497747
research-article2013
JCE42610.1177/0891241613497747Journal of Contemporary EthnographyBucerius
Article
Becoming a “Trusted
Outsider”: Gender,
Ethnicity, and Inequality
in Ethnographic Research
Journal of Contemporary Ethnography
42(6) 690­–721
© The Author(s) 2013
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DOI: 10.1177/0891241613497747
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Sandra Meike Bucerius1
Abstract
It is commonly assumed that successful ethnographers strive for insider
status and avoid being regarded as an outsider. Very often and especially
within criminology, an ethnographer’s ability to gain the trust of research
participants is linked to his or her degree of similarity to them, particularly
with respect to gender. By describing the research dynamics between an
all-male group of second-generation immigrants in Frankfurt/Germany, the
“gatekeepers” and myself—a female researcher of different socioeconomic
and ethnic background—I suggest that being an outsider in general and a
female in particular is not a liability one necessarily needs to overcome. I
propose that achieving status as an outsider trusted with “inside knowledge”
may provide the ethnographer with a different perspective and different data
than that potentially afforded by insider status.
Keywords
gaining trust, cross-gender research, cross-ethnicity research, drug dealers,
establishing rapport
1University
of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Corresponding Author:
Sandra Meike Bucerius, University of Toronto, 14 Queen’s Park Crescent West, Toronto,
Ontario M5S 3K9, Canada.
Email: bucerius@ualberta.ca
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Ethnographers have written extensively about the various roles they assume
when conducting research and the implications these roles have for their
fieldwork experiences and findings (Gans 1968; Gold 1958). Adler and Adler
(1987), for example, distinguish between three research roles adopted by ethnographers: peripheral, active, and complete membership. Each of these roles
has implications for a researcher’s level of social integration into the field
setting. Underlying these roles is the degree of belonging a researcher
achieves, which is influenced by his or her participation in group activities,
commitment to group values and norms, and level of group affiliation. While
achieving “insider” status, or becoming completely integrated into a field
setting, can enhance a researcher’s access to key informants and information,
it can also provoke issues of role conflict (Brannick and Coghlan 2007, 70)
and role confusion (Asselin 2003). Given these potential issues, I suggest that
ethnographers do not necessarily need to strive for insider status or to avoid
an outsider role. Instead, I suggest that being an outsider is not a liability one
must overcome, because achieving status as an outsider trusted with “inside
knowledge” may provide the ethnographer with a different perspective and
different data than that potentially afforded by insider status.
Without obtaining the trust of group members, ethnographers find it challenging, if not impossible, to collect valid and reliable data that allow them
“to understand the complexities of and motivations for real-life behavior”
(Fleisher 1998a, 52). For example, individuals involved in illegal markets
may talk to unfamiliar researchers about some aspects of their lives, but they
hesitate to discuss their illicit activities or intimate experiences within the
informal market, even when offered cash incentives to do so (Hamm and
Ferrell 1998). The risks faced by dealers when talking to a researcher about
the drug trade include the possibility that the researcher’s notes could be subpoenaed or that he or she could be a cop (Jacobs 1998).
The development of trust in the research process, however, does not necessarily depend on insider status. As Snow, Benford, and Anderson (1986,
381) stress, the success of an ethnographic project “does not depend on the
role of the participant observer per se” but rather on the “more particular role
that is derived in the field setting.” They distinguish between four roles ethnographers may assume: the controlled skeptic, the buddy-researcher, the
credentialist expert, and the ardent activist. Each of these varying roles yields
different types of information and some roles. However, it is still commonly
assumed that an ethnographer’s ability to gain the trust of group members
depends on his or her degree of similarity to them. This factor may explain
the predominance of male researchers in ethnographic studies of members of
male-dominated groups who engage in illicit activities (see Bourgois 2003;
Brotherton and Barrios 2004; van Gemert and Fleisher 2005; Jacobs 1999;
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Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 42(6)
Sandberg 2010; Tertilt 1996; Venkatesh 2008; Vigil 2007; Williams 1989).
Criminological researchers widely believe that male researchers have an easier time conducting research in the often violent and male-dominated world
of drug dealers and street criminals. Thus, being different from one’s research
participants is often viewed as a research liability, and being a woman who
does ethnographic research on drug dealers is regarded as an even more
daunting burden to overcome. Feminist ethnographers who study maleoriented social worlds have often commented on the extreme power struggles
and sexual tensions present in the research process, suggesting that these
dynamics are not only common in their research on men engaged in illicit
activities but also in women’s investigations of male populations (Arendell
1997; Grenz 2005; Pascoe 2007).
In criminological circles, researchers’ attitudes often reflect Sampson and
Thomas’s (2003) belief that when situational risk (e.g., interviewing drug
dealers) is combined with what Lee (1995) calls “ambient risk” (e.g., sexual
harassment at the fieldsite due to gender difference), women experience
amplified risk in their fieldwork. Patti Adler (1993), who studied upper-level
male dealers in California in collaboration with her husband, Peter, highlights
this idea when claiming it “would have been impossible for me to examine
this social world [of drug dealers] as an unattached female” (Adler 1993, 27).
This notion implies that ethnographic research of illicit social worlds can
only be effective if the researcher is male or at least accompanied by a male
researcher. Ethnographers in fields such as anthropology, however, have long
demonstrated that a high level of dissimilarity between researcher and
research participants is not necessarily an encumbrance; instead, it can offer
rich potential for developing new and improved understandings of the field
setting (Powdermaker 1966).
Most importantly, given the issues and outlooks highlighted above, I
address the question of how ethnographers, particularly if they are women,
can best establish a rapport with groups operating in informal economies.
Building on five years of ethnographic research with an all-male group of 55
second-generation Muslim immigrants involved in the informal economy in
Frankfurt, Germany, I demonstrate that (1) being a trusted outsider can facilitate in-depth understanding of a group while being an insider can be a liability and (2) being a woman is not necessarily the greatest impediment in
research with male-dominated groups involved in illicit activities; instead, it
can facilitate insights about the research participants potentially unavailable
to male researchers. While my gender, ethnicity, and class played an important role in the research process, particularly in gaining access, my transition
from mere outsider to an outsider trusted with inside knowledge did not
depend on my adoption of a masculine style.
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In this article, I describe how my transition from being an outsider to
someone trusted with inside knowledge was heavily influenced by the unique
dynamics among the all-male group, the gatekeepers, and me (as a researcher).
More specifically, I demonstrate how field relations are often influenced by
perceptions based on gender, ethnicity, and social status and how gatekeepers
can significantly influence the process of gaining access and trust.
In the next section, I provide some background information about the
study, the research setting, the group, and myself. I subsequently discuss how
the process of gaining access and trust varied for different people in the group
and analyze how this process was influenced by the gatekeepers’ and young
men’s views of women and Germans.
Background and Methods
Long-term ethnographic projects often shift in focus once we, as researchers,
get to know our research participants better and gain a deeper understanding
of their Lebenswelt over time. My study is one such example: the project’s
initial focus altered in response to conditions that only became apparent once
I became more closely acquainted with my research participants, their motivations, and the world they inhabited. For example, I initially set out to investigate the world of lower- and mid-level German drug dealers; I did not
specifically intend to study male drug dealers who were Muslim and/or
immigrants. This was largely a result of the particular study site I chose; a
different site would have probably yielded access to a different group.
Although my doctoral supervisor and I were originally interested in exploring informal economies, I became increasingly interested in the social, economic, and political situations of the young men in my study—the social
exclusion they were facing and the future they envisioned for themselves—
rather than the nature of the drug market itself.
