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I conducted my first oral history interview in a McDonald’s in RDP, an east-end suburb on the island of Montreal. I had no clue what I was doing. It was loud.1 I interrupted too much; I laughed too loud. This was the first interview I organized for my mal’occhio project. And for a long time, I was completely ashamed of all five interviews because I felt they were “unprofessional.”
I learned about oral history as a methodology while doing my undergrad in Public History. But I never learned how to do it. Like most people, when I thought of interviewing, I imagined the journalistic kind, which is more of a back and forth: you go in with prepared questions and ask them one after the other. When you complete the ethics process in a university (which is necessary for any research done on/with humans), they also reinforce this because they expect that list. They need to know exactly what you will ask and how in order to approve your project or not.
And so I threw myself into oral history for two research projects in my undergrad (one even ended up being the basis for my masters thesis). While I learned so much from the people I interviewed and was able to write great papers, I was embarrassed to archive the recordings, as I had promised I would. I couldn’t bear the thought of others one day listening to them and evaluating my “shoddy” work as an oral historian.
Oral history is a field of study and a method of gathering, preserving and interpreting the voices and memories of people, communities, and participants in past events. And so “oral history” is used to define both the practice and the final product (recording).
When it is presented or made accessible to a greater audience - because it isn’t always - oral history can also be public history. Sometimes, on the other hand, a researcher or a community will keep oral history records private or anonymous. Some are meant only to collect testimony (like evidence of an event or experience), used to gather data, and then are destroyed.
On some level, we’ve all done a little bit of oral history in our lives, on an informal level. Because oral history, at the most basic, is a practice of storytelling and listening. We’ve all shared and listened to stories, with our families and friends.
As a discipline, oral history developed in the 1970s. But, of course, oral traditions have been a longstanding part of many cultures and communities before that. And really was the original way of keeping a record of the past and history. Indigenous groups, small, rural communities, families, have been practicing oral history for centuries.
The reality is that these practices were - and sometimes still are - seen as not valid, or not “academic” or objective enough.2 As a result, a lot of bureaucracy has been put into place as oral history has become part of Western academia. There are standards and rules to follow. We can also argue, though, that these are necessary due to the historically extractive nature of Western research.
Digging Deeper
On May 14, 2018, I arrived in Hudson, New York after an 8-hour train ride through the Adirondack region, not realising how much I needed to be there.
I was getting ready to attend a ten-day intensive workshop called Oral History Summer School (OHSS): Experimental Ethnographies. Learning with and from my fellow workshoppers - artists, educators, organisers, journalists, oral historians - was inspiring and, at first, intimidating. Our teacher, Suzanne Snider, amazed me. She is innovative, brilliant, humble, and incredibly hardworking.
"Oral history is 'where do we go from here?'" Suzanne said in one of our discussions. It so beautifully and succinctly captures a lot of what I love about oral history. It's about the future, vulnerability, it's about saying "I know nothing - please tell me..." It's a process and an experience; it's humbling; it's about doing no harm. And these are questions I turn to again and again in my historical and even artistic work: how do we use our past to imagine a future? How are our past and present in conversation?
During those 10 days, I did improv in a store in front of everyone and cried because I literally hate it, but I made it part of my skit, so it... worked? I went on sound walks. I got to witness and record a really cool after school program for girls, The Perfect Ten, with another workshopper (and this went into the Hudson oral history archive). I ate some pretty good - though often overpriced - food. I cooked the best chicken ever and covered it with chutney made from local rhubarb that I got at the farmer's market. I listened and learned. I walked to the water. I sang a song and that recording will be in the Hudson oral history archive, as well (sorry). I made friends.
And I finally learned how to conduct an oral history interview.
I learned to let the narrator (interviewee) guide the interview. You do this by planning open questions. Since open questions require elaboration, they’re not leading or loaded.
Unlike closed questions, open questions can’t be answered with yes, no, or a simple, one-word answer. Open questions are more general, and can give the narrators different directions to take their story.
Open questions allow for storytelling. They also allow for silences. While we don’t typically deal well with silences - we find them awkward and we try to fill them up quickly with questions or comments - I learned that you want to let the silence sit for a minute. Give the narrator a chance to think about where they want to go next, if they completely stop, or look to you for guidance, then you can ask your next question.
You’re following their lead.
Before the interview, reassure narrators that they don’t have to tell a chronological story/remember all dates. This is what people stress about the most. Of course, not all people deal well with such open questions. They get overwhelmed and need you to ask more specific things to jog their memory. This has happened to me a few times, usually people who are more shy, stressed, or quiet take a few questions before they get comfortable and then the interview “breaks.”
