The impact of research and publications on the communities studied by anthropologists raises crucial ethical issues. I discuss some of these issues here on the basis of my research experiences in Puglia. This Southern Italian region is sometimes described as a ‘landmark on the anthropological tourist map,’ due to the extensive interest that the curative tradition of tarantism, indigenous to this area, has attracted.
Researching a 'hot' spotOne thing I did not expect when embarking on my field research in Southern Italy, was that I would find myself researching a topic that was increasingly becoming a 'hot' and disputed issue of local intellectual, musical and political discourse. This, I was repeatedly told, was a feature of the 1990s and proof of shifting identities that were revelatory of larger social dynamics concerning Italy's North-South divide and the frontier role of its Mediterranean regions within the context of Europe at large.
I first came to Salento, the southernmost province of Puglia situated in the heel of Italy’s boot, in 1996 with the aim of studying the historic and curative ritual of tarantism. I was also interested in the contemporary use of music and movement therapy in the field of complementary health care. While today the rituals of tarantism are largely extinct, the music and dance of the tarantella was used in the past to heal those who were, or were said to be, bitten by the tarantula spider. According to popular belief, it was necessary to dance for an average of three to four days in order to drive out the spider’s poison. More recently, this music and dance has returned to the limelight in the context of festivals, concerts and discotheques.
Considering the ethically sensitive content of my research due to its focus on mental health issues, I had cautiously studied the Association of Social Anthropologists' booklet on Ethical Guidelines for Good Practice (1987) and other relevant literature prior to leaving England. I had taken care, moreover, to include a paragraph on ethical issues in my initial research proposal. Amongst other points, this specified that I would "endeavour to make my research findings accessible to local archives, libraries and health services".
Four years later, in October 2000, having completed my doctorate and submitted a requisite copy of my thesis to the university library, I asked that public access to this thesis be restricted. This decision was based on the following dilemma. On the one hand, I felt a strong desire and sense of obligation to make my research results available, particularly to friends and informants in Italy. On the other hand, I was concerned about ethical responsibilities towards those I had written about, considering particularly the highly politicised and commercialised discourses surrounding this research topic.
Why this complete contradiction between intentions and actions? In what follows, I explore this question by providing some background information about my research topic and details of my own fieldwork experiences. These considerations highlight the importance of being aware of the history of research in the area where fieldwork is undertaken, and the need to reflect on the impact of our research whilst collecting data and writing up our material.
On the tarantula's trail
I decided to do research in Salento because this region is home to the healing tradition of tarantism, often described as one of the earliest examples of music and dance therapy in Europe. For centuries this phenomenon has attracted the interest of travellers and scholars alike. As a consequence, any consideration of this topic must take into account the intellectual discourses surrounding this ritual, which are directly linked to its beliefs and practices.
Earliest written records of tarantism are generally seen to date back to the 14th century. There is a vast amount of literature on this tradition, ranging from Latin texts to travel reports from the 18th and 19th centuries written in various European languages, and to medical, musical and anthropological studies of more recent years. Today Ernesto De Martino's book, La Terra del rimorso, ‘the land of remorse’, is generally quoted and debated as if it embodied and epitomised tarantism itself (1961). More often than not, my questions about tarantism elicited citations of this publication. Ironically, a case of real spider poisoning treated by doctors in the Salentine hospital of Tricase in June 1996 was identified partly through reference to the symptoms described in this book (Chiriatti 1997:59).
De Martino's publication renewed interest in tarantism, which increasingly came to be viewed as an exotic relic of the past that had to be documented at all costs prior to its extinction. This point emerges from a caption in Gianfranco Mingozzi's film Sulla terra del rimorso (1982), in which the personal privacy of those afflicted by tarantism was jeopardised for the sake of advancing intellectual insights. In order to interview a Salentine woman who had been 'bitten' by the tarantula but refused to give any further interviews on this topic, the film team approached the doctor of this tarantata. He subsequently invited her into his practice where she was confronted by the film crew and interviewed, until she angrily walked out of the camera’s frame. The film narrator justifies this approach as necessary and legitimate for the sake of documenting "the existence of a sub-altern class, which in many cases has not as yet acquired a sense of self-consciousness, and is unable to provide a direct testimony of itself without external mediators" (Barbati, Mingozzi & Rossi 1978:142, my translation).
