Experience of the Near-Far

This could end up being just another blog post about the ubiquity of communication technology, and the no-longer odd experience of being instantly in touch with friends and loved ones thousands of miles and multiple time zones away. But I will give it a shot anyway.

Brazzaville felt very far from Seattle: incredibly hot and humid for someone grown accustomed to the mild, temperate Pacific Northwest. But I had some Internet connectivity, as long as the electricity was on. It wasn’t always on, but the outages were not so severe that I could not check email, or Facebook, or do a bit of basic research when necessary. So I would post the occasional humorous Facebook update about my encounters with strange fruits, or enormous flying insects, or basic learning experiences in a new place. I also had a simple cell phone (not “smart” but able to make calls and send texts), and with the 10-hour time difference I could have end-of-day, beginning-of-day conversations or texts with home. Thus, with all of this communication, the far often felt quite near, and loved ones at home were able to stay current with my experiences as they happened.

Traveling to Impfondo meant giving up this immediate connection, as there were only two places I could get online and often the satellite connection was out due to weather or other technical problems. The cell phone service in the area was also down almost the entire time we were there, and there was no electricity on the grounds of the cathedral, where I was staying with a group of nuns, because the electric wires had been stolen earlier. I grew to enjoy the relative quiet imposed by this fast from communication technology, and the space it gave my mind to wander.

Then, one morning, I came into the parish house next to the cathedral, where I had been having my breakfast every day, and the television on the wall in the breakfast room was turned on. Apparently, the priest and his staff usually ate breakfast to the early morning news broadcasts from France, a fact I had not been aware of due to the electrical outage. That morning in late December, I was not paying a great deal of attention until I heard the word “Connecticut” in the midst of a stream of rapid-fire French from a news anchor. I looked up at the screen and saw night, flashing police lights, and police milling around with crowds of people.

I struggled at first to catch the gist of the broadcast, but there were guns, and dead…and children. Everyone at breakfast was watching, buttered bread suspended, café au lait growing cold. They turned to look at me, wondering if I could explain what they were hearing. Someone changed the channel, and it was a different news program, no longer a live broadcast from Newtown but a panel of experts, including a French academic expert on America, discussing the latest example of violence and America’s “gun culture.” The number of dead, the ages of the children, the age of the shooter, and the recurring question, why?

No one at the table was rude enough to put me on the spot, demand an answer to that question from the conveniently near-at-hand American “expert.” But they wondered, and they asked, does this happen often? Do you feel afraid in your country?

No one commented on the rather cruel coincidence that one project I was in Impfondo to observe, funded by UNICEF, was a violence prevention project aimed at reducing violence against women and children in Congo.  

Leaving Congo

Before our airplane can push away from the gate at the Brazzaville airport for the flight to Paris, the cabin crew announces that “due to health regulations,” the cabin crew must first spray the entire cabin with insecticide. A crew member walks up and down the aisles, holding two cans of the product that he sprays directly up into the air, while the voice over the intercom assures us that this substance is “completely safe” for human beings. The strongly perfumed mist falls gently on all the passengers, reminding us once again – if we needed a reminder – that the place we are leaving is categorized very differently from the place we are going to. Congo is a potential source of health hazards, and Paris is part of the world that must be protected from these hazards, according to the logic of global air travel.

It is difficult to leave, and at the same time I am anxious to be home. Nothing feels finished in the work I came here to do – it would be amazing if it did – but I am also exhausted and ill from a stomach bug I picked up on my last day in Brazzaville. As one new friend sympathized, “Sometimes Africa kicks your ass.” It is almost Christmas, and all of me wants colder temperatures, crisp air, and the scent of evergreen. This almost physical desire has gotten stronger in the last few days, as I struggled to get back to Brazzaville in time to catch my scheduled flight out.

Getting to – and from – the northern town Impfondo turns out to be a more difficult task than I had realized, although people had tried, sort of, to explain this reality to me. One day before we were due to fly back to Brazzaville, our flight was canceled. The next commercial flight was not for five days. Impfondo is not connected by road to any part of the Republic of Congo. To get there, and back, one must either fly or travel by river, a method of transport that is fickle and prone to irregular and unpredictable shifts. It also takes at least three weeks to get to Brazzaville that way…and I didn’t have three weeks. Flights to Impfondo are often canceled due to low bookings, or for whatever reason the airline feels like giving. The UNHCR operates a sort of air taxi service between various far-flung parts of both ROC and DRC, including Brazzaville and Kinshasa, but priority is given to UN project workers and other humanitarian workers, for obvious reasons, so one’s seat is never guaranteed.

