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WHOSE SIDE ARE WE ON?

Theory, Practice and Allegiances in Prisons Research

A LISON LIEBLING*

This article reflects on sympathy and the problem of taking sides in research. It is impossible to be neutral, but is it possible to take more than one side? How far is our research distorted, and how far is it strengthened by forming a sympathetic understanding of those we study? What is the relationship between values and social science and how political are our choices about methods and perspectives? These age-old arguments are revisited in a contemporary context in which the superordinates as well as the subordinates feature in the authors research. The article asks whether synthesis is possible or desirable. These questions have important implications for researchers, but they also have significant consequences for the researched.

In 1967, Howard Becker published an influential article in Social Problems :To have valuesor not to have values: thequestion is alwayswith us.When sociologistsundertake to study problems that have relevance to the world we live in, they find themselves caught in a crossfire. Someurge them not to take sides, to be neutral and do research that is technically correct and value free.Others tell them their work is shallow and useless if it does not express a deep commitment to a valueposition (Becker 1967: 239).

He argues that, in fact, this dilemma is not about whether to take sides, but is about whose sideweareon . It is impossible to be neutral.Personal andpolitical sympathiescontaminate(or less judgmentally, inform) our research. But do they distort it? This lingering worry isnot explicitly addressed, but taunts us, as producers and consumers of research. Doesacquiring sympathy for those whose worlds we study undermine our professionalintegrity? Anddoes it matter which social groups draw these feelings from us? How do wetackle issues of publication, if our research results might damage or offend those we havecome to regard almost as friends?

The deep sympathy we may fall into with the people we are studying, Beckerassociates with deviants (Becker 1967: 240). It is this version of sympathy for the offen-der, the subordinateby far the most common in criminologythat he is concernedabout. He uses the term hierarchy of credibility to describe the typical accusation of biaslevelled at sociologists who take the offenders view:

We can use the notion of a hierarchy of credibility to understand this phenomenon. In any system of ranked groups, participants take it as given that members of the highest group have the right to definethewaythings reallyare. . . [C]redibilityand theright to be heard aredifferentially distributed throughthe ranks of the system. (Becker 1967: 241)

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* Senior Research Associate, Cambridge Institute of Criminology, UK. The author would like to thank Tony Bottoms, Nigel Walker, Robert Reiner and Jonathan Steinberg for helpful and insightful comments.

BRIT. J. CRIMINOL. (2001) 41 , 472484

the Centre for Crime and Justice Studies (ISTD) 2001


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The charge of bias is provoked when sociologists refuse to give credence and deferenceto an established status order and give most of their time and attention to the typically unheard. Becker argues that more studies are biased in the interests of responsibleofficials than the other way around. Yet accusations of bias are disproportionately directed at those who study or privilege offenders. This is unjustified, he argues, becauseofficials lie. They do this because they are responsible and things are seldom as they ought to be. Institutions are flawed, and therefore officials develop ways of denying andexplaining away failure. Accounts by offenders may expose these lies and are thereforediscredited. The sociologist who favours officialdom, however, will be spared theaccusation of bias (p. 243).

I want to consider this important question afresh: the question of bias and of takingsides.1 What is the effect of sympathy on our work? Are there always sides to be taken, asBecker and others argue? What if our sympathies fall more broadly than on one group?

What if we sympathize with everyoneoffenders (the subordinates), and those who labelthem, convict them, and wield power over them(the superordinates) too? What happensto the hierarchy of credibility then? We cannot deny its existence, Becker exhorts, but is it

always so clear how it is constructed? Superordinates have other kinds of power as well ascredibility, Becker asserts. What kinds of power, and to what extent? Who really gets todefine reality in research and why? How political is the research setting (in my case, theprison) and the process? In what situations, by whom and for what reasons might prisonresearchers be accused of bias and how much truth is there in such assertions? Is therealways and inevitably bias or can research seek to balance the competing perspectives of opposinggroups? What isgained andwhat is lost byattempting tomediate in this way?

