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Accommodating Conflicting Realities: The Messy Practice of Ethical (Self) Regulation

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Title: Accommodating Conflicting Realities: The Messy Practice of Ethical (Self) Regulation
Language: English
Authors: Fletcher, Gillian
Source: International Journal of Social Research Methodology. 2017 20(3):275-284.
Availability: Routledge. Available from: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. 530 Walnut Street Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19106. Tel: 800-354-1420; Tel: 215-625-8900; Fax: 215-207-0050; Web site: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals
Peer Reviewed: Y
Page Count: 10
Publication Date: 2017
Document Type: Journal Articles
Reports - Evaluative
Descriptors: Ethics, Self Control, Researchers, Research Methodology, Power Structure, Social Influences, Foreign Countries, Language Usage, Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS), Interviews, Cultural Influences
Geographic Terms: Burma
DOI: 10.1080/13645579.2017.1287873
ISSN: 1364-5579
Abstract: When I began to undertake qualitative PhD research in Myanmar, I found myself caught between the demands of an ethics approval process that required researcher certainty about 'risk', and the reality of a research site where I would be able at best to part-glimpse the risks people faced. I found space to work through holding to the process of critical 'languaging'; paying ongoing attention to power dynamics within interviews while engaging in 'a social process in which we jointly construct realities for each of us to see, occupy and to talk "into"' (emphasis in original). In this article, I reflect on the tensions between ethical process and research practice and argue that researchers should consider critical languaging as an important ethical tool.
Abstractor: As Provided
Number of References: 39
Entry Date: 2018
Accession Number: EJ1189868
Database: ERIC
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  Value: <anid>AN0121663263;9eb01may.17;2019Feb13.15:36;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0121663263-1">Accommodating conflicting realities: the messy practice of ethical (self) regulation. </title> <p>When I began to undertake qualitative PhD research in Myanmar, I found myself caught between the demands of an ethics approval process that required researcher certainty about 'risk', and the reality of a research site where I would be able at best to part-glimpse the risks people faced. I found space to work through holding to the process of critical 'languaging'; paying ongoing attention to power dynamics within interviews while engaging in 'a social process in which we jointly construct realities for each of us to see, occupy and to talk into' (emphasis in original). In this article, I reflect on the tensions between ethical process and research practice and argue that researchers should consider critical languaging as an important ethical tool.</p> <p>Keywords: Burma/Myanmar; complexity; practical ethics; languaging</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-2">Introduction</hd> <p>At the start of my PhD, which began in 2005, it was an unsettling experience to find that I was expected to be all-seeing and all-knowing; but there it was, in black and white: the La Trobe University ethics application form expected me to both identify and limit '... <bold>any</bold> risk of physical, emotional, social, legal or financial harm to ... participant[s]' (La Trobe University, [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref1">24</reflink>], p. 10, emphasis added).</p> <p>I would hesitate to claim such knowledge in my own cultural setting, but the work I was setting out to do was based in Myanmar: a country that, at the time of my research, was still subject to more than 50 years worth of military control. This control permeated all aspects of everyday life, although the strange truth was that one could be a tourist in Myanmar and go away thinking: 'What's all the fuss about? Everyone seems happy, there are no obvious curfews, no shooting on the streets'. In fact, one of those strange synchronicities of life put me in a clothes shop in Melbourne in November 2005 at exactly the moment when the owner was showing friends her holiday photographs. They were photographs of Myanmar. The woman was effusive about the people, the beauty of the predominantly eleventh to thirteenth century temples and stupas to be found at Bagan, the crafts and the art. She really did see it as The Golden Land, an image the military began heavily promoting when it designated 1996–1997 'Visit Myanmar Year'.