I started to write this post about how much I love fieldwork when I had just returned from my last field work trip to Oaxaca, Mexico from December 2009 to January 2010. But I’m just getting around to posting it! This will be a 4 part post that shows 4 excerpts taken out of my field notes (unedited) on observations that have nothing to do with technology usage.

I just returned from Oaxaca, Mexico and this was the one of the most fun fieldwork trips ever. I miss everyone in the village so much as a I’m reading through my fieldnotes. Three things really stand out in my fieldwork trip this year.
1.) After three years of visiting the village, I felt so welcome this year. I really felt like the people trusted me and were so much more open with me. I could just chill with families and feel confident that they were very comfortable with me in their house. In the past two years, I didn’t live in the village. This year, I went with my research colleague, Tanya Menendez, and we both lived in the village with several families. It makes such a different to go to sleep with the family in the same house and to wake up together, eat breakfast together, brush your teeth together - you get to see all the little things and hear all the stories that people talk about at the end of the day.
2.) I’ve noticed that I’ve become a better ethnographer. After three years of doing fieldwork in China, Mexico, and the US, I can actually see how my fieldwork notes have improved this time! One of the best things I’ve learned about doing excellent and honest ethnography (yes I put a value on that!) is something that my adviser Barry Brown told me and it’s something that has stuck with me ever since.
Barry and I were on a bus ride back from an exhaustive fieldwork workshop in Mexico. It was 7pm and really dark. With the Pacific Ocean to our left, our bus felt like it was hugging the mountain as we were making our way up the Pacific Coast from Mexico back into the US. We were chatting about my dissertation and I was saying something to the effect that my fieldwork in China during the summer didn’t go as expected because I didn’t get to observe what I had wanted to research. He responded to me, “you don’t get to chose what you observe.” Barry’s advice was so simple, yet so true. He reminded me that every moment is ethnographic. So this time I took his advice with me into the mountains of Oaxaca. I ended up writing everything down. I almost became obsessive about what I recorded. Glancing over my fieldnotes, I am surprised about how much of it isn’t about technology.
And then that’s when I realized that this is precisely what informs my analysis and my way of thinking about technology usage - I have to understand all those little moments that do and don’t involve technology. Communication technologies is only a sliver of people’s everyday lives. We forget how much time it takes to prepare a tortilla, make a blanket, and farm the fields.
3.) This realization of the importance of moments that have nothing to even do with technology made me realize how I was transformed by the fieldwork. There’s always the concern for an ethnographer when going into a field site of how much time it takes to feel like you’re a part of the community, get adjusted to the food and lifestyle (I never have a problem with the food!), and understand local rhythms. I was pretty proud of myself for just how quickly I adapted to life in the village.
There was one moment when I first arrived where I was craving for something I owned but didn’t bring - my sunglasses. We were 1600 meters above sea level so I was not used to the strong sun rays. We were walking up the mountain to the cemetery with several kids around the ages of 6 to 10 years old and two participants around the age of 25 years old. The kids were running around us and I was trying to keep up but the sun was directly hitting my eyes. I kept squinting and rubbing my eyelids, my contacts slightly in pain from the burning sun. I tired to focus on the semi-trail beneath my feet where the grass had been flattened over time, trying to avoid the dried cow dung and rocks.
After 20 minutes of climbing, I looked up and saw little white tips poking out of the mountain top. We climbed for another half hour and by the time we reached the top, the sun has moved slightly above our heads. By now I could see the white tips revealing themselves into large white Catholic crosses that were on top of tombs. We walked into the middle of the cemetery. One of the kids brought me to their uncle’s tomb. He told me that he had just recently died of diabetes at a young age, only early mid-50’s. Their was still a candle burning inside his tomb.
I started thinking about the cycle of poverty and health. Many of the kids I was with are fed candy all day because it is less expensive to buy candy than to make food. This leads to early diabetes. It’s hard to reverse this practice of candy feeding because candy is also seen as a luxury - it’s a new food product and when guests arrive, one is always given candy in the way that males offer other males a cigarette in China. Children are always stuffing little sticky balls that are half-melted into my hands. And there is no way I can turn it down because I know how much it costs and more so I know the intent behind the gift.
I squinted my eyes to focus on the date of his passing and then readjusted my eyes to the landscape. I realized that we were were standing on top of a mountain peak and we were surrounded by the deep juts of the Oaxacan Sierras. I put my hand over my eyes from the hard sun that lit up the glittering peaks all around us.
The kids were running around on top of the graves and one of the participants, Ivan, stood on a cement block and just looked out into the valley. He too, put his hand over his eyes as he surveyed the view. He had just returned from 3 years of living in the US as an undocumented migrant. This was his first time visiting the village cemetery since he has crossed the desert into the United States 5 years ago. I was looking at his back, but I didn’t focus on just his body. This time I wasn’t squinting to look at the details of a trail or tomb, but I was squinting to see the entire magicalness of the place.
