NATIONALITY

Although many of us who study countries outside our own try to shy away from requests to generalize about entire populations, it is difficult not to make comparisons between cultural norms and modes of behavior. Among people who have never left their own country, these comparisons to other nations are usually made based on images and reports found in the media. In Brazil, a country whose media is inundated with U.S. news and cinema, the views I encountered covered everything from what Americans eat for breakfast (an entire henhouse worth of eggs and a table full of pork, American movies seem to assert) to how their bodies are shaped (American women have bizarrely large breasts, while their bundas (bottoms) are notoriously lacking) to their levels of personal warmth and friendliness (low).

Often, my access to information depended on my use of words and actions to confront and dispel these stereotypes. One interview subject, Edison,Footnote ¹ agreed to meet with me at a university. When I arrived, he immediately suggested that we talk at a bar. As we entered his neighborhood bar, he gregariously chatted with the owners and several other patrons, and we sat at a table. Edison became quiet, and sat wordlessly for several moments, watching me, until he saw me drink beer. “You're drinking beer, so you must be ok,” he said, and explained his silence—he thought I was a member of the CIA until he saw me drink.

American researchers carry additional stereotypes. Groups that had been interviewed or examined before were often skeptical of what an American researcher would write about them, or simply did not believe they would ever hear from me again. If unable to dispel this suspicion, I risked collecting what Walker (Reference Walker, Lagemann and Shulman1999) warns to be shallow, misleading, or meaningless information. I strove instead for a relationship of legitimization, a relationship based on feelings of trust that would yield access to a wellspring of accurate information (Walker Reference Walker, Lagemann and Shulman1999). I was more likely to find a fieldwork experience of legitimization among groups that had never been studied. This created an interesting situation for me when attempting to interview Afrobrasilian groups. Salvador, Bahia, is a Brazilian city well known as the hub of Afrobrasilian culture. Consequently, many Salvadoran groups had already spoken with researchers or been showcased in the U.S. media (by Paul Simon and/or 60 Minutes), thus they were almost impossible to reach, and were tight-lipped and taciturn during interviews. By contrast, the groups in São Paulo, a city with a politically active Afrobrasilian movement less known outside of Brazil, were much more forthcoming and welcomed me into their circles.

I spent countless hours and days pursuing an interview with a woman, Vânia, who was reported to be one of the key motivators of several Afrobrasilian organizations. For 10 months she eluded me. Meanwhile, I spent much of my time keeping up with the activities of several key groups that welcomed me—visiting their headquarters on a regular basis, attending their events. One of these organizations had an executive director named Floriano. For nearly a year, I had mentioned to him my quest for meeting with Vânia, and eventually he said, “I think I might be able to help you with that. Try calling her right now.” Unwilling to question how he might know “right now” was a good time, I immediately called her and was able to make an appointment for that afternoon. When I went to her home for the interview, I noticed pictures of Floriano all over the house. He was her husband. He had spent 10 months watching me, judging whether I was worthy of making his wife's acquaintance, and it had taken me just that long to unknowingly prove that I was, and to move from suspicion to legitimization.

I became “the cool American,” the one who liked music, the one who could dance and play the drums, and this image made some people willing to spend time with me who wouldn't have done so otherwise. “We let you hang out with us because you're not a typical cold American,” became a standard refrain. My national identity thus became a bonus only because it was not the national identity people expected of me. As I was trying to gain access to respondents, being an American was costly. Once I was able to meet with people personally, being an atypical American was beneficial. The best way for me to receive access as an American was to prove that I was not really “an American” at all.

At the time, I did not realize how this constant appraisal of me, my body, my behavior, my likes and dislikes, would affect my own self-evaluation. As pleased as I was to be considered “warm” and “fun,” I grew weary of hearing exclamations of surprise that my bottom was large and my breasts were small. As nice as it was to have my persistence and attention to detail rewarded by getting that prize interview, it was sobering to realize that many Americans before me had failed to express enough respect, dedication, sincerity, or gratitude to merit such an interview. The small gifts I brought with me to interviews (pens, magnets, notepads) and the thank-you notes I sent within a week afterwards became cause for remark, cause to be invited to new events, cause for surprise that an American could be so thoughtful, and cause for me to wonder what Americans had done in the past that had left the people I met so jaded.

