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Becoming a Nonexpert
and Other Strategies for
Managing Fieldwork
Dilemmas in the Criminal
Justice System
Journal of Contemporary
Ethnography
Volume 36 Number 6
December 2007 704-730
2007 Sage Publications
10.1177/0891241607303529
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Ursula Castellano
Ohio University
In this article, the author presents three fieldwork strategies for managing role
conflict in criminal justice settings. One of the most critical issues for ethnographers immersed in fieldwork is balancing the tension between the researcher and
participant-observation roles. Ethnographers in criminal justice settings as well
as other types of street-level bureaucracies are commonly confronted with
dilemmas involving physical risk, highly sensitive data, marginalized clientele,
and the exploitive use of power and domination by institutional gatekeepers.
Researchers venturing into challenging fieldwork settings, such as criminal justice environments, must be highly attuned to the constraints and opportunities for
collecting data. The author argues that these strategies can augment ethnographers data collection toolkit to better address fieldwork problems. In addition,
deploying these strategies can help to reveal unforeseen findings in the study.
Keywords:
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(Gans 1999, 540). Yet observing what people do belies the deeply complex
process of crafting the role of the researcher in relation to the people and
places under study. The ethnographer must not only understand and record
the lived experiences of the research subjects, but also, and perhaps as important, the ethnographer must undergo the social process of learning how
to be in the field. The difficulty of learning how to be in the field is aptly
described by Toren (1996) when he writes, Fieldwork is a day to day experience in which you are simultaneously caught up and distant (103). Yet
the very nature of fieldwork often places the ethnographer in strange, precarious, and unethical positions, which inevitably threaten to disrupt data
collection efforts (Berg 2004). The ethnographer is routinely confronted with
the tension between acclimating to member culture and abiding by professional research protocols. Hence, fieldwork dilemmas often involve a tension between the researcher and participant-observation roles (Pollner and
Emerson 1983).
I present fieldwork strategies for managing role conflict in criminal justice settings. Ethnographers in criminal justice settings as well as other
types of street-level bureaucracies are commonly confronted with dilemmas involving physical risk, highly sensitive data, marginalized clientele,
and the exploitive use of power and domination by institutional gatekeepers.
Researchers venturing into challenging fieldwork settings, such as criminal
justice environments, must be highly attuned to the constraints and opportunities for collecting data. I will discuss three specific types of dilemmas
that I encountered during my fieldwork in the San Miguel criminal justice
system in California (a pseudonym). These dilemmas are similar to what
other researchers have faced in correctional institutions as well as other
types of street-level bureaucracies. In general, my research objectives often
conflicted with the cultural norms and behavioral expectations associated
with criminal justice organizations. First, I encountered barriers to participation in tasks that involved physical and political risk. Second, I faced barriers to open observation because people were sensitized to my presence.
Third, I confronted challenges to my credibility as a researcher and participant. In short, ethnographers in criminal justice institutions are faced with
difficult dilemmas that threaten the integrity of the research process.
I argue that anchoring and distancing strategies (Emerson and Pollner
2001) are useful methodological tools for managing role conflict. According
to Emerson and Pollner (2001), anchoring involves deepening participation
in fieldwork settings, and distancing refers to negotiating withdrawal from
member culture. In the article, I expanded on the use of anchoring and distancing in several ways. First, I claim that ethnographers can anchor and
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distance themselves from both their researcher and participant roles. Second,
these strategies are valuable methodological tools that can (a) increase quality and quantity of data collection, particularly sensitive data; (b) help the
ethnographer to manage roles and expectations across multiple field settings, and (c) help the ethnographer to manage ethical problems in fieldwork. Third, the use of these strategies can also lead to important research
findings.
In the following sections of the article, I first introduce the concepts of
anchoring and distancing as fieldwork strategies and how they can facilitate
ethnographic research in criminal justice settings. Second, I provide an
overview of the ethnographic setting for my fieldwork in the criminal justice
system as well as a discussion of the substantive focus of my research. Third,
I turn to a discussion of the core dilemmas that I encountered during my
fieldwork tenure and the strategies I used to address them: becoming a nonexpert, refusing to witness, and taking a stand. I conclude with a discussion
of the theoretical and practical implications for using these strategies in
ethnographic research.