In my experience it is possible to take more than one side seriously, to find merit inmore than one perspective, and to do this without causing outrage on the side of officialsor prisoners, but this is a precarious business with a high emotional price to pay. Theonly overt outrage I have encountered in my research career to date (and there has been

little), has been from some other sociologists, for trying to include in my research anattempt to understand and take into account the perspective of officialdom (seeGouldner 1975, chapters 1 and 2 on being accommodating). This is despite the validexhortations of Grimshaw and Jefferson and others that adequate policing researchrequires an exploration of the (under-researched) powerful and their decision making,as well as the study of suspects and all ranks in between (Grimshaw and Jefferson 1987). 2

Why is the same case not self-evidently true of prisons research? The lack of outrageencountered to date is not a sign that I have not been uncomfortably entangled in largeand small scale politics, skirmishes and negotiations, but that is a different point, which Ishall address separately below.

There is of course a distinction to be made at least in principle between theory -

neutrality (our vision of what is, and something which is impossible to achieve) andvalue -neutrality (our vision of what ought to be, which it may be possible to suspend to a

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1 Gouldner argues: . . . as sociologists grow older they seem impelled to make a pilgrammage to. . . the problem of the relationsbetween values and social science (Gouldner 1975: 1). Argh.

2 Although there was a certain amount of outrage encountered as a result of their study of policing (see Grimshaw and Jefferson1987). And again in policing, Robert Reiner is credited with carrying out sophisticated and influential research which brought the wrath of the hard left during the 1970s because he appreciated the tragically inescapable task of managing, often coercively,the symptoms of deeper social conflicts and malaise (Taylor 1999: 7).


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degree, at least during the research fieldwork process). This is following Webersdistinction between value- neutrality and value- relevance , but not necessarily accepting hiscase that value-neutrality should be our goal as social scientists (see Weber 1949;Gouldner 1975). The relevance of our research is its possible cultural, political andmoral implications. We canto some extentdescribe what is without always makingexplicit what ought to be, letting the data speak for itself. The suspension of value

judgment through the research (and most of the report writing) process may in the endbe a more effective way to play a part in what ought to be. 3

Before I return to this important and difficult debate about values, let us return to thequestion of the effects of sympathy and taking sides.

The Role of Sympathy in Prison Research

Does acquiring sympathy for those whose worlds we study undermine or add to ourprofessional integrity? It depends on how this influences our behaviour and where theboundaries lie. For the interviewing process in particular, but also for other aspects of theresearch enterprise, empathy is important. The capacity to feel, relate, and becomeinvolved is a key part of the overall research task. Research is after all, an act of humanengagement. To achieve criminological Verstehen subjective understanding of situatedmeanings and emotionsresearchers have to be affectively present as well as physically present in a social situation. Some turmoil is productive. After all, how do we know?Human agents think with the body as well as with the mind. A glance may be felt as well asseen. We know, on walking into a room, that there has been an argument. We rec-ognizeat a barely conscious levelpasts, similarities, understandings, in each other.Researchers draw on their personal, artistic, emotional, human resourceson bodies of knowledge which lie beyond the orbit of traditional academic discourse (Ferrell andHamm 1998: 257). Effective research is grounded in these investments, exchanges,understandings. In addition to technical skills, researchers need expressive immersionin the dynamics which construct deviance, crime, prison (p. 255). This dimension of sociological research is captured by (but is not necessarily restricted to) ethnography.

Why ethnography? 4 The term derives from the Greek ethnos, meaning people, andgraphein, meaning to depict (Ferrell and Hamm 1998). It is about human curiosity about and attentiveness to the lives of others. Its earliest beginnings were in anthro-pology. The dictionary definition of the term is the scientific description of racesand peoples with their customs, habits and mutual differences ( New Shorter Oxford ). It takes the typically ancient Greek position somewhere between the presumption of pronouncing on everything, and the despair of comprehending anything (Bacon 1620,

in Hammersley and Atkinson 1983). Ethnography appeals to our instinct to trust not

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3 That is, there is a difference between what Gouldner calls accommodation, and strategyoperating with some self-restraint inorder to forestall or offset potentially greater restraints levelled at us by powerful others.

