Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field: Methodological Challenges and Opportunities [1st ed.] 9783030441128, 9783030441135

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Peace Psychology Book Series Series Editor: Daniel J. Christie

Yasemin Gülsüm Acar Sigrun Marie Moss Özden Melis Uluğ  Editors

Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field Methodological Challenges and Opportunities

Peace Psychology Book Series Series Editor Daniel J. Christie

Series Advisory Board Herbert Blumberg, Goldsmiths College, United Kingdom Daniel Bar-Tal, Tel Aviv University, Israel Klaus Boehnke, International University Bremen, Germany Peter Coleman, Columbia University, USA Cheryl de la Rey, University of Cape Town, South Africa Shelley McKeown Jones, University of Bristol, United Kingdom Yayah Khisbiyah, Universitas Muhammadiyah Surakarta, Indonesia Siew Fang Law, Victoria University, Australia Wilson Lopez Lopez, Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, Colombia Winnifred Louis, University of Queensland, Australia Anthony Marsella, University of Hawaii, USA Fathali Moghaddam, Georgetown University, USA Maritza Montero, Central University of Venezuela, Venezuela Cristina Montiel, Ateneo de Manila University, Philippines Ann Sanson, University of Melbourne, Australia Mohamed Seedat, University of South Africa Michael Wessells, Columbia University and Randolph-Macon College, USA More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/7298

Yasemin Gülsüm Acar Sigrun Marie Moss  •  Özden Melis Uluğ Editors

Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field Methodological Challenges and Opportunities

Editors Yasemin Gülsüm Acar University of Dundee Dundee, UK

Sigrun Marie Moss University of Oslo Oslo, Norway

Özden Melis Uluğ Clark University Worcester, MA, USA

ISSN 2197-5779     ISSN 2197-5787 (electronic) Peace Psychology Book Series ISBN 978-3-030-44112-8    ISBN 978-3-030-44113-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank the many people who became part of this edited volume either directly or indirectly. First of all, we would like to thank all the authors who contributed to this volume. We truly appreciate you sharing your methodological journeys and experiences, and it has been great to work with all of you. Second, we want to thank the many reviewers who read the chapters and provided constructive feedback to help improve the chapters. We appreciate your time, energy and amazing feedback. Third, we would like to thank all the participants in all the studies mentioned in this book, who became part of our journeys in difficult conflict settings. For some contexts, even being a participant in the studies mentioned throughout the book was a challenge in and of itself. We appreciate their efforts and value their opinions. Fourth, we want to take the time to thank all the local contacts, research assistants and translators who made fieldwork in different contexts possible – the work would never have gotten done without them. Last, we would like to thank Dan Christie, the editor of the Peace Psychology Book Series at Springer, who helped us find our way when we felt lost, answered our endless questions with patience, and provided valuable feedback on early versions of the introduction and conclusion.

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Contents

  1 Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1 Yasemin Gülsüm Acar, Sigrun Marie Moss, and Özden Melis Uluğ Part I Research Team   2 Conducting Field Research Amid Violence: Experiences From Colombia��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    9 Laura K. Taylor, Manuela Nilsson, Paola Forero, and Maria Angelica Restrepo   3 Keepers of Local Know-How in Conflict: Conversations Between Research Assistant and Researcher��������������������������������������������������������   29 Sigrun Marie Moss and Hajj Mohammed Hajj   4 Conceptualizing the Interpreter in Field Interviews in Post-Conflict Settings: Reflections From Psychological Research in Bosnia and Herzegovina ����������������������������������������������������   49 Inger Skjelsbæk   5 Doing Research on Turkish-Armenian Relations in Turkey, Armenia, and the Armenian Diaspora: The Challenges and Opportunities of Turkish Researchers in the Field������������������������������   63 Mehmet Karasu and Özden Melis Uluğ   6 Confronting Conflicting Attitudes About Racial Bias in the United States: How Communicator Identities Shape Audience Reception��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   85 Keith B. Maddox, Chelsea S. Crittle, Samuel R. Sommers, and Linda R. Tropp

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Part II Research Population   7 Data Collection With Indigenous People: Fieldwork Experiences From Chile������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  105 Ana Figueiredo, Carolina Rocha, and Pietro Montagna   8 On the Borders: Research with Refugees of Conflict ��������������������������  129 Khalifah Alfadhli and John Drury   9 Taking Sides With Swedish Protesters: Gaining and Maintaining Trust in the Field����������������������������������������������������������������  149 Sara Vestergren and John Drury 10 Field Research on Collective Victimization in the Indian Subcontinent: Challenges and Strategies for Navigation ��������������������  173 Rashmi Nair and Sramana Majumdar 11 Kurdish Alevis in the Turkish-Kurdish Peace Process: Reflections on Conducting Research in Turkey’s “Buffer Zone”��������  197 Yasemin Gülsüm Acar Part III Practical Applications 12 Implementing Social-Psychological Interventions in the Field: Insights From the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict��������������������������������������  215 Roni Porat and Tamar Saguy 13 Sense and Sensitivities: Researching Children and Young People’s Identity and Social Attitudes in a Divided Society����������������  233 Stephanie Burns, Danielle Blaylock, Laura K. Taylor, and Shelley McKeown 14 The Benefits and Challenges of Randomized Control Trials in Conflict Environments: Reflections From a Scholar-Practitioner������  259 Rebecca Wolfe Part IV Reflections and Meta-Reflections 15 When Research, Identity and Context Merge: A Reflexive Assessment on Studying Peace During Conflict������������������������������������  283 Aydın Bayad and Aslı Aydemir 16 A Reflection on the Politics of Knowledge Production at South African Universities: When Black Identity Meets Legacies of Institutional Racism��������������������������������������������������������������������������������  301 Sibusiso Maseko

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17 Being a Wanderer, Stranger, Public Enemy and a “Useful Idiot”: A Few Personal Remarks on Performing and Communicating Psychological Research in Conflicted Areas������������������������������������������  321 Michał Bilewicz 18 Recovering the Everyday Within and for Decolonial Peacebuilding Through Politico-Affective Space����������������������������������  343 Shahnaaz Suffla, Nick Malherbe, and Mohamed Seedat 19 Concluding Remarks ������������������������������������������������������������������������������  365 Yasemin Gülsüm Acar, Sigrun Marie Moss, and Özden Melis Uluğ Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  369

Chapter 1

Introduction Yasemin Gülsüm Acar, Sigrun Marie Moss, and Özden Melis Uluğ

In social psychology, fieldwork is fairly uncommon, and fieldwork in conflict settings or contexts marked by power hierarchies even more so. There is, therefore, limited methodological reflection on the issues involved in such research (as opposed to disciplines such as sociology and anthropology; see for example Höglund and Öberg 2011; Thomson et al. 2013). This is despite the fact that important strands of research within social psychology focus on power differences, protests and civil disobedience in restrictive and coercive settings, intergroup conflict and violence,and conflict resolution. What’s more, an increasingly polarized world means the need for context-based psychological research has become paramount, but the complexities of conducting research in conflict settings may deter people from conducting such on the ground research (Cohen and Arieli 2011). Through this edited volume, we have brought together voices working in various conflict contexts in Africa, Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and North and South America. The chapters we present here relay important methodological challenges and opportunities the authors had when conducting fieldwork in areas of conflict, as well as reflect on their role as a researcher, and what it means to take part in all the “mess” of fieldwork. In our volume, we use a wide understanding of conflict, including pre-conflict and post-conflict societies (see Thompson 2013), and include settings marked by power differences and marginalization. A broad definition of conflict allows us to reflect on how such settings impact differently on research planning and data collection, where additional layers of preparation, care, reflexivity, and flexibility are required. In bringing together these different authors and their Y. G. Acar (*) University of Dundee, Dundee, Scotland S. M. Moss University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway Ö. M. Uluğ Clark University, Worcester, MA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_1

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methodological experiences, we hope the reader will be able to gain insight into a number of different contexts and be better prepared if and when they go into the field for their own research.

1.1  Rationale The idea behind this book started when we first met in 2012 at the International Society of Political Psychology (ISPP) summer school in Chicago. Having done research for our PhDs in conflict settings (Acar and Uluğ in Turkey; Moss in Sudan, Rwanda and Zanzibar), we had all grappled with the confusion, loneliness, ill-­ decisions, fear and joy that field research in settings marked with conflict, peace-­ building and power dynamics bring forth. All three of us had, in the process, looked for hands-on literature within social psychology on how to conduct field research in settings marked by intergroup conflict, and all three of us came up relatively short. Further, we were unable to find active discussions within social, political, and peace psychology on the challenges as well as the opportunities of doing research in difficult contexts. In Chicago, we shared our experiences and were happy to find others grappling with the same issues. In the following years, we kept sharing our frustrations via email and at conferences, until we decided to put pen to paper and address the issues ourselves. At the annual conference for the ISPP in Warsaw in July 2016, we agreed that there were likely others who also felt the need for our own discipline to share upfront accounts of fieldwork in contexts marked by conflict, power hierarchies, and reconciliation. We then decided to write an article together, sharing our experiences, resulting in a very practically oriented article published in Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology (Moss et al. 2019), where we outlined the key practical and ethical challenges we faced and offered suggestions when conducting research in conflict settings. Having written this article, we began further discussions with others who in turn shared interesting experiences and additional challenges. After our discussions in Warsaw, and having met like-minded colleagues, we decided to put together a round-table at the ISPP conference in Edinburgh (2017) on our experiences conducting fieldwork in conflict. The conference room was full of people with similar experiences, who had either conducted fieldwork with little guidance or who were soon planning to go into the field and were looking for information on what to expect. It was here we made further connections and realized that we needed to put together the kind of book that we were unable to find when doing our own PhDs. The main aim of the book is to provide useful information and guidance for students and researchers who are planning to do or are doing fieldwork in conflict contexts, both in their own contexts when they are insiders and especially in foreign contexts when they are outsiders. For it to be useful, the book needs to provide a wide variety of methodological experiences on several general topics within conflict research from different geographical regions. The authors in this volume present

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their own personal research experiences in a wide variety of contexts using various methodologies, give tips and advice based on what they have learned through their own experiences, and reflect on how their research and oftentimes they themselves have been affected by the conflict context.

1.2  The Messiness of Fieldwork As the number of fieldwork studies increases, we also need to be able to engage in sharing methodology on the challenges of doing such research, as well as reflexivity on what we have previously experienced, so as to provide space for future researchers as they begin to approach fieldwork from a social psychological perspective. We have found that in publishing conflict research, there is little space provided for researchers to discuss the “messiness” of fieldwork, nor to detail the important nuances in the often painstaking methodological process required in fieldwork. We, therefore, wanted honest, open accounts in this book, to avoid the glossiness that often appears when reporting on one’s methodology. This is often an issue of pragmatism when working in conflict settings, as the context is messy and thus the data has a tendency to be “messy” as well – too messy, sometimes, for many journals and academic outlets. Therefore, one writes up the methodology as “neater” than it was, and polishes the writing. Rather than present their “polished” finished work, we wanted authors in this volume to discuss their real experiences – what they learned from reflecting on the methodological issues they came across. This again enables readers to learn from the authors’ hands-on experiences – successes as well as failures due to difficult conditions, ill-decisions, and sometimes ill-preparedness.

1.3  Finding the Contributors We set out to find contributors. They needed to have conducted some form of field research in settings marked by conflict, peacebuilding, or asymmetrical power dynamics, and we wanted a diverse group of contributors: juniors and seniors, working in different settings, belonging to different groups, and of different nationalities. This was a challenging endeavor – we wanted contributors from all continents, we wanted indigenous researchers, we wanted representatives from different sides in conflicts, we wanted particular issues covered. We asked around, spread the word, asked for inputs, and tried to cast a wide net to find a wide group of contributors. We started with those who had come up to us at conferences to share similar experiences; many of those we reached out to said “yes” right away, and spoke warmly about the chance to discuss the methodological challenges and opportunities they had experienced during fieldwork. Many also raised the issue of the need for this type of volume, and that they themselves would have appreciated reading such a book when getting into fieldwork themselves. Some groups of researchers

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were harder to get. In many cases, systemic hindrances or language issues prevented us from working with certain groups; in other cases, it was simply bad timing for some researchers or contexts we wished to highlight. We, therefore, see this volume as a first step in our work on raising the profile of field research in social psychology and plan to work diligently to include in further work the contexts and experiences of others who are missing here.

1.4  The Chapters The book is divided into four overarching sections, though many of the chapters cover multiple topics and may speak to themes in different sections. The first section, Research Team, explores experiences related to working with a research team in the field. These chapters look at crucial questions like: What are the important dynamics in research teams, how does this influence the data collection process, and what experiences do people have with different aspects of working in teams? There are five chapters in this section. Mainly related to research in Colombia, Taylor, Nilsson, Forero, and Restrepo (Chap. 2) write about how different people involved in the research will be an asset in different ways. They share their experiences on the benefits of includes a mix of young scholars, more senior scholars, as well as local scholars. Moss and Hajj (Chap. 3) have worked together in Zanzibar and Tanzania as researcher and research assistant, respectively, in different rounds of research. They discuss the role of the research assistant, and the power dynamics embedded in that relationship, drawing on experiences on both sides of the relationship in their chapter. In her chapter  on interpreters, Skjelsbæk (Chap. 4) discusses the importance of doing work in contexts where one does not speak participants’ languages (here Bosnian), and the crucial, active - and often overlooked - role of translators. This becomes even more acute when focusing on sensitive issues, such as gender-­ based violence in conflict. Karasu and Uluğ (Chap. 5) delve into the outsider and insider dynamics of the research team, and how those dynamics influenced data collection. This is particularly crucial in conflict settings, where the sides become more polarized. For their discussion, they draw on their work in Armenia, Turkey and the US. Focusing on research on race bias in the US, in their chapter, Maddox, Sommers, Crittle, and Tropp (Chap. 6) discuss the positionality and background of researchers. They also discuss how these factors influence the research situation, and how research is both received and conducted. The second section, Research Population, explores particular issues related to connecting with research populations and understanding their needs. There are five chapters in this section. By building on their research in Chile, Figueiredo, Montagna, and Rocha (Chap. 7) highlight the pros and cons of having non-­ indigenous Chilean and international researchers conducting fieldwork in this context. Working with the indigenous Mapuche population in Chile, they shared their challenges that data collection posed by highlighting the process of participant recruitment and trust issues around data collection. Moreover, they also discuss very

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important points related to how to give back to the community. Alfadhli and Drury (Chap. 8) talk about research with Syrian refugees in Jordan. They share their own experiences of conducting this research in a difficult context as well as giving back to the community. Similarly, Vestergren and Drury (Chap. 9) explore environmental activism in Sweden, and in their chapter, they discuss issues of trust and how to gain access to a population of activists that are distrustful of outsiders. Nair and Majumdar (Chap. 10) discuss conducting research on collective victimhood in the Global South, specifically the Indian subcontinent. They share various challenges that are relevant for different stages of research such as the preparation stage, the conceptualization and design stage, the data collection stage, the analysis stage, and the writing and dissemination stage. Last in this section, Acar (Chap. 11) reflects on Kurdish Alevis, a populations with multiple marginalized identities, some of which are centered in conflict, and some of which are disregarded. The third section is Practical Applications. The three chapters in this section focus more on the short and long term outcomes and applications of field research. Porat and Saguy (Chap. 12) discuss bridging academia and practice and discuss interventions for peace in the Israeli-Palestinian context. Burns, Blaylock, Taylor, and Jones (Chap. 13) discuss the research they conducted with children and youth in Northern Ireland, with a key focus on interventions and surveys to contribute knowledge and solutions to a changing conflict landscape. Wolfe (Chap. 14) discusses how evaluations and interventions in different contexts are evaluated, and how social psychological research can be used by practitioners. The final section is Reflections and Meta-Reflections. These four chapters in the final section focus in general on what it means to be a researcher, what it means to conduct fieldwork, and meta-perceptions on perspectives in theory and in research when it comes to fieldwork in conflict. Bayad and Aydemir (Chap. 15) discuss the role of the researcher when they suddenly become the “subject” of the research. They question objectivity, political distance, and emotions in research in changing conflict contexts such as Turkey. Maseko (Chap. 16) uses his experience as a Black South African to discuss positionality in conducting identity-focused research on White identities when the researcher is Black. This chapter reflects on assumptions about who should research whom as well as hierarchical power dynamics in society. Bilewicz (Chap. 17) takes Poland as a starting point, and discusses the various potential roles the researcher takes, especially when they are an outsider in a particular context, and the way these particular “versions” of being an outsider can influence the outcomes of the research. The final chapter from Suffla, Seedat, and Malherbe (Chap. 18) looks at decolonialism, understandings of liberal peace, and everyday practices in the South African context.

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References Cohen, N., & Arieli, T. (2011). Field research in conflict environments: Methodological challenges and snowball sampling. Journal of Peace Research, 48, 423–435. https://dx.doi. org/10.1177/0022343311405698 Höglund, K., & Öberg, M. (Eds.). (2011). Understanding peace research. Methods and challenges. London, UK: Routledge Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25, 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Thomson, S., Ansoms, A., & Murison, J. (Eds.). (2013). Emotional and ethical challenges for field research in Africa: The story behind the findings. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. https://dx.doi.org/10.1057/9781137263759

Part I

Research Team

Chapter 2

Conducting Field Research Amid Violence: Experiences From Colombia Laura K. Taylor, Manuela Nilsson, Paola Forero, and Maria Angelica Restrepo

2.1  Introduction This chapter is the outcome of reflections among a group of authors with diverse backgrounds and experiences conducting research in Colombia, although aspects may be applied to other countries with post-accord scenarios characterized by high levels of continued violence. Our research broadly covers aspects of peacebuilding and social reconstruction, with a focus on youth and participant engagement across settings (see Nilsson and Taylor 2017; Restrepo 2019; Taylor et al. 2016). In this chapter, we begin with a transparent and reflective examination about ourselves as authors and our orientation to conducting field research in settings of on-going violence. We then provide an overview of the situation in Colombia, its actors, and the steps that led to the recent peace process. Complementing this section is a brief history of Participatory Action Research (PAR) in Colombia, and how its focus on community empowerment offers a way of responding to participants’ and communities’ needs within the research design. We argue that this approach is L. K. Taylor (*) University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland Queen’s University Belfast, Dublin, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] M. Nilsson Linnaeus University, Växjö, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] P. Forero Universidad Pontificia Bolivariana, Montería, Córdoba, Colombia e-mail: [email protected] M. A. Restrepo Concordia University, Montréal, QC, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_2

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important to consider, as societies marked by physical violence often have underlying forms of structural violence and social exclusion. Given this foundation, the following section identifies factors to consider when conducting field research in violent environments; multiple forms of collaboration and working with local actors is prioritized in such settings. In the closing section, we propose sustainability as a key issue of peace research. Toward this end, we suggest partnering with emerging researchers, especially from local contexts, as such partnerships can enhance the research process and contribute to its lasting impact. Underlying our understanding of how to conduct research in conflict and post-­ conflict societies, or simply in environments experiencing high levels of violence, are a number of principles. First, research in these environments is complex and greatly benefits from an interdisciplinary team. Pooling the insights, knowledge, and experience of different fields engaged with conflict and post-conflict settings enables the team to gain insight from a range of perspectives. This diversity in viewpoints allows for a more integral analysis of the situation and a research design that reflects and respects the complexity of the research undertaken. For this chapter, we therefore build on experiences and knowledge from researchers with backgrounds in psychology, history, peace and conflict, communication, and development studies. Second, research in such environments benefits from a diverse research team that balances experienced and early-career researchers, local and international perspectives, and academics and practitioners. The combination of experienced and emerging researchers helps to avoid the pitfalls of established and potentially inflexible lines of thinking, while also enabling a research environment that fosters the capacity of future generations of scholars through an apprenticeship approach. Following this understanding, the authors of this chapter span three age decades and two generations. Furthermore, diversity includes geographical ‘insiders and outsiders.’ Colombian researchers, for example, have experienced conflict and violence from a more pragmatic and closer position, thereby allowing them to contribute to the research with invaluable insights. At the same time, international researchers may have more comparative experiences from working in other conflict-settings and may not be as constrained by the daily reality of violence. Reflecting this type of diversity, the authors come from Colombia, Colombia via Canada, Germany working in Sweden, and the United States working in Ireland. Lastly, research in violent environments should have a normative inclination toward applicability focused on improving the livelihoods of those who have, and continue to, suffer. This objective cannot be achieved without taking into consideration the experiences, advice, and insight from practitioners (e.g., NGOs, government agencies, etc.) who are in daily connection with the local communities. Without these connections, academic research runs the risk of remaining in the sphere of theoretical contributions, unable to provoke or to even be suitable for practical outcomes. The authors of this chapter have worked as both researchers and practitioners, which helps to link local, grassroots perspectives with the larger theoretical frameworks.

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2.2  C  olombia: Continued Violence Despite a Peace Agreement Conducting research in Colombia requires an in-depth understanding of the levels and forms of violence that have been and still are part of peoples’ everyday lives. For over half a century, the Colombian people have been caught in the crossfire of a deadly conflict between internal guerrilla groups, paramilitaries, and government security forces. This history of violence has resulted in over six million internally displaced people and refugees as well as the loss of more than eight million lives (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees 2015; Red Nacional de Información 2018). The conflict was originally sparked by widespread dissatisfaction with unequal distribution of power, wealth, and land dating back to colonial times. Rising violence in the 1960s, a period known as La Violencia [the Violence], produced a number of armed groups opposing the elite-driven national government and supported by the impoverished and neglected peasant class from decentralized rural areas. Soon after, paramilitary counter-insurgency groups emerged to fight the left-wing guerrilla groups and protect the land-owning elite (Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica 2016). In later decades, the conflict has been increasingly fuelled by a rising production and traffic of illegal drugs. In turn, this sustained and intensified the methods of armed actors, including guerrilla, paramilitaries, state security, and the Colombian government, ultimately producing an entangled net of violence and corruption (Angelo 2017; Fitzpatrick and Norby 2013; McDermott 2004). After a number of failed negotiation attempts during the 1980s and the 1990s between the Colombian government and the largest guerrilla group, the FARC or Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia), a peace agreement was signed in 2016 after four years of negotiations. Yet, in the context of a referendum, the Colombian people narrowly rejected the peace accord, thereby demonstrating the level of polarization currently existing in the country (Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil 2016). At the heart of this divide among voters lie variations in views of justice, restoration, and forgiveness. For instance, supporters of the treaty applauded its emphasis on restorative justice in the form of reparation to affected communities, while those opposing it raised concerns about the amnesty granted to many FARC members, and the possibility of reduced jail time even for leaders convicted of crimes against humanity (Josi 2017). Nevertheless, in the weeks following the referendum, the Colombian Congress approved a slightly revised version of the peace accord (Angelo 2017; Casey 2016). Although the new text incorporated many of the concerns raised by detractors, the revised version failed to unite Colombians; polarization continues to characterize Colombia’s position toward peace. Peace, therefore, has been accomplished mainly on paper. According to official statistics, homicide rates have been declining since former Colombian president Alvaro Uribe began a zero-tolerance campaign against the FARC in 2002. However, homicide rates have actually increased considerably from 2017 to 2019  in rural

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areas, particularly those involved in coca production (FIP 2018). In fact, the new drug substitution program has caused violent resistance by armed groups involved in the flourishing cocaine trade. Furthermore, the disarmament and demobilization process of the FARC has created growing dissident units who joined the bacrim (criminal bands) that were in part a result of previous disarmament processes of paramilitary forces in the early 2000s (FIP 2018). Specific peacebuilding efforts anchored in the peace agreement have also been met with violent resistance. The United Nations Verification Mission in Colombia has received reports that between the signing of the peace accord and the end of 2018, 454 human rights defenders and social leaders have been murdered, 110 of them in 2018 alone. Eighty-five former FARC-EP members have also been assassinated (United Nations Security Council 2018). Land restitution as part of victims’ reparation has created new conflicts and fueled the creation of anti-restitution armies (Nilsson and Taylor 2017). Finally, the retraction of the FARC has spurred illegal economic activity. Illicit mining and logging, as well as coca production areas, have increasingly become a battleground for FARC dissidents, former paramilitary and left-wing guerrilla factions, and new criminal and guerrilla groups (FIP 2018; United Nations Human Rights Council 2017). Hence, researchers engaging in field research in Colombia need to tread carefully, as the following sections will demonstrate.

2.3  Participatory Action Research in Colombia Keeping in mind Colombia’s history of violence and attempts at peace, the aim of the following section is to provide an overview of a research methodology that supports local efforts while protecting the communities and local actors involved. In this light, Participatory Action Research (PAR) may be an ideal methodology to work in contexts of violence or armed conflict. In such settings, recognizing the researcher’s positionality as a social actor is necessary “to understand the links that exist between the development of scientific thought, the cultural context and the power structures of society” (Ortiz and Borjas 2008, p. 4). Although PAR might not be the methodological approach taken by those conducting research in conflict-­ laden settings, this section suggests ways that the principles of participatory methods may shape or influence other forms of inquiry. At its origins, PAR promotes processes of empowerment and social transformation. Following paradigms centered on social conscience and inequality, PAR aims to include different groups and communities in research processes oriented toward social change. Action research and participatory learning, achieved through awareness, contextual sensitivity, and collective emancipatory attitudes, are necessary ingredients for collective progress and democracy (Borda 2008). Colombian sociologist Fals Borda, a leader of this methodology, argues that experiential knowledge entails respecting the cultural and environmental context. A PAR approach, therefore, creates research that is more flexible, holistic, and democratic in nature (Borda

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2008). Research participants are not only the providers of information, but also agents of social change. Toward this end, PAR’s focus on community empowerment can facilitate sustainable peace in violence-laden contexts (Lykes and Crosby 2015). Complementing the objectivity, neutrality, and standardized tools in a positivist paradigm, a PAR approach facilitates increased proximity between the researcher and the context of study. This proximity may be particularly important if research teams are comprised mainly of ‘outsider’ perspectives. The research partnership with networks of local actors can enhance understanding of the communities’ internal dynamics; for example, it may foster trust between researchers and community members (see Vestergren and Drury 2020 in this volume for a further discussion of trust in the field). The participation of local actors also advances PAR’s goal to link theory with practice and social change (Borda 2008). These PAR research partnerships, in turn, can facilitate reflection, within the research team and with the communities they are working with, which is crucial for sustainable change. PAR, like other research paradigms, is not without limits. First, it is important to manage both community and researcher expectations as part of responsible research. Honesty and transparency about the research’s limited outcomes are essential. For example, generating knowledge with only a long-term aim of social change may not be sufficient to motivate communities to take part in PAR. Nevertheless, the paradigm’s participatory and pragmatic elements enable emancipatory and formative experiences. There are a host of direct and indirect beneficiaries of a PAR approach, including communities, activists, leaders, local actors, and researchers (Borda 2008). Participatory practices also highlight how perceptions of the researcher’s political or ideological affiliations may be complicated in conflict settings. We underscore two situations in which perceived political affiliation affected the quality of the research, on the one hand, and led to the researcher’s demise, on the other. First, in areas historically linked with paramilitary groups and right-wing ideology, research collaboration with social support organizations may be perceived as sympathizing with left-wing guerrilla groups. In these instances, the communities involved may not only be difficult to approach but may also camouflage their problems or distort the reality by making the power dynamics invisible. Second, researchers who develop deep relationships with communities exposed to situations of control and territorial power at the hands of illegal armed groups may be seen as a threat. Tragically, university professor Alberto Alzate Patiño was murdered because his research on the environmental impact of hydroelectric projects clashed with economic interests. The paramilitaries perceived his work to be affiliated with left-wing ideologies and, therefore, close to the guerrillas (Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica 2014). Thus, as PAR increases the focus on the researcher, additional concerns arise in violent contexts. Finally, PAR emphasizes the dissemination of results, or what is known as systematic return. Specifically, the socialization of knowledge conferred by the ‘investigating educators’ enables a pedagogical function of research (Ortiz and Borjas 2008). This approach implies that researchers have a social commitment to return the results of the inquiry to participants (see Figueiredo et al. 2020 in this volume for more on returning research to participants). Importantly, acquired knowledge

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should be expressed using different means (e.g., comics, audio-visuals, descriptive and explanatory documents), depending on the level of political and educational development of the groups involved (Ortiz and Borjas 2008). Borda’s own research in the late 1960s epitomizes the impact of systematic return. His work examined how rural communities sought land restitution in the Caribbean coast. Borda’s work on the history of oppression and marginalization of these communities, and how they organized themselves, facilitated a transformation of their realities. For example, Borda and other researchers (e.g., Victor Negrete) developed timely teaching materials to disseminate the process and, thus, generated effective pedagogy on the rights and freedoms of the farmer communities (Fundación del Sinú 1985). This example demonstrates how a PAR approach is strongly linked to social processes that are crucial to sustaining peace in amid conflict.

2.4  K  ey Considerations to Conducting Field Research in a Setting of Violence Even if a PAR approach is not the primary methodology, research amid protracted violent conflict calls for further adjustments across different phases of research. The reflections and lessons learned over a decade of work in Colombia may also be useful for researchers in this setting and in other contexts of political violence and armed conflict. This section presents cross-cutting issues that may be relevant to consider in both qualitative and quantitative methods. Our interdisciplinary examples draw on this mixed methods approach and incorporate elements of PAR as well. In sum, we offer these key considerations as important points for reflection across of range of disciplines and methodological approaches.

2.4.1  Ethical Considerations We strongly support oversight and engaged conversations with university ethics committees or institutional review boards. When working with university partners in Colombia, they have either accepted the international ethics approval or have their own clear guidelines that require the same reflection and reporting. Many ethical considerations in conflict-laden settings are similar to those in non-violent settings. For example, informed consent would include explanation of the research, how the research may benefit the participant, legally reportable incidents, etc. When working with youth under 18 years old, we always obtained informed consent and assent, thereby following best practices and operating procedures (Crane and Broome 2017). This includes written consent and use of an “X” in the case of lower or non-literate participants. However, in settings affected by violence, clearly and accurately explaining the goals of the research may help to manage participants’

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expectations about the potential benefits of the study. Consistent with PAR, empowering communities to make informed decisions will promote their involvement in the social change practices embedded within the design, should they decide to partake in the investigation. Yet, as with any cross-cultural research, expectations and standards may present ethical dilemmas that vary across contexts. For instance, conducting research in societies affected by wide-spread violence, other forms of aggression are frequently more common. In some of our research with at-risk Colombian youth in inner-city schools in Bogotá, one participant described being physically disciplined by their mother. In North America, this would immediately be reported to the authorities. However, as a research team we had to consider the ambiguity of the child’s account (in Spanish, ‘getting hit’ can signify a slap on the wrist or a fist punch), the cultural norms for the corporal punishment of children (a practice that is more acceptable in Colombia), the negative effects that our intervention may have on the family and child (e.g., exacerbation of abuse), and the schools’ ability to follow-up with the case. Although corporal punishment may not be acceptable in other countries that have not experience violent conflict, it is an example of the type of ethical dilemmas that have emerged in our research in Colombia.

2.4.2  Research Design As with all research, the design should be developed to answer the research questions. It is likely that when working in such settings, researchers will be asking questions about violence exposure and other risk factors related to the prolonged conflict. Therefore, at the study design phase, selecting regions that are pertinent to the questions at hand, but also relatively safe for the team to travel and for participants to engage in research, is key. In our experience, reaching this balance is greatly facilitated by having access to and collaborating with local networks. For instance, in research on the Caribbean coast of Colombia, we were interested in the antecedents of civic participation in the context of protracted conflict. To this end, we conducted interviews with engaged community members in four types of settings: high/ low violence and high/low civic participation. Our ability to safely access these communities and to generate between-group variation on exposure to violence and civic participation was facilitated through our partners at local universities (Taylor 2012, 2015). In another research project on perceptions of threat, we identified communities that had experienced differences in historical as well as contemporary violence at the hands of different actors, such as the FARC or paramilitary groups (Nilsson and González-Marín 2018). Our network of local partners greatly facilitated gaining access to the communities and identifying key informants (Nilsson and González-Marín 2020). In relation to territorial control and power, in the Colombian context, communities in different areas of the country have been affected by various armed groups in different ways. That is, depending on which groups have, or continue to control a

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given area, it is possible that the trust and power dynamics differ between communities (López López 2017). Although individuals in some areas may hold more negative views toward the FARC, in comparison to paramilitary groups or state security actors, the opposite may hold in other areas. For instance, in the ‘false positives’ scandal that erupted in 2008, officials orchestrated the extra-judicial killings of men from vulnerable backgrounds to increase the government’s body count of left-wing guerrillas. Although the population’s outrage following the news may reflect a general sense of distrust in armed groups (within and outside the law), negative attitudes toward military agents may vary depending on factors such as the history and level of victimization within each community (Rojas Bolaños and Benavides Silva 2017). Thus, these differences in the control of power and the dynamics between communities and armed groups are relevant to consider in the planning stages of the inquiry (Cohen and Arieli 2011). Selecting appropriate communities to collaborate with depends on the regions’ characteristics and demographics. Researchers must consider these factors, such as harm to the team and local actors, prior to working in these settings. Research designs should also be attuned to the communities’ everyday realities, and in particular, an in-depth understanding of individual experiences of harm in the context of the conflict. For instance, when studying urban Colombian youths’ opinions about the recent peace process and their relation to trust in government and armed groups, some of our participants differentiated between the motives behind some groups’ actions and their legitimacy (Restrepo 2019). Although some adolescents perceived the FARC as being a criminal organization acting for its own benefit, others understood it as a response to the state’s attacks to political freedom and democracy. This is not to say that the latter were supportive of the FARC’s actions; rather, they believed that the group did not operate in a vacuum, but that economic and political factors contributed to their growth and distancing from their initial ideology. Participants holding these views had, for the most part, not been directly exposed to the height of the conflict, while those with more negative perspectives toward the FARC expressed having been affected in some way (e.g., displacement, losing relatives). Ultimately, the research design should remain open to understanding how violence affected individuals and their families, which, in this case, provided a more nuanced view of Colombian adolescents’ understandings of their political and social contexts. Relatedly, when exposure to violence is the focus of the research, the level of impact that such experience has on someone’s life should also be examined. In our research, we have found that mental health outcomes partially mediate the relationship between exposure to violence and civic engagement (Taylor 2015). Factoring these psychological differences into our analyses and interpretations has allowed us to provide a richer and more complex picture of the variations in individuals’ lived experiences of harm. Working in violent settings necessitates a consideration of how that conflict has affected the population at the individual level, which may shape the research question and data collection process.

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2.4.3  Data Collection Despite best efforts to consider security and safety concerns in the ethics and design phases, continuous reflection and conversation with local partners is necessary not only in the design, but throughout data collection. For example, we have found ourselves in unforeseen and uncomfortable circumstances that shaped how the data were collected. We were working in a rural area that served as a transit point for drug traffickers and was almost completely controlled by paramilitary groups. During the fieldwork, victims of violence were publicly displayed, and we became aware that our activities were closely monitored. In this context, participants were eager to participate, but only under certain conditions. For example, local leaders decided to have a focus group in the middle of the neighborhood street; however, we researchers felt uncomfortable sitting in plain view given the monitoring by paramilitary groups. Even though the interviewees frequently lowered their voices and looked over their shoulders, they also explained that, after internal discussions, they decided that a public display offered more safety than a private meeting place. Although this shaped how we collected the data, the participants were engaged and expressed their grievances; this was an example of where a creative response to an ethical concern can enable data collection to move forward (Nilsson and González-­ Marín 2018). Similarly, in rural areas along the north coast of Colombia, for example, the research team’s safety greatly depended on collaboration with local experts. Access to certain communities would have been impossible had we not been in the presence of local actors who helped us ‘blend in’ and prevented us from ‘sticking out’ by surrounding us with a larger group of local community members. More than a tactic to gain the community’s trust, this allowed us to navigate situations in which we were mistaken for criminal elements and met at gun point by the Colombian military. Supporting these broader security principles, there are a number of logistical safety aspects to consider. For example, we have found that it is advisable for the research team to enter and leave the research settings between set hours. In our experience, registered taxis and hired car services have proven to be reliable and safe, although public transportation may be a more economical option. We recommend the latter be used during daylight and when the settings to be visited are located near a stop or station. However, when visiting rural settings, we often opt for private transportation, as changes in bus schedules (or their complete absence) may be the rule, rather than the exception. In our experience, traveling in larger groups (e.g., triads or more), with ideally gender-mixed teams, was one of the safest options. Depending on the context, we have also found that host families may be more comfortable accepting women for overnight stays. Planning ahead for logistical aspects such as the team size and accommodation is critical to the smooth running of data collection. Despite taking these logistical steps into consideration, should safety issues arise during data collection, researchers must be committed to rescheduling interviews or canceling trips altogether to ensure the team’s and communities’ security. For

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example, one of our projects in the Cesar region of Colombia had to be canceled because a local network representative had received death threats from paramilitary groups controlling the area. We were advised to avoid doing research in this area, not only for our own safety, but also to protect our informants. This example demonstrates that, despite the benefits of working with local researchers and contacts, this collaboration also brings some risk. The shared insider identity may shape their interactions with others and the interpretations of findings that come from a mutual understanding with the communities. These examples underscore the importance of remaining flexible and adjusting to the preferences of participants and local actors while conducting the research. When the state is one of the armed actors in a conflict, working with them may also shape how data are collected. For instance, when conducting an evaluation of peacebuilding practices in Colombia (Nilsson 2018), we were accompanied by military and police bodyguards at all times. Although that was a security requirement when working with the government, the constant accompaniment by state security actors also influenced the project. We insisted that our bodyguards wait outside the interview location to prevent them from seeing the informants. The few times that the bodyguards remained in listening distance, informants whispered into the recorder or wrote their answers, or we restricted ourselves to closed questions that could be answered with simple body language. That is, participants preferred to adjust the interview situation to these conditions rather than losing the opportunity to express their opinions. Furthermore, although there are exceptional opportunities to influence government policy by conducting research on behalf of or in partnership with state or international actors, there are also additional challenges, including overcoming red tape and navigating norms within those institutions. As an illustration, written agreements negotiated with government actors prior to conducting the research have been helpful tools to make sure that our research is not subjected to state control. This was the case, for example, when the national government commissioned an evaluation of specific peacebuilding policies conducted in violent environments in Colombia (Nilsson 2018). Although the report was circulated widely within the government, we were still free to publish without any restrictions. Additional steps may be required to ensure access to diverse populations within a setting of violence. For example, when conducting research in a rather secluded, highly structured indigenous community in Cauca, we needed a formal introduction through a local network to the indigenous authorities. The latter arranged for a formal session where we as a team were introduced, informed about the community’s perspective on a number of issues, and questioned about our research, before officially welcoming us into the community. Only with this permission were we allowed to freely move around and conduct interviews. The blessing of the local indigenous authorities was central for our being able to complete this research. Relatedly, research in vulnerable contexts should adopt local customs in terms of compensation (e.g., for participation, travel, or lost working time) as well as provide food or other means to make it possible for a wider range of participants to be interviewed. Although certain means of compensation may be acceptable in some

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settings, they may pose serious safety and ethical issues in others. For instance, in our other research with children and adolescents in North America or Europe, we often compensate our participants in monetary form. However, we were required to revaluate how we compensated participants when taking into account the contextual and economic factors defining the lives of adolescents from vulnerable backgrounds. More specifically, when conducting interviews in urban low-income Colombian schools (Restrepo 2019), payment might have created an undue influence on their decisions to participate. Regular traveling with large sums of money would have also placed the research team at risk. Ultimately, participants were compensated with school cafeteria vouchers, thereby safeguarding their autonomy and voluntariness as well the research team’s security while traveling. Some form of compensation, however, is often a simple matter of courtesy and reciprocity. For example, providing lunch for participants who have come from afar to a collective meeting place is often a sign of respect. Moreover, communities we have visited for research purposes have often arranged for lunch in our honor. In this light, to not reciprocate would display a severe lack of respect. Thus, researchers should anticipate these expenses, include them into their budgets, and consult local contacts on such matters. In one of our research trips (Nilsson and Taylor 2017), focus group members previously planned to use their travel compensation for a collective community project. They coordinated their travel to/from the focus group to save costs, and the remaining support was applied to their local development objectives. Finally, safety and care must be not only physical, but also psychological (Moss et al. 2019). Working in conflict-affected societies, particularly conducting research with those hit hardest by the violence, can take a psychological toll on the research team. Building in time for individual and collective reflection, as well as rest and relaxation, is important to sustain the team. This team is not aware of a specific set of best practices or guidelines; therefore, reflecting on our own work, we offer a few examples that could be adapted by other researchers. In other projects, we have set aside money for a nice dinner or special, small gifts for the local staff, often something they can share with their families or children. The goal was to recognise the multiple ways that they contributed to the project, while also forging human and peaceful relations among the team members. If possible, both local and international researchers may try to build in ‘recovery’ times before returning to their jobs after fieldwork. For example, one member on the team used to schedule flights to arrive Sunday night or Monday morning, immediately returning to family and work commitments. However, over the years, she has learned to try to book return trips to arrive on Friday, to have a full weekend before picking up other professional commitments. A final note, observed in other fields of practice, is to set away messages that span one day before and after the actual fieldwork. This small logistical decision may help to carve out much-needed breathing space after conducting research in conflict-affected environments.

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2.5  Working With Emerging Researchers From Local Contexts During our work, local collaborators have greatly contributed to the research. The research community in Colombia were well-trained and prepared. In Colombia, there are a number of leading research universities, and hosts of other strong institutions of higher education, that are open to partner with international investigators. Moreover, Colombia also has an incredible generation of young people who are committed to research for constructive social change. Working with these emerging researchers, we argue, is a critical contribution to the long-term sustainability of research and deepening societal impact. For the purposes of this chapter, we define early career local researchers as undergraduates, postgraduates, or recent graduates.1 Although some plan to pursue life-long careers as scholars, others may opt for government-based positions or NGOs, to name a few. Our intention is not to exclude young populations already in the workforce or pursuing different career goals, but rather to highlight those actively seeking to engage in research. When partnering with early career scholars, we consider their familiarity with the research methodology and theoretical frameworks. Having previous experience with the communities of interest can also prove to be a useful asset, in addition to possessing valuable insider knowledge. Because of the complexity of working in protracted conflicts, the importance of local and lived knowledge may be particularly important in such settings.

2.5.1  Nature of Engagement Power imbalances between experienced scholars and early-career researchers could be partly produced through differences in training and expertise. Regardless of the reasons why these imbalances may arise, a power-sharing culture should be fostered. That is, although early career researchers may still be developing their knowledge and understanding about theoretical and methodological aspects of the research, they often have equally valuable insider knowledge. However, we caution researchers not to limit the early career researchers’ involvement to tasks that involve practical, applied work, but also to offer opportunities in which their knowledge, perspective, and personal experiences may inform the more conceptual aspects of inquiry. In fact, our experience shows that taking along early career researchers on field research trips gives us an opportunity not only to train an emerging generation of researchers, but also to test and adjust our seasoned approaches to the continuously changing and dynamic context of doing research. Emergent  We recognize that there may be additional challenges and best practices when working with emerging local researchers who are not affiliated with universities, but do not have first-hand experience to draw on for this chapter. 1

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researchers belong to a generation that was born into the technological revolution. Thus, they often have experience with the latest tools that might prove useful to doing research; for example, in another project, the early career researcher maintained continuous contact with participants through WhatsApp (Taylor 2019). Researcher habits that have been tested through many years of field research nevertheless need constant adjustment and flexibility; partnering with early career researchers might just make that process easier.

2.5.2  Level of Involvement The benefits afforded by consulting with early career scholars do not need to be derived from long-term engagement only. Their insight may be valuable at any point of the research and in different capacities. For instance, while collecting data on adolescents’ understandings of the 2016 Peace Accord (Restrepo 2019), we collaborated with emerging researchers from local universities. This fieldwork took place in the midst of the 2018 presidential election that would determine the fate of the agreement with the FARC, as well as future peace negotiations with other armed groups. Although we had extensive knowledge of how the political discourse of each candidate challenged the peace process, we were unaware of how the political rhetoric penetrated the school environment. Through discussions with emerging researchers, who at the time were working and conducting research in different schools, we came to a deeper understanding of how and why the school personnel and parents would be unwilling to allow youth to collaborate on research tackling political issues. These conversations permitted us not only to navigate difficult situations with school staff regarding the non-partisanship of the research, but also helped us become more attuned with some of the challenges that political conflict poses to the research process. This type of diversity in the research skills and perspectives can be fostered when outsider researchers build an environment in which everyone’s input is welcomed and validated. Related to power imbalances, the level of involvement of emerging researchers is a factor that should be actively considered. That is, although we recommend that a local perspective be involved from the planning stages to the dissemination of findings, this may be particularly challenging when working with early career scholars who are potentially juggling multiple jobs, different research venues, and/ or still completing their education. Therefore, open conversations with emerging scholars at the initiation and throughout the project can assess the capacity and degree to which they would like to be involved, based on their expertise and work-­ life balance. One possibility is an explicit ‘trial period’ during the initial stages of involvement; that is, informing the research team that should recurrent circumstances leading to significant changes in the work hours and wages arise, there is the possibility for adjustment. Although these points are not unique to conflict and post-­ accord settings, it may be exacerbated in contexts experiencing economic difficulties.

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Another key factor to consider is that emerging local researchers may not have the same time as experienced researchers; long-term commitments may be limited as they might move on to pursue their career path. Therefore, consulting with early career researchers regarding their level of involvement becomes ever so important when long-term commitments are needed for the benefit of the inquiry. Seasoned scholars should also consider that, as emerging researchers learn and gain insight into the inquiry at hand, the nature of their engagement can be adapted. Allowing them to participate in increasingly complex tasks in the course of a single project provides a rich opportunity for early career researchers to become familiar with the inquiry in a way that is closer to the seasoned scholars’ understanding.

2.5.3  Compensation With regards to compensation, we would like to highlight that the power imbalance may be exacerbated in cases where emerging local researchers are paid by the outsider researcher’s funding. Tensions may arise inasmuch as local researchers do not feel comfortable discussing unpaid hours and appropriate wages. Although, to our knowledge, this has not been the case in our previous working relationships with emerging local researchers, we remain conscious of the dynamics that paid research positions may bring. As with level of involvement, encouraging open and on-going conversations about wages can be a way to address any issues that may arise. For instance, in our own research, we asked the local researchers to keep a record of their hours. However, we noticed that there could be misunderstandings of what a ‘billable hour’ represents, especially around the travel time related to data collection. In North America, our early career researchers would begin recording their hours upon arrival to the laboratory or the participant’s house, inasmuch as the traveling distance was similar to the distance between their home and the university. However, this rule-of-thumb was not as useful in Bogotá, where the travel time would often double or triple during peak hours. Because of this reality, we believed that it was important to reconsider the meaning of a ‘billable hour’ in a way that was fair to both the emerging researcher and the leading researcher. Furthermore, in Colombia, working with emerging researchers is plagued by under-funded public educational institutions. Compared to Western universities, it is far more difficult to receive research funding or scholarships in public Colombian universities, which are merit-based. Therefore, under-funded students are expected to maintain excellent academic records, while possibly struggling to make ends meet. This means that a large portion of students, for example, may work in multiple jobs unrelated to their fields of research. They may also need to pay out of pocket for certain research expenses (e.g., photocopies, snacks for participants). Adjusting budgets to help cover these costs for emerging local scholars may be an important step to offer them crucial learning opportunities. Relatedly, there might be differences in the salary scales for research assistantships. That is, undergraduate, masters, and doctoral students often fall under

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different pay rates, and these might differ between universities and across countries. It is also possible that certain universities do not have clear-cut salary scales for these positions. In these cases, we recommend that the aforementioned considerations, as well as other contextual issues, be taken into account when evaluating how much a local researcher should be paid. If emerging local researchers are recruited for non-paid positions, it is important that their efforts be recognized in other ways, such as authorship, acknowledgements, and/or use of the data for their own projects. Additionally, including emerging researchers as authors into publication is often a not to be underestimated incentive for emerging researchers (Taylor et al. 2016). Emerging researchers can take over a number of tasks in a research project that more than merits their inclusion as authors and also makes them feel that they are part of the team. Our experience is also that the prospect of inclusion as authors in research projects is an excellent incentive for emerging researchers. Moreover, emphasizing transferrable skills, such training in interviewing techniques or data analysis, and offering to write letters of recommendations may benefit their future careers outside of the scope of the project.

2.5.4  Early Career Capacity Building While including emerging researchers in the inquiry process provides a number of opportunities for new perspectives to be heard, their presence may call for additional training, thereby affecting timeframes and financial resources. In cases where the primary research team resides abroad, and data collection time is limited, it may not only be challenging, but also impossible to provide in-person guidance and training to the local team. In our experience, technological advances have facilitated training via online meetings and fostered communication via texting and telephone conversations. However, it is important for researchers to be mindful that local early career researchers residing or conducting work in remote areas may not always have access to reliable internet connections. Furthermore, for research protocols with defined guidelines (e.g., structured or semi-structured interviews, interventions), in-person training may still be necessary prior to the beginning of data collection. For instance, when conducting research with urban Colombian youth, we conducted mock interviews during which the young researcher with whom we collaborated was allowed to raise concerns and questions with real-time feedback from the principal investigator. The personal interactions were valuable learning experiences which also helped to identify potential issues that could arise. Additionally, emerging researchers accompanying field trips can also have an observer period first and then conduct interviews under the observation of more experienced researchers. In the end, this would allow for the learning process to continue and would provide future opportunities to send emerging researchers into the field to complete outstanding field research.

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2.5.5  Dissemination and Impact The dissemination of findings to communities and non-academic audiences can sometimes be limited and difficult when the research has been conducted in post-­ accord settings and/or areas with ongoing violence. Policy briefs and publications in academic journals will often not reach the concerned communities. Emerging researchers, however, may be positioned to bring new skills and ideas to dissemination, for example, through podcasts, art, social media, popular newsletters, film making, or other creative media (Cooke and Soria-Donlan 2017; Kelly and Flower 2018). Moreover, while seasoned researchers may have better access to certain actors, structures, and information, emerging researchers may facilitate access to new information networks. Related to the section on participatory research, allowing early career scholars to take ownership of their work and involvement in research enables them to create and document methods and tools that allow for bottom-up change. Bridging the gap between academia and local communities requires a continuous reflexive process that, ultimately, should strive to encourage people to find their own voice and fight for change. Our research cooperation with emerging researchers in Colombia has proven indispensable for the progress of the project. Relatedly, it is of even greater importance to include emerging scholars in research carried out in contexts where the burden of change lies upon their shoulders. In the 2016 Peace Accord, many voices were excluded, including the generation charged with carrying forward the recommendations. Despite active participation in campaigns, discussions, and mobilization, the younger generation did not have a seat at the negotiating table. As part of this excluded segment, youth were not allowed to share their experiences and viewpoints, either as victims or as future peacebuilders. In a post-accord generation, including youth researchers strengthens processes of social reconstruction (McEvoy-Levy 2006; Taylor and McKeown 2017). Empowering evidence-based grassroots initiatives has the potential to open up the doors to academia to future generations, while also creating meaningful change.

2.5.6  Contextual Language Skills Finally, working with early career researchers also yields some of the benefits of collaboration with those local actors at any career stage. Here we emphasize what we have learned in our work with young people in Colombia. First, during a group discussion with fellow postgraduates in Colombia, the junior co-author in this chapter realized that despite being young in appearance and of Colombian origin, she would not be able to carry out the interviews in the same way as her counterparts who had lived their lives and conducted their studies in Colombia. While fluent in Spanish, the inflections in her accent, as well as the lack of knowledge of certain expressions and slang, created different dynamics within the interview process that

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were closer to the outsider-insider relationship. It was a noteworthy experience when one of her fellow colleagues mentioned approaching his participants in colloquial, friend-like ways, often using local expressions to relate to them. This style of interacting with participants not only seemed appropriate within the confines of the relationship that the interviewer had developed with the interviewees, but it also appeared utterly natural for him to act this way. Ultimately, we discovered that when the research topic explores difficult subjects, such as violence and victimhood, informal interactions may allow for interviewees to open up to the research team and generate deeper dialogue. In other words, especially when working with local youth, being able to draw from shared understandings and promote trust may be easier for early career insider researchers. Second, in our work with youth in Colombia, early career researchers’ familiarity may assist with the adaptation of research tools (e.g., questionnaires, interview guides). In addition to identifying words that may be misinterpreted, they are also in a position to provide insight into expressions and practices familiar to local participants. For instance, colloquial expressions and words in Spanish often carry double meanings, depending on the context. Therefore, while in one situation ‘guayabo’ may mean hangover, it may signify nostalgia in another one. Understanding these subtle differences in language facilitated our work, particularly when designing and translating our measures from English to Spanish. Third, in this line of research we devised hypothetical peer conflict scenarios that we used to evaluate youths’ reasoning about harm (Restrepo and Recchia 2019). To make each scenario as relatable as possible to adolescents’ experiences at school, we needed to understand intricate contextual details and cultural practices that were unique to the lives of youth. Although we had previously designed a number of vignettes based on our understanding of Latin American schools, their content drastically changed once we consulted the early career researchers with whom we collaborated. For instance, we were unable to use a scenario of a conflict occurring in the school’s gymnasium because many public schools in Bogotá do not have access to those facilities. We also designed an entirely new vignette based on a practical joke common in Colombian schools called the ‘empanada’ (a trick wherein a student’s backpack is turned inside out). Additionally, although this practice is fairly common in schools across the country, its name varied depending on the region; for example, students in schools in the north coast called it ‘tamal.’ Ultimately, beyond helping us understand the intricacies in language and daily lives of youth in Bogotá, the emerging researchers’ insight permitted us to adapt our protocol to conduct culturally sensitive research.

2.6  Conclusion In this chapter we have shared insights from our experiences conducting field research in Colombia amid ongoing violence. However, this reflection is not exhaustive; rather, we hoped to provide current and future researchers with a departure

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point for discussion about the theoretical, ethical, and practical considerations when working across conflict-affected societies. Our discussion about safety issues, empowerment, and underlying power dynamics highlights how research success in violent settings is largely determined by the strength of collaboration with local networks. Partnerships between established and early career researchers, between academics and grassroots actors, and across different disciplines and sectors are not only practical in value (e.g., accessing communities), but also have the potential to empower communities, which is critical in conflict and post-conflict areas. With the aim of conducting research that may influence long-term peacebuilding in settings of violence, we hope these reflections may inform future engaged research in Colombia and globally. Acknowledgments This work was partially supported by the Swedish Foundation for International Cooperation in Research and Higher Education (STINT) on ‘Expanding Approaches to Conflict and Peace’ awarded to Manuela Nilsson, in partnership with Laura K.  Taylor; YouthLEAD, funding by Changing The Story, Arts and Humanities Research Council’s Global Challenge Research Fund; and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada through the Michael Smith Foreign Study Supplements Program. The research would not have been possible without the generous support and collaboration of multiple partners and individuals in Colombia. Finally, we are grateful to all of the participants for sharing their views and contributing their voices to these efforts.

References Angelo, P. (2017). The Colombian peace process: Trial and error. Survival, 59(1), 135–148. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00396338.2017.1282680 Borda, F. O. (2008, November 6). La investigación acción en convergencias disciplinarias [The investigation action in disciplinary convergences]. Retrieved from http://historiactualdos. blogspot.com/2008/11/la-investigacin-accin-en-convergencias.html Casey, N. (2016, December 1). El Congreso de Colombia aprueba nuevo acuerdo de paz con las Farc [Colombian Congress approves a new peace accord with the Farc]. The New  York Times ES. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/es/2016/12/01/ el-congreso-de-colombia-aprueba-nuevo-acuerdo-de-paz-con-las-farc/ Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica. (2014). Narrativas de vida y de memoria, cuatro aproximaciones biográficas a la realidad social del país [Narratives of life and memory, four biographic accounts on the social reality of the country]. Bogotá: Dirección de Museo. Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica. (2016). Basta ya! Colombia: Memorias de Guerra y Dignidad [Enough! Colombia: Memories of war and dignity]. Bogotá: Dirección de Museo. Cohen, N., & Arieli, T. (2011). Field research in conflict environments: Methodological challenges and snowball sampling. Journal of Peace Research, 48(4), 423–435. https://doi. org/10.1177/0022343311405698 Cooke, P., & Soria-Donlan, I. (2017). ‘Post-participatory’ arts for the ‘post-development’ era (Working Papers Series No. 1). Retrieved from https://changingthestory.leeds.ac.uk/wpcontent/uploads/sites/110/2018/08/WPS1-FINAL-Post-Participatory-Arts-for-the-PostDevelopment-Era.pdf Crane, S., & Broome, M. E. (2017). Understanding ethical issues of research participation from the perspective of participating children and adolescents: A systematic review. Worldviews on Evidence-Based Nursing, 14(3), 200–209. https://doi.org/10.1111/wvn.12209

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Figueiredo, A., Rocha, C., & Montagna, P. (2020). Data collection with indigenous people: Fieldwork experiences from Chile. In Acar, Y.  G., Moss, S.  M., & Uluğ, Ö. M. (Eds.). Researching peace, conflict, and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 105–127). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Fitzpatrick, B., & Norby, M. (2013). Colombia – The Riven Land. New Internationalist, 459, 46–48. Retrieved from https://www.questia.com/magazine/1P3-2972713031/colombia-the-riven-land Fundación del Sinú. (1985). La Historia Gráfica de la Lucha por la Tierra en la Costa Atlántica [The Graphic History of the Struggle for land on the Atlantic Coast]. Bogotá, Colombia: Fundación Punta de Lanza. Retrieved from https://repository.oim.org.co/handle/20.500.1178 8/605?show=full Fundación Ideas para la Paz [FIP]. (2018). En qué va la sustitución de cultivos ilícitos? El balance del 2017 y lo que viene en 2018 [Where are we at with the substitution of illicit crops? Balance of 2017 and what is to come in 2018] (Report No. 3). Retrieved from http://www.ideaspaz.org/ publications/posts/1654 Josi, C. (2017). Accountability in the Colombian peace agreement: Are the proposed sanctions contrary to Colombia’s international obligations. Southwestern Law Review, 46(3), 401–422. Retrieved from https://www.swlaw.edu/sites/default/files/2017-08/401%20Accountability%20 in%20the%20Colombian%20Peace%20Agreement%20-%20%20Josi.pdf Kelly, R., & Flower, E. (2018). Arts-based research practices and alternatives: Reflections on workshops in Uganda and Bangladesh (Working Papers Series No. 3). Retrieved from https:// changingthestory.leeds.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/sites/110/2018/06/WPS3-Kelly-andFlower.pdf López López, W. (2017). Contribuciones de psicología de la paz: Una perspectiva multidimensional [Peace psychology contributions: A multidimensional perspective]. Innovación y Ciencia, 24. Retrieved from https://innovacionyciencia.com/revistas_pdf/2017-1.pdf Lykes, M.  B., & Crosby, A. (2015). Participatory action research as a resource for community regeneration in post-conflict contexts. In D. Bretherton & S. F. Law (Eds.), Methodologies in Peace Psychology: Peace Research by Peaceful Means (pp.  237–254). Switzerland: Spring International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-18395-4_12 McDermott, J. (2004, July 2). Colombia’s ‘drug barons’ in peace talks. BBC News. Retrieved from http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/3858749.stm McEvoy-Levy, S. (2006). Troublemakers or peacemakers? Youth and post-accord peacebuilding. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Nilsson, M. (2018). Building peace amidst violence: An analysis of Colombia’s policies to address security and development challenges. Iberoamericana – Nordic Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Studies, 47(1), 34–44. https://doi.org/10.16993/iberoamericana.411 Nilsson, M., & González-Marín, L. (2018, June). Building peace amidst violence: Is Colombia’s program to substitute crops used for illegal purposes improving security and development? Paper presented at the workshop for the special issue publication Peacebuilding amidst Violence for the Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding, (forthcoming), in Göteborg. Nilsson, M., & González-Marín, L. (2020). Violent peace: Local perceptions of threat and insecurity in post-conflict Colombia. International Peacekeeping, 27(2), 238–262. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/13533312.2019.1677159 Nilsson, M. & Taylor, L. K. (2017). Applying the security-development nexus on the ground: Land restitution in Colombia. Conflict, Security & Development, 17(1), 73–89. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/14678802.2016.1231844 Ortiz, M., & Borjas, B. (2008). La Investigación Acción Participativa: Aporte de Fals Borda a la educación popular [The Participatory Action Research: The contribution of Fals Borda to popular education]. Espacio Abierto, 17(4), 615–627. Retrieved from https://www.redalyc.org/ articulo.oa?id=12217404

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Red Nacional de Información. (2018). Unidad para las Víctimas [Unit for Victims]. Retrieved from https://cifras.unidadvictimas.gov.co/ Registraduría Nacional del Estado Civil. (2016). Plebiscito 2 octubre 2016. República de Colombia. [Referendum October 2nd 2016. Republic of Colombia]. Retrieved from https://elecciones.registraduria.gov.co/pre_plebis_2016/99PL/DPLZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ_L1.htm Restrepo, A. (2019, March). Colombian youths’ reasoning about retributive and restorative justice in the 2016 Peace Accord: Associations with belief systems of trust (Unpublished master’s thesis). Concordia University, Montreal, Canada. Restrepo, A., & Recchia, H. E. (2019, March). Colombian youths’ reasoning about justice in intergroup conflict: Associations with severity and reparability of harm. Poster presented at the biennial meeting of the Society for Research in Child Development. Rojas Bolaños, O. E., & Benavides Silva, F. L. (2017). Ejecuciones extrajudiciales en Colombia, 2002–2010. Obediencia ciega en campos de batalla ficticio [Extrajudicial executions in Colombia, 2002–2010. Blind obedience in fictional battlefields]. Bogotá, Colombia: Ediciones USTA. Taylor, L. K. (2012). Relaciones entre la violencia, salud mental, participación ciudadana, y actitudes hacia la justicia transicional en la costa Caribe de Colombia [Relationships among political violence, mental health, and civic participation, and attitudes toward transitional justice in the Caribbean coast of Colombia]. Palobra, 12, 166–183. Retrieved from http://revistas. unicartagena.edu.co/index.php/palobra/article/view/148/115 Taylor, L. K. (2015). Impact of political violence, social trust, and depression on civic participation in Colombia. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 22(2), 145–152. https:// doi.org/10.1037/pac0000139 Taylor, L.  K. (2019). Changing the Story Blog, Colombia, Reflections. For a Different Today and Tomorrow. Retrieved from https://changingthestory.leeds.ac.uk/2019/09/06/ for-a-different-today-and-tomorrow/ Taylor, L.  K., & McKeown, S. (2017). Youths’ peacebuilding potential: Intergroup contact and civic participation amongst a post-accord generation in Northern Ireland. In K.  Niven, S. Lewis, & C. Kagan (Eds.), Making a difference with psychology (pp. 56–62). London, UK: Richard Benjamin Trust. Taylor, L. K., Nilsson, M., & Amezquita-Castro, B. (2016). Reconstructing the social fabric amid on-going violence: Attitudes toward reconciliation and structural transformation in Colombia. Peacebuilding, 4(1), 83–98. https://doi.org/10.1080/21647259.2015.1094909 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. (2015). Global Trends. Forced Displacement in 2015. Retrieved from http://www.unhcr.org/news/latest/2016/6/5763b65a4/global- forceddisplacement- hits-record-high.html United Nations Human Rights Council. (2017). Annual report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the situation of human rights in Colombia (A/HCR/34/ add.3). Retrieved from https://undocs.org/A/HRC/34/3/Add.3 United Nations Security Council. (2018). United Nations Verification Mission in Colombia. Report of the Secretary-General (S/2018/1159). Retrieved from https://colombia.unmissions.org/sites/ default/files/n1845592.pdf Vestergren, S., & Drury, J. (2020). Taking sides with Swedish protesters: Gaining and maintaining trust in the field. In Acar, Y. G., Moss, S. M., & Uluğ, Ö. M. (Eds.). Researching peace, conflict, and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities, (pp. 149–171). Cham, Switzerland: Springer.

Chapter 3

Keepers of Local Know-How in Conflict: Conversations Between Research Assistant and Researcher Sigrun Marie Moss and Hajj Mohammed Hajj

In settings where the researcher is an outsider, it is common to have to rely on a research assistant for translations, for practical help, and for organizing the fieldwork. All these tasks become more complicated when doing research in contexts marked by intergroup conflict. In conducting extensive research in Zanzibar with only a moderate understanding of Swahili, Moss relied on research assistant Hajj for extensive periods of time. Drawing on our work together, but also on our work with other researchers/research assistants, in this chapter, we together discuss the role of research assistants and researcher and the collaborative relationship in this conflict setting. Our chapter addresses many issues pertaining to research assistants in general, but our particular experiences and thus focus in this chapter is on settings where the research assistant is local and the researcher is an outsider. Local research assistants are keepers of local know-how in conflict and are thus in several settings simultaneously the expert and the assistant, demanding an at times difficult balancing act. Field research in conflict settings is difficult, and working with research assistants generally makes it easier to do it well, and with less risk of harm. It is nevertheless a complex undertaking for both sides, one rife with power dynamics and need for care. Given the complexities of the work together, the cultural clashes, the distance between demands of the researcher (e.g., “I need to gather this type of data now”) and the constraints and norms the research assistant needs to be mindful of (e.g., “We cannot ask these types of questions here”), we find it surprising there is not more material on the relationship and cooperation between research assistant and researcher (see similar arguments in Turner 2010). There is some literature on S. M. Moss (*) University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway e-mail: [email protected] H. M. Hajj Research assistant from Pemba, Pemba, Tanzania © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_3

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the work with research assistants or interpreters, but most of this is focused on “practical and unreflexive” issues (Turner 2010, p. 208), related to solving practical challenges and problems (see overview in Turner 2010). There is also some work on the value of research assistants in general, calling for reflexiveness also regarding the research assistant role (see for example Chiumento et al. 2018; Edwards 1998; Temple and Young 2004), but far from sufficient considering how much fieldwork entails research assistants or translators. Temple (2000, p. 853) wrote: “translators remain shadowy figures whose presence is usually not even mentioned.” There has been even less focus on the use of and work with research assistants within psychology (for an important exception, see for example Skjelsbæk 2016, 2020, this volume). The research assistant, as the researcher, is not neutral – as an often locally positioned person, in a setting marked by conflict, the research locality of the research assistant is key. Similarly, the non-neutral positionality of the researcher and the research project as well makes it important to negotiate these positions, to see how the project develops and changes, all depending on the shared fieldwork process (see Marks and Abdelhalim 2018). Managing the research team’s positionality in conflict research without good discussions of the role and involvement of the research assistant is very difficult. Still, it is generally very rare to read accounts from research assistants (though see exceptions in human geography on hearing from research assistants from Kenya and Tanzania, in Caretta 2015; and from Vietnam and China, in Turner 2010). To our knowledge, nothing within psychology has been written based on conversations between research assistant and researcher. As Turner (2010, p. 206) emphasizes: “a key partner in the research process has been rendered invisible and effectively silenced” (see also Wilson 2018). With our chapter, we wish to contribute to turning this around.

3.1  C  onversations Between Research Assistant and Researcher Hajj is from Pemba, the smaller of the two main islands of Zanzibar, Tanzania. Originally trained as an electrician, Hajj began assisting foreign researchers wanting to do work on Pemba, and has now worked on a broad range of issues and topics with researchers from diverse backgrounds since 1994. Moss is a political psychologist from Norway. Moss has worked with two other research assistants in Zanzibar in addition to Hajj, and has also worked with different research assistants in Sudan and in Rwanda. Doing research and analytic work in Zanzibar, we have worked closely together for several periods from 2009 until the present. The work has been sensitive, focusing on political identities and group conflict in Zanzibar. We first met on a project on Pemba, working for a research institute in Norway. In this project, we followed the voter registration process in Pemba leading up to the 2010 election and covered the elections in Zanzibar. Later, Moss did her PhD research in political psychology looking at national political

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identity strategies and responses to such, where Zanzibar was one of the three cases. Hajj assisted with this data collection as well. In both projects, interviews were done with political leadership at national, regional, district and local levels, religious leaders, civil society, academics, and the general population, as well as following up on political developments with different official offices. This chapter is mainly based on conversations between the two of us. In addition, we have drawn on experiences working with other researchers/research assistants, our field notes and on literature related to research assistants, translators, and interpreters. Our focus and accounts are subjective, but our aim is that important lessons, suggestions and reflections related to the research assistant/researcher relationship can be drawn from these experiences. As a starting point for the chapter, we see ourselves as equals yet authorities in different ways. In our work in Zanzibar, Hajj is the Zanzibari authority, and – especially in sensitive settings – needs to be recognized as such, but Moss is responsible for the research. Researchers should never pass on the responsibility for the research, but still, be mindful that the research assistants are often the contextual experts. This is an important, but at times difficult balance, and we hope the examples and the discussions in this chapter can contribute to other researchers and research assistants actively discussing and handling this balance. In the following, we first give a brief background on the conflict context, as Zanzibar is the main case for this chapter.

3.2  The Zanzibari Political Conflict Zanzibar is a semi-autonomous archipelago off the coast of mainland Tanzania, consisting of the main island Unguja, and the smaller Pemba. The opposition party Civic United Front (CUF) accuses relatively equal-sized incumbent Chama Cha Mapinduzi (CCM, The Party of the Revolution) of stealing every election victory since 1995. Election periods since then have been tense, and at times violent. At its worst, protests after the contested 2000 elections resulted in violent attacks on protestors in January 2001. Government forces shot into crowds of CUF protesters on Pemba, leaving 35 dead and over 600 injured. Two thousand Zanzibaris subsequently fled to Kenya (Human Rights Watch 2002). Across these two political parties (CUF and CCM), the supporters share language, religion, and culture. Politics still divide the population, despite the party manifestoes being relatively similar. The main island Unguja tips in CCM’s favor. CUF has a larger following on the smaller and less developed island Pemba. In the late 1950s, race and belonging were key factors in a turbulent political period, which divided the population. This culminated in the 1964 revolution, where Arabs and Indians were targeted, and where Pemba was less active than Unguja (Glassman 2011). The prolonged economic and political marginalization of Pemba and CUF is widely seen by the opposition as a clear strategy by the ruling party to punish the “opposition island” (see Cameron 2002).

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Three peace processes between CUF and CCM have failed (Muafaka I-III), and in the lead up to the 2010 elections, intergroup relations were again deteriorating. In a surprise move in November 2009, the two top political leaders initiated a reconciliation process, and a Government of National Unity (GNU) was decided on through a referendum. The GNU was approved by 66.4 percent of the votes, and the reactions of those opposing the GNU ranged from acceptance to anger (Moss and Tronvoll 2015). CUF and CCM drew up a power-sharing agreement, where the ministries would be divided between the parties, and the election winner would get the presidency and the second vice president post while the runner up would get the first vice presidency (see Roop et al. 2018). In the build-up to the elections, political leadership from both parties attempted an identity process akin to dual recategorization (Gaertner and Dovidio 2000): the leaders worked to increase the salience of the Zanzibari superordinate identity, while maintaining the CUF and CCM identities (Moss 2016; Moss and Tronvoll 2015). CCM won the 2010 elections (with a 50.1 percent majority over CUF’s 49.1), and a coalition government was established. However, after a period of cooperation, relations between CUF and CCM deteriorated again. As the 2015 election results were compiled, it increasingly looked like CUF was winning. Then the Zanzibar Electoral Commission annulled the elections, claiming they were neither free nor fair. In March 2016, the opposition boycotted the rerun election, resulting in a return to one-party rule with CCM winning all seats. At the grassroots level, Zanzibari inter-political relations have worsened considerably in Pemba, but less so in Unguja. At the leadership level, relations are—many claim—now worse than ever before.

3.3  C  ore Aspects of Researcher – Research Assistant Collaboration Moss asked Hajj how he would best describe the research assistant’s work and his answer was: “It feels like a fishing rod. Sometimes you have to reel the researchers in, and sometimes you have to let them go.” The research assistant’s tasks can generally be divided into (a) practical issues (following up on permits, setting up interviews), (b) translations (being present at the different interviews, translating where necessary), (c) guidance (being a cultural “navigator” in difficult contexts), as well as (d) context expertise and local know-how (providing contextual analysis on topics, deconstructing interviews in terms of explaining usages of metaphors and “code” words, staying on top of the complex and rapidly changing political developments on the ground, as well as navigating safety issues for research team and participants). Each of these tasks contain a myriad of challenges and obstacles to overcome. In our conversations about the researcher-research assistant collaboration, we discussed many different topics. Here we discuss six aspects that we see as core topics pertaining to researcher-research assistant collaborations in conflict

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contexts: (I) First impressions and describing the study, (II) asking the questions and translating, (III) conflicting motivations, (IV) the research assistant’s positionality in conflict, (V) the stance of the research assistant/researcher, and finally, (VI) consequences for the research assistant.

3.4  First Impressions and Describing the Study 3.4.1  First Impressions “It is important to make a good first impression, of course,” says Hajj. “We always have to ask people [potential participants] very politely for their attention, as we are spending their time,” adds Hajj. In this manner, he says, greetings are very important: The Swahili culture is one of polite exchanges, and good and at times long greetings should be included before it is OK to continue on to other topics. The greetings should include asking about their family and even discussing the weather. This is essential and should be done before introducing the researcher or the reason why we are there. It is therefore important that the researcher learns the Swahili phrases and engages in these greetings. That is important in order to establish rapport here.

The importance of cultural greetings can be linked to what Driessen and Jansen (2013, p. 249) refer to as “the hard work of small talk” in ethnographic fieldwork. They emphasize that such talk is commonly ignored in methodological preparations and reflections, which is unfortunate as they consider small talk “the hidden core as well as the engine of ethnographic research…” (p.  249). As such, Driessen and Jansen (2013) suggest such small talk should be taught in research method courses. Moss reflects on this: “I remember struggling with the Swahili greetings in the beginning, as there are so many of them and such specific answers to the different questions. But I also saw how people appreciated me trying.” Another key feature of making a good first impression is related to dress code. As Moss says: Being a White woman on Pemba, where there are few outsiders and a strict dress code for women, I also wore the hijab and appropriate clothes as a sign of respect for the local customs. This enabled me to make a good first impression, and be invited into spheres that would have been more difficult to access if I had not respected the dress code.

Further, Moss was frequently seen as “a member of the international community,” with power to influence the situation on the ground. In reality however, this was not the case, other than through reporting to the international community (who were largely unwilling to intervene). Based on this impression of Moss, many in the opposition were very willing to talk to us and very forthcoming. Many of the CCM leaders and their supporters, however, were more reluctant.

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3.4.2  Describing the Study and Ensuring Informed Consent Describing the study in a clear and balanced way is crucial to establishing trust and to ensuring informed consent. Particularly in conflict settings, making the consent process as informed as possible is important, but difficult. According to Moss et al. (2019), informed consent entails two key aspects: informants should be aware of the purpose of the study and be familiar with the risks and benefits associated with participating in this study. What this means in practice is less clear. Hajj emphasizes that we, of course, need to be very clear about the issue of confidentiality and anonymity to make the participant feel safe. Other information the participants may need includes who else we are talking to (see Wood 2006), what the information will be used for (see Thomson 2013), what it will not be used for, what might come of the research, who the research team is (nationality, employers, etc.), how long the project is going to last for, to whom results will be communicated, and whether there will be any compensation for travel costs, food offered or the like. Hajj explains: It is important for me to convey all this information in a good way, and not read it from a form the researcher has. I have to describe it in a local way. That will help. I need to describe the project in an informal way that the participants understand and can relate to. Some research projects are very technical, and it may take time to explain it in ways that make sense to participants and make them confident that they have understood the topic well.

This aspect of understanding the topic and the issue of informed consent is also brought up by Thomson (2013), where, in her research in Rwanda, the concepts associated with informed consent are very far removed from people’s practical realities, as would be the case in most settings. Explaining the research topic and the process of informed consent in what Hajj calls “a local way” is, therefore, necessary and important. Moss asks what Hajj could say and do in settings where people are perhaps not very eager to talk to us, where they have busy schedules and many demands on their time. “I should always demonstrate that we actually, genuinely want to learn,” Hajj says. “The people need to feel that they are very important that they can teach us very important things we do not know. They should not feel that we are only looking for confirmation on something we already know,” he adds. Further, in conflict settings or sensitive settings, Hajj emphasizes that it can be better to reserve the first contact with the participant for introductions and getting to know each other. This is an opportunity to show interest in their lives, and then at the very end of this, to introduce the research and ask for a suitable time for an interview if they want to participate. Ideally, there should be benefits to participating in a study, which should be clarified in the description of the study, as emphasized by Wilson (2018, p. 250): “…the community that is the focus of a research project should not only be assured of lack of harm, but the research should be of some benefit, even if that benefit is not likely to be immediate.” This is often referred to as the “intentional ethics of reciprocation” (see Kirsch 1999; Murphy and Dingwald 2001; Swartz 2011, p. 49). In the

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main work Moss and Hajj undertook together, the benefits of the study were not monetary, but political (reporting on the Zanzibari political situation to the international community in Dar es Salaam and beyond). This was seen as a benefit by the more marginalized and oppressed side (CUF and CUF supporters), whilst CCM and CCM supporters did not often see the advantage of this reporting (as it was often calling them out on praxis favoring CCM over CUF, e.g., access to ID cards, state-­ paid jobs, voting cards). The potential benefits of a study are important aspects to consider in the presentation of a study, and in explaining the project to obtain informed consent.

3.5  Asking the Questions and Translating 3.5.1  Asking Participants the Questions How to ask what questions to whom, and how to do so while remaining neutral and context-sensitive is difficult. As Hajj emphasized: “I need to be seen as neutral in any interview we do.” Handling the researcher’s questions can be broken into many different elements. First, there is a language element. When Moss started the research for her PhD, she was interested in what social identities were salient in the community. “Researchers demonstrated long ago that concepts do not move unproblematically across cultures” (Temple 2000, p. 846), and that is particularly so for academic concepts that may be vague and unfamiliar (or non-existent) for the general population. Identity is such a word. Identity was a key term in the research Moss was conducting, and it turned out that the concept of identity is not a word in Swahili. Not knowing Swahili that well, Moss should have entered into better conversations with Hajj in terms of figuring out how to handle the concept and how the questions, therefore, should be phrased. The word that comes closest in Swahili is utambulisho, commonly referring to identity as on your identity card, which in Zanzibar is connected to politics. In Zanzibari political history, identity can thus be a sensitive topic. People can further have very different interpretations of this term. Hajj handled this very well, using broad, open concepts about what categories are important in Zanzibari society. He, for example, asked people what connected people in Zanzibar, what divided people, and what they thought of the shared “Zanzibariness.” In addition to the language aspect, there is a sensitivity aspect. According to Hajj, researchers often want to ask very critical questions or unnecessarily sensitive questions. Hajj says: It is not always that the question cannot be asked, but about how the researcher wants to ask the question. Some researchers would ask me to ask women: ‘When did you get pregnant?’ and ‘How many times have you been pregnant?’ I cannot ask Zanzibari women those questions, but I can get that information. I then have to “package” this very carefully, to be more indirect and sensitive. Some researchers are not patient when this is necessary. I will use many sentences and even body language to ask their questions to the participants, but when

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S. M. Moss and H. M. Hajj I translate back to them the researchers say: ‘But you spoke a lot. What did you say?’ They want to know if I have added a lot of information or even moved the participants in a different direction than the question they asked me to translate. They do not always realize this is important for getting the information they want.

This need to rephrase questions and go about the questions in a more indirect way, was something Hajj raised with Moss during our work together, and we had fruitful discussions on what could and needed to be asked. This thereby prepared Moss for the need for her questions to often be unpacked in longer sequences from Hajj to the participants, and thereby removed the misunderstandings that could arise between researcher and research assistant in these settings. Other times it is about making the question into something that is answerable. The topics the researcher need and want to cover, may be vague or far removed from the lives of the participants. Hajj explains again: I have to explain the issues in the questions very explicitly. I cannot ask someone: ‘Please explain the state of democracy in Tanzania.’ No, I have to make it something clearer, something easier to answer. These are issues I ideally discuss with the researcher prior to agreeing to be on the project. I will then want them to alter some of their questions. If we ask a broad question on democracy, then we may get a whole variety of answers. If the researcher is interested in the state of elections in Zanzibar, then the question needs to focus on that. It can also be good to avoid vague terms such as democracy, if possible. The participants may have different meanings attached to the word democracy, including exaggerations. It is an open word and it can be used as a defense to express how others have destroyed your legal rights and made your life difficult. Explaining the questions very clearly also makes the research seem more neutral as they see more clearly what you are after.

This process is also related to the research assistant having to balance what knowledge both the researcher and the participants have. Hajj explains: I need to sort out what both the researcher and participants know. I need to continuously figure out where I need to offer more information or clarifications, either in the questions to the participants or in the translations back to the researcher. If, for example, the participant starts talking about the opposition coalition, and I am uncertain as to whether the researcher is familiar with this, I need to explain this briefly so that he or she can follow up on this.

Such needed clarifications came up frequently in our work together, as both political representatives and general population often draw on longer historical lines, when explaining the conflict context and more recent developments in Zanzibar. Hajj thereby had to make sure that Moss was following the connotations and references imbedded in those statements. Lastly, there are some impossible questions that have to be cut, as people will not want to answer them, and it may stand in the way of further data collection. At times this can be difficult, as these questions may be part of a larger study where this information is seen as necessary. Hajj explained: If the question does not work locally, then it does not work. One researcher I worked with needed to ask people about their livestock, including ‘How many pigs do you have?’ As a Muslim country, farmers in Zanzibar would never keep pigs. I had to tell the researcher to remove this question.

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If this question had been included, that would have signaled to the participants that Hajj – as a Zanzibari – had not prepared the researcher for the context, and it could have led to people not wanting to participate in the further research as it could be seen as a non-serious project. Hajj gives the example of another researcher as well: One researcher needed to ask people about their possessions, doing a study on wealth and wellbeing. This study included questions about what possessions people had inside their houses. I was wary about this question as it could quickly be seen as something too private to ask about, but tried to handle it the best I could, asking the questions the researcher insisted on asking. When we returned to the same village the next day, we were told that the villagers had held discussions after we left the previous day. Now they came to us and said: ‘We have discussed this. You and the researcher can ask us about our farms, our farm work and so forth, but you cannot ask us what we have in our houses.’

It was seen as too private, and potentially a security risk, to list ones belongings to this stranger. As information on household possessions is something that is often kept private in Zanzibar, it was intrusive to ask for such details. Related to questions that should be removed, this will be very context specific. For example, in a different setting,  the Vietnamese research assistant Turner (2010) interviewed emphasized the negative effect of asking almost the same question twice. Understanding that repetition was done for clarification or making sure the participant had understood the question, the research assistant emphasized that this was best avoided: “To Vietnamese if we ask the same question but in a different way, they will think we are very silly. Then they are not very interested in answering the questions” (p. 214). The best and easiest approach to handle the questions one want to ask is having a good, thorough discussion of the planned questions prior to the research (see also Skjelsbæk 2020, this volume). Hajj emphasized: “I have to discuss these questions with the researcher. We have to go over the wording together.” Moss relates to this, also from work in different settings. Starting an identity research project in Rwanda, and being new to the Rwandan context, Moss sat down with the research assistant there and went over the questions. We came to question one. “I wanted to ask what social identities were at play in the society, and how the relations between these groups were,” Moss explains: My research assistant just looked at me and said: ‘You can’t ask that here.’ I asked what he suggested I replace the question with to get at those issues, and he said: ‘Let us ask them: ‘So, how do you feel about this peace?” In my mind, that was vague and completely different, but he insisted, and I listened to him, and he was right.

Further, Moss’s original wording would have been close to illegal, as it would have encouraged discussions of the “abolished” categories of Hutu, Tutsi and Twa (see Moss and Vollhardt 2016). Such planning sessions, where researcher and research assistant go over the wording and phrasing of questions is ideal. However, many studies are organized in such a way that researchers will want to follow up on topics that come up; hence, researcher and research assistant ideally also need to discuss how to handle sensitive/difficult questions that may come up. In Turner’s example from the Vietnamese research assistant, it is important to acknowledge that research assistants are often uniquely positioned to contribute input on the most fitting way to do the

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interview – both when it comes to the planning section of the questions to ask, and those that come up in the course of the interview. As Hajj also emphasized above, pertaining to sensitive and difficult questions: “I cannot ask (…) those questions, but I can get that information.” In a broader ethical lens, this speaks to the positionality of local experts in navigating risks and ethical concerns. Wilson (2018, p. 350) emphasized the same in her work in the Kibera slum in Nairobi: “Risk can be effectively mitigated when community members contribute to the meaning, significance and techniques of ethical conduct.”

3.5.2  The Actual Translations Relying on translations makes it important to critically review information and interpretations (Borchegrevink 2003). As we discuss below, research assistants are often grounded in the conflict settings to a larger degree than the researchers, and could thereby have incentives for presenting information in a different way – either to make it sound better to the participants or to make it sound better to the researcher. This comes down to trust, to the rapport established between researcher and research assistant, and to what degree both manage to balance the power relations between the researcher knowing the methods and the project, and the research assistant knowing the local context. Temple (2000, p. 846) emphasizes that: “Translators are active producers in research rather than neutral conveyors of messages. (…) People’s lives and experiences inform their translations.” In Zanzibar, where metaphors and proverbs are in frequent use, Hajj’s help in deciphering the conversations was invaluable. One such episode is quoted in Moss (2015, p. 41): …in a Zanzibari interview, most answers concentrated on fish heads. I was under the impression the interviewee was boycotting the interview, but the research assistant subtly pointed out that the fish head was a metaphor for the former Zanzibari President, and that he would ‘decode’ the metaphors for me after the interview.

Hajj had noticed that Moss had almost stopped taking notes, as she was convinced the famous civil society representative was boycotting the interview, fearing repercussions for answering questions on the topic of identities and politics. At that point, Moss understood most of the Swahili, but completely missed out on the underlying meaning and implications of what was said. This example demonstrates how translations can be cultural and contextual, as well as purely language focused.

3.6  Conflicting Motivations The aims and goals of the researcher and the research project will not necessarily be aligned with that of the local context or the wishes of the research assistant. The conflicting motivations can go both ways, where research assistants may feel the researcher is in the wrong, or the researcher could feel the assistant is in the wrong.

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3.6.1  S  eeing the Researcher’s Instructions or Actions as Wrong Sometimes the research assistant may feel that the instructions of the researcher are not right or appropriate in the setting or that the actions of the researcher are wrong. Hajj mentions an episode in a village where he was accompanying a researcher. As they were walking through the village, they saw a person using force to reprimand a child. The researcher defied Hajj’s advice to stay out of it and went in and physically stopped the adult by pushing the person away. The researcher’s actions became a big problem then and there, as the villagers were not happy about this interference, but it also entailed consequences for Hajj afterward, as he was reprimanded by the involved people from the village about this behavior. Hajj explains what happened next: The day after, two elders left the village to see my parents, to inform them that they had been shamed and disvalued by the researcher I brought into their village. I then had to travel back to the village, and was asked to apologize in front of many people. Only then the relationship with the community was restored.

Similarly, Moss worked with research assistants in other settings who were in very difficult positions due to other researchers they worked for. The research assistants were trying to balance the data collection needs with the approaches of the researcher, which did not fit with the local context (e.g., not being as cautious as necessary in Rwanda, not choosing their words carefully enough, not dressing appropriately, not listening to advice as to what it is possible to ask in specific settings). None of these research assistants felt that their careful attempts at adjusting such behaviors had any influence and that the researchers stuck to their ways despite the research assistants’ advice. Turner (2010) calls for awareness and care from researchers in creating the necessary space for research assistants to voice concern over approaches used in the research, and in the process, being mindful of the impact of the power imbalances in the relation.

3.6.2  Seeing the Research Assistant’s Instructions as Wrong Moss has also, at times, felt that the instructions from different research assistants as to how to handle situations have been wrong. This has both been based on own social norms, but also on research ethics. Moss refers to an episode in Sudan (as referenced in Moss et al. 2019, p. 92): My research assistant and I were on our way to an interview when we were told the venue had changed, and we were to meet elsewhere. We came to the house, and it was a wake— the respondent’s uncle had passed away that same morning. I told my research assistant that we needed to leave and that the interview could wait. She told me that was not an option, that it would be very rude, and that we needed to join the wake and have tea with them. A man came up and asked me if I had expected to interview his nephew. I said yes, but that I was sorry for their loss and that the interview could wait. The uncle declined, clapped his hands, got the whole family to get out plastic chairs and benches, lined them up and offered

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S. M. Moss and H. M. Hajj me a chair facing them all (about 50 people). He then asked me to interview them collectively. I told my research assistant that this was out of the question, and again she told me that declining was not an option and that we needed to conduct this mass-interview—which we then did.

This serves as an example where following the research assistant’s advice was the contextually best approach, even though it felt wrong and unethical (needless to say, Moss did not use this data afterwards). The ethics procedures Moss was used to, did not work in this setting, and local customs had to override these procedures. In other situations, the researcher may be right to insist on doing it differently than what the research assistant recommends. In a different situation, Moss interviewed a participant, who, after the interview, proceeded to fetch his employee, and told Moss to interview this person. This was approved by the research assistant, as the person had the background that we were trying to recruit for our study. However, it became apparent that the person did not want to participate, but was worried and feared he would lose his job if he did not. Moss, therefore, had to talk the research assistant into telling the participant who had brought his employee there that due to ethical frameworks of the research, the interview would not take place, but that this was down to Moss’ choice. Good communication between the members of the research team is important to be able to have this continuous reflexive and flexible approach to the fieldwork so that the research is as culturally adapted to the context as possible, while also ensuring that ethics are upheld. That way, one avoids bringing harm to the respondents and to the research team.

3.7  The Research Assistant’s Positionality in the Conflict 3.7.1  Neutrality and Positionality Neutrality in research can be linked to objectivity, which is widely discussed as impossible (see Bayad and Aydemir 2020, in this volume for a further discussion). In conflict settings, neutrality often becomes more of a challenge, as the research team needs to “prove” their neutrality to the extent that both sides will talk to the team. The research assistants are often embedded in the context at hand and are thus often potentially more positioned on one side of the conflict. Moss has so far only worked with one research assistant who has stated that he was neutral in the conflict, while the six others (across Zanzibar, Rwanda and Sudan) have taken a stance in the conflict at hand, either by choice or by ethnic group membership, family ties or the like. That said, it is also very difficult to work as a researcher in a conflict situation for longer periods without becoming “closer” to one side in the conflict. It can, however, be easier for the researcher to “hide” such sympathies, than for the research assistant, as the latter is often a member of the community.

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Hajj comes from a known opposition family, with his father being one of the Pemba Elders – an informal “advisory board” for the opposition party in Zanzibar. In the conflict between the two sides, Hajj himself had to flee as the police were searching for him and issued a “wanted letter” for him; his father survived an attempted assassination (where another person was shot and killed at the family’s front door, as he was mistaken for his father), and his mother suffered a gunshot wound. Managing to balance between the two sides in research with that position, as well as demonstrating neutrality sufficient for the other side to believe in your presentation of an interview, takes a highly skilled person. With such a “swayed” positionality, demonstrating this neutrality becomes key.

3.7.2  Demonstrating Neutrality Again, here we are not talking about objectivity or neutrality in positivistic terms but rather related to being perceived as neutral enough to be able to interview different sides in a conflict. As Clutterbuck and Warnes (2013, p. 18) say about interviewing government sources: “During the interview, it is best to remain objective and to take a neutral position.” Hajj agrees, but emphasizes how difficult this is in practice: It is a difficult situation to demonstrate this neutrality, both with politicians and with locals. Balancing this is a huge part of the role as a research assistant. The government party representatives test you all the time. They will be asking me about my father, and my personal issues, to test me and see how I respond. They will also ask me to engage in double translations to test my descriptions of their answers. So you ask a government leader a question, I translate it to him. He tells me his answer. I translate this to you, and then he asks me: What did you just tell her? And then I translate the way I presented his answer to you, back to him. After a period of such double translations, the government leader will often say: ‘Now you can stop, I trust your translations.’

Together, we have also had cases where the leaders have switched to English half-­ way through the interview, saying that the translations are no longer necessary. In those cases, the leaders wanted to hear how Hajj worded his translations of their Swahili answers to check his neutrality and level of professionalism. Hajj also explained the importance of adjusting his language to the audience: At times in interviews, I can recommend for the researcher to follow up with somewhat critical questions – or follow up with these myself if this has been agreed with the researcher. With the opposition in Zanzibar, I can pretend to be more oppositional. I can afford this. They will not see me as the enemy. But I could never do that with the government party as they would immediately distrust me.

This brings us back to the point above on the introductions and descriptions of the study and explaining the purpose of the study in a convincing and non-threatening way also to the incumbent party and its supporters in this setting. Hajj commented: I frequently have to demonstrate that I am not a spy from the opposition. I need to be very good at the description of the research project to combat this feeling in CCM political leaders and the general CCM population.

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Demonstrating neutrality in a conflict where you are a known supporter of one of the stances in the conflict is difficult, and leads us to the next point – that participants often do want to know the stance of the research assistant and researcher.

3.8  The Stance of the Research Assistant/Researcher 3.8.1  Wanting to Know the Stance Related to the neutrality discussion above is the issue of the stance of the research assistant and the researcher. Temple (2000, p. 853) emphasizes that “translators and people employed because of their cultural or language expertise have perspectives of their own, which are woven into their social interactions.” Where researchers may not be good at handling this actively or picking up on it, government leaders, on the other hand, often are. Hajj emphasized: “Of course they [political leaders] would know who I am and what my family background is. The point is that I have to prove in the situation that I can still be a neutral interpreter.” Both with politicians and leaders, but also often with the general population, people want to know the stance of the research assistant and the researcher. As Hajj explains: They often ask what the researcher thinks. That can be hard. But they also often ask what I, as the research assistant, think about the topic. This is often harder as I am a Zanzibari, with a chosen stance on the conflict, but still needing to be neutral and respectful to different opinions.

The best-case scenario would, of course, be to not have to offer one’s opinion on the questions, but when asked the question, trying to give a semi-neutral answer is often the best course of action (though without losing credibility if people know one’s position). Further complicating the matter is that participants often do not only want to know the stance of the research team, but also frequently do not want neutrality – particularly from the research assistant. As Hajj explained: “They want to see that you support their views. They want you to be their ambassador by helping push their agenda to the foreigner who can spread their message and their points of view.” This is perhaps more often the case from those in opposition, rather than the incumbent side. Handling this demand for solidarity from many participants alongside the general need for demonstrating neutrality is very difficult and one that requires active handling from both the researcher and the research assistant. Moss comments on this: Just after the elections in 2010, this role of ‘neutral’ researcher was particularly difficult. People came up to us in the streets saying that we were in Pemba to research and follow the elections, and it was still rigged. They asked us why we had even been in Zanzibar if we would not make a difference. Several people wanted us to support them in their view that these election results were not right. Having to maintain a balanced, neutral role was difficult.

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This difficulty speaks both to the positionality, of coming to “side” more with one of the parties in a conflict, but also to expectations of non-neutrality, particularly from the opposition sides in conflicts.

