2.3.1 Ethics Principles Times

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Handbook of Ethnographic Documentary, Part 2, Section 3.

CHAPTER 1

ETHICS: PRINCIPLES

It is more than ever crucial for different peoples to form complex concrete images of oneanother, as well as of the relationships of power that connect them; but no sovereign

scientific method or stance can guarantee the truth of such images.James Clifford, 19881

[This is a draft circulated to colleagues and friends for comment. Please do not cite

without permission. Paul Henley 2005]

Ethics and politics

Although it is necessary to maintain a clear distinction between the ethical and the legal

implications of documentary film-making, be it for anthropological purposes or moregenerally, it is often not possible to separate the ethical from the political implications of

this mode of representing the world. Discussions of the ethical legitimacy of bothanthropology and documentary-making as representational practices are often couched in

political terms, with some authors claiming that they constitute regimes of knowledgethat have served to promote powerful political interests, whilst others claim that they can

provide an institutional space through which less powerful, counter-hegemonic voicesmay be heard. If the latter acknowledge that there can be certain costs to these forms of

representation, these are typically considered to be greatly outweighed by the benefits.

This is essentially the argument of John Barnes in his classic text on the ethics of socialresearch, Who Should Know What:

Social research entails the possibility of destroying the privacy and autonomy of the individual, of

providing more ammunition to those already in power, of laying the groundwork for an invincibly

oppressive state. Yet we would be fatally misled if we inferred that to avoid these objectionable

consequences we should stop making social enquiries, or that the main threat to our liberties as

citizens comes from the activities of social scientists. .... The main threat lies elsewhere, in the

insensitive or malign application of traditional techniques of social control.... In this book we are

then concerned with an activity which is a threat, but only a minor threat, to liberty but which also

constitutes the only technique whereby liberty and diversity may be preserved for the future andenhanced.

2

Barnes phrases his arguments in terms of social research as a whole and although he

himself is an anthropologist, at least by first formation, this particular way of making thecase seems to suggest that his arguments apply primarily to situations in which both

1Clifford 1988:232Barnes 1979:22-23.


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Handbook of Ethnographic Documentary, Pt. 2, Sec.3, Chap.1 - Ethics: Principles2

subjects and researcher reside within the same polity.3However anthropologists often

carry out their research in other countries, within local political universes that are onlyindirectly connected to their own, where they are often outsiders twice over, firstly in

relation to the community which they are studying, and secondly, in relation to the state

in which the community concerned finds itself. So whilst we might readily accept theapplication of Barnes arguments about the benefits of social research in terms of itspromotion of generalised notions of liberty and diversity to cases in which researchers

are carrying out his work at home, can they also be applied to cases in which they areworking elsewhere?

Some critical voices have claimed that when Western anthropologists make

representations of peoples or communities of other countries, far from promoting libertyand diversity, they are acting, in effect, as nothing more nor less than agents of Western

imperialism. From this perspective, the liberal discourse concerning the benefits offreedom of expression is simply an obfuscating rhetoric that serves to legitimate the

marshalling of knowledge that can then be used as means for the West to control andcolonize the rest in the same way that the liberal call for free markets in the Third World

is often simply a cover for penetration by Western capitalist enterprises. As thedocumentary critic Bill Nichols puts it, with specific reference to ethnographic film, after

veni and vidi, can vicibe far behind?4

It is certainly the case that ethnographic film-making, as with anthropology generally, isoften practised, whether its practitioners like it or not, within a particular constellation of

power relations between the West and the rest of the world, in which the West frequentlyhas a particularly dominant presence. It is also the case that ethnographic film-making is

often carried out by relatively wealthy members of a Western elite whilst the subjects are

often citizens of other countries who are materially poorer and politically morevulnerable than themselves. But the validity of moving from these truisms to the assertionthat ethnographic film-making or, more broadly, anthropology, represents a regime of

knowledge that perpetuates and sustains the political and economic imbalances withinwhich it necessarily takes place is a matter that has to be demonstrated rather than merely

asserted. The long-standing argument about whether anthropology is the bastard child ofcolonialism, old or new, or the legitimate offspring of the Enlightenment, or, indeed all of

these at the same time, is one that is clearly impossible to resolve in any definitivemanner here. In the end though, if it is to be resolved in any way, it should be resolved on

the basis of historical evidence rather than on the basis of guilt by association.

There have undoubtedly been cases of anthropologists who have been complicit withcolonial or neo-colonial regimes, if only by remaining silent under complex political

circumstances. But my own reading of the disciplinary history in recent decades

3Later in the same book, commenting on the desirability of disseminating the results of social research as

broadly as possible, he observes: we may argue that a plural democratic society depends for its survival on

the maintenance of the free flow of ideas, critical as well as constructive (ibid.: 135)4See Nichols 1994. The Latin citation is a reference to Julius Caesars celebrated dictum about his military

campaign in Gaul: I came, I saw, I conquered.


