Issues in Interviewing Inmates: Navigating the Methodological Landmines of Prison Research

http://qix.sagepub.com

Qualitative Inquiry

DOI: 10.1177/1077800408318325 2008; 14; 1500 originally published online Jun 27, 2008; Qualitative Inquiry

Jennifer A. Schlosser Landmines of Prison Research

Issues in Interviewing Inmates: Navigating the Methodological

http://qix.sagepub.com/cgi/content/abstract/14/8/1500 The online version of this article can be found at:

Published by:

http://www.sagepublications.com

can be found at:Qualitative Inquiry Additional services and information for

http://qix.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts Email Alerts:

http://qix.sagepub.com/subscriptions Subscriptions:

http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.navReprints:

http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.navPermissions:

http://qix.sagepub.com/cgi/content/refs/14/8/1500 Citations

at University of Missouri-Columbia on September 6, 2009 http://qix.sagepub.comDownloaded from


http://qix.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts

http://qix.sagepub.com/subscriptions

http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav

http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav

http://qix.sagepub.com/cgi/content/refs/14/8/1500

1500

Issues in Interviewing InmatesNavigating the Methodological Landmines of Prison Research

Jennifer A. SchlosserUniversity of Missouri, Columbia

Based on research the author conducted in 2006 at a men’s medium-securitycorrectional facility and on the author’s experiences during that research, thisarticle provides some insight into the issues associated with interviewinginmates. Included are discussions of gaining access to prison, negotiatingInstitutional Review Boards, the construction of study concepts and instru-ments, inmate identity, and institutional influence. Emphasizing narrative andinteractionist approaches, the author’s goal is to help researchers understandtheir role in the interview process and the author introduces an organizationalinterview tool called “identity moments,” wherein researchers can facilitate theretrospective and interpretative practice of building meaning through narrative.The purpose of the author’s work is to provide some critical insights into con-ducting prison research so that future researchers might have a head start.

Keywords: prison research; narrative; inmate; identity; discourse

When doing in-depth, qualitative research with stigmatized groups,some specific methodological issues are bound to arise. There are,

after all, reasons why some groups bear stigma, and the avenues of researcheraccess to these individuals are blocked, hidden, or even nonexistent.Because stigmatized individuals, especially those who are incarcerated, aredistinctly separated from the rest of the population, their social acceptanceor rejection lies in the perceptions of distant viewers and their significationas deviants evolves to redefine the meanings of their criminality (Matza,1969). In particular, the institutionalized prisoner is hyperprone to stigma-tization and is “reduced in our minds from a whole and usual person to atainted, discounted one” (Goffman, 1959, p. 3). Labeled as “career deviants,”publicly defined, stigmatized, and disregarded individuals entangle in thesocial processes through which their deviancy evolves as it transforms from

Qualitative InquiryVolume 14 Number 8

December 2008 1500-1525© 2008 Sage Publications

10.1177/1077800408318325http://qix.sagepub.com

hosted athttp://online.sagepub.com



Schlosser / Issues in Interviewing Inmates 1501

a label into an identity (Becker, 1963). Inmates’ institutionalization, coupledwith their tendency to be stigmatized and discounted by members of themajority, results in their separation from society and, likewise, often fromresearcher access. In such cases, when seeking to study institutionalizedgroups or individuals, researchers must often be innovative, persistent, andmost importantly, have some insights into the methodological terrain thatlies ahead.

The standards and requirements for studying inmates are different fromother types of human subjects research. Interviewing in prison presentsunique sets of obstacles and “methodological landmines” of which inexpe-rienced researchers may be unaware. Others (Giallombardo, 1966; Newman,1958; Sorensen, 1950) have addressed some of the basic issues involved ininterviewing inmates, but as times change, so must our methodologies.Positivistic and “value-free” methodological orientations, although quiteimportant to our historical understanding of aspects of incarceration, nowseem antiquated and constraining in relation to contemporary interaction-ism(s) and narrative forms (Ulmer & Spencer, 1999). Researchers likeBosworth (Bosworth, Campbell, Demby, Ferranti, & Santos, 2005), authorof “Doing Prison Research: Views From Inside,” and the contributors inFerrell and Hamm’s (1998) book Ethnography at the Edge provide morecontemporary analyses of doing research in prison and in the field; theincorporation of phenomenological and ethnomethodological epistemolo-gies as well as poststructural and narrative techniques has changed the waywe study stigmatized groups (see, e.g., Pogrebin, 2003; Pope, Lovell, &Brandl, 2001; Skoll, 1992; Tilley, 1998). Others, like Noakes and Wincup(2004) provide some technical guides to doing criminological research ingeneral but seem to outline issues superficially to include a greater breadthof information. There is a place in the literature for more studies address-ing issues of using qualitative methods in a criminological setting based onoriginal empirical research. By sharing both our common and unique expe-riences in researching these groups, we can better equip future investigatorsto handle some of the challenges that await them (for a similar endeavor onBritish prisons, see King, 2000).

For many Institutional Review Boards (IRBs), some specific groups,issues, or individuals are considered “high risk” or “vulnerable subjects”(also what Lee and Renzetti, 1990, call “sensitive topics”). Often, “highrisk” groups include children, the elderly, prisoners, and institutionalizedmedical patients. Gaining access to these groups is a challenging and oftendaunting task for novice investigators. Although most regulations aredesigned to protect stigmatized or “high risk” groups, others seem only to



hinder scientific inquiry. Whether the issue is a politically contentious IRB,institutional bureaucracy, time constraints, misunderstandings of disciplinarylanguage and rhetoric, or dealing with concepts that are difficult to define,there seems an abundance of methodological landmines that must be sidestepped or overcome to access and research “high risk” groups.

My goal for this article is to provide insights for qualitative researchersinto some of the potential methodological problems, issues, and solutions theymay face when researching prisoners specifically incarcerated for nonvio-lent drug crimes. The issues in this article stem from research I conductedwith inmates at a men’s medium-security corrections center in 2006. Thefollowing discussion draws from my personal experience as an investigatordoing in-depth interviews with inmates for the first time. In this piece, Iaddress some of the most prevalent methodological issues related to quali-tatively researching nonviolent, “victimless” drug criminals and navigatingthe uneven terrain of access, operationalization, researcher role, narrativeconstruction, and participant representation. Finally, I introduce an inter-viewing tool called “identity moments,” whereby researchers can get closerto constructing more complete and honest narratives and life histories oftheir participants.

It is not my intent to provide a “how to” guide for doing prison research,nor are the issues outlined in this article exhaustive of all possible scenariosresearchers may encounter. Much of what follows are reflections on the issuesI personally encountered when attempting to conduct research in prison forthe first time. It is my hope that, by the end of this article, readers will bemore familiar with some of the problems that can arise when studying pris-oners, with how to navigate those problems as effectively as possible, andwith how their role in the entire process of interviewing inmates is criticalto the success of the project.