3.8.2  Conversations About Positionality and Perspectives In Moss’s articles on Zanzibar (Moss 2016; Moss, 2017; Moss and Tronvoll 2015), she comments on reflexivity - her own reflexivity. For example: In 2009–2010 I spent a year doing voter registration observation on Pemba, which included reporting on frustrations (mainly those of CUF) to the diplomatic community. (…) this former closeness with Pemba and thereby the narratives of the opposition may have influenced the study. To reduce this bias, I remained reflexive of my approach and findings throughout, tested my analyses on both CUF and CCM contacts, and conducted more interviews on Unguja than on Pemba (Moss, 2016, p. 322).

What about the reflexivity also in terms of the positionality of the research assistant? The research assistant’s effect on the informant and on the data collection need not be any less real than that of the researcher (see Phillips 1960). According to Stanley (1990), researchers bring their perspectives into the research they conduct. This, Temple (2000) argues, is the same for research assistants, and she further says that “the ‘intellectual auto/biographies’ of researchers and translators should be part of the methodological discussions in any research involving more than one language” (p. 847). Such discussions related to what researchers and research assistants believe and think can lead to important debates. In interviews with research assistants in Vietnam and China, the assistants’ positionality regarding ethnic minorities in the countries became clear (Turner 2010, p. 211): “If researchers do not reflect upon such elements of their assistant’s situatedness, the consequences will remain masked and the rigor of our fieldwork potentially compromised.” Positionality is also related to trust, particularly so in conflict contexts. Edwards (2013) emphasizes trust as a relational concept, depending on the social relations occurring in a specific social and political context and at a particular time. With Hajj’s background closely tied to one of the two conflict sides, this could have complicated issues of trust in the work. However, the “leap of faith” that trust involves is smaller where there are personal bonds with someone, or there is demonstrated professional expertise or extensive experience (Edwards 2013). Hajj had worked with Moss’s colleagues since the mid-1990s, and had demonstrated time and again his reflexive stance when it came to neutrality and balanced research in Zanzibar. Positionality and perspective may also be attributed to the research assistant (or researcher for that matter) based on traits or characteristics. As discussed above under being closer to one conflict side, a research assistant’s group memberships can be crucial, and can influence the interviews depending on how the participants view this group membership – they may see the research assistant as an ingroup or outgroup member. This may be more acute in some cases than others. It may be beneficial in such cases to work with different assistants. Moss did this in Rwanda,

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where she worked with two research assistants, one relatively recognizably from each social group of Hutu and Tutsi (without appearance being a certain way of asserting group membership). As participant recruitment happened on the site, this offered an avenue for participants to speak to a fellow ingroup member on issues of identity and issues related to the genocide, if they preferred to do so. Most of these participants did make use of this, and chose to look at and speak to the ingroup member research assistant in their interview (for more on the identities of research assistants, see also Scott et al. 2006 on the ethnicity of research staff when interviewing ethnic minorities in Vietnam; and Yeh 2006 on gender and class as issues when working with research assistants in her work in Tibet).

3.9  Consequences for the Research Assistant 3.9.1  Researcher Can Leave, Research Assistant Has to Stay “Did it ever worry you?” Moss asks Hajj, “that you had to go with us to all these government offices, upon which we often wrote very critical reports about the practices and procedures in place. We all knew that we would have to leave if the going got too tough, but you did not have the same option.” “I made several efforts that I did not tell you about at the time,” Hajj said. “I often phoned the political leaders we had interviewed afterwards, to strengthen the contact and thank them for their time and their input. That way it was made very clear that we were grateful, and it was a sign of respect from me to them,” Hajj added. There are many aspects after the research that can “follow” the research assistant. Rumors are one example. Hajj explained: When working with another female researcher, before I married, I was frequently asked if she was my girlfriend or wife, something that was often both uncomfortable for me and her, and the rumors about such non-existent relationships often stuck for a while. This was particularly uncomfortable when someone asked me loudly about this, and sometimes in the middle of the focus group discussion. At times, people also asked this in English so that the researcher understood right away, and it was very uncomfortable for me.

In tense times, Hajj was also accused of being sent by the opposition. Because of the lingering consequences research assistants can face in conflict settings, Hajj emphasizes the need to acknowledge the expertise of the research assistant. The more careful and sensitive the conduct of the researcher is, the easier the navigation job the research assistant has to undertake. From the work we have done together, and the conversations we have had in preparation for this chapter, it is very obvious that much of Hajj’s work as a research assistant involves negotiations, cultural brokering, contact and follow up that the researcher may not be aware of (see examples of this also in Caretta 2015). This researcher unawareness is also evident from the accounts of the Vietnamese and Chinese research assistants Turner (2010) interviewed. Turner calls for more

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awareness from researchers of the workload, stress and anxiety the research assistant’s work can entail (see also Caretta 2015). Turner simultaneously emphasizes that researchers should not expect research assistants to directly voice concern over workload, interview-style or the researcher’s conduct, as there may be a dependency issue in the relationship. The power imbalance is important, as the research assistant potentially depends on this job, the recommendation for further employment by others and so forth (see Molony and Hammet 2007 regarding the ethics and issues related to power relations). It is therefore crucial that the researcher follows up on the power imbalance in a subtle way: “researchers must ascertain discreetly and diplomatically how the research assistant is viewing fieldwork and any concerns he or she might have” (Turner 2010, p.  213). This is in line with Edwards’ (2013) emphasis on power as something relational that is exercised between people, here researcher and research assistant. This is crucial, as at the end of the day, if things get too difficult, many researchers can leave the conflict setting, which may not be the case for local research assistants.

3.9.2  What is in it for the Research Assistant? It is clear that most Western scholars conducting field research in the Global South “…would be incapable of conducting much of their research independently. To suggest otherwise is to replicate colonial behavior in the academy and in the field” (Wilson 2018, p. 349). However, what is in it for the research assistants? Wilson (2018, p. 350) emphasizes that “there should be value added for all members of a collaborative research team, and fair payment for work done is only one small part of that value.” For longer periods, Hajj worked as a full-time research assistant and thus depended on the income from such work. Hajj explains: Payment is a big encouragement to the assistants. It is important for the researcher to remember that the relationship with the assistant is not only about collecting as much data as possible, but they should also establish close contact with the assistants. Financial support helps the research assistant work better in the field, as it is a job requiring much trust and sacrifices in other spheres of life.

Here, researchers could be an asset in that one could recommend his work to others, write very good recommendation letters, let him know of others coming to the area that he could work with, and so forth. In so doing, the researcher is also in a key position to influence the level of fair payment offered to the research assistant in communicating fair wages to other researchers for the services of the research assistant in this setting (through discussions with the research assistant, of course). In cases where the research assistant has academic aspirations, co-publications – both academic and general writing - where possible and meaningful is important to consider. In such situations, language may be an issue, but ways to overcome this should be considered. For example, Moss and a Norwegian researcher fluent in

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Swahili, invited a Zanzibari civil society representative along for an opinion piece in a Norwegian newspaper. They wrote the text in Norwegian, the other Norwegian researcher translated it to Swahili, had the Zanzibari civil society representative work on the text, and then the Norwegian researcher translated it back to Norwegian. In very coercive settings, with large-scale consequences for not adhering to the government approved narrative (e.g., Rwanda), such co-authorship should be considered carefully also in terms of ramifications the stance communicated in the article could bring about (see for example Kritz 2019). In the broader scope, the researcher could attempt to have the research benefit knowledge production in the context one is in (e.g., working in collaboration with a local research center or institution). This could then entail that the data could be made use of locally, rather than solely benefitting an international or foreign project. Again, in conflict settings, caution is needed, as there may be consequences for any research reflecting negatively on state institutions or the likes. In Rwanda, for example, for research permits, one needs a local affiliated partner, which can be risky to undertake, as the consequences of any negative focus in the publications may befall the local institution. In such cases, the foreign researcher and foreign institution reap the rewards, while the local institution is left with the ramifications. Taking extreme care to avoid such outcomes is essential. In her work in Rwanda for example, Moss had the government’s own National Unity and Reconciliation Commission as her affiliated partner. As a government commission, critical  research from the affiliated researcher would not threaten the organization.

3.10  Concluding Remarks In our chapter, we have discussed the research assistant and researcher roles, and the relationship between these roles. We have both enjoyed discussing these six topics that we have seen as the core aspects in the research assistant-researcher dynamics, and hope that our chapter can inspire others to engage in similar discussions and reflections on such collaborations. We echo Wilson’s (2018, p.  349) above-­ mentioned stance that most Western scholars conducting field research in the Global South “…would be incapable of conducting much of their research independently.” Acknowledging this should lead to more active discussions of the issues of positionality, neutrality, power, input and role of the research assistant, to give voice and space for a key actor in much field research conducted by outsiders (and often also insiders) in conflict contexts.

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References Bayad, A., & Aydemir, A. (2020). When research, identity and context merge: A reflexive assessment on studying peace during conflict. In Y. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 283–300). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Borchegrevink, A. (2003). Silencing language of anthropologists and interpreters. Ethnography, 4(1), 95–121. https://doi.org/10.1177/1466138103004001005 Cameron, G. (2002). Zanzibar’s turbulent transition. Review of African Political Economy, 29(92), 313–330. https://doi.org/10.1080/03056240208704616 Caretta, M. A. (2015). Situated knowledge in cross-cultural, cross-language research: A collaborative reflexive analysis of researcher, assistant and participant subjectivities. Qualitative Research, 15(4), 489–505. https://doi.org/10.1177/1468794114543404 Chiumento, A., Rahman, A., Machin, L., & Frith, L. (2018). Mediated research encounters: Methodological considerations in cross-language qualitative interviews. Qualitative Research, 18(6), 604–622. https://doi.org/10.1177/1468794117730121 Clutterbuck, L. & Warnes, R. (2013). Interviewing government and official sources. An introductory guide. In A. Dolnik (Ed.) Conducting terrorism field research. A guide (pp. 16–25). London, UK: Routledge. Driessen, H., & Jansen, W. (2013). The hard work of small talk in ethnographic fieldwork. Journal of Anthropological Research, 69(2), 249–263. https://doi.org/10.3998/jar.0521004.0069.205 Edwards, R. (1998). A critical examination of the use of interpreters in the qualitative research process. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 24(19), 197–208. https://doi.org/10.108 0/1369183X.1998.9976626 Edwards, R. (2013). Power and trust: An academic researcher’s perspective on working with interpreters as gatekeepers. International Journal of Social Research Methodology, 16(6), 503–514. https://doi.org/10.1080/13645579.2013.823276 Gaertner, S. L., & Dovidio, J. F. (2000). Reducing intergroup bias: The common ingroup identity model. Philadelphia, PA: Taylor and Francis. Glassman, J. (2011). War of words, war of stones. Racial thought and violence in colonial Zanzibar. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Human Rights Watch (2002). Tanzania. The bullets were raining. The January 2001 Attack on Peaceful Demonstrators in Zanzibar, Vol. 14(3). Kirsch, G. (1999). Ethical dilemmas in feminist research: The politics of location, interpretation, and publication. New York, NY: State University of New York Press. Kritz, B. A. (2019). Whither Rwanda: Rwanda’s withered democratic future. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(2), 152–154. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000374 Marks, M., & Abdelhalim, J. (2018). Introduction: identity, jeopardy and moral dilemmas in conducting research in ‘risky’ environments. Contemporary Social Science, 13, 305–322. https:// doi.org/10.1080/21582041.2017.1388463 Molony, T. & Hammet, D. (2007). The friendly financer: Talking money with the silenced assistant. Human Organization, 66(3), 292–300. https://www.jstor.org/stable/44127378 Moss, S. M. (2015). Negotiations of identities in Rwanda, Zanzibar and Sudan: Macro-level identity approaches and micro-level responses. (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Trondheim, Norway. Moss, S. M. (2016). “Country first, politics later” reasons for dual recategorization in Zanzibari narratives. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 22(4), 318–328. https://doi. org/10.1037/pac0000223 Moss, S. M., & Tronvoll, K. (2015). “We are all Zanzibari!” Identity formation and political reconciliation in Zanzibar. Journal of Eastern African Studies, 9(1), 91–109. https://doi.org/10.108 0/17531055.2014.985357

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Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Moss, S. M., & Vollhardt, J. R. (2016). “You can’t give a syringe with unity”: Rwandan responses to the government’s single recategorization policies. Analyses of Social Issues and Public Policy, 16(1), 325–359. https://doi.org/10.1111/asap.12097 Moss, S. M. (2017). From political to national identity in Zanzibar. Narratives on changes in social practices. In S. Bagga-Gupta, A. L. Hansen, & J. Feilberg (Eds.) Identity Identity Revisited and Reimagined (pp. 169–186). Springer, Cham. Murphy, E. and Dingwald, R. (2001). The ethics of ethnography. In P.  Atkinson, A.  Coffey, S.  Delamont, J.  Lofland & L.  Lofland (Eds.) Handbook of Ethnography, (pp.  339–351). London: Sage. Phillips, H. (1960). Problems of translation and meaning in field work. In R.N.  Adams and J. J. Preiss (Eds.) Human organization research: Field relations and techniques (pp. 290–307). Homewood, IL: The Dorsey Press Inc. Roop, S., Tronvoll, K., & Minde, N. (2018). The politics of continuity and collusion in Zanzibar: political reconciliation and the establishment of the Government of National Unity. The Journal of Modern African Studies, 56, 245–267. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0022278X18000162 Scott, S., Miller, F., & Lloyd, K. (2006). Doing fieldwork in development geography: Research cultures and research spaces in Vietnam. Geographical Research, 44(1), 28–40. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1745-5871.2006.00358.x Skjelsbæk, I. (2016). Interpreting the interpreter: Navigating translation, interpretation, and mediation. Culture & Psychology, 22(4), 502–519. https://doi.org/10.1177/1354067X16650830 Skjelsbæk, I. (2020). Conceptualizing the interpreter in field interviews in post-conflict settings: Reflections from psychological research in Bosnia and Herzegovina. In Y. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 49–61). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Stanley, L. (1990). Moments of writing: Is there a feminist auto/biography? Gender and History, 2, 58–67. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0424.1990.tb00079.x Swartz, S. (2011). ‘Going deep’and ‘giving back’: strategies for exceeding ethical expectations when researching amongst vulnerable youth. Qualitative Research, 11(1), 47–68. https://doi. org/10.1177/1468794110385885 Temple, B. (2000). Crossed wires: Interpreters, translators, and bilingual workers in cross-language research. Qualitative Health Research, 12(6), 844–854. https://doi. org/10.1177/104973230201200610 Temple, B., & Young, A. (2004). Qualitative research and translation dilemmas. Qualitative research, 4(2), 161–178. Thomson, S. (2013). Whispering truth to power: Everyday resistance to reconciliation in postgenocide Rwanda. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Turner, S. (2010). Research note: The silenced assistant. Reflections of invisible interpreters and research assistants. Asia Pacific Viewpoint, 51(2), 206–219. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1467-8373.2010.01425.x Wilson, E.  A. (2018). ‘Don’t say “research”’: Reducing bidirectional risk in Kibera slum. Contemporary Social Science, 13, 337–353. https://doi.org/10.1080/21582041.2017.1418525 Wood, E. J. (2006) The ethical challenges of field research in conflict zones. Qualitative Sociology, 29(3), 373–386. Yeh, E.  T. (2006). ‘An open Lhasa welcomes you’: Disciplining the researcher in Tibet. In M. Heimer & S. Thøgersen (Eds.) Doing fieldwork in China (pp. 96–109). Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawai’i Press.

Chapter 4

Conceptualizing the Interpreter in Field Interviews in Post-Conflict Settings: Reflections From Psychological Research in Bosnia and Herzegovina Inger Skjelsbæk

Over many years, I have conducted interview research in Bosnia and Herzegovina as a non-native and non-speaker of the Bosnian language. My research has been on life before, during and after the armed conflict from 1992–1995, and my focus has been on gendered war experiences, post-conflict reconstruction and reconciliation as well as norm change. The interview formats have been dyadic and focus group interviews. The majority of these interviews, which have been data gathering for various research projects funded by the Research Council of Norway, the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the European Commission, have been carried out with the help of local interpreters. This approach, interviews with interpreters in a post-conflict setting, has been a blind spot in the methodology literature in peace psychology (exceptions include Skjelsbæk 2016, see also Moss and Hajj 2020, in this volume). This blind spot should be a concern for fieldwork in peace psychology research in general and for post-conflict research in particular because we have not adequately conceptualized knowledge production within these settings. My aim with this chapter is to show how we can understand the role of the interpreter in this particular setting and make the assets and concerns with the use of interpreters visible. The reflections that follow are based on my own experiences with interpreters in many interview settings since 2001 up until today, and they include discussions about foreign words, language, and contexts, translations of words and situations as well as power dynamics.

I. Skjelsbæk (*) Center for Gender Research and Center for Research on Extremism, University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway Peace Research Institute Oslo, Oslo, Norway e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_4

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4.1  Understanding Foreign Words and Contexts in the Field The post-conflict space is riddled with psychological concerns such as how to rebuild trust, how to reconcile grievances, how to address traumas on inter- and intra-personal levels, how to handle guilt and responsibility, and finally how to ensure that victims heal and rebuild meaningful lives. In this space, peace psychological research and knowledge is central. My research aim has been to create knowledge about individual experiences and perceptions of violent political change as psychological phenomena. My optic has been through the lens of cultural (Shweder 1999; Valsiner 2014) and political/peace psychology (Blumberg et al. 2006; Huddy et al. 2013; Monroe 2001): These are approaches that urge the psychological researcher to generate knowledge about the normalities of cultural and political lives, as opposed to deviations, abnormalities, and exceptions. In other words, the aim is to look at what it is that becomes normalized in a particular setting, that many would deem as abnormal (that war is a deviation from peace). In order to achieve this, I have needed to interact with people in their everyday lives, in the field through interpreters. This transactional mode of knowledge building, in a foreign language setting and politically charged landscape, has been challenging. Further, the difficulties are exacerbated by the fact that there is very little methodological literature to lean on or help sort out what kind of knowledge, whose voice and words, are actually heard and articulated in an interview setting with interpreters. The fact that there is such limited scholarly literature on the use of interpreters in this field is problematic. There is some mention of the use of interpreters in the scholarly literature on psychological therapy that argues that the interactions between therapist and client will be vulnerable to the sensitivity and language skills of the interpreter (see for instance Björk Brämberg and Dahlberg 2013; Farooq and Fear 2003; Ingvarsdotter et al. 2012), but little discussion about this within peace psychological scholarship. The core argument of the critics, mentioned above, is that using interpreters in interviews opens up space for misunderstandings, lack of transparency, and ultimately wrong insights, which have their own detrimental effects in a therapeutic setting. However, for non-therapeutic psychological work, the picture is not much different. The social science methodological literature in general—and the psychological methodological literature in particular—provides numerous accounts of how interviews should be carried out. In any given setting, interviews fall under what Robson (1993, p. 227) calls self-reporting techniques, and the assumption is that the less influence the interviewer has on an interviewee’s thoughts and reflections, the more accurate such self-reporting will be. “The reliability and validity of an interview depend largely on the skill of the interviewer,” argues Lewin ([1979] 1987, p. 230), adding that “if the interviewer is clumsy and tactless the respondent will say little.” If we adopt this line of thinking to the case of a field interview in a foreign language setting, or a conflict setting with an interpreter, logic (derived from the arguments above) suggests that similar requirements need to be made of the interpreter, that is

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that they should be tactful, skillful, and, above all, invisible. Kapborg and Berterö (2002) even ask whether the interpreter in the qualitative interview threatens validity, in that the voice of the interpreter could be seen to hamper transparency to the original formulations of the interviewee. In order to comply with these requirements and critiques, there is almost an in-built assumption in mainstream methodology literature in psychology that the interviewee and the researcher share a common language. Close readings of words, pauses, and formulations are the gold standard in many textbooks on, for instance, discourse analysis (Jørgensen and Phillips 2002; Wetherell et al. 2001a, b) as the way to analyze interviews. This assumption often results in research interviews taking place in language areas where interviewer and interviewee share the same linguistic background, and the field is at risk of losing insights from lives and experiences in settings that are different. To my knowledge, very few methodological texts have engaged with the possibility that the interpreter can add something valuable to the research design within peace psychology. If we are to take cultural and political dimensions of psychological research seriously, we need to engage in foreign places and possibly be in settings that are linguistically inaccessible to us, and politically difficult, such as post-conflict spaces. We should not leave this empirical space to political scientists, sociologists, and anthropologists, and legal scholars alone, as they are the ones who engage with post-conflict themes the most. The aim of peace psychology, on an overly simplistic level, is to contextualize individual and group experiences and dynamics within different social, cultural, and political settings, where cross-­ linguistic as well as cultural and political issues might need to be tackled in research interview settings. To be able to work in these settings, the researcher must often rely on interlocutors such as field assistants, fixers, and interpreters before, during, and after an interview. Without this support, the researcher is an outsider with limited resources for interaction with research participants. The interpreter is a common interlocutor in fieldwork research, but this is often a valuable function, which is hidden to the reader of the research methodology and findings.

4.2  Translating Words, Language, and Contexts In my research, I have interacted with people who have experienced extreme political and social upheaval, change, and traumas. They have lost loved ones, been violated, and lost their livelihoods, sense of security, and future. They have often been at a loss for words to describe the ordeals they have endured. Still, they have agreed to meet me, a foreigner with no local language skills, to explain and tell their stories. While I have often experienced that we have had a common language (English, French, or German) in order to establish contact and manage small talk, the majority of my interview experiences have been with people who prefer to talk in their own language when talking about painful and difficult issues. The formal interview part has, therefore, most often been with the interpreter.

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Across my various projects, I have worked with different interpreters due to availability. They have been recruited through professional connections in the field based on recommendations, gender and language skills. They have all been told that their function has been to both translate words and the situation. This means that all my interpreters have been given authority, or been empowered, to let me know if I should rephrase a question, if the interviewee experiences discomfort or unease, if we should take a break, and if there are politically sensitive issues that I am unaware of that need to be tackled. Giving the interpreter this dual role rests on an epistemological understanding of language as not transparent but referential and constitutive of reality (Taylor 2001), as argued by Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations. In Gergen’s (1999) account of Wittgenstein’s work, he emphasizes that Wittgenstein refuted the picture metaphor of language and replaced it with the metaphor of the game. As in the game of chess, individual parts of the game have no meaning unless they are used in accordance with the rules of the game: “the meaning of a word is its use in language” (Wittgenstein 1978, section 20e). The path to knowledge, then, must go through language in use, and I would like to add, with an understanding of the sociopolitical context. When empowering the interpreter to take up space, as opposed to being as invisible as possible, this has certain consequences for how to understand and analyze language in use. Let me take one step back before exploring this point further. Taylor (2001, p.  18) argues that “at the most basic level, the researcher needs to understand the language and references used by the interview participants” when using interviews as a data-gathering method. With an interpreter in an interview, it could be argued that the researcher does not have this, because the researcher only gets access to translated language in use. Again, data gathering and analysis easily become restricted to language areas where the researcher has language competence. This can clearly be seen in many textbooks on discourse analysis, where the majority of the studies that are used as examples involve English-speaking researchers in English-speaking (sub)cultures.1 But, even if language and cultural skills are important for data collection in foreign language settings, there is reason to be skeptical about just how “native” researchers actually are in the field, that is, if the researcher and interviewee speak a common language. This means that even if a researcher is able to master a foreign language and presumably understand the cultural context, he or she may still be an outsider and this may still affect the interview data. For instance, in a post-conflict setting, the fact that the interpreter and the interviewee have shared experience with war might create a bond and mutual trust (or the opposite, mutual distrust depending on the conflict pattern and which sides they belonged to during the conflict). A skilled researcher who knows both language and culture, but is a non-native, will therefore inevitably be an outsider. As I have experienced in Bosnia, you can be seen as a part of the conflict. The researcher can be

 See Gergen (1999), Jørgensen and Phillips (1999), Neumann (2001), and Wetherell et  al. (2001a, b). 1

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cast as the “international community,” which often has stakes in post-conflict settings. I was often asked to bring messages from the interview settings to central stakeholders in the field such as civilian and military national and international organizations, organizations that I was not in contact with, nor worked for. For me, this was something that I was not prepared for when I first came to Bosnia to do fieldwork. The fact that my interpreter was a local, identified through local contacts that had been funded by Norwegian funders, was, therefore, important to establish a connection with the interviewees, which I could not have done on my own. It is interesting to note that in the field of anthropology, there have been discussions about the use of interpreters in relation to cultural and political positioning. Berreman’s 1962 monograph Behind Many Masks discussed his fieldwork in a peasant village of the lower Himalayas of northern India. In that study, he used different interpreters, one Muslim and one Brahmin, which gave him access to different types of people, and in the end, different data for analysis. In his conclusion, he argued that the use of interpreters in the field was a methodologically advantageous aspect of his fieldwork. In my fieldwork, gender identity trumped all other concerns. Ethnicity is a sensitive issue in Bosnia, and neither the interpreters nor the interviewees were ready to declare belonging to one ethnicity over another. For some, this was a political issue because they had perhaps identified as Yugoslavs before the war and had become ethnicized through the war violence, forceful displacement, or other experiences. For others, it was a personal issue due to mixed families. Asking people to declare ethnicity in order to match interpreter and interviewees was therefore not an option, but basing the selection of interpreters on gender was. My interviews were, therefore, an all-female setting, which created a setting of shared experiences with childbirth, family life and more, despite very different experiences. This female bond was particularly stressful for the interpreters who, unlike me, were part of Bosnian society and had to remain there after interviews, while I returned to my home country. Through my interviews, they were reminded not only of the war but also about their vulnerabilities as women in the war. I, therefore, spent considerable time with the interpreters after interviews in order to debrief, and I kept in contact with them after my return from the field, ensuring that their well-being was also a concern for me even if the interviews were over. Borchgrevink (2003) argues further that the lack of discussion about the role of the interpreter reduces the question of language competence to an either/or: either you know the language, or you work through interpreters. The fact that you might have learned a language but have a poor command of it and a heavy accent is, therefore, not a topic of discussion within the methodological literature. In their account of the interview method in a foreign language and cultural setting, Fontana and Frey (1994) argue that even when an interviewer is fluent in the foreign language, the possibility of grave misunderstandings is always present, and they point to a 1960 study by Wax as an example. In this study, an American researcher (Wax) was carrying out research in Japanese in concentration camps in the United States between 1943 and 1945 (Fontana and Frey 1994, p. 366). Despite the researcher’s command of Japanese, she had difficulties communicating with her informants because there

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were cultural codes such as talking about silenced themes of which she was unaware and which hampered the conversations in the interviews. The Japanese interviewees did not see her as a neutral researcher but as a member of the US power elite. Clearly, a direct translation of words can be deceiving; there is more at stake, and the task of the translator is to convey more than assumed linguistic parallelism. A solution is suggested: “Care should be taken to select an interpreter who is culturally acceptable as well as proficient in the language” writes Kvale (2007, p. 68). The notion of being culturally acceptable is something that can be hard to determine, but in the interviews that I have carried out, I have made sure to have female interpreters when interviewing women about conflict-related sexual violence. I have made sure to have interpreters who have all lived through the conflict, as did the interviewees and also made sure that they had worked with sensitive topics before through national and international organizations. I have also made sure to go through the selection of words and themes before the interviews in order to make sure that I would use words in my questions that would open up for free reflections. It was important not to use words that could be politically sensitive and create a feeling of discomfort such as asking directly when and where sexual violence took place or the ethnicity of the interviewee. In the Bosnian context, it was, for instance, very important to know how to talk about ethnic and religious differences without asking the interviewees to identify themselves as belonging to one particular group because this was such a big part of the conflict pattern. In order to achieve this balance, the work of the interpreters was crucial. They helped me with words, local knowledge, and understanding and they served as a liaison between the interviewee and me, far beyond the mere translation of words, such as understanding the importance of words they chose, accents, names, pronunciations, and more.

4.3  W  hat Sort of Language Are Interview Data Based on Translation? When I come back from data gathering in Bosnia, I am often confused about what sort of transcribed interview text the interpreter, the participant and I have created together? Whose language/voice is actually represented in the transcribed text? Can translated interview data provide “truths” conveyed by interviewees? Ultimately, this question relates to how we perceive language. Conversation analyses (see, e.g., Wooffitt 2001, pp.  49–92) are examples of research where the focus is based on naturally occurring language; that is, the speaker’s own selection of words and phrases. The problem in an interpretation setting is that the spoken word in this situation will be both the common language of the interviewer and the interpreter and, simultaneously, another and different common language shared by the interviewee and the translator. The transcribed text that will form the basis of analysis will, therefore, not be the “pure” talk of either interviewee or interviewer. The transcribed text must, therefore, be regarded as a hybrid

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talk. It is a new and constructed language that emerges in the interview situation. Consider the following excerpts from two of my transcribed interviews with different interpreters with conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV) survivors: …I do not feel anything towards the Serbs who were coming back…who are returnees…because she thinks that all of them had to be in the army…and she thinks that all of them were doing that…that they were acting like the same ways as the soldiers who were raping her…but she sees we have to live together because we used to live together for centuries… No…I want to stay here…the reason she does not want to leave…is that her sister who left in 1996…also does not have a husband but has a daughter…and life is really hard here…and she has to work a lot…and everything is so expensive…but she sent her some money so that I could buy a field and we can build a house…and I would like to build a house…with at least one floor for her sister. My transcribed field interview texts are full of conflicting uses of pronouns. In some cases, an interpreter will use the first-person pronoun “I” when referring to what the interviewee is saying, thereby merging her own voice with that of the raped woman. In other cases, she may use the third-person pronoun and say “she,” thereby distancing herself from the interviewee. Further, the interpreters are also inconsistent in their use of the core themes of my study, CRSV and the transcribed text is full of different descriptions of CRSV, using words such as “rape,” “war trauma,” “it,” “that thing,” “the war crime,” and “those criminal acts.” Sometimes, I heard the interviewee use the Bosnian word for rape, silovanje, but this was not the word used by the interpreter who could decide to use some of the terms suggested above. There were times when this could be addressed with the interpreter, such as finding out if the interviewee seemed ashamed or shy to use the Bosnian word for rape, and other times where there was not enough time in the fieldwork setting to go through these details and nuances, and where we did not ask directly if the interviewee has been raped, or how, because it was established beforehand that they were selected for interviews precisely because they were survivors of conflict-related sexual violence. Further, this hybrid talk also creates a hybrid linguistic structure. The internal system of signs and signifiers are based on a language that belongs only to the interview setting and the three people involved – if we have the dyadic interview with the interviewer, interviewee, and the interpreter as a model (Temple and Young 2004). Through interpretation, the researcher does not have access to naturally occurring language in use, only to a naturally occurring hybrid talk. Against this background, it is clear that field interviews with translators do not lend themselves easily to structural or semiotic analysis because of the inaccessibility of language in use, in a strict sense. In such a context, therefore, the translator acts as a distracting factor because the translator hinders access to naturally occurring language in use. However, would these complications entail that such interviews did not have value? Is the hybrid talk generated by the translator less “true” than the language in use? The answer is clearly no, these interviews have value, but in ways that need closer scrutiny than direct access to naturally occurring language in use. Further, there will be many times where direct access to language in use is impossible, even in language settings where the interviewee and researcher speak the same language,

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as exemplified above, by Borchgrevink (2003). In difficult political settings, such as post-conflict countries, there could be security reasons that make it difficult for researchers to record and store interviews (Moss et al. 2019). Therefore, notes and summaries might be the only way to document the interviews, again creating a hybrid talk/language, based on translation. But hybrid talk/language diffuses voices in the data. It can become unclear who is talking when. There are ways to circumvent this challenge such as to have a second or third translator listen through interviews and provide two or three translations of the same interviews. I have not been able to do this myself because this adds costs. I have urged PhD students I have supervised to do this if they can afford it. But, if we view the interview situation as a dialogical setting in which all participants—that is, interviewer, interviewee, and interpreter—interact in ways that create transactional data, we are forced to reconsider both the social position and the impact of the interpreter has on the notion of language and translation. This conceptualization, as will be argued below, can open up for even more levels of analysis. “Translation is more than a technical exercise; it is also a social relationship involving power, status and the imperfect mediation of cultures” writes Bujra (2006, p. 172) suggesting that the main task of the interpreter is to convey the position of the interviewee. In addition, Kvale (1996, p. 147) argues that the “interviewer is him or herself the research instrument” and by consequence, would likely suggest that the interpreter is also an extension of the interviewer (i.e., as a research instrument). Elsewhere Kvale (2007, p. 68) says that “the role of the interpreter is to assist and not to take over the role of the interviewer or the interviewee.” In other words, the social positioning of the interpreter is between the interviewee and the interpreter in, seemingly, a limbo position, whilst also juggling an in-group and out-group position vis-à-vis the researcher and the interviewee (see reflections from an interpreters point of view in Moss and Hajj 2020, this volume). As transactional data, the transcribed texts, the use of pronouns, and the selected words for translating core themes are possible to analyze as metadata. One possibility for analysis then would be to have an additional external interpreter go through the recorded interviews and create an alternative interpretation of words, expressions, pronouns, etc. Again, these are costly efforts, and in the projects that I have carried out, I have not had the funds to do this. The aim of this endeavor would not only be to create more nuances in the transcribed text; such an approach would also be a way of indicating how the interpreters in the interview setting managed and reconstructed the information and accounts provided by the interviewees.

4.4  Hierarchies and Emancipation The interview is in itself a hierarchical power situation, where it is the interviewer— that is, the academic scholar—who sets the parameters for the situation. The interviewer decides the questions, themes, and (sometimes) venue for the interview. Furthermore, the questions, themes, and choice of setting have been decided based

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on scholarly considerations and based on research epistemology and methodology. There is an emancipatory aspect built into this setting: The voices of those who have, in my research projects, endured war tragedies of various kinds, are heard in the power language of academia, namely English, to articulate their experiences. From this vantage point, the interpreter serves as an extension of the interviewee. By being situated alongside the interviewee, both in a linguistic and socio-political sense, even if there is no guarantee that these are viewed as equals the interpreter empowers the language and experiences of the interviewee. However, this role is not without potential challenges, such as political and security concerns, for the interpreter. In Bosnia, in particular, international actors (e.g., civil society and military actors) were in the immediate post-war setting viewed as parties to the conflict with specific interests and agendas for the future development of the country. By acting as interpreters for international researchers, the interpreter could be seen as a member of this perceived non-partial international community. The importance, then of selecting the most suited interpreter for the given research project is pointed out in many articles on this theme (Borchgrevink 2003; Bragason 1997; Bujra 2006; Kapborg and Berterö 2002). But what is considered most suited varies. Language skills are key, meaning that the interpreters would need to be fluent in the language of the interviewee and share a common language with the interviewer (often this would mean English). Equally important, however, are the local culture skills, and Bragason (1997) argues that ideally, the interpreter should be a local in the field setting, arguing against bringing in a professional interpreter from the outside. In my experience, the benefits of local expertise, in addition to language skills, outweigh the complications this interview set-up entails. Bujra (2006), who sees the interpreter as more than a mere translator of words but also of culture, supports this view. However, consideration for socio-political power dynamics needs to be added to this list. By extension, the social and political positioning of the interpreter needs to be carefully assessed, and in different settings, this can entail different levels of risk depending on the nature of the research project and the political situation in the field.2 In post-conflict settings, this is particularly important: It is crucial that the interpreter understands the impact of the armed conflict, has shared experience of having lived through the war (as explained above) and understands the security situation for everyone involved in the interview setting. The interpreter’s sociopolitical skills are, therefore, crucial such as in this case, which was a focus group interview, exemplified by my own field notes: After about one hour of conversation with a small group of civil society representatives in a hotel cafe in Bosnia, my interpreter looks at me. She is tired after a long day of interviews and focus group interviews are particularly difficult to translate. She asks if she may say something to the group and step out of her role as interpreter. She has had enough; the rosy tale of the state of affairs in Bosnia told by one

 For a discussion on what this dilemma can entail, see Berreman’s (1962) elaborations on using a high caste interpreter in a Himalayan village. 2

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of the focus group interviewees provokes her. She stops the interview and tells the woman talking that she is mistaken in her accounts. My interpreter felt that things were much more difficult in Bosnia than the woman would let on. Clearly, my interpreter was uncomfortable with conveying the message of one of the interviewees. She had observed that other focus group participants were afraid of counter arguing, against this woman. Age, status, and ethnicity are part of the power dynamics in the room, and I was unable to detect the fine-­ tuning of the power play going on. I had sensed that something was going on but had not understood the full impact of the authoritative woman who had monopolized the focus group conversation. The talkative woman saw me as a representative of the international community and her goal was to spin a rosy tale of progressive developments. My interpreter saw this all too clearly. Her comments lit a fire and the authoritative woman yelled back at her. The other participants were also ignited and they started yelling back and forth to each other in a mix of Bosnian and English. I had to stand up, make everyone calm down and end the focus group interview. Things calmed down but everyone was talking. Interestingly everyone in the room was eager to talk to me after and explain to me how “things really were,” and the information I got from the interview was much richer and more nuanced than I would have gotten if my interpreter had not reacted. My interpreter was miserable and felt that she overstepped her responsibilities and ruined my interview. I comforted her and told her that she had done the exact opposite. I had granted her permission to stop an interview if it derailed in ways that I was unable to understand then and there, but we had also been through many interviews together over many years so she knew my research agenda very well. We both talked to the focus group participants after the interview had ended. Afterward, the two of us sat down to debrief and take notes of everything that had been said, the emotions that had come to the fore, and how we saw the power dynamics between the focus group participant. We entered a situation of co-interpretation of words, events, and dynamics where the interpreter’s views and reflections were invaluable for my understanding of what had happened. In this situation, she became my co-researcher.

4.5  P  re-, During-, and Post-Interview Concerns – A Checklist Finally, having selected an interpreter and starting to prepare for the interview setting, several steps need to be taken. It is important to get to know the interpreter, get the interpreter to know the researcher and the project, and ensure that the interpreter understands the aims of the research project as a whole and the interviews in particular (for a discussion on interpreter-researcher collaboration, see Moss and Hajj 2020 in this volume). Bragason (1997) suggests trial interviews should be undertaken as well as structuring and standardizing the questions in order to reach an agreement between interviewer and interpreter, which words to use for core issues.

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Borchgrevink (2003) and Bujra (2006), on the other hand, argue that there needs to be constant training between interpreters and interviewees throughout the research process. Bujra (2006, p. 177) explains: The researcher may need the translator to be present on all occasions of data collection, so they need to work well together. Ultimately, there has to be trust on both sides, which can only be built up over a period of time. (Bujra 2006, p. 177). I have used both methods, both prepared and gone through questions beforehand, and co-improvised throughout. There is no golden rule, and the mode of preparation should be fitted to the interview setting and participant. If your work with the same interpreter over time, then you become more attuned to each other, and there is less need for preparations before each interview. For some projects, I have worked with the same interpreter on different research visits. This has its clear advantages: you get to know each other and the project aims better, it becomes easier to discuss things post-interview because the interpreter has more shared knowledge with the researcher and can compare and contrast what was said, in ways that interpreters who come and go cannot do. But, if you work with different interpreters within the same research project, you can have more varied use of words, discussions about the interviews and interviewees in the post-interview phase and this can also have value. If, however, the project focuses on sensitive issues such as CRSV, I do think that it is more important to find one good interpreter, build up trust and work with this person throughout. The selection of interpreters and the training and preparing is aimed at this particular negotiation, which is embedded in an inherent uneven power dynamic between the researcher, interviewee, and interpreter, as discussed above. For this reason, interpreters “who are socially aware and interested in other people’s views are better than those who have rigid attitudes they might impose on the data” (Bujra 2006, p. 177), which can be both harder and more crucial in conflict settings. Careful selection, training, communication, and debrief with an interpreter are crucial in crafting the mediation role of the interpreter. In addition to preparing for interviews as outlined above, I have also had debriefs with the interpreter every time an interview is over. During the debrief, important contextual knowledge is discussed, and I get a sense of how the interpreter viewed the interview compared to my own experience. Since the interpreters have a direct understanding of the language in use by the interviewee, I have often experienced that they have detected nuances in the conversations that I was unable to detect. This information has always been very valuable for the analytical process after data gathering. Having established that the interpreters’ role is that of a linguistic as well as a cultural and socio-political translator, the importance of structured debriefing cannot be underestimated. This debrief needs to take place as soon as possible after each interview, but also continuously throughout the research process, as new reflections might arise in light of ever-evolving data. Bujra (2006 p. 178) emphasizes that there should be a space to discuss the non-verbal aspects of the conversation in an interview setting, and a debrief with the interpreter opens up for reflections about this. The interpreter might have noticed gestures, silences, demeanors, and more than the researcher might have overlooked or not understood in the

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sociopolitical context of the interview. Having these elements be part of debriefing is, therefore, crucial in order to get the fullest possible understanding of the interview data.

4.6  Conclusion Fieldwork in psychology needs to be more sensitive to the significance and impact of interpreters. A first step is to admit that we work with them, to acknowledge that we are dependent on them in many more cases than we might like to admit and to make them part of our reflections on knowledge production. While this is a large and complex phenomenon, it is clear that further investigation and research is needed not only on the use of interpreters and language skills but also on the role and potential of discourse research in foreign language settings. Researchers within peace psychology need to be better at conceptualizing and accounting for how translation, interpretation, and mediation limit some forms of knowledge-­generating efforts but at the same time might open up for new ones. We need to acknowledge, describe and conceptualize not only how the use of interpreters potentially complicate research designs in research in peace psychological but also what they add, what kind of hybrid language these kinds of interviews create and which insights we gain from these approaches.

References Berreman, G. D. (1962). Behind many masks. New York, NY: Society for Applied Anthropology. Björk Brämberg, E., & Dahlberg, K. (2013). Interpreters in cross-cultural interviews: a three-way coconstruction of data. Qualitative Health Research, 23(2), 241–247. Blumberg, H. H., Hare, A. P., & Costin, A. (2006). Peace psychology: A comprehensive introduction. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Borchgrevink, A. (2003). Silencing language: Of anthropologists and interpreters. Ethnography, 4(1), 95–121. Bragason, E.  H. (1997). Interviewing through interpreters. Retrieved from http://bs2.auinstallation28. cs.au.dk/fileadmin/site_files/filer_psykologi/dokumenter/CKM/NB23/EGIL.pdf Bujra, J. (2006). Lost in translation? The use of interpreters in fieldwork. In V. Desai & R. B. Potter (Eds.), Doing development research (pp. 172–180). London, UK: Sage Publications. Farooq, S., & Fear, C. (2003). Working through interpreters. Advances in Psychiatric Treatment, 9(2), 104–109. Fontana, A., & Frey, J. H. (1994). Interviewing: The art of science. In N. K. Denzin, & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd edn., pp. 361–376). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Gergen, K. (1999). An invitation to social construction. London, UK: Sage. Huddy, L., Sears, D. O., & Levy, J. S. (Eds.). (2013). The Oxford handbook of political psychology. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Ingvarsdotter, K., Johnsdotter, S., & Östman, M. (2012). Lost in interpretation: The use of interpreters in research on mental ill health. International Journal of Social Psychiatry, 58(1), 34–40.

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Jørgensen, M. W., & Phillips, L. (1999). Diskursanalyse som teori og metode [Discourse Analysis as Theory and Method]. Frederiksberg, Sweden: Roskilde Universitetsforlag. Jørgensen, M.  W., & Phillips, L.  J. (2002). Discourse analysis as theory and method. London, UK: Sage. Kapborg, I., & Berterö, C. (2002). Using an interpreter in qualitative interviews: Does it threaten validity? Nursing Inquiry, 9(2), 52–56. Kvale, S. (1996). InterViews. An introduction to qualitative research interviewing. London, UK: Sage. Kvale, S. (2007). Doing interviews. London, UK: Sage. Lewin, M. ([1979] (1987). Understanding psychological research. Malabar, FL: Robert E. Krieger. Monroe, K. R. (Ed.). (2001). Political psychology. London, UK: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Moss, S. M. & Hajj, H. M. (2020). Keepers of local know-how in conflict: Conversations between research assistant and researcher. In Y. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 29–38). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. Neumann, I. B. (2001). Mening, Materialitet og Makt [Meaning, Materiality and Power]. Oslo, Norway: Fagbokforlaget Vigmostad & Bjørke. Robson, C. (1993). Real world research: A resource for social scientists and practitioner researchers. Oxford, UK: Blackwell. Shweder, R. A. (1999). Why cultural psychology? Ethos, 27(1), 62–73. Skjelsbæk, I. (2016). Interpreting the interpreter: Navigating translation, interpretation, and mediation. Culture & Psychology, 22(4), 502–519. Taylor, S. (2001). Locating and conducting discourse analytic research. In M. Wetherell, S. Taylor, & S. J. Yates (Eds.), Discourse as data: A guide for analysis (pp. 5–48). London, UK: Sage. Temple, B., & Young, A. (2004). Qualitative research and translation dilemmas. Qualitative Research, 4(2), 161–178. Valsiner, J. (2014). An invitation to cultural psychology. London, UK: Sage. Wetherell, M., Taylor, S., & Yates, S. Y. (Eds.) (2001a). Discourse theory and practice: A reader. London, UK: Sage. Wetherell, M., Taylor, S., & Yates, S. Y. (Eds.) (2001b). Discourse as data: A guide for analysis. London, UK: Sage. Wittgenstein, L. (1978). Philosophical investigations. Oxford, UK: Blackwell. Wooffitt, R. (2001). Researching psychic practitioners: Conversation analysis. In M.  Wetherell, S. Taylor, & S. J. Yates (Eds.), Discourse as data: A guide for analysis (pp. 49–93). London, UK: Sage.

Chapter 5

Doing Research on Turkish-Armenian Relations in Turkey, Armenia, and the Armenian Diaspora: The Challenges and Opportunities of Turkish Researchers in the Field Mehmet Karasu and Özden Melis Uluğ

Doing research in intergroup conflict contexts naturally means facing various challenges such as security risks and ethical challenges (Başer et al. 2019). As researchers usually tend to focus on these challenges in fieldwork, they may overlook opportunities (e.g., noticing one’s own prejudices and improving intergroup relations) due to the challenging nature of fieldwork. However, these opportunities may be equally important in the fieldwork. We think that handling and overcoming field-­ related challenges and noticing opportunities at many stages of the research process may be affected by individual factors and socio-political factors. Even though social and political factors such as political barriers to entering the field have been discussed in relation to fieldwork in other disciplines (see Hemming 2009; Thomson 2009), individual factors such as researchers’ positions are relatively less discussed in the literature in general and in the social psychology literature in particular (see for exceptions Acar and Uluğ 2019; Uluğ et al. 2020a). These individual factors are related to the researcher’s positions (e.g., being an insider and outsider) for overcoming challenges and noticing opportunities. Therefore, in this chapter, we focus more on the individual factors by discussing challenges as well as opportunities that occurred in our fieldwork. We are Turkish social psychologists working on topics such as intergroup relations, conflict, and peace processes. The first author is a PhD student at Istanbul University and research assistant in Social Psychology at Van Yüzüncü Yıl University in Turkey. He went to Armenia to conduct research on Turkey-Armenian relations under the Turkey-Armenia Fellowship Scheme through the Hrant Dink Foundation, M. Karasu (*) Van Yüzüncü Yıl University and Istanbul University, Van and Istanbul, Turkey e-mail: [email protected] Ö. M. Uluğ Clark University, Worcester, MA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_5

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which promotes cross-border affiliation and collaboration. The second author is an assistant professor in the Department of Psychology at Clark University in the United States. We have conducted various projects on Turkish-Armenian relations (see for example Karasu and Göregenli 2017; Karasu et  al. 2020a; Karasu et  al. 2020b). Studying this topic is very controversial due to the ongoing hostile relations between Armenians and Turks. We can argue that these hostile relations between Armenians and Turks stem from conflicting narratives regarding the 1915 massacres: Armenians are asking Turkey to accept the massacres that happened in 1915 as the Armenian genocide, and Turkey does not acknowledge the genocide (Uluğ et al. 2020b). In other words, many Turks see the events that happened in 1915 as inter-communal warfare whereas Armenians see it as genocide and want an acknowledgment (Karasu et al. 2020b). These studies we have conducted on Turkish-Armenian relations included interviews with Turks in Turkey and Armenians in Armenia and the Armenian Diaspora in the United States. We should note that the first author organized the fieldwork in Turkey and Armenia, and the second author was responsible for the data collection in the United States. Therefore, the examples provided below represent, in particular, the experiences of the first author, who draws on the insider and outsider role more strongly in those settings. Researchers may have different positions, such as being an insider and outsider researcher during research. For example, a Turkish female researcher may be perceived as an outsider in Armenia; however, she may be perceived as an insider by the female participants in Armenia. Researchers’ positions may change based on contextual conditions, researchers’ own behavior or identity, participants’ identity and research topic at hand (see also O’Connor and Celik 2018). As a result, these positions are fluid, multi-faceted and continuous rather than constant, uniform and dichotomous (Bilecen 2014; Carling et al. 2014; Deutsch 1981; Doğan 2017). We argue that if researchers realize the nature of being an insider and outsider and the fluidity of these positions, they may overcome challenges and notice opportunities about fieldwork more easily. In other words, when researchers do not realize that they are insiders/outsiders, and what this entails in practice, they may have more difficulties when they face identity-related challenges. For example, being a Turkish researcher in Armenia may cause the researcher to face prejudice from the Armenian participants due to socio-political disagreements between the two countries. When one realizes that this challenge is not related to one’s personality, but rather about one’s national identity, one may be less affected by the challenge itself. As both of us are from Turkey, we were expecting that data collection would be relatively easy in Turkey as insiders. However, the first author encountered some challenges when he conducted fieldwork in Turkey due to the socio-political weight of the research topic. Turkey’s official narrative about the 1915 massacres (i.e., denial of the severity of the killings) made the data collection even more difficult in Turkey than in Armenia, as the official narrative increased the prejudice against researchers working on this topic. Due to the hegemonic representations of the 1915 massacres, this topic is controversial and almost taboo in Turkey. As some Turkish

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people perceive these researchers who focus on 1915 massacres as a threat to the ingroup image, they react quite negatively to them. Therefore, if researchers study this topic from a critical perspective, they face reactions both from the general public and from institutions in Turkey. We faced further challenges when we conducted fieldwork in Armenia and the U.S. as outsiders, though in those cases, we were more prepared to face these challenges as outsider researchers. Consequently, we were able to manage these challenges better than those we faced in Turkey. We believe being mentally prepared for these challenges has enabled us not only to overcome the challenges but also to notice the opportunities that occurred in the field. Below, to contextualize our work, we first provide an overview of the disagreements between Turkey and Armenia. Then, we discuss the challenges and opportunities of field research we have faced in intergroup conflict contexts and, finally, try to provide some suggestions that we have found useful based on our own experiences for handling and overcoming the challenges researchers face when doing field research in conflict settings.

5.1  A  n Overview of the Disagreements Between Turkey and Armenia The origins of current disagreements between Turkey and Armenia, especially regarding the 1915 massacres, date back to the last periods of the Ottoman State (about the second half of the nineteenth century). In particular, the last periods of the Ottoman State witnessed significant political and economic transformations (e.g., the rising nationalist movements and the change of trade routes), increasing social inequalities, and Ottoman Armenians’ new demands  regarding their social status (e.g., claim for equal citizenship) (see De Waal 2015; Özdoğan and Kılıçdağı 2012). In addition, many factors such as violent acts committed by some Armenian organizations (e.g., Hunchak Party and Dashnak Party), the politics of the regime of Sultan Abdul-Hamid II in the Ottoman State (1876–1909), the Committee of Union and Progress1 and the outbreak of World War I gradually increased the turmoil in the Ottoman State (see Gocek 2014; Levy 2005). According to Turkish nationalist historians, “the Relocation and Resettlement Law” was legislated in 1915 to prevent the spread of Armenian rebellions in Anatolia (see Çiçek 2005; Halaçoğlu 2005). This was a temporary law concerning the transfer and resettlement of those who opposed the practices of the government within the Ottoman State, either individually or collectively, outside the war zones. As a result, many Armenians were forcefully evicted from their lands, expelled to the Syrian deserts and killed (Akçam

 Ottoman Turkish: İttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti. The Committee of Union and Progress, in other words, the Young Turk opposition movement emerged against the regime of Sultan Abdul-Hamid (Abdülhamit) II (1876–1909; see Hanioğlu 1995). 1

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2006; De Waal 2015). Although there is no consensus about how many Armenians lost their lives, many scholars estimate that over a million Armenians might have been killed intentionally between 1915 and 1922 to erase the Armenian population in Anatolia (Akçam 2006; Bloxham 2005; Hovannisian 1997). However, Turkish nationalist historians generally do not accept these estimates and focus on the years 1915–1917. They claim nearly between 100,000 and 400,000 Armenians lost their lives unintentionally between 1915 and 1917 because of the circumstances of the war, epidemics, starvation and so on (Çiçek 2005; Halaçoğlu 2005; Saray 2010). The Armenian Diaspora began with the massacre of the Armenians and their forcible deportations, especially in 1915–1918 (Tölölyan 2000). Some of the Ottoman Armenians who survived the atrocities fled to the area of Armenia that remained under Russian domination until the USSR’s collapse in 1991. The other survivors settled across the Middle East, in Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, and Iran; others dispersed even further, to Ethiopia, France, Argentina, Greece, Italy (Cohen 2008; Tölölyan 2000). Especially in the 1970s, many Armenians immigrated to North America from the Middle East with developments such as the Lebanese Civil War and Iran’s Islamic Revolution. Therefore, even though the Armenian Diaspora was greater in number in the Middle East in the past, nowadays, there are many Armenians living in North America and Europe (see Çelik 2017; Gibney and Hansen 2005). The disagreements between Turkey and Armenia (and the Armenian Diaspora) have not been resolved for over 100 years. Even if Turkey was among the first to recognize the Republic of Armenia in 1991, there are still tensions between the two countries about the destructive consequences of the 1915 massacres. The most important reason for this tension is that Turkey does not recognize the Armenian genocide. Turkey also closed its border with Armenia in 1993 due to the outbreak of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan.2 This conflict is mainly based on the territorial claims of both Armenia and Azerbaijan regarding the Nagorno-Karabakh region and Turkey’s alliance with Azerbaijan during and after the conflict worsened the already tense relations between Turkey and Armenia. However, in 2009, Turkey and Armenia started the normalization protocols to work towards a resolution between the two countries. The protocols were suspended in 2010 due to the rising voices of opposition in Turkey, Armenia, and the Armenian Diaspora because there was no consensus among the groups in terms of steps to be taken on the normalization protocols. Today, many citizens of both countries remain prejudiced against one another, do not respect one another, and hostilities are ongoing, especially against Armenians in Turkey (see Kentel and Poghosyan 2005). Some nationalist Turks have threatened and even killed Armenians who live in

 This conflict has directly affected Turkish-Armenian relations since Turkey and Azerbaijan see each other as ‘the two fellow nations’ because of their common ethnicities. For example, the third President of Azerbaijan Republic, Heydar Aliyev, said this phrase about Azerbaijan-Turkey relations: “We are one nation, but we have two states” (“Biz bir millet, iki devletiz”; see also Cornell 1999 for the Nagorno Karabakh conflict). 2

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Turkey, including a prominent journalist and advocate for peace, Hrant Dink, in 2007. In addition, some nationalist Armenians have burned the Turkish flag in “Genocide Commemorations” in Armenia (Armenia commemorates 2017). Kentel and Poghosyan’s (2005) research shows that many Armenians in Armenia define Turkish people with negative characteristics such as blood-thirsty, enemy, and barbarian. Similarly, many Turkish people in Turkey have negative stereotypes about Armenians and define them in negative terms such as enemy, evil, and selfish (see Kentel and Poghosyan 2005, for a detailed analysis). Due to the ongoing animosity between the two countries and Turkey’s denial of the genocide allegations, doing research on the Armenian massacres is almost taboo in Turkey, even accepting the Armenian genocide and voicing it in Turkey puts researchers at risk. For example, they may receive death threats from nationalist Turks, be sued, be exposed to censorship by their institutions, and face exclusion by the greater society (e.g., Önderoğlu 2007). Therefore, doing research on this topic involves particular challenges.

5.2  T  he Challenges of Field Research for Insider and Outsider Dynamics Even though we encountered many challenges when conducting field research on disagreements between the two countries, in this chapter, we focus on the challenges we met the most. These challenges are likely to arise, especially during fieldwork in conflict settings. We listed these challenges as (a) building trusting relationships between researchers and participants, (b) security of researchers and participants, and (c) censorship against researchers and self-censorship. In the following, we discuss each of these challenges in greater detail.

5.2.1  B  uilding Trusting Relationships Between Researchers and Participants Being an insider or outsider researcher may influence the data collection process, especially in researcher-participant relationships (Acar and Uluğ 2019). Insider researchers have many advantages in data collection because they may know the socio-cultural and political settings, use the language effectively, have many connections and resources, and get detailed and direct information on events and developments related to the research topic (Hermann 2001). Even though we benefited from these advantages in Turkey as insider researchers, data collection still did not go as we expected. While we were expecting to be perceived as insiders in Turkey and therefore trustworthy, we were seen as outsiders by some Turkish participants who adopted the official Turkish narrative about the 1915 massacres. As we were

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working on a controversial and taboo subject due to hegemonic representations of the 1915 massacres and the ongoing animosity between Turkey and Armenia, some participants considered us untrustworthy (sometimes even traitors). For example, a few people in Turkey did not want to participate in our studies, claiming that our research would support the Armenians’ genocide claims. One of the potential participants even told the first author that he betrayed the homeland by conducting such studies. Some Turkish participants in Turkey also implied that the first author might be a hidden Armenian living in Turkey by asking him questions about his ethnic origin and where his grandparents were born because he was interested in this taboo issue. However, when the first author said that he is Turkish and he is from Denizli, not from an area with historical Armenian populations, they agreed to participate in the study, even if they doubted him at first. These participants probably thought that such a controversial topic could only be studied by those whose ancestors were Armenian and those who had concealed their identity. These transitions in insider and outsider roles indicate how these categories can change momentarily according to the conditions and interactions (see Baser and Toivanen 2018; Carling et al. 2014). Being an insider seems more advantageous than being an outsider in terms of building trusting relationships between researchers and participants. Outsider researchers, on the other hand, have many disadvantages in the data collection process (Bonner and Tolhurst 2002). For example, they may not be able to reach some participants or may be considered untrustworthy by some participants (see Norman 2009). The first author also experienced the negative effects of being an outsider during data collection in Armenia, especially when he conducted face to face interviews. For example, some Armenian participants in Armenia were suspicious about the motivation of the first author and were asking whether he was working for the National Intelligence Agency in Turkey (see Uluğ et al. 2017 for similar problems in the Turkish-Kurdish conflict context). Similarly, other Armenian participants recommended the first author to check his own family tree after warm and sincere interviews, implying that the first author might be Armenian, too. Since they believed Turks should be cold, hostile, and dangerous, a Turk who established warm relationships with them could only be a hidden Armenian. Although we were seen as outsiders in Turkey and Armenia in some contexts, we believed we could still conduct warm and sincere interviews when we could get beyond the wall of prejudice. We believe explaining our research purpose behind the research project genuinely helped us conduct these sincere interviews. Explaining the aim of the research (e.g., understanding the dynamics between the current almost non-existent relations between Armenians and Turks) was quite effective, especially in Armenia, even if the doubts of the participants were not eliminated completely. Moreover, the contact organizations such as the Hrant Dink Foundation and Caucasus Research Resource Center-Armenia contributed to building trusting relationships between the first author and participants in Armenia. He was not seen as a threat to many participants in Armenia because of his affiliation with these two national organizations. He provided information about his connection to these organizations to the participants before he asked them to participate in the research. Even though the first author was seen as an outsider in Armenia at the beginning of

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the research process, these connections helped him build trusting relations with the participants; to at times be seen as a somewhat of an insider in Armenia and helped participants agree to participate in our research.

5.2.2  Security of Researchers and Participants Doing research on difficult socio-political issues may lead to various security problems both for participants and researchers (see Moss et al. 2019). These problems may range from psychological ones (e.g., social exclusion and intimidation) to physical ones (e.g., being taken into custody or even physically attacked; Eck 2011; Mertus 2009), especially when insider and outsider dynamics are at play. For example, a participant in Armenia –a university student– avoided being seen together with the first author, a complete outsider as a Turk. The participant only agreed to be interviewed if she could do so somewhere private, away from the public gaze. After the first communication to discuss where to meet for the interview, she completely cut her contact with the first author since she thought she would be expelled from her university if anyone in her social circle noticed this interview. She also told the researcher that she was afraid of being seen as a traitor for cooperating with the Turks. Due to the participant’s concerns, the first author did not try to contact her again after this last communication by taking her concerns seriously and respecting her worries (see, e.g., Martin-Ortega and Herman 2009). This example showed how the first author was positioned as a complete outsider in this context and how the participant felt threatened, as being seen with the outsider may have had consequences for her (e.g., social exclusion). Security problems are also related to the identities of researchers, such as their nationality or ethnicity, which create different insider-outsider dynamics (Moss et al. 2019). For example, the first author met with a participant in a fast-food restaurant in Armenia. A young server in the restaurant asked the first author whether he was Arab because the first author and the participant were speaking English. The first author told him that he is Turkish. When the server learned that the researcher is Turkish, he refused to serve him. They got the food through another server and finished their meal. After the bill was paid, this server asked them in Armenian to leave the restaurant immediately. Then, as the participant felt worried about the situation, she took the first author out without translating what the server said. At that moment, the first author had a fear for his safety for the first time in Armenia and thought he would be attacked in the restaurant because of the threatening attitude of the server. After this incident, the first author did not want to continue the fieldwork and wanted to go back to Turkey because he felt threatened and unsure about his safety. However, after careful consideration of his motivation to do this research (i.e., wishing to contribute to the solution of the disagreements between Turkey and Armenia), he decided to stay and continue his fieldwork. He did not encounter such cases in Armenia after this incident. However, he became mentally more prepared for these types of incidents. He became more aware that participants may judge him

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based on his nationality, may blame him for what happened in the past, or may imply that he may be an agent working for a state. He further embraced the idea that the problems he might face were not related to his personality. When faced with such incidents, he thought it would be a good idea to keep working on creating opportunities for intergroup contact, as he was aware intergroup contact could reduce prejudice between two communities. We believe keeping these possibilities as well as changing insider-outsider dynamics in mind can give researchers some guidance and flexibility in their fieldwork.

5.2.3  Censorship Against Researchers and Self-Censorship In certain contexts, researching intergroup conflicts may be challenging for researchers, as those issues may be considered controversial or taboo. The hegemonic representations that are produced and maintained by state and society may prevent academics from conducting studies on those topics. For example, researchers may be exposed to censorship in those contexts when they conduct research on these controversial topics (Nets-Zehngut and Fuxman 2017; see also Bilewicz 2020, in this volume for a discussion on working on controversial topics). However, academic freedom is essential to the free search for knowledge and its free expression. Academic freedom is especially vital in conflict contexts, as it helps researchers understand how those conflicts may be resolved. We believe conflict researchers have a responsibility to investigate conflicting parties’ perceptions and attitudes no matter their country of origin. However, while doing so, ideally, they should not experience fear of institutional censorship (see Bird and Brandt 2002). We encountered various forms of censorship throughout the research process. The first author was prevented from participating in a scientific conference when his university refused to grant him the assignment letter necessary for him to be able to attend. The university refused on the grounds that the title of the conference paper contained the words “1915” and “Armenia.” These words were considered dangerous by the authorities at his university in Turkey’s socio-political climate.3 Also, we noticed that even presenting the results of the studies examining the views of Armenians could cause problems in some scientific conferences in Turkey. For example, the first author was accused of not being proud of his own Turkishness (i.e., not being attached to the nation-state ideology of Turkey and therefore being a  Following a failed coup attempt in 2016, Turkey introduced a state of emergency to quickly remove all the elements of the terrorist organization that was involved in the attempted coup. Even though the state of emergency ended in 2018, many writers, academics, and journalists (i.e., civil society) faced government repression during it (see Uluğ and Acar 2018). New extra extraordinary measures were introduced in 2018 to keep a tight grip on society. For example, the recruitment process for public institutions were much more tightened. Everyone is seen as a potential terrorist. Therefore, the government institutions including universities try to avoid problems that may cause trouble for them (e.g., organizing conferences on controversial subjects such as the TurkishKurdish conflict, Turkish-Armenian conflict). 3

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kind of traitor) by a Turkish scholar in a panel while he was presenting the perceptions of Armenians at a conference in Turkey (see Karasu et al. 2017). After this criticism, the moderator of the panel changed the topic by touching on a different subject not to increase the tension in the panel. Unfortunately, due to both direct and indirect pressure on academics (see Furedi 2016), self-censorship is a common phenomenon in academia as well, especially among those who research controversial topics. Researchers may have different reasons for censoring themselves. For example, they may be afraid of being expelled from their institutions, being sued, threatened, or harassed by various governmental and non-governmental actors (e.g., Academics for Peace in Turkey4; Uluğ and Acar 2018). Depending on their reasons, self-censorship can be manifested in various ways, including not presenting narratives as they are (e.g., distorting historical facts or their findings), silence (e.g., refraining from examining further sensitive issues) and euphemism (e.g., using more soft and vague phrases in expressing sensitive issues) (Nets-Zehngut and Fuxman 2017, see also Bird and Brandt 2002). It is fair to argue that the translators’, editors’ and publishers’ self-censorship of information about the Armenian massacres through distorted translations is also common in Turkey (see also Maksudyan 2009). For example, the strategies such as censoring en masse (e.g., simply shortening long paragraphs and not translating certain parts related to the Armenian massacres), euphemism (e.g., using softer and vague phrases related to the massacres) and denying the author’s authority (e.g., using passive voice instead of active voice in the translations as if the arguments were not made by the author) are used in Turkish translations of several history books on the Armenian massacres. Overall, discussion or study on this topic is not encouraged in academic circles. For example, the term “1915 events” in the context of Turkey is generally used to refer to the events that happened during the relocation of Armenians and the conflicts between Turks and Armenians between 1915 and 1917. However, we believe this term is usually used either to disguise the historical facts of the Armenian massacres or to refer to the belief of Turkish nationalists that “there was no Armenian massacre, both Turks and Armenians died during those events.” We also believe researchers, who do not criticize Turkey’s policies about the 1915 massacres but support them, tend to use “1915 events” more often. However, the term “events” minimizes the impact of what happened between 1915 and 1917, does not acknowledge the massacres and helps Turks not to take responsibility for the massacres. As our research involves fieldwork with multiple perspectives on the issue (e.g., (a) seeing the 1915 massacres as genocide and Turkish State as the only politically responsible party; (b) emphasizing mutual suffering, cooperation, and mutual contact between the two communities; and (c) endorsing Turkey’s official narrative and denying the Armenian genocide; see Karasu and Göregenli 2017), we have  Academics for Peace are a group that unites more than 2000 individuals supporting peace in the south-east of Turkey. After they released a statement demanding the Turkish State to put an end to violence inflicted against Kurdish citizens, they have been mistreated (e.g., physical threats such as death threat, individual harassment and forms of institutionalized oppression, including disciplinary and penal investigations, suspensions and dismissals; see Tekin 2019 for a detailed report). 4

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experienced serious challenges in selecting the words we use when preparing our measurement tools regarding the Armenian massacres. For example, we made a choice to use terms that seem as neutral as possible, such as “disagreement,”  or “conflict,” especially in the U.S., rather than using politically charged words for both sides. In our U.S.-based study, we chose the title of our study to be “perceptions and attitudes of the Armenian Diaspora in the United States regarding the conflict with Turkey.” We specifically did not use the term genocide in the title so as not to make the genocide salient in the minds of the participants. Though, on the one hand, this was an attempt to make the research sound more neutral; on the other hand, this created problems with potential participants. One Armenian participant in the US contacted the Institutional Review Board at the second author’s institution to criticize the title of the study as well as to complain about the Turkish identity of the researcher. The participant accused the second author of working for the Turkish government and claimed that not using the term “genocide” in the title was an indication of this. Even though we responded to each objection we received about the study and worked to clarify any issues participants found confusing, this example showed us that even the terminology we choose might have some negative consequences on the data collection process and our relations with (potential) participants. To be able to deal with these negative consequences, we suggest that researchers should be aware of the effects of the terminology they use (Uluğ et al. 2020). Without violating ethical rules, they may consider using different terminologies at the same time. For example, Uluğ and her colleagues (Uluğ and Cohrs 2017; Uluğ et al. 2017, 2020) use different terms used by different ethnic groups in the consent form in the Turkish-Kurdish conflict context. When Uluğ and her colleagues introduce the topic they study in the informed consent form or verbally, they clearly mention that the goal of this research is to examine attitudes toward the issue that is variously defined as the “Kurdish problem,” “terrorism problem,” “ethnic identity problem,” “Southeastern problem,” or “independence problem.” This strategy of including a broad sample of definitions of the conflict helped to prevent possible complaints because the participants witnessed that researchers included different perspectives and sides. Therefore, we argue that using different terminologies used by different groups at the same time might also help to prevent perceptions of researcher bias. However, we are aware that there may be some cases where this strategy of including different terminologies may not work, even backfire. For example, we used terms such as “1915 events” or “tragic events of 1915” in data collection in Turkey. If we had used terms such as “Armenian genocide” or “Armenian massacres,” many participants would have been reluctant to participate in our study. Even if they participated in our study, they could still accuse us of acknowledging the genocide or being a traitor. Therefore, researchers should assess whether using different terminologies or sticking to a more neutral language may help them connect with the participants in a particular context. Even though doing fieldwork in conflict settings may bring many challenges for researchers due to different insider-outsider dynamics such as building trusting relationships between researchers and participants and the security of researchers and participants, we believe there are also

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opportunities that may occur in these difficult settings. As in challenges, some of those opportunities are also tied to insider-outsider dynamics. In the next section, we discuss these opportunities and their relation to insider-outsider dynamics in greater detail.

5.3  T  he Opportunities of Field Research for Insider and Outsider Dynamics In addition to challenges, conducting field research in intergroup conflict contexts can provide researchers some opportunities they might not otherwise have, such as (a) building trusting relationships with local contacts, (b) noticing one’s own prejudices and improving intergroup relations, and (c) reevaluating theoretical and methodological approaches.

5.3.1  Building Trusting Relationships with Local Contacts Being an insider or outsider researcher may also influence the relationship with local contacts. Local contacts always provide significant contributions to research in fieldwork. A network of local contacts, including non-governmental organization staff, academics, and lay people, has crucial impacts on conducting successful research in contexts of intergroup conflict (Eck 2011; Vlassenroot 2006). The lack of such help and assistance will quickly make any fieldwork very difficult. For example, local contacts may help researchers save time and energy in the field (e.g., logistics matters such as reaching out to participants), help them prepare themselves for the conditions of the conflict environment (e.g., paying attention to the terminology to use about sensitive topics when interacting with participants) and help participants trust the researcher(s) more easily when these contacts are a reference point to the participants. Fieldwork in intergroup conflict contexts can especially help to build deeper, stronger and lasting relationships between researchers and local contacts if they have a shared identity, ideology or motivation for contributing to the solution of the conflict (see Uluğ et al. 2020a for a discussion on shared identity, ideology or motivation between researchers and participants in conflict contexts). The institution the first author worked at, the Caucasus Research Resource Center-Armenia, helped him in logistics matters about his research, including checking the translations of the research forms and reaching out to Armenian participants. In addition, the Hrant Dink Foundation introduced the first author to other non-governmental organizations in Armenia and helped him find many local contacts. The first author also met many academics and students at the Turkology Department of Yerevan State University in Armenia through this institute. With their

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help, he was able to reach many Armenian participants to collect data. However, there was a risk of reaching out to participants with similar opinions and perceptions about the disagreements between the two countries because we reached those participants through likeminded organizations. To maximize heterogeneity in views on the disagreements between the two countries, each participant was asked to nominate one participant whose perspective may be very different from their own. Our field-based research in Armenia and the U.S. has provided us with a great opportunity to connect with the local people. For example, some of our Armenian colleagues in Armenia offered to carry out joint research and workshops regarding the relations between Armenia and Turkey. Similarly, in the U.S. the second author worked with an Armenian research assistant to reach out to Armenian-American participants. This research assistant introduced the second author to an Armenian-­ American participant. This participant ultimately wanted to donate to our projects,5 as he thought projects like ours have important implications for improving the relations between Turks and Armenians. Now, in continuing cross-cultural projects in Armenia and the U.S., we have forged a network that will make reaching out to new participants much easier due to these important collaborators. This network is especially valuable in the context of Armenian-Turkish relations; as the contact between the two communities is almost non-existent, we believe this network will also pave the way for future collaborations. We believe the Armenian local contacts we work with do not see us as outsiders anymore, rather they see us as people who share similar ideologies with them and people who want to solve the conflict between the two countries (i.e., as insiders on ideological dimensions).

5.3.2  N  oticing One’s Own Prejudices and Improving Intergroup Relations Contact may reduce prejudice and discrimination between groups in conflict (Allport 1954; Pettigrew 1998; Pettigrew and Tropp 2006). When researchers and participants come from conflicting parties and have had tense relations for a long period of time, contact between them in the context of fieldwork may be effective in improving their relationship. For example, while the first author was collecting data from a group of university students in the classroom in Armenia, one of the participants sitting in the front row asked the first author whether he is Turkish. After the first author told the participant that he is Turkish, she refused to participate in the study by pushing the survey away and putting her pencil down aggressively. The first author calmly responded that he respected the participant’s decision. While the other participants were filling out the surveys, the local contact (an academic) and the first author started talking about the Turkish-Armenian relations in front of her.

 We asked him to donate to the Psychology of Peace and Violence Program that the second author was affiliated with. 5

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The participant who did not fill out the survey witnessed these conversations as well as her friends’ participation in the study without any problem. Later, she wanted to participate in the study as well. This participant said that her great-grandfather had been killed in the Armenian massacres, and she apologized for acting impulsively. In the end, she also thanked the first author for his endeavor to contribute to the solution of problems between the two peoples and to improve the relations between them. We believe this incident contributed positively to the relations between the two individuals, albeit symbolically, by showing that it is possible to talk to each other and even apologize. This incident shows how the positionality of a researcher can be fluid throughout the fieldwork. The first author’s position was initially both a complete outsider (and enemy) and therefore, he was perceived as cold and distant. As she realized that the first author sympathized with the suffering of her group, she may have started to see him as less threatening. Thus, we can argue that he was seen as less of an outsider, as he was perceived as someone who does not deny the Armenian suffering. The second author also received positive responses from the Armenian-American participants in the U.S.  Some participants talked about their feelings by saying, “Thank you for this survey! It helped me think about my feelings on this very important topic” and “Thank you for doing this survey. I hope you publish the results. It made me think about how prejudiced and angry I still am at the Turks two generations later.” Similarly, one participant noted that she hopes “[this] work [could] give Armenian and Turkish people an appreciation of each other and the common bonds they shared for many years.” Our academic work, especially our Q methodology studies, has also helped us find disagreement points between Armenians and Turks (e.g., where the disagreements between conflicting parties may stem from). Thus, we believe our work may provide information for policymakers and politicians regarding indicating the issues that carry the greatest conflict potential and resolution potential. For example, some Turks and Armenians had similarities in terms of their emphasis on the necessity of contact and cooperation to solve the disagreements between Turkey and Armenia. They underlined potential solution strategies such as supporting activities based on cooperation (e.g., conducting scientific studies, establishing bilateral solution commissions, teaching both views in history lessons, and restarting diplomatic relations). They indicated that they want a peaceful co-existence based on the principle of reciprocity (e.g., playing a role together in the solution as Armenians and Turks, re-starting the diplomatic relations between two countries). However, most Turks’ and Armenians’ viewpoints also differed considerably from each other. For example, while some Turks strictly endorsed Turkey’s official narrative regarding 1915 massacres, which means that the tragic events in 1915 are not seen as genocide but inter-communal warfare, many Armenians argued that the 1915 massacres must be seen as genocide for the resolution to be possible between the two nations. Both perspectives are resistant to common solutions that facilitate a peaceful co-existence based on the principle of reciprocity (see Karasu et al. 2020b). Even though various perspectives related to the Armenian massacres exist in both communities, we still believe researchers can use these conflicting views by highlighting where the

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disagreements come from and connecting views by highlighting where people may agree for the solution of the conflict.

5.3.3  Reevaluating Theoretical and Methodological Approaches Even though reevaluating theoretical and methodological approaches is not directly related to the insider and outsider dynamics in conflict contexts, it is still an important opportunity field research can provide. We argue that doing field research specifically in intergroup conflict contexts may lead to questioning the deficiencies of theories and methodologies because those theories and methodologies may be limited to certain conditions and assumptions. Although this may sound like a challenge, we believe that rethinking theoretical and methodological approaches may provide a basis for the emergence of new theoretical and methodological approaches or richer academic discussions.6 For example, we used Bar-Tal’s (2007) intractable conflict theory in our first studies (see, e.g., Karasu et al. 2017; Karasu and Göregenli 2017). This theory was constructed in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Even if this approach, in general, explains the social-psychological infrastructure of the disagreements between the conflicting parties, we detected some shortcomings of this approach in explaining the contexts of our study. That is, we know that the conflict between Armenia and Turkey is seen as an intractable conflict. However, today there is no close combat between the two countries, and the relations between Armenia and Turkey are officially non-existent. This difference between the relations of Armenia and Turkey and Israel and Palestine led us to consider the idea that a new and original theoretical approach should be developed to understand the social-psychological background of the disagreements between two peoples where there is no ongoing conflict or contact, yet, there are hostile relations and a lack of willingness to reconcile (see for example Uluğ et al. 2020b). Conducting field research in contexts of intergroup conflict may lead researchers to reevaluate positivist social science approaches because using only quantitative measures does not capture the subjectivities or experiences of participants in these contexts (for a discussion on using quantitative measures in conflict contexts see Figueiredo et al. 2020 in this volume). This problem related to quantitative measures helps researchers use more flexible methodologies (e.g., qualitative approaches such as in-depth interviews). Furthermore, researchers may use mixed methodologies such as Q methodology (see Brown 1980) or techniques such as cognitive mapping (see Downs and Stea 1973) when they do field research in intergroup conflict contexts. This methodological diversity enables researchers to explore both the

 Questioning the deficiencies of theoretical and methodological approaches is not particular to research in intergroup conflict contexts. However, we think research in intergroup conflict contexts helps researchers question these approaches more easily. 6

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qualitative and quantitative aspects of the research topic. Thus, they give researchers a holistic evaluation of the research topic. In our previous research, we have mainly relied on quantitative studies (for a discussion of the benefits of quantitative studies in conflict settings, see Burns et al. 2020, in this volume). After we recognized the limits of using only quantitative approaches when studying intractable conflicts, we decided to use different methodologies such as Q methodology, a mixed-method approach which is used to identify socially shared perspectives in society, in our next studies about disagreements between Turkey and Armenia (e.g., Karasu and Göregenli 2017; Karasu et  al. 2020a). This methodology, which requires meeting up with participants and sitting with them for longer periods of time, brought us many benefits for our studies. First, we were able to identify the participants’ viewpoints and subjectivities regarding the disagreements (e.g., three viewpoints in Turkey vs. three viewpoints in Armenia; see Karasu et al. 2020b). The viewpoints in Turkey are as follows: (1) seeing the 1915 massacres as genocide and Turkish State as the only politically responsible party; (2) emphasizing mutual suffering, cooperation, and mutual contact between the two communities; and (3) endorsing Turkey’s official narrative and denying the Armenian genocide. The viewpoints in Armenian are as follows: (1) demanding solutions from Turkey; (2) empathy, cooperation, and mutual contact; (3) focusing on the Armenian genocide, but not on solutions. Thus, we could see where the disagreements between Turks and Armenians stem from and why the conflict between the two countries is still not resolved. Second, we were able to identify similarities among participants from different backgrounds (e.g., some Armenian and Turkish participants’ emphasis on contact and cooperation to solve the disagreements between Turkey and Armenia). Third, we were able to make holistic evaluations about the disagreements between Armenia and Turkey by ‘seeing the big picture,’ i.e., by seeing the social, political, and historical connections of these disagreements. We also used the cognitive mapping technique in some of our studies (e.g., Karasu et al. 2017; Karasu et al. 2020a) on relations between Turkey and Armenia. Using the cognitive mapping technique, we were able to explore how social representations related to Turkey and Armenia were constructed with the physical environment, and historical and socio-political realities. This approach allowed us to understand the important role of geographical and historical connections between Turkey and Armenia. For example, the Armenian participants in Armenia drew Mount Ararat, located in the Eastern Anatolia Region of Turkey, most often when they thought of Turkey-Armenia relations. This geographic shape, which is believed to be sacred for many Armenians, symbolizes their roots for Armenians. Mount Ararat in Turkey also symbolizes a sense of absence from their homeland and sadness in terms of being clearly seen from Armenia but not being easily accessible since the border between the two countries is closed. In the future, we also plan to use different qualitative measures to explore Armenians’ and Turks’ viewpoints on the Armenian-Turkish conflict in depth. Thus, we believe qualitative methodology will complement other methodologies by providing data from different angles. Overall, conducting fieldwork in intergroup conflict contexts may help researchers

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question the deficiencies of established theories and methodologies and encourage researchers to use different theoretical approaches and methodologies to be able to understand people’s experiences in the conflict in greater detail. In a nutshell, although doing field research in contexts of intergroup conflict has various challenges, there are also opportunities that may occur in these contexts as well. Researchers may often fail to notice opportunities due to dealing with different challenges or do not highlight those opportunities sufficiently in their discussions.

5.4  General Assessments and Suggestions As we mentioned earlier, doing field research in conflict settings has practical, ethical and methodological challenges (see, e.g., Bush and Duggan 2013; Cohen and Arieli 2011; Goodhand 2000; Marks and Abdelhalim 2018; Wood 2006) and insider-outsider dynamics add another layer to these already existing challenges. These challenges may include but are not limited to building trusting relationships between researchers and participants, the security of researchers and participants, and censorship against researchers and self-censorship. Researchers often focus on challenges but not on opportunities that may come to the fore during fieldwork. However, as mentioned earlier, doing research in contexts of intergroup conflict does not only mean facing challenges; it may also bring many opportunities for researchers. These opportunities may be related to building trusting relationships with local contacts, noticing one’s own prejudices and improving intergroup relations, and reevaluating theoretical and methodological approaches. These opportunities can help researchers find new ways to improve intergroup relations in fieldwork as well. We think researchers’ insider and outsider dynamics in intergroup conflicts may strongly affect how researchers overcome field-related challenges and notice opportunities in many stages of the research. Even if we are from Turkey, and therefore insiders in one context, the topic we study prevented us from experiencing the full volume of the advantages of being an insider. However, these negative experiences did not stop us and we kept conducting our studies. Although we encountered many more challenges in Armenia and the diaspora context as outsider researchers, we could still manage the challenges of fieldwork in risky settings. In these two contexts, we witnessed the shifting positions of being an outsider and insider. These experiences showed that the positions of insider and outsider for researchers are fluid, multi-faceted, and continuous rather than constant, uniform, and dichotomous (see also Carling et  al. 2014; Deutsch 1981; Doğan 2017). If researchers become aware that insider and outsider categories are fluid, multi-faceted, and continuous, they may make transitions between these different categories faster and easier. Therefore, these transitions may facilitate more flexible thinking in the research process. We would like to make some suggestions to overcome the challenges researchers face when doing field research in conflict areas. First, researchers should be mentally prepared by developing a strong understanding of what they will go through in

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the field. For example, participants may accuse researchers of being a traitor or complicit for cooperating with the enemy. However, researchers should not take this accusation personally. They should also keep in mind that unexpected obstacles may always occur in the fieldwork. Second, they should seek support from local contacts. Local contacts can serve as a reference point for participants, and they can also help to build secure conditions for researchers and participants. They should also pay attention to the security risks that local contacts may face due to the research. All measures should be taken to avoid causing any direct or indirect harm. Third, researchers should explain their motivations behind the research project sincerely. Discussing motivations may help even prejudiced participants have a better understanding of the project, help them to make an informed decision whether or not they want to participate in the study. Fourth, researchers should compose a research team, including native-speaking researchers, and should additionally engage in lengthy preparation, including pilot studies, to ensure there are no issues related to language in terms of the clarity of items. In addition, when the aim of the study is introduced, in some contexts, it should be mentioned either verbally or in a written form (e.g., in the consent form) that the issue at hand is variously defined. Using different problem definitions together, for example, in consent forms, might help prevent perceptions of researcher bias and manipulation of participants (see, e.g., Uluğ and Cohrs 2017). In this chapter, we highlighted both challenges and opportunities of fieldwork in conflict settings and how those challenges and opportunities are tied to insider-­ outsider dynamics. We also provided some suggestions based on our own experiences. It is our hope that the discussions throughout this chapter will be beneficial for researchers and contribute to new debates on the opportunities of fieldwork.

References Acar, Y. G., & Uluğ, Ö. M. (2019). Straddling the insider-outsider divide: Challenges of Turkish identity as an outsider researcher in the context of the Kurdish conflict. In B. Başer, M. Toivanen, B. Zorlu, & Y. Duman (Eds.), Research reflections from the field: Insider/outsider dilemma, positionality and reflexivity in Kurdish studies (pp. 183–199). London, UK: Lexington Books. Akçam, T. (2006). A shameful act: The Armenian genocide and the question of Turkish responsibility. New York, NY: Metropolitan Books. Allport, G. (1954). The nature of prejudice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Armenia commemorates the victims of Armenian genocide in the Ottoman Empire (2017, 24 April). Jamnews, Retrieved from: https://jam-news.net/ armenia-commemorates-the-victims-of-armenian-genocide-in-the-ottoman-empire/ Bar-Tal, D. (2007). Sociopsychological foundations of intractable conflicts. American Behavioral Scientist, 50(11), 1430–1453. https://doi.org/10.1177/0002764207302462 Baser, B., & Toivanen, M. (2018). Politicized and depoliticized ethnicities, power relations and temporality: Insights to outsider research from comparative and transnational fieldwork. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 41(11), 2067–2084. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2017.1348530 Başer, B., Toivanen, M., Zorlu, B., & Duman, Y. (2019). (Eds.). Research reflections from the field: Insider/outsider dilemma, positionality and reflexivity in Kurdish studies. London, UK: Lexington Books.

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Mertus, J. (2009). Maintenance of personal security: Ethical and operational issues. In C. L. Sriram, J.  C. King, J.  A. Mertus, O.  Martin-Ortega, & J.  Herman (Eds.). Surviving field research: Working in violent and difficult situations (pp. 165–176). London, UK: Routledge. Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Nets-Zehngut, R., & Fuxman, S. (2017). Self-censorship of narratives of political violence in academia. In D.  Bar-Tal, R.  Nets-Zehngut, & K.  Sharvit (Eds.), Self-censorship in contexts of conflict: Theory and research (pp. 185–205). Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Norman, J. M. (2009). Got trust? The challenge of gaining access in conflict zones. In C. L. Sriram, J.  C. King, J.  A. Mertus, O.  Martin-Ortega, & J.  Herman (Eds.). Surviving field research: Working in violent and difficult situations (pp. 71–90). London, UK: Routledge. O’Connor, F., & Celik, S. (2018). Outsiders twice over in Kurdistan. In B. Baser, M. Toivanen, B. Zorlu, & Y. Duman (Eds.). Methodological approaches in Kurdish studies: Theoretical and practical insights from the field (pp. 123–143). New York, NY: Lexington Books. Önderoğlu, E. (2007, August 7). Akçam: Bu kadar ürktüğümü hatırlamıyorum [I don’t remember being scared that much before]. Bianet. Retrieved from https://m.bianet.org/bianet/ insan-haklari/100686-akcam-bu-kadar-urktugumu-hatirlamiyorum Özdoğan, G.  G., & Kılıçdağı, O. (2012). Türkiye Ermenilerini duymak: Sorunlar, talepler ve çözüm önerileri [Hearing the Turkish Armenians: Problems, demands and solution suggestions] (2nd ed.). Istanbul: TESEV Publications. Pettigrew, T.  F. (1998). Intergroup contact theory. Annual Reviews of Psychology, 49, 65–85. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.49.1.65 Pettigrew, T.  F., & Tropp, L.  R. (2006). A meta-analytic test of intergroup contact theory. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 90(5), 751–783. https://doi.org/10.1037/ 0022-3514.90.5.751 Saray, M. (2010). Ermenistan ve Türk-Ermeni ilişkileri [Armenia and Turkish-Armenian relations] (3rd ed.). Ankara, Turkey: Atatürk Research Centre. Tekin, S. (2019). Academics for peace: A brief history. Ankara, Turkey: Human Rights Foundation of Turkey Academy. Thomson, S.  M. (2009). ‘That is not what we authorised you to do…’: Access and government interference in highly politicised research environments. In C.  L. Sriram, J.  C. King, J. A. Mertus, O. Martin-Ortega, & J. Herman (Eds.). Surviving field research: Working in violent and difficult situations (pp. 108–123). New York, NY: Routledge. Tölölyan, K. (2000). Elites and institutions in the Armenian transnation. Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies, 9(1), 107–136. https://doi.org/10.1353/dsp.2000.0004 Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2018). What happens after the protests? Understanding protest outcomes through multi-level social change. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 24(1), 44–53. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000269 Uluğ, Ö. M., Acar, Y. G., & Kanık, B. (2020a). Reflecting on research: Conflict studies from the perspectives of participants. Manuscript submitted for publication. Uluğ, Ö. M., Bilali, R., Karasu, M., & Malo, L. (2020b). Obstacles to reconciliation and forgiveness among victim groups of unacknowledged past trauma and genocide. Manuscript submitted for publication. Uluğ, Ö. M., & Cohrs, J. C. (2017). “If we become friends, maybe I can change my perspective”: Intergroup contact, endorsement of conflict narratives and peace-related attitudes in Turkey. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 23(3), 278–287. https://doi.org/10.1037/ pac0000216 Uluğ, Ö. M., Lickel, B., Leidner, B., & Hirschberger, G. (2020). How do conflict narratives shape conflict- and peace-related outcomes among advantaged group members? The role of competitive victimhood in intractable conflicts. Group Processes & Intergroup Relations. Advance Online Publication. https://doi.org/10.1177/1368430220915771

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Chapter 6

Confronting Conflicting Attitudes About Racial Bias in the United States: How Communicator Identities Shape Audience Reception Keith B. Maddox, Chelsea S. Crittle, Samuel R. Sommers, and Linda R. Tropp

In the United States, racial disparities in domains such as education, business, income and wealth, housing, criminal justice, and mental and physical health reflect historical and continuing interpersonal and institutional forms of racial bias (Jost, Pelham, Sheldon and Sullivan, 2003; Sidanius, Pratto, van Laar, and Levin 2004). However, not all Americans share this belief. Whites tend to be less aware that bias remains an issue in today’s society and, in fact, often perceive themselves to be even more likely targets of bias than members of historically disadvantaged racial groups (Norton and Sommers 2011). This denial may be defensive, motivated in part by Whites’ concerns over being characterized as racist (Frantz et al. 2004; Monteith et  al. 1993). In the domain of law enforcement, this distinction characterizes the divide between recent large-scale social and political movements such as Black Lives Matter and counter-movements such as Blue Lives Matter. A similar divide exists at a smaller scale within the memberships of a wide range of organizations in the U.S. – organizations that struggle with the challenges afforded by an increasingly diverse society (e.g., Thomas 2012). Given that Whites have traditionally occupied a majority and dominant status position in the U.S. racial hierarchy, we need to develop effective methods to confront White Americans’ denial of the nature and impact of racial bias if we are to find effective and sustainable strategies to counteract it (e.g., Schultz and Maddox 2013). In this chapter, four academic social psychologists discuss insights from their experiences in communicating research about the causes and consequences of racial bias to various audiences in the United States – audiences whose members often K. B. Maddox (*) · C. S. Crittle · S. R. Sommers Tufts University, Medford, MA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected] L. R. Tropp University of Massachusetts Amherst, Amherst, MA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_6

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sharply disagree about the nature of, causes of, and remedies for racial disparities in U.S. society. Our message focuses on the existence and nature of racial bias: the cognitive and motivational qualities of individuals that contribute to historical and structural inequality. Specifically, racial bias reflects the extent to which an individual’s mental representations of racial groups can influence their perception and behavior toward persons and policies associated with these groups. This bias can occur regardless of an individual’s motivations or intentions toward these groups. Across three sections, each author considers how aspects of their and/or their audiences’ identities and motivational states influence how they confront attitudes about racial bias. While our experiences vary, one common takeaway is that who we are and with whom we are communicating can affect how our message is received; factors such as race, gender, and professional status afford both advantages and disadvantages in our confrontation efforts. Chelsea Crittle, a Black female doctoral candidate, describes the challenges faced from academics during the development of her identity as a psychological scientist focused on racial issues. Chelsea confronts psychologists’ beliefs about the illegitimacy of research on racial bias. Focusing mostly on confrontation efforts with non-academic audiences, Linda Tropp, a White female professor, describes the interplay between her efforts to understand audience perspectives and the approaches she uses to facilitate discussions of racial bias. In particular, Linda confronts audiences to recognize and understand ways in which their own experiences and views often differ from those of historically underrepresented or disadvantaged racial groups. Keith Maddox, a Black male professor, and Sam Sommers, a White male professor, describe how framing bias confrontation as a persuasive communication influences the structure and content of their team approach to informing audiences about the consequences of racial bias. Keith and Sam confront audiences’ beliefs that racial bias may characterize other people, but not themselves.