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persuades me that history has generally been a progressive one, in which anthropologists

have sought to demonstrate to the world the complexity and subtlety of the social andcultural realities that they have studied and on these grounds to insist that they deserve

not just respect but legal endorsement. Indeed, it often transpires that the accusations

made against anthropologists emanate from metropolitan elites or self-appointedspokespersons whose plans to practice an internal colonialism of their own have beenhampered in some sense by the anthropological inclination to find value in the cultural

practices of subaltern groups whose lives those same elites seek to change in the name ofsome self-interested definition of social progress. Rather than contributing to the political

oppression of those whom they have studied, anthropologists representations havefrequently offered them some measure of support in their resistance to such outside

pressures.5

In a more general sense, the representations that anthropologists have produced of theforms of life that they have studied have often served to make a wider world aware, not

merely of the worth of the cultural traditions that their subjects are defending but evenmore importantly, of their subjects essential humanity, even when this may be masked

by highly visible markers of cultural difference. This applies whether these exotic Othersare exotic by virtue of their strange styles of speech or dress, or because they belong to

demonised political or social groups with whom most people rarely have any directcontact. This demonstration of the humanity of exotic Others is often the first and

necessary step towards gaining general recognition of their claim to the full panoply ofrights accorded to more familiar human beings. Clearly, one should be careful not to

exaggerate the power of anthropology, visual or textual, to be a force for good in theworld. But, equally, one can firmly reject as unfounded the assumption that there is

something intrinsically dubious, be it from a political or an ethical point of view, either

about the anthropological project in general, or about ethnographic film-making inparticular.6

On the contrary, I would argue that the exploration of cultural difference that is at theheart of the anthropological project is not just useful, but much more than that, is an

activity that is positively necessary in the contemporary world where cultural difference,entangled in complicated ways with political or economic interests, lies at the root of so

many conflicts at both a national and international level.7In these circumstances

particularly, as suggested in the epigraphic quote above from James Clifford, it is

important that the different peoples of the world, now more closely locked than ever into

5

I am thinking particularly of the political support given by anthropologists to the indigenous peoples ofAmazonia, my own region of specialist interest. But the same is true in many other parts of the world. See

for example Strang (2003) who makes a similar argument in relation to Australia.6Borrowing an insight from Terry Turner, Marcus Banks argues that one should avoid falling into the

Foucauldian trap of assuming that all forms of representation necessarily involve misuse. This tendency is

particularly marked, he suggests, when visual media are involved on account of the association of vision in

the Foucauldian paradigm with the sinister panopticon, the all-seeing, controlling central watchtower used

in prisons to provide an overview of all parts of the establishment without allowing this surveillance to be

reciprocated See Banks 2001: 111-2, 129, also Turner 1995.7See Gledhill 2000, especially 214-242.


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a single political system, should form concrete images of one another since it is only by

this means that they can begin to discover common human interests that lie beyond theparticularities of cultural difference. Although it may be true, as Clifford suggests, that

there is no privileged method for doing so, ethnographic accounts of the kind

conventionally produced by anthropologists represent one possible means ofcommunicating the fabric of other peoples lives in such a concrete manner. Moreover,ethnographic film, as a medium that can reach out beyond academic circles relatively

easily as compared with ethnographic texts, has the potential to play a particularlyeffective role in this regard.

Clearly, the films and texts produced by indigenous peoples themselves also have a

vitally important role to play in sustaining this exchange across cultural boundaries.Moreover, during the last 20 years, there has been a remarkable progression of

indigenous media productions from low budget factual film-making to feature films thathave enjoyed great international success both critically and commercially.8But for all

their recent development and diversification, indigenous media productions remain veryfew in number compared to the vast number of social and cultural forms of life across the

world. Furthermore, however great their merits or however great their eventual number,indigenous media productions will remain insiders accounts by definition and as such

are bound to be different from those produced by outsiders. One mode of representationis not necessarily superior to the other: each may provide a valuable perspective on the

world since, as in the case of autobiography and biography in relation to the life of anindividual, each mode of representing a particular form of life is both empowered and

limited in its own particular way.

This is a point that has particular bearing on the proposition put forward by some authors

that now that video technology is cheap and easy to use, and indigenous communities andothers are quite capable of shooting their own films, the role of the outside film-makerhas become obsolete and that the only ethically defensible position is for the

anthropologist to facilitate indigenous media productions and comment upon them.9At

the most general level, this propositions seems to me to be of the same order as the

suggestion that now most of those whom anthropologists study are literate, the role of theanthropological text-maker should be confined to the analysis of subject-generated texts.

Apart from anything else, if systematically followed, it would clearly entail the end ofanthropology as a fieldwork-based discipline.

But the main limitation of the proposition becomes apparent when one considers the

output of the indigenous media projects that have so far been developed around theworld. For, by and large, the range of topics covered by the films produced by these

projects is rather narrow: land-rights campaigns, ritual events which assert the politicalunity and cultural coherence of the group, and social or economic development projects

which demonstrate the benefits of collective co-operation account for an

8See Ginsburg 2002 for a recent overview of this increasingly active arena of activity.9See Ruby 1995


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disproportionately large part of this output. This is no more than one would expect, since

these are topics of overwhelming importance to the groups who make the films. Many ofthese projects have been highly successful in their own terms, empowering the subjects

who made the films and generally raising awareness of the political interests of their

communities, both internally and externally. But there is no particular reason whyindigenous media producers should necessarily want to address the same range of topicsas anthropologists, nor why they should want to address them in ways that is broadly

compatible with wider debates or concerns in the academic discipline. Such matters asthe way in which this new technology is managed in indigenous communities and the

particular aesthetic or narrative qualities of the films themselves are certainly matters ofsubstantial broader anthropological interest. But it is nevertheless the case that valuable

though these insights might be, the contribution of these projects to the intellectualproject of anthropology as a whole has been within a relatively narrow band.