4 Its main features can be summarized as: a strong emphasis on exploring the nature of particular social phenomena, rather thansetting outto test hypotheses about them; a tendency to work primarily with unstructureddata, that is,data that have notbeencodedatthe pointof datacollectionin termsof a closedset ofanalytic categories; investigationof a relatively smallnumber ofcases,in detail;andanalysisof datathat involves interpretation of themeaningsand functionsof human behaviour, withan emphasison descriptionandillustration.Here, I am using the termbroadlyto coveractivities likeparticipantobservation, andall thehangingout thatmight surround (for example), semi-structured interviewing.


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others rules and realities, but to trust the force of our own understanding, and do thehard thinking required in the art of inquiry. To do ethnographic research in a prison,

you need time, the equivalent of a mud hut (e.g. a portacabin, in one recent experience),paper and a pencil. You might introduce a tape-recorder and other refinements, but

what you need most of all is full use of your self .Ethnography is the most basic form of social researchand resembles the way in

which people ordinarily make sense of their world. Sometimes this is regarded as itsmajor strength and sometimes this has been regarded as its major weakness. It caninclude observation, participation, interviewing and almost any other form of interaction between ourselves, the researchers and the social world. The critique of ethnography is that it is messy; it is beleaguered by confessional outpourings and it hasnot always critically addressed its own context as flowing out of colonialism (Marcus1994, in Denzin and Lincoln 1994). So, although certain forms of ethnography havebeen criticized, as a basic social research approach it continues to be validatedethnographic classics (like Sykess Society of Captives ; Beckers Outsiders , etc.) withstandthe test of time much better than many of their positivist competitors. Ethnography has

departed from its traditional striving forobjectivity anddistance and its faith in the trans-parency of reality (Marcus 1994: 568) and has largely conceded to the value of involvement, perspective, and subjectivity. As a practice, it has a special value in theprocess of discovery,or in the remaking of realities. Ethnography grounds our thinkingin the observable world in order to generate intellectual insight. Its approach acceptsthat world views are situated in meanings constructed by language, symbols andpractices; it aims to fill the gap between correlation and explanation, throughmeaningful understandings. It asks what and why, looking beneath official definitions of reality. For this task, considerable skills, training and involvement are required. 5

But can we become too sympathetic, partial, native? Certainly. This is perhaps thecentralproblem in social research: managing the tension between objectivity and partici-

pation (the old theological question of how to be in but not of the world).6 We have tooperate within clear boundaries set by the research task, but whereare these boundaries?

And who says? Do feelings of affection, identification, friendship, trust and allegiancebelong in the research world? Perhaps the boundaries are not always so clear. In my experience (both my direct experience and the experience of watching researchassistants and colleagues) there is a link between openness, warmth, devotion to thetask, the capacity to be sympathetic, and the depth at which the research processoperates. The more affective the research, in terms of shared feelings and experiences,the better the fieldwork gets done on the whole. 7 The question of what happens next andhow the data are handled is another matter, requiring a little more distance. Allegiancesdeveloped during the research process make us wish to be sensitive and diplomatic

throughout the analysis and writing process as well as rigorous. This keeps the field open

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5 There is, of course, more to descriptive studies than description. There is also analysis. These activities can, with effort, beseparated, to some degree.

6 And as Richard Sparks once remarked, only God manages it!7 Although clearly this is not always the case and some researchers go native, breach boundariesor become over-involved.One of

the difficulties of prisons research, in my view, is that those researchers who feel sufficient sympathy cannot bear very much prisonsresearch, and those who are the best often move on to less painful topics.


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to us, enables us to operate effectively, and makes the research process properly careful.Or does it?