6.1  Chelsea S. Crittle As a young Black woman from Houston, Texas, navigating a psychology doctoral program at a small wealthy northeastern university has come with its challenges. At a meeting for a university organization aimed at identifying and reducing racial bias, I was asked to reflect on the question, “What does it feel like to be heard?” As the only graduate student of color in a room full of mostly White tenured professors, I began to consider the ways in which my identity had impacted my effectiveness in communicating the reality of racial bias in our society. My reasons for deciding to conduct research related to racial conflict stemmed from my early experience in social justice and my desire for racial equity. For me, confronting social issues impacting my community has always been at the forefront of my life goals, and pursuing a degree in social psychology has merely been a means of addressing said goals. On the other hand, many social psychologists that I have encountered enter into a PhD out of a love of scientific exploration, and the potential to remedy

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pertinent social issues come as a secondary benefit. This key difference in motivation to pursue science has significantly shaped my approach to psychological research focusing on racial bias. After earning my bachelor’s degree in psychology, I started a PhD program in social psychology, conducting research focused on racial bias confrontation. My early work examined the impact of race on Black and White individuals’ reactions to discussions of racial bias. I believe that the confidence and self-assurance that was instilled in me by my undergraduate institution not only helped me to navigate the world as a Black woman but also buffered me against some of the negative psychological effects of entering academia, such as stereotype threat. My undergraduate experience at Spelman, a historically Black college in the U.S., affirmed my existence as a Black woman, so rarely have I questioned whether I’m qualified or deserving of a doctorate. However, my transition from a Black college in a predominantly Black city, to a university in a predominantly White city where roughly three percent of the graduate students identify as Black, made me hyperaware of my identity in relation to my peers. Often being the only Black graduate student in overwhelmingly White spaces, influenced what I researched, how I conducted said research and the ways in which I relayed scientific findings to others (for more on power dynamics see Maseko 2020 in this volume). Even when conducting race research, Whiteness is often at the center of the research question. Thus, with every project, I was very intentional about centering marginalized voices as the main focus of my research. Social psychological research suggests that, despite well-documented evidence that racism is a persistent issue in the United States, historically advantaged group members (i.e., Whites, men) tend to be less aware or unwilling to accept that bias is an issue in today’s society. In fact, individuals from historically advantaged groups often perceive themselves to be more likely to experience bias compared to those from historically disadvantaged groups (i.e., Blacks, women; Norton and Sommers 2011). Thus, we can consider the act of relaying research related to racial bias to be persuasive in nature, such that we are attempting to convince people to buy into our scientific findings. Research also suggests that, ironically, even though members of historically disadvantaged groups are more likely to experience bias and discrimination they experience more backlash when they discuss issues of bias than do members of historically advantaged groups. For example, women and Blacks who attribute negative outcomes to discrimination are more likely to be viewed as complainers, hypersensitive, irritating, and troublemakers compared to individuals who do not make such attributions (Gervais and Hillard 2014; Kaiser and Miller 2001, 2003). Thus, individuals from marginalized groups studying the experience of individuals from their in-group are faces with additional pressures of getting people to buy into the fact that racial or gender bias, depending on the audience. As such, the threat of this pushback could shape the nature of their future research by shifting their focus away from the less commonly understood experiences of marginalized groups towards topics that are more desirable for mainstream audiences. Communicating psychological research about the existence and essence of racial bias has its challenges, particularly when the individual relaying the information

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holds intersecting marginalized identities. Before entering my PhD program, I reached out to a recent graduate from the lab that I was considering, to get a sense of her experience as a Black woman navigating academia. She began to speak about the perception of race research within our department, by those from other psychology areas (e.g., biological, cognitive). What stuck out the most from that conversation was the idea that—in her opinion—social psychology, specifically research focusing on race, was not as respected as other areas in the department. Entering a doctoral program as a 22-year-old Black woman with an interest in studying racial discrimination made me cognizant of how characteristics related to my identity would shape others’ perceptions. Early in my graduate career, I noticed that during departmental talks, there was a discrepancy in the types of questions that I received from prominent professors in the department, compared to questions that the more biological or cognitive focused psychology graduate students would receive. It seemed that questions I received focused on the rigor of the methodological approach or simply expressed skepticism about the phenomenon of interest. In addition, questions asked to me by mostly White individuals outside of the social psychology area were often over-simplified, signaling to me doubts regarding the rigor of the work. Experiences like these were extremely complicated and layered. The over-arching issue that any social psychologist can experience, regardless of race or gender, is the skepticism or over-simplification of social psychological theories surrounding bias. The more nuanced issue has to do with my identity as a Black woman being the deliverer of the message. Individuals from stigmatized groups often experience what psychologists refer to as attributional ambiguity, in which they have difficulties determining whether negative feedback is a result of their work or their marginalized identity. These early experiences tempted me to approach my research differently. Should I be more cognitive in my approach? Would adding a White participant reference group increase the legitimacy of my research? Long before entering graduate school, I was told by my undergraduate advisor, who obtained her PhD in social psychology, that in order to study the lived experiences of Black people I would always need to include a majority group (e.g., Whites, men) as a comparison to the minority groups of interest (e.g., Blacks, women) in order to for White academics to fully grasp the value of my work. Research suggesting that people are seen as less persuasive when they are seemingly operating out of their own self-interests could be used to partially explain the pushback that I have experienced in academia (Petty et al. 2001). Black scholars who study concepts related to racial bias are often accused of doing “me-search” (Ayoub and Rose 2016). The term me-search is pejorative, suggesting that non-­ White people who examine issues closely related to their own identity are subjectively biased. As a result, Black researchers studying marginalized groups must overcome challenges to being heard and respected and for their work to be seen as important. When conducting literature reviews, it is difficult to find the experiences of marginalized groups –that do not center whiteness– in notable mainstream journals. Consequently, I often find myself going to specialty journals (e.g., Journal of Black Psychology) in order to find research examining the lived experiences of Black Americans. For me, this reinforces the idea that researchers from

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underrepresented groups examining the lived experiences of members from their own group will never have a place in prestigious, mainstream journals. Lesser or stronger forms of this bias might contribute to the historic lack of research focused on underrepresented groups in psychology (e.g., Guthrie 2004). Ironically, many White scholars who conduct research outside of the scope of racial bias also engage in what could be considered “me-search.” Meaning that, for each of us, our life experiences shape our perspectives, which influence our approach and the topics we study. Unfortunately, academia’s pushback towards “me-search” is a by-product of the pervasive White patriarchal hegemony within our society. Despite this awareness, I have grappled with altering the nature of my research to cater to an academy that values and rewards both publications and Whiteness. However, my unwavering motivation to study issues that adversely impact my community has allowed me to stay true to my interests while growing as a scientific scholar. As a social scientist, I believe that I have a duty to conduct rigorous research that positively impacts peoples’ lived experiences. Despite this priority, conducting research reflecting very timely social issues can be challenging. The 2016 U.S. Presidential Election took many who expected a Democratic victory by surprise. The day after the election results there was a scheduled social psychology talk in my university department on the topic of prejudice. Later that day I was set to do a presentation on stereotyping and prejudice from the perspective of stigmatized individuals. However, that morning, I found it difficult to even get out of bed, let alone face the idea of discussing research. In that moment, it was difficult to see the relevance of my work and social scientific research in general. I found myself frustrated by the idea that academia seemed to be this echo chamber, and that the community that inspires my work would never benefit from our research. This moment signified to me the importance of extending my research beyond academia and into context such as policy. Constantly seeing news coverage of blatantly racist incidents, ranging from a discriminatory Starbucks barista to a murderous police officer, often led me to wonder: “How can my work make a real difference?” After a few years of graduate school, I began to join organizations with a commitment to addressing social issues through empirical research and policy. The summer after my 3rd year, I served as the Dalmas A. Taylor Summer Policy Fellow for the Society for the Psychological Study of Social Issues. During the first week of my fellowship, I had the opportunity to deliver a short speech at a listening session hosted by the Federal Commission on School Safety (FCSS) at the Department of Education. The aim of this session was to provide comments on the FCSS’s proposal to implement armed guards in schools. My task was to use my expertise as a social psychologist researching stereotypes, racial bias, and discrimination to provide scientific evidence suggesting that this particular proposal would negatively impact Black students. I presented research showing the disparities in school discipline for Black students compared to other groups, as well as the over-policing of Black communities vs. others. For the first time, I was relaying scientific research to a non-scientific audience in an attempt to impact a very real and imminent national decision. As one of the younger speakers in line, I first began to question my expertise as a social psychologist. In fact, the

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term expert was jarring. Being in a completely new context outside of academia allowed past criticism regarding the rigor of my research to seep into my thoughts. I wondered if I, of all people, was fit to relay this information to government officials. Despite my anxieties, I recognized my obligation to communicate the findings of racial bias research beyond academia. After reciting my speech, I was met with praise by several members of the audience, mostly Black women, who stressed to me the importance of understanding the science behind real-world decisions. This experience was a much-needed reminder of the reason that I entered into the academy: to use empirical research to address the lived experiences of people who look like me. When I find myself in overwhelmingly White spaces discussing issues of bias, I remind myself that both my perspective as a young Black woman and my expertise on racial bias make me more than qualified to have a seat at the table. In order to find common ground within and outside academia, I tend to base any of my comments or suggestions in empirical research and reason, rather than personal experience and emotion. Knowing that academics (and some government officials) value science, I lean heavily on that common identity in order to heighten the chances of people buying into my argument. More often than not, my message is well-received within these spaces, but I know that this is not the case for many young Black women in the field. I believe that this is largely because my work on allyship (i.e., non-­ marginalized individual committed to fighting against oppression) focuses on the perceptions of Black folks, but it still caters to the interests of dominant audiences. When posed the question, “what does it feel like to be heard?” my answer is, “it feels right.” As scientists and citizens of the world, we each bring to the table a unique perspective that can potentially allow for positive changes to society. However, due to structures of inequality, some voices are “heard” or “valued” more than others. Each of us holding privileged identities (e.g., academic, male, White) has a duty, not only to do work that uplifts communities but to make efforts to remove barriers for marginalized individuals who are already doing said work. Based on my experiences, I would encourage other researchers to work hard to stay true to their values and goals, continue to make certain that their work reflects the lived experiences of underrepresented groups, but to ground their confrontation efforts in empirical research.

6.2  Linda R. Tropp To provide some background, I am a White, female professor who teaches undergraduate courses on prejudice and intergroup relations at a large public university in the U.S. On campus, I am often called upon to participate in panels, teach-ins, or campus-wide events that seek to confront racial bias and bridge divides between racial and ethnic groups. Beyond the university campus, I am regularly invited to deliver talks, lead seminars, and facilitate workshops on racial bias and intergroup

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relations for non-academic audiences, including educators, public defenders, civil rights litigators, and legislative staffers. Whether I find myself engaged in this work with predominantly White audiences or more racially and ethnically mixed audiences, one insight about which I am reminded, again and again, is how easy it is for us to forget how much our perspectives on the world are shaped by our lived experiences. People come into our workshops and discussions of racial bias with distinct constellations of interactions and touchstone moments that have forged their views of different groups and the multi-­ faceted society in which we live. Correspondingly, my approach to confronting racial bias often involves challenging people—especially White people—to recognize that other people’s experiences of race do not necessarily match their own. I have found that people often question or wonder why a White woman like me would invest so much energy into studying race relations, or in seeking to transform racial bias or ease the tensions that emerge between racial groups in our society. I could easily respond to this question by sharing a bit more about my personal background, such as the fact that I was born and raised in a predominantly Black industrial steel town in the Midwestern U.S. during the 1970s–80s, and that I gained some meaningful insights from this life experience, as well as a certain degree of comfort in talking about race. But, to me, posing the question actually feels like part of the problem itself—that there is a presumption that White people should not care about race. Instead, I would be inclined to have us flip the question to ask ourselves and others: why is there a presumption that White people should not care about race? Investigating that question might yield its own useful insights regarding the nature of race relations in U.S. society today. As we engage in this work, it is also important to remember that any single workshop or brief intervention pertaining to racial bias is unlikely to completely transform a person’s attitudes or worldviews. Rather, at the earliest stages of this work, I believe we should consider focusing our efforts on more modest goals—such as introducing greater flexibility and spaciousness in how people think about race and race-related issues and enhancing their capacity to listen to others’ views and experiences of the world. Such an approach can enhance the extent to which people may at least be willing to recognize the range of perspectives that can grow from distinct life histories and to accept that others’ views are as valid as those that represent their own lived experiences. This approach to addressing race-related issues may also be considered consistent with the phenomenological perspective in social science research (Allport 1954), whereby researchers seek to identify processes and mechanisms that guide individuals’ psychological responses to their social environments. Researchers in this tradition typically seek to understand how people perceive and experience their social worlds and the psychological motivations and needs that underlie their emotional and behavioral responses to what they perceive in their worlds. Underlying this approach is an assumption that the better we understand the forces that drive group members’ perceptions, emotional responses, and concerns in interracial contexts, the more effectively we will be able to communicate and enhance audience members’ receptiveness to information about racial bias and inequality.

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Correspondingly, I tend to approach the task of leading workshops and discussions about race-related issues with deep wells of compassion for people on all sides of the racial divide. I often view my facilitating role as that of a translator, through which I attempt to envision or channel how people from different racial groups might differentially interpret the same racialized situations or intergroup encounters. I also seek to be a resource for everyone in the room in the pursuit of greater understanding regarding the role that racial bias plays in our society. This means that I will, to the extent that I can, wrestle with potential feelings of defensiveness, threat, frustration, or anger that may emerge, and bear the brunt of any such emotions when people feel their worldviews are being challenged. In particular, I feel it is my responsibility, as a White woman, to engage other White people in these challenging conversations. This sense of responsibility is based, in part, in the hope that White people who find it difficult or threatening to talk about race may be more likely to feel heard and listened to by a fellow White person. This sense of responsibility also stems, in part, from a desire to share the burden of offering alternate perspectives on race with the People of Color in the room, rather than necessarily expecting them to “educate” their White peers. Granted, such work is not always easy, nor is it always a simple task to engage parties from diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds to a comparable degree, particularly when the people in the room have different expectations for what our discussions will entail or are at different starting points in thinking about the role of race in our society. Relatedly, I often find when I teach undergraduate courses on prejudice and intergroup relations that many students of Color appear to be relatively prepared to engage in class discussions and speak their minds, whereas many White students appear more hesitant, and perhaps concerned about what they say and how they say it. Therefore, at the very start of the semester, I set ground rules for discussion to ensure that we establish an atmosphere of active listening and mutual respect. I also inform students that I believe everyone has something valid to contribute to discussions of race because we have all been socialized in a society where the significance of racial categories permeates virtually every aspect of our lives. Nonetheless, most White people in the U.S. have not been raised to feel prepared or ready to engage in discussions of racial bias, racial inequality, or other race-­ related issues. More typically, from a young age, we are encouraged not to notice or emphasize racial differences, which likely contributes to a sense of unease or lack of dexterity in addressing race-related issues as we emerge into adulthood (Cashin 2017). It is therefore not uncommon during racial bias workshops for a White person to express something such as “I don’t see race”—not realizing how unrealistic or offensive such a statement might be perceived from the perspective of a Person of Color. People of Color are likely to be chronically aware of racial group membership in interactions with White people and in many social and cultural institutions across the U.S. (Pinel 1999). Perhaps what they really mean to say is something more along the lines of “I don’t see people merely on the basis of race,” in an attempt to convey that they recognize more of the full humanity of People of Color without necessarily reducing them to their membership in racial categories. In such cases, part of our work together involves helping these White people to gain a deeper

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understanding of how members of other racial groups might interpret their comments, regardless of what they may have intended to convey. Alternatively, during race-related discussions, some White individuals may express ways in which they feel misunderstood or upset if and when something they say is referred to as racist. I typically see such moments as opportunities for learning and reframing, acknowledging the feelings that people are expressing, as well as the challenging nature of having candid discussions about race. Instead of focusing on static dimensions of the individuals involved or portions of the conversation—such as “who they are” or “what they said”—I have found it useful to reframe discussions around alternatives that the individuals involved now have in light of being given access to new information—as if to say, for instance, “now that you know what you know, how you are inclined to handle this type of situation in the future?” Such reframing offers people, who may otherwise feel threatened, more room to move, and future trajectories to pursue, rather than leaving them feeling stuck or remaining focused on labels that could provoke feelings of intergroup anger, guilt, or resentment. At the same time, such reframing introduces a certain degree of responsibility for individuals to change—in how they think and in how they speak about racial issues—based on the new knowledge and insights they have gained. In response to what I have described above, I could easily envision how my attempts to acknowledge and attend to the feelings of White people might be seen as frustrating or disappointing to some People of Color, such that I would appear to be too lenient in the face of defensive responses from White people or other forms of White fragility (Diangelo 2018). For the most part, though, I have found both White people and People of Color to be quite receptive to having an opportunity to reflect on the ways in which racial bias functions, and introduces dysfunction, within their organizations. As one recent example, a couple of years ago, I was asked by our university chancellor’s office of equity and inclusion to deliver a campus-­wide talk summarizing “White” perspectives on racial and ethnic diversity. I drew on research from many of my colleagues in social psychology to speak about ways in which White people tend to avoid talking about race (Apfelbaum et  al. 2008), feel excluded from discussions about multiculturalism (Plaut et al. 2011), and are threatened by the prospects of losing status (Craig and Richeson 2014; Lowery et al. 2006). Though I had originally intended for these components of the talk to speak to the motivations and concerns of White people, I was surprised to learn that this work provided meaningful insights for People of Color in the audience, many of whom came up to thank me after my talk. Additionally, in doing this work, one of the things that has perhaps struck me the most is how often people— including both White people and People of Color—have come up to speak with me after workshops and seminars to ask “How did you get so comfortable talking about race?” Overall, I have found that People of Color in the organizations where I have worked tend to appreciate my efforts to engage their communities in open, candid discussions of race-related issues across group lines—and perhaps they also appreciate that, as a White person, I am willing to share some of the burden associated with introducing these topics for discussion.

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6.3  Keith B. Maddox and Samuel R. Sommers We are experimental social psychology professors teaching at a small, private, research-based university in the northeastern U.S. We are an interracial team (Keith is Black and Sam is White), and both of us were raised in suburban, Midwestern U.S, middle-class families. Our collaboration began several years ago in the wake of a racial bias incident on our campus. In December of that academic year, a conservative campus publication published several Christmas carol parodies. One, titled “Oh Come All Ye Black Folk,” implied that the entire class of African-­ American freshmen that year lacked the academic qualifications for “legitimate” admission. Instead, it suggested that they had been admitted in order to help the university achieve a racial quota. While the representatives of the publication considered the carol a satirical attack on affirmative action, others on campus interpreted it as hate speech and demanded that the University respond. The following semester, one component of the response from the administration was to hold a town hall-style event in order to help the community process the incident and think more generally about our goals related to campus climate, diversity, and inclusion. We were asked to present at the meeting to provide an academic lens through which to view stereotyping, prejudice, and discrimination. We continue to give versions of that initial presentation today—to a variety of constituencies on our campus but also more widely—in which we seek to inform and empower individual and organizational efforts to mitigate the expression and impact of intergroup bias. In areas of conflict like these, minority group members often experience bias in a variety of forms, both interpersonal and institutional. Members of the majority may disagree, and even deride those who claim to experience bias. In this section, we frame our efforts to confront bias as a persuasive communication in which we consider potential interactions between characteristics of the messenger(s), the message, and the audience in order to facilitate acceptance and mitigate potential backlash (Schultz and Maddox 2013; Swim et al. 2009). We begin by situating our workshop in the context of these variables and then discuss how their interactions shape our efforts. As messengers, we recognize various aspects of our identities that afford us privilege in some contexts and disadvantage in others. For example, academic audiences may be more receptive to us based on their familiarity with and implied status of our roles as professors. Non-academic audiences see some authority in our roles as professors (particularly male professors), but can also be a bit more skeptical due to our lack of “real-world” experience working in the “ivory tower” of the academy. Thus, we emphasize the fact that we are academic researchers, often with little to no specific knowledge about the specific policies and practices within any particular organization—an acknowledgment that may help to enhance our credibility by offsetting any suspicions that we are outsiders claiming to know more about the organization than its members. Similarly, we intentionally avoid making specific recommendations, reasoning that we lack the expertise and experience of those who are engaged in this work daily. Instead we attempt to empower our audience’s

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present and future efforts by providing general guidelines gleaned from psychological research that can be applied to understanding how bias can impact their personal and professional activities. Our racial identities are also important considerations. A Black man confronting bias alone is subject to potential backlash by White audiences who may wonder whether his viewpoint lacks objectivity due to his identity. Similarly, a White man presenting this message alone may be subject to backlash from minority audiences who may wonder about the credibility and motives of an individual who ostensibly cannot speak from experience. Theoretically, these concerns are mitigated when the presentation is given jointly (for more on the value of a mixed research team see Taylor et al. 2020 in this volume). The skepticism and concerns of one subset of the audience about one speaker are less plausible when applied to the other. From that perspective, a joint presentation by a minority and majority group member has the potential to mitigate backlash and facilitate acceptance. Additionally, the “tag-team” nature of our presentations (i.e., we take turns addressing the audience while working cooperatively toward the same goal) provides a positive model of cross-race dialogue and interaction as we support and extend each other’s comments. Indeed, the feedback that we have received has been overwhelmingly positive—in several cases citing these features, as well as the rapport that we share as friends and colleagues. We have, individually and jointly, led workshops for several audiences, large and small, across several types of organizations, comprised of individuals playing a variety of roles (e.g., secondary and higher education, businesses, and professional organizations). We have led workshops for students, faculty, administrative staff, administrative leadership, businesspeople, engineers, lawyers, police officers, judges, doctors, nurses, and mental health practitioners. These organizations have goals ranging from mere exposure to information about implicit bias to seeking recommendations for implementing strategies to facilitate dialogue and mitigate bias. Whenever possible, the research evidence that we introduce is selected based on the most relevant domain for the audience. For academic audiences of faculty or students, we may discuss the concept of stereotype threat and the role of race in attributional thinking (Crocker et  al. 1991; Steele and Aronson 1995). For legal audiences, we may discuss the role of race in law enforcement and judicial outcomes (Correll et al. 2002; Eberhardt et al. 2004). For staff and administrators, we typically introduce evidence of how race can influence résumé screening and personnel interviews (Bertrand and Mullainathan 2003; Word et al. 1974). We select these domains based on our assumption that research that is more personally and professionally relevant can facilitate attention and effortful processing. In our workshops, we confront the idea that social and material outcomes in society are guided by egalitarian processes. In our message, we offer the perspective that many of the processes that shape outcomes that disadvantage members of underrepresented groups reflect interpersonal and institutional biases. Specifically, we contrast the idea of implicit bias to more traditional (explicit) conceptions of bias and discuss the implications that both types of bias have for judgment and

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behavior. We do this with a combination of interactive demonstrations and the presentation of empirical findings from the social sciences (e.g., Maddox and Sommers 2017). Our message is derived from, and consistent with, the critical mass of social psychological research suggesting that stereotypes and prejudice can affect our perception, judgments, and behavior in ways of which we are sometimes unaware (Kawakami et al. 2017). It validates minorities’ experiences of discrimination and the subsequent consequences for their material and psychological outcomes. It also recognizes that traditional ways of conceptualizing racial bias—stemming from the actions of people who are dispositionally racist—cannot capture the full range of bias expression. Finally, it recognizes that efforts to increase and maintain diversity is not only a social justice imperative, but it also contributes to higher creativity, perseverance, and performance in a variety of domains (Juvonen et al. 2018; Phillips 2014; Phillips et al. 2006; Sommers 2006). Unsurprisingly, not all audiences are equally receptive to this message. Individuals and organizations can be resistant for a variety of reasons, but one that we find most prominent is the idea that they do not see themselves as a part of the problem (Thomas and Plaut 2012). We are also cognizant that, for the most part, the audiences that we speak with are majority White, male, and liberal-leaning. Here, we use the concept of implicit bias to introduce the possibility that bias can be expressed by individuals who consider themselves to be egalitarian. This is a critical message that alerts individuals to the possibility that they may not be as egalitarian as they think. To do so, we use a group-based version of the race-based implicit association test (IAT) in our workshops (Greenwald et al. 1998). The critical trials of our modified version of the test require participants to categorize names and words by slapping their left or right leg, using responses that either reflect stereotypic pairings (e.g., left for Black/unpleasant, right for White/pleasant) or counter stereotypic pairings (e.g., left for Black/pleasant, right for White/unpleasant). A rough estimate of aggregated level of bias is determined through a gross comparison of the time it takes to get through the stereotypic vs. counter stereotypic pairings. While the magnitude of the difference varies, audiences typically take longer to finish the counter stereotypic than the stereotypic trial. The underlying nature and predictive validity of the IAT has been criticized in the literature (Blanton et al. 2009). We embrace this skeptical mindset by asking respondents to place themselves in the shoes of researchers, posing questions that critique the task and the potential implications of its findings. The responses we get mirror those we get in the classroom: procedural critiques (e.g., order effects or handedness), stimuli questions (e.g., familiarity with names), “what if” questions about the identity of the respondents (e.g., racial group memberships, cultural background), and alternative conceptual explanations (e.g., cultural associations with color words “black” and “white” as opposed to racial groups). We are typically able to provide evidence addressing these critiques by referencing the literature and reflecting on our experiences in past workshops (e.g., we regularly switch the order in which respondents complete the critical trials, with little to no effect on the overall pattern of results). While most seem to appreciate this approach, there are times when some individuals refuse to acknowledge the validity of the task, insisting that

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the demonstration is rigged in some way, intentionally or unintentionally, to demonstrate a desired outcome. For these individuals, we validate their concerns about this specific task while pointing out that it is just one task with weaknesses that are not necessarily shared by others that explore implicit social cognition (Gawronski and De Houwer 2014). If we lack time to address all questions, we often invoke the concept of suspension of disbelief to encourage participants to retain, but temporarily hold their skepticism at bay as they consider the bulk of the evidence conveyed in the presentation. By the end, some may still doubt the veracity of the IAT, but most seem convinced by the overall message conveyed through empirical findings. In addition, we make it clear that the IAT demonstration is not a diagnostic tool that allows us to assess and curtail any individual’s expression of bias. Instead, we use it to encourage individuals to consider a broader range of factors that can influence the existence and expression of bias. Specifically, when individuals can recognize how cognitive and motivational processes, organizational policies and procedures, and social contexts can breed and foster bias, they may become more willing to engage across racial boundaries to develop and or support new and creative programs and policies to help mitigate the expression, perpetuation, and impact of racial bias. Sometimes we find that an organization is actually in a place beyond the message we can offer. On some occasions, individuals approach us after the workshop to say that they were looking for information on what the next steps should be, and how to take them. This kind of mismatch is challenging, but even in these cases, audiences can benefit from repeated exposure to a familiar message, like re-reading a book and seeing elements of the story you might have missed the first time. Accordingly, these members of the audience do express some degree of appreciation at hearing the message again. Others recognize that their peers in the organization may benefit from repeated exposure to the message. One of the most common responses that we have noticed comes from audience members from underrepresented groups, who have told us that they themselves were familiar with our message, but grateful because their majority colleagues were not—and needed to hear it. As members of minority groups, there are several contextual forces that conspire to limit confrontations, with interpersonal and professional consequences. These individuals are often appreciative that we say things that they feel they personally could not. One person who had become weary of making similar claims within the organization said they appreciated having this message come from an outside source and watching their colleagues grapple with our message as a spectator rather than a messenger. For those organizations or individuals who are already well aware of the ways that bias can impact judgments and even the mechanisms that underlie it, our message can be frustrating. Nonetheless, we have become even more explicit about what we can and cannot offer during our initial discussions with the organizers who enlist our services, characterizing our effort not as a solution, but rather the beginning of a conversation about racial bias that requires continuation. As experimental social psychologists, our focus is largely on understanding how the social context can influence intrapersonal processes related to bias expression. For the most part, we attempt to “stay in our lane” and discuss the science of stereotyping and prejudice rather than exploring historical or political forces; each of

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which represents rigorous disciplinary perspectives outside of our expertise as experimental social psychologists. However, we do emphasize that the approach we offer should be taken in the context of other intellectual and practical approaches that can also meaningfully inform individual and organizational efforts. To put our approach in context, we often introduce several terms that also contribute to the complicated relationships between race and societal outcomes—terms such as privilege, structural bias, and power. Thus, we also hope to make the connections to how societal context and institutional factors can contribute to the expression and impact of bias. Organizations vary greatly with respect to their self-awareness of the challenges that they face. When it comes to compositional diversity, most recognize that they lack racial diversity, while others with similar composition may see themselves as quite diverse. This can provide a sense that they are already doing a good job, and thus individuals may resent the need for our message. We recognize how this framing may affect how receptive people in the organization are to our message. This is akin to the type of threat experienced by individuals who consider themselves egalitarian but are confronted with evidence that bias can influence their judgments (Howell et al. 2017). To address these concerns, we offer suggestions for other kinds of efforts that organizations can attempt beyond increasing the diversity of their membership. Compositional diversity is usually what people point to and where they direct their energies—for good reasons. However, we propose that if the organization is not prepared to support a diverse membership, those efforts to increase diversity are for naught. For example, the concept of inclusion suggests that we consider the nature of the institutional climate and the extent to which is welcoming to those from underrepresented backgrounds. Several organizations we have visited have rooms decorated with portraits of their past leaders, and almost invariably, these portraits display older White men. We point out that organizations have a right to celebrate their history, but it may come at the cost of denying others a sense of belonging. Also, in contrast to a “if we build it, they will come” approach, the membership should be active in encouraging those from underrepresented backgrounds to participate in organizational activities. When it comes to recruitment, retention, and advancement, we encourage organizations to examine the procedures and policies in place for potential bias opportunities and to consider strategies to mitigate its influence. For example, recruitment through collaborations with minority-serving organizations can expand the pool of potential candidates. In addition, finding better metrics for the qualities desired in a successful employee can help organizations move beyond conclusions gained from heuristics like where a candidate went to school. Finally, we encourage organizations to set standards for progress and assess their efforts periodically. These data should guide efforts to revise or discard unsuccessful efforts and to replicate and expand successful ones. In summary, interactions between message, messenger, and audience characteristics play an important role in determining how a confrontation effort is received. Consideration of these potential interactions can help individuals design confrontation techniques for maximum potential impact—with important emphasis on

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potential. Our work as an interracial team that considers our audiences and the limitations of our message seems to be effective—people report enjoying our presentation. However, there is an important caveat—while we can view our effort through the lens of empirical research, we lack data on how it translates into actual organizational outcomes. Researchers and practitioners alike should not only use evidence to craft interventions, but also work to assess the degree to which these efforts contribute to the reductions in the expression and impact of racial bias in organizations comprised of individuals who hold conflicting views about the existence, causes, or consequences of racial bias.

6.4  Conclusion We have outlined several elements with which we wrestle regularly, in our continuing development as scholars who seek to raise awareness among various audiences, but there are undoubtedly other elements that we have not addressed. For example, the audiences that we speak to typically attend these sessions voluntarily. When voluntary, we assume that those who are “turned off” by the topic will decide not to attend and thus are not in the room. In light of the ever-changing political climate, our concerns about who is not in the room have only grown. In the wake of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election representing a shift toward conservatism, it would seem imperative to reach out beyond our comfort zones in an effort to reach audiences that we typically do not reach—those that are more conservative, rural, or non-college educated. This has led to something of a crisis of confidence, as we wonder whether we are targeting our work toward those audiences who need it most. We are convinced that the challenges faced by well-meaning individuals in organizations that seek out this message voluntarily are real and meaningful. However, in order to affect more widespread change, these efforts need to be adapted and scaled to reach a much broader range of individuals in our society. To summarize, each of our efforts has evolved over time to reflect a variety of challenges that we face in the context of informing others about the nature and impact of racial bias. Our identities and motivations shape each of our experiences in different ways, affording advantages and disadvantages depending on the identities and motivations of our audiences. For Chelsea, her identity as a Black woman pursuing social justice-oriented research elicits challenges to her credibility from fellow psychologists and politicians. But her identity as a HBCU graduate helps to buffer her from experiencing these challenges as more than just minor setbacks in the pursuit of her goals. For Linda, her identity as a White woman confronting racial bias can lead others to question her motives—suspicions that may be a reflection of the larger problem our society faces. But that same identity affords her a certain freedom and privilege to make discussion of racial disparities more normative among White people, and to approach this task with respect and empathy for their own lived experiences. For Keith and Sam, their identities as a Black man and a White man confronting racial bias can lead audience members to question their

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motives as well. But, by working as a team and selecting audience-relevant material, they can offset the impact of these challenges to benefit understanding and acceptance. The examples we discuss provide some insight as to how we leverage this information to facilitate our efforts to confront bias in organizations experiencing conflict. If we were to make a recommendation to others, it would be that a consideration of identity should shape research and practice surrounding racial bias confrontations efforts. Confrontation efforts are persuasive communications that can be tailored to your strengths and weaknesses, and the motivational needs of your audiences. In order to make those efforts more effective, consider your own identity and that of your audience to better anticipate reactions to your message. While perhaps not directly applicable to all readers, we hope that this elaboration of our experiences is enlightening. Ultimately, the choices we make will depend on who we are, and the specific contexts of conflict in which we work.

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Part II

Research Population

Chapter 7

Data Collection With Indigenous People: Fieldwork Experiences From Chile Ana Figueiredo, Carolina Rocha, and Pietro Montagna

This work was supported by a Postdoctoral grant from FONDECYT (CONICYT FONDECYT/ POSDOCTORADO/3160352). The first author also acknowledges the support of two CONICYT grants from the Chilean Ministry of Education (ANID/FONDAP/15130009 and ANID/FONDAP/15110006) during the preparation of this manuscript. The authors would like to thank all of the people who participated in this project.

At present, the Mapuche are the largest indigenous group living in Chile (National Institute of Statistics [INE] 2018) and, up until the present day, they are considered a disadvantaged group in Chilean society in terms of poverty, education and discrimination indicators (Agostini et  al. 2010; Cerda 2009; Haye et  al. 2010). In recent decades, this group has been involved in a violent conflict with the Chilean State due to the territorial claims of their ancestral land, among other demands. Within this context, we conducted a three-year research project analyzing the perceptions of both Mapuche and non-indigenous participants regarding representations of history and present-day intergroup relations. For this, we conducted both qualitative and quantitative studies in two different regions of the country. In the present chapter, we narrate the process of data collection with indigenous and non-­ indigenous participants in the framework of this project. We focus on the challenges that data collection involved by highlighting the process of participant recruitment and trust issues revolving around data collection, as well as compensation practices. A. Figueiredo (*) School of Psychology, Universidad Academia de Humanismo Cristiano, Providencia, Santiago de Chile, Chile C. Rocha Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago, Chile P. Montagna Instituto Psiquiátrico Dr. José Horwitz Barak, Santiago, Chile © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_7

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Another aspect we address is how methodological approaches may influence the data quality and participants’ degree of involvement with the project, by highlighting how these issues interconnect with cultural differences and practices, as well as this indigenous group’s worldview. Finally, we discuss ethical issues arising from collecting data with indigenous participants and the potential consequences that the presentation and diffusion of the project’s results may have in the mid- and long-run for indigenous communities.

7.1  The Mapuche: Past and Present Currently, the Mapuche represent approximately 9.9% of the Chilean population (National Institute of Statistics 2018). During the Spanish colonial period, this indigenous group occupied a large territory in the south of Chile and Argentina and were able to resist the Spanish conquest, while establishing their political and territorial autonomy over the region of La Araucanía. This political and territorial autonomy was formally recognized by Hispanic authorities until the end of the Spanish colony. Nonetheless, after the independence of Chile, between 1861 and 1883, the Chilean army occupied the region of La Araucanía, leading to the incorporation of the Mapuche historical territory into the Chilean State (Bengoa 2008) and to the transfer of large parts of their ancestral territory to European settlers (Bengoa 1999; De la Maza and Marimán 2013; Minorities at Risk Project 2009). This led many Mapuche communities to be forcefully settled in different areas controlled by European immigrants and Chileans, thus losing access to their ancestral land, and leading to the confinement of Mapuche communities in smaller areas of land referred to as reductions  (Gonzalez 1986). During the Land Reform of the 1960s and 1970s, some of this land was restored to indigenous communities but, through the implementation of the “Indigenous Peoples Law” in 1979  during Pinochet’s dictatorship, much of the recovered territory was once again expropriated from Mapuche people. During the military dictatorship, there were many instances of repression against the Mapuche (e.g., Bengoa et al. 2012; Minorities at Risk Project 2009), for example, through forced disappearances and torture and many of their rights were overlooked. Moreover, this led to the impoverishment of Mapuche communities and a process of forced migration to urban centers, which now host approximately two-thirds of the Mapuche population (Ministry of Social Development 2017). These processes of cultural and economic dispossession across time have led to the erosion of trust among the Mapuche towards the Chilean State and, at times, towards non-indigenous people. Since the transition to democracy, after Pinochet’s dictatorship, several procedures were implemented to increase the rights of indigenous groups in Chile but, according to several specialists, these initiatives have been insufficient to protect indigenous communities’ rights (Bengoa 2008; Carruthers and Rodriguez 2009; International Federation Human Rights 2006). The majority of these initiatives have focused almost exclusively on economic aid and land

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restitution. Nonetheless, many of the central claims of the Mapuche people are still ignored, especially in terms of constitutional recognition as well as political and territorial autonomy (Figueroa 2016). Moreover, in recent decades, the Chilean State has promoted important forestry, fishery, aquaculture and hydroelectrical investment projects in the Araucanía region and these have increased and intensified several conflicts with local Mapuche communities (International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs 2003). Nowadays, on the one hand, the Chilean State tries to negotiate a solution to the territorial demands of Mapuche people through the Indigenous Policy Coordinator (CONADI). Still, on the other side, the Chilean State prosecutes Mapuche activists who allegedly commit arson attacks through the implementation of the Anti-terrorist law, a legislation created during the military dictatorship (1973–1990). The application of the anti-terrorist law has been condemned by several international entities, such as the United Nations (e.g., Long 2013), Human Rights Watch (HRW 2004), and the Inter-American Court for Human Rights (IAC 2014). Recently, a panel study with indigenous and non-indigenous people in Chile showed that 75% of non-indigenous and Mapuche participants believe that, currently, there is much and a lot of conflict between the Chilean State and the Mapuche. Additionally, 52% of non-indigenous and 50% of Mapuche participants believe there is much and a lot of conflict between the Mapuche and non-indigenous Chileans (Centre for Intercultural and Indigenous Studies 2017). It is important to note that the perceptions of conflict are much higher when we refer to the Chilean State in comparison to the non-indigenous population, thus highlighting the political nature of the current conflict. Within this context, we conducted a three-year project to understand the historical roots of the conflict and how history is being mobilized by both the Mapuche and non-indigenous people and how representations of history are associated with present-day intergroup relations in the Chilean context.

7.2  T  he Project: Lay Representations of History and Intergroup Relations The data collection processes that we describe in this chapter refer to two studies, one based on semi-structured individual interviews and one using a survey, both conducted in Chile with Mapuche and non-indigenous participants as part of a three-­ year project awarded to the first author of the chapter. This project aimed to understand how lay representations of history relate to present-day intergroup relations between the abovementioned groups. Furthermore, we aimed to understand how representations of the historical past are associated with dynamics of acculturation (i.e., the interplay between acculturation strategies of the minority group and acculturation expectations of the majority group) among these groups. The data collection was carried out between January 2016 and July 2018, contacting Mapuche

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and non-indigenous Chilean participants both in Santiago, Chile’s capital and in rural and urban centers of the region of La Araucanía, the historical region of the Mapuche. The interviews were conducted by two female researchers (the first two authors of the chapter), one who is Portuguese, and one who is a non-indigenous Chilean. In total, we conducted 45 interviews (twenty-eight Mapuche participants, nine non-indigenous Chileans and eight mixed-background participants). The survey was also implemented by two researchers (the first and the third authors of the chapter), a female Portuguese researcher, and a male Chilean researcher who does not belong to any indigenous group either. In total, we had 342 participants (115 Mapuche, 97 non-indigenous, and 130 mixed-background). All the participants received monetary retribution for their contribution to the project: those interviewed received 7 US dollars approximately, and those who answered the questionnaire received 3.5 US dollars approximately. The project was financed by the National Fund for the Scientific and Technological Development (FONDECYT), a State organism that funds individual and collaborative research projects in Chile. Given the current conflict between the Chilean State and the Mapuche, implementing a project with Mapuche participants presents several challenges, mainly related to the lack of trust that many Mapuche have towards representatives of the State and, particularly, researchers who are funded by State entities. This means that, for example, Mapuche communities who are in direct conflict with the State do not see researchers as valid interlocutors and do not accept to participate in research projects. Moreover, the fear that what they say may be used against them also leads to difficulties in addressing historical and contemporary processes that led to their disadvantaged position in Chilean society. Below we reflect on some of the issues arising a) before, b) during and c) after data collection with Mapuche participants, highlighting some of the difficulties and reflections about implementing such a project. To achieve this, we detail the ways in which both the qualitative and quantitative data were collected.

7.3  B  efore Data Collection: Finding Mapuche Participants for Qualitative and Quantitative Studies Given the objectives of the study, one of the main questions we started the interviews with, was related to the most relevant events, periods, historical figures and/ or moments in Mapuche history and the history of the Spanish colony and Chile that relate to the Mapuche. The conflictive nature of the history to be discussed with the participants made us face challenges even before reaching our potential participants. The first issue was replying to requests of accountability and expressions of suspicion from people who helped us reach potential participants. The members of our research team tended to be more acquainted with non-indigenous Chilean people than with Mapuche people. Thus, to invite Mapuche individuals and communities to

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participate in our project, we had to contact them through other actors, adopting two strategies. On the one hand, we asked people from our personal networks (based both in Santiago and La Araucanía) to act as key-informants, inviting Mapuche individuals from their own networks to participate in the study. On the other hand, we contacted people who were carrying out research and interventions with Mapuche communities within our university and other universities located in La Araucanía and asked them to put us in touch with communities to invite them to the project. The latter individuals ended up acting as gatekeepers, that is to say, actors who belonged to organizations and institutions who have formal relationships with potential participants, and that had the possibility of deciding whether or not to provide us their contacts. When reaching key-informants and gatekeepers, we explained to them the aim of the project, the general topics addressed in the interviews or questionnaires, gave them the possibility to decide a moment and location of their preference for collecting data, and how they were going to be compensated for their participation in the project. Both key-informants and gatekeepers tended to be quite hesitant at first about allowing us to reach their acquaintances. They asked us to provide very detailed accounts of what we wanted to discuss with them, expressing two types of concerns. They feared that we would expose Mapuche individuals to distressing topics or that, as many others before, we would use them to fulfill our own interests without providing any benefits for them. This was completely understandable when considering the history of the Mapuche people in Chile. Given the systematic mistreatments and discriminatory policies from the Chilean State (Álvarez San Martín 2012), Mapuche people have diverse reasons not to trust non-indigenous people, especially considering that the State financed this project. Besides, in the context of indigenous groups, research was not very helpful in the past. For many years, research has been synonymous with colonialism, being conducted by external powers who take indigenous people as objects to be labeled and to develop knowledge about (Denzin and Lincoln 2008). In fact, very much alike what key informants and gatekeepers feared, many times researchers arrived at these contexts motivated by external interests, to “extract” knowledge about people, while interacting very superficially with them, thus contributing to reproduce domination (Adams 2014). Thus, our approach meant being completely open and honest about our purposes and the topics to be discussed in the interviews and survey. In this way, we allowed ourselves to be under scrutiny, responding to the multiple questions and concerns that key-informants, gatekeepers, and participants had, allowing them access to information that could lead them to decide in an informed way whether they would help us reach participants or actually be participants in the project. This was necessary for us, not only to be able to carry out our research but most importantly, to be coherent with an important goal: promoting reciprocity and symmetrical power relationships between researchers and the participants, in other words, between everyone involved in our project. In turn, the recruitment of participants for the questionnaire entailed similar difficulties, but also carried its own specificities due to the privileged place of quantitative methodologies in mainstream research. Quantitative research methods are an

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exemplary tool of abstraction that allows the researcher to take a diversity of particular responses and translate them into a common metric. This feature makes them a valuable source of insight and, at the same time, one of the favorite methodologies for ideologies of scientism (Adams 2014). Scientism includes the prescription that researchers must cultivate a neutral position (Maxwell 2004) so that their particular identity position and interests do not translate into bias when doing observations or interpretations of the data. Denzin and Lincoln (2012) have related this way of understanding and practicing research with neoliberal economies and colonialism, where the researcher’s positionless observation and their way of relating with the object of study are framed as part of a neocolonial resource extraction model of research. In a similar way, perspectives on the coloniality of knowledge (Mignolo 2009; Quijano and Therborn 2007) emphasize that mainstream research is an integral component of racialized modernity. This perspective entangles the mainstream research tradition with historical geopolitical and economic processes of domination, whilst obscuring the hegemonic position and the operation of power with alleged neutrality (Madison 2005). However, are all quantitative methods bound to reproduce this colonial knowledge? Or is it possible to decolonize research and use the methodologies described in other ways? These questions acquired particular importance when recruiting Mapuche people to respond to the questionnaire as we actively tried to avoid an unintended reproduction of a history of domination, by allowing spaces in the questionnaire for participants to include their comments and aspects that they considered relevant or important but that were not covered in the instrument. Furthermore, we also made sure to be present and within our participants’ reach during data collection, allowing them to discuss the questionnaire with us and, in the end, giving them space to comment and criticize the measures included (and excluded) from the study. The recruitment of participants for the questionnaire implied the use of several strategies simultaneously. Since non-indigenous Chilean participants proved to be more accessible than the Mapuche when doing the recruitment for the interviews, in the initial stage of the quantitative study, we focused our efforts in contacting Mapuche participants both in Santiago and in La Araucanía first. We used five main strategies: a) asking people from our own networks to act as key informants and/or gatekeepers to communities, Mapuche families or acquaintances; b) publishing posts in social networks (e.g., Facebook groups) explaining the purpose of the research and asking people interested to send an email to the main researcher or the research assistants; c) sending emails to Mapuche communities and associations; d) writing emails to State organisms that worked with Mapuche communities or individuals, asking them to act as key-informants; and e) hiring research assistants to collect data who are themselves Mapuche. This last strategy was only used in La Araucanía, where it was more difficult to reach and contact potential participants due to the higher levels of political conflict in the region and to to the fact that the research team lives in the country’s capital and has few contacts in the south. Thus, for the quantitative data collection, we were also helped by two Mapuche persons

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(one man and one woman) who lived in the south and knew many potential participants through their own networks. The length and characteristics of the first encounter with key-informants and potential participants who responded to the survey varied. Some of the participants were used to this kind of methodology and without further delay, answered the questionnaire. However, sometimes they had their reservations in giving the contact of other family members or acquaintances. Others were worried that they might not be “Mapuche enough” and explained that, even if they had a father or mother that was Mapuche, they felt more Chilean. In an important number of cases, especially for members of specific indigenous communities or associations, issues of mistrust emerged in the relationship. On these occasions, the meeting with participants involved questions not only about the project and the questionnaire but also about the researchers and the institutions involved in the research. During these meetings, both gatekeepers and key-informants usually demanded the presence of the principal researcher. Such a process took several weeks and involved meeting with different members of the communities, including the leaders and potential participants, among others, until they gave their consent to participate in the research. At first, the questionnaire was perceived as something foreign in terms of culture, but also in terms of formal education (something we explain in more detail below). This foreignism of the questionnaire caused some difficulties during the recruitment and data collection. Other times, during the first meeting, participants showed their concern for what other authors (Denzin and Lincoln 2012) have referred to as the extractivist model of research and the problems with retribution practices through financial compensation, claiming that the money offered for their participation was seen as an insult, as a way of “buying” their culture at a very low price. Indeed, this issue sometimes led to the rejection of the retribution money but also the refusal to participate in the study as a whole. To cope with this issue, we decided to approach these situations in a different way, recognizing the participants as others who have their own subjectivity and interests, and thus distancing ourselves from the negation of this alterity that the quantitative extractivist model involved (this negotiation will be more thoroughly discussed in the next section).

7.4  Building a Trusting Relationship As previous research has shown (e.g., Moss et al. 2019), contexts characterized by conflict and violence can discourage people from talking about their experiences with outsiders, and thus doing research in such scenarios requires overcoming distrust. This certainly became evident during our fieldwork, which involved talking about a contentious topic: historical events and processes characterized by mistreatment and discrimination towards the Mapuche. Once we met up with participants to conduct interviews, we had to answer several questions before being authorized to collect data. Again, this was more frequent when contacting Mapuche participants than non-indigenous Chilean participants, both in Santiago and in La Araucanía.

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Non-indigenous Chilean participants, in general, did not have concerns about what our research could imply for them. Actually, some of them doubted if they could be of any help to us because they thought that the historical development of the relations between non-indigenous and Mapuche people in Chile was not something very related to their life experiences or because they thought that expertise on the topic was needed to be able to speak about it. When inviting Mapuche individuals to be interviewed, they wanted to know who we were, who we represented, and why we were interested in talking to them. This could have been an issue because in the history of injustices against the Mapuche, diverse actors have been involved (such as the State but also universities), and we could be identified with more than one of them. For example, at the time of data collection, the research team was affiliated with the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile and, as previously said, the project was financed by the State. During our interviews, many of our participants criticized both the role of the Catholic church and the Chilean State in historical processes that led to the current disadvantaged position of the Mapuche. Moreover, as mentioned before, the interviews were conducted by a Portuguese and a Chilean researcher (the first and second authors of the chapter), and that could have been enough to attribute hidden interests or positionings, given that Chilean people are considered to be among the main perpetrators of violence against the Mapuche and that European groups have received land that was taken from them (Álvarez San Martín 2012). However, after the interviews, a number of Mapuche participants expressed gratitude for our interest in hearing about their current situation and needs. Thus, it seemed to us that the very fact of doing research on this topic was perceived by them as being sympathetic towards Mapuche demands. This impression was also heightened during the process of recruiting non-­ indigenous Chileans for the interviews. We wanted to hear diverse stances on the intergroup relationships between Mapuche and non-indigenous Chilean people. However, most of the Chileans that agreed to be interviewed had positive views about the Mapuche. Because this is the predominant stance among our acquaintances, we tried to reach Chilean participants with more negative opinions towards the Mapuche through key informants from our personal networks. However, they expressed that acquaintances of them who might hold negative opinions towards the Mapuche and their demands probably would feel uncomfortable talking about these topics with us and thus, did not share their contact details with the research team. From the reports of these informants, we inferred that those Chileans might have social desirability concerns or that they were fearful of the potential use of the data collected, despite the fact that we told the key informants that we were genuinely interested in hearing diverse voices on the issues under study. Thus, it became noticeable that we might have been communicating our supportive stance towards the Mapuche and that the topic in itself and the fact that we collected data with both indigenous and non-indigenous people situated us within the conflict framework as potentially being pro-Mapuche. Moreover, our project was funded by the Chilean State. Even though some of our participants evaluated the State’s role positively because of its affirmative actions towards the Mapuche (especially members of a specific Mapuche community in La

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Araucanía), many others were well aware of the State’s role in past and current repression against them. Therefore, following a policy of accountability and transparency, we made explicit that our aim was to listen to diverse voices about the history of intergroup relations between non-indigenous Chileans and Mapuche people, seeking to contribute to a better understanding of the past and current dynamics of intergroup conflict, while we were aiming to provide insights on how to improve these relations in the future. We also clarified that we were funded by the State but that authorities did not define our research agenda and that they would never have access to any type of personal or individualized information about what each person said, nor would they have access to the recorded interviews. Thus, after discussing these issues with the participants and giving them informed consent, all of our participants agreed to be audio recorded during the interview. When negotiating with participants what our relationship would be like, clarifying the nature of our bond with the State was also relevant to delimit participants’ expectations about the outcomes of the project. Given the source of our funding, some Mapuche participants thought that our data was going to be taken directly to authorities to inform policies and get to know their needs. Thus, we had to clarify that although we would write scientific publications and present our data publicly in conferences and seminars that could be eventually used by policymakers, we did not have any direct contact with them, thus not being able to assure them that relevant authorities would be informed of our main results. We did not want to make false promises and did want to be realistic about the limits of our research impact. However, being aware of the ethical need for guiding research with indigenous peoples by values of reciprocity, justice, and equity (Kovach 2016), we did not want to be the only ones being benefited by our research. Therefore, we started conversations about how we could be useful to them, developing initiatives of retribution negotiated with them (this will be discussed later in the ‘After Data Collection’ section). Furthermore, the construction of trust, especially in the communities that received us, was framed by cultural aspects of Mapuche society. The meetings usually took place in the house of the participants or in rukas, the traditional Mapuche houses that now are mostly used for community activities. Knowing how to greet people and whom to start with, the use of mapuzugun when greeting and saying goodbye were all important for our participants. Likewise, it was important to know the rules about accepting food and drinking mate, pronounced ˈmateɪ (Rollin et al. 2009), which is a traditional infusion from South America that in Chile came to be associated with social encounters where long conversations are held while drinking from a single shared mate (Jeffs Munizaga 2017). As researchers, we were talked through these important aspects of the Mapuche sociability process by our participants. The willingness to learn and to use these rules, and our commitment to other events such as traditional games, ceremonies, and markets organized by the communities slowly inserted us in a relationship that went beyond the recruitment process and the production of data. The characteristics of this relationship were configured by the personal and cultural background of all the subjects embedded in it, and our goal of recruiting participants for the quantitative study was inserted in a

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network of reciprocity that shaped the characteristics of the relationship itself. This is not to say that we were considered equals when interacting with Mapuche people. They saw us as foreigners to their own cultural world, but they welcomed us and allowed us to live and experience some aspects of their own culture (Tereucán-­ Angulo et al. 2016). The negotiation for the questionnaires was influenced by the reciprocity explained earlier. Usually, participants demanded retribution for their participation in the project. Although we explained the limits and potential benefits of the use of the questionnaire as well as the presentation of the results, this was not enough in several cases. Some participants asked us for help with the problems they were facing inside the communities. We adopted an ethical stance in recognizing the importance of reciprocity as a cultural feature of Mapuche sociability and also as a means not to replicate previous patterns of violent interaction, and thus the separation between researcher and participant blurred. In this scenario, the researchers and the participants expressed their demands, and we had to negotiate the benefits and expectations of both interlocutors in order to carry out the research. Some of these demands could be negotiated within the framework of the research. An example of this relates to requests about money being delivered directly to the community instead of giving it to each one of the participants. Other requests went beyond this, and some communities asked for our participation in social and cultural events or the use of our professional contact networks to solve some issues that members of the community were facing. Indeed, the agency that funded the research allows for retribution in economic terms to individual participants. Still, different Mapuche communities asked us for other means of retribution for their contribution to the project, some of which we discuss in the section ‘After Data Collection.’

7.5  During Data Collection: Embracing the Unforeseen The main feature of our experience conducting interviews was facing the unexpected. Collective actions carried out by Mapuche people to defend their rights and police repression against them tend to develop to a greater extent in the south of the country, particularly in La Araucanía, than in other regions. That is why we expected that Mapuche participants in La Araucanía would express more politicized and negative perceptions about the conflict between the Mapuche and the Chilean State than both indigenous and non-indigenous participants in Santiago. However, we found quite the opposite. We conducted several interviews with Mapuche participants in one rural community in La Araucanía. Although their members described past experiences characterized by suffering and discrimination, they regarded their current situation more positively than people in Santiago. Likewise, many of the members of this community in La Araucanía evaluated Mapuche activists more negatively than both Mapuche and non-indigenous participants in Santiago, who expressed stronger support for their actions. Still, one must bear in mind the specific characteristics of the Mapuche people we interviewed in La Araucanía: many have very

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low levels of formal education, and they grew up in dire conditions, having to work from an early age to help their families economically, many times in the houses and land of settlers who arrived at this area benefiting from State policies that delivered them land that historically belonged to Mapuche communities. Compared to this background, they evaluated their current situation much more positively. Moreover, in the interviews, Mapuche participants from La Araucanía claimed that perpetrating acts of violence and other types of collective actions by Mapuche groups may only lead to more repression against them. They expressed being highly aware of the repression taking place in the south of the country, probably because they live relatively close to areas in which these violent incidents occur. Thus, we assume that their negative evaluation of collective action might come from the fear of its consequences in terms of increased repression. If they fear that collective action is more likely to bring about more suffering than positive outcomes, depoliticization is an expectable process. As previous research has shown (e.g., Van Zomeren et al. 2010), feeling that an ingroup is able to attain the social change they need, namely believing in group efficacy, is key to be willing to engage in collective action. Thus, the lack of support for activism among Mapuche participants in La Araucanía might be the result of being skeptical about their real chances to promote a positive change by engaging in different kinds of collective action. Furthermore, many of these participants were not activists at all, and they were frequent beneficiaries of subsidiary State policies. Thus, it is also possible that they fear that protests and activism by Mapuche groups might hurt their current situation more than an attitude of dialogue and compromise with the State. Finally, some of our participants also had positive, even if at times ambivalent, relationships with local forestry companies, which tended to donate firewood to their communities and, for many, they were the sole employer for people within the community. Nonetheless, on some occasions we  were able to find dissident voices among Mapuche participants in La Araucanía that were more critical of the current situation. For example, inside one of the communities where we interviewed Mapuche participants, one person was very critical about the role of the State and the forestry industry in maintaining social inequalities and discrimination towards Mapuche people. Moreover, another participant we interviewed in the south talked extensively about the State violence against the Mapuche. Still, at times during the interview, he self-censored what to say, because he feared that he could expose his acquaintances to the risk of police repression. As previously mentioned, we were not able to reach more politicized participants, especially the ones involved in direct conflict with the State, because they refuse to participate in projects that are somehow affiliated with the Chilean State, like ours. However, even if our participants can be considered more moderate in their views about the current conflict, we also realized that there is not a single or unified stance among Mapuche individuals about their relationship with the Chilean State. Likewise, before conducting the interviews, we planned to conduct slightly different interviews with Mapuche and non-indigenous Chilean participants, which implied distinguishing between the two groups. However, when we asked participants how they identified themselves, their answers were not as simple as a binary

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distinction between being Mapuche or non-indigenous. Some participants said that they felt they were both. Others, without having any Mapuche ancestors to their knowledge, said that they felt more similar to Mapuche people than to non-­ indigenous Chilean people because of their worldviews, such as rejecting the capitalist notion of development and advocating the respect for the earth, an important value for the Mapuche people. Others also expressed feeling a bond with this group due to its status as an oppressed minority. Similarly, some Mapuche participants said that they considered themselves as Chilean, even though they had Mapuche ancestry. This led us to adjust our interview scripts and to use self-categorization as the key criterion to analyze our interviews. This, for us, was a reminder of avoiding the frequent risk of essentializing identities when conducting research with indigenous people (Denzin and Lincoln 2008). Having been open to register the unexpected allowed us to learn about the complexities of the phenomena we studied, realizing that a willingness to be surprised in fieldwork is key to understand worlds that are novel to us. Thus, highlighting the importance of avoiding the tendency to simply apply preconceptions that have been denounced by decolonizing perspectives (Adams 2014). Despite these initial barriers, the people we contacted were willing to participate in the project, and no one refused to participate after their questions and concerns were addressed. Once we met up with the participants, told them about our purposes, and showed ourselves as available listeners, they began to engage in the interviews by talking in-depth about the topics at hand. They even began to bring voluntarily other members of the community who wanted to be interviewed. One thing that was very helpful was to have a very broad general question at first, asking them to tell us about who they are and their family history. The Mapuche have a very strong oral tradition of passing along their knowledge, cultural traditions, and family histories (Toledo 2007). Moreover, their cosmovisión (worldview) and cultural celebrations and rituals are formed and completely lived through their connection with the land and the place where their family comes from. So, for example, a Mapuche community from the coast of Chile will perform their ceremonial rituals in a different way than a Mapuche community that lives close to the Andes mountains, because the nature is different and they respect these differences through acknowledging and celebrating this natural diversity. Thus, for Mapuche people, being able to talk about their lof (the familiar clan or lineage) and the place where they come from was very relevant in cultural terms. In our fieldwork, both in Santiago and in La Araucanía, we also learned that the experience of being heard by us was very meaningful to our Mapuche participants. Sometimes they expressed that our interest in listening to them came as a surprise, and they thanked us for it. Some of them mentioned that it was the first time that researchers had asked them about their lives and their perceptions of the past and present-day situation of their people, and this was very valued by them. There were also other ways of expressing gratitude for our work. The second day we spent in one community in La Araucanía, after having interviewed almost ten of its members, one of its leaders offered us a mate to share. Although its use in Chile has decreased in recent decades, mate has traditionally worked as an element that

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brings people together, either to cope with cold temperatures or to have long conversations while sharing a single mate in ‘rounds’ (Jeffs Munizaga 2017). Thus, the invitation to drink a mate with one of the leaders of the community, who also cooked for us, could be seen as a way of reaffirming their willingness to share their stories with us. Besides, she explicitly said that mate is the first expression of affection that people in the countryside deliver, and this was only offered to us after conducting several interviews within the community, which could have been an important way of gaining their affection. Thus, we understood the impact of our interviews in historical and cultural terms. On the other hand, past experiences lived by Mapuche people may have given an important symbolic function to our interviews. Mapuche people have been forcefully led to live in precarious conditions without being consulted, while also losing their land and possibilities to practice their language, religion, and culture (Álvarez San Martín 2012). Likewise, the violation of Mapuche rights has not been recognized, and their memories have been overlooked in dominant accounts of Chilean history (Toledo 2007). Thus, hearing them in-depth might have worked as a symbolic restoration of a voice that has been historically silenced. Besides, given the significant role of orality in their culture (Toledo 2007), the interviews and the space they provided as a means to share their thoughts and opinions were aligned with the ways they relate to their history and each other. During the course of the interviews, we realized that their content depended somewhat on who the interviewer was. When the interviews were carried out by the first author, a Portuguese woman, participants explained themselves in greater detail and expressed even more gratefulness for coming from so far to listen to them. When interviews were conducted by the second author, a non-indigenous Chilean woman, sometimes participants took for granted that she had some background knowledge of their situation and culture and did not expand on specific aspects of their history. Also, with the second author, even though we encouraged them to freely speak their minds, at times participants avoided being too critical of the role of non-indigenous Chileans in historical and present-day instances of conflict, something that did not happen with the first author, with whom they felt more comfortable criticizing non-indigenous Chileans. The way ethnicity affected data production is similar to the experiences of other researchers immersed in conflict contexts. For example, Uluğ et al. (2017) mentioned that while conducting research in the context of the Kurdish conflict, their Turkish identity posed a barrier to the free expression of the Kurdish participants’ views. Although interviews were positively regarded by participants, we were aware of some problems arising during their conduction. Due to our funder’s requirements, participants had to read and sign informed consents and, after receiving monetary compensation for their participation, they had to sign and fill a receipt with personal data. On the one hand, this was problematic because some of the Mapuche participants were almost illiterate. Even though we read aloud the documents and filled in the necessary information on their behalf, this may have replicated negative experiences that Mapuche people had in the past. Many times, illiterate Mapuche people were made to sign documents through which they sold or gave away their lands

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without knowing. On the other hand, the request for personal data (including national identity number) seemed contradictory after explaining and ensuring confidentiality. Despite the fact that no connection can be made between the content of the interviews and those documents, in a conflicted context, this could promote reasonable doubts in participants regarding how exposed they could be in the future in terms of sharing their honest opinions about the current conflict with the researchers. Thus, we believe it is extremely important to think how conventional requirements for research can be adjusted depending on the context and the participants’ characteristics, highlighting the need to have culturally sensitive mechanisms for collecting data without imposing a model through which participants might feel discriminated or at risk for participating. Moss and colleagues (2019) mentioned that obtaining informed consent in conflict contexts may be challenging because of similar reasons as the ones presented above: people may be illiterate, fearful of putting their names on a piece of paper or skeptical of formal documents. They suggest different options to cope with this, such as oral consent. We think such strategies must be extended to other documents that need the signature of the participants. Due to the previously mentioned role of orality in Mapuche culture and the historical context where illiteracy and signatures are framed in relation to exploitation and deceit between non-indigenous Chileans and Mapuche people, it might be useful to consider oral consent in this context. This is especially important when the researcher might be considered an outsider (for more on insider-outsider dynamics, see Karasu and Uluğ 2020 in this volume). Finally, it is important to stress that the viability of these strategies strongly depends on the negotiation of such strategies between researchers, ethics committees, and funding agencies. In a different line, within different methodologies, the supposed neutrality of the researcher has been criticized by different authors (e.g., Adams 2014; Flick 1998) that argue that culture, gender, and ethnicity, among other traits of the researcher, influence the way they relate with the phenomena they want to study, from the recruitment of participants to the way they interpret the data (Marshall and Rossman 1999). This is an unavoidable aspect of all research as it is a consequence immanent to the subjectivity of researchers and their condition as situated human beings. The solution proposed to this is the need for reflexivity, that is, the active reflection on how the position of the researcher may influence the production of knowledge or as Guillemin and Guillam (2004) understand it: the process of critical reflection about the kind of knowledge produced and how that knowledge is granted. This is particularly important for contexts of conflict in which specific traits of the researcher and their perception by the participants may lead them to perceive one as an ingroup member, outgroup member or even as the “enemy” (Moss et al. 2019). In the case of our quantitative study, there were also certain traits present in the members of the research team that had repercussions throughout the process of research, from the recruitment of the participants to the data collection and the retribution. The gender, ethnicity, citizenship, socioeconomic status, and schooling of the researcher were categories that had a dynamic interaction with each other, and that framed the encounter we had with each of the participants, enabling and

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restraining at the same time the information produced in that encounter. In the research team, categories such as Portuguese or Chilean, male or female, and being young professionals had different repercussions depending on who our interlocutor was and their own representations of these categories and their personal experiences. For example, various of our Mapuche informants when meeting the first author of the chapter for the first time were surprised by her age and commented that they were not expecting someone that young. Age and gender have been highlighted as characteristics that influence the production of and access to information in other contexts of conflict as well. For example, Acar and Uluğ (2019) found that being young and female was associated with being “less of a threat” in a specific context. Some of the perceived traits of the researcher represented different things for our Mapuche participants, and these were of course influenced by the historically and culturally produced social representations about what it means to be winka (a Mapuche term that refers to the ‘white man’ and is sometimes used in a derogatory manner) and Mapuche. Each of these categories not only involves criteria of exclusion and inclusion for a particular social group, but they are also part of a history of colonial and postcolonial relationships inserted in a structure of power relations. Throughout time the winka, the paradigmatic Other or figure of alterity for Mapuche people, has had many representations: conquerors, republicans and Chileans, settlers, just to name a few. Particularly troublesome for the research conducted was the insertion in these diverse representations and their associations with colonization, associations that were sometimes strengthened due to the absence of Mapuche researchers in our team, something that was criticized by some Mapuche participants. To avoid this issue, in La Araucanía, during the quantitative data collection, we invited and hired two Mapuche individuals as research assistants to help us contact Mapuche communities and potential participants and collect data. It is important to clarify that the two Mapuche individuals were only involved in the recruitment and data collection of participants of La Araucanía and not in Santiago. This granted access to participants and information we would not be able to reach otherwise. Research assistants, in this way, can function as a vital local partner for access to respondents (Bailey 1996). The questionnaire has several characteristics that made us think about its pertinence for accomplishing the objectives of the study. One of the positive things is that, because it did not necessarily require the presence of the researcher, it is an instrument that could be applied to a large number of people and give us access to more perspectives, enabling us to test and complement the findings we obtained in the interviews. However, access to formal education and the reliance on literacy to be able to answer the questionnaire autonomously raised several obstacles when Mapuche participants in Santiago and La Araucanía had to fill it in. One of the main issues, as previously mentioned, is related to the role of orality in Mapuche society and its importance versus the importance of literacy in Western societies. This made the introduction of the questionnaire in Mapuche communities something foreign associated with Western/winka’s ways of constructing knowledge. The parallels that this kind of situation has with historical processes of colonial domination where the

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illiteracy of the Mapuche population left them in a disadvantaged situation vis a vis non-indigenous Chileans was a matter of concern for us. Another issue -that could or could not be related to the former one- is that the questionnaire was a familiar instrument to those participants that had access to formal education. Indeed, for participants who had few or no years of formal schooling, the logic of the questionnaire was something they were not used to, and this had two main implications: a) it demanded them more time than expected to complete it, and b) it led to distinct interpretations of some questions, which differed from those usually attributed by the researchers themselves when developing the questionnaire. This, in consequence, affected the answers and the interpretations of the results. For example, for Mapuche participants, items reflecting negative consequences of the conflict for the non-indigenous population were considered irrelevant and at times hurtful. Moreover, some assumptions that we had while developing our measures were not supported when our participants responded to these measures. In cases where people who could not read or had reading difficulties, the researchers implemented the questionnaire by reading out loud the items and asking participants to select their responses from the available options. This gave them the opportunity to discuss their answers and many participants felt the need to justify their answers. This, of course, led the researchers to gain more insight into the ways in which the respondents were answering and the underlying meaning of some of their answers. Further obstacles appeared when participants did not know how to read or write and needed the presence of a member of the research team to answer the survey. Although most participants in the study answered the questionnaire individually, different strategies were implemented in order to cope with the obstacles mentioned before. In a few cases we had to adapt the administration of the instrument to meet the requirements of the participants, this was the case in some of the communities where they asked us to apply the questionnaire to a group, usually before or after a meeting they were having. In this way, the instrument entered into a process of socialization that started with casual conversations within the group of people interested in participating in the research and progressively moved back and forward towards the administration of the questionnaire. The heterogeneity of the group in terms of years of formal education and literacy varied. In most cases, we lead the reading of the questionnaire, tried to answer our participants’ questions and helped people that did not know how to read and/or write to answer the survey. All of this process could last an undetermined length of time and could even demand more than one meeting between the group interested in participating in the project and the research team. In this sense, we did not only administer the questionnaire in a different context than the one we had initially imagined, but also the methodology used for the administration itself changed. The need to be flexible with the data collection method used in conflict contexts has also been stressed by other authors (e.g., Moss et al. 2019). Even though the application of the questionnaire in a group context arguably allowed us to cope with issues of illiteracy, while letting us incorporate important aspects of the Mapuche culture, such as orality and their way of socialization in

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order to avoid the reproduction of colonial and postcolonial relations between researchers and participants, it also raised obstacles, especially in relation to the validity of the results obtained. When we applied the questionnaire in a group setting, some questions motivated a group discussion about a certain topic, or in case of doubt, the group tried to exchange their views of what the questions might mean and asked for help from the researchers. In spite of our efforts to emphasize our interest in collecting their individual opinions and that the answers of the questionnaire were based on each of the participants’ singular experience, we cannot ascertain how the group application of the questionnaire might have influenced the answers or even if the results are comparable to those obtained when the questionnaire was administered individually. In a similar way, we do not know how the researchers’ personal traits might have influenced the answers, especially with people that did not know how to read or/and write and that depended on the research team for completing the questionnaire. In summary, although the strategies implemented allowed us to cope with some of the limitations of the questionnaire, the instrument was still foreign to many of our participants. The group context application made the task of completing the questionnaire more fluent. However, this, in turn, raised questions regarding how the application method might have influenced the answers to the questionnaire. Finally, although the conversations established with the participants before the administration of the questionnaire provided important insights about the way Mapuche participants reasoned about the topics of the research, these conversations and social events were not strictly considered as data unless they were translated into answers in the questionnaire.

7.6  After Data Collection After finishing the interviews, one of our main concerns was how to report the richness of the stories we heard. Likewise, anticipating the political uses that can be made of our publications and presentations, we currently wonder about the implications of each possible way of reporting data. For example, most of the Mapuche participants we interviewed in La Araucanía did not express support for protests against the government. Still, we must bear in mind that most of our participants reflect a moderate position regarding the current conflict, and many have received benefits from the government and forestry companies. Thus, our findings could potentially be read as being a representative portrayal of Mapuche opinions and could even be used to justify the repression of protests in the south. This, of course, has significant consequences in social and political terms and, therefore, we have decided to always frame our results as deriving from only some of the many possible stances that Mapuche people have about the conflict in the present day. As mentioned before, as an attempt for justice, equity, and reciprocity (Denzin and Lincoln 2008; Kovach 2016), we wanted to benefit Mapuche participants with our research. We made monetary compensations to each participant for the

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interviews (7 US dollars approximately) and for their participation in the questionnaire (3.5 US dollars approximately) as a way of thanking them for their participation. This was clearly insufficient and probably did not match their most urgent needs. That is why, before conducting interviews with Mapuche participants in La Araucanía, we asked them if there was something that we could do for them (for more on giving back to community, see Alfadhli and Drury 2020 in this volume). For example, in one community, they told us that they needed to understand the laws that currently protect them. That is why the first author prepared a workshop with a specialist on the Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention (C169, 1989; ratified by Chile in 2008; Montt Oyarzún and Matta Aylwin 2011) and the Chilean legal system. The decision to organize this workshop was spontaneously made by the first author of this chapter when the potential participants asked about this possibility and was partly financed by the principal researcher and partly by a research center in Chile. The invited lawyer was a young Mapuche who first made a presentation about laws relating to the indigenous population and several characteristics of the 169 Convention and then allowed the community to clarify their questions and doubts about a process of territorial devolution they were facing. However, this was a one-time activity and we acknowledge that more ways to benefit Mapuche communities in the long-term need to be designed. Further, in terms of retribution practices, we tried to go beyond the payment of individual participants, through the presentation and socialization of results as well as through the involvement in cultural and social activities of different communities that participated in the project. Still, these initiatives may not be enough to fully recognize and acknowledge our participants. In the future, other strategies must be developed by researchers. Furthermore, efforts to officialize these new strategies within funding agencies must also be thought of in order to enable retribution practices that are more significant and relevant for our participants. Besides collecting data and providing feedback to participants about results, all of us developed personal relationships that still carry on to this day and went beyond the traditional way of collecting data. This, of course, was very linked to our own willingness to engage and learn about the Mapuche culture, in an attitude of respect and openness to their cultural specificities. We believe that, without this, data collection would have proven to be very hard with Mapuche individuals. Nonetheless, this made us reflect on our role and the boundaries between researchers and participants, especially when we embrace other kinds of relationships that cannot be understood within the traditional paradigms of research. Likewise, although we wanted to promote symmetrical relations with Mapuche participants, we, as researchers, defined the main directions of our research, and our studies focused on our own research agenda that may not really be aligned with the interests and needs of our participants. Thus, to avoid keeping treating participants as sources of knowledge that needs to be extracted (Adams, 2014), it would be relevant to find ways to develop participatory research. Participatory research refers not only to the development of new and different methodologies but rather to a new way of thinking the entire research project, from the design, implementation and data collection to the interpretation and diffusion of results, that allows for direct

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involvement of the communities that are involved in the research project and that also aim to bring forth social change by considering the needs and desires of the research participants (e.g., Krishnaswamy 2004; Whyte 1991). For example, Goulding et  al. (2016), used oral methods for setting up a research project with indigenous communities in Australia, thus respecting the role that storytelling has for these communities, an aspect also mentioned by Kovach (2010) in terms of how conversational methods honor and respect the worldview of indigenous peoples. Finally, one additional difficulty of the quantitative part of the project was the need to emphasize that the results obtained from the questionnaire were not representative of all Mapuche society. The diversity of positions we were able to gather was restricted due to the characteristics of the recruitment process and the interaction between the researchers and the participants during the data collection. In this light, we must be cautious when presenting data, thus highlighting the multiplicity of positions within the Mapuche world that are not considered in our work. Further, in terms of retribution practices, we tried to go beyond the payment of individual participants, through the presentation and socialization of results as well as through the involvement in cultural and social activities of different communities that participated in the project. Still, these initiatives may not be enough to fully recognize and acknowledge our participants. In the future, other strategies must be developed by researchers. Furthermore, efforts to officialize these new strategies with funding agencies must also be thought of in order to enable more integral ways of disclosure and retribution.

7.7  Conclusion In this chapter, we highlighted different issues revolving around data collection using qualitative and quantitative methods with indigenous people. On the one hand, we had very meaningful experiences throughout data collection, which allowed us to become reflexive and critical of the existing biases and problems within mainstream research that can be detrimental for research carried out with minority groups and, especially, with indigenous groups. Conducting research with indigenous people in Chile entails several difficulties. One of them has to do with what diverse authors have called the coloniality of knowledge (Mignolo 2009), that is, the way coloniality is produced and reproduced in hegemonic research. Mainstream research is based on assumptions of everyday life in WEIRD countries -Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich and Democratic (Henrich et  al. 2010). According to this, the historical, socio-political, and economic realities of these countries are de-contextualized and the knowledge produced is taken as a global standard, making the experiences of non-Western societies and groups invisible (Adams 2014). Moreover, in the case of psychology, we claim that it is important to consider the risk of the coloniality of being (Adams et  al. 2018), the hegemonic understanding of the human development and mind which was and still is constructed from the perspective of mainly White Western men. In

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this context, the question of whether or not research methods can avoid reproducing colonial domination is an important one, especially when doing studies with indigenous populations such as the Mapuche. The difficulties encountered during our research have largely to do with the mentioned assumptions. The qualitative and quantitative research methodologies take for granted the importance of the role of literacy and the signature of documents, among others. Increasingly we can find attempts that have tried to transform the ways in which we produce knowledge and to de-colonize research methods. In this line, Adams (2014) has proposed three different approaches: indigenous resistance, accompaniment and denaturalization. Another example is the resurgence in interest of participatory research methods (Bergold and Thomas 2012; Whyte 1991). These new approaches do not mean the end of questionnaires or interviews per se but rather mean thinking differently about the research process as a whole and integrating them in ways that are more respectful of our participants’ needs and desires. These approaches consider the nuances and complexities of conducting research and reframe the relationship between researcher and participants. What changes is the conditions in which the encounters between participant and researcher are framed and how such encounters produce knowledge about a particular phenomenon, not the instruments themselves. However, how to know which approach to use? And how to use these instruments in a decolonial way? We believe that reflexivity is essential to be able to answer these questions. Research with the Mapuche demanded three types of reflexivity, as operationalized by Calabrese (2013). First, we argue for the need of psychological reflexivity, which involves having a critical position of how our identity, personal history and other personal characteristics resonate with personal relationships established during the fieldwork. Second, sociocultural reflexivity, which involves reflecting and being conscious of our own cultural background is essential. Finally, disciplinary reflexivity, which involves the questioning of how the techniques, assumptions and theoretical framework of our discipline, filter our interpretations of the data is also relevant. Reflexivity is an important tool to evaluate the emotional resonance that the context of political conflict provoked on us, the way cultural differences influenced the relationship between our Mapuche participants and ourselves, and to be aware of the limitations and obstacles of our research methods. In other words, we argue that the main instrument to decolonize research methods is to decolonize the researchers themselves. Only with a reflective stance can we adopt the role of the Bricoleur as a strategy for decolonizing our research methods (see Dudgeon and Walker 2015) and take into consideration the political implications of doing research and producing knowledge with minority groups. In the case of the Mapuche, this implied acknowledging the nuances of a present-day political conflict where colonialism, culture, and violence are intertwined, and where we, as researchers, are part of this context through our social identities as Portuguese, Chilean, female, male and so on. Our experience definitely points to ways in which we can reflect on the limitations of our research methods, incorporate changes to the entire research process and the way we see our potential participants, thus becoming more critical of our own practices and experiences and improving the way in which we conduct research.

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Chapter 8

On the Borders: Research with Refugees of Conflict Khalifah Alfadhli and John Drury

8.1  On the Borders: Research with Refugees of Conflict This chapter overviews an eight-months long ethnography with Syrian refugees in an urban setting near the northern borders of Jordan, carried out by the first author. The aim of the research project was to explore how crossing borders is not just a process of moving from risk to safety, but it changes how people see themselves and others. Specifically, the aim was to capture features of the refugees’ community formation in exile, where the previous borders between social groups start to diminish and new borders arise to bring together those who struggle together. As with many people from the Middle East, I have a previous personal experience with armed conflict (living in Kuwait during the 1990 Gulf War). Nevertheless, it was hard for me to navigate my fieldwork in ways that might be unexpected to foreigners to the region, such as worrying about local authorities more than the war going on nearby. The ethnography took place from September 2015 to May 2016 in Irbid city near the Jordanian borders with Syria, which hosts more than 130,000 Syrian refugees (UNHCR 2016a). Most of the interview participants and the observations come from a neighborhood known as “Dara’a,” named after the Syrian region that the refugee residents come from. I had the chance to embed myself in the neighborhood by volunteering to teach in a school located in the middle of the three-kilometer

K. Alfadhli (*) King Saud University, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia J. Drury University of Sussex, Brighton, UK e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_8

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area, and lived next to this neighborhood. This overview of my fieldwork experience will include a discussion of the preparations and logic of my decisions to choose the location, getting access, description of the atmosphere of the setting and how I embedded myself in it, the data collection process, and finally, lessons that I learned from the experience.

8.2  Background The forced displacement crisis is the major humanitarian challenge of our time, manifested in record numbers of displaced people that has spiked rapidly in recent years (65% in the last five years; UNHCR 2017). This huge rise is mainly due to armed conflicts in the Middle East, which includes both the largest and fastest-­ growing sources of refugees (except for 2018, as the situation in Venezuela escalated even more rapidly; UNHCR 2019). In the most recent report of the global trends of forced displacement, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees shows that there are more than 68.5 million people that have been forcibly displaced, and more than 16 million of them are newly displaced (UNHCR 2018). There are more than 25  million refugees, and most of them (85%) are hosted in developing countries such as Lebanon and Pakistan. Refugees are not expected to return to their homelands soon, and are expected to spend more than 20 years in host countries on average (UNHCR 2016b). By early 2012, the situation in Syria turned to a highly destructive civil war that was also a proxy war for many regional and global powers. The UNHCR Syria regional refugee response website shows that since March 2012, the number of Syrian refugees in the Middle East started to build up until it recently reached 5.6 million (UNHCR 2018). The neighboring countries opened their borders to millions of Syrian refugees, which posed tremendous pressure on countries that already had fragile economic and political situations in a volatile region. The host countries’ capacities to provide support to large numbers of refugees – if they even existed – have been exceeded through many years of displacement. This is especially the case in small countries where refugees constitute a large portion of the total population, like Jordan, where one in three people in the country is a recent refugee (UNHCR 2018), in addition to more than two million Palestinian refugees from 1967 (UNRWA 2019). My PhD research project focused on how Syrian refugees helped each other, and the basis of such help. Based on literature from the social identity approach, I used a theoretical framework that explained a well-documented phenomenon of social support among communities that suffered from mass emergencies (Drury et  al. 2009) and disasters (Drury et  al. 2016). This framework showed how a sense of common fate can help to create a shared social identity even between people with no previous connections, and thus facilitate social support among members of the affected communities.

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The previous studies mentioned above well-documented social support and the factors related to it, and also provided a model to explain the relationship between these factors (i.e., how shared identity emerges from common fate and leads to social support). However, my project was not a mere extension of the literature by replicating a previous study; I was examining this pattern in the setting of armed conflict, which is different from mass emergencies. Some of these differences in an armed conflict setting are related to the nature of the challenges that interrupted the lives of the affected people; while disasters are usually sudden, armed conflicts are prolonged and involve inter-group tensions. Another difference is that armed conflicts have additional social tensions that could interfere with providing social support, such as strong pre-existing identities that might intersect with the fighting groups. To explore the dynamics of support and shared social identity among the refugees, I decided to use ethnography as the study of people in natural settings, and therefore to participate in their day-to-day activities, collecting data in a flexible way in an attempt to understand and explain the experience from inside, rather than imposing understandings from outside (Brewer 2000). I planned to conduct the ethnography among a community of Syrian refugees in Jordan, as they are an excellent case to examine the possible emergent shared identity of being a “refugee,” since the Syrian crisis was relatively recent (compared to Palestinians, for example), but was not a temporary situation and had been going on long enough to allow for the development and adoption of new identities. The goal of the ethnography was to explore experiences of psychosocial support among a community of Syrian urban refugees in Jordan, especially the kind of support that helps them deal with secondary stressors (i.e., stressors that arise from the exile environment; see Alfadhli and Drury 2018a) and to examine the extent to which any of this social support was a function of emergent shared social identities among refugees.

8.3  The Ethnography 8.3.1  Preparations After conducting a literature review of existing research on the conditions of refugees in developing countries, I conducted two interviews with refugees in the UK to get a sense of the refugee experience, and to develop interview questions that I could use for the ethnography (i.e., pilot study). In regard to the fieldwork location, there were a few possible locations in the Middle East to conduct the ethnography with Syrian refugees. Jordan was the best choice as it is safer, with fewer armed clashes than some other countries, such as Lebanon. Furthermore, Jordan is an Arab state and there were no language or visa barriers for me as a Saudi citizen to enter and move easily in the country, which is not the case in Turkey, for example. The next step was to start preparations for the ethnographic research.

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I started by emailing the Jordanian Ministry of Higher Education and Scientific Research to ask if I needed a permit to collect data in Jordan, with no response. I later found out there is no need for a permit if I worked with a local research center, which I did. I also contacted NGOs, Jordanian academics and humanitarian workers working with refugees either by email or by phone, to ask them for information and a volunteer opportunity to work with Syrian refugees. They were able to provide the support I needed to conduct my research.

8.3.2  Testing the Waters Five months prior, I conducted a pilot study visit to Jordan to prepare for the ethnography by conducting some interviews with Syrian refugees and to assess the feasibility and the risk in the planned project. Another goal was to also identify a legitimate sponsor to protect me from being deported before finishing my data collection. During this trip, I secured a volunteer position in the local branch of an international NGO to be able to interact with Syrian refugees, in addition to acquiring visiting student status at a Jordanian refugee studies research center at Yarmouk University. This gave me access to Jordan-based academic experts in the research topic and importantly, gave me a legitimate purpose to be in Jordan, since the local authority does not favor strangers wandering around asking Syrian refugees questions about their challenges and how Jordanians treat them. Getting the official/ institutional coverage was important to protect me from deportation in the middle of my fieldwork, especially given that a fellow Sussex University researcher who conducted an ethnography with Iraqi refugees in Syria was deported during her research. In addition to conducting pilot interviews, I also met with local relief workers and academics who had worked with Syrian refugees for years. During the interviews with the Syrian refugees, I had the chance to test the interview schedule. I found most of the participants were reluctant and suspicious, which led to sanitized short answers where they avoided giving negative feedback about locals or the conditions of exile.

8.3.3  The Neighborhood The international relief organization that had invited me to work with them suggested that I join their branch in the city of Irbid near the borders with Syria (Fig. 8.1), where large numbers of Syrian refugees were settled. But after a period of working there and getting familiar with the city of Irbid, I decided to gain more contact with Syrian refugees by shifting to working with a student organization that had organized a school, run by volunteers, in the middle of a neighborhood densely populated by Syrian refugees.

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Fig. 8.1  Location of the ethnography

The neighborhood (Fig. 8.2) was separated from a campus of a state university by a main commercial street full of restaurants, cafes, and a variety of shops. It was a few kilometers in diameter, located outside of the city center, not well maintained, and populated mainly by Syrian refugees, in addition to some Jordanians and international students. There is no formal address system in use, so usually when I described the location to a taxi driver he would say “you mean Dara’a,” referring to the fact that the majority of the people in the neighborhood are from the nearby Syrian city, Dara’a. The building standards in Jordan are not exceptional, but the neighborhood seemed in worse condition than average due to the usual situation of sewers overflowing between buildings and garbage containers on fire (Fig.  8.3). Inside the building one would find exposed electric cables (Fig. 8.4) and staircases without railings or lighting. The neighborhood was also located downhill from the main street and would get flooded when it rained (Fig. 8.5).

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Fig. 8.2  Irbid city, near the refugees’ neighborhood (All photos were taken by the first author)

Fig. 8.3  Burning garbage container

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Fig. 8.4 Exposed electrical cables

8.3.4  The School The school (Fig. 8.6) was in a three-bedroom apartment rented by volunteer college students (international, locals and Syrians) that aimed to help Syrian children catch up with their studies, in addition to providing extra-curricular activities (e.g., drama, music, photography and entrepreneurship). The Syrian children needed the extra help as many of them had missed a number of academic years due to war and displacement. Some children were sent to work or to sell tissues and chewing gum in the street; others had the opportunity to go to Jordanian schools after regular hours and receive questionable-quality education (e.g., shorter classes and less experienced teachers). During my stay, I taught the photography club (Fig. 8.7), which included two small groups of four and six children, in addition to contributing to the administrative and manual work at the school (e.g., decorating and maintenance). Such a role allowed me to have regular interactions with the students’ parents and neighbors of the school. I was also becoming a part of the daily scene of the neighborhood by walking to the school from my nearby rented room almost daily. After a few weeks of working at the school, some of the students started to call my name and talk to me whenever I passed by. I also started to make friendships with Syrian families, who invited me to their homes and shared their food and many stories with me.

136 Fig. 8.5  Street leading to neighborhood

Fig. 8.6  The school for Syrian children

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Fig. 8.7  Photography club

8.3.5  Scratching the Surface During the first night of my arrival in Irbid, I went out to a cafe on the main street near my hotel. While I was sitting at a table by the street, three children aged around six or seven years old approached me, begging for money. They caught me by surprise and without thinking, I gave one of them some coins. The other two started to ask for money too and I recognized their accent as Syrian. This interaction made me think about how some outside visitors may get a negative impression of Syrian refugees, especially as street beggars. That night, I was not aware that just behind that street, there was a neighborhood full of Syrian refugees whose behavior would put such superficial impressions to shame. In many cases, I found it hard to convince a refugee to take aid that was desperately needed because it was perceived as charity. Many refugees explicitly refused, out of pride, to accept charity, especially if personal and not from an organization. In one case, a refugee told me that he refused to receive official aid from the UN in the form of food coupons that were needed, because he felt that accepting aid is humiliating.

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8.3.6  The Fear The exile environment in Jordan is not only unfamiliar and expensive for refugees, but also can be frightening. Like many other countries in the region, Jordan is very clear in its resistance to refugees’ integration, while the fact that it is not part of the 1951 convention (UNHCR 2011) makes it easier to enforce restrictions on refugees and even deport them without being held accountable. In the Middle East, police and security forces are both powerful and intimidating, not only to refugees, but to citizens and legal visitors like me. Daily social disputes are up to people to resolve among themselves while law enforcement is saved for the serious crimes and big conflicts, and even then, one’s social connections can swing things to one’s advantage. Refugees try to avoid encounters with police even if they have entered the country legally and committed no crime. For example, an 11-year-old student was walking with me on the way back from a field trip when he asked if we could avoid passing by police officers, although I knew he was registered with the UNHCR. Refugees know that security forces can arrest them and deport them anytime for breaking any of the many restrictions or without giving any reason, such as what happened to a young man who was called for a “chat” with an officer, then was arrested and scheduled to be deported without trial. Refugees could face a range of punishments from a slap on the wrist, a few days in prison, thrown into a refugee camp, or deported back to Syria. This could be for a number of reasons, such as having expired documents, working without a valid permit, or talking back to an officer at a roadblock. Sometimes refugees do not have to do anything to be deported, like what happened to a student who was taken from home with his family by police cars and never heard from again. A few days earlier he had told me that his brother was “killed in action” while fighting in Syria. Local authorities justify some of these measures as necessary in a war-affected zone, where intelligence activities and militant infiltration is expected and does happen. For example, in March 2016, an armed clash happened near downtown Irbid (Fig. 8.8) between the Jordanian security forces and twenty alleged ISIS members that led to deaths on both sides (BBC 2016). However, this legal environment and political atmosphere creates a deep sense of insecurity and suspicion (Fig.  8.9). Although the refugees themselves say that they feel safe in Jordan, they would be referring to being safe from crime, rather than from deportation or mistreatment.

8.3.7  Ghost from the Past With a relatively small population of around six million, Jordan has experienced multiple waves of millions of refugees from neighboring countries such as Palestine, Iraq and now Syria. The Palestinian wave, in particular, left a deep impression on

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Fig. 8.8  Map of the armed clash location

the Jordanian collective memory. It happened around the time of the establishment and expansion of the Israeli state (1948–1967) and led to the integration of many Palestinian refugees, who now constitute a large proportion of Jordanian citizens. An additional source of tension is the clashes that happened between the Palestinians who are still refugees and the Jordanian government in the past and the present, where it still cast shadows of tension with the marginalized Palestinian “camps” (ghettos) in Jordan. One example comes from the AlBaqa’a camp that witnessed the killing of five Jordanian police officers in June 2016 (Beaumont 2016). The long-­ standing Palestinian refugee dilemma is a constant reminder for both the Jordanians and the Syrians of a destiny they prefer not to repeat. This fear feeds into the strong Jordanian resistance to any integration efforts, and thus the deep feeling of insecurity among Syrian refugees in Jordan. Irbid city has a Palestinian refugee camp

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Fig. 8.9  Mall entrance in Irbid city

(Fig. 8.10), which was established in 1976 in the city outskirts and has now been engulfed by the city of Irbid and its tents turned into concrete buildings. However, the skeleton of the camp can still be seen through the narrow and crooked streets. The area is still marginalized, stigmatized and distinctively isolated from the rest of the city of Irbid, which now hosts more than a hundred thousand Syrian refugees.

8.3.8  Seeking Answers To ensure informed consent and healthy relations with the local community and possible participants, I made sure to clarify my identity as a researcher and the main purpose of my work as data collection. I also provided full details about my identity, institution, the study, and participant’s rights in Arabic to each participant with enough time to read before each interview. I was aware that my work as a volunteer

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Fig. 8.10  Irbid refugee camp for Palestinians

in an organization that provided services to refugees might be a source of power imbalance and might affect the informed consent of possible participants. Thus, I tried to avoid – as far as possible – roles that involved providing direct services to possible participants by avoiding direct charity distribution, and instead focusing mainly on working with the students, who were not interviewed. My ethnographic approach was guided by some textbooks (e.g., Brewer 2000) and many useful lessons passed from my supervisor who also did an ethnography for his PhD in England (Drury and Stott 2001), in addition to a lot of improvising. I kept a diary of field notes (21,062 words) that included information obtained through casual chats and observations I made in the neighborhood, in Syrian family homes, and while accompanying the refugees through activities such as shopping using food-coupons and getting necessary documents. This was in addition to other two separate diaries: one activity log and the other to reflect on the events (e.g., what does it mean? and how do I feel about it?). Due to the exploratory nature of this study, I used semi-structured interviews. This gave space for the participants to tell their stories and experiences as refugees in Jordan, and also allowed me to ask them questions about topics that I was interested in, based on the literature on emergent identities (e.g., Drury et al. 2009, 2016; Vezzali et al. 2016). The interview schedule included questions about the following topics: how and when the participants came to see themselves as refugees, relations with other refugees and other groups, changes in social relations compared to

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pre-war, daily life needs and challenges and problems they face, the support available and the sources of it, and finally, about their wellbeing and any mental health issues. The questions asked to the participants further evolved by adding new questions that emerged from observations and participant answers or dropping old ones for topics that were judged to be saturated. For example, at the beginning of the fieldwork I was aware of only one type of refugee identification document, but as I started doing interviews, I learned about other types of documents and started asking about them. After a while, I stopped asking about the process of acquiring an identity document, as the question became redundant. The interviews lasted between forty minutes to one hour and they were conducted in Arabic and audio recorded using my phone. I had some interaction with female Syrian refugees but had less chance to do interviews with them (only three women out of 15 interviewees) due to cultural restrictions on cross-gender private meetings. I also did two interviews with local Jordanian relief workers who worked with Syrian refugees from the beginning of the crises to explore other accounts regarding the stressors refugees face and their social dynamics. In addition to the interviews and information I got from people around me, my extended stay with the refugees led to a deeper insight into the challenges they faced: financial challenges (money related), environmental challenges (exile structures and feelings created by it), and social challenges (directly related to social relations) (see Alfadhli and Drury 2018a). My observations included trips to cash food-coupons or obtaining official required documents, which allowed me to understand how being poor can be expensive,1 as in the case of one refugee family that was paying high rent for a furnished apartment, which prevented them from buying furniture and moving to a cheaper apartment. I also witnessed how refugees came together to face the challenges as members of the same group and provide support in many levels and forms to fellow refugees who had just arrived (e.g., help moving and providing furniture) or refugees who were facing deportation (e.g., using unofficial connections). I was also able to see that there were cases of refugees who did not share this community spirit and seemed to be stressed and withdrawn, and others who turned to pre-existing traditional social networks for support (e.g., tribal and regional) (see Alfadhli and Drury 2018b).

8.3.9  Giving Voice I come from a background of community psychology that seeks to understand the behavior of people and their well-being within the dynamic context of the social system. Community psychology avoids the individualistic narrow approach of

 As the American essayist and novelist James Baldwin noted (Baldwin 1961); “Anyone who has ever struggled with poverty knows how extremely expensive it is to be poor.”