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members. Both Marquart (1986) and Ayala (1996) faced the dilemma of
passing character tests to establish credibility among clients and staff. As
these fieldwork dilemmas illustrate, the ethnographer must develop methodological strategies to manage anticipated as well as unforeseen barriers to
data collection.
Qualitative scholars have written about different strategies for confronting
fieldwork problems. J. Lofland et al. (2006, 54) provide a synthetic overview
of interactional strategies for getting along in the field. Essentially,
according to these authors, fieldwork strategies can be organized into two
types: presentational and exchange (J. Lofland et al. 2006, 68). First, presentational strategies encompass techniques for adopting a fieldwork identity for purposes of building rapport with informants. Second, exchange
strategies are mechanisms of providing assistance to informants in exchange
for access to field sites. A third type of strategy focuses on how researchers
can ward off anticipated fieldwork dilemmas through means of preemption
(J. Lofland et al. 2006, 73) or finessing (74) to avoid participation in
certain tasks.
Given the sensitive, and at times uncertain, nature of my researcher and
participant roles in criminal justice settings, I found that distancing and
anchoring strategies were useful techniques for addressing uneasy moments
in the field (Emerson and Pollner 2001). Distancing is defined as withdrawing from participant activities to avoid overinvolvement with members. This
strategy can help the researcher to minimize subjectivity and bias. Anchoring
is defined as deepening involvement in participant activities to gain acceptance into member culture. However, as I hope to illustrate, not only can we
anchor and distance ourselves from our participant role, we can also anchor
and distance ourselves from our researcher role. For example, distancing
from the researcher role refers to underplaying or minimizing data collection activities. Anchoring to the researcher role refers to openly engaging in
research tasks for purposes of collecting data. Table 1 references the four
ways that anchoring and distancing can be operationalized in field studies.
Although these strategies incorporate both presentational as well as
exchange techniques, anchoring and distancing, as methodological tools,
also allow the fieldworker greater flexibility and skills for managing encounters in challenging field sites. In addition, anchoring and distancing strategies reflect an awareness of how the cultural and organizational contexts of
any given field site can affect the fieldworkers access to data. Furthermore,
these strategies are particularly valuable for helping the fieldworker to handle situations that entail ethical dilemmas. I will demonstrate that being
conscious of anchoring and distancing strategies, and recognizing the costs
and benefits, can augment ethnographers data collection toolkit to better
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Figure 1
Distancing Anchoring
Researcher
Deploying research
protocols to collect data and
protect informants rights.
Member
Deepening participation in
member activities.
Hiding or downplaying
Withdrawing from participant
research tasks and activities. activities to avoid over
rapport with members.
709
710
711
I was aware of the ethical problems and dilemmas of doing ethnographic research among incarcerated populations. Conducting participantobservation and taking on the role of a pretrial release caseworker required
that I directly interact with individuals who had been arrested. Each day in
the field required that I think about the rights of criminal defendants. As this
article will explain, there were various roles that I had to adopt in an effort
to live up to my research obligations.
Although my research was granted approval from the university IRB,
I was always aware of my covert researcher role when I worked with defendants in the various organizational settings. The defendants I encountered
were not exposed to any more risk than their everyday experiences in these
pretrial release programs. For me, the most important ethical concern was
protecting the anonymity of the defendants as well as for the organizations
and their staff. I did not gain informed consent from the defendants but rather
protected their rights and dignity by drawing on caseworkers professional
standards (e.g., safeguarding defendants personal information, helping
defendants without judgment or bias). However, all researchers conducting
deep ethnographic research are forced to contend with dilemmas associated
with collecting data in the social world (Warren and Karner 2005). In the
case of this research, I made ethical choices by being conscious of potential harm I might impose while participating in both my caseworker and
researcher roles.
In the following sections, I introduce three fieldwork strategies for managing fieldwork dilemmas in a criminal justice setting: becoming a nonexpert, refusing to witness, and taking a stand. Each strategy uses the techniques
of anchoring and distancing, which helped to reveal important research
findings.
Becoming a Nonexpert
Once the ethnographer has gained entre into the field site, he or she must
find ways to appropriate the data by establishing trust and rapport with
informants. However, during my fieldwork, I faced the problem of overidentification of my researcher status. Overidentification can be detrimental
for collecting data because informants may perceive the ethnographer as
a threat to veiled institutional practices. Leo (2001) experienced a similar
problem during his study of police interrogation methods. To acclimate to
police culture, he deemphasized his researcher role by changing his physical appearance and engaging in casual shop talk with officers.