On the Outside Looking In: Preliminary IssuesConducting Prison Research

But I’m a Scientist! Proving Our Worth

Most university-wide IRBs claim to employ a variety of professionals invery different fields of study. Gray, Cooke, and Tannenbaum (1978) foundthat the large majority of the IRBs in their sample primarily employed bio-medical scientists. Of course, some universities are able to finance multipleIRBs for their varying disciplinary fields, but many institutions use one IRB

1502 Qualitative Inquiry



to clear all human subjects research. Because the boards can include multi-ple professionals from a wide range of specialties, some disciplines lackadequate representation. Inadequate IRB representation poses problems forprimary investigators when their disciplinary “jargon,” methodologies, ortheories are not widely accepted by the board members who will determinethe fate of the research in question. For instance, biomedical engineers orpolitical scientists may not hold to the same epistemological and theoreti-cal foundations as do some social scientists. Thus, IRBs comprising engi-neers, medical professionals, and lawyers may misunderstand or questiondisciplinary rhetoric, jargon, and methodological techniques used in thesocial sciences (Oakes, 2002). Because of the possibility of inconsistenciesand misunderstandings between the IRB and many social scientists, theremay be multiple revisions of research proposals required to clarify, andeven tailor, the project to IRB specifications. Likewise, novice researchers,unfamiliar with how to negotiate the IRB most efficiently may make someinitial mistakes in the research design requiring revisions that may delay theresearch for months, or even years.

It can often be difficult for first-time researchers to face the IRB, andnovice investigators may not have as much influence in getting their researchapproved as might more seasoned and familiar investigators. Specifically,when such individuals are interested in doing research with “high risk” groupssuch as inmates in prison, age, experience, academic discipline and evengender and race can hinder the approval process. As much as we would liketo ignore them, the same institutionalized inequalities apparent in other socialarenas are likewise embedded in academia and are often quite difficult toovercome (Hessler & Galliher, 1983).

According to Keith-Spiegel, Koocher, and Tabachnick (2006), whensurveying scientists’ displeasure within institutional boards and ethics com-mittees designed to evaluate research, three areas of contention arose. First,“procedural justice” involving the clarity of board policies and their abilityto administer decisions without bias and prejudice evenly and fairly is oftenquestioned by scientists. Second, “interactional justice” concerning thesocial element of decision making by IRBs is often perceived by scientistsas unjust. Here, the authors noted issues such as the fair and respectfultreatment of investigators by the IRB, the board’s sensitivity in deliveringits decision, and proper justification provided for the final decision. Third,“study setting and population differences” are issues when an IRB attemptsto generalize hypothetical situations from an academic environment to afield setting. Likewise, because many IRBs require lay members from thecommunity to serve on the board, investigators can feel even more slighted




if members criticize methodologies that do not fit well within the standardbiomedical experimental model.

For some social scientists, it can become quite difficult to represent one-self adequately to the community of board members if they do not considerthe theories or methods of the social sciences as legitimately scientific. Toexplain a qualitative, scientific process that differs from investigative tech-niques with which board members are familiar can quickly become a per-sonal, rather than professional, issue. In my own experience in front of anIRB, defining grounded theory and using it as a valid method in prisonresearch to a board full of biologists and psychiatrists became a spectacle,indeed. Many board members remained unconvinced of the soundness ofmy research design, despite the consensus to approve it.

Ultimately, the hegemonic, omnipresent, and static nature of research ethicscommittees’ requirements disallows the possibility of dealing with a multi-tude of unforeseeable scenarios in the field. The “realities” of in-the-momentfield research and the predetermined, universal prescriptions of IRBs areinevitably divergent (Halse & Honey, 2007). And yet, ethics committees andIRBs are a necessary evil. It is my position that although the constrainingnature of IRB requirements can hinder critical inquiry, first-time researchersare not in a position to ignore them. By this, I do not mean that researchersshould fall into complacency; I do mean we should recognize that initialcompliance with IRB regulations does not dictate all of our potential actionswithin the research field. Other sets of concerns emerge during the initialprocess of gaining IRB approval. Instrument design, the definition andoperationalization of concepts, sample selection, and gaining access to theprison have significant influences on the outcome of the research. Whetherwe agree with the requirements, the reality of conducting research in aninstitutionalized setting requires IRB approval. As such, in the followingsection I will illuminate some of the basic regulations new researchers canexpect to encounter when attempting to gain IRB approval.

Why’d You Do It? Protecting Participants ThroughInstrumentation and Operationalization

Studies involving direct contact with inmates in prison are unique in theirrequirements and in the construction of the data-gathering instruments.Attention must be paid to all stipulations set forth by the IRB and the prisoninstitution when constructing the interview instrument, even if those require-ments seem constraining. In addition to designing instruments that addressthe research interests as accurately as possible, the interview must also




adhere to several guidelines designed to protect the participants (and theinvolved institutions).

Before beginning the study, investigators should take care in definingand operationalizing all concepts and/or research questions. Even whendoing grounded research wherein little or no theoretical foundation orspecific research question is necessary or desirable, researchers can at leastoperationalize preliminary concepts and terms to avoid epistemologicaldiscrepancies with the IRB or prison institution (Glaser & Strauss, 1967).By providing initial definitions and remaining open to revision, researcherscan avoid engaging an undesirable theoretical or methodological position atthe hands of institutional influences. If others define main themes and con-cepts, the outcome may not purely reflect researchers’ original interests.Likewise, when engaging in the operationalization process, researchersmust be able to provide justifications for doing the research (Ambert, Adler,Adler, & Detzner, 1995). Illuminating holes or discrepancies in previousliteratures will allow researchers to better define the study and communi-cate their intentions to institutional authorities.

Researchers must be especially cognizant of both the complexity anddetail required in operationalizing variables or concepts. For instance, theterm victimless drug crime on its surface seems more than self-explanatory.A drug crime without a victim is one in which no direct harm is applied toany individual. However, this definition can mean many different things tovarious individuals and institutions. To operationalize the term victimlessdrug criminal adequately, some research into the prison or justice systemwhere the study will occur is likely necessary. If the ways in which the insti-tution defines an inmate convicted of a victimless drug crime are differentfrom investigators’ definitions, issues can arise when it comes time to selectthe interview sample. Without adequate definition and explanation to theproper authorities within the institution, the interviewees randomly selectedfrom the entire population of those incarcerated for drug offenses may not berepresentative of the original proposed sample. Within the population ofinmates incarcerated for drug crimes, there are likely individuals who areserving time for a drug-related crimes that were not victimless (Walker,1994). The selling of drugs to children is not a victimless crime; however,considering the individuals who sell drugs to children as part of the largerpopulation of drug convicts is routine. Therefore, researchers must becomefamiliar with the wording of various charges to adequately articulate whoshould be included as part of the participant selection process. In the case of“victimless drug crimes,” using key words to operationalize the term is inte-gral to participant selection. More often than not, researchers do not choose




their own random sample from the pool of applicable participants because ofissues of confidentiality, so researchers must be particularly clear wheninstructing the individual who is authorized to draw the sample. For example,when defining victimless drug crimes, charges like “manufacturing with theintent to distribute illegal drugs” or “possession of drug paraphernalia” arelikely more appropriate selection criteria than “the illegal distribution or saleof narcotics.” In the first two charges, there is no implication of a secondparty; in the third example, the implication is that drugs were sold directly toanother individual (read: victim; see, e.g., Kaplan, 1972). In this way, defin-ing the operationalized terms more narrowly reduces the risk of generating asample of interviewees too far removed from the subjects addressed in theresearch concept (Cressey, 1951).