10

In the last analysis, although most - probably all - anthropologists would like to feel that

their films or their texts will bring benefits to their subjects, this in itself cannot serve as afinal ethical legitimation for their activities. For if the bringing of benefit to the subjects

were the only ethical consideration, it would be much more effective to abandonacademic life entirely and dedicate oneself instead to working full-time as an advocate, as

some ethnographic documentary film-makers in Brasil and elsewhere have indeed done.But anthropology as an academic discipline is about much more than advocacy, ranging

as it does from highly philosophical questions of no immediate pragmatic utility to themost mundane processes of everyday life. Some points on this spectrum of interests

might articulate closely with the social and political concerns of the subjects of studywith the result that the goals of advocacy and the goals of academic anthropology can be

advanced simultaneously. But this need not necessarily be the case: it may even be the

exception that proves the rule

Yet although there is inevitably a certain mismatch of interests between the subjects as

insiders and those of anthropologist film-makers and text-makers as outsiders, theseinterests certainly need not be antithetical or hostile to one another. Moreover, in order

for anthropologists to do their work, it is essential that they receive the collaboration ofthe subjects since this work typically entails long periods of co-residence with the

subjects in the field and requires their subjects tolerance, trust and understanding if theyare to gain any real insight into their lives. So whatever the ethical considerations may be,

in order for film-making or text-making to happen within the real-politikof thecontemporary anthropological encounter, it is necessary for anthropologists to find points

where their interests overlap with those of their subjects and on the basis of this commonground, to develop a collaborative strategy with the subjects to bring their projects to

fruition.

10See Turner (2002) for a relatively recent discussion of anthropological understandings to be achieved

through the study of indigenous media.


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However, the point I want to stress is that this common ground may have nothing to do

with the representational process itself. The subjects may welcome, or at least tolerate,the presence of anthropologists on account of other benefits that they may bring with

them, such as some degree of political protection against other local interests,

participation in the demarcation of territories for land rights purposes, economic aid ormedical attention, or even simply on account of the amusement value of having aculturally incompetent outsider around for a while. However, as subjects around the

world become increasingly aware of the power of images and the possibility that theimages projected of them could have practical consequences, both negative and positive,

they may also seek to have some sort of editorial control over these images as well.

This could pose a more challenging dilemma for anthropologists than any of the othermore material or political modes of reciprocation just described since it may require them

to compromise to some degree with the countervailing ethical responsibility not just totheir colleagues, but to the world as a whole, to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing

but the truth, at least as they understand it. Depending on the circumstances of theencounter, it may be that neither party will get exactly what they were hoping for from

the collaboration: the anthropologists film or text may not be as assertive of theirpolitical interests as the subjects were hoping, the anthropologist may regret that it was

necessary to compromise on telling the whole truth as he or she understood it. But in thebest-case scenario, it could be that both parties will discover that the outcome has been

more beneficial than they could ever have imagined before the collaboration began. Foras Jean Rouch liked to say, echoing - if I recall correctly - some mathematical bon motof

Antoine Saint-Exupry, a relationship of difference need not lead to division - it can alsolead to multiplication

Ethical codes and collaborative research

The issues raised by the balancing of researchers and subjects interests within the

context of research that is necessarily collaborative in some degree are central to theethical codes that professional associations of anthropologists have devised over the

years. Of particular importance in the English-speaking world are the codes prepared bythe American Anthropological Association (AAA) and the Association of Social

Anthropologists (ASA), based in the United Kingdom.11

Both the AAA and the ASAcodes deal with a range of a matters such as the ethical obligations of the anthropological

researcher to the discipline of anthropology and fellow academics, to gate-keepers who

control access to research locations, to sponsors and to the general public. But the issueof greatest priority in both codes is the ethical responsibility of the researcher to the

11Although it is based in the UK, the ASA is also open to anthropologists from Commonwealth countries

and Ireland, as well as anthropologists of any nationality who have worked in the UK. These codes are

periodically reviewed and reformulated, the latest version of the AAA code being approved in June 1998,

whilst the most recent version of the ASA code was approved in March 1999. For the complete texts of

these codes, see the websites of the respective organizations:

www.asa.anthropology.ac.uk/ethics2.htmland www.aaanet.org/committees/ethics.


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subjects. Neither code has much to say specifically on the ethical implications of

documentary-making. But they do propose a number of general principles and it is tothese that anthropologist film-makers might look for guidance, at least in the first

instance.12

These codes represent a set of norms around which a certain degree of consensus existswithin the ranks of professional anthropologists. It is important to bear in mind that they

have no binding legal status and their provisions are not backed by sanctions of any kind,let alone by mechanisms whereby research subjects can seek redress in cases of failure to

comply with them. As one would expect, they reflect the circumstances of closecollaboration with the subjects under which anthropologists normally work. Equally

unsurprisingly therefore, they lay particular stress on the need to protect the interests ofthe subjects, identifying these as being of greater importance than those of either the

researcher or the eventual audience. As such, they may be contrasted, on the one hand,with the ethical posture of journalists and television film-makers whose tendency is rather

to lay greatest stress on the interests of the audience and, on the other, with the classicalethical posture of the amoral artist whose primary responsibility is neither to his subject

nor to his audience, but only to his or her muse.13

However any ethnographic film-maker turning to these anthropologists codes in thehope of finding a clear direction on ethical matters will soon be disappointed. For these

codes are no more than guidelines intended merely to sensitize anthropologicalresearchers to the dilemmas (a term much used in all discussions of anthropological

research ethics) that are thrown up by their work. Both codes recognize that in actualpractice, social researchers are likely to be subject to various contradictory allegiances.