The Power and Credibility of Superordinates (in Prison Research)

It is curious to me that a creed of sensitivity to our research participants seems to beaccepted in some directions and not in others. Since the 1960s, the perspective of thesubordinate prisoner (with occasional forays into the views of the next in linesubordinate prison staff) has had intellectual hegemony in prisons research. Beingappreciative towards the deviant or prisoner is a valid and credible enterprise. I wholly agree with this position (subject to a certain restraint on romanticism or noble savage

versions of sympathy). But why is it less acceptable to offer the same degree of appre-ciative understanding to those who manage prisons. Is it because they wield power? Their

voices are already legitimated? This assumption is simplistic, and confuses taken-for-granted assumptions or a political stance with objectivity. Why are we not so curious

about the constraints under which the so-called powerful operate? Why are we not fascinated by the under-use as well as the over-use of power in real social practices? To what extent do we really understand the complexities of using authority, of beingoperational in a prison? Why is sympathy reserved for the offender and denied to those

who (sometimes in good faith) work in criminal justice, with their own lives, stories,pains, motives and understandings (a question Gouldner (1975) also raised in hisresponse to Becker)? Becker argued that responsible officials have sufficient power andcredibility to define reality. They construct a version of the truth: they lie, because they are responsible and things are seldom as they ought to be. To take this for granted issociologically naive. It is as false as the assumption thatoffenders always lie. Dont people,in the right research environment, just want to tell their side of the story and be heard?

Some powerful officials lie, play games, fool themselves and others, or defend theindefensible. But so do some offenders. Most (in my experience) simply want toparticipate in theaccount: This ismy world andI will share it with you.But you must treat it kindly. Nothing distinguishes the offender from the governor or civil servant, in thisrespect. As Gouldner argues:I cannot imagine a human sociology that would be callous to the suffering of superiors. A sociology that ignored this would, so far as I am concerned, manifest neither a respect for truth, nor a sense of common humanity. (Gouldner 1975: 36)

Of course there are major differences in the respective freedoms and constraints of different players on the criminal justice stage. Prisoners are, whilst in prison, vulnerable

to abuse and violence, neglect, indifference and brutality. There are many appallingexamples of such realities (see for example, HMCIP 1999a, b) but there are alsoexamples of their absence andof efforts to attain fairness, decency andcivility against theodds. These features of the prison world make it more important to get at the realitiesand variations at senior levels of such institutions in credible and sensitive ways.Punishment is always beset by irresolvable tensions, as David Garland tells us (Garland1990). Surely to ignore the ways in which these contradictions are administered andtensions handled is to simplify imprisonmentto depict it as uniform and as little morethan civil war (a society engaged in a struggle with itself; Garland 1989: 1011). Both of

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these characterizations are severely limited; complacent, according to Gouldner (1975:54). As he argues:

To have a sense of mans common humanity does not demand a superhuman capacity to transcendpartisanship. Buta partisanship that is setwithin theframework of a largerhumanistic understanding is

quite different from one devoidof it. This is onedifference between themerely political partisanshipof daily involvements, and the more reflective and tempered partisanship which may well be suchobjectivity of which we are capable . . . There are works of art that manifest this objective partisanship.The dramas of the great classical tragedians are a magnificent case in point. What makes them great istheir objectivity;andwhat makesthem objectiveis their capacity to understand even thenobility of theirPersian enemies, even the dignity of their barbarian slaves, even the bumbling of their own wise men.They do indeed express a viewpoint which in some sense does take the standpoint of both sides, anddoes so simultaneously. If great art can do this, why should this be forbidden to great social science?Gouldner (1975: 523)