After properly operationalizing the concepts of the research design, thetask of constructing the interview, consent, and disclosure instruments isahead. The process of designing instruments to interview inmates can elicitnumerous potential problems. Because inmates are a stigmatized and highlyprotected group, special care is required in designing the instruments used inthe research. Often, institutional regulations, whether mandated by the IRB orthe prison itself, require carefully worded interview questions to avoid impli-cations of guilt. Despite the inmate’s conviction of a crime and his subsequentincarceration, researchers still run the risk of asking questions that couldfurther implicate the inmate. For instance, avoiding questions that ask whythe inmate committed the crime reduces the risk of inmate self-implication ordirect admissions of guilt. A more appropriate way to determine subjectivereasons behind why a specific crime was committed may be to ask why aperson of similar means or stature might commit the same crime as the onefor which the interviewee is currently incarcerated. Innovative use of languageand careful word choices can help negotiate tricky questions while remainingwithin the bounds of institutional regulations and continuing to protect theinmate. However, Tilley (1998) noted that “the official protection afforded”the incarcerated “by prison authorities and/or university ethics review com-mittees is not sufficient . . . they provide more protection for the institution(s)and researcher(s) than the participants” (p. 321). Indeed, as Cannella andLincoln (2007) recognized, the mandates of ethical responsibility posited bythe IRB and the reality of their implementation creates an illusion that ethicalpractices are consistently upheld. Instrument design and the tedious require-ments of IRBs are often in place to protect the institution from liability. Assuch, it is the ultimate responsibility of researchers to design instruments thatare easy for participants to understand, that make the participant comfortable,and that protect the interviewees’ interests above all else.




Because of the caution involved in doing prisoner research, it has beenwarned that “in dealing with inmates, a researcher is in a position where,inadvertently perhaps, he might be informed of unsolved crimes, of plansto disturb prison routine or to break jail, of corruption among guards, or ofvice within the walls” (Newman, 1958, p. 131). If encountered with such asituation, there are three options: ignore the information, inform prison offi-cials, or discourage the inmate from further participating in or discussingpotentially damaging material. Should such a situation occur, researchersbear the ultimate responsibility of deciding within the particular contextwhether to become active participants. Every instance in which an inmatereveals damaging information is different and investigators’ actions rest onpersonal, professional, and legal ethics (Marzano, 2007; Lincoln & Guba,2006). For my own study, I informed each participant before the interviewthat should he disclose intent to harm himself or someone else, or thatsomeone was harming him, I would inform the proper authorities. Note,however, that harm to an inmate sometimes occurs at the hands of those incharge of protection (Rodriguez, 2003). Clearly, it would be imprudent toinform a guard or corrections officer of such a crime if one of their owninflicted the harm; a more acceptable avenue would be to tell the prisonsupervisor or a state authority not directly employed by the particular prisonthat such a situation had occurred.

The protection of the inmates, as well as investigators, is paramountat all times during the research project. Thus, care is also important whenconstructing the written consent forms participants are required to sign.Generally, the IRB requires such forms composed at a sixth-grade readinglevel. Some inmates incarcerated for drug crimes might not have completedhigh school or function at a level consistent with adult literacy. To includeall potential interviewees equally, consent forms should be written as simplyand clearly as possible, allowing for an open and honest research process.Delivering and explaining the consent form is also the first chance to buildrapport with the inmate, so this component of the interview process is partic-ularly important.

Within the written consent form, it should be noted that the contents ofthe interview will not be revealed to any institutional authority (barring thedisclosure of harmful intent), that pseudonyms will be assigned and inmatenumbers omitted to ensure confidentiality, and that the results of the inter-view may be published. Many prisons do not allow the interview to berecorded or taped and it should be made clear to the participant that duringthe interview no electronic recording device is in the room. Likewise, in mostsituations, incentives may not be provided to inmates for their participation.




Although an IRB might require investigators to outline both the potentialharm and potential benefit to the participant, often the only incentive to offeris that there are no punishments for what the inmates say and that talkingwith someone other than an institutional authority can be to their benefit(Noakes & Wincup, 2004). Providing an outlet in which the inmates canspeak candidly about their lives or experiences can quite often be more ben-eficial than some tangible reward. Although some IRB members will likelyexpress concern that the benefits to the participants are largely intangible,providing an open and honest venue for the participants to express themselvescan be more rewarding than the IRB, or even researchers, may anticipate.Indeed, as a first-time researcher in front of the IRB, I was also skepticalthat inmates would view the interview itself as beneficial. However, afterreceiving a letter from one of the participants describing how he felt betterabout his own problems after being able to discuss them in the interview,I realized that my assumptions were decidedly inaccurate.

In this vein, the IRB will likely advise the availability of some mode ofpostinterview communication so the inmates can remain in contact if thereare concerns or questions. An anonymous post office box is a safe and appro-priate avenue of contact; however, addressed, stamped envelopes should alsobe provided to all participants because inmates are often required to purchasetheir own letter-writing materials in prison. In addition to addressed, stampedenvelopes, participants must be provided with a copy of the consent form theysigned before the interview. Written consent forms may include the addressof IRB in case the participant has concerns after the interview that he wishesnot to discuss with the primary investigator.

Finally, the IRB may require that all data remain in a locked or protectedarea after the interview to maintain confidentiality and to ensure that thedata is not disturbed. It is usually acceptable to keep data on a password-protected personal computer and this stipulation should be noted to theparticipant before the interview begins. In the following section, I discussspecific issues of access and implementation of research involving qualita-tive methods for interviewing inmates in prison.

Gaining Access: Who Do You Think You Are?

New prison researchers interested in interviewing inmates may find thatthe networks of access to prison administrators are often weak if not missingaltogether. Experienced researchers who have completed fieldwork withinthe prison institutional setting are at an advantage when they attempt simi-lar studies in the future. Pre-existing relationships with both the IRB and





the prison administrators can significantly accelerate subsequent reviewprocesses. But how does a new investigator get a foot in the door? Forunknown or inexperienced researchers, the problem of access lies primarilyin establishing connections and relationships with the “gate keepers,” or thoseindividuals in charge of allowing or denying access to the target population(Goode, 2000; Noakes & Wincup, 2004). As new investigators, we mustoften prove ourselves academically and personally worthy of conducting“high risk” research in a prison (Newman, 1958). Thus, making connectionswith individuals who themselves have connections with those in charge ofaccess can make all the difference. Informal avenues of networking likename-dropping or becoming familiar with the individuals in charge canfacilitate the process. Often, however, gaining ultimate access to the prisonrequires significant tenacity and persistence. Processes of access to doresearch in prison can take several months. Research administrators in prisonsor state correctional systems should be contacted early and it may be benefi-cial to contact other academics who might have a relationship with the prisoninstitution. In most cases, state Departments of Correction Web sites listprison personnel, job titles, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses. Often, per-sistence is vital, as many prison research administrators are overburdened intheir daily jobs and lack the time or resources to respond to all inquiries.Tactful, yet repeated phone calls or e-mails may be necessary to establish arelationship with the persons in charge of admission and to ensure the contin-uing efforts of the administrators toward the ultimate goal of gaining accessto the prison.