</p> <p>Having worked as an HIV and sexual health consultant on several projects over the years prior to starting my PhD (which sought to explore the rhetoric and the practice of HIV prevention in the country, through qualitative research), I had occasionally seen armed troop carriers on the move. Driving past the corner of the road where opposition leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi was still under house arrest meant being confronted by a large billboard extolling the virtues of the <emph>Tatmadaw</emph> (the military). When working outside of Yangon, I had had to wait for a month or more for travel permission to be granted, was required to travel with a representative from the Ministry of Health, and had my papers checked at more checkpoints than I care to remember. On one occasion, I had been forced to try and fit what would have been a three-day workshop into a four-hour meeting, before turning round and making the five-hour drive back to Yangon on the same day I arrived because the travel permission arrived late but it was not possible to extend the permission end date.</p> <p>These were irritations, but I never felt myself to be at risk. The worst that was likely to happen was that I would be refused a visa in the future, or – and this was the worst option – that I would somehow make things more difficult for my local colleagues, who smoothed paths and negotiated power relationships wherever we went. The details of these paths and power relationships were a mystery to me; all I knew was that there was always a great deal more going on in the background than I could ever know. For me, Myanmar – and in particular the nature of and space for international development work in Myanmar – was home to a complex web of power dynamics that could only ever be partially seen (and understood). Yet the Myanmar people with whom I worked most closely were of the generation that had lost friends and peers in the 1988 student protests, brutally suppressed by the military. Many died; many others were jailed, were they remained in the early 2000s. Rumours abounded of individuals believed to be 'subversive' still being jailed without any form of court case. Everyday actions were watched and recorded by networks of state-related actors, including the literally titled 'Head of 10 Households' and 'Head of 100 Households', whose job it was to keep watch on their neighbours. Part of their role was to report anyone who was <emph>not</emph> listed as being part of the household staying overnight at an address.</p> <p>The sheer banality and every day, internalised quality of the junta's control over people's lives at that time was hard to imagine but, for me, was crystallised by an incident that occurred in Melbourne, when a Burmese friend took advantage of a work trip to come and visit me. When she was leaving, we sat together in Melbourne Airport drinking coffee and I asked her a question about life in Myanmar. She dropped her voice and looked around before responding. I pointed out to her that we were no longer in Yangon, and she said simply: 'They know everything. We always have to be careful'. My friend believed it distinctly possible that someone linked to the regime was following her.</p> <p>All of which brings me back to the La Trobe University ethics application form and the expectation that I could both identify and limit '... <bold>any</bold> risk of physical, emotional, social, legal or financial harm to the participant' (La Trobe University, [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref2">24</reflink>], p. 10, emphasis added).</p> <p>The absolutism of this language obliterated the many shades of grey in the research process, replacing them with a black and white reality in which I was the ultimate assessor of, and responder to, potential risk. I was stuck between the ethics process demand for 'words on paper' that denoted absolute certainty and the lived realities of intricate, implicitly understood, contextually specific issues of risk, risk assessment, and meaning in Myanmar.</p> <p>This article is a reflection on what followed. It draws heavily on theories of 'languaging', a concept that I will describe in more depth later in the article but, briefly, which has been described as: 'a social process in which we jointly construct realities for each of us to see, occupy and to talk <emph>into</emph>' (Krippendorff, [<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref3">23</reflink>], p. 105, emphasis in original). I argue that, whatever the words on paper, research ethics requires paying particular attention to this process. What realities are we co-constructing, regardless of what formal documents say? What space is available for the researcher, and participants, to both occupy and talk into, during the research itself? How can the researcher engage in this process ethically?</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-3">Unequivocally following form</hd> <p>My PhD design was of a two-phase qualitative study. Phase One involved semi-structured interviews with managers of HIV prevention programs run by a range of organisations working in Myanmar. Phase Two involved observation of field work and interviews with field workers and community members connected to two international non-governmental organisation (INGO) case studies, identified arising from Phase One.