Balancing Competing Perspectives

In a recent research project, a small team was invited to explore the nature and quality of staff-prisoner relationships in a single maximum security prison. We used a mainly ethnographic approach, and tried to look in detail at the attitudes and behaviour of staff and prisoners, with some exploration of senior managers perspectives. We spent a totalof nine months in the establishment, with the aim of taking a broadly appreciativeapproach (see Liebling et al . 1999). We discussed our results with staff and prisoners, at some specially convened and some existing group settings. The report contained somepositive messages, some negative ones and an analysis of the way things were and ways

forward. The research was published quickly and circulated widely (Liebling and Price1999). Both staff and prisoners told us we had got under the skin of the prison, and that what we had written reflected a world they recognized. This was despite the fact that staff and prisoners held (not surprisingly) very different views about our subject. Both groups(and others) responded very positively to the research and took its critique seriously,engaging in a very real consideration of its implications.

The key issue in our account related to the use of discretion by prison officers. Weargued that there are presently twocompetingmodels (not mutually exclusive, but idealtypes) of prison officer workthe rule following or compliance model favoured by risk-averse officials or those who make and manage policy (Model A); and the negotia-tion model actually delivered by most prison staff (Model B) (except in exceptional

cases). There are dangers in both approaches. Each model has rather different implica-tions for our vision of how prisons work, how staff should be selected, trained andmanaged, the typeof relationships prison officers develop with prisoners, and howorderand security are legitimately obtained. Each model (or each ideal type) can makecompeting claims for legitimacy (see Liebling 2000). We argued that whilst prisons aremanaged, and policies are conceived and evaluated under the assumptions of Model A,in practice most of what goes on in prison goes on under Model B. Little guidance orreflection takes place on how to bridge this gap. This analysis constituted in many waysscathing critique (managerial terrorism, one governor remarked), but it was accepted,

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Politics and prison research

Any research takes place within a political landscape, and can have political conse-quences, whether this is directly sought after (as some political-activist criminologistsmight) or considered irrelevant. The search for truth can still take place, provided that

political goals do not override this search, and a strong empirical base is pursued (seeBottoms 1999: 33, on the primacy of truth; and Gouldner 1975: 55-6 on its complexity). 10But this is a difficult business. 11 There are pressures operating at several levels and many minefields to fall into (see Liebling 1999). Let me use a recent example. I was asked in

August 1999 by the Prison Service to lead a small independent survey of prisoners viewsabout a large London local prison. The request came as a result of an early warningoffered to the Director General by the Chief Inspector of Prisons that a damningunannounced inspection had just been completedand the published report was likely tobe highly critical. There were allegations of brutality and intimidation, and indicationsthat prisoners were in a stateof sheer terror. There were growing differences of opinionbetween the Director General and the Chief Inspector as an increasing number of suchcritical reports were being published, apparently targeted at high profile establishmentsin one area of the country. It looked as if the Chief Inspector might be waging a politicalcampaign. On the other hand, it was possible that this large London local was in a very poor state (despite some contra-indications). Independent evaluation was necessary.I was invited to consider carrying out the work, to form a judgment, and report to theDirector General on the views of prisoners about the prison. 12

The project was of interest for several reasons. It would be well resourced (and wouldinvolve a team), I would have access to sensitive information, there was a clear researchquestion and the Director General was genuinely interested in receiving an honest account. The issues raisedabout staff-prisoner relationships, the use of discretion, theoperation of segregation unitswere issues of major and cumulative interest to me at the time. There were several risks: I might disappoint either the Director General or theChief Inspector by being critical. It was possible that staff were out of control, and that litigation and disciplinary action was inevitable. Staff at the prison were feeling bruisedand defensive, and might be hostile to any further inquiry. Prisoners might have workedout that being critical of London local prisons to outsiders was a new and effective game,as a result of media interest in previous newsworthy breaks.Theremight be all typesanddegrees of hidden agendas lying behind the research request. One open agenda for theresearch was that, in addition to achieving a clearer picture, there were guarded hopesthat it might help in the handling of publication. The political complexity addedinterest (it is surely part of any penological research agenda). In the interests of truth(motivated by genuine curiosity), I decided to accept the request, making a few suggestionsastowhomIwouldlikeontheteam. 13 Wasnt it all, however daunting, part of the larger task of seeking to understand prisons?