The research administrator will likely require a background check and willoutline numerous regulations and restrictions implemented before, during,and after the interviewing process. Generally, no one with a criminal recordis allowed onto prison grounds. Researchers will be advised of what to wear,with whom to speak, how to behave, what to disclose, and where to go duringthe entry and interview process. In my case, authorities advised that I wearplain, nondescript clothing, no jewelry, and shoes that I could “easily run in.”As intimidating as many of the regulations may seem, they are in place forthe safety of all parties involved. First-time prison investigators should acquireas many details as possible before entrance into prison so that no regulationsare breeched and the research can continue uninterrupted.

The processes described above include solutions or advice for negotiatingmany of the technical issues novice researchers may encounter when begin-ning research with prison inmates. Preliminary technical issues, however,are often much easier to navigate than the problems faced once inside the



prison walls. Researcher role, personal interaction, and the presentation ofself all contribute to the outcome of the final research project, and addressingthese issues early on in the process is pertinent. No individual can walk intoa prison for the first time fully prepared for what goes on inside. Prison isan environment that requires individuals to constantly adapt and change theways they regard themselves and, subsequently, how they present themselvesto others.

In the following section, I attempt to integrate interactionism and narra-tive methods into the ways researchers can understand the construction oftheir own “selves” as well as the selves of the inmates within the total insti-tution during the research process. The interaction between researchers andinmates is what defines the entire research project. Self-reflexive method-ologies for interviewing and constructing narratives in a prison setting willallow researchers to better negotiate the maze of identity-shaping interac-tions and observations that will inevitably emerge as a product of multipleand unforeseeable embedded contexts and situations (Clarke, 1975).

Walking the Line: Navigating Identities and Building Relationships

Constructing Researcher Role and Negotiating Contacts Inside

After the research instruments are constructed, relevant authorities havegranted approval, and the study has begun, new issues arise once within theprison walls. When constructing our roles as researchers, it is important tounderstand how identity is shaped for (and by) the inmates within the totalinstitution of the prison (Goffman, 1961). For the purposes of this discus-sion, constructing institutional identity requires centering “upon images,knowledge and assessment of positions, performance, and attributes ofsocial objects” (Holtzner & Robertson, 1979, p. 7). The shaping and recon-struction (or deconstruction) of prisoner identity is based on the symbols,figures, actions, and realities of the authority and power structures surround-ing the inmate.

For Baum (1979), understanding the link between personal identity andstructures of authority is often contingent on the understanding that the onlyindividual capable of deciding on the authority of their oppressor is the indi-vidual to whom the authority is addressed; yet authority as an institutional-ized reality often circumvents any decision-making capacity of a particular





agent. When inmates receive orders from guards and institutional officials, theymust primarily understand the orders in conjunction with their understandingthat the orders are within the interests of the institution. Furthermore, pris-oners are also aware that compliance with the order (though not always theorder itself) is in their own best interests. Processes of understanding and theacknowledgement of rules, structures of authority, and oppression produceand reproduce the inmates’ compliance in the institutional setting.

Although inmates may not be consciously aware that orders and rulesestablished and handed down by prison officials are truly in their best interests,they are aware that compliance with these mandates will aid them in thelong run. The production of Foucauldian “docile bodies” within the prisonsystem allows the inmates’ complicity within the institution to reproducethe structures of power that govern them (Foucault, 1979). The experienceof being in an institution that requires cooperation for the survival of itsmembers creates changes in those members’actions. Instances in which theseindividuals would normally refuse to comply with authority might charac-terize the terms of their actions when out of prison. However, immersion inthe institution and their basic desire to survive and eventually be releasedchanges their actions and behaviors (Lemert, 1951). Over time, the changein these actions can contribute to a marked change in the identities of theprisoners (Schur, 1965). Recognizing these influences on the institutionalizedinmates’ identities allows for more preparedness in the construction of ourown roles in the inmates’ lives.

The idea of “prisonization,” or the social process that occurs when inmatesbegin to acclimate to and take on the norms of a certain prison subculture,often becomes an integral facet to the development of the inmates’ identitieswithin the prison. The behaviors that prisonization can elicit within theinmates may be indicative of “antisocial or maladaptive” patterns that even-tually become normalized (Gillespie, 2003). Although the inmate may inter-nalize prison subculture, his expression of it early on through daily routineis likely the easiest way for him to adapt to his environment. However, asthe effects of prisonization are often far-reaching, extended lengths of timespent within the prison and the repeated expression of those effects willlikely lead to major changes in the way the inmate views himself and hissurroundings. Thus, the effects of prisonization can become roadblocks toconsider before the interviews begin.

Understanding how institutional structures of power, authority, and subju-gation shape inmate identity allows researchers to become more fully pre-pared to interact with both the individuals who receive the authority and the



people who hand it down. To become better situated within the institutionalsetting, investigators should become familiar with the particular venue inwhich the inmates reside. Determining at what level of security the prisonfunctions and how much freedom inmates are allowed before entering theinstitution will safeguard against researchers being completely unpreparedfor what goes on inside. For instance, the prison where I conducted myresearch functioned at a medium security level. As a novice investigator,I was relatively unaware of the levels of inmate “freedom” I would find onarrival. Thus, I was entirely unprepared to walk across the prison groundsthrough inmate basketball games and lunch breaks. Indeed, my presence onprison grounds initiated a noticeable change in atmosphere as I was lead bya corrections officer through the main yard. I was not prepared to interactwith such large numbers of inmates in such close proximity nor, it is myfeeling, were they prepared for my arrival.

Researcher role construction begins at the first moment an investigatorenters the prison (and perhaps even before). Accompanied by a figure ofauthority, a researcher’s presence is that of an outsider with power (Marzano,2007). As a new and unfamiliar face on prison grounds, it is inevitable thatthe inmates will be aware of such a presence. Being able to safeguardagainst widespread awareness is nearly impossible and could affect the out-come of the interviews both positively and negatively. The participantsinterviewed first will likely tell others what they experienced; it is benefi-cial, then, to make sure the participants had positive interview experiences.What subsequent interviewees heard from others could make them moreor less likely to participate. Access to authority can be to the benefit ofresearchers but to the detriment of the research itself. Having quick accessto a person with authority can afford protection if necessary, but can alsointimidate or scare participants into silence. Explaining to the participantsthat investigators have no affiliation with any federal, state, or local correc-tional or justice system is important and necessary early on in the interviewprocess.

Once confronted with the interviewee in a closed setting, researchersmust remain consciously aware at all times of our own roles in the interview-ing process. The mutual construction of the interview and the narrativesthat result are processes of interaction requiring care and consideration.Honesty in the interview process can only be to the benefit of all partiesinvolved; however, it may also be difficult to maintain (Noakes & Wincup,2004). In the next section, I discuss some potential issues and situationslikely to occur when constructing an inmate narrative.




Behind the Wall: Constructing Narratives Using Identity Moments

Avoiding the “Social Vacuum”

Stigmatized individuals such as inmates might “cover,” or hide certainaspects of themselves because of the societal inclination to pass moral judg-ment and, thus, define their identities for them (Garfinkel, 1956; Goffman,1963). As researchers seeking to understand the realities in which the inmatesexist and how they have constructed themselves by way of a reciprocal inter-actional arrangement with others, “we listen to their words, and try to recon-struct their meaning in our minds, but we can never be sure about the accuracyof these transformations” (Gudmundsdottir, 1996, p. 303-304). In prison,researchers as outsiders fall into the category of the “Other.” However, we arealso part of the identity definition and construction process when we elicit,interpret, and analyze the inmates’ narratives by helping to construct both thestory and the translated reality. Prison is often too restricted an environmentto warrant the ethnographies or participant observations prevalent in much ofthe contemporary empirical work using qualitative methods. However, whatemerges from an all-too-brief encounter with an interviewee through themedium of the narrative can provide data just as rich as that from any othermethodological enterprise.

