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Abstract

This article focuses on researcher distress and well-being. It presents a survey carried out with scholars engaged in conflict-related sexual violence research from various disciplines. Respondents were asked about how they reacted to the research they engaged in and how their respective academic institutions supported them. Academia’s understanding of and preparedness for research-related distress is limited. While there is a focus on researcher safety in the field, typically from the perspective of institutional insurance and liability, there is less focus on researcher well-being. Our findings suggest that there is a need, and indeed willingness, to address distress and well-being within the conflict-related sexual violence research community. The ability to do so, however, depends in large part on the institutional setting of the individual researcher. We find there are institutional differences between the fields of political science, law, history, and international relations on the one hand where scholars report more difficulties, than within the fields of anthropology, social work, psychology, public health, and gender studies, which appear more trauma aware. The findings show that there are great variations between different scholarly disciplines and institutions. We find a clear need to address these topics not only in academic reflections in scholarly articles, but also on institutional levels within academic communities.

Keywords

Introduction

How do researchers studying conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV) experience their work?¹ How do they process meeting with, reading about, or coding stories told by survivors or perpetrators of CRSV? How do they balance their own emotional reactions and response mechanisms with the analytical and scholarly gaze they employ in their studies? In exploring these questions, our goal is to open a conversation about emotions and research, how we are caring for ourselves, and how the academic community more broadly is, or ought to be, supporting researchers’ well-being.

These questions were generated from a series of annual meetings between 2013 and 2018 of the Missing Peace Initiative’s Young Scholars Network – an interdisciplinary group of scholars engaged in CRSV research. Over the course of these meetings, participants revealed how CRSV research has impacted them. Some described experiencing sleeplessness, feeling afraid or needing to take breaks from their research. And yet, discussions of research-related distress are mostly absent from academic writing. Some may not know how to articulate what they felt. Others may view their emotional responses as irrelevant to their scholarship. Still, others may worry that they would not be seen as serious scholars if they included such reflections in their work.

We contend that caring for ourselves and being committed to research that aims to protect the well-being and seeks justice for CRSV-affected populations are mutually supportive aims. Reacting emotionally to CRSV is not dangerous or unscientific, it is fundamentally human. This article aims to better understand how scholars are impacted emotionally by their research, to encourage open discussion of researcher well-being in the field, and to consider institutional practices that could better prepare and support scholars’ well-being. To this end, we surveyed a sample of CRSV scholars about how their research has impacted them, how they individually managed those experiences and what, if any, institutional resources were available to promote their well-being during the research process.

Our discussions below focus on the findings from this survey. We contextualize the findings in relation to how researchers’ emotional reactions to their work are discussed in relevant bodies of scholarship in the social sciences, public health and related fields. We find research-related distress to be commonplace among CRSV scholars and to manifest most often as feelings of anger, fear, and hypervigilance and loneliness. While there are some important individual and project-level factors that may contribute to research-related distress, the survey data make clear that harmful academic cultures and a deficit of institutional supports also compromise researcher well-being. We conclude with a discussion of the strategies we as a community can employ to mitigate research-related distress and better support scholars’ well-being. Importantly, while we focus on the CRSV research community, it is likely that many of the experiences documented here will resonate with scholars who study other grave human rights violations and suffering, even if the findings are specific to our unique small sample. Similarly, pursuing the institutional reforms outlined will surely benefit scholars across fields and particular areas of inquiry.

Other scholars who have written on similar topics use the term ‘vicarious trauma’ (see: Benoot and Bilsen, 2016; Dominey-Howes, 2015; Maček, 2014; McClelland, 2017; Nakray, 2015; Shesterinina, 2019). We, however, refer instead to distress to describe what can be seen as normal reactions to hearing about or documenting extreme events and experiences. These reactions may create a vulnerability for (vicarious) trauma, but our goal is to capture reactions outside of the scope of psychological diagnosis.

Researcher well-being: What do we know?

After reviewing the scholarly literature, it is fair to conclude that academia’s understanding of and preparedness for research-related distress is limited.² While there is a focus on researcher safety in the field, typically from the perspective of institutional insurance and liability, there is less focus on researcher well-being.

Institutions, disciplines and methodologies that promote neoliberal or hegemonic masculine values (e.g. individualism, perseverance, stoicism, rationality, objectivity, positivism) over communitarian and feminist principles (e.g. care, interdependence, community, reflexivity) can contribute to this silence (Krause, 2021; Markowitz, 2021; Speed, 2021; Taylor, 2019). These values are often reflected in curricula, supervisory committees and mentorship approaches, and many scholars learn that discussions about researcher well-being and emotions are unwelcome. Those who openly discuss research-related distress may worry that doing so will be seen as self-indulgent and decentering research participants’ lives, that it could impact perceptions of their academic competencies, delay tenure or promotion or affect funding or publication decisions (Markowitz, 2021: 103–106).

It is unsurprising then that most studies on grave human rights violations and suffering do not address researcher well-being. This is particularly the case with quantitative scholarship, and in political science and international relations (Loyle and Simoni, 2017; Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018). It is as if researchers’ reactions are adjacent to the main research, not integral parts of the methodology, analysis or reflections.

Fortunately, the number of professional roundtable conversations and publications on researcher well-being – both within and across different disciplines – is increasing (in our works cited alone, one can see an exponential increase in publications since 2010). These trailblazing studies provide three key lessons about research-related distress and academia’s response to it thus far.

