Fieldwork in flux: Injury,disruption and the case for flexibility in research design

Abstract

In this short piece, we argue that flexibility should be recognised as a foundational component of robust and ethical fieldwork design, especially in contexts where researchers are likely to encounter unexpected challenges. Drawing on two case studies from doctoral fieldwork in Indonesia and Vietnam, we examine how unanticipated disruptions to original research plans, which included injury, logistical constraints, and harassment, prompted a re-evaluation of methodological priorities and options. We argue that these adaptations, which were borne of necessity, did not undermine academic rigour but rather enhanced the richness and contextual sensitivity of the research. By sharing our experiences, we advocate for institutional and pedagogical recognition of fieldwork flexibility as a strength, and call for better support mechanisms to help early-career researchers prepare for the complexities of fieldwork.

Introduction

Fieldwork is often romanticised as an adventurous and transformative rite of passage for geographers and other social scientists. Yet this obscures the instability, emotional toll, and material challenges that researchers, especially those at early stages of their careers, often face in the field. This short piece emerges from two such experiences, both marked by physical injury, disrupted plans, and the need for quick methodological adaptation. Rather than treating these disruptions as unfortunate detours, we position them as critical moments that underscore the importance of flexibility as a methodological resource.

It seems to us that qualitative researchers are often implicitly expected to know how to adjust when access to field sites becomes restricted or increasingly difficult (Schoon, 2025). However, the tools and strategies for such ‘flexible methodologies’ are frequently absent from graduate training (McArdle, 2022: 620). We argue that fieldwork pedagogy, supervisory practices, and institutional structures should do more to prepare novice researchers to anticipate and embrace these adaptations as part of ethical and rigorous inquiry.

Our aim is not only to share personal stories but to contribute to a broader methodological conversation about how we define success and preparedness in qualitative fieldwork. The two case studies that follow, one set in urban Indonesia and the other in upland, rural Vietnam, offer examples of how fieldwork challenges necessitate both methodological and emotional flexibility. While our experiences are distinct, they share a common thread: both of us broke a leg while conducting our doctoral fieldwork. Sarah's account highlights how the challenges of injury and harassment required her to shift how she engaged with research participants and the broader community (content warning: sexual harassment and assault in Sarah's story). She reflects on the importance of being prepared to modify research methods to prioritise personal safety, as well as the value of building local support networks for emotional sustenance. Her story underscores the gendered dimensions of fieldwork, particularly with regards to women working in conservative settings where their presence may be misunderstood. Patrick's account illustrates how physical injury necessitated a rethinking of the balance of his research methods, shifting from predominantly ethnographic fieldwork to include a greater archival research component than originally planned. Both experiences reinforce that fieldwork is not a rigid process but an evolving journey that requires the ability to pivot and adapt to new challenges, while also stressing that the capacity to exercise flexibility is shaped by structural and social factors, including gender. Finally, we also highlight the need for supportive academic cultures that recognise and validate these experiences as integral to scholarly practice, rather than viewing them as deviations from it.

Sarah's account: Broken bones and building boundaries in Indonesia

I (Sarah), now a development geography professor, conducted 13 months PhD fieldwork in Makassar (formerly Ujung Pandang), Indonesia, from 1996 to 1997. My research examined the linkages, networks, and competition among small-scale enterprises, using a mixed-methods approach (Turner, 2003). I began by analysing 100 in-depth surveys with small-scale enterprise owners, designed with local collaborators and conducted by researchers from Pusat Pengembangan Usaha Kecil Kawasan Timur Indonesia [Centre for the Development of Small Businesses in the East Indonesia Region], as part of a larger collaborative project. These surveys provided me with a broad understanding of the enterprise landscape, which I then deepened through 200 semi-structured interviews and observations which I completed with small-scale entrepreneurs and shopkeepers (after revising my original plan of reaching 75–100). I had also intended to conduct key-informant interviews with government officials and business stakeholders, but, as discussed below, ultimately shifted away from this approach.

