Sharing Dataand Resultsin Ethnographic Research

Sharing Data and Results in Ethnographic Research: Why This Should not be an Ethical
Imperative
Author(s): Matthew Cooper
Source: Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics: An International Journal,
Vol. 2, No. 1 (March 2007), pp. 3-19
Published by: University of California Press
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Sharing Ethnographic Data and Results
S HARING DATA AND R ESULTS IN E THNOGRAPHIC R ESEARCH :

W HY T HIS S HOULD N OT BE AN E THICAL I MPERATIVE
M ATTHEW C OOPER
McMaster University
ABSTRACT: RESEARCHERS RECENTLY HAVE argued that
offering to share research results with study participants
should be an ethical imperative. This article considers
that suggestion in light of the practice of ethnographic,
particularly anthropological, research. Sharing results is
discussed in relation to several issues, e.g., whether it
occurs during or after completion of a project, whether
the research is long-term, the complexities involved in
depositing field materials in archives, the changing politics of ethnographic research, research not concerned
with communities, situations in which participants and
the anthropologist may be in danger, and changing
styles of ethnographic research. I argue that, ideally,
sharing should be a regular component of ethnographic
research but should not be an ethical requirement.
Given the complexity, variety and changing political
contexts of ethnographic research, implementing such a
requirement would often be practically impossible and
sometimes would be inadvisable. I recommend instead
that research ethics boards educate themselves about the
nature of ethnographic research. Further, they should
approach decision making on the issue of data or results
sharing on a case-by-case basis. For researchers, I recommend that discussion of data and result sharing
should become part of the education of all ethnographers and that discussion of the issue should be fostered.
KEY WORDS: ethnographic research, data sharing,
results sharing, disclosure, ethics boards, IRB
Received September 26, 2006; Revised: February 7, 2007
share research
data and/or results be an ethical imperative, as
has recently been proposed (Fernandez, Kodish,
& Weijer, 2003)? The purpose of this paper is to
consider this question in the context of ethnographic
research. I will argue that ethics regulations and research
HOULD SHARING OR OFFERING TO
ethics boards should not add such a requirement to

those already existing. Rather researchers and ethics
boards should educate themselves about the complexity
of the issues raised and make decisions that take into
account the specificity of each case.
Consider the following scenarios, loosely drawn
from actual research. They illustrate some of the situations in which ethnographers (especially, anthropologists) do research. They provide some examples of the
sharing of research data and results with study participants and suggest some of the issues that arise.
Scenario 1: Collaborative Research with First
Nations. Professor Watson is studying diabetes
prevention programs and the work of community
health councils among Canadian First Nations
bands in Manitoba. In order to do the research, he
has negotiated lengthy agreements with the band
councils. The communities will play an active role
in planning the research, gathering data and interpreting the results. Watson, himself, will write the
project reports but they will be subject to community review. Once the project is finished, all the
data will remain with the communities.
Scenario 2: Long-Term Research. Professor Holmes,
two colleagues and six of his students have conducted
research in Malawi for 50 years, studying how communities, economies and the environment in a particular region have changed. In recent years, they
have trained researchers from the University of
Malawi, who have worked alongside them. Many of
their early informants have died while others have
moved to the cities. At various times over the years,
they have selectively shared some of their results
with community elders. They are thinking of
depositing much of their research data, related materials and publications in the national archives.
However, they are concerned that potentially scandalous materials will become widely available and
that disputes over land will develop based on some
of their data.
Scenario 3: Harms from Reading Published Results.
Over a period of 40 years, Professor Moriarty has
Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics, PP. 3-19. PRINT ISSN 1556-2646, ONLINE ISSN 1556-2654. 2007 BY JOAN SIEBER .
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DOI: 10.1525/ JERHRE .2007.2.1.3

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M. Cooper
made eight trips to carry out research with the

Ipanema people of Brazil, sometimes with other
researchers. On his early trips he collected many
community and personal histories that showed
how communities formed, grew and split, often
as a result of violence. Because the data were considered sensitive, even taboo, by local people, he
did not discuss them or tell local people about
them. In fact, in order to obtain the data he
resorted to deception. However, he did write
extensively about his research in scholarly and
popular publications. Until recently no Ipanema
people could read or write and they had no access
to outside sources of information, e.g., radio.
Recently, however, several people have read
Portuguese translations of his work and shared
what they had read with their communities. Local
people were furious that he had published the
names of their ancestors and details of their most
secret religious rites. As well, the Brazilian media
had published stories based on his work, portraying the Ipanema as violent savages. Government
agencies had used these stories to justify policies
of repression and in support of outsiders who had
entered the area, bringing epidemic disease and
murdering local people.
Scenario 5: Field Data Endangers Participants.

While doing field research in Highland Guatemala
in the 1980s during the period when thousands of
Mayan people were being killed, Professor Adler
occasionally was visited by police and army officers
demanding access to her data. In order to protect
local people, she kept her field notes hidden and
sent them out of the country as soon as possible.
While she discussed her data and emerging interpretations with a few trusted villagers, she did not
share them more widely.
Scenario 4: Potential Conflict among Multiple

Stakeholders. Dr. Lestrade is investigating conflicts
over land among indigenous nations and settlers
in New York State. Over time the indigenous people have lost all of the land they held before the
American Revolutionary War. The present-day
settlers are not settlers themselves but rather the
descendants of people who moved into the area in
the early 1800s. Both the indigenous groups and
the settlers are bitterly divided among themselves.
As well, the local town is concerned because it will
lose property tax if the Native Americans are able
to establish a reservation with the compensation
money they have received from the U.S. Federal
Government. Local and State police forces are
concerned because of the possibility of violence.
White supremacist groups have attempted to ally
themselves with the settlers. Dr. Lestrade has
returned interview transcripts to individuals but
has not shared his data or interpretations more
widely. He is concerned that his research might
fuel additional violence if it falls into the wrong
hands. Soon, however, he will be publishing a
book based on his research.
Should sharing or offering to share data or the results

of research with study participants be an ethical
imperative, or are there situations in which doing so
would be inadvisable? Should a requirement to share
data or results be incorporated in research ethics codes?
How can research ethics boards assess whether to
require such sharing in particular cases? Ethnographic,
especially anthropological, research raises issues somewhat different from those that occur in, for example,
clinical trials or genetic research. To date, the issue of
sharing data and results has not been widely discussed
in the ethnographic literature. As I will argue, there
are no simple answers to these questions, thus sharing
or offering to share should not be an imperative.
Rather each case needs to be considered in its own
contexts.
In a number of recent articles, Fernandez and others
(e.g., Fernandez, Kodish, & Weijer, 2003; Fernandez,
Skedgel, & Weijer, 2004; MacNeil & Fernandez, 2006)
have argued that offering to return research results to
study participants is an ethical imperative. They have
claimed that doing so is fundamental to the ethical
principle of respect for persons, as to offer research
results to participants treats them in the highest regard
Scenario 6: Dispersed Participants. For eight years,

Dr. Hudson has studied illegal immigration to the
United States. She has accompanied groups of
immigrants across the border from Mexico, travelled with them to California, Kansas, and North
Carolina, and interviewed border guards, officials
from the Department of Homeland Security, and
many local officials. Given the changing political
climate, she has been very careful to maintain confidentiality and the anonymity of her sources. The
individual immigrants she has studied today are
dispersed across the U.S., Mexico, Guatemala, and
Honduras. While she believes in the importance of
sharing results, especially with the immigrants, she
has found it practically difficult to do so.

