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Abstract
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A magnitude-7.0 earthquake rocked Anchorage, Alaska, in late November 2018. Roads buckled and chimneys tumbled from rooftops. Business operations were disrupted. Schools were damaged across the district. This was the largest earthquake to shake the region in a generation, and there was much to learn. What was the state of the infrastructure? Might further quakes occur? How did people respond? Teams of scientists and engineers from across the United States mobilized to conduct field reconnaissance in partnership with local researchers and practitioners. These efforts were coordinated through the clearing house set up by the Earthquake Engineering Research Institute in Oakland, California, which provided daily in-person and online briefings, as well as a web portal for sharing data.
But researchers are not always so welcome in disaster zones. After the deadly Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami on 26 December 2004, hundreds of academics from countries including Japan, Russia, France and the United States rushed to the region to collect perishable data. This influx of foreign scientists angered and fatigued some locals; many declined researchers' requests for interviews. The former governor of Aceh province, Indonesia, where more than 128,000 people died, described foreign researchers as "guerrillas applying hit-and-run tactics". Yet research on tsunami propagation and people's response to the event has led to improved warnings and emergency-response plans.
When, on 28 September 2018, an earthquake and tsunami hit the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, dozens of researchers found themselves unable to enter the country. Indonesian law now requires foreign scientists to obtain a special visa before they can begin research. Data-collection protocols must be submitted to the government in advance and projects must have an Indonesian partner. Violators could face criminal charges and even prison.
This incident has inflamed a smouldering debate among disaster researchers. Some scholars argue that stringent administrative protocols violate researchers' rights and prevent the collection of crucial, potentially life-saving, data. Others counter that such procedures protect survivors and preserve the integrity of local scientific efforts. For instance, concerns over studies placing undue burdens on overwhelmed groups — including grieving schoolchildren — led New Zealand to impose a moratorium on social-science research after the 2011 Christchurch earthquake.
Here we argue that disaster research needs a culture shift. As in other branches of study involving human participants, ethical concerns should have the same primacy as research questions. We call on the United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (UNDRR) to put forward a researcher-driven ethical code of conduct. This should advance disaster research, making it scientifically rigorous as well as locally and culturally grounded. After all, the UNDRR has a mandate ...
Language: en |