COVID times make ‘deep listening’ explicit: changing the space between interviewer and participant

Introduction

Listening is not a foreign concept in the field of qualitative interview research. A stated goal of ‘listening deeply’ during interviews seems to be a rather obvious statement; a researcher always goes into each interview with the aim of listening. Many methodology books teach researchers to listen carefully to the participants’ responses (Thompson, 2000; van Kammen and Stouthamer-Loeber, 1998; Whyte and Whyte, 1984) and to be empathic. For instance, Kvale (2007: 82) describes competent interviewers as ‘gentle, sensitive and open’. For Kvale, this means that the interviewer follows the participant’s lead in what and how they want to say things, listens actively to what is said as well as how it is said (James and Busher, 2009), and follows up on what appears to be important to the participant (Bryman, 2008; Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015).

This kind of listening has also been referred to as ‘deep listening’, when the researcher ‘listen[s] again to the multiple layers of meaning potentially embedded in the same sound’ (Bull and Back, 2003: 3). However, for most people, this kind of listening is not a natural mode of activity and an untrained listener will usually only skim the surface by ‘talking with’ participants rather than actually ‘listening to’ their narrative (Lal, 1996). Irigaray (2008: 232) asserts that listening requires more than hearing the words but includes a way of ‘opening ourselves’ to the other. It includes a perceptive listening mixed with feeling in which one can hear the emotions of the other (Liamputtong, 2007; McDuffie and Poelina, 2018; Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004; Rogers, 2014).

Rogers (2014) reports a feeling of deep satisfaction when one has been allowed to listen deeply and perceptively. This feeling of satisfaction is linked to the ability to contextualise the narrative (Lee, 1993) as well as an increased sense of integrity in the research process. When the interviewer has fostered an emotional connection with the participant, she is bound to deal sensitively with the data. This can help guard against the exploitation of participants and their narratives (Liamputtong, 2007) and is particularly important when researching sensitive issues (Lee, 1993).

The problem underpinning this article was that while methodology books promoted the art of engaged or active listening (Bourdieu, 1996; Bryman, 2008; Forsey, 2010; Holstein and Gubrium, 1995; Silverman, 2006), and the art of listening to the emotional message (Kvale, 2007; Rogers, 2014), how that was done in practical steps appeared to be missing. It appeared that the actual action of ‘listening-to’ (Irigaray, 2008; Lal, 1996), the practice of engaged listening, remained an intuitive act. To address this gap, this article draws on my current PhD project, Post-abortion narratives shared by Perth women, which was first based on face-to-face interviews with women. The project was disrupted by COVID-19 and the ensuing physical restrictions, at which time the project was adapted to conduct interviews via a suitable online platform. This disruption and methodological change prompted an examination of the practice of ‘deep listening’ while interviewing. It was the removal of the physicality of the bodies of interviewer and participant from the setting of the interview that prompted further consideration of the communication that occurs between two actors in a shared physical space. The experience of using an online platform to conduct interviews became an opportunity to consider more deeply the practice of ‘deep listening’. In a paradigm where the interview is seen as an interaction between two embodied individuals (Corbetta, 2003; Ellingson, 2012), and where the interviewer herself is the instrument of research (Adu, 2019; Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015; Maxwell, 2005), the interviewer should not ignore the visceral reactions of the body, nor the emotions that fill the space between the interviewer and participant (Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004). Douglas (1985) argues that these emotions are contagious and that it is by considering these perceptions that one can gain access to the invisible experience of the participant’s narrative (Irigaray, 2004).

Hence, I argue that deep listening occurs in the emotional connection that is fostered largely by allowing both interviewer and participant to sit together in silence and communicated via the physicality of body cues. I argue that it was particularly this layer of communication that was affected by the transition to an online presence. In light of the alternative, online interview process, this article examines the communication that occurs in the space between two co-present, embodied individuals during an interview. This article begins with a description of the research project from which the interviews were drawn. The article then describes the experience of a face-to-face interview with Liz, a Singaporean banker living and working close to the centre of Perth. This is followed first by the story of an online interview with Rachel, a single mum of two young boys, living in the northern suburbs of Perth. Second, I relate the experience of interviewing Jane online, conducted after I had begun reflecting on the issue of ‘deep listening’. By comparing these experiences, this article explicates the practice of deep listening while conducting sensitive research and argues that it is in the added layer of meaning available to the co-present interviewer, that deep listening occurs.