Conducting research as a young, single, white woman in a conservative, relatively remote Indonesian city proved challenging. Although I had formerly lived in rural Malaysia for a year, spoke Indonesian, was well versed in the local cultures and Islamic norms, and dressed conservatively, I was unprepared for the events that unfolded. ¹ My presence in Makassar was often misinterpreted through the lens of local stereotypes of Western women as ‘loose’ and open to sexual advances (Kulick, 1995). This was influenced by portrayals of Western women in popular television series (the highly sexualised Baywatch being a favourite amongst local men) and by the behaviour of some previous Western visitors. These stereotypes complicated my fieldwork, requiring me to navigate gendered assumptions from a number of local men (Katz, 1994; Nast, 1994), and I was subject to scrutiny and assumptions that my male counterparts did not encounter. ² The harassment I experienced added a layer of complexity, as I had to navigate not only the challenges of conducting research in a foreign setting but also the gendered expectations and limitations placed upon me (Whitehead and Conaway, 1986).

In public spaces such as buses, minibuses (pete pete) and on the streets, I was subjected to regular verbal harassment including offensive propositions and crude sexual remarks (see also Infante-Vargas and Mesta-Rodríguez, 2025). Men frequently called out comments such as ‘you want sex with me, baby?’, ‘f*ck you mister’ or ‘I love you’ largely for their male friends’ amusement it seemed. It could be argued that my annoyance or fear at these insults or attempts at humiliation were unjustified because ‘such things happen in the field’ – as a senior, white, male professor shrugged and noted when I returned to England, where I was completing my PhD. However, I found this relentless barrage of comments exhausting and depersonalising (Robson, 1994; Rose, 2025).

The physical harassment I encountered included young men fondling my leg in pete pete, grabbing my breasts, arms, or buttocks from motor scooters, masturbating in front of me in public spaces, and groping or pinching me. This sexual and exploitative harassment, namely intense inspection, touching, grabbing, pinching or staring, was not limited to the streets but also occurred in encounters with government officials, expanding the spaces where I felt vulnerable (see also Ross, 2015). However, the most distressing incident occurred in a remote airport parking lot, as I returned to the main road to catch a pete pete after farewelling my mother who had been visiting. At this time, I was recovering from a broken ankle from a motorbike accident a few months prior. While obviously limping, a young man suddenly rushed me, grabbed me forcefully between my legs, and laughed and whooped as he ran off. Already feeling low from my mother leaving, this was an emotionally draining encounter that left me questioning the worth of my fieldwork (see also Anonymous, 2016). Accumulating over time, these experiences impacted my sense of safety and well-being, making me increasingly cautious and reshaping my interactions with men in the city (Wolf, 1996).

Of course, not all interactions with local men were negative, and some became good friends. However, I constantly felt the threat of harassment during my time in Makassar. This left me uneasy and often unsure of how to respond, fearing the potential repercussions. Among Indonesians, Bugis men are known for their quick temper, or hati panas (‘hot liver’), which I witnessed first-hand, and I doubted my ability to handle the possible fallout from expressing anger. I observed several violent incidents, including a woman's jewellery being snatched from her neck, a man striking another with a crowbar, and a man wielding a parang (large knife) chasing another in the street. My Bugis research assistant, a young married man who owned a small enterprise making musical instruments, often carried a knife for our protection, reflecting the general sense of insecurity he shared (see also Turner, 2010). ³ Ignoring harassment often seemed the only option, though it sometimes led to further comments or advances. Kulick's (1995: 7) commentary resonated with the situation I found myself in:

In fieldwork … these kinds of encounters take on a special urgency because the impulse to respond to them as one might at home can conflict with the anthropologically instilled awareness that one is dealing with culturally grounded interactional forms that one may not fully understand, and with the fear that, therefore, any reaction might be interpreted as a socially destructive over-reaction.

Less direct but also emotionally trying experiences occurred with government officials, who were also often gatekeepers (Campbell et al., 2006). For instance, after accompanying two Dutch Master's students to a meeting with a local official – relevant to their fieldwork but only tangentially to mine – the official later tracked me down at my small guesthouse, demanding I attend an event as his ‘girlfriend’ in exchange for his assistance to my colleagues (who had since returned to Holland). When I politely declined, the official persisted, visiting my guesthouse the following night to demand my whereabouts. Fortunately, the quick-thinking guesthouse staff helped me avoid further contact by pretending I was at the university library (30 km away). This was not an isolated incident; on a number of other occasions, male officials implied that the information or visa extensions I sought from their departments could be accessed more easily if I agreed to accompany them socially.