</p> <p>In my first draught of the application for ethics approval for Phase One, I tried to bring in some of the complexities of an external researcher seeking to undertake an absolute assessment of risk to research participants in Myanmar and stated, honestly, that I would do my best to identify and limit risk before embarking on the research, but that the most effective assessment of risk would occur during the research, and would be undertaken by participants themselves (who were better placed than I to read and respond to signs of risk).</p> <p>I also acknowledged the power dynamics that exist in any research process. Tuhiwai Smith's ([[<reflink idref="bib39" id="ref4">39</reflink>]] 2008, p. 1) writing on attitudes to research in indigenous communities – in which she states '... "research" is probably one of the dirtiest words in the Indigenous world's vocabulary' – apply across the board. Research is often experienced as a tool of politics and power.</p> <p>A senior academic reviewed the draught, then advised me I was being foolish. I needed to make everything look neat and tidy, I was told. Identify risks, offer solutions to those risks. So I strove to do as I was told.</p> <p>First, I acknowledged that my interviewees were in 'dependent or unequal relationships', as defined by the <emph>Australian National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Research Involving Humans</emph> (NHMRC, ARC, & AVCC, [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref5">29</reflink>])<emph>.</emph> According to the <emph>Statement</emph> of that time, such relationships occurred in 'situations where unequal power relationships exist between participants and researchers or where participants occupy junior or subordinate positions in hierarchically structured groups' (NHMRC, ARC, & AVCC, [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref6">29</reflink>], p. 42). These relationships, the <emph>Statement</emph> added, 'may compromise the voluntary character of participants' decisions, as they typically involve unequal status, where one party has or has had a position of influence or authority over the other' (NHMRC, ARC, & AVCC, [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref7">29</reflink>], p. 52).</p> <p>From years of working on international development projects, I was well aware that the development industry is home to strong formal (and informal) hierarchies and internal power relationships and systems, in which I was inevitably implicated and which, as a white 'technical expert', I inevitably helped to reinforce. There is a vast body of literature from the 1980s to the current day that critiques international development as an industry both built on, and constantly re-creating, unequal power relationships, particularly in relation to whose knowledge counts and why (Apthorpe & Gasper, [<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref8">1</reflink>]; Apthorpe & Kráhl, [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref9">2</reflink>]; Brigg, [<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref10">6</reflink>]; Cowen & Shenton, [<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref11">8</reflink>]; Dhammika, [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref12">9</reflink>]; Escobar, [<reflink idref="bib10" id="ref13">10</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref14">11</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref15">12</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref16">13</reflink>]; Hart, [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref17">18</reflink>]; Hobart, [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref18">20</reflink>]; Jackson, [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref19">21</reflink>]; Kassam, [<reflink idref="bib22" id="ref20">22</reflink>]; Long & Villarreal, [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref21">25</reflink>]; Nederveen Pieterse, [<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref22">28</reflink>]; Parpart & Veltmeyer, [<reflink idref="bib32" id="ref23">32</reflink>]; Rahnema & Bawtree, [<reflink idref="bib33" id="ref24">33</reflink>]; Sachs, [<reflink idref="bib34" id="ref25">34</reflink>]; Simon, [<reflink idref="bib36" id="ref26">36</reflink>]).</p> <p>I will not revisit those arguments here, other than to not that unequal power relationships are par for the course in international development. My Phase One research involved asking development organisation employees about the activities they undertook on behalf of that organisation; as such, the ethics process required me to obtain institutional approval from a senior representative of the organisation before approaching any potential participants. These potential participants were (inevitably) in unequal power relationships with their line managers: international development is a major employer in less developed countries, which offers the promise of a decent (and, in some cases, indecent) salary, access to further education, and opportunities for national and international travel. As with all such work-related opportunities, these promises are implicitly premised on a person 'fitting in' to formal and informal power hierarchies. Further, as I noted in the ethics application form:</p> <p>As an expatriate, white technical advisor, I will be identified as aligned with the hierarchies of international aid and development. Additionally, it will be known to all participants that the research is taking place with the permission of their Country Director, which may be seen as an implicit requirement to participate. ([<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref27">14</reflink>])</p> <p>My proposed solution to this possible risk was as follows:</p> <p>I will ensure that those Country Directors who do give permission for me to approach their workers also provide me with an information letter that clearly states that participation is voluntary, and there will be no negative professional repercussions for anyone who either agrees or refuses to be interviewed.