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(MacNeil & Fernandez, 2006, p. 49). Furthermore, they

argue that [T]his practice of offering completed
study results should be universal regardless of the
nature of study (i.e. research in the social sciences,
education, health fields, clinical trials, etc.) or of the
possible future implications of the study results to the
participant (MacNeil & Fernandez, 2006, p. 50). I
will focus on anthropological research but it is important to note that ethnographic research is also done
today by many others, e.g., sociologists, geographers,
educational researchers, psychologists, and health
researchers, among others. Although I focus on
ethnographic research, I would suggest that the same
concerns may arise in relation to any field data that
would reveal sensitive information about an identifiable group or individuals. I will argue, inter alia, that
the complexity, variety, and changing politics of
ethnographic research raise questions and concerns
that go beyond those considered in the context of, for
example, clinical trials. So too do its changing philosophical foundations, although these are beyond the
scope of this brief article. These concerns make implementing such an imperative inadvisable, especially
given that many ethics boards have little or no expertise in the area of ethnographic research.
Background
In the cultural anthropological and qualitative research

literatures, there has been little specific discussion of
issues surrounding returning study results to the
research participants. One recent book (Jaarsma, 2002),
discusses it in relation to anthropologists giving materials or ethnographic texts to people they have studied.
Another (Brettell, 1996) takes up the related question
of what happens when they read what we have written. A related, but different, stream of literature
frames the issue quite differently, not as return, but
rather in terms of sharing, collaborative ethnography
(e.g., Lassiter, 2005) or action research (e.g.,
Greenwood & Levin, 2005), and generally in terms of
the politics of ethnography, particularly with indigenous peoples (e.g. Smith, 2005; Bishop, 2005;
Castellano, 2004; Schnarch 2004). For example, in their
preface to a recent handbook of qualitative research,
Denzin & Lincoln (2005, p. xvi) remark that
Global and local processes have erased the personal and institutional distance between the
ethnographer and those he or she writes about.
We do not own the field notes we make about
those we study. We do not have an undisputed

warrant to study anyone or anything. Subjects
now challenge how they have been written about
and more than one ethnographer has been taken
to court.1
Fernandez and associates (e.g., MacNeil & Fernandez,
2006) have been concerned mainly with clinical trials
and consider the disclosure of research results in two
distinct contexts. The first occurs, particularly during
clinical trials, when new information learned during
the course of the study might influence the participants willingness to consent to further participation.
In its regulations on informed consent, the U.S.
Common Rule (45CFR46.116(b)(5)) requires [A]
statement that significant new findings developed during the course of the research which may relate to the
subjects willingness to continue participation will be
provided to the subject (Department of Health and
Human Services, Office for Human Research
Protections, 2005). Similarly, the Tri-Council Policy
Statement (section 2.7, Table 1), which regulates
research ethics in Canada and is endorsed by the Social
Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada,
notes that [A]n assurance that new information will
be provided to the subjects in a timely manner whenever such information is relevant to a subjects decision
to continue or withdraw from participation may be
required for some projects (Medical Research Council
of Canada, Natural Sciences and Engineering Research
Council, & Social Sciences and Humanities Research
Council of Canada, 1998).
The second context occurs after the completion of a
study. Fernandez and associates (MacNeil & Fernandez,
2006, p. 50) base their argument on the Kantian premise that respect for persons dictates that they be treated
as ends rather than means. Offering to disclose
research results after the completion of a study demonstrates to participants that they are not merely means.
Such a practice is gaining support among those carrying out clinical research (Bell, Brady, & Copeland,
1
Denzin & Lincolns remarks are not best read as empirical generalizations (the first statement is dubious, at best). Rather I would interpret
them as rhetorical statements expressing the view many researchers
now have of the changing politics of research. It is unlikely that most
ethnographers would agree that they no longer own their field notes
(see Jaarsma, 2002). What I think Denzin & Lincoln mean is that ethnographers recognize that their field data are a co-creation of ethnographer
and local collaborators.

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M. Cooper
2004; Fernandez, Kodish, & Weijer, 2003; Partridge &

Winer, 2002; Mann, 2002).2, 3
The injunction to offer to return research results is
grounded in the principle of respect for persons
(Fernandez, Kodish, & Weijer, 2003). Fernandez and
associates have argued that this widely-accepted principle should be extended beyond its usual application,
informed consent, to informing subjects of research
results at the conclusion of the study (Fernandez,
Kodish, & Weijer, 2003, p. 12). As well, they have argued
that [P]articipants (or communities for that matter) have
the prerogative to reject the offer but should do so in
the context of an informed decision about the risks and
benefits of receiving information. That is, the participant is in the best moral position to make that decisionnot the researcher imposing his or her opinion
on that participant (Fernandez, personal communication). I find their argument very attractive, however, I
do not think that it adequately serves as a basis for
addressing the complexities of the issue in the context
of ethnographic research practices.
One difficulty is that, as has often been pointed out
(e.g., Levine, 1988; Weijer, 1999; Weijer, Goldsand, &
2
In Canada, as MacNeill & Fernandez (2006) show, the TCPS provides little guidance on this issue and few Research Ethics Boards
(REBs) have clearly developed policies or practices in relation to it.
Article 2.1(c)(iv) of the TCPS (1998) indicates that [W]henever possible and appropriate, the subjects will be provided with additional pertinent information after participation but this requirement obtains only
in the context of research that alters or varies standard informed consent procedures, e.g., research that employs deception. For example, the
TCPS references social science research on organizations that could not
proceed if the full aims of the research were known, psychological
research in which subject knowledge of the aims/hypotheses would
invalidate the results, and questionnaire research that uses distracter
questions. Debriefing of participants should be proportionate to the
sensitivity of the issue and may help participants regain their trust in
the research community (TCPS, 1998, Section 2). MacNeill &
Fernandez (2006, p. 52) conclude that in Canada there is a significant
deficit in the current framework of regulation for the ethical conduct of
human research and the protection of research participants during
research studies.
3
Similarly, in the United States, according to Chapter 3 of the
Institutional Review Board Guidebook, [T]he IRB must decide if
subects should be debriefed either after participating in research unwittingly or after knowingly participating in research that involved some
form of deception. It is clear that debriefing is appropriate when it contributes to the subjects welfare (i.e., when it corrects painful or stressful
misperceptions, or when it reduces pain, stress, or anxiety concerning
the subjects performance). There is greater uncertainty over whether it
is appropriate to debrief subjects when such a debriefing could itself
produce pain, stress, or anxiety (i.e., IRBs must be concerned with cases
where debriefing subjects might harm them but failure to debrief subjects would wrong them) (Department of Health and Human Services,
Office for Human Research Protections, 1993) (emphasis in original).
Emanuel, 1999), the reigning model of research ethics