The AAA code speaks of anthropologists necessarily having to make choices between

apparently incompatible values and of the need to grapple with these issues and tostruggle to resolve them in an ethical manner. Similarly, the ASA code refers to thecompeting duties and conflicts of interest that inevitably confront the social

researcher. Although the matter is approached from various different angles in the codes,what the primary source of these dilemmas comes down to is the actual or potential

conflict between the researchers interest in disseminating as accurate and comprehensivean account of a particular social reality as their skills allow and their subjects possible

12David Mills (2003:46-50) has described how the ASA code was originally modelled, at least in part, on

the AAA code, but whereas the AAA code has been watered down in recent reformulations, particularly

insofar as the respect for subjects rights are concerned, the ASA code has, if anything, been tightened up,retaining certain of the features of the earlier AAA code that the AAA itself has dropped. It has been

suggested that the watering down of the AAA code is related to the fact that many US anthropologists

now work in private industry. Mills article appears in a recent collection of articles edited by Pat Caplan

(2003) which provides a useful insight in the current state of discussion about anthropological ethics in the

UK. For references to writing directly concerned with the ethics of documentary film-making, both for

anthropological purposes and more generally, see the Introduction to this Part, footnotes 0 & 013See Winston 2000. In describing the ethical principles of the tradition of the amoral artist, Winston

quotes Ruskins celebrated advice to a young painter, Does a man die at your feet, your business is not to

help him, but to note the colour of his lips (ibid.:131).


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interest in aspects of that reality being reported upon selectively or omitted completely

from the account

More generally, these dilemmas reflect the fundamental quandary already alluded to

above, namely, that although the concern of anthropologists to work collaboratively withtheir subjects in producing representations of their world may be desirable in an ethicalsense as well as being pragmatically necessary, it remains the case that the authority

accorded to anthropologists representations is heavily influenced by the degree to whichthis work is understood to be free of any restrictive interest, including particularly the

interests of the subjects. If the latter is not the case, then their work will be construed aswork of advocacy rather than ethnographic reportage and whilst there may be nothing

intrinsically wrong with this, and advocacy is certainly not condemned in the ethicalcodes, it does mean that their work will be construed as partial in both senses of the term.

This inevitably devalues the authority of the work, not only in the eyes of fellowanthropologists, but also in the eyes of third parties.14

Given that there is no universally appropriate way to resolve this central quandary, both

codes are necessarily therefore merely educational, i.e. they can represent no more thana series of edifying principles which individual anthropologists should seek to apply as

their particular circumstances require or allow. On the AAA website, this is taken onestep further in that the code itself is supplemented by the presentation of the dilemmas

arising in a number of real-life cases which readers are invited to reflect upon andconsider in relation to their own work.

15

I now propose to follow this example and consider a few real-life cases that may serve to

illustrate just some of the dilemmas that can arise in putting the principles of the codes

into practice when making ethnographic documentaries.

Case no. 1: The House Opening

Both the AAA and the ASA codes begin by asserting the priority of the subjects interestsover those of the researcher or the eventual audience. After the introductory passages, the

first substantive clause of the AAA code states that anthropologists have primary ethicalobligations and that these can supersede the goal of seeking new knowledge.

Somewhat more forcefully, the ASA code declares that most anthropologists wouldmaintain that their paramount obligation is to their research participants and that when

there is conflict the interests and rights of those studied should come first. In view of theobligation to protect the subjects, both codes contemplate the possibility that, in some

14

Strang (2003:177) comments that in the politically-charged context of litigation over land rights claims

by Aboriginal communities in Australia, as exemplified by the infamous Hindmarsh case in 1994, it has

been vitally important for anthropologists to be able to assert their objectivity since otherwise their

testimonies in favour of Aboriginal claimants run the risk of being dismissed on the grounds of partiality.15See Sue-Ellen Jacobs, Cases and Solutions, www.aaanet.org/committees/ethics/ch3.htm


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instances, it may be necessary for certain research projects not to be undertaken at all

whilst the results of others should only be divulged in the most restricted manner.

To many documentarists from a journalistic background, such a degree of constraint

would probably seem excessive, if not actually unethical in the sense that it wouldconflict with what they would regard as their responsibility to their audience toinvestigate the truth wherever it might lie, unencumbered by any compromise with the

subjects. But as a general statement of principle, I suspect that these ethical norms wouldindeed be accepted by most anthropologist film-makers and they would aspire to observe

them in their work. However certain key terms in the formulation of these norms arerather vague, with the result that their practical application can be problematic. How, for

example, does one define the interests and rights of those studied, as alluded to in theclause quoted from the ASA code? Even the small, traditional communities in which

anthropologists often work are rarely so uniform in opinion that there is completeunanimity about what the interests of the community actually are. As a result, there may

well be considerable disagreement as to how the community should be represented onfilm.

This was a problem that David and Judith MacDougall encountered in making The House

Opening(1980). This film, directed by Judith, concerns the return of the recently-widowed

Geraldine Kawangka to the Aboriginal community of Aurukun on the Cape York Peninsular,

Queensland, in order to participate in a ritual intended to 're-open' the house that she had shared

with her late husband. Under traditional circumstances, the dwelling of the deceased would

simply have been destroyed and the families concerned would have moved away from the site for

at least a year. But now that the community is permanently settled and their houses are elaborate

structures resembling suburban villas, they have accommodated the ritual re-opening to the new

circumstances. Not only that, but the ritual itself has been re-invented to some degree,

incorporating elements borrowed from the Torres Straits Islanders who also live on the reserve,and certain Presbyterian elements introduced by the missionaries who first arrived at Aurukun in

1902. The film is narrated by Geraldine herself on the basis of a recording made as she watched a

cut of the film in the edit suite. She not only explains what is going on and who is who, but in her

comments, she also stresses the cultural continuity between the traditional Aboriginal forms and

the re-invented ritual forms seen in the film. Overall, the film has a very gentle, uplifting feel to

it, suggesting that the ritual is a very positive means of overcoming both the threat posed by the

death of an individual person and the threat posed to the community as a whole by social and

cultural change.16

On the face of it then, the film appears to be a very positive assertion of the Aboriginal voice,

both literally and metaphorically and, as such, to have advanced the interests of the community as

a whole. However, as David MacDougall explained in a later interview, the film masked deep-seated divisions within the community which, in reality, was highly fragmented into rival

political factions. Indeed, one of the reasons for performing the house-opening ritual was to

resolve tensions between Geraldine and her husband's family and to re-assure them that she had

not been involved in any form of witchcraft or sorcery that might have caused his death.