First, these studies show that studying traumatic or sensitive themes can give the researchers physiological and psychological symptoms or illnesses, as well as cognitive impairments such as headaches, gastrointestinal distress, insomnia and nightmares, anger, fear, difficulty concentrating, sadness and tearfulness, anxiety, hyperarousal and hypervigilance, and depression (Beale et al., 2004; Campbell, 2002; Sexual Violence Research Initiative (SVRI), 2015).

Second, the studies span several academic disciplines, including health and social work (Beale et al., 2004; Benoot and Bilsen, 2016; Clark and Sousa, 2018; Coles and Mudaly, 2010; Guerzoni, 2020; Voth Schrag et al., 2022; Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018; Wray et al., 2007), geography (Taylor, 2019), anthropology and sociology (Maček, 2014; Markowitz, 2021; Speed, 2021), international relations, political science, law (Cohen and Dorff, 2024; Glasius et al., 2018; Hummel and El Kurd, 2021; Krause, 2021; Lischer, 2021; Loyle and Simoni, 2017; Nakray, 2015; Satterthwaite et al., 2019; Schulz and Kreft, 2021; Shesterinina, 2019) and psychology (Campbell, 2002; McClelland, 2017). These scholars study a range of topics, from cancer and disordered eating to carceral violence and genocide. Their positionalities, methods and epistemological approaches vary. This tells us that research-related distress is not unique to the individual, nor is it limited to particular fields of study.

Finally, almost all these scholars commented on their lack of preparation to address their emotional reactions to their research, even for those who had in-depth training in research ethics and were highly sensitized and prepared to attend to participants’ emotions (see Glasius et al., 2018; Taylor, 2019).

Most publications on researcher well-being offer anecdotal or autoethnographic accounts (Beale et al., 2004; Benoot and Bilsen, 2016; Fincham et al., 2008; Glasius et al., 2018; Guerzoni, 2020; Lischer, 2021; Nikischer, 2019; Schulz and Kreft, 2021; Taylor, 2019; Wray et al., 2007), and the majority focus on qualitative methodologies and fieldwork as particular risk factors for research-related distress (Clark and Sousa, 2018; Coles and Mudaly, 2010; Dickson-Swift et al., 2007; Glasius et al., 2018; Lischer, 2021; Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018; Wray et al., 2007).

Our study presents the results of a first of its kind survey on the lived experiences of research-related distress among CRSV scholars. It is a small and limited sample, so the findings are suggestive. Survey responses are organized into two overarching themes: the scope of research-related distress and how it is experienced by CRSV scholars, and the factors that cause or contribute to this distress. We aim to center our respondents’ narratives. But, in solidarity with them, we share brief reflections on how our own research has impacted us emotionally and professionally. The findings describe a scholarly community with ethical integrity, deep commitment to CRSV-affected populations, and learned resiliency. But they also reveal common struggles and institutional environments that have required individuals to cope alone. In the discussion, we share our own insights and those from our respondents regarding how we might move forward.

Methods

Individuals were invited to participate in this study in 2018.³ To be eligible, respondents had to have completed or begun at least one research project on CRSV and had to meet one or more of the following conditions: (1) attended one or more of the Missing Peace Initiative meetings held between 2013 and 2018, (2) attended one or more of the Missing Peace Young Scholars Network meetings between 2013 and 2018, (3) presented scholarly research on CRSV at one or more of the annual meetings of the International Studies Association (ISA) between 2013 and 2018, or (4) been a member of the ATLAS Network’s Facebook group for legal professionals focused on public international or human rights law. These venues were chosen to capture the largest number of CRSV scholars, at various stages of their careers, from an array of disciplines and academic institutions in countries around the world.⁴ One hundred sixty-one potential participants were identified, contacted via email and provided a link to complete the survey online. A copy of the survey is provided in the Online Appendix.

Thirty-four individuals participated in the study. Most participants identified as white women from institutions in the Global North. Most worked in political science or international relations, followed by law and feminist and gender studies. Table 1 in the Online Appendix presents a socio-demographic profile of the sample and Table 5 describes the kinds of CRSV research projects on which these scholars worked. We asked respondents to answer a wide range of questions to describe their CRSV research, how their research affected their mental or physical well-being, how these effects impacted their personal and professional relationships, and what resources were available to them to prepare for or respond to research-related distress.

What is the prevalence of research-related distress and what does it look like?

Below, we discuss the prevalence of research-related distress and how it most often manifests. In each section, key insights from prior studies precede the presentation of results from our survey.

Scope and prevalence of research-related distress

Case studies on researcher well-being suggest distress may be common (Campbell, 2002; Coles et al., 2014; Dickson-Swift et al., 2007). A study of 104 social scientists studying trauma or violence found that a majority experienced moderate or extreme distress related to their research (Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018: 479). Analysis of respondents’ qualitative remarks showed that only 18% ‘never felt distressed by their research with a trauma-exposed population’ (2018: 481).

This finding is reflected in the responses we collected from CRSV researchers. Only two scholars reported never feeling distressed about what they were learning. The majority (52%) reported feeling distressed ‘most of the time’. CRSV research was more likely to affect researchers’ mental well-being than their physical well-being. Some 59% of respondents indicated that there was no discernible impact of their research on their physical well-being; only 16% said the same about their mental well-being. And these effects were more likely to be negative than positive: 63% and 29% of respondents identified at least some negative effect on their mental and physical health, respectively (see Table 2 in the Online Appendix for a complete breakdown of these data). With a small nonprobability sample, we cannot speak to the prevalence of such negative health effects within the entire CRSV research community, but these numbers suggest that varied forms of distress may be a likely part of the CRSV research experience.