The definition of narrative, from the position of the teller, includes threeparts. First, the selection of events, moments, actors, and consequencesmust be made in retrospect; second, the events within the narrative must berepresented on a historical timeline of temporal relevance; third, “the eventsand characters must be related to one another and to some overarchingstructure, often in the context of some opposition or struggle” (Ewick &Silbey, 1995, p. 220). Simply asking an inmate to “tell a life story” leavesresearchers at an analytical disadvantage because, as we see from Crites(1971), layers of other stories remain embedded within the main tale. Indeed,some stories may overlap or may not conceptually exist at the same time asothers. However, when we recognize our own parts in the construction ofthe narrative, the process of pulling apart those layers of story during theact of information exchange may reveal the multiple depths embedded in aseemingly routine recounting; thus, “what we call our data are really ourown constructions of other people’s constructions of what they and theircompatriots are up to” (Geertz, 1973, p. 9).

For Skoll (1992), in researching a drug treatment facility, discourses suchas “war stories,” or explicit accounts of actual drug-related experiences,




remained separate from “how drugs have ruined my life” stories; participantsin the treatment facility were able to recount a drug history or “a chronicle thatmerely contains types, quantities, and dates of drug use” (p. 125). Similarmethods of discourse and self-reflection are characteristic of other drugtreatment facilities, wherein subjects are asked to recount (and reconstruct)their histories in a “social vacuum,” within which behaviors are taken outof context to be reflected on objectively (Fox, 2001). Although the treatmentfacility where Skoll researched did not advocate a therapeutic combinationof “war stories” and “drug histories,” it is my contention that by using the“drug history” model of chronicling on a timeline the types and age periodsof various drug usages in tandem with asking the inmate to recount the “warstories” associated with each point in the history, a more complete narrativewill likely be constructed. Thus, quite different from the work done intherapeutic drug treatment centers, constructing a narrative including thebehaviors deemed irrational by others can elicit more of a self-reflexiveprocess of interpreting meaning.

There are, however, some significant challenges in teasing out a subjec-tive narrative history of drug use and related life stories. The aspects ofauthority permeating inmates’ lives I discussed earlier are examples of howthe construction of a personal history in prison can be difficult for inmatesto articulate. Tittle’s (1972) study of a federal narcotic hospital found thatalthough most of the patients participating in treatment “came from environ-ments where drug use was normative,” doctors and personnel constructed apsychiatric model within which drug addicts found it difficult “to conceiveof themselves as ‘mental cases’ in need of psychiatric treatment” (p. 47). Wealso know that “mental images” as emergent from memory may not resideentirely in consciousness, but the symbols that exist within such images areproducts of the environmental conditions in which they occurred (Mead,1934). In many prisons, inmates internalize an institutional rhetoric thatdiverges from what they may actually have experienced. As an element ofprisonization, the state works to make prisoners believe that they were per-sonally responsible for their own incarcerations despite whatever prefacingevents may have occurred to help lead them there. The process of institu-tionalization inevitably includes the requirement of subjugating oneself tothe goals of the institution and, at least on some level, accepting the inherentcontradictions that flood the social organization of the prison (Sykes, 1958).For instance, the Federal Bureau of Prisons explicitly states that “the phi-losophy underlying all Bureau of Prisons’ drug abuse programs is that indi-viduals must assume personal responsibility for their behavior. Despite theinfluence of environmental conditions and circumstances, the primary target




for change is the individual’s conscious decision to engage in drug-takingand criminal behavior” (Federal Bureau of Prisons, 1997, p. 1). It is evidentfrom such statements that the goals of the federal prison system in its treat-ment of drug offenders are inevitably divergent from those real-life experi-ences of which the inmate is a product.

Requiring inmates to separate themselves from their own social and envi-ronmental histories allows authorities to construct agency as the definitivefactor leading to criminal activity (Fox, 1999; McKendy, 2006; O’Connor,1995). As researchers entering a federal or state facility, we cannot fullyknow to what extent inmates have internalized such philosophies. In anycase, the levels of participants’ “organizational embeddedness” can havesignificant effects on the ensuing interpretations available through discourse(Gubrium, 1988). Asking inmates to construct a narrative of socially relevantlife events is one of the largest “landmines” researchers may encounter. Theextent to which manipulation, legitimate violence, and even brainwashinghas occurred at the hands of the state is a consideration that should not beoverlooked (Podgòrecki, 1994; Rodriguez, 2003).

Often, narratives have the ability to reproduce hegemony, in the sensethat the inculcation of a political “metanarrative,” such as the one referencedabove, may have the effect of systematically silencing the subjective and,thus, integrating the experiences of the participant into one institutionallyapproved discourse. On the other hand, subversive stories, or narratives thatovercome an institutional metanarrative, are made possible through theconstruction of a narrative that is derivative of “an encompassing cultural,political and material world that extends beyond the local” (Ewick & Silbey,1995, p. 219). Sidestepping the landmine of hegemonic reproductionthrough storytelling is difficult, and sometimes even impossible; however,the participants may feel more comfortable breaking out of the institutionalhold if we make ourselves aware that it exists and remain transparent in ourexpectations and project goals.

Identities as Moments

I use the concept of “identity moments” here as a tool in narrative con-struction that asks the participant to construct a timeline of historically rel-evant moments, including the embedded stories that exist as a product ofeach moment. Similar to a “person-based” life-history approach that allowsfor social and situational change along various “turning points” in a historyof criminal behavior, the concept of a moment is different from an eventbecause moments link more closely to the shaping of identity than a single




event (Farrall & Bowling, 1999; Laub & Sampson, 1993; McKendy, 2006).Although moments exist within events, larger constructions of memorableevents are more like “war stories” than the situation-specific, contextual,life-changing phenomena of moments. Identity moments allow researchersto record as accurately as possible in chronological order each moment theparticipant relays. Initial questions may be required to prompt the participantinto engaging in the identity moment discourse such as “what was your firstexperience with drugs” or “what do you think got you on the path to prison”;however, it is often the case that through such prompts, subsequent relatedstories evolve, unsolicited.

Identity moments, then, are the particularly relevant life situations thatretrospectively enacted some change in the life path or course of the indi-vidual’s future. An identity moment will bring to life within the participant’smemory other moments that might not have occurred without the inceptionof the original or prefacing moments. Like a road map that graduallyunfolds with various attractions along the way, the narrative will evolve andbecome more complete with each moment revealed. Similarly, “those inter-actional moments that leave marks on peoples’ lives . . . have the potentialto create transformational experiences. These are ‘epiphanies’” (Denzin,2001, p. 34). The discursive processes of narrative construction for the inmatewill often provide subsequent prompts. For instance, asking an inmate whatit was like to smoke crack for the first time will likely reveal a “war story”or a description of feeling, both emotional and physical. Asking an inmatewhat it was like to smoke crack for the first time, how old he was, wherehe was, who he was with, why he did it, and what happened because of itwill allow more for both depth in storytelling and, perhaps, self-reflection.Asking the inmate what it was like to smoke crack for the second time willreveal to the researcher, and more importantly to the participant, the begin-ning of a historical progression leading toward the present. Thus, we see thatidentity moments are not simply memories the participant evokes single-handedly; they are also the devices researchers use to extract those relevant,though perhaps not readily evident, plots along the life course. An identitymoment need not necessarily have evoked a crisis or disjuncture from therealities in which it occurred; often, the storyteller remains consciouslyunaware that a moment even existed until it is revealed during the processof narrative construction.