Although this is alluded to obliquely in the film, it remains at what MacDougall calls 'a very

16See the comments on this film by Fred Myers (1988:210-2) who stresses the way in which it also

celebrates the cultural creativity and resilience of Aboriginal people.


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subliminal level'. Geraldine herself came from a very powerful family within the community and,

moreover, as chair of the community council for many years was also personally very powerful.

MacDougall suggests that the film would undoubtedly have been perceived by her rivals as

enhancing the position of her family within the community.17

In other words, a film that from the

outside might appear to advance the interests of the whole community was perceived from theinside as being of particular advantage to one particular faction within it.

This problem also has a temporal dimension since it can happen that the image that afilm-maker projects of a given community may be approved at the moment when it was

made, at least by certain members of the community, but despised by their descendants,or vice versa. Asen Balicki encountered just such variable reactions over time to his

celebrated Netsilik Eskimo films. These were made in the early 1960s and sought to re-create Inuit life prior to 1919 when the introduction of the rifle had radically altered

traditional subsistence strategies. The process of reconstruction was carried out entirelyunder the initiative of the Inuit who willingly acted as traditional Netsiliks. But by the

1970s, the films were completely out of favour with many young Canadian Inuit who feltthat they gave the impression that they were still living as savages whereas by then they

lived in a world of motorbikes and mini-skirts. Further afield though, in Alaska, whereacculturation to non-Inuit ways was even more marked, the films were highly

appreciated as an invaluable record of the peoples own history.18

In short, Balikcisexperience, as in the case of the MacDougalls cited above, demonstrates that it is a far

from simple matter to determine what the interests of a community may be at anyparticular moment in time.

Case no. 2: Faces in the CrowdandRoyal Watchers

In another important clause, the ASA code enjoins anthropologists to guard againstpredictably harmful effects arising from their research. Again, at first sight, as an

abstract statement of principle, this seems entirely admirable. But here too, the practicalimplementation of the principle could be problematic. For example, should the

anthropologist film-maker protect his or her subjects even when they are engaged inbehaviour that is profoundly anti-social or even criminal? I suspect that in most cases,

again in contradistinction to the position that would perhaps be taken by many journalistdocumentarists, most anthropologist would argue that, except in extreme cases, they

17See Grimshaw & Papastergiadis (1995) :43-44. See also MacDougall 1987:56 in which the author

describes other instances in which the presence of a film crew in an Australian Aboriginal community hasbeen used by one faction to gain political advantage over another.18

See Balikci 1995: 188-9. As Balikci himself reports, a somewhat similar situation arose in respect of the

Robert Flaherty classic Man of Aran (1934). At the time, many Aran islanders considered the film

somewhat ridiculous and resented the scenes suggesting that they lived in very primitive conditions.

However the film has been responsible for attracting many tourists to Aran and is constantly screened at a

cinema on the island throughout the summer. The difference in attitude between the older generation, who

recall being embarrassed by the film when it first came out, and the more positive attitudes of the younger

islanders who make a living from tourism is nicely captured in Looking for the Man of Aran (1995), a

Granada Centre graduation film by Sebastian Eschenbach.


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should provide such protection, particularly if the subjects are living in relatively weak or

disadvantaged social conditions.19

But the ASA code also suggests that if, as a result of anthropological research, subjects

were caused to acquire self-knowledge which they did not seek or want that even thisrelatively slight harm might be construed as a case of undue intrusion. This could wellbe something that a well-intentioned anthropologist film-maker might want to avoid but,

in practical terms, to guarantee to make a film that would not expose any of its subjects,if they were to view it, to the risk of any form of potentially disagreeable self-knowledge

would be an undertaking that would be very difficult to honour.

This is an issue that it proved necessary to consider in connection with the two films that I made

in collaboration with the anthropologist Anne Rowbottom about the royalists, a small and

informal groupng of British people who travel around the country hoping to shake hands with,

give gifts to or take photographs of members of the royal family at 'walkabouts'. These often

follow a royal visit to inaugurate a public institution or event of some kind and consist of the

royal person going up to and greeting a few members of the crowd that has invariably gathered at

the scene to cheer the royal persons arrival and departure. In her writings, Anne argues that the

royalists and their activities testify, albeit in a particularly active way, to the manner in which

the royal family is invested with popular meanings and, as such, has become an important part of

the 'civil religion' of the British state.20

The first film,Faces in the Crowd(1993) grew out of an initial concern on Annes part merely to

produce a visual document of the choreography of a royal walkabout whereby, without the

intervention of any choreographer, the combination of the physical layout of the spaces in which

such encounters typically take place, and the interests of the leading dramatis personae - security

officers, police, press photographers and the royal persons themselves unintentionally conspire

to bring about a situation in which, almost without fail, the royal person is ushered into the

presence of the royalists to graciously receive a small gift before the frenetic chatter of the

waiting press photographers shutters. At first, we filmed only the ritual encounters themselves.

But later we added some interviews as well as sequences of the leading subjects in their homes,

and built up a narratively structured documentary out of the material.

