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Constructions of Deviance
Social Power, Context, and Interaction

EIGHTH EDITION

PATRICIA A. ADLER
University of Colorado

PETER ADLER
University of Denver

mere Geert
Learning’
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Social Power, Context, and
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 HK
To Diane and Dana
Who remind us that the zest of life lies near the margins

and

To Chuck
Who brings out the deviance in everyone

and

To John
Who. showed us the miracle of life and rebirth

and

To Jane
Who lives the ordinary as deviant

and

To Dubs and Linda

Who remind us what are friends are for

and

To Lois and David

Who allowed our nephews their independence to be deviant

and

To Marc
Who taught us that dreams can come true

and

To Asher Isaac Adler

Who made our dreams come true
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Contents

PREFACE xi
ABOUT-THE EDITORS xvi
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS xviii

General introduction 1

PART | Defining Deviance 11

1. On the Sociology of Deviance 17

Kai T. Enkson

2 Applying an Integrated Typology of Deviance to Middle-Class

Norms 25
Alex Heckert and Druann Maria Heckert

Three Perspectives

3 Relativism: Labeling Theory 40

Howard S. Becker

4 Natural Law and the Sociology of Deviance 45

Anne Hendershott

5 Social Power: Conflict Theory of Crime 51

Richard Quinney
vi CONTENTS

PART II Theories of Deviance 57

6 Functionalism: The Normal and the Pathological 73

Emile Durkheim

7 Social Structure and Anomie 78

Robert K. Merton

8 Differential Association 85
Edwin H. Sutherland and Donald R. Cressey

9 Control Theory 89
Travis Hirschi

10 Feminist Theory 98
Meda Chesney-Lind

11 The Constructionist Stance 105

Joel Best

PART Ill Studying Deviance 109

12 Child Abuse Reporting 115

Douglas J. Besharov with Lisa A. Laumann-Billings

13 Survey of Sexual Behavior of Americans 122

Edward O. Laumann, John H. Gagnon, Robert T. Michael,
and Stuart Michaels

14 Researching Dealers and Smugglers 132

Patricia A. Adler

PARTIV Constructing Deviance 149

Moral Entrepreneurs: Campaigning

15 The Social Construction of Drug Scares 159

Craig Reinarman

16 Blowing Smoke: Status Politics and the Smoking Ban 171

Justin L. Tuggle and Malcolm D. Holmes
 CONTENTS vii

17 The Disadvantage of a Good Reputation: Disney as a Target for

Social Problems Claims 182
Joel Best and Kathleen S. Lowney

Differential Social Power: Labeling

18 Legitimated Suppression: Inner-city Mexican Americans and the

Police 192
Robert J. Duran

19 Homophobia and Women’s Sport 206

Elaine M. Blinde and Diane E. Taub

20 The Mark ofa Criminal Record 217

Devah Pager

Differential Social Power: Resisting Labeling

21 The Saints and the Roughnecks 229

William J. Chambliss

22 Doctors and the Context of Medical Crime and Deviance 243

John Liederbach

PART V Deviant Identity 253

Identity Development

23 The Adoption and Management ofa “Fat” Identity 263

Douglas Degher and Gerald Hughes

24 The Paradox of the Bisexual Identity 274

Martin S. Weinberg, Colin J. Williams, and Douglas W. Pryor

25 Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia 285

Penelope A. McLorg and Diane E. Taub

26 Challenging a Marginalized Identity: The Female Parolee 297

Tara D. Opsal

Accounts

27 Convicted Rapists’ Vocabulary of Motive 309

Diana Scully and Joseph Marolla
viii CONTENTS

28 The Devil Made Me Do It: Use of Neutralizations by

Shoplifters 325
Paul Cromwell and Quint Thurman

Stigma Management

29 Contesting Stigma in Sport: The Case ofMen Who Cheer 335

Michelle Bemiller

30 Moral Stigma Management Among the Transabled 348

Jenny L. Davis

31 Passing as Black: Identity Work Among Biracial Americans 361

Nikki Khanna and Cathryn Johnson

32 Fitting In and Fighting Back: Homeless Kids’ Stigma Management

Strategies 372
Anne R. Roschelle and Peter Kaufman

33 Dark Secrets and the Collective Management of Inflammatory

Bowel Disease 388
Alex I. Thompson

PART VI The Social Organization of Deviance 401

Loners

34 Drug Use and Disordered Eating Among College Women 409

Katherine Sirles Vecitis

Online Communities

35 Cybercommunities of Self-Injury 421

Patricia A. Adler and Peter Adler

Subcultures

36 Subcultural Evolution: The Influence of On- and Off-line Hacker

Subcultures 431
Thomas J. Holt
 CONTENTS ix

Gangs

37 Gender and Victimization Risk among Young Women in

Gangs 441
Jody Miller

Formal Organizations

38 Hezbollah’s Global Criminal Operations 455

Michael P. Arena

State—Corporate Crime

39 State—Corporate Crime in the Offshore Oil Industry: The BP Oil

Spill 465
Elizabeth A. Bradshaw

PART VII Structure of the Deviant Act 473

Individual

40 Artificial Love: The Secret Worlds of iDollators 477

Nancy J. Herman-Kinney, David A. Kinney, Kara Taylor,
and Ashley M. Miller

Cooperation

41 Subculture and Community: Pain and Authenticity in SM

Play 491
Staci Newmahr

42 Selling Excitement: Gender Roles at the Male Strip Show 504

Maren T. Scull

Conflict

43 Sexual Assault on Campus 519

Elizabeth A. Armstrong, Laura Hamilton, and Brian Sweeney

44 Opportunity Structures for White-Collar Crime 537

Oskar Engdahl
 CONTENTS

PART VIII Deviant Careers 545

Entering Deviance

45 Deciding to Commit a Burglary 549

Richard T. Wright and Scott H. Decker

Managing Deviance

46 Social Smoking: A Liminal Position 559

Jason Whitesel and Amy Shuman

Career Stages

47 Pimp-Controlled Prostitution 573

Celia Williamson and Terry Cluse-Tolar

Exiting Deviance

48 Shifts and Oscillations in the Careers of Drug Traffickers I85

Patricia A. Adler and Peter Adler

49 Obstacles to Exiting Emotional Disorder Identities 597

Jenna Howard

REFERENCES FOR THE GENERAL AND PART

INTRODUCTIONS 608
 HK

Preface

an you remember all the way back to the year 2012? It was the year that the
United States doubled down and reelected its first multiracial president, a
seeming impossibility just a few years ago. Kate Middleton, of British royalty,
was hounded by paparazzi and photographed in the nude. Mommy porn came
to legitimacy, as suburban housewives got caught up in the sexual craze of read-
ing Fifty Shades of Gray. In the media, Charlie Sheen self-destructed in front of
the world, streaming went viral, the most acclaimed television show was about
meth cooks, and people’s cell phones started talking to them. The masses occu-
pied Wall Street, while people shared their state secrets with WikiLeaks and Big
Brother spied on everyone. Flash mobs broke out all over, and so did bombs in
public places and mass shootings. The weather went deviant and brought envi-
ronmental disasters from storms to floods, fires, drought, tornados (Sharknados?),
melting polar ice, and oil spills. The scandal over performance-enhancing drugs
continued to grow, drawing in ever more prominent cheaters, including seven-
times Tour de France cycling winner Lance Armstrong and Yankees baseball
superstar A-Rod, with spillover into Major League Baseball and the National
Football League. Aaron Hernandez, New England Patriots star, was imprisoned
for (possibly double) murder. Dirty dealing in the ranks of sport continued, with
the New Orleans Saints, 2010 Super Bowl winners, encouraging players to pur-
posely injure opponents. In the government, Secret Service agents were caught
hiring prostitutes in Colombia, and the military was exposed as a center for sex-
ual harassment, inappropriate treatment of women, and sexual assault. Piracy
continued to flourish off the Somali coasts, with men in primitive fishing vessels
capturing huge cargo ships and obtaining millions of dollars in ransom. The
Mexican—American border devolved into a war zone, as rival drug cartels slugged
and shot it out over the multibillion-dollar illicit drug industry. On the lifestyle
front, at least 14 states and the District of Columbia legalized same-sex marriage,
with more expected to follow. The same can be said for medical marijuana, with
dispensaries springing up legally in 20 states and with two, Colorado and

xi
xii PREFACE

Washington, legalizing the recreational use of this drug-And while marijuana

smoking gained currency, tobacco lost it, with a trend emerging among colleges
to ban the smoking of cigarettes on campus. Emerging to take their place were
E-cigarettes and colored and flavored cigar blunts, all targeted to a youth market.
Deviance is ubiquitous; it is all around us. Turn the pages of your local
newspaper, check out your favorite current events Websites, listen to people
talk in your gym locker room, and invariably they will be discussing the latest
fads, the newest forms of transgressing the norms, and the ways we continue
to push the boundaries of society’s expectations. Contrary to what one pundit!
claimed in the 1990s, deviance is far from dead; rather, it is flourishing like never
before. In the 3 years since the sixth edition of this book was released, we were
able to find more than 75 pertinent scholarly articles related to the sociology of
deviant behavior. An embarrassment of riches, they made it difficult to choose
among them, to select pieces that you, our readers, would find most interesting,
fascinating, and relevant. It is within this context that the eighth edition of Con-
structions of Deviance was born. This book is a labor of love for us as we tweak
each edition, remain in touch with the changing nuances in the field, and pres-
ent to our audience what we feel is the most exciting research in the sociology of
deviant behavior today.
As the shifting sands of morality in American society continue to transform
our culture, deviance and its changing definitions are at the fore. More than
40 years ago, Gusfield (1967) showed us that, with continuous social change,
activities that were considered nondeviant a generation ago can take on deviant
characteristics (cigarette smoking, distracted driving), whereas activities that were
once deviant are now acknowledged as commonplace (tattooing and piercing).
For better or worse, rapid social change is occurring in front of our eyes. Against
that backdrop, this is a fabulous time to study the varying definitions of deviant
behavior and the subsequent consequences for individuals and society. It is our
hope that this eighth edition of Constructions of Deviance incorporates some of this
field’s highlights. We want to show the liveliness of the debates, the graphic
images that sociologists paint, and the wide array of activities that fall under the
domain of deviance.

