampa for the Society for Applied Anthropology meeting.
April, I'm planning on going to see Mr. Brown, 9, and BWAN-A.
May to June is the Brazil trip for the Caribbean Studies Association meeting.
July to August should be an India trip.
September should be going to the DR, where I will stay (unless I trek over to Haiti for a brief visit).
With 2 papers to present and with no DR without doctoral exams, all this travel means I have to move-n-shake until time to go.

Steady on the Grind.

Grand Opening!!! SALE SALE SALE!!!

This represents my triumphant return to NYC. I'm back, ladies and gentlemen. Walking in the door, I got the letter from IIE stating that they recommended me for a Fulbright. I'm thinner, more focused, and ready to roll. All I needed to do was "remind my soul".

Get it while it's hot, though it doesn't get any cooler than I am right now.

Coming back from the mountains, I had enough. Ya Basta, MF. Here's to the tet kale.

A Personal Note

This post represents one of those "wounded rants" that people give after going through an incredibly difficult and painful break-up. If you know me, though, these are the only ones I go through.

I'm so tired of even thinking about sex, dating, relationships...et cetera ad nauseum. If it's not the actual person you're relating with/dating with/engaging with/copulating with, it's the friends or family who volunteer their honest, well-intentioned, yet often poorly-timed/delivered or ill-informed opinion.

Morrissey, that oracle of irreverently gothic wit, said that "most people keep their brains between their legs". If that applies to me, it's time for a frontal lobotomy (or maybe just a bottle in fronta me).

I hate it all, and I give up.

The worst part is that I still have such feelings of adoration, love, and friendship for the one who went/was sent away.

Not the Grand Opening

So while I was tinkering on this pleasant Saturday morning, I kicked around ideas about what I should write for my initial post. I felt pressured, hesitant, yet certain that whatever I typed would fail to convey anything more than drivel.

This blog represents the result of direct pressure from my close contacts and indirect pressure from the world in which I roll. I always go kicking and screaming (though softly and with a big stick) through the portal of the newest technological change, so this is it.

It's like those stores that open before their actual Grand Opening. So, here's my blog (or is it blah-g) opening without the trumpet fanfare, plastic banners, and marked-up-in-price sale items.