“Inside I Am Crying,Outside I Am Smiling”: Vicarious Trauma Among Emerging Violence Prevention Researchers in South Africa

My Story: Dumani

I am a young, Black ¹ woman. Born in a small village in the Eastern Cape. I began my professional journey as a counseling intern at an outpatient drug center in 2017. I recall one of my clients had been recently released from prison. At first, when I heard this, I was scared. I was going to be alone, in a session for about an hour with this person (a young, Black male a little older than I was at the time)—in an enclosed space. At times, I doubted if because of me being young and female, he would consider anything I had to say in this space. Over the weeks, our treatment relationship built. With him expressing trust in the process and in me as the person that would accompany him in this journey for six weeks. Unfortunately, at the time he started his treatment journey, my internship was nearing its end—he expressed sadness over this. This experience humbled me. I judged his situation (as a person that had been in prison and a man) before I got to know him as a person. Before I could hear his story.

My Story: Richardson

I am a young, White, female scholar. My background is defined by comparative privilege. I have not known hunger; I have not known a life without basic necessities. Starting my research career at the age of 21, my first exposure was collecting mixed-methods data from breast cancer patients at a tertiary hospital. There are women, who I spoke to for a few hours, almost a decade ago, whose faces and names I have not forgotten, one particularly happy lady, one whom I spent close to 3 hours with, we laughed, we joked, she shared her goals, her life-plans. Within weeks of participation in the study, I found her patient folder, accidentally, while looking through a pile of “recently deceased” patient folders. I cried uncontrollably. My heart still aches for her. She will stay with me for the rest of my life, I have no doubt. And in saying that, I do not think I want her to ever leave me either. The heartache I feel for a near stranger, one whom I shared only a few hours with, to this day, reminds me that I am human. I have the capacity to love deeply. Admitting my love for a participant would not typically be considered a hallmark of good personal boundaries, but this happy lady taught me so much about myself. This is the context from where my love for participant interaction grew. This is how I entered my later professional positions, knowing that I will be inevitably, profoundly, deeply, irrevocably impacted by the people I encounter. And despite it all, I would not have it any other way.

Positionality-Fear

We begin our stories at the beginning, chronologically. Both of us joined the same research institute on the same day, making for a shared experience since day 1. Our first community encounter is chronicled in the following excerpt,

I woke up early and left to catch the bus. I was getting anxious. I did not know what to expect for the day. I had never been to the community for research work. . . . This was my first time in this community. . . . After getting acquainted we do a community walkabout. We are interested in interacting with other community members. Our community partner warns us of gangsters in the area. Soon, an underlying fear surfaces ignited by a fast-approaching group of male youths. We are unfamiliar with this place and are visibly outsiders. (Dumani)

Being the person who clung to Dumani during this community walkabout, Richardson’s reflection on this experience was nearly identical, perhaps more littered with proclamations of fear manifesting as “my heart was jumping out of my chest,” and “my stomach suddenly felt upside down.”

Shortly after our first community encounter, the world went into lockdown, as it was gripped by the indiscriminate clutches of the COVID-19 pandemic. Quickly our in-person experiences transformed into online meeting spaces, online training sessions, and virtual seminars. We attended week-long training on an institutional project, one which records and analyses each mortality in a specific province.

As I engaged with the large dataset, the patterns that stuck out were that young, Black people my age were dying. And they are not dying “natural deaths.” They are being murdered. The rest of the week was filled with nightmares. I felt isolated and hopeless. My mind was filled with intrusive thoughts. And I wondered, was it because of my positionality? Living in a township that’s often labelled as the “capital of crime,” I could relate to this dataset in a profoundly personal manner. Young, Black bodies are dying. These people are me and I am them. (Dumani)

Portrayed in this quote are the various ways that VT manifests in researchers, including the occurrence of nightmares, intrusive thoughts, fear, and hopelessness. Dumani’s identification with the data makes her particularly vulnerable to experiencing VT.

Hypervigilance and Distrust

As an Institute whose flagship is violence prevention, most of our projects were focused on how people conceptualize and operationalize violence and how they identify predisposing, perpetuating, and protective factors in this. During this time, the people we interviewed shared stories of gang violence, crime, substance abuse, and limited access to government services, especially poor response from police. We combined our stories of a specific data collection event.