When I tentatively shared these experiences on my return to England, senior white male academics in my department responded dismissively, with comments such as ‘oh dear, how boring’ or ‘thought you would have loved it, ha, ha, ha’. Although this was in 1998 and one hopes perspectives have since evolved, such reactions underscore the tendency to romanticise public harassment (Gardner, 1995). As Willson (1995: 267) points out, the traditional view of fieldwork as a period of ‘macho conquest’ has often discouraged female students from mentioning harassment, and only recently has academia begun acknowledging these topics as legitimate concerns. Fortunately, a junior white male professor was very supportive, validating my shock at these responses from his senior peers and underscoring the importance of finding allies.

While in the field, to cope with the compounding challenges of harassment and injury, I decided to adjust my research approach. Initially, I had planned to conduct a far greater number of interviews with government officials and private sector leaders to gain a comprehensive view of small-scale enterprise dynamics and challenges in the city. However, due to the difficult interactions I experienced with some of these individuals, I decided to focus far more on the small-scale enterprises themselves, where I conducted interviews with my local research assistant (see also Harries, 2022).

As a coping mechanism with regards to the verbal harassment on the streets, I decided to humour the young men yelling ‘f*ck you mister’ by replying in Indonesian with a smile ‘it's not mister, it's miss, f*ck you miss’. That quickly halted the barrage of comments as they looked ashamed when learning I spoke Indonesian or just puzzled (cf. Kaaristo, 2022). In certain situations, I also created a fictional husband to navigate uncomfortable conversations when probing questions or innuendos became excessive. By complying with ‘the romantic heterosexual template of public order’, a strategy I found undesirable but necessary because I could not think of a better coping method, I hoped to discourage unwanted advances (Gardner, 1995: 207; see also Tucker and Horton, 2019). While I limited this approach to interactions with people I was unlikely to encounter again, such as taxi drivers who often asked about my birth control choices, this strategy clearly raises ethical questions (Dowling, 2010). Though effective in deflecting intrusive inquiries, it involved manipulating my positionality in ways that were not entirely truthful, which troubled me (but see Sowatey et al., 2021 for sound rationales as to why this is necessary at times).

More positively, I built strong relationships within my guesthouse, becoming close with the family who ran it. They kindly accepted me as part of the family, often referring to me as a ‘sister’ or ‘cousin’, and included me in important family events, including weddings, a funeral, and Islamic festivals. This sense of belonging provided a support network that helped mitigate some of the vulnerability I felt during other times during my fieldwork.

Overall, my fieldwork took a substantial emotional toll, particularly when facing harassment and safety threats. The constant vigilance required to navigate these challenges left me feeling exhausted and isolated at times. My mental and emotional well-being fluctuated, with moments of fear and vulnerability balanced by the sense of accomplishment that came from successfully navigating a difficult research environment (Billo and Hiemstra, 2013; Levecque et al., 2017). Adapting my methods, trying to find humour in my responses, and building a local support network allowed me to complete my fieldwork. However, my experiences draw attention to the need to consider gender dynamics in fieldwork and for institutions to provide better support for researchers in similar situations (see Peake and Mullings, 2016). ⁴

Reflecting on these experiences 25 years later, I realise that they have been key to my commitment to supporting anti-sexual violence initiatives at my university and positioning myself as an ally for undergraduate and graduate students negotiating different forms of harassment, be it in the field or the university setting. By openly sharing my experiences, I hope I have fostered a culture of dialogue and support, running informal fieldwork preparation workshops in our department, and offering suggestions to those facing similar challenges. The fact that harassment and other challenges remain a part of fieldwork is deeply disheartening; but it is a reality that many still have to navigate. Flexibility in response to such disruptions is certainly not a compromise but an ethical and practical approach to sustaining research in the face of uncertainty.