However, when an almost-complete edited version of the film was premiered to a student

audience at a Granada Centre event some time later, it provoked great hilarity. Having spent a

prolonged period of time in the company of the royalists, it had become all too easy to forget that

the royalists views and practices could be regarded by many, particularly sceptical students, as

eccentric, to put it mildly. As has been widely recognized before, this kind of situation, in which

one becomes so immersed in the worldview of ones hosts that it is no longer possible to see them

as others might do, is one in which anthropologists often find themselves caught when coming

out of the experience of fieldwork. What was instructive about this situation, at least for me, wasthat this process could just as easily happen when the subjects were members of ones own

society. In this instance, the end result was that the subjects who had so unstintingly agreed to

19

Marcus Banks (2001:130) reports an example that is particularly apposite here, i.e. the controversy that

surrounded the publication by Colin Turnbull of photographs of the Ik of Uganda engaged in poaching, an

illegal activity that could have got the individuals concerned who were actually named, though seemingly

ingenuously in trouble with the state authorities.20See Rowbottom 1998, 2001.


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participate in the film, were now being subjected to ridicule. Meanwhile, the more academic

purpose of presenting them as a microcosm of much more widespread popular attitudes to the

monarchy was being entirely overlooked in the welter of mirth. This was particularly difficult for

Anne, around whose long-term relationships of trust with the subjects the film had been

constructed.

We also screened the film to the principal subjects and they too found certain aspects of the film

amusing. Some of them recognized that other people might regard their behaviour as bizarre, as

indeed they comment in the film itself: Ive been called a crank, a nutcase, reflects one of the

characters, philosophically. Although no one objected to the film being distributed for academic

purposes, some subjects had serious reservations about the film being screened on television,

which was a possibility at the time. For these subjects, it was not the idea of appearing on

television that was worrying in itself. The problem was rather that they did not want to be

publicly associated with certain other members of the group whose enthusiasm they regarded as

being excessive and as potentially bringing into disrepute an activity which they regarded as

being both reasonable and highly patriotic. Obviously, any film-maker makes a film to be seen

and, as a general rule, the more people who see the film, the better. So I cannot deny that I was

somewhat disappointed by this reaction. But there was no question of going against the wishes of

the subjects, particularly since the film had not been conceived, in the first instance, as a

documentary, let alone a television documentary, and the subjects consent to film them had not

been sought with this in mind.

Some years later, Anne and I had an opportunity to act on the lessons of this experience in a

second film about the royalists which this time was made specifically for television. This was

Royal Watchers, produced by Mosaic Pictures and broadcast on BBC2 in 1997. Some of the

principal subjects from the previous film again did not wish to appear on national television and

for the same reason as before. But one royalist in particular was very keen to be involved, so I

discussed with him the fact that some of the press reaction to the film might be very negative, not

only about what he called his 'hobby' but also about him personally. But he claimed that he was

used to this because, on account of his royal-watching, he had already been featured in a

number of articles in the tabloid press which had presented him in a highly uncomplimentary

way. In the light of this past experience, he was confident that he would be able to handle any

negative coverage of the film.

In the event, the press reviews of the film were very mixed. Some spoke glowingly of him, one

declaring that he was the sort of man who put the 'great' into Great Britain. But others were so

rude that even he found them hard to take. He reported to me that some people came up to him in

the street and wanted to shake his hand, whilst others wanted to take his photograph, all of which

he appreciated. On the other hand, he once found himself on a train sitting next to a man reading

a review of the film that had been particularly abusive and which was accompanied by a large

picture of himself. Luckily, his travelling companion never realised whom he was sitting next to.

Even more fortunate was the fact that a few weeks later, when he was attending a walkabout of

the Queen Mother, she spotted him in the crowd and said, 'Mr. Edwards, I likedyour film'. Giventhat royal figures generally never address a member of the public at walkabout by name, let alone

offer a personal compliment of this kind, he regarded it as a singular honour. This allowed him to

forget all the painful press coverage: after the Queen Mother had spoken, he could dismiss all that

as 'mere tittle-tattle'.


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This particular story therefore had a happy ending, though it had been a close-run thing.

During the press coverage, I had felt very ill at ease about the personal criticism that oursubject was receiving but, at the same time, I had a clear conscience because I felt that we

had talked openly and honestly about the risks beforehand. Moreover, I kept in frequent

contact with him throughout this period and for some time afterwards. Indeed, I continueto exchange Christmas cards with him to this day.

Case no.3 - Nepalese bee-keeping

In the last case, the harmful effects of the filming entailed no more than a certain degree

of personal criticism that, given the nature of press coverage, was unlikely to be morethan transitory. Whilst this was a serious matter and its personal impact on the principal

subject should in no way be underestimated, it did not involve any significant threat tolife or limb. However there have also been cases in which the consequences of appearing

in a documentary film have been very much more negative for the subjects.

One such case involved a film made in Nepal in the late 1980s about a developmentproject supported by a British aid agency. This film was made for development

communication rather than ethnographic purposes, but it is easy to imagine anethnographic film being made on the same topic and in a similar way, and having similar

consequences. The case should therefore be a sobering source of reflection for allanthropologist film-makers as well.

21

The film concerned a seemingly entirely innocent subject, namely a programme to introduce bee-

keeping in certain rural villages. The aim of this programme was to give rural women a small but

autonomous income, freeing them from total economic dependence on their husbands and localmoney-lenders. The film was made to the highest ethical standards, involving much consultation

between film-makers and the subjects, who played an active part in the deciding the various

scenes to be filmed. The film proved very successful with its immediate target audience, which

was the women of neighbouring villages whom the aid agency wanted to encourage also to take

up bee-keeping. In significant part, its success was due to the music included in the film, which

proved very popular. But it was also due to the very engaging presence of a particularly beautiful

young woman who played a leading role in the film and sang the accompanying song that became

something of a local hit.