Signs of research-related distress

Prior research has documented the wide-ranging effects of studying traumatic or sensitive themes on researchers’ well-being. The severity and frequency of symptoms or manifestations of distress vary. Some have minor or infrequent occurrences that are not disruptive to their work or life, while others experience more significant spells of illness, including clinical diagnoses of stress disorders. The kinds of physiological and psychological symptoms, including cognitive impairments, documented in the literature include headaches, gastrointestinal distress, insomnia and nightmares, anger, fear, difficulty concentrating, sadness and tearfulness, anxiety, hyperarousal and hypervigilance and depression (Beale et al., 2004; Campbell, 2002; Coles et al., 2014; Markowitz, 2021; Taylor, 2019).

Reflecting the documented range of experiences, we asked respondents to comment on several indicators or symptoms of distress. Their responses show a similar range in severity, from relatively minor symptoms or episodes that could be self-managed to more significant mental health crises requiring medical intervention.

A full presentation of the findings is available in Table 3 in the Online Appendix. The findings suggest that CRSV research did not significantly increase respondents’ thoughts of self-harm or the frequency with which they felt body aches. Respondents reported moderate changes to their appetite, the frequency of nightmares, headaches or mood swings, feeling chronically fatigued or oversleeping, having a heightened startle response, or feeling disinterested in being around others.⁵ However, sleep disruptions, heightened vigilance to one’s surroundings, and feelings of loneliness, sadness, depression, anxiety, or anger increased significantly because of respondents’ work on CRSV. Particularly acute, that is, effects experienced ‘often’ or ‘always’, were feelings of anger (29% of respondents) and loneliness (26%), and hypervigilance to one’s surroundings (29%). Given their higher prevalence, we examined participants’ qualitative responses for additional insights into these symptoms of distress.

Anger and frustration

Respondents’ anger and frustration appear largely prompted by systems of abuse and inequality that foster CRSV, as well as the inability or unwillingness of policymakers to respond effectively.⁶ For example, Anika remarked: ‘It was [. . .] frustrating to realize how [little] will there was/is to improve the situation of survivors and hold perpetrators accountable’.⁷ Similarly, Jules reported being distressed and angry about the ‘apathy of those with power to address the violence [and the] disinterest of [the] international community to respond’. Both articulate the anger and frustration that is directed outward toward others’ unwillingness or inability to end CRSV and care for those affected. When confronted with the prevalence and severity of sexual violence in conflict, and the damage such violence does to survivors, perpetrators and entire communities, it is easy to understand scholars’ frustration over domestic and international actors’ inaction.

However, 20% of all respondents also expressed helplessness, guilt and frustration over their own inability to intervene on behalf of or provide direct, meaningful relief to those suffering. This was more common among those whose research methods included direct contact with CRSV survivors.

The kinds of emotional responses shared by our respondents are common among practitioners and ‘pr-academics’ who provide legal, social or healthcare services to victims of sexual or gender-based violence (Campbell, 2002; Nikischer, 2019; Voth Schrag et al., 2022). CRSV scholars are, however, distinct from practitioners and ‘helping’ professionals in that they are not able or trained to provide direct assistance or services to study participants. Coles et al. (2014) hypothesize that the risk of what they call secondary trauma may be greater for researchers of sexual violence than for clinicians precisely because researchers are not in a position to provide treatment or other services to reduce survivors’/study participants’ suffering.

As a practitioner-turned academic, Andrea Nikischer’s reflections are particularly insightful here. She writes:

In my previous work, I offered the survivors I worked with something meaningful to them, such as counseling, advocacy, information and/or referrals. [Working with research participants like] Kim [. . .] was different. She was giving to me, and I was taking her story to inform my research. She was helping me to get my PhD, but I did not feel like I was giving her anything in return. [. . .] This notion that I was taking from women who had already been victimized was deeply troubling. It compounded the feelings of distress [. . .] Whereas therapeutic professionals can potentially see their work directly benefit their clientele, [. . .] researchers generally exit from their sites with the hope that the data will someday contribute to larger structural changes that will benefit all of society (2019: 910–911).

It is evident that CRSV scholars bring a deep thoughtfulness, care and reflexivity to their research. And, like Nikischer (2019), these values sometimes raised difficult questions for our survey respondents regarding the ethics of continuing their CRSV work. Respondents shared how they struggled with the relative privileges they held in comparison to study participants, and their own (or more generally, academia’s) inability to affect change. Claire commented:

Going back and forth between my university and field site triggered a lot of anxiety and stress around the ethics of my research and the ethics of my presence in the field, especially being in academia with little money or power to apply the research and genuinely advocate for real change.

Some feelings of helplessness and the resultant frustration may be inevitable. As scholars, we exercise little control over the environments and issues we study. Moreover, even among other human rights crises, sexual violence appears particularly intractable. It is not unique to armed conflict and is seemingly difficult to prevent or end, even in peacetime.

Loneliness

Academic work is often solitary in nature and may entail frequent travel, including prolonged periods of field research where scholars do not have access to their usual support systems. For our respondents, feeling isolated or lonely had more to do with their home institutions, disciplines or programs. CRSV is not ‘small talk material’ and several respondents reported feeling that colleagues could not relate to their work or research experiences, as Ava commented:

Others who are doing research (like other PhD students) do not understand what it is like to research a topic such as this. Their topics do not compel the level of personal and emotional involvement and response that this subject matter implies for the researcher. That was lonely at times as your student cohort cannot identify with why you are feeling ‘heavy’ after a day of reading rape testimonies, for example.