Patrick's account: Shifting gears after a motorbike mishap in the Vietnam mountains

I (Patrick), a PhD student in geography, conducted fieldwork in the mountainous regions of northern Vietnam, focusing on political ecology and local agrarian livelihoods. I completed my fieldwork over three separate three-month periods in Vietnam during 2022 and 2023, spending over six months in my field sites, with the remainder of my time spent at the state archives in Hanoi. I originally intended for my research to be predominantly ethnographic, involving extensive fieldwork with local communities in Phong Thổ District, Lai Châu Province, and Bát Xát, Lào Cai Province, where I had aimed to be based for at least nine months. However, in 2022, while navigating a difficult mountain road by motorbike, I broke my ankle, an injury that required me to return home to northern Virginia, US, for surgery and an extended recovery period for physiotherapy. This unexpected event prompted a significant shift in my fieldwork plans and methods.

Prior to my injury, my fieldwork had involved spending long periods of time with local farmers, observing their daily practices and conducting in-depth interviews about their livelihoods and the challenges they faced. This built upon my Master's fieldwork in one of the same field sites, but on a more specific topic (Slack, 2019; Slack and Turner, 2023). My initial PhD research plans were focused on understanding the impact of government interventions and climate change on contemporary agrarian practices in two neighbouring districts of two adjacent provinces in these borderlands. My broken ankle, however, rendered me physically unable to continue with this immersive approach for several months, necessitating a re-evaluation of how to proceed with my research. While recovering, I pivoted my efforts and attention to archival research. While I had originally planned to make use of an extensive colonial database of archives that had already been collected by one of my doctoral committee members, I now decided to make a broader historical study part of my research. Adaptability was thus key during this period (see also Mayka and Rich, 2024).

I accessed a variety of archives, both in Vietnam and elsewhere, while I was undergoing physiotherapy. These included the National Archives of Vietnam, in Hanoi, the National Archives and Records Administration in Washington DC, and les Archives Nationale du Outre-Mer, in Aix-en-Provence, France. This archival work provided an historical perspective on agrarian livelihoods in the region, allowing me to contextualise the contemporary concerns I was studying through fieldwork. I soon realised that this shift to archival research was not merely a stopgap measure; it became an integral part of my project, enabling me to explore the historical roots of current agrarian practices and policies.

My archival research revealed extensive documentation from the French colonial period and the early years of the Democratic and Socialist Republics of Vietnam, which provided fascinating insights into the evolution of agricultural policies and ethnic minority livelihoods (Lentz, 2019; Michaud, 2024). These documents included political and economic reports, specialised studies on valuable crops, and ethnographic accounts that offered a far broader temporal scope for my research. By integrating these historical perspectives, I was excited to realise that I could construct a detailed longitudinal narrative of agrarian change in the Sino-Vietnamese borderlands, connecting past policies and interventions to the present-day experiences of the communities I completed fieldwork in.

Upon returning to Vietnam after several months of rehabilitation and more archival research, I resumed my fieldwork with a modified approach. Having gathered substantial archival data, I was able to refine my field inquiries, focusing on specific aspects of agrarian livelihoods that had emerged as important during my archival research. This iterative process of moving between archival work and ethnographic fieldwork enriched my understanding of local contexts and allowed for a more comprehensive analysis of the interplay between historical and contemporary factors shaping agrarian life in northern Vietnam.

I should add though, that the emotional and psychological challenges of adapting my research plans were considerable. My sudden injury and forced return home were a significant setback, leading to me feeling frustrated and disconnected from my field site, and rather hopeless about progressing in my degree, and life more broadly (Tucker and Horton, 2019). The support I received from my academic mentors, peers, friends, and family were crucial in helping me navigate this difficult period. I quickly learned that flexibility in fieldwork is not only about adjustments in methods and perspectives but also about managing the emotional impacts of unexpected disruptions. Seeking an outlet where I could observe measurable improvements, I became more invested in running when my ankle allowed it, which gave me hope, a feeling of progress and control, and the all illusive runner's ‘high’.