</p> <p>Participants will also be informed that I am undertaking the interviews in a student capacity, and not at the request of any NGO. Whenever possible, interviews will also be held out of work hours and away from any venues which could be seen as aligned with NGO hierarchy (ie. in a head office) in a bid to reinforce the concept of volunteerism. (Author [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref28">14</reflink>], p. 6)</p> <p>I dutifully developed Participant Information Sheets (on university letterhead), which set out what I saw as the possible risks and benefits of participation in the research as if these were the only possible risks. I also provided potential INGO manager participants with an official letter from their Country Director, which stated that staff members approached as potential participants would not face any repercussions should they decide not to participate.</p> <p>For Phase Two of the research, which involved INGO field workers and community members connected to two case study organisations (identified in Phase One, I again duly noted that I would provide field workers with a letter from the Country Director. In relation to community members, I acknowledged that they may also feel a compunction to participate given my connection to an INGO that provided them with services; the proposed solution, here, was to get INGO field workers to provide the community members with Participant Information Sheets (in Burmese) and to ask community members who were willing to participate to contact me directly while I was in Myanmar.</p> <p>These ethics procedure 'tools' were assessed, and approved, on the assumption that the Information Sheet and the letter from the Country Director carried no meaning beyond that of the words on the page.</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-4">The realities of meaning making: 'words on a page' can be read many ways</hd> <p>The assumption referred to above, that the Information Sheet and letter from the Country Director 'said' no more than what was written thereon, is an example of what Taylor ([<reflink idref="bib38" id="ref29">38</reflink>], p. 248) called 'the truth-conditional theory of meaning', or 't-c theory'. In t-c theory, language is merely a tool of representation that allows us to believe we know something because we have a lexical representation of it. As Taylor stated, within t-c theory 'there must be one key concept which applies in deriving the meaning of all sentences; and ... this concept must be truth' (Taylor, [<reflink idref="bib38" id="ref30">38</reflink>], p. 249). Taylor, and other philosophers and social or applied linguists, have long argued that meaning making is a continual and emergent process, in which the words used are only one part of the communicative act. As Becker ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref31">4</reflink>], p. 5) pointed out (noting Ortega, 1959), language is forever deficient or exuberant because it is forever 'deficient and says less than we wish to ... [or] ... exuberant and says more than we know'.</p> <p>This was certainly the case with regards to me ethics 'tools'. The mere fact that I was able to obtain a letter from the Country Director reinforced the fact that I was connected to the international development hierarchy, regardless of what the words on the page said. Myanmar participants – living and working in a highly complex environment in which power dynamics, potential risk and relationships were central to everyday life – were all well aware of the unspoken risk of upsetting someone who was clearly well enough connected to be able to obtain such a letter from the Country Director. Before embarking on fieldwork for Phase One of my research I made a silent bet with myself that, under such circumstances, no one would refuse to be interviewed. I won the bet.</p> <p>When I left Australia to undertake Phase Two of my research, with field workers and community members connected to HIV prevention programs run by two INGOs, I was again taking with me a letter from the Country Directors (to 'reassure' field workers that they were under no formal compunction to participate). For the community members, I provided a Participant Information Sheet in Burmese that asked potential participants to contact me directly, as a way of seeking to ensure they did not feel compelled to participate by the organisation's field workers. Again, ethics was granted and off I went; having made two bets with myself this time: (<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref32">1</reflink>) that no field workers would refuse to participate; and (<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref33">2</reflink>) that community members would no contact me directly. Again, I won.