focuses on an atomistic individual, one whose only relevant social relationships seem to be with the
researchers. Thus, for example, Weijer (1999) has
argued that a principle of respect for communities
should be added to the three cardinal principles of
respect for persons, beneficence, and justice, while outlining some of the difficulties in implementing such a
principle (Weijer, Goldsand, & Emanuel, 1999).
Similarly, the National Bioethics Advisory Commission
in the United States proposed that regulatory oversight
of research on human biological materials be extended
to include the protection of social groups (National
Bioethics Advisory Commission, 1999), for example in
research in which harm might result for members of
groups or communities who were not study participants.
[See also Dena Davis (2000), Dickert & Sugarman
(2005), Foster & Sharp (2000, 2002), and Marshall &
Berg (2006), among others, for discussions of this issue
in the contexts of genetic and public health research and
Wilkinson (2004) for a philosophical critique.]
Ethical guidelines that inform anthropological
research, particularly in the United States (American
Anthropological Association, 1998), have a substantially
different history from those enshrined in the Common
Rule or other codes of bioethics, and a different focus
(although they address most of the same concerns).
Rather than being responses to the Nuremberg trials
and the Tuskegee syphilis study (among other cases),
American anthropological guidelines developed initially
in reaction to issues raised by the Vietnam War,
American counterinsurgency activities in Latin
America in the 1960s, and the relations of agencies
such as the FBI and CIA with anthropologists and their
work (Fluehr-Lobban, 2003; see also Price (1998, 2002,
2003, 2004). These concerns continue to inform discussions of ethics among American anthropologists
(Nuti, 2006; Albro, 2007).
The guidelines inform the practices of researchers
whose work is tremendously varied, ranging from the
humanistic analysis of discourse through the study of
social practices and institutions (by cultural anthropologists and anthropological linguists) to archaeological
research on past populations and research on human
evolution and biology. A small proportion of this
research is experimental but most is not. A growing
number of anthropologists in all areas carry out applied
research but most research remains non-interventional
in intent.
Most of the research conducted by cultural anthropologists is ethnographic. This is research that usually
does not aim to provide generalizable knowledge but

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rather deep understanding of complex situations. One

of its key characteristics is that it is inductive; such
research generally is not designed to test hypotheses.
Ethnographic research is replete with the unexpected
(Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995, p. 23), which is both
one of its greatest strengths and the source of many of
its practical difficulties. Thus, another key characteristic is that hypotheses and interpretations generally
emerge during the course of research as the researcher
discovers relevant questions to ask in that specific
social situation. This does not mean that ethnographers generally or necessarily enter the field without
particular foci or issues to investigate or that they
avoid reading the literature on the area or issue so as to
remain open minded (as Tolich & Fitzgerald [2006]
claim, based on a particular research tradition).
Although some ethnographers are positivists
(Bernard, 2005), most reject this epistemological
stance in favor of some form of humanism or social
constructionism. They have long rejected objectivism
and natural science as an epistemological ideal or
model (Geertz, 2002).
Ethnographic research is generally multimodal, often
incorporating both qualitative and quantitative methods, including, for example, formal and informal interviewing, surveys, naturalistic observation, and participant observation. Another key characteristic of such
research is that the researcher is an integral part of the
field. As sociologist Michael Burawoy (1991, p. 291)
expresses it, contemporary ethnographers veer toward
absorption into the society. The researcher often lives
in the area or community being studied and interacts
with individuals in a wide variety of contexts.
Relationships with study participants, which range
from the simple and formal to the multiplex, including
deep friendships, are the essential basis on which such
research proceeds. One can glean a sense of the changing conceptions and politics of these relationships from
the words used to label those with whom ethnographers study: informant, consultant, collaborator,
participant. The last three terms, which have become
prevalent in recent years, show an increasing concern
on the part of ethnographers with reducing power differentials in the research process. They also recognize
that ethnographic knowledge is a co-creation of
researcher and collaborators. Thus, in these key ways
ethnographic research differs from other research traditions, especially experimental research and clinical
trials. On the basis of these differences, many ethnographic researchers have argued either for exemption
from the regulations governing IRBs and REBs or for
their substantial modification (e.g., Boster, 2006;
Tolich & Fitzgerald, 2006; Lederman, 2006 and other

articles in a special section of American Ethnologist;
Haggerty, 2004; Interagency Advisory Panel on
Research Ethics, 2004; van den Hoonaard, 2002;
among many others).
The current American Anthropological Association
(AAA) ethics code begins by situating anthropologists
as members of different communities and groups, each
with its own moral code and to each of which they have
moral obligations (American Anthropological
Association, 1998). Similarly, the Canadian Sociology
Association (until recently, the Canadian Sociology
and Anthropology Association) takes as one of the
premises of its Statement of Professional Ethics that
[S]ociologists and anthropologists, when they carry
out research, enter into personal and moral relationships with those they study, be they individuals,
households, social groups, or corporate entities.
(Canadian Sociology and Anthropology Association,
1994). The AAA code is then extended to the anthropologists responsibilities to the discipline, scholarly
community, society in general and the environment.
Finally, the anthropological researcher develops relationships with those studied, including both people
and animals. Anthropology is described as a field of
such complex involvements and obligations that
misunderstandings and ethical conflicts are virtually
inevitable (American Anthropological Association,
1998). Thus, the AAA and CSAA ethical guidelines are
fundamentally based on a relational and social model
of research rather than one of research solely with
individuals.
I would argue that building their guidelines on a relational model implies several things. It focuses ethical
discussion on researchers responsibilities rather than
on deriving implications from, and applying, abstract
principles. As noted above, researchers have multiple
responsibilities that come into play in any project. Yet
this does not imply that abstract principles do not or
should not exist. As well, it implies that ethical decision
making must take seriously into account the dense
social and political contexts in which research takes
place. Researchers must constantly situate themselves
and their work within these contexts. That is, this
approach assumes that the researcher is not sharply
delimited from those whose lives she is studying. She is
part of the relevant contexts of research. Nevertheless,
I would argue that this stance does not necessarily
imply moral relativism, situational ethics or the nonuniversality of research ethics.
Given that foundation, the central principle of the
AAA ethical guidelines is non-maleficence, based on

