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SUMMARY In this deeply personal account, I describe for the first time how I was assaulted, beaten, and raped by a gang of hired thugs or rogue police in a north central Indian state during fieldwork in 1992. A graphic narrative of this event leads into a brief meditation on the sorts of things readers would typically prefer not to know, and on our compulsion as engaged anthropologists to bring them into the conversation anyway. I conclude with the persisting hope of survivors of violence—like many of our ethnographic interlocutors in arenas of conflict—that healing is possible and that change toward justice can occur. Finally, I write of an anthropology that speaks from a spiritual, political, and intellectual paradigm which recognizes that, unspoken or not, values of the heart are as central to our field as those of the mind.
Cynthia Keppley Mahmood (Thu,) studied this question.
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