</p> <p>The letter from the Country Director carried the same implication for field workers as it did for the programme managers: I was connected to the hierarchy of the organisation on which they relied for an income and for future opportunities. In relation to the community members: personal relationships are key to working in Myanmar. It was highly unlikely any community member would contact me – a foreigner who they had never before met or heard of – without going through an appropriate intermediary. In this case, the appropriate intermediary would be seen to be the field workers. I interviewed a total of 12 community members; each and every one of them expressed interest to participate via a field worker, who then arranged the interview and came along to introduce the community member to me.</p> <p>Of course, the complexities and limitations of informed consent are well noted (Corrigan, [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref34">7</reflink>]; Nuffield Council on Bioethics, [<reflink idref="bib30" id="ref35">30</reflink>]; O'Neill, [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref36">31</reflink>]). As argued by Baarts ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref37">3</reflink>], p. 424) ethics is too important an issue to be left to processes of ethics approval but, rather, should be 'embedded in the totality of scholarly practice'. The following sections address how I sought to be ethical in my research, while acknowledging that in this I was also fighting against the pressure to 'come up with the goods' and my own desire to <emph>know</emph>; to ask questions and get answers that satisfied me. I appeared in a place, provided snacks, strove to put my interviewee at ease (and therefore more receptive to questions) by telling jokes and being friendly, asked them about their lives, their opinions, their experiences (while striving to be alive to issues of critical languaging, as I will explain below), then left.</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-5">Critical languaging: a way of bridging the gap between ethics as form filling, or ethics as p...</hd> <p>During my fieldwork, I was uncomfortably aware of the difference between ethics approval (and the 'tools' arising) and Baarts ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref38">3</reflink>], p. 424) previously cited admonition to embed ethics 'in the totality of scholarly practice'. Yes, I could have chosen to set the 'tools' aside and see if that made a difference to my view of the ethics of the process; but I was a PhD student, embedded in the power hierarchies of a university, and was not looking to jeopardise my candidacy. Further, setting the tools aside would simply have meant that there was no pretence of changing hierarchies and power dynamics through use of the tools. The hierarchies and power dynamics would have remained.</p> <p>The bulk of my research work involved semi-structured interviews. Outlines of the research questions had been provided as part of the ethics process, but I sought to make my practice as ethical as possible by approaching each interview as a site of languaging. In doing so, I was acknowledging and seeking to build on pre-existing work that notes the productive and interactive nature of qualitative research and the power dynamics therein (Fontana & Frey, [<reflink idref="bib16" id="ref39">16</reflink>]; Guillemin & Gillam, [<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref40">17</reflink>]; Scheurich, [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref41">35</reflink>]; Watson, [<reflink idref="bib40" id="ref42">40</reflink>]).</p> <p>Use of the present progressive verb form (as represented by – ing) clearly marks languaging as an ongoing action of shared meaning-making that extends far beyond a mechanistic attribution of words to dictionary definition. This generative nature of languaging is all-important; Swain ([<reflink idref="bib37" id="ref43">37</reflink>], p. 98, emphasis added) defines languaging as 'the process of making meaning and shaping knowledge and experience <emph>through</emph> language' and argues:</p> <p>Languaging serves as a vehicle through which thinking is articulated and transformed ... Ideas are crystallized. They become available as an object about which questions can be raised and answers can be explored with others or with the self. (Swain, [<reflink idref="bib37" id="ref44">37</reflink>], p. 148)</p> <p>For Maturana and Varela ([[<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref45">26</reflink>]] 1998, p. 234, emphasis in original) 'it is by languaging that the act of knowing ... brings forth a world ... the world everyone sees is not <emph>the</emph> world but a world which we bring forth with others'. Similarly, Becker ([<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref46">5</reflink>], p. 103) writes of languaging as a process that occurs when we use language and 'expect others to look through our words at something else'.