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M. Cooper
the argument that [A]nthropological researchers have

primary ethical obligations to the people, species, and
materials they study and to the people with whom they
work. These obligations can supersede the goal of seeking new knowledge, and can lead to decisions not to
undertake, or to discontinue, a research project when
the primary obligation conflicts with other responsibilities, such as those owed to sponsors or clients
(American Anthropological Association, 1998).
Returning or sharing research data and results
(besides scholarly dissemination) is not taken up
specifically in terms of study participants in these ethical guidelines. Rather, it appears under the more general rubric of Responsibility to the Public:
Anthropological researchers should make the
results of their research appropriately available
to sponsors, students, decision makers, and other
nonanthropologists. In so doing, they must be
truthful; they are not only responsible for the factual
content of their statements but also must consider
carefully the social and political implications of the
information they disseminate. They must do everything in their power to insure that such information
is well understood, properly contextualized, and
responsibly utilized. . . . At the same time, they
must be alert to possible harm their information
may cause people with whom they work or colleagues (American Anthropological Association,
1998).
The CSAA Code of Ethics merely notes that
[R]esearchers have an obligation to disseminate
results openly except those likely to endanger research
participants or to violate their anonymity or confidentiality and that [R]esearchers must consider carefully
the social and political implications of the information
they disseminate. They must strive to ensure that such
information is well-understood, properly contextualized and responsibly utilized (Canadian Sociology and
Anthropology Association, 1994).
Finally, the Association of Social Anthropologists of
the U.K. (ASA), in its Ethical Guidelines for Good
Research Practice urges anthropologists to give consideration to sharing research materials. It further
notes that [R]esearch findings, publications and,
where feasible, data should be made available in the
country where the research took place. If necessary, it
should be translated into the national or local language. Researchers should be alert, though, to the
harm to research participants, collaborators and local
colleagues that might arise from total or even partial
disclosure of raw or processed data or from revelations of their involvement in the research project
(Association of Social Anthropologists, 1999).
Sharing Research Data and Results
in Ethnographic Practice
The return or sharing of data and results has not

received much explicit attention in the cultural anthropological literature, although it has in relation to
archaeology and human skeletal remains (where, however, the issues are somewhat different). Although
there is no hard evidence, as a practice it seems increasingly common, as does, more generally, involving participants in ethnographic research. Research to discover
how prevalent it is, the forms it takes, and the problems
encountered would be quite useful.4 However, it is still
valuable, both for researchers and for ethics boards, to
ask what some of the relevant dimensions of the ethnographic enterprise are that bear on the issue, as well as
what problems have arisen.
One important dimension is the contexts in which
the sharing of results takes place. Broadly, does it
occur during the course of the study or after its completion? Does it occur as part of an on-going involvement of participants that might include design, data
collection, analysis, and/or interpretation? What is
the larger context within which sharing occurs or
does not, e.g., in situations of violent conflict?
Another set of dimensions has to do with the actual
nature and extent of the sharing. What is it that is
shared/returned/disclosed, e.g., transcripts of interviews, raw field notes, genealogical data, edited data,
interpretations, or publications? With whom are the
results shared, e.g., individuals who were interviewed,
assistants and/or local consultants, community leaders, community, government or national organizations? Another very important issue concerns who
makes decisions (i.e., who has the power to decide)
about the sharing of research,the researcher(s)
alone, participants, or the researcher in consultation
with participants? One must situate an assessment of
the potential harms and benefits of result sharing in
terms of answers to these questions. Assessment must
consider effects on study participants but also on the
discipline and the researcher, which sometimes will
have to be weighed against each other (Jaarsma, 2002,
4
I am currently conducting a survey of cultural anthropologists in
order to gather empirical data on these and related questions.

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p. 11). However, the rights of participants, especially

not to be harmed, must be paramount (Fernandez,
personal communication; American Anthropological
Association, 1998).
Context: When Data and Results Are Shared
The issue of when results or data are shared is more

complex than it seems on the surface. Traditional
anthropological fieldwork generally meant a stay of a
year or more in a community, after which the anthropologist returned home to write up his or her results. In
many cases, anthropologists mined the results of that
fieldwork for publications over the course of many
years. However, that stereotype masks a great deal of
variation (putting aside how accurate this stereotype
ever was and, more importantly, the ways in which
contemporary field research has diverged from this
model). Timing becomes particularly significant in the
case of long-term ethnographic research (Kemper &
Royce, 2002). As in the example of Scenario 2 above,
many anthropologists have now carried out research in
the same communities over periods of 30 or more
years. Some projects have become multi-generational,
extending over 50 years or more (e.g., Cliggett, 2002;
Foster, 2002; Lee & Biesele, 2002; Scudder & Colson,
2002). At what point are such projects completed, particularly if the project was designed to be longitudinal?
During the course of such long-term research some
sharing of data and interpretations may occur at many
points, both formally and informally. Participants in
the study change as individuals age and die. Given the
ordinary reporting timelines imposed by ethics boards,
in such cases a requirement of offering to share results
at the completion of the study would be difficult to
implement. Furthermore, because the products of the
research that are shared, as well as the recipients, may
be diverse, e.g., publications but also different sorts of
data and provisional interpretations, each case would
require serious scrutiny before such a requirement was
imposed.
Kemper and Royce (2002, p. xxxii) argue that longterm field research adds to the ethical issues encountered in shorter-term research. One issue of concern is
that government officials may be more likely to
demand access to the data from long-term research,
with possibly serious consequences for study participants and their communities. Maintaining confidentiality and anonymity become more significant problems as research continues over the years and decades.
For example, the Gwembe project in Zambia uses
diaries kept by local people. Eventually, the transcriptions of these diaries could go to archives in Zambia,
but for now such access to the material would be disruptive and even dangerous to the people in the sample
communities (Kemper & Royce 2002, p. xxxii;
Scudder & Colson, 2002). Although Scudder & Colson
(2002) do not discuss the question, one can infer from
their writings that they think they and their associates,
rather than community members, should make such
decisions. Without presuming to second guess the
researchers, I wonder if in such a case it might not be
possible to convene a group of local elders or other
community members to advise on the issue, thus sharing the decision-making power with participants.
The larger context within which research takes place
must also be considered by researchers and ethics
boards. As in the case described in Scenario 5, fieldwork in areas of conflict (Sluka, 1995), with groups like
gangs or criminals (Polsky, 1967) or people living in
situations of structural violence (Bourgois, 2002; Sluka,
2000), presents other issues, especially of danger to the
ethnographer, to study participants and to others associated with them (e.g., Kovats-Bernat, 2002; Lee, 1995;
Nordstrom & Robben, 1995; Howell, 1990). Howell
(1990) reported that at least three anthropologists
had been killed between 1982 and 1990 as a result of
their work.
In such situations, sharing data with participants
must be very carefully considered so as to prevent
materials falling into the hands of those who would use
them to harm people. Indeed, as Kovats-Bernat (2002,
p. 9) writes about his research with street children in
Haiti, decisions about what to record and how to do so
were critical to protecting participants. In a situation
like that, such decisions are prior to any consideration
of result sharing.
Zulaika (1995) recounts a somewhat more positive
experience of giving invited talks about his research on
Basque political violence in his natal village. His neighbors were both members of the Basque revolutionary
movement, ETA, and those opposed to them. He had
grown up with some of those who had accepted the
call to patriotic martyrdom and ended up killing innocent people (Zulaika, 1995, p. 206). On the one hand,
he suggests, the social intimacy of villagers talking
about events and issues made their differences in perspective even more insurmountable (Zulaika, 1995,
p. 218). Yet, on the other, he argues, through community discussion a growing ironic awareness of events
allowed for the possibility that by rescuing history
from the violence of a totalizing discourse . . . new forms

