Final reflections Activism, rapport, and the issue of access

I want to reiterate that, just as I do not claim to have observed everything worth observing or have talked to everyone worth talking to for this research, I do not attempt to cover my tracks here and reflect on everything that is worth reflecting on. Instead, I want to discuss some elements affecting my research which I reflected and continue to reflect on as I consider them important: the role of a researcher in an activist setting, the issue of establishing rapport, and the issue of access.

One of the first things I found myself thinking about after starting my fieldwork was the complex position of the researcher when doing research in an activist milieu. Most of the researchers working with the subaltern have probably reflected on the way their research may affect the ‘problems’ which they are discussing, or perhaps are even trying to solve. After all, why would people make time for my research and talk about their problems? What is in it for them? In fact, one of the first activists whom I spoke was not the last to rightfully ask me: “What will you do when you go back home? We will still be here, living in shacks and your research will have changed nothing” (Marius, 23/08/2014). As with many similar cases of indigenous peoples around the world (Gomes 2013: 13), there is a general atmosphere of distrust among the Khoisan (Chapter Five) towards academics who have left without ever giving feedback or have claimed to “speak about and on behalf of [them]” (ENN November 2013: 3). One activist once warned me “to write down what they are going to tell me” and not

to twist or amend it as others had done before (Emile, KSK, 19/09/2014). Besten (2006: 316) also noted that many Khoisan distrust academics who engaged with their history and heritage for “personal benefit” or to further “national political agendas that did not necessarily benefit the Khoisan.” Some of the people that did not want to talk to me probably did so because of this bad history in South Africa (Sanders 2002).

Not surprisingly then, researchers looking to remedy their ‘guilt’ have reflected on these issues when dealing specifically with land reform movements and indigenous people. More specifically, researchers can be more than “cultural tourists” by: enriching global discussions on land reform; examining why specific programs (the “20 years of land reform” debate in South Africa) have fallen short and trying to encourage certain policy developments in the future; assisting social movements and indigenous people with their findings in legal and political battles (for recognition and land); bringing empirically grounded nuance to “the battle of representation” and identity; and giving voice to the silenced (Levi & Dean 2003: 28, Hall & Ntsebeza 2007: 20, Tuhiwai Smith, L. 2007: 136). While some did not talk to me because they felt they could not trust me (sometimes because they knew that I was talking to a specific person which they disliked, see Chapter Five), or that I could not contribute in the aforementioned ways, some approached me for precisely the opposite reason and this led me to reflect on my ambiguous position as a researcher who has sympathy for the positive side-effects of socially relevant research, but does not consider it academically correct to aspire joining “the academic wing of the indigenous rights movement” (Kuper 2005: 223).31 Again the idea of ‘tension’ is present, this time between the traditional self-proclaimed politically distant researcher, and the activist-academic. Finding solace in neither extremes, I found myself drawn to aspects of both position. While this has certain advantages (e.g. examining multiple perspectives), the disadvantage is that this tension will always be present in the thesis, and might confuse the reader at times (see above).

31

For a radical position on the extent of activist cooperation see (Hale 2006).

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Reflexive fieldwork in an elusive context

Figure 5: Mamre mission settlement (Author’s photograph)

Indeed, I often wondered if I was not doing some form of action research when some people asked me to “objectively” research their land claims and chiefly titles (see Chapter Three). At the same time, I found it more than reasonable that they asked for my research to somehow contribute to their cause and it made our relationship less one-sided when they asked me to ask certain questions to people that I was going to talk to and be generally transparent and reciprocal. In short, I wanted to give back more than a critical thesis ‘about them’ instead of ‘for them,’ and see the Khoisan activists as “ends,” rather than “means” (Gabie 2014: 13). I struggled, however, with how to do this without being too subjective, too involved with one particular activist/movement or abandoning my research goals. Unavoidably (and thankfully), making an analysis is taking a point of view, but as Geertz (1988: 10) put it: “[f]inding somewhere to stand in a text that is supposed to be at one and the same time an intimate view and a cool assessment is almost as much of a challenge as gaining the view and making the assessment in the first place.”

Similar issues were also present when reflecting on making rapport with research participants. While I tried to be honest about my intentions, background, and possible contributions as a researcher, it did not hurt the access and scope of my research that people thought that I would be able to help them. Even after reiterating my position multiple times, some people still unfortunately misunderstood what I was doing and asked me, for example, to speak to a lawyer on their behalf. In general, however, I felt that people were

interested in my research (after all, it was about ‘them’ and some Khoisan are very passionate about the land issue, see Chapter Four), and appreciated that I had an open mind. It probably felt nice for them to discuss their Khoisan identity without being constantly doubted and while being guaranteed anonymity32 through informed consent (Gabie 2014: 65). I explained them that it was not the concern of my research to judge their claims and that I could sympathize with some of their grievances and demands (see Summary and conclusions). My position as an outsider from Europe, who is by geography to some extent politically-disconnected but also morally sympathetic, also surely contributed. Furthermore, while I do not claim that this has drastically influenced my research, I often drove activists to meetings, told them about events, and explained policy developments. I also asked them for their opinion on my attitude as a researcher and on my methods and hypotheses.

This long term involvement with the activists generated rapport and got me access to organizations (specifically the National Khoisan Council, see Chapter Two), sources and events that would otherwise be off limits, such as certain government reports and traditional !Nau ceremonies (see Chapter Three). Although I did not recruit a local sponsor, I could not have advanced in my research without the help of some particularly kind activists who introduced me and got me accepted in the Khoisan activist network in Cape Town. As Andra Gillespie and Melissa Michelson (2011: 262) then realized, “friendships could afford you access to otherwise embargoed data.”

This stress on the importance of research participants in any ethnographic research endeavour is a fitting quote to end this chapter with and move on to the body of the research that they helped realize in the next chapter.

32

I always offered anonymity to anyone that I was potentially going to quote in the thesis. Those who did not mind are mentioned by their real name. Those who did not (and those who did not care) are anonymized. This is also because of the distrust and gossip in the movement, which I do not wish to contribute to.

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2. From dispossession and