</p> <p>As noted earlier, Krippendorff ([<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref47">23</reflink>], p. 105, emphasis in original) describes languaging as: 'a social process in which we jointly construct realities for each of us to see, occupy and to talk <emph>into</emph>'. This applies to all forms of languaging, but is also a fair description of the semi-structured interview in particular. However languaging is not, and cannot be, a 'power neutral' process (something it shares with research in general, as the Tuhiwai Smith quote I cited earlier argues). Hence my reference in this section heading to 'critical languaging', which requires ongoing reflexivity regards the power dynamics involved in 'jointly construct[ing] realities' (Krippendorff, [<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref48">23</reflink>], p. 105).</p> <p>The space that is created within languaging is neither free from context, relationships, or power, nor is there necessarily equal space for, or equal weight given to, all participants in the languaging space. While Higgins, Thompson, and Roeder ([<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref49">19</reflink>], p. 196) do not refer to languaging, their work on mainstream scripts and the marginalisation of students whose contributions are not valued by teachers because 'they do not match their teachers' expectations' is relevant here, and should be borne in mind. Briefly, the teachers <emph>controlled</emph> the realities constructed; disavowing those that did not fit with their own realities.</p> <p>In my research, I was seeking to explore what was said about HIV prevention and what was done; I was looking for disjunctures. During Phase One, it had become clear that people spoke in one way about HIV prevention in principle, and in another way when they described practice. I have described these disjunctures in full elsewhere (Fletcher, [<reflink idref="bib15" id="ref50">15</reflink>]) but, to summarise, HIV prevention principles were described as involving processes of 'friend talking to friend', 'mutual learning', and engaging with experience.[<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref51">1</reflink>] The managers all held the view that good HIV prevention work was, fundamentally, different pedagogically from formal teaching. For example Ko Kyaw Naing,[<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref52">2</reflink>] the only management-level interviewee to have reported personal experience of undertaking HIV prevention work as a peer educator, was clear that one important principle was 'the way of talking – no, I won't say teaching'. He explained 'the way of talking' as 'the discussion style ... by, y'know ... two-way discussion'. Dr Sanda Lwin, who at the time of interview was working for the UN, spoke of finding out 'the needs of the community' and their 'real practice'. Dr Htwe Oo spoke at length about the need for educators to be responsive to situations and to 'have an open mind ... a positive attitude to whatever reaction he or she encounters.' Good peer educators, he added, were skilled in 'Understanding other people's personal feelings, emotions, and needs, ... confidentiality, and ... good listening'.</p> <p>When actual HIV prevention practice was described, it followed a pattern of didactic teaching of 'core facts' (with some games thrown in). For example Dr Ye Hlin began by stating that 'two-way discussion' was an important aspect of the training he himself provided to HIV prevention field workers, then went on to describe this 'two-way discussion' as 'I stand in front of them, with a whiteboard. Yeah? Very simple'. Ko Tin Aung said simply, 'I ask the question. That's two-way communication'.</p> <p>My goal with this study was to identify whether or not there was a gap between HIV prevention rhetoric and practice and, if so, to propose ways to narrow this gap. But in doing so, I ran the risk of triggering what Murray, Holmes, Perron, and Rail ([<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref53">27</reflink>], p. 513) called a 'rupture in ... [the] epistemological worldview' of participants, who certainly were not lying when they spoke with such certainty of the importance of HIV prevention principles. Such rupture can be productive; Murray et al. ([<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref54">27</reflink>], p. 513) argue that it marks the point where 'true knowledge might begin' and where, 'rather than continuing down the road to nowhere, wisdom calls for detours, new and different paths, a new vista on the same problem'. But the reality of my situation was that, should such rupture occur, I had no way of ensuring that it resulted in productive outcomes. I was, after all, only a researcher: albeit a white one with some connections to the HIV prevention hierarchy. The ethics tools of informed consent, Participant Information Sheet and letter from the Country Director were of no help whatsoever to me in this regard.