NEW TO THIS EDITION

In all of this book’s editions, we have tried to keep pace with the transformations
that have occurred in the research on deviant behavior. Despite the fact that some
have decried the theoretical and empirical death of deviance, we had a surfeit of
research from which to choose. Our difficulty lay not in finding new pieces, but in
winnowing down our selections to the space available. We wanted to keep some
basics the same, as they have come to represent the core of the book, while at the

"Colin. Sumner, The Sociology of Deviance: An Obituary (London: Open University Press,
1994),
 PREFACE xiii

same time infusing it with an insurgence of new material. We are pleased to offer
you, then, the best of the old and a spate of exciting fresh selections.
New to this volume are chapters on the meaning of “natural law” and its rela-
tion to deviance; how, in order to gain attention, claimsmakers try to label as devi-
ant organizations with stellar reputations; the racial profiling of young, inner-city
Mexican Americans; how women on parole struggle to reclaim-and manage devi-
ant identities; how multiracial people manage their racial identities; a support
group for people disabled by bowel disorders; cyber support groups for self-
injurers; the pyramidal structure and international criminal activities of Hezbollah,
one of the world’s largest terrorist networks; the collusion and corruption between
the government and the oil industry that together created the conditions leading to
one of the worst environmental disasters in modern history: the Deepwater Hori-
zon Gulf Oil spill; the rise and growth in the sales of lifelike sex dolls and the men
who maintain intimate relationships with them; the hidden world of power and
dominance in sadomasochistic sex play; Internet hackers’ subcultural norms; the
interactions between dancers and audience members in a male strip show; and
the liminal social position of people who smoke cigarettes but do not see them-
selves as cigarette smokers: social smokers.
Relatively new pieces that have quickly become students’ favorites remain,
including chapters on the continuing debates (relativism vs. absolutism) over
definitions of deviance; rationalizations used by shoplifters to neutralize their
deviance; the negative connotations faced by male cheerleaders; the stigma man-
agement strategies of homeless children; sexual assaults and the party scene on
campus; how women use drugs to maintain their eating disorders; people’s deci-
sions to commit burglary; and how people with emotional disorders relabel
themselves. Some of the most popular, now classic, pieces still continue to be
relevant, such as the chapters on the social construction of drug scares; the status
battles over smoking; homophobia in women’s sport; the mark of a criminal
record; crime in the medical profession; becoming bisexual; developing a fat
identity; convicted rapists’ rationalizations; anorexia and bulimia; studying sex,
drug trafficking, and child abuse; women in gangs; pimp-controlled prostitution;
and drug dealers and smugglers’ attempts to get out of the business.
We have continued to amend the part introductions and the synopses that
introduce each selection. The breadth and depth of these sections enable this
book to be either used as a stand-alone text—reader or easily synthesized with
existing standard textbooks. As this book has gone through its various transfor-
mations, it has been our intent to convert it into more of a text in its own right:
an anthology of empirical works with scholarly commentary from the framing
discipline of sociology.
As it was from the beginning, the book still proudly represents the social
constructionist approach, building upon our own intellectual backgrounds in
symbolic interactionism and ethnographic research. As such, it retains its vibrant
appeal, offering the most contemporary empirical readings that are drawn from
qualitative studies rich in experiential descriptions of deviance from the everyday
life perspective. At the same time, the book has increasingly incorporated more
classical and mainstream theoretical and innovative methodological elements.
xiv PREFACE

We offer this collection as a testimonial to the continuing vibrancy of devi-

ance research. Our sense is that there has never been a better time to study these
phenomena and to look at the changes that they represent about society. Above
all else, we hope that you find the readings enjoyable, enlightening, and
thought provoking.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

By now, literally thousands of students have been exposed to these readings and
have been “christened” into the sociology of deviance. Many people provided
critical feedback that has helped us in fashioning this latest edition. First and fore-
most are our many students, particularly in Patti’s class, “Deviance in U.S. Soci-
ety,” at the University of Colorado, attracting more than 500 each semester, and
in Peter’s class, “Deviance and Society,” at the University of Denver. These
intrepid souls continue to brave the material and exams in these courses, despite
their reputation as among the toughest on their respective campus. Extra thanks
and acknowledgments go to the valiant assistant teaching assistants (ATAs) at the
University of Colorado who have dedicated two semesters of their lives to this
class to personalize it for other students, to keep the exams hilarious and topical
as well as challenging, and to form a cohesive working group. These students
have, provided us with a template of what contemporary collegians desire, do,
and dream about. They remind us of the diversity of sentiments—moral and
immoral, normative and deviant, radical and conservative—that exist.
There have been some special people, such as Julia Cantzler, Tim Carpenter,
Katherine Coroso, Marci Eads, Marc Eaton, Abby Fagan, Molly George, Joanna
Gregson, Tamera Gugelmeyer, Paul Harvey, Tom Hoffman, Katy Irwin, Jennifer
Lois, Adina Nack, Patrick O’Brien, Joe Settle, Katie Sirles, Jesse Smith, Jennifer
(Skadi) Snook, Sarah Sutherland, Alex Thompson, and John Tribbia, who have
provided much of the impetus for the changes and amendments we have made
throughout. Our friends in the discipline continue to suggest studies, to supply
encouragement, and to lend support for our endeavors. Whether through a quick
conversation in a hallway or at a convention hotel, an email message, a lengthy
letter, or a harangue over the telephone, they remind us that we should keep the
edge and continue to search for the latest examples to hold their students’ interest.
We would also like to thank our many colleagues in education who over
the years have reviewed manuscript chapters, responded to surveys, or otherwise
provided suggestions for improvement; such feedback has enabled us to improve
this text edition over edition, for which we are grateful.
The stalwart staff at Thomson Wadsworth (Cengage) has provided unending
support during the process of revisions and custom editions. We are fortunate to
have worked with such diligent professionals as Matt Ballantyne, Tali Beesley,
Paula Begley-Jenkens, Linda deStefano, Halee Dinsey, Jerilyn Emori, Peggy
Francomb, Wendy Gordon, Jane Hetherington, Jennifer Jones, Bob Jucha, Bob
Kauser, Ari Levenfeld, Kristin Marrs, Lin Marshall, Andrew Ogus, Reilly O’Neal,
Michael Ryder, Liana Sarkisian, Erica Silverstein, Denise Simon, Steve Spangler,
 PREFACE XV

Liz van der Mandele, Jennifer Walsh, Jay Whitney, Staci Wolfram, Matthew
Wright, Dee Dee Zobian, and Beth Zuber. Special commendation must go
to Eve Howard, our senior editor who worked hand in hand with us since the
second edition until she left the company, and Serina Beauparlant, the editor who
originally conceived the project. For this edition, we are pleased to welcome Seth
Dobrin to our editorial team, and in the short time we have worked with him we
can already see that they will have similar impacts as our previous editors and
production assistants.
One of the pleasures of editing this book has been sharing it with our friends
and relatives. With our first edition, we started a tradition of dedicating each vol-
ume to a different person or couple who has had a meaningful impact on our lives
inside and outside the academy. We have continued this tradition throughout the
subsequent editions. We respectfully dedicated the first edition to our partners in
crime, Diane Duffy and Dana Larsen; the second edition to our dear and enduring
friend Chuck Gallmeier; the third edition to the inimitable John Irwin; the fourth
edition to our intimate friend of almost 40 years, Jane Horowitz; the fifth edition
to neighbors and compadres Linda and Dubs Jacobsen; the sixth edition to Lois
and David Baru, our sister and brother-in-law; and the seventh edition to Marc
Taron, architect extraordinaire, brother-in-arms, and the solid foundation of our
social network in our new home, Maui. Sadly, this book is also in memory of our
dear friend and dedicatee of the third edition, the late John Irwin, who passed
away in the first days of 2010, but whose integrity, vitality, professionalism, and
honesty will live on forever through the many people he touched in his 80 years
on earth. We are most pleased to be able to dedicate this book to our first grand-
child, Asher, who has made our dreams come true. Finally, our children, Jon and
Brye, keep us young with their irrepressible energy, enthusiasm, and zest for life.
To all our readers of previous editions, thanks for the support; to the new readers
of this eighth edition, welcome to the journey!
 HK

About the Editors

Patricia A. Adler (Ph.D., University of California-San Diego) is professor emer-

ita of sociology at the University of Colorado. She has written and taught in the
area of deviance, qualitative methods, and the sociology of children. A second
edition of her book Wheeling and Dealing (Columbia University Press), a study of
upper-level drug traffickers, was published in 1993. She has received many hon-
ors, including Outstanding Teacher in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences, and the
Outstanding Researcher Award from the University of Colorado. In addition,
she was awarded the Mentor Excellence Award in 2004 from the Society for
the Study of Symbolic Interaction (SSSI).

