Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Fieldnotes From History."
One year ago today on Round and Square (19 June 2011)—Hurtin' Country: Meetin' Hank Songs
One year ago today on Round and Square (19 June 2011)—Hurtin' Country: Meetin' Hank Songs
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| [a] Lion's Head temple RF |
Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1 Election 2 Election 3 Election 4 Election 5 Election 6
Election 7 Election 8 Election 9 Election 10 Election 11 Election 12
Part of an occasional Round and Square
series that follows the blog’s main theme (east meets
west, round meets square, and past meets present), these
snippets from my early fieldnotes are reproduced as they
were written by hand—and then revised on an ancient
desktop computer—during my first fieldwork stay in Taiwan
(1985-1987). All entries are the way that I left them
when I returned to the United States in 1987—some
nicely-stated and some embarrassing. Although the series began with
my assumption that the entries can stand alone, I have found that
separate comments and notes might help readers understand a world that
is now, well, history. These are always separate from the original fieldnote.
The next several dozen entries in this series represent my memories—in the form of fieldnotes that were already well on their way to being letters—of Taiwan's provincial elections in November 1985. I had taken down what I call "jottings" at the time, and "now," two months later, I was ready to get a little bit more detail down in the form of fieldnotes. If you are somewhat unfamiliar with the five-stage process that framed my work habits even back then, it might be worth a quick look at the introduction to this series. Suffice it to say here that in Taiwan in 1985 I was working from "jottings" to "fieldnotes" most of the time. Every month or so, I would write a letter that made it all into a more sustained narrative. Even early on, I realized how powerfully the knowledge that I would be writing letters influenced my fieldnotes. You may see it, too. It has remained my method to this day.
Like many fieldnotes, these were "written up" (a term I dislike, but am occasionally willing to use) after the fact. I wonder if most students of anthropology know how common this is. The implications for research, eye-witness authenticity, and historiography are numerous. It is a reality that has never gone away for field researchers of all kinds, though, and I suspect that it never will.
Comment
This little fieldnote functions in a "set-up" role for the one that follows. If you have read a few of these entries, you probably noticed that I tend to keep most notes under 300 words. That is about what is contained on a double-spaced page (the old rule of thumb saying "250" was always wrong). From the start, I wrote single-spaced notes, leaving room for sketches or diagrams on the rest of the page—spaces that usually stood as hopeful reminders of my good intentions. With very rare exceptions (ones that this anal-retentive ethnographer can count on one set of normal human digits), each fieldnote took up one page.
This started back in my typewriter days, and has persisted long after changing pages on the roller ceased to matter. For anyone old enough to know the difference (and my typewriter phase was unusually brief, considering that I had a Copam Electronics computer in my Taipei work space within a few months), single pages file easily and can even be cross-indexed. For a long time after I started working on a computer, I printed out individual fieldnotes on full pages and filed them in the hopes of returning to the material and sketching in everything from Chinese characters to diagrams of Keelung Harbor. One of these days (one of these projects) I'll finally use that well-intentioned blank space.
The next several dozen entries in this series represent my memories—in the form of fieldnotes that were already well on their way to being letters—of Taiwan's provincial elections in November 1985. I had taken down what I call "jottings" at the time, and "now," two months later, I was ready to get a little bit more detail down in the form of fieldnotes. If you are somewhat unfamiliar with the five-stage process that framed my work habits even back then, it might be worth a quick look at the introduction to this series. Suffice it to say here that in Taiwan in 1985 I was working from "jottings" to "fieldnotes" most of the time. Every month or so, I would write a letter that made it all into a more sustained narrative. Even early on, I realized how powerfully the knowledge that I would be writing letters influenced my fieldnotes. You may see it, too. It has remained my method to this day.
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| [b] Function RF |
Like many fieldnotes, these were "written up" (a term I dislike, but am occasionally willing to use) after the fact. I wonder if most students of anthropology know how common this is. The implications for research, eye-witness authenticity, and historiography are numerous. It is a reality that has never gone away for field researchers of all kinds, though, and I suspect that it never will.
Comment
This little fieldnote functions in a "set-up" role for the one that follows. If you have read a few of these entries, you probably noticed that I tend to keep most notes under 300 words. That is about what is contained on a double-spaced page (the old rule of thumb saying "250" was always wrong). From the start, I wrote single-spaced notes, leaving room for sketches or diagrams on the rest of the page—spaces that usually stood as hopeful reminders of my good intentions. With very rare exceptions (ones that this anal-retentive ethnographer can count on one set of normal human digits), each fieldnote took up one page.
This started back in my typewriter days, and has persisted long after changing pages on the roller ceased to matter. For anyone old enough to know the difference (and my typewriter phase was unusually brief, considering that I had a Copam Electronics computer in my Taipei work space within a few months), single pages file easily and can even be cross-indexed. For a long time after I started working on a computer, I printed out individual fieldnotes on full pages and filed them in the hopes of returning to the material and sketching in everything from Chinese characters to diagrams of Keelung Harbor. One of these days (one of these projects) I'll finally use that well-intentioned blank space.
