“Writing” in “Ethnography Made Simple”
Writing Ethnography
Tom Martin, Ph.D., karen g. williams Ph.D., and Alia R. Tyner-Mullings
Introduction
The chapters leading up to this one have guided you through the key steps of designing research, collecting and analyzing data, and contextualizing your investigation among existing sources of information. With all this accomplished, you are ready to begin organizing your ethnography. It is important to remember that ‘writing up’ your ethnography is not a separate part of the ethnographic research process—you have been writing all along through project proposals, fieldnotes, transcripts, and analytical memos. Toward the end of your project, however, you will need to think through some fundamental concerns around presenting your voice and the voices of others so that your writing can reveal interpretations that are insightful, respectful, and truthful. This chapter begins with those broad writing concerns before turning to advice on organizing and drafting your research into an ethnography. Much of what follows in this chapter summarizes key points that have already been covered in this OER resource, repeated here to draw out their specific relevance to the writing process.
Situating Your Voice and the Voices of Others
When writing an ethnography, you present yourself as an expert on the topic, telling the reader how the culture and cultural practices you observed exist in the world. While your extensive in-depth research makes you an expert, it is important to remember that the real experts on the topic are your research collaborators: the people you worked with, observed, and interviewed. The first step in writing your ethnographic report is to consider how your writing foregrounds those voices in a responsible and respectful way.
In recent years, anthropologists have expressed concern about how ethnographies should be written in terms of ethnographic authority[1]: how ethnographers present themselves and their informants in text. In an ethnography, the topic is culture and the people, and people naturally vary in terms of their thoughts, opinions, beliefs, and perspectives.
One response to criticisms about ethnographic authority is the use of polyvocality[2]. A polyvocal text is one in which more than one person’s voice is presented. A polyvocal text can also include informants’ actual words rather than paraphrasing them, and some polyvocal ethnographies are even co-authored with an informant. A polyvocal style also allows readers to be more involved in the text since they have the opportunity to form their own opinions about the ethnographic data and perhaps even critique the author’s analysis. It also encourages anthropologists to be more transparent when presenting their methods and data.
As mentioned in the Autoethnography and Feminist Ethnography chapters, reflexivity[3] is another essential aspect of writing with a considered approach to ethnographic authority. Beginning in the 1960s, social science researchers began to think more carefully about the effects of their life experiences, status, and roles on their research and analyses. They began to insert themselves into their texts, including information about their personal experiences, thoughts, and life stories, and to analyze how those characteristics affected their research and analysis of these accounts. Reflexivity demands that anthropologists acknowledge that they are part of the world they study and thus can never truly be objective. By acknowledging how their backgrounds affect their interpretations, anthropologists can begin to remove themselves from the throne of ethnographic authority and allow their interlocutors and less empowered voices to be heard.
The Writing Process
Once you have thought through your commitments to truthfully and respectfully representing the voices of the people you worked alongside during your ethnographic research, you are ready to begin drafting your ethnographic study. This section will lead you through establishing a research focus, drawing from your fieldnotes, engaging with secondary sources, and editing your ethnography with help from trusted collaborators and peers.
As we discussed in the chapter on Analyzing Ethnographic Data, the writing process[4] begins with identifying themes or patterns in the data you have collected. As you read through your data and connect the dots, patterns may emerge. These patterns will help you begin to understand where your essay could “land.” You should also think about which implications are most compelling to you and which elements from your fieldnotes could highlight the complexity of reality and truth in the particular site you are researching. When you identify these elements, take the time to write about any connections you see or expand on any unfinished thoughts from your data. Now, you are ready to find your focus. From this list, choose the idea/pattern that interests you most. Make sure you select something that you think you can really write about. The actual crafting of prose—conscious writing—depends upon feeling interested in and connected with the research focus. Finally, make sure your idea can be supported with observations from your notes. You have now found your focus!
You have done quite a bit of rereading your fieldnotes to get to this point in developing your essay. As you build your introduction, return to your fieldnotes once again. This time, as you read through your notes, look for a particular moment, event, or idea that connects to your focus. Is there a specific, compelling, detailed moment, or can you pull together a compilation of detailed moments to set the scene for your essay? Your goal in the introduction is to reach out to your readers, to pull them into the experience of your site, and to make them want to know more about it.
Primary evidence[5] from your fieldwork supports your focus and clarifies why you have found a particular behavior or idea significant. Rather than thinking about evidence as a way to prove your point, it may be more helpful to consider primary evidence as an opportunity to provide your reader with an example of what you mean and what you have seen. In order to engage the reader in a conversation--to inspire a response from them--you will want to provide compelling examples from your fieldnotes. If you found something interesting, you will probably write about it in an interesting way, thereby piquing the reader's interest.