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Seeking an Exemption
In some field settings, researchers may be asked to participate in potentially harmful or unethical activities. According to J. Lofland et al. (2006),
preemption is one strategy to ward off these offers of inclusion before they
begin (73). However, preemption implies that the researcher has some
information or foresight that he or she might be expected to perform a less
than desirable task (J. Lofland et al. 2006). In street-level bureaucracies,
these offers of inclusion may include participating in acts of violence
(Marquart 1986), strip-searching suspects (Marks 2003), or mediating organizational disputes (Horowitz 1995).
Seeking an exemption is a strategy for declining to participate in certain
tasks when the researcher has little or no forewarning to preempt the offer.
I sought an exemption during my fieldwork from performing duties that I
felt threatened my personal safety. In essence, this strategy involved positioning myself as a nonexpert for carrying out dangerous tasks. This is
similar to selective incompetence, when the researcher embraces a novice
or learner role to decline participation in member tasks (J. Lofland et al.
2006, 70).
In correctional settings, physical danger may be part and parcel of the
ethnographers fieldwork (Leo 2001; Marks 2003; Marquart 1986; Van
Maanen 1982). Because I spent a significant amount of time working in the
county jail, aspects of my fieldwork required that I expose myself to a
degree of physical risk. Reducing risk is a primary concern among pretrial
release caseworkers and correctional staff in the jails processing center. Yet
I was surprised to learn that caseworkers had authority to traffic inmates in
and out of their cells to conduct interviews, a practice called pulling
inmates. Once the caseworker arrives at the jail, they check out the master
key that opens up the jails holding cells. At the beginning of the shift, caseworkers identify inmates who are eligible for pretrial release, take them out
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of the cell to conduct an interview in a small office, and escort them back
to the cell once the interview is completed.
Kyra, a caseworker for the Reach Program, taught me how to pull
inmates for interviews. I felt apprehensive about taking part in what might
be a potentially dangerous task, but I listened intently to Kyras instructions.
She stuck the oversized key into the lock, gripped the door handle, and said,
You turn [the key] twice around and pull hard. The cell door popped open.
This action immediately caught the attention of the eight inmates inside.
Lt. Davison, a sheriffs deputy, strode toward us and promptly gave me
an on the spot safety lesson from a correctional perspective. In rapid succession, he taught me to never leave the tank door open, to keep your foot
pressed against the heavy steel door in case an inmate decides to charge and
never, ever, step inside [the cell]. I nodded and thanked him for the advice.
In parting, he emphasized one last point, Always keep the keys on your
person or hidden from sight. If an inmate gets a hold of them, you will be
held responsible. Kyra then handed me the keys and said, You have about
six interviews to do. She walked away.
I felt compelled to use the moment to set boundaries on the kind of tasks
I was willing to do and especially ones that I felt were unsafe because of
my level of discomfort. Up to this point, I had embraced all of the opportunities to participate in pretrial release practices, yet if I declined outright
to pull inmates, it could threaten to disrupt my budding rapport with caseworkers. I initially elected to invoke my researcher status as the reason I
should be exempted from the task. I approached Kyra and explained that
having unsupervised control over inmates in the jail violated the terms of
my human subjects review. I briefly explained the role of the IRB in university research projects. In truth, there was no specific clause in my IRB
proposal, but protocols for ethical social research discourage participation
in activities that threaten the safety or reputation of subjects.
Kyra appeared confused by my explanation, and she may have interpreted my opting out of routine tasks as asserting a status hierarchy; as a
researcher, I am exempted from certain tasks that members perform. In hindsight, I should not have used the IRB as an excuse for why I could not
participate in pulling inmates. I then decided to come clean by explaining
to Kyra that I did not have enough experience to bear this level of responsibility. In turn, by highlighting my incompetence, I acknowledged the value
of Kyras extensive experience and specialized knowledge. She became
immediately sympathetic toward my discomfort. She said to me, I didnt
think about how hard it would be for someone new. Similarly, to gain
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Refusing to Witness
Fieldwork settings will differ in terms of the researchers ability to access
sensitive data. In my field experience, I faced barriers to open observation
in certain social settings because people were sensitized to my presence.