Ironically perhaps, the flexibility to shift towards a more archival-based approach in my data collection was partly due to an earlier set of contingency plans I had developed with my supervisor in case access to my field site was interrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic and by bureaucratic red tape. Fieldwork for a foreigner in Vietnam's northern borderlands with China requires navigating a complex system of permissions across national, provincial, district, and commune levels, along with border defence force authorisations (Turner, 2013). Being well aware of these challenges, especially after having been detained overnight in a border patrol post without cause or reason during my MA in 2018, I had already structured my thesis to include a smaller archival component, both as a backup and to compare contemporary farmer livelihoods with historical records from colonial reports (see also Koch, 2013). My ability to pivot to archival research to a far greater degree after breaking my ankle was thus supported and made easier by the prudence of having multiple potential research avenues in place before departure. Although the combination of fieldwork experiences I faced was (hopefully) rare, fieldwork delays, frustrations, and changes are inevitable. When immersed in the realities of an environment like upland Vietnam, researchers can easily encounter an unpredictable, layered landscape that upends the best laid plans, with logistical hurdles that may force one to reconsider timelines or methods. Furthermore, findings that emerge from conversations with local residents and officials, or at the archives, might reveal unanticipated data and theoretical components, or entirely new research questions.

Embarking on a different research approach in the middle of fieldwork may be unsettling given the intensive preparation graduate students are expected to undertake, including specific research ethics board (REB) applications. Moreover, such deviations from one's proposed approach might feel like a sign of unpreparedness. Yet, overtime, I realised that flexibility is not a flaw, but a necessary and iterative component to incorporate in one's research approach, as certainty is never guaranteed. Rather than detracting from the rigour of qualitative research, embracing adaptability while in the field enables a richer, more context-sensitive inquiry (Sowatey et al., 2021). This flexibility becomes not just a practical approach but a central tenet of qualitative fieldwork, especially in uncertain settings. In these environments, being open to change does not diminish a project's strength, rather it enhances its depth and relevance. Faced with the physical limitations imposed by my injury and in response to COVID-19, I successfully reoriented my research while maintaining academic rigour. This flexibility has enabled me to continue contributing to the field of political ecology and upland Vietnam studies despite the significant disruptions to my original research plans.

Conclusion: Flexibility as a fieldwork essential

Our combined reflections, grounded in personal experience and relevant literature, highlight the need to reframe how we approach fieldwork preparation, particularly for graduate students and early-career researchers. The pressure to produce original, high-quality work within tight timelines, often in culturally and logistically unfamiliar contexts, can collide with unanticipated challenges that demand emotional, physical, and methodological resilience (Billo and Hiemstra, 2013).

By sharing our experiences, we wish to provide a realistic view of fieldwork that recognises its difficulties while also emphasising the importance of perseverance, community support, and contingency planning to achieve meaningful and safe research outcomes. Fieldwork is far from straightforward and linear (Billo and Hiemstra, 2013); rather, it is an ongoing process of learning, adapting, and redefining one's focus as new data and challenges emerge.

Flexibility, both practical and emotional, is crucial, as field realities can challenge not only one's research design but also one's mental health and overall well-being (Biswas, 2023; Heller et al., 2011). Both of our experiences underscore that flexibility, whether in response to injury, harassment, or broader disruptions, is not a sign of unpreparedness but a core component of ethical and responsible scholarship. Adaptability, resilience, and a willingness to renegotiate research plans are essential when facing risks to personal safety, health, or emotional stability (see also Bonnin, 2010; Turner, 2013).

We argue that rather than treating fieldwork pivots as reactive or secondary, supervisors and institutions should actively prepare junior researchers for the likelihood of such change. This includes embedding contingency planning into fieldwork training, validating alternative research strategies (including during REB reviews), and encouraging supervisors to foster open discussions about potential risks and adaptations. While scholars have long acknowledged that methods evolve in the field, we argue that this flexibility must be institutionally supported rather than left to individual improvisation (although we realise some degree of on-the-spot improvisation is likely always needed). Graduate students should be encouraged to consider multiple pathways through their research designs in advance; not as signs of indecision but as reflections of intellectual and ethical agility.

By sharing our experiences of navigating injuries, gender dynamics, and logistical challenges, we aim to offer a realistic and supportive view of fieldwork that acknowledges the difficulties while also advocating for better structural preparation. Meaningful research does not depend on the smooth execution of a fixed plan but on the ability to adapt with purpose and care. Ultimately, we advocate for a pedagogical and institutional reframing of flexibility not as a compromise but as a hallmark of ethical and effective research design.