There I stood, behind Ivan, with the sun shining on us. Surrounded by a forest of raised tombs, the lifted weight of the moment fell on all of us like snow. And a pattern emerged to tell a story of attachment, home, and belonging. All the stories from the first and second field site visits over the past 3 years streamed into the moment. It became clear to me why all the phone calls to the US, the caseta visits, the trips to the internet cafe 1 hour away - why it all matters so much. They matter because these are the ties that are greatest to them. So despite years of no contact between an undocument migrant and her/his family, the village as an infrastructure survives. Despite peso depreciation, unequal immigration laws, deathly crossings into the deserts, expensive telephone access, and inconsistent mobile access, the weight of a place can carry the heart of a Oaxacan back to here - this cemetery.
No matter how far a villager goes or how long one lives outside of the village, everyone wants to be buried in the place they were born (women who marry in adopt the male’s village). This is the underlying tie that binds migrants to their home, no matter how many thousand miles they travel for work or how many trips they make to the US. The elaborate governing system of Usos y Costumbres (Uses and Customs), reminds each villager of their attachment. The system dictates that every migrant male has to serve several terms throughout their life in the political governance of the village. It doesn’t matter what you are doing or how far away you are, you must come back to serve the cargo for 1 year every time you are voted into the position. If one fails to serve their cargo (responsibility), then they are denied burial in the village.
It may not sound like a big deal, but it would be the equivalent of telling someone that if you don’t serve in an administrative government position every few years in the town that you were born, then you will not be allowed to die in the company of friends and family - you will die alone. So no matter where you are at with your career, if you are voted into the role, it is not negotiable. Now, imagine that.
Usos and Costumbres is practical in that it creates a stable and obligatory system to maintain village political and social structure. It is also cultural because it creates an emotional investment to the village, a common language and practice, and shared pressures - all factors that contribute to the strong village identity. The system tells every male villager (and their family) that nothing is more important than the ties to your village, and if you forgo these ties then you forgo your community.These ties are stronger than the ties that bond a Oaxacan to her/his nation.
People tend to gravitate towards what they can connect to. This - the Usos y Costumbres and the migration process - as intense as it sounds, I could connect with it. All of it came back to family. We tend to think of America as a place of rapid change and opportunities. And then places like this village in Oaxaca seem to never change. But the tethers of the global economy shake even the mountain tops. Anytime rapid changes come through the winds, power, love, and dreams are constantly being centered and de-centered. In the process of all that centering and de-centering, hearts can waiver and the choices that appear before us often pull us away from those we love and those who love us.
And in this one visit to the cemetery, I could understand how the Usos y Costumbres was a system of centering - centering the actual body and heart to the village. One could not tele-serve his cargo from the United States. One had to come back to Oaxaca and then risk the crossing across the desert again to enter into the US.
So there I stood in the cemetery, surrounded by every single person who had ever been born in the village or married into this village was buried or will be buried in one of the tombs. I was squinting to read the words on the tombs and squinting to see the grandness.
Overall I must admit that I was nervous about how quickly I could adjust to living in a place where I couldn’t shower everyday and have running water and electricity 24/7. But I did just fine. I didn’t even really think about it after a while.
Is there such thing as conducting ethnographic fieldwork where you are not transformed by the process? I always feel like I am an undergoing a new experience when I’m in the field and I’m not sure if I ever want to change that. Perhaps that’s a good way to gauge my interest in a project - my personal degree of internal transformation. I see no other way to conduct engaged and passionate ethnography.
So I’m going to provide 4 excerpts out of my unedited field notes of moments that have nothing to do with technology directly. But these moments inform my research and they maintain my connection to the village. I hope they give a sense of why my heart is in Oaxaca.
Post 1 of 4: I touched the stomach of a pregnant Donkey!
Post 2 of 4: spending New Year’s Eve Dancing til 5am
Post 3 of 4: Time for the Jaripeo - Bullriding
Post 4 of 4: Eating Live Insect
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AN ADDENDUM ON THE ART OF SQUINTING
Squinty has been my online moniker for over 10 years and my friends have always said that I squint a lot when I listen to people talking. I think I squint a lot because I want to understand the details of a conversation and perhaps it’s a physical display of my brain cells moving around (I also am Chinese so my eyes are already squinty). But after this fieldwork trip, I was thinking about squinting as a way to understand the connections and patterns of a context. Ethnography is the constant negotiation of the micro and macro. If an ethnographer is always focused on the micro, then s/he can easily get lost in the details. One has to pop up a layer to get perspective on the details. So engaging with the macro is an engagement with patterns. Ethnography, like squinting, is the constant moving between the micro and the macro. I think this is a lovely way to explain the work of ethnography or any kind of work that involves a holistic understanding of details and patterns.
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ANOTHER TANGENT - ETHNOGRAPHY AS ACHIEVING SAMENESS
One of the other side thoughts that came out of this story about me wishing that I had sunglasses with me is the idea of similarity. An important part of ethnography, but rarely discussed, is the ethnographer’s goal of achieving sameness with his/her participants. To garner the trust of your participants, you want to minimize any obvious visuals that would make you different from the people you are hanging out with. I say this not because I think one should trick participants. Participants are not stupid and it’s almost impossible to lie about your background, especially when doing fieldwork in close communities or doing deeply emotive ethnography where people share their hopes and dreams. I saw this because one of the most important assests and ethnographer has are her/his eyes and smile. You want to minimize anything that would take your participants away from focusing on your face. So when working in a village where no one wears sunglasses, it means I can’t wear sunglasses even if I wanted to. You don’t want to block your eyes from being seen.
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