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much of psychology, instead focusing on specific individuals or groups and shifting the narrative away from labeling people, and blaming them for their own suffering (Levine et al. 2005). Refugees’ experience is an example of how the narrative of one group’s struggle get distorted and stripped from socio-political environment to justify de-humanizing hate speech that reduces refugees to a burden or a threat that countries have to deal with (e.g., Buncombe 2015, Goodman et al. 2017). Admitting that I do not speak in the name of refugees nor fully understand their experiences, I wanted to give back to the refugee community by contributing to a more accurate narrative of their experience and by fighting stereotypes and misconceptions about their situation. During my fieldwork I participated in one international refugees conference in the Jordanian capital Amman that involved politicians and academics, and one local symposium in Irbid that included the head of the security force in charge of dealing with refugees in Jordan, in addition to one conference in Cairo, where I talked about the collective resilience of refugees. After I came back from fieldwork, I participated in more international psychology conferences in Scotland and Spain, which were crucial to attract some attention to the overlooked refugees in developing countries, given that most research on refugees was western-centric, although the forced displacement (and even refugees) crisis has mainly happened in developing countries. I was fortunate to publish all the studies of my PhD project (Alfadhli and Drury 2016; Alfadhli and Drury 2018a, 2018b; Alfadhli et al. 2019), but unfortunately all were published in English and not in Arabic, the language of the Syrian refugees and the countries they live in. However, I wrote some blog posts in Arabic to raise awareness of the refugees’ experiences and tried to include some of my findings to support it (Alfadhli 2015, 2016, 2017). I also plan to write a book in Arabic that reflects a story of the Syrian refugees’ life in the region as I saw it, to help spread an alternative story than the superficial dramatic presentation of Syrian refugees in the news (for more on giving back to research communities, see Figueiredo et al. 2020, in this volume).

8.4  Lessons Learned 8.4.1  Ethical Review & Friendly Fire Although I carried out a pilot study trip to Jordan where I explored the setting, interviewed refugees and acquired two formal invitations from local gatekeepers, this did not spare me from the rough road of ethical review. In the UK, the psychology ethical review process aims to respect “the rights and dignity of participants in their research and the legitimate interests of stakeholders such as funders, institutions, sponsors and society at large” (British Psychological Society 2014; p. 7), which was true in the case of my research project. However, the process included counter-­ productive aspects that seemed to originate from either wrong assumptions or as a

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by-product of commercializing higher education that put financial priorities first. Such hurdles started when I applied for clearance for the ethnography study, but did not stop there as the process did not get easier for the two following studies (surveys), such that each of them took three months to be approved. I was initially planning to take verbal consent from the interview participants, which is standard for ethnographies, but the Sciences & Technology Cross-Schools Research Ethics Committee of the university decided that verbal consent is not adequate and written consent should be acquired. That was typical as Campbell explains in her paper (2017): Institutional Review Boards (IRBs) charged with overseeing the ethics of research on human subjects tend to apply standard ethical frameworks derived from the hard-sciences without adapting them to the specific consider situations of social science research or the increasingly complex environments in which it takes place. (p. 89)

I challenged the committee’s recommendation by citing the American Anthropological Association’s statement about conducting research in conflict zones, indicating that “it is often not appropriate to obtain consent through a signed form for example, where people are illiterate or where there is a legacy of human rights abuses creating an atmosphere of fear” (American Anthropological Association 2004). We reached a middle ground by me taking written consent from participants to send a scan of it to my supervisor in UK before destroying it. For the two following studies, I faced different challenges from the ethical review committee that seemed to arise especially in the case of conflict-related overseas field research, as also experienced by another colleague in the same department. These extra hoops that overseas field researchers have to jump seem to originate from wrong assumptions about specific regions of the world, especially the Middle East and Africa, as exceptionally dangerous, and also based on unexamined assumptions of mass trauma among refugees, while in reality, only a minority of refugees suffer from trauma (in some cases, less than the international aid workers who are helping them) (Pupavac 2002). Such assumptions inflate the university’s liability and insurance concerns, which were cited multiple times in reviewers’ comments fearing that the research assistant (a local working with refugees for years) might be attacked during data collection and refugees might be “traumatized” by questions about possible daily stressors in the exile environment. After months of going back and forth with the committee representative, I kept the deemed “sensitive” questions but caved in by running the survey online.

8.4.2  Logistics One other reason that I chose Jordan as a location for my fieldwork is the fact that Jordan does not require visas for Saudi citizens like me. However, they do require police registration if you stay more than 3 months in the country, which could raise

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questions about the purpose of my presence in the country and get unwanted attention from police. To avoid that police registration and to retain full time student status in the UK, I was careful to return from Jordan to the UK before the three months limit was due. As part of my safety measures when I was traveling or doing an interview, I used to share my travel plan, location, and names of the people I was meeting with my wife and sometimes with my supervisor. However, I did not feel at any stage of my fieldwork that people around me were dangerous, especially the refugees. There were some IT decisions that I made that fitted the purpose and the needs of my fieldwork. These decisions might be beneficial in similar settings. I decided to use my smartphone to record the interviews instead of a dedicated recording device, as the phone would be less intimidating to the participant as a familiar household device. I deleted the interview audio after transcribing each interview and formatted my phone – deleting any information about the research – each time I travelled out of Jordan, just in case the police wanted to search it. For the transcription I used a generic USB gaming pedal that is very cheap and works with the Chrome OS laptop I used for my fieldwork for mobility (light-weight with long battery life) and security features (two-steps protected and cloud-based backup).2

8.4.3  Reflections In order to be aware of my level of engagement in the refugees’ community and their environment and make sure that I did not lose focus on my fieldwork goals, I adopted some measures to take a step back from time-to-time and distance myself from the topic I was studying. I had a regular meeting with my supervisor (second author) to discuss the progress of the fieldwork, data collection and discuss the analysis, which allowed me to go back to the researcher’s position and be critical toward the narratives and experiences I was involved in. In spite of my supervisor’s effort to keep me on track, I was sometimes carried away with my volunteering activities, and the cost of this to my research duties included considerable delays in interviews, transcriptions and journaling. The second way to step back – in a more relaxing way – was to take short breaks from fieldwork to spend time with my wife in other cities in Jordan. Another way I found to be useful in dealing with some emotional stressful events was to write about them in a diary, which helped me vent my feelings and – to an extent – make sense of the events. In my effort to get access through gatekeepers, I learned that it is better to go small. In preparation for the ethnography, I contacted major international NGOs that work with the Syrian refugees in Jordan, such as UNHCR and UNESCO, with no success in securing a volunteer opportunity. Next, I used some personal

2  https://blogs.sussex.ac.uk/crowdsidentities/2015/07/09/transcription-pedal-that-workswith-any-computer/

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connections to reach out to a regional NGO that also works with the refugees and visited their headquarters in the Jordanian capital. They welcomed me and offered me volunteer work in their branch in Irbid. But after spending some time there I realized that this position was not giving me the needed contact with the Syrian refugees as the organization was not focused on the Syrian refugees. Shortly after arriving in Irbid I met with international students in the local university. I knew one of them through free hosting online service (couchsurfing.com) when I was looking for a place to live. Then when we met he introduced me to his friends, who had started a school for Syrian refugee children. I gradually realized that working in the school would be a better way to interact with the refugees in the area where they lived, and shifted to be full-time volunteer in that school. One last thing that I would recommend to researchers planning to engage with a community to learn from them is to give back. My volunteerism went beyond providing me with access to the community and building trust with the refugees, which it did; it also helped me to address the feeling of powerlessness and avoiding being a parasite to that community by only getting what is needed and leave. The community psychology approach is less a way to study people than a way of helping the marginalized and relatively powerless to take control over their environment, which is considered the singular vision bonding together the areas of community psychology (Levine et al. 2005). What I contributed during fieldwork did not even leave a dent in the body of the crisis, but I hope that it did make a difference to the refugees I came across, at least by showing that others care for their struggle.

8.5  Conclusions Fieldwork can provide deep and contextualized insights for psychological research focuses on armed conflict settings, as it helps the researcher to unfold the complexity of the situation beyond what they can get from the literature. The literature tends to focus on narrow topics, in addition to the fact that armed conflict can be very different between cases. However, this comes with serious challenges with regard to safety and ability to navigate sensitively in an atmosphere of fear that pushes both authorities and locals to be highly suspicious of outsiders, which could terminate the costly research endeavor suddenly into waste. You can make robust and well thought plans, but on the ground you will need flexibility and openness to opportunities. Engagement with the community is the key to build trust-based relations and the way to novel experiences and narratives, which takes time.

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References American Anthropological Association. (2004). AAA statement on ethnography and IRBs. Retrieved from https://www.americananthro.org/ParticipateAndAdvocate/Content. aspx?ItemNumber=1652 Alfadhli, K. (2015, June 9). ‫ | ملاذا ي�سمتيت الالجئون السوريون للوصول �إىل �أوراب؟ وهجة نظر أ�اكدميية‬Crowds and Identities: John Drury’s Research Group. Retrieved January 29, 2018, from https://blogs.sussex.ac.uk/ crowdsidentities/2015/09/07/why-syrian-refugees-are-dying-to-get-to-europe-arabic-version/ Alfadhli, K. (2016, April 8). ‫الالجئون وسؤال الهوية‬. Retrieved January 29, 2018, from http://a3wadqash. com/?p=350 Alfadhli, K. (2017, June 20). ‫ كيف يساعد الالجئون �أنفسهم؟‬:‫اللجوء �إىل الربزخ‬. Retrieved January 29, 2018, from http:// a3wadqash.com/?p=637 Alfadhli, K., & Drury, J. (2016). Psychosocial support among refugees of conflict in developing countries: a critical literature review. Intervention, 14(2), 128–141. https://doi.org/10.1097/ WTF.0000000000000119 Alfadhli, K., & Drury, J. (2018a). A typology of secondary stressors among refugees of conflict in the Middle East: The Case of Syrian Refugees in Jordan. PLoS Currents. https://doi. org/10.1371/currents.dis.4bd3e6437bff47b33ddb9f73cb72f3d8 Alfadhli, K., & Drury, J. (2018b). The role of shared social identity in mutual support among refugees of conflict: An ethnographic study of Syrian refugees in Jordan. Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, 28(3), 142–155. https://doi.org/10.1002/casp.2346 Alfadhli, K., Güler, M., Cakal, H., & Drury, J. (2019). The role of emergent shared identity in psychosocial support among refugees of conflict in developing countries. International Review of Social Psychology, 32(1). https://doi.org/10.5334/irsp.176 Baldwin, J. (1961). Nobody knows my name: More notes of a native son. New York: Vintage International. BBC. (2016, March 2). Jordan raid ‘foiled IS attacks plot’. BBC News. Retrieved from http://www. bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-35701841 Beaumont, P. (2016, June 6). Jordan says intelligence officers killed in refugee camp attack. The Guardian. Retrieved from http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/jun/06/ jordan-intelligence-officers-killed-refugee-camp-attack-baqaa Brewer, J. D. (2000). Ethnography. Buckingham, UK: Open University Press. British Psychological Society. (2014). Code of human research ethics. BPS. https://www.bps. org.uk/sites/bps.org.uk/files/Policy%20-%20Files/BPS%20Code%20of%20Human%20 Research%20Ethics.pdf Buncombe, A. (2015, November 19). Ben Carson likens Syrian refugees to ‘rabid dogs’. Independent. Retrieved December 14, 2015, from http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/ americas/ben-carson-likens-syrian-refugees-to-rabid-dogs-a6741226.html Campbell, S. P. (2017). Ethics of research in conflict environments. Journal of Global Security Studies, 2(1), 89–101. https://doi.org/10.1093/jogss/ogw024 Drury, J., Brown, R., González, R., & Miranda, D. (2016). Emergent social identity and observing social support predict social support provided by survivors in a disaster: Solidarity in the 2010 Chile earthquake. European Journal of Social Psychology, 46(2), 209–223. https://doi. org/10.1002/ejsp.2146 Drury, J., Cocking, C., & Reicher, S. (2009). Everyone for themselves? A comparative study of crowd solidarity among emergency survivors. British Journal of Social Psychology, 48(3), 487–506. https://doi.org/10.1348/014466608X357893 Drury, J., & Stott, C. (2001). Bias as a research strategy in participant observation: The case of intergroup conflict. Field Methods, 13, 47–67. https://doi.org/10.1177/1525822X0101300103 Figueiredo, A., Montagna, P., & Rocha, C. (2020). Data collection with indigenous people: Fieldwork experiences from Chile. In Y. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 105–127). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer.

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Goodman, S., Sirriyeh, A., & McMahon, S. (2017). The evolving (re)categorisations of refugees throughout the “refugee/migrant crisis”. Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, 27(2), 105–114. https://doi.org/10.1002/casp.2302 Levine, M., Perkins, D.  D., & Perkins, D.  V. (2005). Principles of community psychology: Perspectives and applications (3rd ed). New York: Oxford University Press. Pupavac, V. (2002). Populations pathologizing minds: International colonizing in kosovo programs psychosocial. Alternatives, 27(4), 489–511. Vezzali, L., Drury, J., Versari, A., & Cadamuro, A. (2016). Sharing distress increases helping and contact intentions via social identification and inclusion of the other in the self: Children’s prosocial behaviour after an earthquake. Group Processes & Intergroup Relations, 19(3), 314–327. https://doi.org/10.1177/1368430215590492 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). (2016a). UNHCR Syria Regional Refugee Response. Retrieved 24 June. http://www.data.unhcr.org/syrianrefugees/regional.php United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). (2016b). Global trends forced displacement in 2015.pdf. Retrieved from http://www.unhcr.org/576408cd7.pdf United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). (2017). Global trends forced displacement in 2016. Retrieved from http://www.unhcr.org/dach/wp-content/uploads/ sites/27/2017/06/2016_Global_Trends_WEB-embargoed.pdf UNHCR, U.  N. H.  C. for. (2018). Global Trends of Forced Displacement in 2017. United Nations. Retrieved from https://www.unhcr.org/statistics/unhcrstats/5b27be547/unhcr-globaltrends-2017.html UNHCR, U. N. H. C. for. (2019, March). Situation Venezuela Situation. Retrieved March 3, 2019, from https://data2.unhcr.org/en/situations/vensit United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA). (2019, February 24). WHERE WE WORK.  Retrieved 2019, February 24, from https://www.unrwa.org/where-we-work/ jordanINDEX\c"1"\z"1033"

Chapter 9

Taking Sides With Swedish Protesters: Gaining and Maintaining Trust in the Field Sara Vestergren and John Drury

In mid-July 2012, the quarry company NordKalk received approval to begin preparations for a limestone quarry in Ojnare forest on one of Sweden’s largest islands, Gotland. The quarry was to be located bordering the lake Bästeträsk, which is part of a protected Natura 20001 area (Natura 2000: European Environmental Agency 2015). Bästeträsk functions as the water reserve for the entire island and had, since 2009, provided residents in the area with drinking water. The planned quarry would cut through large parts of the water inflow to Bästeträsk (Fältbiologerna 2013) and risk removing this water source. Furthermore, the forest, thought to be home to about 250 red-listed species, was judged to become irreversibly damaged by the quarrying of limestone in the area (The Swedish Environmental Agency 2016). Locals had, unsuccessfully, been fighting the quarry application for seven years to protect their water and the unique environment, both in court and through small meetings and rallies. In response to the approval to start preparing for the quarry, a group of about 15 pro-environmental youth activists set up camp in the forest. The activists spent their days in the forest deliberately blocking the deforestation machines. In the initial phase of the forest occupation, most of the locals did not participate in the occupation or protest in the forest. In interviews after the occupation, the locals explained this through, initially, not wanting to be seen with the activists. The planned quarry  Natura 2000 is a network of protected areas for valuable and threatened species and habitats across Europe (European Environmental Agency 2015) 1

S. Vestergren (*) University of Salford, Manchester, UK e-mail: [email protected] J. Drury University of Sussex, Brighton, UK e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_9

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had divided the community into two sides, one side opposing the quarry due to the water and environmental issues, and one side supporting the quarry as it promised jobs in the area for years ahead. Some of the locals opposing the quarry expressed that they were worried that the activists would use tactics that were not in line with the locals’ norms of behavior. There was a worry that through supporting the activists they would be seen as radical, and this could affect their relationships within the community. For example, one schoolteacher was worried about how they would be viewed by the head-teacher and the students’ parents. It was not until a large police presence was ordered and over 70 police officers arrived and started evicting the activists from the forest that the locals and activists came together. During the most intense period, a week in late August, the campaigners, who were now in numbers of 250, sat in front of the deforestation machines, climbed high up in trees, and resided in the restricted areas where the deforestation was to take place. The police evicted them by physically removing them back to the camp or to the outskirts of the forest. In some cases, the police even drove the campaigners several kilometers away and dropped them off in ‘nowhere-land’ or detained them in vans or a nearby hostel for several hours. This pattern continued for about a week, until the sub-contractor, contracted to do the deforestation work, withdrew their involvement. It was directly after the intense week of clashes with the police that the first author began her involvement in the campaign. Even though the most intense period of the campaign was over, some campaigners remained in the forest camp, and actions and events were held all over Sweden to keep the campaign alive in the years to come. In September 2018, the final court decision regarding the forest was ruled in favor of the forest, and the forest is now protected from future interference such as deforestation and quarrying as a direct result of the protesters’ work both on the ground and in court. To understand participation in activism and protests we need to understand how protest participants understand themselves, their world and their choices in the world. To do so, we undertook an ethnographic approach to exploring enduring psychological changes (see Vestergren et al. 2018; 2019) amongst the campaigners in the environmental campaign in Sweden. To access participants’ accounts of how (or whether) they had changed through their participation in the campaign, we utilized a longitudinal ethnographic design consisting of interviews and participant observation over an 18-month period. The first author interviewed 14 activists and 14 locals involved in the environmental campaign once a month for 6 months and once again after an additional 12 months. The study was introduced to the participants as a study focused on experiences of participation in collective action. The participants were informed that they would be asked about their lives previous to the campaign, during the campaign, and future intentions. All participants were approached opportunistically during the first author’s visits to the campaign, and only one person declined participation. At the start of the first interview all participants signed an informed consent form detailing the researcher’s responsibilities and the participants’ rights, such as right to anonymity and right to withdraw participation at any time during the data collection. The invitation to the study, as well as all interviews, was made when the first author was alone with the participant to avoid other people (both within and outside of the campaign) knowing who the

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participants were. The interviews were conducted in the forest or in participants’ homes. Throughout the duration of the study the first author made several trips to the island ranging from a couple of days to a week. The ethnographic approach in this type of research context can facilitate both recruiting and retaining participants. By embedding yourself in the protest context there is a greater opportunity for relationship building and building of trust between researcher and participants, hence facilitating data collection. Furthermore, the approach can enable a deepening of the researchers’ understanding of the events and phenomena. Embedding yourself in groups over extended periods of time can also entail various challenges. This can be even more demanding when the group/s are in a conflictual context (e.g., Campbell 2017; Höglund and Öberg 2011). However, to go beyond understanding of what people say they think and do and gain insights in the everyday life of activists and protesters, knowledge of the context and building relationships is essential (e.g., Hammersley 2006; Whyte 1993). In this chapter we discuss the challenges and risks the first author faced when embedding herself in an environmental direct action campaign, the Ojnare campaign, in Sweden. In particular we discuss the advantages, and risks, of the researcher taking sides and positioning themselves on one side of the conflict. We suggest that by taking sides, in this study, we were better positioned to give a more accurate account through understanding the phenomena. Furthermore, we will argue that taking sides and becoming part of the group - sharing identity - can in some studies increase the researcher’s safety in the field. Throughout the chapter we highlight the need for continuous delicate negotiations and considerations while in the field. The chapter is organized in five parts: (1) gaining access to a protest setting, (2) gaining access to people, (3) gaining access to stories, (4) maintaining access and trust, and (5) becoming vulnerable and at risk in the field. The first three parts relate to challenges we faced while accessing and collecting data in the field. First, we discuss challenges in gaining access to a protest setting, such as the ‘unexpected nature’ of protests and participants’ initial lack of trust in outsiders. We then move on to challenges in gaining access to people in protest settings. More specifically, we discuss the importance of transparency, how we negotiated the lack of trust, and the facilitating element of shared values between the researcher and participants. The third part focuses on how the first author through building mutual trust gained access to stories. However, this also entailed challenges regarding participant anonymity. The fourth part, maintaining access and trust, discusses challenges for a longitudinal study design and how we negotiated the first author’s presence in the research context over time. This includes discussions about the researcher’s extended participation and negotiation between being a researcher and a member of the group. Furthermore, we highlight how, in some studies, there is a need to avoid contact with outgroups, such as the police. This part is concluded by highlighting the importance of giving back to the participants. In the final part we discuss becoming vulnerable and at risk in the field. In addition to discussing the risks the first author faced, we attempt to provide some suggestions on what to consider before and during embedding yourself in protest contexts. In particular we address the risk

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of threats/violence from outgroups and how the ingroup can function as a safeguard against these, but also make the researcher vulnerable within the group through power relations and loss of trust. Before moving on to discussing the challenges and risks we will give a brief outline of the Swedish protest context.

9.1  Sweden: Is it a Peaceful Protest Context? Sweden is in the top five countries in terms of equality (World Economic Forum 2018), and might be considered as an open, fair and free nation. In comparison to most other countries, activism related to the state is regarded as much easier in Sweden (and broader Scandinavia) and with fewer negative consequences for activists (e.g., Amnesty International 2018; Human Rights Watch 2018, for comparisons). The protest tradition in Sweden is not as prominent as in other countries. Historically, demonstrations other than on 1st May were rare until late 1960s (Jämte and Sörblom 2016). Furthermore, protests in Sweden rarely end in violence. However, there are protests that have ended in violence. In 2001 Gothenburg faced three days of rioting during the EU summit. During these riots, several protesters and police were injured and a protester was shot by a police officer (BBC news 2001; Mueller 2004). The Gothenburg riots led to the development of the Swedish dialogue police.2 In 2013, a peaceful anti-racism march in Kärrtorp (e.g., Bankel 2013) was attacked by neo-Nazis, which resulted in violent clashes between anti-­ racist protesters, neo-Nazis and police. Even though there is little evidence of threats and violence towards individual activists in Sweden there are some accounts of such experiences (e.g., Green 2018; Korsell et al. 2009). In interviews conducted in 2019 for a review of hate and threats against independent opinion-makers in Sweden, activists and independent opinion-makers expressed being exposed to death threats and threats of violence from other groups and individuals of the public (Civil Rights Defenders unpublished report). Some of the activists reported how they, due to their engagement in campaigns, had experienced loss of jobs and been discriminated against in job interviews. However, there were no direct repressive measures from the government or related agencies reported by the activists in relation to their involvement in campaigns. Activism is not always something people want to be identified with, as demonstrated above by the locals in the environmental campaign not wanting to be seen as activists. This could be partly due to the non-normative opinions and methods used by some activist groups (Jacobsson and Lindblom 2011) and portrayal of activists in mainstream media (Vestergren 2010). In media portrayals of activists there is often an exclusion of the political relevance of activism (Persson 2016). Activists  The dialogue unit was developed to function as a link between groups or people arranging protest marches/rallies and the police (Dialogpolisen 2016). The dialogue police work based on four conflict-reducing principles: knowledge, facilitation, communication, and differentiation (e.g., Reicher et al. 2007). 2

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are often described as ‘dreamers’ (Persson 2016) and actions often described in terms of war and violence along with descriptions of activist groups as disorganized and irrational (Vestergren 2010). The Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention and the Swedish Security Service suggested in a joint report (Korsell et  al. 2009) that the Swedish media should adopt a more nuanced stance in reports of activism, especially regarding more extreme groups, as a step toward decreasing violence towards and from these groups. There is also reluctance from activist groups to be identified with other activist groups even though they share the same core values and fight the same struggle. For example, some animal rights groups, such as Animal Rights Sweden, do not want to be associated with other non-legal groups, such as Animal Liberation Front, who use more non-normative methods (Jacobsson and Lindblom 2011).

9.2  Gaining Access to a Protest Setting Accessing protest settings, for research purposes, is not without difficulty (Johl and Renganathan 2010). Firstly, you need to find them. Collective actions are often of an ‘unexpected’ and dynamic nature (e.g., Drury and Reicher 2000). In the case of the Ojnare campaign, the forest camp came to be of great use. Without having any prior contact with the campaigners, the first author went to visit the campaigners in the forest camp to recruit participants for the study. Other campaigns may lack a physical place for gathering, which of course can make the initial contact more difficult. Secondly, you need to be let in to access the protest setting. The ‘unexpected’ nature of collective actions (Drury and Reicher 2000) could, along with a good opportunity for protest arising, have its foundation in a lack of trust. The lack of trust can be of great concern for researchers, as it may result in a very time-­ consuming process of gaining access (e.g., Ronald 2011). It is not uncommon that activists are suspicious of outsiders (Blee 2003; Cohen and Arieli 2011; Jipson and Litton 2000; Sanders-McDonagh 2014; Spalek and O’Rawe 2014)  – sometimes with good reason. For example, there was an extensive undercover police action within the UK activist community between 1987 and 2010 where police presenting as activists formed relationships with campaigners and lived within the community for years, pretending to be activists while gathering intelligence for the police (Evans and Lewis 2012). Such covert actions by police, or researchers not disclosing their identity and aims, adds to the challenge of gaining access to participants in protest contexts (Cassell 1982). Hence, being transparent in your role and avoiding covert methods when embedding yourself in protest contexts may increase the chances of gaining and maintaining that access. Furthermore, some campaigns and actions require information to be kept within the group to avoid details, of for example events, leaking to third parties such as the police (Hirsch 1990). This need for secrecy was at times apparent in the environmental campaign throughout the first author’s time there, especially when it came to

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actions that were of a more non-normative nature such as campaigners chaining themselves to deforestation machines. These non-normative actions were usually only known by a few of the campaigners to avoid interruption by the police, hence there was a limitation in information sharing.

9.3  Gaining Access to People In addition to difficulties with gaining access to the protest setting, lack of trust in outsiders also makes it difficult to find contacts or gatekeepers within the activist community (Hynes 2003). When approaching the campaigners in the environmental campaign in Sweden, the first author did her utmost to be transparent regarding the research, herself, and her own pro-environmental values. We believe, which was also confirmed by participants, that her transparency facilitated in accessing participants and becoming embedded in the campaign. However, transparency may get you access to the protest context, but once there you need to gain access to participants and gain (and earn) their trust. In addition to being a researcher, which made some of the campaigners suspicious towards the first author, some also commented on the fact that she ‘looked’ like an undercover police officer. More specifically, according to several activists, she had the ethnicity (i.e., white, as most Swedish police are white), physique, height, and age of the stereotypical Swedish police they expected to be used when the police wanted to gather intelligence. One campaigner expressed ‘if I was the police commander I would send someone like you in, a kind next-door looking, non-threatening, female to gather information.’ This could have been the beginning and end of our study of the campaign. Fortunately, however, the first author was able to facilitate the process of gaining initial trust within the campaign through two key elements: her previous research and activism, and shared values with the campaigners. Negotiating the lack of trust was thus necessary which leads us to the next section.

9.3.1  Negotiating Lack of Trust ‘Street cred’ or reputation through previous research (e.g., Feldman et  al. 2003), and/or having shared values or expectancies (e.g., Taylor 2011) can facilitate in gaining access to participants. The Swedish activist community is not large. Since participants from the first author’s previous research within the Swedish left-wing ‘radical’ community (Vestergren 2010) had conducted a thorough background check on her, they could validate her intentions as a fair and transparent researcher. This validation process was possible through some overlaps between members of the left-wing community and the environmental movement in Sweden. The first author had no involvement in this process. Fortunately, a couple of the activists were members of a group the first author had interviewed previously for another project

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(Vestergren 2010), and on completion shared the written-up findings of the project with all involved groups. Furthermore, as the first author was open with her own previous activism in environmental and anti-deportation campaigns it was quickly established that the she and some of the campaigners had some common acquaintances. These common acquaintances verified her as a trustworthy person with pro-­ environmental values. We are not arguing that it is impossible to gain access to participants in settings where you do not have people that can verify and support you. However, in our study of the Swedish environmental campaign, we suggest that these two references were crucial in facilitating both deeper and less time-­ consuming access to the participants and their stories.

9.3.2  Shared Values Between Researcher and Participants It has been argued that having shared values with participants is not necessary to collect data (Hammersley 2006). However, in our case, the shared values between the first author and the campaigners facilitated both gaining access to participants and gaining the campaigners’ trust. This is related to the nature of the phenomena researched. In a protest context the researcher sometimes needs to take sides and embed themselves within the research context to achieve access to the setting and participants, and to give a more accurate account by gaining more in-depth data and understanding of the data (e.g., Drury and Stott 2001; Reicher and Hopkins 1996; Vestergren et al. 2018, 2019). The shared values, background, and knowledge of the issues between the first author and the campaigners functioned as a stepping-stone for discussions. Through these discussions, based on having a common ground to stand on, the relationship between the first author and the campaigners started to build. In some sense, the first author and the campaigners shared a social identity (Tajfel and Turner 1979) through identifying as pro-environmentalists which connected them to each other in a positive way. Shared identity has in previous research been shown to increase both helping and cooperative behaviour (e.g., Drury et al. 2009; Levine and Thompson 2004; Reicher et al. 2006), and having this shared identity and shared foundation to build upon most likely affected the participants’ willingness to participate and share their experiences and information during the first author’s time in the campaign (and after). This can be illustrated by one of the participants in the first interview. When the first author thanked them for participating in the study they replied ‘of course I’ll help, we Ojnare-fighters must stick together and help each other when we can.’ Furthermore, identifying and having a deeper relationship with the participants in some protest contexts also enables for added richness in the data (Drury and Stott 2001) and more honest data (Blake 2007). Conversely, if the researcher is seen as an outsider the participants may be reluctant to share information and/or be defensive in their responses. To limit this plausible alternation of the participants’ responses, and to gain trust, the first author spent time with all the participants before the

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interview series started. However, we should note that this approach within the research context demands a lot of time, persistence, and patience.

9.4  Gaining Access to Stories In some studies, to gain access to stories the researcher needs to gain the participants’ trust and be allowed to embed themselves within a campaign or protest; hence, there is a need for a relationship between the researcher and the campaigners to emerge (e.g., Adamson and Chojenta 2007; Drury and Stott 2001; Franklin 2008; Wasserman and Jeffrey 2007). Through building these relationships, participants are given a chance to get used to, and get to ‘know’ the researcher (e.g., their values), which subsequently facilitates the building of trust (Wasserman and Jeffrey 2007). In this study, to build this relationship, the first author travelled to the campaign area to spend time with the campaigners both in and outside of the camp before asking them to participate in the research. In addition to participating in events in the forest, the first author also participated in events related to the campaign held in other areas of Sweden, such as environmental marches in Stockholm. Subsequently she was invited to stay in the camp and at the homes of some of the campaigners (both locals and activists in other areas of Sweden). This invitation to stay with some of the campaigners may be seen as a verification of a relationship and trust gained. Which leads us to the next section, the importance of mutual trust between participants and researcher.

9.4.1  Mutual Trust Between Participants and Researcher The relationship between the first author and the campaigners was reciprocal, and just as important as it was for the campaigners to trust the first author it was equally important for her to trust the campaigners (for more on trust in the field, see Taylor et al. 2020, this volume). The first author trusting the participants was a crucial part of this project as she was alone with the campaigners in the camp and their homes for long periods of time. Had the first author left the camp and gone home every night it would probably have taken longer to create the needed trust, and it would have been easier for the campaigners to see her as an outsider – a researcher who only comes during work hours to observe the subjects. In addition to extending the trust between the first author and the participants, the closeness in the relationship furthered the first author’s understanding of the participants’ everyday life and process of enduring psychological changes. If the trust had not been reciprocal, this study would have had to be conducted from an outside perspective where data collection had been mainly through non-participatory observations and interviews collected without understanding the participants’ everyday context. Hence, the data would have been affected and more prone to

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misunderstandings, misinterpretations and misrepresentations, consequently leading to a less accurately presented account of the participants’ everyday lives and psychological changes. Being a lone researcher in a protest context can be challenging in various ways (see Sect. 9.5 for discussion on risks and vulnerability). However, trusting the participants in the protest made the first author’s experience comfortable and exciting rather than intimidating.

9.4.2  Participant Anonymity One challenge the first author had to deal with was the delicate balance between transparency and participant anonymity. We had to find a balance where we, on one side, wanted to conduct the study overtly where everyone knew that the first author was a researcher and their main reason for being there was the research. On the other side, we wanted to keep individual participation in the study anonymous both within the campaign and outside of it. In other words, the first author had to find a balance between being a researcher and a campaign participant. This can be challenging when a researcher meets a participant outside of data collection. Is it a breach of anonymity if that researcher acknowledges the relationship? As everyone knew that the first author was a researcher, if she talked to the participants outside of the research context could they then be identified as participants? Do you say hello? To deal with this potential issue in relation to anonymity, the first author informed the participants about this limitation before they started their participation and discussed it with them throughout the study. For example, the first author discussed with all the participants how they wanted her to behave if they met outside of the interview situation. All participants wanted to be acknowledged and say hello; ‘don’t be awkward, just behave normal’ was the general sense. To further avoid participant identification, the first author, from the start, made sure that the she spent a good deal of time with other campaigners as well. The interviews were long and in depth, so the first author got to know the participants and their perspectives on the issue very well. Consequently, it would have been easy to only ‘hang out’ with the participants as they became very close. This in turn, could, by others, have been used to draw conclusions about who was participating in the study. Thereby, the participation in the study could become visible to observers both outside of the campaign and inside the campaign. A positive outcome of spending time with everyone, in addition to maintaining anonymity, was the building of trusting relationships with the activist community, in the campaign to save the forest, at large. In addition to breaching the ethical requirement for research participant anonymity there is also, in some contexts, a risk of endangering participants if they are identified. For example, they might be seen as ‘traitors’ by some elements within the campaign, or the information they give the researcher might be used put pressure on them or criminalize them by outgroups such as the police.

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On occasion when we met outside of the study, participants did bring up things we had discussed in the interviews or information about other campaigners. There were also a couple of occasions where a participant wanted to know if anyone else had said anything about them. The first author never disclosed any information about who was in the study or brought up topics discussed outside of the study, nor did she follow up on the information that other participants had disclosed about participants or campaigners. It needs to be noted that in some contexts, for example where the activists are under surveillance by the government or other agencies, issues of anonymity such as being seen with the participants, and participants disclosing information about others might be a bigger issue and needs to be acknowledged and addressed to keep the participants safe. Even though this risk was not apparent within the Swedish protest context, it was discussed both within the research team and with the participants.

9.5  Maintaining Access and Trust The study of the Swedish environmental campaign had a longitudinal design consisting of seven interviews with each participant over a period of 18 months; it was therefore crucial to keep the gained trust and access to the campaign over an extended period of time. During the 18 months the study took place, the first author made five longer visits to the campaign area and participated in several events in other places related to the campaign such as a national anti-mining march in Stockholm, court proceedings (in the quarry case) and rallies related to the court proceedings, and smaller events such as group walks and fika3 in the forest. The researcher’s involvement in the campaign outside of the direct interview situations facilitated in maintaining the trust. By participating in the campaign and related events, and spending time with the participants outside of the interviews, the relationship grew, and the shared identity was kept alive. During these events, even though being fully transparent about the research, the campaigners came to see the first author as ‘one of us,’ and her participation in the campaign, in the actions, and related events was on the same terms as the other campaigners. The first author was included in preparations of events (but never initiated actions or events), such as being included in planning discussions and more hands-on preparations, such as painting banners and placards. The inclusion of the first author in the ingroup could also be seen in the way the campaigners used the words ‘we’ and ‘us’ when referring to themselves and the first author. For example, one participant explicitly stated that they did not see the first author as anything other than a fellow campaigner in a discussion about the state of universities in Sweden:

 An everyday feature of Swedish culture that can be described as a collective, informal, coffee and pastry break with social features. 3

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I’ve forgotten that you’re actually a researcher, it’s like, I mean you’re in this as much as I am, and we’re all the same, fighting for the same, you’re just one of us, erm I can’t imagine us stopping this [spending time together]. Being ‘one of us’ and identifying with the campaigners, can be, and in this case most likely was, key in maintaining the relationships and the trust, consequently also the participation (Hynes 2003; Ronald 2011) throughout the study. Part of this was also to show interest in what the campaigners do and think outside of the campaign. This also shows that you as a researcher are willing to make an effort. To be honest, why should the participants give you all that time if you are not willing to make an effort and giving them your time? Consequently, the first author put a lot of time and effort into the reciprocal give-take relationship. This again adds to the time-consuming element of this type of research.

9.5.1  N  egotiation Between Being One with the Group and Distancing yourself from the Group Building long-term relationships are, for some studies, not without subsequent challenges. For example, it can be very hard to distance yourself from your participants. In her research in the queer community, Taylor (2011) found that, through applying her own caution and censorship she marked parts of the data in the transcripts as ‘off the record’ (p. 14). Furthermore, she felt that she wanted to present the participants in a positive way so they would not be offended by the subsequent report. Ironically, the study of the Swedish environmental campaign aimed to explore psychological changes through participation in collective action (Vestergren et al. 2018, 2019) but at the end it was not only the participants who had changed. Through the involvement in the campaign and the relationships with the campaigners the first author found that she too had changed as a result of the participation. In her case, this was not much of an issue (at least not to her). She did not change radically but became more convinced in her values and actions. For example, her diet has been mainly vegetarian for many years. However, as she got more involved in the campaign, and over time, her consumption behavior changed towards the values of the campaign and today she holds a mainly vegan diet, only uses organic and plastic free shampoo bars, soaps, and conditioners and only washes her hair once a week. These changes are in line with the environmental values of the campaign, the values related to saving the earth and protecting human rights. It could also be argued that her views have become more radical and changed what she sees as legitimate behavior. Would she, before her involvement in the campaign, had put post-it notes on products at her local supermarket highlighting the use of palm oil and extensive unnecessary use of plastics? Possibly, but probably not with the same confidence. Even though the changes the first author went through as a result of her involvement in the research and the relationships with the campaigners can be regarded as small, it points to the need to reflect upon how our embeddedness affects our

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research and ourselves (see Bayad and Aydemir 2020 in this volume for a more detailed discussion). It is suggested that the researcher reflects on the effect and impact of the relationships throughout the project and reports reflexivity (e.g., Gilbert 1994; LeCompte and Goetz 1982; Taylor 2011). In ethnographic research, as most qualitative research, we reflect upon which perspective to include to provide useful data for the research question and analyses. Sharing values with the participants might affect how we generate and interpret our findings. There is a tendency for us to want to present our own group, our shared identity, in a positive way (Tajfel and Turner 1979). The social identity approach argues that we value opinions from the ingroup more and also perceive them as more accurate compared to outgroups. Hence, there is a possibility that in both generating themes and interpreting the findings we might present participants and our results in a more positive way as a result of sharing values and identity. For example, actions that outsiders might define as illegitimate and non-normative might be seen as legitimate and normative by us. Most of our findings regarding the types of psychological changes had on some level been identified or implied in previous research (for a review see Vestergren et al. 2017) which made us certain that it was not generated solely based on shared values with the campaigners. In fact, we would argue that in this study the shared identity and values were instrumental in generating and interpreting the findings to create a more accurate account of the participants’ experiences of participating in the campaign. However, being aware of such influences in the data analysis is important.

9.5.2  Shared Identity and Avoiding Outgroups The most crucial element in maintaining trust and participation in this study was related to taking sides and sharing identity. By sharing identity, it is expected that we share the same views, we support each other’s views and actions, and we share the same opposition and outgroups. To be able to achieve and maintain access and trust, the first author avoided interaction with members of outgroups, such as the police, the pro-quarry group, and the companies involved in the preparation work, throughout the study. If we had striven for an all-inclusive account of the events during the campaign, and spent as much time with the outgroups – that is the police, the mining company and the pro-quarry activists – the campaigners could have perceived the first author as ‘other’ and part of the outgroup, that is, in collaboration with the police, for example (Adamson and Chojenta 2007; Drury and Stott 2001). If the first author had been categorized as ‘one of them’ (compared to ‘one of us’) it would very likely have led to restricted access or total rejection from the campaigners. For example, in a study of car-modifying groups the ethnographers encountered issues with gaining access to data and participants, and found themselves in a dangerous situation, due to being seen as an outsider (Bengry-Howell and Griffin 2011). In the case with the car-modifiers the first author had access to other car-modifying groups and could thereby carry out the study (Bengry-Howell

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and Griffin 2007). However, for a study of conflicts or protest campaigns, as the Swedish environmental campaign, there may not be more groups to rely on for the study to be carried out. If you aim to collect data over an extensive period of time, knowing who is in and who is out might be very helpful. If you are not embedded within the context you are researching, you may not be aware of which groups are considered to be outgroups. This lack of inside knowledge might in turn make you vulnerable, and as a consequence, from the campaigners’ perspective, you might become part of the outgroup (see also Bilewicz 2020; Karasu and Uluğ 2020 in this volume). We would argue that some projects are only feasible if conducted on a basis where the researcher positions themselves on the same side of the conflict as their participants. The need for subjectivity, in the form of taking sides, and embeddedness has been highlighted in relation to previous research within the protest and collective action context (Drury and Stott 2001; Stott and Drury 2000), and as noted by Reicher and Hopkins (1996), research can never be completely objective. For example, Whyte (1993), in his study of street gangs, argued that through his subjectivity and embedding himself in the context with the participants he was able to extend his data in unexpected ways by getting information and answers to questions he did not know that he wanted to ask. Furthermore, the researcher’s pre-existing knowledge has been suggested to function as a strength rather than a weakness as it increases the researcher’s understanding of the concepts (Billig 1995; Ronald 2011). In fact, understanding the population and the issues researchers face can be seen as essential to be able to conduct some studies and produce a more accurate analysis (Drury and Stott 2001; Feldman et al. 2003; Johl and Renganathan 2010; Reicher and Hopkins 1996; Stott and Drury 2000). In the study of the Swedish environmental campaign participants, the first author’s pre-existing knowledge of the campaign issues, insights in protest structure and boundaries and limits, both facilitated gaining trust and maintaining that trust.

9.5.3  Giving Back to the Participants As in most long-term relationships, you have to give something to get something in return. One way to maintain participants over time is to give them something back (Gilbert 1994; see also Alfadhli and Drury 2020 and Figueiredo et al. 2020 in this volume). In addition to giving back in the form of physically being involved in actions and events, the first author offered to give talks and workshops about her research area to groups and organizations that where involved in the campaign. These offers were always very well received and welcomed by the campaigners. For example, during the study, the first author gave a couple of talks mainly focused on general crowd psychology research, to not bias the participants if they were in the audience. These talks included the history of crowd psychology and discussions such as crowd control versus crowd management. The talks were well attended and

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given both in the forest camp and in other locations, chosen by groups/organizations related to the campaign, such as the annual meeting for the youth organization the Fieldbiologists (a main participant in the Ojnare campaign). Through these early talks, the first author also had the opportunity to outline the intentions concerning the research which in turn could have decreased some remaining mistrust from some campaigners. After the study was concluded, the talk and workshop focused more on protest participation, such as models of predicted participation and psychological consequences of participation in collective actions. For example, the first author and the audience, mainly consisting of people involved in the campaign, went through the events in the forest and analyzed key events and how they might have affected campaigners and the campaign in general using concepts from crowd psychology. The feedback from the audience also contributed to the first author being able to confirm her timeline of events and analysis of the events and campaign participation. All talks were well received and helped maintain the transparency of the research and trust in the researcher. We also, to maintain transparency and trust, gave the participants opportunities to influence the research further. This was done to further understand the results and also give the participants an opportunity to clarify and impact the research. The data was discussed with the participants throughout the project to identify areas that we as researchers might have missed, devalued, or misunderstood. Several of the participants expressed how the continuous discussions about the data made them feel heard and important. These discussions were often in lines of the first author asking ‘you told me last time that you… ‘, ‘what did you mean by [ ], what does that mean to you’, or ‘did I understand this correctly.’ These discussions also allowed for the participants to ask questions; some of the questions in the earlier discussions, directly linked to the research topic psychological change, could not be answered fully as that could have affected the subsequent data collection. However, the first author wrote these questions down and answered them after the study was concluded. Making the participants involved in the research on a deeper level throughout the study might also make them feel more invested in the project and more willing to maintain in their participation, as they experienced that they were ‘getting their voices heard.’ After the data was collected, the first author discussed the findings with the participants, and a few other campaigners. These discussions started with the first author talking through the findings, and then followed up with questions such as ‘do you feel that any of these findings apply to you’ and ‘is there anything you think that I [first author] might have missed or misinterpreted?’. The continuous discussions also empowered the participants; they expressed that they experienced more agency and involvement in the project rather than feeling as they were subjects with no influence. For example, after discussing the results with one of the participants the first author received written feedback where the participant described how these inclusive discussions made them ‘feel part of the research’ and ‘own my story rather than having it become some poorly produced sequel.’ For example, the chapter you are reading right now has been discussed with two of the participants. In the early stages of drafting this chapter the first author briefly discussed her experiences of conducting the study to get a sense of whether there

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was some consensus between her experience and the participants’. The participants confirmed that the first author’s experiences were in line with their own views regarding the experiences and procedures. In the next step, the first author sent the participants an early draft of the chapter and asked for any feedback on events, experiences, misinterpretations, disagreements etcetera. The participants confirmed the first authors’ experiences and outlined methods, but even more importantly, they highlighted further issues related to risks regarding the participants’ privacy and loss of trust (now included in the chapter) that the first author had not reflected upon, such as the risk of participants turning against the researcher as a consequence of loss of trust. By involving the campaigners in this way, we were able to present the findings in a way that reflected the participants’ view and confirm our results within the studied population. That is, our strategies in gaining access and trust and maintaining the trust was not only seen as appropriate by us but also by the campaigners (e.g., Brydon-Miller 1997; Brydon-Miller et al. 2003; Meyer 2000). Generally in research, the researcher has the power to decide how the data is presented in the final report. By including the participants in discussions beyond the data collection, the boundaries in power relations are made more flexible. Hence, involving the participants in more than just the obtaining of data gives them a sense of inclusion and power and adds valuable insights into their understanding of the situation along with an input on how you have dealt with the data material. They are more than just research subjects. This inclusion throughout the study, as far as was possible, increased the campaigners’ trust in the first author both during and after the study. This process whereby the participants validated (or challenged) our interpretations also increased our confidence in making both theoretical and methodological conclusions. Furthermore, the validation of our methodological approach suggests that adopting similar designs, taking sides and building relationships beyond the study, could be valuable and work for other researchers in similar protest settings. In the previous sections we have highlighted challenges and advantages, for the research, of embedding yourself in your research context and taking sides in conflicts. However, by embedding yourself in your research population you as a researcher can become vulnerable and at risk.

9.6  Becoming Vulnerable and Being at Risk in the Field Taking sides can function as a solution, or at least part of the solution, for several of the challenges discussed in the sections above. For example, the second author found when studying a protest against the building of the M11 Link Road outside of London, that due to the importance of keeping actions secret the most appropriate way, and only way, to collect data was to get involved in the campaign (Drury and Reicher 2000). The consideration of taking sides is highly relevant when discussing the risks and safeguards for researching and embedding yourself within protests contexts. In this section we discuss risks the researcher may face when taking sides,

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related to threats/violence from outgroups, researcher vulnerability regarding privacy and power relations, and loss of trust.

9.6.1  Threats/Violence from Outgroups Being categorized as ‘one of us’ and being part of the campaign group can have a dark side. The campaigners were not the only ones that categorized the first author as one of them [the campaigners], so did the police and the pro-quarry protesters. For example, the first author was ‘kettled4’ along with the other protesters and forced to sit in a line on the ground for about 30 min when attending a protest, and a small group of pro-quarry locals shouted profanities at her during one visit to the island. Being seen as one of the activists can put the researcher in a vulnerable and potentially dangerous situation with a risk of arrest, abuse, or even violence from opposing groups (Whyte 1993). In his participatory observations of the No M11 Link Road campaign, the second author became part of the activist ingroup (Drury and Stott 2001). For him this meant being forcefully removed from the area they were occupying, being arrested, as well as being denied interviews and data from the police. In the study of the Swedish environmental campaign, there was very little abuse, other than verbal profanities, from the opposing pro-quarry activist group. They did on a few occasions protest outside of the camp screaming and shouting. The campaigners were also in conflict with the police and were forcefully evicted from deforestation areas at several occasions. In the clashes with the police none of the campaigners got badly injured. However, there were some minor scrapes and bruises along with the psychological distress of being detained and/or forcefully evicted from the area. For researchers studying protest contexts, identifying with, and being identified as one of the protesters exposes the researcher to risk from actions taken by outgroups.

9.6.2  The Ingroup as Safeguard When researchers become at risk to actions from outgroups, one safeguard could be the ingroup. The trust that is built through the relationships between researcher and participants can add to the creation of a safe research environment (Blake 2007). These relationships and becoming an ingroup member also mean that the ingroup is more likely to support you (Drury et al. 2005; Drury and Reicher 2005). In vulnerable or threatening situations, the ingroup is likely to come to your aid and protect  A police tactic attempting to control crowds by indiscriminately surrounding a group of people. The corralling can for example involve police officers coming from all sides, or vans used to trap protesters from all sides (e.g., Fenwick 2009). 4

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you, if possible, from outside forces. Hence, the relationship not only facilitates gaining and maintaining trust, it can also function to keep you safe during your research. In a way, in protest contexts, the idea of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ can create a safety collective. Apart from the shouting at the camp, there were no other threatening situations when the first author was in the camp. However, the safeguarding also had a proactive element as the campaigners pointed out members of outgroups, in less obvious situations such as in town or in court, to the first author and told her who she should stay away from to avoid abuse. This safeguarding was not only regarding the outgroups; the campaigners kept the first author safe in various ways, such as pointing out dangers in the area of the camp and what to look out for, and made sure that she had a bed, a roof over her head, and food to eat – as they would have done for any ingroup member.

9.6.3  Researcher Vulnerability After gaining access and trust and being invited into the campaign you as a researcher may become visibly vulnerable in your position. On one side, this could show the campaigners that you come in good faith, thereby building trust and relationships further (Blake 2007; Taylor 2011). However, on the other side, it exposes the researcher to threatening and dangerous situations within the campaign.

9.6.4  P  rivacy and Power Relations Between Researcher and Participants There are risks that are less apparent, related to power relation between the researcher and participants, that we need to address and reflect upon while in the field. For example, the first author was exposed to private elements of participants’ lives beyond the aims and scope for the research. Depending on the content and nature of such private information, it can put the researcher in a difficult position. The first author made the decision not to bring up such privacy related topics or information in interviews or outside of the interviews. However, what was considered private, or sensitive, was based solely on the first author’s judgment. Furthermore, the researcher might be given information from the participants that might put the participants or the researcher at risk – in this case, information such as revealing criminal activity. As the first author was aware that information, such as criminal activity, might be disclosed during the study, she had consulted the University’s legal department to ensure that she was not required to share or report any information with third parties or authorities. By disclosing information such as criminal activity or inviting the researcher into more private elements of their lives the power relations between researcher and

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participant can become even more asymmetrical. If trust is lost between the participant and the researcher at this level, there might be a risk that the participant turns against the researcher as they ‘know too much’. The first author did not regard this as a possible risk until it was brought up by the campaigners; however, this might be a bigger issue in other contexts and where the content of the information is of greater value or risk for the participant/s.

9.6.5  Loss of Trust If a researcher does not gain trust, or loses the trust of the campaigners, she risks being seen as an outsider and/or part of the outgroup, which in turn can end in a potentially dangerous situation where the researcher is out of control of the situation (Nilan 2002). As activists often are suspicious towards outsiders and newcomers (Blee 2003; Cohen and Arieli 2011; Jipson and Litton 2000; Sanders-McDonagh 2014) it may not take much for them to lose trust and suspect the researcher of being, for example, undercover police (Hammersley and Atkinson 1995) and being treated as such thereafter. It might seem easy to pretend that you are sharing values and experiences with your participants to gain instant access and trust or agreeing with protesters out of fear of being excluded from the community. However, we strongly advise against this. Pretending that you are something you are not when spending an extensive time with a group will make you vulnerable and it is likely that the participants will see through your ‘cover.’ The first author did not always agree with individual campaigners’ opinions or actions during her time in the campaign. However, rather than hiding this she gave a rationale for her view and through this she gained more trust and respect within the protest community. It should be noted though that the first author did share the core values regarding human rights and the environment with the campaigners, so the disagreements were never big and did not contradict core values and/or expectancies. The first author made sure to be transparent both about her research and herself as a person as far as possible throughout the study. Throughout her time in the campaign and with the campaigners the first author never felt uncomfortable or unsafe and there were no unsafe or threatening situations created by the relationship and actions between her and the campaigners.

9.7  Concluding Remarks In this chapter we have discussed and problematized challenges faced during a longitudinal ethnographic study within the Swedish environmental protest context. This adds to previous research by identifying and describing challenges and processes for solutions while in the protest context. In particular, we have discussed the importance of, in some studies, taking sides and continuously negotiating our own

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role and the participants’ safety without misusing the gained trust to achieve our own aims. There are general similarities between the different phases (i.e., gaining access and trust and maintaining access and trust) of the research process. For example, the relationship with the participants and other campaigners was a necessity throughout the study. However, there are some differences in the procedure and content of the process in the different phases. For example, when gaining access you need to prove yourself to be an honest person on ‘the right side’ to start building the relationship, then when gaining trust you need to focus more on creating or becoming part of the shared identity, and finally in order to maintain the relationships you need to show that you are part of the group through, for example, involving yourself more and also involving the participants more in the research. For all of these phases there was in this study a necessity to taking the side of the campaigners/protesters. Even though there might be differences in the content of protests, and differences in the responses to the protests globally, we do consider the challenges faced and processes discussed, in relation to gaining and maintaining access and trust to protest contexts as general and universal, and the experiences outlined in this chapter useful for protest researchers globally. In sum, when working in protest contexts there is a need to find a methodological design that fits with the specific setting and ensures that the researcher and participants are not exposed to unnecessary risks. For us, this meant being honest, transparent, and taking sides. This design facilitated gaining access and trust and maintaining that access and trust. Furthermore, it helped safeguard the first author while in the field. Acknowledgements  Our deepest gratitude to the campaigners that not only gave their time to participate in the original study, but also spent a huge amount of time discussing the content of this chapter with us. Your insights are invaluable. We would also like to thank Dr. Eva Hammar Chiriac for valuable inputs and discussions.

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Chapter 10

Field Research on Collective Victimization in the Indian Subcontinent: Challenges and Strategies for Navigation Rashmi Nair and Sramana Majumdar

We are two social psychologists from India, and much of our work examines the social psychology of collective victimization -i.e.,  the result of violence against members of a group due to their social identity (Vollhardt 2012)- in the Indian context. Nair’s research has examined the intergroup consequences of collective victimization associated with various social identities like caste, religion, and gender, particularly among members of oppressed groups. For instance, her work has examined how people’s beliefs regarding their group’s experiences of victimization may shape intergroup relations between oppressed groups, like Dalits (lower castes) and Muslims in India. Majumdar’s work has focused on youth and political violence in the Kashmir Valley, examining emotions, gender, collective memory, and other aspects of the conflict. Her work adopts interdisciplinary and contextually-informed approaches to understand the social-psychological consequences of intergroup conflict and related collective victimization in this region. Perhaps because of its real-world relevance, the scarce social-psychological investigations on collective victimization have employed field-based approaches more so than the broader discipline of social psychology. This work has shed light on various responses to collective victimization that can underlie peace and conflict between communities (see Vollhardt 2012 for a review). Yet, this research largely relies on samples from the global North and risks neglecting the perspective and experiences of people from the global South, who constitute three-quarters of the world’s population and face staggering inequality and long-standing conflicts (Noor et al. 2017). The scarcity of fieldwork in developing contexts can lead to limited context-­ sensitive knowledge. Psychologists working in understudied regions, like India, often find it difficult to make use of largely foreign concepts, which may not be R. Nair (*) · S. Majumdar Ashoka University, Sonepat, Haryana, India e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_10

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relevant for their setting (Dalal 2014; Sinha 2016). For instance, Dalal (2014) and others have spoken about the ‘identity crisis’ of Indian psychologists, who continue to replicate western theoretical and applied knowledge in the Indian setting, due to the lack of culturally-relevant and contextually-specific work. This has resulted in a psychological literature that is not informed by India’s social, historical, and political realities, like the caste system. Jogdand et al. (2016) commentary critiquing the application of popular social-psychological constructs developed in the West (e.g., social dominance orientation and right-wing authoritarianism) while holding a simplistic understanding of the caste system in India, appropriately highlights this point. Further, limited context-specific research and the scarcity of accounts by social psychologists on their field experiences in developing contexts impact the literature that is available for scholars to learn from and prepare for the challenges of fieldwork in these settings. This knowledge is particularly crucial as institutional review boards and ethics committees in developing nations, like India, have several structural and functional inadequacies and have scant guidelines available for field researchers (Muthuswamy 2005). This makes the task of undertaking fieldwork in developing contexts even more daunting and leaves scholars underprepared for the challenges of fieldwork. When we set out on our doctoral journeys in 2010, we wanted to find answers to difficult questions on a sensitive and understudied topic – i.e., collective victimization, in a developing context, and among communities that were hard to reach. The difficulties we faced during our journey have not only informed our research practices but continue to come up frequently in our conversations  with our students during our teaching work in India. Many of our students are interested in studying issues related to peace and conflict in the region using field research methods, yet they have trouble finding appropriate resources to ethically and methodologically inform their fieldwork. In this way, we find that many of the anxieties and uncertainties faced by young scholars currently are similar to the ones that we had worked through during our research. Addressing this, this chapter has two aims. First, we want to encourage social psychologists and other researchers to generate more contextually-sensitive knowledge from developing nations, including India. Second, we hope to prepare scholars with a sense of the possible challenges in undertaking field research in these settings as well as some strategies to navigate them. Towards this, we begin the chapter with a brief overview of various sources of collective victimization in this context; this overview is not exhaustive and primarily aims to provide a context for the scarce social psychological research on collective victimization in India, including our own. In the next section, we describe social psychological research on the consequences of collective victimization for intergroup relations in the Indian context and detail two field studies that we conducted here: a qualitative study on intergroup relations between Dalits and Muslims (Nair) and a quantitative study on relations between Kashmiri Muslims and the Indian State (Majumdar). Building on our field experiences, in the final section, we present various challenges to prepare researchers for the difficulties that they may encounter during different stages of their research and share some strategies to navigate them.

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10.1  Collective Victimization in the Indian Context India is home to many religious and ethnic minorities that live alongside the Hindu majority, who constitute over 80% of its sizeable population. However, far from homogenous, Hindus are divided by a complex caste system (Valmiki 2010). In contemporary India, caste entails an affiliation with two kinds of social identities – varna and jati (Beteille 1996). The two-thousand-years-old varna system divides the Indian society into a four-tiered social pyramid; it privileges the three groups on top of the hierarchy (namely, Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vaishyas) with access to knowledge, whereas those on the bottom rung of this social pyramid (Shudras) as well as those that fell outside this system (Dalits) were denied these rights. Over time, the varna system merged with a more-differentiated jati system that identified innumerable endogamous subgroups -namely jatis- and tied them to specific occupations; we reserve the term caste to refer to jatis (Singh 2009). The linking of the varna and jati system meant that priestly and scholarly positions were reserved for Brahmin castes, Kshatriya castes were assigned to be rulers and princes, the Vaishyas were associated with trade, the Shudras were to be the laborers, and the Dalit castes were tied to tasks seen as polluting (e.g., manual scavenging, leather tanning). Over centuries, this system has particularly fueled violence against the Dalits. For instance, it legitimizes practices of untouchability, forbids inter-caste marriages, and triggers recurrent direct attacks against them (Valmiki 2010). To escape this violence, over time, many Dalits converted to other religions such as Islam (Sikand 2004). However, religious identity is another prominent fault line in the landscape of intergroup conflicts in India. The most studied of the inter-religious conflicts in India are hostilities between Hindus and Muslims, which led to India’s partition into Hindu-majority India and Muslim-majority Pakistan in 1947 and triggered the displacement of over 15 million and the mutual killing of more than a million people (Dalrymple 2015). These hostilities and political forces continue to underlie recurrent Hindu-Muslim riots in post-independence India (Varshney 2003). For instance, Wilkinson (2008) found that between 1955–1995, Hindu-Muslim religious clashes was the most consistently and significantly correlated with violent outbreaks among all ethno-religious, social, and economic large-scale unrests in India. These riots have disproportionately impacted Muslims, who also face structural disadvantages such as discrimination and low literacy rates (Ahmad and Mehrotra 2018). Notably, the situation of Dalits and Muslims has worsened after a Hindu nationalist political party -the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)- won the 2014 general election. Since then, there has been a spike in mob-lynchings and hate crimes against them (Human Rights Watch 2019a). To counter Hindu fundamentalist forces, however, there have been several appeals for solidarity between oppressed groups, including Dalits and Muslims (e.g., Press Trust of India 2018). Along with these tensions that impact communities in mainland India, there are also conflicts along India’s border. One of the most significant and damaging ongoing conflicts has centered around the Kashmir valley, located in between the

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often-hostile neighboring countries of India and Pakistan. Kashmir is part of the larger Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir that was granted special status and given greater autonomy than other Indian states by Article 370 of the Indian constitution at the time of India’s partition. Several political and religious differences that arose during and after the partition, however, resulted in a growing sense of disillusionment, grievance, and frustration in Kashmir that is the only Muslim-majority region in an otherwise Hindu-majority India (Mathur 2014). This set off an armed rebellion by sections of Kashmiri Muslims against the Indian state, demanding an autonomous territorial and political identity for Kashmiris (Khan and Majumdar 2017). Hailed as a freedom struggle by many Kashmiris, the armed insurgency has been viewed as a radicalized terror movement by the Indian state and has led to heavy military and paramilitary deployment in the region (Chadha 2012). While the intergroup dynamics of mainland India feed into the conflict in Kashmir in several ways, this region’s distinct cultural, political, and religious history is currently manifesting as a conflict between the political demands of Kashmiri Muslims and the Indian state. Today, Kashmir is among the most militarized zones in the world and has witnessed more than three decades of violence (Ganguly and Bajpai 1994). Over 70,000 people have been killed, 150,000 displaced, and about 8000 are reported missing (Housen et al. 2018). The persistent threat of military violence and the lack of accountability has become a major source of collective victimization in this region with severe mental health repercussions (Duschinski 2009; Kazi 2009). A third of Kashmiris suffer from psychological distress and suicidal ideation; over half were depressed, and the prevalence of PTSD was significantly higher than samples drawn from non-conflict zones (Amin and Khan 2009; De Jong et al. 2008; Margoob and Ahmad 2006). Yet, the Kashmiri people, specifically the youth, have also become active agents of resistance, protest, and change (Dar 2014; Majumdar 2017; Sonpar 2015; Sudan 2007). Actions have ranged from armed resistance calling for freedom from the Indian state, street protests against military violence, to the formation of pressure groups like the Association of Parents of Disappeared People. Recently, however, a sudden revocation of Article 370 by the BJP-led Indian Government has led to an indefinite communication shutdown and a forceful takeover of the political and civil rights of the Kashmiri people (Human Rights Watch 2019b).

10.2  S  ocial Psychological Responses to Collective Victimization in the Indian Subcontinent Despite the long history of inequality and conflict, social psychological research on the consequences of collective victimization in the Indian subcontinent is scant. This scarce research began with a focus on processes linked with negative intergroup consequences. For instance, among Muslims, beliefs of relative deprivation -i.e., perceptions of ingroup as being structurally or materially worse off than

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another- predicted blame towards Hindus for communal riots (Naqvi 1980). Likewise, Muslims who scored higher on relative deprivation attributed greater negative characteristics to Hindus than low scorers (Tripathi and Srivastava 1981). Research in Kashmir and surrounding regions have been particularly limited. Nevertheless, a few recent studies indicate high levels of helplessness, fear, distress, insecurity, and social alienation among Kashmiri Muslim respondents (Bhat and Ashraf 2016; Sudan 2007). More recently, social psychologists have highlighted some constructive responses to collective victimization in India. For example, among members of disadvantaged groups, including Muslims, Dalits, and Christians, beliefs of similarity in experiences of collective victimization –namely, inclusive victim beliefs– predicted support for refugees (Vollhardt et  al. 2016). Further, building on the social identity approach, Jogdand and Sinha (2015) propose that leaders can use experiences of collective humiliation to identify perpetrators and propel collective action. In Kashmir, Sonpar (2008) highlights that a close understanding of the impact of violence among ex-militants can be leveraged for peace-building purposes. Other reports from Kashmir suggest exhaustion with violence and an inclination, especially of the youth, towards peaceful resistance and recovery (Chadha 2012; Jan and Manzoor 2017).

10.2.1  O  ur Studies on Responses to Collective Victimization in the Indian Context 10.2.1.1  Study 1 Nair’s study (2016) aimed to contribute to the scarce social psychological research on the role of collective victim beliefs –i.e., people’s beliefs regarding their group’s victimization– in shaping solidarity versus conflict between oppressed groups. Specifically, she examined collective victim beliefs underlying intergroup relations between Dalits and Muslims in India. Nair began with a pilot study to explore the relevance of victim beliefs in this context. Using focus group discussions and individual interviews, she collected data from Dalits and Muslims of different socio-­ economic backgrounds living in New Delhi, the capital city of India. Delhi has a substantial population of Dalits (16.9%; Census, 2001) and Muslims (13%; Census 2011). A sizable portion of them live in ghettoized and impoverished localities; many are migrant workers from nearby states (Devulapalli 2019; Jamil 2017). The pilot study confirmed the relevance of examining victim beliefs and highlighted some structural and methodological nuances. Structurally, some Dalit and Muslim participants discussed gender-based restrictions (e.g., on mobility) and class barriers (e.g., lack of leisure time) that limited their intergroup contact. These findings underscored the need for an intersectional analysis that went beyond the traditional focus on collective victim beliefs associated with single-identity groups (Nair et al., 2020). Methodologically, during data collection in slums, Nair noticed

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that participants seemed hesitant to share their perspectives in one-on-one interviews. However, they spoke more freely in focus group discussions when friends and neighbors were around, perhaps because focus groups render collective strength to disadvantaged-group members (Liamputtong 2011). Further, in focus groups with men from low-income backgrounds, she noticed that some of them were not engaged in the discussion, even though they were whispering amongst each other intermittently. A conversation with a worker at a non-profit organization working in that slum revealed that perhaps because some of the residents came from rural settings, such discussions across gender may not have been socially normative. In this way, the pilot study shed light on various issues that the main study needed to address. Building on this, Nair designed a two-part main study to examine collective victim beliefs stemming from intersecting identities (of gender and class) that can shape solidarity versus conflict between Dalits and Muslims (see Nair and Vollhardt 2020). Study 1a employed individual interviews to reach middle-class Dalits and Muslims, men and women, (who were familiar with one-on-one interviews), whereas study 1b used focus group discussions among participants from low-­ income backgrounds (who were more comfortable talking in a group). For Study 1a, middle-class Dalits and Muslims (N = 33; approximately an equal number of men and women from each group) were recruited using snowball and maximum variation sampling. This sample was predominantly employed in the organized sector, lived in established residential neighborhoods, had high levels of education, and came from diverse professional backgrounds. For Study 1b, data was collected from six unauthorized slums spread across Delhi using a combination of intercept, snowball, and maximum variation sampling. Nair organized 12 focus groups: 2–4 discussions among Dalit women, Dalit men, Muslim women, and Muslim men, conducted separately for each intersection. Participants were 19 Dalit women, 15 Muslim women, 8 Dalit men, and 24 Muslim men; they had little formal education and worked in the unorganized sector. Three research assistants supported Study 1b: a Dalit woman with extensive experience of activism across various slums in Delhi acted as a key informant; she identified slums, recruited participants, and set up the focus groups. Further, to increase comfort among participants, Nair matched the gender of the moderator with the participants; a Dalit male and a Muslim male research assistant moderated the focus groups among Dalit and Muslim men, respectively. Nair conducted discussions among Dalit and Muslim women, with the help of the key informant. The core interview questions asked Dalit and Muslim participants to compare their intersectional experiences stemming from gender and class, with that of people at other intersectional locations (e.g., comparing the experiences of Dalit women and Muslim women); existing research had focused on single-identity groups in its analysis. Thematic analysis revealed various perceptions linked with intersecting identities that had not been identified in the collective victim beliefs literature (in India and more generally). Specifically, Dalit and Muslim participants expressed various beliefs of commonalities and differences when comparing their intersectional experiences. Integrating research on collective victimization and intersectionality, Nair argues that these perceived commonalities and differences in intersectional

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experiences of collective victimization can serve as additional sources of tensions and solidarity between oppressed groups, along with the beliefs linked with singlegroup identities. 10.2.1.2  Study 2 This study (Majumdar 2020) focused on the ongoing conflict between the Kashmiri people and the Indian State. It examined various emotions and behavioral tendencies associated with collective victimization among Kashmiri Muslim youth enrolled in colleges in and around Srinagar, the capital city of Kashmir, which has witnessed riots, protests, and bombardments and has a marked presence of military encampments. Critiquing the largely psychiatric/clinical approach that has dominated the psychological research on victimization, this study aimed to expand this focus beyond personal experiences (direct violence) like being beaten, shot at, harassed, detained, to more indirect or collective experiences like witnessing deaths, beatings of strangers, and hearing bombing and shelling. Further, it sought to extend the examination of collective victimization beyond its consequences for psychological distress and explore how collective victimization can shape emotions and behavioral outcomes of emotion regulation tendencies, hope, and aggression. Specifically, the predictor variable was exposure to conflict-related violence (Giacaman et  al. 2007), and outcome variables were aggression (Buss and Perry 1992), emotion regulation (Gross and John 2003), hope (Schrank et al. 2010), and optimism (Scheier et al. 1994). Despite the quantitative design of this study, data collection was field-based, naturalistic, and employed minimum researcher intervention (see Paluck and Cialdini 2014). Given the scarcity of research in Kashmir, a pilot study was conducted with 58 Kashmiri university students who had experienced violence. This helped establish the relevance, validity, and reliability of test items and informed the main study. Specifically, since many of the measures were developed in other contexts and were being adapted to Kashmir for the first time, the pilot helped in developing more culturally- and socially-appropriate items. Participants in the main study were 160 Kashmiri Muslim youth enrolled in Kashmir University (Srinagar) and the Islamic University of Science and Technology (Pulwama). Local colleagues connected Majumdar with participants, who responded to a paper-pencil survey. The research was purposively conducted with university students in Kashmir as Majumdar wanted to examine exposure to violence among the cohort that grew up during the conflict and has been actively involved in the resistance and street protests. Hence, in this case, the university population was not a limitation, but appropriate for the research question. Moreover, these universities had students from various parts of Kashmir, allowing for a regionally-diverse sample. The analysis revealed a significant association of collective victimization (above and beyond direct violence) with emotional outcomes like optimism and behavioral tendencies of physical aggression. These findings underscore the need to focus on collective experiences of violence beyond the individual level consequences of psychiatric distress indicators that dominate conflict literature.

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10.3  C  hallenges of Doing Fieldwork on Collective Victimization in the Indian Context We now combine our insights from the above-mentioned studies in India and share various challenges that we faced based on their relevance for different stages of research. Specifically, we discuss issues that can arise during the (1) preparation, (2) conceptualization and design, (3) data collection, (4) analysis, and (5) writing and dissemination stages of the research. That said, these challenges are in no way exhaustive and may also apply to other stages. Further, we share some strategies to help researchers studying collective victimization and themes related to peace and conflict navigate these challenges sensitively.

10.3.1  Preparation Stage 10.3.1.1  Power Differences and Intersectionality An important step during this stage is for researchers to reflect on the power differences stemming from their social identities, and its impact on their research. For instance, for Majumdar, as an Indian citizen working in Kashmir and engaging with participants regarding their experiences of political violence, it was a challenge in terms of trust building. One participant half-jokingly said: “I don’t know if I should answer any of these, what if you are a spy?” (see also Baser and Toivanen 2018; Clark 2006; Uluğ et  al. 2017). Although there may always be some uncertainty about the credibility of such findings, Majumdar noticed that explaining the purpose of the study often engaged the participants and they shared their experiences freely. Further, when recruiting, she emphasized the purpose and independence of her study, the confidentiality of responses, and the anonymity of the participants. Deliberating on her social position and related power differences and privileges helped her identify tactics to create a safe space for the participants. Moreover, when reflecting on power differences, researchers should take an intersectional approach and examine the advantages linked with their multiple social identities (Crenshaw 1989). For instance, coming from a Hindu background positioned Nair as part of the oppressive other to the Muslim community, as Hindus have been recurrently implicated in attacks against them. Further, Nair’s family comes from the South Indian state of Kerala; even though both her parents belong to castes that are considered Shudra (disadvantaged castes on the varna system), members of her maternal family’s caste (i.e., the Nair caste) have come to occupy a dominant status in this region, often claim to be higher on the varna hierarchy, and have been an oppressive force against the Dalits and other lower castes (Shepherd 2018). Yet, we believe honest reflections on one’s taken-for-granted privileges from multiple social identities and how one’s experiences may differ from members of

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oppressed groups (Case 2017), can prepare scholars to sensitively navigate the challenges during fieldwork and build trust, despite being part of the oppressive other. Additionally, researchers can give careful thought to potential similarities stemming from their social identities associated with disadvantage. For instance, calls for solidarity between historically-oppressed groups like Dalits, tribal communities, and Shudras, are common in many parts of India, including Delhi. Therefore, at the time of first contact with the participants, Nair often revealed her inter-caste background to implicitly indicate that she recognized their suffering through her own experiences, and discussed how it shaped her interest in working with members of other disadvantaged groups. Further, she shared how she had learned from her Dalit and Muslim friends about their situation as well as about the Dalit and Muslim leaders and scholars who influenced her work. This helped communicate familiarity with their struggles, build rapport, and create a safe space for participant disclosure. Importantly, revealing her mixed-caste background allowed Nair to navigate her oppressor label and be seen as an insider. Additionally, researchers could draw on cross-cutting identities that they may share with the participants. For example, despite the caste and religious differences with the participants, both authors observed that their gender often positioned them as insiders. For example, with Nair, questions about gender to Dalit and Muslim women often elicited responses that reflected the researcher as part of the ingroup (i.e., women). In this way, while some identities may position the researcher as an outsider, others may serve as bridges and place the researcher as an insider. Forethought on one’s dominant and subordinate social identities in the initial stages of research can guide field researchers throughout the research process. 10.3.1.2  Social and Cultural Differences Researchers should also consider how differences in the cultural and social norms between the researcher and the participants may shape the research process (Moss et al. 2019). Making methodological adjustments offers one way to address these differences and generate better data. For instance, Nair’s pilot study indicated that participants from low-income backgrounds were hesitant to speak with her in a one-­ on-­one setting. Therefore, in Study 1b, Nair employed focus group discussions to offer a more comfortable setting for disclosure to low-income participants (Liamputtong 2011). Further, to be in line with the gender norms around communication she matched the gender of the moderator and the participants; she hired and trained a Dalit and a Muslim male research assistant to moderate the discussions with Dalit and Muslim men respectively (see Moss et al. 2019). In addition, researchers can draw on potential cultural similarities to navigate socio-cultural differences. For instance, Majumdar was an outsider in many ways: she had never lived in Kashmir or shared any ethnic, religious, or communal ties with the land, and even dressed quite differently. Yet, as Majumdar spent time in Kashmir, similarities of common language surfaced. She could speak with her participants in Hindi (a language that all of the participants as well as the researcher

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was familiar with), and exchange conversations about popular culture, like Bollywood films. Despite the distinct food preferences of people in different parts of India, she could also share meals with families because of common food habits. Further bridging the differences was her knowledge of the conflict, the Kashmiri people, and their struggles. Additionally, Majumdar has spent considerable time with her Kashmiri friends, colleagues, and their families, who facilitated better networks in the community. This helped her shift from being an outsider to a more relatable position and build trust within the community (Norman 2009). 10.3.1.3  Mismatch in Researcher-Participant Goals During the preparation stage, researchers should reflect on how differences in the goals of the researcher and the participants may pose a challenge. For example, when recruiting participants for the pilot study towards Study 1, a potential participant in slums declined to participate. When Nair probed, the participant explained that she had participated in a few studies before and found little immediate and tangible benefits. She added that Nair’s study too had long-term goals, as was the case with the previous studies that she had participated in, and this would take her away from the more pressing issues that needed her attention. In developing contexts, where members of disadvantaged groups face harsh conditions, high insecurity, and work multiple jobs, it is crucial to be mindful of the constraints in the lives of people from marginalized groups and to be prepared to acknowledge this perspective (Flick 2007). Accordingly, Nair acknowledged this view and thanked her for her consideration. Interestingly, perhaps because of the way the conversation unfolded, even though this potential participant did not participate in the pilot, she offered to show Nair a potential location in the slums where the focus group discussion could be organized. We believe that appreciating the constraints in the lives of the members of these groups and being forthright about the outcomes of the research for the community can go a long way in establishing rapport and building trust within the community (see for a discussion on building trust Vestergren and Drury 2020 in this volume). On similar lines, in Study 2 by Majumdar, alluding to the political situation in Kashmir, some participants asked questions like “will something be done?” and “will you help us?” Once again, this incident suggests that members of victimized communities may be motivated to resolve their immediate situation, while researchers may be committed to goals (e.g., understanding a phenomenon) that may entail long-term benefits for the community, but do not directly speak to the participants’ current needs. Here too, Majumdar found that providing an accurate sense of what the research can achieve for the community helped build trust with the participants and allowed them to make an informed decision about their participation. Being realistic and honest about the potential benefits of one’s research for the community in the short and long term is particularly crucial, as research can be an exploitative endeavor that primarily benefits the researcher (Paradis 2000).

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10.3.1.4  Training Research Assistants When planning the training for research assistants, researchers should account for how the roles that research assistants serve outside the research setting may conflict with the goals of research. In Nair’s study, the key informant was a Dalit woman who had been a community activist among various victimized communities in the slums of New Delhi for decades. In Study 1b, with Dalits and Muslims from low-­ income backgrounds, she played a crucial role in organizing and assisting with the focus groups. As part of her training, Nair had discussed various issues, including the purpose of the study, the format of focus group discussions, and the importance of confidentiality. However, Nair had missed a more fundamental issue: while the researcher’s role requires open listening without imposing one’s view, activists often aim to create awareness of the group’s situation precisely by influencing people. In a focus group discussion among Dalit women, when asked about their situation in India, a participant mentioned that Dalits did not have any major problems. But, before she could continue, the key informant interrupted and argued that this comment dismissed her activism work in those slums. Although Nair interjected and reiterated that there were no right or wrong answers for the participants, she noticed discomfort and reluctance to speak freely. Addressing this issue, in the post-discussion debrief with the key informant, Nair mentioned that she noticed uneasiness among the participants after the interjection. She highlighted the need to set up a warm and welcoming environment and the importance of listening in creating a safe space for disclosure for the participants. In light of this, they discussed whether that focus group should be included in the analysis and decided that it was best to exclude that discussion from the final analysis. While it is not always possible to anticipate such oversights during the training process, researchers can use post-discussion debriefs to address any gaps as part of ongoing training (Arnold and Rotheram-Borus 2009).

10.3.2  Conceptualization and Design Stage 10.3.2.1  Qualitative Versus Quantitative Methods While the choice of research methods should be guided by the question, for emerging areas of research in developing contexts, quantitative methods (that are deductive) can limit a nuanced understanding of a phenomenon by giving primacy to the researcher’s conceptualization of the phenomenon over the perspective of the participants (but see Paluck 2009; Vollhardt and Bilali 2015). For example, in Majumdar’s quantitative pilot study, the measures for exposure to violence did not account for restrictions on movement due to fear of military violence, which is widely prevalent in Kashmir. This came up in informal conversations, for example, with a female acquaintance in Kashmir, who reported that women in Kashmir hardly got a chance to stay out late in fear of being picked up or attacked by the military.

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This was an experience of violence that became difficult to fit into any of the pre-­ existing categories included in the scale. Building on this, in her quantitative main study, Majumdar included a set of open-ended qualitative questions to uncover novel aspects of the experience of violence. Doing so allowed her to avoid imposing her pre-determined ideas about the violence faced by the participants, test if the phenomenon (i.e., exposure to violence) had been captured accurately by existing theories, and complement the findings of her quantitative study (Braun and Clarke 2013; see also for a review of using quantitative methods in conflict contexts Figueiredo et al. 2020 in this volume). Situated in naturalistic settings, qualitative methods are also particularly suitable when working with vulnerable communities (Liamputtong 2007). In Nair’s study with Dalits and Muslims, qualitative methods were crucial in trust-building and reaching members of these communities. Additionally, it revealed novel victim beliefs linked with intersecting identities that had not been identified in existing research on collective victim beliefs, and aided hypothesis generation (Braun and Clarke 2013; Flick 2007). These strengths of qualitative methods can be particularly useful for researchers working on understudied topics among hard-to-reach communities. When coupled with quantitative methods (that allows hypothesis testing and drawing inferences), researchers can produce a nuanced and context-sensitive understanding of the phenomenon and generate more externally-valid theories (Creswell and Clark 2018). 10.3.2.2  Framing Questions and Measures Another issue to consider is how researchers frame their questions and which measures they choose for their study. For example, in Nair’s qualitative study, she asked participants whether they saw their intersectional experiences of victimization as “more, less, or equal” to that of members with other intersecting identities. In doing so, however, she suggested a directional (upward, downward, or horizontal) comparison. Perhaps impacted by this, the vast majority of the participants made quantitative comparisons of their intersectional experiences. Although participants had room to disagree and some of them did (see Nair and Vollhardt 2020), only a few people expressed intersectional qualitative differences, which highlighted the unique aspects of intersectional experiences and acknowledged the suffering of both intersections. A question like “As a Dalit woman, how do you compare the experiences linked with these identities to that of Muslim women?” may have been less directive and could have elicited more-diverse responses. Likewise, in Majumdar’s quantitative study, two questions examining exposure to conflict-related violence (“have you been stripped?” and “have you been sexually harassed?”) generated low responses. This suggests the importance of attending to local cultural sensitivities and social stigmas when selecting measures. An alternative question could ask if participants felt physically violated in any way other than being beaten or checked (or any of the mentioned categories). To avoid such oversights, before data collection, researchers could undertake a careful review of the

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research tools with members of their team (e.g., research advisor, research assistants) or pre-test their tools to unpack any assumptions underlying their questions and measures (Horwitz and Hoagwood 2009). Further, consulting and collaborating with experts working in the context can help researchers in  crafting culturally-­ sensitive research instruments (Miller 2004). 10.3.2.3  Rethinking Theoretical Frameworks Researchers should consider conducting pilot studies to ensure the relevance of their theoretical frameworks. For example, Nair’s study on victim beliefs shaping relations between Dalits and Muslims had originally approached the issue from a single-identity perspective that did not account for gender and class differences within these communities. However, the pilot study revealed that gender and class also play a role in shaping Dalit-Muslim relations, which necessitated rethinking her approach. Building on this, she used an intersectional approach in the main study. This helped reveal various beliefs linked with intersecting identities that can serve as additional sources of tension and solidarity, along with beliefs linked with singular identities. When examining collective victimization in understudied contexts, a questioning of predetermined theoretical approaches, for example, by conducting a qualitative (see Sect. 10.3.2.1) pilot study, can prove crucial in revealing novel insights.

10.3.3  Data Collection Stage 10.3.3.1  Trust Building and Delays During Recruitment When preparing to collect data, researchers should be mindful that members of victimized communities that are continually facing violence could be wary of the researcher, particularly if the researcher comes from a dominant group, and could perceive threats stemming from taking part in the study. Since Nair was part of the dominant other in many ways, it could impact rapport building and how much participants were willing to share (Glazer 1982). Mindful of this, Nair approached her participants through trusted networks in the community (e.g., gatekeepers and organizations working in the slums). Further, it was often only after meeting the participants a few times that Nair began data collection. This gave the potential participants a chance to know more about Nair and her research, built greater trust, and generated rich interviews (Norman 2009). Also, researchers should be prepared to tackle unexpected delays. With Majumdar, the bureaucracy of going through department heads at universities in Kashmir posed significant delays. Therefore, she took the help of a local colleague, who was also a student at the university, for initial recruitment and later recruited through the official departments and classes once the paperwork was cleared.

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Employing multiple recruitment strategies enabled her to offset the weaknesses of any one of these strategies and to proceed with the data collection despite unexpected delays (Hennink et al. 2011). 10.3.3.2  Security Concerns at the Data Collection Location Although it is important to account for the participants’ preference when deciding the location for data collection, researchers should also assess any safety concerns. For an individual interview as part of Study 1a, a Muslim man working as a tailor had invited Nair to his shop, which was located in a small market. However, as soon as the interview began, people started gathering around to listen in, as it must have seemed odd that a woman was talking to a storekeeper about issues other than business. Things got further complicated when an upper-caste Hindu man from a neighboring shop interrupted the participant, just as Nair had asked the introductory question about his experiences as a Muslim in India, to claim that Muslims had no problems in India. Given that these are volatile issues in India, Nair gently disagreed with that view and closed the interview with the participant. Upon leaving the site, she called the participant to check on him. During this call, the participant agreed that talking at his shop was not feasible and invited her to his home on a later day so he could speak openly. Therefore, when deciding the data collection location, researchers should assess how various third-parties may shape the data and take steps to ensure the security of the participants (Milewski and Otto 2017). Also, it is important to assess safety issues impacting the researcher (Moss et al. 2019). For instance, given the ongoing violence in Kashmir, Majumdar’s stay and fieldwork had to be cut short when an important religious site in Srinagar caught fire creating a volatile situation and potential for violence. Tourists and outsiders were advised to evacuate due to the risk of riots. On her way to the airport, Majumdar was stopped at the military checkpoint. Through the mild interrogation, the researcher became aware of the omnipresence of insecurity that prevails in regions like Kashmir and how every individual can be interrogated, detained, or checked by the military, with or without immediate cause or evidence. Along with a renewed understanding of the narrative of violence that had emerged from the fieldwork, this was also a reminder of the real threats to security that persist in conflict zones. Thus, any researcher intending to work in similar contexts may prepare a list of emergency contacts and keep several identity proofs at hand (Martin-Ortega and Herman 2009). In the field, one should continually track the conflict (Norman 2009), be prepared to face abrupt terminations of fieldwork due to emergencies, and consider alternative data collection methods (e.g., telephonic and online recruitment). 10.3.3.3  Choosing Incentives Before collecting data, it is important for researchers to deliberate on the type of incentives for the participants. A researcher working in the slums of Delhi, who was helping Nair recruit participants for her pilot, expressed reservations about using

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monetary incentives. The researcher argued that since Indian researchers did not have the same financial resources as those based in western countries, giving monetary incentives can compromise Indian researchers’ relationship with the local community. Therefore, in the main studies, Nair used non-monetary incentives such as packets of rice, tea leaves, story and coloring books for participants who had children. To determine appropriate incentives, researchers could discuss this with activists and researchers working with the communities. Nevertheless, we should note that incentives are not the sole reason that people participate in research. Other factors such as perceiving the research as interesting and important for society can also drive participation (Hughes 1998). 10.3.3.4  Participant Distress Prior to data collection, researchers should be equipped with some strategies to manage participant distress. While it is not uncommon for people to discuss group-­ based victimization with friends and family members, the context of research, wherein the participant is focused on their group’s experiences for a sustained amount of time, may bring back traumatic memories leading to participant distress. For example, during the interview, when Nair asked a Muslim woman about how her Muslim and female identities impacted her, she started crying. In such situations, a first step could be to provide reassurance and gently asking the participant if they are okay to continue or if they would like a short break (Cowles 1988). If the distress persists, the interviewer could ask if the participants would prefer to terminate the interview (Flick 2007). In Nair’s case, the interview was picked up and completed the following day, as requested by the participant. While participant distress can take many forms, general advice would be to predetermine possible responses to such situations, to be vigilant for signs of distress, and to act as a support rather than trying to rescue the participant (Flick 2007). Further, as recommended by some ethics committees (e.g., University of Massachusetts Amherst), being ready with helpline numbers before data collection may also be helpful. 10.3.3.5  Empathetic or Vicarious Traumatization Working with communities facing violence can entail vicarious or empathetic trauma for the researcher (McCann and Pearlman 1990; Wood 2006). Vicarious trauma can not only manifest in trauma symptoms and distress (sometimes called secondary trauma or secondary traumatic stress) but may also lead to changes in beliefs and worldviews of the person exposed to traumatic narratives (Sabin-Farrell and Turpin 2003). Although secondary trauma has largely been observed among clinicians or mental health professionals working with trauma survivors (Baum 2015), it can also apply to social psychologists working among victimized groups. Exposure to stories of violence can trigger insecurities and shift deeply held ideas about the self, identity, safety, and trust (Jenkins and Baird 2002). During Study 2 in

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Kashmir, Majumdar was repeatedly exposed to the stories of suffering and violence, which disturbed Majumdar’s prior understanding of justice, rights, and basic livelihood. Likewise, for Nair, listening to Dalit participants talk about the persistence of caste divisions and Muslim participants describe recurrent experiences of large-­ scale violence sometimes brought on feelings of hopelessness. To alleviate the impact of secondary trauma, it may be useful for the researcher to space out their data collection, and to slow down when necessary (Cowles 1988). Further, researchers should consider developing multiple networks to discuss and process their field experiences. In our case, we both had personal connections with individuals and families within these communities, who assisted in processing the events during fieldwork. We also had discussions with our doctoral advisors and other researchers studying related topics, where we could unpack the emotional challenges of doing fieldwork among victimized groups (Moss et al. 2019). Also, an engagement with the everyday resilience of participants and realizing the capacity for healing can produce effects of vicarious resilience for researchers (Hernández et al. 2007). For instance, Majumdar’s study in Kashmir revealed the high levels of hope among the participants as well as low support for violence. Similarly, Nair’s study highlighted some beliefs that can support solidarity between Dalits and Muslims to achieve social justice. Such findings encourage us to think not just about the challenges associated with studying violence, but also to grow through the resilience and positive agency in the narratives of the participants.

10.3.4  Analysis Stage 10.3.4.1  Reassessing Inclusion and Exclusion Criteria Given fieldwork’s potential in revealing the complexities operating in the real world, one challenge that researchers may encounter is that they may have to reassess which cases to include or exclude from their analysis. To exemplify, for practical reasons (e.g., time, resources), Nair had to limit her research questions to relations between Dalits and Muslims, with a focus on intersections of gender and class. However, when collecting data, she realized that two participants, who had initially identified as Muslim and Dalit respectively, came from more diverse backgrounds. Specifically, they came from inter-caste and inter-religious backgrounds. After discussing this with her doctoral advisor and some colleagues in India, Nair decided that including these interviews would make the analysis unclear, and therefore excluded them from the final analysis. 10.3.4.2  Data From Instruments Developed in Other Contexts Drawing on theories developed in western or other settings can sometimes pose challenges during the analysis. This was the case with Majumdar, who was working with categorical incidents of ‘exposure to violence’ in Kashmir. Her study had set

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out to correlate cumulative measures of exposure to violence (both direct and indirect) as well as individual exposure categories with the outcome variables. However, participants who had been exposed to violence frequently reported multiple forms of violence (e.g., being beaten, interrogated, shot at, detained), which led to multicollinearity issues. Therefore, Majumdar had to rethink her analysis and corresponding narrative to account for how collective experiences of suffering are reported by participants. In the end, she worked with cumulative scores for individual and collective exposure to violence (see Majumdar 2020). But rather than viewing this as an analytical problem, we believe that employing fieldwork allowed Majumdar to understand and highlight the limits of our current theories (Kaminer et al. 2013). 10.3.4.3  Questioning Master Narratives During analysis, researchers should also be cautious of getting consumed by the ‘master narrative’ of suffering in contexts of extreme victimization. The severity of traumatic narratives can be overwhelming that makes open and critical reflection difficult. Yet, it is important to reflect on alternate narratives and take steps to encounter them (Hammack 2011). For example, a female participant, who belonged to a minority community in Kashmir with distinct historical roots and socio-­ economic status presented an account that challenged the master narrative of majority Kashmiris. While this was not included in the analysis per se, it informed Majumdar’s writing on the subject. Therefore, researchers should take steps to encounter alternative narratives to give a more inclusive account of victimization (e.g., by spending more time on the field). Further, during analysis, researchers must continually deliberate on validity threats stemming from their social identities, for instance, by asking how their social identities may be shaping their interpretation of the data (Lincoln and Guba 1985).

10.3.5  Writing and Dissemination Stage 10.3.5.1  Writing About Oppressed Groups Writing about communities affected by violence raises an important question about speaking on behalf of others, particularly when the researcher belongs to dominant groups, as was the case with us. Addressing this, Alcoff (1991) argues that writings should have a liberatory impact on the community. Towards this, she recommends being in continual dialogues with members of impacted communities, asking questions regarding power structures in one’s research (see for a discussion on everyday praxis and power structures Suffla et al. 2020 in this volume), and examining how the researcher’s social identities and related experiences bear on their writing (see also, England 1994). Further, researchers can engage in reflexive writing (Finlay

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2002) to unpack some of the above-mentioned issues, as we do in our work as well (see Majumdar 2020; Nair 2016; Nair and Vollhardt 2019). 10.3.5.2  Sharing Research Findings Policymakers, government, and non-government agencies, and especially members of marginalized groups, rarely have access to academic journals. Therefore, when working with victimized communities, it is important to consider different ways to relay one’s findings back to participants and the broader community (Gupta and Kelly 2014). Giving research back to the community can be seen as a form of keeping and continuing the trusting relationship established during fieldwork. Doing so is not only important for the interpersonal relationship between the researcher and the participant, but also the intergroup relationship between researchers and various victimized communities (Sukarieh and Tannock 2013). Yet, research projects that take a few years to complete may make it difficult to connect back with the participants. For instance, Nair’s project took over three years to complete, and she found that a few of the participants were no longer using the phone numbers that they had provided at the time of the recruitment. To compensate for such issues, Nair continually cultivates relationships, shares the implications of her findings, and solicits feedback from activists and organizations working with Dalits and Muslims. Further, researchers could consider writing publications that specifically discuss the implications of their findings for policymakers and activists (see, e.g., Majumdar 2020; Nair and Vollhardt 2019, 2020) or assess the suitability of their work for non-­ academic outlets (e.g., newspapers).

10.4  Conclusion In this chapter, we discuss various difficulties that we faced during our fieldwork in the Indian context. Specifically, we discuss relevant challenges within the (1) preparation stage, (2) conceptualization and design stage, (3) data collection stage, (4) analysis stage, as well as (5) writing and dissemination stage. Herein, we discuss issues like power differences with participants, mismatch in researchers’ and participants’ goals, and secondary trauma. Further, we shared some strategies to help field researchers working in the Indian context navigate these challenges better. That said, we hope this chapter can inform and aid the work of researchers working in similar contexts, particularly in the global South. Further, our hope is that scholars, from both within and outside of social psychology, can draw on our experiences in the same way that we have been able to build on research practices outside the disciplinary boundaries of psychology.