While your primary data – your observations – are central to writing your essay, you will also need to consider the role of secondary sources.[6] These sources are not considered “evidence,” as they do not contain the proof or evidence of your assertions—your fieldnotes contain such information. However, secondary sources are extremely helpful in situating your discussion within a larger academic conversation and clarifying your ideas, thoughts, and feelings about your field research are well-informed. Remember, ethnographic writing stems from a review of secondary sources and the exploration of primary data. The Background Research chapter examines a few examples of secondary data.
When you[7] have finished developing the first sections of your essay, be prepared to articulate what it all means to you and what it all might mean for your readers. Once you have decided, “I am going to write about X,” you need to begin to think about why you want to write about X. What is the point? Why would anyone besides you want to know this? How can you use this observation to say something meaningful or powerful about our behaviors or patterns? How can we use our more significant observations to suggest ways in which we might improve human existence? These conclusions need not be earth-shattering in the sense that you propose the solution to some specific problem. Instead, ethnographic writing, in illustrating complexity, often encourages tolerance or increases understanding of others and other situations.
Examples from OER textbook contributors
Case: Tom Martin
I wish I had straight-forward advice about how to write an ethnography – it would be helpful to have a formula or a guide that I could give to novice ethnographers that describes the steps in the process. The trouble is that there are no fixed steps in the process because the process is unique to every situation. Some ethnographic texts feel precise and technical because the questions under investigation demand clear, actionable answers. Other ethnographies are poetic and wandering, following ageless philosophical questions. Most sit somewhere in the middle or waver back and forth between those two poles.
One tip I have is that I take seriously the idea that a good ethnography should put the reader into the situation being explored, so often, my writing starts with some kind of scene-setting. Below is the very first paragraph of a book I wrote about wooden boat builders and how they learn their craft:
The Riverside wooden boat workshop sits nestled among the bars and restaurants of a bustling waterfront promenade, in the revitalized seaport district of a mid-sized East Coast American city. In the early evenings, particularly right as the Friday workday draws to a close, crowds from the nearby office buildings spill out onto the promenade to soak in the breeze coming off the water. When the weather is nice, the Riverside staff leave open the sliding barn doors leading into the workshop so that passers-by can watch the boatbuilders wrapping up their work for the week, fitting parts in their final places and clamping glue joints together to dry over the weekend. Occasionally, a visitor will call one of the staff over to chat about the boats under construction, providing a welcome excuse to put off sweeping the workshop and taking out the sawdust bin. Other visitors, however, appear content to watch the workday winding down, silently taking in the choreographed flow of bodies, tools, and construction materials as messy projects are buttoned up for the evening. (Martin 2021:1)
Notice that I start by describing the setting under investigation rather than listing the research question. Questions have a central role in my research, but I want to foreground those questions with a sense of where I am coming from in asking them. Every research question is situated in the context in which it is asked; without knowing something about the context, the question is untethered from the lives and practices of real people, which are the ultimate subjects of ethnography.
I find it important not to get lost in the scene setting, however, and to move to analysis as quickly as is comfortable. One tricky part about writing is figuring out when your description of people and places is just enough to support your analytical work and when it strays into writing for the sake of writing. You may have the most interesting fieldwork site in the world, but if you merely describe it and never draw conclusions, you are not holding up the analytical end of the ethnographic practice. Notice how I try to move to analytical questioning in the second paragraph of the introduction to this book:
Peering into the workshop, the scene that greets these silent onlookers is one of craftspeople intently focused on tools and materials, absorbed in the intricacies of the wood in front of them. At certain points, the boat-builders will pause, lean back slightly, and run a hand across the piece on the workbench, feeling for some telling detail in its surface; a furrowed brow or a hint of a pursed smile will indicate how they judge its progress to be unfolding. From the perspective of an outsider, this act of interpretation has a mysterious quality, since the boatbuilders clearly register aspects of their work that the unaccustomed observer does not. What is it like, one wonders, to read the materials as they do, finding meaning in the undulating slope of the planking and the twists and turns in the grain of the wood? And how does one learn to decipher the materials in this way, interpreting meaning from bodily engagements with the equipment of the trade? (Martin 2021:1-2)
As you can see, the questions I look at in the book are “what is it like?” and “how do they learn?” – or more precisely, as I articulate later, “what is the nature and experience of embodied understanding?” and “how is that understanding developed through situated interactions?” Those last two questions are engaging in the abstract, but since I am writing an ethnography, I specifically want to know how they apply to this single case, which is why I begin with the setting before moving to the questions I want to investigate therein.