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of representation and changes in modes of consciousness are possible (Zulaika, 1995, p. 219). In such situations, the advisability and practicality of sharing
research materials, I would argue, cannot be determined before the research is well underway. The potential harms are so great that requiring data sharing or
the offer to do so is ill-advised.
The Nature of Sharing: What Is Shared and How?
As suggested above, what it is that is shared is an

important consideration, both for researchers and for
ethics boards. So too is how the sharing takes place. Is
it raw data, such as interview transcripts, field notes
(including records of observations of behaviour,
records of events and conversations, personal journals
and so forth) or audio and video recordings? Is it summaries of data or preliminary interpretations, arrived at
during the course of research and used as the basis for
further investigation? Or is it more finished products,
such as published articles and books? Ravitsky and
Wilfond (2006; see also the commentaries accompanying their article) have argued that results of genetic
research should be returned to individuals only after
undergoing peer review for analytic validity and clinical utility. However, because much sharing in ethnographic practice occurs during the course of research,
may be done informally, and is often crucial to the
researcher testing preliminary ideas, prior peer review
(especially, if required by ethics boards) seems unrealistic and beside the point. How the sharing takes place
must also be considered. Is it through informal discussions, community presentations, formal reports,
depositing materials in an archive, professional publications, or popular publications, for example? Is sharing a central part of the research methodology (see
below)?
An important complication, from the perspective
of ethics assessment, is that the practical complexity of
ethnographic research inevitably raises questions of
delineating research from other activities as well as
of obtaining informed consent (for the latter, see, e.g.
American Anthropological Association, n.d.). Does
having a cup of coffee with a neighbor and friend count
as research? What is the status of information gained
during such an interaction, for example about attitudes, activities, other individuals, community sentiment, and so on? Such information might well be
recorded in field notes and used in a variety of ways,
even if only as background for further investigation or
interpretation.
Raw field notes are not generally shared directly with

study participants but they may become available to
them otherwise. As Chambers et al. (2002, p. 211)
argue, [F]ield notes, recordings, genealogies, journals,
interviews . . . are complex ethnographic artifacts. We
now understand that they have been produced
through an interplay between numerous actors and
interests . . . They represent not only community life
but also the intellectual and personal development of
the researcher. Thus, questions of ownership, access,
and control multiply (Chambers et al., 2002, p. 212).
However, in many cases today such ethnographic
artefacts are deposited in archives where researchers
and others can consult them. Thus, it is entirely possible that such field notes may be returned or shared
with study participants or others linked to them with
unknown (one might say, unknowable) consequences.
A case in point is the Melanesian Archives at the
University of California at San Diego, which currently
holds the papers of some 25 individuals who have carried out research in Melanesia, as well as a variety of
miscellaneous other materials (University of California
at San Diego, n.d.).
Akin and Creely (2002) have described some of the
issues associated with the collection of Roger Keesings
papers at the Melanesian Archive. Keesing was a distinguished anthropologist who carried out field work
with the Kwaio people of the Solomon Islands between
1963 and 1990. Among other things, the Archive holds
Solomon Islands field notebooks from seven field trips,
photographs and slides of Kwaio village life and customs, and audio recordings of interviews with informants in the Kwaio language, as well as field notebooks
of his chief local assistant (University of California at
San Diego, n.d.). Some materials have been copied and
put on file in the Solomon Islands National Museum.
After Keesings sudden death in 1993, David Akin,
who had worked closely with him in the same area, was
asked by his family to work with the Archive on the
placement of his papers and their possible repatriation
to the Solomon Islands (Akin & Creely, 2002, p. 86).
Perhaps the key issue that arose concerned access to the
records, none of which had been marked confidential.
Family members decided that Akin was in the best
position to decide what should be restricted and, in
consultation with Kwaio community leaders, what the
conditions of restriction should be (Akin & Creely,
2002, p. 88). A central concern here is that, as in other
Melanesian societies, knowledge is power and is often
considered the property of individuals or kin groups.
At one level, this relates to allowing access to the records

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by Kwaio people who were not members of the kin

groups of those who provided the information. At
another level, it has do to with splits between followers
of the traditional religion and Christians, who are
attempting to stamp out pagan practices and who have
been denied access to Keesings materials. More broadly,
therefore, it concerns the legitimacy granted by tradition, itself continually being transformed, and struggles
over the politics of local culture (Akin & Creely, 2002,
pp. 88-93). Assessing the potential benefits and harms
of repatriating Keesings materials is thus fraught with
uncertainties, to say the least.
Akin was ideally situated to carry out the task he took
on. He had spent five years with the Kwaio, had worked
closely with Keesing, spoke the local language, and had
good relations with all. Yet, even for him, the task
proved daunting, besides raising the question of
whether non-Kwaio should be making these decisions
in the first place. When none of these advantages exists
making such decisions is even more difficult. When the
field researcher, who had the best understanding of the
materials, has died assessing the potential harms that
might result from allowing unlimited access to the
materials raises many problems. The benefits for the
scholarly community are clear. But the potential for
harm to study participants and others in their communities remains, even if the archive is far from the community. As Akin & Creely (2002, p. 89) point out, today
it is realistic to assume that someday a young
researcher from the islands may eventually visit, read
the transcripts, listen to the audiotapes, and use them
for his or her own purposes. As time passes and societies change, ownership of cultural materials may
well have changed. As Jaarsma (2002b, p. 61) suggests,
it will be harder to determine to whom materials
should be returned and whom to consult about access.
Thus, each potential situation of this sort needs to be
evaluated carefully by researchers, archivists, and ethics
board members for its possible harmful effects. Given
the complexity and delicacy of such situations, I do not
think it would be appropriate for ethics boards to
require the sharing or offering to share such materials.
Rather, they should try to assure themselves that
researchers are aware of and take into consideration all
relevant factors before making decisions about how
to proceed.
Brettell (1993) and her contributors discuss an
increasingly common situation, that in which study
participants read what has been written about them,
either because the anthropologist has deliberately
shared her writings with them or for other reasons,
11
e.g., reading about the study in the press as in