Thus, I shifted tacks and embarked upon an exploration of the Lebenswelt
of second-generation male Muslim immigrants, one of the most socially
excluded populations in German society and a regular target of discrimination (Brettfeld and Wetzels 2003; Bommes 1996, 4ff.; Gesemann 2006, 25;
Gomolla and Radtke 2002). Because male Muslim immigrants are overrepresented in various informal economies—and the drug market in particular
(Albrecht 1997; Brettfeld and Wetzels 2003)—they are an especially instructive portal into the relationship among immigration, social exclusion, and
informal economies. My participants’ shared experience of cultural, political,
and economic marginalization leads them to forge a high level of social cohesion and a sense of community within their neighborhood. It also encourages
their mutual identification with a Muslim identity. All of these factors bolster
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a positive sense of self. Yet, the young men I studied also cite their exclusion
as a way of rationalizing their participation in the drug trade: in their eyes,
they have no real chance of success in the formal economy. As foreigners,
they are streamed into the lowest-ranking schools, which offers them little
opportunity for upward mobility. Yet, the men I interviewed also understood
that their drug trade activities only strengthened and reinforced pernicious
stereotypes about them and perpetuated a cycle of exclusion.
To gain a nuanced understanding of the lived experiences of young, male,
Muslin immigrants, I pursued an ethnographic approach, believing this to be
the most effective and nonthreatening way of connecting with them. Because
of their negative experiences in Germany, they were unaccustomed to forming long-term positive relationships with members of so-called mainstream
society. Thus, I engaged the young men in their own social environment to
maximize the possibility of collecting useful and meaningful data.
Initially, I met the group at a local community youth center. Over approximately two-and-a-half years, I spent roughly six hours each day, three afternoons per week, with the young men, usually at the youth center. After having
established an initial rapport, I also participated in their activities two or three
nights a week.1 I depended on group members to take me along to various
evening activities: hanging out in the streets, bars, and cafés; cruising around
in cars without a specific destination; or going to clubs. After the first twoand-a-half years, the young men stopped using the community youth center
as their main meeting point, and I had to become flexible. I started to meet the
group on certain street corners in the evenings.
My field notes were a daily record of my observations of, and countless
conversations and interactions with, the young men. I had the opportunity to
witness many types of drug transactions (purchase, drug delivery, storage,
negotiations, etc.),2 fights within the group and with outsiders, as well as
family interactions. Moreover, I conducted 105 in-depth interviews;3 some
men I spoke with several times, others only once. In these interviews, the
young men disclosed their thoughts and feelings about their social environment, sense of belonging, and participation in the informal drug economy. I
audio recorded some of these interviews, but mostly only took notes during
and after the interviews since many of the young men felt less comfortable in
the presence of a recording device—they often attempted to alter their vocabulary and tone (e.g., they tried to sound more formal), and some of them
became quite nervous.
In the first months of my research, I conducted approximately twenty
interviews using an interview guide I developed before the start of the project. As the project continued, however, I often used prompts instead of a
guide to gain a deeper and more nuanced understanding of certain aspects of
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the young men’s lives that I needed clarification on. Of these more in-depth
but less-structured interviews, approximately twenty-five focused on the specifics of the drug trade; thirty on relationships to women, marriage, family,
and the future; and thirty on the men’s experiences living as second-generation
immigrants in Germany. Using prompts in all interviews allowed the young
men to decide for themselves what they wanted to emphasize in their replies
and allayed the tension created by a more formal interview process.
Furthermore, by the time I started conducting these interviews after two years
in the field, the young men and I had already built a strong rapport, making
the use of a more formal interview style awkward. I also collected letters
from three of the five young men who were incarcerated during the research
period; they wrote to me from jail. In addition to relying on my field notes,
interviews, and the letters from incarcerated men, I received feedback from
three of the young men who agreed to peruse some of my notes and supply
additional information where needed. This reflects Latour’s (2000) notion of
objectivity in that by allowing my research participants to critique my work
they did not lose the capacity to objectify.
Setting
I discovered that gaining access to drug dealers—the original target population of my proposed study—through a community youth center would be the
easiest and most sensible way of pursuing this type of fieldwork. Most districts in large German cities have centers of this kind that are funded by local
governments and the state. While they serve officially as a place where local
teenagers can solicit help with their homework or job applications, seek
advice for law-related questions, or simply hang out, many of such centers
are also commonly known to be hubs for young men involved in illicit
activities.
Knowing this, I informally consulted several sources to identify which
community youth center in Frankfurt would be most fruitful for my study.4
I inquired with personnel in the Frankfurt social work department, for
instance, who identified one particular center as heavily involved in the local
drug scene. I also consulted with two unit commanders at different police
divisions in Frankfurt—officers I was already acquainted with from previous
research projects I had conducted in the city—in order to get a sense of the
drug distribution and dealing scene from the point of view of the police. Both
unit commanders discussed the results of internal research studies, which
suggested the district I later selected for my project served as home to the
second largest drug market in the city. Moreover, they confirmed that the
same community youth center the social work department had identified
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played host to young men suspected of being players in the majority of local
drug deals. Finally, I spoke to several Frankfurt university students who similarly attested that the center was a place of contact with dealers. Thus, I
approached this particular community youth center; it became my central
point of access to the study population.
The center was run by three male social workers of German descent and
catered to approximately 60 to 80 young men who visited regularly. Like
most youth centers in Germany, the space included a weight-lifting room, a
small kitchen, an office for the social workers, and a larger room that contained several couches, a TV and Xbox console, a pool table, darts, foosball,
and table tennis. The center also included a smaller room adjacent to the main
room where the social workers would unofficially tolerate the smoking of
marijuana.
Cities commonly operate these community centers to provide various
forms of social assistance to young people; however, this particular center
flouted expectations in several ways. First, the visitors were significantly
older than one might expect: the eldest was 31 years old. Furthermore, their
presence seemed to intimidate younger teenagers and deter them from attending the center; the social workers and members of the research group shared
this impression. Second, while the formal purpose of youth centers is to serve
the entire teenage population of a given district, this one was run entirely by
the young men in my study; so-called outsiders almost never entered the
facility. Third, although these centers usually provide services for both genders (some facilities hold female-only hours of operation), this one had no
female visitors whatsoever. Finally, everyone in the community openly conceded that it was less of a facility for assisting local youth than it was a wellknown “hangout” spot for drug dealers.
One might question why the police would allow drug dealers to socialize
freely and without interventions at a state- and community-funded institution. In fact, the youth center was under constant police surveillance, with at
least one local police car parked outside at all times; however, over the course
of the research, the local police never entered the building. Evidently, this
was a strategy for exerting social control: because the young men were able
to socialize in a safe environment without fear of police raids, they did not
loiter on the streets. At the same time, the young men valued their community
center immensely and never encouraged or even permitted customers to buy
drugs directly at the facility. Thus, although they consumed and at times even
packaged and stored drugs there, they did not actually sell drugs out of the
center.
Like most neighborhoods in Frankfurt, the neighborhood where the center
was located and where many of the young men grew up cannot be described
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as impoverished. Instead, it is one of the more desirable neighborhoods in the
city, featuring many quaint shops and local cafés and bars. As a result, the
population is quite diverse. The neighborhood serves as home to many university professors, business people, and students, as well as to those who are
socioeconomically disadvantaged.
Participants and Researcher
I recruited fifty-five young men between the ages of 16 and 31 (the mean age
was 23) for this study. These men were primarily the sons of parents who
were recruited by the government as guest workers between the late 1950s
and early 1970s to rebuild the economy after World War II. Because of the
restrictive citizenship laws, both parents and sons typically did not have
German citizenship.
The young men were from heterogeneous cultural backgrounds. The largest subgroup in the sample (n = 27) was of Turkish descent, followed by those
of Kosovo-Albanian (n = 8) and Moroccan descent (n = 6). The remainder of
the group was composed of young men who came from Croatia, Bosnia,
Serbia, and Germany, some of whom had multinational backgrounds.
