General Research Access

The first assumption that needs to be deflated is that female researchers are routinely denied access to those they wish to interview. In reality, government officials, local elites, business leaders, Islamist activists, and all manner of opposition actors routinely agree to be interviewed by female scholars. There are, of course, exceptions, but these are generally (though not always) overcome by dropping a few names of prominent individuals who have already granted the researcher access or interviews. Yet the entire Middle Eastern region—despite extraordinary religious, ethnic, regional, class, and social differences—is frequently caricatured as a monolithic, traditional, and patriarchal culture that would intuitively pose near-insurmountable challenges for Western female researchers. While dimensions of these characteristics are certainly at work in parts of the Middle East, the region as a whole is overwhelming modern in its political structures, and even so-called traditional social structures (such as tribe and patriarchy) vary dramatically throughout the region and bear little resemblance today to their cousins of even 50 years ago. Save for perhaps a few remote villages, virtually every part of the region has become familiar with the coming and going of foreign researchers studying various aspects of state, economy, and society. Indeed, as the extensive and expanding literature illustrates, a large number of female political scientists have gained access and conducted sustained field research throughout the Middle East (Anderson 1987; Bellin 2003; Brand 1993; 1998; Browers 2006; Carapico 1998; Chaudhry 1997; Crystal 1995; Lust-Okar 2005; Posusney 1997; Singerman 1996; Tétreault 2000; Wedeen 1999),¹

including on moderate as well as radical Islamist movements (Clark 2003; Langohr 2001; Schwedler 2006; Wickham 2002). In most cases, the cost of entry is the same for female and male scholars: advanced language skills, extensive knowledge of the subject and region under examination, and, at the least, minimal social skills.

What is often surprising, however, is that many female scholars actually enjoy more access than male researchers, because the latter are usually unable to meet privately with women in the region, particularly in the informal and casual settings that are essential for ethnographic research. But whereas one might expect female researchers to also have less access to male domains, in practice this is often not the case. Officials and other prominent individuals quite readily meet with female scholars for one-on-one interviews, and in most cases accord the researcher with the respect she deserves. Formal interviews often take place in offices or places of business, but many meetings occur in more informal settings such as in coffee shops, homes, cafes, and restaurants. Certainly there is a wide degree of variation in access, but I have found as much access in highly conservative Yemen as I have in affluent as well as working class regions of Jordan. Because of this dual access to women and men in the Middle East, Western female scholars often call themselves the “third sex.”

Significantly, both Yemen and Jordan are relatively open to foreign researchers as compared to some other Middle Eastern countries, for example, Saudi Arabia and Sudan. Even in states as highly researched as Egypt, access often depends more on political climate and the subject of the research than on the gender of the researcher. Of course, there are limitations to access related to gender, notably with radical or conservative Islamist leaders and, in particular, to the rank-and-file male members of radical and conservative Islamist movements. But even Western male researchers often have difficulty gaining access to this demographic, so the difficulties for women are greater than for men, rather than unique to women. And as Janine Clark and I have discovered in our individual research on Islamist groups, our additional access to female activists within Islamist movements has deepened scholarly understanding of an often-overlooked phenomenon: the existence, practices, and extraordinary political acumen of female Islamist activists inside male-dominated Islamist parties (Clark and Schwedler 2003).

While the high degree of access by female scholars surprises many with no experience in the region, one mitigating factor is that high levels of education are universally respected and honored throughout the Middle East, even (or perhaps especially) in states with high degrees of illiteracy. Many of my male and female colleagues have experienced “instant promotions” during our doctoral field research: after introducing ourselves as doctoral candidates, we were subsequently addressed as “Dr.” Having not earned the title, we politely but firmly corrected our hosts, but to little avail: “Dr.” is used not to denote receipt of the degree, but as a sign of respect for someone with a high level of education. As “Dr. Jillian,” I am granted a status that allows me considerable access of the sort that would often be otherwise unavailable. When a local tribal leader meets with me, for example, he is not simply meeting with a foreign woman, but receiving a learned foreign scholar whose presence only emphasizes his own importance. Status as a foreign researcher can also bring access unavailable to local scholars, though again this is equally true for male and female researchers.

Access to Islamists

As suggested, Western female researchers do not necessarily encounter more problems in studying Islamist movements than do male researchers. Indeed, topics related to security or state repression are often more politically sensitive than political Islam. Islamist groups in general complain that they are misunderstood by foreigners and are thus eager to present a positive image when approached by researchers. This research is not without its travails, however. One frustration of mine is that many Islamists assume that female researchers are interested in studying gender per se, and are thus eager to arrange interviews and outings with female Islamists so as to counter any negative impressions a Western woman might hold. These engagements with Islamist women can be fascinating, but it can sometimes be difficult to convince Islamist leaders that my research interests lie elsewhere. Another irritating but equally trivial problem is that upon meeting Western female researchers for the first time, many Islamists (male and female alike) feel compelled to lecture about the greater respect accorded to women by Islam as compared to the exploitative environment in the West, or about how the Prophet Muhammad's wives fought at his side as equals and, on occasion, even led troops into battle. I have learned ways to try to cut these conversations short—though not always successfully—but once that particular ground has been covered I have found it quite easy to direct the conversation toward my own research topic.

