Letting Go of Data in Aboriginal Australia: Ethnography on "Rubber Time".

While attempting to investigate modes of musical transmission among the Yolu People in Northeast Arnhem Land Australia, questions regarding the meaning of the word "research" led to the decisive abandonment of data collection. Specifically, the processes of observation, recording, and other typical Western means of generating data seemed to be in direct opposition to the way knowledge was traditionally shared. The author critically examines her multiple attempts at conducting this research, and discusses why eventually giving up on the research led to a more profound understanding. Key Words: Indigenous Australian, Aboriginal, Ethnography, Music, Defining "research," and Knowledge Sharing Introduction: The Clash of Ganma and Data Under the auspices of the Australian-American Fulbright Commission in Australia, I intended to investigate music transmission in aboriginal communities and compare it with the way music teachers taught indigenous Australian music in schools. As music among indigenous Australians is traditionally inextricable from family, land, ceremony, story-telling, art, and nature (K. Marsh, personal communication, July 11, 2002), my aim was to investigate how music was transmitted in traditional settings, and to determine how classroom teachers might best convey meaningful examples of indigenous music and culture to their students. The significance of this research seemed clear not only to Australian music teachers and indigenous communities, but also to other countries with indigenous communities. As an American music teacher, for example, I continuously faced concerns regarding appropriate representations of Native American music in my classroom. Learning about the meaning of the word "garma" helped me to redefine "research" as I knew it, and allowed me to find some possible entryways into the stories and discussions in which I wished to engage. A surface definition can be explained as two-way knowledge sharing. The word comes from the Yolu (pronounced Yolngu) word, ganma, which has to do with the meeting of freshwater and saltwater, or, rather, the coming together of two opposing, balancing forces; like yin and yang (Stubington & Dunbar-Hall, 1994). On a slightly deeper level, the word ganma can also be used to explain the nature of knowledge sharing among Yolu people (Stubington & Dunbar-Hall, 1994). Ganma can be seen in the cross-hatched patterns of bark paintings (see http://www.aboriginalartonline.com/regions/topend4.php) and in the musical fusions of old and new prevalent among several language groups in Northeast Arnhem Land. I realized that the concept of ganma could also be used to explore the meaning of music and musical sharing in communities and schools, just as I had hoped to do. Understanding some of the many levels embedded in ganma seemed vital to the direction and meaning of my research. Yet, applying this philosophy to my research methods was not an obvious or straightforward path. I began by attending a one-week event, called "ganma," a festival hosted by Yolu people, who invite non-indigenous people, balandas (1), to come together and celebrate their traditional aboriginal culture (see www.garma.telstra.com). I was told that attending this festival would be like diving into an ocean of knowledge. It was at garma that I slowly began to face the fact that the very construct of research was in direct opposition to the study I had planned and hoped to do. When my plane landed at Gove Airport, a WWII airstrip with a terminal the size of a living room, not one light, house, or road was in sight. After being driven in a 4x4 over a red, dusty dirt road, I arrived in Gulkula, expecting to get something akin to a conference schedule or information packet. I was nervous and slightly annoyed at first, at what seemed to be a lack of any type of schedule to follow. Having planned my research questions and method so carefully, I was eager to learn as much as possible and as quickly as possible. …