Methodologically, we experiment with both deep (ethnographic) and big (computational) data. While no single approach can capture the full complexity of AI’s role in religious life, by carefully triangulating insights from ethnographic fieldwork, historical discourse analysis, and digital ethnography, we aim to build a richer, more layered understanding. This multi-method approach allows us to explore AI ethics from multiple angles, acknowledging that no dataset or framework provides a complete picture, but together they offer valuable insights.
Sonic Ethnography
By James McGrail
During my fieldwork, I used sonic ethnography to make AI technologies more tangible for my interlocutors. In particular, I used an electromagnetic microphone, which enables the recoding of electrical fields. Below I reflect on how these methods allow my interlocutors to imagine alternative futures.
In urban environments, environmental sound qualities are also driven by policy demands of the state. As Aceska et al argue “doing sonic ethnography means, on the one hand understanding how policies ‘work’ as instruments for making new soundscapes in the city and, on the other what those changing soundscapes mean to people in their everyday lives.” (Aleska et al, 1964) An obvious example of this in Singapore is the all-pervasive sound of construction. As part of Singapore’s constant development towards a metropolis, buildings are in a near constant state of construction, demolition and renovation. Singapore is replete with stories of displacement and upheaval as the urban space shifts. (Mynah 2023, Vincent 2021, Ng 2019) This movement creates a sense of detachment in people’s everyday lives, to quote Alfian Sa’at’s “Homesick” “I want to grow my roots here, but I can’t do that when the ground keeps shifting” (Sa’at 2006) Construction sound is the manifestation of neo-liberal developmentalism policies in Singapore.
However, the policies which promote the development of AI are less tangible than construction. As art collective Estampa argue “The popularisation of artificial intelligence (AI) has given rise to imaginaries that invite alienation and mystification.” (Estampa 2024) The infrastructure of AI is made less visible, for example, in Singapore where data centres are not marked on maps, have the appearance of drab warehouses, and carry warnings signs. Even the language around these technologies encourages us to think of them as immaterial. Words like ‘cloud’ try to make technology seem ephemeral, natural and out of our control. (Kim 2023) At an AI conference in Singapore, I spoke to someone about the environmental impact of data centres, and they responded with disbelief, “but isn’t it all in the cloud?” This could not be further from the truth, AI infrastructures are material and, whilst not always perceptible, are making noise constantly.
In order to allow my interlocutors to interact with how AI policies remake the Singaporean soundscape, I used the LOM Elektrouši electromagnetic microphone. The Elektrouši electromagnetic sensors make the electromagnetic fields if devices audible. As we walked through the city and talked about the future, my interlocutors listened through headphones to the electrical soundscape. It might be argued that these noises are not usually audible and therefore have no impact. However, using electromagnetic sensors allowed my interlocutors to engage in expanded listening which “enables us to recognise that sound effects bodies, human and more than human, in ways that extend beyond human perception, cognition and knowledge.” (McLoughlin 2023, 541)
Whilst it is possible to classify these electromagnetic sounds as in Kubisch’s Electrical walks (Kubisch 2020 https://electricalwalks.org/electromagnetic-sounds-archive/) the aim of my walks was relational. I asked my interlocutors to imagine what they thought was causing the sounds. In this way, these walks share more in common with the speculative walkshops of Kwon, Jacobs, Mullagh and Bourne (2024). In these walkshops the researchers created fictional Smart City architecture in order to spark conversations about the internet of things in public space. Likewise, through sonic methodologies, I invite my interlocutors to speculate on what these electrical sounds mean and imagine the futures that spring from these soundscapes.
Below you can listen to the sound of the call to prayer at Rahmatan ‘Lil Alamin Mosque. It is overlaid with electromagnetic sound from Universitas Islam Internasional Indonesia, Jakarta. Both tracks were recorded simultaneously from the same spot on the University campus.
Theatre
by Daphne Wong A Foe
In my research, I employ alternative, multimodal approaches reflecting a broader epistemological shift away from traditional text-based analysis toward embodied, participatory engagement (Escobar et al., 1994). I chose theater as a method to foster AI literacy, as I believe it transforms abstract debates into narratives grounded in local culture and lived experience, engaging communities with the ethical, technological, and societal challenges of AI. Theater as a research methodology goes beyond spoken language by enabling participants to embody and re-enact cultural practices and real-world dilemmas. This approach aligns with Freire’s problem-posing education model (1970), Schechner’s concept of “restored behavior” (1985), and Turner’s theory of social dramas (1980), all of which emphasize collective reflection and transformation of a community.
The idea for a theatrical production emerged organically from a series of role-playing workshops I conducted with Indonesian university students across my field sites in Bandung and Jakarta. These workshops invited participants to embody diverse roles—students, AI entrepreneurs, government officials, and religious scholars—thereby turning impersonal data and theories into emotionally resonant stories.
One such workshop with student theaterclub STEMA-ITB (Studi Teater Mahasiswa – Institut Teknologi Bandung) sparked a collaboration that culminated into a live performance. Premiered on November 24, 2024, at Padepokan Mayang Sunda in Bandung, the co-production was supported by local crowdsourcing and a grant from the Dirkse-Bergsma Leiden University Funds. The title ‘AIsyah’ (see poster attached) foregrounds the technological aspect of AI fused with the common Indonesian name ‘Aisyah’, while also evoking ‘Aisha’ bint Abi Bakr (c. 614 CE–July 678) —revered as “Mother of the Believers”(Ahmed, 1992)—thus adding cultural and religious layers to the narrative. At its core, the play explored the interplay between the human and artificial within an Islamic context, deepening Indonesia’s engagement with AI’s societal impact.