Ethics
The ethics of oral history requires you to work closely with the narrator. They can ask to stop the interview, refuse to answer questions, or even pull out of the project. Basically, their consent is at the core of your work. And it is protected by the consent form, which is approved by the ethics committee within your institution. Signing consent forms is part of the method of doing oral history, but also directly linked to the way you practice it ethically. It’s like signing a contract with the narrator. Everyone knows their rights before, during, and after the interview.
At OHSS, I learned how to create a detailed consent form, which allowed narrators to opt in and out of various project outcomes. The thing is, when you are working on a public history project, with a variety of public outcomes (like social media; podcasts; exhibits; websites; etc.), the consent form can get quite long. Plus, there are often additional restriction options if you are archiving the recording. This is so necessary because narrators are giving you access to their voices, stories, interpretations. But can be overwhelming for some. In a way, consent forms also serve as a good reminder for both parties: this is serious and requires us to respect each other.
Outside of academia
I’ve been working outside of academia for a few years now and am embarking on my first solo project (without any other institution/organization/collaborator involved). It has allowed me to embrace a more casual approach to oral history work. Casual doesn’t mean unethical. But I’m learning to navigate a new space and I want to do something different. There are a few things that make this possible:
I am working within my own community
I would like to collect many testimonies and memories, and therefore require some flexibility as not everyone can sit down for an interview
Without outside/academic expectations, I can create a timeline as we go, allowing for greater narrator participation and involvement
I still have my consent form, but I have prepared different ones depending on the level of involvement. If someone is sitting down for a full oral history interview (in a quiet place, that will be recorded to archival standards), then they get the longest one because there are more permissions/restrictions to navigate. Someone allowing me to use a comment they left on Facebook is not in the same boat. With others, I am sitting down to have casual conversations in louder spaces. I record them anyway for memory, but I won’t be using or archiving the recording.
When I did my masters, I really wanted the final product to be a co-creation between myself and the narrators. I didn’t want to stop at my interpretation of their stories. I was able to have elements of this because they chose what went into the exhibit: the objects, documents, and photographs they provided offered another layer beyond their oral testimonies. These are the ways in which they understood the context of their stories. But constantly putting collaboration into practice is difficult because it requires time (which you don’t always have when deadlines speed towards you in university).
I have all the time I want now to do what is right for this project. I am learning that not everything needs to be recorded. Not every conversation needs to be documented. Embracing the casual allows for different kinds of relationships and connections to blossom. Different ways to teach and learn. But I do so with the knowledge that consent and ethics are important and must, in some way, always be at the heart of my methodology.
This mentality has allowed me to also appreciate the early work I did, while still identifying where I could have done better. Rather than see those first interviews as failures, I see them as part of a learning and growing process.
Last week, I met with someone at the bustling Café Milano in Saint-Leonard to talk about Italian birthday cake. I recorded some of the conversation. Turns out we have a bunch of friends, family, acquaintances in common. We cried while she spoke about her nonna. I shared ideas for the project and my nonna’s pan di spagna recipe. We added each other as friends on Facebook. We will see each other again.
Cass
Have you ever conducted an oral history interview? Or even recorded a conversation with a family member or friend? What was that like?
Fellow previous academics, chime in! How have your methods changed/adapted outside of the institution?
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News
I’ve updated my shop with new items: silk scarves, tea towels, caps, t-shirts, and tank tops (magliette della salute), all featuring some of my digital artwork! My personal favourites are the magliette della salute, aka undershirts many Italians wear to protect against the dreaded colpo d’aria (the gust of wind that chills you to your bones and makes you sick).
Some of you may know that I collaborate with one of my bffs, Jac, on another newsletter called notyrgirls. This month, we launched our new “half-issue” called the group chat, which will come out in between our longer deep dives. Check it out here. My post on diaries is coming shortly!
If you’re in Montreal, I will have a table at the My Friend Frankie Fall Market on September 21 from 2 - 7 pm at Epiphany Church in Verdun. My cousin and I will be sharing a table. Check out her crochet creations!
Rule number one of doing oral history interviews: find a quiet place. Oops.
I won’t get into the whole objectivity/subjectivity debate in history because I’ll keep you here all day. Long story short, someone’s oral testimony is no more subjective than a written report or observations of an event. At the end of the day, they both come from a person’s point of view and interpretation.
I really fell in love with collecting oral histories when I took my qualitative research class in grad school. I created a project on Black queer experiences of love and relationships and it was so enlightening to hear the experiences of the interviewees (mostly my friends). I want to do something like that again on a larger scale and incorporate my artwork into it.
Super interesting to learn about your interview methods! I learned to interview as a journalist on the job rather than in school and I also definitely struggle with how bad some of my early interviews were - but then without them I would’ve never made it to where I am today. Thank you for sharing your history too.