Marquart (1986) faced a similar problem at Eastham prison because both
guards and inmates were highly suspicious that he was a journalist or government official, which hindered his ability to collect data. Refusing to witness is a strategy of not openly observing social phenomena to record
confidential information. This strategy was necessary when I experienced
institutional and ethical barriers to observation in the county jail and the
pretrial release office. I will discuss two examples of refusing to witness:
feigning disinterest and faking it. Both of these techniques involve anchoring and distancing from various role expectations in the field.
Feigning Disinterest
In the jail, many pretrial release activities are under surveillance by correctional staff. I could not engage in open observation in part because my
research agenda was not officially announced to the sheriffs deputies (see
Marquart 1986). In addition, according to caseworkers, deputies were highly
suspicious of any civilian personnel who worked in the jail. I was reticent
to use overt methods of data collection under these conditions for fear I
might not be allowed to work as a pretrial release staff person or lose access
to the field site altogether. Feigning disinterest refers to how I appeared to
ignore events that would otherwise be of great interest to me as an ethnographer of pretrial release practices. L. Lofland (1985) also deployed the
technique of civil inattention to observe public spaces without drawing
attention to herself (also see Goffman 1963). The strategy of feigning disinterest facilitated my access to sensitive data in the county jail, a highly
restrictive environment. The first time I worked in the jail, Samantha, a caseworker, and I flashed our clearance cards to the deputy posted at the main
gate. I struggled to keep up with Samanthas sudden brisk strides down the
long, white-walled corridor. Samantha explained to me that pretrial release
staff members are considered guests and the jail is [the deputies] turf.
As we reached the staff entrance to the jails processing center, Samantha
gave me a short list of things not to do once inside: Dont stare at inmates,
dont look deputies in the eye when they pass by, and never question what
deputies do. I became highly self-aware about how my actions were perceived by deputies and inmates.
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I learned through this experience that jail work not only involves physical
jeopardy but moral compromise. I discovered that caseworkers manage the
emotional labor (Hochschild 1983) of working in a loud, chaotic, and highly
stressful environment by adopting what they call a jail personality, an
identity that enables them to become desensitized to defendants personal
plights. In interviews and informal conversations, caseworkers articulated
that adopting a jail personality helps them to be fast paced and thick
skinned, both of which are requirements for doing their job well. Caseworkers see their primary job as compiling accurate data on defendant eligibility for pretrial release (Matoesian 2001). In the jail, caseworkers strive
to achieve managerial efficiency without expending a lot of emotional energy
(LeBar 1973).
Faking It
As I have described, researchers are commonly faced with negotiating
the limits of their participation in member activities. It is useful and appropriate at times for the researcher to clearly delimit what tasks he or she is
willing to do. There are also circumstances, however, when the researcher
can finesse offers of inclusion without directly confronting the issue (Emerson
and Pollner 2001; J. Lofland et al. 2006). Similarly, faking it refers to
how I pretended to perform certain caseworker responsibilities to minimize
ethical compromise.
Many defendants had to submit to random drug tests as a condition of
their release from jail. This practice involved donning rubber gloves, labeling urine vials, and witnessing the client providing the sample in the bathroom. To carry out a legal drug test, the caseworker stands against a small
sink facing an open toilet stall as the client urinates into a small plastic cup.
I felt this was a humiliating experience for the clients, yet most willingly
complied. Because many defendants have spent time in and out of jail, I
theorized that they were used to having their bodies under surveillance. I,
however, was uncomfortable administering drug tests and tried to avoid it
whenever possible by leaving the room if I overheard mention of a drug
test. Yet, as one of the few women in the office, I was occasionally asked to
drug test the female defendants.
I faked my participation in the drug test by standing just to the left of the
stall and did not fully witness the client urinating into the cup. Marks (2003)
responded similarly while doing ethnography with the Durban Public Order
Police unit when officers asked her to frisk a female suspect. I acknowledge
that by refusing to properly administer the test, I technically compromised
its legal integrity. However, on reflection, faking it was a strategy to distance
721
myself from the shame and stigma associated with drug-testing practices,
what Hughes (1971) called dirty work. Faking it was also an anchoring
strategy because by refusing to witness, I sought to protect the privacy and
dignity of defendants, the majority of whom did not know I was a researcher.