In some cases, scholars, like Ava, may choose to not discuss affective aspects of the research process with peers who they worry may not understand. In other cases, CRSV scholars experienced isolation and subsequent loneliness due to explicit efforts by colleagues to marginalize them or devalue their research. We discuss this latter point further in Institutional-level factors.

Fear and hypervigilance

Generally, our findings reflect those from prior studies on the effects of doing ‘sensitive’ research on researchers’ well-being. For example, Glasius et al. (2018) discuss the fear and paranoia that comes from working in authoritarian states, where researchers may be surveilled, harassed or subjected to violence by government agents. However, there may be some outcomes that are unique to, more pronounced, or take on particular qualities among those working on sexual and gender-based violence. Campbell (2002) finds studying sexual violence often increased researchers’ fearfulness and feelings of personal insecurity. She argues that ‘[i]nterviewing rape survivors challenges researchers’ beliefs about safety and justice; we learn, because we hear it over and over again, that the world is not safe for women’ (Campbell, 2002: 66).

While we did not ask our study participants about fears over their personal safety, several brought up this concern in their open-ended responses. For example, Marie commented: ‘sexual violence is an experience that many women have in their lives, that can happen to any woman at any time because it is not something that is unique to war’. Another respondent, Elise, wrote: ‘[l]earning about the prevalence of [gender-based violence] around the world made me feel very unsafe in my daily life’. Claire reflected on the pronounced gender inequality and prevalence of sexual and gender-based violence, including a harrowing incident where she witnessed and intervened to stop a sexual assault. Her feelings of insecurity were profound enough to prompt her to consider ending her fieldwork and research on CRSV.

In sum, our findings show that research-related distress manifests in different ways and with different impacts on personal and interpersonal dimensions.⁸ Many of the experiences CRSV scholars report may be similar to those working on other grave human rights violations and suffering. However, as Marie, Elise and Claire note above, the ubiquity of sexual violence and harassment in many countries may make it more likely for CRSV scholars to feel their vulnerability daily, while other scholars of genocide, political imprisonment or torture may be at less risk of suffering such violence.

What affects the risk of research-related distress?

Several factors – at the individual, project and institutional level – may affect the risk of research-related distress. Those most often cited in the literature include, at the individual level: (1) researcher identities or positionalities; at the project level: (2) repeated exposure to violent or traumatic content, (3) methodological and epistemological orientations that increase connection between participants and researcher, and (4) field research; and at the institutional level: (5) unsupportive work environments and cultures. We discuss each of these below, with a particular focus on those most relevant to CRSV scholarship, as indicated by our respondents’ reflections and insights.

Individual-level factors

Researcher identities and positionalities

With few systematic studies on research-related distress, there is no conclusive evidence of differential risk among scholars of varied socio-demographic backgrounds. Among our respondents, we find no difference in the likelihood of reporting research-related distress based on age or race, or one’s relationship status, student or employment status. However, additional research with a larger sample is necessary before drawing definitive conclusions.

Some studies suggest that when researchers and research participants share attributes or life experiences, researchers may identify more with the participant, and as a result may experience greater negative emotional reactions to hearing participants’ narratives of violence or trauma. Particularly relevant here is a shared gender identity (cis woman) between scholars and victims of CRSV. This shared identity may help many researchers build a rapport with participants, but, as a few respondents noted in their qualitative feedback, it may also be a painful reminder of a shared risk of harm. For example, as described above, Marie discussed how distressing it was to be reminded of women’s constant vulnerability to sexual violence at any time, in any place. Her reflection continues: ‘This feeling was compounded by the revelations of #MeToo, when I spent my working time working on CRSV and would then go home to read about sexual harassment and sexual violence in women’s everyday lives’.

Similarly, scholars who have lived in countries affected by conflict may experience strong emotional reactions to narratives and imagery of conflict-related violence. If distance (physical or social) grants some protection against distress, we might expect scholars studying conflict-related violence in their countries of origin to be more at risk. For Ines, this positionality presented unique challenges:

I was doing research on my *own* conflict. This means that I was in a double position of coping with the conflict as a civilian and mother [. . .] and as a researcher that was gathering evidence about the daily experiences of other women [. . .] I live in a post-traumatic society. Genocide and war are part of my students’ and colleagues’ social and cultural repertoire. (Emphasis in original.)

Notably, Ines is the only respondent in our sample who is studying CRSV in their country of origin. There is a rich literature on researcher positionalities and its potential impacts on one’s scholarship (see Parashar, 2019; Porisky and Glas, 2023). While thorough consideration of this literature is beyond the scope of our study, we do not believe that scholars with shared identities or life experiences with the populations they work should be discouraged from engaging in CRSV research. Rather, being aware of the factors – including, but not limited to, one’s own positionality – that may contribute to research-related distress and finding the supports and resources to address it are key.

Project-level factors

Repeated exposure to the details of violence and trauma

Unsurprisingly, working with traumatic or violent imagery and material is one of the principal factors associated with research-related distress (Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018). Among CRSV scholars we surveyed who reported experiencing distress: more than a quarter attributed this to reading or hearing about others’ traumatic experiences and/or the details of acts of violence. The brutality of wartime violence is unsurprising, and one might suggest scholars should anticipate hearing upsetting and graphic narratives. Still, some respondents felt unprepared. They commented that their graduate coursework or other professional training had not exposed them to such graphic narratives of violence. Elias explained:

[T]he [. . .] graphic descriptions of sexual violence against both men and women that frequently accompany NGO advocacy documentation on the subject [caused me distress]. Whilst the academic literature obviously contains descriptions of specific acts of sexual violence, that still does not prepare you for the absolute brutality described by NGOs in their documentation.