However, due to its popularity, the film soon began to circulate outside the original cluster of

rural villages for which it was intended, eventually reaching the capital, Kathmandu. Here it was

seen by members of a criminal gang engaged in a clandestine trade involving the kidnapping

young women in order to take them south into India where they would be sold into prostitution in

Mumbai. Attracted by the beauty of the star of the film, the gang set out to kidnap her. Although

the kidnap was narrowly foiled, the young woman had to go in to hiding. When the film-makers

21This case was described by one of the participants in the development project during a workshop on

development communication which I attended at the University of Reading in the early 1990s.

Unfortunately I no longer have a record of the name of the woman who made an excellent presentation on

this case.


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tried to find out who was responsible, it quickly became apparent that powerful interests linked to

the army were involved in this traffic of young women and the film-makers too were threatened.

Eventually, the tension eased and the young woman was able to return to her village, but not

before everyone involved had been given a powerful reminder of how even the best-intentioned

of film ventures can have highly negative unanticipated effects.

As well as being far more seriously harmful than in the previous case, the effects of this

film also seem to have been far less predictable. A case such as this suggests that the onlyway to be absolutely certain that no harm will come to ones subjects is not to engage in

any form of representational practice at all. But even the relatively exigent ASA coderecognizes that this would be going too far. After declaring that anthropologists have a

responsibility to communicate to their findings for the benefit of the widest possiblecommunity, it continues in section V2(b):

That information can be misconstrued or misused is not in itself a convincing argument against its

collection and dissemination. All information is subject to misuse; and no information is devoid

of possible harm to one interest or another.

Moreover, in considering such cases, it is necessary to retain a sense of proportion: films

made for anthropological purposes which have had such negative consequences for thesubjects are very rare. Indeed, I know of no remotely comparable case, though this is no

grounds for either complacency or fatalism. In the circumstances, what one shouldrequire of anthropologists, whether they are working in texts or visual media, is not that

they give up their representational practices entirely but rather that they should err on theside of caution in anticipating the possibly harmful effects of their representations. Once

sensitized by exposure to cases like this, anthropologist film-makers may be able to takesteps to reduce the risk to the subjects by keeping a tight control on the distribution of

their films, by being vague in the filmic text itself about exactly where the principalprotagonists live and other such measures. But, by definition, it will never possible to

eliminate such unpredictable risks entirely. So as well as being cautious, anthropologistsshould also be under an ethical obligation to share this fact of the essential

unpredictability of the reaction to a film openly and honestly with their subjects.

This places a particular burden of responsibility on the shoulders of those working withminority groups who live in relative isolation from the mainstream of the state in which

they live since they may not be as well-placed as the anthropologist to judge what thescale and seriousness of the risks involved may be. Even those living in the mainstream

may be relatively nave as to the consequences of appearing in a film. As Jay Ruby has

rightly pointed out, many people are initially rather flattered to be asked to appear in afilm and only become disillusioned when the negative comments of critics and otherviewers begin to come in after the film has been distributed. Ruby is surely right to insist

then that anthropologist film-makers should not feel that they can defend themselvessimply by referring to the consent given by subjects in the first flush of enthusiasm for a

film project. For, in reality, most subjects are not informed enough to exonerate film-


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makers from accusations of exploitation if it transpires that they did not adequately

anticipate the risks nor share their concerns about these risks with their subjects.22

Ethical risk assessment

These case studies of the ethical dilemmas thrown up by particular experiences ofethnographic documentary-making could be prolonged almost indefinitely since virtually

every film is likely to produce them, at least to some degree. In many instances, thesecuring of consent from the subjects, particularly if this consent is informed by an

understanding of the risks that may be entailed by appearing in a film, may go a long wayto resolving these dilemmas.

However the elicitation of informed consent should certainly not be seen as a panacea

applicable to all circumstances and under all conditions. With the exception of entirely

clandestine filming which, irrespective of any ethical considerations, would not normallybe compatible with the practical circumstances under which anthropologists work, nodocumentary film could ever be made entirely without the subjects consent. But in some

circumstances, it may be necessary to obtain consent that is not fully informed sinceotherwise it would be impossible even to begin the research. This could be case, for

example, in a situation in which the subjects hold views or are engaged in activitieswhich the film-maker does not agree or sympathize with but which he or she believes that

it is important that the world knows about. In such as situations, if the film-maker were toreveal his or her lack of sympathy with the subjects worldview, as would be required by

the standard protocols of informed consent, it is very likely that consent would berefused and the investigation would be stopped dead in its tracks.

23

In considering these dilemmas from the perspective of documentary film-making

generally, Brian Winston has proposed that in every case, the film-maker should conductwhat he calls a form of ethical risk assessment, balancing the various different factors

that should be taken into consideration. Over a long period, Winston has argued thatdocumentarists should have, as he put it in an early article, a clear, limiting, and binding

duty of care to protect those whose privacy they have invaded.24

He has also beenparticularly forceful in criticizing what he regards as the self-serving justifications that

documentarists often offer in defence of their intrusions into the lives of the marginal anddisadvantaged in terms of the benefits for the latter of bringing their unfortunate

circumstances to the attention of society as a whole. More often than not, Winston avers,

this amounts to no more than a vague hope that someone somewhere may see the filmand do something about the problems that the subjects are struggling with. Whilst someindividual documentary subjects may have benefited substantially in a personal way from

their exposure, many others have suffered negative effects of one kind or another. More

22Ruby 1991:5523See Barnes (1979:104) on more operational problems associated with the implementation of the

principles of fully informed consent in the course of long-term fieldwork.24Winston 1988a:33 (originally published in 1978-79).