The project: post-abortion narratives shared by Perth women

In the current research project, I sought female participants who had undergone a legal ¹ abortion within the last ten years, in Perth, Western Australia. As stated in my Participant Information Form, a primary aim of this research was to ‘listen to the personal stories of an abortion experience by Perth women’. My goal was to understand and examine the tacit role of each woman’s habitus as it informed their journey of negotiation and navigation towards their abortion decision. My interest lay in examining the exercise of the individual’s agency while making a personal decision within a specific social context.

While I do not consider my participants, as a group, to be vulnerable and in need of extra protection strategies (Liamputtong, 2007), the research topic does fall into the category of a sensitive topic. A sensitive topic is one that examines areas of social life which may be considered private or may receive some form of social sanction (Lee, 1993; Liamputtong, 2007). As a result, participation in such research could potentially cause harm to the participant or the researcher. Topics that probe into the private lives of participants are normally considered sensitive, as are topics that are potentially emotionally laden (Lee, 1993). Both Lee and Liamputtong consider any research into abortion to fall into the ‘sensitive’ category.

Hence, I designed my project with the commitment to seeing and hearing the world through the participant’s eyes and ears (Bryman, 2008; Liamputtong, 2007), engaging with her narrative without prejudice or judgement (Barnard, 2005; Brinkmann, 2007; Lee, 2011). This commitment was further scaffolded by a conscious awareness of potential differences of opinion, yet to listen with an open mind (Fontana and Frey, 1994; Lofland and Lofland, 1984; Symonette, 2009) in an effort to conduct the interview with empathy and rapport (Corbetta, 2003; Jorgenson, 1992; Maxwell, 2005). Further, in the pre-interview discussions, I consciously gave the participant full control as to the time and setting of the interview, including the option of video calls during the transition period into and out of COVID-19 restrictions (Douglas, 1985; Young et al., 2020).

Method

For this research project, women were recruited via local newspapers and social media, predominantly Facebook community pages throughout Perth. After having learned more about the project, a potential participant was invited to engage in one face-to-face interview, which was to be conducted outside of her daily activities. Typically, these interviews lasted between 1–2 hours – the shortest being 26 min and the longest lasting for 1 h and 43 min. At the beginning of the interview, the study was re-introduced, the aims and purpose clearly explained, the audio recording made explicit and the consent form signed (Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015). A road map for the structure of the ensuing interview was also explained to the participant.

After briefly discussing her current circumstances, the participant was invited to share her story of her abortion experience, in her own way (Bryman, 2008; Patton, 1980). As the participant shared her narrative, I largely engaged in silent listening (Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015), simply indicating acceptance and attentive listening through feedback such as ‘hmm’ or ‘yes’, a nod or smile (Bourdieu, 1996; Thompson, 2000), and occasionally asking for clarification, usually around relationships. At this stage of the interview, a deliberate attempt was made not to interrupt the flow of the narrative (Mishler, 2009; Talmage, 2012; Thompson, 2000), nor to derail her train of thought (Ihde, 2003), but to engage in attentive listening and to build acceptance and trust with the participant (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007; Rogers and Farson, 2015).

After the narrative appeared to have come to a close, the participant was asked to reflect on a period of time before she had left her parental home, specifically to reflect on two things: first, how decisions were generally made within her family and second, whether there were any general expectations regarding her possible life plan. The purpose of this part of the interview was to gain insight as to what the participant would have experienced as ‘normal’ in family life and decision-making. Following this, the participant was asked to reflect on values and ideas that she felt were important to her regarding motherhood, careers and families.

Finally, the participant was asked to reflect on the experience of the interview (Kvale, 2007; van Kammen and Stouthamer-Loeber, 1998). Typically, the question was something like, ‘How has it been talking to me today?’ When the interviews were moved online, I added a further question, ‘And how did you find talking online like this?’ A natural comparison was made to the normalised face-to-face interview, but my participants in a face-to-face interview did not offer a comparison with the alternative online interview, so I was not able to gauge how they would have felt about meeting online. Sometimes the conversation continued for a short while after I stopped the audio recording, as we took our leave of one another. It was not uncommon to have a period of awkwardness. Having immersed ourselves in this moment, we were sometimes somewhat reluctant to simply truncate the relationship and walk away (Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015).