xvi
 ABOUT THE EDITORS xvii

Peter Adler (Ph.D., University of California—San Diego) is professor emeritus of

sociology and criminology at the University of Denver. His research interests
include social psychology, drugs and society, and sociology of work, sport, and
leisure. His first book, Momentum, was published in 1981 by Sage. Peter has been
honored with the University Lecturer Award and as the Outstanding Scholar/
Teacher at the University of Denver, as well as beirig named by the Society for
the Study of Symbolic Interaction (SSSI) as Mentor of the Year in 2005.
Together, the Adlers served as copresidents of the Midwest Sociological
Society from 2006 to 2007. They have edited the Journal of Contemporary Ethnog-
raphy and were the founding editors of Sociological Studies of Child Development. In
2010, the third edition of their anthology, Sociological Odyssey, was published by
Wadsworth Cengage, and in 2001, they released volume 1 of the Encyclopedia of
Criminology and Deviant Behavior, coedited with Jay Corzine. In addition to pub-
lishing over one hundred journal articles, chapters in books, and book reviews,
among their many books are Membership Roles in Field Research, a treatise on
qualitative methods published by Sage in 1987; Backboards and Blackboards, a
participant-observation study of college athletes that was published by Columbia
University Press in 1991; Peer Power, an examination of the culture of elementary
schoolchildren that was published by Rutgers University Press in 1998; and Par-
adise Laborers, a study of hotel workers in Hawai‘i, published in 2004 by Cornell
University Press. Their most recent project, The Tender Cut, focuses on self-
injurers (cutters and burners) and was published by NYU Press (2011). Peter
and Patti are retired and live on Maui, Hawai'i.
 HK

About the Contributors

Michael P. Arena is employed by a large state criminal justice agency, where he

is an analyst and trainer. He holds an M.A. in organizational behavior and a
Ph.D. in forensic psychology, with an emphasis in the administration and man-
agement of criminal justice. Along with Bruce Arrigo, he authored The Terrorist
Identity: Explaining the Terrorist Threat (NYU Press, 2006), as well as articles in a
variety of behavioral and social science journals.

Elizabeth A. Armstrong is an associate professor of sociology at the University

of Michigan. Her research interests include the sociology of culture, social move-
ments, sexuality, gender, and higher education. She is the author of Forging Gay
Identities: Organizing Sexuality in San Francisco, 1950-1994 (University of Chicago
Press, 2002) and Paying for the Party: How College Maintains Inequality (coauthored
with Laura Hamilton; Harvard University Press, 2013).

Howard S. Becker lives and works in San Francisco. He is the author of Out-
siders, Art Worlds, Writing
for Social Scientists, and Tricks of the Trade. He has taught
at Northwestern University and the University of Washington. In 1998, the
American Sociological Association bestowed upon him the Career of Distin-
guished Scholarship Award, the association’s highest honor.

Michelle Bemiller received her Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Akron
in 2005. She is now an associate professor of sociology at Walsh University in
Ohio. Her interests include the sociology of deviant behavior, criminology, the
sociology of gender, and the sociology of the family. Her past research has exam-
ined nontraditional mothers’ (e.g., incarcerated mothers’, noncustodial mothers’)
experiences with motherhood and occupational burnout among sexual assault and
domestic violence shelter workers. Currently, Dr. Bemiller is pursuing research
within the scholarship of teaching and learning, an area of study that explores the
success of problem-based learning approaches in criminal justice courses.

xviii
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS xix

Douglas J. Besharov, a lawyer, is the Joseph J. and Violet Jacobs Scholar in

Social Welfare Studies at the American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy
Research and a professor at the University of Maryland School of Public Policy.
There, he direets the University’s Welfare Reform Academy and teaches courses
on family policy, welfare reform, evaluation, and the implementation of social
policy. He was the first director of the U.S. National Center-on Child Abuse
and Neglect. Among his publications is Recognizing Child Abuse: A Guide for the
Concerned (Free Press, 1990).

Joel Best is professor of sociology and criminal justice at the University of Del-
aware. His books include Threatened Children (1990), Random Violence (1999),
Damned Lies and Statistics (2001), Deviance: Career of aConcept (2004), The Stupid-
ity Epidemic (2011), and Social Problems (2013).

Elaine M. Blinde is emeritus professor and former chair of the Department of

Kinesiology at Southern Illinois University—Carbondale before her retirement in
2010. Her research relates to the sociological analysis of sport, with a particular
focus on gender issues. Recent work and publications relate to disability and
sport, gender beliefs of young girls, and women’s relationship to baseball.

Elizabeth Bradshaw is an assistant professor of sociology at Central Michigan

University who specializes in the area of social and criminal justice, specifically
the intersection of state and corporate criminality. Her dissertation examined the
causes of the Deepwater Horizon explosion and the ensuing response to the
2010 Gulf of Mexico oil spill as a form of state—corporate environmental crime.
She is now building on this work to develop the concept of “criminogenic
industry structures” and is using this framework to study the hydraulic fracturing
industry in Michigan. Beyond state—corporate crime, her additional: areas of
teaching and research include environmental criminology, surveillance, and social
movements against corporate globalization.

William J. Chambliss was, at the time of his death, professor of sociology at

George Washington University. He is the author and editor of over 20 books,
including Law, Order and Power (with Robert Seidman); On the Take: Petty
Crooks to Presidents; Organizing Crime; Exploring Criminology; Boxman: A_ Profes-
sional Thiefs Journey (with Harry King); Crime and the Legal Process; Making Law
(with Marjorie S. Zatz); Sociology (with Richard P. Applebaum); and The Essence
of Criminology (with Aida Haas). He is the past president of the Society for the
Study of Social Problems and the American Society of Criminology. He is cur-
rently writing a book on the political economy of piracy and smuggling.

Meda Chesney-Lind is professor and chair of Women’s Studies at the Univer-

sity of Hawai‘i at Manoa. Nationally recognized for her work on women and
crime, she has authored a number of books, including Girls, Delinquency, and
Juvenile Justice; The Female Offender, Girls, Women, and Crime; Female Gangs in
America; Invisible Punishment; Beyond Bad Girls; Fighting for Girls. She has just
XX ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

finished an edited volume entitled Feminist Theories of Crime that explores the
international dimensions of feminist criminology.

Terry Cluse-Tolar received her MSW and Ph.D. in social work from The Ohio
State University. She is currently professor and chair of the Social Work Depart-
ment at the University of Toledo. Her research interests include women and
children in poverty, crisis intervention, and marginalized populations.

Donald R. Cressey was professor of sociology at the University of California,

Santa Barbara, when he died in 1987. His most well known publications include
Principles of Criminology (with Edwin H. Sutherland), Other People’s Money, and
Theft of the Nation. Cressey received many honors for his research and teaching,
and he cherished none more than the Edwin H. Sutherland Award presented by
the American Society of Criminology in 1967.

Paul Cromwell is professor emeritus of criminal justice at Wichita State Univer-

sity. He received his Ph.D. in criminology from Florida State University in 1986.
His publications include 16 books and over 50 articles and book chapters.
Recent publications include Breaking and Entering: Burglars on Burglary (with
James Olson), In Their Own Words: Criminals on Crime, and In Her Own Words:
Women Offenders Perspectives on Crime and Victimization (with Leanne Alarid). He
has extensive experience in the criminal justice system, including service as parole
commissioner and chairman of the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles.

Jenny L. Davis is an assistant professor of sociology and anthropology at James

Madison University. She received a Ph.D. in sociology at Texas A&M Univer-
sity in 2012. Her research interests include new media, social media, identity,
technology and society, stigma, social psychology, and community. She has
recently published in such journals as the American Sociological Review, Symbolic
Interaction, Deviant Behavior, and the American Behavioral Scientist. She contributes
regularly to the Huffington Post and Society Pages’ Cyborgology Blog.

Scott H. Decker is Foundation Professor in, and director of, the School of Crim-
inology and Criminal Justice at Arizona State University. He received a B.A. in
social justice from DePauw University and an M.A. and a Ph.D. in criminology
from Florida State University. His main research interests are in the areas of
gangs, juvenile justice, criminal justice policy, and the offender’s perspective. His
books include European Street Gangs and Troublesome Youth Groups (winner of
the American Society of Criminology, Division of International Criminology Out-
standing Distinguished Book Award, 2006) and The International Handbook of
Juvenile Justice (Springer-Verlag, 2006). His most recent books include Drug Smug-
glers on Drug Smuggling: Lessons from the Inside (Temple University Press, 2007) and
Criminology and Public Policy with Hugh Barlow (Temple University Press, 2010).

Robert J. Duran is assistant professor of sociology at the University of Tennessee.

He is the author of Gang Life in Two Cities: An Insider’s Journey (Columbia
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS XXi
)

University Press, 2013). His major research interests are in urban ethnography and
include forms of empowerment for marginalized groups, race and ethnic relations,
social control, and violence. His current research projects focus on the states of
Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, and Utah, as well as on the U.S.—Mexico border.
He is the recipient of the 2011 New Scholar Award from the American Society of
Criminology Division on People of Color and Crime.

Emile Durkheim (1858-1917) was a French sociologist who is generally consid-

ered to be the father of sociology. His major works are Suicide; The Rules of Socio-
logical Method; The Division of Labor in Society; and The Elementary Forms of
Religious Life.

Oskar Engdahl is an associate professor and director of the master’s degree pro-
gram in criminology at the Department of Sociology and Work Science, Uni-
versity of Gothenburg. His main research interests are in the areas of motivation,
opportunity, and control of economic and white-collar crime, especially in
banking and finance.

Kai T. Erikson is the William R. Kenan, Jr. Professor Emeritus of Sociology and
American Studies at Yale University. He is the author of several books, including
Wayward Puritans; Everything in Its Path; and A New Species of Trouble. He served
as president of the American Sociological Association, the Society for the Study
of Social Problems, and the Eastern Sociological Society.