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| [c] Partitioned RF |
Today's note shows the positives and negatives of this habit, which persists to this day. In class, I often tell students to err on the side of paragraph-long notes, so long as they are very conscious that the genre in front of them is not a "jotting," on the one hand, or the sustained narrative of a letter, on the other. 150-300 words works pretty well if you get the hang of it...and learn how and when to "break" them. This is by no means a "rule" in ethnographic circles. Depending on the researcher, "fieldnotes" can mean anything from a snatch of observation (what I call a "jotting") to an extended reflection—sometimes many pages, even tens of pages, long—on the other. Having felt from an early time that I had these poles covered with "jottings" and "letters," I kept hammering away in bite-sized chunks.
Today's note could have been combined with tomorrow's to create one distinct 600-word note. Instead, I broke it into two when I was writing. This became so much a part of my regular work habits that I didn't really start to think about it until I started this series about a year ago and realized how short they all seem. It will be easy enough to see that today's note doesn't make much sense without tomorrow's. While I can imagine many other writers saying that they need to go together, I sort of like the "background" feel of this one as distinct from the "right now" details of tomorrow's. Historical and cultural research (and the writing of notes) is a lot like this. How we spoon in the background has a great deal to do with choice, and I've made mine here. Since 1985.
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| [d] Mixing RF |
[1]
Remember that it was 1987 (and I was younger and less cynical). I want
to laugh out loud when I read about the "mixing of religion and
politics" in Taiwan. Watching the spring primary debates this year shed
any doubts I might have had about "mixing" in the United States. On the other hand, the manner of the mixing remains distinct and endlessly fascinating.
[2] In most cases the candidates did not go to Buddhist or Daoist temples. They went to temples. The swirling syncretism of the locations took care of the rest.
[3] The Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies used to publish some excellent ethnographic work. I spent several enjoyable days back in college exploring articles on life among what the Chinese government today calls "ethnic minorities." Alas, HJAS has no interest in such work now, and it is everyone's loss.
[4] My students will see that I did not now how to write a(n) historical date correctly back in the day. This is embarrassing. It should be (as my Style Sheet implores): 206 BCE (BC) - CE (AD) 220.
[5] There are some challenges with tense here. Remember that I was writing these notes in February 1986 about the world of the past (November 1985). I covered the bulk of this topic yesterday, but past tense will appear in places where one would expect the present. It was past to me...and I was in a hurry to get it down.
[2] In most cases the candidates did not go to Buddhist or Daoist temples. They went to temples. The swirling syncretism of the locations took care of the rest.
[3] The Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies used to publish some excellent ethnographic work. I spent several enjoyable days back in college exploring articles on life among what the Chinese government today calls "ethnic minorities." Alas, HJAS has no interest in such work now, and it is everyone's loss.
[4] My students will see that I did not now how to write a(n) historical date correctly back in the day. This is embarrassing. It should be (as my Style Sheet implores): 206 BCE (BC) - CE (AD) 220.
[5] There are some challenges with tense here. Remember that I was writing these notes in February 1986 about the world of the past (November 1985). I covered the bulk of this topic yesterday, but past tense will appear in places where one would expect the present. It was past to me...and I was in a hurry to get it down.
_____________________________________________________
15 February 1986
15 February 1986
Taipei
For an American, the most enigmatic aspect of Taiwan’s elections was the free mixing of religion and politics. Many, perhaps most, candidates went to Buddhist or Daoist temples to burn incense and pray for election. Others swore before the gods that they would not buy votes or engage in unlawful activities.
As far back as the Han dynasty (BC 206-220 AD) there have been records of men cutting off chicken heads in front of temples to swear their innocence. Sima Qian’s Shiji (Historical Records) notes this practice as early as the Zhou dynasty. Several articles in the Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies (dating back to the 1940s) note that beheading chickens was also quite common in southwestern China, and was part of the vindication process of an accused person.
In general, an oath of innocence was taken in front of a temple of the War God Guan Gong, or of the Goddess of the Sea, Mazu. Then they’d cut off the bloody fowl’s head. A Daoist priest would often be invited to mediate the ceremony. According to the Shiji, chickens with snowy white feathers were preferred, since they look much like the legendary Phoenix, an auspicious fowl in Chinese tradition.
Click below for other fieldnotes dealing with Taiwan's 1985 provincial elections:
Election 1 Election 2 Election 3 Election 4 Election 5 Election 6
Election 7 Election 8 Election 9 Election 10 Election 11 Election 12
For an American, the most enigmatic aspect of Taiwan’s elections was the free mixing of religion and politics. Many, perhaps most, candidates went to Buddhist or Daoist temples to burn incense and pray for election. Others swore before the gods that they would not buy votes or engage in unlawful activities.
As far back as the Han dynasty (BC 206-220 AD) there have been records of men cutting off chicken heads in front of temples to swear their innocence. Sima Qian’s Shiji (Historical Records) notes this practice as early as the Zhou dynasty. Several articles in the Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies (dating back to the 1940s) note that beheading chickens was also quite common in southwestern China, and was part of the vindication process of an accused person.
In general, an oath of innocence was taken in front of a temple of the War God Guan Gong, or of the Goddess of the Sea, Mazu. Then they’d cut off the bloody fowl’s head. A Daoist priest would often be invited to mediate the ceremony. According to the Shiji, chickens with snowy white feathers were preferred, since they look much like the legendary Phoenix, an auspicious fowl in Chinese tradition.
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| [e] Mazu (long, relevant story) RF |
Election 1 Election 2 Election 3 Election 4 Election 5 Election 6
Election 7 Election 8 Election 9 Election 10 Election 11 Election 12
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