You may not want to begin your ethnography with a portrait of the fieldwork setting, but I encourage you to try the kind of ethnographic scene setting that I demonstrated above as an exercise. After all, ethnography is premised on a commitment to “being there,” and there is little reason to be there with your participants if you do not bring the reader along with you.
Case: karen g. williams
I struggle with writing for many different reasons. However, I have found that the more consistently I write, the more comfortable I get and the easier it feels. I have to remind myself that writing is a skill that can be learned, and the more I practice, the better I get. It has taken me years to understand my writing process, and I am still developing it. The best advice I have gotten is that there is no right or wrong way to begin your writing process. Just start.
Different types of writing require you to employ various techniques. Writing ethnographic narratives is fun because it allows me to start with the story I am most passionate about. Before writing my ethnographic narrative, I look at all the data I have collected. At this point, I may not have everything coded and sorted, but make sure that I have a good idea of what is in the data I collected. I also have my research question because that question guided me through the process of collecting field notes, secondary sources, and interviews.
The first approach I use is when I feel stuck with the writing process and do not know where to begin. I start by selecting a story that sticks out in my head. It is usually a story I cannot stop thinking about. It may be a story that changed my thinking about something, reaffirmed something I already thought about, or left me wondering. When I find that story, I start to build out from there. I write down everything that I can remember. I want to recreate the situation for the reader. I try not to edit at this point. I put in quotes from my interlocutors, my feelings, and what I saw and heard. I immerse myself in writing every detail. I like this approach because the stories lead me. After I have recounted the story, I take time to analyze it and see if this can be the starting point for a longer piece. If so, then I begin the editing process. One way to find your story is to ask yourself what the most memorable moment or exchange was during your research.
If that writing approach feels too open, I take a more direct approach to finding the narrative. I use this approach when I have already done some writing and clearly understand what I am writing about, but I need to find examples from field notes or interviews to illustrate my claims. I want to show the reader, so I must select exchanges or quotes that exemplify the themes and ideas I want to communicate. This approach is best used when you have organized, coded, and analyzed your research findings. This will help you find examples that support or contradict, depending on why you are using them.
In the excerpt below, I used the second approach. I was writing the methodology chapter of my dissertation, and it felt dry. A key part of my research was that I interviewed various people in the criminal justice system who did not always align with each other, e.g., incarcerated people, correctional officers, correctional counselors, and wardens. This meant I had to gain trust in different ways despite having institutional approval to do the research. I had to be patient and listen to what was being asked of me and what they needed to know before giving consent to participate. I was constantly asking myself how to build trust and show sincerity.
I was more than halfway through my field research at a women’s correctional facility in Missouri when I developed a daily routine, which consisted of observing classes, shadowing staff, and conducting a few interviews. On this day, everything had gone as planned until the interview. When I proceeded to my temporary office, it was occupied. I was not offered another office space to conduct the interview. Instead, a unit team counselor suggested that I conduct the interview at the housing unit—something I did not like to do. The constant foot-traffic in the housing units exposed the interviewee to everyone—including other incarcerated people and the correctional officers on duty. (Williams 2016: 27-28)
In the passage above, I began by setting the place—I told you where I was—and the mode—it seemed to be a regular day inside the correctional facility, but then it was not. When writing an ethnographic narrative, it is essential to cue the reader where you are. Depending on the importance of knowing your surroundings, this can be extensive or reasonably quick. In the following passage, I introduce my interlocutor. I briefly describe her and her body language, and to invoke polyvocality, I use direct quotes from our conversation and clue the reader into her concerns.
I sat across the table from Editha, a white middle-aged woman with short black hair. I went through the normal procedure of setting out the recorder, explaining the project, and handing her a consent form. Without looking at the form, Editha leaned back in her chair, cocked her head sideways and asked, “Why are you doing this work?” Startled because I had just explained the project, I quickly realized that she was not interested in the usual research summary. Editha wanted to know what personally drove me to do this research. This was not the first or the last time that interviewees questioned my motives. I usually responded by rehashing the project summary, including a few points about my social justice work at Insight Arts, a community arts organization in Chicago. But this time, I decided to truly acknowledge her concern about my intentions. (Williams 2016: 27-28)
In the passage below, I rely on reflexivity by incorporating my experiences. Editha only wanted to talk with me if I could empathize with her life, so I chose to slow things down and honor her request. When writing ethnography, it is okay to use "I" and write about your experiences, especially when it gives insight into what you are trying to communicate.