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References Ahmad, I., & Mehrotra, S. (2018, November 5). No respite from poverty for Muslims. Retrieved from https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/op-ed/no-respite-from-poverty-for-muslims/article25429598.ece. Alcoff, L. (1991). The problem of speaking for others. Cultural Critique, 20, 5–32. https://doi. org/10.2307/1354221 Amin, S. & Khan, A. (2009). Life in conflict: Characteristics of depression in Kashmir. International Journal of Health Sciences, 3, 213–223. Retrieved from https://www.ncbi.nlm. nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3068807/ Arnold, E.M., & Rotheram-Borus, M.J. (2009). Hiring, training, and retaining research staff and interviewers. In A. R. Stiffman (Ed.), The field research survival guide (pp. 38–58). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Baser, B., & Toivanen, M. (2018). Politicized and depoliticized ethnicities, power relations and temporality: Insights to outsider research from comparative and transnational fieldwork. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 41, 20672084. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2017.1348530 Baum, N. (2015). Secondary traumatization in mental health professionals. Trauma, Violence, & Abuse, 17, 221–235. https://doi.org/10.1177/1524838015584357 Beteille, A. (1996). Varna and Jati. Sociological Bulletin, 45, 15–27. https://doi. org/10.1177/0038022919960102 Bhat, B. & Ashraf, A. (2016). Youth in conflict: Challenges and prospects. Delhi, India: Shipra Publications. Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2013). Successful qualitative research: A practical guide for beginners. London, UK: Sage. Buss, H., & Perry, M. (1992). The Aggression questionnaire. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 63, 452459. Retrieved from http://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=1 0.1.1.455.5915&rep=rep1&type=pdf Case, K. (Ed.). (2017). Intersectional pedagogy: Complicating identity and social justice. New York, NY: Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315672793 Census (2001). Total Population, Population of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes and their proportions to the total population. Retrieved from https://censusindia.gov.in/Tables_ Published/A-Series/A-Series_links/t_00_005.aspx Census (2011). Delhi religion census 2011. Retrieved from https://www.census2011.co.in/data/ religion/state/7-delhi.html Chadha, V. (2012). Perceptions of Kashmiri youth: Security implications. Journal of Defence Studies, 6, 29–43. Retrieved from http://www.idsa.in/ jds/6_2_2012_PerceptionsofKashmiriYouth_VivekChadha Clark, J. (2006). Field research methods in the Middle East. Political Science & Politics, 39, 417– 423. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1049096506060707 Cowles, K. V. (1988). Issues in qualitative research on sensitive topics. Western Journal of Nursing Research, 10, 163–179. https://doi.org/10.1177/019394598801000205 Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A Black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 140, 139–167. Retrieved from https://philpapers.org/archive/CREDTI.pdf?ncid =txtlnkusaolp00000603 Creswell, J., & Clark, V. (2018). Designing and conducting mixed methods research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Dalal, A.  K. (2014). A journey back to the roots: Psychology in India. In R.  M. Cornelissen, G. Misra & S. Verma (Eds.), Foundations and applications of Indian psychology (pp. 18–39). Delhi, India: Pearson. Dalrymple, W. (2015, June 19). The mutual genocide of Indian partition. The New Yorker. Retrieved from https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/06/29/the-great-divide-books-dalrymple.

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Jan, M., & Manzoor, S. (2017). Perceptions of adolescents regarding armed conflict in Kashmir. International Journal of Academic Research and Development, 2, 188-194. Retrieved from www.academicjournal.in Jenkins, S., & Baird, S. (2002). Secondary traumatic stress and vicarious trauma: A validational study. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 15, 423–432. https://doi.org/10.1023/A:1020193526843 Jogdand, Y. & Sinha, C. (2015). Can leaders transform humiliation into a creative force? Journal of Leadership Studies, 9, 75–77. https://doi.org/10.1002/jls.21413 Jogdand, Y., Khan, S., & Mishra, A. (2016). Understanding the persistence of caste: A commentary on Cotterill, Sidanius, Bhardwaj and Kumar (2014). Journal of Social and Political Psychology, 4, 554–570. https://doi.org/10.5964/jspp.v4i2.603 Kaminer, D., du Plessis, B., Hardy, A., & Benjamin, A. (2013). Exposure to violence across multiple sites among young South African adolescents. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 19, 112–124. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0032487 Kazi, S. (2009). Between democracy and nation: Gender and militarisation in Kashmir. Delhi, India: Women Unlimited. Khan, W., & Majumdar, S. (2017). A qualitative exploration of salient incidents of violence exposure among youth in Kashmir: Beyond direct violence. In M. Seedat, S. Suffla, & D. Christie (Eds.), Enlarging the scope of peace psychology (pp. 39–54). Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Liamputtong, P. (2007). Researching the vulnerable: A guide to sensitive research methods. London, UK: Sage. Liamputtong, P. (2011). Focus group methodology: Principles and practices. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Lincoln, Y., & Guba, E. (1985). Naturalistic inquiry. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Majumdar, S. (2017). Appraising positive aspects of shared history through contact - A preliminary model of reconciliation among Hindus and Muslims of the Kashmir Valley. Peace and Conflict Studies, 24(1), Article 5. Retrieved from: https://nsuworks.nova.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?artic le=1338&context=pcs. Majumdar, S. (2020). Youth and political violence in India: A social psychological account of conflict experiences from the Kashmir Valley. Milton Park, UK: Routledge. Margoob, M., & Ahmad, S. (2006). Community prevalence of adult post-traumatic stress disorder in South Asia: Experience from Kashmir. Jammu and Kashmir Practitioner, 13, 18–25. Retrieved from http://medind.nic.in/jab/t06/s1/jabt06s1p18.pdf Mathur, S. (2014). Memory and hope: New perspectives on the Kashmir conflict – An introduction. Race & Class, 56, 4–12. https://doi.org/10.1177/0306396814542906 McCann, I., & Pearlman, L. (1990). Vicarious traumatization: A framework for understanding the psychological effects of working with victims. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 3, 131–149. https:// doi.org/10.1007/BF00975140 Milewski, N. & Otto, D. (2017). The presence of a third person in face-to-face interviews with immigrant descendants: Patterns, determinants, and effects. In C. Bolzman, L. Bernardi, J. M. Le Goff (Eds.), Situating children of migrants across borders and origins. A Methodological Overview (pp. 77–96). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer. Miller, J. (2004). Culturally sensitive research questions and methods in social psychology. In C. Sansone, C. C. Morf & A. T. Panter (Eds.), Sage handbook of methods in social psychology (pp. 93–116). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Moss, S., Uluğ, Ö, & Acar, Y. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25, 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Muthuswamy, V. (2005). Status of ethical review and challenges in India. Indian Pediatrics, 42, 1189–1190. Retrieved from http://www.indianpediatrics.net/dec2005/1189.pdf Martin-Ortega, O. & Herman, J. (2009). There and back: Surviving research in violent and difficult situations. In C. L. Sriram, J. C. King, J. A. Mertus, O. Martin-Ortega, & J. Herman (Eds.), Surviving field research: Working in violent and difficult situations (pp.  71–90). New  York, NY: Routledge

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Nair, R. (2016). Minority-minority relations: An intersectional investigation of Dalit-Muslim relations in India (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Clark University, USA. Nair, R., & Vollhardt, J. (2019). Intersectional consciousness in collective victim beliefs: Perceived intragroup differences among disadvantaged groups. Political Psychology, 40, 917-934. https:// doi.org/10.1111/pops.12593 Nair, R., Okuyan, M., & Curtin, N. (2020). Examining victim beliefs from an intersectional perspective. In J. Vollhardt (Ed.), The Social Psychology of Collective Victimization (pp. 252-274). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Nair, R., & Vollhardt, J. (2020). Intersectionality and relations between oppressed groups: Beliefs of intersectional differences and commonalities and their policy implications. Manuscript submitted for publication. Naqvi, N. (1980). Relative deprivation and attribution of blame in communal riots (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. Noor, M., Vollhardt, J., Mari, S., & Nadler, A. (2017). The social psychology of collective victimhood. European Journal of Social Psychology, 47, 121–134. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2300 Norman, J. (2009). Got trust? The challenge of gaining access in conflict zones. In C. L. Sriram, J.  C. King, J.  A. Mertus, O.  Martin-Ortega, & J.  Herman (Eds.), Surviving field research: Working in violent and difficult situations (pp. 71–90). New York, NY: Routledge Paluck, E. L. (2009). Reducing intergroup prejudice and conflict using the media: A field experiment. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 96, 574–587. https://doi.org/10.1037/ a0011989 Paluck, E., & Cialdini, R. (2014). Field research methods. In H. Reis & C. Judd (Eds.), Handbook of research methods in social and personality psychology (pp.  81–97). New  York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Paradis, E.  K. (2000). Feminist and community psychology ethics in research with homeless women. American Journal of Community Psychology, 28, 839–858. https://doi.org/10.102 3/A:1005115901078 Press Trust of India. (2018, November 29). Bhim Army chief stresses on Dalit-­ Muslim unity ahead of 2019. Retrieved from https://www.ndtv.com/india-news/ bhim-army-chief-stresses-on-dalit-muslim-unity-ahead-of-2019-1955537. Sabin-Farrell, R., & Turpin, G. (2003). Vicarious traumatization: Implications for the mental health of health workers? Clinical Psychology Review, 23, 449–480. https://doi.org/10.1016/ S0272-7358(03)00030-8 Scheier, M., Carver, C., & Bridges, M. (1994). Distinguishing optimism from neuroticism: A re-evaluation of the life orientation scale. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 67, 1063–1078. https://psycnet.apa.org/doi/10.1037/0022-3514.67.6.1063 Schrank, B., Woppmann, A., Sibitz, I., & Lauber, C. (2010). Development and validation of an integrative scale to assess hope. Health Expectations, 14, 417–428. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1369-7625.2010.00645.x Shepherd, K.  I. (2018, October 13). Why the Shudras are lost in today’s India. Retrieved from https://caravanmagazine.in/caste/why-the-shudras-are-lost-in-today-india. Sikand, Y. (2004). Islam, caste, and Dalit-Muslim relations in India. New Delhi, India: Global Media Publications. Singh, U. (2009). A history of ancient and early medieval India: From the stone age to the 12th century. Delhi, India: Pearson. Sinha, C. (2016). Decolonizing social psychology in India: Exploring its role as emancipatory social science. Psychology & Society, 8, 57–74. Retrieved from http://www.psychologyandsociety.org/__assets/__original/2016/06/5_hyland.pdf Sonpar, S. (2008). A potential resource? Ex-militants in Jammu and Kashmir. Intervention: Journal of Mental Health and Psychosocial Support in Conflict Affected Areas, 6, 147–153. https://doi.org/10.1097/WTF.0b013e328307eeb3 Sonpar, S. (2015). Transforming conflict, changing society: Psychosocial programming in Indian Jammu and Kashmir. In B.  Hamber & E.  Gallagher (Eds.), Psychosocial perspectives on peacebuilding (pp. 33–69). Basel, Switzerland: Springer.

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Chapter 11

Kurdish Alevis in the Turkish-Kurdish Peace Process: Reflections on Conducting Research in Turkey’s “Buffer Zone” Yasemin Gülsüm Acar

Starting in 2013, a series of negotiations between the Turkish government and the armed wing of the Kurdish national movement, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK, Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan) began in an attempt to reach a negotiated peace after almost four decades of conflict in the region. This attempt at peace was generally viewed positively, and many social scientists took the opportunity to evaluate people’s views on conflict and peace in general, as well as views of locals regarding the Turkish-Kurdish conflict and peace negotiations in particular (e.g., Baysu and Coşkan 2018; Çelebi et al. 2014; Uluğ and Cohrs 2016, 2017). Among other researchers, my colleagues and I conducted fieldwork in late 2013 – early 2014, focused in particular on the perspectives of Kurdish Alevis, an ethnic and religious minority in the country, toward the peace process (see Yaman et  al. 2014). It was conducted by a Turkey-based NGO that focused on research related to domestic reconciliation processes as well as relevant international conflict, such as the Syrian Civil War. The NGO assembled a team of four researchers with expertise in cultural anthropology, conflict resolution, sociology, and social psychology, along with four research assistants to go into the field to interview Kurdish Alevis in Turkey about the Turkish-Kurdish peace process. This was my first large-scale field project, and I felt out of place on multiple levels – I was still a PhD student while the other researchers were more established in their careers, I was the only woman on the team, not Alevi, and while I identify as Turkish, I was born abroad, all factors that played into my experience with the team and in the field. The peace process came after years of conflict between Kurds and the Turkish state. Assimilationist policies and relative deprivation of the Kurdish region fomented resentment, with Kurds and Kurdish issues part of the leftwing political ideology of the time leading later to the rise of Kurdish nationalism, especially after Y. G. Acar (*) University of Dundee, Dundee, UK e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_11

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the human rights violations, including torture and unidentified murders, following the 1980 military coup period.1 Six years after its formation in 1978, the left-wing PKK announced its uprising and began its insurgency under the leadership of Abdullah Öcalan. A ceasefire followed the capture of Öcalan in 1999, though recruiting continued as the PKK reformed and then began its second insurgency. In 2013, the peace process started with the meetings of pro-Kurdish Peace and Democracy Party’s (BDP, Barış ve Demokrasi Partisi) parliamentarians and Öcalan. The peace process continued until July of 2015, falling apart after the June 2015 parliamentary elections (for more on the peace process, see Bayad and Aydemir 2020 in this volume). While the peace process was ongoing, the goal of our research was to speak with various groups who were impacted by the conflict and would therefore be greatly impacted by the outcomes of negotiations for peace. In this case, our focus was on Kurdish Alevis – a group who lived geographically just outside the area that saw the most heightened conflict, and who, despite being Kurdish, felt left out of peace negotiations due to their Alevi identities. Alevis can broadly be defined as a religious minority whose faith is made up of elements of Islam and Sufism, and have been understood as distinct from Sunni Islam since the sixteenth century (Göner 2007). There is, however, no singular understanding of Alevism among Alevis, so their group can be interpreted religiously, culturally, or politically (PODEM 2016). Some Alevis see Alevism as purely religion and will live according to the tenets of their faith. Others may not practice but view Alevism as a central identity and express it through shared cultural values. Others still view Alevis’ historical struggles of discrimination and violence as indelible from Alevism itself and connect to the identity on a political level. Kurdish Alevis are an overlapping minority of both the ethnic group of Kurds and the religious group of Alevis. As such, they have expressed mixed feelings toward the peace process, which oftentimes felt, to them, more targeted toward the majority Sunni Muslim Kurds. The rhetoric of both then Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and imprisoned PKK leader Abdullah Öcalan revolved around a Muslim Fellowship (Müslüman Kardeşliği) between Turks and Kurds (Uluğ and Cohrs 2017), leaving Kurdish Alevis in particular and Alevis in general out of the process, essentially ignoring their place in both the conflict and reconciliation. Kurdish identity has become highly politicized, so the construct can relate to ethnicity or language, but can also be reflected in political ideology or Kurdish nationalist sentiment. Alevi identity has become more politicized recently (Tekdemir 2017), and the heterodox nature of the faith means that its boundaries are less clear cut than Kurdishness. In speaking with Kurdish Alevis, it became apparent very quickly that while they often highly identified with both Kurdish and Alevi identities, the content of those identities and the way they related to each other were highly contextually dependent. So, while we were in the field to conduct research on perspectives on conflict, it became apparent very quickly that our research would

 Third coup d’état in the history of the Turkish Republic, headed by General Kenan Evren.

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also speak to the multiple ways in which identities can be expressed as they relate to conflict. Conflicts are oftentimes discussed as though they involve two very clear sides – this is also the case with the Turkish-Kurdish conflict. While in name the conflict seems to be between two groups, it is important to recognize  – and my experience in the field reinforces – that there are multiple identifications at play at any time. As well, conflicts with multiple actors also bring up questions of victimhood – who is victimizing whom and how? In addition to their multiple minority identities, Kurdish Alevis’ geographic location within the country was another point of interest for the research. As part of this project, our team collected data in the large, cosmopolitan cities of İstanbul and Ankara, as well as the city centers, surrounding towns, and villages of Tunceli, Bingöl, Muş, Erzincan, Sivas, and Malatya  – all areas with large Kurdish Alevi populations. This region was also referred to by a participant in Malatya as being a “buffer zone.” It borders the Kurdish regions in East and Southeast Turkey, and is the place of first contact for people as they leave the Kurdish region and therefore leave the main area of the conflict. As such, Kurdish Alevis are uniquely placed to discuss what it means to be a direct part, but at the same time, one step removed, from an intractable conflict that has been ongoing for decades. I use the phrase “buffer zone” to frame this chapter as it was perhaps the most poignant descriptor that I remember from my fieldwork. The phrase “buffer zone” can and has been used as a way of reducing the influence of Kurdish nationalism and politicization on the part of the Turkish state by “bounding” the Kurdish regions with Alevi ones. It therefore feels fitting that a group with multiple marginalized identities, who may feel they are in a kind of “gray zone” in terms of their identifications, would also describe themselves as geographically placed in a “buffer zone” as well (interested readers should see Dressler 2013 for more). Through this chapter, I will discuss my experiences conducting fieldwork in this buffer zone, as well as the experiences of Kurdish Alevis living in this particular region. Below, I provide some contextual information on Kurdish Alevis, a background of my fieldwork, and what I learned regarding multiple identities in the field, collective victimization, and perceptions of conflict.

11.1  Kurds, Alevis, and Kurdish Alevis Kurds are an ethnic and lingual minority spread across Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. In Turkey, they number approximately 10–15 million people,2 making them the largest ethnic minority in the country, though no official number exists. While Turkey is historically multi-ethnic and multi-lingual, following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and efforts to create the Republic of Turkey as a homogeneous

 There are approximately 35 million Kurds, with 28 million Kurds across Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey, and the rest in the diaspora. 2

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nation-state, many ethnic and religious groups were assimilated under the identity of “Turk.” This was not necessarily the case for Kurds, who had remained semi-­ autonomous in the Ottoman Empire, and who remained somewhat isolated from central Anatolia. Despite efforts on the part of the state, including internal population exchanges, Kurds remained somewhat detached, allowing for the cultivation of Kurdish nationalism. As with Kurds, there is no reliable data to reflect the actual population of Alevis; however, estimates range between 10 and 20 million, making Alevis one of the largest groups in Turkey (Gezik and Gültekin 2019). Starting during the Ottoman Empire and continuing with the Turkish Republic, a significant portion of the Alevi population have been subjected to assimilationist policies and have, throughout history, often hidden their identities due to political and social pressures (Çamuroğlu 1997). In Turkey, Alevis are mostly settled in Central and East Anatolia; however, due to increased migration since the 1960s, Alevis have made their way to larger cities such as İstanbul and Ankara. They have faced issues ranging from prejudice to large-scale massacres both systemically on the part of the state and more locally from non-Alevi Kurds and Turks, even more so after increased migration brought Alevis into greater contact with Sunni Muslims (Yıldız and Verkuyten 2011). Alevis are labeled as sinful, atheist, and “reds” (due to their connection to the Turkish political left), views that Sunnis learn and carry from a young age (Hamrin-Dahl 2006; İnce 2012). Despite major discrimination and atrocities committed against them, Alevis are not officially recognized as a religious minority and are rarely acknowledged by the Turkish state. Alevism has been defined in numerous ways over time. When Alevism is situated with different ethnicities (in Turkey, generally Turkish, Arab, or Kurdish Alevi), the cross-cutting nature of the religious and ethnic identities also influence the way individuals identify themselves. As Alevism moved from its rural origins into metropoles such as İstanbul, perspectives on identification have changed even more. In İstanbul and Ankara, domestic immigrants of Alevi origin situate themselves in particular parts of the cities, and a new, often more politicized way of understanding Alevism related to that space is created, in contrast with the perspectives of their rural counterparts (PODEM 2016). Discussing Alevism touches on some of the most important issues in modern Turkish history: nationalism, secularization, politics, urbanization, and migration. Different Alevi groups claim different self-­ definitions and stress the social, political, or religious aspects of their identities (Olsson et al. 2006). While some Alevis would welcome such recognition, others are concerned with potential continuation of assimilationist policies associated with involvement with the state (Yaman et al. 2014). Alevism has received increased attention in recent years due to Alevis’ increased social and political mobilization against everyday discrimination. They have also organized to retain their cultural practices after migrating to larger cities, as well as to better advocate for themselves in the political arena with the creation of numerous associations and foundations, such as the Alevi-Bektaşi Federation and Pir Sultan Abdal Cultural Institution (Verkuyten and Yildiz 2010). Starting in the 1970’s, Alevis became more closely aligned with the political left and socialism in

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particular, often directly because right-wing political parties supported Sunni Islam; since then, Alevis have been associated with left-wing political views (İnce 2012). Migration and politicization have led to Alevis questioning and redefining their identities in different ways, and in doing so, Alevis have received more public attention as a minority group in their own right. When it comes to Kurdish Alevis, the actual number of Kurdish Alevis can only be guessed at approximately 5–6 million people. Traditionally, Kurdish Alevis have lived semi-nomadic lives with settlements in rural mountainous areas of central and eastern Anatolia. In Turkey, Tunceli is the only province where the Kurdish Alevi population is the majority. The province is known to many by its previous name of Dersim. Dersim is an important symbol of both Kurdish nationalism and Alevi identity in Turkey and therefore remains an important cultural geography, such that being from Dersim (Dersimli) has its own positive ethnocultural identity for Alevis (Gezik and Gültekin 2019).3 The majority of Kurds are Shafi’i Sunni Muslims,4 an important distinction to bear in mind, as there has long been tension between Shafi’i Kurds and Alevi Kurds. The tension has long been a problem within the Kurdish national movement and Kurdish politics; left-wing pro-Kurdish parties have been working to embrace Alevis, many of whom regard Alevism as inextricably intertwined with left-wing ideologies. Many Alevis, however, maintain hesitancy toward the Kurdish movement (Yaman et al. 2014). This tension becomes especially relevant when discussing the Turkish-Kurdish conflict.

11.2  Background of the Research The project was mainly motivated by the question, what effect did the Turkish-­ Kurdish peace process have on already existing tensions between Alevi and non-­ Alevi communities, and specifically, what place did Kurdish Alevis feel they had in the peace process? Alevis’ concerns about the Justice and Development Party’s (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP) sectarianism, stirred up with discourse around the Syrian Civil War,5 was rising when the Gezi Park protests started. The protests took place in June 2013, after the AKP government’s plans to replace Gezi Park in central İstanbul with an Ottoman-style barracks. The protests ultimately prevented the destruction of the park but resulted in the deaths of seven Alevi youth in solidarity protests around the country, and the government insinuated that the Gezi protests  While it is not within the scope of this chapter to give a full history or background of Dersim, interested readers are strongly encouraged to learn about the historical and contemporary importance of this province. 4  Shafi’i, one of the four schools of Islamic law in Sunni Islam differs as well from the majority of ethnic Turks in the country, who are of the Hanafi school. 5  The civil war left Alevis with reminders of their own historical and contemporary experiences of violence. Interested readers should see Karakoç and Doğruel 2015. 3

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was an Alevi uprising as an attempt to delegitimize the protests in the eyes of their Sunni constituents (see Acar and Uluğ 2016 for more on the Gezi protests). These contextual factors were the important backdrop as we began fieldwork. The project was planned as fieldwork consisting of in-depth interviews, focusing on identity, experiences of prejudice and discrimination, the peace process, and perceptions of the state and state actors. As they were important contextual factors, we additionally asked participants their perspectives on the Syrian Civil War and the Gezi Park protests. We conducted a total of 126 (112 male, 14 female) interviews. Ninety of the interviews were conducted in the central and eastern Anatolian cities and surrounding villages, 27 interviews were conducted in İstanbul, and nine in Ankara. Participants included many community and religious leaders, as well as members of Alevi associations and national political parties. Our team split up into pairs of one researcher and one research assistant, oftentimes as well accompanied by the NGO’s coordinator; I, in particular, visited Sivas and Malatya. I was the only woman on a research team of nine people, including the four researchers, four research assistants, and the coordinator of the NGO, who joined us in the field. The project was led by a prominent Alevi academic, and the other two researchers had previously studied Alevism, but did not identify as Alevi. None of the researchers identified as Kurdish, but all four research assistants did, though none of them were Alevi. I neither identify as Alevi or as Kurdish, and I was also the youngest and least experienced person among the researchers, as I was still a PhD student at the time. This put me in an awkward position not only with others on the team, but also with participants in the field. Negotiating my place on the team was a separate yet important issue as we went into the field. I know, for example, that my age and gender influenced my lack of assertiveness in the field; my relationship with research assistants was less hierarchical than the other researchers, and many older (male) participants spoke down to me  – a phenomenon that turned out to be a double-­edged sword: my age and gender could make participants feel that I was less of a threat when researching a conflict that many felt hesitant to speak about, but could also mean they took me and my work less seriously than if someone else had approached them (see Acar and Uluğ 2019 for a discussion of such dynamics in the field). The lack of women on the team also affected, in my opinion, the number of women we were able to reach for the project. I often found that they were not comfortable discussing their opinions on the record. Many women we reached out to refused to speak with us unless they had permission from their fathers or husbands, and even then were hesitant to speak with us. This was less the case in larger cities like İstanbul and Ankara, where I found that the women I met were quite active politically and/or socially in cultural associations, had strong opinions about Alevism and the peace process, and were much more eager to share their perspectives. This did not, however, change the fact that we had a dismal female turnout for the research with only 14 female participants in a total of 126 interviews. This outcome has influenced every project I have been a part of since then, in that I have paid closer attention to who I can reach in my field research and why, and do my best to reach those participants who are the most difficult to access in any particular study.

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In terms of my field experience, I can say that I relied heavily on my research assistant in Malatya, who was a local and had many local connections, while I relied more heavily on initial contacts and participants in Sivas, who were very accommodating and interested in having their voices heard. It was not always the case, of course, that potential participants would be so accommodating. Sometimes we would reach out to people who responded with hostility and anger. They had experienced long-term, systemic discrimination, and did not understand why or how we could come to their towns to talk about painful or frustrating events. In some cases we were able to convince them to speak to us, but in most cases we could not. This was my first experience with a fairly large-scale field project, in that it spanned multiple cities and villages, and we relied heavily on the support of others to reach participants, both physically (through difficult terrain), and interpersonally, as Alevis have historically been a very closed community. The project was an extremely important learning experience for me; I learned what it meant to work effectively with a research team, and importantly, how to be flexible and spontaneous when conducting research on conflict (see Moss et al. 2019). Below, I delve into specific issues as they related to working in a buffer zone, and some suggestions for researchers who may work in similar contexts in the future.

11.3  Fieldwork in a Buffer Zone As previously mentioned, the concept of buffer zone has been used to “bound” the Kurdish regions of Turkey in order to reduce their influence. The relevance of the phrase buffer zone cannot be understated. It felt very fitting during my fieldwork that a participant described his social and geographic place in the conflict as both inside and outside with this particular phrase. In this section, I will focus on the way Kurdish Alevis’ multiple identities inform their understanding of the Turkish-­ Kurdish conflict and the peace process, as well as how they relate to other actors in the conflict.

11.3.1  Multiple Identities in Conflict In research in conflict settings, one still often has the tendency to operate with binary identity categories, where people are presumed to belong to one side of the conflict. Such an approach can hinder more complex constellations of identities, and thus influence data collection and analysis. Social identity theory and self-­ categorization theory (e.g., Tajfel and Turner 1979; Turner 1985; Turner et al. 1987; also see Hogg 2006) describes the self as hierarchically organized, context-specific, and variable (Subašić et al. 2008). People categorize themselves and others based on the context within which they find themselves – they may describe themselves in

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terms of the personal or the social, as part of a superordinate category or part of a particular group within that category. The multiple identities of Kurdish Alevis, as well that they are all consistently marginalized, influence how they perceive the conflict as well as how they engage in civic life in Turkey. As their experiences of systematic oppression cut across multiple identities, they often refer to the “three K’s” of their marginalization: being Kurdish (Kürt), Alevi (Kızılbaş6), and leftist (Komünist) – many female participants included a fourth categorization of woman (Kadın) to make it the “four K’s” of marginalization. These differences were also reflected in our field research. Rooted in their Alevism and/or Kurdishness were important attachments to tribes, hometowns (especially Dersim), and to roots in Khorasan – considered among Alevis to be their original homeland. Some parts of the region, particularly certain towns surrounding Dersim, had an increased consciousness of Kurdish nationalism and the Kurdish movement. As expected, identity influenced political ideology and, therefore, perspectives on the peace process. Those who identified as primarily Kurdish felt closer to the pro-Kurdish party BDP,7 while those who identified primarily as Alevi felt closer to the main opposition party, the Republican People’s Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi, CHP).8 Bearing all these differences in mind, it is important for researchers to remember that there is no one way to “do” identity. When discussing identity, we recognize, often in abstract terms, that identities are complex, but in practice, this is less often the case. Related to the identities themselves is the recognition of a group identity. Recognition of one’s group identity can broadly be understood as people feeling that their identity is affirmed, and non-recognition, that their identity is not affirmed. Recognition and non-recognition are also quite relevant in interpersonal and intergroup relations. Non-recognition of identity can influence how people feel and behave in their everyday interactions in the public sphere – if people feel their identity is not affirmed, they may avoid or feel constrained by interaction, and could even be the subject of threat or harm (Hopkins and Blackwood 2011). In the field, it is especially important to allow for participants’ multiple perspectives on their own identities, and to avoid absent-mindedly or accidentally simplifying their experiences. In speaking with participants, we found, for example, that many felt that the peace process ignored central parts of their identities – that yes, they were Kurdish, but that they were also Alevi, and that this added dimension colored their perception of their own Kurdishness as well as how other (non-Alevi) Kurds treated them. It is important, therefore, for researchers to allow participants to give voice to these varying aspects of self.  Originally a pejorative during the Ottoman period, Kızılbaş has been reappropriated and used by Kurdish Alevis. 7  Dissolved in 2014 and merged with the newly created People’s Democratic Party (Halkların Demokratik Partisi, HDP). 8  Political party of Atatürk, whose reforms, especially regarding the secularization of the state, provided Alevis more equal footing as citizens of the country. 6

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It seems obvious to say “allow your participant to define their own identity,” but I have found this to be a problem in numerous projects I have participated in, where researchers would try to guide participants to define themselves a certain way based on their own perception of who the participant is or is supposed to represent. It is therefore necessary to keep reminding ourselves that while we may view participants as fitting into neat categories and boxes for our projects, for them, it is a much more complicated, often contextual amalgamation of lived experiences and perspectives. One way to do this would be to start discussions around identity as open-­ endedly as possible. Ask individuals not just if they hold a particular identity, but what it means for them, and in what ways they perform that identity in their daily lives. While rigid categories may be more useful for us to understand a phenomenon, they are not always in line with the fluid experiences of those we speak to. In the next section, I discuss how multiple identifications, beyond making understandings of self more complicated, can create a more nuanced perspective on conflict.

11.3.2  Perspectives on Conflict The ability to categorize and recategorize oneself and others is essential to understanding intergroup relations. Especially when there is an ongoing conflict, one may categorize or recategorize themselves and others based on the situation wherein they find themselves – a neighbor may be ingroup in one context, but outgroup in another. Previous research has examined categorization as an important factor in conflict resolution (e.g., Dovidio et  al. 2008; Gaertner et  al. 2000; Wenzel et  al. 2008), though comparably little attention has been paid to how complex varieties of categorization complicates intergroup conflict. As mentioned above, conflict is often perceived as existing between two immutable and mutually exclusive groups, ignoring the fluid and contextual nature of categorization. Contextual categorization is especially helpful with Kurdish Alevis. In our research, we asked participants about their particular experiences of prejudice and discrimination, and more often than not, those discussions would not be based on being both Kurdish and Alevi at the same time, but due to someone’s prejudice against Alevis or Kurds  – in some cases, there would be conflict based on faith between Alevi and Sunni Kurds, in others, it could be a conflict based on language of Turks towards Kurds. Previous work by Vollhardt and Bilewicz (2013) has noted that a person can play multiple roles within the same conflict. They refer to the perpetrator-victim-­ bystander triangle, where individuals within a conflict may occupy all three roles; it could be that perpetrators perceive themselves as victims, or victims may in some cases be bystanders, in others, retaliate against perpetrators. In the case of Kurdish Alevis, it is certainly possible that they have alternately found themselves in all three roles. The false belief that roles in intergroup relations are static and solely bipolar prevents us from having a full understanding of the conflict, and removes the

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conflict from the social and historical context within which it takes place (Eggins et al. 2002). When discussing identity as it relates to conflict, some participants also spoke about collective historical experiences, of massacres, exile, and immigration, as well as village evacuations conducted by the Turkish state as part of the conflict with the PKK. Approximately half of the participants also spoke about the importance of their mother tongue as part of their identity. They spoke about how they experienced discrimination as children, especially in the classroom, because they didn’t know Turkish, and how their teachers, even if they themselves were Kurdish, discouraged them or punished them for speaking Kurdish in the classroom. In one participant’s words: We [Kurdish Alevis] are “other,” we aren’t seen as equal citizens, we’ve been deprived of everything, we are seen as guilty since birth, we can’t live our ethnic or religious identities, we are seen as second class, third class people, we are subjected to different treatment.

Many participants discussed their view of the Turkish state as being in opposition to many of their own identities – that they saw the state as Sunni (rather than Alevi), Turkish (rather than Kurdish), and right-wing (rather than left-wing), and that as such, they felt the state would always prevent them access to basic rights and freedoms. In particular, the Kurdish issue was perceived as an identity issue that mostly began with the Turkish Republic’s assimilationist and denialist policies, which they perceived as victimizing many different groups (see Uluğ and Cohrs 2016 for a more nuanced understanding of conflict perspectives on the Kurdish issue). This view of the Republic and its policies is what mainly differentiates the ideologies of Kurdish Alevis from Turkish Alevis, who more often identify with the Turkish Republic as well as its founder, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.9 In the case of Kurdish Alevis, the question of conflict and victimization is compounded. Are Kurdish Alevis victims of the state, which they view as Sunni, Turkish, and right-wing, or of non-Alevis, which includes Sunni Kurds? It can, of course, be both, so when discussing the Turkish-Kurdish conflict, Kurdish Alevis often refer to the general poor treatment on the part of the Turkish state toward Alevis and toward Kurds. Discussions of reconciliation, however, are viewed through a Sunni Muslim lens, as the Islamist AKP government has reached out to the majority Sunni Kurds through a “Muslim” fellowship. Kurdish Alevis, then, often see the needs of Alevis being ignored while the needs of Kurds at least being discussed through some sort of reconciliation process. These recent perspectives in social psychology have played important roles in questioning the relevance of a dichotomous approach to group dynamics, reminding us that contextual and identity-based factors cannot be ignored. Kerr et al. (2017) remind us that, especially when historical factors such as colonization are taken into account, a dichotomous approach overlooks what happens when groups are faced with social relations on multiple fronts, the dynamics of which “entail expressions  As the founder of the modern Republic, Atatürk’s reforms, especially regarding the secularization of the state, provided Alevis more equal footing as citizens of the country. 9

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of loyalty, solidarity, favoritism, collusion, and betrayal that are ultimately irreducible to a binary logic” (Kerr et al. 2017, p. 47). When conducting fieldwork in a conflict zone, it is therefore important for researchers as well to avoid thinking of the conflict as a binary. Kurdish Alevis’ perspectives on the conflict and the peace process were colored not only by the strength of their identification but also the other relevant interactions they have had with Sunnis in general. Their sense of the Turkish-Kurdish conflict and their role in it is also therefore determined by geographic location (e.g., do they have hostile relations with non-Alevi neighbors or villages? Is there a superordinate identity, language for example, that overrides potential conflict?). Recognizing that conflicts are not binary is useful in preparing and conducting fieldwork but also in interpreting the experiences of participants.

11.3.3  Collective and Competitive Victimhood Another relevant factor of multiple identifications in conflict is the way these identities are viewed in comparison to one another. Group membership can be central to how people derive a sense of self. An important component to group membership is the history that group members share and which provides them a collective memory to rely on in understanding their place in the world. Past and current atrocities committed against members of a particular category have a way of staying in the collective memory, and continue to influence group members even generations after certain events have occurred, and can thus provide a sense of collective victimization, even if a particular individual has not experienced victimization firsthand (Bar-­ Tal 2007). Collective victimization can be defined through the use of violence towards members of a group “in order to achieve political, economic, or social objectives” (as cited in Vollhardt 2015, p. 90), where violence can also be understood as structural violence, meaning “the unequal distribution of power and resources between groups that prevents people from being able to meet basic needs” (p.  90). How victimization is construed has an important impact on how members of one group relate to another. Beliefs surrounding victimization, in turn, have an impact on how individuals relate to both ingroup and outgroup members, as well as how they respond to the conflict itself. Competitive victimhood involves the belief that one’s own group is the primary or sole victim of a conflict (Noor et al. 2008). Competitive victimhood has been identified as an important factor in maintaining intergroup conflict, and negatively predicts forgiveness as well as reconciliation (Noor et  al. 2012; Vollhardt 2012). Competitive victimhood beliefs are acquired at a young age, as conflicts are often passed on from generation to generation, and become part of the narrative. The question, then, is who has been harmed, and by whom? In the case of Kurdish Alevis, narratives among participants were quite varied on this point: they talked about being victimized by the state as it related to historical and contemporary

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atrocities, but it could also be their neighbors in the form of Shafi’i Sunni Kurds, with whom they have long had tense and sometimes violent relations. All of these variably came up during fieldwork in discussions around the peace process – they felt that the peace process focused more on healing divisions with Sunni Kurds, but did not take into account the many tragedies that Alevis have experienced. We sometimes even felt these dynamics within our own research team. As mentioned above, the research team was made up of non-Alevi and Alevi Turks, and non-Alevi Kurds. This meant that at one level or another, we were always at least partial outsiders when speaking with participants – there was no one member of our team who could be completely viewed as an insider (as both Kurdish and Alevi) by our participants. As a non-Alevi Turk, while I felt some level of the negative associations made by participants, it was not nearly to the extent some of the research assistants did. Resentment due to historical and ongoing conflicts with Shafi’i Kurds was sometimes reflected onto our Kurdish research assistants, who were in some cases insulted or put down for their religious background and the conflict between the two groups. The research assistant I worked with in Sivas experienced particularly negative reactions. While he was aware that this could be a potential problem and managed to be calm and in many cases deferential and apologetic, he often felt the need to discuss or let off steam about the events of the day during the debriefing session we held every evening after the completion of that day’s interviews. This brings up a particularly important point: our research team and research assistants were chosen based on their familiarity with the context, their theoretical and practical understandings of the conflict and the peace process, as well as their familiarity with the geographic locations we were traveling in. The research assistants, in particular, had all worked on large-scale field research based on the Turkish-­ Kurdish conflict, and had previously experienced similar negative responses from participants. While we may have had different experiences if our research team was made up of more insider researchers (see Bilewicz 2020, and Karasu and Uluğ 2020 in this volume for a further discussion), we felt generally prepared to deal with resentment due to different types of responses to historical victimization from participants based on our outsider (or partial outsider) status.

11.4  Conclusions and Lessons Learned This project was, for me, a learning experience. It was my first time participating in fieldwork of this scale, and has continued to influence the way I conduct research now. I have learned that the way I am perceived by colleagues and by participants plays a role in the outcomes of the research, and I do my best to stay mindful of this and make sure that I take all of these factors into account anytime I am in the field. In terms of outcomes of the project, much of our interactions were colored with the frustrations of a community who felt they had been left out. They understood the importance of a Turkish-Kurdish peace process and felt generally positive about reconciliation. At the same time, though, they felt that they held an important place

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within not only this conflict but the historical and contemporary conflicts that had been ongoing in Turkey and the Ottoman Empire before it. This was especially relevant because, while some participants felt a strong connection to their Kurdish identity, others associated Sunni Kurds with Sunni Turks, and in general, felt tense about their relationship with non-Alevi Kurds. This research taught me to avoid dichotomous approaches and to be comfortable seeing things “in between.” It was the first project I was a part of that made me think in a very nuanced way of what it means to be part of a group that is both included and excluded at the same time. It showed me that while people feel marginalized but heard based on one identity, they can also feel marginalized and forgotten on another dimension, and when this is the case, a sense of resentment and victimization can occur not just between different groups, but can even occur within the same person. Similarly, it is easy to overlook the various other groups that are impacted by intractable conflict, and forget that conflicts are not two-dimensional, but actually contain a number of different groups. I think oftentimes we forget the other contextual factors that are important in researching conflict – in this case, the geographic location of Kurdish Alevis have put them in the place of both literal and figurative buffer zone. They may oftentimes feel themselves one step removed from the actual violence of the conflict (though of course, this is not always the case), and can similarly feel figuratively one step removed, as they are not the primary focus of the reconciliation process. When going into the field, and especially into buffer zones, which may be tense and require extra sensitivity, simply speaking the same language or having a similar background is not enough to be perceived as an insider. It is a good idea to be apprised of potential responses to your presence in the field before you go – know what it means to speak the same language but with a different dialect, understand how people will respond to someone with the same ethnic background but from a different region or religious background. It is a good idea to be prepared for potentially negative responses and to know how to diffuse this type of situation. In a similar vein, I have found that across my field studies, having multiple debriefing sessions can be incredibly useful for the entire team. I tend to have daily briefing sessions in the mornings before meeting with participants and debriefing sessions when our meetings and events are done for the day. The briefing sessions work well to keep in mind what we may experience that day, and if necessary, to go over anything in particular we should be aware of or expect. The debriefing is useful on a number of levels: for one, it allows the research team to go over the interviews or events of the day to make sure that they have been accurately recorded, making the research more rigorous in general. It also allows for the research team to blow off steam or discuss any situations that were difficult or uncomfortable for them – I find this is especially valuable when working on conflict, and it is immensely helpful to allow the team to discuss and be better prepared for the next day. While my perspective and research focus are on the Turkish-Kurdish conflict, I believe it is important to recognize that nuanced approaches to conflict and reconciliation are relevant across global contexts. Conflicts are never dichotomous and identities are multi-layered and contextually based. Bearing these factors in mind can only improve methodological approaches to conflict and reconciliation.

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Part III

Practical Applications

Chapter 12

Implementing Social-Psychological Interventions in the Field: Insights From the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict Roni Porat and Tamar Saguy

In conflict-ridden areas, there is a pressing need for large scale interventions to reduce violence, mobilize society members to support conflict resolution, and foster positive intergroup relations among conflicting groups. Such intervention programs can be impactful at every stage of the conflict – from its emergence and escalation to its de-escalation, settlement, and reconciliation phase (Hameiri and Halperin 2015; Maoz 2011). Alongside this need for interventions, a large body of social psychological research is dedicated to studying mechanisms that can reduce tensions and violence and promote peace and harmony between groups (Paluck and Green 2009; Saguy 2018; Szekeres et al. 2017). We believe that practitioners who develop intervention programs on the ground can benefit from the social psychological perspective and research. At the same time, researchers can also greatly benefit from the experience and hands-on insights of practitioners who are based in the field. Yet, over the years, we have observed that collaborations between social psychologists and practitioners are scarce, with social psychological insights playing little to no role in the design of new field-based programs. The goal of the current chapter is to analyze the reasons for this apparent disconnect and to offer concrete suggestions to bridge this gap. Our insights are based on our experiences working in the context of the Israeli-­ Palestinian conflict, which is extremely controversial. As such, any attempt to briefly describe it will not do it justice and will inevitably lead to criticism from members of both parties. Very broadly speaking, it can be characterized as a conflict

R. Porat (*) Princeton University, Princeton, USA e-mail: [email protected] T. Saguy Interdisciplinary Center (IDC) Herzliya, Herzliya, Israel e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_12

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between two national movements with self-determination aspirations (i.e., the Jewish Zionist movement and the Palestinian movement), each claiming their rights to the same territory. It has also been regarded as a prototypical case of an intractable conflict, characterized as lasting for over 25 years, violent, perceived as irresolvable, demanding extensive investment, over goals that are considered existential, and of zero-sum nature (Bar-Tal 2007; Rouhana and Bar-Tal 1998). Since the early 90s, there have been a few attempts (e.g., the Oslo Accords, The Camp-David Summit, the Annapolis process) to resolve the conflict through the Two-State Solution paradigm. However, these processes did not materialize into a peace agreement, leaving the parties in a state of conflict to this day. In the current chapter, we draw on our experiences as social psychologists in Israel who have actively pursued work with Israeli practitioners who aspire to promote equality, peace, and tolerance in Jewish-Palestinian relations. These practitioners include peace organizations, governmental officials, organizations that aim to promote equality within Israel, and educators. While our experience speaks to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict specifically, we believe it may also be relevant and informative for other conflict areas that are in an ongoing intractable conflict. In what follows, we will first address the disconnect between academic research and fieldwork by analyzing potential reasons for it, and by describing challenges in applying social psychological concepts in the field. We will then provide two suggestions on how to bridge the gap between social psychological research and field practice. Specifically, we suggest enhanced collaboration between academics and practitioners, as well as increasing the visibility and accessibility of social psychological knowledge. Finally, we conclude with some remarks about the caution that is called for when distributing social psychological knowledge.

12.1  A  Disconnect Between Academic Research and Fieldwork Various reasons can help explain the disconnect between social psychological research and the design and implementation of intervention programs in areas of intractable conflicts. Our experience, doing relevant research on the one hand, and working with practitioners on the other, has led us to conclude that at the heart of this disconnect is the laboratory nature of the majority of relevant social psychological research (Ditlmann et  al. 2017; Paluck and Green 2009). For example, in a review of the prejudice reduction literature, Paluck and Green (2009) found that only four out of 391 experimental studies on ways to reduce prejudice were field studies conducted in a setting of extreme intergroup conflict like the Israeli-­ Palestinian conflict. In a more recent review, Ditlmann et al. (2017) examined intervention studies that aimed to contribute to de-escalation or violence prevention in areas of an ongoing conflict. They searched for studies conducted in the field or laboratory studies designed to be easily upscaled and found only 19 studies that fit

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that criterion. Moreover, while the majority of relevant research is conducted in the lab, research coming from the field typically provides correlational rather than causal evidence, thus limiting the relevance to public policy. For example, Paluck and Green (2009) found that 77% of field studies conducted on prejudice reduction employed non-experimental methods. A leading reason for why social psychologists, who are interested in studying mechanisms that will ultimately impact the real world, test their hypotheses mostly in the lab, has to do with the extremely demanding nature of field research. Field experiments, particularly those testing interventions, require long time frames and more funding as compared with laboratory research. In addition, they require the cooperation of other sources (e.g., schools, organizations, etc.) and often necessitate complex data analysis. Adding to these challenges is the lack of training in field methodology offered to social psychologists (Paluck and Cialdini 2013). While there are books and courses on field methodology (e.g., Gerber and Green 2012), it is rare to find such courses offered in psychology programs or such books in psychology research methods syllabuses. Moreover, because field experiments are very costly for implementation in terms of both time and money they require a much higher investment on the part of the researchers. Finally, whereas powered randomized control field experiments are highly valued in the scientific community, and are published in high tier journals (e.g., Goldenberg et al. 2018; Paluck 2009; Paluck et al. 2016), other type of field research (e.g., correlational and observational studies) tend to be unappreciated (Moss et  al. 2019). All of the above renders field experiments as highly risky career-wise, particularly for young scholars looking to publish a decent number of papers in a short timeframe to be considered for a tenure track position, or tenure. The anticipated career-price that is embedded in conducting field research that may or may not produce significant and clean findings, speaks more broadly to problems associated with the incentive system in social psychology which rewards actual publishing over other elements such as the accuracy and reliability of the findings (Hackett 2005; Martin 1992; Nosek et al. 2012; Sovacool 2008). Moreover, psychology journals are looking to publish novel findings. This demand for novelty creates a clear incentive for generating new ideas rather than pursuing additional evidence for or against, ideas studied previously in the laboratory (Asendorpf et al. 2013). This results in little incentive for researchers who established a certain intervention in the laboratory to test their effects in the field. Finally, social psychology journals tend to prefer articles that tell a “clean” story with a small number of variables that are each accounted for and may be true across different contexts. This is in direct tension with the nature of field research that typically produces “messier” stories, with multiple variables that are context-dependent. Taken together, the result is that many ideas for how to impact groups in conflict are based on research that was primarily conducted in the laboratory. This leads to several challenges for practitioners and researchers when they attempt to apply this laboratory-based knowledge to real-world problems. Here, we organize these challenges into three main categories. One is associated with the samples typically used in social psychological research, another is associated with the little emphasis on

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context in laboratory research, and the last is associated with the problems of upscaling laboratory manipulations into field interventions. I. Limited samples. The problem of relying on convenience samples in social psychology is well known (Sears 1986; Simons et al. 2017). Convenience samples are unrepresentative of many populations, consisting of mostly college undergraduates (Peterson 2001; Sears 1986), that are Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich and Democratic (WEIRD) individuals (Henrich et al. 2010). This problem becomes even greater when trying to apply social-psychological knowledge to real-world settings in general and to conflict areas in particular. For example, for Israeli practitioners looking to implement social-psychological interventions the fact that the majority of research comes from outside of Israel is a problem. Adding to this, the characteristics of the samples, typically consisting of WEIRD undergraduate college students, makes the ability to rely on the finding highly limited. The problem of using student convenience samples is one that also characterizes the work conducted by many Israeli social psychologists. Thus, even if a study was conducted with an Israeli population it was most likely done on a convenient student sample facing some of the same problems of generalizability from a student population to the general population. For example, students in research institutions in Israel tend to come from families with higher income and be less representative of minority populations such as the Ultra-Orthodox community and the Palestinian citizens of Israel (comprising about 9% and 20% of the Israeli population, respectively) (Council for Higher Education: Planning & Budgeting Committee Report 2018). Even in cases where the studies were conducted in Israel using non-student samples, these samples are for the most part, non-representative of the general Israeli populations. For example, one popular method for data collection in Israel is using survey panels. Like the student samples described earlier, such panels typically have limited access to minority populations. Thus, findings obtained in the lab using convenience sampling are difficult to generalize to field settings involving populations that are not necessarily included in these samples. II. A lack of focus on contextual factors. Traditional approaches to social psychology, as well as those focused on culture (Liu 2012), put great emphasis on the way contextual factors shape psychological processes. Lewin (1943), for example, emphasized that behavior is maintained by an equilibrium of forces from the person, one’s social group, and one’s larger social environment. Pettigrew (1997) proposed a similar model in which factors at the macro-level (e.g., societal influences), meso-level (e.g., group-level factors), and micro-level (e.g., individual characteristics), all shape social phenomenon. In line with these seminal approaches it stands to reason that the context which surrounds intergroup conflict, ranging from the norms to the level of violence, should have substantial effects on the psychological processes associated with the conflict. As such, contextual factors should also greatly affect the success of an intervention implemented in the field. Nevertheless, contextual variations pertaining, for example, to the level of violence which characterizes the conflict, the normativity of such violence, the extent to which the two groups in the conflict are intended to co-exist or live in separation, are rarely put to the test in research on conflict-related interventions. Most typically, the emphasis in

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laboratory studies that test conflict resolution interventions is on main effects of a particular intervention, and on interactions with individual-level characteristics such as political orientation (e.g., Hameiri et al. 2014b; Hasson et al. 2018; Pliskin et al. 2014) or with group-level factors such as group power (Pettigrew and Tropp 2006; Saguy and Dovidio 2013). Contextual variations, those pertaining to macro-­ level forces, are rarely considered. This results in findings that are largely de-­ contextualized, rendering it difficult for practitioners to know whether an intervention would fit the specific context one is interested in applying it. For example, research on the content of contact suggests that members of high-­ power groups generally prefer to avoid discussing topics associated with power while members of disadvantaged groups wish to pay attention to these topics (see Saguy and Kteily 2014 for a review). This has important and practical implications for practitioners planning encounters between groups in conflict. Specifically, it allows them to pinpoint ahead of time the discussion-preferences of each group. This finding was replicated in a variety of different contexts, including among Mizrahi and Ashkenazi Jews in Israel (Saguy and Dovidio 2013), ethnic groups in Turkey (in relation to both Kurds and Armenians; Bikmen and Sunar 2013), and Whites in the United States (in relation to both Blacks and Asians; Bikmen and Durkin 2014). Nevertheless, in some conflictual contexts, it is not as clear to participants which side of the power equation they fit in. In Israel, for example, even though Jews are clearly advantaged over Palestinians, they still experience themselves as the victim (e.g., Bar-Tal et al. 2009; Noor et al. 2012). This suggests that additional motives, such as those associated with competitive victimhood (e.g., the need for restoring a sense of power; Noor et al. 2012), are likely to shape the way intergroup encounters unfold in this particular context and should be taken into account when thinking about the design of such encounters. While there are myriad variations in contexts that could impact successful implementations of an intervention, we would like to shed light on a few that we see as critical in shaping the disconnect between academic research and field implementation: (1) Conflict resolution goal. Conflicts may be distinguished by their long-term goals for resolution. Saguy and Nadler (2006) have distinguished between conflicts in which the relevant groups aspire to bring about a separate coexistence, relative to conflicts in which groups aspire to bring about social integration under the same social identity. For example, Black and White South-Africans determined that they would live together in a united South Africa, and their goal was to make a split society whole again. In other cases, in relations between ethnic communities in the former Yugoslavia, the goal has been the creation of separate national groups that will co-exist rather than be integrated into a single national unit. Whether the end goal is to create sustainable separate coexistence or peaceful integration should strongly affect the type of psychological constructs that are prioritized in an intervention. For example, the creation of a common identity (Gaertner and Dovidio 2009) should probably be prioritized in conflicts with the end goal of integration but not in conflicts with the end goal

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of separation. In the Israeli-Palestinian case, this is particularly challenging, as the question of the end goal is in itself under much debate. From the Israeli perspective, while some Israelis support a One-State Solution that implies integration, others support a Two-State Solution that will result in the separation of the two groups into some form of separate entities. ( 2) Nature of bias. In the past decade, we have seen rapid growth in research concerning implicit attitudes and biases (Forscher et al. 2019; Kurdi et al. 2018), reflecting changes in racial relations and discrimination in the US (Pearson et al. 2009). Implicit attitudes are automatically activated by the mere presence of the attitude object, operating without a person’s full awareness or control (Greenwald and Banaji 1995) and can co-exist with explicit attitudes that would not necessarily correspond to the implicit ones. However, in intractable conflicts that are characterized by high levels of violence and hostilities, people are more likely to openly embrace prejudiced attitudes towards adversarial groups. In Israel, for example, a 2017 report by the social movement “Pnima” asked Israelis to match traits and characteristics to social group in Israel (Pnima 2017). They found that negative traits such as “primitive,” “non-trustworthy,” or “dangerous” were assigned by Israelis mainly to Palestinians, suggesting that in the Israeli-Palestinian context, Israelis explicitly express prejudiced attitudes toward Palestinians. The shift of focus in the field of social psychology to implicit attitudes and biases has led to a growing number of intergroup scholars who focus their attention on decreasing implicit, rather than explicit attitudes (Forscher et al. 2019). Given that changes in implicit measures do not necessarily translate into changes in explicit measures and behaviors (Forscher et al. 2019; Oswald et al. 2013), much of the current literature in social psychology has, therefore, become less relevant for practitioners working in conflict zones such as Israel. (3) Levels of threat and violence. Another important contextual factor that may influence the implementation of interventions is the levels of threat and violence that characterize the specific conflict. Intractable conflicts are characterized by high levels of ongoing violence where civilians are constantly exposed to aggression and high levels of threat where individuals feel that they are at risk of death or injury, even in times of de-escalation (Bar-Tal 2013; Kriesberg 1993). In particular, these high levels of threat are directed towards the self and the group simultaneously. Previous research demonstrates the detrimental effects both threat and violence may have with regards to one’s well-being (Bleich et al. 2003; Galea et al. 2002; Shalev and Freedman 2005), as well as one’s support of violent political policies (e.g., Canetti-Nisim et al. 2009; Kimhi and Shamai 2006; Skitka et al. 2006), and non-compromising attitudes towards peace (e.g., Hirsch-Hoefler et  al. 2016). Thus, the success of an intervention should strongly depend on the levels of threat and violence in the relevant conflict zone. Given that manipulating personal and group threats, as well as exposure to violence, is difficult to implement in laboratory settings, experimental

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research testing how such factors moderate the effects of intergroup interventions is scarce (for an exception see: Hameiri et al. 2016). III. Upscaling manipulations into interventions. One of the well-known legacies of Kurt Lewin that has dominated psychologists who are interested in intervention research is that small interventions produce large changes (Cohen 2011; Thaler and Sunstein 2008). Laboratory intervention research in social psychology typically attempts to activate one psychological process at a time and determine its effect on factors of interest. This ability, to test tight manipulations that are not confounded with other psychological constructs, is one of the greatest advantages of laboratory experimentation. It results in high internal validity that allows for causal inference about the impact of the manipulation and the specific psychological construct it targets. At the same time, however, the creation of these tight manipulations makes it challenging to apply them in the real world for a number of reasons. First, unlike the “clean” laboratory environment in which social psychologists typically test their manipulations, the real world, and particularly conflict settings, are filled with distractions and competing messages. At the same time, laboratory interventions developed by social psychologists are small and minimalistic, in the sense that they are short in duration, simple, and usually lack context. Thus, when attempting to scale-up these manipulations, we run the risk of having little impact given the “noise” generated by a conflictual context. This is especially true for conflict zones, as, in these contexts, we are not attempting to change a focused behavior, but rather a general orientation toward an outgroup that includes both behavioral and attitudinal components. As a result, in our work with practitioners, we observed that they typically prefer to implement interventions that target multiple components rather than just one (i.e., the “kitchen sink” phenomenon whereby many treatments are combined into one program). For example, in one case, we were working with an organization that was attempting to integrate Palestinian citizens of Israel into companies that had exclusively Jewish workers. As part of this collaboration, we were asked to design workshops for these companies. We originally suggested conducting workshops similar to the ones developed by Devine et  al. (2012) that focus on ways to counteract implicit bias, and that were adapted to the Israeli context. While developing the workshop, it became clear to us that given the rates of explicit prejudice in these companies, there is a need to address explicit biases as well. However, we were uncertain as to how to design such “kitchen-sink” trainings. Should we combine both types of trainings or create two separate sets? What kind of bias should we deal with first? How would the notion of cognitive biases as normal to human behavior that underscores much of the implicit bias training be applied in the explicit bias training? Indeed, little is known about how different psychological interventions interact with one another, making it difficult to determine whether a successful laboratory intervention will also succeed when implemented with additional psychological constructs in the field. We eventually decided to combine Devine et  al.’ (2012) approach with additional components targeting explicit forms of prejudice, as it deemed necessary for the context we were working in. However, given that we

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had no evidence on how such different approaches work together, our decision was not optimal. Second, laboratory manipulations may come in different forms that require further development in order to be scaled up into real-world interventions that can reach a mass audience. This process of scaling up can be particularly challenging in conflict zones. For example, one genre of laboratory manipulations is providing participants with new information (Hameiri et al. 2014a). In these types of manipulations, participants are asked to read a mock article (e.g., Halperin et  al. 2011), report (e.g., Porat et al. 2018) or instructions (e.g., Halperin et al. 2014), that manipulate the targeted psychological construct. For example, Halperin et  al. (2011) examined whether the belief in the fixed versus malleable nature of groups affected intergroup attitudes and willingness to compromise for peace. Across four studies, they instructed participants to read an article portraying aggressive groups as having a fixed or malleable nature. They found that inducing malleable beliefs led to more positive attitudes about the outgroup, and increased willingness to compromise for peace. From a practitioner perspective, scaling up this form of intervention involves selecting the medium in which the message is to be delivered, as well as the messenger. As social psychologists well know, the medium and messenger can dramatically impact the actual intervention, leaving us with more questions than answers. For example, should the message be delivered via schoolteachers? Peers? Newspaper ads? Acknowledging these challenges, Goldenberg et al. (2018) crafted the aforementioned malleability manipulation into a field intervention. In their study, they turned the mock article into a 5-hour-long leadership workshop where participants learned about the possibility of positive group change, and the important role that leaders have in identifying and amplifying such change. They ran a randomized controlled trial (RCT) with more than 500 participants in which they pit the malleability intervention against a control condition and another well-known conflict reduction intervention – perspective taking. In their two-arm design, they replicated previous effects found in the lab on the positive effect of the malleability intervention on attitudes toward outgroups and willingness to compromise for peace. This example is notable, as we rarely find researchers that take this additional step of turning a manipulation into an intervention (for more on RCTs, see Wolfe 2020 in this volume). We believe that for practitioners, building on the Goldenberg et al. (2018) workshops is much more feasible than working with the original mock article manipulation. The task of turning manipulations into interventions becomes even harder when considering manipulations that intervene by teaching an individual skill. For example, in our research, we sought to decrease Israeli-Jews’ negative emotional experiences and by that, affect their support of political policies by teaching them a well-known method of emotion regulation called cognitive reappraisal (Halperin et al. 2013). Cognitive reappraisal is a skill that can be learned in a short session that involves changing the meaning or appraisal of a situation to alter the individuals’ emotional responses (Gross 2013). In two studies, we conducted one-on-one trainings teaching Israeli Jews cognitive reappraisal. That is, we provided them with a skill that may help them control their emotions in response to conflict-related events.

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We found that participants who learned to regulate their emotions experienced less anger in response to a real conflict event and showed greater support for conciliatory policies with the Palestinians (Study 2). While this study showed particularly promising long-term effects in response to real-world events, it remains a major challenge of scaling up this emotion regulation training to reach masses. In particular, such manipulations cannot be “copy-pasted” into the real world. They eventually need to be restructured so that they could be embedded in a game, a movie, or some form of institutionalized training. Acknowledging this challenging step, we are currently developing a mobile application that teaches and trains users to employ cognitive reappraisal (Porat et al. 2019a). In sum, while laboratory experiments have some clear advantages, when it comes to the development of social psychological interventions that can be scaled up in real conflict settings, they suffer from clear limitations. The issues outlined above have led us to question the external validity of their findings for the real-world.

12.2  Bridging the Gap It is clear that for scholars who are passionate about social change in conflict areas, there is a pressing need to move our work to the field and connect it to the work of practitioners. In order to achieve this, we propose two steps that may be undertaken simultaneously – (1) engaging in enhanced collaborations with practitioners in daily work and (2) making social psychology visible and accessible to practitioners. In what follows, we suggest how these two steps may be materialized in practice. I. Working collaboratively. Our experience in Israel has taught us that collaborations with practitioners strongly benefit our program of research. We also learned that Israeli practitioners highly value interactions with academics and are looking for opportunities to engage in collaborative thinking. This may include (but is not limited to) consultations, mutual presentation of work, as well as hands-on participation in designing interventions and implementing them in the field. Thus, scholars who are interested in moving to the field should actively seek opportunities to engage with practitioners, instead of waiting for practitioners to approach them. For those who have yet to create such connections, we encourage directly contacting organizations that have common grounds with one’s research program. While starting such collaborations may be both challenging and time-consuming, we believe that they can meaningfully contribute to both scholars and practitioners, as well as to social psychology at large, in several ways. Practitioners who work in the real world and engage daily and directly with these problems provide a unique perspective. They offer great insights into the current state of the conflict and creative “out of the box” ideas on how to overcome psychological barriers. For example, in one collaboration (see Hameiri et  al. 2014b, Hameiri et al. 2016), we worked with “The Fund for Reconciliation, Tolerance and Peace.” They asked us to develop an innovative approach to mobilize public opinion for peace. Following their request, we met with several advertising and public

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relations agencies and conducted 3- to 4-hour classes on the general framework of socio-psychological barriers to peacemaking (Bar-Tal and Halperin 2011). We also provided them with some psychological insights on how to overcome those barriers. For example, we suggested avoiding threatening messages or information that is inconsistent with one’s held attitude, as both types may lead to defensive reactions. Based on the accumulative knowledge presented to the agencies, we asked them to develop an “ingenious” media intervention that would attempt to change attitudes. After examining different options, we selected an intervention called “The Conflict,” developed by a branding expert, Ms. Atara Bieler, that fits a paradoxical thinking framework. Paradoxical thinking refers to the attempt to change attitudes by using new information, which is consistent with the held societal beliefs (narratives), but of extreme content that is intended to lead an individual to paradoxically perceive their currently held societal beliefs or the current situation as irrational and senseless. “The Conflict” best fits the paradoxical thinking framework, as the main idea behind it was to present the Israeli–Palestinian conflict as a positive experiential factor, underlying Israeli Jewish identity, as opposed to the attempts to persuade the Israeli public that the conflict had negative outcomes on the society. This fruitful collaboration resulted in two interesting experiments (one laboratory and one field) exploring the effects of the paradoxical thinking campaign, as well as instigating a new line of research concerning the impact of paradoxical thinking as an intervention for conflict resolution (Hameiri et al. 2019; 2016; Hameiri et al. 2014b). Another important benefit of collaborating with practitioners is the opportunity to disseminate one’s ideas and receive valuable feedback. Our experience has taught us that practitioners are very practical, doubtful, and not easily convinced. They ask important and difficult questions that are different by nature from those asked by social psychologists. We have found these fruitful discussions to provide us a broad perspective on our research program, and importantly, generate further research ideas. One example of a research program that was also generated from feedback provided by practitioners concerns the first author’s aforementioned work on emotion regulation. When presenting the work on emotion regulation strategies (e.g., Gross et al. 2013) as a tool for conflict resolution, we faced time and time again with the same concern. Specifically, practitioners were worried that if cognitive reappraisal is a tool for both increasing and decreasing emotional reactions to conflict-­ related events, how we could be sure that those learning this strategy would apply it in a way that decreases rather than increases negative emotional responses? This question regarding the motivations that underlie emotion regulation processes instigated our thinking about the kind of emotions that people want to feel in intractable conflicts. As a result, we developed a new line of research concerned with people’s emotional preferences with respect to group-based emotions (Porat et  al. 2016; Porat et al. 2020). Our research points to the potential limitation of solely teaching emotion regulation strategies without relating to one’s preexisting motivations. Practitioners, too, may benefit from discussing and working together with social psychologists. One aspect that we found particularly useful to our partners was our ability to provide psychological insights that explain some of the difficulties they face in their daily work and help them formulate a psychological solution. One

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example comes from our joint work with the organization mentioned earlier that was attempting to integrate Palestinian citizens of Israel into companies that had exclusively Jewish workers. In a monthly consultation meeting, the organization posed a recent dilemma they were faced with in one of the companies they were working with. In this company (like in many other Israeli companies), there was a security officer whose job was to ensure the safety of the workers. While this individual was not in charge of the hiring process, he had considerable power, as part of his job was to conduct background checks and approve any new hire. After a number of unsuccessful attempts to hire some of the Palestinian candidates the organization was suggesting to the company, they suspected that the security officer was blocking their Palestinian candidates. In their meetings with him, he expressed explicit concerns about hiring Palestinians. Specifically, he said that he does not trust Palestinians, has less experience in conducting background checks for this population, and therefore is being extra cautious in hiring Palestinian candidates. We first encouraged them to think about the motivations that may be driving his behavior like his fear and negative stereotypes of Palestinians, his concern of making a “mistake” due to his lack of past experience with Palestinian hiring, and his genuine sense of responsibility to keep the workers in the organization safe. This perspective helped alleviate some of the negative emotions that the practitioners felt towards this individual, who they felt was tampering with their efforts. It motivated the practitioners to collaborate with him instead of fighting him or trying to go over his head. Together we thought of different strategies, all of which were based on our insights from social psychology and the organization’s insights with regards to the people and context they were working in. We eventually agreed that before exposing this individual’s racist behaviors to the company’s CEO (the strategy they initially formulated), they would try and get him to own the Palestinian hiring processes and feel responsible and accountable for conducting a fair process. The idea that was eventually implemented was forming a joint committee for the hiring process of Palestinian candidates that was headed by the security officer and included Palestinian representatives. We thought that this process would introduce him to Palestinians, changing some of his stereotypical and homogeneous perceptions and alleviating his own fears. The organization reported back to us that they successfully made a number of Palestinian hires after taking these steps. Moreover, from our own experience, we know that these interactions with practitioners over time can ultimately lead to actual research collaborations. Working with an organization on an actual research program requires mutual trust and understanding. From the perspective of the scholar, she needs to be confident in the organization’s ability to carry out the project. Thus, enhanced engagement can teach one a lot about the organization’s actual capabilities. From the perspective of the organizations, to engage in such a time-consuming collaboration, practitioners should be convinced that the scholar has an added benefit to the organization’s existing work. Thus, initiating unbinding interactions, discussions, and general presentations of work can help to create trust and enthusiasm. Finally, on a personal note, we have found our work with practitioners to be very rewarding. Both authors of this chapter came into academia after working for a

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number of years in NGOs working on issues related to Israeli-Palestinian relations. In our experience, stepping back into the field, working with people who are as passionate about social change as we are, and thinking together about these problems, is something that was missing in our daily work in psychology departments and academia at large. II.  Increasing visibility and accessibility. In addition to fostering collaborations between academics and practitioners, we find it important to increase the visibility of social psychological research while making it more accessible to practitioners. Currently, much of the work coming from social psychology remains in peer-reviewed journals that are not accessible to the lay person. They are not accessible because these journals require costly subscriptions that may not be available to someone working outside of academia. In addition, scholars tend to use many jargonish scientific terms that are not familiar to people outside of academia (Plavén-Sigray et  al. 2017). As a result, practitioners who are looking to engage with social psychological ideas need a scholar to guide them through this literature or some personal background in social psychology. Nonetheless, in recent years we have seen a positive movement to promote both open access of peer-reviewed journals (e.g., Journal of Social and Political Psychology) and to establish specialized journals that are policy focused (e.g., Journal of Social Issues and Policy Review, Behavioral Public Policy). Another positive development has been the establishment of organizations like EGAP (Evidence in Governance and Politics) that aim to disseminate rigorous experimental work that may advance evidence-based policy. However, we believe that additional channels to disseminate the ideas stemming from scholar’s programs of research can and should be formed. One way of disseminating socio-psychological ideas is by encouraging and rewarding academics for their outreach to the real world. For example, institutions should encourage and reward academics who attempt to disseminate their ideas to lay people by appearing in popular media channels, writing op-eds, blogs, or by giving talks to non-professionals. Another important channel is to tailor academic courses for non-psychologists. For example, in Israel, every conflict resolution program offers at least one course related to the psychology of conflicts. We believe that similar courses should be offered in other related departments and programs from which future practitioners will be coming from, such as political science, international relations, communications, education, economics, and sociology. Moreover, we encourage social psychology programs to embed practicum experience in their programs that will allow their students to engage with practitioners during their training. For example, in IDC Herzliya in Israel, as part of the Master’s programs in social psychology, students in their second year spend a day every week in an organization in which they serve in various roles related to social psychology and thus have real-world experience. During this practicum experience, students experience the reality and challenges practitioners face in their day-to-day work and are challenged to think about how the theories they study can relate to these problems, and at times help to overcome some of them.

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12.3  Concluding Remarks As scientists, we are motivated to see our work make a real-world impact. However, we should be cautious about how this goal is materialized. Social psychologists much too often generalize their findings to broad populations and accordingly, make policy-relevant recommendations (Paluck and Green 2009; Simons et  al. 2017). Given the challenges of implementing laboratory-based research in the field outlined in this chapter (i.e., limited samples, the lack of focus on contextual factors, and upscaling manipulations into interventions), we urge our fellow scientists to be careful and responsible when conveying the generalizability of their findings in peer-reviewed journals, popular media, and in daily encounters with practitioners. In our work with Israeli practitioners we found that similar to us they operate with a sense of urgency. However, this sense of urgency may result in practitioners’ eagerness to begin full implementation of a new psychology-based intervention in the field right away, without first testing it in a randomized control trial. Thus, it is our responsibility as scientists to make practitioners aware of the fact that most of the current findings in social psychology concerning conflict-related interventions were not rigorously tested in the field (Paluck and Green 2009), and convey the importance of conducting an RCT in the field before moving forward to full implementation. Thus, when working with practitioners we have the responsibility and obligation to first test suggested interventions in our conflictual context using RCTs in the field before advising an organization to implement a full-scale intervention. In addition, when working with practitioners we should modestly acknowledge what we know, but no less important - what we do not. We have noticed in our own work with practitioners their need for clear answers and quick solutions. We also acknowledge our personal motivation to demonstrate to practitioners the large contribution social psychology may have on their work. However, as we well know, social psychology is not magic. Nor is it a toolbox that provides complete solutions to intractable conflicts such as the Israeli-Palestinian one. The fact that an intervention had an effect on a factor of interest does not imply that it is sufficient to solve the problem. These messages need to be clearly conveyed to practitioners at the outset of the joint collaboration to avoid false expectations and shattered dreams. However, if expectations are discussed in advance, these collaborations have the potential to generate important, rigorous and innovative social psychological science.

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Chapter 13

Sense and Sensitivities: Researching Children and Young People’s Identity and Social Attitudes in a Divided Society Stephanie Burns, Danielle Blaylock, Laura K. Taylor, and Shelley McKeown

13.1  Introduction Studying identity and social attitudes is a common focus among social psychologists, but it can be particularly challenging when children and young people are the intended participants in such research. This is especially true in contexts where there has been, or continues to be, intergroup conflict and deep social division driven by competing social and political ideologies, such as those found in Northern Ireland. This chapter will focus on the challenges and benefits of carrying out field research including longitudinal surveys, cross-sectional surveys and experiments with children and young people who were born in post-accord Northern Ireland, but are educated within a mostly ethno-religiously divided system. We represent a group of researchers conducting applied social psychological research in Northern Ireland. Two of the researchers were born and raised in Northern Ireland, each brought up within a differing community background, and the other two, while born and raised outside of Northern Ireland, have called it their home. In this way our team offers both an insider and outsider’s perspective when exploring issues of community relations in Northern Ireland. Drawing on a range of experiences from the authors and other empirical work, the chapter explores the practicalities that S. Burns (*) · D. Blaylock School of Psychology, Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast, Northern Ireland, UK e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] L. K. Taylor School of Psychology, Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast, Northern Ireland, UK School of Psychology, University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] S. McKeown School of Education, University of Bristol, Bristol, UK e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_13

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need to be considered when studying identity and social attitudes with youth in divided societies more broadly. In addition, the importance of thoughtful and sensitive engagement with gatekeepers, parents/guardians, and children and young people at each stage of the research process will be discussed. The chapter will highlight the need for: (a) careful consideration of research design (including issues to do with measurement of concepts such as identity, building in participatory approaches and other ethical considerations); (b) attention to access issues; and (c) preparation, reflexivity, flexibility and adaptability. Practical ways of addressing these challenges will be presented within two case studies. The first, an evaluation of a 5-year peace and reconciliation intervention targeting marginalized young people in Northern Ireland and the Border Region of Ireland, and the second, a research project aimed to promote the antecedents of peacebuilding for children growing up in Northern Ireland, the Republic of North Macedonia, and Kosovo, and Croatia. The chapter will close with a discussion of lessons learned about the limitations of research studies when conducting applied psychological research on identity and intergroup relations.

13.2  The Northern Irish Context Northern Ireland is currently a society transitioning from violence to sustainable peace. While complex, the conflict can be understood as an identity-based struggle between Protestants/Unionists/Loyalists who wish to see Northern Ireland remain part of the United Kingdom and Catholics/Nationalists/Republicans who desire for ‘the North’ to be united with the Republic of Ireland. The struggle between these ethno-religious identities was most pronounced during a thirty-year period known as ‘the Troubles,’ when over 3600 individuals lost their lives and many more suffered from direct injuries or the loss of loved ones (Fitzduff and O’Hagan 2009). Following the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998 and demilitarization, a relative calm has emerged in Northern Ireland; however, it still remains a deeply divided society, struggling with the legacy of the conflict (Schubotz 2017; Robinson 2018). Physical barriers known as ‘peace walls’ continue to segregate Catholic and Protestant (mainly working class) communities into small enclaves, and while there is a government plan to remove the walls by 2023, 60 such barriers remain (Department of Justice 2019). Moreover, even children and young people born post-agreement, who do not have direct experience of the Troubles, are still affected (Bollaert 2018; O’Neill et  al. 2015; Downes et  al. 2013). For example, contention around commemorative events, symbols, and sporadic instances of sectarian violence often portray the inter-community tensions between the Catholic and Protestant communities that simmer beneath the surface (Stringer and Hunter 2014). The influence of paramilitaries in certain regions is also still evident (Ferguson et al. 2018), as seen most recently in April 2019 when journalist Lyra McKee was shot dead by a member of the New IRA during an altercation between dissident republican youths and members of the Police Service Northern Ireland

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following a police raid. This ongoing conflict and division affects the lives of children and young people, as well as their families and communities (Cummings et al. 2017a, b; Taylor et al. 2014). The separate education system reflects the major fracture in Northern Irish society. Approximately 92% of pupils attend schools separated along ethno-religious lines; around half of whom attend schools where at least 95% of students share the same community background (Connolly et al. 2013). This severely limits opportunities for children and young people to form positive relations with members of the other community. Over the past three decades, numerous school-based initiatives aimed at promoting more understanding of ingroup and outgroup identities and encouraging positive engagement between members of the Catholic and Protestant communities have been attempted in both informal and formal educational settings. Although there are some examples of good practice – most recently through Shared Education (Duffy and Gallagher 2017; Loader and Hughes 2017) – evidence suggests that many previous initiatives had limited impact primarily because of their short-term, one-off nature (O’Connor et al. 2002; Smith and Robinson 1996). The ongoing community divisions and myriad interventions to improve relations has therefore led to a large number of social attitude surveys and identity-based research studies being carried out in Northern Ireland. Within the field of social psychology, these studies have been conducted to both ‘apply’ social psychology (testing models developed in laboratories in real-world populations) and develop ‘applied’ social psychology (research and practice that originates in a real-world setting; see Fisher, (1982) for more on this distinction). We will now consider some of the benefits and challenges of carrying out applied social psychological research in conflict settings, particularly with children and young people.

13.3  C  onducting Applied Social Psychology Research in Conflict Settings Social psychological research, such as that which is framed by theories of prejudice and intergroup contact, can help inform techniques and interventions to improve intergroup relations in conflict settings; these interventions can then be evaluated for their effectiveness, and the ‘real-world’ data can further test the claims of social psychological theories (see Wolfe 2020, this volume). Cairns (2001) argued that such applied research can address the psychological causes of conflict, leading to a reduction or even prevention of violence. It is important to recognize, however, that applied social psychology needs to consider context and the influences of macro-­ social structures as well as micro-social processes if complex social problems are to be truly understood (Hill 2006). Hill claims that many social psychologists are now recognizing the limits of generalizability, and are studying definable contexts for their own insights. The additional challenge inherent in a conflict zone, is that the social and political context can change rapidly, depending on the rise of hostilities.

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Furthermore, the persistence of intractable conflicts, which may be perceived as irresolvable or zero-sum in nature and might occupy a central place in the lives of those living in the society (see Bar-Tal 2007), could detract from more optimistic accounts of the potential of applied social psychology to improve relations. Doing applied social psychology with children in conflict settings presents additional challenges. As well as undergoing important developmental stages in terms of their social identity, civic values, and moral reasoning, children in these settings may encounter many forms of segregation in their daily lives and empirical evidence shows that the political socialization of children living in contexts of conflict contributes to the acquisition of conflict-supporting socio-psychological repertoires (Nasie et al. 2016). It is also well recognized that the effects of exposure to political violence has a lasting impact on children into their adulthood (Cummings et  al. 2014). There are, therefore, many methodological and ethical sensitivities that need to be considered before embarking on research studies with children when issues such as identity, prejudice, and societal division will be raised. Nonetheless, to take a children’s rights-based perspective, if Article 29 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989) is to be upheld, children who live in societies that are in conflict or emerging from conflict have the right to understand all aspects of their society and contribute positively to it. A space must therefore be created to allow them to explore issues related to the causes of conflict and the impact of the conflict on themselves, their families and communities in a safe way. The challenges of accessing children as well as facilitating a safe space for them to voice their thoughts will now be discussed.

13.4  T  he Challenges of Accessing Children and Youth for Research Researchers working with children and youth are all too familiar with the challenges that come with reaching such populations. When working in conflict-affected zones, however, there are additional challenges, particularly when the research focuses on examining intergroup relations between children. First, reaching the relevant participants necessitates working through gatekeepers, most often the school system. Schools, however, can be notoriously difficult to contact, particularly for researchers who do not already have established connections. Schools in Northern Ireland do not tend to post teachers’ contact information online, and gaining access to the Principal or Head Teacher can require navigating a series of road-blocks. In some of our studies, we have had to send letters, multiple emails and follow-up phone calls before getting into contact with the Head of a single school. Here, a wide-range sample and persistence are key. We acknowledge that this is not a challenge that is unique to conflict-affected areas; however, as stated previously, Northern Ireland is a highly researched society given its history and the ongoing issues of sectarianism. In our experience, school gatekeepers in

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Northern Ireland may be protective of giving out their contact details to research teams because of too many participation requests and the risk of children being over-surveyed. Researchers should therefore always try to find out what other data is being collected by other research teams before contacting schools. Once access to schools is obtained, it is important to facilitate dialogue with school representatives about any proposed research to discuss what would be required and the ethical considerations of taking part. This can be a challenge as schools and teachers are extremely busy and with ever increasing demands on their time. However, it is vitally important to take the time to have these conversations as schools and teachers are often nervous about research which focuses on sensitive topics such as intergroup relations, and may be subsequently reluctant to provide access to parents and children in their care. School representatives of course have the right to refuse to consent to take part in research, and individual schools have different micro-contexts which may put obstacles in the way of them participating in particularly sensitive research. For example, schools that are located in areas where there has been recent paramilitary activity and violence may have a different perspective from schools located elsewhere. Discussing conflict, identity and social attitudes is indeed often challenging. Before deciding to participate in research or not, often schools will want to look at the content of a survey or research/evaluation protocol before granting consent, to check its potential for causing contention (as they perceive it) within their school community. Some schools may also believe that it is not their role to raise potentially divisive issues as part of the curriculum or in the course of a research project, instead viewing their role as an ‘oasis of calm’ outside the conflict (Kilpatrick and Leitch 2004). For example, we have conducted surveys which included images of the Irish tricolor and the Union Jack; flags used within the local communities in Northern Ireland. These flags are viewed by many in Northern Ireland as symbols of identity and a number of schools we have worked in have expressed initial trepidation about their inclusion in the survey for fear that they make intergroup tensions salient. Other schools may be apprehensive to be involved in such research for fear that their school may be perceived in a negative light in comparison to other schools, if, for example, levels of intergroup anxiety or prejudice were found to be higher amongst their pupils than amongst pupils in other schools. We have found this particularly to be the case when recruiting schools for a control sample when exploring the impact of intergroup contact experienced through shared or integrated education. This is not to say that all schools and teachers feel this way. For example, we certainly work with schools and teachers who are enthusiastic about research and are keen to work towards a better scientific understanding of intergroup relations in Northern Ireland. Some schools are also involved in school-based peacebuilding interventions that aim to promote positive relations and social cohesion and are keen to have the impact of these programmes evaluated. After schools have agreed to participate, the next step for researchers is to communicate with parents or guardians to seek consent. In the UK, good practice denotes that research with children and youth under 16 requires parental consent through an opt-in process. The reality that all researchers face, however, is that

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parents often do not respond to consent requests and therefore, obtaining parental consent can be difficult. This challenge can be intensified when parents themselves are concerned about the topic of the research. Communication we have received from parents of children who have been invited to take part in some of our studies reveals that adults may fear that asking children and young people about such intergroup relations might reignite or reinforce past divisions in their community. Adults’ fear of being complicit in indoctrination has been highlighted from educational research studies with teachers in Northern Ireland (McCully and Emerson 2014). Moreover, some adults may believe if they avoid or ignore discussions about intergroup relations, children will not see the divisions (see Fargas-Malet and Dillenburger 2016); this claim has been shown to be false, with children as young as three recognising and identifying with community markers (Connolly et al. 2002). At this point, it is probably worth noting that Northern Ireland (like other conflict settings) tends to take a very conservative approach to talking about and embracing difference with the mantra ‘whatever you say, say nothing’ taking precedent. This mantra was traditionally an IRA motto of secrecy, and was used as a title of a poem by celebrated Northern Irish poet Seamus Heaney to encapsulate the ‘covert silences of sectarianism’ and the ways in which the conflict has sealed off cultural exchange, resulting in miscommunication and further division (Beville and McQuaid 2012, p. 7). Indeed, the ‘culture of silence’ or ‘culture of avoidance’ is a well-documented phenomenon in Northern Ireland, and has been observed by researchers working in schools (Donnelly 2004; Gallagher 2004; McGlynn 2010). We have previously worked around this challenge of ‘avoidance’ and have tried to address any parental concerns about the sensitivities of the topic by collaborating with schools and individual teachers to link the content of our research methods (which often include measures of intergroup prejudice, social distance, family ethnic socialization and so on) to the content of the primary and post-primary statutory curriculum. In Northern Ireland, there are core ‘Areas of Learning’ in these curricula that schools are obligated to teach, and two of these relate to the development of respect for difference and active citizenship. The curriculum states, for example, that at a minimum, young people in post-primary schools should have the opportunity to “Investigate how and why conflict, including prejudice, stereotyping, sectarianism and racism may arise in the community; investigate ways of managing conflict and community relations” (Council for the Curriculum, Examinations & Assessment n.d.). Previous research has found, however, that teachers may be afraid of exposing children to difficult and sensitive issues they had not previously been aware of, or be afraid of the subsequent parental responses (Donnelly 2004). In effect, the sensitive content of quantitative and qualitative methods of data collection when they relate to intergroup relations can instigate or act as a follow-on to meaningful discussions led by teachers in class about these issues. Several schools that have granted consent to participate in our previous studies have viewed their involvement as an opportunity to enhance the depth of discussions in-class  - a pedagogical benefit to their participation. The challenges of access, however, do not end with the school or parent. It is hugely important that children and young people are told about the research in full

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and are given an opportunity to assent or provide their own consent for participation, and that they know they can refuse to consent without any negative consequences. This might involve holding an age-appropriate research briefing session for children and young people to tell them about the research, what it will mean for them and what their responses will be used for. It is important that children are provided with an opportunity to ask questions (and that they are provided with alternative options in terms of an activity/space to go to if they do not wish to take part in the research). For younger children it can be difficult to explain intergroup relations research and we often frame this as we want to know more about who they are friends with and why, what they like doing in their spare time, who they spend time with in the neighborbood, who they like, and so on. For older children and young people who have a basic understanding of the conflict, the research intent can be more clearly stated; for instance, we can be explicit that the survey is focusing on relations between Catholics and Protestants. Through working with young people, we have also developed our own youth-friendly scales. For example, in mixed methods study, a scale on experience with sectarian antisocial behavior, ranging in intensity from name calling to petrol bombs being thrown over peace walls, was developed (Goeke-Morey et al. 2009) and is widely used (Taylor et al. 2014; Taylor et  al. 2018b). An additional challenge, however, is that some older children and young people can be frustrated by research focusing on identity and intergroup relations as they feel that the conflict was in the past and is no longer relevant to their lives. In our experience, this can lead to youth turning down the invitation to partake in the research, participant attrition, and a general lack of enthusiasm for the research. To help combat this, we have attended meetings with groups of young people from the project described in Case Study 1 (below) where this frustration has been raised. We have found that being available in person, alongside a representative from the funding organization (if possible), helps to promote buy-in to the research by giving a space to answer concerns as to why certain questions are being asked; explaining how they can voice their dissent within a survey (e.g., by writing in an open response box how they would describe their identity if it does not fit into the pre-determined categories); and to also explain, with reference to ongoing inequalities and divisions, why it is important to continue to monitor intergroup relations in a post-conflict society. We also asked young people for their input as advisors on the language of the survey, which has been hugely beneficial for increasing engagement with the survey and for the young people themselves, as will be discussed in detail later. In sum, how particular questions around identity and intergroup attitudes are worded requires great care, and the methods we have employed in some of our studies will be discussed later in the chapter. We will now consider the merits of conducting survey work with children in conflict zones and the importance of building in reflexivity, participatory practices and remaining responsive to the context.

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13.5  U  sing Surveys With Children and Youth in Conflict-Affected Zones In the fields of peace, conflict and intergroup relations, survey-based work can provide vital information on people’s attitudes and behaviors, their understanding of the factors leading to and resulting from violent conflict, and the effect of conflict on individuals (McKeown and Taylor 2017, 2018; Taylor et al. 2018a, b; Taylor and McKeown 2019). As stated by Eck (2011), ‘surveys facilitate the study of the microfoundations of war because they allow researchers to obtain fine-grained data on variations in individuals’ attitudes and behaviors.’ (p. 165). Some researchers have been critical of the fact that there is an overall lack of qualitative studies on people’s (particularly children’s) experiences of intergroup relations (Jackson and Sherriff 2013; UNA Qualitative Methods Learning Group 2010). While it is indeed the case that published quantitative studies on intergroup attitudes and behaviors vastly outnumber qualitative studies, robust quantitative work can provide a systematic means of assessing the characteristics of a wider population at one point in time (cross-­ sectional research designs) or across a period of time (longitudinal research designs) (Cummings et al. 2017a). This is not to detract from the value of good qualitative work that can highlight the lived experience of those who have lived in a conflict situation; both types of studies (and more qualitative studies) are indeed needed. The research questions we have explored, for the most part, have been more appropriately suited to quantitative approaches. While we recognize the challenges of conducting robust qualitative research in conflict or post-conflict zones (see Campbell 2017; Sriram et al. 2011) measuring the characteristics of children and young people in conflict or post-conflict zones through surveys or other quantitative methods, however, presents a particular set of challenges, which require a high level of planning and design to overcome them. Issues around gaining access to children and young people in conflict zones have already been covered here, but there are other challenges to consider: implicit biases of the researchers (e.g., in the wording of questions/ how the research is approached); imbalances of power in the research design and methods; and rigidity or inflexibility in the research design. These challenges can be overcome through processes of reflexivity; taking a participatory approach to research; and being sensitive to context. Each of these solutions will now be considered in turn. Reflexivity. Reflexivity refers to ‘a process of turning back on oneself and exploring the ways in which the products of research are affected by the personnel and process of doing research’ (Davies 1999, p. 4). In conflict settings, researchers should integrate processes of reflexivity into their practice; something that social psychologists, in particular, are arguably not as practized at doing compared to other applied fields such as education, nursing and so on. Whilst experimental and survey research is mainly associated with positivism and the privileging of objectivity, the fact remains that surveys are constructed by people (with all of their life histories, viewpoints and biases); as such, the insights of interpretivism enable researchers to see how their individual perspectives are embedded in the research

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process. For instance, feminist modes of research emphasize the importance of specifying the ‘knower’ in research, through a process of reflexivity (Davies 1999). It is our belief therefore that quantitative elements of research designs are not solely data-driven or detached from real-life understandings, and similarly, that qualitative elements of research designs are influenced by predetermined values and knowledge - the ‘open lens’ that any research commences with is never completely ‘open’. Qualitative and quantitative approaches are complementary, and as Brannen (1992) states, ‘each approach is used in relation to a different research problem or different aspect[s] of a research problem’ (p.  12). Reflexivity is, therefore, the pivot that allows researchers to engage the epistemological stances of both (post)positivism and interpretivism. Moreover, Attia and Edge (2017) recommend taking a developmental, dual approach to reflexivity and research methodology, calling for researchers to not only take a step back and assess their effect on the research design, but to also assess what effect the research has on them throughout the entire process - to ask whether it has changed their standpoint, and to consider the direction they wish to proceed. Researchers, they argue, have a ‘responsibility’ to ‘step up’ to be an ‘active part’ of ‘contextualized action’ in the advent of their raised awareness (Attia and Edge 2017, p. 33). In the design stage of survey work or experimental studies, quantitative researchers should therefore take time to reflect (or question) why, for example, particular questions or measures are being asked of participants, and whether the questions are relevant and meaningful to young people of different age groups and in different settings. Do the selected questions hold some sense of personal or emotional connection to the researcher(s)? Do the hypotheses (even if they have been derived from a thorough review of the literature) reflect the researchers’ own personal views (or are they contradictory to the researchers’ personal views?) Have the researchers acknowledged their own prejudices and stereotypes? This acknowledgement is paramount when conducting research in conflict and post-conflict settings. If one or more members of the research team are from the (post) conflict region that is being studied and if they furthermore identify as a member of a group that has suffered as a result of conflict or war, it is critical for time to be taken to reflect on the language in a survey or other method of data collection. If none of the members of the research team are from the region, then ideally people on both sides of the conflict – but at least one insider – should go over the survey wording, to make sure this fits with the local context. Implicit biases may also inadvertently impact the data collection and analysis stages of research, such as: in the labels or categorizations of social groups that have been involved in conflict; in the way that a study is explained or presented in information or consent forms (particularly in children’s assent forms, as these are usually reduced to explaining the study in the most simple terms possible, with not much room for nuance) and when disseminating results; in the wording of questions about attitudes, experiences, behavioral intentions and behaviors; and in the placement of questions within a survey (for example, asking about perceptions of group victimhood next to intergroup attitude questions). We are reflective about these biases in

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our own research. For example, participant feedback alerted one of the authors of this chapter to the fact they consistently put their own community background ahead of the other community background in survey instructions and questions. Being made aware of this bias has ensured that such ordering is balanced in future work. This example also highlights the importance of getting participants directly engaged in research. Reflexivity is, therefore, needed throughout the entire research process to improve the quality of a study (Watt 2007). Participatory approaches to research. Survey work with children and young people in conflict or post-conflict zones should also be participatory when possible, by both method and design. By method, we mean where the power differential between participants and researchers has been addressed as much as possible through specific modifications and additions, which encourage genuine engagement with the survey questions. Thus, in line with the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989), deliberate steps are taken to ensure that children have the opportunity to form and express their viewpoints. There is an irony of course, as acknowledged by Gallacher and Gallagher (2008), that adult-designed participatory methods are needed to ‘empower’ children to exercise their agency, which risks the perpetration of the power differentials. We have, however, employed several participatory elements in our surveys. For example, we have included small blurbs at the beginning of each section of our surveys to explain why we are asking certain questions. In addition, we have included open text boxes for free responses beside questions that are sensitive or where participants don’t feel like they ‘fit’ a category, so that they can use their own words to explain something or describe themselves. To further assist children in expressing their views, have also sought the advice of professionals who work with children with learning disabilities to create user-friendly versions of online surveys for this group, and we have created different versions of our surveys for different age groups. Whilst we have not used this particular strategy in our research, surveys can also be made more participatory through the inclusion of a ‘designated listener’ (Lundy and McEvoy 2008, p. 16), which fulfills the requirement of Article 12 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child that children are afforded an audience for their views. This is essentially a signpost within a survey (or other research tool) to the person who is responsible for acting on the research findings, such as a government minister (if publicly funded) or a person representing the private funding organization. This may be held in high importance by young people especially when a survey is asking about challenging or sensitive issues that greatly impact their daily lives. As mentioned previously, participatory research extends to design, involving children and young people as co-researchers, peer researchers, and research advisors (bearing in mind that if they engage as part of the research team, they should engage in the practice of reflexivity too, as previously discussed). Articles 12 and 13 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989) have advanced the recognition of children as social actors in their own right, capable of presenting valid opinions on their experiences and their hopes. As Lundy and McEvoy (2012) state, a participatory approach to research requires that children are not only assisted in expressing their views (through, for example, participatory methods) but that they

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are also assisted in forming them, through their engagement and capacity-building as part of the research team. We have experience of facilitating Youth Advisory Forums as part of our collective research; having youth involved in advisory groups. One approach we have used is detailed in relation to the ‘Peace4Youth’ programme (Case Study 1 below). Whilst including young people as research advisors is relatively low on the ‘ladder of participation’ (child-led research being at the top – see Hart and UICD Center 1992), young people can be meaningfully involved in advising on substantive issues associated with research, such as the development of research questions, design of research instruments, analysis and interpretation, and dissemination of results (Burns and Schubotz 2009). The young people who agreed to take part in the Peace4Youth Advisory Forum were recent graduates from the first phase of the Peace4Youth programme. The Forum comprised a diverse group of young people to ensure different views were included. After building the young people’s capacity to engage with research and express their views by discussing the results of the first phase of the evaluation and how they conceptualized the 18 sub-indicators (outcome measures) of the survey (using a ‘four corners’ debate activity, hierarchy drawings, and cluster boards of thematic areas), the young people were asked about ways to make the language of the survey more relevant to young people’s lives and how the questions could better capture the core elements of the sub-indicators. Since the young people had previous experience of completing the first-phase evaluation survey and had similar characteristics to future cohorts of young people who would be completing the proposed revised-version of the survey for the second phase of the programme, they shared common experiences and a “common language” with future young research participants, including local shared meanings and references associated with words. The validity of the research instruments and findings for Phase II of the programme has therefore been enhanced, which is seen as one of the main methodological benefits of participatory research with children and young people (Kirby 1999). A “common language” is of immense importance particularly within a conflict or post-conflict context where words and labels can carry politically-­ loaded connotations and meanings. To exemplify this, the young people on the Peace4Youth Advisory Forum gave recommendations for how to more accurately measure the outcome indicator of ‘increased awareness of own identity’. In Phase I, this indicator was measured by scales of identity strength and perceived family ethnic socialization; for Phase II, this sub-indicator is measured by the original identity scale as well as three items designed by the young people that reflect personal understanding of own identity, as opposed to family-based practices, as this is how the young people conceptualized ‘awareness of own identity’. The items are: ‘I know about the history, values & beliefs of my community’; ‘I know the meaning behind flags, murals and other symbols that are present in my community’; ‘I understand why people celebrate things such as concerts, plays, festivals, or other events that represent my community’. For young people, one of the main benefits of being a research advisor is the potential emancipatory biographical effect that the project can have. This can be both on community and individual levels (Kirby et al. 2004). For example, through

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learning about a body of research and policy work on an issue of interest and through working with others to investigate a research question, they may become aware of ways they can participate in the local and wider community and they may become more critically aware of inequalities or injustices that occur in their community (thereby developing their confidence, communication, analytical and research skills), and are subsequently assisted in forming their views, as outlined by Lundy and McEvoy (2012). Using examples from our own research experience, one young person from the Peace4Youth Advisory Forum reported that her participation had made her think more deeply about issues of inequality in housing and access to jobs as well as the legacy of the conflict in the area she currently lives in, and had helped her to understand how it might be possible through surveys to ask people about their experiences of living in their communities. As such, taking part in the Advisory Forum gave her an insight into the potential value of programme evaluations. This particular young woman (a young mother who was about to enrol in an access course at a further education college) also reported that taking part in the Forum had made her more determined to eventually study Sociology at university. Other young people reported that prior to taking part in the process, they didn’t understand why the evaluation survey asked questions about things such as civic engagement and their feelings of agency in their communities, as they didn’t see the connection between such questions and the programme activity. However, taking part in the Forum had helped them to understand that programs such as Peace4Youth have overall goals and a theory of change which structure the activities and define the intended outcomes. There are however several risks and potential disadvantages to involving young people as advisors or peer researchers, which adults on a research team need to be cognisant of. Both young researchers and adults who are research participants may be uncomfortable with the unusual power relations involved; there may be difficulties with recruiting young people who are familiar with the researched subject area but simultaneously ‘distanced’ enough to enable reflective analysis; and there may be resource and logistical difficulties and additional costs involved (Burns and Schubotz 2009). Educational, social and political context. Finally, while not limited to survey or experimental methods, conducting research in conflict or post-conflict zones also requires awareness of shifting educational frameworks (e.g., the changes to the Northern Ireland school curriculum in 2007), social circumstances (sporadic periods of sectarian violence in Northern Ireland), and political contexts (the collapse of or changes to local government structures and legislation), which can change quickly and impact upon research design. Research questions and specific questions within research tools may need to be altered to reflect these changes, particularly in longitudinal designs. Researchers should also make note of periods when tensions were high in communities where data were collected, as this may help in the eventual interpretation of data, particularly if unusual patterns or trends are observed. For example, one wave of longitudinal data for the ‘Peace4Youth’ project (described below) was collected in July 2018, which was a particularly unsettled ‘marching season’ in Northern Ireland, with unusually high levels of violence and disruption

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during the time of the annual Protestant Orange marches across Northern Ireland. As such, we were aware that certain attitudes recorded in the survey (such as levels of support for peacebuilding) could have been impacted by the shift in community atmosphere. With children and young people (particularly from working class backgrounds and living near interfaces – see Case Study 2) often being disproportionately impacted by sectarian violence in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland (Leonard 2017; McAlister et al. 2013) and in conflict zones worldwide (UN General Assembly 2018), it is only sensible that research designs with young people as participants need to be particularly responsive and may need to be adapted in times of tension, increased division, or conflict.