That said, even among those with significant preparation, including prior experience working with trauma-affected populations, there was shock and pain at hearing or reading survivors’ testimonies.

Repeated exposure to traumatic content increases the risk of distress (Beale et al., 2004; Coles et al., 2014: 96–97; Coles and Mudaly, 2010: 58, 62–63; Wray et al., 2007). For example, Campbell (2002: 66) writes ‘[w]hereas individual cases [of rape] may have shocked or surprised us, unleashing specific bursts of fear or anger, it is the cumulative effect of hearing all of these stories that defines what it feels like to study rape’ (emphasis in original). Among CRSV scholars we surveyed, several commented on the distress caused by accumulating or amassing story after story of individual harms and having to face the enormous scale of sexual violence in war (and peace).

For example, for Ava the number of cases she investigated, and the enormity of the crisis was distressing:

[G]iven my long career in working with women victims, I had thought I had heard it all [. . .] then you sit with a PhD and read everything there is on sexual violence and you learn more [. . .] and more [. . .] and more about what is done to women and women’s bodies. It is like it is never ending and you get overwhelmed.

Prior studies note the risk presented by repeated exposure to traumatic content that comes through in-person contact with study participants, such as via interviews, focus groups or participant observation (Beale et al., 2004; Campbell, 2002; Coles and Mudaly, 2010; Lischer, 2021; Nikischer, 2019). Less commonly recognized is the risk posed by repeated exposure to the same kinds of content through desk research, document analysis (like that described by Elias above) or transcribing public hearings. In order to generate the Sexual Violence in Armed Conflict dataset, coders spent months reading thousands of US State Department and Amnesty International reports on countries’ human rights abuses (Cohen and Nordås, 2014). Such large-scale data collection projects require ‘double checking’ of how material is coded to demonstrate intra- and inter-coder reliability. In CRSV research, this requires a team to take on additional exposure to difficult source material. Moreover, the research process itself requires repeated and different modes of engagement with the material, from collecting and (re)analyzing data, writing, and presenting one’s work.

Twelve percent of the CRSV scholars we surveyed commented in their qualitative remarks that repeated exposure to descriptions of violence and trauma caused them to become desensitized. Rather than providing relief, feeling desensitized or numb compounded these researchers’ distress. Elias continued his reflection on the graphic content of NGO reports:

I believe I have become somewhat desensitized to the subject in recent years. Whilst graphic descriptions do still provoke a negative emotional response, this does not occur to the same extent as it has in previous years. However, this is also accompanied by some emotional turmoil stemming from an internal debate over whether this desensitization is a good thing or not.

Desensitization may be an inevitable outcome of repeated exposure to different kinds of CRSV data. But, as some of our respondents noted, this can come with its own negative feelings or worries. Some may fear being seen as uncaring or being judged for not responding ‘appropriately’ to grave human rights violations. To prepare for and normalize this possible reaction, we need to acknowledge that desensitization can occur at different stages in the research process.

Methodological and epistemological orientation

Most studies on research-related distress focus on qualitative, ethnographic and/or feminist research methods. Scholars engaged in interview-based research, focus groups or participant observation are likely to have frequent face-to-face interactions with study participants, sometimes over several years. Because such approaches often require a strong rapport between the researcher and study participants, the boundaries between the researcher and study participants may be more flexible, and more conversational and reciprocal interview styles may be adopted. Methodological and epistemological orientations that encourage connection over distance, subjectivity over objectivity, and reflexivity may therefore increase the risk of distress to researchers studying violence (Voth Schrag et al., 2022; Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018).

However, reflecting on her own interview research, Inger reminds us that connection to study participants and approaches that aim to capture a fuller account of survivors’ lives may also provide relief from the distress caused from the endless collection of wartime trauma narratives. The author’s interviews with survivors of CRSV during the Bosnian war meant hearing stories about their lives before, during and after the conflict. The stories of CRSV were just one element of several experiences that defined study participants’ lives and who they were. For some interviewees, CRSV was foregrounded in their narratives about themselves, whereas for others it was in the background. Through these interviews, survivors became more complex individuals with multiple stories and experiences. Had her study been based on written or oral testimonies that focused only on their victimization (such as declarations made to criminal tribunals), the totality in which the survivors lived and situated themselves would have been harder to see. Reading about survivors’ CRSV experiences in isolation might be more traumatic than talking to survivors about these events in the broader context of their lives.

Michele’s work with archived testimonies from truth commissions and human rights organizations is illustrative here. Each testimony file provides a partial accounting of a person’s lived experience during war. The fixed nature of documentary evidence means that all the researcher can know about the person’s life is that which has already been committed to paper. In fact, some of her strongest emotional reactions came after reading sparse or incomplete records, where a family member was providing testimony about a disappeared loved one. It is hard to accept that a person’s life (at least insofar as what is recorded in the archives) could be reduced to a thin manila folder with a few sheets of paper and a 2- × 2-in. black-and-white photograph (see Figure 1).⁹

Figure 1.

Sample archival record.

What is striking in this case file, as in so many of the testimonies provided to human rights organizations during active conflict, is the dearth of information. All we know of what happened to the victim is the single sentence written under ‘circumstances of their detention’. Michele often felt haunted by files whose incompleteness prevented any sense of resolution or the modicum of relief that may accompany closure. Conversely, for other scholars, fuller records that provide more detailed descriptions of the violence may cause greater distress (Fincham et al., 2008).