Scenario 3. The latter kind of situation does not fall
under the purview of ethics boards but nonetheless
holds interest for the light it throws on the possible
consequences of the sharing of results. Glazier (1993),
for example, points to some of the consequences of
his publications being read by study participants,
members of the Spiritual Baptists of Trinidad. Some
of his participants objected because he had disguised
the identities of particular churches and individuals.
Because of the prominence (for purely circumstantial
reasons) given to pictures of one individual and his
church in his book, Glazier was denied access to some
other churches and ceremonies by leaders who
thought he was allied with the pictured individual
(Glazier, 1993, p. 43). Reading his writings simultaneously opened and closed avenues for research, promoted acceptance and fuelled misunderstandings,
brought about factionalism and fostered alliances,
and deeply affected my life and the lives of my
informants . . . (Glazier, 1993, p. 38). Hopkins (1993,
p. 129) laments that our wish to include informants
more intimately in the research process by sharing
with them prepublication drafts will surely jeopardize
the anonymity of some other members of the community. Dona Davis (1993) returned interview materials and portions of her book to the people with
whom she worked in Newfoundland for their comments and approval. None objected to what she wrote
so long as she preserved confidentiality and anonymity.
However, she learned when she returned to the community years later for further research that regardless
of her having disguised identities, local women could
easily identify people she had written about. Rumours
began to circulate about her and the book (mainly
among people who had not read it) with the result
that some people refused interviews with her and
some refused to have her in their homes. She learned
to live with the stress of daily survival with a dual and
volatile identity as friend/champion and villain/pariah
(Dona Davis, 1993, p. 29). As Tolich (2004) suggests,
while researchers may be able to provide assurances of
external confidentiality, internal confidentiality is
often much more difficult to ensure, with potentially
harmful consequences both for researchers and participants. Nonetheless, providing publications to participants clearly should be an integral part of all
ethnographic research as it recognizes participants
integral role in the production of ethnographic
knowledge. In certain circumstances (as where there
is widespread illiteracy), however, it will be necessary

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for ethnographers to develop alternate methods for

sharing their published work, e.g., reading it or having
it read aloud.
The Nature of Sharing: With Whom?
The cases discussed above and similar ones (see

Jaarsma, 2002a) represent relatively traditional forms
of anthropological researchin more or less remote
places with exotic peoples living in what were
assumed to be bounded communities who had low
rates of literacy and education and where communications were poor. Anthropologists working in such situations generally did not have to confront questions
about ownership and control of the information they
collected. This picture has become increasingly less
accurate than it used to be. Today much research is carried out at home, (which, increasingly, is neither
North America nor Europe) and with people, wherever
they live, who are connected to global circuits of
knowledge and power. Often, this research is multisited and/or carried out in institutional settings, e.g.,
hospitals, community or government agencies, companies and the like. Field work may be undertaken
with the homeless, drug users, Xerox repairmen,
bureaucrats, molecular geneticists and others who do
not constitute communities in any useful sense of the
word. Or, it may involve issues that crosscut several
communities and/or groups, for example, of land disputes involving native people, local settlers (whose
ancestors may have settled the land hundreds of years
ago), local, regional, and national governments, law
enforcement personnel, and others as in Scenario 4.
Sometimes, as in Scenario 6, study participants are
widely dispersed and difficult or impossible to maintain contact with for reasons that may have to do with
their legal status and politics as much as with geography.
Sharing data and results with communities, whether
it is required in order to do the research (see below) or
not, may present certain problems. For example, community leaders may not share the materials with others but may use them for their own benefit or to
oppress community members. In some situations, distrust of community authorities by ordinary people
may be so great that reporting research data or results
to them (which may be required by the government)
may endanger the researcher. Highly factionalized
communities make it necessary for the researcher to be
aware of the dangers of exacerbating factional conflict
by providing information that privileges one group at
the expense of others. When information (such as
sacred ritual knowledge and practices) is regarded as
the property of certain groups only, revealing it to the

community at large may lead to misappropriation by
others, internal conflict and condemnation of the
researcher.
In this context, Weijer, Goldsand, & Emmanuels
(1999) discussion of the difficulties of extending a principle of respect for communities beyond relatively
cohesive communities, like aboriginal groups, is germane
(see also Dena Davis, 2000; Sharp & Foster, 2000, 2002).
They argue that communities without a system of legitimate political representation present particular problems for implementing a requirement of community
consent. Thus, they write (Weijer, Goldsand, &
Emmanuel, 1999, p. 279), [F]urther work will require
a more nuanced approach and recognize that communities represent a wide variety of human associations,
including ethic (sic), cultural, religious, political, artistic, professional, sexual and disease communities.
However, I would argue that many such human associations should not be categorized as communities at
all. As Dena Davis (2000, p. 39) claims, [T]he term
community . . . ought to carry some implications of
shared goals, shared experiences, or at least of communication among members of the community, but that
this is often not the case. Often, she says (2000, p. 39)
community is simply another way of saying group.
Assuming that people belong to certain communities
simply because they share certain characteristics is as
inattentive to the reality of human living as is assuming
that they live in a world where they take account only
of themselves(Dena Davis, 2000, p. 44). I would push
these points further, however. It is necessary to distinguish between socially identifiable groups and actual
social groups, i.e., sets of individuals who interact in
some way and recognize a shared identity. Those suffering from breast cancer, for example, constitute a category, not a social group or community, just as do those
with red hair or university degrees. The breast cancer
survivors association of Toronto represents a social
group; all those who have survived breast cancer constitute a category. The importance of these distinctions for
the present discussion is that sharing or offering to
share research results with members of a category is
fraught with many of the difficulties discussed by Sharp
& Foster (2000) in the context of community review of
genetic research. Individuals who receive results may
not be representative of the population; harms may
accrue to the population from a selective sharing of
results. Thus, when categories of people are being studied researchers will need considerable ingenuity to find
appropriate ways of returning research results and to
ensure that the risks of doing so are mitigated. For

