Encountering Uncertainties in Ethnology and Folklore: Actors – Milieus – Strategies. An Introduction

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A woman is working in a field. She is working with her hands, her gaze focused on the ground. Because the sun is low, the shadow of the woman working is silhouetted against the field. One can imagine, in the background, an agricultural environment with more fields. In the foreground, carefully cut and laid down plants are visible. But a second, larger shadow is dominant, and to some, this shadow may look irritating. This shadow has the shape of a person but is strangely conical towards the bottom. The shadow dominates the picture, and it almost seems as though the woman is looking away from it. Does the working woman know that someone is approaching? Has she noticed the person? Is the situation threatening?

The shadow belongs to the Finnish ethnographic researcher and photographer Tyyni Ilma Vahter (1886–1969). A closer look reveals the camera in her hand, just when the picture was taken. Vahter took the picture and, perhaps accidentally or deliberately—we do not know for sure—also herself. The Finnish Heritage Agency’s archival records reveal that the photo was taken in 1942 in East Karelia during field research. The woman working in a flax field is part of the project documenting “common people” in their everyday work. These work situations were often posed, suggesting that the case might be “staged.” By showing the researcher as a ‘ghostly’ silhouette, it becomes clear that both the field partners and the researchers are always involved in the construction of ethnographic knowledge.

On the other hand, in its ethereal uncertainty and latent menace, the image also refers to the general uncertainty inherent in every ethnographic research project. Even the specific field situation was shaped by great uncertainty, as the photo was taken during the so-called Continuation War between Finland and the Soviet Union, when ethnographic research was only possible in close relation to military conflicts—in the shadow of the war—so to speak. Thus, ethnographers were those who are mostly prone to uncertainty; their research was always exposed to constant change and other uncertainties—perhaps just as the shadow dominated this photograph.

Uncertainties play a great role in anthropological knowledge, theorization, methodology, and history writing. They can arise from major crises––environmental disasters, economic upheavals, wars, and pandemics––but they can also proliferate in everyday crises and conflicts, emerging from larger or smaller ruptures in the web of life. As such, uncertainties prompt epistemological questions and methodological quandaries in the hopes of understanding, making sense of, and reshaping our worlds both in the present and in the past.

According to social anthropologist Richard Jenkins, uncertainties arise from the interplay between our expectations, which stem from our knowledge—or what we believe we know—and the occurrences that take place. Therefore, when considering the future, it is important to recognize that unexpectedness is not an inherent feature of events; instead, it is a retrospective assessment of those events within their context after they have begun to unfold (2013, 8). Jenkins begins by discussing the ubiquity of the unexpected in everyday life and how humans try to manage this uncertainty through social norms and cultural constructs. He criticizes the tendency of sociology and social anthropology to focus on the notions of predictability and linearity, neglecting the crucial role that contingency plays in both individual lives and social change.

In line with Jenkins’ assertions, we are well aware that uncertainties in different forms of “field” work can arise in various situations: Beginning with the most common, known ones, ethnologists and folklorists grapple with several questions before entering the field, during interactions with their informants, and even after exiting the field when writing up their findings in articles or books. These uncertainties may range from practical concerns about identifying and collaborating with informants to navigating disruptions and challenges posed by political instabilities, crises, or personal circumstances.

In some cases, uncertainties can also pertain to dangerous settings, called “crisis-ridden” settings, such as fieldwork in actual war zones or going to the field after natural disasters. This topic has been one of the most tackled by anthropologists and ethnologists. Besides, one can also think about episodic crises, apparent and unapparent risks, and instabilities, which may derive from a specific field situation. Several articles in Ethnography in Unstable Places: Everyday Lives in Contexts of Dramatic Political Change (Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren 2002), for example, explore the connections between political instabilities and social lives and how these, at times, are taken-for-granted understandings of society. In a different fieldwork setting, Hagberg and Körling found themselves in a situation where first-hand ethnographic fieldwork became impossible in their Malian fieldwork, so they had to avert to analyze Malian media and public debate following the coup d’état instead (2014).

Other examples of uncertainties in the field illustrate that ruptures can be radical and often forceful forms of discontinuity, particularly for anthropologists working in context of violence. Anthropology under Fire: Contemporary Studies of Violence and Culture (Nordstrom and Robben 1997) focuses on the epistemological dimensions of violence that can affect the fieldworkers and the people they do fieldwork with amidst armed conflict. These examples underscore that uncertainty is an inherent and multifaceted aspect of fieldwork, shaped not only by external crises and instabilities but also by the need for adaptability in the face of evolving challenges.