John H. Gagnon was professor of sociology at the State University of New

York, Stony Brook, until 1998. He is the author or coauthor of such books as
Sex Offenders, Sexual Conduct, Human Sexualities, and The Social Organization of
Sexuality. In addition, he is the coeditor of a number of books, most’ recently
Conceiving Sexuality and Encounter with AIDS: Gay Men and Lesbians Confront the
AIDS Epidemic, as well as the author of many scientific articles.

Laura Hamilton is assistant professor of sociology at the University of California,

Merced. Her recent book Paying for the Party: How College Maintains Inequality
(equally authored with Elizabeth A. Armstrong) explores how the organization
of social and academic life at 4-year residential universities systematically disadvan-
tages all but the most affluent of students.

Alex Heckert is professor of sociology at Indiana University of Pennsylvania.

Most of his published research has been in the areas of family sociology, devi-
ance, and medical sociology. His recent research in the area of domestic violence
has attempted to improve the prediction of nonphysical abuse and physical reas-
sault among batterer program participants. He has published in journals such as
Social Forces, the Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, the Journal of Marriage
and the Family, Demography, the Journal of Family Issues, Rural Sociology, Family
Relations, Violence and Victims, the Journal of Family Violence, the Journal of Interper-
sonal Violence, and The Sociological Quarterly, among others.
xxii ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

Druann Maria Heckert received her M.A. from the University of Delaware
and her Ph.D. from the University of New Hampshire. She teaches at Fayette-
ville (North Carolina) State University. Her research is in the areas of stigmatized
appearance, positive deviance, and deviance theory, and her articles have
appeared in journals such as Deviant Behavior, The Sociological Quarterly, Symbolic
Interaction, and Free Inquiry in Creative Sociology.

Anne Hendershott is professor of psychology, sociology, and social work at the

Franciscan University of Steubenville in Ohio. Dr. Hendershott received her
Ph.D. in urban sociology from Kent State University. Her research interests
focus on the role of religion and natural law as constraints on engaging in deviant
behavior. Her most recent books are The Politics of Deviance (Encounter Books),
The Politics of Abortion (Encounter Books), and Status Envy (Transaction).

Nancy J. Herman-Kinney is professor of sociology at Central Michigan Univer-

sity. She received her Ph.D. from McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, and
subsequently was awarded a postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Toronto,
where she conducted qualitative and quantitative research on deinstitutionalized
psychiatric patients. Her primary research areas are deviance, children, youth and
social problems, the sociology of mental illness, and qualitative research methods.
She is the coeditor of the Handbook of Symbolic Interactionism (with Larry T.
Reynolds), and her articles have appeared in the Journal for the Scientific Study ofReli-
gion, Symbolic Interaction, Deviant Behavior, and the Journal of Contemporary Ethnography.

Travis Hirschi received his Ph.D. in sociology from the University of California—
Berkeley. He is currently Regents Professor Emeritus at the University of Arizona.
He served as president of the American Society of Criminology and has received
that organization’s Edwin H. Sutherland Award. His books include Delinquency
Research (with Hanan C. Selvin), Causes of Delinquency, Measuring Crime (with
Michael Hindelang and Joseph Weis), and A General Theory of Crime (with Michael
R. Gottfredson). His most recent book is a volume coedited with Michael
Gottfredson: The Generality of Deviance.

Malcolm D. Holmes is professor of sociology at the University of Wyoming.

His research primarily analyzes the relationships of race and ethnicity to criminal
justice outcomes. His recent book Race and Police Brutality: Roots of an Urban
Dilemma (with Brad W. Smith) examines the social—psychological dynamics
underlying the use of excessive force by the police. Currently, he is engaged in
empirical and theoretical research projects that investigate the causes of various
forms of extralegal police aggression.

Thomas J. Holt is an associate professor in the School of Criminal Justice at

Michigan State University. He received his Ph.D. in criminology and criminal
justice from the University of Missouri—St. Louis in 2005. His research focuses
on cybercrime and the ways that technology and the Internet facilitate deviance
on- and off-line.
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS Xxiil

Jenna Howard received her Ph.D. from Rutgers University. She is currently a
research analyst with the Department of Family and Community Health at
Robert Wood Johnson Medical School. Her research interests revolve around
the social psychology of individual and organizational change.

Cathryn Johnson is senior associate dean in the Laney Gradtiate School, and
professor of sociology, at Emory University. Her work is in the areas of legiti-
macy, justice, and power processes in groups and organizations, in addition to
identity formation and negotiation processes. Her recent research project, with
Karen A. Hegtvedt, examines the relationship between collective sources of
legitimacy and emotional reactions in unjust situations.

Peter Kaufman is an associate professor of sociology at the State University of

New York at New Paltz. He received his B.A. from Earlham College and his
Ph.D. from Stony Brook University. His teaching and research interests include
education, critical pedagogy, symbolic interaction, and the sociology of sport.

Nikki Khanna received her Ph.D. in sociology from Emory University and is
currently an associate professor of sociology at the University of Vermont. Her
work looks at racial identity among biracial and multiracial Americans and has
been published in outlets such as Social Psychology Quarterly, Ethnic and Racial
Studies, Sociological Spectrum, The Sociological Quarterly, Sociology Compass, and
Teaching Sociology. Her recent book, Biracial in America: Forming and Performing
Racial Identity, looks at Black-White biracial Americans and the underlying pro-
cesses shaping their racial identities.

David A. Kinney is professor of sociology at Central Michigan University. He

earned his Ph.D. from Indiana University in Bloomington and then conducted
qualitative research in urban schools while a postdoctoral fellow at the University
of Chicago. His primary research areas are the sociology of adolescence, the soci-
ology of education, and the sociology of identity. He has published articles and
chapters on children’s use of time, adolescent peer cultures, and education in
venues such as Sociology of Education, the Journal of Contemporary Ethnography,
Youth and Society, American Behavioral Research Scientist, and The Praeger Handbook
of American High Schools. He was the series editor of Sociological Studies of Children
and Youth (JAI/Elsevier/Emerald) from 1999 to 2011.

Edward O. Laumann is the George Herbert Mead Distinguished Service

Professor in the Department of Sociology and the College at the University of
Chicago, as well as the Director of the Ogburn Stouffer Center for Population
and Social Organization. Previously, he was the editor of the American Journal of
Sociology and dean of the Social Sciences Division and Provost at the University
of Chicago. He published two volumes on séxuality in 1994: The Social Organi-
zation of Sexuality and Sex in America. Along with Robert Michael, he recently
published Sex, Love, and Health: Private Choices and Public Policy (University of
Chicago Press, 2001).
XXiV ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

Lisa Laumann-Billings completed her doctoral work in developmental and

clinical psychology at the University of Virginia. She has worked and published
in the areas of divorce, family conflict, and child maltreatment for the past
10 years. She is currently working with Dr. David Olds at the Prevention
Research Center in Denver, Colorado, on preventative strategies for reducing
child maltreatment and family violence in high-risk families.

John Liederbach is an associate professor of criminal justice at Bowling Green

State University. His primary research interests are in the areas of white-collar
and professional crime, as well as police behavior and the study of community-
level influences on officer activities and citizen interactions.

Kathleen Lowney is professor of sociology at Valdosta State University and is

the editor of Teaching Sociology, an American Sociological Association journal.
Her research focuses on how the mass media help create social constructions,
be they about Disney, multiple personality disorder/dissociative identity disorder,
or deviance. She has studied adolescent Satanism for 25 years. Currently, she is
researching media accounts of “serial killer nurses,” especially these accounts’
constructions of gender, sexuality, and beauty and how they influence legal deci-
sions about those nurses and their crimes. Her undergraduate degrees in sociol-
ogy (honors) and comparative religions are from the University of Washington,
and her, Ph.D. in religion and society is from Drew University. She received the
2013 Regents’ Award of Excellence in Teaching from the University System of
Georgia.

Joseph Marolla is vice provost for Instruction, associate professor of sociology,

and affiliated with the Sports Management Program at Virginia Commonwealth
University. He is doing research in the sociology of sport and remains interested
in the social construction of deviance.

Penelope A. McLorg has a Ph.D. in anthropology and was director of the

Gerontology Program at Indiana University—Purdue University Fort Wayne.
She specializes in the biological and sociocultural aspects of aging, with particular
interests in health and aging. Dr. McLorg has conducted research in rural areas of
Mexico and in the Midwest and has published on such topics as body composi-
tion, glucose metabolism, bone loss, eating disorders, and physical disability.

Robert K. Merton passed away in 2003. He was University Professor Emeritus

at Columbia University at the time of his death and a member of the adjunct
faculty of Rockefeller University. His books include Social Theory and Social Struc-
ture, Sociology of Science, Sociological Ambivalence, and On the Shoulders of Giants.
He is the only sociologist who was awarded the National Medal of Science,
the nation’s highest scientific honor.

Robert T. Michael is the Eliakim Hastings Moore Distinguished Professor and

dean emeritus of the Harris Graduate School of Public Policy at the University
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS XXV

of Chicago. From 1984 to 1989, he served as director of the National Opinion

Research Center (NORC).

Stuart Michaels served as project manager of the National Health and Social
Life Survey (NHLS).

Ashley N. Miller graduated from Central Michigan University with a bachelor

of science degree in journalism in 2012. She plans to pursue a career in elemen-
tary education.

Jody Miller is professor of criminal justice at Rutgers University-Newark. Her

research focuses on gender, crime, and victimization, particularly in the contexts
of urban communities and the commercial sex industry. She has published
numerous articles, as well as the monographs One of the Guys: Girls, Gangs, and
-Gender (Oxford University Press, 2001) and Getting Played: African American Girls,
Urban Inequality, and Gendered (New York University Press, 2008).