13.6  Conducting Longitudinal Studies Having addressed issues around access and design, we now shift to the other specific challenges faced when conducting longitudinal designs; each of the authors has experience working with such designs in applied settings with children and youth. Longitudinal designs offer increased statistical power, the potential to assess change over time, and to compare intervention groups to controls in randomized studies. However, in conflict settings, and in particular working with vulnerable or marginalized children and youth, retaining a longitudinal sample is difficult (Taylor et al. 2019b). Eck (2011) states that shifts in political situations may result in security problems for researchers who want to return to a conflict-affected area for follow-­up waves of data collection, and permissions to collect data may also be retracted, particularly if there is a change in political leadership. This can result in high levels of missing data (Betancourt et al. 2010). There tends to be two types of missing data when working with children and young people: at the school level and the individual level. At the school level, we have found that there is often high turnover among school administrators, particularly in more challenging environments. Even if good relations between the researchers and school officials have been established one year, it is not a guarantee that continued access will be sustained over time – schools may be committed to many other things. Moreover, at the individual child level, there may be other causes of missing data. For example, many families may be in transition, moving to other homes, or living with relatives, making it difficult to follow-up at subsequent time points. In addition, many youth from at-risk backgrounds are more likely to miss school (Fitch 2009), so data collection on any given day may have missing data if the children are absent. These reasons for attrition represent two patterns: intermittent (e.g., a sick child absent one day, but there at a later time point) and permanent (e.g., a family moves out of the catchment of that school). Typically, the use of attrition analyses and modern missing data techniques for analysis are used. That is, maximum likelihood estimation or robust multiple imputation allows researchers to include any of the time points children have participated in, rather than using list-­ wise deletion for those who did not complete all time points, without introducing

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bias into the parameter estimates. In addition, should conditions on the ground change, for example, new schools agree to participate, there is a growing body of methodological work on how to treat these supplemental samples (Taylor et  al. 2019b; Mazen et al. 2018). It should be noted that an additional methodological benefit of the inclusion of young people in research design may be a reduction in participant attrition. To give an example from our own research, the input of the young people on the Peace4Youth Youth Advisory Forum led to the evaluation survey being substantially reduced in size from 14 pages to 8 pages. The survey is therefore less burdensome to complete for those who wish to do so, leading, we believe, to fewer incomplete responses and greater retention rates. In Phase I of the evaluation, retention rates were 24.1% for Time 1 to Time 2, and 7.2% for Time 2 to Time 3. Comparatively, as of June 2019 with six months of data collection now complete in Phase II using the newly shortened and revised version of the survey, retention rates from Time 2 to Time 3 stand at 14.6% (more than twice the rate of Phase I). The majority of participants have not had the opportunity to complete the Time 3 survey, so this rate will likely increase. Higher retention rates will increase the power of our future analyses, and increases the internal and external validity of the overall study.

13.7  Case Studies To exemplify some of the issues that have been raised so far, we will now present in-depth reflections on the challenges we have faced when studying identity and intergroup attitudes in post-conflict areas and how we have attempted to overcome these challenges, with reference to two major studies we have led.

13.7.1  C  ase Study 1: Evaluation of the PEACE IV: Children & Young People (14–24) Programme (Peace4Youth) The Centre for Identity and Intergroup Relations based at the School of Psychology, Queen’s University Belfast, is currently conducting the evaluation of the Special European Union Programmes Body PEACE IV: Children & Young People Programme in Northern Ireland (scheduled to run from 2018 to 2022). The Programme (with brand name ‘Peace4Youth’) is a strand within the overall EU Programme for Peace and Reconciliation, which is aimed at reinforcing progress towards peace and reconciliation in Northern Ireland and the Border Region of Ireland. Initially launched in 1995, the Programme is now in its fourth iteration. Peace4Youth specifically prioritizes those young people aged between 14–24 years who are most disadvantaged, excluded and marginalized, and who have deep social, emotional, and relationship-building needs. Many of these young people are at risk

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of becoming engaged in antisocial, violent, or paramilitary activity, and are disengaged from the peace process. And, those who enroll in Peace4Youth tend not to be in formal education, job training, or employment. Funded local projects provide young people from the Catholic and Protestant communities with the opportunity to participate in shared, outcomes-focused programs of activity incorporating quality learning experiences. The design, duration, and intensity of project activity aims to ‘enhance the capacity of children and young people to form positive and effective relationships with others of a different background and make a positive contribution to building a cohesive society’ (SEUPB 2017). The design of each individual project is primarily rooted in contact theory (Allport 1954/1979)  – there is an assumption that structured, sustained contact between young people from traditionally opposed groups will result in lower levels of intergroup prejudice. Projects strive to recruit equal numbers of Catholics and Protestants; over the course of at least six months, young people work together in groups, completing volunteer work and skills-based training; and the projects are characterized by institutional support, given the investment and oversight provided by the European Commission, the Northern Ireland Executive, and the Irish Government. As such, there is an attempt to replicate the optimal conditions of intergroup contact outlined by Allport. The Programme-level theory of change anticipates that through participation in these projects, young people will develop capabilities in relation to the three Programme outcome areas: good (i.e. positive intergroup) relations; personal development; and citizenship. These capabilities, in turn, will support broader societal change in terms of cementing a positive peace in Northern Ireland. The current evaluation methodology of this programme includes an online, longitudinal survey, which ran for its first phase between February and October 2018. This survey measured the impact of the PEACE IV Programme on the aforementioned three outcome areas relating to the Programme’s theory of change. Under these three levels are 18 ‘sub-indicators’ of impact. For example, the sub-indicators of the ‘good relations’ outcome area include: understanding of and respect for diversity; an awareness of and sensitivity to the values, beliefs, customs and traditions of others; an understanding of own identity; respect for others from different community and cultural backgrounds; a positive disposition to others from a different community/cultural background. With the contract for the evaluation work being awarded after a number of funded projects had begun recruiting young participants on the Programme, there was a need to develop a survey in a short space of time to capture baseline data as soon as possible after young people started their activities. In the absence of time to form a youth advisory group at the outset of the evaluation, psychological scales that had been validated with young people of the same age group were chosen to measure ‘distance traveled’ on the 18 sub-indicators of impact. Workshop sessions were then scheduled with the leaders of funded projects and the youth workers who would be administering the surveys at three time points (baseline, mid-way through the project, and at the end of the project (usually six or nine months later)) to discuss the draft version of the evaluation survey. This proved an invaluable step in the process:

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for example, staff from the projects highlighted how the wording of some questions on experiences of conflict and division needed to be altered depending on the geographical location of the young people as some participants would be living in the Republic of Ireland; in hindsight, we had designed the survey from the perspective of a research team living in Northern Ireland. Youth workers also suggested that the evaluation team create an ‘annotated’ version of the survey (with comments in the margins to explain terminology), to assist the young people if they had questions during completion. For example, the annotated version of the survey gives guidance on frequently asked questions such as: what is meant by ‘community relations’ in Northern Ireland; what is meant by the ‘other’ community to one’s own; even the word ‘conflict’ was highlighted as potentially problematic, as some young people would refer to the violence in Northern Ireland using the euphemistic term ‘the Troubles’. As data collection commenced, it became clear that some young people, particularly those with lower literacy levels, were struggling with the density of the survey. Specifically, youth workers reported that the questions about identity were not as youth-friendly as they could have been. Although the conflict in Northern Ireland was not a religious conflict, the two predominant community backgrounds in Northern Ireland would be Nationalists/Republicans (who would mostly be from a Catholic tradition) and Unionists/Loyalists (who would mostly be from a Protestant tradition). To establish participants’ backgrounds and to subsequently measure changes in intergroup attitudes, we asked young people completing the evaluation survey to indicate their community background. Previous work has found that not only are children and young people aware of existing divisions, they are actively thinking about their own identity in different ways to adults with a growing number rejecting traditional identity labels (Blaylock et al. 2018; Todd 2018; Ganiel 2008). With this in mind, in addition to Catholic community and Protestant community, we also included the option for young people to self-identify as ‘neither’ to capture those of a different background or those who felt they did not fit ‘neatly’ into one category. However, it soon became clear that a specific ‘mixed’ Catholic and Protestant identity category also was needed. As one youth worker reported: I had a young person whose parents are in a mixed marriage  - Catholic and Protestant. Although he attended Catholic faith schools he does not consider himself exclusively from one community. He participates in activities from both communities and is actively involved in both. So when it came to the questions about their ‘community’ he really struggled to answer these.

This speaks to the increasing fluidity of identity within Northern Ireland in the post-­ conflict era (see Muldoon et  al. 2007) in the advent of an increasing number of shared spaces (both physical and psychological, as reinforced through the Good Friday peace agreement), with sectarian divisions not merely reproduced but renegotiated and challenged from one generation to the next (see Leonard 2010). Acknowledging that there are those in divided societies who do not identify with one or other of the main group identities but who are ‘other’ (and finding out what being ‘other’ means to them) is crucial. It serves as a reminder of our power as

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researchers (and as funders of research) in contributing (or unwittingly restricting) the national discourse around identity through the language we use and the differentiations we ask people to make through exercises such as surveys. To address these challenges, the Youth Advisory Forum (formed towards the end of the first phase of the evaluation in 2018) supported amendment of the content of the survey for the second phase; the benefits of the Forum for both the validity of the research and the young people involved have already been highlighted in detail. Before launching the Phase II survey, the draft survey was sent to project staff for more feedback – this led to the useful inclusion of clarifications around questions in the survey about sectarian behavior (when, for instance, is the wearing of a particular football jersey or the waving of a flag intended to taunt others from a different identity, and when is it just the expression of an identity or support for a team?). With the Phase II survey underway from the beginning of 2019, we have learned first-hand that openness and responsiveness to change (especially in longitudinal studies) is vital to collect data that accurately reflects the lives of young people in rapidly changing societies.

13.7.2  Case Study 2: Helping Kids! The Helping Kids! project aims to promote the antecedents of peacebuilding among children growing up in divided societies (see https://helpingkidsqub.com; Taylor et  al. 2019a; Tomovska Misoska et  al. 2019b). Currently, we have conducted research across Northern Ireland and in the Republic of North Macedonia (RNM) and Kosovo, with a new project in Croatia. In each site, we work within divided educational systems to work directly with participants ages 5–11 years old using child-friendly games and tasks. Primary research questions have been to understand how children’s awareness of, preferences for, and behaviors across conflict-related groups develop. Moreover, we look at the predictors (e.g., perception of current intergroup conflict) and outcomes of these factors (e.g., prosocial behaviors across group lines, social distance). Given that conflict does not equally affect all segments of society, research in these contexts must think critically about sampling. For example, in our Helping Kids! research in Northern Ireland, one of our strategic decisions was to work with schools that were in both interface and non-interface areas. Interface areas are those which are homogeneously Catholic or Protestant, and alongside a bordering area that is from the other community background. Historically and currently, interface areas experience higher levels of sectarian antisocial behavior and intergroup insecurity than non-interface areas. At the same time, interface areas are typically more deprived, in terms of the economic and social resources available as determined by the Multiple Deprivation Ranking. Therefore, once we have selected our non-­ interface areas, we also select those which are roughly ‘matched’ in terms of deprivation. For example, we have access to the percentage of pupils that qualify for free

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school meals, and try to ensure that schools are approximately the same in both interface and non-interface areas (O’Driscoll et al. 2018). Another of the challenges faced in settings of protracted conflict, as with other divided societies, is the composition of the research team, from the lead researchers to the data collection assistants. First, the university name and background of the team may shape sampling and recruitment. In divided societies, higher education institutions may be associated with one community or another. At times, having international partners may increase the perception of potential neutrality of the research team as a whole. For example, working with colleagues in the Balkans, they have mentioned that having a UK-based university as the lead, with researcher names that are not associated with that country (i.e., a name that would be readily identifiable with a particular ethnic background in those contexts), has helped with recruitment. Being perceived as a potentially neutral outsider, through cues as simple as letterhead and email affiliations, can make a difference when approaching schools and families to work with children. Second, in terms of data collection, ideally, we work with research assistants that are from each of the community backgrounds, in particular, when this enables data collection in participants’ mother tongue. This can be a particular challenge in contexts where one linguistic group is a minority, so may be under-represented in the composition of university students. Therefore, our local partners have had to be creative in recruiting and retaining research assistants, particularly from the minority background. That may include working with graduates or former students, which can create difficulties when trying to compensate them through university channels. However, the additional efforts, and at time financial investment, are important so that children, families and schools are more open to participating in research. When discussing potentially sensitive intergroup issues, a research assistant who is from the same background as the participants can help place both at ease. In practical terms, because the school systems are divided, that means arranging for different research assistants to do data collection in each type of school/language of instruction. Of course, having international partnerships, or balanced teams reflecting all backgrounds, may not always be possible. However, the extra effort and time to build these relationships and work with more diverse teams have improved the overall efficacy and quality of our research with children and youth in a number of divided societies as we have had both ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ positions (see Milligan 2016). In our Helping Kids! research, we have also thought about how to provide modest, yet appropriate, incentives to recognize and appreciate the participation of schools and individual children in our projects. We are mindful that the incentives are not coercive, given that we are often working with lower-resourced schools. However, a small incentive, typically a voucher at a bookstore, which enables teachers or administrators to purchase school supplies or books has proven a much-­ appreciated gesture by participants. At the individual level, we give each child participant the choice of a small toy or sticker at the completion of each testing session. In addition, a color certificate of completion is often a cherished form of

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appreciation for children. For example, we have had children tell us they are going to put the certificate on their refrigerator. Working in conflict settings, the Helping Kids! team is committed to making disseminating our research findings in a timely and accessible way. More specifically, we focus on public and policy-relevant dissemination to complement our academic outputs. This approach is vital if our research is to make a difference in the lives of young people living in conflict settings. The purpose of disseminating of the research findings was to enhance the understanding of the importance of research-informed policy and practice, and in turn, improve the quality of life and social cohesion of children and the respective communities in the Republic of North Macedonia (RNM) and Kosovo. We recently have completed two different strands of dissemination, thanks to support from the UKRI GCRF Global Impact Accelerator Awards Report. First, we engaged with relevant members of the NGO sector, policy makers, parents, schools and members of the donor community to gather the opinions and experiences of those directly involved in the lives of children in RNM and Kosovo. In each setting, a policy brief was developed by the local co-investigators and their teams, with support from the international collaborators. The policy recommendations were rooted in both quantitative research on children and qualitative inputs from the adult interviews. The aim was to present a wider range of stakeholders (e.g., schools, NGOs, educational policy makers) with a simple, compelling message about the next steps state and local institutions could take to improve intergroup relations among children in divided education systems. Second, we developed a media strategy to disseminate the findings to the wider public, both within each DAC country, and globally. A primary output was a series of blog posts shared and discussed on web-portals and social media. Importantly, these posts were in the local languages (e.g., Macedonian and Albanian in the RNM, see Tomovska Misoska et al. 2019a) and led to additional media outreach through a national TV broadcaster interviewing our co-investigator Ana Tomovska Misoska of American University College Skopje. Moreover, to recognize the 11th anniversary of independence, our co-investigator in Kosovo, Edona Maloku, of RIT-­ Kosovo, was the lead author on a piece that was the most read article for the week (Maloku et al. 2019). We also translated this to Albanian and shared through a number of other, local online news portals. Complementing the national coverage, we also wanted to share the findings with a global audience, which was done through a series of three media sources, based in the US (Taylor et al. 2019a) and Australia (Taylor et al. 2018a). Counteracting the narrative of ‘parachute’ researchers, who come in and take the data with them, we are trying to share as much as possible with our participants and the wider community of stakeholders in the conflict-affected countries that the Helping Kids! team works in.

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13.8  Lessons Learned From Research in Divided Societies Through our collective work in Northern Ireland and elsewhere, we have learned a lot about the ways in which we can approach research with children and young people on sensitive topics, such as intergroup relations. We are cognisant that one size definitely does not fit all, but our take-home messages are as follows: • Preparation, preparation, preparation. We cannot stress enough how important preparation is before working with children in conflict-affected zones. Consult as many stakeholders as possible before launching a survey – especially children and young people to make sure that the research is relevant for the population it aims to understand. This is where youth advisory groups really come into play. Time is, therefore, a much-needed resource particularly at the beginning of a research study on a sensitive topic, and do not underestimate the time needed to consult with gatekeepers and to obtain consent and assent. Piloting is absolutely essential, but if not possible, be prepared to scrap any first wave or first school data collection. Applied research is very much a learning process and when working with children and youth, it cannot be assumed that adult understandings will match that of younger generations. • Be prepared to be flexible. Working with children on sensitive issues is challenging and researchers need to be prepared to make changes to their program of research. These changes can be very minimal or might be substantial. For example, it might be changes to a survey (even after launch), or could involve adding questions/removing questions as well as attending to any criticism or constructive feedback on the language or structure of a survey that is offered from the children and other stakeholders. Changes could be more fundamental such as ending the research due to ethical or other concerns, or incorporating new phases or removing already planned phases. These changes make the research process harder to control and makes findings harder to generalize, but are often essential when engaging in applied work of this nature. • Transparency. Explain to children and young people what will come of the research and what will happen to the data, being honest about the purpose of the research and the limitations of what it might achieve. In our own work, we have found that holding assemblies or presenting the research in smaller classes is far more effective than expecting children to read and engage with a university-­ based information sheet. While the latter is essential to include, we have learned in our work that this alone does not engage children in the process. It is important that children do not simply become ‘the researched’ but are actively involved in the research through being fully informed of what it involves and what the consequences of participating are. Obtaining informed, opt-in consent from parents also requires researchers to be transparent about the type of identity categorizations that children will be asked about in a survey. It may be that parents have chosen, for personal reasons, the age of the child, or due to the culture of avoidance highlighted earlier, not to discuss their family’s own community background with their child, and would thus prefer that their child be excluded from

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the research. This leads to our next key take-home lesson around the use of categorizations. • Take care with categorizations. Be cognizant of the age group you are working with when asking about concepts such as identity. Even in a social context such as Northern Ireland where families are regularly asked to state their religious background when applying for jobs or school places, it is important to consider whether children understand the labels/categorizations that they are being asked to respond to. For example, do they know the labels Protestant and Catholic, and are they aware of the perceived differences between these groups? As researchers, we are always constrained by language and the set categories available to us to investigate identity, and we often want to use already established measures. The reality is that sometimes these measures are not suitable for children and we should not assume that children and youth will respond in the same way as adults. For example, while an adult may be aware of the nuances that exist in political ideology between Republicans and Nationalists or Loyalists and Unionists, a child may not. For these reasons, it is imperative that the researcher is aware of the local knowledge that the young people hold. It is also important to have some way of measuring the hybridity and fluidity of identities; this acknowledges that identities can change and does not reify them. At times, researchers need to ask participants to self-identity with one of the salient identities in a given society through a box ticking exercise. This may feel somewhat imposed, however, boxes and box-ticking can be a source of power – reflexivity can help us to see who wants to know about identity choices, and who is imposing the identity choices. As a researcher with limited resources, you may be constrained by what you can do; you may also be silenced/unable to challenge power of funders. Boxes are OK as long as children and young people have a chance to explain what the boxes mean to them through open response formats to questions – this is part of taking a participatory, children’s right-based approach to the research. And, vitally, children and young people always have a choice about whether they wish to complete or not complete particular questions within a given survey. • Take a ‘big picture’ approach to the research design. This includes being precise about measurement, thinking about the need for matched data and the ethical implications of the research. For example, it is vital the measures are age appropriate (multiple versions of a survey may be needed if you are working with younger and older children or children of different abilities). Measures should move beyond behavioral intention and consider behavior itself - it is not enough to just give attention to attitudes in a post-conflict society if we really want to understand how to improve intergroup relations. Although it adds difficulty, matching children’s survey responses to parents/caregivers/teachers and so on is very valuable and can tell us a lot about behavior/attitude change in post-­ conflict societies by providing a more comprehensive account of the child’s life. Furthermore, be cognizant of data protection laws when asking about religious/ political identity  – it is often legally viewed as ‘sensitive personal data’ and needs to be collected and processed in particular ways. Carefully consider whether there is a legal basis to proceed without having parental opt-in consent.

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13.9  Conclusion This chapter has illuminated the opportunities offered by conducting quantitative studies that examine identity and intergroup relations with children and young people in a (post-)conflict society as well as some of the sensitivities to be aware of and the challenges that may need to be overcome during the course of carrying out such research. Some of these challenges are present in any research with children and young people; however, conducting such research in contexts of conflict makes them more pronounced. With careful planning from the outset (to include considerations of access to children in schools or youth settings and issues around obtaining consent), many of the challenges may be mitigated. But given that societies that have experienced conflict may evolve quickly in response to political developments, it is inevitable that, with longitudinal studies in particular, the ways in which complex questions such as identity are asked through closed questions will need to be revisited and revised on a regular basis, ideally with the additional help of advisory groups. As researchers, being prepared to be adaptable and flexible in our research designs and methods is key. This includes being honest about our own preconceptions and how our consciousness of the context has been raised. The benefits are, however, worth the risks; the results of studies that are thoughtfully carried out can, in a robust and reliable manner, shed light on trends, patterns and relationships that are otherwise difficult to understand, especially when placed in contrast with findings from other societies that have different types of conflict or societies that have not experienced recent armed conflict. Longitudinal studies with children – particularly children in a (post-)conflict society – are also rare, and the findings can be incredibly valuable in illustrating developmental aspects of changes in identity and intergroup relations. We recommend that researchers continue to share their reflections and experiences to further build this bank of experience-based knowledge to raise methodological awareness.

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Ferguson, N., McDaid, S., & McAuley, J. W. (2018). Social movements, structural violence, and conflict transformation in Northern Ireland: The role of loyalist paramilitaries. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 24, 19–26. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000274 Fisher, R. J. (1982). Social psychology: An applied approach. New York: St Martin’s Press. Fitch, K. (2009). Teenagers at risk: The safeguarding needs of young people in gangs and violent peer groups. London: NSPCC.  Retrieved from https://www.nspcc.org.uk/globalassets/documents/research-reports/teenagers-at-risk-report.pdf Fitzduff, M., & O’Hagan, L. (2009). The Northern Ireland Troubles. INCORE background paper. Retrieved from http://cain.ulst.ac.uk/othelem//incorepaper09.htm Gallacher, L., & Gallagher, M. (2008). Methodological immaturity in childhood research? Thinking through participatory methods. Childhood, 15, 499–516. https://doi. org/10.1177/0907568208091672 Gallagher, T. (2004). Education in divided societies. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave. Ganiel, G. (2008). Evangelicalism and conflict in Northern Ireland. (Contemporary Anthropology of Religion). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Goeke-Morey, M. C., Cummings, E. M., Ellis, K., Merrilees, C. E., Schermerhorn, A. C., Shirlow, P., & Cairns, E. (2009). The differential impact on children of inter-and intra-community violence in Northern Ireland. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 15(4), 367–383. https://doi.org/10.1080/10781910903088932 Hart, R.A., & U.I.C.D.  Centre. (1992). Children’s participation: From tokenism to citizenship. Florence, Italy: UNICEF International Child Development Centre. Hill, D. (2006). Theory in applied social psychology: Past mistakes and future hopes. Theory & Psychology, 16(5), 613–640. https://doi.org/10.1177/0959354306067440 Jackson, C., & Sherriff, N. (2013). A qualitative approach to intergroup relations: Exploring the applicability of the social identity approach to “messy” school contexts. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 10(3), 259–273. https://doi.org/10.1080/14780887.2011.616620 Kilpatrick, R., & Leitch, R. (2004). Teachers’ and pupils’ educational experiences and school-­ based responses to the conflict in Northern Ireland. Journal of Social Issues, 60(3), 563–586. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.0022-4537.2004.00372.x Kirby, P. (1999). Involving young researchers: How to enable young people to design and conduct research. York, UK: Joseph Rowntree Foundation. Kirby, P., Laws, S. & Pettitt, B. (2004). Assessing the impact of children’s participation: A discussion paper towards a new study. Unpublished discussion paper, available upon request from authors. International Save the Children Alliance Child Participation Working Group, April. Leonard, M. (2017). Teens and territory in ‘post-conflict’ Belfast: If walls could talk. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. Leonard, M. (2010). Parochial Geographies: Growing up in Divided Belfast. Childhood, 17(3), 329–342. https://doi.org/10.1177/0907568210369216 Loader, R., & Hughes, J. (2017). Joining together or pushing apart? Building relationships and exploring difference through shared education in Northern Ireland. Cambridge Journal of Education, 47(1), 117–134. https://doi.org/10.1080/0305764X.2015.1125448 Lundy, L. & McEvoy, L. (2008). E-consultation with pupils  – a pilot study. Bangor, UK: Department of Education Northern Ireland. Lundy, L. & McEvoy, L. (2012). Children’s rights and research processes: assisting children to (in) formed views. Childhood, 19(1), 116–129. https://doi.org/10.1177/0907568211409078 Maloku, E., Taylor, L. K., Dautel, J., Rylander, R., & Tomovska Misoska, A. (2019). The colours that divide. Pristina Insight. Retrieved from: https://prishtinainsight.com/the-colors-that-divide/ Mazen, J.A.M., Tong, X., & Taylor, L.K. (2018). Evaluation of supplemental samples in longitudinal research with non-normal missingness. Behavior Research Methods, 51(3), 1321–1335. https://doi.org/10.3758/s13428-018-1070-3. McAlister, S., Haydon, D., & Scraton, P. (2013). Violence in the lives of children and youth in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland. Children, Youth and Environments 23(1), 1–22. https://doi. org/10.7721/chilyoutenvi.23.1.0001

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Taylor, L.  K., & McKeown, S. (2019). Does violence beget violence? The role of family ethnic socialization and intergroup bias among youth in a setting of protracted intergroup conflict. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 43(5), 403–408. https://doi. org/10.1177/0165025419844036 Taylor, L.  K., Merrilees, C.  E., Baird R., Goeke-Morey, M.  C., Shirlow, P., & Cummings, E.  M. (2018b). Impact of political conflict on trajectories of adolescent prosocial behavior: Implications for civic engagement. Developmental Psychology, 54(9), 1785–1794. https://doi. org/10.1037/dev0000552 Taylor, L.  K., Merrilees, C.  E., Goeke-Morey, M.  C., Shirlow, P., Cairns, E., & Cummings, E. M. (2014). Political violence and adolescent out-group attitudes and prosocial behaviors: Implications for positive inter-group relations. Social Development, 23(4), 840–859. https:// doi.org/10.1111/sode.12074 Taylor, L.K., Tong, X., & Maxwell, S. (2019b). Evaluating supplemental samples in longitudinal research: Replacement and refreshment approaches. Multivariate Behavioral Research, 1–23. https://doi.org/10.1080/00273171.2019.1628694 Todd, J. (2018). Identity change after conflict: Ethnicity, boundaries and belonging in the two Irelands. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan. Tomovska Misoska, A., Taylor, L. K., Dautel, J., Rylander, R., & Maloku, E. (2019a). “So close, and so distant!” – Social distance and unity with "others". RadioMof. Available at https:// www.radiomof.mk/stav-tolku-blisku-a-tolku-dalechni-socijalnata-oddalechenost-i-zaednishtvoto-so-drugite/ Tomovska Misoska, A., Taylor, L.K., Dautel, J., & Rylander, R. (2019b). Children’s understanding of ethnic group symbols: Piloting an instrument in the Republic of North Macedonia. Peace & Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1037/ pac0000424 United Nations (UN). (1989). Convention on the Rights of the Child. Retrieved from http://www. crin.org/docs/resources/treaties/uncrc.asp#Twenty_nine United Nations General Assembly (2018). Children and armed conflict: Report of the Secretary-­ General (A/72/865–S/2018/465). Retrieved from http://www.un.org/ga/search/view_doc.asp?s ymbol=S/2018/465&Lang=E&Area=UNDOC UNA Qualitative Methods Learning Group. (2010). Researching ‘Race’ and Ethnicity with Children in the Field: A Critical Appraisal of Qualitative Research Approaches, Methods and Techniques, UNA Working Paper 4. Belfast: UNA. Retrieved from http://www.unaglobal.org Watt, D. (2007). On becoming a qualitative researcher: The value of reflexivity. The Qualitative Report, 12(1), 82-101. Retrieved from http://www.nova.edu/ssss/QR/QR121/watt.pdf Wolfe, R. (2020). The benefits and challenges of randomized control trials in conflict environments: Reflections from a scholar-practitioner. In Y. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 259–280). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer.

Chapter 14

The Benefits and Challenges of Randomized Control Trials in Conflict Environments: Reflections From a Scholar-Practitioner Rebecca Wolfe

I left academia over thirteen years ago for an international development and humanitarian non-governmental organization (NGO), under the assumption that I would never do research again. Instead, I would use the theories I learned from social psychology and other social sciences to develop peacebuilding interventions. As someone who was always interested in the application of research to international conflict, this seemed like a perfect fit—I would use theory in the “real world.” Little did I know how the evidence revolution in international development would revive my interest in not just applying research, but generating it. I had the added advantage that my background in statistics and conducting social psychology experiments in the lab helped me design studies to evaluate the effectiveness of the peacebuilding and development programs. This chapter is based on my experience using my academic background to design and evaluate peacebuilding programs around the world. The evidence revolution in international development is in part due to the demand for more accountability in how donor dollars are spent, both from policymakers and from the public more broadly. This has led to a significant increase in field experiments, specifically Randomized Control Trials (RCTs), over the last 15 years (Duflo and Banarjee 2017). RCTs are when a unit of analysis (e.g., an individual or community) is randomly assigned to the treatment condition or control condition. This methodology grew out of the medical field and has increasingly been used in other fields, including education, social services, and agriculture. In the international development sphere, much of this initial research was conducted in more stable contexts, such as Ghana, India, and Tanzania. From this work, the international development field has learned much about the effects of various health interventions (Baird et  al. 2016), anti-corruption programs (Muralidharan et  al. 2016), R. Wolfe (*) Harris School of Public Policy, University of Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_14

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microcredit (Banerjee et  al. 2015b), and electoral participation (Dunning et  al. 2019). However, as donors, such as the US government, the UK government, and the World Bank concentrate more of their funding in fragile states like Nigeria, Myanmar, and Afghanistan, there are questions of how much the findings from studies conducted in more stable locations apply to more fragile contexts. There are a number of logistical and psychological barriers to conducting research in many fragile contexts. The logistical ones are mainly due to security, including (1) safety of staff (e.g., being targeted by armed groups); (2) consistency of access to research populations (e.g., conflict makes certain communities inaccessible to researchers); (3) a more fluid environment, affecting program implementation (e.g., the implementer is not able to reach communities to deliver the intervention being tested due to changing conflict dynamics); and (4) funding, as research in fragile contexts is often more expensive (e.g., extra security, need to pay staff hardship bonuses). In addition to these logistical barriers, there are also psychological ones that are often framed as ethical dilemmas. The main one is that since many conflict zones are in the midst of a humanitarian crisis, some people feel uncomfortable randomly assigning who receives critical interventions and who do not. Relatedly, when people are concerned about critical needs and resources are limited, using resources for research, and monitoring and evaluation (M&E) more generally, rather than direct assistance feels unethical. The challenges described above of conducting RCTs on development programs in fragile environments are relevant to the narrower set of peacebuilding programs, which by definition, are largely implemented in areas suffering from conflict and violence. Consequently, the peacebuilding field has largely lagged behind other sectors in conducting more rigorous evaluations. According to a peacebuilding evidence mapping (3ie 2015), there have been few RCTs in the peacebuilding field, and as a result, little causal evidence to bring to program design and policy. Moreover, many of the RCTs on peacebuilding interventions have been conducted in post-conflict contexts such as Sierra Leone (Cillers et al. 2016), Liberia (Hartman et  al. 2018), Lebanon (Paler et  al. 2018), and Rwanda (Paluck 2009; Paluck and Green 2009) rather than in the midst of active conflict, though there are exceptions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Bilali and Vollhardt 2015; Paluck 2010) and Iraq (Mousa 2019). There are a number of reasons for the lack of RCTs on peacebuilding interventions in conflict settings, beyond the logistical constraints outlined above. While not restricted to RCTs, there has been a resistance amongst some peacebuilders to quantitatively assess the results of their programs. As the definition of what constitutes peace can be amorphous and multi-dimensional, there is a fear that more simplified measures, used not only in RCTs, but whenever people try to quantify “peace,” they will not capture the complexity of the peacebuilding intervention and its effects. Moreover, because peace is often affected by many elements outside of the control of the program and the local community, some question whether it is fair to assess a program’s impact on “peace.” Lastly, for some, RCTs imply a relative linear approach to impact—we hypothesize that X intervention will lead to Y result— which may oversimplify how results are achieved when examining peacebuilding

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programs. These concerns are valid, though can be alleviated through (1) strong and specific operationalizations of what peace means (e.g., decreased support for violence, reduced prejudice, increased frequency of interactions); (2) including multiple measures of peace (e.g., positive interactions, prejudicial attitudes, violent incidents); and (3) clearly defining the level of analysis (e.g., peace in specific communities rather than country-wide). At the same time, rigorous evidence from interventions in conflict zones and peacebuilding programs is needed, both from an ethical and practical perspective. To justify investments, the peacebuilding and development fields need to know if interventions work (Levine 2017). Given limited resources, available resources need to be invested in what is most effective. From a more practical perspective, unless development programs in conflict zones and peacebuilding programs are shown to be effective, there is a risk that donors will reduce funding for these types of interventions. As a scholar-practitioner, an academic who worked for 13 years within an international development and humanitarian organization, I tried to develop evidence for peacebuilding interventions, understanding what works, where, and under what conditions. Based on my various experiences as an academic and a practitioner, I am often asked to translate field realities to academics, while also explaining the need for methodological rigor to implementers’ field teams. I also work to ensure that the research, while answering theoretically important questions, also has policy-­relevant implications, and I help to make those implications explicit. In my various roles over my career, I have designed, evaluated, and conducted research on peacebuilding programs across numerous countries, including Afghanistan, Guatemala, Kenya, Nepal, Nigeria, Sri Lanka, Syria, Timor Leste, Yemen, and Zimbabwe. This piece is based on my experience working with field teams and academics on conducting RCTs in conflict zones and on peacebuilding programs. I draw extensively on two RCTs that I have recently completed. The first one is on an RCT I conducted with Mercy Corps, the INGO, where I worked for 13 years. This one was in Kandahar, Afghanistan, an area where the Taliban and Western militaries previously had a strong presence (Kurtz, Tesfaye, and Wolfe 2018; Lyall et al. 2019). In this study, Mercy Corps and the researchers examined whether a three-to-six-month vocational training program, cash, or the combination of the two, reduced the support for political violence among vulnerable young men and women, many of whom were internally displaced persons (IDPs). The second study examined a peacebuilding program based on contact theory (Allport 1954) and superordinate goals (Sherif 1958). The program brought together farmers and pastoralists in the Middle Belt of Nigeria to reduce conflict between groups. In recent years, this conflict started to become more intense, in part due to climate change and the resulting resource scarcity. The peacebuilding intervention included training leaders to mediate disputes and bringing farmers and pastoralists together for dialogues and implementing projects that addressed both of their needs. We examined whether this intervention increased contact, trust, perceptions of security, social cohesion, and cooperative behavior between the two groups.

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Based on these and other experiences, my appreciation of the benefits of conducting field experiments has deepened. I believe field experiments are necessary for advancing the development and peacebuilding fields. At the same time, I recognize the challenges in building this rigorous evidence base and the challenges of developing academic-practitioners partnerships that help to generate this rigorous evidence base. In this chapter, I try to outline the benefits and concerns of conducting RCTs from the implementers’ perspective, and ways I have worked with implementers to create opportunities to generate evidence and contribute to the peacebuilding field more broadly. My hope is that this chapter can help academics be better prepared for the challenges of conducting RCTs in these contexts as well as more smoothly negotiate and navigate partnerships with practitioners to advance our knowledge base.

14.1  B  enefits of Conducting RCTs on Peacebuilding Programs Most discussions about conflict and RCTs focus on how to address the challenges of conducting them, rather than highlighting the benefits. Below I describe how randomization can be beneficial for implementing organizations and help them address key challenges and criticisms of peacebuilding interventions through (1) disentangling context from the intervention, (2) addressing self-selection biases, and (3) attributing change to key theories and building generalizable approaches to peacebuilding.

14.1.1  Disentangling Context From the Intervention In conflict scenarios, it is often difficult to know whether it is the context affecting a person’s attitude or behavior or whether it is the intervention. This is the case even with well-developed theories. Conflicts are characterized as dynamic—conflict spreads to other areas, it escalates, new actors become involved, and hopefully, it ends. All of this “noise” can make it difficult to know if a change is due to the intervention or to the ever-changing conflict environment. The importance of disentangling context from the intervention became painfully clear to me during the first evaluation I ever conducted. It was on a youth peacebuilding program in Nepal in 2008, where young people in the Western Terai—an area deeply affected by the civil war—formed youth groups and performed community service. The program started the month the peace agreement was signed between the Nepalese Government and the Maoists rebels. We saw a huge amount of change over the course of the two-year program—young people were more engaged in the community, and elders had more confidence in youth. However, it

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was difficult to know the degree to which the change was due to the program or the peace agreement. Perhaps we would have seen the same level of change in the youth participants and the community members in the absence of the program due to the peace agreement. I discussed this potential confound with our program manager and local partner after seeing some of these youth groups in action. While they felt the peace agreement created optimism for youth after a decades-long civil war, they felt without the program, these youth would not have had the opportunity to come together to make a difference. These insights were important, and yet, the donor was still skeptical of our impact since we could not demonstrate causality without having a counterfactual (i.e., what would have happened had the program not occurred), and the program was not continued. If we had some type of counterfactual, through comparisons between those who received the interventions and those who had not, we would have been able to more demonstrably have shown that the program had the effect our participants and staff claimed. More recently, with Mercy Corps,1 I conducted an RCT in the Middle Belt of Nigeria on the program I described above (Dawop, Grady, Inks and Wolfe 2019). Towards the end of the program, a law was passed by one of the state governments in Nigeria that prevented pastoralists from grazing in areas that previously had been open to them. The pastoralist communities felt this law was discriminatory against them, impeding their livelihoods. The passing of the law led to an escalation of tensions and violence in the area. For some of our outcomes, such as trust and interactions with the other group (i.e., contact), our treatment communities stayed the same or improved only slightly. However, we found that for these same outcomes, the control communities actually worsened over time. Before starting the last round of data collection in Nigeria, the program team and I feared that the outbreak in violence, particularly since it was at the end of the program, would erase all the good work the team had done for two years, and the program would have been considered ineffective. We also would not know if the program was somewhat effective, but could not withstand this breakout of violence, or was just completely ineffective throughout the two years, which would lead to different conclusions about the usefulness of the program. However, after the data came in, we were thankful that we had the counterfactual—data from those communities who had not received the intervention. Without the counterfactual, our understanding of the program would have been much different. Instead of seeing the program as ineffective due to the minimal change in treatment communities, we were able to see that the program helped communities be resilient despite the outbreak in violence, compared to the control communities who deteriorated over this period of time. This study helped our Nigeria team see the value in having a counterfactual in the face of a changing context. I now use this example with other field teams and in public presentations to practitioners on why utilizing RCTs are useful, even in a changing environment.

 When I use “we” in this chapter, I’m referring to my colleagues at Mercy Corps and/or other research collaborators. 1

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14.1.2  Addressing Self-Selection Biases Similar to counterfactuals, the self-selection problem—where only those interested in the intervention engage with the intervention—is not limited to peacebuilding programs. However, the aim of most peacebuilding programs is to bring people together across some lines of division—religion, ethnicity, race, etc. One criticism leveled at these programs is that they often work with those who are already amenable to working together across these divisions. Consequently, it is difficult to know if these programs are effective for those who need the program the most— those who are most resistant to peace—or even those who are more moderate. Additionally, non-experimental comparisons between those who selected to participate and those who did not may not be that informative since these two groups of people are different in their willingness to cross lines of division—a critical dimension of the program. Randomization can help to address these shortcomings by not only selecting people who are most amenable to the program but others from the wider population. For example, in the Nigeria program described above, we randomly selected a combination of farmers and pastoralists from the treatment communities to be on the project committees, where they would interact regularly. This ensured that people involved were not only the most amenable but that our results could generalize to the broader community. Two potential downsides of this approach are non-compliance and attrition. Those selected for the intervention may have no interest at all in participating and refuse to participate, therefore not complying with their assignment. We had this challenge in the Middle Belt project, where some people who were selected did not want to be on the committees, or we were not able to find them when the program started.2 As a result, we had to move to an observational design, where people were able to self-select into the intervention within treatment communities. Additionally, when people are not intrinsically motivated to engage with the intervention, it may be difficult to ensure their commitment to the full length of the program. This was an issue for us in Nigeria, especially because the project committees involved a commitment of two-years on a volunteer basis. Another approach is to randomize within a group of people that are interested in the program rather than from the community at large. Everyone in the potential pool of participants signals interest in the program, and of those people, a randomly selected group receives the program. This reduces non-compliance and attrition and ensures that people who receive the program are similar to those who do not on a key variable—interest in the program. The downside is that the results are only generalizable to those amenable to the program. In deciding which approach to take—randomizing among the general population or among those who signaled interest in the program—I weighed the importance of generalizability of the results with the risks of non-compliance and attrition.3 In the example above, we decided  The herders we worked with migrated regularly.  There are also donor considerations that often affect this decision, which I describe below.

2 3

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that we favored generalizability to see how wide the peacebuilding program could spread—not just among those open to interacting, but those who may be reticent with interacting with people from other groups or at least were not eager to. However, in other cases, particularly when an intervention has less of an evidence base among those most amenable to change, I would likely prioritize compliance and minimizing attrition over generalizability, with the goal to see under the most conducive conditions does the program have an effect. Another way to address the self-selection problem for peacebuilding programs is to embed peacebuilding objectives into a broader intervention, such as vocational training (Scacco and Warren 2018) or sports leagues (Ditlmann and Samii 2016; Mousa 2019). These activities attract those who may not be interested in peacebuilding per se and therefore increase the generalizability of the results. Then through randomization, it is easier to attribute the change to the program and not other factors that may make people more amenable to peace, such as the amount of experience they have with people different from themselves.

14.1.3  A  ttributing Change to Key Theories and Building Generalizable Approaches to Peacebuilding Underpinning numerous peacebuilding programs are core theories from social psychology, political science, and economics that implementers use regularly when designing programs. Relevant social science theories include how groups move from competition to cooperation (i.e., superordinate goals; Sherif 1958), how people favor their ingroups compared to outgroups (i.e., social identity theory; Tajfel and Turner 1979), how norms can influence attitudes and behaviors (Paluck 2009) and how taking the perspective of others reduces conflict (i.e., perspective-taking; Galinsky and Moskowitz 2000). Contact theory (Allport 1954) is a central one for peacebuilding programs, where bringing people in contact across lines of division is thought to reduce prejudice. There is considerable evidence for the contact hypothesis in the lab and within natural experiments, where people choose to have contact with others different from themselves (Pettigrew and Tropp 2008). Additionally, there is more evidence that contact is effective at reducing prejudice between people that do not have a contentious history, such as for between people with mental and physical disabilities and those without those disabilities (Paluck et al. 2018). However, there has been less causally identified evidence on the effectiveness of contact outside of the lab and with people with a history of conflict, even though it is the backbone of the People-to-People approach, a US government congressionally-­ mandated fund, which provides $26  M a year for these types of programs. In a recent review of field experiments on the Contact Hypothesis (Paluck et al. 2018), there was only one study that included participants with a history of violent conflict (Scacco and Warren 2018), though others have been conducted since (e.g., Mousa 2019; Paler et al. 2018). The evidence from these field experiments in places with a

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history of violent conflict is somewhat mixed. Additionally, other studies have shown that contact can lead to backlash effect between groups with a history of conflict, particularly when there is a status difference (Amir 1976; Ditlmann and Samii 2016; Enos 2014; Gubler 2011; Paolini et al. 2010). Consequently, it is an open question about whether contact works to improve relationships between groups with a history of violent conflict, and under what conditions. Field-based RCTs can help better identify the causal link between contact among various groups and changes in attitudes and behaviors than other methodologies previously used to test this theory. Another theory that underlies numerous peacebuilding programs is greed or grievance (Collier and Hoeffler 2004). The thought is that people engage in violence to improve their economic standing rather than addressing underlying dissatisfaction. This theory, in particular, rose in prominence after 9/11 and the publications of numerous papers on the youth bulge, unemployment, and civil wars (Goldstone 2010; Urdal 2004). A recent review found 434 programs based on the assumption that providing young people with jobs will increase peace (Brück et  al. 2016). However, similar to the contact hypothesis, empirical evidence for much of this programming remains thin. Brück et al. (2016) found that there are few field experiments testing the theory in a robust manner. As a result, similar to Paluck et  al. (2018), the authors conclude that at this point, there is little empirical evidence in either direction to know how valid these theories are and thus whether they should form the basis for peacebuilding interventions. Consequently, there is a significant opportunity here to advance the peacebuilding field by casually identifying well-­ grounded theories in action. Mercy Corps took this opportunity to test these key theories that underlie our interventions in two recent RCTs in Afghanistan and Nigeria that were described above. Because of this experience with RCTs in conflict environments, I will use these examples, as well as ones from colleagues, to address the numerous questions I regularly receive from people who are considering conducting RCTs on peacebuilding programs or have significant concerns about them.

14.2  Resistance to and Questions About Peacebuilding RCTs While there are numerous benefits of RCTs, many implementers (and non-­ experimentalists) still have concerns about them. Often, I am largely trying to both assuage and address concerns of those implementing projects. Most of the concerns I hear fall under two main categories: ethics and context. For each, I describe what some of the concerns are and try to provide suggestions for how I or others have tried to address them.

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14.2.1  I s it Ethical to Do an RCT in a Conflict Environment? The Question of Ethics Research in conflict environments is fraught with ethical dilemmas (Cronin-Furman and Lake 2018; Moss et al. 2019). Vulnerable populations hoping to receive benefits are often asked to recount painful memories without the necessary services to address the emotions that arise. Institutions are often weak and unable to protect people. Western institutional review boards (IRBs) may not understand local ethical concerns, such as discussing sensitive issues under authoritarian governments (Moss et al. 2019) or asking someone for consent when they are suffering (Dionne et al. 2015). Often there are security concerns, where both the state and non-state armed actors may become suspicious of local populations talking about sensitive issues with foreigners. Many of the challenges I describe below are not only relevant to field experiments, but also broadly to fieldwork in conflict zones. Additionally, some of the ethical dilemmas I describe below not only relate to field experiments in conflict zones or on peacebuilding programs but to field experiments in developing countries more generally (Desposato 2015; Humphreys 2014). However, as much as possible, I try to limit this discussion to the specific ethical concerns of conducting field experiments in conflict environments. 1) Is it fair to withhold a program from suffering populations? Many RCTs, particularly for medical trials, are subjected to similar questions. As a development program in a conflict-affected area or a peacebuilding program typically involves people who are suffering in some way—poverty, food insecurity, trauma, violence—to many, it may seem unethical to deny some people the program for the purpose of research. However, often it is not the case that implementers deny treatment to those who need it because of research. Typically the available funding will not reach all that need the intervention. Given this reality, there is an opportunity for using these (unfortunate) resource constraints for learning. Randomizing who gets a program and who does not among those who need it is often a more systematic way of determining who receives an intervention than how people are typically selected for interventions (more on this point below). Through randomization, we are able to learn more about the program’s effectiveness, and therefore better able to use the limited resources available more effectively (Banarjee and Duflo 2011). For example, some policymakers and academics assumed that people do not value what is given to them for free, and therefore those resources would be wasted. However, as a result of a bed net distribution program in Kenya that varied how much bed nets cost, we learned that people were just as likely to use a bed net if they got it for free or close to free as when they had to pay for it. Moreover, more people had one when they got it for free, reducing the incidence of malaria among children and increasing incomes (Dupas and Cohen 2010). This study and others have influenced bed net distribution policy globally and improving the lives of millions. 2) Can you reach those who need it most when you randomize? A related ethical concern that often emerges is whether the people who need the program the most will receive it when using randomization. This is a particular concern in

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humanitarian contexts, where critical assistance is being provided. Ensuring that the program is going to those most vulnerable is usually a donor requirement. However, there is typically still over-enrollment—where there are more people or communities that qualify for the program than can be reached. How Blattman et al. (2017b) addressed this concern in Liberia, and how we did in the Middle Belt of Nigeria, was to create a list of people or communities that are equally in need of the program, and then randomly select from that pool. For example, in Nigeria, Mercy Corps conducted an assessment of communities in the Middle Belt. Through that assessment, we created a list of 15 possible communities based on which places needed the program the most, such as the experience of violence, ethnic composition, and poverty. Among the 15 communities that looked similar on demographics and had experienced significant violence in the recent past, we randomly chose ten to receive the program (the remaining five were control communities). However, over-­ enrollment only works if there are more people or communities who are eligible for the program than can be reached with current funds. Another way to reach those who most need the program is to reserve some of the program spots for those who must be included in the program, and then adjust how they may or may not be used in the data analysis. For example, this was the case for an RCT on a reintegration program of former combatants in Liberia (Blattman and Annan 2016). The NGO implementing the program thought it was crucial that ex-­ combatants who occupied leadership positions in their rebel group were either automatically admitted to the program, or had a higher chance of admission. Generals were automatically offered a spot, and lower-level commanders had a higher chance of getting selected than rank and file members. Additionally, at one of the program sites, there were not enough interested or eligible women for both treatment and control groups, but the women were still included in the program. For our study in the Middle Belt of Nigeria, we did something similar. We knew it was critical that community leaders were included on the project committees. Community leaders are often gatekeepers. If they were not included, they may have felt disrespected and made it difficult for anyone to participate in the committees, negatively affecting the program for everyone. Therefore, for each committee, we reserved one to three slots for leaders and had their support for the duration of the program. Another method for addressing this concern of whether the people who need the program the most receive it is by using a waitlist approach, where everyone in the eligible pool eventually receives the program. This is the approach we used in Afghanistan, where we knew there were not enough spots in the vocational training centers so that everyone could attend the trainings at the same time, but we would reach most of those who needed the program over time. In this case, the program was delivered in three- to six-month blocks. Among those eligible, 50% received the course right away, and the other 50% were put on the waitlist and invited to enroll six months later. This way, everyone who needed the intervention received it eventually. This largely works when there are enough program funds to reach everyone, but due to operational constraints such as staffing or space in venues, the rollout of the program is done in phases. Additionally, when using a waitlist approach, it is important that the participants complete the endline survey before the waitlisted

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participants begin the intervention. In discussing a possible study with our team in Nigeria on distributing cash grants to youth, they were not willing to have the waitlisted participants start a year later, as they felt it was too long given the degree of the humanitarian crisis. However, to measure the impacts of the case, the researchers believed a year between the distribution and the endline was necessary. Therefore, we did not pursue an RCT on this aspect of the program. 3) Is randomization fair? Another ethical concern is the fairness of randomization. Even within a sample of people who are equally vulnerable, there is a feeling that choosing who gets assistance randomly, in essence, by chance, is not fair. However, when randomization is done through some type of lottery, it is often more transparent than how people are selected for many programs, as potential participants rarely learn why they were or were not selected. An open lottery is how Blattman et al. (2017b) conducted the randomization in their study on the effects of how cash and cognitive behavioral therapy affected criminal behaviors in Monrovia, Liberia. All the potential participants—poor male youth living in urban centers who had a history of engaging in street crime—were present when the lottery took place. These potential participants literally saw numbers being pulled out of a bowl. As a result, they saw that there was no nepotism or corruption in how people were selected, a common problem in these environments. They knew that they were or were not selected due to chance, not something about who they were or what they did. 4) Are not RCTs expensive? Often implicit in this question is that if resources are scarce and people are suffering, should not all available resources be allocated towards the program? While RCTs may be expensive, putting money towards potentially ineffective interventions is wasteful, and as explained earlier, by learning what interventions are most effective, we can concentrate resources in ways to do the most good (Karlan and Appel 2012). For example, numerous field experiments have shown that job training alone rarely leads to increased income in fragile contexts (Blattman and Ralston 2015). However, research on what is called the graduation approach, which combines training with assets and access to capital, is often more successful in raising income (Banerjee et  al. 2015a). Without this research, job training programs that do not include these other elements might have continued in fragile contexts, with little impact on beneficiaries. Therefore, these investments in research have the potential to save or better invest money in the long term, as well as provide better assistance to those who need it. Yet, there are also ways to reduce the costs of RCTs. In the Middle Belt study described earlier, we kept costs to approximately $115,000 over the two-year period. We kept this budget reasonably low for a field RCT by aligning our research questions with our monitoring and evaluation (M&E) plan as much as possible. Budgets for programs often include funds to monitor and evaluate the intervention, and this is the budget we leveraged for the research. Therefore, we had a few added data collection expenses beyond what the program would have budgeted otherwise. When reflecting back, we likely would have increased the budget somewhat—largely with staff to monitor the randomization of people into project committees. This would have brought the cost to approximately $150,000 and perhaps up to $200,000 if we

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were able to add a couple of communities to increase power and the reliability of the results.4 Another suggestion to reduce costs is to not collect baseline data, only collecting endline data (Holla 2018). By randomizing, there should not be meaningful baseline differences between treatment and control. However, given donor requirements, most programs would likely need to collect baseline data anyway. Therefore, it may be worth spending a bit more to make the baseline data collection more rigorous and useful for program implementation and research. The baseline data would also help with block randomization, or target those most vulnerable according to the donor guidelines (e.g., single-headed households, experience of violence, unemployed, etc.), another reason it can be a wise investment. 5) Is it ethical to conduct an RCT when there is a humanitarian crisis? Even with various rational and logical ways of addressing the ethical concerns of conducting RCTs in conflict contexts, for someone implementing a program within the most dire of crises—e.g., where people are severely food insecure—it can be difficult to ask a person in the control group to spend time answering questions without receiving a benefit from the program. While conducting fieldwork in northeast Nigeria, I felt this tension more directly and developed a greater compassion for putting our field teams in these situations. Northeast Nigeria is where Boko Haram has contributed significantly to a humanitarian crisis, with famine conditions, and almost one million people inaccessible to any type of assistance (OCHA 2018). Approximately six months before my field trip, I had been debating with the field team over two potential RCTs: (1) using information to shift community acceptance of former members of Boko Haram returning to their communities or (2) cash grants to youth groups to start businesses, which I mentioned above. While we did not have many funds for the second intervention (the first one was relatively inexpensive), and we were not going to be able to reach everyone, the field team was very resistant to surveying those who would never see a benefit. They were also reluctant to delay some youth receiving the funds a bit longer than planned as part of a research design even though some phasing of activities was necessary in the implementation. They worried that if people knew they were eligible and did not get selected for the first round, it would create hard feelings and potentially conflict either between the implementers and the communities or between those who received the intervention and those who did not receive it immediately. This would not only violate the humanitarian principles of “do no harm,” but also would make it more difficult to deliver necessary aid and potentially put staff and beneficiaries at risk. As a result of these concerns, the northeast Nigeria team and I decided to focus our efforts on evaluating the information intervention. Similar information-based interventions, using media, have been successfully studied in the midst of protracted  A potential downside of this approach for some people may be the seemingly lack of independence between the implementers and researchers. This is a risk, however, given how much data is often collected by implementers that is not used effectively, and with a bit more investment people could learn so much more, it feels worth investing in these studies in under less than ideal conditions. 4

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conflict (Bilali and Vollhardt 2015; Paluck 2010). The information would not be providing immediate assistance that alleviated suffering, at least not directly. The team also did not feel the information intervention would create jealousy among individuals within the community or among communities. Working with the field team to figure out how best answer their questions in ways that would generate credible evidence but also be sensitive to the daily realities of working amidst a humanitarian crisis led me to consider various conditions under which I would feel comfortable advocating for randomization, and more broadly counterfactual evaluation  models, within a humanitarian crisis. Some considerations include: (a) Is it a resource transfer (cash, food, shelter, water) with the purpose of alleviating immediate suffering? There are reasons why it would be worthwhile to do an RCT in these cases. However, in these cases, there may be additional hurdles for the researcher to address. For example, to reduce the risk that the resource transfer would create tensions between those who receive it immediately and those who receive it later (or not at all) is to randomize at the community-­level and ensure no spillover between communities. This approach to program implementation is often necessary to maintain Do No Harm principles, regardless of the research. Another option may be to provide some payment for participating in the survey as a way of valuing people’s time (for more on giving back to participants, see Figueiredo et al. 2020; Alfadhli and Drury 2020 in this volume). This is often standard for some researchers.5 (b) What is the evidence base for the intervention? For many peacebuilding interventions and development interventions in conflict contexts, the evidence is limited or mixed, creating the need for further studies. However, in some cases, there may be enough of an evidence base that the benefits of conducting the study do not out-weigh the challenges. Returning to the example of providing grants to youth groups in northeast Nigeria, a study in Uganda showed that in the short term, the grants had strong economic effects, though limited stability effects (Blattman et  al. 2014). The economic effects dissipated after nine years (Blattman et al. forthcoming). Based on this and other findings related to cash transfers at least as a short-term economic and stability intervention, there may have been enough of an evidence base on the intervention’s utility, making the value add of an additional study more limited, especially given the other constraints of implementing the program during a humanitarian crisis. (c) Are there other questions of interest that would not require a pure control group? Often there are questions not about whether an intervention works or not, but how to deliver an intervention. As a result, people are not randomized into treatment or control, but intervention A or B. For example, there are questions whether providing cash in one large sum versus in smaller tranches is  I believe some form of payment, whether in cash or in kind, should be standard for all implementers when collecting data. People’s time is valuable. It may also help implementers be more intentional about how they use the data they collect given the added cost. 5

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more helpful for households. Mercy Corps found that in the Philippines after the typhoon, a one-lump sum cash transfer allowed for greater household savings, leading to better coping (Mercy Corps 2015). Mercy Corps is now testing this in Iraq, to see if the nature of the crisis (natural disaster vs. conflict) changes how cash should be distributed. There are no clear-cut answers about conducting RCTs within a humanitarian crisis. However, I have found when I have given thought to these issues, understanding the potential constraints and potential options, I am much more able to find ways to conduct research with field teams that is both rigorous and relevant but also address their concerns.

14.2.2  I s an RCT Possible in an Ever-Changing Conflict Environment? The Question of Context In addition to the ethical concerns discussed above, another question that often emerges for people considering conducting an RCT in a conflict environment— where many peacebuilding programs are implemented—is the fact that the environment changes, sometimes rapidly, and often the program needs to adjust accordingly (for more on adapting to changing contexts, see Bayad and Aydemir 2020 in this volume). For practitioners, this is considered adaptive management and has become a hallmark for both donors and implementers. In fact, there is often a desire among donors for the implementer to be adaptive and conduct a rigorous RCT at the same time. The people designing the request for proposal often do not realize until it is too late that many of the goals of adaptive management—to be agile in the face of changing conditions and learning—are at odds with the precision of RCTs, where very little is able to change during the course of the study. Adaptive trials combine the two—adaptive management and RCTs. However, adaptive trials are better suited for learning which approaches are better and then put more of the sample into the approach that is more successful. They are not as well suited for changing environments (Offer-Westort et al. 2018). In short, it is very difficult to adapt in the midst of an RCT, creating certain limitations regarding when they ought to be used in conflict environments. For example, when a conflict is changing rapidly, with almost daily changes in access to populations, as was the case in Syria during the early part of the war, an RCT would likely not be appropriate, unless it was the shortest of interventions and little follow-up data collection was needed. However, within most conflict contexts, there are ways to manage these tensions between adaptability and rigor. Below, I describe some lessons about how to manage the changing environment when conducting RCTs in conflict contexts. 1) When is it best to conduct an RCT during a conflict? I often recommend avoiding conducting an RCT at the early stages of a conflict. Typically, this is when contextual factors are changing the most—who controls territory, the issues, the

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actors and various coalitions, displacement of populations, etc. As a result, it is hard to predict secure areas and would put enumerators (and implementation staff) at risk. However, for better or worse, most intractable, long-term conflicts reach an equilibrium at least temporarily, where little changes occur until the war is almost over (and unfortunately, in many cases, this can last years or decades, such as in Israel-Palestine, Afghanistan, Colombia, and Somalia). This is often when donors and implementers begin to transition from more humanitarian programming to development and peacebuilding programming.6 At this point, there is less risk that the program will need to change due to unfolding events and changing conflict dynamics. Additionally, there is likely to be more reliable access to populations in order to implement the program and to collect data. Of course, it is difficult to predict when a conflict will escalate. This was the case for an RCT on how information about government performance would shape voter choice in Burkino Faso (Lierl and Holmlund 2019). As the study was about to launch in 2015, there was a coup, and a transitional government was established in the lead up to the 2016 elections. Consequently, the researchers had to alter their study—none of the transitional government could run, and therefore, there were no “incumbents,” the very people they had planned to provide citizens information on. Fortunately, they were able to redesign the study to account for this change. One of the reasons this study was so adaptable was because it was short—providing information to people as part of a survey. As a result, they could pivot more easily. However, changing the study is not always so easy. While not a case of conflict affecting the implementation of a study, the outbreak of Ebola in Liberia (Beaman et al. n.d.) and Sierra Leone (Christensen et al. 2020) altered numerous projects. In the case of Liberia, the researchers, who were examining a Mercy Corps youth sports program, were not able to conduct the endline in person due to the health crisis. Instead, they conducted interviews via telephone. This was a departure from the baseline methodology, where the survey was conducted in person. While they were able to track down over 80% of the participants, it is not completely clear whether the lack of changes between treatment and control was due to the program or that people answered the survey questions differently in person than over the phone. That methodological changes happened for both treatment and control ameliorates this concern somewhat, and given the crisis, the researchers had little choice; however, this change does make it more difficult to interpret the results. Since it is often not so easy to alter the study design, at treatment and control assignment, it is good practice to randomize the order of which people or communities are receiving the intervention. For example, the first one on the list is assigned to treatment, the next one to control, and so on. Therefore if (a) implementation and/ or data collection needs to stop for a period of time, (b) some people or communities need to be dropped since the researchers are not able to reach them, or (c) the

 The early stages of the conflict in the Central Africa Republic were a rare example of when peacebuilding and humanitarian programs were being implemented simultaneously. 6

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implementer had to drop them as it was too risky to work there, the researcher can move to the next one on the list while keeping much of the design intact. 2) Since conflicts are dynamic, can you measure long-term programs and their effects in a conflict context? While it is possible, and understanding long-­ term effects are important for sustainable peace, given the changing dynamics, shorter interventions and outcomes are less risky. As conflict dynamics may change, both affecting the accessibility of populations and the intervention itself, the shorter the intervention, the less risk to the study. As described above, my colleagues and I conducted a study of a peacebuilding program over a two-year period in the Middle Belt of Nigeria. Unfortunately, towards the end of the program, an anti-grazing law that was considered discriminatory towards pastoralists was instituted. This contributed to an escalation of violence in one of the states where the program was implemented. This violence caused significant displacement. Because it was at the end of the program, activities did not need to change. However, locating displaced populations was difficult. Our local partner did a commendable job, demonstrating how well they knew and were trusted by these communities. Yet, our sample was somewhat compromised—the members of the community we found were ostensibly different than the rest of the community. We basically went from using a random sample of the community for both treatment and control at baseline to a convenience sample (i.e., those we could find) within our treatment and control communities at the endline. While we tested for differences in various characteristics between the two samples (e.g., gender, ethnicity, income, etc.) and found few differences, there could be some unobservable differences between the two, and this could be affecting our results and interpretation (e.g., those we found were displaced, and therefore potentially more affected by the uptick in violence). This experience of having to keep things constant over a two-year time period was challenging for the Nigeria team, especially given how the conflict evolved during that period. Therefore, when we explored another RCT with the Nigeria team in the northeast, they were understandably wary. What made them more comfortable is that we agreed we would keep the period of time when they could not alter the program as brief as possible. Similar to the earlier example from Burkino Faso, we used an information treatment, where people listened to messages, and then we tested how various messages influenced people’s intentions and attitudes. The results of the RCT are now informing the design of radio programs in the region. This is not to say studying longer interventions is never appropriate in conflict contexts. We were able to conduct the two-year study in the Middle Belt, and for most of that period, had few interruptions. In Afghanistan, our intervention lasted up to six months. In these two cases, the conflicts had reached more of an equilibrium, where conflict dynamics were not shifting as frequently. Also, because we had been conducting programs there for a longer period of time, the staff had a better understanding of the context. Moreover, there are situations where, despite the risk that the program may need to change, or that there is significant attrition, understanding how an intervention works in a conflict environment is necessary. For example, policymakers debate whether over the short and long-term, which is better: cash transfers or direct assistance. As these are common interventions, with

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considerable money behind them, it may be worth the risk of implementing the study, knowing things may need to shift over time.7 There are also questions about both short-term and long-term outcomes in conflict settings that are both theoretically- and policy-relevant. In the midst of conflict, knowing which interventions stop the fighting or prevent new recruits from joining armed groups is critical. For example, we found in Afghanistan that cash transfers can help to stabilize a place so that longer-term interventions can take hold. At the same time, to address the underlying issues of conflict, or build strong relationships so that conflicts do not escalate quickly, interventions may need more time. So, while shorter-term interventions are less risky and can provide important learning, there are also times for longer-term interventions and measuring longer-term outcomes. The key when researching longer-term interventions is to plan accordingly (see below). 3) Can the program change at all during an RCT? While much in an RCT must remain constant over the course of the study, there may be elements of the program under study that can change without putting the research at as much risk. Therefore, it is important for program implementers and researchers to agree on a common set of parameters ahead of time. In the Middle Belt study in Nigeria, one activity of the program involved fostering social contact by bringing farmers and pastoralists together to decide on projects that promote cooperation. While certain aspects of that activity had to remain fairly rigid—e.g., composition of the committees and how frequently they met—what they decided on as their project to address underlying drivers of conflict (e.g., boreholes, rehabilitation of markets) and where they met could change given contextual factors. Similarly, in the Afghanistan vocational training RCT, how people were selected for treatment or control remained the same over the course of the study. However, the courses available to students, such as solar panel installation, cellphone repair, and food preservation, shifted as market and conflict dynamics changed. While outlining ahead of time these agreements is ideal, there are situations that are not predictable, where the researcher and the program implementers may need to compromise. In the RCT in the Middle Belt of Nigeria, the researchers and program manager generally prioritized the exigencies of program management and adjusted the methodology of the RCT accordingly; supporting communities was the top priority. For example, we first set out to compare participants who were heavily involved in the program through the committees with ‘partial participants’—those community members who participated in only inter-community dialogues or other events. This was to see how much contact was needed for attitudes and behavior to change. However, program teams found it impossible to keep some community members out of these events and feared that doing so would threaten the success of those activities. Community members had issues they wanted to raise in these dialogues—often based on recent conflicts in the community—and preventing them

 RCTs on unconditional cash transfers have largely been studied in more stable contexts, not in the midst of conflict (Blattman et al. 2017). 7

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from attending risked increasing grievances. In the end, we dropped the category of partial participants and compared the effects of the intervention on committee members in treatment communities to those in treatment communities but who were not on the committees, as well as to those in control communities. This compromise still allowed us to look for “dosage effects” the amount of contact needed for change but made it easier for Mercy Corps staff to interact with communities and ensuring the program could be implemented without issue. 4) In conflict environments, people are often on the move or become accessible. How do you address attrition? One of the greatest risks in conducting a study in a conflict environment is regular access to study populations. Access to study populations is affected in two ways: (a) people are displaced and have to drop out of the program (i.e., no longer in the treatment group), or it may be difficult to find them for follow up surveys and (b) lack of security makes it challenging to reach certain populations, particularly for outsiders or non-locals, who are often targeted by certain violent groups. Working with local researchers, who often can move more easily in their communities and are less likely a target, can address these security issues, to a degree. However, the security risks should not be transferred to locals; they should only do the work instead of non-locals in these situations if they are not a target. In Kandahar, Afghanistan, we predicted ahead of time that we would have challenges with attrition. For one, half of our sample consisted of IDPs, a requirement of the program, and we were unsure if they would return to their home communities before the end of the study. Additionally, while conflict had not changed much in Kandahar for a number of years, the US drawdown of troops the previous year could have created an opening for renewed fighting. As a result, we intentionally oversampled at baseline. We started with 2597 participants and by the post-program survey—up to nine months after their involvement with the program—we were able to reach 1560 participants. If we had not oversampled, we likely would not have been able to detect an effect of the program.

14.3  Conclusion The shift for both donors, policymakers, and implementers towards evidence-based policy has created opportunities for social scientists to test their theories in more naturalistic settings and increase the external validity of their work. For social psychologists, whose theories related to prejudice, discrimination, aggression, and intergroup behavior have practical relevance for the peacebuilding field. This trend is an opportunity to examine the extensions and limits of these long-held theories. However, field experiments, particularly ones in conflict contexts, come with various constraints, considerations, and ethical challenges. Understanding these constraints and considerations may help academics more effectively design studies with implementers. These include: (1) is it ethical to withhold or delay treatment within a humanitarian crisis?; (2) are you able to reach those most vulnerable when using

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an RCT?; (3) how can you adapt to the conflict without losing the integrity of the research design?; (4) how can you maintain your study sample when there are access and displacement issues?; and (5) can you justify the expense of a field-based RCT in the midst of a humanitarian crisis? While at times, it may not seem worth leaving the comfort of the lab where there is more control of the environment and the interventions, seeing how good theory can improve people’s lives makes all the complications of conducting field experiments worth it. It is bringing theory to practice and practice to theory in the most direct way possible. By adjusting for these complications in conducting field experiments in conflict zones in some of the ways described in this chapter, both peacebuilding theory and practice can advance.

References 3IE (2015). Peacebuilding evidence gap map. Retrieved from: http://gapmaps.3ieimpact.org/ evidence-maps/evidence-peacebuilding-evidence-gap-map. Alfadhli, K. & Drury, J. (2020). On the borders: Research with refugees of conflict. In Y. Acar, S.  M. Moss, & Ö. M.  Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 129–148). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Allport, G. (1954). The nature of prejudice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Amir, Y. (1976). The role of intergroup contact in change of prejudice and race relations. In P. A. Katz (Ed.), Towards the elimination of racism (pp. 245–280). New York, NY: Pergamon. Baird, S., Hicks, J. H., Kremer, M., & Miguel, E. (2016). Worms at work: Long-run impacts of a child health investment. The Quarterly Journal of Economics, 131(4), 1637–1680. https://doi. org/10.1093/qje/qjw022 Banerjee, A. & Duflo, E. (2011). Poor economics: A radical rethinking of the way to fight global poverty. New York, NY: PublicAffairs. Banerjee, A., Duflo, E., Goldberg, N., Karlan, D., Osei, R., Parienté, W., Shapiro, J., Thuysbaert, B., and Udry, C. (2015a). A multi-faceted program causes lasting progress for the very poor: Evidence from six countries. Science, 348(6236), 1260799. https://doi.org/10.1126/ science.1260799 Banerjee, A., Karlan, D. & Zinman, J. (2015b). Six randomized evaluations of microcredit: Introduction and further steps. American Economic Journal: Applied Economics, 7(1), 1–21. https://doi.org/10.1257/app.20140287 Bayad, A. & Aydemir, A. (2020). When research, identity and context merge: A reflexive assessment on studying peace during conflict. In Y.  Acar, S.  M. Moss, & Ö. M.  Uluğ (Eds.), Researching peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 283–300). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Beaman, L., Hershkovitz, S., Keleher, N. & Macgruder (forthcoming). Stay in the dame: A randomized controlled trial of a sports and life skills program for vulnerable youth in Liberia. Economic Development and Cultural Change. Bilali, R., & Vollhardt, J. R. (2015). Do mass media interventions effectively promote peace in contexts of ongoing violence? Evidence from Eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 21(4), 604–620. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000124 Blattman, C. & Annan, J. (2016). Can employment reduce lawlessness and rebellion? A field experiment with high-risk men in a fragile state. American Political Science Review, 110(1), 1–17. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055415000520

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Blattman, C., Faye, M., Karlan, D., Niehus, P., & Urdy, C. (2017a). Cash as capital. Stanford Social Innovation Review (Summer), 57–58. Retrieved from https://ssir.org/articles/entry/cash_ as_capital?utm_source=Enews&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=SSIR_Now&utm_ content=Title Blattman, C., Fiala, N., & Martinez, S. (2014). Generating skilled self-employment in developing countries: Experimental evidence from Uganda. Quarterly Journal of Economics, 129(2), 697–752. https://doi.org/10.1093/qje/qjt057 Blattman, C., Fiala, N., & Martinez, S. (forthcoming). The long-term impacts of grants on poverty: 9-year evidence from the Youth Opportunities Program in Uganda. American Economic Review: Insights. Blattman, C., Jamison, J., & Sheridan, M. (2017b). Reducing crime and violence: Experimental evidence from cognitive behavioral therapy in Liberia. American Economic Review, 107(4), 1165–1206. https://doi.org/10.1257/aer.20150503 Blattman, C., & Ralston, L. (2015). Generating employment in poor and fragile states: Evidence from labor market and entrepreneurship programs. Retrieved from SSRN: https://ssrn.com/ abstract=2622220 Brück, T., Ferguson, N., Izzi, V., & Stojetz, W. (2016). Jobs aid peace. Berlin, Germany: International Security and Development Center. Christensen, D., Dube, O., Haushofer, J., Siddiqi, B., & Voors, M. (2020). Healthcare Delivery during Crises: Experimental Evidence from Sierra Leone’s Ebola Outbreak. Working Paper. Cillers, J., Dube, O., & Siddiqui, B. (2016). Reconciling after civil conflict increases social capital but reduces individual wellbeing. Science, 352(6287), 787–794. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.aad9682 Collier, P., & Hoeffler, A. (2004). Greed and grievance in civil war. Oxford Economic Papers, 56(4), 563–595. https://doi.org/10.1093/oep/gpf064 Cronin-Furman, K. & Lake, M. (2018). Ethics abroad: Field work in fragile and violent contexts. PS: Political Science & Politics, 51(3), 607–614. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1049096518000379 Dionne, K.Y., Harawa, A., & Honde, H. (2015). The ethics of exclusion when experimenting in impoverished settings. In Desposato, S. (ed). Ethics and experiments in political science (pp. 25–41). New York, NY: Routledge. Desposato, S. (2015). Ethics and experiments in political science. New York, NY: Routledge. Ditlmann, R. K., & Samii, C. (2016). Can intergroup contact affect ingroup dynamics? Insights from a field study with Jewish and Arab-Palestinian youth in Israel. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 22(4), 380–392. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000217 Duflo, E., & Banarjee, A. (2017). Handbook of field experiments. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: North-Holland. Dupas, P. & Cohen, J. (2010). Free distribution or cost-sharing? Evidence from a randomized malaria prevention experiment. The Quarterly Journal of Economics, 125(1), 1–45. https://doi. org/10.2139/ssrn.1080301. Dunning, T., Grossman, G., Humphreys, M., Hyde, S., McIntosh, C., & Nellis, G. (2019). Information, accountability, and cumulative learning: Lessons from Metaketa I. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Enos, R. (2014). Causal effect of intergroup contact on exclusionary attitudes. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 111(10), 3699–3704. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1317670111 Galinsky, A., & Moskowitz, G. (2000). Perspective-taking: Decreasing stereotype expression, stereotype accessibility, and in-group favoritism. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 78, 708–724. https://doi.org/10.1037//0022-3514.78.4.708. Goldstone, J. (2010). The New Population Bomb: The Four Megatrends That Will Change the World. Foreign Affairs, 89(1), 31–43. Gubler, J. (2011). The micro-motives of intergroup aggression: A case study in Israel. Unpublished Dissertation. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI. Figueiredo, A., Montagna, P., & Rocha, C. (2020). Data collection with indigenous people: Fieldwork experiences from Chile. In Y. G. Acar, S. M. Moss, & Ö. M. Uluğ (Eds.), Researching

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peace, conflict and power in the field: Methodological challenges and opportunities (pp. 63–83). Peace Psychology Book Series. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Hartman, A., Blair, R., & Blattman, C. (2018). Engineering informal institutions: Long-run impacts of alternative dispute resolution on violence and property rights in Liberia. Working paper. Retrieved from: https://www.nber.org/papers/w24482 Holla, A. (2018). Are we over-investing in baselines? Retrieved from: http://blogs.worldbank.org/ impactevaluations/are-we-over-investing-baselines Humphreys, M. (2014, November 2). How to make field experiments more ethical. The Washington Post. Retrieved from: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2014/11/02/ how-to-make-field-experiments-more-ethical/?utm_term=.b95e728af290 Inks, L. & Wolfe, R. (2016). Motivations and empty promises: Voices of former Boko Haram combatants and Nigerian youth. Washington, DC: Mercy Corps. Karlan, D. & Appel, J. (2012). More than good intentions: Improving the way the world’s poor borrow, save, farm, learn and stay health. New York, NY: Random House. Kurtz, J., Tesfaye, B., & Wolfe, R.J. (2018). Can economic interventions reduce violence: Impacts of vocational training and cash transfers on youth support for political violence in Afghanistan. Washington, DC: Mercy Corps. Levine, R. (2017). The moral case for evidence in policymaking. Retrieved from: https://hewlett. org/moral-case-evidence-policymaking/ Lierl, M. & Holmlund, M. (2019). Performance-based voting in local elections: Experimental evidence from Burkina Faso. In Dunning, T., Grossman, G., Humphreys, M., Hyde, S., McIntosh, C., & Nellis, G. Information, accountability, and cumulative learning: Lessons from Metaketa I (pp. 221–256). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Lyall, J., Zhou, Y., & Imai, K. (2019). Can economic assistance shape combatant support in Wartime? Experimental evidence from Afghanistan. American Political Science Review, 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055419000698 Mercy Corps (2015). Beyond Meeting Immediate Needs: The Impact of Electronic Cash Transfer Approaches on Disaster Recovery and Financial Inclusion. https://www.mercycorps.org/sites/ default/files/TabangKO%20Impact%20Evaluation%20Report_Final.pdf Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000334 Mousa, S. (2019). Building tolerance: Intergroup contact and soccer in post-ISIS Iraq. Working Paper. Muralidharan, M., Niehaus, P., & Sukhtankar, S. (2016). Building state capacity: Evidence from biometric smartcards in India. American Economic Review, 106(10), 2895–2929. https://doi. org/10.1257/aer.20141346 OCHA (2018, January 28). North-east Nigeria: Humanitarian Situation Update, December 2107. Retrieved from: https://reliefweb.int/report/nigeria/ north-east-nigeria-humanitarian-situation-update-december-2017 Offer-Westort, M., Coppock, A., & Green, D. (2018). Adaptive experimental design: Prospects and applications in political science. Presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association, Boston, August 30th - September 2, 2018. Retrieved from: https://alexandercoppock.com/papers/OCG_adaptive.pdf Paler, L., Marshall, L. & Atallah, S. (2018). Discussing Politics in Ethnically Divided Societies: An Experiment in Lebanon. Working paper. Paolini, S., Harwood, J., & Rubin, M. (2010). Negative intergroup contact makes group memberships salient: Explaining why intergroup conflict endures. Personality & Social Psychology Bulletin, 36, 1723–38. https://doi.org/10.1177/0146167210388667. Paluck, E. L. (2009). Reducing intergroup prejudice and conflict using the media: A field experiment in Rwanda. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 96, 574–587. https://doi. org/10.1037/a0011989

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Paluck, E. L. (2010). Is it better not to talk? Group polarization, extended contact, and perspective-­ taking in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 36, 1170–1185. https://doi.org/10.1177/0146167210379868 Paluck, E. L. & Green, D. P. (2009). Deference, dissent, and dispute resolution: A field experiment on a mass media intervention in Rwanda. American Political Science Review, 103(4), 622–644. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055409990128 Paluck, E., Green. S., & Green, D. P. (2018). The contact hypothesis re-evaluated. Behavioural Public Policy, 3(2) 1–30. https://doi.org/10.1017/bpp.2018.25 Pettigrew, T. F., & Tropp, L. R. (2008). How does intergroup contact reduce prejudice? Metaanalytic tests of three mediators. European Journal of Social Psychology, 38(6), 922–934. https://doi. org/10.1002/ejsp.504 Scacco, A. & Warren, S. (2018). Can social contact reduce prejudice and discrimination? Evidence from a field experiment in Nigeria. American Political Science Review, 112(3), 654–677. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055418000151 Sherif, M. (1958). Superordinate goals in the reduction of intergroup conflict. American Journal of Sociology, 63, 349–356. Tajfel, H., & Turner, J. C. (1979). An integrative theory of intergroup conflict. In W. G. Austin & S.  Worchel. The social psychology of intergroup relations (pp.  33–47). Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole. Urdal, H. (2004). The devil in the demographics: The effect of youth bulges on domestic armed conflict, 1950-2000. Social Development Papers  - Conflict Prevention & Reconstruction, Paper No. 14.

Part IV

Reflections and Meta-Reflections

Chapter 15

When Research, Identity and Context Merge: A Reflexive Assessment on Studying Peace During Conflict Aydın Bayad and Aslı Aydemir

‘Peace right now, in fact, that dove, olive branch or something like that… That bird has died, that olive branch has been broken.’ (P34/Turkish-17 years old). This account was recorded just after the beginning of heavy clashes between Kurdish forces and the Turkish military in southeastern Turkey in August 2015. This quote from an adolescent exemplifies the emotional state of millions of desperate, exhausted and vulnerable people who yearn for peace, but were disappointed because of the suspension of the ‘Resolution Process’(RP).1 Since political turmoil and a coup attempt followed the suspension of the RP, which essentially reversed the achievements made toward a societal peace process, the sentiments reflected in the quote are not so distant from the authors, for whom the research topic became a personal struggle: the first author is living an academic life in exile and the second has received a suspended 15-month prison sentence as a result of signing a petition2 calling on the Turkish government to continue the RP. Nevertheless, our personal experiences also correspond with the difficulties of conducting research in conflict

 Indicates the time period between 2009 and 2015, known as the ‘Resolution Process’ by the Turkish public, that aimed to resolve the Kurdish-Turkish conflict. Different concepts are used to refer the same period (e.g., Peace Process, Kurdish Opening, Democratic Initiative). 2  A petition called “We will not be a party to this crime!” was declared to ask the government to stop military operations in southeastern Turkey. The signatories, whose number at that time exceeded 2200, faced many attacks including legal jurisdiction and imprisonment (see https://afp. hypotheses.org/), and many of them have migrated to other countries. 1

A. Bayad (*) Institute for Interdisciplinary Research on Conflict and Violence, Bielefeld University, Bielefeld, Germany e-mail: [email protected] A. Aydemir İstanbul University, İstanbul, Turkey © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_15

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zones. In this chapter, we aim to discuss the everchanging identity of the researcher in fluxional political contexts and its effect on different stages (e.g., field research, data collection) and components of research (e.g., participants, results). While methodological difficulties of research in conflict zones have been investigated in social science research (Cohen and Arieli 2011; Goodhand 2000; Sriram et al. 2009; Wood 2006), there has been little attention given to the interaction of researcher and political context (for an exception see Kacen and Chaitin 2006), especially in social psychology (Moss et al. 2019). The negative conditions of conflict not only cause methodological obstacles that researchers have to overcome, but also may prevent scientific research in certain regions or time periods due to their physical and ethical challenges, or simply challenges regarding the ‘value’ of a study (Haer and Becher 2012; Kacen and Chaitin 2006). Although determinants of a valuable study are beyond certain criteria and are in flux depending on researchers’ ability to adapt (Vlassenroot 2006), previous studies have often considered the distance and neutrality of researchers as ultimate goals and envisage conflict zones as an obstacle preventing ‘proper’ science. What we discuss here, however, is beyond a stable, pessimistic understanding of conflict, or coping strategies for methodological obstacles. Instead, we want to unpack how the ‘professional’ becomes personal. More specifically, we discuss how both politically open and conflictual contexts determine preconditions of research such as objectivity and emotional detachment as well as research itself. Therefore, we focus on the interaction of fluxional socio-political context not only with the empirical outcomes of the research we conducted on peace but also with the researcher identity in the field (e.g., peace-seeker vs. scientist) and a data analysis framework (e.g., emotionally attached vs. detached). In this chapter, our focus is on an empirical study conducted from 2014 to 2016 by a research team that includes the authors, when the RP was suspended and an armed conflict escalated in Turkey (see Acar 2020, in this volume, for more on conducting research during the Resolution Process). We explore our own experiences with a reflexive approach. More specifically, we reflect on the flexible process of critical knowledge production during a specific time period that corresponds to a change in our identities from motivated, pro-peace, early careers researchers towards exhausted, peace-seeking, dismissed academics. Through this attempt, we aim to give a theoretical and practical examination of coping with the removal of the borders between research and personal experience by highlighting how both oppressive and open political contexts may become tentative, fragile but still determinative for peace research and researchers. To do this, we assess our epistemological and ontological assumptions, motivations, and identities, as well as results influenced by personal, social and institutional changes over recent years. In the following sections, we first provide a theoretical framework for reflexive analysis, followed by a self-reflection on our motivation to conduct peace research and an introduction to the research project in question here. Next, we describe three phases of the research in relation to the socio-political context that corresponds to different opportunities and obstacles for the research as well as researcher identity.

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Finally, we reflect upon our academic collective action as it relates to our current identities as researchers, and provide some practical suggestions for further research in similar conflict settings.

15.1  The Reflexive Turn and Reflexivity At the turn of the last century, the relationship between the object and the subject was polemical (Ginzburg 1921; James 1892). Psychology differs from other disciplines essentially due to the object of its gaze, the ‘nature’ of human thoughts, psyche and emotions, or in other words, the fragments of mental process that also constitute ‘the tool’ of analysis. However, as Oliver and Landfield (1962) state, studying only some fragments of mental process cannot prevent researchers from the paradox of self-reference3 unless “they exclude their own thought process from the assertions they have made,” which is almost impossible given that any mental fragments will be parts of a whole (p. 115). Thus, for a psychologist, excluding their own mental process is not a matter of methodological accuracy; instead, it is a task one should accomplish in a self-critical way (Oliver and Landfield 1962). Following this idea, the criticism of laboratory experimentation in the 1970s revealed the “problem of reflexivity” (e.g., Harre and Secord 1972; Tajfel 1972), which is further discussed in discourse analysis and particularly in feminist traditions of psychology (for further reading into these perspectives, see Potter 1988; Wilkinson 1988). Afterwards, with the poststructuralist critiques toward social science (Denzin 1994) and knowledge production processes (May 1999), critical reflections in social psychology functioned as “a bridge between empirical research and political engagement with social issues” (Parker 1994, p. 240). This reflexive turn in social science has contributed to demystifying empiricist knowledge production, as reflexivity brings interpretive ontology, which understands people and the outer world within an interrelated association that constructs (i.e., multiple versions) of reality into scientific research (Shaw 2010). The operationalization and application of reflexivity to social scientific research has brought practical novelties that can be employed by other researchers. For instance, based on the assumption of cultural and historical situatedness of the researcher, Wilkinson (1988) differentiated three forms of reflexivity that are interconnected in practice: (1) personal reflexivity refers to individual preferences, motivations and knowledge which may affect choice of topic; (2) functional reflexivity refers to professional research practices and processes affect interpersonal dynamics and values of researchers, and (3) disciplinary reflexivity refers to explanation and understanding of the theory, method and science researchers rely upon. Later on, Parker (1994) suggested grounding reflexivity in the institutional context, which  The theories of psychology that relate to our mental functioning apply not only to some people, but to all people, including researchers. The claims made by a researcher must therefore take into account the mental functioning of the researcher, as this is also part of the phenomena that is being explained. 3

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is the network of forms of subjectivities. After these suggestions, which are part of a broader debate characterized by the epistemological critiques of science, scholars have begun to recognize the importance of being reflexive in different phases of research, such as before going into the field and during data collection and analysis (Mauthner and Doucet 2003). Conflict zones, due to their physical and psychological risks, are always challenging fields for scientific research (Haer and Becher 2012; Wood 2006). However, as Moss et al. (2019) stated, challenges are not limited to physical and psychological risks. Especially in social psychological research, some issues, such as the identity of the researcher, cultural script, etc., can have positive or negative effects on the research, researchers and participants. Therefore, it is crucial to take a reflexive position throughout the research process in conflict zones. Based on our previous research on social representations of peace (Aydemir and Bayad 2017; Bayad et al. 2016), we consider our role in the research in relation to our participants, data and the field in order to turn our gaze to ourselves as an ‘object’ (Lazard and McAvoy 2017). In the following sections, we follow Wilkinson’s (1988) and Parker’s (1994) suggestions and critically reflect upon our assumptions, motivations during data collection, and the results of our research. Since different forms of reflexivity (e.g., personal, functional and disciplinary) are interconnected in practice, instead of presenting historical background separately, we organize the sections of this chapter according to the three phases of the research in relation to the political atmosphere, which impacted on our positions within and outside of the field (see Appendix for a timeline of the research project). By this operational structuring, we want to illustrate better how eclectic factors such as personal, functional, institutional, and political contexts can deeply influence research process that – for us – gradually abolished the border between research and personal experience.