GENDER

As I navigated this new system of making contacts and acquiring information, my gender became an issue in ways different from my nationality. After a few unsuccessful weeks of trying to line up interviews over the telephone, I struck out and started knocking on doors. The interviews I did conduct often resulted in invitations to parties and social functions, where respondents assured me I could meet the next “must interview” person. Gamely, I attended as many of these functions as possible, and found that the respondents were right. People with no interest in returning my phone calls, upon meeting me at a party, would instantly invite me to their office the next day. Since I was invited to these functions by men and women alike, and regularly sensed that my decision to attend might help me pass a test of my sincerity and commitment to the person who had invited me, I was naïve to the idea that a young woman at a party might connote any image other than that of a researcher.

I remember one party held on Oscar night (it was the year Titanic swept), where I met three of the most influential people in the Afrobrasilian movement, each of whom eventually introduced me to countless other valuable contacts. At the end of the evening, the man who had invited me, Sergio, gave me a ride home. We got into his car, and he sighed audibly. I said, “I know, I'm tired, too,” and he said, “No, I'm looking at your legs.”

A few weeks later, on my second interview with Edison (who was by now convinced I posed no CIA-related security threat), I agreed to meet him one evening after he finished a lecture. When I arrived, I was introduced to a couple he had invited to join us. Edison sat very close to me and started holding my hand. Like dawn gradually breaking over the horizon, I began to think that perhaps I was on a date, one which I had initiated by asking to speak to Edison about his anti-racism protest activities and his academic work on social identity. When I disconnected my hand and he moved his to my leg, I extricated myself and went home.

The behavior of Edison, Sergio, and other men prompted reflection on my information-gathering procedures. In an environment where phone calls and personal requests rarely gained me access to interview subjects, I had found the social function to be my golden key. I quickly learned that even though I was in what I considered to be a professional information-gathering environment, other people recognized that we were in bars, and at parties, where a different set of assumptions tend to guide behavior.

I had also assumed that the engagement ring on my finger was evidence enough that I was not interested in romance, and I thought that this ring would insulate me from advances. Instead, men asked if the ring was meant to attract them, or to be a joke. “You're never going to last a year,” I remember hearing at one function. “You know he's cheating on you in the U.S., so you might as well cheat on him here. When you decide it's time, call me.”

Often, the subject of Monica Lewinsky would surface, not as a comment on American women, but rather on love and relationships in general. Edison told me that “love only lasts three days. Even your president knows that.” Another man brought up the topic by saying, “You know, your president is an idiot. The oval office is a horrible place to have sex with your girlfriend. If he'd done it in private like the rest of us, no one would care. Your fiancé would not care if you spent the night with me, either. I'm sure he expects it.”

It is thus not surprising that I ended up spending the majority of my time with people who had shown they would respect my engagement. Ultimately, this meant the four organizations I closely followed during the year were not chosen randomly or with a “most similar” or “most different” case design, but rather evolved because they were the ones in which I felt the most comfortable. Three were led by men, and one was led by a woman. As I spent more and more time following their activities, we grew more and more comfortable with each other, to different ends. In one case, Ricardo decided to confide in me that he was cheating on his wife with his secretary, the true passion of his life. In another, my regular visits with Maurício meant that we developed a reputation of having our own affair. My shadowing of Denise spurred rumors that we were lesbian lovers, and my work with José led to whisperings that he was gay because he did not make advances.

In the end, my gender positioned me as an unthreatening observer, sometimes a friend, other times a novelty. I was given a window to processes, developments, and discussions that a one-time interviewer would not have been able to see. Unfortunately, this occasionally came at the expense of a measure of professionalism. My desire to explore research questions and topics, and to feel productive doing so, pushed me toward information I could safely get.