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example, in some cases, results might be shared

through online discussion groups or websites aimed at
users with particular interests or other characteristics
in common. Similarly, they may be announced in interest-group newsletters, community newspapers and
through radio or television broadcasts. Interested parties may be invited to contact the researcher for further
information.
The Changing Politics and Practice of Ethnography
The discussion so far has assumed a fairly traditional

separation between researchers and participants.
Data (literally, the given) are collected; analysis,
interpretation, and writing up are carried out by the
researcher, then shared with or returned to participants. Even though participants may have been
involved as consultants, not simply informants, this
separation is largely maintained. In reciprocal
ethnography, as Lawless (2000) has called it, participants respond to the ethnographers interpretations
and the ethnographer then responds in turn. Still, control over the final products remains firmly in the
ethnographers hands. If we think of the relations of
researcher and participants as a continuum, then collaborative ethnography occupies a position beyond that
of reciprocal ethnography. Lassiter (2005, pp. 16, 17),
for example, argues that collaborative ethnography
as an approach deliberately and explicitly emphasizes
collaboration at every point in the ethnographic
process, without veiling it . . . (emphasis in the original);
it entails constant mutual engagement. He discusses six
approaches to engaging consultants in collaborative writing and editing: using principal consultants as readers
and editors; employing focus groups; editorial boards;
collaborative ethnographer/consultant teams; community forums; and creating co-written texts (Lassiter,
2005, p. 139).
In this style of research, the lines between researcher
and participants are often blurred, continually shifting,
and subject to constant negotiation. While few projects
may wholly follow this ideal, it exemplifies a tendency,
rooted in the changing politics and epistemology of
ethnography, which is found in much contemporary
anthropological research. From this perspective, sharing
of data and interpretations is continual, although
responsibility for preparing texts generally remains with
the anthropologist. Potential harms may have to do with
how representative actual collaborators are of their
social group and how the materials are used. The potential exists for some collaborators to benefit more than
others and also to use the knowledge they have gained to
13
increase their own power vis--vis others. Benefits have

to do, not only with those to scholarship, but especially
with the increased control participants have gained over
how they are represented. Given the fluid and emergent
character of this research approach, ethics boards will
have great difficulty in assessing it. Sharing results after
completion of the project does not arise as an issue given
that, at least in the ideal case, there has been a continual
sharing of data and interpretation.
The growing practice of more collaborative forms of
ethnography points to the changing politics of ethnographic research, some of which concerns the power of
representation [which has produced a large literature
of its own, two important roots of which are Clifford
and Marcus (1986) and Marcus and Fischer (1986)].
Many groups have demanded the right to represent
themselves rather than allowing outsiders to do so.
Gustavo Herrarte (personal communication) tells of
his experience doing research with Highland Maya
people in Guatemala after the end of the civil war in
1996. He writes that in his last fieldwork he was asked
to submit a list of questions and was instructed not to
ask anything other than what appeared on the list. I
was also instructed by the whole assembly that I had to
return to show them what I found. In both cases, they
had a bunch of advisors (lawyers mostly) listening and
revising [i.e., reviewing] my findings.
Researchers in some situations may be seen as a
resource by local people in furthering their own agendas, which may sometimes lead to collaboration
between local people and anthropologists (e.g. Garcia
2000). As Goldstein (2002, 487) says about his research
experience in urban Cochabamba, Bolivia, the writings
of the anthropologist had important implications in
local identity-building projects, for the politically
savvy see in the anthropologist a means to access
media of communication previously unavailable to
them, e.g., local newspapers, radio and television
(Goldstein, 2002, 487). Yet the anthropologists power
of representation may also engender distrust and lack
of co-operation, as people worry about the negative
consequences of how they will be represented to outsiders (Goldstein, 2002, 494-511).
In some cases, sharing research results has become a
requirement without which research would not be possible. The anti-colonialist critique of anthropology
stressed the inequality of power between researcher
and those studied (an early example is Deloria, 1969;
for more recent discussions, see, for example,
Cruickshank, 1993; Bishop, 2005, Smith, 2005). It
pointed out how the benefits of such research flowed
almost entirely to the anthropologist and his or her

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society. Indigenous knowledge and material resources

were exploited, it was argued, for personal benefit,
profit, and/or power. For some (as in the Guatemalan
example above) the issue centered on who controls the
representations of native peoples lives offered to the
wider world (Cruickshank, 1993, 134). By the late
1980s movements to counter this perceived exploitation had gained momentum, for example, to assert
intellectual property rights over traditional knowledge
and practices (e.g., Posey, 1990; Brown, 1998; Stanley,
1998). More recently, First Nations in Canada have
asserted a series of principles to guide research carried
out among them, in what is seen as an expression of
self-determination (Schnarch, 2004; Kaufert, Glass, &
Freeman, 2004). These principles are referred to as
OCAP and consist of collective ownership of group
information, First Nations control over research and
information, management of access to the data, and,
finally, physical possession of the data (Schnarch, 2004,
p. 80). Similar principles have been laid out in, for
example, the Model Tribal Research Code in the
United States (American Indian Law Center, 1999) and
for research with Australian Aboriginal people
(National Health and Medical Research Council.
(2003). New guidelines for health research with aboriginal peoples in Canada recommend co-ownership of
data, sharing of copyright in publications, and that
aboriginal communities have the right to participate in
data interpretation and the review of conclusions
(Canadian Institutes of Health Research, 2005). These
new guidelines, while specifically dealing with healthrelated research, represent a deliberate attempt on the
part of indigenous North Americans to redress the
imbalance of power between them and researchers and
thus to capture more of the benefits of research for
their communities.
The new conditions under which research with aboriginal communities takes place represent a special case
of a more general phenomenon. The days in which
anthropologists or other ethnographers could assume
that they would be able freely to set the terms on which
research would be carried out have largly ended.
Participants in many kinds of studies expect, at the very
least, to be consulted on the design of research and to
be informed of its results.
Conclusions
Sharing or offering to share research data and results is

not included in anthropologists formal ethical guidelines. Yet, it appears to be an increasingly common
practice, reflecting changing political conditions and