Immediately after the interview I wrote an interpretive summary (Bryman, 2008; Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015; Thompson, 2000), in which I reflected on the relationship between myself as interviewer and participant. I recorded details of the setting, interruptions, or hospitality offered. I also noted the emotional tone and connection fostered during the interview. Lastly, I reflected on any potential barriers to communication or difficulties that had arisen during the interview.

COVID-19 disruption

I managed to conduct a number of face-to-face interviews before COVID-19 hit Australia, when, due to the closing of cafés and other social distancing rules, I was required to move my interviews online. These interviews were to be conducted via video call, so that we were still able to view one another and thus most closely mimic a face-to-face interview (Sedgwick and Spiers, 2009). The use of video call has received significant attention in the literature, albeit usually in comparison with the alternative phone interview rather than in comparison with the face-to-face interview . Further, while the quality of data has received some scrutiny, it is the effect of the online platform on the research relationship that is of interest in this article.

Overall, the use of video calls for interviewing has been favourably reported on. The increased use of video calls more generally has seen an increase in familiarity with the technology (Licoppe and Morel, 2012), which was advantageous for the adaption. Further, online interviews are seen as a means to reducing the cost of research (Hanna and Mwale, 2017; Sedgwick and Spiers, 2009) and are especially useful when travel is restricted, such as in the current time. They are also seen to provide greater flexibility in organising a suitable time (Sturges and Hanrahan, 2016), as was the case with my participant Jane. Online interviews are also seen to contribute to destabilising the power imbalance between researcher and participant (Hanna, 2012).

Further, the experience of being co-present, yet physically separated has also been examined. During a video call, the picture is generally one of ‘talking heads’, a medium portrait shot, so that the face and shoulders of the person take up most of the screen (Licoppe and Morel, 2012; Weller, 2017). This picture gives the impression of closeness while still being acutely aware of being physically located in two separate spaces. This co-presence, yet being physically separate (Hine, 2015), has been reported by some research participants as creating an environment more conducive to discussing sensitive topics (Gray et al., 2020; Seitz, 2016; Sipes et al., 2019; Sturges and Hanrahan, 2016). This was congruent with how my participant, Rachel, reflected on the interview, when she reported that it ‘reduces the anxiety’.

I think having a video call can in some ways reduce the stress of meeting someone new and having to talk face-to-face with them about something very personal, if that makes sense? I mean we're still face-to-face, but we're not. . . right there next to each other. If that make sense?

At the same time, it is also acknowledged that the video call interview may lack subtleties and restrict the researcher in analysing the nuances in communication (Hanna and Mwale, 2017). While these restrictions can be seen to be advantageous and force the researcher to focus on the transcript generated by the interview rather than on other observations (Hanna, 2012; Holt, 2010), I argue that it is these nuances that are critical for deep listening. Further, the participant is also reflecting on visual cues, as demonstrated by Liz’s observation regarding her experience of the interview:

I think like, you know when I saw you coming down the steps yeah definitely approachable.. Admittedly, you know, what I've talked about has.. I think you can tell I haven't.. shared it with a lot of people as well. So um.. I think it's like you know, you did make me feel confident about the anonymity of it.

Interviewing Liz

I met Liz in a park overlooking the Swan River. It was at the beginning of the coronavirus restrictions. We had previously agreed to meet in a café close to her house, but the cafés were shut down. We then agreed to meet in a park on a Saturday morning. But that became the last day available for a visit to the hairdresser and nail salon. I began to wonder whether we would ever get to meet. But we set another date, for an early Saturday morning in the park. Liz was tired of all the screen time and was keen to meet face-to-face. I was willing to do so also, as I hadn’t quite worked out in my own mind the implications of doing interviews via video call.

As I parked the car, I could see a lady walking towards me, dressed for very cold weather. It was a little cool, being a Perth morning in March, but she was dressed in a black puffer jacket, which came halfway down her thighs. It was zipped up right to her chin and the hood was up. She was wearing pink reflective sunglasses. Only a tiny wisp of hair escaped her hood to wave in the wind. I didn’t think it was that cold and only had a thin cardigan on for the slight chill, but I did know other Singaporean friends who also seemed to like this style of puffer jackets and wore them even in reasonably warm weather. Maybe, I reasoned, that’s just what they liked to do.