Besides these extreme fieldwork situations, which we can broadly label as uncertainties in and from the field, the past few years also taught us that traditional forms of fieldwork—and, as a matter of fact, archival work—became almost impossible during the COVID-19 pandemic. As for planning the field, we are asked to make more and more risk assessments in our projects and think about alternative plans. We also came to witness that the deep uncertainties and risks do not affect only fieldwork but also the supposedly “stable” and “unshakeable” realm of the archives, which became questionable during the time of the pandemic. Uncertainties derived from the pandemic appeared to be framing principles to guide research, and, this time, prompted researchers to find alternatives when archives were shut down for long periods, and documents became inaccessible. These conditions resulted in postponing the research or adapting to the digital options—so even designing plans A, B, and C has not been limited to fieldwork. On the part of institutions, the pandemic demanded institutional plans to keep the archives accessible for researchers even for limited periods.

We can thus say that the COVID-19 pandemic brought about a fundamental change in how ethnology and folklore research is conducted, prompting a reassessment of research practices and designs, a heightened awareness of potential risks, and the development of creative strategies to ensure ongoing accessibility to essential resources. However, the uncertainties embedded in archival research are not limited to the ones caused by pandemics, as one can never be sure what one finds in the archive; the uncertainties surrounding archives are fundamental and omnipresent. Archival sources can be fragmentary and difficult to read or come in a language that is not easily accessible to the researcher. Moreover, sources can be dispersed between different archives, or, in some cases, the sources might just repeat something that the researcher already knows. Sometimes, it is unknown how one or other piece of information reached the archive, so one cannot be sure of their trustworthiness. Sometimes, these ambiguities leave the researcher in despair; however, at other times, they may result in new insights.

Ann Laura Stoler, who is working in colonial archives, has written that archives themselves are “epistemological experiments” (2002, 87) based on “uncertainty and doubt in how people imagined they could and might make the rubrics of rule correspond to the changing imperial world” (2009, 4). Thus, to use them productively, one needs to understand the logic behind their creation, and this cannot be achieved by only reading againstthe “archival grain,” one needs to start with reading “alongthe archival grain” (2002, 100). Kati Mikkola, Pia Olsson, and Eija Stark (2019) have emphasized that historically, cultural heritage archives are often connected to national entities and tend to marginalize other nationalities living in the vicinity. This can be shown, for example, with archival policies in Finland, neglecting the heritage of minority people (Roma and Sami) while highlighting national unity. The question of openness towards other ethnic groups is closely connected to the particularities of certain situations. To this end, Liina Saarlo (2023) has analyzed the contents of the Estonian Folklore Archives from a historical perspective. She underscored that during the interwar period of independence, Estonian folklorists showed a genuine interest in the heritage of minority groups, while the periods before (in the context of the national awakening) and after (during the Soviet occupation) were characterized by strict focuses on the heritage of Estonians.

Besides highlighting only one ethnic group, archives tend to be selective on the topics they include—the focus is clearly on the heritage that shows the leading group in a positive light. Gyanendra Pandey has named this process “un-archiving”—as some topics get included in institutional archives, while those left out are rendered trivial and inconsequential (2017, 4). In a collection of articles, Pandey and his colleagues delve into the realm of the “trifling”—events, persons, and actions that are considered so mundane and ordinary that they have become naturalized and invisible because they do not fit into any archival categories. They stress that their purpose is not only to uncover what has been “unarchived” in earlier times but also to hope for more inclusive archival practices (Pandey 2017 et al., 17).

Creating digital archives is one possibility to make archives more inclusive and incorporate materials that did not fit into the traditional institutions. For example, Karin Barber and P. F. De Moraes Farias discuss the challenges of studying and archiving emergent genres and phenomena that formerly have been regarded too trivial or obscure to get the attention of the researchers (2009). They describe their digital archive of Nigerian folk religion as including different confessions and communities and different types of documents. They stress that their archive “brings together discourses which are normally thought of as belonging to separate spheres” (2009, 12).

Besides widening the scope of the documents, digital archives also have other features that help to lessen the uncertainties and ambiguities connected to archival research. Using digitized material allows one to research materials from different archives side by side, to lessen the need to travel and the dependence on the official opening hours of the institutions. However, digitization does not only resolve ambiguities but brings about new ones—as the resources are limited, often only one part (usually the one considered most valuable) of the collection gets digitized, marginalizing collections that can only be consulted in material form; sometimes the digital image is partial, leaving out text in the margins or on the other side.