Despite these national differences, they had many commonalities. Their
primary language for communication was German; in fact, most of the young
men claimed their German language skills exceeded their mother tongue fluency. They also had the following characteristics in common: their neighborhood, their immigrant status, a Muslim heritage (although they did not
necessarily engage in Muslim religious practices), disadvantaged educational
and socioeconomic backgrounds, and involvement in drug dealing activities
(e.g., they typically sold marijuana and cocaine to a fairly steady customer
base).
Although my gender was the most obvious feature that set me apart from
the all-male group, I was also distinguished by my German-Christian heritage,
level of education, and middle-class background. Yet, as Duneier reminds us,
aspects of a researcher’s identity may become more or less salient over the
course of the research process, depending on the context. In his influential
ethnography, Sidewalk, Duneier recounts that he was at times seen as “a naïve
white man who could himself be exploited for ‘loans’ of small change and
dollar bills,” and at other times as “a Jew who was going to make a lot of
money off the stories of people working the streets” (1999, 12). I had a similar
range of experiences throughout the process of establishing a rapport: I found
that my identity was fluid over time and that I was perceived differently
depending on whom I was with and in what context we found ourselves.
Ultimately, however, all of the young men treated me like a “buddy-researcher”
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(Snow, Benford, and Anderson 1986). This meant that I could behave as their
friend while also retaining a certain degree of professional distance (see the
concept of “stranger and friend” in Powdermaker 1966).
For the young men, my German background buoyed their assumptions
that I had enjoyed more opportunities in life than they had. (They blamed
Germans for much of their social, political, and economic exclusion.) Indeed,
I initially represented for them what they called “bad people.” The fact that I
was a PhD student meant that class also influenced their initial perceptions of
me—more so even than if I had been a social worker. Given that the young
men’s main—and often only—source of income was drug dealing (none of
them had a steady job within the formal economy), graduate work represented something elite and outside of their realm. Moreover, many of them
did not fully understand what a PhD degree was; they thought I was working
to become a medical doctor. When I explained that my intention was to write
a book about their lives, they were actually quite responsive to the idea, much
to my relief. Many ethnographers have documented this effect: marginalized
peoples are often quite open to having their stories and histories told. In
Scheper-Hughes’s words, I became the “minor historian” for people who otherwise would have no history (1992, 29). The fact that I was German and
earnestly interested in them and their lives seemed to work in my favor since
hitherto most of them had had only negative experiences with Germans.
I believe the fact that I was Christian and not Muslim also worked to my
advantage. The young men’s Islamic backgrounds were important to their identity. They had very clear ideas of what behaviors and activities complied with
their religion, and although most of what they believed to be “Islamic” would
never hold true in a traditional Islamic context, they took their self-created rules
very seriously. For example, they believed that women—and Muslim women
specifically—should be protected from becoming “impure” through exposure
to other men, drugs, and violence, and therefore made efforts to shield Muslim
women from their activities. Thus, my outsider status as a Christian woman
helped to exempt me from their rules: because I did not directly contravene
their views on gender, I was permitted access to their world.
Nevertheless, as a woman researching an all-male group, gender dynamics
definitely affected my ability to build rapport with the group. My gender was
most salient during drug deals when, in most cases, I was the only woman present. Truth be told, my gender was salient to some degree in all my exchanges
with the young men. In spite of the fact that I was conducting research in a city
where I myself was living, I faced barriers to access and trust reminiscent of
dynamics in classical ethnographic studies conducted by anthropologists. The
gender dynamics were also complicated and compounded by my age: when I
started my fieldwork I was 23, the same age as the group average. This meant
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that the men perceived me as a potential sexual partner, which undoubtedly
influenced the process of establishing relationships with them. Some attempted
to flirt during the first few months of the research; however, because I had not
garnered their full respect yet, these attempts were always in one-on-one situations rather than in front of the group.
At the same time, I did not cohere with their image of the “perfect
woman”—an ideal the young men discussed at great length. They arrived at
a general consensus about the traits she ought to possess: she must obey and
please her partner, not intrude into his private life by asking too many questions, be good-looking, and excel as a housewife. In light of my religious and
social background, my liberal ideas about gender relations, and my physical
dissimilarity to the pictures of women in pornographic magazines strewn
across the center, I did not fall into their “perfect woman” category.
Consequently, they did not flirt with me overtly; the ubiquitous presence of
pornography, however, added a sexual charge to the environment, and
although the young men did not see me as an appropriate romantic partner,
they nevertheless projected their sexual needs onto me (see Grenz 2003).
This is not uncommon; many feminist scholars have discussed the sexualized
dimensions of gender dynamics when female researchers study male research
participants. For example, Arendell (1997) describes how she encountered
sexism and inappropriate gestures when interviewing divorced men.
By the later stages of the research process, I had become an integral part of
the group; the sexual overtones had disappeared.5 Yet despite the underlying
sexual charge that generally characterizes mixed-gender research contexts,
my status as a woman also enabled me to act as sort of relationship counselor
without having to act as a “wise adult.” My research role resembled Williams’s
(1989, 17): “I was kind of a big brother, able to help with homework and even
babysitting, but most of all a willing and sympathetic listener.”
Getting Trusted with Inside Knowledge
Ethnographers cannot gain the trust of all group members by employing one
strategy alone. Indeed, I had to engage each young man in different ways to
secure his trust. This section describes some of the strategies I used with the
social workers, whom I refer to as the “gatekeepers,” as well as the men in the
group.
The Gatekeepers
I found it more difficult to persuade the three male social workers to grant me
access to the facilities than I had anticipated. Their initial reaction was
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negative: they felt that having a woman at the center would make their work
more challenging, and they worried that I would need protection from the
young men. I remember vividly my first phone conversation with the center’s
director—he attempted to redirect my interest to facilities that cater to girls or
younger populations. He stressed the young men’s violent behavior and illicit
activities, and noted that some had been very aggressive toward new social
workers in the past. Despite his hesitancy, I convinced him to at least meet
with me, citing my prior research with marginalized drug users and crack
dealers and substantial work experience with youths in different social work
settings.
During this meeting, the social workers at the center relayed numerous
incidents involving previous social workers and interns—incidents that the
young men later confirmed. For example, new male social workers had often
been subjected to violent “hazing” rituals that included threats with knives
and physical beatings. I would be the first woman to enter the facility in ten
years; the last attempt to integrate a female social worker had ended when
one of the regular visitors at the time threw a cup of hot coffee at her head.
These anecdotes made me wonder whether I would be able to establish any
rapport whatsoever with the population I wanted to study.
At the same time, I was curious about why the social workers described
“their guys” in such negative terms, and wondered if they were perhaps
attempting to preserve their expert or insider status regarding the young men
and their activities. As gatekeepers, they may have derived a sense of power
from having intimate knowledge about a population that was both wanted by
the police and discussed by politicians and the community at large (Weber
1980, 28, 760). In fact, they were among the very few who had inside knowledge about this population and who knew how to engage with them (AbuLughod 1988; Hill-Collins 1990). Although their hesitation to grant me
access could be interpreted as a fear of losing this monopoly, they were also
legitimately worried about my safety. The social workers displayed a gender
bias, or were at the very least reflecting the young men’s opinions of women
and desire for the youth center to remain a male-only environment. Yet,
instead of deterring me, the meeting only made me even more determined to
conduct my research at this particular facility. When at the end of this initial
meeting the social workers asked if I was still interested and I affirmed that I
was, they agreed to grant me a two-week trial period at the facility. My dedication to the project and willingness to face the young men impressed the
director, while his two colleagues openly told me they thought I would run
from the facility even before my trial period finished.
I assumed the official title of “social work intern.” According to the social
workers, this title would make it easier to justify my presence to the young
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men. My job as an intern was simply to “be there”—to help the social workers with practical tasks, or chat and play games with the visitors. In fact, my
tasks did not differ significantly from those of the social workers. The center
used a low threshold approach: the goal was to provide an at-risk population
with social assistance without expecting them to comply with the majority of
the rules or participate in structured programs. In a sense, the youth center
served, in the words of the director, “as the living room . . . these guys don’t
have.”