Now, this experience of frustration, anxiety, and travel disruption is not, I should stress, a special or unique experience. In fact, it is commonplace, even mundane. In this case, I was the only person upset by the whole thing. That’s just the way it goes. An experience that, for me, required the cultivation of some seriously Job-like patience (not something I am good at), was nothing remarkable for any of the INCEF staff, missionaries, or other people trying to get back to Brazzaville at the same time. More than anything, really, this experience was one of the most important reasons I needed to do this pilot study: both to test my research questions and theories, and to have the kinds of experiences that, as a researcher, I will need to cope with more gracefully than I managed this time. Towards that end, I have already made a note to pack more high-octane instant coffee for the next trip. You can even mix that stuff cold in a water bottle. It helps a lot.

Successful Communication?

During our time in Impfondo, INCEF’s educators carried out several screenings of the films for their project on violence prevention, and held several focus group discussions with both men and women about the films. This time in Impfondo gave me the opportunity to observe INCEF’s communication work first-hand, which is an important and necessary part of the research process. The more of these discussion groups that I see, the more I understand the important role they play in INCEF’s communication methodology.

The educators consistently told me that they felt the discussions were necessary for the audience or the community to fully appreciate or internalize the messages from the films. It was in the discussion groups that educators also received what were, to them, clear indications that successful communication had taken place – community members would ask questions, offer examples from their own experience, make jokes, and engage with one another and with the educators on the topic(s) at hand. Educators reported that the various non-verbal signals they could see – smiles, gestures, eye contact, and other expressions – were clear indications to them that the audience understood and accepted the information and messages in the films. They also reported numerous verbal exchanges with participants that further supported their belief that the communication had been successful. In particular, educators would relate powerful anecdotes of individuals who had told them how the messages in INCEF’s programs had led them to change their own behavior or intended future behavior, and thanked the educators for the programs.

The question of effect is, for all communication organizations, the key issue that must be proven to other stakeholders, including national partners and international donors. Communication projects are undertaken because, at some point, someone or some organization has determined that one part of a complex problem is linked to a lack of information, or to attitudes and behaviors that may be amenable to change through communication intervention. Thus, at some point there has been a judgment made that change needs to happen in a community, and communication has been identified as one way to achieve that change. There are, obviously, important questions to ask about who has determined that change is needed, and what sort of change, and how it is to be achieved, but ultimately the common preoccupation of all development programs, health programs, and environmental programs is to produce some sort of effect, and to be able to prove that the program was responsible for that effect.

Local partners and community members are also concerned about the effects of communication programs, as was clear when INCEF’s educator and I made our pre-departure calls on the Sub-Prefect in Impfondo. The purpose of our visit this time was to give an oral account of the activities that had been carried out by INCEF during our visit, a reverse process of les civilites we had performed when we arrived. After he listened to the account, the Sub-Prefect expressed his approval, saying that the local authorities always noticed an improvement in the town after an INCEF project. He then said, speaking in the plural for all the local authorities, “We are satisfied.” He expressed appreciation for INCEF’s work, and for the effect he perceived it to have on social relations and behavior in Impfondo and the surrounding area. Since the most recent INCEF activities had to do with violence prevention, he cited a decrease in reported acts of violence and a sense of “calmness” that was observed by local authorities.

An ethnographic approach is not the appropriate method to use for program evaluation, as it is not equipped (or intended) to prove any cause and effect relationship between phenomena. One place where ethnography of communication may help in the evaluation process, however, is in understanding what successful communication looks like in a local context, and in knowing how members of a particular speech community interpret their own and others’ communication as either effective or ineffective.

My time in Impfondo, observing projects as they were implemented, and also observing everyday interactions and communicative events has given me an introduction to some of the ways that participants in this community evaluate their own speech and the speech of others. This is a long way from a full understanding of the speech code or codes operating here, but it does provide a starting point for further investigation. 

Malheureusement

One could perhaps be forgiven for starting to think that one word, malheureusement, dominates spoken French in Congo. According to the dictionary, it means, “unfortunately.” At times, it feels like the only word one needs to know, and the truly important translation is, “Whatever follows this word is not something you want to hear.” Whenever someone is about to tell you that your flight has been canceled, it is too rainy to travel, the generator has broken down, the internet or cell phone network is not working, there is no more drinking water, the documents have not arrived (or are not the right ones), or for some other reason your plans are going to have to change, speakers usually begin the sentence with malheureusement.

A feature of life in the US that we hardly ever notice is the fact that things almost always work as they are supposed to, or at least don’t all break down at the same time. Yes, flights get canceled, but you can whip out your smart phone and re-book, and you have a decent hope of getting at least some of the price of the new ticket covered by the airline. Yes, electrical power failures happen, and sometimes last longer than we think they should (days or weeks), but there is someone on a customer service line somewhere who will listen to us complain.