</p> <p>So how could I, ethically, explore gaps between principles and practice without generating negative consequences? I strove to pay attention to critical languaging. In my interviews with senior managers, they and I 'talked into' the co-existing, but conflictual, realities of people's apparent commitment to principles of HIV prevention, and the realities of their descriptions of fieldwork practice (which ran contrary to the principles), without the tension between these realities being explicitly named by me. If any of the interviewees had named the gap, I would have occupied this space with them; but none did. Thus, when programme manager or field worker interviewees spoke about practice that was at odds with the principles they had espoused (e.g. Dr Ye Hlin and his description of two-way discussion as 'standing in front of them ... with a whiteboard'), I did not try to get them to face this head-on.</p> <p>The interviewees spoke of these principles with commitment and passion. There was never any sense of them paying 'lip service' to received wisdom, or simply saying what they might be expected to say. Calling them on the disjuncture when, as noted earlier, I had no way of ensuring that it resulted in productive outcomes, would have felt unethical (not to mention unproductive). They held both realities at the same time.</p> <p>In Phase Two, I was faced with a different set of co-existing and conflictual realities: the reality of community member interviewees seeing themselves as ignorant, and in need of teaching by INGO field worker 'experts', and the realities of the knowledge they held (factual, emotional and experiential).</p> <p>These interviewees came from widely divergent contexts; four of the eight community level interviewees were connected to an INGO that worked with 'high risk groups' in urban Yangon while the other four were connected to an INGO that worked with young people in rural communities heavily affected by economic migration. The first set of interviewees comprised one man who had sex with men, one transgender woman who sold sex and two cis-gender women who sold sex. Two of the four were HIV positive and, between them, they had experienced stigma and discrimination, homelessness, abuse, and the loss of many friends and peers to AIDS.</p> <p>Interviewees connected to the second case study organisation were all young, unmarried people who lived in a small village where economic migration to Thailand was an everyday fact of life. They all knew people or had friends that had been economic migrants, and had seen firsthand the stigma that was attached to migration, and to HIV (particularly for young women). They all knew about cultural 'rules' regarding sex before marriage, and also knew that these rules were often broken.</p> <p>On a broader context, they all lived in Myanmar where, at the time of the research, a national response to HIV and AIDS has existed in some form or other for more than 20 years. There have been national schools-based interventions, TV, newspaper, radio and poster campaigns, and literally millions of HIV prevention leaflets and other materials distributed across the country. Indeed, one of my Phase One interviewees had declared: 'You'd have to live on another planet, not to know about HIV and AIDS'.</p> <p>Yet all community member interviewees began by presenting a 'reality' of themselves as lacking HIV-related knowledge (and therefore in need of INGO intervention). In all instances, the second reality – of their lived experience and practical knowledge – contradicted the first.</p> <p>For example Ma Myo Myo, a villager who I interviewed because of her participation in an HIV prevention session run by an INGO that worked with young people in rural communities heavily affected by economic migration, said she had only 'heard a little' about condoms before attending the session. This 'little' she knew had come from talking to other villagers who had attended a previous prevention session run by the same INGO.</p> <p>She then told me that she had known about HIV being transmitted through sexual intercourse as a result of village gossip linking women who migrated to Thailand with HIV and 'bad' sexual behaviour. I checked whether Ma Myo Myo had in fact known about sexual transmission of HIV prior to the prevention session or not, and received an unequivocal 'yes' in reply. Then I asked:</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>Did you know that there's no cure, for AIDS?</emph> </p> <p>Yes.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>And how did you know that?</emph> </p> <p>In the village we have TV, and from the state-owned media and from the educating videos, we can learn that ... there are some houses who can quite afford to own a TV and when friends gather together and rent a video tape, they can watch together. And when it is coincide with when I go out I can have a chance to watch these.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>Do you like watching?</emph> </p> <p>Yes I like it. I can learn from these videos <emph>...</emph> there's many films I have seen ... a lot.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>All about HIV?