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10 Gouldner describes the search for truth as the search for something more, for other values that may have been obscured,denied. . .for wholeness and human unity, a quasi-religious impulse (p. 556).

11 Even Socrates never insisted that all views must be at hand before the dialogue could begin (Gouldner 1975: 10).12 For an account see Liebling et al., 2001.13 Thereis ofcourse a legitimate questionabouthowresearcherscometo beinvitedto carryout such weighty tasks.A reputation for

integrityand independencewithinthe PrisonServicecan createthe risk of being regardedas inthe PrisonServices pocket in othercircles. This is a frustrating but creative tightrope to walk.


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The outcome of the research was a very critical report. Prisoners did not feel safe fromstaff, they did not feel respected; they were not involved in constructive activities inprison and they did not feel that they were being assisted to maintain contact with theirfamilies. There was a very strong culture of intimidation in the establishment, and anamazing unwillingness by senior managers to acknowledge these difficulties.Staffprisoner relationships were poor and there was an unhealthy preoccupation withdiscipline in the prison.Staffwere suffering fromhigh levels of sick absence, low moraleand a lack of direction (Liebling et al . 1999). Our report was treated with caution, it washandled in mischievous ways, the Governor of the prison was removed and our results

were not published, despite a real attempt at diplomatic presentation. We were howeverinvited to engage in discussions with people in high places about the quality of life in theestablishment and some of the reasons for its distressing culture. We developed the study into a much broader project about measuring the quality of prison life, and thoseresponsible for themanagement of the prison involved us in their decision making about its future and in discussions about similar problems in other establishments. It wasdifficult not to be outraged by what we found. One senior official asked us for individual

cases giving evidence of physical brutality. We had undertaken the survey on the under-standing that confidentiality was assured. Those prisoners who did talk about direct andindirect instances of brutality did not want to be named and had not complained for fearof the consequences. What is the researchers role in these circumstances? Is neutralitydesirable, achievable, relevant? The research was arguably significant in achieving some(still resisted) acceptance of the truth about the prison andits culture. One wrong moveby the research team (speaking to the press, giving evidence in prosecutions, seekingearly publication) would have discredited this truth and rendered it powerless. As it is,the power and influence of the study was precarious and limited. The political outcomedepends on the integrity, activities and continuing attentions of key players in a prisonservice which is largely resistant to neutral truths, when these truths are unexpectedly

critical.There have been other difficult situations. Should we accept invitations to carry out research on policies we disapprove of? Should we remain in institutionscollectingdatawhere violence and brutality are practised? What should we do when we disagree

with our colleagues about our own practices? These are taxing and vital questionsandin practice, are resolved in unsteady and imperfect ways. There is high emotionaldrainage along the wayand always the threat of treading on a live mine in theminefield.

More mundane difficulties abound. Research teams are increasingly asked for feed-back on research results at early stages on a project. During one project, for example,our emerging results showed major differences between an establishments wings in

the use of a new policy, and major differences in wing style. We discussed the results with the governor of the prison half way through the research as requested, only to returnto the prison on a subsequent occasion to find that the senior staff had been completely reorganized, to even the wings out a little. There was a wing manager reshuffle. Staff greeted us more or less warmly on our next visit, but a few remarked sharply, Oh, its youtwo, back again. Does this mean I have to pack my office up?. I have also been caught upin power struggles between senior managers in conflict,with emerging research findingsor my off-the-record comments about them being used as a weapon in the crossfire. Ihave witnessed the same happening to colleagues.