As the participant interacts with his own memories using the story ofchronology, he will engage in a retrospective “process of interpretation” ashe reconstructs the meanings that embodied each moment. Indeed, aswe know from Blumer (1969), in immediate situations, “the actor selects,




checks, suspends, regroups and transforms the meanings in light of the sit-uation in which he is placed and the direction of his action” (p. 5). As hedid with the actions coerced through the interpretive process in the originalsituation, the actor, through retrospection, will interpret new meanings foreach moment of discussion in light of his present social position. The accu-racy of what happened then and what is recounted at present cannot matchbecause the reality of the present is based on the realities of the past(Maines, 2000). What the participant recounts in the interview and the mean-ings he interprets for past moments are real for him because every actionsince the actual event is prefaced on what was real in the moment and onwhat is real now.

Because prison research does not always allow the use of recordingdevices, and because the relaying of identity moments and their associated“war stories” in a historical, timeline fashion is often very fast-paced anddisjointed, researchers will likely have to take notes very quickly. Ideally,the entire interview would be recorded so that the final analysis could be asrepresentative of the participant’s voice as possible, but by using identitymoments and clear organizational plans as tools in constructing the narrative,we can piece together the entire story and present it as such. Clearly, obtainingmany direct quotes is difficult, yet often those recorded are quite compellingin the final write-up. However disorganized the actual telling of the tale,“narrative discourse has the capacity to unify and integrate disparate ele-ments into a meaningful unity” (Polkinghorne, 1996, p. 364). As such, theburden of organization lies neither on the teller nor on the listener but withinthe act of the discourse itself (Bruner, 1991; Tilley, 1998). However, sometools to facilitate a more ordered approach to the analysis of the narrativeare likely necessary.

The importance of presenting full narratives in the final analysis is para-mount when allowing for a more complete and honest representation of thesubject’s story. Although the full presentation of narratives may be spaceconsuming, the necessity of representing the participant as accurately aspossible may supersede the need for lengthy discussions of epistemologiesor literature, especially when using a grounded methodology in the finalanalysis. If the goal of the research is to present the original, empirical datathat is subjectively important and real for the participants, including fullnarratives can aid in tying the stories and realities of the interviewee moreclosely with an innovative theoretical finding. However, inmate narratives,pieced together after the fact, may require us to insert personal interpretationsof what transpired during the interview to allow readers an accurate pictureof the exchange. For instance, including notations of how the participant




looked or spoke during particular places in the interview can be conceptu-ally relevant in the final write-up of the story (Liebling, 1999). Admittedly,removed from the thick descriptions (Geertz, 1973) championed by manyqualitative theorists, in-prison interviewing does not always lend itself tosuch indulgences.

Recognizing that our presence as researchers affects the outcome of thestory can allow for the interactional nature of the discourse to speak for itself.The multiple “realities” experienced during the interview were constructedby the people involved, the institutional setting, the implicit structures ofauthority and subordination and other social objects surrounding theexchange (Ewick & Silbey, 1995). Thus, what transpired in the interviewroom and what was born out of the narrative is the result of multiple real-ities constructed by the various participants. A story within a story, the finalnarrative presented in its full form provides for the reader an interpretivereality constructed in partnership. Below, I provide an example of a full versionof one of the narratives constructed through my research with nonviolentinmates convicted of drug crimes.

William

William is a 30-year-old high school drop out. His mother is White, hisfather is Black, and William classifies himself as mixed race. William heldvarious factory jobs before his arrest on the current charge but was mainlyunemployed and categorizes himself as working class. William’s father wasan Army veteran and died when William was 10 years old, although hisparents separated before that time. His mother remained unemployed andlived off her husband’s veteran checks. Growing up, William lived with hismother, four sisters, one brother, and his mother’s various boyfriends in theinner city of a small college town. Convicted and incarcerated for sellingdrugs, William’s brother and a cousin are currently in prison; one of William’ssisters also did time for stealing a gun. Currently, William has two cousins,one best friend, and an uncle in prison for selling drugs. William has served3 years of a 7-year sentence for selling crack to a police informant and isup for release in 2 months.

William’s first experience with drugs occurred when he was 8 years old.He witnessed one of his mother’s boyfriends doing “wet sticks” (cigaretteslaced with PCP and LSD and dipped in embalming fluid). At the time,William says he had no desire to try drugs; however, they were somethingthat always surrounded him from an early age. Between the ages of 8 and




10, William and his siblings went to various foster homes in another state forapproximately a year and a half. William believes that he and his siblingswent to foster care because his mother did cocaine, drank alcohol excessively,and was the victim of domestic abuse. At 12 years old, William tried mari-juana for the first time with three friends from school at a friend’s house.William seemed indifferent about the experience and stated that he had noreason not to smoke pot. During this time, William said he was expelledfrom school “too many times to count” because of fighting and truancy. At16, William dropped out of high school because he did not feel like he fitin. Then, at 17, William learned how to drive from his friends and stole andwrecked a car he later discovered belonged to a local judge. William served3 years in prison for auto theft. At 20, William began selling marijuanabecause he didn’t want to get a job, but was employed at a fast food restau-rant long enough to earn the $1,500 it took to buy his first three pounds ofmarijuana from an acquaintance for intended sale. After he was able tomake back the original money he spent to begin selling marijuana, Williamquit his job at the fast-food restaurant to sell marijuana full time. Williamlearned the nuances of selling drugs from friends and claimed to makeapproximately $4,000 per week at the time. William stated that he neverbelieved he would go to prison despite the fact that he knew selling marijuanawas illegal. Likewise, William believes that his mother was well aware thathe sold drugs but never did anything about it.

During the time William worked at the fast-food restaurant, he met aCaucasian and Native American woman, 5 years older than himself, andthey began dating. After a short courtship, they married and William tookon the role of a father figure to her three children. After moving in together,William felt that he needed to make more money to provide for his stepchil-dren and to buy the house he wanted because “10 dollars an hour is just notenough.” Therefore, at 25, William began to sell harder drugs, such asecstasy, crack, and embalming fluid to supplement his income and, he said,because it made him feel important.

Between the ages of 25 and 27, William separated from his wife and meta new girlfriend. During this time, William received a call from a friendwho wanted to purchase a large amount of crack cocaine. William made the“routine” sale only to find out later that the friend he sold to was a policeinformant. When William was 27, his girlfriend filed domestic assaultcharges against him and when he went to court for the assault charges,he was arrested for selling drugs to a police informant. William is currentlyin prison for violation of probation and the charge of distributing narcoticsto a police informant.





William is still in contact with the people from his old neighborhood andhe believes he will continue to sell drugs on his release, although he wants tostop. However, his ultimate goal is to get a job and go to Oklahoma to livewith his sister and start over. William feels that he is just “too old to keepdoing it.” William’s main concerns at this time are his three stepchildrenwho are currently 18, 15, and 12. He worries that his stepdaughters especiallywill fall into the wrong crowd because the neighborhood where they are living(and where he grew up) is filled with people selling drugs, violence, andprostitution. He worries about his daughters being raped and does not allowthem to wear make up. William says he still tries to act as the father figurefor his stepchildren despite the fact that he and his wife separated.