ethical stances. Questions of ownership, access, and
control of data and interpretations multiply. Indeed,
in research with some indigenous groups sharing
results has become a requirement in order to obtain
permission to carry out the research. However, doing
so often encounters many practical difficulties. As
described above, this is particularly true in the case of
long-term research, when the returned materials
include field notes and other more or less informal
materials, and when the research has been carried out
on categories of people rather than groups. In many
cases it creates the possibility that harms will follow
but in ways that are often difficult or impossible to
predict. In some situations, such as research on conflict involving multiple interest groups or factionalized
communities, sharing of results with some of the participants may lead to an escalation of conflict with others. Where violence is endemic, disclosure or sharing
of data and results may directly endanger participants.
Thus, as Chambers et al. (2002. p. 212) write, a continuum . . . will often be essential, with decision making regarding ethnographic products and fieldwork
situations based directly in the particularities of each
situation. As local and national communities and their
interests change over time decision making becomes
even more complicated.
Given the complexities and variety of ethnographic
research, it would be inappropriate to adopt a general
ethical requirement of sharing or offering to share
research results with study participants. Ethics boards
should consider each case in its own complexity, seeking always to balance the need to protect participants
from harm with the social value of the research. In
working with researchers on their protocols, ethics
boards should, if necessary, put forward the suggestions and considerations raised in Table 1. However,
ethics boards should take into account that many decisions about sharing cannot be taken until the research
is well underway. Ideally, participants should be
involved in all phases of the research, as in the model of
collaborative ethnography. Researchers should plan
from the beginning for data and results sharing. Such
an approach radically alters the balance of power
between researcher and those studied and makes possible research more closely attuned to the perceived
needs of the latter. Yet not all research can or should be
carried out in this fashion. Sharing data or results in
dangerous situations, for example, may increase the
level of potential harms to participants and sometimes
to the fieldworker, as well.

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TABLE 1. Recommendations for researchers on sharing data and results.

1. Consider and plan for sharing when designing research projects
2. Actively engage with the group being studied, if possible, to make decision making collaborative
3. Contextualize decisions about sharing in terms of the particulars of the setting and situation
4. In particular, take into account group history and traditions, social divisions, relations with others and the potential for conflict
5. Consider carefully whether sharing data with some segments of a community might benefit some people rather than others
and/or potentially harm others
6. Attempt to preserve traditional ownership rights and responsibilities of materials, if such exist
7. When sharing field notes or other raw data, consider removing personally sensitive or dangerous materials
8. Return interview transcripts to interviewees for review and comment
9. Whenever possible, provide copies of published materials
10. If necessary, find alternate ways of presenting published materials
11. If materials are deposited in an archive, consider carefully whether or how access should be restricted so as to protect individuals
and communities
12. Consider the issues involved in the timing of data sharing
13. Remember that sharing data and results may have unanticipated consequences
Source: Chambers et al (2002, 212-213) for nos. 1-3, 5-7, 11-13
Rather than requiring sharing or the offer of sharing

results, I would argue that the issue of sharing should
become an explicit part of the training of students and
that open discussion of it should be fostered among
professional anthropologists. It should also become
part of the continuing education of ethics board members. The possibility of sharing results, the factors that
should be considered in deciding how to do so, and the
potential problems that might arise should be considered by anthropologists when they plan their projects.
They should do so because this would be the ethically
preferable way in which to conduct their research. As
Fernandez (personal communication) points out, it
should be the default option; there should be an onus
on the investigator to justify not doing so rather than
the reverse. As I have argued, however, it must be recognized, especially by ethics boards, that decisions
about sharing results often cannot be made prospectively. Rather, they depend on the complex, highlycontextualized knowledge gained by the fieldworker
during the course of the project. Thus, ethnographers
must have the option of not sharing results if to do so
would endanger study participants or others associated
with them, and ethnographers should have the freedom
to make that decision at an appropriate time.
Best Practices
Ethics boards that recognize the special nature of

ethnographic research and do not attempt to assimilate
it to other models of research represent best practices,
whether or not they adopt radically different procedures for reviewing such research (as Tolich &
Fitzgerald, 2006, among others, suggest they ought to
do). As argued above, ethics board members should
also educate themselves on the nature of the issues discussed in this article. Best practices for ethnographic
researchers involve negotiating agreements with
research participants on the sharing of data and results.
However, researchers must always be mindful of the
potential dangers to individuals and communities in
doing so. As well, they must always consider the likelihood of unanticipated consequences, both for themselves and for study participants.
Research Agenda
The issues discussed in this paper suggest several lines

of additional research. As I noted earlier, there is little
or no empirical evidence on the actual practices of cultural anthropologists (and other ethnographers) in
regard to the sharing of research materials and results
with study participants. Thus, I have recently begun a
survey to collect data not only on their practices but
also their experience with and attitudes towards such
sharing. It would also be important to have empirical
research on the practices and experience of other kinds
of researchers that goes beyond the accounts already
available.
A second line of investigation would examine this
issue from the other side, i.e., from the perspective of
study participants. As Deborah Poff (2006, p. 27) reports

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from Northern British Columbia, she heard repeatedly

about university people who had come to the community, won the trust of the people, and then betrayed them
through the publication of research findings in a large
urban paper which they had not shared with the aboriginal participants. Ideally, studies of participants should
be ethnographic in order to capture not only the superficial facts (whether sharing occurred, the form it took if
it did, etc.) but also the deeper impacts and meanings
involved. What kinds of consequences have there been,
as perceived by study participants? Research on this side
of the question should not be restricted to aboriginal
communities. Rather attempts should be made to study
other communities and groups who have been the subjects of ethnographic research as well.
Finally, a third line of research would ask how ethics
boards have dealt with the issue of sharing research
data and results with participants. How have they
framed the issue? To what extent have they tried to
educate themselves on the particularities of ethnographic research? Have they dealt with it differently in
this context from how they have dealt with sharing
research data and results with participants in other
kinds of research? What difficulties have they found in
dealing with this issue, if indeed they have done so?
Educational Implications
I would suggest two sorts of educational implications

of this study. The first, as discussed above, concerns the
need for greater discussion of the issue among ethnographers generally. But more specifically it points to the
need to include consideration of sharing data and
results with participants in the training of graduate students about to undertake field research and/or as part
of an explicit consideration of ethical issues.
The second implication is for research ethics boards.

In order adequately to assess proposals for ethnographic
research they must educate themselves about the
assumptions and practices of this research tradition.
Perhaps the most productive way to achieve this end is to
discuss particular cases, preferably with an experienced
researcher present, not for review but rather as part of
the educational effort. Sharing of data and results
occurs in other research traditions as well, as noted
above. Thus, it would be beneficial for ethics boards to
include cases of data and results sharing across the relevant spectrum of research traditions in their efforts at
continuing education.
Author Note
Address correspondence to: Matthew Cooper, Department of Anthropology, McMaster University, Hamilton,
Ontario, Canada L8S 4L9. E-MAIL: cooper @mcmaster.ca.
Author Biographical Sketch
Matthew Cooper is a cultural anthropologist who has

carried out field research in the Solomon Islands,
Canada, and the United States. He served on the
McMaster Research Ethics Board for eight years and
has done research on the experiences of ethnographers
with Research Ethics Boards.
Acknowledgment
I would like to thank Will van den Hoonaard, Conrad

Fernandez, Joan Sieber, Eva Mackey and three anonymous reviewers for this journal for their comments on
earlier versions of this article.
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