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My argument, following his, is that empirical research requires the same attention tosynthesis. Serious attempts to synthesize (analyse the whole) have to make sense of different perspectives. Allegiance to a single perspective or unthinking eclecticism (thetaking on board of different perspectives but no attempt to synthesize them) in empiricalresearch, are both limited approaches, which at their worst are difficult to distinguishfrom administrative or politically driven inquiries and investigations. Analysis (thedifference between administrative empiricism and good quality research) involvesreflection, deconstruction, moral engagement and sensitivity to possible political conse-quences. Synthesis between different or competing perspectives, within this broadanalytic framework, sharpens our focus in exactly the same way that Bottoms describes

when theory and data are welded together in an ongoing cumulative search for thetruth (Bottoms 1999: 15). In this sense, our allegiances, and our struggle to balancethem, can be a crucial part of our research.

This isnot the viewof some of my colleagues,whose allegiances areclearer, whose urgeto protest and defend the offender are more marked, and whose moral courage andsense of what is right sometimes troubles me. I was intrigued to read Laurie Taylors

account of his recent interview with Robert Reiner (for Radio 4s Thinking Allowed).Twenty years ago, Reiner suffered the wrath of the hard left by refusing to go along withthe simplistic view that the police were no more than instruments of the state whocynically used the issue of crime on the streets as an excuse to introduce more repressivesocial control (Reiner 1998: 845). Radical students of the day referred to the police asfascists and Nazis. Reiner, whose own parents had survived the holocaust, argued that the police were neither paragons nor pigs: they were doing the tragically inescapable

job of managing, often coercively, the symptoms of deeper social conflicts and malaise. Was this too conciliatoryor the careful perspective of a man who understood, at a very deep level, the need to understand? Taylor retells Reiners encounter at a policeconference (see Reiner 1998: 90-2), where an official from the Police Federation

declared to a group of chief constables that:no one should talk to him because he was born in Hungary and [is] therefore a dangerous red. WhenReiner asked the man how he knew the details of his birthplace, he calmly replied, Ive seen your file.He never mentioned the incident to friends on the hard left. It might have aroused too much envy.(Taylor 1999: 7)

To address these questions about perspectives in the end includes accounting for thebiography or psychological configurationof the observer: who is the Iwhoobserves andinterprets? How do we define intellectual integrity; and is it possible to have what StanCohen described (Cohen 1998: 99) as a double loyalty, both to political and social

values, and to social scientific researchand to keep them in any sense distinct? To

believe in the possibility of some social science truths (for example, is there brutality in alocal prison and what form does it take?) does not necessarily imply that there is a fixedreality or master narrative at the level of explanation (see again Cohen 1998). We cansuspend our value judgments until we have a better sense of what is (or even, for thesceptical, what might be). Our values are of course relevant when we are more deliber-ately analytic about our discoveries, when we seek theoretical insights, when we are

working out what their meanings might be, and, if possible, in our realist moments, what ought to flow from them. As Cohen argues: our persistent scepticism . . . takesplace at a different level from our policy choices (Cohen 1998: 119). Critical and

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theoretical reflection has a major relevance because it makes facile gestures difficult(Cohen 1998: 120, citing Foucault). To achieve this important goal, we need to persist inresearch activities that are apparently irrelevant, as well asat the same time asthosethat are.

Does this amount to closet positivism? I doubt it. Cohen argues that there aredifferent levels of value-driven activity: a commitment to honest intellectual enquiry; apolitical commitment to social justice; and the pressing demandsof social realitypolicy makers and assorted citizensasking for short-term humanitarian help. He maintains:It is quite possible to recognize the contingency of your values, language, and conscience, yet remain

wholly faithful to them. (Cohen 1998: 122)

These values are in tensionbut living with this complexity is a more legitimate route totake than trying to control or eliminate it. There are other important questions to ask: inour accounts, what role does gender play, in our attitudes towards ourselves and inothers attitudes to us? Where does any truth liein allegiances, in careful researchmethods, or in a set of principles applied to all human agents in a research encounter

subordinates and superordinates alike? Or in all of these, cautiously brought together?These are important and difficult questions, with serious consequences for theresearched. Whose side are we on?Theside of prudent, perhaps reserved, engagement.

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