It was four of us and we were doing data collection at a local community church—there was no one else besides us and the participants. The first two interviews go as planned. In time for the third and a group of men appear at the unsecured gate. Apparently, all here to be interviewed—even though we had, as we thought, only arranged for one or two more to arrive. My heart starts pounding. Were they all here to be interviewed? Are we not just easy targets—a group of four twenty—something—year—old women, alone in a compound, with laptops, cell phones, recorders, and vouchers—easy for the taking? Being alone in a place which community members have labelled as unsafe and violent and in a country that is rife with violence against women as headlines on everyday made me distrustful. (Dumani)

My being a White woman does not help to make me feel more at ease—but then I wonder whether, had I been a Coloured male, whether I would feel safe. As if my whiteness and woman-ness is justifiable cause for me to feel scared when the majority of victims of violence in this community, those killed by organized crime, random acts of destruction and structural violence, are in fact Coloured men. A young gentleman walks into our newly appointed interview space. His demeanor is different from the people we have been speaking to. I notice his eyes making contact with my laptop. Or was this just my mind playing tricks on me? Hypervigilance begins to distort reality. I struggle to navigate the urgent sense of “I am in danger” and “do not pass judgement.” (Richardson)

In the extract above, we, having often been exposed to graphic narratives about the community and its challenges (especially gangsterism and crime) reflect on how this has altered our perspectives, especially about safety and men.

Having spent significant time in the community, we know the area well. Despite our acquaintance with the geographical space, there continues to be an overwhelming sense of un-belonging. Being familiar with the crime and violence here does not help. The below excerpt captures the continuing hypervigilance that accompanies visits to the community,

In this community I mapped out the “safe” roads. Yet, every stop street, speed bump and pedestrian crossing is encountered with calculation—how long will I be idle here? If I can help it, I drive slowly to avoid ever standing still. I have routes planned out. The routes taken to enter and exit the community are never the same—an effort to avoid predictability and therefore, vulnerability. At the traffic light a woman knocks on my window unexpectedly. I have previously been smash—and—grabbed in a similar situation—my anxiety flares up and I stall my vehicle. She meant no harm—just wanted something to eat. (Richardson)

In the extracts above, we see feelings of fear, hypervigilance, mistrust of men and others, which ultimately enhances the sense of vulnerability of the researchers in this space. The hypervigilance becomes a nonnegotiable part of community work, particularly when the community is considered to be high crime. Working in the field extends past the actual research, it requires careful planning, caution, vigilance, changes in behavior, and a hefty amount of courage.

Anger

This theme runs so deep in the reflections that it could well have been a paper on its own. In our line of work, there is much to be angry about. What we see and hear is sometimes disturbing, but often profoundly enraging.

I am angry. Angry at the world. Angry at how normal this level of poverty is. “Dis soos dit moet wees” [This is how it must be]. The situation is so dire that it is seen as normal. THIS IS NOT NORMAL I shout to myself. (Richardson)

Violence is so pervasive that it has, to a large extent, become normalized in the communities in which we work. We know that this is not how it should be, that nonviolence should not be praised as an ideal, a reward, a luxury, but it is in fact a social imperative that should be the rule, not the exception to the rule. Our provocations of rage are best captured in a reflection, which speaks to one of numerous instances where these sentiments were verbalized by the people we strive to serve,

We have done much data collection this year. In a project looking at violence in the community, some of the participants agreed that their lives were better under the apartheid regime. That session puzzled me. Months later in a project focusing on healing, the same sentiment is brought up again. Again, I am puzzled. I don’t know how to deal with the instant shock. How can something so inhumane be better? People were discriminated against and killed for just being. Community members verbalize that the issues they are faced with today did not exist during apartheid: gangsterism, poverty, unemployment, poor access to necessities. Different voices concur—‘the government has failed us, at least back then people had jobs.’ I am left speechless and with a lot to think about as a young Black person in this space. Abundantly clear is the romanticization of the past. A regime notorious for its disregard for human rights is now praised for its ability to “care” for the people. What about Sharpville, Langa, Biko, Hector Pietersen, and the other millions who were murdered either directly or indirectly through the racist regime? What would they say when they heard what was being said in this room today? I shudder. (Dumani)

In this case, we are overwhelmed by anger and (helpless) rage in that three decades into democracy, people, largely people of color, continue to experience injustices—especially access to basic human necessities. Despite where South Africa is as a country, previous injustices are almost romanticized.

Although researchers have an ethical and moral obligation to be empathetic and provide an (emotional) safe space for participants, in these cases, researchers may struggle to empathize with the participant’s nostalgic expressions and to some extent may even develop varying degrees of (selective) empathy—resulting in researcher guilt and discomfort.