Many of my early interactions with the young men were influenced by the
gatekeepers’ advice and their predictions regarding the young men’s reactions to my presence. For instance, the social workers initially suggested that
the success of my research would hinge on what the group leaders, Akin and
Inanc (21 and 24 years, both Turkish descent), thought of me, so they pointed
me toward them. Yet they also repeatedly stressed that there was little they
could do to keep me from harm if things did not go well. “You have to understand,” the director warned, “it’s three of us and 70-80 guys who carry knives.
There is no way we can really protect you.”
In retrospect, many of my first impressions of the young men (and vice
versa) were influenced by the social workers’ opinions, which they shared
both with the young men and me. For example, they openly discussed with
other group members my initial inability to gain Akin’s trust and how I could
potentially improve our relationship:
Director: “X would have it so much easier if she smoked. She could just
sit down with Akin and share a cigarette. Smoking forms bonds.”
Talat (25 years, Turkish descent): “Yeah, I agree. You could have a much
more relaxed conversation.”
These conversations emphasized the significance of Akin’s acceptance for
me as well as for the other men. The message that I should impress the “Alpha
males” in the group stayed with me long into my research, often influencing
my behavior and obscuring the fact that I had indeed already gained the trust
of some group members. For example, they maintained that Inanc was one of
the most powerful young men: “If Inanc’s thumb goes down,” the director
told me on one of my very first visits, “you’ll be out of here in no time.” As a
result, I felt nervous about approaching him during the first few days. What
they did not know, however, was that Inanc was already losing status in the
group because of his heavy cocaine use, which the majority of the young men
condemned. Because the men never discussed their cocaine consumption in
front of the social workers, the latter continued to operate under the assumption that Inanc remained powerful. This was one of my first indications that
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the social workers were not always knowledgeable about intragroup politics
or what was going on outside the community youth center, which often
impacted the group dynamics inside the youth center.
In effect, because the social workers presented themselves as insiders, I
initially trusted their analyses of the group hierarchies more than I trusted my
own as an outsider—a role I eventually came to realize had its own potential.
The social workers’ claims to insider status in fact often impeded their knowledge of the group. For example, they often refrained from asking questions
about group dynamics or the drug trade since a “true insider” would likely
already know the answers. In my presence, they often presented their assumptions about group hierarchies and drug dealing as facts, thereby implicitly
reinforcing their insider status. Yet, I was probably in a better position to witness dynamics and politics because I was not already enmeshed in the group
(Fay 1996). I could pose detailed questions that only an outsider could ask
about group life and the drug trade, and the inside knowledge with which I
was increasingly entrusted allowed me to gain a more complete picture of the
group over time. The young men readily told me about Inanc and his cocaine
habit, for instance, when explaining the group rules by which they were
expected to abide and which Inanc had evidently overstepped.
Much later in the research process, a male social work student named Rob
applied to intern at the facility. The young men proceeded to humiliate him in
every way imaginable. One day, for example, some of the men grabbed Rob
by his feet and dangled him from the third-floor window, head-first, for several minutes while he screamed for his life. I witnessed at least ten instances
in which the young men spit into his food and then forced him to eat it; some
of the young men stole his bike and never returned it. One day I entered the
youth center with the director and found Rob chained to the staircase with a
bike lock. He begged the director to ensure his release, but the director simply
told him to “shut up.” He then turned to me and said: “It’s his own fault, he
behaves like a moron around them. This should teach him a lesson. He should
just leave.” I felt deeply sorry for Rob and unsuccessfully tried to convince
some of the young men to unchain him.
As I observed the dynamics between Rob, the young men, and the social
workers, I began to see the initial phase of my research in a different light. I
overheard conversations in which the social workers agreed with the young
men that Rob was “a moron” and laughed about their stunts, thereby compounding his humiliation. I started to consider how they might have contributed to the initial difficulties I had experienced. For example, in light of their
warnings, I had expected to be the target of some form of violent behavior
and was probably more guarded than usual. In all likelihood, the young men
were equally influenced by the social workers. This potentially initiated more
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discussions about me and my role at the center than might otherwise have
occurred. The social workers effectively claimed insider positions on both
ends.
On the one hand, I believe that the social workers’ hesitation about letting
me use “their facility” and their acceptance of the young men’s harsh treatment of Rob were the results of their perceived power—they monopolized
knowledge by not sharing information about “their” young men. On the other
hand, it is likely that some of their actions (siding with the young men, for
example, when the intern was humiliated, or allowing them to use the facility
to store drugs) were mediated by fear. Whether this fear was warranted or the
effect of the general public’s fear about the center and its involvement with
drug dealings is beyond the purview of this paper. Yet, it seems important to
acknowledge that working with a population that is generally feared may
influence one’s own perceptions. Moreover, the social workers had probably
been subjected to humiliations and trials themselves when they first tried to
establish their roles at the youth center. In turn, they probably felt that the
“newbies” (i.e., Rob and I) should undergo the same hazing process they had
endured.
Initial Interactions with the Group: Gender, Ethnicity, and
Inequality at Play
Although the social workers had warned me that “their” young men might
find ways to dispose of me rather quickly, my first day at the youth center was
relatively uneventful. The director introduced me as an intern, and over the
first few hours the young men and I mostly surveyed one another from a
distance. When I made attempts at small talk, they were largely ignored.
My gender played a significant role in how I was received and likely rendered both parties—myself and the young men—additionally insecure at the
outset. The group was used to new male social workers cycling through the
center—they knew how to respond to and test the trustworthiness of a male
“intruder” in their space. Finding a woman in their midst, however, presented
them with an utterly unfamiliar situation. According to 23-year-old Rahim,
who had a Turkish background:
Let’s face it X: You’re just showing up but nobody knows you—not a single
fucking person around here! And, of course, you’re saying that you’re a student
and want to write a book about us and all that bullshit. I mean, that’s all nice but
honestly, who is supposed to believe that shit? And how are we supposed to know
whether you’re cool or not? Let’s face it: this could have been the biggest nonsense!
. . . You are a woman . . . we can’t check you out the same way we’d do it with a
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guy. Nobody around here is going to beat up females or threaten them big time or
something like that. That’s why everyone was just staring at you for the first couple
of days and everyone was waiting for you to leave again by yourself. When that
didn’t happen, something just had to be done about it.
Furthermore, pursuing amicable relationships with females, as Jetmir would
later explain to me, was an alien concept to most of the young men: “Nobody
here has girlfriends to just hang out with. I’ve always thought that a friendship between men and women is just not possible” (Jetmir, 24 years, Albanian
descent).
Although the subject of women was one of the most discussed topics
within the group, women were rarely present amongst the group members.
Not only did they meet at the community youth center as an all-male group,
but they also had limited contact with women more generally—even with
their girlfriends—outside of the facility. When I asked why that was, Ibor (25
years, Bosnian descent) offered two explanations:
Ibor: You never want to fight about a bitch with your friends. That’s just not
on. If girls are around, politics will start. That’s no good for anyone.
Me: What do you mean by that?
Ibor: Well, some idiots may get horny because your girl is around. And then,
what do you do? Beat up your friends? Or they behave totally primitively. Or whatever.
As Ibor mentions, the young men did not want to fight over women, which
made their presence undesirable. At the same time, some of the young men
admitted that the girls they dated did not live up to their idea of “the perfect
woman,” which led them to think they should not introduce them to the
group. While the young men seemed to agree about what comprised this idealized image, they also recognized that being in a relationship requires compromises. Yet, this admission was only ever discussed with me during
one-on-one conversations, never publicly within the group. In this context,
my outsider status enabled me to access information that was not openly
shared among so-called insiders (Fonow and Cook 1991). Consider Georgio,
for instance, who revealed to me why he would never introduce his girlfriend
to the other men or discuss any relationship details with them: “Well, then
you have the guys laughing at you because they think her ass is too big or
because they think she’s not listening to you or whatever. I don’t want that
happening” (Georgio, 22 years, multinational background).