For her part, Kim reflected on her migration from legal representation of CRSV survivors as a practitioner to now studying systems of protection and accountability for communities affected by CRSV as an academic. In both spaces, she has combined in-person interviews with extensive documentary, legal and open-source research. This variety of stimuli may provide some internal respite: she notes that the weight of taking intimate testimonies from individual survivors for half of each week – documenting details of physical and psychological terror and the long-term impacts of their CRSV experience – often felt balanced by an equal measure of legal research. Motivationally, it also helped to work toward an asylum grant or a war crimes conviction. Now studying survivors’ access to healthcare and justice mechanisms more broadly, she combines desk research on statutes, case law and court records with interviews with service providers and policymakers who themselves work with CRSV survivors. Taking more of a population-based and systems-oriented lens to CRSV prevention and response is less emotionally taxing for Kim, though the impact of this work can feel more abstract.

Based on our survey data, CRSV scholars who engaged in primary document analysis, interviews, participant observation or focus groups were more likely to report feeling distressed ‘most of the time’ compared to those engaged in secondary document analysis, survey research or statistical analysis. However, the vast majority of CRSV scholars (87%) employed multiple methods and research approaches in their studies (see Table 5 in the Online Appendix for a complete breakdown). As a result, it is not possible to isolate the effect of any individual methodological approach on research-related distress.

Impacts of field research

Fieldwork as a methodology warrants closer discussion. It can present unique challenges to physical safety, well-being or mental health (Clark and Sousa, 2018; Glasius et al., 2018; Hummel and El Kurd, 2021). Scholars doing field research must contend with time and resource constraints, which can create pressure for them to ‘maximize the productive value’ of their trip at the expense of their well-being. At the same time, they are removed from their support systems, and sometimes working in ‘precarious’ fieldwork sites that pose significant risks to safety and well-being.¹⁰

Fifty-three percent of the CRSV scholars we surveyed completed some fieldwork as part of their research, most of which was carried out in states in conflict, transitioning from a period of conflict to peace or experiencing a political transition. On average, respondents were in the field for 4.5 months, often over multiple trips.

CRSV scholars who conducted fieldwork were only slightly more likely than those who did not to say that they were distressed ‘most of the time’. However, some symptoms of emotional and physical distress – namely, loneliness, hypervigilance and having a heightened startle response – were particularly prevalent among those who did fieldwork. Due to data limitations, we cannot assess whether these differences are statistically significant or generalizable to all CRSV scholars. However, even our suggestive finding indicate that scholars and their supervisors should develop strategies to support researchers’ well-being and safety while in the field.

Researcher roles

Finally, researchers’ roles vary considerably across projects, teams and over time. Roles on a research project may include team supervisors, hired student research assistants, data coders and analysts, interpreters and interlocutors. These roles come with variable levels of power and security, as well as different forms of engagement with study participants and data. Each of these factors may affect one’s risk for research-related distress, and the willingness to communicate these to colleagues and supervisors. This is a grave concern for further recruitment to the field and should be a concern for senior faculty.

Institutional-level factors

Academic cultures and poor institutional supports

It has been argued that academia is a masculinized space and one that increasingly reflects neoliberal ideologies, including hyper-individualism and the atomization of scholars and teachers (Clegg, 2001; Lund and Tienari, 2019; Smith and Ulus, 2020). These institutional characteristics may contribute directly to the high incidence of mental health disorders and physical illness among academics, including exhaustion and burnout (Bisaillon et al., 2020; Clark and Sousa, 2018: 1). They may simultaneously discourage individuals from discussing openly their experiences and/or seeking support for research-related distress (Butler-Rees, 2021; Smith and Ulus, 2020). In the neoliberal academy, institutional programs purportedly designed to support researcher well-being (if they exist at all) place responsibility on the individual to provide for their own wellness and care (e.g. workshops on stress and time management) and do little to reform the structural work conditions that may exacerbate distress (Hurd and Singh, 2021). Satterthwaite et al. (2019: 448) make similar critiques of some human rights practitioner spaces as well.

Many studies stress the importance of institutions or workspaces to destigmatize discussion of work-related distress by actively creating spaces for individuals to share openly their experiences (see Bisaillon et al., 2020; Satterthwaite et al., 2019; SVRI, 2015; Smith and Ulus, 2020). In our survey, we asked CRSV scholars what, if any, spaces were available in their disciplines or programs to speak about researcher well-being. Most respondents concurred that little space for such conversations existed. Ava replied simply: ‘NONE. None whatsoever’.

Participants indicated that conversations on researcher well-being occur irregularly and are not integrated and normalized in the academic community. Respondents also named the absence or marginalization of such spaces as contributing to others’ reluctance to report issues or seek support. For example, Marie commented: ‘I have rarely seen or heard people openly discuss specific challenges they have faced, which also inhibited me from openly speaking about some of the problems I have encountered’. Ava shared: ‘I would like to feel empowered and secure in saying out loud how hard my research is, the emotional toll it takes and to not experience any backlash or punitive measures for expressing that (given tenure concerns, etc.)’. Most academic programs do not encourage (and, as Ava noted, may actively disincentivize) researchers to openly discuss safety and well-being concerns.

Perhaps as a result, only 29% of CRSV scholars we surveyed said they ever spoke about their experiences regarding research-related distress in a public, professional venue. The vast majority did not view their colleagues, and much less their supervisors, as sources of support on such matters (see Tables 6 and 7 in the Online Appendix). Finally, almost one-third believed that those who do speak openly about their experiences were less likely to be seen as ‘serious’ scholars.