This fieldwork dilemma heightened my critical observation of the power
and discretion wielded by pretrial caseworkers in the defendants social and
legal worlds. The jail and courtroom are traditional sites of legal social control: the institutional goals of the criminal justice system are to process,
control, and punish persons judged to be in defiance of the law or a threat
to public safety. However, given caseworkers legal authority over defendants petitions for release, the pretrial release agency emerges as a new
satellite of social control. Foucault (1979) predicted that informal means of
social control would evolve out of formal correctional institutions. In this
vein, criminal defendants released to nonprofit pretrial release agencies are
subjected to monitoring, behavioral modifications, and other forms of informal disciplinary sanctions (see Burns and Peyrot 2003). These forms of discipline are beyond the defendants legal obligation to the court and at times
have little direct relevance to the adjudication of their criminal case.
In my fieldwork experiences, refusing to witness was an important strategy for collecting sensitive data in the jail and pretrial release office. The
techniques of feigning disinterest and faking it aided my ability to maneuver situations that posed ethical dilemmas. However, by implementing the
strategy, the researcher may have to make choices that compromise research
protocols, such as resorting to covert methods for recording data and subversively engaging in member tasks.
Taking a Stand
One of the dilemmas that researchers have faced is establishing their
credibility among informants. This is a particularly salient problem for
ethnographers studying marginalized clientele or doing research in correctional settings. Ethnographers have written about how they had to pass a
series of character tests to gain acceptance (Ayala 1996; Dordick 1997;
Horowitz 1995; Marquart 1986). For example, in Ayalas (1996) research in
a hospital medical ward, patients tested her familiarity with hospital procedure by asking for larger doses of medication than prescribed by the doctor.
Taking a stand is a strategy of adopting a position of authority to establish credibility with research subjects. Ethnographers, while striving to balance their researcher and participant roles, try to not disrupt subjects routine
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Learning to Pass
Learning to pass is a strategy of overtly adopting the attitudes and behaviors of the member subculture to gain acceptance (see Leo 2001; Marquart
1986). During my initial entre into each pretrial release program, I experienced difficulty fitting in among pretrial release caseworkers. Naturally,
most ethnographers have to overcome the burden of mistrust when entering
the research setting (Burawoy 1979). In particular, at the Open Door, a pretrial release agency for high-risk felony defendants, the majority of caseworkers responded to my research background as a deficiency for learning
how to be a good caseworker. Indeed, caseworkers were relatively frank
about their doubts that I was going to be able to relate to defendants. Patricia,
a caseworker, said to me that she did not think that I could get down to the
clients level. At the end of a staff meeting, Rafik, a caseworker, called me
an egghead and too straight to work there. Joseph, a caseworker, said,
Im going to get you some rap music, speaking about the majority of young
African American men referred to Open Door.
Given my social location as a middle-class woman in graduate school
who has never been arrested, I had similar concerns about my being able to
pass as a caseworker (Johnson 1975). The staff at Open Door mirrors the
population of the Open Door clientele, primarily African American and
Latino from poor or working-class backgrounds. Many caseworkers grew up
in the same communities as many of the criminal defendants, had spent
time in jail or prison themselves, or had a family member incarcerated. As
Monique, a caseworker, aptly stated, Ive been where they are so I feel
comfortable telling them off. On the whole, the majority of caseworkers
had little or no college education; only a few held college degrees.
Defendants referred to the Open Door also questioned my legitimacy as a
caseworker. One afternoon, Thomas, a thirty-four-year-old African American
man facing drug possession charges, came into the office. I motioned him
over to my cubicle and began to ask him a series of questions about his
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upcoming court date. Have you been attending the drug treatment meetings at A New Leaf? I asked. Instead of answering my question, Thomas
cocked his head and said, Are you some kind of professional? McNamara
(1994) faced a similar dilemma when the street hustlers he studied told him
that he smelled like a cop (57). Other defendants said I was mean and
too strict. Monique, amused by my lack of client appeal, joked, You
would make a good correctional officer. I realized that I lacked the cultural
and behavioral markers of an Open Door caseworker.