Given that the young men talked so much about women and our gender
difference was one of our “major status traits” (Hughes 1945), it is not
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surprising that they tested me against their idealized image in every possible
way. Almost every conversation we had returned at some point to women,
gender roles, and why I did not fulfill their criteria of a “real” woman. I was
aware that many of these conversations were attempts to incite reactions and
even impress me (for similar experiences, see Kauffman 1994, 180), but I
couldn’t help feeling awkward when they made remarks about my physical
appearance, my clothing, or my lack of “female” personality. As much as I
wished that comments like “X, did you gain weight? Your legs look a little fat
today” would have had no effect on me whatsoever, I caught myself thinking
about those comments more than once.
During the first stages of my research, I tried to minimize any signs of my
sexuality by purposely wearing extremely baggy sweatshirts, worn-out jeans,
and no make-up whatsoever (see Maher 1997). This ended up backfiring; I
was constantly subjected to negative comments about my appearance and
femininity. Although I endured their taunts, I often wished I could appear as
my usual self. The first time I wore a long skirt, which only happened several
months into my research, the young men commented on my appearance
incessantly and kept referring to the “unfeminine” clothing I typically
sported. I wondered if I had made too strong a statement with my clothing,
ironically triggering the very conversations I wanted to avoid. Ironically
enough, instead of using my clothes as a means of sexualizing me, the young
men talked about how unsexy I was. As many feminist researchers have
pointed out, gender is always salient (e.g., Arendell 1997; Presser 2005);
however, in those early days I mistakenly believed I could somehow “ease
the tension” by trying to efface signs of my femininity.
Although the young men talked about women constantly, they did not talk
with women about intimate matters, and their relationships rarely lasted more
than a few weeks. In fact, over the course of my five-year study, only five
group members were in relationships that lasted longer than three months.
Nevertheless, they were all sexually active on a regular basis—if not with
their current girlfriends then with prostitutes, or they had one-night stands.
In many ways, I assumed the role of a sexual educator: they expected me
to offer a female perspective on romantic relationships and gender relations.
In contrast to the men Horowitz (1986) studied, who initially identified her as
“the lady” and refused to discuss sexual matters in front of her, the young
men in my study constantly discussed sex and women (so long as they were
sexual partners and not steady girlfriends) in front of me and sought my opinions. Their intense interest in my sex life and sex in general was not only
amplified by their naivety about female sexuality but also by the fact that, for
the first time in their lives, they were on familiar terms with a woman and
could ask her (me) intimate questions. Significantly, this presented me with
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an opportunity to impress the young men and earn their trust: I had information to offer that they could not easily access from anyone else.
Thus, my status as a German woman who was relatively educated about
sexuality worked in my favor and became the unexpected basis for establishing trusting rapports. The young men were fond of repeating how they could
have never asked “their own” women the same kinds of questions they asked
me. For example:
Rahim: “X, come here, we’re having an argument.”
Me: “What’s it about?”
Ibor: “We’re talking about how often a woman has her period and this
moron thinks it’s 4 times a year! I’ve been telling him it’s just
twice.”
Rahim: “Whatever you idiot! X, tell him I’m right!”
Because of the young men’s avid interest in sexual matters, I was in a position to answer their questions and share my knowledge, which allowed me to
bring my own personality into the research relationship—a strategy that
many feminist ethnographers have encouraged others to incorporate into the
investigative process (Oakley 1981).
Given the young men’s ideas about how women ought to behave, our
views often clashed. Especially in the early stages of the project, the group
members took personal offense to what they regarded as my constant disavowal of my “female duties,” like when I refused to acquiesce to their
demands to “clean this fucking place.” My nonconformity to their gender
norms often led to discussions wherein the young men reaffirmed pernicious
stereotypes about how women should behave. However, these discussions
also became entry points for debates about larger gender questions. Although
their perceptions were conditioned by their cultural backgrounds, many of
these discussions were often staged and exaggerated. As my early field notes
indicate, the debates only became heated when we pushed each other’s
buttons:
Talat and Inanc asked me whether I can pick up the trash on the pool table. I say
“no.” The typical repartee—”Why not?” they ask, “Because that’s not my job,” I
say—ensues and more guys join in. Akin joins and says, “Why do you even discuss
that with her, she’s not a real woman. Having boobs does not make her a woman.”
I am annoyed by his remarks and ask why he thinks a real woman would clean the
pool table. We get deeper and deeper into the discussion. What started off as a
joke, becomes a loaded discussion about their moms and how they respect
everything they do. They don’t let me off the hook anymore. . . . I ask myself why
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I even allowed myself to be confrontational. Later on, Nermin and Mustaffer tell
me to not take everything so seriously.
These types of discussions mostly occurred at the beginning of my fieldwork.
As the research process continued, I realized their disconnection from the
genuine opinions of the young men. Later in the fieldwork, it became much
less important for each party to make strong statements about gender roles.
We were able to arrive at compromises on some of our views, and agreed to
disagree on other issues. Yet, in the early days these interactions allowed us
to act out our respective “roles”: the young men were able to assert themselves by expressing what was culturally and socially expected of them (not
only by each other but also by German society), and I was able to respond in
kind. Because we each held views about one another’s opinions that were
informed by our different cultural attitudes about gender, many of the discussions served to test our respective positions while providing a basis for growing familiarity. In essence, we used these situations to learn about each other’s
worlds. My outsider status facilitated my ability to gain inside knowledge
while our differing perspectives allowed us to maintain a helpful degree of
social and intellectual distance, forging the “space” in which “the actual work
of the ethnographer gets done” (Adler and Adler 1987, 17). As the research
progressed, our conversations about gender roles became less performative
and provocative, and less grounded in cultural rhetorics. Our mutual interest
in understanding each other in spite of certain incompatible opinions and
resolution to “agree to disagree” fostered respect that helped me gain their
trust. As my appreciation of the young men’s attitudes increased, so did my
awareness of my own role as a researcher, for “there is no self-understanding
without other-understanding” (Fay 1996, 224).
Gender and Ethnicity in the Field
Although our diverging opinions on gender roles provided a basis for establishing trust, it was not the only strategy that permitted me to gain everyone’s
confidence. In spite of sharing many common cultural reference points, the
young men did not comprise a uniform group; they were a heterogeneous
bunch. Although the social workers had emphasized the importance of targeting the leaders in order to succeed in gaining the group’s trust, I had to work
to secure the trust of each individual and subgroup, which required me to
respect different paces and employ a variety of tactics. My identity markers—gender, ethnicity, class, non-Muslim status—always played a role in
every interaction, but the degree to which they were salient varied depending
on the individual or subgroup.
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Within the group there was one small subgroup of four older youths—
Aissa (24 years, Moroccan descent), Rafet (23 years, Turkish descent),
Mustaffer (24 years, Turkish descent), and Nermin (21 years, Moroccan
descent)—who were highly respected because of their education and lifestyle
choices. Unlike the others, they had not only earned high school diplomas but
had also completed vocational programs and been legally employed at least
once. They didn’t take drugs or drink alcohol, and worked out at the gym
almost every day. Younger group members viewed them as role models and
admired them for their athletic bodies, their disciplined diet and exercise routines, and their education; older group members respected them for how they
successfully avoided the “bum” lifestyle. All four were also considered to be
tough to the extent that other members of the group avoided physical confrontations with them.