15.2  H  istorical Background and a Self-Reflection on the Motivation Toward a Peace Project The Turkish-Kurdish conflict has a long, multi-layered history ranging from ethnic discrimination to armed conflict (Ergin 2014; Güneş 2018). Kurds as an ethnic minority have reacted to the assimilationist policies of the Turkish nation-state since its conception (e.g., Turkification of the land, culture as well as the people, Cleveland 2008; McDowall 2003; Zürcher 2005). However, according to Gürses (2018), during the twentieth century, the characteristics of the geography and population of Kurds, as well as the state and regime of Turks, facilitated Kurds’ collective mobilization and willingness to rebel against the Turkish regime. The regime’s systematic restriction of ethnic minorities’ access to political and economic power, along with Kurds’ political action, led to an ethnic civil war from the 1980s onward, concentrated mostly in Kurdish-majority southeast Turkey, where “extra-judicial

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killings, disappearances and deportations became the norm” (Başer et  al. 2017, p. 279). Around 45,000 people (mainly Kurdish guerrillas, civilians, village guards, and Turkish soldiers) have been killed, and up to three million Kurds have been displaced and deprived of their property (Eder 2016; Güneş 2018; Kramer 1999; Saatçi 2002), yet the armed conflict has not yet yielded a conclusion. While several declarations of a unilateral ceasefire by the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan, PKK) have been made, a realistic conflict resolution process was not initiated until the early 2000s. The Resolution Process (RP), which supposedly aimed at conflict resolution, was started as part of accession negotiations with the European Union only after the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP) came to power in Turkey in 2002, and after the subsequent ideological transformation of the PKK by their imprisoned leader Abdullah Öcalan (Güneş 2018). A relatively open political atmosphere resulted in the withdrawal of the PKK’s armed forces from southeastern Turkey to northern Iraq. The Turkish state and the PKK started both secret and open bilateral negotiations (Jongerden 2018). Furthermore, a referendum in favor of the RP was followed by the legalization of Kurdish TV broadcasting in Turkey and also a number of civic and official campaigns were run to explain the RP and to convince the discontents (e.g., Wise People’s Commission; see Heper et al. 2018). Apart from public awareness campaigns and increasing civic representation of the Kurdish movement in Turkish society at large (Coşkun 2015), concrete steps toward demilitarization of the Kurdish region also took place, such as a remigration campaign back to the forced migration zones, termination of the paramilitary forces in southeastern Turkey (for further reading into demilitarization, see Balta et al. 2015). To understand the context of our research and positionality, it is relevant to understand the personal backgrounds of the authors. Aslı is a Turkish researcher who was born in 1990 to a working-class family in Kütahya (a town in western Turkey that is predominantly Turkish), and Aydın is a Kurdish researcher who was born in 1988 to a working-class family in Van (a town in eastern Turkey that is predominantly Kurdish). Given our age and geographic location, we have been able to observe the Turkish-Kurdish conflict from a similar generational and class perspective, but from totally different ethnic and geographic perspectives: Aydın grew up in a conflict zone under the militarist oppression of the state whereas Aslı grew up in a safe zone under the nationalist propaganda of the state. Neither of us had experienced a social peace up until the RP. Our story began at the end of our masters theses when a group of young researchers came together to study social psychology at Istanbul University in 2012 through an academic training program.4 At the time, the RP was ongoing at a national level with an open political atmosphere (Gunter 2014; Yeğen 2015). We positioned ourselves as young academics with progressive values who felt a responsibility to be  The academic training program was designed for the ‘recruitment and training of future academics, and the idea behind the establishment of the program is to enhance the faculty capacity of newly established universities through collaboration with developed universities’ (Tülübaş and Göktürk 2017, p. 14). 4

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involved in positive social change. Yet there was very little scientific interest in studying intergroup conflict in the context of Turkey, especially in psychology (for some exceptions, see, Baysu and Coşkan 2018; Çelebi et al. 2014; Uluğ and Cohrs 2016; Yılmaz et al. 2018). Hence, we were motivated to enhance critical information about peace based on perhaps a naive assumption that the open political atmosphere we were facing would never devolve to an armed conflict or coup d’etat, curfews, state of emergency and so on. Due to the above mentioned historical, institutional and personal developments, we came together around a project in a highly motivated way.

15.3  P  hase One: Societal and Institutional Support for Researching a Social Peace In the above-mentioned open political atmosphere, Aslı suggested to the social psychology department, which consisted of mostly young social psychologists engaged in social issues, that we conduct a project on the fragile concept of peace, in order to support the ongoing social change on a scientific level. Some of the members did not want to take part but the suggestion was accepted by the majority of the department. Thus, a team of 12 researchers was formed to conduct an exploratory project entitled “Social Representations of Peace among Secondary Education5 Students.” Yet, the optimistic motivation of the research team determined even the scope of the project. For instance, the topic was neither linked to our PhDs nor did we have probable financial support; nevertheless, we had put together an ambitious, overarching project that needed years to be accomplished. Previous research has shown that younger generations hold a variety of representations on the concept of peace (Hakvoort and Oppenheimer 1998; Sarrica and Wachelke 2012). Therefore, we assumed that adolescents in Turkey would be open to various peace conceptualizations as well, and an exploratory study could provide fruitful information for further research in applied sciences, policymaking, and so on. Thus, the research team planned three studies in order to answer the following questions: (1) what is the role of official state discourse on the concept of peace? (via an archival analysis of textbooks, N = 35), (2) what is the distribution of the representation of peace across ethnic (i.e., Turks and Kurds), and gender (i.e., male and female) categories as well as regions (i.e., Eastern Anatolia, Black Sea, Marmara, Aegean; via a survey, N = 535)? and (3) what are individual discursive strategies to construct a peace concept (via in-depth interviews, N = 52)? By the end of 2014, the team began conducting interviews and running surveys through personal contacts and different university affiliations across the pre-­ determined cities. Due to the open political atmosphere, we did not experience any

 Secondary education, equivalent to 9th to 12th grade, is compulsory for 4 years and covers general, vocational and technical high schools in Turkey 5

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difficulties at the societal and institutional level (i.e., reaching high school teachers or adolescents across the country). The open political atmosphere, as well as the newly achieved positive connotations of the RP, enabled smoothness in other related mechanisms, such as institutional facilitation (e.g., ethical approval from the university; permission to enter public schools, etc.). The effect of the political atmosphere was even observable on an interpersonal level. For instance, at this early phase of the research, the communication and decision-making process was effective and fruitful in the politically heterogeneous research team (i.e., high frequency of research meetings, active participation in the discussion, desire to enlarge the sample size, etc.). In addition, participants were more open to speaking unconditionally on formerly taboo topics (e.g., the Kurdish issue and political oppression). For instance, one of the first pilot interviews was conducted with vocational law school trainees in a courthouse in Van (a Kurdish city), a place that in previous years was and in the following years would become again, the location of the arrest of thousands of students due to their public statements or even social media posts about the RP (SCF 2018). At this phase, facilitation of open political atmosphere made accessible the people and networks that used to be inaccessible. Here, it would be helpful to reflect on our positions as social scientists on a disciplinary level in order to understand our relationship with our subject. This phase can be characterized by ‘academic armor,’ defined as “physical and psychological means through with professional academics protect their expert positions or jurisdictions” (Lerum 2001, p. 470). We were all young middle-class researchers collecting data about one of the most important topics of contemporary Turkey, and we dealt with the data collection process without any obstacles. Our positions as “scientist” or “psychologist” were acknowledged by the parties we were in contact with. Also, the general expectation of our colleagues and supervisors about emotional detachment (e.g., being distanced from the research topic) was the leading implicit principle to sustain the research as scientific, which would become impossible soon after (Lerum 2001). This secure position also impacted our epistemological assumptions, wherein the accuracy of the methodology or trustworthiness of the participants’ accounts were never questioned. We were fairly confident in our strategy to reach the “reality” that was waiting to be discovered by researchers like us. Mauthner and Doucet (2003) argue that at the time of data collection, the interplay between the researcher’s multiple social positions occurs at their intersection, with the particularities of the researcher’s personal biography as well. To reflect on a personal level, our high motivation, supported by our intact and unchallenged academic armor and followed by institutional facilitation under the open political atmosphere, made all the research progress possible. Such ideal settings for conducting social science research may be a norm for many researchers however, as we elaborated above, for us, it was actually a shortlived outcome of the combination of our personal, academic and political conditions.

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15.4  Phase Two: Emergence of Conflict and Societal Shock We were continuing data collection across different cities when political negotiations between the AKP and pro-Kurdish the People’s Democratic Party (Halkların Demokratik Partisi, HDP) reached the highest level of official representation in the Dolmabahçe Agreement, which took place in the prime minister’s office in February 2015 (Hakyemez 2017). However, just one month later, the agreement was denied by President Erdoğan and peace talks between Kurdish forces and the state were officially aborted in July, just after extraordinary success of the HDP in June 2015 general elections (i.e., the first time ever they pass the election threshold by 13% of all votes, see, Hakyemez 2017). This was a turning point for the RP toward a collapse (for a detailed discussion, see Başer et  al. 2017). Meanwhile, four suicide attacks took place, targeting mainly Kurdish civilians in several demonstrations and public gatherings. These attacks were undertaken by ISIS but led to massive distrust toward Turkish security forces due to possible security gaps and perceived disrespect toward the victims of these attacks (see Tharoor 2015; Tunçay 2017). After the collapse of the resolution process, the nonviolent organization of the Kurdish movement experienced a significant shift toward a militant movement (Üstündağ 2019). For instance, the Kurdish Patriotic Revolutionary Youth Movement (Yurtsever Devrimci Gençlik Hareketi, YDG-H) declared a “People’s Revolutionary War” and adopted a paramilitary stance in several cities by the end of summer 2015 (Tekdemir et al. 2018). Eventually, the political tension led to heavily-armed conflict clashes once again between Turkish and Kurdish forces and large-scale violence in the Kurdish majority southeastern region. The Human Rights Foundation of Turkey reported that 58 round-the-clock, open-ended curfews (i.e., from 1–2 days up to 2 months) had been officially declared in around 20 districts and seven cities in the Kurdish region between July 2015 to July 2017 (IHD 2017). Different sources stated that between 335,000 and half a million people had been displaced in the Kurdish region between July 2015 and December 2016 (AMNESTY 2016; OHCHR 2017). Moreover, according to the International Crisis Group, approximately 2000 people – mainly Kurds – were killed in security operations (Mandıracı 2016). The heavy clashes and tension served to deepen insecurity about ethnic divisions and led to a loss of formal support of the RP (Tekdemir et al. 2018). Following the general election in June 2015, the escalation of the conflict and the tense political atmosphere started to affect our field research, our motivation for conducting the research, as well as the outcomes of the research. At a macro-­ political level, the near past, characterized by the discourse of social harmony and peace, was immediately forgotten. Thus, positive connotations toward peace vanished within months in the research team’s institutional network (e.g., Council of Higher Education, Institute of Social Sciences, and Ministery of Education). First, the number of teachers who did not want to participate in the research increased dramatically due to their fear of getting in trouble with Turkish authorities and possibly due to the new negative connotation of the RP. For instance, one of the teachers from a Kurdish province who handed out our surveys in his classes faced an

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administrative investigation by Turkish authorities on charges of “inciting the public to hatred and hostility.”6 Second, in a classic example of societal marginalization (see Cohen and Arieli 2011), people in Kurdish provinces were no longer willing or comfortable talking about peace. Thereafter, we decided to stop data collection in public schools to avoid any more potential harm to our participants and contacts, though we continued to conduct individual interviews with high school students through personal connections. As a consequence, our research field narrowed down to the western regions, where the conflict was less salient. At this phase, the restriction of the research field placed on us by educational institutions resulted in the overrepresentation of cities in the western region, particularly İstanbul (Bayad et al. in press). The second incident that affected our social position as researchers/academics was a petition campaign that five members of the research team, including the authors, signed. During the escalation of the conflict, the initiative Academics for Peace7 (AfP) launched a petition campaign in 2016 entitled “We will not be a party to this crime,” calling for an end to the long-term curfews, conflicts and humanitarian emergency in the Kurdish region. Despite its peaceful contents, President Erdoğan rapidly exhorted universities where the signatories worked and ordered courts to penalize them (Abbas and Zalta 2017). The signatories were targeted with various measures, including criminal and administrative investigations, suspension, forced resignation or retirement, detention, dismissal, passport revocation, denial of pension rights and travel bans (Tekdemir et  al. 2018; Tören and Kutun 2018). Though Turkish political history is familiar with petition campaigns from intellectuals toward governments, the AfP’s campaign was severely punished because it had an extensive national and international impact on drawing attention toward the ongoing operations in the Kurdish region. The counter-propaganda against signatories had an impact on the general public as well. Signatories received threats from students and neighbors, and pro-­ government academics published a counter-petition (Sözeri 2016); in some universities, signatories’ office doors were marked with a red X (Başer et al. 2017). The reaction of the AKP and its allies to signatories resulted in a never-ending forensic investigation and economic exclusion that would later be called “civil death” by signatories (see Aktas et al. 2019). Collectively targeting signatories and stigmatizing academics was a crucial loss for academic freedom; after this maltreatment, academics lacked the ability to freely conduct research or participate in political discussions (Başer et al. 2017). According to the International Working Group on Academic Liberty and Freedom of Research in Turkey (GIT 2016), the sensitivity of research permission and ethical approvals provided by the universities changed negatively during this period.  We provide ethical approval and a justification letter of the research to the teacher’s investigation, however our attempt was not succesful and eventually he received a forfeiture of pay as a consequence of handing out our surveys. 7  AfP was founded in November 2012 to publicize and support the demand for conflict resolution in Turkey. For further information see, https://barisicinakademisyenler.net/node/63 6

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The hostile political atmosphere also affected our social position within and outside of academia as well as impacting the project. Following Wilkinson’s (1988) conceptualization of reflexivity, at the disciplinary level, our legitimacy as scientists or intellectuals was lost firstly because academics, in general, were delegitimized on a national level. Second, social science was more specifically under attack, as the majority of the AfP petitioners were from economics, humanities and political science (Sözeri 2016). Witnessing the derogation of academics at all career stages led our whole research team to feel disempowered and alone, since we were mostly early-career researchers without any institutional support. The transformation of our social position within and outside of the academic community affected interpersonal-­level relations within the research team as well. For instance, the heterogeneity of the research team, which was positively attached to our scientific purpose, became a problem, and some of our colleagues withdrew from the project, or they were no longer motivated to continue. These developments directly affected workload, meetings and caused disagreement regarding the consensus about the necessity of the research. Furthermore, the authors, as well as other signatories on the team, had difficulty keeping the research and research team running on course while dealing with investigation, economic exclusion and civil death, which gradually resulted in a process of general social isolation. Taken together, the emergence of the societal conflict and the ensuing political developments such as the AfP petition changed every socio-political setting that facilitated our former attempt to conduct a peace project. As elaborated above, we had obstacles with field research, data collection, financial support, disseminating knowledge, as well as personal motivation. As a result of the dissociation of interconnected contexts (Wilkinson 1988), we lost our emotional detachment from the research via shifting our focus from a macro, abstract, overarching peace towards the safety in our immediate environment and relations which we were already closely attached. In other words, our “academic armor” was broken  and all the socio-political developments affected not only our academic but also our personal identities (Lerum 2001).

15.5  P  hase Three: Leaving Behind Academic Armour for a New Direction Following the escalation of the conflict, especially after the coup attempt and declaration of the state of emergency in July 2016 (see Appendix for the timeline of the research project), the shock we faced became, bit by bit, a new social order with a special focus on removing academic freedom as well as freedom of expression. For example, the main regulations regarding university elections and autonomy were changed at this time. Faculty members no longer nominate candidates for university rector; instead, now the Council of Higher Education (Yüksek Öğretim Kurumu, YÖK) nominates the candidates and presents them to President Erdoğan for his decision (SAR 2017). Indeed, after this decision, Turkey rank 28th among 29

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European countries when it comes to organizational autonomy (see Uslu 2017). Self-censorship was institutionalized under the threat of dismissals and other possible threat from authorities (Tekdemir et al. 2018). After these incidents, discussing or researching certain concepts, such as peace, peacebuilding or negotiations, was criminalized (Başer et al. 2017) by shutting down TV channels (e.g., Peace TV), banning public gatherings (e.g., International Day of Peace, remembrance of Ankara Peace Meeting) and removing monuments (e.g., Peace Monument in Mardin, see Oral et al. 2018). A most relevant example for us was a self-censorship case of the Turkish Psychological Association’s (TPD) national psychology congress in 2016. The conference, entitled “Peace and Psychology,” was rejected by the university originally slated to host it, and no other university was willing to host the conference (TPD 2016). The attacks on the concept of peace, on academia, and specifically AfP signatories, also led to a counter-reaction from many fields of civil society including journalists, actors, unions, political parties and so on (Abbas and Zalta 2017; Başer et al. 2017). In line with this counter-reaction, the petitioners started calling themselves ‘Peace Academics,’ which had a side effect that challenged the academic armor: political engagement as a separate and relatively personal part of our social lives came to the forefront of our academic identity. We devoted more time and effort to constructing both emotional and material solidarity to protect ourselves against political attacks rather than carrying out the research and academic duties. For instance, we started to take part in constructing ‘Solidarity Academies’ outside of the universities, collectively observing investigations and creating support mechanism for those who signed the petition (Acar and Coşkan 2020; Erdem and Akın 2019). During this time, on a personal level, two-fold isolation overlapped. First, our concerns about our colleagues distracted our attention from our academic duties and relations, and second, within faculties and academic networks, our former colleagues and workmates started to either implicitly support or explicitly ignore and disregard our situation. For instance, some faculty members and university personnel stopped speaking with us and even avoided making eye contact with the signatories on the research team. The personal level alienation we experienced in our faculty was not specific to the five of signatories; instead, it reflected a general rising political and social opposition toward the RP, the concept of peace, and academic freedom. For instance, during this time, the content of interviews we were conducting as part of the project became more and more nationalistic and racist especially among Turkish participants, and nearly all members of the research team had difficulties continuing the qualitative data collection due to the demoralizing content. Some of the accounts from participants were perceived as personal attacks and led us to feel hopeless about the aim and future of the project. Again, at this time, our former proposals to the scientific research board of the university to fund the data collection were withdrawn after the last full member meeting of the research team. All in all, in this phase we were in a completely new socio-political context wherein academia was under attack, coupled with personal alienation that obscured the future of the project as well as our careers, and ultimately led to our decision to terminate data collection.

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The above-mentioned conditions also affected us on a functional and disciplinary level (Wilkinson 1988), which moved us toward a new direction. The authors started to take part in academic collectives that were being organized outside of the universities and mostly consisted of critical social scientists (see Acar and Coşkan 2020; Erdem and Akın 2019). This new political mobilization introduced us to completely new, likeminded academic communities and social support mechanisms that empowered us economically, intellectually and emotionally. At the end of phase three, our initial attempt to investigate the social representation of peace among secondary education students was no longer realistic due to lack of access to the field, decreasing motivation among the research team, restrictions on the concept of peace and financial obstacles. However, after organizing a symposium to present and discuss the preliminary results to our new academic network, we decided to look at the effect of the political turmoil on social representations of peace. We then turned our gaze to transformation and focused on the effect of a specific time period (March 2015–April 2016) in the material we had already gathered. We picked the 7th of June 2015 as a threshold, due to the importance of the above-mentioned general elections, which represented the start of escalation of the conflict (see Appendix for the timeline of the research project). We then compared interviews conducted before and after the elections (for details, see Aydemir and Bayad 2017). When it comes to the outcomes of the research, the literature on the spatial variation or cross-cultural comparison of representations of peace is well documented (Galtung 1981; Wagner and Hayes 2005), however, temporal differentiation of peace is relatively disregarded. Our new perspective and results gave us the chance to show that, besides its central representation (e.g., happiness, tranquility, etc.), peace as a political concept is also very unconventional (Sarrica and Wachelke 2012; Van der Linden et al. 2011; Van der Linden and Licata 2012). Overall, during the time period in question, the central core of the peace concept has dramatically shifted from positive to negative peace (Galtung 1981). Furthermore, in connection with losing emotional detachment from the topic (Lerum 2001), the authors sought to outline any evidence that could be related to the positive peace that seemed obvious when we started the project but vanished dramatically afterwards. For instance, instead of seeking overt and explicit expression, we traced associations related to positive peace through the participants’ sentiments that were exemplified on the first page of this chapter. The result showed that peripheral representations associated with a positive peace were more common before the 2015 elections than after. The findings were in line with Wagner and Hayes’ (2005) assumption that the way in which peace is envisioned certainly depends on what has been experienced. However, to our knowledge, the change in social representations of peace has not been documented for such a short time period before. These findings are important, because different from the war concept, peace is not only dependent on peoples’ everyday life experiences but also on socio-political context that may change drastically especially during the escalation of a conflict. No doubt, this urge to find at least the fragments of positive peace is related to our emotional attachment because by this special focus, we were able to show how the “voice” of positive peace sentiment is silenced by the escalation of the conflict, in the just the same way as we were silenced.

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15.6  Concluding Remarks and Suggestions Peace psychology research aims to “promote the nonviolent management of conflict and the pursuit of social justice” (Christie, Wagner, and Winter 2001, p. 7). However, creating a constructive atmosphere for peacebuilding or social justice is enigmatic. Ironically, in the contexts where peace is most desirable, unfortunately, societal marginalization, political oppression and conflict also emerge (Cohen and Arieli 2011; Haer and Becher 2012; Kacen and Chaitin 2006). Within such settings, not only conducting the research but also motivation to continue the research, changing identities and leaving academic armor behind make research even harder (Lerum 2001; Moss et al. 2019). In this chapter, we hoped to contribute to social and peace psychology on applications of reflexivity by examining the interaction of fluxional socio-political context with the researcher’s everchanging identity, data collection framework, as well as outcomes of a research project. We reflected on our position, identities, field research, and analytical framework of a research project on the social representation of peace that occurred throughout a conflict that emerged in Turkey in 2014–2016 that has expanded to the social, political, professional, and personal domains. Following Wilkinson’s (1988) and Parker’s (1994) formulations of reflexivity (e.g., personal, institutional and disciplinary), we firstly show that our motivation to conduct research on peace, including the assumptions we had beforehand, our academic identity and social position, as well as outcomes of the research as the concept of peace, changed during and after the escalation of the conflict. Despite the challenges of maintaining interviews or analyzing data during escalating conflicts (Haer and Becher 2012; Kacen and Chaitin 2006), this reflection provided the opportunity to understand how fragile and interconnected is the personal and professional identity under both open and oppressive atmospheres. Secondly, we show that emotional detachment from the subject as a professional manner might not be beneficial or even possible (Lerum 2001). For instance, after being exposed to political, structural and social oppression, we had to leave behind mainstream academic networks and began to take part in academic collective action seeking peace (i.e., AfP) that empowered us emotionally, socially, and economically. We also found that being close to a topic can be productive rather than a hindrance to good research (Lazard and McAvoy 2017); especially in this case of critical knowledge production, it gives voice to those who have been silenced or disqualified (Reicher 1997). In our case, without a direct economic and reputational gain from the project, emotional attachment provided us a chance to focus on the idea of positive peace, for which much effort had been invested to reach in Turkey, and to show how fast it was replaced with a negative peace (Aydemir and Bayad 2017). Thus, different from comparison studies (Van der Linden and Licata 2012; Van der Linden et al. 2011), we shed light on the effects of fluxional political context on the social representation of the peace. Thirdly, how the researcher is perceived directly affects the researcher-­participant relationship (Cohen and Arieli 2011; Moss et al. 2019). The tension and polarization during a conflict oftentimes make research possible only through personal

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relationships. We reveal that fluxional context may be a cause for methodological obstacles such as overrepresentation of a certain region, groups, or categories due to issues of accessibility (Cohen and Arieli 2011; Haer and Becher 2012; Kacen and Chaitin 2006; Wood 2006). In our case, being part of an alternative academic community enabled us to continue academic activities, including data collection, through alternative networks. Last, when we started the project, our political identities were not in the forefront of our academic identity; we were not fully aware of the global concerns and debates related to academic freedom (see Giroux 2015; SAR 2017). Both critical knowledge production and the merge of identities can be very costly that other researchers should be aware of: we lost our legitimacy as academics, were exposed to disciplinary investigations by our universities, were dismissed from our positions by decree laws, lost our passports, insurance and work security, and finally, the first author migrated to another country as an exile and the second author has been charged to 15 months of prison. However, as a result of our academic collective action in and outside of Turkey, we feel empowered and valuable again and gradually became active in a way to share these feelings and experience with others. Taking part in restructuring and changing our understanding of the scientific community helps us realize how compelling and valuable the production of critical knowledge is (Acar and Coşkan 2020; Erdem and Akın 2019; Reicher 1997). For this very reason, we recommend researchers to organize and proceed with disciplinary self-awareness and engage actively in the process of reflexivity within social psychology (Wilkinson 1988; Reicher 1997). Because, to be able to produce critical knowledge, awareness of the ground that we are standing on is more crucial than the ground per se.

Appendix

Fig. 15.1  A timeline of socio-political context with phases and milestones of the research project

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Uluğ, Ö. M., & Cohrs, J.  C. (2016). An exploration of lay people’s Kurdish conflict frames in Turkey. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 22, 109–119. https://doi.org/10.1037/ pac0000165 Uslu, B. (2017). Organizational flexibility of Turkish universities: Evaluations in the institutional reports of European University Association. Pegem Eğitim ve Ögretim Dergisi, 7 (2), 231–256. https://doi.org/10.14527/pegegog.2017.009 Üstündağ, N. (2019). The Kurdish Movement. In E. Özyürek, G. Özpınar & E.  Altındiş (Eds.), Authoritarianism and resistance in Turkey (pp.  155–168). Springer. https://doi. org/10.1007/978-3-319-76705-5_16 Van der Linden, N., & Licata, L. (2012). Social representations of war and peace. In D. J. Christie (Eds.), The Encyclopedia of Peace Psychology (pp. 1053–1057). Wiley-Blackwell. Van der Linden, N., Bizumic, B., Stubager, R., & Mellon, S. (2011). Social representational correlates of attitudes toward peace and war: A cross-cultural analysis in the United States and Denmark. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 17, 217–242. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/10781919.2011.587176 Vlassenroot, K. (2006). War and social sesearch: The limits of empirical methodologies in war-torn environments. Civilisations. Revue Internationale D’anthropologie et de Sciences Humaines, (54), 191–198. https://doi.org/10.4000/civilisations.442 Wagner, W., & Hayes, N. (2005). Everyday discourse and common sense: The theory of social representations. Palgrave Macmillan. Wilkinson, S. (1988). The role of reflexivity in feminist psychology. Women’s Studies International Forum, 11, 493–502. https://doi.org/10.1016/0277-5395(88)90024-6 Wood, E. J. (2006). The ethical challenges of field research in conflict zones. Qualitative Sociology, 29, 373–386. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11133-006-9027-8 Yeğen, M. (2015). The Kurdish peace process in Turkey: Genesis, evolution and prospects. In S. A. Düzgit, D. Huber, M. Müftüler-Baç, E. F. Keyman, M. Schwarz, & N. Tocci (Eds). Global Turkey in Europe III: Democracy, Trade, and the Kurdish Question in Turkey-EU Relations (pp. 157–184). Edizioni Nuova Cultura. Yılmaz, O., Cesur, S., & Bayad, A. (2018). Türklerin ve Kürtlerin birbirlerine karşı olumsuz tutumlarının bazı psikolojik değişkenlerle ilişkisi [Psychological correlates of negative attitudes of Turks and Kurds toward one another]. Turkish Psychological Article, 21, 82–99. https://bit. ly/2ZEA2qt Zürcher, E.  J. (2005). İmparatorluktan cumhuriyete Türkiye’de etnik çatışma (2th ed.) [From empire to republic ethnic conflict in Turkey]. İletişim Yayınları.

Chapter 16

A Reflection on the Politics of Knowledge Production at South African Universities: When Black Identity Meets Legacies of Institutional Racism Sibusiso Maseko

South Africa is a country historically built on the premise of race, where being Black1 or White, to a large extent, determines your fate in life (Durrheim 2005; Foster and Finchilescu 1986). As such, the legacies of racial oppression are engrained into its social, political and economic structures (Durrheim 2005; Foster and Finchilescu 1986; Reddy 2015; Tobias 1972). This legacy was built during the colonial and apartheid era, when racial segregation and oppression were central to how the state functioned. During these eras, in particular during apartheid, neighbourhoods, schooling and even public amenities were segregated based on a person’s racial classification (classified as either African, White, Coloured, Indian). This segregation extended to the oppression of Black South Africans (African, Coloured and Indian) by restricting their movement, providing them with sub-­ standard education and using state sanctioned violence against them. This institutionalized form of oppression continues to negatively affect Black South Africans to this day. South African universities as sites of knowledge production and dissemination have not managed to escape the pervasive logic of racism, foregrounded by colonisation and apartheid (Kamola 2011; Nicholas 1994). With this backdrop in mind, my aim in this chapter is to reflect on my experiences as a Black South African doctoral candidate, who, as part of his doctoral project, had to undertake his doctoral research in a university context that is still battling to undo institutional racism. My on-going doctoral project examines White South Africans’ perceptions of racial  Black in this discussion constitutes racial and ethnic groups that were subjugated under colonization and apartheid. This includes, Africans, Coloreds and Indian South Africans when reference is made to the South Africa context. 1

S. Maseko (*) University of South Africa, Pretoria, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_16

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inequality. Given the contentious nature of racial inequality in South Africa, my doctoral project provides the opportunity, through reflecting on my experience, to examine how I, as a Black South African, experience the knowledge production process at a South African university. My reflection is organized into two sections. The first section examines what I call The burden of Blackness. In this section, I consider how choosing a methodological approach evoked a set of moral and ethical tensions in me. This is because methodological frameworks in the South African social sciences are not neutral, but have a history of racial biases that justified apartheid. The second section examines my interaction with a university ethics committee and White South African students who participated in my study. This reflection represented the existence of whiteness2 at South African universities. I refer to this section as Encounters with whiteness. Prior to presenting the aforementioned reflection, I detail how formerly White South African universities have dealt with the increasing presence of Black South Africans on their campuses, as students and as academic  faculty. In particular, I discuss how Black South African academics and students experience the insidious nature of White dominance at South African universities. Second, I go onto to argue that the construction of Black bodies as sub-human led to the exclusion of Black academics from mainstream knowledge production. Overall, my chapter seeks to contribute to emergent literature on how Black South African scholars experience knowledge production at South African universities, particularly universities that were historically reserved for White South Africans.

16.1  A Brief Overview of My Doctoral Project My on-going doctoral project explores how White South Africans perceive efforts at catalyzing social change in South Africa - in light of the oppression that Black South Africans endured during the colonial and apartheid era. Given this history, in my thesis, I theoretically argue that White-European settlers in South Africa have constructed a sense of nativeness to South Africa (see Boehmer 2011; Crais 1991). Furthermore, I empirically test the assumption that White South Africans oppose measures that seek to undo race-based inequalities because their sense of nativeness bestows ownership of South Africa to them. To test this assumption, in the first study, I conducted an online survey to examine the effects of autochthony3 on the desire for group-based inequalities amongst White South African students.  Whiteness is a social position acquired by people of European decent informed by the period of colonisation (Steyn 2005) 3  Autochthony is the belief that the first inhabitants of a territory have greater entitlement than the second comers (Martinovic and Verkuyten 2013). Having argued that White South Africans have constructed a sense of nativeness to South Africa, I use the notion of autochothony to determine whether its relevant to attitudes towards race-based inequalities. 2

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16.2  Apartheid and South African Universities Apartheid was a grand scheme of legislative and institutionally sanctioned racial segregation and oppression. During this era, a plethora of laws were passed between 1948 and 1971 to regulate racial interaction and to ensure racial oppression (see Durrheim 2005; Foster and Finchilescu 1986; Giliomee 2003). The Population Registration Act of 1950 officially categorized South Africans into Whites, Africans, Indians and Colored. This categorization of South Africans by race was given social, political and economic meaning through related acts like the Job Reservations Act of 1957. The Job Reservations Act of 1957 act reserved high income job categories for White South Africans. In addition, acts like the Group Areas Act of 1950 segregated neighborhoods based on race, and the Bantu Education Act of 1950 gave Black South Africans inferior education to serve in low-wage jobs. These are just a few of the acts that illustrate apartheid’s obsession with racial categorization, segregation, and the oppression of Africans, Coloreds, and Indians (see Durrheim 2005; Foster and Finchilescu 1986). The central thesis of the apartheid regime was that racial integration would lead to intergroup conflict, and this would compromise White supremacy in South Africa (Durrheim 2005; Foster and Finchilescu 1986; Giliomee 2003), hence the need to pursue “separate development” for White and Black South Africans. To date, it is twenty-five years since apartheid laws were repealed in South Africa. The revoking of these laws meant that the governance of South Africa would be founded on ideals and values of non-racialism reflected in its liberal and democratic constitution (see Reddy 2015). This, ideally meant that Black South Africans would be extended civil liberties like the right to vote, to engage in political activity, freedom of speech, scientific freedom, freedom of movement, etc. Furthermore, the democratically elected South African government promulgated affirmative action measures to address South Africa’s history of racial inequality. Despite the aforementioned measures, which sought to undo the effects of apartheid, the lives of Black South Africans remain largely unchanged.

16.2.1  South African Universities and the Apartheid Regime South African universities did not escape the clutches of the apartheid regime, as they reflected the regime’s obsession with the organization of races. As a result, South African universities were racially segregated in their student population and in the makeup of their academic staff (Davies 1996; Nicholas 1994). The apartheid regime’s obsession with racial  segregation at South African universities was captured legally by the promulgation of the Extension of University Education Act of 1959. The Extension of University Education Act of 1959 barred Black students from attending White universities (Kamola 2011; Nicholas 1994). Further, White universities were segregated into Afrikaans and English speaking universities, while

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Black universities were divided into universities that catered for Africans, Coloreds and Indians (Kamola 2011). Importantly, not only were South African universities racially segregated, but they were also resourced in accordance with the prevailing racial hierarchies (Davies 1996; Kamola 2011). This meant that White universities would get disproportionately more resources relative to Black universities (Davies 1996; Wolpe 1995). At the same time, Black South Africans were restricted from enrolling in programs that prepared them for careers that were deemed “unsuitable” for them, such as Engineering and Accounting Sciences (Davies 1996; Wolpe 1995). A consequence of this, is that knowledge production also became racially skewed, with the vast majority of doctoral graduates and professoriate being White South Africans (Davies 1996; Kamola 2011).

16.2.2  Post-Apartheid South African Universities After the abolishment of apartheid laws, the democratically elected South African government sought to undo the racially segregated university system and the racial hierarchies that accompanied them. To do this, the South African government, merged some universities, legislated affirmative action measures and provided financial aid to the vast majority of Black South African students. These efforts, have largely translated into an increased number of Black South Africans engaging in knowledge production at formerly White South African universities. However, government’s efforts at racially transforming South African universities have, at times, been met with resistance from some sections of the White South African community, such as Afriforum. For instance, in 2018 Afriforum lost a court battle to the University of South Africa after it opposed the university changing its language policy to exclude Afrikaans as a language used for delivering tuition. The University of South Africa excluded Afrikaans as a language of tuition because it sought to promote greater equality in access to tuition. Despite measures taken to racially transform South African universities, Black South African academics and students have lamented institutional cultures at previously White South African universities as alienating, covertly and overtly racist and consequently not welcoming (see Jawitz 2012; Maseti 2018; Phadi and Pakade 2011). For instance, some universities have continued to use Afrikaans as a language of teaching and learning, thus excluding the vast majority of Black South Africans from accessing tuition. In some instances, universities that exclusively taught in Afrikaans accommodated Black South African students by utilizing both Afrikaans and English in their tuition. However, this “intervention” reinforced apartheid spatial divides as lecture halls were racially divided. The sense of being marginalized at universities eventually led to widespread protests by Black South African students calling on universities to change institutional cultures that marginalize them based on race. As part of these protests, students questioned the curriculum offered at South African universities, claiming that it is largely representative of

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cultures from dominant European nations and the United States of America (see Ally and August 2018; Mignolo 2009). These events suggests that although South African universities (particularly formerly White South African universities) may have allowed more Black South Africans to enter these institutions, Black South African academics and students still experience formerly White South African universities as spaces that marginalize them based on their race (see Maseti 2018; Phadi and Pakade 2011).

16.2.3  The Experiences of Black South African Academics Leroke (1994), at the inception of South Africa’s democracy, had already begun to comment on state of knowledge production in the social sciences, in South Africa. Leroke (1994) contended that knowledge production in the social sciences is a cultural practice that reflects mainly Western cultural values. As such, Leroke (1994) problematized how knowledge production emanating from Western cultural practices perpetuated the subjugation of Black South Africans. This, he argued, was done through Black South Africans being represented in an unfavorable manner and being rendered perpetual objects of study. Drawing of Leroke’s (1994) earlier critique, Phadi and Pakade (2011) consider the seemingly innocuous ways in which White privilege is upheld at South African universities, at the expense of Black South African academics and students. Phadi and Pakade (2011) argue that intellectual traditions that make up mainly former White South African universities have always positioned Black South Africans as objects of study and White South Africans as subjects. Phadi and Pakade (2011) elaborate on the construction of Black South Africans as objects of study. They argue that even when formerly White South African universities started admitting Black South Africans into the academy, established racist practices continued. In other words, even though Black South African academics entered academia as knowledge producers (for example, as doctoral students, post-doctoral fellows, professors, etc.), they continued to be constructed as people who are to be spoken for and represented by White South African academics. To express this phenomenon, Phadi and Pakade (2011) borrow the notion of native informant from Khan (2005). They argue that a native informant is an assistant in the knowledge production process. Native informants are representatives of African cultural groups and serve as mere assistants to White scholars in the production of knowledge (Phadi and Pakade 2011). Their use of the notion of native informant expresses their frustration at being continuously marginalized at formerly White South African universities. To drive their point, Phadi and Pakade (2011) refer to an “administrative error” that the first author, Phadi, was subjected to at a formerly White South African university. The author had already graduated with her master’s degree when the institution made the error of re-enrolling her for a master’s degree, even though she had enrolled for a doctorate. Although seemingly innocuous, the “administrative error” for her

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reflected a common racist view that Black South Africans are not capable of pursuing advanced degrees like a doctorate. In other words, the academic traditions that are in place construct Black South Africans as subjects that cannot engage in advanced scholarly discourses but are perpetual objects of scholarly investigation. Phadi and Pakade’s (2011) critique is crucial because it provides a basis for understanding how Black South Africans are constructed in the knowledge production process. This construction is evidenced by the trend of research outputs at South African universities, which indicates that Black South African academics produce one-fifth of the research outputs at South African universities (Wild 2019). Maseti (2018) offers an autoethnographic account of feeling excluded in formerly White South African universities. Reflecting on her time as a student and lecturer, Maseti (2018) conceives of her Black South African female identity as representing a “body out of place” at a formerly White South African university. To illustrate this construction, she mentions how during her time as a student, she was made to feel as though she did not belong to the university because she was not able to speak English fluently. Maseti’s (2018) experience does not occur outside of commonly held racist belief in South Africa that Black South Africans (who by the way are mostly English second language speakers) not being able to speak English fluently is a reflection of their inferior intelligence. Painter (2006) notes the politics of language in light of South Africa’s history of racial segregation and oppression, stating that language is not neutral but is a means to include and exclude people from accessing economic, cultural and social capital (see also Wa Thiong’o, 2005). Maseti (2018) goes on to illustrate another aspect of her “being a body out of place”. She mentions how she felt the pressure to be perfect in undertaking her academic duties as a lecturer because she was aware of the negative stereotypes that White South Africans have about Black South Africans. Particularly, Black South Africans who are seen to have benefited from affirmative action. In this instance, even though she has been admitted into a formerly White South African University, her Black identity held her hostage, as she felt the pressure to be perfect. Maseti’s (2018) description of a “body out of place” through her not being able to articulate herself fluently in English and her meta-stereotype of how she thought her White colleagues perceived her - illustrates the inherent contradictions of racial redress at formerly White South African universities. That is to say, formerly White South African universities, claim to strive for racial inclusion but simultaneously exclude Black South Africans in subtle and overt ways. Another example is provided by Walker (2005). Walker (2005) makes reference to how a student residence at one of the South African universities still has the old apartheid flag painted on the wall. Such displays of the old apartheid flag are often justified as preserving Afrikaner culture or freedom of expression by sections of the White South African community. However the “preservation of culture” or exercising “freedom of speech” in this case, does not consider the trauma it may reinscribe for Black South Africans. Taken at face value, it may seem as though South African universities have undone the racial inequalities entrenched by apartheid regime. However, the aforementioned accounts suggest that the legacies of racial inequality are still being

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reproduced in the present. Leroke(1994); Phadi and Pakade (2011) and Maseti (2018) articulate the precarious circumstances that Black South African academics and students find themselves in. That is to say, although former White South African universities make it seem as though racial inequalities are being reversed by admitting Black South Africans, the sentiments shared by these Black South African academics suggests that racial inequalities remain firmly in place. Given this, I contend that South Africa’s history of racialized oppression and exclusion in knowledge production created normative conditions for White South Africans to be seen as the only legitimate knowledge producers. That is to say, legitimate knowledge or what was taken to be knowledge was exclusive to White South Africans and the universities that they occupied. In the section that follows, I will attempt to provide a more precise account of how Black South Africans may have come to be seen as illegitimate knowledge producers.

16.3  T  he Black as Sub-Human: Foregrounding the Oppression of Black Bodies in South African Universities During the colonial and apartheid era, Blacks were excluded from all forms of knowledge production, including knowledge production at universities (see Dubow 1995). This is not surprising, as years of scientific racism questioned and even “evidenced” through science that Africans had less intellectual ability (Ramose 1999). Ramose (1999, p. 12) argues that the “age of reason”, also known as the enlightenment era (year 1685 to year 1815), led to humans being judged based on the ability to exercise intellectual ability in the form of reason. To the extent that a people were deemed as not being able to exercise the faculty of reason, their humanness became doubtful (Curran 2011; Ramose 1999). Referring to this epoch, Ramose (1999) argues that when White-European colonizers encountered Black people, they concluded that they lacked reason, thus  they disqualified them from the category of human (see also Curran 2011). Ironically, even when evidence to the contrary presented itself, White-European colonizers failed to exercise reason and continued to relegate Blacks to subjects that are outside of the category of human. Smith (2013) argues that European colonizers disqualified Blacks as human because this allowed them to distance themselves from their acts of oppression and to justify these oppressive acts. Given the fact that Blacks were seen as bodies devoid of human quality, they were often traded as commodities, for instance, in the transatlantic slave trade. In this case, Blacks came to be seen as bodies that were to be used to meet the economic ends of Western Europe and other Western nations like the United State of America. These economic ends were often met through slavery or indentured labor (Tuck and Yang 2012). With this historical account of how Black people were constructed as sub-human, it becomes difficult to see how institutions such as universities would suddenly endorse their humanity tout court (see Nwoye

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2015a). In other words, the assumption that Blacks do not have human qualities continues to implicitly inform the underlying logic of some Western cultures and even some Western universities as cultural locations (see Bankole 1998; Curran 2011). Given that Blacks were constructed as subhuman by White-European colonizers, African epistemologies were excluded from Western universities4and even African universities5 post-colonialization. For instance, Adésínà (2002) argued that African epistemic assumptions, such as how Africans use  a fuzzy logic as opposed to a Western binary logic to reason about the world, have been omitted from Western Universities and African universities (see also Nwoye 2015a). The notion of fuzzy logic suggests that African ways of understanding the world are contextual. Nwoye (2015a) provides an example, stating that in the African sense a person could be considered tall and short at the same time, based on the context that they find themselves in.  The marginalization of Africans and their philosophies stems from the affiliations that African universities continued to have with colonial powers. These affiliations and networks continue until this day; this is even after much of the Western knowledge has proven irrelevant for the majority of Africans (Bulhan 2015; Nwoye 2015a). The irrelevance of Western knowledge for Africans can be seen in social science disciplines like psychology. For instance, according to the Western view, a person who sees or hears people who have passed on may be diagnosed with a mental disorder. However, according to the African view, this person has the gift of seeing beyond the earthly realm and may be demonstrating a spiritual gift (see also Bulhan 2015; Nwoye 2015b). To account for how White-European colonizers constructed Black people as unfit for intellectual discourse, two complementary explanations are offered by Ramose (1999) and Smith (2013). First, Ramose (1999) suggests that the relegation of Blacks to sub-human meant that White-European colonizers would have authority over truth, meaning of experience and knowledge. This authority is extended to proclaiming truth on behalf of Africans. In other words, White-European scholars construct themselves as representatives of Black people and their experience (Phadi and Pakade 2011). White-European scholars acting as representatives of Africans naturally led to misrepresentations of Africans and their worldviews (Nwoye 2015a). Second, Smith (2013) argues that this history of colonial oppression led to Black scholars being intimidated by the process of theorizing from their worldview, largely because Western disciplines ignored the African experience or studied it in a manner that would represent it negatively. Both practices continue to reinforce each other in contemporary African universities (see also Mignolo 2009). That is, Black scholars continue to remain silent or are being made invisible in the knowledge production process, thus reinforcing the idea that Western scholars (including White South Africans) are the original and credible knowledge producers. These

 Western University in this case I make references to universities located in the West.  African University in this case makes reference to universities located in Africa.

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mutually constitutive practices construct Western scholars as custodians of the African experience. Given the deliberate ignorance of the African worldview- through silencing and distortion- it is no surprise that universities in Africa were established to mimic those of the colonial empire (i.e., Western and European universities). For instance, Nwoye (2015a) makes the point that the establishment of universities in Africa during the post-colonial era ensured that these universities were extensions of the colonial empire. This, Nwoye (2015a) laments, is reflected in how university curricula were and still are mainly representative of a Western worldview. For example, in psychopathology, although the majority Black South Africans come from cultures that have different constructions of what constitutes mental illness, the traditional set of diagnostic criteria is based on Western cultural specificities. This is the only canon that is presented at most universities in South Africa. This, in practice, serves to make Black scholars imitators of Western knowledge systems  - silencing and alienating them from African worldviews (Nwoye 2015a). This history I argue has a profound impact on Black scholars when they engage in knowledge production.

16.4  B  lack Positionality and the Knowledge Production Process What does the history of systematic racism and the exclusion of Black bodies in society and universities, in particular, have to do with my experiences during the knowledge production process? This history, although seemingly distant and removed from the present, had an impact on me while I was undertaking my doctoral project. In other words, although South Africa may have abolished apartheid laws, racial inequalities still manage to find themselves at the center of most social practices. This includes social practices like conducting research at South African universities. In the section that follows, I explore how South Africa’s history of racial oppression has a bearing on my research process. My reflection comprises of two sections. I consider how choosing a methodological approach evoked a set of moral and ethical tensions in me. I refer to this as The burden of Blackness. The second theme examines my interaction with a university ethics committee and White South African students who participated in my study. In particular, I reflect on the power dynamics that were at play when I engaged with the university ethics committee and White South African participants. I refer to this theme as Encounters with whiteness. Prior to presenting these reflections, in the section that follows I provide a brief background of my doctoral project.

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16.4.1  Background of Doctoral Project For my doctoral project, I dealt with two different universities, because I am registered as a doctoral candidate at one university and employed as a lecturer at another. University 1, where I am registered as a doctoral student, is a residential university with an estimated forty-seven thousand students. By residential institution, I mean students attend classes through face-to-face tuition on campus. On the other hand, University 2, where I am employed as a lecturer, is an open distance e-learning institution. This means that students at University 2 do not necessarily access tuition through face-to-face learning but through e-learning and other modes of learning utilized in open distance education. University 1 was re-established in 1994 after a merger between the University of Natal (reserved for Whites only) and the University of Durban-Westville (reserved for Indians only). University 2 has a history of providing Black South Africans with opportunities to pursue higher education, albeit with a staff profile that is largely made up of White South Africans. Given that University 2 has an estimated student population off above three-hundred and fifty-­ thousand students studying through the open distance e-learning model, I decided to use the student population at university 2 to conduct the online survey for the first study. My reflection focuses on methodological choices that I had to make when conceptualizing my doctoral project. I reflect on these methodological choices under the section titled The burden of Blackness. In addition, my reflection focuses on my encounters with an ethics committee at one of the universities and White South African students who participated in the first study of my doctoral project.6 I reflect on this under the section titled Encounters with Whiteness.

16.4.2  The Burden of Blackness Producing knowledge as a Black South African scholar, especially research that considers contentious topics such as racial inequality, is bound to have challenges. In my doctoral study, I investigate White South Africans and their perception of racialized inequalities. In particular, my on-going doctoral study seeks to determine whether the endorsement of autochthony has an effect on the desire for group-based inequality amongst White South African participants. Autochthony is the ideology that the first inhabitants of a territory have greater entitlements than inhabitants who arrive after them (Martinovic and Verkuyten 2013; Smeekes et al. 2015). A study of this nature in light of South Africa’s history of colonization and subsequent apartheid is contentious because it brings up issues related to land dispossession, oppression, and trauma for Black South Africans. The contentious nature of my study often presented me with moral and ethical tensions, which I reckon stem from the  Studies two and three are currently in the planning phase.

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research questions that I posed, who I posed them to, and how I proceeded to make attempts to answer these questions. As such, when I had to make a methodological choice in my doctoral study, I was conflicted because the methodological choice that I had made, in an attempt to answer my research question, was tainted with a history of reproducing racial inequalities (see Louw and van Hoorn 1997; Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2017). I was aware that the survey as a methodological approach was not a neutral or objective social practice but communicated a particular cultural and ideological viewpoint (see Leroke 1994). It is against this back drop that I reflect on the moral and ethical tensions that I experienced when using a methodological approach that has a history of reproducing racial asymmetries in power (see Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2017, on how Western research methodologies potentially reproduce racial asymmetries). I discuss these moral and ethical tensions under sub-sections titled Continuing the legacy of psychometric practices and A Black scholar mimicking Western research practices. 16.4.2.1  Continuing the Legacy of Psychometric Practice Leroke (1994) contends that research approaches are not neutral or objective social practices but communicate cultural values that are located in a historical context (for active handling of the historical context, see also Burns et al. 2020, this volume; Suffla et al. 2020, this volume). It is this contention that becomes relevant when considering methodological approaches in the context of South Africa’s history. Louw and van Hoorn (1997) allude to how during apartheid, psychologists helped to justify segregation and subjugation of Black South Africans through the use of psychological assessments. This is because the colonial and apartheid governments were dealing with what was called the “race problem,” which subsequently became the native problem (i.e., a problem of what to do with Black South Africans). Louw and van Hoorn (1997) go on to mention that the measurement of mental ability made racial differences essential  - hence justifying the need to separate Blacks South Africans from White South Africans because these races were thought of as fundamentally different. In this case, a quantitative methodological approach to understanding human behaviour was used as a “scientific basis” for the segregation of Black and White South Africans and the eventual oppression of Black South Africans. It is with this history and critique of psychological assessment that I found myself experiencing guilt. This is because in choosing a quantitative methodological approach to interrogate race-based inequalities in South Africa, I felt as though I was upholding a methodological approach that has been historically used to justify racial segregation and oppression. My guilt was compounded by the view that the majority of African scholars, at least the ones that I have been exposed to, often examine racial oppression using different approaches. For instance, theoretical approaches are quite common avenues for deconstructing racialized oppression amongst Black scholars in South Africa (see More 2011). Yet here I was a budding

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Black South African scholar using a methodological approach that aided and abetted colonization and apartheid. Even more unsettling was the fact that I was using a quantitative research approach to try and understand racialized inequalities. This presented a contradiction, given that quantitative research approaches were used to fortify racial inequalities in South Africa. Overall my guilt, stemmed from the fact that I felt I had a greater moral and ethical obligation to Black South Africans and the greater mission of achieving social justice. 16.4.2.2  A Black Scholar Mimicking Western Methodological Practices Nwoye (2015a) cautions Black scholars against producing knowledge that merely mimics knowledge from the Western academy, particularly, when investigating issues related to the African context. Nwoye (2015a) further argues that such practices serve to subvert or silence the African experience. Given that I had chosen a quantitative methodological approach which is rooted in Western positivism, I felt as though I had become one of those Black scholars that Nwoye (2015a) referred to, merely borrowing method and theory from the West and trying to insert them into African experience. This feeling was exacerbated when Black colleagues would question my choice of methodology and theoretical approach. In reflecting on the experience of feeling as though I was continuing the legacy of psychometric practice and mimicking Western methodological practices, it felt as though my Black South African identity was a burden. This is because even when engaging in the endeavours of knowledge production that contributes to issues of social justice concerning Black South Africans, I carried an extra responsibility. I had to contend with the historical and political implications of the methodological approach that I had chosen. This ethico-political duty, in my opinion, would not be expected of White South Africans. The sense that I was compromising this ethico-­ political duty evoked a sense of guilt and shame (Nogueira and Guzzo 2016). As a result, I was/am still reluctant to share my doctoral project with Black scholars, especially those who identify as post-colonial or decolonial scholars - who dedicate their scholarship to deconstructing the legacies of colonialism and apartheid. These feelings lingered despite the fact that I was studying White South Africans because I was using a research approach that had helped justify apartheid and is rooted in Western positivism. The sense that I had an ethico-political duty to examine White dominance in South Africa according to a particular set of standards, implied in the post-colonial and decolonial literature, presented an irony. The irony lay in the fact that while attempting to do social research that addresses the racialized injustices of the past, my identity as a Black South African scholar burdened me to do the investigation in a manner that is “politically correct”. As such, the fact that I am using a methodological approach that is hegemonic in the production of knowledge in the Western academy made me feel as though I was a traitor. In other words, I was compromising the greater cause of producing knowledge that promotes issues of social justice that affect Black South Africans  - even though my doctoral project attempts to

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address pertinent issues regarding racial injustices. My morality as a researcher in relation to my Black South African identity came under scrutiny from myself and how I imagined others saw me. These feelings are part of the murky waters that one has to go through when conducting research that addresses topics as emotionally charged as race. The subject  of race is emotionally laden because of its historical significance. I, as the researcher, cannot undo this history, there is no step-by-step guide to dealing with these feelings, but to deeply accept how uncomfortable it can get.

16.4.3  Encounters With Whiteness 16.4.3.1  Feedback From the Ethics Committee When conducting research using human subjects, it is not uncommon for ethic committees to review applications and to revert back to the applicant with comments that need to be addressed. This forms part of an ethics committee’s duty to ensure that research procedures do not harm participants. Being affiliated with two universities, I had to apply for ethical clearance from both. Obtaining ethical clearance from one of the universities proved to be routine because the ethics committee did not revert back to me with comments. However, I received comments that needed clarification from the ethics committee at the other university. I initially took their feedback with the understanding that the ethics committee was performing its duty of protecting participants from undue harm. As a result, when I first read comments from the ethics committee, they seemed to be part of the normal clarifications that an ethics committee would request from an applicant. However, when I re-read the comments, I began to feel unsettled. I wondered if the ethics committee provided feedback based on my identity as a Black South African. One of the comments from the ethics committee was regarding how I conceptualized Afrikaner identity. The comment stated that my understanding of Afrikaner was not in keeping with the dynamic nature of this identity category, and therefore I (the researcher) should define what I mean by Afrikaner. I found this advice disconcerting as the ethics committee implied that I had not read enough about this identity category. Another comment from the ethics committee was that nostalgia can be learnt from other sources hence they questioned my reference to personal nostalgia. In essence, the ethics reviewers seemed to dispute the fact that there is such a thing as personal nostalgia. Again, this comment, for me, demonstrated that the reviewers were questioning my understanding of the literature that I sought to contribute to. As stated, this feedback came across as advisory at first, as part and parcel of the normal interaction between a researcher and an ethics committee. However, as I re-­ read the feedback I developed the impression that my Black South African identity mattered. It felt as though the committee was responding to me with my Black South African identity in mind. Moreover, I was perplexed at why the ethics

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committee gave feedback that I might normally receive from a research proposal committee. Their feedback in this instance had nothing to do with how my online survey could cause potential harm to participants but more to do with the conceptual aspects of my study. Also, given that this feedback was from a general ethics committee, I was left to wonder whether the reviewers had expertise in social psychology. Judging from their feedback, it was clear that they did not have expertise in social psychology. Subsequently, I wondered where this type of feedback stemmed from. Were the comments based on an objective reviewer, reviewing an ethics application, or was it because the study was being conducted by a Black South African scholar? Or was the ethics committee uncomfortable with the study because a Black South African scholar sought permission to examine the views of White South Africans about racial inequality? Moreover, the ethics committee’s feedback felt more like directives, giving direction to a Black South African academic who had no idea what he was doing – a perpetual native informant who needs hand-holding because he could not acquire a reasonable competence in his sub-discipline (see Phadi and Pakade 2011). What might have seemed like a routine interaction between a researcher and an ethics committee became about how my Black South Africa identity mediated the ethics review process. Whether I was “pulling the race card”7 or not was immaterial - what mattered in this instance is that I felt as though my Black identity was a burden and was an obstacle to me completing my study. In sum, it felt as though the ethics committee’s feedback was in keeping with earlier accounts of how Black South Africans were cast as perpetual objects of study (see Leroke 1994).This for me meant that my understanding of the sub-discipline of social psychology was being  scrutinised. And this scrutiny was not based on the norms of academic culture but on my identity and how it was and still is positioned in South African universities. In response to the ethics committee, I scheduled a meeting with the chair of the ethics committee in order to explain in person how their comments were not in keeping with my understanding of social psychological literature. The meeting was very cordial, as the chair allowed me to clarify points that the ethics committee had raised and she seemed to take these points to heart. Subsequent to that, I provided the ethics committee with a written response detailing my understanding of the social psychology literature and how their feedback did not align with my understanding of the body of knowledge that I was trying to contribute to. It was only after this correspondence with the ethics committee that I received ethical clearance. In hindsight, given how bureaucratic the process of obtaining ethical clearance was, I wonder if such procedures may covertly discriminate against scholars who belong to racial minorities or scholars who investigate topics as contentious as racial inequality. I say this because ethics committees do not operate outside of a given socio-poltical context. In other words, ethics committees are part of societies and institutions that reproduce racial inequalities. As a result, they may inadvertently  “Pulling the race card” is a common trope employed by Whites when they lament how Blacks always see racism even when, according to them, it does not explain certain social situations where racism is seen as a cause. 7

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use their institutional power to regulate how racial inequalities are studied, at the expense of scholars from racial minorities. 16.4.3.2  Interacting With White South African Participants During data collection at University 2, the informed consent form indicated that participants could email the researcher (in this case, me) with any questions regarding the doctoral study and the online survey. The online survey invite was emailed to nine thousand three hundred and twenty two White South African undergraduate students. From this invite 258 participant responses were suitable for analysis. My name and surname appeared on the informed consent form, therefore based on this identifier participants could conclude I am a Black South African (see similar experiences regarding researcher identity in Karasu and Uluğ 2020 this volume). My identity as a researcher being salient, set the scene for “normal” day to day interactions where White South Africans are in a position of authority relative to Black South Africans. From the email invites sent I received three emails regarding the survey and two emails stood out for me. The first participant emailed me, addressing an aspect of my study. Given that statements in the survey made reference to White South African identity, the participant thought that they should point out that White South African identity is made up of English and Afrikaans speaking South Africans. Similar to the ethics committee that gave me feedback about Afrikaner identity, I wondered whether participants did not think I already knew how heterogeneous this identity category is. Another participant felt the questions or statements posed in the survey were one-directional and that I should consider conducting interviews as well. This again for me represented a moment when my competence was being questioned. Given that I was a doctoral student, why did the participant not assume that I already knew the strengths and weaknesses of quantitative research approaches. Of course, both participants were giving their opinion regarding their experience of the survey. But given their identity as White South Africans, I got the sense that their feedback was advisory and contingent on my Black South African identity. For me, it is not the feedback that made me feel undermined, but it is the sense that the feedback came from a place of benevolent racism. By benevolent racism I mean instances when Whites often position themselves as advisors, mentors or supporters of Blacks to maintain asymmetries in power and authority (Esposito and Romano 2016). That is to say, if Whites position themselves as advisors, mentors etc., they get to keep authority, power and privilege. Furthermore, I felt that participants being White South Africans constituted power, because they could even express how they would have liked their participation in the study to have been. This perhaps demonstrates how their power as White South Africans affords them the opportunity to assert themselves to the extent that they go onto advise a doctoral candidate even though they are undergraduate students.

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Both instances, did not reflect outright racial bigotry or prejudice. However, given South Africa’s history and socio-political context, racialised identities and the behavioural repertoires that come with them were still implicated. The feedback received from the one ethics committe and White South African participants while collecting data for study 1, made me feel that my Black South African identity was central to the feedback and inquiries I received. One can surmise that this feeling could have stemmed from the fact that I had grown accustomed to being marginalised in South Africa and this potentially  affected my engagement with the ethics committee and research participants. In the same breath, the ethics committee and the White South African participants could have internalised their position of relative superiority socially and brought this with them into the research engagement. Also, it could be possible that bringing up the issue of racial inequality for ethics reviewers and White South Africans could have evoked emotions, such as guilt, shame, anger, and regret related to South Africa’s history of racialised oppression. Potentially, all these factors mediated my interaction with the ethics committee and participants who completed the survey. What they do demonstrate though, is that research procedures and practices cannot be separated from the history and socio-politics of a particular context. The researcher being a Black doctoral candidate in a society with a history of racial oppression does not help him escape the tropes that come with this identity. What this shows us is that the researcher and participants bring the dynamics of their society into the research study, particularly when contentious topics such as racial inequality are being investigated.

16.5  Conclusion The aim of this chapter was to reflect on my experiences as a Black South African doctoral candidate, who, as part of his doctoral project, had to undertake his research in a university context that is still battling to undo racial inequalities. As a result in my reflection, I attempted to demonstrate how the politics of knowledge production at South African universities, have a bearing on my experience as a Black South African doctoral scholar. In other words, I reflect on how the aforementioned social, political and historical context becomes personal in the knowledge production process. Given that my doctoral project examines racial inequalities exclusively amongst White South Africans, it felt as though it was going against the traditional hierarchies of knowledge production in South African universities. This is because, I, a Black South African scholar, was rendering White South Africans the subjects of study. This is contrary to the historical norms of Black South Africans being perpetual objects of study by “White experts” (see Leroke 1994; Phadi and Pakade 2011). This unique positioning of my doctoral project inevitably evoked moral and ethical conflicts when I was choosing and executing my research methodology.

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In choosing a quantitative methodological approach to examine racial inequalities in South Africa and also relying on theory generated in the Western epicenters of knowledge production (Grosfoguel 2013), I felt as though I was complicit in the reproduction of racialized inequalities. In addition, the role of the ethics committee and my interaction with White South African participants evoked a feeling that my Black South African identity was central to their correspondence with me. In these instances, I experienced how the social, political and historical factors that have shaped the university landscape in South Africa  have a bearing on my personal experience prior to and during data collection. Given that I will continue collecting data for a planned second and third study, my experience during the first study has sensitised me to the power relations between me and White South African students who will potentially participate in my study. That is to say, our broader experiences of our racialized identities in South Africa matter, even when we interact in a research setting. In essence, South Africa’s history of racialised oppression cannot be wished away, even when one conducts research. I conclude that in light of how universities continue to reproduce racial inequalities, the application and execution of research approaches in the knowledge production process is not isolated from the social, political and historical context of South Africa (see Leroke 1994; Phadi and Pakade 2011). Black South Africans as knowledge producers are often faced with the legacies of racial inequality when engaging in intellectual discourse. These legacies, whether “real” or “imagined,” have a bearing on how knowledge is produced and, ultimately the kind of knowledge that is produced.

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Chapter 17

Being a Wanderer, Stranger, Public Enemy and a “Useful Idiot”: A Few Personal Remarks on Performing and Communicating Psychological Research in Conflicted Areas Michał Bilewicz

Social and political psychologists often study areas of conflict without proper preparation. Lack of political awareness as well as lack of cultural sensitivity leads to misunderstandings and can put researchers and participants into serious trouble, while research findings are sometimes used by conflicted parties in an undesired way. On the other hand, if well-communicated, psychologists’ expertise could be extremely valuable for conflict resolution and for the better expression of collective interests. Lack of communicational skills and lack of neutrality among researchers can generate mistrust toward them and can pose threats to research from governments and conflicted sides. What is more, the conciliatory language and treatment of both sides equally can, in fact, reinforce the dominance that already exists between power-holders and the less powerful groups. Therefore, structural inequalities in conflicted societies create ethical obligations for psychologists presenting the results of their research. These results can be used by the majority groups and oppressors as a means to silence the voices of the discriminated and low-power groups. Therefore, psychologists presenting their expertise in a conflict situation have to be extremely careful not to become the “useful idiot” who provides an alibi to oppressors. This chapter will focus on the psychology-driven methods that could be applied to better communicate research findings in conflicted areas. Based on my own experience, I will try to present the four potential positions of a researcher in a conflict situation (i.e., a wanderer, stranger, public enemy, and useful idiot) and I will suggest several ideas about how to deal with the risks that are inherently linked with these positions. M. Bilewicz (*) University of Warsaw, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_17

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17.1  A  Few Personal Remarks about Researcher Being a Wanderer, Stranger, Public Enemy and a Useful Idiot in Conflict Situations As a person educated in the milieu of Polish social psychology, the history of the Polish 1989 Roundtable Agreements has always been an important point of reference for me. Social psychologists involved in these agreements have been role models not only for me but also for many other social and political psychologists of my generation. In 1989 the leadership of the communist party in Poland started negotiations with the Solidarność movement that represented democratic opposition. Solidarność was a large scale pro-democratic social movement based on a labor union that aimed – apart from defending workers’ rights – to gain democratic liberties, freedom of speech, and freedom of association for society. This was the first time in the history of the Soviet bloc that the leaders decided to resolve the conflict with oppressed societies through negotiations rather than through violence. Social psychologists played an essential role in the negotiations that led to these agreements. Professor Janusz Reykowski, a prominent political psychologist, and a former President of the International Society for Political Psychology, led the key roundtable, representing the communist party side (Reykowski 1993). Professor Janusz Grzelak, a specialist in decision making and negotiations, joined one of the smaller roundtables as a representative of the Solidarność side. Both of them provided expert information on how the negotiations should be organized in order to achieve the agreement that would be acceptable for both sides. At the same time, because of their political involvement, they were accepted and engaged in the negotiation process. This rare event in which social psychological knowledge was directly applied in a highly polarized political conflict was instrumental in achieving a peaceful transition from authoritarian communism into a democratic political system in Poland. The specificity of that situation was that social psychologists were directly involved in the negotiation process on both of its sides; therefore, their expertise and competences were never questioned by Solidarność and communist party members. In most situations of conflict negotiation, social psychologists who try to study intergroup conflict would not be a part of any of the sides engaged. Coming from an academic background, the researcher is often to some extent external to the conflict situation. Although in many cases academics were key figures in the conflict (e.g., Sudan; Collins 2005), −the main aim of scientific research is always to gain valid knowledge and openly distribute it to everyone. Therefore, the researcher should not be entirely constrained by political affiliations or sympathies. This creates many obstacles due to the mistrust of “outsiders” among people involved in conflict. Such neutral “outsiders” are often considered potential collaborators of the enemies in conflict or, at best, incompetent visitors who are not worthy of any cooperation.

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17.1.1  The Researcher as a Wanderer and Stranger When discussing the relations between groups and outsiders, Simmel (1908/1950) differentiated three potential roles: an outsider, a wanderer and a stranger. An outsider is a person who has no relation to the group, a clear outgroup member. A wanderer is a person who by chance visits the group, but leaves after short interaction. A stranger is an outsider who stays with a group for a long time. Having different perspectives and heritage, strangers can serve many important functions in the group. For example, they can translate the interests of the group into languages and terms understandable for the outside world. They can act as confidants that are not bounded by strong interpersonal relations with other group members. When performing research in a conflict situation, the role of a stranger is a highly desired one. The roles of a wanderer and an outsider are always risky. Outsiders who have no contact with the conflicting sides are often ignorant about the realities of conflict and the everyday life of communities involved. Wanderers are often met with mistrust, as they could treat the conflict without proper awareness. When studying the collective memories of the Armenian genocide (Beneda et al. 2018; Witkowska et al. 2018), I have witnessed this situation from several perspectives. The Armenian Genocide, the systematic extermination and expulsion of 1.5 million Turkish Armenians from the Ottoman Empire in the second decade of the twentieth century, remains unacknowledged in contemporary Turkey. This brings hostility and severely affects relations between Turkey and Armenia today. In the first study on the topic, we aimed at examining the potential mechanisms of reconciliation that could work in the nations that committed genocidal crimes (Witkowska et al. 2018; study 1). Taking advantage of the fact that my Polish student research assistant studied in Turkey as part of a student exchange program, I suggested to her to gather some data in Istanbul. She approached her Turkish university with the idea of the study in which she would present participants with an excerpt of a story about Turks who rescued Armenians, based on the chapter “Intervention and Shades of Altruism during the Armenian Genocide” (Hovannisian 1992). Although the Turkish Penal Code makes it illegal to “insult Turkey, the Turkish nation, or Turkish government institutions” (TPC, art. 301), and I was aware that this law had already been used to silence the discussions about the Armenian genocide, I thought that the topic of Turks rescuing Armenians would be considered acceptable and even desirable. This belief was based on the impression that the topic of rescue during genocide allows the restoration of a positive moral image of ingroup members. Soon I realized that this assumption was far too optimistic and my research assistant faced negative reactions from several universities that denied access to their subject pools. Ultimately, she was allowed to conduct the study at only one, highly internationalized research university (Koç University) – but this, of course, made the study much less representative to the general Turkish population, and even to the population of regular Turkish students (Witkowska et al. 2018). My research assistant faced similar  problems to that  of the  Simmelian wanderer, an uninformed visitor who is unaware of the cultural context of the study.

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After these experiences, my colleagues and I decided to perform further studies on the topic of Turkish-Armenian post-genocide reconciliation in Armenia. This time, the main focus was to assess the impact of a moral exemplars narrative (stories of Turks who rescued Armenians) on reconciliatory intentions among Armenians, the historical victims. This time, in order to overcome the “wanderer problem,” we started by establishing close connections to an Armenian institution of higher education and we engaged a local academic already in the process of preparing questionnaires and materials. I organized a field trip with a group of research assistants to Armenia, where we spent a week, meeting local non-profit organizations and talking to key stakeholders. When we arrived in Armenia, we found out that before accessing student subject pools at the first university, our questionnaire had to be consulted by an administrative officer at the university who made a phone call to some governmental institution. After a while, the officer made suggestions to change the standard response scales and to modify the essential elements of the questionnaire related to the problem of reconciliation and post-conflict perceptions (at that time the questionnaire was already printed and ready to be distributed among students). Soon we realized that the university considered the whole study controversial and was trying to avoid potential responsibility. Luckily, we also had a direct contact at another school: a top research university in Armenia and to psychologists working there. Probably the high academic status of this university granted more academic freedom and allowed research also on such vulnerable issues as Turkish-­ Armenian reconciliation. It was with their help that we could access a sample of local students and perform the study. Their engagement was highly valuable and they helped us to prepare questionnaires and collect data in our further studies on the topic. When first approaching Armenian students with the questionnaire on the fragile topic of historical Turkish-Armenian relations, we faced – for the first time – mistrust on the side of our participants (see Karasu and Uluğ 2020 in this volume for a further discussion). After receiving the questionnaire, Armenian students asked our research assistants to show their personal ID cards or passports, so that they can be sure that they are not Turkish. After this event, we explained to participants about the situation in Poland (the country from which researchers were coming from) regarding acknowledgment of the Armenian genocide (namely the fact that Polish parliament acknowledged the Armenian genocide in 2005 and the President of Poland, Aleksander Kwasniewski, visited the Tsitsernakaberd genocide memorial, where he planted a commemorative tree). We wanted to be sure that they would not treat the research assistants as serving the denialist agenda. Ultimately, Armenian participants were more willing to take part in the study and a certain level of trust between them and researchers emerged. All in all, moving from a “wanderer” perspective into a position of a “stranger” who keeps close connections to local researchers and institutions allowed us to successfully perform the study in a post-­ conflict setting. The two other examples of my experiences in performing and presenting research findings in a conflict setting come from a different part of the world – Central and Eastern Europe. For more than 15  years, I have been researching historically affected intergroup relations between ethnic Poles and Jews in Poland. These

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studies included research on intergroup contact (Bilewicz 2007), perceptions of the past (Bilewicz 2016; Klar and Bilewicz 2017), contact with historical heritage (Stefaniak and Bilewicz 2016) and anti-Semitism (Bilewicz and Krzemiński 2010; Bilewicz et al. 2013). When conducting contact-based interventions between Polish youth and Jewish visitors to Poland (Bilewicz 2007), I soon realized how disturbing historical topics can be in such meetings. Whenever I distributed questionnaires before or after such a meeting, senior leaders of Jewish groups opposed the idea of their students participating in any research. They hardly accepted that during a short visit to Poland their students would take part in a meeting with Polish youth (as they felt that the whole stay should be devoted to the study of the Holocaust and visits to memorial sites), but the idea that some Polish institution would gather any material from their students was completely unacceptable to them. “First, they started by surveying us, and later they opened gas chambers,” I heard from one of the group leaders (Bilewicz et  al. 2004; Bilewicz 2006). Soon I realized that these group leaders were often Holocaust survivors themselves – and that the research situation already reminded them of the tragic situations that they remembered from their traumatic childhood. After this discovery, I decided to engage in discussions with these leaders already before the meeting, assuring them that I am a member of a local Jewish community and that the study is being performed in collaboration with an NGO working for the Jewish communities. After analyzing the results of this research, I found that this same anxiety was passed down to the next generations – even a brief mention of Holocaust history made any contact interventions ineffective. Both Jewish and Polish teenagers were virtually unable to openly talk about the traumatic past. Their encounters were fruitful only when focused on contemporary issues and a potential bright future (Bilewicz 2007).

17.1.2  The Researcher as a Public Enemy and a Useful Idiot When researching the complexities of Polish-Jewish conflicts in history, I also faced other problems when trying to present the results of psychological studies on the topic. When aiming at increasing the impact of this research, I decided to present the results of nationally representative studies on Poles’ attitudes toward Jews at several public events. I was invited to speak several times at the Polish parliament’s Ethnic Minority Committee meetings. During one of these presentations, I discussed the problem of historically inaccurate terms (e.g., “Polish death camps” instead of “Nazi death camps”) used to describe past Polish-Jewish relations. This topic is a very hot issue in the Polish right-wing discourse, which is heavily influenced by narcissistic views on national history (see Golec de Zavala and Cichocka 2012). Specifically, right-wing politicians often view other countries (Israel, the US, Britain, Germany) as denying Polish victim status during World War II and suggesting that Poles were among the perpetrators of the Holocaust. Based on the analysis

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of the online behavior data, I showed that the usage of the term “Polish death camps” (that would falsely attribute perpetratorship of the Holocaust to Poles) is relatively marginal and almost non-existent among internet users (more on this analysis here: Bilewicz et al. 2016). This single statement, being a part of a larger presentation, created outrage among right-wing members of the Polish parliament. One of the members of parliament (MP) suggested that my statement is “negationist in the same way as the Holocaust denial,” because it denies the fact that Poles are accused of causing the Holocaust (Maltz 2014). After this event, the vice-chancellor (Rektor) of my university received two letters. The first was signed by the above-mentioned MP, who officially suggested that my presentation was a denialist one. Another letter, signed by a group of seven right-wing members of parliament, asked the vice-­ chancellor to provide information about the source of funding of my research unit and urged me to conduct more research about “other nations’ prejudice against Poles instead of studying only prejudice of Poles against other nations.” These slight pressures in 2014 were still relatively mild compared to the massive campaign that started in February 2018, after an invited talk on anti-Semitism in Poland that I gave in the Polin Museum of Polish Jews. During the talk I tried to describe the three-dimensional model of anti-Semitic prejudice that distinguishes three distinctive forms of anti-Semitism: belief in Jewish conspiracy, secondary anti-Semitism and traditional anti-Semitism (Bilewicz et al. 2013) as well as more general mechanisms of hate speech proliferation in contemporary Poland and other countries (Soral et al. 2018). The content of this talk was publicized by one of the leading far-right politicians through his Twitter account in a highly selective way. As a reaction, two Senators from the governing party (Law and Justice) appealed to the Minister of Science in an official statement, urging him to control the expenditures of my research center and state-funded research grants. They openly criticized the fact that I study the problem of secondary anti-Semitism (Bilewicz et al. 2013; cf. Imhoff and Banse 2009), and that I “formulate fraudulent theses about ostensible secondary anti-Semitism among Poles” that are “supported by unreliable analysis of research results.” Soon after, I received a legal suit from a right-wing cartoonist whose drawings I used during the lecture as an example of secondary anti-­Semitism. Hundreds of offensive statements about me and my work appeared on social media, in right-wing newspapers and on TV, suggesting that I am an anti-Polish traitor and that my research is a waste of public money. As a reaction to this campaign, the Rector of my university stood up in defense of me and the academic freedom, saying in a public statement that “the role of science is the quest for truth and not fulfillment of politicians’ wishes” (Karpieszuk 2018). The experience of presenting research results on Polish-Jewish relations in Poland shows how scientists can easily become a “public enemy” when their research poses a threat to the core of national identity. By focusing on social issues such as prejudice, stereotyping, anti-Semitism, etc., the researcher reveals the most hidden aspects of a nation that nationalists would like to keep invisible to the public. According to Cichocka (2016), many nationalists have their national identity built on narcissistic forms of ingroup attachment: their elevated national pride hides serious doubts that they have about their own nation. Nationalists are aware of the

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misdeeds of their nations: past crimes committed against others, prevalence of hostile attitudes, and responsibility for historical atrocities. This makes them afraid of any open discussion about such historical events. In a typical narcissistic dynamic, they try to silence any potential voice that could reveal the dark aspects of their national identity (Cichocka 2016; Klar and Bilewicz 2017). This, among other factors, leads to censorship efforts or – at least – the inability to comprehend scientific results that might potentially threaten people’s image of their nation. Of all positions of social psychologists presenting research in conflicted societies, the most ethically risky is the position of a “useful idiot.” This term, often misattributed to Vladimir Lenin, refers to people whose public statements are unintentionally used to legitimize oppressive power or totalitarian regime (e.g., supporting the communist cause; “Useful Idiot” 2018). Psychologists presenting the results of their research may often be used in such conflicts as those who justify the existing power structures and legitimize inequalities. This can be caused by “irony of harmony” (Saguy et al. 2009) – a paradoxical effect of contact and commonality strategies in resolving intergroup conflicts. The positive effects of intergroup contact and other prejudice-reduction techniques have been praised for many decades and supported by meta-analytic evidence (Pettigrew and Tropp 2006). At the same time, it is known that the improvement of intergroup relations might lead to the silencing of collective action efforts and struggles of minorities to boost their social status (Dixon et  al. 2012). Therefore, presenting the outcomes of psychological research can justify the inequalities and paradoxically maintain discrimination. Quite recently, the public presentation of research performed in my lab put us in the role of “useful idiots” in the intense political conflict in Poland over democratic principles of power. This case happened around a report from a study of dehumanization of political opponents among supporters of the government (currently the populist Law and Justice Party) and the supporters of democratic opposition (mostly people who supported democratic protests against judicial power grab; Bilewicz et al. 2019; Górska 2019). The effect observed was similar to other studies looking at asymmetrical conflict situations in which low-power groups have more negative attitudes and less trust in high power groups than high power groups toward low power groups (e.g., Tropp et al. 2006). Soon after the report was published in early 2019, Polish state-controlled media, as well as pro-governmental newspapers, announced that researchers confirmed who is responsible for the conflicts in the country. They blamed Polish opposition for the conflict, completely denying the asymmetrical power structure between the opposition and government. Also, the politicians of the ruling party used this information in order to claim that Polish opposition is more biased than the government (although the study looked at attitudes of supporters rather than party members or government members). The right-wing media, politicians, and twitter users praised our research group (the Center for Research on Prejudice at the University of Warsaw) – the same research unit that they considered anti-Polish when it was publicizing results on anti-Semitism, homophobia or Islamophobia. The experiences of conducting and communicating research in several conflicted societies inspired me to think about the main failures and risks related to this

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practice, as well as potential strategies to overcome these problems. In fact, the detrimental effects of being placed in the positions of an outsider, wanderer, public enemy and useful idiot, could be reduced by several communicative strategies that allow a researcher to maintain a legitimate position within the conflict itself. Below I will try to outline a few such strategies based on social psychological knowledge, as well as on my own experiences in communicating research.

17.2  S  trategies in Proper Communication of Research Findings in Conflict Settings The failures of researchers in communicating their findings in conflicted areas, especially in the areas where conflicts are asymmetrical and related to historical crimes or genocides, pose a severe challenge for social psychologists trying to make their research more socially relevant. Our discipline itself provides many insights that could inform the way we communicate our own research findings in conflicted societies. In this part of the chapter, I will try to review several communicative strategies that could be used by psychologists and social scientists working in conflict situations in order to make the communication of our expertise more efficient. These strategies would allow the reduction of risk of becoming public enemies, useful idiots, or being viewed as ignorant outsiders.

17.2.1  Highlighting the Importance of the Situation When we present research results in conflicted societies, oftentimes, the audience seems much more critical or even hypervigilant about any content that might be offensive to their group. This is a completely different experience from presenting one’s own results in a purely academic environment  – the one to which most of scientists are used to. This is also true when trying to recruit participants or introduce a study to local collaborators in conflicted societies (see Moss and Hajj 2020 in this volume for a further discussion). Thus it is crucial not to put any collective blame on whole groups or individuals. In fact, situationism, one of the main tenets of social psychology, could be very helpful in such communication. People’s social behavior is a function of their personal characteristics and environmental pressures. This basic statement, formulated already in Lewin’s early theorizing (1936), is a fundament of a social psychological view of the human psyche. The “environmental” or “situational” part of this equation has always been central to social psychology, as other fields of psychology often underscored the importance of external context in explaining human behavior (Mischel and Shoda 1995). Therefore, much of social psychological research points to the situational

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causes of human behavior  – be it aggression, altruism, intergroup conflict, or cooperation. At the same time, it is well-known that people have a tendency to focus predominantly on stable personal traits (e.g., personality, values, ideology, national character) as explanations of human behavior  – a phenomenon known as fundamental attribution error (Ross 1977) or correspondence bias (Krull 2001). This is particularly true when explaining the actions of opponents in a violent conflict or perpetrators of genocide. When people explain outgroup-committed crimes, they tend to deny their situational causes – whereas while explaining the crimes committed by the ingroup, they tend to negate the dispositional causes. A study looking at how different groups explain the sources of Nazi-committed crimes showed that Germans attribute them less willingly to dispositional causes, whereas Poles and Israelis attribute them less willingly to situational factors (Imhoff et  al. 2017). Similarly, we found that Poles explaining their ingroups’ misdeeds would use less dispositional attributions than when explaining outgroups’ committed crimes (Bilewicz et al. 2017). The systematic use of situational explanations can be a good framework to inform conflicted societies about the reasons for the violence that they witness. Dispositional explanations for violence lead to more negative attitudes toward groups whose behaviors were explained that way (Imhoff et al. 2017). By stressing the power of the situation, we inform about the sources of behavior without putting direct blame on the groups involved in conflict. Although some consider such attribution to be exonerating the perpetrators (Miller et al. 2002), when systematically used, it will obviously serve a deeper analysis of the causes of behavior rather than blame-placing on one or the other side of conflict. As mentioned earlier, one of the key problems in communicating research on Polish-Jewish relations is that much of this research looks at dispositional sources of conflict. By discussing anti-Semitic prejudice as a core antecedent vs. anti-Polish resentment on the Israeli side, one severely threatens listeners’ social identities, as most people would assume that anti-Jewish or anti-Polish prejudice is innate and stable across situations. Therefore, it is essential to add that according to social psychology, there are important contextual causes of prejudice – such as deprivation, lack of acknowledgment, historical mistreatments, or ideological pressures – that allow to de-essentialize the way people think about prejudice. Also, the awareness that prejudice is a more general human psychological phenomenon and prejudice could be observed in many other societies could allow people to better comprehend research findings and to face the social issues that were subject of research. Taking a situationist approach when talking about psychological research allows us to overcome several obstacles in scientific communication in conflicted societies: it allows for the reduction of social identity threats (people prefer to maintain the positive image of their ingroup), to give an impression of human behavior malleability (people need to have a positive way of moving beyond their conflicted positions) and induce greater openness to the contents of research communication. These positive consequences are important both for the ability of the audience to

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comprehend research results and for the researchers’ legitimacy within a conflict situation.

17.2.2  Using More Concrete Language Dispositional explanations can be transmitted not only through explicit explanations but also by other, more subtle, linguistic means. The linguistic category model (Semin and Fiedler 1988, 1991) proposes that the use of more abstract grammatical categories (e.g., adjectives and state verbs as compared to action verbs) implies higher stability and more dispositional attribution. Further extensions of the model (Carnaghi et al. 2008; Walton and Banaji 2004) found that nouns seem to be the most abstract of the grammatical categories, as they carry the most essentialist and dispositional attributions of a given action. This is why, using nouns (e.g., Pole vs. Polish people) leads to greater stereotyping (Carnaghi et  al. 2008) and increases intergroup biases among listeners (Graf et al. 2013). The tendency to use more abstract language forms (nouns) is quite common among people with high need for cognitive closure and low integrative complexity, a typical cognitive pattern for conservatives (Cichocka et  al. 2016). Studies conducted in culturally as distant contexts as Lebanon, Poland and the US showed that this tendency is indeed more widespread among conservatives and right-wingers than among liberals and left-wingers. The use of abstract forms is a non-intentional psychological process that subtly reveals the position taken by the speaker to the listener – the listener could anticipate that the frequent user of nouns would most possibly be a strongly committed member of their own nation, ethnicity, clan or tribe. When communicating research findings in conflict areas, it seems essential to avoid noun forms, particularly when discussing ethnicity. When talking about “gays,” “Poles,” “Danes,” “Muslims,” or “Arabs” one automatically elicits essentialist categories and suggests dispositional attribution and high stability of described behavior. In case of such sensitive topics as immoral acts during conflicts and crimes, this can automatically suggest that the researcher is putting the blame on the whole ethnic or religious group. The concreteness of descriptions (“Polish peasants from a town…,” “Turkish politician during World War I,” “Spiritual leader with Jewish background,” “A sample of Muslim participants from a local university in…,” “A group of adolescents of Arab origin” etc.) allows us to transmit more specific information about the content of the study and avoid miscommunications. It allows researchers not to appear as an essentialist and reduces the risk of the audience feeling offended. Many of the problems described in the previous section could be avoided by using a more specific language when asking conflicted groups to take part in a study. For example, this could be achieved by presenting the study to participants as focusing on “Helpers of Turkish origin during 1915 events” instead of “A study of Armenian Genocide”. Also, while presenting research findings, one should present

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the results as focused on answering the question “What is the scale of anti-Semitism in Poland?” rather than “Are Poles anti-Semites?” Although the latter looks more attractive in a journalistic sense and probably would be recommended as a short catchy title for a journal article, the use of such language in conflict settings might easily put researchers into serious problems. Therefore, it is good to avoid such language also in the publication process: the cost of publicity could be well compensated by credibility to the audience in the conflicted societies.

17.2.3  Trying to Acknowledge Everyone’s Suffering When discussing the dynamics of conflict with the conflicted parties involved in it, it is extremely important to take into account that most violent actions are reactions to a real or imaginary previous harms experienced by the perpetrators. A lot has been written about the sense of unacknowledged victimhood as a key antecedent of conflicts. Studies in Greece (Antoniou et  al. 2015) and Poland (Bilewicz and Stefaniak 2013; Bilewicz et al. 2013) found that people who consider their nation to be severely victimized would more often believe in Jewish conspiracy. Studies in Africa, in the Great Lakes Region found that people who believe that their group was exclusively victimized in the past would more often express negative attitudes toward outgroup members (Vollhardt and Bilali 2015). Similarly, in Israel, people who focus on the Holocaust and unique Jewish suffering would prefer hawkish strategies to resolve conflict and their trust toward outgroup members would be lower than those Israelis who do not concentrate on past victimhood (Bar-Tal et al. 2009; Schori-Eyal et al. 2017). In general, people’s competition over victimhood status is an important feature of many conflicts and a key obstacle to reconciliation (Noor et al. 2008; Vollhardt 2015). If the sense of collective victimhood is such a frequent phenomenon among groups involved in political conflicts, then researchers communicating their results in conflict settings should take this into account. How could this affect the way we communicate our findings to conflicted groups? As victimhood competition is a zero-sum-game belief in which victimhood is viewed as a scarce resource, it seems crucial to address the fact that in reality any conflict victimizes both sides. Even in most asymmetrical conflicts, the sense of victimhood damages the sense of agency and the sense of morality of respective sides of conflict (Shnabel and Nadler 2008). Therefore, acknowledgment of victimhood could be a good starting point for communicating with people who are deeply involved in intergroup conflict. Before presenting results of research about crimes committed by certain group, or their prejudices toward opponents in conflict, it is good to first acknowledge their past sufferings and grievances. For example, in Israel, when discussing the mistreatment of Arab citizens or inhabitants of the West Bank, it might be beneficial to mention the historical oppression of Jews in Europe. When discussing the crimes against Azeris in Armenia, it would be beneficial to mention the history of the Armenian

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Genocide. The acknowledgment of past grievances might induce greater openness to discuss contemporary guilt and responsibilities. This issue has been focal to understand anti-Semitic resentment among groups that had very scarce contact with Jews, for example, African immigrants in Western Europe or nations of Eastern Europe that currently have very small Jewish populations. Recent studies of anti-Semitic beliefs among Congolese immigrants in Belgium and Muslims living in that country found that it is not just the sense of victimhood that contributes to biases against Jews, but rather the sense of victimhood combined with a sense of not being properly acknowledged (De Guissmé and Licata 2017). Much of anti-Jewish prejudice stems from the fact that Jews are considered the only historically victimized group that receives proper international acknowledgment of past suffering. Therefore, those groups who are not properly acknowledged could perceive Jews as potential “enemies in recognition,” and this, in turn, could motivate anti-Semitic beliefs and generally negative attitudes toward Jewish people. In a recent study conducted in Poland, we found that by providing ethnic Poles with the sense of acknowledgment of their historical victimization, we could effectively reduce anti-Semitic views among Poles (Kuzawińska and Bilewicz 2019). After being presented information about the American President recognizing the historical suffering of Poles, participants discriminated against Jews in monetary allocations less than those participants who were informed about the lack of such recognition. The question of acknowledgment is crucial once we consider the fact that many failures in communicating research in conflict situations stem from narcissistic collective identities (Cichocka 2016). Narcissistic people view their group as constantly lacking proper acknowledgment, and when denied recognition, they react with aggression toward outgroups. When they receive information that starts from the acknowledgement of their past suffering, they become automatically more open to learning from the researcher about other aspects of the conflict. If this fundamental need is not met, then the conversation might be stopped, and research could be treated with hostility.

17.2.4  E  liciting Constructive Emotions Instead of Destructive Ones Oftentimes, researchers intervening in conflict situations aim at raising emotional reactions among members of conflicted groups, particularly by eliciting guilt and shame. A well-known example was an unsuccessful post-war guilt-inducing intervention in Germany organized by the allied forces (Janowitz 1946). A massive poster campaign and organized visits to former concentration camps did not induce the sense of responsibility among Germans – instead for the next two decades the topic of German crimes was systematically avoided in public debate. Regardless of this failure, many researchers still believe in the positive effects of inducing

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emotional guilt, even without proper historical awareness. There are two hidden assumptions in such practice: firstly, researchers consider these emotions to be automatic reactions to information about a group’s negative behavior; secondly – they expect that guilt and shame would lead to reconciliation and positive intergroup outcomes (e.g., Wohl et al. 2006). Both of these assumptions seem to be false. First of all, people confronted with negative information about their own group engage in many strategies that allow them to downregulate negative emotions of guilt or shame. Defensive attributions, dehumanization of the victims, distancing themselves from the crime, and other forms of moral disengagement help people reduce the sense of guilt for past misdeeds of their group (see Bilewicz 2016 for a summary). As the effect of these strategies of downregulating moral emotions, collective guilt, shame and sense of responsibility are extremely rare in post-conflict settings (Leach et  al. 2013). Additionally, these emotions can be observed only among people who moderately identify with their groups: low-identified group members would not react emotionally to the information about ingroup misbehavior, whereas highly identified group members would react with denial and negation, employing all emotion regulation strategies that allow people to downregulate guilt or regret (Klein et al. 2011). The assumption about the positive role of guilt and shame in intergroup conflicts seems even more premature. Although collective guilt is an emotion that motivates support for reparations and financial compensations (Brown et al. 2008; Iyer et al. 2003; Wohl et al. 2006), it is also the one that leads to several negative consequences for intergroup relations: it leads to more negative attitudes and distancing from the historical victims (Imhoff et al. 2012). When it comes to shame, it is essential to distinguish two aspects of this emotion. In most cases, shame is linked to fear about threatened social image. Image shame – a form of shame that is directly caused by self-concerns rather than taking the perspective of the victim (Allpress et al. 2014) is responsible for many negative intergroup consequences. At the same time, social psychological research on collective emotions allows researchers to specify several constructive emotions that could be elicited among people who committed historical crime. The first of them is moral shame (Allpress et al. 2014; Rees et al. 2013). This emotion stems from a threatened moral essence, and seems unrelated to how others view the ingroup. It leads to reconciliatory actions as well as to more positive attitudes towards conflict-unrelated groups. Another constructive emotion is collective regret (Imhoff et al. 2012). This emotion is rooted in empathic concern about the victimized group. Instead of focusing on the perpetrator of the criminal act (as in the case of guilt or shame), people feeling collective regret engage in counterfactual thinking and focus their attention on the consequences of negative behavior for the victim. This leads to more positive attitudes toward the victimized groups and their descendants. Many of the failures in research communication were caused by – sometimes unintentional – elicitation of strong collective emotions. People strongly involved in a conflict were unable or unwilling to accept these emotions and strongly engaged in downregulation of guilt or shame. This could lead to the historical censorship of those who tried to elicit such emotions (Klar and Bilewicz 2017). If researchers aim

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at effective communication with conflicted groups, they should try to elicit the more constructive intergroup emotions, particularly the ones that could be easier accepted in the situation of intractable conflict. As collective guilt is such a rare emotion and so often a denied one, it is advisable not to use guilt-related rhetoric in conflict settings. Instead, I would suggest referring to regret for what happened – and to focus on the victim’s perspective that ultimately leads to the emotion of regret. This emotion might have better consequences for effective communication in conflict settings than the emotions focused on the responsibilities (guilt) and immoral image (shame) of perpetrators.