Scholars who belonged to feminist research communities represent a notable exception. These scholars commented on feminism’s greater reflexivity and openness to considering affective aspects of the research process. Irina explained:

There is some [space], as I think feminist IR is open to discussing the personal dimensions of the work. But it’s limited, as I think we still suffer from a ‘cowboy’ mentality in terms of putting ourselves at personal risk (physically, sexually, emotionally).

Unfortunately, feminist scholarship is still marginalized in some disciplines and programs. Consequently, early career scholars who have had less time to build professional networks may be particularly vulnerable if their home departments are unsupportive. Claire reported overt hostility from her department:

[There is] a lack of recognition of the importance of [CRSV] work. In my department and [. . .] more generally in my field (political science), I knew that this type of research and any research on gender was seen as unimportant. I want to give a few specific examples [. . .] On one occasion our then director of graduate studies referred to my research as ‘esoteric’ in front of a class of my peers; a person in my graduate cohort asked me if the reason I studied CRSV was because I was raped; and a [. . .] senior [. . .] faculty member in my department told me that feminists ‘belong on another planet’ while at a dinner with an outside faculty member who was invited to a workshop to present on CRSV. I felt as if I constantly had to defend the subject matter of my work, which was exhausting.

Claire’s narrative describes persistent mistreatment and professional misconduct. Ultimately, CRSV research became unsustainable for her, and she left the academy. When academic work environments are toxic, unsupportive or fail to recognize the impacts of CRSV research on scholars, it is much more likely that scholars will experience distress, not report problems when they arise and/or not seek services when needed (SVRI, 2015: 7).

Discussion: how do we address research-related distress?

Our data point to several important findings for this growing research community. First, it is important to acknowledge that a researcher’s responses to CRSV research are normal and human. Acknowledging and openly discussing these responses can and ought to be part of research preparations, collaborations and documentation. What our findings point to with great clarity is that academic institutions appear to be largely failing to address the impact CRSV research has on researchers. Individuals can seek and implement self-care strategies to mitigate research-related distress or can seek help through counseling and psycho-social support programs, when needed. However, we believe – and data from our respondents indicate that they tend to agree – institutions bear responsibility for actively supporting the well-being of employees and students engaged in this work. The theme of institutional fallibility comes out strongly in our data. The failure of supervisors, along with departmental cultures and epistemological norms privileging distance/objectivity are clear contributors to researcher distress. These are complex challenges. An important first step is to articulate what the difficulties are and implement policies for improvements that go beyond individual self-help strategies.¹¹

Training and institutional resources

One of the sharpest findings from our survey was the near-complete lack of institutional resources for CRSV scholars to prepare for and respond to research-related distress. Most respondents did not participate in any preparatory training or debriefing that centered researcher well-being (see Table 6 in the Online Appendix). They commented extensively on the dearth of institutional support and the additional burdens placed on researchers themselves to fill in the gaps. Respondents shared their suggestions for the kind of resources institutions could develop to prepare and sustain scholars in their work. Marie described one possible approach:

Ideally, [we should] have some sort of workshop session for scholars working on sensitive issues [. . .] that [. . .] provides an overview of ‘normal’ adverse reactions that researchers may encounter and warning signs to look out for; [. . .] provides information on institutional and other resources available for researchers encountering adverse reactions; [that] lists individuals or entities [. . .] researchers may contact with any questions or concerns arising throughout the research process; and [that] incorporates a Q&A session.

Marie, and several others, called for written materials – books, leaflets, training manuals – that acknowledged and validated research-related distress, discussed the risk factors and ‘warning signs’, and described best practices for taking care of oneself or mentoring those engaged in CRSV scholarship. While focused particularly on the fieldwork experience, Oxford University runs an annual course to prepare and support scholars’ well-being that may serve as a valuable model for other institutions (Freed, 2024).

Among our respondents, most support was expressed for broader reforms, including revised graduate curricula; revised productivity timelines to allow for self-care; revised donor guidelines such that individuals can use funds to seek counseling or other forms of care, or breaks, for themself or research assistants, if needed; institutionalized and regular training (as opposed to ad hoc workshops); and required check-ins at pivotal moments in the research process. Almost everyone commented on the need to change academic culture, more generally, such that discussions of researcher well-being are normal. Several also underscored the importance of fully resourcing and expanding available mental health resources for students and employees, especially those with a specialization in trauma (See also: SVRI, 2015: 9). Everyone in the sample emphasized the urgency of institutional reform.

Building and sustaining supportive research communities

Until the culture within academia radically changes to embrace principles of care, scholars working on ‘sensitive’ topics would benefit from opportunities to gather, share their experiences and exchange ideas with those who can most relate. For CRSV researchers, this may not be the annual meeting of their discipline’s national association, particularly in fields where feminist theories and methodologies are still marginalized. Some scholars face departments or supervisors who are unsupportive or simply unaware of the unique challenges faced when studying CRSV. To address this challenge, the leadership of the Missing Peace Initiative – Inger Skjelsbæk, Kathleen Kuehnast, Chantal, de Jonge Oudraat and Kim Thuy Seelinger – created the Young Scholars Network (YSN) for early career scholars to gather semi-annually to present their work, share experiences, meet with policymakers and build community and research collaborations. Many YSN participants, like Anika, have expressed the value of this collective:

I now understand the importance of surrounding myself with other researchers who understand the very real effects of secondary trauma. Prior to speaking with other Missing Peace Young Scholars, I thought I was overly sensitive to the material I was working with, and that it wasn’t normal to feel such profound impacts ‘just’ from reading documents and conducting interviews. Once I understood that other researchers experience similar responses to their work, the sense of community helped. Moving forward with my second project on CRSV, I know to confide in other researchers, so I won’t feel so alone.

