A large part of ethnographic research takes place within the framework of long-term, stationary field stays and is characterized by close participation of researchers in the daily life of the respective group. In this „classic“ research format, „informed consent“ becomes relevant on two levels: a formal and an informal level.

First, every ethnographer usually requires an official, governmental research permit to even be allowed to stay on-site for an extended period. The complexity of regulations varies by country. In Indonesia, for example, a research permit must be obtained from the state research authority to even qualify for a long-term research visa. The approval process is based on a research proposal that must be submitted in advance, and the decision can take a long time and even be denied. Some politically sensitive topics make it nearly impossible to obtain a research permit.

Once the research permit is obtained, it must be presented to regional authorities and officials. The approval process follows the descending order of bureaucratic hierarchy: at the lowest level are local officials such as district and regional leaders or village heads, who ultimately bear everyday responsibility for the researchers authorized by higher authorities. Typically, these local officials take on the role of informing the community about the goals and content of the research project, often in collaboration with the researcher.

Is this practice to be understood as „informed consent“? In hierarchically structured societies, the local population is not asked for their opinion or explicit approval – they are merely informed.

This was precisely the case in our research in South Sulawesi, Indonesia. The kepala kampung (literally: „head of the village“) gathered the villagers in the place where my husband and I intended to live and conduct research for a year. He explained that we were there with official permission from the highest authorities in Jakarta to write a book about the village and that everyone should strive to ensure that we only wrote positive things.

It was a highly ambivalent situation. We attempted to explain our specific research interests in more detail but quickly realized that our academic presentation of research concerns was entirely out of place and meant nothing to the villagers. Handing out pre-prepared forms and requesting written consent would have been completely impossible, not only due to the high illiteracy rate but also because of deep mistrust toward official documents.

Did we therefore conduct research without „informed consent“? No – because, in the following weeks and months, we were constantly questioned by people about who we were and what we wanted. We explained our intentions repeatedly and gradually learned how to articulate them in a clear, non-academic way.

By allowing us into their lives over time and gradually involving us more in their daily activities, the villagers expressed their consent – or rather, practiced it. The local people always had full control over what they chose to share with us and what they did not. Only during later research stays did I realize how much had initially been kept from us.

This, in my opinion, is a crucial point: if people do not agree with the research goals, the researcher’s personality, or their behavior, they will find ways to resist and boycott the research. In everyday research situations, the local population is continuously reminded of the researcher’s presence and interests – whether through their constant note-taking in field journals, their many questions about seemingly obvious matters, or their clueless and often awkward behavior in various situations.

In short: In the context of long-term, stationary field research, „informed consent“ does not come in the form of a signed document – it takes place in everyday practice. However, this means that ethnographic „informed consent“ eludes formalized documentation standards.

Between 1995 and 2006, Hansjörg Dilger (Professor of Social and Cultural Anthropology at Freie Universität Berlin) conducted research on HIV/AIDS, morality, and social relationships in rural and urban Tanzania. The research focused on the living conditions of infected and ill individuals and the organization of support and assistance from their familial, social, and/or religious networks. This ethnographic long-term study in Tanzania lasted a total of 13 months (Dilger, 2005, pp. 24).

One notable aspect of the research funding application process was that the German Research Foundation (DFG) did not consider any ethical aspects in its review. It was only when applying for a research permit in the host country, Tanzania, that Dilger was required to obtain ethical approval. The application was forwarded to a local medical institution (NIMR), which categorized the research as public health research with a health-oriented focus. Consequently, the ethical guidelines for health science research were applied. Dilger, who considered his research to be classic socio-anthropological work, was initially surprised by this classification.

However, bureaucratic ethical guidelines reached their limits in actual fieldwork, particularly concerning the process of obtaining informed consent, as Dilger himself describes: “In all these situations, I quickly realized that it would have been ethically indefensible to directly ask my interview partners about HIV/AIDS – or to present them with a written informed consent form that explicitly mentioned HIV/AIDS” (Dilger, 2015).

In rural Tanzania, HIV/AIDS is highly stigmatized both socially and culturally, often being associated with witchcraft, (sexual) moral transgressions, social or ritual violations by the infected individuals (Dilger, 2009, pp. 109). Here, it is essential to overcome the ethnocentric biomedical perspective on „disease“ and to integrate alternative ways of thinking (Dilger, 2015) about “witchcraft, rumors, viruses, and spirits” (ibid.) as explanations for illness.

Directly questioning people about HIV infections or AIDS diagnoses could have been interpreted as an ethically problematic accusation, which, according to Dilger, would have been unacceptable: “In rural areas, I instead approached the topic by asking about „serious“ and „chronic“ illnesses and how individuals and family networks dealt with such challenges” (Dilger, 2015). This allowed his interview partners and himself to discuss the core questions of the research project in a meaningful way – one that was determined by the participants themselves (ibid.).

The 15-year research conducted by Marcia Inhorn on in-vitro fertilization (IVF) in private hospitals in Egypt and Lebanon from the late 1980s to the early 2000s demonstrates how obtaining written informed consent can have a positive impact on research processes and relationships.

During Inhorn’s research, gaining access to the medical-anthropological field proved to be challenging. Hospitals in both countries in the late 1980s were affected by privatization and patronage structures, making ethnographic research nearly impossible without contact with a medical „gatekeeper“. Additionally, IVF and infertility (both male and female) were culturally stigmatized and highly sensitive issues, strictly kept confidential.

For anthropologists, especially given the politically conflict-laden situation in the Middle East, gaining access to this sensitive research field was particularly difficult.

However, Inhorn was able to gain access to private hospitals in Lebanon and Egypt through contacts with medical gatekeepers who informed their patients about the research topic and introduced the researcher to them. For this, she obtained the standardized ethics approval from the Institutional Review Board (IRB).

This ethics approval proved highly beneficial given the particularly sensitive topic of in-vitro fertilization. The written consent form – which provided information about the research objectives and emphasized the voluntary nature of participation – along with formal signed consent, helped establish trust among the research participants.

Through this formalization process, participants could be certain that their interviews would be conducted with strict confidentiality.

„In my view, the informed consent process was crucial in reassuring women that what they told me would be held in the strictest confidence, and that their names would never be used in any published report … I would argue that the process of written informed consent may actually ´break the ice´ and lead to greater rapport when the topic being discussed is private, sensitive, or illegitimate/illega. (….) Using written informed consent forms to guarantee secrecy has worked to my advantage (….) Indeed, several women in my study commented after our interviews were finished, ´Now I´ve told you all my secrets“ (…) as long as I assure women of that privacy through the written informed consent process, they were more than willing to share their stories of suffering with me (Inhorn, 2004, p. 2099).