Staci Newmahr received her Ph.D. in sociology from Stony Brook University
and is currently an associate professor of sociology at the State University of
New York College at Buffalo. She is the author of Playing on the Edge: Sadomas-
ochism, Risk, and Intimacy (Indiana University Press, 2011). Her main areas of
scholarly interest are the sociology of sex and gender, deviance, and qualitative
methods.

Tara Opsal is an assistant professor of sociology at Colorado State University.

She received her Ph.D. from the University of Colorado—Boulder. Her research
interests center on punishment, social control, and the consequences of criminal
justice policy. She is the author of a number of articles that focus on parole,
desistance from crime, and women’s postincarceration experiences. She teaches
courses in corrections, gender, and deviance.

Devah Pager is professor of sociology at Princeton University. Her research

focuses on the social and economic consequences of mass incarceration, with a
particular emphasis on how our crime policies contribute to enduring racial
inequality. Using an experimental field methodology, Pager’s research uncovers
the hidden world of employment discrimination and illustrates the great barriers
faced by both blacks and ex-offenders in their pursuit of economic self-
sufficiency. These topics are explored in her recent book Marked: Race, Crime,
and Finding Work in an Era of Mass Incarceration.

Douglas W. Pryor is professor of sociology and criminal justice in the Depart-

ment of Sociology, Anthropology and Criminal Justice at Towson University in
Maryland. He is coauthor of Dual Attraction: Understanding Bisexuality and author
of Unspeakable Acts: Why Men Sexually Abuse Children. He has served as a depart-
ment chair, as a cochair of his campus’s Self-Study Re-accreditation Committee,
and as president of his local campus AAUP Faculty Association.
XXvi ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

Richard Quinney is professor of sociology emeritus at Northern Illinois Univer-

sity. His books include The Social Reality of Crime; Critique of Legal Order, Class,
State, and Crime; Criminology as Peacemaking (with Harold E. Pepinsky); and Crimi-
nal Behavior Systems (with Marshall B. Clinard and John Wildeman). His autobio-
graphical reflections are contained in Journey to a Far Place and For the Time Being.

Craig Reinarman is professor of sociology and legal studies at the University of

California—Santa Cruz. He has been a visiting professor at Utrecht University and
the University of Amsterdam. He has served on the board of directors of the
College on the Problems of Drug Dependence, as a consultant to the World
Health Organization’s Programme on Substance Abuse, and as a principal inves-
tigator on projects for which he received research grants from the National Insti-
tute on Drug Abuse. Dr. Reinarman is the author of States of Mind (Yale
University Press, 1987), and coauthor of Cocaine Changes (Temple University
Press, 1991) and Crack in America (University of California Press, 1997).

Anne R. Roschelle is an associate professor of sociology and an affiliate in the

Women’s Studies Program at the State University of New York at New Paltz.
She earned her Ph.D. at the State University of New York at Albany and is the
author of numerous articles on the intersection of race, class, and gender, with a
focus on extended kinship networks and family poverty. She is the author of No
More Kin: Exploring Race, Class, and Gender in Family Networks, which was a
recipient of Choice Magazine's 1997 Outstanding Academic Book Award.
Recently, she published a series of articles on domestic violence, welfare reform,
and motherhood among homeless women in San Francisco, as well as an article
on feminist methodology in Cuba. She is currently writing a book about home-
less families in San Francisco. Dr. Roschelle is an avid hiker and plays flute (with
coauthor Peter Kaufman) in a local rock band called Questionable Authorities.

Maren T. Scull teaches in the Department of Sociology at the University of

Colorado—Denver. Her research interests include sexualities, deviance, social
psychology, gender, and qualitative methods. She earned her Ph.D. in sociology
at Indiana University—Bloomington in 2013.

Diana Scully is professor of sociology and women’s studies at Virginia Common-

wealth University in Richmond, Virginia, where she is also director of the Women’s
Studies Program. Her books include Men Who Control Women’s Health (Teachers
College Press, 1994) and Understanding Sexual Violence (Routledge, 1994).

Amy Shuman is professor of folklore, English, Women’s Studies, and Anthro-

pology at The Ohio State University, a core faculty member of Project Narrative
and the Center for Folklore Studies, and a fellow of the Mershon Center for
International Security. Her publications include Storytelling Rights: The Uses of
Oral and Written Texts Among Urban Adolescents, Other People’s Stories: Entitlement
Claims and the Critique of Empathy, and, with Carol Bohmer, Rejecting Refugees:
Political Asylum in the 21st Century.
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS XXVii

Edwin H. Sutherland (1883-1950) received his Ph.D. from the University of

Chicago. His major works include his enduring textbook, Criminology, which
was first published in 1924, The Professional Thief, and White Collar Crime. He is
generally regarded as the founder of differential association theory.

Brian Sweeney received his Ph.D. from Indiana University—Bloomington. He

is currently an assistant professor of sociology at LIU Post in Brookville, New
York. His research focuses on youth and adolescence, peer cultures, gender and
sexuality, and education.

Diane E. Taub was professor of sociology and associate dean of the College of
Liberal Arts at Southern Illinois University—Carbondale and, later, professor and
chair of sociology at Indiana University—Purdue University Fort Wayne. She
publishes primarily in the areas of eating disorders and physical disabilities, and
has recerved many university teaching awards.

Kara L. Taylor is currently working toward her bachelor of arts in sociology,

with a concentration in social and criminal justice, from Central Michigan
University. She recently started an internship with the Florida Department of
Juvenile Justice and plans to work with youths to prevent delinquency and
offer them more opportunities for a better future.

Alex Thompson is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in sociology at the University of

Colorado—Boulder. He received his B.S. degree in sociology from the University
of Wisconsin—La Crosse and an M.A. in sociology from the University of
Connecticut. He is interested in social psychology, the body and embodiment,
crime and deviance, and substance use. He is presently conducting an. ethno-
graphic analysis of the medical and legal marijuana markets in Colorado.

Quint Thurman is provost and vice president for student and academic affairs
at Sul Ross State University in Alpine, Texas. Previously, he was professor of
criminal justice and department chairperson at Texas State University—San
Marcos. He received a Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Massachusetts
(Amherst) in 1987. His publications include seven books and more than
35 refereed articles that have appeared in such journals as the American Behavioral
Scientist, Crime and Delinquency, Criminology and Public Policy, Social Science Quar-
terly, Justice Quarterly, Police Quarterly, and the Journal of Quantitative Criminology.
His recently published books include Controversies in Policing (with coauthor
Andrew Giacomazzi); an anthology, Contemporary Policing: Controversies,
Challenges, and Solutions (with Jihong Zhao); and Police Problem Solving (with
J. D. Jamieson).

Justin L. Tuggle received his B.A. from Humboldt State University and his
M.A. from the University of Wyoming. He teaches third grade at Grant
Elementary School in Redding, California. He is married with two children.
XXviii ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

Katherine S. Vecitis teaches in the Department of Sociology at Tufts Univer-

sity. She received her Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Colorado in
2009. Her research interests include the sociology of drugs, deviant behavior,
and gender.

Martin S. Weinberg received his Ph.D. from Northwestern University and is

professor of sociology at Indiana University. He is coauthor of Deviance: The
Interactionist Perspective, The Study of Social Problems, Sexual Preference, Homosexuali-
ties, Male Homosexuals, and Dual Attraction, and has contributed articles to such
journals as the American Sociological Review, Social Problems, the Journal of Contem-
porary Ethnography, Archives of Sexual Behavior, and the Journal of Sex Research.

Jason Whitesel (Ph.D., Ohio State University) is a faculty member in

Women’s and Gender Studies at Pace University. His research is driven by the
underlying intragroup strife among gay men that is created by their ngid body
image ideal. He coauthored (with Amy Shuman) the article “Normalizing
Desire: Stigma and the Carnivalesque in Gay Bigmen’s Cultural Practices” in
the journal Men and Masculinities. His book, Fat Gay Men: Girth, Mirth, and the
Politics of Stigma (NYU Press, 2014), describes events at Girth & Mirth club gath-
erings and examines how gay big men use campy-queer behavior to reconfigure
and reclaim their sullied images and identities.

Colin J. Williams is professor of sociology at Indiana University—Purdue Uni-

versity Indianapolis. He is coauthor of Male Homosexuals, Sex and Morality in the
U.S., and Dual Attraction.

Celia Williamson received her Ph.D. in social work from Indiana University.
She is currently a professor in the Social Work Program at the University of
Toledo, is chair of the Research and Analysis Committee for the Ohio Attorney
General’s Trafficking in Person Commission, and hosts the oldest annual human
trafficking conference in the nation (www.prostitutionconference.com).

Richard Wright is Curators’ Professor and Chair of Criminology and Criminal

Justice at the University of Missouri—St. Louis and editor in chief of Oxford Bibliog-
raphies Online [Criminology]. He has been studying active urban street criminals,
especially residential burglars, armed robbers, carjackers, and drug dealers for the
past two decades. His research has been funded by the National Science Founda-
tion, National Institute of Justice, Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, Icelandic
Research Council, National Consortium on Violence Research, and Irish
Research Council for the Humanities and Social Sciences. Along with Richard
Rosenfeld and Scott Jacques, he currently is conducting a major field-based study
of respectability and social control among drug sellers in Amsterdam’s red-light
district. His most recent book, coauthored with Bruce Jacobs, is Street Justice: Retal-
iation in the Criminal Underworld (Cambridge University Press, 2006).
 HK

General Introduction

4fi he topic of deviance has held an enduring fascination for students of sociol-
ogy, gripping their interest for several reasons. Some people have career plans
that include law or law enforcement and want to expand their base of practical
knowledge. Others feel a special affinity for the subject of deviance on the basis
of their personal experience or inclination. A third group is drawn to deviance
merely because it is different, offering the promise of excitement or the exotic.
Finally, some are interested in how social norms are constructed, in the ways
that people and societies decide what is acceptable and what is not. The sociolog-
ical study of deviance can fulfill all these goals, taking us deep into the criminal
underworld, inward to the familiar, outward to the fascinating and bizarre, and
finally back to the central core. In the pages that follow, we peer into the deviant
realm, looking at both deviants and those who define them as such. In so doing,
we look at a range of deviant behaviors, discuss why people engage in these beha-
viors, and analyze how the people are sociologically organized. We begin in Part I
by defining deviance, in an effort to lay down the parameters of its scope.