For me, approaching this collaboration as a partnership of equals was essential. I provided the research and role-playing framework, while STEMA-ITB contributed their theatrical expertise and deep understanding of Indonesian audiences. These dynamic exchanges blurred the line between researcher and participant, as everyone became a co-investigator in understanding technology’s impact on everyday life. The play not only materialized my research findings but also served as a platform for community engagement, reflecting a commitment to reciprocity in ethnographic research. The process highlighted the power of collective engagement, and enabled me to observe how the (student-)actors internalize, contest, and reframe AI narratives, particularly within Indonesia’s cultural and religious contexts.
Furthermore, by staging conflicts that mirrored societal tensions—between tradition and innovation or cultural norms and digital realities—this play served as reflective mirrors for the community, prompting critical questioning of technological assumptions and highlighting the potential amplification of societal inequalities. The aim of ‘AIsyah’ was not to solve policy problems or impart technical know-how, but it catalyzes public engagement, which is a crucial component of AI literacy. After all, to be literate about AI isn’t just to know what an algorithm is – it’s to be able to talk about how algorithms are affecting our lives and to form an opinion on it.
Looking ahead, the success of this approach points to promising avenues for future research and community engagement. Expanding this method to diverse regions could foster AI literacy across different cultural, economic, and religious contexts. Finally, the dialogue sparked by these performances calls for continued exploration into how artistic practices can serve as catalysts for broader societal transformation, challenging policymakers and technologists alike to consider the ethical dimensions of AI. Ultimately, my work demonstrates that theater is not merely an artistic tool but a powerful medium for promoting AI literacy.
REFERENCES:
Ahmed, L. (2021). Women and gender in Islam: Historical roots of a modern debate. Yale University Press.
Escobar, A., Hess, D., Licha, I., Sibley, W., Strathern, M., & Sutz, J. (1994). Welcome to Cyberia: Notes on the Anthropology of Cyberculture [and comments and reply]. Current anthropology, 35(3), 211-231.
Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed (trans. MB Ramos). New York: Continuum, 2005.
Schechner, R. (2017). Performance studies: An introduction. Routledge.
Turner, V. (1980). Social dramas and stories about them. Critical inquiry, 7(1), 141-168.
Filmmaking
Filmmaking as part of research happened by chance. Towards the end of fieldwork in 2023 I visited Malaysia’s remaining match factory in Kelantan together with a field friend, Zaidi. We were captivated by the atmosphere; the machines and workers who seemed to occupy the factory more than simply work there as Zaidi put it. I spent a day talking to some of the workers and capturing the machines; my field recorder became my ears, pointed at every whirring chain, clanking gear and chugging motor.
From the footage and audio recordings, I edited a short film that I shared with Zaidi and friends from a local film collective, Rumah Kosong. Zaidi and I continued to discuss how the factory was a sort of ‘affective space’ and unresolved and under-explored feelings we had; this was something the collective shared in our Whatsapp Group. “Do we move machines, or do machines move us?”, “what is a factory ‘occupied’ by its workers?, “what are their stories?” were many questions that motivated the idea of an experimental documentary. Building on these questions, we sought to facilitate a conversation on human-machine relationships in the twilight era of a technoscape. The title of the film, Ggésék, is the Kelate word for matchstick, and to ‘rub’ or ‘strike’ in general Malay. The footage, interviews and photographs were intended as archival work of worker stories co-owned by Rumah Kosong, the factory and I. We spent three days filming on location, following the schedule of whichever machine was running interviewing workers during their breaks. Zaidi helped secure interviewees and lead the interviews in the Kelate dialect. Ing was behind the camera with me directly behind with my field recorder taped a tripod wrapped in a sock. We guided each other through the factory, our senses attuned to the tempo of the factory floor.
Ing and I had distinct ways of seeing through the camera, that became evident when reviewing the footage together. Ing’s shots were dynamic and fluid in movement while mine was slow and contemplative. In post-production, Ing and I slowly weaved the film’s narrative by presenting incremental edits to one another almost as a call and response. Discussion and disagreement were also part of this process, how we felt meaning behind scenes changed with every re-ordering of shots. Ing’s decision to insert short poems into the film led to a meaningful day in our relationship, co-writing poems that were effective in both Kelate and English at his apartment. We settled on a long poem split up into several haikus.
Shortly after premiering at the Kota Bharu Film Festival (PFKB) in 2024, we organized a special screening in the factory for the workers. As part of our archival efforts, we printed a photo album for the factory management and gave workers portraits Zaidi and I captured on film. Zaidi and I have plans to develop other images and stories we collected into a photo zine/book as potential research output and to help raise funds for Rumah Kosong’s future projects.
Photographers claim the phrase ‘writing with light’, which rang true in this experience co-creating work between research and film. Like writers, photographers utilise a visual language governed by its own grammatical rulings, vocabulary and ontologies. Articulated together in different spaces, filmmaking as research perhaps allowed us to come to knowledge (evoked in written research) through ‘feeling’ evoked by audio-visual practices (Goodman, 2004). Perhaps more importantly to me, filmmaking is a practice in collaboration and co-authorship in the field; and one whereby photographs, video and audio recordings are also reciprocal forms of data.