From the outset, these particular young men took an interest in me. Two of
them were considering quitting their jobs and going back to school, and the
fact that I was a student piqued their interest and opened up the communication channels. The first time we talked, they were very engaged and directed
the conversation; they inquired about me, my personal life, and my role at the
center. They also conveyed their unequivocal doubt that I would have any
success conducting research at the center:
Let’s face it: you just can’t handle this! You’re just clueless about us, why do you
even try? They will scare you off within two weeks and I swear, you will be
running away crying like hell and wishing you had never started all this. Don’t
ever say that we did not warn you about that! Why don’t you just look for a
kindergarten to work at? . . . Play with little kids who listen to you! This is just a
little bit too big for you! (Nermin, 22 years, Moroccan descent)
These early interactions were predictors of our future relationship. When we
spoke, they constantly alternated between positioning themselves as insiders—
affiliating themselves with the rest of the group—and as outsiders who could
teach me and share inside knowledge about the group, something usually only
reserved for insiders. As might be expected, they pivoted depending on which
role suited them best in a given situation. This kind of vacillation demonstrates
clearly that insider and outsider identities are not fixed categories but are
instead quite fluid (Mullings 1999, 340). Although the group’s ethos was quite
patriarchal and sexualized, for instance, the young men regularly distanced
themselves from these attitudes in one-on-one conversations with me.
Two weeks into my fieldwork, I was fortunate to have had an opportunity,
quite by chance, to build a rapport with these four young men and gain the
respect of many of the younger men in the process. The center had organized
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an outing to a nearby lake and I was tasked with putting air in the air mattresses. Nermin and Mustaffer stood beside me from start to finish and monitored my efforts with a defective air pump. After I finished filling the last two
mattresses, they seized them and were about to run off. I had already decided
not to swim on the trip, especially after listening to their highly sexual and
chauvinistic comments about the bodies of other women at the lake; I did not
want to give them the gratification of seeing me in a bathing suit. But when
they took for granted that the remaining two mattresses belonged to them, I
changed my mind. I stopped them from leaving and asked whether their
behavior did not seem strange to them—taking the last two mattresses and
leaving me without one even though I had done all the work to pump them
up. In hindsight, this comment probably had a positive effect on my relationship with these young men; however, it was nonetheless primarily a sign of
my own insecurity in that moment. I wanted to show the group that I would
not submit to their chauvinistic perception of women (see Bucerius 2008,
254). I thought I would only be able to build a strong relationship with them
if they viewed me as an equal, but my demand for equality at the lake outing
was premature. In that instance, I acted purely on impulse without evaluating
the overall situation, and simply assumed that they had taken the mattresses
because they thought that, as a woman, I did not deserve to have one. I made
a gendered assumption based on my own “map of consciousness” (Haraway
1991), and the gatekeepers’ advice on what to expect from the young men
still echoed in my head. In hindsight, Nermin and Mustaffer would have
probably claimed the two mattresses even had I been male. From their perspective, they had not taken the mattress from a female researcher but from
an outsider. After I protested, they looked at me in surprise and explained that
filling the air mattresses was one of my tasks as an intern, and that I should
not be entitled to use a mattress if the supplies did not permit. Although they
were talking with me as I filled the air mattresses, their reaction to my complaint illustrated that I was premature in presuming I would achieve a positive relationship with most people in the group (see Jacobs 1998, 166). We
had a very impassioned discussion about whether I was actually in a position
to make any kind of request. Looking back, I definitely was not. Finally, they
agreed to a compromise by suggesting a swimming race. In the unlikely event
of my victory, I could claim a mattress. They were very surprised when I
accepted their challenge. Prior to the race, they made sure that everyone was
aware of my “outrageous” request for a mattress and my honor-offending
assumption that I had any chance at all of winning the race.
As we prepared for the race, the discussion became increasingly sexist.
They were adamant that they would “rather die than lose against a woman”
and accused me of having completely underestimated their “Turkish and
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Moroccan blood,” which was “invincible—especially when it came to
women.” Walking to the lake, they double-checked several times that I could
actually swim (being solicitous while still performing their bravado): “Don’t
think that we care if you drown over there” (Mustaffer). Moreover, they
assured me that while I may be “smart enough to do useless book things,” they
were the ones who knew how to compete on a physical level. Once we arrived
at the lake, they generously let me choose the race course, but reiterated that I
was going to make a fool of myself and that it would be my own fault.
They lost the race. They did not know that I had been a competitive swimmer for many years, a fact that I only revealed to them after the race. Contrary
to my expectations, this revelation did not change their perception of the loss.
I had been confident that I would win all along, and expected them to feel
betrayed by my secret and claim that the race was unfair. Instead, they clung
vehemently to their views about women and “useless book people” and did
not even question the fairness. Naturally, other group members watched the
race, so defeat was especially embarrassing for Mustaffer and Nermin. When
I reached the half-way point in the race, I switched to backstroke so that I
could wave to the other young men on the shore as Mustaffer and Nermin
tried to keep up. After we reached the finish line, they appealed to me to
never mention the race again.
Before I began my research, I had planned to avoid any strategies that
would explicitly or inadvertently reinforce patriarchal power plays (see the
“bowling game” in Whyte 1943). The swimming race illustrates how I earned
some initial respect, especially among the younger group members who
seemed to admire my victory, in ways I never would have imagined. It
appeared that I had accomplished something that they themselves secretly
yearned to achieve: “I can’t believe you ripped them apart! Man, if only I
could swim that well” (Ayan, 21 years, Moroccan background). Others found
the defeat amusing. My win had no lasting influence, however, on my status
with anyone except the younger group members and the subgroup composed
of Aissa, Rafet, Nermin, and Mustaffer. Unlike the others, competition and
sport was very important to these four, so my win impressed them and had a
lasting impact. This marked the beginning of their trust. They began taking
me into their confidence about some aspects of their lives, but I only gained
fuller access to their information about the drug market many months later
once I had established a more solid field presence.
After this event, however, these four young men started to distinguish
themselves from the others: they participated less when the group started
indulging in patriarchal or sexualized taunts, and toned down their jousting
during our one-on-one conversations. Our most intimate conversations
always occurred when they assumed relative “outsider” positions to analyze
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my position within the group and told me that I will never be successful at
gaining trust. Yet, when particular group members engaged me, these four
young men sometimes still joined in, criticizing or insulting me. After such
events they would often evaluate how adept or clumsy my reactions had been
to other members’ verbal provocations. For example, after a long conversation about women’s social roles and how a “real woman” should serve “her
man” in which I offered a counter-perspective, Rafet said: “I swear this will
never work out if you’re always giving them such an aggressive reaction.
Take it easy sometimes. . . . Relax! . . . Just let them talk shit. If you try to
respond, you’re only giving them what they want.” My dynamic with this
particular subgroup was complicated and sometimes difficult to navigate. At
times it seemed as if they wanted to help me gain access, while at others they
participated in discussions of my ability—or rather, inability—to live up to
perceived gender expectations.
The Core Group
My victory during the swimming competition had no effect on my ability to
establish a rapport with members of the core group—those on whom the social
workers focused most of their daily attention. This core group was composed
of fourteen young men who spent considerable time at the youth center and
were heavily involved in drug dealing. They had garnered much respect from
the larger group as a result of their reputations for being successful dealers
with strong networks and good fighters who were willing to stand up for each
other. In comparison to other members of the group, they had the largest influence over the social workers; they incessantly negotiated new rules for themselves, lobbying, for example, for longer hours of operation or being allowed
to use the center outside of regular hours. Akin—one of the most respected
young men at the center—was part of this group. Some anthropologists believe
that conducting successful ethnographic studies, especially with groups of
individuals involved in illegal activity, requires being able to quickly surmise
the group dynamics and determine who has a strong reputation and who does
not (Fleisher 1998b). Leaders hold sway over the group and if they accept the
researcher, their approval will likely have positive effects on the ethnographer’s reputation (Berk and Adams 1970, 103; Jacobs 1998, 164; MacLeod
2009, 473; Whyte 1943, 294). By gaining favor with the so-called right people, the researcher may also enjoy a greater degree of safety and security in
unfamiliar and precarious situations (Bourgois 2003, 22.)