STUDYING DEVIANCE

Reasonable theories and social policies pertaining to deviance must be based on a

firm foundation of accurate knowledge. Social scientists have an array of different
methodologies and sources of data at their disposal, including survey research,
experimental design, historical methods, official statistics, and field research (eth-
nography). All of these methods have obvious strengths and weaknesses, and
have been used by sociologists in studying deviance. While some generate statis—
tical portraits about the extensiveness of deviant behaviors, we undertake, in this
book, to offer a richer, more experiential understanding of what goes on in devi-
ant worlds, showing how things happen and what they mean to participants. Its
1
2 GENERAL INTRODUCTION

the reports of field researchers—individuals who immerse themselves personall

in deviant settings—that yield such depth and descriptive accounts. It is also our
belief that, because of the often secretive nature of deviance, methods that objec-
tify or distance researchers from the people being researched will be less likely to
portray deviant worlds accurately. Thus, the works in this book are tied together
by their descriptive richness and by the belief that researchers must study devi-
ance as it naturally occurs in the real world. The most appropriate methodology
for this task, field research, advocates that sociologists should get as close as pos-
sible to the people they are studying in order to understand their worlds (Adler
and Adler, 1987). Despite the problems that arise from the secretive and hidden
nature of deviant acts, sociologists have devised techniques to penetrate secluded
deviant worlds. These methodological ploys often come complete with perils, so
it is wise for people who are considering studying deviance to be aware of the
associated problems. Part III discusses field research methods and two of the
other common sources of information about deviant behavior.

CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

In Parts I, II, and IV we delve into the origins and definitions of deviant behav-
ior. Most sociology courses begin by examining core definitions in the field and
leave these ideas behind shortly thereafter. This is not the case with deviance.
Definitions of deviance pervade all aspects of the field and are therefore addressed
throughout the book. Scholars, politicians, activists, moral entrepreneurs, reli-
gious Zealots, journalists, and people from all walks of life frequently discuss issues
of what is deviant and what is socially acceptable. Those whose definitions come
to be reflected in law and social policy gain broad moral and material resources.
There are many approaches to defining and theorizing about deviance, some
of which are presented in the chapters in Parts I and II. As our title suggests,
we advance a social constructionist view throughout this book. We begin,
here, by discussing three perspectives on defining deviance and locating
these perspectives in relation to social constructionism.
Proponents of the absolutist perspective have traditionally considered
defining deviance as a simple task, implying that a widespread consensus exists
about what is deviant and what is not. Emile Durkheim, a functionalist and
one of sociology’s founding fathers, represents this theoretical approach, arguing
that the laws of any given society are objective facts. Laws, he believes, reflect
the “collective consciousness” of each society and thereby reveal its true social
nature. They exist before individuals enter the society, and they exist when indi-
viduals die; hence, laws represent a level of reality sui generis (unique unto them-
selves), transcending individual lives.
According to this position, there is general agreement among citizens that
there is something obvious within each deviant act, belief, or condition that
makes it different from the conventional norms. At its core, each such act embo-
dies the unambiguous, objective “essence” of true or real deviance. This
fy D> OU RS"\
YFRrATTV8 of GENERAL INTRODUCTION Yo 38
\
perspective has its roots in both religious and naturalistic assumptions; its propo-
nents argue that certain acts are contrary to the strictures of God or to the laws of —\
nature. Deviance is thus immoral (possibly evil), sinful, and unnatural. Contem-
porary religious leaders, especially those of the charismatic and evangelical
persuasions, often use these arguments in advancing their moral beliefs in writte
and verbal oratory. Absolutist views of deviance are eternal and global: If some-
thing is judged to have been intrinsically morally wrong in the past (e.g., adultery
or divorce), it should be recognized as wrong now and always in the future. Simi-
larly, if something is considered to be morally wrong in one place, it shouldbe _~
Judged wrong everywhere. Absolutist views on deviance flourish in homogeneous
societies, in which there is a high degree of universal agreement on social values. }
Deviance, then, 1s viewed, not as something that is determined by social
norms, customs, or rules, but as something that is intrinsic to the human condi-
tion, standing apart from and existing before the creation of these socially created
es. According to absolutists, deviant attitudes, behavior, or conditions by any
name would be recognized and judged similarly. People have backed up this
belief system by pointing to the existence of universal taboos surrounding
such acts as murder, incest, and lying. These acts, they claim, are deviant in
their very essence.
Noteworthy to this perspective is its focus on the deviance itself. Proponents
believe that an absolute moral order is a necessary part of reality, enabling all
people to know what is right and what is wrong. Normative behavior is inher-
ently good and deviance is inherently bad. Violations of norms, it then follows,
should be met with stern reactions. People who question the norms deserve eve
harsher treatment, as they challenge the moral order. At its core, then, Reels
is an objectivist approach because it relies in its definition on internal, inherent
features that stand apart from subjective human judgments. We see contempo-
rary applications of the absolutist perspective in the campaign against gay
marriage, with opponents arguing that homosexuality is an abomination and a
sin. The morality-based conception of deviance, presented in Hendershott’s
Chapter 4, offers another contemporary illustration of this viewpoint.
Functionalist theories of deviance, as represented in Erikson’s Chapter 1 and
Durkheim’s Chapter 6, incorporate elements of the absolutist perspective by sug-
gesting that deviance is pathological (diseased) in its substance and negative in
its effect. As such, deviance stands apart from, and in strong contrast to, the
“normal.” In all ways, the absolutist perspective persists as the foil, or antithesis,
to social constructionism.
A number of theories coalesce to form the social constructionist approach,
grounded in the interactionist theory of deviance. We can draw distinctions
between theories, but they all share a focus on the norms that bound and define
deviance, rather than a gaze on the deviance itself. They also share a subjectivist
approach to defining deviance, guided by the belief that social meanings, values,
and rules, in concrete situations, are often problematic or uncertain. Social mean-
ings, these theories hold, arise in the situations where they occur, rather than
being located within the essences of things, and are heavily influenced by peo-
ple’s perceptions and interpretations. Social constructionists study the ways that
4 GENERAL INTRODUCTION

norms are created, the people who create them, the conditions under which
those norms arise, and the consequences of such norms for different groups in
society. Fundamentally, these theorists view definitions of deviance as social pro-
ducts and focus on those who define deviance and their definitions, rather than
on the acts that generate deviant reactions.
For example, recently there has been greater social awareness about obesity
and its deleterious effects. Absolutists would say that the social definition of obesity
as deviant was established by doctors as a health issue and that the level of obesity
in our society can be objectively measured by a scientific instrument: the scale.
They would call attention to the growth in portion sizes in the United States
(“supersizine”), pointing out that the average dinner plate has expanded from 10
to 12 inches. Americans, they would say, are more obese because they are eating
more and exercising less. In contrast, constructionists would suggest that our col-
lective attitudes toward obesity have changed and that levels of weight that used to
raise little attention have become less tolerated now. In addition, they would show
that people react to weight differently in various cultures, with citizens in some
countries preferring more “full-figured” people while in other places the image
of the skinny (practically anorectic) model is considered the ideal body shape.
Throughout at least the developed world, clothing companies have subjectively
renumbered the sizes of their garments so that size 4 1s the “new” size 6 (what
women should strive for) and size 8 is the “new” size 14 (you might as well forget
about appearing in public). Crusaders, especially from the medical community,
have waged campaigns against obesity and raised social awareness about it, making
it one of the chief panics in society today. Our point is that, although being over-
weight can lead to numerous physical problems, we have shifted our definitions
about how much weight is acceptable. As a result, when we look at people and
try to assess whether they are slightly overweight, chubby, plump, heavy, fat, or
outright obese, our categories have changed: What was previously considered tol-
erably heavy has now been redefined as obese and labeled deviant.
Falling within social constructionism is the relativist perspective, seien
lated in Becker’s Chapter 3. Spurred by the rise of subcultural studies in the
1930s, deviance theorists began to note the existence of norms that differed
from, and even conflicted with, those of the larger society. This awareness led
them to consider the possibility that groups in society make up rules to fit the
practical needs of their situations. The more the relativists examined norms in
different places and times, the more they became convinced that definitions of
deviance were not universal, but varied to suit the people who hold them. This
finding suggested that definitions of deviance derived, not from absolute,
unchanging universals such as God and nature, but from humans. Becker
(1963, 9) articulated this position, noting,

. social groups create deviance by making the rules whose infraction constitutes
deviance, and by applying these rules to particular people and labeling
them as outsiders. From this point of view, deviance is not a quality of
the act the person commits, but rather a consequence of the application
by others of rules and sanctions to an “offender.” (Italics in original)
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 5

Deviance, relativists argue, is thus lodged in the eye of the beholder rather than
in the act itself, and it may vary by time and place in the way it is defined.
Becker (1963, 147—48) further stated,