De Martino's work and subsequent studies by others not only attracted journalists, photographers and researchers from elsewhere, but also spurred the interest of local researchers. In the 1990s, more than ever, the popular music and dance associated with tarantism (known as pizzica) experienced an enormous revival in Salento. According to the views of a number of people this music and dance has become a key to local identity. Until only a decade or two ago, tarantism was widely perceived as a source of shame, representative of Southern Italy's backwardness. At the same time, however, those afflicted by the tarantula were often respected locally as individuals who possessed knowledge that was inaccessible to others. In many families naming tarantism was taboo, reflecting this ambiguity between condemnation and belief.
The recent boom of the pizzica and other types of Salentine music and dance has led many - but by no means all - to take a self-affirmative stance towards tarantism. It is now viewed as a source of pride underlining this region's uniqueness. It is also a source of widespread disputes shaping identities and opinions. There is much debate about who was the first to have recuperated these songs and dances from older generations and to have made them accessible to a wider audience. Overall it is probably fair to say that this revival, and the interest in tarantism that it has catalysed, picked up over the last thirty years or so, thanks to the engagement and dedication of many different individuals and groups who spurred on this movement both through enthusiasm and rivalry.
Perhaps inevitably, there is a degree of controversy surrounding many of the musicians and researchers engaged in this field. Accusations abound that songs or research have been stolen, copied or contaminated by others, both local and foreign. In the same breath, assertions that popular music constitutes a common heritage that cannot be commodified with a price tag or through claims of ownership are defended. There are many subtle levels to these arguments to which I cannot do justice here. Whilst tarantism has become a lucrative topic about which numerous publications abound, and its music a political tool and valuable source of income and prestige, the fact that its roots lie in a sacred tradition associated with pain and suffering further complicates these issues.
On tiptoes in Salento
Finding myself immersed in this context, I vividly perceived the repercussions of these issues as well as the impact left by previous researchers. These were most evident in the way that Salentines reacted towards my own research intentions. Often I was greeted as yet another foreigner curious about the mythic tarantula: "You too are here because of tarantism! Everybody comes to study tarantism!" This curiosity, however, was shared by many local people who emphasised that they too had studied this topic. Others were less forthcoming, putting me on guard: "Everybody comes to Salento to study tarantism. They ask for information and then we never hear from them again!" On other occasions, I was carefully warned: "Be sure to approach a culture that is not your own on tiptoes." Overall, however, I encountered an enormous amount of help and enthusiasm for my work. It was of interest to many, a number of whom explicitly asked for a copy of my work once it was completed, as it would present an 'outsider's perspective' on an issue at the heart of intellectual and musical discourses concerning life in Salento today.
All of these points complicate the situation considered here. I would like to make my thesis available to those whose lives are addressed in my writing and to anyone who may be interested in this research, particularly since it may be of relevance to the work of practitioners in the field of the arts therapies. These feelings are further motivated by a general belief in the importance of disseminating and popularising academic knowledge, which has become a legal requirement in some countries. In Germany, for instance, it is obligatory today to publish one's doctoral dissertation and, considering the extensive costs involved, PhD candidates are increasingly putting their entire dissertations onto the internet. In this way, theses are accessible from any point on the planet and easily located through search engines on the basis of key words (Langsdorff 2000).
However, when I returned to Italy, with a final copy of my thesis and the intention to leave a copy in the central library of Lecce (Salento’s capital), I was firmly warned not to do so by others. This, I was told, could be taken as an invitation to plagiarism, particularly considering the fashionable and potentially profitable topic under discussion. Although such accusations may be unduly mistrustful and misuses of copyright not necessarily intentional or deliberately exploitative, I was surprised a little while later to find an unpublished text that I had written anonymously cited in a documentary film about Salento without prior knowledge on my part.