Dealing with Uncertainties: Actors – Milieus – Strategies

This special issue, Encountering Uncertainties in Ethnology and Folklore: Actors – Milieus – Strategies, presents papers dealing with uncertainties in fieldwork and archives. The issue explores lessons to take from our disciplinary pasts dealing with different uncertainties and their implications for our disciplinary futures. The contributors aim to look at the notion of “uncertainties” from the perspectives of involved actors, exploring the social, political, and disciplinary milieus they worked or operated in and present their strategies to overcome or navigate the problems they face. This issue takes up our collegial conversations, having taken place at the SIEF 2023 Congress in Brno, Czech Republic, at the panel organized in the context of the Working Group “Historical Approaches to Cultural Analysis,” which explored different contexts of uncertainties in the disciplinary pasts of ethnology and folklore and their implications for disciplinary futures.

Our original questions, which we discussed at the SIEF Conference, find resonance in actual, lived experiences of different actors from various national ethnological and folklore traditions, with more reflection in the special issue. How did uncertainties, great and small, in daily life and longue durées affect the development of ethnographic issues in different political and research contexts? What methods did socio-cultural anthropologists and folklorists develop to deal with uncertainties, and to what success? If fieldwork itself can be conceptualized as how ethnographers engaged with uncertainties, how was it uniquely deployed in national traditions? Which dialogue, documentation, data collection methods, and the researcher’s engagement and commitment in the study’s context were used? How can these differing responses help us understand and represent today’s world?

Continuing the discussion with this special issue of “Cultural Analysis,” we aim to shed light on alternative disciplinary models and practices capable of elaborating different ways of approaching crisis, the unknown, and the unpredictable in current times. Taking the “field” and the “archive” both as sites and contexts of research (Gupta and Ferguson 1997), the contributors in this special issue continue to ask questions regarding different circumstances of uncertainties and how they affect ethnographic and archival research in different personal, political and research contexts. These can lead to fractured lives of the actors involved and discontinuities in the institutional milieus, which can manifest themselves in a variety of ways, such as through changes in economic, political, and social conditions, as well as through the introduction of new technologies, which also, in turn, are influenced by uncertainties. As a result, researchers must adapt to new contexts and find strategies to navigate them.

In exploring the embeddedness of these contexts with a wide range of uncertainties, several questions emerge: Can a fieldworker’s experience of unexpected or unplanned events lead to key understandings and reconsiderations of the field and her/his fieldwork? If yes, how did ethnologists in the past engage with uncertainties, and what strategies did they develop for dealing with uncertainties? Which methods of dialogue, documentation, data collection, and engagement and commitment of the researcher were used to face uncertainties? With these questions and other new ones, contributors aim to shed light on different moments in the disciplinary pasts, where uncertainties become a pressing issue for researchers to develop strategies and, while recognizing instability, fragmentation, or sudden change, adapt their methods to navigate and make sense of shifting cultural, social, or historical contexts.

With their historical focus from the late nineteenth century and well into the twentieth century, our contributors deal with several cases imbued with doubt and uncertainty. The historical range of the papers varies, mainly focusing on the distinct interplays of uncertainty, modernity, and nationalism in various historical and political contexts. Paying special attention to how practices of ethnology and folklore can adapt to changing societal pressures, the authors examine the strategies folklorists and collectors employ in navigating personal, political, institutional, and social uncertainties across different regions, in different biographies and institutional milieus.

While most of the contributions deal with scientific actors shaped by multiple uncertainties connected to their particular milieus, these milieus—often disciplinary, but also political and always shaped by historical junctures—likewise become visible. Regarding strategies, we find actual persons involved in uncertain conditions developing practical and conscious strategies to overcome (or to learn to live with) difficulties. However, some strategies only become tangible in historical retrospect and thus cannot be traced back to conscious decisions over time. Rather, they depend on opportunities and conjunctures that arise. Strategies involved are often directed towards the future—actors look for ways to embed contested or traumatic pasts and hope for a future without ambiguities.

Insights and Perspectives: Contributions to this Special Issue

The Special Issue opens with an article by Hande Birkalan-Gedik, who tackles how political upheavals and disruptions in fieldwork can lead to innovative methods and strategies in ethnological and folklore research. Birkalan-Gedik illuminates the collaborations between Pertev Naili Boratav, the founder of academic folklore studies in Turkey, and his wife, Hayrünnisa Boratav, during several political turmoil and uncertainties. While these uncertainties hindered the research and collection activities of Pertev Naili Boratav, they also prompted the couple to look for strategies to overcome these uncertainties. Birkalan-Gedik underlines that the couple had to adapt themselves to the inaccessibility of the field—as Pertev Naili Boratav moved to France—by creatively restructuring their scholarly activities. Hayrünnisa Boratav took on significant roles in collecting folklore material in Turkey, evolving from a supporter to a key collaborator for Pertev Naili Boratav. Birkalan-Gedik argues that while this partnership challenges the traditional “two-person single career” model of Western anthropologies, one should also recognize both partners’ emotional and intellectual contributions. Furthermore, this collaboration can be a creative way to rethink uncertainties not as barriers but as conditions that reshape research approaches, as the story of the Boratavs demonstrates that uncertainties can lead to creative adaptations, reshaping the boundaries of collaboration in fieldwork.