As previously mentioned, the social workers repeatedly and publicly
stressed the importance of gaining Akin’s trust. Throughout my first few
months at the youth center, they were very aware—as were other members of
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the group—that I had not yet established a bond with him. Because everyone
had placed so much emphasis on my gaining Akin’s trust, I initially undervalued—and even overlooked—the fact that I was indeed collecting fascinating
data from other group members. In some instances it hindered me from pursuing opportunities; I stopped younger group members from talking about
the drug market, for instance, because I was afraid they would get into trouble
if Akin found out. Akin certainly played a very important role in the group,
but I think the social workers exaggerated his status, which led me to overprivilege Akin and contributed to my insecurity in the early stages of the
study. Moreover, because they did not know much about the drug market, the
social workers were likely influenced by the common perception that one
dealer oversees an entire operation in a certain district; they were likely flattered by the fact that they had a good relationship with Akin. While Akin did
play an important role in the drug market, the drug scene did not abide by the
hierarchical structure the social workers assumed was at play. Ironically, their
focus on that relationship and attempts to pass as insiders, especially in front
of me, problematized their ability to maintain the distance necessary to appreciate the “wider perspective with its connections, causal patterns and influences” (Dwyer and Buckle 2009, 59).
The extent to which the gatekeepers made this a matter of public discussion
ultimately served to drive a wedge between Akin and me. During the first six
months, Akin demonstrated a profound dislike for me. Yet, as with the other
members, the process of gaining Akin’s trust hinged on conversations about
gender and class dynamics, and my role at the center in particular. He derided
me for shirking my “female” duties, castigated me for being a middle-class
student who was oblivious to “real life,” and ridiculed me for believing I could
gain their trust. In these conversations, the young men again reminded me that
I was flouting my responsibilities as an intern and especially as a woman, and
constantly stressed that my “book smarts” would never grant me access to
what actually goes on in the world beyond the university walls. In fact, they
perceived my abandonment of academia’s ivory tower as reckless, not brave.
The core group, and especially Akin, routinely used these ideas to galvanize
the group and rally them against me. In my attempts to mobilize my feminist
research principles, I resisted drawing gendered boundaries between the
young men and me (Lloyd, Ennis, and Atkinson 1994); however, Akin was
always set on bringing them to the fore in order to undermine my efforts.
He also became increasingly creative in planning little schemes to “make
[my] life hell on earth” (Akin). These started out as fairly harmless tricks:
once he locked me in the bathroom and expected me to scream for help in—
what he deemed—stereotypically female fashion. Most tests usually entailed
a sexualized dimension: he asked me provocative sexual questions; presented
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me with pornographic pictures; cornered me in a group and inquired about my
sex life; verbally threatened me with rape; and even locked me in a room with
him and started to masturbate (he stopped after thirty seconds). These last two
incidents occurred only once and were quickly resolved when I did not display
the reaction he was looking for (i.e., screaming, crying, or trying to escape).
These incidences only serve to highlight the significant extent to which the
dynamics were governed by not only gender but sexualized power plays.
Establishing a rapport with Akin was much harder than it had been with
any of the other members of either the core or larger group. I assumed different roles with each young men: for some, I was a great ping pong or dart
opponent or as an easy victim at pool; for others, an advisor on law enforcement–related questions or an open (“female”) ear; and with others, a tutor for
school work, a ghost-writer for job letters, or a coach in the weight lifting
room (Oakley 1981). Yet, Akin could not find any practical value in my presence. He had dropped out of school at age twelve and never aspired to receive
a degree, nor did he seek employment in the formal economy. As such, I
could neither help him with homework nor offer him my assistance with writing job letters. Furthermore, in contrast to most other group members, Akin
was surprisingly nonathletic and did not seem at all interested in playing
pool, the favored activity among most at the youth center. He did not have a
girlfriend, which precluded the potential for conversations about a relationship. Berk and Adams (1970, 103) state that “the greater the social distance
between the participant observer and the subjects, the greater difficulty in
establishing and maintaining rapport,” and this proved to be especially true in
my relationship with Akin. He viewed me as a person with whom he shared
no common ground and as a woman who totally contravened his views on
gender. As he would say:
I just expect my girlfriend not to ask any questions. It’s none of her business how
I make my money or things like that. If I want to tell her at some point, ok, if not,
fine as well. It’s just a matter of respect that she should not be nosy. That’s why
nobody around here would ever date somebody like you.
Akin was also perpetually confounded by my efforts to gain the young men’s
trust, and was fixated on our divergent backgrounds. For instance, he
remarked:
X, you’re a student. You’re intelligent . . . I get that. . . . You might have rich parents,
but no matter what you’re doing, no matter what you try, you will never know what
our life is like, never. You will not have a clue! There is no way that you could ever
completely understand! So, tell me: what exactly are you still doing here?
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While Akin clearly went to extreme measures to test my patience as well
as my sincerity about conducting research at the center, I never felt seriously
threatened by his actions. This is not to deny that, from a feminist standpoint,
his actions served as a form a symbolic violence: he attempted to exert power
over me and reverse the power relations that characterized our dynamic—
ones born out of the differences between our race, religion, education, and
class. In deploying a playful manner, Akin also attempted to disavow any
personal responsibility for his threats. Yet, because I drew on my feminist
principles to undermine his denigration efforts, he ultimately came to admire
my ability to not react to his scare tactics and tests. Ultimately, he admired me
for what he regarded “manly” ways:
I honestly don’t know any woman who would have stood this. If I just think about
that. . . . If I had to face thirty guys in bomber jackets with knives in their pockets
and whatnot who tell me that they are going to rape me . . . I would panic. Everyone
would. I can’t even believe that you didn’t run off crying for help . . . I don’t know
anybody who would not have fled. . . . Respect, X, respect. Honestly!!
Thus, by challenging feminine “reactive” stereotypes and, even more interestingly, by problematizing Akin’s views of women—German women in particular—and subverting his class-based idea of doctoral students (whom he
believed would flee once confronted with “real life”), I was able to gain his
trust. None of the others tested me to the same extent or attributed as much
importance to my ability to endure highly sexualized trials. When he eventually accepted me, he talked about how much it impressed him that I was able
to bear up with “this bunch of crazy guys.” Thus, my tenacity was crucial for
our development of a positive relationship.
Although Akin’s original tests were extreme, he later assumed an integral
role in the research process, becoming one of my most important research
participants. He always felt responsible for keeping me informed about
upcoming events, especially when it had to do with drug transactions. At the
same time, he shared his personal knowledge and experiences with me,
always making an effort to convey subjective truths about his world. His trust
guaranteed my access not only to well-established dealers, but unknown ones
as well. The doubts he once had about my ability to penetrate the group and
understand the world of my research participants vanished over time: “Come
on, you know how it is! I really don’t have to explain that shit to you. You’re
the only one who truly knows us.”
Field relations are built on reciprocity (Coffey 1999). In return for his
trust, Akin gained someone he could talk to about private family-related
issues. His parents had divorced several years earlier, an event he had
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successfully hidden from his friends.6 I listened to Akin and gave him advice
and psychological support, and he called me the “female best friend he never
had.” In effect, it was my outsider status that permitted me to develop intimate connections with Akin as well as the other young men.
Whereas their options were limited, the young men, including Akin, saw
me as someone with “choices” in life; in that sense I always remained an
outsider. They were always aware that I was a student collecting data, even
after I had adopted some of their dialect and gained their confidence. While
gender was not the only category that differentiated us, it was arguably the
least negotiable (see Horowitz 1986) and was incessantly referenced in our
arguments. Instead of hindering the research process, however, our differences facilitated it in many ways. As a woman I was able to answer their
questions about sex and relationships, and as an educated person I was able
to serve as a role model for the younger ones who were still aspiring to finish
school and show support by accompanying them, for example, to appointments with lawyers. My interest in them despite being German gradually
raised my status within the group and also allowed them a glimpse into a
world that had always piqued their curiosity but had never been available to
them.
