Anthropologists and Ethics

 From the issue dated October 6, 2000

POINT OF VIEW

How Anthropology Should Respond to an Ethical
Crisis

By CAROLYN FLUEHR-LOBBAN

Ethics in anthropology is like race in America -- dialogue takes
place during times of crisis. In 1971, the Vietnam War precipitated
American anthropology's first statement on ethics, and ethical
discourse has been punctuated by crises from within and without
ever since.

The anticipated publication of Darkness in El Dorado: How
Scientists and Journalists Devastated the Amazon (W.W.
Norton), by the investigative journalist Patrick Tierney, may
produce a crisis of unparalleled magnitude in anthropology.
Tierney's book alleges not only egregious violations of ethical
conduct by anthropologists, but also a cynical betrayal of the
fundamental human rights of the Yanomami, an isolated, indigenous
people of Venezuela and Brazil. The book suggests that genetic
research sponsored by the Atomic Energy Commission and led by
the late James V. Neel, of the University of Michigan, contributed
to untold deaths among the Yanomami.

Tierney's investigation relates that in 1968, thousands of samples of
Yanomami blood and other biological data were collected for
research. At the same time, a measles vaccine known to be virulent
in genetically isolated populations was injected into the Yanomami
as part of a project designed by Neel, allegedly inspired by
eugenics theories. The essential social and genealogical data for the
experiment were provided by Napoleon A. Chagnon, author of
The Yanomamö: A Fierce People, who had worked with the
Yanomami since 1964. (Chagnon, now retired from the University
of California at Santa Barbara, strongly disputes the interpretations
of the book that have surfaced even before its publication.)

The story Tierney tells grows more sinister, as an epidemic rapidly
ensued and the research team allegedly was advised not to provide
any medical assistance to the sick and dying Yanomami. The
similarity to the infamous Tuskegee experiment, conducted from
1932 to 1972, when latent syphilis was left untreated in 399
low-income African-American sharecroppers to observe the
course of the disease, comes to mind.

The reverberations of Tierney's book may reach well beyond
anthropology to all genetic and biomedical research among
vulnerable, non-Western populations. But its most immediate effect
may be to provoke a needed dialogue on the crucial importance of
informed consent in anthropology. Although "informed consent"
was articulated as a legal and ethical principle for medical research
in 1972, many years passed before it was adopted by social
scientists -- largely because it was perceived to be the standard for
biomedical research and not for social research.

Also, due to a perceived association in the minds of many
anthropologists and other behavioral scientists between informed
consent and consent forms, the consent principle did not appear in
any statement on ethics from the American Anthropological
Association until 1998, when its ethics code was revised to apply
to each of anthropology's four fields.

In a 1994 article in Human Organization, the journal of the
Society for Applied Anthropology, I argued that anthropologists
are not exempt from informed consent. Informed consent is not
about forms; it is an opportunity to have an open discussion with
participants about the research. The scientist describes and
discloses to the people studied, to the best of his or her knowledge,
the intent of the research; the methods by which it is to be carried
out; the source of financial support; and the possible outcomes of
the research. The documentation of informed consent may be
recorded orally or in writing, using the language of the people
studied as well as that of the researcher.

Those standards are not commonly followed today in
anthropological or cross-cultural research, but they should be.
Some scientists might argue that informed consent is a specialized
Western ethical and cultural principle from which research outside
the United States or the West is exempt. Others might say that the
Yanomami are a "primitive" people incapable of giving consent
because they are an isolated group of simple horticulturalists who
could not understand the scientific purpose of genetic or social
research or its ramifications.

But few would argue that there is a human being or culture
anywhere on earth that does not understand the difference between
disease and health, life and death, or cultural survival and cultural
extinction. An inability to obtain informed consent may mean that
research cannot or should not take place. It is the great burden of
anthropologists on research projects like the ones now under
scrutiny to be the main linguistic and cultural brokers between the
powerful Western world and its scientists and the non-Western,
less powerful people they study.