We introduced ourselves and chose a nearby park bench to sit on. After some chit chat about the weather, the neighbours and the neighbourhood, Liz signed the consent form. I then turned the audio recorder on and we moved into the purpose of our meeting in the park. There was nothing very remarkable about Liz’s story. She was born in Singapore and originally came to Australia to study at the age of 16. She’d previously had an abortion at the age of 22. I did not ask for the details of this story, because it had occurred 20 years ago and therefore fell outside of my criteria. However, I was mindful of the fact that it is not possible to ignore Liz’s previous experience altogether, because it is part of who she is today, and part of her story to the present. Thus, while her previous experience was not relevant for the current study, it was not bracketed out of the discussion.

Liz is now a banker, working full-time in the city of Perth. She is married. Her husband also works full-time. Liz never felt that being a mother was for her. Particularly because of what she considered to be an impingement on her lifestyle, she never wanted to have children. When she became pregnant 2 years ago at the age of 40, she felt that she was now too old to consider having children. So she chose to terminate.

That is Liz’s story, as she told it to me with words, as I recorded it and transformed it into a transcript. However, when I think of Liz and move deeper than what I heard, when my listening is mixed with other observations (Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015) and in particular, with feeling the emotions that filled the space between us (Douglas, 1985; McDuffie, 2019), then I hear another layer in her story.

Liz sat bolt upright the entire time of the interview. She did not remove her hood or her sunglasses. It was only 5 min into the interview that she referred to her first abortion.

Um, I think a part of me does think that given my prior experience of having had one termination as well. Um. . . You do wonder whether you're fit to be a mother (strained voice). So maybe that did . . . (tear rolls down her face) contribute to it.

The single tear rolled down her face, but she did not acknowledge it or wipe it away. I could not see much of her face because of the hood and the sunglasses, and I started to wonder if the jacket was a deliberate choice.

As I questioned her more about her ideas of being ‘fit to be a mother’, she recounted all the negative aspects of being a mother, impingement on lifestyle being her main reason for the abortion.

all the inconvenience you know. . .

It's also in part because you know at the back of one's mind, you think that well ‘I was too chicken enough to do it before when obviously I was young enough’ you know.. but obviously I wasn't brave enough. . . and, and. . . I don't know maybe consciously subconsciously at the back of my mind it's sort of one of those things is like, having gone through that before it sort of makes me go like, ‘forget about being a mother’ and. . .(sigh)

After the interview had ended, and I had turned the recorder off, Liz started talking a little bit about the emotional cost of the abortion. And a tear slid down her cheek again, which she did wipe away. I asked her if she had thought about getting counselling, according to my ethics requirements. But she seemed reluctant to face whatever it was that would probably surface during counselling.

In my field notes, I recorded the following observations:

It was at this time that I started to wonder if she was hiding in the puffer jacket, zipped up to her chin and the hood up, hiding behind the sunglasses. I also wondered if the numerous changes that we made to the scheduling of the interview were also somewhat deliberate. I wondered whether her experience was a bigger thing than she let on. That there was something that she was reluctant to face. I felt that there was a hurting person inside the jacket, that I was not able to reach down and touch. That there was a big part of her experience that I was not able to access, that maybe she was not prepared to access. I felt that she deliberately chose her jacket for meeting me that morning, and it was not because of the chill. Rather, she was only prepared to talk about some things, but that there was much which she could not or would not bring out into the open. And I felt I had to respect her terms; I did not pry or try to drag her out. But I walked away somewhat reluctantly, somewhat sadly, feeling somewhat deflated. I felt that she also was reluctant to terminate the conversation and finally kind of slowly drifted away, leaving much unsaid.

Upon reflection of these notes, I know I heard Liz, in an emotionally perceptive way (; Irigaray, 2008; Lee, 1993; Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004; Rogers, 2014). I listened in the silences and I listened in the spaces of the unsaid. Even though she said that I seemed ‘approachable’ and had made her ‘feel confident about all the anonymity of it’, I felt that I had heard a deeper layer of meaning that remained unspoken. I do not presume to be able to interpret and give words to Liz’s silences. It may be that Liz herself was not able to give words to her deeper feelings and emotions (Rogers, 2014; Rogers and Farson, 2015), but Liz did in fact, have contact with me again later and requested the counselling referrals that I had prepared for my ethics application.