While the YSN targeted researchers early in their careers, similar networks could also help supervisors or team leaders who may feel ill-prepared or overwhelmed by mentoring responsibilities. Mentorship, especially for those who supervise research on CRSV or other grave human rights violations, requires skill and time, and is often undervalued in academia. Creating and sustaining researcher communities, like the YSN, improving institutional training around researcher well-being, and expanding mental health resources will support all involved in CRSV research, regardless of their roles or leadership responsibilities.

Encouraging research with impact

Unsurprisingly, CRSV scholars often come to this topic with a deep moral commitment to contribute to progressive change and a sense of solidarity with those whose lives have been affected by war. Community-based, activist or participatory-action research models that empower research participants and local communities ensure that scholarship makes contributions beyond the academic literature. For some, research that centers participants and that has ‘real-world’ impact is an ethical imperative. A secondary benefit, however, is that research that aims to provide immediate material or other benefits to participants helps minimize scholars’ feelings of helplessness, despair and pessimism (Coles and Mudaly, 2010; Markowitz, 2021; Whitt-Woosley and Sprang, 2018). Impacts can range from the less resource-intensive, such as safely disseminating project results in the local community, to the more involved skills exchanges or training workshops. Several respondents reflected on their desire to have a more direct, positive impact in the lives of their research participants, and one – Max – called on funders to provide material support for such initiatives. Whatever the specific approach, finding ways for one’s work to have broader impacts may be an effective strategy for preventing research-related distress.

Conclusion

Our findings suggest that there is a need, and indeed willingness, to address distress and well-being within the CRSV research community. The ability to do so, however, depends in large part on the institutional setting of the individual researcher. We find there are institutional differences between the fields of political science, law, history and international relations on the one hand, where scholars report more difficulties, and within the fields of anthropology, social work, psychology, public health and gender studies, which appear to be more trauma aware.

There is a tension between allowing oneself to react to documenting and analyzing grave human rights violations and suffering as a fellow human being, and simultaneously maintaining analytical distance. Reacting too little may seem inhuman and reacting too much may seem unscientific. How then should scholars reconcile these opposing sentiments? The first step articulated by our respondents is to make these reactions a normal reflection of the scholarly process. Clearly, more academic writing about researcher distress and well-being as part of methodological and analytical reflections is needed. (For notable exemplars, see: Baaz and Stern, 2016; Parashar, 2011.) The second step is to encourage greater institutional responsibility for scholars who research particularly sensitive topics, such as debriefs, adequately resourced healthcare or support services, and a general interest and validation of researchers’ experiences. These efforts would collectivize the experience, as opposed to individualize it. Finally, creating a community of scholars who focus on similar issues across scholarly disciplines is recommended. This can enable shared reflection about complex personal responses to themes that are by no means ‘small talk material’ and, ideally, support the quality and longevity of these researchers’ work.

While there may be specific challenges with the study of CRSV, many of the findings discussed here are likely to be applicable to those studying other grave human rights violations and forms of suffering. As such, advancing the recommendations outlined promises to have far-reaching impacts on researchers’ well-being.

Footnotes

This manuscript benefited greatly from the thoughtful feedback of attendees of the 2020 meeting of the Young Scholars Network,Chantal de Jonge Oudraat,Kathleen Kuenhast,as well as the journal’s editors and three anonymous reviewers. Thank you. We would also like to thank Emily Singer,Ana Minski,Blakely Dishman and Lark Pinney for their research assistance.

Research transparency and data

The Online Appendix includes the original survey instrument and thorough descriptive statistics on quantitative indicators. A data file for quantitative measures (excluding demographic variables),a codebook,and the Online Appendix are available at

. The survey described in this study includes a mix of qualitative and quantitative data. To protect the anonymity of respondents,a condition of their participation in the study,it is not possible to provide the original dataset in its entirety. We have removed all socio-demographic data as well as the qualitative responses to ensure no participant can be identified.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research,authorship,and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research,authorship,and/or publication of this article: This project was funded by the College of Wooster’s Sophomore Research Assistance Program.

ORCID iDs

Michele Leiby

Inger Skjelsbaek

MICHELE LEIBY,b. 1980,is a Professor of Political Science at the College of Wooster,where she researches human rights and political violence,gender and conflict processes,and human rights advocacy. She is currently working on a co-authored book project,Mirrored Struggles: From Human Rights Crises in Latin America to the Fight for Im/migrant Rights in Ohio .

INGER SKJELSBÆK,b. 1969,is a Research Professor at the Centre on Gender,Peace,and Security,Peace Research Institute Oslo (PRIO) where she researches political violence,gender norms and transitional justice. She is currently leading a project on European children born of war (EuroWARCHILD) funded by the European Research Council Consolidator Grant 2021–2026.

KIM THUY SEELINGER,b. 1974,is a Research Associate Professor at the Brown School of Social Work,Public Health,and Social Policy and Director of the Center for Human Rights,Gender and Migration at the Institute of Public Health,Washington University in St Louis (2019 to present,though currently on academic leave). While on academic leave,she serves the International Criminal Court as the Office of the Prosecutor’s first senior coordinator for gender-based crimes and crimes (2023 to present).

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