To gain acceptance, it was very important to demonstrate that I was
capable of carrying out pretrial release duties. I realized that if I was going
to be a good caseworker, I had to stand firm with defendants, take control during the interview, and not tolerate defendants bullshit. Carla provided an opportunity for me to publicly demonstrate my capabilities as a
caseworker. Carla, a thirty-nine-year-old Latina woman, was mandated to
come to the office on a frequent basis to check in with her caseworker,
Todd. Arrested for felony drug possession, the court ordered her to submit
to random drug tests. At times, I had to administer the test. Carla always
gave me an excuse for why she was not ready to pee: She did not have to
go, or she was on her period. These excuses, as caseworkers called them,
were not uncommon among clients, and the cultural norm in the office was
to direct the client to sit down and drink cupfuls of water. One day, Carla
came into the office and claimed she really had to go. I was not immediately available to administer the test and directed her to just go and well
do the test later. She disappeared and reemerged from the bathroom with
her urine vial contaminated with fecal matter. Carla blithely presented the
sample to Todd, with the explanation that I had given her permission to do
so. Todd was aghast and asked me what was going on. I was angry and told
Carla that I never gave her permission to do such a thing. I added with a
stern tone, Carla, you are lying and you know it. Afterward, Monique and
Jerome, two caseworkers, congratulated me for taking a hard line with
Carla. Jerome said, I didnt know you had it in you. My taking a hard
line with Carla in hopes of legitimatizing my status as a caseworker is on
par with Gwen Dordicks (1997) forceful retort to guards sexual comments
in hopes of preempting further harassment. Similarly, in Marquarts (1986,
21) prison research, he acquired insider status after he had been assaulted
by an inmate and defended himself in front of other guards.
This type of role conflict is a common dilemma for researchers engaged
in deep participation with informants. Sanctioning Carlas behavior served
to anchor my position as a good caseworker because I stood up to Carlas
perceived manipulations. However, I felt it was inappropriate for me, as a
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Claiming Expertise
Doing research in conflicted organizational environments poses another
type of fieldwork dilemma. The ethnographer may be drawn into organizational disputes and called on to take sides. In Horowitzs (1995) study of
Project GED, an educational and job training program, she found herself in
the middle of strained relations between two staffing groups. In my fieldwork, claiming expertise refers to a strategy for mediating organizational
conflict without having to truly take sides. Although my researcher status
was initially a detriment for fitting in at pretrial release agencies, in time my
academic credentials were seen as valuable for resolving organizational
problems. In general, caseworkers and supervisors sought my advice on organizational problems for three central reasons: (a) As an outsider, I was not
perceived as having any particular stakes in shaping the agencys policies
and procedures. (b) When I began my research, I identified myself as someone interested in law and organizations. I believe that the executive director thought I had specialized knowledge about organizational restructuring.
And (c) I was identified as an important resource because I had worked
with three other pretrial release agencies. So staff members thought I could
offer them a comparative perspective about what works and what does not
work in these types of programs.
At the Open Door, the tension among staff and supervisors was palpable,
and I was increasingly asked to comment on the interoffice strife. Many
people in the agency pointed out that I could be more objective. Much of
the staff discord was focused on Wayne, the director. Although he was considered a shrewd executive director, he earned a reputation for being cruel
and overbearing toward his employees. Caseworkers thought Wayne
expected too much of them and treated them poorly. Many caseworkers,
frustrated with the work conditions, began to seek me out to listen and advise
them on the problems the agency faced. Wayne and the supervisory staff
wanted to tap my expertise on how to make the organization more efficient and get staff to work smarter. Both sides approached me to critique
current organizational polices and develop recommendations to help the
agency overhaul its internal structure.
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Taking sides in organizational conflicts poses a significant risk for ethnographers. In Horowitzs (1995) study, she was pressured to choose sides
between two groups that she called the mediators and the arbiters. She
aligned herself with the mediators, a group of staff members most sympathetic to clients needs. However, this decision alienated her from the arbiters,
a group of staffers that valued bureaucratic control over the clients participation in the program. When I confronted a similar dilemma, I agreed to
write up recommendations for improving the agencys daily operation based
on my experiences, observations, and discussions with both caseworkers
and supervisors. I felt obligated to acquiesce to their request because the
agency had generously granted me access to their organization. As an
anchoring strategy, openly adopting an expert role had value for building
trust among all the staff members. It also enabled me to finesse the problem of being asked to take sides in a bitter agency dispute.