Interviewing Rachel

I met Rachel online in the middle of the COVID distancing measures. We had agreed to meet via Zoom, however, on that particular evening, Zoom was busy and neither of us could access the platform. So we opted for Facebook Messenger video call, as we had already established contact via Facebook. We had some difficulty connecting. I was using Safari, which does not support video calls. So I had to open up Facebook on Chrome, all of which took some time. I maintained contact with her via Facebook chat, keeping her informed as to what I was doing. When we did finally connect, the discussion turned to how to record. She said she was able to instruct me how to record if I was on my phone, but as I was on the laptop, she was not able to help me. In the end, I showed her my audio recorder and we chose to use that. By now, I was feeling like a luddite, recalling numerous times that I had been giving step-by-step instructions to my elderly parents, except now I was the ‘older one’. I noted that our pre-interview chit chat was centred around the technological problems that we were facing: access, quality of picture, quality of sound and ability to record, but did not help me connect with Rachel as a person.

Rachel is now 29 years old. She is an active Christian and had done a number of years volunteering at a crisis pregnancy support centre. At that time, she was very black and white on the issue of abortion: ‘If I ever fell pregnant, I would not have an abortion’. So when she did become pregnant in her early 20s, she continued with the pregnancy. She continued with her second pregnancy also and now has two boys, 15 months apart.

Rachel no longer lives with her first partner, but they share the parenting duties equally and maintain a good and cooperative relationship. When her oldest son was younger, he was often quite sick and in the hospital. During these visits to the hospital, Rachel’s singleness and her awareness of being alone became increasingly apparent, as she was always the one on hospital duty, rather than being able to share these duties with a partner. She felt that it began to wear on her mental and physical state.

She then dated her mum’s next-door neighbour for a time, but felt that he lacked the skills or the will to build a personal relationship with her children. At the same time, she felt her ability to cope with her two boys was starting to diminish due to their needing more care and more effort with parenting. So she ended the relationship.

Approximately 1 week later, Rachel was eating mashed potatoes for dinner, and found they just tasted really weird. ‘How can you stuff up mashed potatoes?’ she asked. You have ‘three ingredients and the milk is not off’. So off she went to do a pregnancy test

and I walked out and I just. . . burst into tears cos I was pregnant and. . . rang my mum. And I literally just. . . started bawling saying ‘I can't do it. I can't cope. I can't cope. I'm barely coping now with two kids. . . I can't cope with three’. Um. . . And I was just hysterical.

I noted in my field notes that I was not able to feel the emotional side of this story. Rachel may have spoken quite calmly about her distress, taking advantage of the screen to speak of her emotions without having them fill the space between us (Douglas, 1985; Sipes et al., 2019). However, I felt that I was only able to observe Rachel’s tale as through a window. I felt that I was limited in accessing the emotions that normally fill the space between two co-present individuals (Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004).

Rachel messaged her ex-partner to tell him that she was pregnant and received a poor response from him. He refused to help with the process of accessing an abortion,

And. . .he got very. . .upset at me that I didn't want to keep the baby. He kept saying that. . .it was wasn't fair. And that I'd kept my previous partner’s kids, but not his and it's, you know, it's . . .not fair. I obviously still love my kids’ dad. . .and all this kind of. . .‘it's not fair’.

Rachel now has a different partner, who is quite happy for them not to have children together. She is happy with the current co-parenting arrangements and likes the freedom she has while her sons are with their dad.

Interviewing Jane

Jane was keen to be interviewed via Zoom because of the scheduling flexibility it afforded her. Working as a registered nurse and completing her master’s degree, she is on a fairly tight schedule. Meeting early one morning via Zoom suited her quite well.

Jane had previously been in a relationship, with someone who was employed and they were able to live quite comfortably for quite some time. However, they slowly drifted apart and the relationship ended. She then began living with a new partner, who was not employed. This meant that she was supporting two people in her tiny unit, paying all the rent, utilities and food, as well as a car loan. She felt that they were always short of money. So when Jane became pregnant, she felt neither of them was in any position to support a child. At the same time, Jane now feels uncomfortable with her thought process at the time.

Even though she had been on birth control since about the age of 14, to help with acne issues, she could not continue with that medication due to migraines. So she was not actively using any birth control at the time. Looking back, she feels that because her mental health was not the best at that time, she was not making the best decisions.