The Academic Endeavor

Feeding from and into the anger is a deep sense of helplessness experienced by us as researchers. This helplessness is spurred on by research mandates and professional duties geared toward information extraction.

She recalls the moment her son was fatally wounded on her front porch. Tears stream down, leaving glistening highways of sorrow across her face. I want to stand up and hug her and tell her that it will be okay, but I know I can’t, and it won’t. Inside I am crying, outside I am smiling. I try to hide the sorrow and disgust that has been awakened in me. Despite her proclamations of distress, I am here for one thing: data collection, not counselling. (Richardson)

Unlike clinicians or social workers, researchers are not tasked with helping the people with which they interact. The inner turmoil created by competing responsibilities as a human who wants to make a change and that of a researcher who needs to earn a living is captured in another excerpt,

I sometimes wonder what good I’m doing in this world. My research has benefits to the wider community, no doubt, but I will likely not be around long enough to see these changes. I’m here for now, like the many before me, making what feels like a token of change, for the greater good of academia. (Richardson)

Feelings of helplessness have significantly impacted our motivation to continue working in this field. While we strive to contribute to positive change, the slow and painful nature of progress can be disheartening. Our contribution to the betterment of society is also often measured through a complex series of academic matrices, ones which quantify and chronicle your work through publications. This can create a constant sense of running a race without a clear beginning or end, where funding relies on publication output. ² The following reflection highlights the inner struggle brought on by the constant need to chase the numbers,

Working in the academic space, I am often troubled by feelings of guilt, inadequacy, and perhaps the ethical dilemma of “beneficence.” I am often faced with the realities of the participants, and while community work is an important part of academia, sometimes it feels like publishing takes precedence and this leaves me questioning, “Who is this knowledge for?” Although knowledge creation and sharing are undoubtedly important—considering our contexts (and the communities we work in), the literacy and digital divide continues to be a barrier between our “academic work” and the people whose lives we are trying to impact. (Dumani)

The extracts above illuminate the feelings with which young researchers might grapple because of their work. These feelings may be brought about by the researchers’ unmet expectations of their research to make immediate changes in the lives of the participants, while the researchers or academia benefit from the research data and the participants’ personal stories of trauma.

Work Environment

A powerful theme that was evident in our reflections was the importance of peer and colleague support, best captured in the following reflection,

A major redeeming quality of my work environment is the unyielding support from my colleagues. On a frequent basis my questioning of the reality of the work that we do is met with support and understanding from my peers. Reminders that we are not necessarily here to change the world, but that every small act of kindness has the potential to change something for someone, and that, at the very least, is a noble cause. (Dumani)

This quote captures the importance of social support as a tool for mitigating the impact of VT on researchers. This manifested through further narrations of memorable supervision sessions, important interactions with colleagues and the unyielding support from our peers. As a collective of emerging researchers, we have made active efforts to support, listen to, encourage, laugh, and cry with our cohorts.

Community Involvedness

In the extracts below, we demonstrate how we as young violence-and-trauma researchers have experienced positive growth. Richardson shared her experience of being in and experiencing a community in which she was conducting data collection:

Feeling quite involved in the community. I know the key persons, I’ve interviewed others, many I’ve met at events. It reminds me of the people on the ground, the people who this work is for. It helps to feel involved and personally invested. This is a strong motivational factor for remaining committed to this work. (Richardson)

Here, Richardson highlights how our involvement in the community may reinforce motivation to seek better quality of living for the communities within which we work. This in turn, may result in the researcher feeling optimistic and inspired to do more activism work to help these communities.

Community Benefits

Sometimes, the research space becomes a cathartic opportunity for the participants, which in turn can benefit researchers too. These sentiments are captured in the following two extracts,

A lady hugged me today. Not many participants have hugged me after their participation. Nor explicitly stated the positive impact that their participation had on them. It felt good to know that participation was perceived as cathartic. This makes me happy. (Richardson)

Researchers may be seen as outsiders only interested in extracting data from communities. My work has taught me differently. This process is a two-way street. It works because they trust us with their intimate stories. And hearing their stories of overcoming despite the odds they face on a daily basis is inspiring. It gives me hope to continue the work. They teach me a lot about life. About being a better person and a better researcher. (Dumani)

Often academics are thought of as experts in their field. However, community engagement continues to demonstrate that this may not always be the case. Research should be a partnership and opportunity for learning and knowing between the researchers and communities. These extracts demonstrate how researchers, through witnessing the growth in community members, can experience an enhanced compassion satisfaction and an enhanced sense of inspiration, admiration, hope, and meaning and purpose.