When asked what advice William would give someone who was on thepath to prison, he responded, “Coke and ecstasy will eventually ruin a person’slife;” however, he believes that “there is nothing wrong with weed.” Whenasked what he would do, if anything, to improve his neighborhood, Williamsaid that he felt things might be better if children did not see adults doingdrugs. William does not feel that he has had the same opportunities in hislife as everyone else because he dropped out of high school and committeda felony at an early age. However, he feels that someday he may try to go tocollege for art and sculpting if he can get his life back on track. Asked whathe would do on release, William said with a smile that he wants to “go ona week’s vacation and soak in Epsom salt.” He made it clear that althoughit is an easy thing to fall back into and he is unsure of his ability not to, thatselling drugs is not what he wants to do with the rest of his life because“losing family and freedom isn’t worth it.”

The preceding story is an example of a personal narrative I helpedconstruct from an hour-long interview process with an inmate at a state cor-rectional facility. I include it here to provide some insight into the types ofstories inmates tell and to emphasize the importance of including full nar-ratives in the final write-up of a research project. Although our interviewtime was extremely limited, William and I were able to construct his narra-tive through discussion and by using the technique of recounting identitymoments. I cannot venture to guess what we might have produced if wewere given more time to build one another’s trust, but working throughdiscourse and memory, William recounted a story that I am obliged to sharewith others. As such, it must be noted that were it not for my presence andinterest in William’s life, the preceding story in its current form would ceaseto exist even if William were interviewed by someone else. It is understoodthat the stories we hear and help construct with prison inmates are inevitably



different from the narratives in which they are living at present. William’slife story, as it was told to me and interpreted by me, is likely quite differentfrom the one he would tell other inmates or even the one that would emergethrough work with a different researcher. The multiplicity of stories embed-ded in a single recounting are almost impossible to capture in totality; thus,we can never know one individual’s complete “life story.” We can, however,help to sketch out the particularly relevant life events that emerged in theinterview moment and that we pieced together as a coherent facsimile ofwhat was important at the particular time and place we came together, asresearcher and participant. Each identity moment recounted in a single inter-view is a story in itself with its own relevance to the teller’s past, present,and future social positions. Drawing out my participants’ stories and helpingto construct them by building rapport and using identity moments allowedme to become actively engaged in the processes of storytelling; my activeparticipation in helping to construct their narratives was an unavoidable yetimmensely rewarding endeavor.

I must assume that the stories William told were true for him and, in anycase, were true for the moment (Smith, 1990). Being true for the moment,however, is likely moot in itself if we concern ourselves less with the factu-ality of stories and more with the critical processes involved in their retelling(Denzin, 2001). In a recently published special issue of Qualitative Inquiry,several authors grapple with the issues of truth, representation, and validityin narrative storytelling as research and method. For my work, Polkinghorne’s(2007) assessment that “whether or not readers are convinced that a knowl-edge claim is justified is a function of their assessment of the power of itssupporting argument” (p. 476) supports my position that the presentation offull narratives in final analyses is necessary if we are to truly share the burdenof storytelling with our participants. Leaving readers with enough empiricalevidence as well as a strong supporting argument for the claims we makeallows the richness of the analysis to speak for itself.

The processes of constructing a narrative with a participant are dependenton the decisions made along the way. Either by the inclinations of institu-tional authority or by our lack of adequate space or desire to present them, thestories and voices of inmates in prison are systematically silenced. The neces-sity of presenting the unheard stories of prison inmates supersedes space lim-itations or succumbing to methodological difficulties. There are significantlandmines in doing prison research, some of which are daunting and discour-aging; however, the product that results is too important to bury or forgetbecause of our own fears or inadequacies as researchers.





Conclusion

From beginning to end, the process of interviewing inmates is a powerfulone. The methodological landmines we face as prison researchers are numer-ous, but not insurmountable. With persistence, patience, and perhaps a littleaudacity, others new to in-prison interviewing can make themselves known,respected, and accepted by IRB members, prison officials, inmates, and inter-viewees. Gaining access to prison as inexperienced outsiders requires knowl-edge of rules and regulations, but also requires ingenuity. Constructingacceptable instruments that both protect the participant and remain true to theresearch design, as well as understanding our own roles in the institutionalsetting and in relationship to the participants, are inevitable challenges thatarise when interviewing inmates.

Understanding how prisoners identify themselves and others within theinstitution is an integral facet to understanding how they will receive us,and ultimately how they will help construct their own narratives. As activeparticipants in the narrative construction process, researchers interviewing“high risk” individuals will need to think critically about the roles we playand our influences on the final product. Institutional influences can havesignificant effects on inmates’ willingness to participate and on the safetythey feel recounting personal experiences. Treating inmates with respectand patience can serve to counteract disinclinations to participate and willallow the research to remain truthful and honest.

Presenting full narratives in the final analysis and remaining tied asclosely to the data as possible will allow those using a grounded theoreticalapproach to witness from a first-hand perspective the enlightening analyticalconstructs that are bound to emerge. By helping the participants uncovertheir own identity moments as well as engaging in some ourselves, we canreduce running the risk of overthinking or saturating our data with unnec-essary interpretations or grandiose theoretical “discoveries.” The organicproduct of an honest and open discourse will yield far more analytical pos-sibilities than we could ever begin to force out of the data.

As much as I hope that this article will provide some critical insight intothe processes of interviewing inmates, it is inevitable that personal experi-ence will be far more enlightening for those just beginning their journeys.In that vein, I hope that more investigators new to researching “high risk”groups will share their experiences similarly and give those who have yetto begin a fighting chance at success.




References

Ambert, A., Adler, P. A., Adler, P., & Detzner, D. F. (1995). Understanding and evaluatingqualitative research. Journal of Marriage and the Family, 57(4), 879-893.

Baum, R. C. (1979). Authority and identity: The case for evolutionary invariance. In B. Holtzner& R. Robertson (Eds.), Identity and authority (pp. 61-118). New York: St. Martin’s.

Becker, H. S. (1963). The outisders: Studies in the sociology of deviance. New York: FreePress.

Blumer, H. (1969). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. Englewood Cliffs, NJ:Prentice-Hall.

Bosworth, M., Campbell, D., Demby, B., Ferranti, S. M., & Santos, M. (2005). Doing prisonresearch: Views from inside. Qualitative Inquiry, 11(2), 249-264.

Bruner, J. (1991). The narrative construction of reality. Critical Inquiry, 18(1), 1-21.Cannella, G. S., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2007). Predatory vs. dialogic ethics: Constructing and illusion

or ethical practice as the core of research methods. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(3), 315-335.Clarke, M. (1975). Survival in the field: Implications of personal experience in fieldwork.