In fact, many female researchers find Islamist political parties offer rather extraordinarily access. Party leaders tend to be very generous with their time in discussing the research, often providing home or cell phone numbers to answer future questions.²

My office is cramped with boxes of Islamist party publications and internal documents, many copied for me by the parties themselves (“Just leave the items you want on the desk and we will have them ready for you tomorrow morning.”). During my field research on Islamist political parties in Jordan and Yemen (2006), I was permitted to work for hours daily in each party's library or archive. Once people became accustomed to seeing me there, I was able to both observe comings and goings as well as engage in numerous informal discussions that significantly enriched my research.

One exception in terms of access of female researchers to Islamist groups, however, concerns interviewing rank-and-file members, particularly in informal settings. These interviews are not impossible, but the insights that would typically emerge through participant observation may be far more difficult for female researchers because they cannot “hang out” inconspicuously with the predominantly male party members. Overall, however, I have found Islamist activists among the most respectful of Western female researchers; my conversations with other female researchers confirm this experience. Their respectful behavior toward us may, of course, say little about how they treat their wives and sisters, and I have personal knowledge of treatment ranging from truly progressive equality to mental and physical abuse. Nevertheless, research on Islamist movements poses few obstacles for Western female researchers as long as they have advanced language abilities and are equally respectful in their encounters with their interviewees.

Harassment and Dress: To Cover or Not to Cover?

Where many female researchers frequently do face harassment, however, is in daily encounters with taxi drivers, in markets, while driving, or when generally moving around alone. These experiences range from the truly unsettling—being followed, verbally harassed, and even sometimes groped (the latter almost exclusively in crowded markets)—to more benign practices such as stares and unwelcome conversations. Even such mild harassment, however, can take its mental toll over the course of months in the field. One all-too-familiar and exhausting conversation with taxi drivers, for example, typically entails the following sequence of questions: “Where are you from? Are you married? Do you have children? (You speak Arabic very well!) Do you want to marry my cousin/brother/me? Can you get me a visa to America?” I have developed two techniques for dealing with this situation. First, in taxis I am always on my way to see my husband and children, and I am prepared to offer names and other details if necessary. Second, I frequently use the shared transportation available in many urban centers, which are licensed cars or minibuses that travel along established routes, picking up and discharging passengers along the way. While this method of transport often entails sitting in close proximity to other passengers, women are given the front seat if they ask (and thus sit alone or with other women). But more importantly, there is no risk of a taxi driver diverting from the appropriate route, and no one will dare ask you personal questions in the presence of other passengers. As a bonus, you can listen to other conversations for a cost (usually 5–10 cents) that is a tiny fraction of that of private taxis.

Another method of diverting unwanted attention in public is to wear some sort of head covering. While my U.S. colleagues often ask if I have to wear a “veil” when I do field work, in practice most female scholars who adopt a head covering wear only a scarf loosely covering the head and tossed over one shoulder.³

This has the effect of a gesture toward conservatism and sign of respect, but avoids the “going native” (and sometimes mocking) look of a tightly pinned Islamic-style hijab or a full-face veil. Western female scholars have strong and divergent views about whether to wear a head covering during their field research. The choice may largely depend on local practices, as dress in general varies not only between countries but between neighborhoods in a single city. In highly conservative East Amman, for example, women almost universally wear head coverings and seldom travel alone; in parts of West Amman—where all diplomats, the vast majority of foreigners, and the upper classes all reside—dress is more Western. Indeed, in the restaurant-, boutique-, and club-filled neighborhood of Abdoun, I have felt completely out of place wearing jeans and a t-shirt because I am surrounded by a sea of mini-skirts, bare midriffs, piercings, and leather pants (particularly on cruise-y Thursday evenings).

Many Western female researchers strongly oppose wearing a head covering of any sort, as they find it either mocking of local customs, dishonest, or both. Others argue that wearing a scarf makes one feel less conspicuous and thus more comfortable in public, and is also a sign of respect to local practices. I have never worn a scarf in Jordan, even when interviewing Islamists, but I have sometimes worn one in Yemen, particularly when shopping in the old city, interviewing Islamists, or traveling outside of the capital. Islamists there often tell me that because I am not Muslim I do not need to wear a scarf, though many respond favorably when I indicate I am wearing one as a sign of respect. This is, I believe, particularly important when spending considerable time at the party headquarters.

The strongest objections to Western female scholars wearing head coverings, however, often come from liberal and progressive Middle Easterners. Particularly for liberals as well as those struggling to advance women's causes locally, Western scholars who don head coverings are seen to be reinforcing and legitimating a practice that local progressives and liberals see as regressive. I believe that the decision to wear a head covering is entirely personal, as circumstances vary dramatically across the Middle East and female scholars must do what they believe is appropriate, what makes them most comfortable, and what they believe will best facilitate their access (as long as it is not dishonest or unethical). This is equally true for general rules of overall dress, which are far less problematic. In most situations, the rule is to err on the side of modesty, and thus to wear clothing that reveals little. This means not only limiting skin exposure, but also adopting clothes that are not highly form-fitting. Wearing jeans and a tight long-sleeve sweater, for example, may be far more offensive than a loose skirt that reaches only to the knees and a baggy blouse that reveals the elbows: the former accentuates the contours of the body while the latter does not. But appropriate dress in the region truly runs the gamut, so that even individual scholars with extensive experience in one country often seek advice from their colleagues when initiating a new project in another country, or even in new parts of an otherwise familiar country.