It takes a while to realize how much the expectations created by this ubiquitous experience of functioning systems shape and color a view of the world, and affect one’s reactions when confronting systems that routinely, almost as a matter of course, do not function smoothly. Thus, when a French-speaking Congolese person has to deliver the news to an English-speaking foreigner that, unsurprisingly, plans will have to be adjusted because although there was supposed to be gasoline available to purchase, there is none, the French-speaking Congolese person will almost always begin the sentence, “Malheureusement…” Unfortunately, a perfectly normal roadblock to your plans has appeared. Unfortunately, I know you will be angry about this. Unfortunately, you may express this anger to me, although I had nothing to do with the situation. Unfortunately, you will also be angry that you don’t know exactly how to deal with this new problem.

The frequency of this particular communicative interaction eventually compels the researcher (me) to try to figure out what is going on here. One concept that appears to be key is the issue of “blame.” To blame someone is, in fact, a communicative action, an act that is performed in and through speaking. While the English concept of “taking responsibility” has positive connotations, and is a culturally understood communicative action that should be performed by “responsible” people at the appropriate time and in the appropriate setting, “blame” has almost entirely negative connotations, and is an action directed by a speaker towards another person. The question of “blame,” especially when the action is directed (or perceived to be directed) by a foreigner or non-French speaker towards a Congolese person, also appears to be an extremely sensitive issue when it arises in interpersonal or inter-group communication.

It will take more time and more observation and experience to piece together the rules operating in this type of communicative interaction, and the meanings and premises that underlie the speech produced in such encounters, but this does seems to be one potentially productive place to keep looking. And figuring out where to look is often the first step in figuring out something possibly important.

Operator Error

Learning to do field research, and finally trying to apply the lessons imparted in every book on research methods I could find, and every seminar and class I have ever taken, does not go as planned. The main reason why this is so…is me. This is not news to anyone who has ever tried to do this before, I know.

Reading back over my field notes from my time in Impfondo, I came across this list I wrote to myself:

Things to be aware of

Nobody will think to tell you anything you need to know ahead of time.

Everything starts late.

Nothing will be clear until it happens.

Even then, it won’t be clear.

You are not the most important thing going on in this place.

The last item on the list is, I think, the important one. On one level, it is what distinguishes a researcher from a tourist. It may also be the characteristic that makes the researcher resemble a missionary – a connection that surprised me, since I am the opposite of religious and typically think of myself as a very different sort of person. It turns out that in many ways I am not.

During my time in Impfondo, I had the chance to meet an extraordinary group of people, missionary doctors and their families at the Hopital Evangelique le Pionnier. This hospital sits at the very edge of Impfondo; turn to the left when leaving the gate and you return to town. Turn right and you are on the road out into the jungle. This community of expatriates provided me with the opportunity to learn more about the process of learning to live and work in Congo, and the strategies that other outsiders have used to adapt. They also gave me access to a reliable internet connection, a chance to share meals, and some great conversation – all things I was feeling in need of at the time.

Gradually, I also came to recognize that we all shared something in common. Not religious faith, since as noted above I am not religious. But missionaries and researchers feel a calling to explore, to teach, and to create change that compels them to act. Throughout history, that impulse has had both good and bad effects. The world’s hardest-to-reach, most underserved populations are touched by the compassion and work of missionaries. Sometimes lives are changed for the better by the results of research, too. Missionaries have also worked hand in hand with colonizers and imperialists, as have researchers of all kinds. The zeal that drives a mission – whether for religious conversion or for scientific discovery – can sometimes go awry.

Doing this work, in full knowledge of its complex and often problematic history, means facing the possibility that I could mess up, do the wrong thing, or fail to achieve anything at all. It also means confronting some of my own biases (against religion), and cultivating a bit more nuance in my own understanding of religiously motivated people and their work. I look forward to this part of the process, since it also means I get to know some amazing people doing meaningful and extraordinary work.

If you would like to learn more about some of this work, check out New Sight Congo, a non-profit group setting up an eye surgical center in Impfondo.   

     

Necessary But Not Sufficient

Above, a water pump provided by UNHCR.

Taking a step back from the moment-by-moment chronicle of my research trip (which I fear may start to sound like a travel blog), I wanted to reflect a bit on the paradox of research in general, and of communication research in particular. In those settings that are now somewhat euphemistically called “low resource” – countries so poor that the governments cannot provide even the most basic services, places where malnourishment remains a bigger problem than obesity – I found it very difficult to remain convinced of the importance of my research goals.

In the face of extreme deprivation, when confronted by the lack of the most basic material resources, I found myself wondering, “Why don’t I just work on meeting this immediate need?” In other words, what’s the point of doing research on something as abstract as communication, when there are much less abstract things I could be doing with my time and energy? Research is necessarily retrospective – you can only study something once it has happened – and looking backwards began to feel much less important than looking forwards.

Posing this question probably reveals exactly how new to this type of research I am. I know, I know, many of my readers are now thinking, “You’ll get over it. We all go through this.” Quite true. I will get over it. But I do think it’s a worthwhile process to go through, and I don’t want to just skip over it.