Theory and Society, 2(1), 95-123.Cressey, D. R. (1951). Criminological research and the definition of crimes. The American

Journal of Sociology, 56(6), 546-551.Crites, S. (1971). The narrative quality of experience. Journal of the American Academy of

Religion, 39(3), 291-311.Denzin, N. K. (2001). Interpretive interactionism. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.Ewick, P., & Silbey, S. S. (1995). Subversive stories and hegemonic tales: Toward a sociology

of narrative. Law and Society Review, 29(2), 197-226.Farrall, S., & Bowling, B. (1999). Structuration, human development and desistance from

crime. The British Journal of Criminology, 39(2), 253-268.Federal Bureau of Prisons. (1997). Drug abuse programs manual, inmate (BOP Publication

No. CPD 5330.10). Retrieved March 2007, from http://www.bop.gov/DataSourceFerrell, J., & Hamm, M. S. (1998). Ethnography at the edge: Crime, deviance and field

research. Lebanon, NH: Northeastern University Press.Foucault, M. (1979). Discipline and punish: The birth of the prison. New York: Second Vintage

Books.Fox, K. J. (1999). Reproducing criminal types: Cognitive treatment for violent offenders in

prison. The Sociological Quarterly, 40(3), 435-453.Fox, K. J. (2001). Self change and resistance in prison. In J. F. Gubrium & J. A. Holstein

(Eds.), Institutional selves: Troubled identities in a postmodern world (pp.176-192).New York: Oxford University Press.

Garfinkel, H. (1956). Conditions of successful degradation ceremonies. American Journal ofSociology, 61(5),420-424.

Geertz, C. (1973). The interpretation of cultures. New York: Basic Books.Giallombardo, R. (1966). Interviewing in the prison community. The Journal of Criminal Law,

Criminology and Police Science, 57(3), 318-324.Gillespie, W. (2003). Prisonization: Individual and institutional factors affecting inmate conduct.

New York: LFB Scholarly.Glaser, B. G., & Strauss, A. L. (1967). The discovery of grounded theory: Strategies for quali-

tative research. New York: Walter de Gruyter.Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York: Doubleday Publishing.




Goffman, E. (1961). Asylums: Essays on the social situation of mental patients and otherinmates. New York: Anchor Books.

Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. New York: Simonand Schuster.

Goode, S. (2000). Researching a hard-to-access and vulnerable population: Some considerationson researching drug and alcohol-using mothers. Sociological Research Online, 5(1).

Gray, B. H., Cooke, R. A., & Tannebaum, A. S. (1978). Research involving human subjects.Science, 201(4361), 1094-1101.

Gubrium, J. (1988). Analyzing field reality. Newbury Park, CA: Sage.Gudmundsdottir, S. (1996). The teller, the tale and the one being told: The narrative nature of

the research interview. Curriculum Inquiry, 26(3), 293-306.Halse, C., & Honey, A. (2007). Rethinking ethics review as institutional discourse. Qualitative

Inquiry, 13(3), 336-352.Hessler, R. M., & Galliher, J. F. (1983). Institutional review boards and clandestine research:

An experimental test. Human Organization, 42(1), 82-87.Holtzner, B., & Robertson, R. (1979). Identity and authority: A problem analysis of processes

of identification and authorization. In B. Holtzner and R. Robertson (Eds.), Identity andauthority (pp. 1-39). New York: St. Martin’s.

Kaplan, J. (1972). The role of the law in drug control. Duke Law, 1971(6), 1065-1104.Keith-Spiegel, P., Koocher, G. P. & Tabachnick, B. (2006). What scientists want from their

research ethics committee. Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics,1(1), 67-82.

King, R. D. (2000). Doing research in prisons. In R. D. King & E. Wincup (Eds.), Doingresearch on crime and justice (pp. 285-312). New York: Oxford University Press.

Laub, J. H., & Sampson, R. J. (1993). Turning points in the life course: Why change mattersto the study of crime. Criminology, 31(3), 301-325.

Lee, R. M., & Renzetti, C. M. (1990). The problems of researching sensitive topics: Anoverview and introduction. The American Behavioral Scientist, 33(5), 510-529.

Lemert, E. M. (1951). Social pathology. New York: McGraw-Hill.Liebling, A. (1999). Doing research in prison: Breaking the silence? Theoretical Criminology,

3(2), 147-173.Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (2006). Ethics: The failure of positivist science. Reprinted in

Y. S. Lincoln & N. K. Denzin (Eds.), Turning points in qualitative research: Tying knots ina handkerchief (pp. 219-237). Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. (Original work publishedin 1989)

Maines, D. R. (2000). The social construction of meaning. Contemporary Sociology, 29(4),577-584.

Marzano, M. (2007). Informed consent, deception and research freedom in qualitativeresearch. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(3), 417-436.

Matza, D. (1969). Becoming deviant. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.McKendy, J. P. (2006). “I’m very careful about that”: Narrative and agency of men in prison.

Discourse and Society, 17, 473-502.Mead, G. H. (1934). Mind self and society. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.Newman, D. J. (1958). Research interviewing in prison. The Journal of Criminal Law,

Criminology, and Police Science, 49(2), 127-132.Noakes, L., & Wincup, E. (2004). Criminological research: Understanding qualitative methods.

London: Sage.



Oakes, J. M. (2002). Risks and wrongs in social science research: An evaluator’s guide to theIRB. Evaluation Review, 26(5), 443-479.

O’Connor, P. E. (1995). Speaking of crime: “I don’t know what made me do it.” Discourse andSociety, 6, 429-456.

Podgòrecki, A. (1994). Social oppression. Westport, CT: Greenwood.Pogrebin, M. R. (2003). Qualitative approaches to criminal justice: perspectives from the

field. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.Polkinghorne, D. E. (1996). Explorations of narrative identity. Psychological Inquiry, 7(4),

363-367.Polkinghorne, D. E. (2007). Validity issues in narrative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(4),

471-486.Pope, C. E., Lovell, R., & Brandl, S. G. (2001). Voices from the field: Readings in criminal

justice research. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.Rodriguez, D. (2003). State terror and the reproduction of imprisoned dissent. Social Identities,

9(2), 183-203.Schur, E. M. (1965). Crimes without victims: Deviant behavior and public policy, abortion,

homosexuality, drug addiction. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.Skoll, G. R. (1992). Walk the walk and talk the talk: An ethnography of a drug abuse treatment

facility. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.Smith, D. (1990). Texts, facts and femininity. New York: Routledge.Sorensen, R. C. (1950). Interviewing prison inmates. Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology,

41(2), 180-182.Sykes, G. (1958). The society of captives: A study of a maximum security prison. Princeton,

NJ: Princeton University Press.Tilley, S. A. (1998). Conducting respectful research: A critique of practice. Canadian Journal

of Education, 23(3), 316-328.Tittle, C. R. (1972). Society of subordinates: Inmate organization in a narcotic hospital.

Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.Ulmer, J. T., & Spencer, J. W. (1999). The contributions of an interactionist approach to

research and theory on criminal careers. Theoretical Criminology, 3(95), 95-124.Walker, S. (1994). Sense and nonsense about crime and drugs. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

Jennifer A. Schlosser is a doctoral student in the Department of Sociology at the Universityof Missouri, Columbia. Her research interests include criminology, social control, inequalities,and the sociology of prisons. Her primary focus particularly deals with the identity constructionsof institutionalized inmates in relation to state corrections rhetoric and policy. She is indebtedto Dave Brunsma, Priya Dua, and John Galliher for their unending support in the productionof this manuscript.




Documents

Issues in Interviewing Inmates: Navigating the Methodological Landmines of Prison Research