Conclusion
In this article, I offer several important contributions to the field of ethnography. First, my research experiences challenge the long cherished assumption in anthropological research that “the key to understanding . . . appears
to be to build relationships of trust with people to gain privileged insider
status,” for without that insider status one “learns less” (Tope, Chamberlain,
and Crowley 2005, 489). Fay’s provocation, “Do you have to be one to
know one?” (1996, 9), raises the question of whether membership in a
group is in fact necessary or sufficient to gain in-depth knowledge. My
work demonstrates that I was able to develop an intricate understanding of
my research participants while remaining an outsider. Importantly, my outsider status encouraged the young men to trust me with inside information
that they would not otherwise have shared with “real insiders” (Fonow and
Cook 1991), such as when Akin divulged to me the story of his parents’
divorce.
Second, although gatekeepers are often regarded as providing points of
entry into a field setting, my work reminds us that they can hinder the process
of gaining the trust of the group. The gatekeepers at the youth center were
insiders who behaved as though they possessed “monopolistic or privileged
access to knowledge” (Merton 1970, 15), which initially had a significant
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impact on my perceptions of the young men and vice versa. In many ways,
the gatekeepers in this study misunderstood the group’s hierarchy and had
minimal knowledge of the young men’s activities outside the center, indicating that gatekeepers do not necessarily always have the inside knowledge that
they think or claim to have. I discovered that it is smarter to test gatekeepers’
assumptions rather than relying on them unquestioningly, as I did at the outset, which hindered my initial collection of useful data. A researcher is often
right to assume that gatekeepers may be too enmeshed within the group to
retain the distance necessary for analysis (Powdermaker 1966). They may
also have had ambivalent feelings or personal agendas that obscured their
ability to recognize the reality of a situation, such as in the case of Inanc,
whom they continued to believe was one of the most powerful members of
the group when in fact he had slipped in the ranks. Moreover, their repeated
privileging of Inanc seemed to serve as their own privileging tactic—a way
of reaffirming and justifying their insider status. In this sense, my work shows
how being—or assuming that one is—an insider can actually be a liability
since many assumptions go unquestioned. Being an outsider trusted with
inside knowledge, however, can be a great research asset (see also
Powdermaker’s 1966 motif of stranger and friend).
The third contribution this article makes is that very often, and especially in criminology, researchers believe that conducting effective research
that crosses gender, ethnic, and class lines is nearly impossible. As a result,
we often hire community-based research assistants to work with members
of groups involved in illegal activities that we are interested in studying, or
we at least attempt to match as many of our own identity markers with those
of our research participants. Gender is a particularly salient characteristic
when considering the differences between a researcher and her research
participants. When I give talks at criminological conferences, for instance,
most people’s first question to me is often: “How could you do this research
as a woman?” It is generally assumed that studying drug dealers or gang
members is a dangerous activity and should be left to male fieldworkers.
What goes unnoted, however, is that even male researchers studying maledominated groups that engage in illegal or illicit activities often feel that
they have to prove their masculinity by engaging in stereotypically masculine behavior. For example, Ferrell (1998) joined his participants in spraypainting graffiti and was eventually arrested. Bourgois (2003; e.g., 127ff)
engaged in alcohol consumption with his participants to facilitate more
open conversations, and Venkatesh (2008) even climbed the ranks of the
gang he was investigating to become a gang leader. Moreover, male
researchers are often either suspected of being spies from rival gangs
(Venkatesh 2008) or undercover police officers (Bourgois 2003; Jacobs
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1988). For the most part, I was not subjected to the same assumptions.
Female researchers may not have to engage in such activities precisely
because it is not expected that they perform “manhood acts” (Schwalbe
2005). For example, my research participants never urged me to consume
drugs or alcohol with them, and even indicated that I would lose credibility
were I to partake because of their bias that women ought not to consume
drugs.
In effect, being a female researcher who studies male-dominated groups
occupied with illicit or illegal acts is not a liability to overcome; however, it
does produce different points of access, just as having a different ethnicity or
class background would similarly impact one’s relationship with his or her
research participants.
It is not surprising that being a woman at once facilitated access (it permitted me to serve as relationship counselor, for example) and also impeded it in
other circumstances (I could not follow the young men into brothels and
observe their interactions with sex workers, who were among their biggest
cocaine clients). Overall, however, being a woman allowed me to participate
in conversations about women and sex, and serve as a sexual educator whenever required, all of which helped me secure their confidence and respect. As
a German woman, an identity upon which many project very particular and
denigrating stereotypes, I could obtain certain information that a male or a
non-German would likely not have been able to access. Importantly, the men
I studied did not equate me with “the typical German robot woman” who
“only cares about her career, career, career and nothing else” and “never
laughs, hates her children, and can’t cook at all” (Talat). In fact, they had
trouble identifying me with all the negative and xenophobic connotations
they associated with what it meant to be “German,” particularly since my
interest in the group signaled to the young men that I was not xenophobic.
Unlike the assimilationist efforts they experienced at school, my interactions
with them never signaled a desire to promote their assimilation into German
culture (Heitmeyer, Müller, and Schröder 1997, 21). They recognized over
time that I was honestly interested in them, and they were continuously asking about “the book” (similarly encountered by Tertilt 1996, 81). In many
ways, this study demonstrates that ethnographic research in criminological
fields of inquiry across gender, ethnic, and class lines in fact opens up opportunities for gaining access and trust, and ultimately a deeper and more
nuanced understanding of the research group. Researchers often make a mistake by assuming that the identity markers which render us as outsiders will
compromise our efficacy—that they are liabilities we must overcome. In fact,
I discovered quite the opposite—they were key to garnering “insider” information and to facilitating effective research.
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Acknowledgement
I would like to thank Kent Sandstrom and the three anonymous reviewers for their
invaluable feedback. I would also like to thank Brenna Keatinge, Waverly Duck, and
Iddo Tavory for their input on various drafts of the manuscript.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research,
authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Notes
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
I did not start to regularly “hang out” with them outside of the youth center until I
established a rapport with the core group members. In many ways, the youth center initially allowed me to interact with the young men in a way that would have
been much more complicated to establish in the “street.” Because women are
almost never present among the young men, approaching and seriously engaging
them in the streets would have been even more difficult, if not impossible, task.
Given that observations of illicit activities clearly raise legal and ethical questions, it is important to note that German universities did not have ethical review
boards (IRB) established at the time of this study. To date, there is still no U.S.
equivalent of the IRB in Germany. As such, this study was not subject to any
such oversight; however, I was a member of a national scholarship foundation
that nevertheless supervised the study at all stages. In addition to my supervisor
and other faculty at the University of Frankfurt, the foundation helped me navigate ethical as well as moral and legal concerns.
In order to protect the identities of the participants, I developed a strategy that
entailed storing my data at three separate locations and using pseudonyms for
each person, even when taking field notes. All tape recordings were destroyed
immediately after transcription.
This information was mostly based on word of mouth. To my knowledge, there
is no research that actually implicates particular community youth centers by
identifying them as hubs for drug dealing or reveals that certain centers play host
to more people involved in illicit activities than others.
According to one of the young men, Ozgur (21 years, Turkish descent) (all names
are pseudonyms) I was like a sister to many of them and was therefore sexually
out of the question.
The young men were perennially invested in distinguishing themselves from
Germans, whom they considered to be lacking in family values and morals. Thus,
difficulties at home or with family members were a taboo subject among the group.
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Author Biography
Sandra Meike Bucerius is an assistant professor of sociology and criminology at the
Department for Sociology at the University of Alberta. She has published in the areas
of immigration, drug dealing, and on broader issues of social inequality and marginalization and has coedited the Oxford Handbook for Immigration, Ethnicity and
Crime. Her monograph on her five-year ethnographic research will appear with
Oxford University Press in 2014.
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