17.2.5  Keeping Several Levels of Identity Salient What makes a conflict situation such a hostile environment for scientists conducting research and presenting their research findings is that conflict makes people’s social identities extremely salient. Almost any information would be viewed through the lens of national/religious/ethnic identity: What does it mean for the group? Is it supporting or opposing the group goals? Is the researcher an ally or an enemy? In such conflict settings, even banal remarks about a group’s history or present politics can be viewed as taking a clear position in the conflict. Although it is almost impossible to limit the role of social identities in a conflict situation, one could at least try to activate other forms of identities. Oftentimes, national identity comes together with more universal identities: trans-national (e.g., being European, Slavic, or Asian), or even global ones (identification with all humanity; McFarland et al. 2012, 2013). In a recent study of this issue, we found that national identification can paradoxically lead to intergroup forgiveness when it is associated with a more universalistic element, such as a general sense of belonging and openness to others. When it comes without the universalistic component, it obviously hinders forgiveness (Hamer et al. 2017). Further studies on this topic showed that there are two paths through which national identification can affect willingness to forgive. The first of them is the “narcissistic route.” If national identification is accompanied by the feeling of being unacknowledged, betrayed and downgraded, it limits people’s ability to forgive for the past misdeeds. If it is accompanied by universal identities (having European or all-humanity identity salient at the same time), it increases forgiveness among adversary groups. At the same time, it is known that one’s glorification of such higher-order categories as Europe (instead of mere attachment to them) can lead to negative outgroup attitudes, as it might reflect a general chauvinist tendency to glorify the ingroup (Kende et al. 2019). Probably the all-humanity identity, as the more universal and inclusive social category, would not be prone to such problems. These results can be easily applied to research communication and interventions in conflict settings. When describing the results of studies, one should make audiences aware that although these studies were performed in a given conflict, they point to the universal features of the human psyche. Social psychology is a science

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with universalist ambitions. We aim to study phenomena that are generalizable across cultures and national contexts. This should also be made clear while presenting any research findings to the public. By studying specific ethnic or national groups (e.g., Armenians, Poles, Turks, or Israelis), we try to better understand the more general problems of human intergroup relations. Thus, we should also persuade the audience that our findings are not aiming to blame one ethnic/religious/ national group or the other, but rather to explain the patterns that might occur in all possible contexts. Such a strategy would make the all-human identity more salient and possibly make conflicted sides more open to further communication. For example, when talking about past crimes committed by Poles toward Jews in the Podlasie region in 1941, it might be beneficial to mention that similar forms of crimes were observed historically in other parts of the world, and the usage of agricultural tools in these crimes are reminiscent  of Rwanda genocide that happened half-century later. Such comparisons, even if historically quite distant, allow people to understand that humans are capable of such crimes instead of blaming a single region or ethnicity.

17.2.6  T  reating Local Communities as Experts and Taking Context into Account Although the universalist aspect of social psychology is a blessing – it could also be a curse. It can become a severe obstacle when conducting and presenting research in conflicted settings. Sometimes when we present our research outcomes, trying to be as universalist and general as possible, we miss important peculiarities of a given context and create knowledge that seems irrelevant to the locals’ lives. Although social and cross-cultural psychologists often perform studies in other cultures than the ones in which they were raised, rarely they become experts in the contexts, and their knowledge of local languages other than English is limited. Therefore, many psychological works lack an understanding of the political and cultural aspects of the studied problems. The fact that psychology is often considered a WEIRD science (Henrich et al. 2010) – focused predominantly on Western, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic societies  – limits substantially the potential persuasiveness of our research findings. Another problematic aspect of social psychology is the psychological imperialism in our explanations. When explaining important social issues, such as conflict, reconciliation, prejudice, or ideologies, we tend to focus predominantly on subjective, psychological factors rather than context-related political, historical or economic factors. For example, the well-known effect that people who focused on collective victimhood would be less trusting and more biased against outgroups could be observed only in countries that were severely victimized in the recent history, but such effect is barely visible or non-existent in countries that did not experience serious victimization (Bilewicz and Liu 2020). This shows that psychological

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phenomena such as victimhood beliefs are reflections of external experiences that people have based on the political context and historical circumstances in which they live. When trying to overcome these problems, it is advisable to engage in interdisciplinary cooperation with researchers from other fields (competent historians, anthropologists, linguists, economists, political scientists) as well as the local experts from the communities that we study. One important experience of this kind was a research project “Language as a cure,” conducted with anthropologists and linguists, in which we looked at the role of language in ethnic minority identities and the psychological functioning of language users. This project is currently performed in cooperation with ethnic minority activists in Poland (Lemko minority, Wilamowice minority  – the Wymysiöeryś language speakers, Kaszëbë minority, Polish Ukrainians, etc.), as well as in Mexico and Salvador (e.g., Nahuas). This cooperation starts from the questionnaire design (questions and scales are not only adapted to cultural contexts but also sometimes developed in cooperation with local leaders), data gathering (pollsters are always accompanied by minority activists) and data presentations (special events are organized within minority communities, as well as engaging minority communities in academic presentations). Although such projects are much more effortful and time-consuming than a standard psychological empirical study, they allow for the creation of knowledge that might be accepted by minority groups that were often targets of historical crimes and oppression – rather than describe these communities with the terms developed by the oppressors and colonizers. In the competitive world of contemporary behavioral science (including social psychology), it is rather uncertain whether such a strategy of conducting and presenting research will gain popularity within the research community. This would, however, be the most desired way to produce culturally valid research that would be well received by the communities that take part in such projects. The knowledge produced in such research endeavors could be also much easier communicated in conflict settings. It allows the researcher to overcome the problem of being an “outsider” or “wanderer” rather than a well-informed partner of the community. On the other hand, it creates the risk of using the terms and narratives of only one side of the conflict.

17.3  Concluding Remarks Are we, social psychologists, doomed to become ignorant wanderers-outsiders, or “useful idiots” in conflicted situations? Will the messenger always be killed when their message is not in line with the heightened identity needs in conflict? It depends on the role we play in the conflict, but even more so – on our ability to communicate research findings in a nuanced and objective way. The dangerous positions of a wanderer, public enemy and a “useful idiot” are not by any means inevitable. Cultural skills, openness to engage with local

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communities  – combined with the universalist and situationist message of social psychology – could transform us into a tolerated “stranger” who becomes a valued informant of local communities and a healer of conflicted groups. By mastering the skills of research communication such as focusing on constructive emotions and not the destructive ones; speaking concretely; activating identities from different levels of inclusiveness and treating local communities seriously we can transmit even the most difficult knowledge to the communities in conflict. Such research communication goes beyond informing people about scientific discoveries  – it becomes an intervention that can transform the conflict into cooperation and reduce intergroup hostility. This is particularly important in the era of populism and authoritarianism that have spread around the world and need to be confronted with valid scientific knowledge about human behavior and situational sources of people’s thoughts and actions. Acknowledgments  This chapter was developed within the project “Language as a cure: linguistic vitality as a tool for psychological well-being, health and economic sustainability” that is carried out within the Team Program of the Foundation for Polish Science and co-financed by the European Union under the European Regional Development Fund.

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Chapter 18

Recovering the Everyday Within and for Decolonial Peacebuilding Through Politico-Affective Space Shahnaaz Suffla, Nick Malherbe, and Mohamed Seedat

To study the everyday is to wish to change it. To change the everyday is to bring its confusions into the light of day and into language; it is to make its latent conflicts apparent, and thus to burst them asunder. It is therefore both theory and practice, critique and action. (Lefebvre, 2002, p. 226).

Taken as ideology, as well as political, economic and moral philosophy, liberalism locates ‘the good life’ in individual freedoms (Richmond 2009a). Accordingly, liberals champion unregulated market forces, and the assumption that democratization always follows marketization (Paris 2010) as ideal in allowing for the flourishing of such freedoms (Brown 2006). Today, the hegemonic, most visible and best funded modes of peacebuilding rely significantly on the tenets of liberalism (Hudson 2016). In adhering to such liberal doctrine, the liberal peace is underpinned by the base assumption that democratic, capitalist societies are likely to engender the greatest levels of peace in  local affairs and international relations (Rampton and Nadarajah 2017; Vásquez-Arenas 2018). From this perspective, “the liberal peace can be understood as a set of particular ideas and practices intended to reform and regulate polities in the global South” (Sabaratnam 2013, pp. 259–260). Richmond (2011) notes that resistance to colonial domination is often interpreted by liberal peace frameworks as wholly ‘violent’, and therefore denotes anathema to peace. It is in this sense that the liberal peace remains in large part indifferent to coloniality as an analytic in the conception of conflict and violence prevention. This includes comprehension of the way violences reproduce and transmute in everyday lives, as well as the ontological (re)production of racial, gender and other differences in the construction of relations of domination and subjugation. If we understand coloniality as a collection of systems that emerged out of Euro-North-American-centric modernity and are, today, observed in the colonial S. Suffla (*) · N. Malherbe · M. Seedat Institute for Social and Health Sciences, University of South Africa, Lenasia, South Africa South African Medical Research Council-University of South Africa Violence, Injury and Peace Research Unit, Tygerberg, South Africa e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_18

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relations of exploitation and domination (see Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015a), we may posit that many contemporary iterations of liberal peacebuilding operate in the service of coloniality. The methodologies of the liberal peace are thus continually defined and reoriented by their impulse towards the colonial gaze, which understands people as passive recipients of peace, devalues affective hermeneutics, suppresses pluriveralism, and establishes a hierarchy of knowledges, knowers, peoples, cultures and societies (see Sabaratnam 2013). In these ways, methodological orthodoxies associated with imperialist motives are disguised and ideologized through a veneer of benevolent peacemaking. ‘Peace’ itself becomes determined by the extractive nature of coloniality, and people’s ability to determine and assert peaces in accordance with their own needs, contexts and interior life-worlds tends to be denied and/or ignored in favour of interpreting and governing the Other in accordance with the anti-liberatory axioms of capitalist modernity (see Hudson 2016; Richmond 2009a). It should, however, be noted that as a counter to the liberal peace, alternative peacebuilding constructions and methodologies have been advanced (see Seedat et al. 2017) which demonstrate that while liberal peacebuilding is hegemonic, it is not omnipotent (see Zondi 2017). Of particular interest to us is the notion of decolonial peaces, which seek to achieve a decolonized and deimperialized world in which a pluriversal humanity is made possible (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015a), and where Other knowledges, languages, symbologies, practices, paradigms and methodologies may be privileged in the creation of a more just and peaceful world (Vásquez-­ Arenas 2018). In effect, where liberal peacebuilding seeks to control, decolonial peaces are marked by a sharp decolonizing humanism that sees racialized and colonized peoples attempting to regain their ontological density through transforming the colonial condition (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015a). These efforts are characterized by an epistemologically disobedient kind of peacebuilding that advocates decolonized ways of knowing and being in the world (see Maldonado-Torres 2016; Mignolo 2009), addresses the consequences of the centuries of colonial violence to which liberal peacebuilding remains largely inattentive, challenges the colonial continuities exemplified in the inherited colonial state, and advances contextually-rooted methodological approaches that account for historicity, lived realities and local knowledges (Zondi 2017). Intrinsic to the notion of decolonial peaces is the theorization that peace does not simply happen to people, but is embedded and felt in their everyday lives (Hudson 2016). We suggest that the everyday signifies a vital, yet largely dismissed, invisiblized and/or ignored construct in understanding what peaces look and feel like, and indeed what they can, should and could become. In what follows, we briefly consider some of the dominant critiques of liberal peacebuilding. We then present a perspective on the role of the everyday as referenced against decolonial notions of peacebuilding, as well as a frame for how we might begin to enunciate the slippery, contradictory and hidden decolonial potentialities and actualities of the everyday both within and for peacebuilding. We offer this perspective towards (re)imagining the methodological potentialities and liberatory capacities of research into peace, conflict and power. We follow with an interpretation of our peacebuilding work, which seeks to harness actual and potential

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everyday decolonizing currents within a low-income South African context, thus working to counter and imagine against the individualistic, State-centric and market-oriented doctrines of liberalism. We do this as activist-scholars and scholar-­ activists located in the Global South whose intellectual, social and affective labors are oriented and impassioned by the struggles for a decolonized society. We are influenced by the vision of research as emancipatory and humanizing praxis. Always alert to our different and respective biographies, identities and social realities (e.g. black and white; female and male; student and teacher), our positionalities are located within shifting, hyphenated and liminal spaces that situate us simultaneously in concord, contradiction and community. Specifically, our chapter draws from our transdisciplinary, community-engaged and transgressive research on violence and peace that privileges (de)coloniality, African-centeredness, and participation.

18.1  Liberal Peacebuilding: Critical Considerations Liberal peacebuilding, in its most common formulation, represents a top-down approach where international authorities and/or agencies act to reinstate law and order, as well as (re)build state structures and institutions along liberal parameters, which oftentimes includes colonial methods of transformation, such as military intervention and neoliberal economic reform (Richmond 2009a). For liberal peace, the neoliberal political economy is taken as a given, and attempts are made to establish a kind of ‘ceasefire’, where peace becomes merely the absence of direct or observable conflict (Zondi 2017). This approach has been found to demonstrate unstable outcomes over time. For example, in the case of the 2003 liberal peacebuilding negotiations in Sri Lanka, an initial ceasefire agreement slowly broke down, giving way to shadow war and eventually full-scale war (see Goodhand and Korf 2011). Yet, despite being repeatedly criticized for neglecting a systems-focused approach, the liberal peace, in the years preceding the Cold War, has become the dominant peacebuilding framework to be applied globally (Newman et  al. 2009; Paris 2010; Richmond 2009a, 2009b). It is typically the hegemonic neoliberal power centers in the Global North – and increasingly in the Global South – that dictate the terms by which peace is to be engaged. These terms of engagement are often self-serving and ahistorical, and ultimately aggravate local socio-political tensions and religious sectarianism (Richmond 2009a). Liberal peacebuilders will also resort to illiberal means in order to advance supposedly liberal ends, as was noted in the United States’ intervention in Afghanistan and Iraq in the early 2000s, where violent and imperial means were adopted to enforce a neoliberal and supposedly democratic social order in these countries. The disastrous effects of this intervention endure in various geopolitical conflicts within the region (Goodhand and Korf 2011). Ideological and oppressive apparatuses of the capitalist state (see Althusser 2014), as well as the imperialistic drive to advance private ownership and global capitalism, are thus central to the

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enactment of liberal peacebuilding, leading some to conclude that liberal iterations of peacebuilding prioritize donor funding to a greater degree than they do peace proper (Hudson 2016). In responding to this criticism, a number of liberal peacebuilding efforts have focused on local ownership, civil society, rights-based rhetoric and participation. However, these rarely materialize, and are usually conceived of in politically and metaphysically hollow ways that evoke concern for people’s everyday lives only to keep intact local hierarchies which feed into broader systems of coloniality (Zondi 2017), as well as restricted corporeal expressions of peace and social justice. Furthermore, these efforts frequently rely on colonial depictions of a monolithically constructed Other whose needs, emotions and aspirations, if they are to be recognized, must conform to the liberal standards of elite capitalist society (see Brown 2006; Randazzo 2016; Richmond 2009b). This can be observed in many of the peacebuilding efforts undertaken by the African Union, which seem to enforce the liberal peace rather than build citizen-oriented peaces, as evidenced by its fundamental failure to address “centuries of structural violence and its manifestation in intra- and interstate conflict” (Zondi 2017, p. 107). The quick elections and neoliberal economic reforms that often accompany liberal peacebuilding initiatives (such as those observed in Angola in 1992; Rwanda in 1994; Cambodia in 1993; and Bosnia in 2005) do little to diminish the structural drivers of conflict (Paris 2010), let alone address issues related to coloniality. Resources are repeatedly endowed unevenly, with local elites gaining greater power through the exclusion of grassroots community actors and stakeholders from negotiations, discussions and decision-making (Newman et al. 2009). Purveyors of liberal peacebuilding are, in this way, also able to construct oppressive inclusion/ exclusion citizenship identity criteria, as in the case of colonized Palestine today, where the Palestinian right to self-determination is denied. Additionally, by taking root in the twinned frameworks of institutionalization and financialization, many iterations of liberal peacebuilding have come under the influence of an imperialist agenda, albeit some to a greater degree than others (Paris 2010), and in this respect have failed to live up to their own ideals (Richmond 2009b). By glossing over historical specificities and circumstances (Sabaratnam 2013), and by either maintaining or creating anew vastly unequal societal hierarchies along racialized, ethnic, classed and gendered lines, liberal peacebuilding efforts tend to adhere to and valorize the dictums of coloniality (Zondi 2017). In considering the above, it would appear that present-day liberal peacebuilding finds itself in a somewhat contradictory position, wherein relying primarily on local ownership has reinforced hierarchical systems within an oppressive (neo)colonial global capitalist order (e.g., various peacebuilding efforts in Burundi), while, on the other hand, short-term international interventions are regularly undertaken in an imperialist or semi-imperialist fashion (Paris 2010), seeking only to gear economies in the direction of global finance capital (e.g., France’s peacebuilding efforts in Mali and Côte d’Ivoire) rather than emancipate those living and suffering under the heal of coloniality (see Brown 2006; Zondi 2017). Coupled with this, it is the more general acultural, unfeeling, coercive, unethical, conditional and instrumentalist nature of so much liberal peacebuilding that has led people to pronounce the crisis of

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liberal peacebuilding (Rampton and Nadarajah 2017; Randazzo 2016; Richmond 2009a). However, a kind of double-bind has emerged within critique of liberal peacebuilding, where most criticism emanates from a liberal perspective (e.g., Paris 2010), that is to say, the argument that peacebuilding becomes problematic only when it departs from the methodologized axioms of liberalism, and that even in its present corrupt, bastardized formation, liberal peacebuilding has ultimately had an overall positive effect (Sabaratnam 2013). Such critiques then look to reform peacebuilding along what are perceived to be idealized liberal parameters, searching for variations within, rather than alternatives to, the liberal project (see Hudson 2016). In our view, it is precisely liberal peacebuilding’s adherence to liberalism that throws up its most fundamental contradiction, namely that liberalism tends to map more accurately onto the capitalist values of individuality, rationalism, exploitation, competition and profit-making (Lemay-Hébert 2013) than it does to notions of solidarity, community, social justice and decoloniality more generally (Vásquez-Arenas 2018). Exemplary here are many of the liberal peacebuilding efforts that have been implemented by the United Nations since the Cold War, such as in Kosovo and, for a time, East Timor, where peace is normatively indexed against security, militarization, institutionalization and hierarchies (see Richmond 2009a). In what follows, we consider the constructs of coloniality, decoloniality and the everyday to advance our conceptualization of everyday decolonial peacebuilding and its methodological considerations for research on peace, conflict and power.

18.2  Decolonial Peacebuilding and the Everyday According to Maldonado-Torres (2016), “coloniality and decoloniality refer to the logic, metaphysics, ontology, and matrix of power created by the massive processes of colonization and decolonization” (p. 10). Mignolo (2007) argues that coloniality is the “darker side of modernity,” which establishes “a hierarchy of human beings ontologically and epistemically” (p. 46). Epistemic degradation works with material depravity to dehumanize and other particular peoples and knowledges (Maldonado-­ Torres 2016; see also Maseko 2020, in this volume). In other words, coloniality brings into existence institutions which reproduce colonizer-colonized relations that endeavor to make the world in the static image of white, male, cisgendered, patriarchal, able-bodied, capitalist modernity (see Veronelli 2015). In this way, individualism, as it coheres with a neoliberal agenda, becomes prioritized (Maldonado-Torres 2016), and individuals as objects – divorced from community – are set up to seek approval from dominant powers (Fanon 1967; Tuck and Yang 2012). In short, we may think of coloniality as structuring a nation’s culture, labor practices, knowledge creation and political economy, thereby influencing perceptions of the self, the Other, education, common sense, power, being, knowledge and the global order (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2011). We should not, however, understand coloniality as foreclosed. It has been, and continues to be, resisted in ways that are often deemed

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‘violent’ by dominant powers (see Mignolo 2009). Decoloniality is therefore “not only a long-standing political and epistemological movement aimed at liberation of (ex-) colonized peoples from global coloniality but also a way of thinking, knowing, and doing” (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015b, p. 485). The everyday can be surmised as the very close, minor, familiar and always dynamic experiences of everyday life that shape our social identities and “form the unseen in the act of seeing” (Harrison 2000, p. 497). It is by surfacing the everyday (through, for example, examining affect, gendered power relations, cultural production, attire and manners) that we are able to explore its habitual, embodied and invisiblized ways of knowing and being, as well as the broader social systems in which it is embedded (Felski 1999). Although both the content and form of the everyday are affected by ideology, imperial economic forces, cultural values, coloniality and a host of other structural factors, people are – at the same time – able to exercise individual and collective agency and can, at different moments and within different spaces, resist the everyday, align with its expectations, or perform a mixture of both (see Hall 1980; Sabaratnam 2013). It is in this respect that the everyday may be understood as a socially situated, collective, fluid and negotiated set of constructs which, together, constitute an under-considered site of politics (Harrison 2000; Richmond 2009a, 2009b). Indeed, it is through the everyday that we feel politics. The everyday does not hold within it inherently colonizing or decolonizing elements. Instead, it is always a hybridized, multitudinal entity (see Sabaratnam 2013), with global processes shaping both its form and function (see Hudson 2016). Where the symbolic, structural and cultural coding of colonial practices can work to embed violence within the everyday (see Lefebvre 2002; Randazzo 2016), people can also, and often do, creatively weave into the everyday decolonizing acts of resistance, including radical peacebuilding and collective approaches to struggle (see de Certeau 1984). In other words, the terrain of the everyday may, for some, signify a sense of calm, community and self-assertion, and for others, stress, exploitation and dehumanization (Richmond 2009b). More than likely though, depending on one’s position within a world marked by coloniality, the everyday presents a blend of repressive, banal and emancipatory elements. It is therefore imperative that if peacebuilding methodologies and interventions are to harness the decolonizing capabilities of the everyday, they must do so dialectically by identifying within the everyday particular affective, empathetic, agentic, relational, unifying and collectivist enactments, while rejecting violent everyday practices that disallow spaces for humanization, political and affective consciousness, privileging of local knowledges, and insurgent voice and action. In this sense, it is through the everyday that we may begin to construct decolonial counter-hegemonic peaces, which can influence the very systems of coloniality that structure the everyday (see Hall 1980), thus imbuing the everyday with emancipatory meanings, forms and styles (see Harrison 2000). Richmond (2009a, 2009b) reminds us that, in general, liberal peacebuilding efforts have ignored emancipatory conceptions of the everyday, and have instead focused on security measures and limited conceptions of political pragmatism (also see Azarmandi 2018), both of which lend themselves readily to quantitative

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measurement and evaluation. While there are likely to be numerous reasons for this oversight, a plausible explanation is that the everyday, in its most decolonial iterations, counteracts many of liberalism’s fundamental tenets, such as individualism, institutionalism, market-driven rationality and ‘trickle down’ reformism (see Vásquez-Arenas 2018). Since the mid-2000s, however, there has been a local turn in peacebuilding work that has seen an increased reliance on the everyday (Randazzo 2016). Notwithstanding, when liberal peacebuilding initiatives do consider the everyday, it is typically drained of its decolonizing potentialities, and becomes instead a site of ontological otherness used to ‘prove’ essentialized cultural distinctiveness (Sabaratnam 2013) or alternatively universalized so that the hierarchies of power and difference – and their interlocking modes of oppression – are naturalized (see Azarmandi 2018). While impulses towards liberal peacebuilding are certainly evident within the everyday, the everyday is also able to demonstrate to us the scope of violence, as well as the potentialities for peace, that are already present in people’s lives, and thus presents decolonizing peacebuilding potential (see Dutta et al. 2016). Such decolonial peaces, unlike liberal peace, occur not because government enables it – given the present-day global political economy – but because people pursue it (Sabaratnam 2013). If peacebuilding agents are then to draw on decolonial conceptions of the everyday to construct peaces (as they exist or as they are imagined), the everyday becomes centered as a vital kind of experience that allows people to build reality-engaged peaces which are situated, dynamic and continually reinvented, and that simultaneously respond to both exteriorized and interiorized imperatives for peace. This conceptualization of the everyday raises questions around whose methodology, what methodology, how enacted, and to what end, as related to ways of knowledge, power and being. On this, Tuhiwai-Smith (2012), in her landmark scholarship on decolonizing methodologies, surfaces the ways in which imperialism is embedded as ‘regimes of truth’ in hegemonic methodological traditions. Here, the marginalized are positioned as the un-knowing Other whose knowledges and knowledge systems are subordinated, silenced, erased and fabricated in processes of meaning-­ making, thereby complicitous with many of the dictums on which the liberal peace is crafted. The recovery of decolonial peaces in the everyday therefore calls for research methodologies that resist dominant knowledge axioms, and honor marginalized knowledges in ways that retrieve, and engage critically with endogenous epistemic markers for decolonial peaces. Such a philosophical and praxical orientation addresses the epistemic pitfalls inherent to disengaged expert formulaic claims and methodologies that are predicated on the assumptions of the dominant knowledge economy (see Seedat et  al. 2017), and that are exemplified in much of the scholarship on peace, conflict and power. In short, mobilizing the everyday’s decolonial peacebuilding capacities implies methodologies and an orientation wherein people are not engaged as objects, but are positioned as feeling, actional and subjective agents, free to voice, shape, choose and resist various forms of peacebuilding in accordance with their emancipatory requirements as they conceive of them (see Hudson 2016; Richmond 2009a). This is not to advance an illiberal mode of peacebuilding, but rather to challenge

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peacebuilding work to promote a decolonial ethic (see Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015a) in the construction of cultures of peace (Dutta et al. 2016). In our own work, we are challenged to engage reflexively and recursively with the methodological possibilities and limits of research on violence and peace. Following this, in the next section, we locate our community-based peacebuilding efforts, and articulate and illustrate an interpretive frame towards the formulation of a decolonial conception of peace that is embedded in the everyday. Intrinsic to this analysis is an attempt on our part to urge peace researchers and activists to reconsider what constitutes method and methodology.

18.3  A  Decolonial Striving: Building Everyday Peaces through Politico-Affective Space 18.3.1  Social Location Officially established in 1948, South Africa’s apartheid system was the culmination of over 400 years of slavery and colonialism (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015a). Although apartheid was formally dismantled in 1994, much needed structural change was substituted for neoliberal reforms that prioritised profit over collective healing and meaningful social change (Klein 2007). Bond (2004) notes that many of these reforms took shape in 1996 with the African National Congress (ANC) government’s adoption of various neoliberal economic policies (e.g., commodifying basic human needs, like water and electricity; using sub-par materials to construct social housing; and paying back debt accumulated during apartheid in fear of shaking investor confidence). Today, while a small black elite has joined the white middle and ruling classes that were consolidated during apartheid, the living conditions of the majority (mostly black) of South Africans remains much the same as they did under apartheid (Schneider 2018). It is within this ‘post-conflict’ South Africa that the violent death rate has been compared to that of a country during wartime (see Seedat et al. 2009). Resultantly, critical scholars have remarked that although the daily horrors of apartheid have ended, and positions of power and influence in the country are no longer reserved for white people exclusively, contemporary South Africa’s festering social inequalities mean that it is not yet an ethical and/or peaceful community (e.g., Mbembe 2007). On building everyday peaces, we have long collaborated with the community of Thembelihle, formed in the 1980s, and located south-west of Johannesburg’s Central Business District. While no community is homogenous or archetypical of the South African experience, the historical trajectory of –Thembelihle, as well as the meta-narratives that have come to be associated with this community are, in many ways, shared by the majority of South Africans. Coloniality continues to shape the social realities of this majority, thus exemplifying South Africa’s failure to reckon with its record of slavery, colonialism and apartheid. According to the

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most recent census data, Thembelihle consists of approximately 9000 households, most of which are shack dwellings (Institute for Social and Health Sciences 2018), and has a population of over 21,000 people (Statistics South Africa 2011). With unemployment affecting just under half of the population, coupled with high rates of reported violent crime (Institute for Social and Health Sciences 2018), Thembelihle is considered to be a “low-income” and “high crime” area (Huchzermeyer 2009). In part a response to these socio-economic circumstances, the community has, since 2001, seen geo-political, social and economic tensions and conflicts with government agencies (e.g., state-sanctioned violence, land contestations and removals), which has resulted in much protest action, as well as violent clashes with state authorities (Paret 2015). Contesting ideologies and struggles among the residents further complicate life in the community (e.g., competing political party interests; contradicting activist strategies; exclusionary resistance tactics; and intra-community violence enacted on the basis of gender and nationality). In a context such as Thembelihle, everyday violence is met with everyday resistance, where emancipatory imaginings and praxes can be recovered from within the everyday itself (Harrison 2000). Herein lies the makings of everyday peaces. For the marginalized community of Thembelihle, and in the context of the university-­ community partnership in which we are engaged – detailed in the next section – this denotes the primacy of local actors’ constructions and enactments of peace, participatory and situated rather than top-down and universalized approaches to peace, the mobilization of community voices, agency and resources to build peace, and acknowledgement of community members as contributing and competent citizens and peacebuilders. From their particular social and epistemic location, the residents of Thembelihle thus seek to build peace amidst everyday violence and marginalization, and in the context of the quotidian.

18.3.2  Constituting the Politico-Affective Space Affect is integral to the everyday. Thus, affect – as an embodied, visceral, relational and political constituent of the everyday – permeates all aspects of knowing and being. From a theoretical and methodological perspective, the focus on affect raises pertinent questions about research with, about and for the marginalized, particularly as this relates to how affective relations and solidarities are to be fostered in the face of subalternity, and the role of affect in qualitative research (see Zembylas 2018), and allows for original and potentially transformative ways of studying the everyday as it moves through and between context, history, experience, epistemology and ontology. Critical scholarship on affect and the everyday includes, for example, enquiries into race, gender, sexuality, protest and violence (e.g. Ahmed 2014; Berg and Ramos-Zayas 2015; Canham 2018; Dutta et al. 2016). We argue then that an analytical accent on affect holds potential for troubling the problematic of the liberal peace, as we have critiqued it elsewhere in the chapter, and building decolonial

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peaces, where affect is concerned with embodied meaning-making and social action (see Canham 2018). Recent scholarship on affect attempts to locate the construct beyond dominant epistemological considerations and make explicit its relevance to the political, ethical and cultural features of everyday social life (see Bakko and Merz 2015). This turn in the social sciences represents affect as existing in the context of structure and power, as spaces of resistance and counter-activity, as signifying the biological, cultural and the social, as enacted fluidly, individually and collectively, and as bearing the potential for challenging existing representations and oppressive logics (Wetherell 2015). Although considerations of affect have opened up the social sciences to the politics of emotion, Teo (2018a) highlights that the affective turn has also ushered in a kind of neoliberal subjectivity, representing a sharp contrast to the ways in which most critical scholars engage the affective turn. Here, a mode of navel-gazing can serve to dislodge social accountability, institute a liberal focus on utilitarianism, and confine static notions of truth to an individual’s personal, sexual and economic interests. Therefore, in centralizing affect, we risk forgoing self-­ questioning, as well as ignoring issues of justice and solidarity. Our reading of the literature suggests that, as a site of analysis in peace praxes, the theorization of a critically formulated affect-social nexus, which harnesses the historicizing, politicizing, mobilizing and solidarity-making potentialities of affect, has received only marginal attention. Accordingly, we employ the conception of “politico-affective space” as an interpretive frame through which to consider the performance of decolonial everyday peaces, as constituted by material and metaphysical dimensions. Invoked in the context of critical literary studies – and our own transdisciplinary interests – we find particularly pertinent Chan’s (2017) articulation of politico-affective space as “a space in which affects circulate and exchange between persons, binding them into a politicized multitude” (pp. 150–151), where this space of shared affect can be both material and representational, rather than individualizing and isolating. Conceived of in this way, affect moves between, and is shaped by spaces, people and, importantly, broader political currents (see Chan 2017) to both support and constrain everyday peacebuilding efforts. Where the top-­ down, institutionalized and state-centric liberal peace does little to foster, or even consider, politico-affective spaces, decolonial peaces are attuned to the possibilities that affects can provoke in peoples’ everyday pursuits of justice (see Ahmed 2014). The preceding critiques and arguments suggest that recovering decolonial everyday potentialities within peacebuilding efforts obliges a nuanced and visceral enunciation of the everyday as it exists materially as well as metaphysically. In our community-based peacebuilding work, we consider such enunciations to be central to processes that allow people to bear witness to their own lives; construct and experience (re)humanizing ontologies; rewrite their socially-situated subjectivities; cultivate recognition; aggrandize local knowledges; as well as catalyze processes of group healing, empathy for the Other, and material and social change (see Lau et al. 2017). Such processes are facilitated by various innovative methodologies and interventions (e.g., digital stories; participatory filmmaking; body mapping); community events (e.g., campaigns; community conversations; theatre performances);

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workshops (e.g., kindergarten teacher training; storytelling demonstrations; techno-­ social responses to environmental degradation); as well as a number of ongoing activities and services (e.g., individual and collective debriefing sessions; spaces for community organizing and networking; resources for formalized communication). Indeed, in a world structured by and through coloniality, wherein the most subjugated are drained of their ontological sense of being and social agency, these processes signify attempts by oppressed peoples to foster critical consciousness, solidarity networks, local epistemologies and action, as well as imaginings of a decolonized world where no single person’s humanity is denied or partialized, that is to say, violated (see Fanon 1967; Maldonado-Torres 2016). Enunciation of this kind appears to unfold over two distinct phases. Firstly, the everyday must be rendered utterable by and to the community, ourselves and other social agents. As the everyday is never monolithic or without motion, it manifests in multiple, co-occurring, incomplete and even contradictory formations, which often work to obscure and invisiblize its substance to the very persons who construct and inhabit these formations. Making the everyday utterable therefore does not require totalizing or wholly coherent meta-narratives. Rather, through a number of recognizable representational modes, such as written, spoken and performative language, we can engage the everyday as a situated, spatio-temporal and contested multitude of affects, symbols, significations and cultures, which may then establish for us a common set of meaning- and change-making tools. For example, the participatory filmmaking project that was initiated through the university-community collaboration, which we make reference to above, provides to community members one perceptible representational platform, within a multi-component intervention and ongoing engagement process, for the creation of politico-affective space that then functions to signify, contest, validate and trouble the everyday. The film itself serves as a means through which to viscerally tell stories of Thembelihle from the perspectives of those who live there, rather than those of state actors and journalists who tend to shape the dominant discourses surrounding the community (see Lau and Seedat 2015). At public screenings, the film has been very well received, provoking passionate dialogue from audiences. Being able to utter the everyday in this inexorably complex fashion has shown to, paradoxically, provide a sense of clarity with respect to the systemic nature of everyday oppression (see Randazzo 2016). Secondly, using the modes of utterance observed in the first phase of enunciation allows people to communicate and politicize different formations of the everyday in concert with one another. In other words, denoting ways by which to communicate the everyday enables community members and ourselves to collaboratively build into the everyday, as well as revive within the everyday, different decolonial peacebuilding configurations, while also resisting and challenging liberal impulses. Referring back to the participatory filmmaking example, public screenings construct dialogic spaces that invite situated meaning-making, comprising of multiple and complex realities, politics, subjectivities and psychologies. The generativity and interpersonal tensions observed at these screenings have in many instances uncovered the limits of the liberal peace, and appear to open up possibilities for alternative and decolonizing everyday peacebuilding. Unlike in liberal

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peacebuilding practice, we do not consider all tensions as malignant and pathological. Holding tensions, rather than always seeking to resolve them, or even believing that all tensions should be resolvable, is a central principle of decolonial peacebuilding. By seeing and feeling the kinds of decolonial peaces that exist within the everyday, we are able to collectively build counter-hegemonic emotional repertoires – as evident in expressions of rage and betrayal associated with injustice, refusal to forgive oppression, and the mourning of losses from colonialism and apartheid – that ultimately foster the kinds of support, solidarities and action required for intra- and extra-local decolonial peacebuilding praxes (see Hudson 2016). In sum, making utterable the everyday enables us to challenge, draw out, reconstitute and retrieve its sensing, participatory and decolonizing possibilities in a manner that rejects the regressive character of liberalism that is so often imposed on to conceptions of peace. Below, we illustrate the constitutive enactments of politico-affective space through a critical reflexive analysis of a community-based, participatory intervention that seeks to recover decolonial peaces in the everyday through this space.

18.3.3  R  ecovering Decolonial Peaces and Praxes in the Everyday For almost three decades, we have engaged with Thembelihle on a composite intervention centred on violence prevention and peacebuilding. Driven by an ethic of collaboration, the intervention attempts to mobilize existing community groups, activist movements, state actors and policy-makers to implement changes directed at the structural, behavioural, normative and epistemic determinants of violence within the community. The intervention is conceptualized, implemented and evaluated in partnership with community members, who typically inform its specific objectives and components. Although epistemologically and methodologically participatory in its formulation, we remain alert to the hierarchical power relations that inevitably underlie the intervention, and the need for reflexivity, that is “the imperative to critically examine the assumptions, values, discourses, and practices that we deploy to portray reality and create knowledge” (Suffla et al. 2015). After all, we engage the community against the background of an established episteme that is at times interrupted, but at other times maintained, where we typically own and possess greater authority and resources in the overall knowledge-creation enterprise. As Cooke and Kothari (2001) argue, however well-intentioned, participation has the potential for tyranny that is “systemic, not merely a matter of how the practitioner operates or the specificities of the techniques and tools employed” (Cooke and Kothari 2001, p. 15). Reflexivity, if it is to reject navel-gazing individualism, must engage with people’s material living conditions (see Patai 1994). It is with this reflexive lens that we approach our community engagement endeavours. However, by virtue of our institutional location – whose metrics of performance and progress remain persistently rooted in colonial matrices of power  – this engagement with

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materiality inevitably feels incomplete and only partially honored. We find ourselves constantly navigating between co-optation and epistemic disobedience, which engenders and embeds in our work ongoing tension and contradiction, as well as generative forms of self-critique and dialogical analyses. The intervention is bound by a theoretical understanding of violence that seeks to complicate the oftentimes reductive manner by which liberal peacebuilding conceptualizes violence and peace. Accordingly, the intervention seeks to address and confront three interlocking modalities of violence, (1) direct violence, (2) structural violence, and (3) epistemic violence, through several community-engaged components. This includes the strengthening of early childhood development (ECD) systems that support positive safety outcomes, privileging of community storylines that attempt to re-story and historicize dominant narratives of violence, deficit and despair, as well as create spaces for (re)humanization through artistic resources, demonstration and implementation of safe and sustainable energy technologies to address the triggers for violent protest and the conditions for energy justice, campaigns and conversations promoting intra- and inter-community cohesion, and strengthening local community delivery systems to assert epistemic agency. The intervention assumes community participation principles to address the plurality of violence over the long-term, as well as recognize the particularities of the community as related to inadequate infrastructure and health, educational and social welfare service provision, and poverty and unemployment. Regarding the modalities of violence on which we focus, we understand direct violence, on which many liberal peacebuilding efforts base their understanding of conflict (see Zondi 2017), as do our community partners, as physical or psychological violence between individuals and/or groups that disrupts ‘normal’ social functioning. The everyday acts of interpersonal violence occur against the backdrop of structural violence (Galtung 1990), expressed by some community members in the digital story that they produced as “Struggles, hardships and suffering. No water, no electricity, inadequate access to education, crime, violence and poverty, being black and poor still stand in the way of our liberation” (Dlamini et al. 2015). Consistent with Galtung’s (1990) definition, we take structural violence to be inherent to the macro-systems in which people live, as nested within dominant ideologies, and as referring to the ways in which such social systems disadvantage certain communities or population groups and kill people slowly. Differential access to resources, power, and social, welfare, educational, legal and health services, poverty, racism, gender inequality, and social norms justifying violence are among the most noteworthy markers of structural violence in our context. Finally, we characterize epistemic violence as the skewed arrangement of knowledge systems, exposing how marginalized groups are constructed by knowledge systems held as universal and ‘objective’ by dominant groups, and highlighting the relationship between power and knowledge (see Teo 2018b). Community members frequently reference epistemic violence against the everyday experiences of misrecognition, invisibility and the disallowing of local knowings. These three modalities give rise to an expansive conception of violence which, when considered reflexively, connect the notion of violent representation to the material consequences of violence (see Patai 1994).

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Thus, we attempt always to remain cognisant of how our (re)presentations of, and engagements with violence influence our interventions into violent systems, knowledges and relations. When we fail to do so – and precisely because of the participatory and collaborative ways in which the intervention space is constituted  – our community partners will almost certainly challenge us to undertake deeper reflexive engagements within and without the university-community partnership. We consider such epistemic disruptions to be an integral part of decolonial peacebuilding work. Following this conceptualization of violence, we reason that the multiple forms of violence should be addressed through multi-component practice. Such practice may constitute a set of interventions that are participatory in nature, sensitive to the university-community knowledge hierarchy, attentive to the power dimensions and material aspects of the context in which violence occurs, as well as cognizant of the everyday ways by which violence shapes people’s material realities, and their sense of being, knowing, relating and feeling. Accordingly, we subscribe to a conceptualization of everyday peacebuilding as an embodied, interiorized, relational, structural, situated, as well as value- and knowledge-laden process, rather than simply the amelioration of violence and conflict. In attending to how coloniality moves through different kinds of violence, much of our work in this community attempts to enunciate and enact a complex and refined set of decolonial everyday peaces. It is through its very logic and aims that the intervention – representing a striving towards everyday decolonial peaces  – attempts to foster politico-affective space. Specifically, the intervention, and its attendant methodologies, are framed to do so through the mobilization and interlocking of radical hope and critical agency. While we do not understand either of these notions as emancipatory in and of themselves, we believe that, together, they are able to bring community-engaged work into political economy, as well as the everyday. Thus, questions of reflexivity necessarily underlie the conceptions and enactments of radical hope and critical agency. Discussed below in broad theoretical terms, and grounded within select components of the intervention, we interpret these concepts as a counterpoint to the liberal peace. At a fundamental level, the intervention has created a discursive space that concedes to the construction of an epistemologically disobedient kind of historiography of the community. These constructions of the community’s history function to counter the depictions of monolithic violence and personhood, frequently bound to reports of community protest action against structural violence, that appear to drive many of the mainstream media’s narratives of this community (see Lau and Seedat 2015) – “when we are on the streets protesting, we are being perceived as criminals, as people who are hooligans, as people who don’t know what they want” (Community Members of Thembelihle, University of South Africa and Chronicle 2017). The intervention is thereby observed to re-script dominant representations and historiographies of Thembelihle so as to reflect the community in its pluriversal, lived and affective forms. Community members, in this respect, engage the politics of the gaze (see Pillow 2003), and reflexively grapple with the individual-community representational dialectic. Similarly, we find ourselves reflexively interrogating the

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ways by which we comprehend, analyze, interpret and construct notions of community and resistance in the context of decolonial everyday peaces. The discursive redactions encouraged through the intervention are discernable in the construction and narration of accounts that seek to re(cast) community stories as lived peacebuilding scripts with potential to articulate and enact epistemic justice, and encourage social action. This self-determining impulse is powerfully and evocatively articulated by a group of community leaders. In their digitally-produced story, titled Peoples’ Plight and Power, they pronounce their foremost experience as “[t]otally ignored, our voices go unheard”, and insist on “want[ing] to be heard” as knowers and activists (Dlamini et al. 2015). They proclaim: Not even apartheid could break our spirit and our determination to exist … driven by the injustices, strengthened by our will to survive, ignited by the desire to re-create hope, striving towards transformation, united in our commitment and responsibilities, we fight on for a better life (Dlamini et al., 2015).

It is in this context that we observe the (re)emergence of a radical hope. Eagleton (2015) notes that radical hope, far from embodying an optimistic stance that fetishizes the future, grounds itself in the realities of the present by forgoing the probable for a focus on the possible. In this regard, radical hope does not underestimate social problems or seek to simplistically change attitudes as a substitute for justice proper (see Dixon et al. 2010; Patai 1994). Rather, it signifies an insurgent form of interiority and beingness that is cognizant of both material and representational injustices that are constitutive of the everyday. Eagleton (2015) goes on to argue that radical hope subsumes within it reason, expectancy and confidence, all of which are drawn on in acknowledging, but not conceding to, losses, failures and setbacks experienced in struggles for justice. Understanding radical hope in this way allows us to accommodate within it actional and potentially decolonizing affect, such as rage (see Canham 2018), thereby guiding affect beyond the individual and towards solidarity and social action (see Teo 2018a). In this regard, as Eagleton (2015) reminds us, radical hope requires a collective hoping against history, which strives towards an emancipated future that exists beyond present-day systems and institutions. For our community partners, this denotes movement in the direction of a future wherein “not to be dehumanised, not to be treated as a second-­ class citizen, not being marginalised” (Dlamini et al. 2015) to secure “a legacy and place for our future generation” (Dlamini et al. 2015) is a critical antithesis to violence. Such radical hope allows us to reorganize the way by which liberatory knowledges are formed and presented, orienting our reflexive engagement politically, and towards an emancipatory consciousness. In this, we find that we need to simultaneously remain attuned to the limits of radical hope in the absence of material and epistemic justice. Within the politico-affective space, radical hope performs as feeling, reflexive practice and technology that inevitably juxtaposes enunciations of the aforementioned treble violences with enunciations of peace, albeit in messy tension with each other. In Sunrise in an Unlikely Place, a digital story produced by a group of

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Thembelihle ECD educators, these enunciations of everyday violence and peace are surfaced thus: We came to [community] expecting a better life. Instead, struggles, pain and hardship became our life … but we wanted more, we wanted to feel satisfaction, passion and pride, and express our talent … we built our own early childhood development centres … we didn’t give up, we held our heads up high, we imagined and created a different life. Forward we go! (Segodi et al., 2015).

In this way, radical hope imagines and remains alert to the emancipatory necessity of decolonial peacebuilding, and therefore to the alternative forms of material and metaphysical existence that may be possible – or not – through resistance, struggle for change, and activism for decolonial peaces. Radical hope in the politico-­affective space thus allows for revitalized articulations of peacebuilding in the very knowledge that the trajectory of violence and peace in the community remains uncertain. Radical hoping allows for a plethora of voices to articulate what decolonial peacebuilding can and should mean in situ, while ensuring that each voice  – and its embodied identity – is made ethically and socially accountable. It is hope of this kind – neglected almost entirely in liberal peacebuilding work – that is perhaps able to speak to what Maldonado-Torres (2016) refers to as coloniality’s metaphysical catastrophe, or “the production of zones of being human and zones of not-being human or not being human enough” (p. 13), which upholds violence in the everyday lives of colonized subjects. In the intervention component that employs the format of community peacebuilding campaigns and conversations to promote community cohesion, radical hope is able to engender enunciations, spaces and relationalities conducive to degrees of ontological realisations, even in contexts of dehumanization and violence. Realizations of this sort also allow for the reflexive confrontation of one’s own complicity in violent social systems; for us, this signifies our locations in, and collusions with the coloniality of knowledge, and concurrently our commitments to epistemic disobedience and social activism. Radical hope, unlike optimism (see Eagleton 2015), understands that death lies at the heart of metaphysical catastrophe (see Maldonado-Torres 2016), yet is perpetually aware that coloniality is not a closed or absolute system, and can be effectively resisted in ways that may not always be recognized by liberal powers as peaceful. Interconnecting with radical hope, critical agency in the politico-affective space offers community members emancipatory possibilities for (re)claiming power to activate the everyday’s decolonial peacebuilding capacities. Such agency, usually submerged at the local level, is founded on forms of resistance that endeavour to impact structures of power, social norms, grassroots activism, civil society mobilisation and the state (Richmond 2011). Critical agency is progressive and multiple in constitution, seeking always to assert itself beyond given liberal boundaries so as to challenge and reconstitute the very foundations of these boundaries. In contrast, in liberal iterations of peacebuilding, agency is typically ‘given’ to select, usually elite, citizens through channels consolidated by liberal institutions. Agency of this kind reduces insurgency to the immediate interests of the self, confining control and influence to neoliberal parameters that dispossess others in the service of individual

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social mobility (Teo 2018a). In our peacebuilding intervention, our community partners have, through various historical and contemporary expressions of social and epistemic agency, worked to position themselves as situated and contesting social actors who are striving, on their own terms, to recover decolonial peaces and praxes in the everyday, thus straining against the imposition of the liberal peace. When, almost two decades ago, the government began to relocate families from Thembelihle due to concerns that the area was underlain by dolomite and therefore hazardous, many families fought to stay as an independent geo-technical report found that some areas in Thembelihle were indeed habitable, despite the presence of dolomite (Tselapedi and Dugard 2013). A protagonist in the film, placing himself as an activist, narrates: The ANC government of the day, they were evicting us from shack to shack … we were determined to say that we will live in Thembelihle, whether they would like it or not, people will reside in Thembelihle, irrespective of them having, you know, these forced removals, forced evictions. We were united in one common goal of saying we want our place, where we call it our home. That’s where the real fighting started (Community Members of Thembelihle et al., 2017).

In this way, the activation of critical agencies, in both discursive and performative forms, creates visions and opportunities for disrupting liberal hegemony through insurgent action in the everyday. In the face of the violence that shapes the everyday realities of the community, the intervention dislocates the logic of the liberal peace by centring the community itself as a central change agent in the enunciation and building of decolonial peaces. In another example, informal and formal community groups exercise agentic capacities that counter the helplessness and hopelessness bred by coloniality to drive local community delivery systems that address issues related to economic hardship, gender-based violence, education deficiency, environmental injustice and cultural erasure. Thus, instead of subscribing to a liberalised peace that is enforced universally, community members work to make, purpose and pluralize peace through resistant everyday agencies that challenge notions of the monolithically victimised, powerless, disaffected poor. It should perhaps be emphasized that decolonial peacebuilding, as enacted through critical agency, is not insularly constellated. Certainly, those components of our peacebuilding intervention directed at the strengthening of ECD and local community delivery systems to promote safety and peace regularly rely on external agents and solidarity networks to support, distend and merge with other politico-­ affective spaces for decolonial peacebuilding. Here, the performance and diffusion of critical agency can create motional peaces that are able to embed themselves within and across diverse everyday contexts. The recovery and movement of decolonial peaces in the everyday through critical agency, as a dynamic impetus, therefore has the potential to privilege the oppressed as creators of “an-other kind of knowledge and … an-other archive” (Maldonado-Torres 2016, p. 25) in peace work, an imperative that in the context of “thinking, creating, and acting together in various forms of community can seek to disrupt the coloniality of knowledge, power, and being and change the world” (Maldonado-Torres 2016, p. 29). Notwithstanding, as researchers, we are continually challenged to account for the complex,

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contradictory, temporal, located, fluid and unstable nature of critical agency even in our efforts to mobilize it in the recovery of decolonial peaces in the everyday. Thus, where radical hope may present conditions of possibility under conditions of impossibility, or violence, critical agency stimulates decolonial action, where neither is formed, or exists in isolation from the other. We have attempted to demonstrate here how the fostering of politico-affective spaces through collaborative, reflexive and solidaritous engagements allows for the enunciation of both radical hope and critical agency in necessarily complex ways, speaking to coloniality, and embedding within the everyday an always-evolving and contextually-sensitive impulse towards critical peacebuilding.

18.4  Conclusion In speaking to peacebuilding’s local turn (see Randazzo 2016), Richmond (2009b) emphasizes the role of local ownership in combatting the limits of liberal peacebuilding. Indeed, if peacebuilding is to become a force for decolonization, it must, at all times, prioritize support from a localized base over top-down governance and imperialist agendas disguised as expertise. Decolonial peacebuilding therefore cannot rely on liberal reformist measures, but is instead challenged to uncover and actualize alternative and decolonizing ways by which to enunciate and enact peaces that are relevant, meaningful, collaborative, participatory and critical, and that allow us to make connections between the local and the global, as well as the everyday and the structural (see Dutta et al. 2016). In this chapter, we have, through reflexive and analytic consideration of our work with a disadvantaged South African community, attempted to advance a decolonial conception of peacebuilding that enunciates the notion of the everyday. Yet too, we need to better comprehend, through further analyses, how the community members themselves construct everyday peaces through politico-affective space. With politico-­affective space receiving only marginal analytic and theoretical attention, we see much potential for interrogating and refining its psycho-social, psycho-­ political and material constituents, and its recognition in community-engaged, critical and decolonizing research applications that seek to build everyday peaces. Following Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2017), we suggest that the methodological process that is implied herein is an “ethical, ontological and political exercise rather than simply one of approach and ways of producing knowledge” (n.p.). For us, this means that our research on violence and peace must be grounded in an ethic of plurality – as opposed to prescriptions and prohibitions – where plurality emerges out of commitments to relationality; solidarity; local knowledges, resources and actors; and co-constructed knowledge and change. This work is immanently difficult and inexact and, as long as the neoliberal state remains at the axis of peacebuilding, is bound to appear ‘alternative.’ Equally, for us, this focus on recovering decolonial peaces and praxes in the everyday of our collaborating community, within which we are simultaneously embedded and

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removed, remains partial, iterative, contingent and evolving. We endeavor to avoid the method-methodology and reflexivity-action binaries which tend to obscure the exercise of power in both the discourses and the practices of community-based participatory research but, on the whole, our methodology remains messy. This is in stark contrast to the linear and unbending methodologies in which the three of us have been schooled. We seek to disrupt orthodox, received and presumed knowledges, and to reconstitute – generatively – the boundaries, horizons and scope of what we have come to understand as method and methodology; yet, we do not always accomplish this. We invite the community groups with whom we collaborate to disobey traditional notions of so-called expert knowledge and university-­ community research partnerships; yet, our institutional and disciplinary locations do not always allow us to honor this. Notwithstanding, our striving towards decolonial peaces attempts to contribute to counter-hegemonies to the liberal peace through a representation of “an-other archive.” Ultimately, our contribution calls on peace scholars, practitioners and activists to assume decolonial attitudes as method.

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Chapter 19

Concluding Remarks Yasemin Gülsüm Acar, Sigrun Marie Moss, and Özden Melis Uluğ

This volume has taken the reader across five continents, through contexts of historical tension, and places with ongoing violence. Authors have discussed their personal challenges and experiences in the fieldwork. For some, their experiences have served as lessons to improve their research. For others, their personal lives and trajectories have changed and may never be the same. Others have made sure that fellow researchers learn from their past experiences and mistakes. Our hope is that readers and users of this edited volume will have learned as much as we did from these authors’ accounts of their data collection processes and personal experiences. We see this volume not only as a hands-on guide to conducting research in conflict zones, but as a means to question the value of what is often considered to be “messy” research. We have found, and continue to find, immense importance and value in working in difficult contexts, and we are very grateful that all the contributors took the time to share their research processes.

19.1  Lessons Learned We divided this volume into four sections that we felt would be the most relevant for the reader, though we ultimately found that many chapters overlapped in the experiences of the researchers. Across the four sections we prepared, there were three key aspects we felt were overall lessons learned from putting this volume together: Y. G. Acar (*) University of Dundee, Dundee, UK S. M. Moss University of Oslo, Oslo, Norway Ö. M. Uluğ Clark University, Worcester, MA, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5_19

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Be open. Appreciate the sensitivity, complexity, and potential dangers of the fieldwork – for the researchers, the wider research team, the participants, and local partners or contacts, as well as for the wider conflict context. In contexts marked by ongoing violence, researchers need to be flexible and open to learning from local experts, including research assistants, as Hajj and Moss (Chap. 3) discuss. Skjelsbæk (Chap. 4), for example, emphasizes how she allowed her research assistant space to intervene and terminate focus group interviews when necessary. Bilewicz (Chap. 17) explores the various roles that an outsider researcher may take when they are removed from the context in which they are most comfortable. He reminds the reader to allow space for others to tell us that our approach is not optimal in a particular setting, and engage in open discussions to improve our approach. This, as Maseko (Chap. 16) explains, can also be hard, as others may position the researcher as less of an expert due to context, race, or history. Similarly, different aspects of our own identities such as race, gender, professional status and motivational states including expectations, enthusiasm, uncertainty, and threat may intersect with the identities and motivational states of our audiences and these intersections may affect how and what we communicate, as discussed by Maddox, Crittle, Sommers, and Tropp (Chap. 6). We also need to remain open in the writing process – there may be times when our research and our write-ups can have unintended consequences for others. We should remain open to learning from others who have previously conducted research in the same context, and communicate with local collaborators about the effects and outcomes of publication (see Taylor, Nilsson, Forero, and Restrepo (Chap. 2) on the values of including local researchers in the team). Figueiredo, Montagna, and Rocha (Chap. 7) showed that creating an open dialogue with the research population about research and knowledge exchange can strengthen relationships and improve the quality of data. Be prepared. Prepare well for the challenges that fieldwork entails. With its embedded complexities and messiness, fieldwork is a challenging endeavor in the first place. Working in a conflict context or sensitive settings marked by power hierarchies makes it all the more challenging. Many of the authors emphasized just how unprepared they were for the situations they found themselves in. For example, Nair and Majumdar (Chap. 10) discuss how the data collection process can get out of control and show us how to assess some ways in which third-parties may shape the data. Burns, Blaylock, Taylor, and McKeown (Chap. 13) write about the many challenges that work with children and youth in conflict settings entails, and how it has been crucial for them to engage in in-depth preparation before fieldwork, but that this preparation needs to be combined with flexibility. Particularly in conflict situations, the context can change very rapidly, which will impact data collection, research design, and potentially even the researchers themselves, as pointed out by Bayad and Aydemir (Chap. 15). Flexibility is therefore necessary. Acar (Chap. 11) discusses working with a marginalized population especially as an inexperienced researcher with a more experienced team, and how a bit of preparation and research ahead of time can have a huge impact on the quality of the research. According to Suffla, Seedat, and Malherbe (Chap. 18) such preparation should also entail

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reflections on our own positionality. In their chapter, they encourage peace researchers to reconsider their methodologies and to take the pluriversality of context, history, experience, epistemology, and ontology seriously. Embrace the opportunities. Recognize and embrace the opportunities the fieldwork entails. As emphasized by Karasu and Uluğ (Chap. 5), the challenges of fieldwork, particularly in conflict settings, are often much more visible to us as researchers and can be an active deterrent for conducting such research (see also Moss et al. 2019). And while such challenges are very real, and should be taken very seriously, at the same time, the opportunities that fieldwork in conflict settings offer should not be overlooked. Alfadhli and Drury (Chap. 8) remind us of the human connections and trust that can be made when the researcher spends time with a research population. Similarly, Vestergren and Drury (Chap. 9) discuss how such human connections can influence the individual researcher’s life –for example, the discussions on ecological and environmental issues Vestergren had with participants in her research later influenced her own consumption and awareness of her impact on the environment. These opportunities also include engaging with practitioners in conflict contexts, especially when conducting RCTs within a changing context, and increasing the visibility and accessibility of social psychological knowledge, as discussed in Porat and Saguy’s chapter (12) and Wolfe’s chapter (14).

19.2  Concluding Words We hope this book can function as one of many nudges within social psychology to incorporate field research more completely into its lexicon of methodologies. Geographies mired by conflict are all too often ignored or written off as too “messy” to engage with, though as we have discussed, we believe the many benefits justify the messiness. This book would never have come about without our own “messy” experiences, our lack of knowledge or preparedness, without us sometimes being too closed to different perspectives, or too rigid in our methodologies. Conducting research in conflict has taught us so much about what can and should be considered rigorous research, and the best practices to achieve it. So, we hope that you use this book well, engage in good discussions on this topic, and go do fieldwork.

Reference Moss, S. M., Uluğ, Ö. M., & Acar, Y. G. (2019). Doing research in conflict contexts: Practical and ethical challenges for researchers when conducting fieldwork. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 25(1), 86–99. https://psycnet.apa.org/doi/10.1037/pac0000334

Index

A Abstract forms, 330 Academic armor academic freedom, 292 cross-cultural comparison, representations of peace, 294 functional and disciplinary level, 294 peace academics, 293 personal level, 293 self-censorship, 293 social representation of peace, 294 solidarity academies, 293 Academic aspirations, 45 Academic audiences, 94, 95 Academic freedom, 70, 291–293, 296, 324, 326 Academics for Peace (AfP), 291–293, 295 Accessing children and youth, challenges conservative approach, 238 data collection, 238 ethical considerations, 237 initial trepidation, 237 intergroup relations, 239 paramilitary activity and violence, 237 peacebuilding interventions, 237 reaching populations, 236 sectarian antisocial behavior, 239 sectarianism and racism, 238 Accountability policy, 113 Acknowledgment, 331, 332 Active listening, 92 Activism, 150, 152–155 collective action, 115 environmental and anti-deportation campaigns, 155 Mapuche groups, 115

political relevance, 152 and protests, 150 Alevism cultural associations, 202 ethnicities, 200 left-wing political views, 201 modern Turkish history, 200 shared cultural values, 198 social and political mobilization, 200 Allyship, 90 Animosity, 67, 68 Anonymity, 34, 150, 151, 157, 158, 180 Anthropology, 1, 53, 197 Anti-Jewish prejudice, 329, 332 Anti-Polish prejudice, 329 Anti-Semitic prejudice, 326, 329 Anti-terrorist law, 107 Apartheid, 303, 304, 350 Apartheid laws, 304 Applied social psychological research conflict settings, 236 macro-social structures, 235 methodological and ethical sensitivities, 236 theories of prejudice, 235 Armed conflict, 131 Armenia cognitive mapping technique, 77 cross-cultural projects, 74 communities, 75 data collection, 68 disagreements, 65–67 field-based research, 74 genocide, 64 “Genocide Commemorations”, 67 Hrant Dink Foundation, 63

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 Y. G. Acar et al. (eds.), Researching Peace, Conflict, and Power in the Field, Peace Psychology Book Series, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-44113-5

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370 Armenia (cont.) inter-communal warfare, 64 participant, 69 prejudice, 64 questionnaire, 324 socio-political disagreements, 64 Turkey, 65–67 Armenian-American participants, 74, 75 Armenian genocide, 64, 66, 67, 71, 72, 77, 323, 324, 330 Armenian massacres, 67, 71, 72, 75 Attributional ambiguity, 88 Attributional thinking, 95 Audiences academic, 94, 95 characteristics, 98 confrontation efforts, 100 cost of publicity, 331 events and campaign participation, 162 identities and motivations, 99 language, 41 message, 97 minority, 95 non-academic, 86, 91, 94 non-scientific, 89 public screenings, 353 racial/gender bias, 87 White, 91, 95 Autochthony, 310 Awareness, 39 B Benevolent racism, 315 Bias confrontation, 86, 87, 100 Bias nature, 220 Binary identity categories, 203 Black and White South-Africans, 219 Black communities vs. others, 89 Black South African identity affirmative action, 306 apartheid flag, 306 face value, 306 knowledge producers, 305 knowledge production, 305, 306 legitimate knowledge producers, 307 native informants, 305 politics of language, 306 White privilege, 305 White South African universities, 305 Black South African scholar, 314 Bosnia–Herzegovina, 49, 52–55, 57, 58 Buffer zone

Index conflict perspectives, 205–207 definition, 199 fieldwork, 199 Kurdish nationalism and politicization, 199 Kurdish regions, 203 multiple identities, 203–205 The burden of blackness apartheid, 310 autochthony, 310 Black scholar mimicking Western methodological practices, 312, 313 methodological approach, 311 methodological choice, 311 producing knowledge, 310 psychometric practice, 311, 312 South Africa’s history of colonization, 310 Burkino Faso, 273, 274 C Caribbean coast, Colombia, 15 Caste system, 174, 175 Categorization, 205 Catholic and Protestant communities, 112, 234, 235, 247, 248 Censorship vs. researchers, 70–73 Challenges of Turkish-Armenian relations censorship vs. researchers, 70–73 researcher-participant relationships, 67–69 security, 69–70 self-censorship, 70–73 Children and young people age-appropriate research, 239 applied social psychology research, 235 challenges of access, 238 characteristics, 240 divided societies ‘big picture’ approach, 253 categorizations, 253 preparation, 252 transparency, 252, 253 field research, 233 identity labels, 248 intended participants, 233 intergroup relations, 238 missing data types, 245 opportunities, 235 participatory approaches, 243 post-agreement, 234 project activity, 247 sectarian violence, 245 thoughtful and sensitive engagement, 234

Index Chile independence, 106 indigenous and non-indigenous people, 107 Mapuche (see Mapuche) Chilean society, 105, 108 Chilean State, 105–109, 112, 114, 115 Civic engagement, 16, 244 Civic United Front (CUF), 31, 32, 35, 43 Civil society, 38, 46, 57, 293, 346, 358 Co-authorship, 46 Cognitive and motivational qualities, 86 Cognitive mapping, 76, 77 Cognitive reappraisal, 222–224 Collective action, 150, 153, 159, 161, 162, 177, 285, 295, 296 Collective and competitive victimhood dynamics, 208 group membership, 207 historical and contemporary atrocities, 207–208 outgroup members, 207 own group, 207 peace process, 208 violence, 207 Collective victimization challenges (see Research stages, collective victimization) difficulties, 174 fieldwork, 174 in India, 175–176 oppressed groups, 173 social-psychological investigations, 173 social psychological research, 174 social psychological responses, 176–179 violence, 173 Collective violence, 173 Colombia ethical dilemmas, 15 evaluation, 18 PAR, 9, 12–14 Peace Agreement, 11–12 peacebuilding practices, 18 political and social contexts, 16 research community, 20 Colonial domination, 343 Coloniality, 110, 123, 343, 347, 348, 350 Colonization, 206 Communication, 40 Community background, 233, 242, 248–250, 252 Community psychology, 142, 146 Compensation, 18, 19, 22–23

371 Complex data analysis, 217 Conceptualization, 56 Conflict Africa, 1 armed, 12, 14 Asia, 1 definition, 1 environments, 19 Europe, 1 intergroup, 2 the Middle East, 1 North and South America, 1 opportunities, 367 pre-conflict and post-conflict societies, 1 sensitive settings, 366 settings/contexts, 1 situations, 366 societies, 19, 26 unequal distribution of power, 11 Conflict contexts, 63, 65, 68, 70, 72, 73, 76, 77, 117, 118, 120 Conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV), 54, 55, 59 Conflict research neutrality, 40–42 research assistant’s instructions, 39–40 researcher’s instructions/actions, 39 Conflict resolution goal, 219, 220 Conflict resolution program, 226 Conflict setting, 34, 50 Conflict-supporting socio-psychological repertoires, 236 Conflict zones behavioral and attitudinal components, 221 fluxional socio-political context, 284 Israel, 220 peacebuilding programs, 261, 267 physical and psychological risks, 286 reflexive approach, 284 social and political context, 235 social psychology, 284 social science research, 284 violence, 186 Constructive emotions, 332–334, 337 Contact-based interventions, 325 Context-based psychological research, 1 Contact Hypothesis, 265, 266 Contact organizations, 68 Context-specific research, 174 Contextual factors, 19 Conversation analyses, 54 Criminal bands, 12 Critical agency, 356, 358, 359

Index

372

D Data collection, 17–19, 31, 39, 67, 68, 72, 121–123, 241 embracing, 114–121 Mapuche (see Mapuche) qualitative and quantitative studies, 108–111 Data-gathering method, 52 Data quality, 106 Decolonial everyday peace ANC government, 359 coloniality, 358 critical agency, 356, 358, 359 ECD, 355 intervention, 354–357 radical hope, 356–358, 360 reflexivity, 354 Thembelihle, 354, 359 violence (see Violence) Decoloniality, 347, 348 Decolonial peacebuilding, 347–350, 354, 360 Decolonial peaces, 344, 349 Decolonizing methodologies, 349 Democratization, 343 Denial, 326, 333 Depoliticization, 115 Designated listener, 242 Diaspora, 64, 66, 72, 78 Direct access, 55 Direct translation of words, 54 Direct violence, 179, 355 Disciplinary reflexivity, 285 Dispositional explanations, 329, 330 Doctoral program, 86, 88 Do No Harm principles, 270, 271 Drug traffickers, 17 Dyadic interview, 55 During-interview concerns, 58–60

dissemination and impact, 24 early career capacity building, 23 international investigators, 20 involvement level, 21–22 language skills, 24, 25 life-long careers, 20 local researchers, 20 nature of engagement, 20, 21 Emotional detachment, 295 Emotion regulation, 223, 224 English-speaking (sub) cultures, 52 English-speaking researchers, 52 Environmental challenges, 142 Epistemic violence, 355 Ethical requirement, 157 Ethico-political duty, 312 Ethics committees, 314 Ethnicity, 53, 58, 69 Ethnographic fieldwork, 33 Ethnography, 150, 151, 160, 166 challenges, 142 community psychology, 142 fear, 138–140 ghost, 138, 140, 141 guidance, 141 interview and information, 142 schedule, 141 local community, 140 location, 133 neighborhood, 132–134 possible participants, 140 preparations, 131, 132 psychosocial social support, 131 refugee identification document, 142 school, 135, 136 scratching the surface, 137 Syrian refugees, 131 Evidence-based policy, 276 Evidence in Governance and Politics (EGAP), 226 Experiences during fieldwork, 3 methodological, 2

E Early childhood development (ECD), 355 Economic factors, 16, 19 Emancipation, 56–58 Embedding, 130 Emerging researchers compensation, 22–23

F False positives’ scandal, 16 FARC-EP members, 12 Feasibility, 132 Federal Commission on School Safety (FCSS), 89 Feedback, 224

Cultural celebrations, 116 Cultural codes, 54 Cultural setting, 53 Culture skills, 57

Index Field assistants, 51 Field-based programs, 215 Field-based RCT, 277 Field research in Colombia characterization, 9 conflict and post-conflict societies, 10 diversity, 10 emerging researchers (see Emerging researchers) environments benefits, 10 PAR (see Participatory Action Research (PAR)) violent environments, 10, 18 Fieldwork, 19, 21, 366 accounts, 2 in Armenia, 64 challenges, 63 conducting, 2, 4 interlocutor, 51 messiness, 3 opportunities, 63 in Turkey, 64 Financial challenges, 142 Financial compensation, 111 Flexibility, 1, 21, 70, 91, 146, 234, 240, 300 Foreign language, 50, 52, 53, 60 Forestry industry, 115 Full-time research assistant, 45 Functional reflexivity, 285 Fundamental attribution error, 329 G Genocide, 72 Government-based positions, 20 Government of National Unity (GNU), 32 Government policy, 18 Graduation approach, 269 Group membership, 40 Guilt, 333 H Helping Kids! project aim, 249 child-friendly games and tasks, 249 data collection, 250 dissemination, 251 financial investment, 250 international partnerships, 250 media strategy, 251 Multiple Deprivation Ranking, 249 participation, 250

373 research findings, 251 RNM and Kosovo, 251 strategic decisions, 249 UK-based university, 250 Hierarchical power situation, 56–58 Historically-oppressed groups, 181 Humanitarian crisis Boko Haram, 270 control group, 271, 272 counterfactual models, 271 evidence-based intervention, 271 food insecurity, 270 information-based interventions, 270 principle, 270 resource transfer, 271 Humanitarian organization, 261 Humanitarian programming, 273 Humanitarian workers, 132 Human Rights Watch (HRW), 107 Hybrid linguistic structure, 55 Hybrid talk/language diffuses voices, 56 I Identity, 35, 174, 334, 335 Implicit association test (IAT), 96, 97 Implicit biases, 241 In-depth interviews, 76 India BJP, 175 border conflicts, 175 complex caste system, 175 fieldwork, 190 Hindu majority, 175 “Hindu-Muslim”, 175 hostilities, 175 intergroup relations, 173 Jammu and Kashmir conflicts, 176 religious identity, 175 varna and jati system, 175 Individual factors, 63 Individualism, 347, 349, 354 Informal “advisory board”, 41 Informed consent, 34, 35 Insider-outsider dynamics challenges censorship vs. researchers, 70–73 researcher-participant relationships, 67–69 security, 69, 70 self-censorship, 70–73 opportunities

Index

374 Insider-outsider dynamics (cont.) prejudices and intergroup relations, 74–76 reevaluating theoretical and methodological approaches, 76–78 relationships with local contacts, 73, 74 Institutional racism, 301 Institutional Review Boards (IRBs), 72, 144, 267 Inter-American Court for Human Rights (IAC), 107 Inter-communal warfare, 75 Intergroup conflict, 76, 218 field research, 73, 76 racial integration, 303 security risks and ethical challenges, 63 social and political ideologies, 233 social-psychological consequences, 173 social psychology, 2 Intergroup encounters, 92, 219 Internally displaced persons (IDPs), 261 International community, 33, 53 International development field, 259 International refugees conference, 143 International Society for Political Psychology, 2 Interpersonal violence, 355 Interpretation, 54–56, 60 Interpreter in field interviews Bosnia–Herzegovina, 49 contexts, 50–54 data based on translation, 54–56 data gathering, 49 emancipation, 56–58 foreign words, 50, 51 hierarchies, 56–58 language, 51–54 post-conflict setting, 49 pre-, during- and post-interview concerns, 58–60 translating words, 51–54 Interpretivism, 240, 241 Interviews, 108–119, 121, 122, 124 based on translation, 54 dyadic, 55 in-depth, 76 interpreter (see Interpreter in field interviews) schedule, 132 semi-structured, 141 qualitative interview, 51 rescheduling interviews/canceling trips, 17

Intractable conflict theory, 76 Investigating educators, 13 Iran’s Islamic Revolution, 66 Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 76 controversial, 215 extreme intergroup, 216 intractable conflict, 216 Two-State Solution paradigm, 216 Israeli-Palestinian relations, 226 Israeli practitioners, 216, 218, 223, 227 J Jati system, 175 Jewish-Palestinian relations, 216 Jewish workers, 221 Jordan, 129–133, 138, 141, 143–145 K Knowledge production, 118 Black bodies, society and universities, 309 burden of blackness, 310–313 flexible process, 284 methodological choices, 310 peace psychology, 49 residential institution, 310 South African Universities (see South African Universities) South Africa’s history of racial oppression, 309 social science, 285 Knowledge source, 122 Kurdish Alevis Alevi identities, 198 buffer zone, 199, 209 contextual categorization, 205 ethnic group, 198 geographic location, 199 ideologies, 206 interview, 197 multiple identities, 203, 204 narratives, 207 peace process, 201 perpetrator-victim-bystander triangle, 205 perspectives, 207 semi-nomadic lives, 201 Sunni Kurds, 206 Kurdish identity, 198 Kurdistan Workers’ Party/Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan (PKK), 197, 198, 206 Kurds, 199, 200, 286

Index L Laboratory intervention research, 221 Laboratory manipulations, 222 Language element, 35 Language skills, 24, 25, 50–54, 57, 60 Law enforcement, 85, 95 Lebanese Civil War, 66 Liberal-leaning, 96 Liberal peacebuilding coloniality, 346 critique, 347 decoloniality, 347, 348 decolonial peaces, 344 the everyday, 348–350 financialization, 346 global finance capital, 346 institutionalization, 346 local ownership, 346 neoliberal economic reforms, 346 neoliberal political economy, 345 resources, 346 self-determination, 346 top-down approach, 345 Life experiences, 89, 91 Linguistic category model, 330 Local contacts, 73, 74 Local indigenous authorities, 18 Local networks, 15, 18, 26 Longitudinal designs data collection, 245 Helping Kids! project, 249–251 likelihood estimation, 245 methodological benefit, 246 missing data, 245 Peace4Youth, 246–249 political situations, 245 retention rates, 246 statistical power, 245 Lower/non-literate participants, 14 M Macro-political level, 290 Mainstream audiences, 87 Majority group, 88, 95, 107, 321 Mapuche anti-terrorist law, 107 characteristics, 114 Chilean population, 106 communities, 106–109, 113, 114 constitutional recognition, 107 cultural and economic dispossession, 106

375 family history, 116 historical territory, 106 history and intergroup relations, 107–108 individuals, 112 interviews, 114 military dictatorship, 106 multiplicity of positions, 123 and non-indigenous Chileans, 107, 108, 112 and non-indigenous participants, 105 participants, 111, 113 qualitative and quantitative studies, 108–111 sociability, 113, 114 society, 113 trusting relationship, 111–114 Marginalized population, 366 Mate to share, 116 Mediation discourse, 56, 59, 60 Membership diversity, 98 Mental representations, 86 Mercy Corps, 261, 263, 266, 272, 273, 276 Message, 86, 88, 90, 94–100 Messengers, 94, 97, 98, 222 Methodological approach, 88 Methodology challenges and opportunities, 1, 3 experiences, 2 find contributors, 3, 4 Microfoundations, 240 Military actors, 57 Minority group, 88, 94, 97 Mixed-method approach, 77 Mock article manipulation, 222 Monitoring and evaluation (M&E), 269 Moral shame, 333 Multiple identities contextual amalgamation, 205 Kurdish nationalism, 204 marginalization, 204 participants, 204, 205 recognition and non-recognition, 204 Turkey, 204 N Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, 66 National Fund for the Scientific and Technological Development (FONDECYT), 108 National identification, 326, 334 National Institute of Statistics (INE), 105

376 National Intelligence Agency in Turkey, 68 Nationalists, 71, 234, 248, 253, 326 Nationality, 69 Native informants, 305, 314 Naturally occurring language, 54, 55 Negative evaluation of collective action, 115 Negative traits, 220 Neutrality, 110, 118 demonstrating, 41, 42 historical geopolitical and economic processes, 110 PAR approach, 13 and positionality, 40, 41 Non-academic audiences, 86, 91, 94 Non-existent relationships, 44 Non-governmental organization (NGO), 20, 259 Non-indigenous Chileans, 107, 108, 110–113, 115, 117, 118, 120 Non-scientific audience, 89 Non-therapeutic psychological work, 50 Non-violent settings, 14 Northern Ireland community relations issues, 233 demilitarization, 234 educational frameworks, 244 educational research, 238 5-year peace and reconciliation intervention, 234 flags, 237 Helping Kids! research, 249 intergroup relations, 237 peace and reconciliation, 246–248 police service, 234 post-accord, 233 predominant community backgrounds, 248 research (see Applied social psychological research) RNM, 249 sectarianism, 236 social attitude surveys, 235 society transition, 234 O One-State Solution, 220 Open conversations, emerging scholars, 21 Open political atmosphere, 289 Operationalizations, 261 Opportunities, 367 Opportunities of Turkish-Armenian relations prejudices and intergroup relations, 74–76

Index reevaluating theoretical and methodological approaches, 76–78 relationships with local contacts, 73, 74 Opposition family, 41 Oppressed groups, 175, 177, 179 Oral consent, 118 Orality, 117–120 Organization types, 95 Over-enrollment, 268 P Palestinian candidates, 225 Palestinian citizens of Israel, 218 Palestinian hiring processes, 225 Palestinian representatives, 225 Palestinians, 130, 131, 138, 139, 141 Parachute’ researchers, 251 Paradoxical thinking, 224 Paramilitary groups, 15, 16 Participant observation, 150 Participatory Action Research (PAR) in Colombia communities, 9 empowerment, 12, 13 honesty and transparency, 13 methodology, 12 objectivity, neutrality and standardized tools, 13 political/ideological affiliations, 13 rural communities, 14 social transformation, 12 socialization of knowledge, 13 violence/armed conflict, 12 Pastoralist communities, 263 Payment, 45 Peace academics, 71 AKP, 287 Kurds, 286 liberal (see Liberal peacebuilding) open political atmosphere, 288 peace agreement, 11–12 peacebuilding programs, 266 peace psychology, 51 PKK, 287 political concept, 294 positionality, 287 RCTs, 266 RP, 287 social psychology, 287 social representations, 286 Turkish-Kurdish conflict, 286, 287

Index Peace Academics, 293 Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology (article), 2 Peacebuilding programs conflict environment, 267, 272 attrition, 276 populations study, 276 security risks, 276 Contact Hypothesis, 266 contact theory, 265 countries, 261 disentangling context counterfactual data, 263 data collection, 263 importance, 262 Mercy Corps, 263 peace agreement, 263 person’s attitude/behavior, 262 two-year program, 262 expensive RCT, 269, 270 field-based RCTs, 266 humanitarian crisis, 270–272 implementers, 265 long-term programs changing dynamics, 274 conflict dynamics, 274 conflict settings, 275 displacement, 274 treatment and control communities, 274 Mercy Corps, 266 People-to-People approach, 265 program change, 275, 276 randomization, 267–269 RCT conducting contextual factors, 272 donors and implementers, 273 government performance, 273 implementation, 273 treatment and control ameliorates, 273 self-selection problem criticism, 264 intervention, 264 non-compliance and attrition, 264 project committees, 264 randomization, 264 vocational training, 265 suffering populations, 267 Peace psychology, 51, 295 Peace4Youth programme, 243 annotated version, 248 data collection, 248 divided societies, 248 evaluation methodology, 247

377 funded local projects, 247 Identity and Intergroup Relations, 246 intergroup attitudes, 248 prioritises, 246 skills-based training, 247 Peace4Youth Advisory Forum, 243, 244 Peer-reviewed journals, 226 People of Color, 92, 93 People-to-People approach, 265 Perpetrator-victim-bystander triangle, 205 Personal networks, 109, 112 Personal reflexivity, 285 Person’s attitudes, 91 Perspectives, 43, 44 Philosophical Investigations, 52 Physical/psychological violence, 355 Planning sessions, 37 Policymakers, 113 Polish right-wing discourse, 325 Polish state-controlled media, 327 Political and security concerns, 57 Political atmosphere, 288, 289, 292 Political contexts, 16 Political factors, 16 Political identities, 296 Political mobilization, 294 Political/peace psychology, 50 Political pragmatism, 348 Politico-affective space affect, 351, 352 ANC, 350 building everyday peace, 350 coloniality, 350 communication, 353 community events, 352 critical scholars, 350 film, 353 innovative methodologies, 352 interventions, 352 participatory filmmaking project, 353 peace praxes, 352 services, 353 South Africa’s apartheid system, 350 workshops, 353 Positionality, 38, 287 and neutrality, 40, 41 and perspectives, 43, 44 Post-apartheid, 304, 305 Post-conflict countries, 56 Post-conflict societies, 1, 254 Post-conflict spaces, 51 Post-interview concerns, 58–60 Post-program survey, 276

378 Power, 98 Power control, 16 Power dynamics, 87 Powered randomized control field experiments, 217 Power hierarchies, 2 Power imbalances, 20, 21, 39, 45 Power relations, 119 Practitioners, 223, 224 Pragmatism, 3 Pre-conflict societies, 1 Pre-interview concerns, 58–60 Prejudice reduction literature, 216 Preparedness, 366, 367 Private transportation, 17 Privilege, 94, 98, 99 Procedural critiques, 96 Pronouns, 55 Psychological assessment, 311 Psychological imperialism, 335 Psychological methodological literature, 50 Psychological research, 87, 95, 96 Psychological therapy, 50 Psychologists, 327 Psychology, 285, 288, 328 Psychology journals, 217 Q Q methodology, 75–77 Qualitative and quantitative approaches, 241 Qualitative and quantitative research accountability and expressions of suspicion, 108 coloniality of knowledge, 110 culture, 111 geopolitical and economic processes, 110 indigenous communities/associations, 111 key-informants, 109 length and characteristics, 111 observations/interpretations of data, 110 questionnaire, 110 recruitment of participants, 109 strategies, 110 Qualitative approaches, 76 Qualitative interview, 51 Qualitative methods, 14 Quantitative approaches, 77 Quantitative data collection, 119 Quantitative measures, 76 Quantitative methods, 14 Quantitative study, 118 Questionnaires, 108–111, 114, 119–124

Index R Race-related discussions, 93 Racial attitudes, 85–100 Racial bias audiences, 85 cognitive and motivational qualities, 86 conceptualizing, 96 disadvantages, 85 and discrimination, 87 and ethnic groups, 90 IAT, 96, 97 mental representations, 86 workshops and discussions, 91 Racial disparities, 85, 86, 99 Racial identities, 95 Racial inequalities, 92, 310, 316, 317 Racial issues, 86, 93 Radical community, 154 Radical hope, 357, 358, 360 Randomized control trial (RCT), 222 conflict settings, 260 development programs, 260 field experiments, 259, 262 field teams and academics, 261 implementers, 262 initial research, 259 logistical and psychological barriers, 260 peacebuilding programs (see Peacebuilding programs) program design and policy, 260 relative linear approach, 260 Reciprocity, 109, 113, 114, 121 Reconciliation, 2 Recruitment, 98 Referendum, 287 Reflexiveness, 30 Reflexivity, 1, 3, 43, 118, 124, 240, 241 application, 285 conflict zones, 286 disciplinary, 285 functional, 285 ontology, 285 operationalization, 285 personal, 285 psychology, 285 social psychology, 285 social representation of peace, 286 Reframe discussions, 93 Republic of North Macedonia (RNM), 249, 251 Rescheduling interviews/canceling trips, 17 Research assistant asking participants the questions, 34–38

Index conflicting motivations, 38–40 consequences, 44–46 describing the study, 34, 35 field research, 29 first impressions, 33 guidance, 32 informed consent, 34, 35 positionality, 30 practical issues, 32 practical/unreflexive issues, 30 psychology, 30 reflexiveness, 30 relationship, 29, 31 as researcher, 30 salary scale, 22 Tanzania, 30 training, 183 translations, 29, 32, 38 wanting to know the stance, 42, 43 Zanzibar, 29–32 Research communication, 334 conflict settings academic environment, 328 acknowledgment, 331, 332 concrete language, 330, 331 constructive emotions, 332–334 dispositional explanations, 329 identity salient, 334, 335 importance of the situation, 329, 330 local communities, 335, 336 people’s social behavior, 328 Polish-Jewish relations, 329 situational explanations, 329 situationist approach, 329 social psychology, 328 stable personal traits, 329 lack of communicational skills, 321 lack of neutrality, 321 lack of political awareness, 321 psychology-driven methods, 321 structural inequalities, 321 Research design, 15–16, 51 Researcher as a public enemy, 325–328 as a stranger, 323–325 as a useful idiot, 325–328 as a wanderer, 323–325 Researcher safety, 17–19, 26 Research instrument, 56 Research stages, collective victimization analysis stage instruments data, 188, 189 master narratives, 189

379 reassessing inclusion/exclusion criteria, 188 conceptualization and design stage framing questions and measures, 184 qualitative vs. quantitative methods, 183, 184 rethinking theoretical frameworks, 185 data collection stage choosing incentives, 186 empathetic/vicarious traumatization, 187, 188 participant distress, 187 security concerns, 186 trust building, 185, 186 preparation stage power differences and intersectionality, 180, 181 researcher-participant goals mismatch, 182 social and cultural differences, 181, 182 training research assistants, 183 writing and dissemination stage oppressed groups, 189 sharing research findings, 190 Research team, 108, 110, 112, 118–121 Resolution Process (RP), 283, 284, 287, 289, 290, 293 Resources, 346 Retribution money, 111 Retribution practices, 122, 123 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), 11, 12, 15, 16, 21 Richer academic discussions, 76 Rigidity/inflexibility, 240 Rigorous research, 89 Rumors, 44 Rural areas, 17 S Salary scales, 22 Santiago, 108–111, 114, 116, 119 Scholarly literature, 50 Scholar-practitioner, 261 Scientific publications, 113 Seasoned scholars, 22 Secondary anti-Semitism, 326 Sectarian behavior, 249 Sectarianism, 236, 238 Security, 69, 70 Security principles, 17 Security risks, 37, 63 Self-assurance, 87

380 Self-awareness, 98, 296 Self-categorization, 116, 203 Self-censorship, 70–73, 293 Self-determination aspirations, 216 Self-reporting techniques, 50 Semi-structured individual interviews, 107 Semi-structured interviews, 141 Sensitive settings, 34 Sensitivity aspect, 35 Shame, 312, 316, 333 Shared Education, 235 Signatories, 291, 293 Situational explanations, 329 Skepticism, 88, 95, 97 Skilled researcher, 52 Social challenges, 142 Social cognition, 97 Social context, 16, 97, 98 Social desirability, 112 Social environments, 91 Social exclusion, 10 Social identity, 35, 130, 131, 155, 203, 219, 334 Socialization, 120, 122, 123 Social justice, 86, 96, 295 Social movement “Pnima”, 220 Social peace concept, 288 disciplinary level, 289 emotional detachment, 289 open political atmosphere, 288 personal level, 289 pilot interviews, 289 social psychology, 288 Social practices, 309, 311 Social-psychological constructs, 174 Social-psychological infrastructure, 76 Social-psychological interventions anticipated career-price, 217 bias nature, 220 cognitive reappraisal, 223 conflict resolution goal, 219, 220 conflict-ridden areas, 215 contextual factors, 218 convenience samples, 218 de-escalation/violence prevention, 216 design and implementation, 216 discussion-preferences, 219 field experiments, 217 field methodology, 217 laboratory intervention, 221 messenger, 222 mock article manipulation, 222

Index paradoxical thinking, 224 practitioners, 219 programs, 215 psychology-based, 227 RCT, 222, 227 real-world, 222 small and minimalistic, 221 test conflict resolution, 219 threat and violence level, 220 turning manipulations, 222 two-arm design, 222 upscaling manipulations, 218, 221 Social psychological responses collective victim beliefs, 177 data collection, 177 disadvantaged groups, 177 focus groups, 178 intersecting identities, 178 intersectional experiences, 178 Kashmiri Muslims, 177, 179 middle-class Dalits and Muslims, 178 participants, 178, 179 psychological distress, 179 quantitative design, 179 Social psychologists, 85, 86, 88, 89, 97, 322, 327 Social psychology, 1, 2, 86–89, 93, 94, 284, 287, 288, 328, 334, 335, 367 active discussions, 2 power differences, 1 protests and civil disobedience, 1 psychology programs, 226 Social relationship, 56 Social representation of peace analytical framework, 295 data collection, 286 field research, 295 political mobilization, 294 Social science methodological literature, 50 Social science research, 91 Societal conflict, 292 Sociology, 1, 197, 244 Socio-political context, 52, 294, 296 Socio-political environment, 143 Socio-political factors, 63 Socio-political issues, 69 Socio-political power dynamics, 57 Solidarity Academies, 293 South Africa, 301, 302, 350 South African government, 304 South African Universities apartheid, 303, 304 Blacks, 307, 308

Index fuzzy logic, 308 knowledge production, 301, 302, 307 post-apartheid, 304, 305 post-colonial era, 309 Western cultural specificities, 309 Western knowledge, 308 White-European colonizers, 307, 308 White-European scholars, 308 Spaciousness, 91 Stereotypic vs. counter stereotypic pairings, 96 Stranger, 323 Structural bias, 98 Structural/semiotic analysis, 55 Structural violence, 10, 355 Sudan, 30, 39 Sunni Islam, 198 Sunni Muslim, 206 Survey-based work acknowledgement, 241 community background, 242 data collection, 241 design stage, 241 educational/social and political context, 244, 245 implicit biases, 240, 241 interpretivism, 240 participatory approaches children empowerment, 242 civic engagement, 244 conflict/post-conflict zones, 242 design, 242 disadvantages, 244 emancipatory biographical effect, 243 facilitating Youth Advisory Forum, 243 family-based practices, 243 first-phase evaluation, 243 Peace4Youth Advisory Forum, 243, 244 Peace4Youth programme, 243 user-friendly versions, 242 people’s attitudes and behaviors, 240 qualitative and quantitative approaches, 241 qualitative studies, 240 quantitative approaches, 240 reflexivity, 240 Swahili culture, 33 Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention and the Swedish Security Service, 153 Swedish protesters access and trust actions and events, 161

381 campaign and related events, 158 environmental values, 159 ethnographic research, 160 groups/organizations, 162 illegitimate and non-normative, 160 long-term relationships, 159, 161 power relations, 163 preparations of events, 158 protest participation, 162 queer community, 159 research subjects, 163 researcher’s involvement, 158 shared identity and avoiding outgroups, 160, 161 sharing values, 160 social identity, 160 state of universities, 158 Swedish environmental campaign, 158 time-consuming element, 159 transparency and trust, 162 values and actions, 159 animal rights groups, 153 becoming vulnerable and at risk in the field, 151 building of trust, 151 challenges and risks, 151 conflictual context, 151 deforestation machines, 149 ‘dreamers’, 153 environmental campaign, 150 ethnographic approach, 150, 151 field challenges, 163 ingroup, 164, 165 loss of trust, 166 privacy and power relations, 165, 166 researcher vulnerability, 165 threats/violence, 164 forest occupation, 149 gaining access to stories, 151, 156–158 to people, 151, 154–156 to protest setting, 151 government/related agencies, 152 interviews, 151 maintaining access and trust, 151 media portrayals of activists, 152 non-normative nature, 154 non-normative opinions and methods, 152 participants’ rights, 150 planned quarry, 149 police, 150, 153 relationship building, 151

Index

382 Swedish protesters (cont.) researcher’s responsibilities, 150 schoolteacher, 150 terms of equality, 152 threats/violence, 152 violent clashes, 152 Symbolic function, 117 Syrian Civil War, 201 Syrian refugees armed conflict, 131 community, 129 displacement crisis, 130 ethical review, 143, 144 ethnography (see Ethnography) logistics, 144, 145 Middle East, 130 reflections, 145, 146 social identity, 130, 131 social support and factors, 131 UNHCR, 130 T Tanzania, 30 democracy, 36 Zanzibari political conflict, 31 Tensions, 22, 131, 201, 263, 353–354 Transactional data, 56 Transcribed text, 54–56 Translating words, 51–54 Translations, 29, 38 interview data gathering, 54–56 technical exercise, 131 Turkish, 71 Transparency policy, 113 Treatment communities, 264 Tribal Peoples Convention, 122 Trust construction, 113 Turkey Alevis, 200 “buffer zone”, 199, 203 data collection, 64 disagreements, 65–67 female researcher, 64 Kurds, 199 National Intelligence Agency, 68 political tension, 290 social psychologists, 63 socio-political, 64 Turkey-based NGO, 197 Turkish-Armenian reconciliation, 324 Turkish-Armenian relations disagreements, 65–67

Fellowship Scheme, 63 general assessments, 78–79 insider-outsider (see Insider-outsider dynamics) interviews with Turks, 64 projects, 64 Turkish-Kurdish conflict, 286, 287 conflict context, 72 geographic location, 207 Kurdish Alevis, 203, 206 large-scale field research, 208 and peace negotiations, 197 tensions, 201 Turkish-Kurdish peace process age and gender, 202 Alevi academic, 202 Alevi and non-Alevi communities, 201 buffer zones, 209 fieldwork, 202 İstanbul and Ankara, 202 large-scale field project, 203 Malatya, 203 reconciliation, 208 resentment and victimization, 209 Syrian Civil War, 202 Turkish Psychological Association (TPD), 293 Turkish Republic’s assimilationist, 206 Turkish society, 287 Two-State Solution paradigm, 216 U Ultra-Orthodox community, 218 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 130 V Varna system, 175 Violence collective victimization, 207 Colombia’s history, 11, 12 conceptualization, 356 CRSV survivors, 55 direct, 355 epistemic, 355 interlocking modalities, 355 interpersonal, 355 intervention, 354, 355 intractable conflicts, 220 Northern Ireland, 244, 245 Kashmir, 176, 188 PAR in Colombia, 12

Index perpetrators, 112 physical/psychological, 355 RCTs, 267 researcher vulnerability, 164 structural, 355 Violence, in Colombia armed groups, 11 characterization, 11 data collection, 17–19 ethical considerations, 14, 15 FARC, 11, 12 government security forces, 11 homicide rates, 11 internal guerrilla groups, 11 paramilitaries, 11 peace agreement, 12 political, 14 qualitative and quantitative methods, 14 research design, 15–16 Violent acts, 65 Violent environments, 10, 18 W Waitlist approach, 268 Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich and Democratic (WEIRD), 218

383 White-European colonizers, 307, 308 White-European scholars, 308 Whiteness Afrikaner identity, 313 Black South African identity, 313, 314 Black South African scholar, 314 ethical clearance, 313, 314 ethics committee, 313, 314 feedback, 313 human subjects, 313 White South African participants, 315–316 White South African community, 304 White South African identity, 315 White South African participants, 316, 317 White South African universities, 304–306 Workshops, 90–97 Y Youth Advisory Forum, 243, 249 Z Zanzibar, 30–32, 35 developments, 36 interview, 38 Zanzibar Electoral Commission, 32