I think that the state I was in mentally, um not that I was like untouchable or invincible. But I feel like it. . . uh I feel like it's when, young people get into a car and they drive really fast on like a wet road and they think they're invincible and they're not gonna, you know collide with anything. I feel like I had that mental thing at the time where I just didn't think of the consequences and thought, ‘Oh, it's not gonna happen, I'll be okay’ kind of thing . . .which was a bit stupid.

Jane thought she was about 6 weeks along by the time she went to the abortion centre. However, when they performed the mandatory ultrasound, she was told that she was 8 weeks pregnant. That shook her a bit and she became quite upset.

The consultation with the doctor felt very short in light of the enormity of the upcoming experience. She was only able to have the medical termination, because her partner at the time did not drive, and she had not sought support from her parents or her friends. So there was no one available to drive her home after a surgical procedure.

I remember it was this male doctor and. . .he like told me about everything but I don't think. . .I don't think anyone really prepared me and (exhale) I feel so ashamed because I'm a nurse. So I know how the human body works, but no one really prepared me for. . .exactly how it would feel to have the medical termination.

Jane drove home again and took her tablets, and waited for things to start happening. ‘I just thought like I'd kind of just like bleed a bit’, but nothing had prepared her for the experience that followed.

I (big breath) didn't really realize like when they say that you pass like the tissue. It's like you know, the actual (laugh) like thing and then you know having to do that all like . . .on the. . .like toilet . . .it's very degrading. Especially like because the medication like gives you other side effects like you know, diarrhea and stuff, and I feel like no one like really prepared me for that.

Still today, Jane feels psychologically and emotionally affected by the abortion. She is still committed to the notion that women have the right to choose what to do, but ‘it's not a situation I’d put myself through again’.

It really affected me. Like psychologically even still now, like, you know, I get quite upset about it, thinking about it sometimes. But, you know, I try to tell myself it was the right thing to do at the time.

but then like physically as well, like I feel that sometimes like if I get like a heavy period or something. . .um. . .I still. . .I remember the feeling of it.

At the time of Jane’s interview, I had already been reflecting on the act of listening in a video interview. I reflected on this in my notes:

I tried to pay attention to the bonding and the act of ‘sitting with the participant’, because of my current thinking about deep listening. She did seem to get emotional and she wiped her face at times. But it was like viewing someone through a window and not actually being there with them in the feelings.

Discussion

While the interview with Liz took place before I had conducted any interviews via video call, it was the experience of interviewing Rachel and Jane that highlighted those elements of the face-to-face interview that enabled ‘deep listening’ to occur. The experience of interviewing via video call, changed the interview encounter in the following ways. First, the small talk that normally precedes the interview in order to build small bridges of connection (Douglas, 1985; Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007), changed from being centred around getting to know the individual to being focussed on the online access, clarity of the picture and the sound (Weller, 2017). The result was a diminished ability to connect to the participant and to foster the feeling of a mutually shared experience (Jorgenson, 1992). This problem could potentially be mitigated by mindfully assigning time before the interview to chit chat.

Second, while the audio was generally adequate for conveying the message and I could capture the words, any distortion in the sound meant I could not listen deeply to the timbre of the voice and any small delay meant that I could not adequately weigh the pauses in speech (Adams-Hutcheson and Longhurst, 2017). Further, I felt constrained to only give silent feedback, such as nodding, to signal attentive listening (Holt, 2010; Thompson, 2000), so as not to disrupt the audio connection and block out her words on the recording.

Third, the silences between turns tended to be shorter so I felt I was not able to sit in silence with the person, a technique which allowed me to foster an emotional connection and to absorb the participant’s narrative. Kvale (2007) recommends that the interviewer refrain from prematurely breaking silences, in order to allow both the participant and the interviewer sufficient time to reflect on the conversation, while at the same time preventing the conversation from falling into awkward silence. At times the silence will encourage the participant to explore further connections in her narrative, embellishing her narrative or giving further comment on her experience (Thompson, 2000). Filling the silence with my own talk could mean an opportunity lost for emotional connection and deep listening (Irigaray, 2008; Rogers, 2014). In a face-to-face interview, the participant would not always truncate the end of her turn by looking expectantly at me, but would sometimes gaze reflectively into the distance (Douglas, 1985; Kvale, 2007). At these times, silence was able to comfortably fill the space between interviewer and participant. However, Mann and Stewart (2000) argue that in an online interview, listening is conveyed by words, by prompt responses and not by silence. Thus, turn-taking became more clearly defined, so that when the participant finished speaking, she would look at me expectantly (Bloom, 1998; James and Busher, 2009). In order to avoid awkward silences, I became more concerned about what came next in the interview and what question to ask next rather than absorbing the narrative as it unfolded.

