Stalling, Falling, and Flying

When I decided to take up anthropology as a discipline I had a vague notion that long periods of travel were going to be part of the job. Actually, it was one of the parts of the job that really excited me. I was never under the illusion that fieldwork was a really comfortable process, but neither did I think I would ever have a right to complain about how hard it is. After all, it is in difficulty that I find reward. It is in the confrontation of my limits that I am able to really challenge the world around me. When I realize I lack the ability or experience to move forward, I am forced to ask how I can possibly move forward while also asking why this particular instance should prove difficult. So now I think I should maybe write a little about what has begun to take shape now that I am here. I'm not going to start with some sort of high-flying theoretical claim about fieldwork. I want to instead talk about the personal experience of seeing the weakness in my approach and the excitement of trying to overcome these points.

Since arriving here I have made fast friends with one of my room mates, and as such have had a wonderful introduction to living in Germany. But almost immediately I discovered, with great horror, just how limited my German has become from years of not practicing. Part of the problem is naturally that my vocabulary has become remarkably small and I have great difficulty phrasing things. While I can read German rather well, when it comes to speaking, conversing, and listening it as though I have forgotten everything I have ever learned. This is certainly an obstacle on its own, but not one that is insurmountable. Part of learning a language is surrounding oneself with native speakers, getting used to the cadence of the language as it's spoken, and slowly building up functional competency. But the real difficulty actually comes from my own, illogical reservations. I lose confidence. I fear making a fool of myself and I trip up over my words. I become painfully aware of my Anglophone accent and I just fail. This has manifested itself, partly, in my avoiding new social situations. This is, I believe, a critical fault if I am to continue my research. To be sure, I have spoken to a few people, listened intently, and understood what they were saying to me. But when I want to express something and engage, I find that I simply don't have the language competency to express my thoughts the way I would like to. And this is where the frustration sets in. I genuinely want to approach and engage people in a meaningful and thoughtful way, but what instead comes out is something akin to a German speaker who has been kicked in the head by a horse after a night of heavy drinking.

This is not some way to say that fieldwork is difficult in Germany. Of course I am not learning a new language previously unrecorded by Western civilization. To say that it could be worse misses the point entirely. The point is I am reminded how fieldwork is so incredibly human. It's not that I have lost language competency, it's that this loss affects me specifically. Almost every anthropologist goes through a sense of alienation in the field, either because of their language or because of interpersonal difficulties. Like me, there are periods where the anthropologist retreats to his tent/room/shelter and seeks the comforts of home. Where Malinowski sought refuge in novels, anthropologists today can run from the difficulties of fieldwork by delving into cyberspace. They can write blogs about how weird fieldwork is. But the process of seeking refuge is specific to one's own circumstances. Refuge may be sought out of anger, frustration, depression, loneliness, or desperation. And once refuge is found, maybe all anthropologists have the sense that they are not accomplishing anything. The anthropologist may resolve himself to pushing the matter and getting something done. But that's the really wonderful part about fieldwork, it happens even when you aren't taking notes (actually, it happens especially while you aren't taking notes). There have already been instance where, while trying to sleep, it will dawn on me that I had had a real, ethnographic encounter that I didn't even bother to jot down. Essentially, I think fieldwork (at least in my case) will be about getting out of my own way. Let failure and embarrassment be what it is- I can always take more German classes.

I have now taken to going to a café in the vicinity and reading others' reflections on their fieldwork in order to draw up some confidence, courage, and excitement. And I sit outside and hear spoken German on the street, I am drawn to the need to get over my own, personal hang ups, and confront the limits that are real and fabricated alike. Had I chosen to be a textualist, I never would have had to confront myself in this way. Fieldwork has value not only in the production of anthropology in the academy, but in the production of a self that is capable of moving outside itself and finding comfort in whatever may face it.