RACE

Being a white woman studying the Afrobrasilian political movement also positioned me uniquely. Some groups were eager to hear my insights as to how the U.S. civil rights movement had been so successful, and hoped that I could direct them in a similar fashion. Others simply wanted to teach me about their own experiences, realizing that few people in the U.S. understand the problems of racism and discrimination in Brazil.

More often than not, my race ended up making people less willing to speak to me unless or until I could prove that white people care about the plight of those who are not white. I attended a wine and cheese reception one evening hosted by an organization designed to give Afrobrasilian women legal aid. The director, Helen, rather than meet with me for an interview, had invited me to this reception to meet her, and possibly set up an interview afterward. While there, one of the other guests told me that if I had not experienced racism, I was no more than an imperialist, coming to Brazil to study race relations like I was going to the zoo. I told her I had experienced racism in Japan, where I am visibly not native, as well as in my hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where racism is an equal opportunity discriminator. Touched by the stories, she said, “I really hate Americans, especially the white ones. And I hate how you treat Cuba. But I like you. Let's meet tomorrow.”

In another case, I was at a meeting hosted by Ricardo, the head of an organization I had followed for six months. A new member, Warner, was younger than the average member (he was 18, and most members where in their 30s or 40s), and believed the organization was headed in the wrong direction. He started speaking about the importance of demanding reparations from white people, and turned to me and said, “You owe me half of everything you own. Why shouldn't I take half of everything you have right now, right here?” He leaned in to me, as though he were going to do exactly that, until Ricardo dispelled the situation.

Ricardo's girlfriend, Naome, would later say that at that moment, I had turned whiter than she thought was possible. Interestingly, I didn't even flinch when he leaned toward me. Because my contact lenses were bothering me that day, I had worn glasses, which I rarely do. The first thought that came to me was not of safety, but rather, What would we each do with half of my glasses? No one can wear half a pair of glasses. It was an interesting reflection on how I had learned to carry myself. I even attempted to decline Naome's offer to escort me safely to the metro, something no one had ever felt necessary before. She did it anyway.

Whereas I fit in visibly in southern and central Brazil, in the North, my race mattered long before I reached an interview or meeting—it mattered on the streets. In northern Brazil, where most African slaves were originally sold, a high proportion of Brazilians are of African descent. Whites tend to be instantly seen as tourists and outsiders, whether from other countries or simply from other parts of Brazil.Footnote ² When I needed to file a police report for a stolen wallet, the officer assigned to help me refused to do so until he saw me, at which point he became instantly solicitous. As we sat down near his typewriter, he offered me a glass of milk to drink (an oddity in Brazil, where the typical offer is coffee or tea). I politely declined, and he lovingly said, “You already are milk.”

My general approach to life in Brazil had been to appear unfazed. I wanted to fit in all ways possible. I worked hard to look, speak, and act like the average Brazilian, to make sure I was not a visible target for assault, insult, or chicanery. So when most of these things happened, I acted as though they did not bother me, and I almost convinced myself. As the year wore on, my reactions became more aggressive, and I exhibited signs of being affected more deeply. By the time I felt a hand trail down my arm on a crowded bus a few days after the milk comment, and I turned to find the fifth man that day interested in feeling my white arm, I was unknowingly approaching the limits of my tolerance. I reached out and put my hand on his head, then shoved it as hard as I could against the window behind him. Amid the jeers of “ooOOoo boy, look at her get mad!” I spouted a few choice words indicating that he should never touch me again, and surprised myself with how much I enjoyed listening to the sound of his head smack the window. Fieldwork brought out parts of me I had forgotten existed.