This line of thinking also led me to question the need for, or importance of both the practice of “communication” and research on the subject. The fact that I have chosen to study a process called “communication” does not mean that I think “communication” can solve every problem. But I do think there are a great many problems that won’t get solved without it. Just making a film on a topic, or raising awareness, or performing “outreach” won’t make underlying structural problems go away, or change much in the material world at all. And researching those efforts won’t solve any immediate material need. It might not even solve those problems that are related to a process called “communication.” At least, not at once.

Likewise, simply providing human beings with “information” (in scare quotes here to indicate that this is itself a contested term) does not often lead directly to behavior change by those same human beings. Smoking is one good example: my fourth grade science teacher’s presentation of a piece of smoker’s lung tissue to my class was definitely enough to persuade me never to smoke, but I also already hated the smell of cigarettes. For several of my classmates, that vivid piece of empirical evidence was not sufficient to persuade them not to smoke, and by the time we all reached high school they were clustered in the bathrooms at every class break, puffing away. Clearly, some other motivation was at work here.

Studying the process of communication about disease prevention and environmental conservation in villages where the only treatment for a child burned in a cooking fire comes from my own emergency first aid kit may seem excessively abstract. Many people will ask, “Wouldn’t it be better to just give them clean water/medical supplies/a health clinic?” Sure, I would reply. But then what? What if you didn’t give them what they actually needed, but instead what you thought they needed? How would you find out what local needs actually were? For me, that is the point in the system where communication questions arise, and where I would like to begin working. 

Observation in the Dark

From Impfondo, the INCEF educators and I traveled by car and on foot to an outlying village, Makolongoulu, located north of the town along the banks of the Obangui River. With us, we carried a small portable generator (“portable” is a generous term for this heavy, awkward piece of equipment), and Pelican cases containing the projector, hard drives, and laptops that will be used to screen the films once we reach the village. We also brought tents, sleeping pads, some food, and lots of drinking water.

Our arrival in the village was almost like a procession: by the time we reached the center of the village, which is strung along the river’s edge for about half a mile, we had acquired a number of ad hoc assistants carrying some of our equipment, and a train of small children tagging along…to stare at me. While both INCEF educators are well known in the village, having conducted film screenings here before, I am a new face and the object of some attention for that reason.

Our first stop after arrival in the village is the home of the village chief, where we are welcomed and shown to the location where we will set up our tents. This first conversation is another form of les civilites, the formal, face-to-face communication we engage in with authority figures. The village chief is a government appointee, and his consent is necessary before we may begin any work. The chief also arranges for the crieur – a sort of town crier – to walk through the entire village announcing the program activities through an electronic megaphone in order to inform village residents of the time and place, who should participate, and other information to promote the program.  

The sun begins to set, and the set up for the film screenings begins. Here at the equator, sunset is around 6:15pm every day, and by 6:00 it is quite dark. Gradually it dawns on me that, of course, the films must be screened in the dark. The audience assembles in front of a white tarp that has been strung between two trees. Each person brings a chair, and sets it down in a small semi-circle. Without any electricity, once the sun sets here it is dark. I know this sounds obvious, but without any ambient light it is nearly impossible to see the audience. I can’t see their expressions, or observe their movements as they watch the films. The group is very fluid, with people coming and going according to their own plan. At times both during and after each short film the lead educator, Mika, addresses the audience through a megaphone, to repeat and reinforce the basic message of each film. Sometimes, audience members call out responses to actions or words in the films, or in response to a question Mika has asked.

Older women and men seem to be the core of the audience, seated near the front. Many of the women are holding babies and small children, who also cry, run around, and talk. Around the periphery of the audience group, younger men stand, coming and going throughout the screening. Although there is no electrical service to Makolongoulu, the village does have cell phone reception and many of these younger men are texting or talking on their phones during the film screening. At times they also call out responses, or make side comments about the films to their friends. In the back of my mind, I am reminded of the TV show Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K to its fans), where puppets screen old B movies while offering their own commentary and dialogue through the entire film. Once this analogy has popped into my head, it’s difficult to dislodge – one of the hazards of observational research for someone with a long personal history of immersion in American popular culture, I am learning.

Overall, the scene could be described as chaotic and disorganized, if one were only to take the perspective of an outsider. My job is to set aside these judgments – and my initial random TV analogies – and try to understand what is happening in this scene from the perspective of the participants. To them, I slowly begin to understand, this scene is not chaotic. It does make sense. I am the only one disoriented by the darkness and the multiple voices speaking at once. I am going to have to learn to perform my observations in the dark, and to untangle the threads of the various types of speech going on around me.    

Above, a photo of lead INCEF educator Mika (left) with the Community Relay contact in Makolongoulu (right)