In claiming expertise, I framed my recommendations as addressing
organizational-level problems that might be remedied with structural solutions, such as changing how the court refers defendants and hiring a human
resources manager to standardize personnel policies. I did not comment on
any interpersonal disagreements between individual staff and supervisory
members. Overall, my report was well received by most members of the
Open Door. Given my participatory role as a caseworker, I had some authority to speak about the hardships of the job. This meant that my professional
evaluation of agency problems was anchored in real experience, not just
bureaucratic observation. By claiming expertise, I was able to take a stand
in an organizational dispute without damaging my established rapport with
both caseworkers and supervisors.
The strategies of taking a stand were helpful for revealing how organizational cultures shape pretrial release practices, which was important since
I was conducting a comparative project. The four pretrial release programs
have different organizational procedures, and they require different criteria
for determining good risks for release. This helped me to understand how the
structure of the four programs results in different release outcomes for
defendants.
In short, although conducting participant observation in agency settings,
the ethnographer may be asked to remark on organizational problems. Taking
a stand can be risky for the ethnographer; involvement may result in unintended consequences, such as detracting from the research focus or creating undue hostilities with the very people with whom you want to build
rapport. For example, initially I feared that any commentary I made on the
issues would be wrongly construed by either side as unsympathetic toward
line staff or overly critical of management. There is a parallel risk in not takDownloaded from http://jce.sagepub.com by Nubia Rodrigues on October 22, 2008
726
ing a stand, however. This strategy of taking a stand, if executed with caution and foresight, can help the ethnographer to deepen trusting relationships
with informants and gain insight into the cultural makeup of the organization
(Horowitz 1995).
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researcher may need to adapt these strategies depending on the scope and
nature of the ethnographic setting.
An additional limitation is that the ethnographers ability to successfully
deploy these strategies depends, in part, on the status of the informants. In
my interactions with judges and defendants, for example, I distanced myself
from my researcher role but for different reasons. Many judges, aware of my
research agenda, harbored skepticism about what I would do with the information they put forth. In chambers, downplaying my researcher role resulted
in data that led to new analytic insights about the organization of the lower
courts. In contrast, role conflict was a more difficult problem to overcome
while working with defendants. My interactions with defendants were
influenced by the culture of pretrial release practices. In some programs, the
organization of pretrial release services rewards efficiency and risk management, yet there is a human cost in the form of emotional avoidance and in
types of surveillance that undermine a defendants dignity. In addition, many
defendants were unaware that I was a researcher in addition to my caseworker duties. Given my deep involvement with defendants in these pretrial
release agencies, it was more difficult to distance myself from situations
that posed moral and ethical problems.
In conclusion, for ethnographers doing research in challenging field sites,
such as the criminal justice system, anchoring and distancing strategies can
augment the ethnographers data collection toolkit. These strategies, in general, can facilitate and maximize data collection opportunities, protect the
integrity of both the researcher and participant roles, and help ethnographers
manage research agendas across multiple settings. Of equal importance,
these strategies may help to reveal some of the hidden motivations for informants actions. It is important to acknowledge, however, that the ethnographer is not alone in deploying anchoring and distancing strategies to manage
fieldwork relationships. Indeed, research subjects play an active role in this
process as well. Judges, for example, distanced themselves as formal participants in the interview process by refusing to tape record interviews or
giving evasive answers.
Additionally, this article highlights the need for further ethnographic
research in criminal justice settings. My research on pretrial release
programs illustrates the value of studying up (Nadar 1969, 289), studying
the middle (caseworkers), as well as studying down (defendants) to gain a
deep understanding of criminal justice processes. This study illustrates that
the ways in which defendants experience criminal justice processing is produced, in large part, by how deviance is constructed by social control agents,
including the hidden influence of pretrial release caseworkers. In my study,
729
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Ursula Castellano is an assistant professor of sociology at Ohio University. She received her BA
in mass communications from the University of California, Berkeley, and her MA and PhD in
sociology at the University of California, Davis. She is completing a book on the role of nonprofit organizations in the criminal justice system. Her current research project explores the role
of clinicians in mental health courts.