Professional-Personal Boundaries

Among the most difficult gender-specific issues for Western female researchers is how to negotiate personal relations and meetings in more intimate settings. Research on Islamist movements is among the least problematic in this regard, as Islamist leaders are typically interviewed at the party headquarters. Many male Islamist leaders have also invited me to their homes, either for a formal interview in a sitting room or to meet their families and have an opportunity to interact with their wives, sisters, and daughters. For my current research on protest and policing (2005), however, I cannot meet activists at their primary places of work and thus interviews often take place over dinner and, frequently, many glasses of beer or whiskey. This poses obstacles not only in terms of effective note-taking—written notes and tape recordings pose too many risks for the interviewees, while alcohol clouds the memory—but in terms of negotiating the boundary between professional and personal space.

All researchers face the problem of becoming friends with research subjects, particularly in ethnographic work or when one shares normative commitments, such as advancing political freedoms and protecting human rights. But female researchers need to be particularly sensitive to negotiating the boundary between professional, personal, and intimate relations. To be sure, male researchers may encounter these problems, and they are not limited (for men or women) to encounters with the opposite sex. But women need to be particularly careful about what sort of signal they send by behavior that might be understood differently than intended. For example, if for my research on political protests I meet an activist and drink late into the evening during a particularly interesting exchange, am I signaling a level of closeness I do not wish to convey? If I express empathy when someone is sharing traumatic personal experiences, might I invite intimate advances? If someone takes my hand as they are tearfully sharing a painful moment, should I pull my hand away and end the interview to avoid any confusion, even if it would terminate the exchange and possibly destroy any future access? Should I accept a ride home late at night, or should I insist on taking a taxi even though it is not a good option for a foreign woman who has been drinking? Should I accept an invitation for a drink in the first place? These situations are difficult in large part because one might not understand what sort of signal is being sent by such seemingly harmless practices as meeting someone for a drink.

Many women I know have also been haunted by the perception that Western female researchers are promiscuous and welcoming of casual sexual encounters. Some female as well as male researchers do, of course, engage in intimate relations with people they meet during their field research stays. While these may not be common (I have no reliable empirical data on the subject), we need to recognize that at least part of the reason for the perception of Western female promiscuity is based on empirical reality. These stories—however embellished or even untrue—circulate widely and, combined with the wildly popular American television shows that are near ubiquitous in the Middle East, lead to periodic unwanted advances. But the core problem is not one of a clash between American and Middle Eastern or Muslim cultures on the issue of sexual liberation. As anyone who has been to a posh dance club or bar in Cairo, Amman, or Beirut knows, to the extent that a “cultural” clash exists concerning promiscuity, it has little to do with religion or ethnicity and everything to do with class and the divergent practices of the privileged and the dispossessed.

Indeed, the signals and space that female researchers must carefully negotiate during field research in the Middle East are not entirely unlike those encountered when conducting research elsewhere or, for that matter, when in one's home town or even academic institution. A few years ago, I met a U.S. official for an off-the-record discussion regarding Washington's role in training various policing agencies in the Middle East. He asked me to suggest a restaurant outside of the usual government circuit so he could speak openly, and I suggested Utopia, a lovely Moroccan-themed restaurant on U Street. The dinner went fine until my interviewee ordered a second bottle of wine without asking my thought on the matter, after which he tried to turn the conversation toward more personal topics. While I was less concerned about ending the evening on an awkward note than I would have been while conducting research in the Middle East, my larger point is that female scholars need to negotiate this sort of space continuously, and not only while working in foreign countries. While field research in the Middle East can raise additional complications, the core issue has nothing to do with “Arab” or “Muslim” culture. Indeed, class and, particularly, race⁴

can pose far more problematic obstacles for researchers than gender.

Conclusion

Conducting field research in the Middle East can be challenging, but the potential and exciting advances to our understanding of complex political phenomena has drawn many female researchers into the field with minimal difficulties. In certain contexts one may need to modify practices such as hand-shaking or public hugging, though in much of the region these are completely normal. Personal relations may sometimes be tricky to negotiate in terms of professional-personal boundaries as well as practices that might inadvertently signal more intimacy than intended. But most of these issues are specific neither to women nor to research in the Middle East. Female scholars even in the United States may unexpectedly find an innocent comment or encounter is misinterpreted as an advance. This is space that always needs to be negotiated, and mistakes are not uncommon particularly early in the learning curve. But as a Western female researcher who does ethnographic research in the Middle East—and I should mention that I have fair skin and red hair, so I usually don't blend in—I have faced more “cultural” obstacles in trying to explain my atheism (“Ok, but what are you?) than I have encountered as a result of my gender, or as a member of the “third sex.”