In the following article, Katre Kikas explores the relationship between folklore collecting and modernity during Jakob Hurt’s folklore campaign (1888–1907) in Estonia. With a focus on three domains of uncertainties—education, morality, and local social attitudes—found in the letters of three folklore collectors: Helene Maasen, Jaan Gutves, and Jaan Saalverk, Kikas provides insights into the broader implications of modernity on folklore scholarship and its cultural significance. Kikas underlines that the collectors often expressed anxieties about participating in intellectual activities despite limited formal education, sending “immoral” material, which received criticism from family or communities. These uncertainties, however, also allowed them to assert their connection to modernity. Hurt’s campaign positioned folklore as a tool for constructing a modern national identity, and the collectors engaged in this by writing letters and contributing to the national cause. Their participation bridged the gap between local traditions and national aspirations and provided a space to negotiate personal uncertainties amid societal change, highlighting folklore’s role in the modernizing process.

In the following article, Sanna Kähkönnen examines the uncertainties surrounding the societal impact of Finnish ethnologists during the Continuation War (1941–1944). By analyzing so-called “non-scientific” articles addressing a wider popular readership but written by ethnologists, the author investigates how these researchers navigated ideological pressures, particularly the Greater Finland concept. Kähkönnen argues that uncertainties stem from methodological challenges: interpreting fragmented archival material and discerning whether political or propaganda motives influenced the knowledge shared by ethnologists. The article focuses on the actors, namely ethnologists, who produced knowledge that justified the Finnish occupation of East Karelia. Institutions, such as the State Scientific East Karelia Committee, played a strategic role by funding and guiding research to support nationalist claims. Ethnologists used various strategies, including appealing to kinship ideologies and scientific credibility, to influence public perceptions. However, the article raises questions about the intentionality behind their work and the degree to which they may have engaged in self-censorship or consciously participated in state propaganda.

The following article by Ave Goršič focuses on uncertainties while exploring the Estonian folklorists and folkloristics during the political and institutional upheavals of the late 1980s and early 1990s. As Estonia transitioned from Soviet rule to independence, scholars navigated challenges in research funding, disciplinary directions, and institutional structures, which created different periods of uncertainties with different issues. She focuses on actors such as folklorists and institutions like the Estonian Folklore Archives (EFA) and examines their responses to these ongoing challenges. She underlines that the strategies for adaptation included the proposal of merging folklore institutions under one roof and revitalizing archives to serve both research and public use. While the reestablishment of the EFA in 1995 marked a return to stability, hesitations persisted regarding funding and the role of humanities in a changing political landscape. The article also highlights debates about restructuring, collecting new forms of folklore, and balancing tradition with modern research methods.

The last article by Kelly Fitzgerald focuses on the uncertainties surrounding the Irish Folklore Commission (IFC), which the Irish Government established to collect Irish folklore from 1935 to 1970. IFC members carried out fieldwork in rural Irish-speaking communities, documenting all aspects of traditional knowledge. IFC was established twelve years after the end of the Irish Civil War. However, the dividing lines and political uncertainties created by the Treaty negotiated with the British Empire were still alive. Fitzgerald stresses that the people involved in the IFC founding fell on both sides of the 1921–1922 Treaty Debate. She brings out that this inclusiveness (which made the IFC a rather peculiar endeavor at the time) was possible because the focus of the IFC was on past heritage. This helped the members to keep aside tensions connected to the present and created a foundation for imagining a united future.

As we introduce the special issue to our readers, we take the opportunity to thank all our authors, who thought of uncertainties together and reflected on the different aspects of the concept—actors, milieus, and strategies—in their valuable contributions. Our special thanks for the special issue go to Kaisa Langer and Dani Schrire, who generously agreed to write the response papers and commented on the general frameworks of uncertainties. Their contributions help not only to link the individual contributions on a content level, but also to expand these historically argued reflections in the sense of contemporary ethnography.

Acknowledgements

We thank the anonymous reviewers whose advice and comments helped immensely for bringing this special issue into its fruition. We would like to thank the editors and copy-editors of Cultural Analysis for their friendly, professional, and uncomplicated cooperation. We especially thank Sophie Elpers for her valuable commitment and reassuring advice on our special issue. Lastly, we thank Sanna Kähkönnen for sharing an archival photograph from the Finnish Heritage Agency’s Finno-Ugric Photo Collection, which became the cover of the special issue, enabling us in some important ways to capture the idea of “uncertainties,” through which we were able to open our introduction.