Like all research with humans, anthropological studies are now
subject to formal institutional review. Unlike other fields, it is
increasingly subject to approval by review boards among the
peoples studied, such as those of American Indian tribes that have
grown more restrictive and selective since federal regulation was
enacted to protect human subjects. I have heard complaints from
leaders of universities' institutional review boards about the
resistance of some anthropologists to their oversight, claiming that
reviewers from other disciplines do not understand the nature of
anthropological research and that informed consent in other cultures
is impossible to obtain.

Some have revealed a certain degree of paternalism (or
maternalism), indicating that they know what is best for the people
they study. This has been criticized as the "My Tribe" syndrome in
anthropological circles. How much Chagnon's research was subject
to institutional review after 1972 is not known; however, his returns
or attempted returns to the field have often been met with
controversy. In two cases, protests or a government ruling
prevented him from returning. In the 1990's, professional
associations of anthropologists in both Brazil and Venezuela
condemned Chagnon's work, demanding that he not be allowed to
return for further research.

For this article, I reviewed Chagnon's 1974 film A Man Called
"Bee," a documentary filmed among the Yanomami of Venezuela
about how to conduct anthropological fieldwork. While viewing the
40-minute film, I was unable to find any reference to ethics and the
conduct of research even though the first anthropological ethics
statement had been in effect for three years.

Informed consent, of course, is not just an issue for anthropologists.
Lack of openness and full disclosure have been lacking in studies
among vulnerable populations in the United States, particularly in
research on the effects of radiation using severely retarded people
who may be incapable of giving consent. Ethical questions have
also been raised about AIDS-related research among a number of
disadvantaged populations, such as H.I.V.-infected people in Haiti,
Thailand, Uganda, and other poor nations, where the high cost of
AIDS treatment and prevention makes loosely regulated or
nonmonitored studies more attractive to Western researchers.

Allegations of misconduct by one or a small group of
anthropologists should not tarnish the entire profession, especially
when many anthropologists have adapted to a changed,
postcolonial world. Today, "agency" and self-determination are
expected among the formerly colonized peoples. Now that
non-literate people are literate, they can critically read the
publications of foreign researchers.

The Yanomami, in fact, have their own representatives, including
Davi Kopenawa, the respected Portuguese-speaking shaman.
Anthropologists sensitive to this postcolonial context have
collaborated more with research participants and involved them in
every phase of research from planning to publication. That change
may be reflected in the increasing use of terms such as "research
participants" or "collaborators" instead of "research subjects."

Anthropologists at the November meeting of the American
Anthropological Association may demand some sanction against
Chagnon. Censure may be raised as a "remedy," but that would be
a quick and easy solution. The only time I am aware that
anthropologists censured a colleague was in a case many regret.

Franz Boas, a founder of American anthropology, was censured in
1919 by the powerful Anthropology Society of Washington for his
criticism of four anthropologists, who combined intelligence
gathering for the U.S. government with their research during World
War I. Later, during the Vietnam War, anthropologists were
alleged to be aiding the Department of Defense in gathering
intelligence about Southeast Asia. Those charges led the
association, in 1971, to draft its first principles of professional
responsibility.

The present crisis is an opportunity to advance critical ethical
discourse in anthropology. Passing resolutions to condemn
unethical behavior is no substitute for sustained, vigorous dialogue
and debate about ethics. We need to undertake a painful
examination of a past anthropology that ignored or was uncritical of
research driven by racism and the arrogance of Western power
and privilege. We must also not forget the Yanomami. Any
discussion raised by this case must consider their fundamental
human rights.

We need to understand the spirit and intent of informed consent, as
well as its legal demands. Ethics, methods, and research outcomes
are inseparable. Ultimately, we might comprehend a basic truth:
Bad ethics makes bad research.

Carolyn Fluehr-Lobban is a professor of anthropology and
director of general education at Rhode Island College. She
edited Ethics and the Profession of Anthropology: Dialogue for a
New Era (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991) and was a
member of the American Anthropological Association
commission that drafted its revised Code of Ethics in 1998.

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