</emph> </p> <p>Both about HIV and about AIDS.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>So how many, roughly, do you think you have seen?</emph> </p> <p>Yes 10–15.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>So you probably know a lot about HIV?</emph> </p> <p>Yes, I have learnt a lot.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>And what about the government media? What do they say?</emph> </p> <p>... There's many, I couldn't even remember.</p> <p>Q:</p> <p> <emph>Because there's so many?</emph> </p> <p>Yes.</p> <p>Ma Myo Myo then proceeded to provide chapter and verse on the basic facts of HIV transmission, all of which she had known prior to the HIV prevention session. She knew that HIV could be transmitted via blood transfusion, via unprotected sex, via sharing needles with an HIV-positive person, and from mother to child 'because blood is circulating from mother to child so from [the] blood the child will get infected'.</p> <p>The ethics of creating space in interviews to both allow participants' 'reality' of ignorance, while also finding space to explore the reality of their lived experience and knowledge, was brought home to me most powerfully when two of my community level participants disclosed during interview that they themselves were HIV positive. In both instances, the interviewees said they became HIV positive because they 'did not know' about disease prevention at the time of infection, and only came to know after they became involved with INGOs. But both also revealed information that made it clear (a) they had possessed a great deal of practical knowledge regarding condoms, HIV and STIs prior to involvement with INGOs; and (b) they had both become infected <emph>after</emph> becoming involved with INGOs. Bringing this contradiction out into a space for us to talk into was not an option. What right had I to force such confrontation? And what purpose could doing so have usefully served? We all knew the discontinuities were there, and we tacitly worked together to avoid closing down the space that we shared.</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-6">Conclusion</hd> <p>Was my fieldwork entirely ethical? I doubt it; 'entirely ethical' feels, to me, like a mythical creature. I do know that no one burst into tears; most interviews involved a great deal of laughter and good humour; we ate great snacks; and it generated rich and thought-provoking data. On the other hand there are always consequences we cannot predict (negative and positive); all researchers are subject to self-interest; and there are always relational and contextual power dynamics at play, many of which we may have only the faintest understanding of.</p> <p>I did my best, most of the time. By employing critical languaging, I concentrated on allowing interviews to be spaces where multiple realities could exist and participants and I could occupy and talk into these spaces in ways that avoided confrontation or rupture while enabling exploration and generation of shared meaning. Throughout, I also sought to listen to words uttered at the same time as reading body language for signs of discomfort, as well as trying to remain conscious of the power dynamics at play. In other words, I tried to juggle plates. Sometimes they wobbled dangerously – for example when one programme manager interviewee, who I had known previously, brought his knowledge of my views on the teaching of facts and skills in peer education into the interview space, tipping us into a discussion of what he saw as opposing views – but as far as I was aware, none smashed.</p> <p>To conclude, I would like to argue that the worlds we bring forth within our research (internally, if not necessarily in print) need to be worlds in which we, and those with whom we research, recognise, and manoeuvre through, the shifting complexities of context, power relationships, our own motivations, and the inevitably partial and ongoing nature of ethical behaviour.</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-7">Disclosure statement</hd> <p>No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.</p> <hd id="AN0121663263-8">Notes on contributor</hd> <p> <bold> <emph>Gillian Fletcher</emph> </bold> is an Honorary Fellow at the School of Philosophy and :Politics, La Trobe University. 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  Data: When I began to undertake qualitative PhD research in Myanmar, I found myself caught between the demands of an ethics approval process that required researcher certainty about 'risk', and the reality of a research site where I would be able at best to part-glimpse the risks people faced. I found space to work through holding to the process of critical 'languaging'; paying ongoing attention to power dynamics within interviews while engaging in 'a social process in which we jointly construct realities for each of us to see, occupy and to talk "into"' (emphasis in original). In this article, I reflect on the tensions between ethical process and research practice and argue that researchers should consider critical languaging as an important ethical tool.
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