Fourth, while the online platform gave me access to the participant’s words, I did not feel that I could emotionally connect with the person by observing her body language and listening into the space between the interviewer and participant (Kvale, 2007; Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004). Even though there was the reality of an embodied participant sitting on a chair in the other space, looking at me on the screen (Hine, 2015), I was keenly aware of the screen as a barrier to the intimacy required for deep listening (Douglas, 1985; James and Busher, 2009). I felt that despite the synchronous co-presence, a level of uncertainty remained and the screen was a barrier to accurate interpretation of emotions and body language (Hine, 2015). Moving the interview setting online meant the removal of the physical space between the interviewer and the participant. This space is often filled with emotion (Merleau-Ponty and Oliver, 2004) and can be accessed and felt by the interviewer by the many cues involved in active listening, such as, body posture and hand movements (Douglas, 1985; Kvale and Brinkmann, 2015; Rogers and Farson, 2015). The online space transformed the participants into ‘flat’ rather than full and embodied characters (Adams-Hutcheson and Longhurst, 2017). So, while my participant may have experienced a level of freedom in sharing because of the screen, I experienced the screen as a barrier to connecting to the emotions on the other side of the screen (Hine, 2020) and to hearing the person inside the narrative.

Conclusion

While engaging in the practice of listening deeply is a practice that is not unusual in an interview study, methodological books do not always explicate how to engage in this kind of listening. It appeared to be an intuitive act, and it was not until I was required to move my interviews onto an online forum that the practice of ‘deep listening’ became de-mystified. The removal of the physical bodies of interviewer and participant heightened my awareness of the communication that occurs during the actual interaction of the interview. As interviewing via video call is an excellent tool and is likely to be an instrument of choice for some time to come while the world continues to grapple with COVID-19, the researcher would do well to be mindful of the following three points.

First, during an online interview, the setting became one of close co-presence, yet physical separation. While this was advantageous to the participant, as interviewer, I felt impoverished in my ability to foster an emotional connection with my participant. The lack of an embodied presence meant lower visibility of body cues which are vital to the exercise of deep listening. The portrait view of the participant meant that I was not able to absorb information conveyed by body posture or hand gestures. Any changes in her voice could not accurately be attributed to emotion rather than disturbances in sound quality, and tears or sighs could not be noted. This emotional connection was even more difficult to bridge because the small talk preceding the interview was largely centred on the adequate facilitation of the online platform. With extra forethought and planning, this could be abetted by deliberately setting time aside at the beginning of the interview for getting to know the participant.

Second, the role of silence was affected by the transition to an online presence. During a face-to-face interview, silence can be used by the interviewer to foster an emotional connection with the participant by allowing space for the participant to reflect, sometimes even adding to their narrative. Silence can also be used by the interviewer to listen deeply to the emotional timbre of my participants’ narrative, as explicated in the story of Liz’s interview. These silences became empty and awkward in online interviews, placing increased pressure on the interviewer to maintain the pace of the interview. Conversational turn taking became more defined with the participant clearly ending each turn by returning with an expectant gaze to the interviewer, rather than gazing elsewhere in moments of reflection.

Third, the research relationship was altered, which impacts the researcher’s ability to listen deeply. The emotional connection that is fostered by sitting with the participant in a shared physical space is disturbed, as the researcher is not able to have the same access to physical body cues or to the emotions that fill the physical space between the interviewer and participant. The experience of interviewing online can be likened to observing the participant’s tale through a window, rather than sitting in a shared space with the participant.

The interviews under examination in this article were conducted during a larger research project on post-abortion narratives. Due to the sensitivity of the topic, the practice of deep listening is vital to the accurate portrayal of these women and their accounts. This article contributes to an explication of the practices that the interviewer can adopt in order to listen deeply to potentially emotional stories. I argue that the researcher need not be concerned about the quality of the data obtained from an online interview. Rather, the researcher needs to reflect on the implication to the research relationship that is altered in an online interview and that a layer of meaning is removed by the technological medium.