ISOLATION

Knowing I would spend a year in a developing country, I was rationally anticipating personal, technological, and logistical complications, but I was not emotionally or mentally prepared for how it would feel to confront these obstacles. I had been warned that I should not hope to get any research accomplished during my first two months in the field, because I would have to spend that time acquiring a bank account, registering with the federal police, and finding a place to live and a phone line. It was true—I often spent three days waiting in one bank to open an account, then waited five more to find out I was denied. It took eight weeks, not to have my bank account opening approved, but to find a bank that was willing to approve an account. Once I found it, my paperwork was processed within an hour.

What I could not know was the effect these difficulties would have on me personally. By far the most debilitating was the lack of contact with friends and family in the U.S. This problem is diminishing as more and more field locations have cell phone coverage, reliable mail systems, and high-speed Internet at libraries and universities. For those of us studying in remote regions of the world, however, waiting three months to receive a letter from home is an all-too-frequent occurrence. Going 10 weeks without hearing the voice of a loved one, only to finally achieve a conversation and have it cut off prematurely after four minutes, can be crushing. Racing home to check the answering machine for calls from interview contacts, only to find that the phone line has been cut off for lack of payment by someone who owned it three years before you, can be devastating. Combining this with new realizations about one's gender, race, and nationality can tempt even the most upbeat fieldworker to succumb to feelings of isolation and loneliness.

I clung to three main strategies to get through these temptations. First, I threw myself into perfecting my command of the Portuguese language. When waiting in lines at post offices and the phone company, I carried grammar books with me. When I had nothing to do but watch television, I took notes on phrases and slang that I wanted to learn, watched Portuguese-dubbed versions of movies I knew, and practiced my pronunciation. When I woke up in the morning wondering how I would get through the day ahead of me, I opened my book and practiced conjugating verbs. At the very least, I was able to pass the time and feel productive, even when it seemed I was only running into walls.

Second, I was committed to get out of the house and see new things. I purchased an invaluable extensive guide of each city I visited, each with dozens of pages of street maps, bus routes, and points of interest. I often randomly chose a place to visit and walked there. After three to four hours, I would arrive at my destination tired and ready to reward myself with a tour of an interesting neighborhood or an icy coconut to drink. By the time I was finished with the outing, I would slump, exhausted, into a bus or metro ride home, and happily use that exhaustion to help me sleep at night.

Of course, my quest to feel busy and productive is what propelled me to every social function, every event, every possible meeting within the first three months of my fieldwork, and that propulsion in turn conditioned the people I met and the activities I followed. Eventually I reached the point where my calendar was so full that I had to deliberately schedule days off for myself. At these times, studying Portuguese and finding ways to pass the time were no longer necessary, but my third coping mechanism was still helpful: I tried at all times to keep a written record of my thoughts, work, and experiences.

I am not a regular journal-keeper, but when isolation is great, the written word can be one of the most reliable parts of fieldwork. My journals and datebooks of that year include recipes, interview notes, research thoughts, contact information, thank-you note drafts, and bus schedules. Forcing myself to write for 30 minutes after every interview was a way to cement my ideas, keep track of research notes, and pass the time. It was also a means to embark upon the reflection Bies and Schuh Moore stress as crucial to any fieldwork experience. Reflecting in a journal helped me understand what I was going through at the time. It also prepared me better to conduct fieldwork subsequently.

IT'S MOSTLY GOOD. JUST BE PREPARED FOR WHEN IT ISN'T

The good news is none of these instances is more than a day in the grand scheme of what you can learn about your project, and about yourself, while doing fieldwork. Reading the preceding thoughts might lead one to believe that my year was spent in misery, when in reality the good far outweighed the bad. Even the occasions listed here I think of as edifying rather than traumatizing. But I do believe that, had I had the opportunity to think before I went to Brazil about the possibility of these occurrences, my field research would have yielded a different personal and professional product. And although we all know that no two fieldwork experiences can be identical, the difference between my first experience and subsequent experiences is striking, primarily because I knew what to expect. It is important to know going in that some days are crushing, some are soothing, some uplifting. All can be enlightening, if one takes the time to realize how.