Most importantly, ethical concerns about representation increasingly crept into my mind. Had I written about issues in my thesis in a way that could be easily misunderstood and exploited to the disadvantage of those concerned? Alternatively, was there a danger of displacing fears of criticism onto ethical concerns that were inevitable to the process of anthropological writing itself? Clearly an author can only take limited responsibility for the uses to which her or his writing is put, and such concerns must necessarily be weighed against the advantages of voicing issues, knowledge of which might prove beneficial, that may otherwise not be published.
I had initially hoped to gain feedback from informants in Italy in the process of writing my thesis, but had failed to do so as a consequence of time restrictions and financial limitations. I became increasingly uncomfortable about this fact, particularly following a conference in which I presented my research findings in front of local Salentine intellectuals. One speaker voiced his views about belonging to a region that was increasingly subjected to the eyes and ears of other researchers: "I may not be an anthropologist, but don't forget that I'm not a savage either!" There is a risk of being taken aback by statements that may be motivated by complex factors that are not always easy to decipher.
However, such incidences emphasise the need to try and respect ethical concerns as far as possible, even if this turns out to be largely a matter of formality. Informants themselves may not necessarily feel that their consent requires repeated confirmation, as I found at a later stage when I returned to Salento to ask for comments from individuals whom I had quoted in an article that was to be published. Nevertheless, these efforts may aid to counteract prejudices against researchers in general.
Moreover, such efforts may help to avoid perpetuating stereotypes of foreign researchers collecting data in Salento never to be seen or heard of again, without however obliging researchers to make their data known at all costs.
Remedies?
By way of conclusion, it is useful to think of ways out of the dilemmas and ethical webs discussed here. How can we provide information about our research, whilst at the same time securing the time needed to rework written material? One option may be to write a small abstract of the research results and to make this widely available to those who express interest. Another possibility may be to work towards the publication of short articles that address aspects of the larger thesis. In addition, supplying copies of articles or books by other authors dealing with similar research issues that may not be readily available in the region of the anthropologist’s fieldwork may constitute a further means of beneficial exchange. Likewise, other media such as photographs or video and sound recordings, presented in the form of film screenings, CDs or photographic essays and exhibitions, can be valuable tools for providing information about one’s work. In addition, there is always the possibility of applying for further funding to revise and eventually publish one’s thesis. Most importantly, it is imperative that the researcher finds time to discuss these issues with individual members of the communities addressed, asking for guidance, assessing expectations and clarifying intentions in order to find out whether our own ethical standards and concerns coincide with those of the individuals and communities we are writing about.
With regard to the specific situation in Salento, the question that comes to mind is to what extent the social and political dynamics and conflicts that were in the past expressed and addressed in rituals of tarantism are today being ‘played out’ in the alternative context of concerts and conferences. How far do these musical and intellectual performances highlight contemporary power struggles and the desire to resolve these? In what ways do they cut ties or build bridges between Salentines and foreigners (both from Italy and elsewhere), between men and women, between artists and academics, between those on and off stage? Such questions imply ethical responsibilities: to recognise the broader contexts of performance practices and their potential not only to heal and unite, but also to distress and divide. In this sense, the study of tarantism calls upon researchers at large to work towards a common goal of not only safeguarding and transmitting the factual and technical details of this ritual tradition, but also of conveying the sacred and ethical values that it embodies.
References cited:
Barbati, C., Mingozzi, G. & Rossi, A. 1978. Profondo Sud: viaggio nei luoghi di Ernesto De Martino a vent'anni da 'Sud e magia'. Milan: Feltrinelli.
Chiriatti, L. (ed) 1997. Tarantismo. Un saggio di Giuseppe De Masi 1874. Appendice: Il "morso" del ragno al giovane contadino di Uggiano La Chiesa (1996). Tricase: Gino Bleve.
De Martino, E. 1961. La terra del rimorso: contributo a una storia religiosa del Sud. Milan: Il Saggiatore.
Langsdorff, M. 2000. Das Internet bietet neue Perspektiven für Doktorarbeiten. Stuttgarter Zeitung. 20 September.
Karen Lüdtke is currently undertaking post-doctoral research in Italy. She holds a PhD in Social Anthropology from the Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology in Oxford. Aspects of her research have been published in P. Horden (ed.), Music as Medicine: the history of music therapy since antiquity (2000).