I sat the digital recorder to the side. I approached this project as a person whose family has an intimate relationship with the criminal justice system. When I was in elementary school my father was charged with murder. Although he was never convicted, I vividly remember the financial struggles and stigma my family faced while he was in jail awaiting trial. Too young to enter the jail, my mother stood with me outside the jail. As we looked up at the small windows on the building, I imagined that he was looking out at me. My father, I told Editha, was not the only family member who was imprisoned. My family mirrors other African American and Latino families who have several family members who cycle in and out of the prison system. After I finished, she nodded and replied, “Okay, you get it.” Keeping her laid back but serious attitude, Editha signed the consent form. I turned on the recorder and we began the interview. (Williams 2016: 27-28)
This exchange stood out to me because I had conducted many interviews, and most people just signed the consent form. I wanted to communicate that I had to be flexible in my methods and was not always in control, so this day illustrated the point. Editha’s resistance to signing the consent form was shocking; and to move past it required me to be vulnerable and share, so I remembered it. Our exchange exemplified the complicated, messy, and intimate interactions that occur when gaining consent from interlocutors.
Conclusion
Composing an ethnographic study is more than just ‘writing up results’ in the way that you might in other disciplines. You have been writing throughout your design, data collection, and analysis phases, so generating a final essay is not a fully distinct activity. More importantly, however, you cannot merely put your observations on the page and treat them as facts about the world – you must carefully consider how your voice and perspective paint a picture in the mind of the reader and whether the resulting image is truthful and respectful to the people it captures. Including a multiplicity of voices and carefully examining and situating your own voice will help ensure your writing has a positive impact both in your academic setting and the broader world.
Chapter Summary
Study Questions
1. When does the ethnographic writing process begin – before, during, or after fieldwork?
2. How can you include your fieldwork participants' thoughts and perspectives while presenting your interpretations?
3. How do you establish a focus for your ethnographic writing?
4. What similarities and differences did you see in how the two professors approached the writing process?
5. How would you describe your writing process?
Key Terms
Ethnographic authority: Ethnographic authority refers to how ethnographers present themselves and their informants in text. Ethnographers' claims about their interlocuter culture and community should be truthful.
Polyvocality: Polyvocality text is one in which more than one person’s voice is presented. The ethnographer may use the informants’ actual words rather than paraphrasing them, and in some cases, ethnographers co-authored the writing with an informant.
Secondary sources: Secondary sources describe, discuss, interpret, comment upon, analyze, evaluate, or summarize, e.g., biographies, articles about a work, criticism, and analysis of the work. They are not considered “evidence,” as they do not contain the proof or evidence of your assertions—your fieldnotes contain such information.
Reflexivity: Reflexivity demands that ethnographers acknowledge that they are part of the world they study and thus can never truly be objective. Reflexivity requires social science researchers to begin to think more carefully about the effects of their life experiences, status, and roles on their research and analyses (also see chapters on Autoethnography, Feminist Ethnography, and Digital Ethnography).
Research Focus: Research focus refers to the specific topic, issue, or area that a researcher chooses to investigate.
Primary evidence: Primary evidence provides direct and firsthand evidence about an event or person. For example, your field notes are primary evidence because they provide your reader with an example of what you mean and what you have seen.
References
Martin, T. (2021). Craft Learning as Perceptual Transformation: Getting ‘the Feel’ in the Wooden Boat Workshop. Palgrave Macmillan.
Williams, K. (2016). From Coercion to Consent?: Governing the Formerly Incarcerated in the 21st Century United States. City University of New York.
This section is taken from Ethnographic Research Techniques by Crystal Scheib is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International.
Based on a work LibreTexts Social Sciences.
This section is taken from Ethnographic Research Techniques by Crystal Scheib is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International.
Based on a work LibreTexts Social Sciences.
This section is taken from Ethnographic Research Techniques by Crystal Scheib is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International.
Based on a work LibreTexts Social Sciences.
This section is taken from Engaging Communities by Suzanne Blum Malley and Ames Hawkins is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work Introducing Your Research ↑
This section is taken from Engaging Communities by Suzanne Blum Malley and Ames Hawkins is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work Selecting Examples of Evidence ↑
This section is taken from Engaging Communities by Suzanne Blum Malley and Ames Hawkins is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work Selecting Effective Secondary Sources Evidence. ↑
This section is taken from Engaging Communities by Suzanne Blum Malley and Ames Hawkins is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work Concluding in a Meaningful Way ↑
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