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generally, Winston argues, with a few notable exceptions, it is very difficult to show that

any documentary has given rise, as a direct result, to significant social or politicalchanges that have been of benefit either to the subjects as individuals or to their

community.25

Yet notwithstanding his profound scepticism about the ethical probity of muchdocumentary practice, Winston also has reservations about the blanket application of the

principle of informed consent on account of its chilling implications for freedom ofexpression. Even if documentaries do not generally lead directly to social or political

change, they can still play a valuable role in making audiences aware of the world inwhich they live and this function would be abridged if it were always necessary to get

consent, informed or otherwise. As he puts it:

It would be the end of the ethical problems of documentary film-making simply to suggest the

adoption of the Nuremberg Protocols as a basis for film-making all, or most, difficulties

would never occur if these rules were the norm; but then most of the films would not exist either.This is why I do not for a moment suggest that it would be a good thing to import such an un-

nuanced vision of informed consent, much less the Nuremberg Protocol standards, to the

documentary or any other media form Any absolute requirement of voluntary consent alone

would obviously have a discouraging effect on free expression.26

In the light of this threat to freedom of expression, Winston has drawn back from anearlier proposal that the duty of care that the documentarist owes to the subject should

be legally enforceable. He now believes that any such legal restriction on documentary-making could be used by the powerful, the corrupt and the criminal to protect themselves

from its gaze. The path to controlled media, he remarks, is paved with the best ofethical intentions and is very slippery.

27

Instead he argues for a voluntary professional code involving the ethical risk assessment

referred to above. This should be based, he suggests, on a sort of sliding scale, taking intoaccount such factors as the degree to which the subject is a public figure, the location is a

public place, the action is socially deviant and how broad the likely distribution of thefilm. In general, Winston argues, the more the subject is a public figure and the more

public the place, the less the ethical obligation to seek consent. The ethical obligation issimilarly reduced when the subjects are involved in some widely decried form of

deviancy or when a film is intended only for restricted audiences who are unlikely to actin ways prejudicial to the subjects.28

These criteria seem reasonable enough in so far as the privacy of the person and place areconcerned, though social deviancy is somewhat more difficult to allow for, since there

25Winston 1988c, reprised in Winston 2000:150-2.26

Winston 2000: 14827Winston 2000: 15928Except in the last regard, these criteria are very similar to those of the Ofcom Programme Code with

respect to privacy which we considered in Chapter 1 of this Part (see pp.000-000). But whereas those

criteria have a legal status, here we are concerned with ethical criteria.


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are no hard and fast ethical standards by which to gauge who deserves to be exposed,

with or without their consent. Also the relevance of breadth of distribution is similarlysomewhat moot since, as the Nepalese example cited above demonstrates, it is now very

easy, given contemporary technological conditions, for even the most specialist of films

to reach audiences that are much broader than those for whom it was originally intended.

But notwithstanding these reservations, the general idea underlying Winstons proposal

for a systematic process of ethical risk assessment has much to commend it foranthropologist film-makers, particularly if it were accommodated somewhat to meet their

particular circumstances. Winstons arguments are mostly addressed to film-makersworking for British television, an essentially journalistic or, increasingly, entertainment

medium, or to North American independents working somewhere around the interfacebetween current affairs and art cinema. Whereas documentarists working in these arenas

often report upon the lives and activities of the rich and powerful, and sometimes thecriminal, anthropologists by and large tend to film those who are in some sense

politically disadvantaged or vulnerable. A strong argument could therefore be made that,generally speaking, anthropologists will have a greater duty of care to their subjects than

their journalist colleagues and a greater obligation to gain the consent of their subjects inas fully an informed manner as is possible or appropriate in any given set of

circumstances.

In contrast, we can surely agree with Winston that should anthropologist film-makersfind themselves filming those who are privileged or who exercise power, and who are

therefore able to defend themselves and respond to a critical documentary, or those whoare engaged in criminal activities that run counter to the common interest, the ethical

obligation to get consent or to protect the subjects from the consequences of exposure

through the film would much be reduced and possibly even nul.

But, clearly, determining which subjects are powerful enough or wicked enough so that

there is a reduced or even no ethical obligation to protect them will always be a matter ofjudgement. No such conditionality is applicable in biomedical research: even a mass

murderer who has wielded absolute power would have the right to know what the effectsof a surgical intervention on this body would be likely to be. In social research, on the

other hand, and by extension in ethnographic documentary, the ethical obligation to seekconsent can never be quite so clear-cut.

********

In summary then, professional ethical codes relating to social research are necessarily

imprecise and often contradictory, and can only provide a preliminary orientation toethnographic documentarists. Whilst they can certainly be useful in sensitizing

anthropologist film-makers to the ethical issues raised by their work, in the last analysis itis the individual researcher who must chart his or her own way amongst competing

obligations, bearing in mind, as Barnes puts it, that ethical and intellectual compromise


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is an intrinsic characteristic of social research.29

Moreover, in making their way,

anthropologist film-makers will inevitably be influenced by the social and politicalenvironment in which they work. Those working amongst indigenous peoples subjected

to powerful social and economic discrimination, as in Latin America for example, are

necessarily under more intense ethical pressures to protect their subjects interests thanthose working amongst more advantaged groups. Those few anthropologist film-makerswho study up amongst the rich and powerful will have to cope with a different set of

pressures and may have to resist the temptation to give too good an account of theirsubjects interests. But whatever their circumstances, in absence of any absolute norms, it

is individual anthropologists who, ultimately, must assume ethical responsibility for theirwork.

Having explored some of the broader ethical issues raised by documentary film-making

in the name of anthropology, we can now turn to consider in greater detail how theserelate to the pragmatic business of actually making a film in the following and final

chapter of this Part of the book.

20/3/05: 8568 and 9557

29Quoted in Akeroyd 1984:154, ***Check original source

2.3.1 Ethics Principles Times

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