Formal rules such as laws require the initiative or enterprise of specific

individuals and groups for their reality. They do not exist independently
of the actions of moral entrepreneurs to make them real....The proto-
type of the rule creator is the crusading reformer. He is interested in the
content of the rules. The existing rules do not satisfy him because there
is some evil which profoundly disturbs him. He feels that nothing can
be right in the world unless rules are made to correct it. He operates
within an absolute ethic; what he sees is truly and totally evil with no
qualification. Any means is justified to do away with it. The crusader
is fervent and righteous, often self righteous... [He or she] typically
believe[s the] mission is a holy one.
Definitions, this position suggests, are forged by crusading reformers and reforged
by them in different eras and locations, leading to significant constructions and
reconstructions of deviance. When different social contexts frame and give
meaning to the perception and interpretation of acts, the same act may be alter-
natively perceived as deviant or normative.
This idea creates the possibility of multiple definitions of acts, both deviant
and nondeviant, simultaneously existing among different groups. We see that
possibility clearly in cases of controversial, morally debated acts such as abortion,
school prayer, gay marriage, the use of medical marijuana, and illegal immigra-
tion. Major campaigns have been assembled to sway public opinion over the
morality and appropriateness of these behaviors, with large segments of the
country falling into oppositional camps. Groups that are fairly alike in their com-
position may forge shared agreements about norms that would be received dif-
ferently among a broader segment of the general public. For example, more
widely acceptable behavior, such as dancing, is condemned in some thoroughly
conservative environments, such as Bible-Belt religious colleges. At the same
time, language that is widely used throughout the country may be condemned
as politically incorrect and morally offensive (and, sometimes, as a hate crime) on
extremely liberal college campuses.
Even some acts that are considered universally taboo can vary in their defi-
nitions, as there are conditions under which they would be considered nondevi-
ant. To kill somebody for personal gain, vengeance, or freedom, or through
negligence, might be considered deviant (and, more likely, criminal), but when
murder is committed by the state (e.g., by execution, in war, or through covert
intelligence), in self-defense, after catching your spouse in bed with someone else
(if you are a man, but not if you are a woman), by those deemed insane, or on
one’s own property (in states where they have “make my day” laws), it is con-
sidered not only nondeviant, but also possibly heroic. Similarly, anthropologists
have found cultures that condone certain forms of incest to quiet or soothe
infants (Henry, 1964; Weatherford, 1986). Often, too, people differentiate
between normal lies and “white” lies, accepting those designed to spare other
6 GENERAL INTRODUCTION

v
people’s feelings. Relativists argue that definitions of deviance are social products
that are likely to be situationally invoked under certain circumstances. They rep-
resent the social constructionist approach because they focus on the circum-
stances under which social norms are differentially created and applied.
Paradoxically, extensions of functionalist theory bring it into the social con-
structionist realm. Despite their belief that deviance is pathological, functionalists
overwhelmingly hold that all components of society contribute, somehow, to its
existence; they all have positive functions in that regard. Because deviance is a
universal feature of all societies, functionalists admit that it must offer benefits.
Four such benefits have been outlined. First, when people react against the devi-
ance of others, they bond together to produce cohesion and social solidarity. We
saw this effect after the terrorist attacks of 9/11. Second, identifying and punish=
ing deviance redefines and reinforces the social boundaries, which are mutable
and not fixed, and reinforces the dangers of transgressing those boundaries.
When, for example, business executives such as Martha Stewart, and Kenneth
Lay and Jeffrey Skilling of Enron, go to prison for insider trading, “creative
accounting,” and income tax evasion, their punishment clarifies the limits of
acceptable behavior. Similarly, politicians who get caught abusing their power
represent an impetus to other politicians not only to avoid such behaviors, but
to pass stronger ethics rules. Third, Durkheim noted the seeds of social change in
deviance: New developments are often initially regarded skeptically or fearfully
and have to go through a process of moral passage to become accepted.
instance, although Socrates was considered a political heretic in his time, he
paved the way for intellectual freedom. Without deviance, Durkheim suggested, -
society-might stagnate. Fourth, deviance promotes full employment as the exis-
ténce of all the occupations associated with it, such as the criminal justice system,
the medical establishment, the media, scholars, etc., would be less robust in a soci
ety devoid of deviance. In fact, should crime and deviance disappear entirely, and
we become what Durkheim called a “society of saints,” new behaviors would be
defined aeidaviiet to fill this void. In sum, functionalists concluded that a certain
amount of deviance is good ociety. But because too much or too little is not as
beneficial as just the nght amount, definitions of deviance must be continually
socially constructed and adjusted to ensure the smooth functioning ofsociety.
~~A third position on defining deviance, presented in Quinney’s Chapter 5,
is the social power perspective, which builds on the relativist perspective by
asserting that views on crime and deviance are not arbitrarily formed by just any
group of “others.” Closely tied to Marx’s conflict theory, the social power
approach focuses on the influence that powerful groups and classes have in cre-
ating and applying laws. As Quinney (1970, 43) notes, these laws are a reflection
of those with the greatest social power in society:
Criminal laws support particular interests to the neglect or negation of
other interests, thus representing the concerns of only some members of
society. Though some criminal laws may involve a compromise of
conflicting interests, more likely than not, criminal laws mark the
victory of some groups over others. The notion of acompromise of
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 7

conflicting interests is a myth perpetuated by the pluralistic model of

politics. Some interests never find access to the lawmaking process.
Other interests are overwhelmed in it, not compromised. But ultimately
some interests succeed in becoming criminal law, and are able to control
the conduct of other.
Thus, Quinney believes that laws reflect the interests and concerns of the domi-
nant classes in a society. Dominant classes tend to formulate their definitions ‘of
deviance in accord with their own interests, defining things that threaten them as
out of bounds and things that benefit them as good. All laws reflect power rela=
tions, and their existence, as well as their enforcement, illustrates which erou
have the power to control and which groups are controlled. Dominant groups,
then, tend to overenforce laws against the subordinate classes and underenforce
them against members of their own group.
This approach incorporates social constructionism by challenging the simplis-
tic assumption underlying the absolutist perspective that definitions of deviance are
universally shared. According to the social power viewpoint, society is character-
ized by conflict and struggle between groups whose interests conflict with each
other, with the powerful classes dominating the subordinate groups. Members of
each group pursue their own needs and desires, but because of the way society 1s
structured, what is good for one class restricts the opportunities of others. This
tension pits groups against each other in active struggles. Those with the greatest
social power dominate both the ability to create definitions, rules, and laws and the
way those definitions, rules, and laws are negligently or aggressively enforced.
The conflicting interests of the dominant and subordinate groups can fall
into the economic realm, as we see some political parties promoting the nghts
of big businesses to pay less money in taxes, less overtime compensation, and
lower health-care benefits while other parties fight for the rights of workers to
unionize, to gain job security, and to earn a decent wage. Other issues on which
groups in society may conflict fall into the social realm and include environmen-
tal policies, birth control, stem cell research, school prayer, gun control, health
care, and drug policies. Pervading all of these issues is a systematic differential
oppression along the lines of race or ethnicity, social class, and gender, note
conflict theorists.
Feminist theorists share conflict theorists’ constructionist orientation, as we
learn in Chesney-Lind’s Chapter 10, but their focus is on the norms, policies,
and laws of the patriarchal system that uphold the social, moral, economic, and
political order that fosters male privilege. Their approach questions the way men
forge and maintain their dominance over women, and the role of definitions
deviance in that endeavor. Feminist theorists challenge the bases and benefits o
patriarchy, regarding it as a form of socially constructed social control.
Social power theorists define deviance through the social meanings that are
collectively applied to people’s attitudes, behavior, or conditions. These mean-
ings are rooted in the interaction between individuals and social groups. Those
who have the power to make rules and apply them to others control the norma-
tive order. The politically, socially, and economically dominant groups enforce
8 GENERAL INTRODUCTION

their definitions onto the downtrodden and powerless. Deviance is thus a repre-
sentation of unequal power in society. on

DEVIANT IDENTITY

The second component of the social constructionist approach lies in the con-
sequences of definitions and applications of deviance. Interactionists have argued
that the two sides of constructing deviance—its articulation and its application—
are each critical. Society first labels various attitudes, behaviors, and conditions as
deviant and then labels specific individuals associated with those attitudes, beha-
viors, and conditions as deviant. Where definitions of deviance are forged but
not applied, they believe, deviance does not really exist. It’s as if a tree falls in
the forest but we conclude that it makes no sound because no one 1s there to
hear it. In effect, social constructionists are proposing that the essence of the
sound lies, not in the impact of the tree on the ground or in the creation of
the sound waves, but in the articulation of those waves against the hearer’s ear-
drum. Specific individuals or groups of people must be labeled by society in
order for deviance to be concretely envisioned. Part V takes up this change of
focus away from the construction of definitions of deviance and toward looking
at how the application of norms and laws affects people. Now, we move away
from miacrosocietal explanations to focus on the microinteraction that occurs in
everyday life. Constructionists claim that I aR
gone
nesome sort oflabeling. Thissection looks athow deviant labels are applied
andtheir subsequent consequences.
Social constructionists emphasize that something profound may occur when
the supposed deviants and conventional others interact. In pursuing their actions,
individuals may engage in deviance but not think of themselves as deviant actors.
Only when they begin to apply the deviant labels “out there” in the world to
themselves do they truly become deviants. This is the process of acquiring a
deviant identity. People may become dislodged from their safe identity locations
within the “normal” realm through their own observations, as well as through
the actions and remarks of others. The greater the response of others, the stron=
ger will be their self-conception that they are deviant and the more they may |
engage in further deviance. wt
Several aspects of this social psychological process are the most critical and
will be addressed most vividly in this section. We begin by looking at how peo-
ple acquire deviant identities. Many factors -are influential, and we consider the
ways people creatively use “accounts” or “motive talk” to explain, neutralize, or
justify their actions in order to forestall being labeled as deviant. Although func-
tionalists have supgesied that labeling people as deviant has positive results for_
society, it has negative result m2 labeled . They acquire the stigma of
being deviant, a stain or “pejorative connotation esecued with them or their
actions. Living with known stigma makes life difficult for people, who may
then be marked, disparaged, or shunned. People handle their stigma differently,
and we examine these variations and their consequences in Part V.
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION 9

THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

We conclude this volume, in Parts VI, VII, and VIII, with a discussion of how
deviants, their deviance, and their deviant careers are socially organized. Earlier
sections of the book have concentrated on macro- and microlevels of addressing
deviance by considering the movements and powers that shape deviant defini-
tions at the societal level and by looking at how people’s identities are shaped
at the interpersonal level. Now we take a meso (midlevel) focus by looking at
how deviants organize their social organization and relationships, activities and
acts, and careers in connection with others. We begin with the study of deviant
organization, examining the various ways members of deviant scenes organize
their relations with one another. The scenarios discussed range from individuals
acting on their own, outside of relationships with other deviants, to subcultures,
to more tightly connected gangs, to highly committed international cartels, and,
finally, to corporations and the state. We then consider the structure of deviant
acts. Some forms of deviance involve cooperation between the participants, with
people mutually exchanging illicit goods or services. Others are characterized by
conflict, with some parties to the act taking advantage of others, often against
their will. Finally, we look at the phases and contours of deviant careers, begin-
ning with people’s entry into the world of deviant behavior and associates, con-
tinuing with the way they fashion their involvement in deviance, and concluding
with their often problematic, and occasionally inconclusive, retirement from the
compelling world of deviance.
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Defining Deviance

n order to study the topic of deviance, we must first clarify what we mean by
the term. What behaviors or conditions fall into this category, and what is the
relation between deviance and other categories, such as crime? When we speak
of deviance, we refer to violations of social norms. Norms are behavioral cad
or prescriptions that guide people into actions and self-presentations that con j
form to social acceptability. Norms need not be agreed upon by every member
of the group doing the defining, but a clear or vocal majority must agree.
One of the founding American sociologists, William Sumner (1906), con-
ceptualized three types of norms: folkways, mores, and laws. He defined folk-
ways as simple everyday norms based on custom, tradition, or etiquette.
Violations of folkway norms do not generate serious outrage, but might cause
people to think of the violator as odd. Common folkway norms include stan-
dards of dress, demeanor, physical closeness to or distance from others, and eating
behavior. People who come to class dressed in bathing suits, who never seem to
be paying attention when they are spoken to, who sit or stand too close to
others, who pick their noses in public or fail to wash their hands in a public
washroom, or who eat with their hands instead of silverware (at least in the
United States) would be violating a folkway norm. We would not arrest them,
nor would we impugn their moral character, but we might think that there was
something peculiar about them.
Mores (pronounced mor-ays) are norms based on broad societal morals
whose infraction would generate more serious social condemnation. Interracial
marriage, illegitimate childbearing, and drug addiction all constitute moral viola-
tions. Upholding these norms is seen as critical to the fabric of society, and their
violation threatens the social order. Interracial marriage threatens racial purity
and the stratification hierarchy based on race; illegitimate childbearing threatens

11
12 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

the institution of marriage and the transference of money, status, and family
responsibility from one generation to the next; drug addiction represents the
triumph of hedonism over rationality, threatening the responsible behavior
required to hold society together and to accomplish its necessary tasks. People
who violate mores may be considered bad or wicked, and harmful to society.
Laws are the strongest norms because they are supported by codified social
sanctions. People who violate them are subject to arrest and punishment ranging
from fines to imprisonment (and even death). Many laws are directed toward
behavior that used to be folkways or, especially, violations of mores, but that
became encoded into laws. Others are regarded as necessary for maintaining
social order. Although violating a traffic law such as speeding breaks society’s
rules, it will not usually brand the offender as deviant.
Following closely on Sumner’s distinctions, Smith and Pollack (1976) sug-
gested that deviance might be conceptualized as violations of the norms associ-
ated with crime, sin, and poor taste. For example, criminal acts, such as murder,
rape, assault, robbery, and arson, would be violations of laws. Smith and Pollack
view these acts as generally unacceptable to the large majority of the people in
society. Acts of sin tend to be defined in relation to religious proscriptions and
often include promiscuity, lewdness, extramarital or homosexual sex, gambling,
drinking, and abortion. Although some of these may be subject to criminal sanc-
tion, the majority of them are not. Instead, societal responses tend to fall into the
moral category of strong disapproval. Finally, acts of poor taste, like violations of
folkways, challenge existing standards of fashion, manners, or traditions, violate
social norms, and are unregulated by law.
This discussion returns us to the question about the relationship between
deviance and crime. Are they identical terms, is one a subset of the other, or are
they overlapping categories? To answer this question, we must consider one facet
of it at a time. First, do some acts fall into both categories—crime and deviance?
The overlap between these two is extensive, with crimes of violence, such as
murder and assault, and property crimes, such as theft, arson, and vandalism, con-
sidered both deviant and illegal. But are crime and deviance always the same
thing? We can see that they are not, because there is much deviance that is not
criminal. Noncriminal forms of deviance include obesity, stuttering, physical
handicaps, racial intermarriage, and unwed pregnancy. At the same time, some
forms of crime are not considered deviant; they neither violate norms nor bring
moral censure. Examples of these crimes include some white-collar crimes com-
monly regarded as merely aggressive business practices, such as income tax eva-
sion; minor traffic offenses; and forms of civil disobedience, in which people
break laws to protest their injustice. Crime and deviance, then, can best be seen
as categories that overlap while at the same time having independent dimensions.
 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE 13

People can be labeled deviant as the result of the ABCs of deviance: their
attitudes, behaviors, or conditions. First, they may be branded deviant for alternative
sets of attitudes or belief systems. These belief systems may fall into the category
of religion, with all forms of religious extremism and even moderate forms of
nonnormative religious beliefs, such as those held by cults, Satanists, and funda-
mentalists, regarded askance. Having no religious affiliation is one of the fastest-
growing forms of deviant religious belief systems in the United States (those who
claimed “no religion” were the only demographic group that grew in all 50 states
in the last 18 years), contravening the 85 percent of religious people who claim
some religious identity and the close to 92 percent who report that they believe
in the existence of a supernatural or “supreme” being. A second category of
deviant people consists of those who hold extreme political attitudes (far-leftist or
far-rightist terrorists). Mentally ill people also fall into this category, as do people
with deviant worldviews (e.g., those who believe that the world is coming to an
end and who are often considered mentally ill) and people with chemical, emo-
tional, or psychological problems. Those in this category may also be subject to
relativity, so that when a poor woman shoplifts a roast, people call her a com-
mon criminal, but if a rich woman steals a roast, her deviant status is deemed
kleptomaniac, a mental illness label.
The behavioral category is the most familiar one, with people coming to be
regarded as deviant for their outward actions. Deviant behaviors may be intentional
or inadvertent and include such activities as violating dress or speech conventions,
engaging in kinky sexual behavior, smoking marijuana, and committing murder.
People cast into the deviant realm for their behaviors have an achieved deviant status:
They have earned the deviant label through something they have done.
Other people regarded as deviant may have an ascribed deviant status, based on
a condition they acquire from birth. This category would include those having a
deviant socioeconomic status such as being either extremely poor or ultrarich;
those possessing a deviant racial status such as being a person of color (in a domi-
nantly Caucasian society); and those having a congenital physical disability. Here,
there is nothing iatth. such peop - done to become deviant and little or
nothing they can Heto repair their aercat status. Moreover, there may be noth-
ing inherent in these statuses that make them deviant; rather, they may become
deviant through the result of a social definitional process that gives unequal
weight to powerful and dominant groups in society. A conditional deviant status
may be ascribed or achieved. On the one hand, people may be born with con-
ditional deviance because of their personal, racial, or ethnic characteristics
can be
(height, weight, color). On the other hand, a conditional deviant status
achieved, as when people burn or disfigure themselves severely, when they
become too fat or too thin, or when they cover their bodies with adornments
14 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

such as tattoos, piercings, or scarification. Unlike ascribed statuses, some of these

achieved statuses may be changed, moving the deviant back within the norm.
Finally, it is interesting to consider the way deviance is assessed and catego-
rized, as this varies between different eras, with different behaviors, and to differ-
ent audiences. Deviance may be perceived and interpreted through the lens of
the three categories of S’s: sin, sick, and selected. During the Middle Ages and
many earlier times when religious paradigms about the world prevailed, deviance
from the norm was held to be a religious disorder and viewed as sinful. Nonnor-
mative attitudes, beliefs, and conditions were attributed to satanic influences, and
exorcisms were performed to cure people. Religious leaders were seen as the
arbiters of official morality and were called upon to make judgments and admin-
ister sanctions. Even today, some religious zealots adhere to this perspective, not
only in societies that are officially religious in their governance, but within reli-
gious pockets of secular societies. The afflicted, in the eyes of these people, are
strongly condemned and often viewed as contagious.
Beginning in the first half of the twentieth century, the medicalization (sick-
ness) model emerged as a strong perspective for explaining deviance. Conrad and
Snyder (1980) suggested that the process of medicalization begins when a behav-
ior or condition defined as deviant is “prospected” by people with medical inter-
ests to see if they can gain rewards from pulling it under the medical umbrella.
Physicians and psychiatrists claimed that homosexuality, alcoholism, drug addic-
tion, sexual misbehavior, mental illness, and a number of other behaviors are
rooted in people’s psychiatric problems, genetic abnormalities, inherited predis-
positions, and biochemical characteristics. Psychiatrists sought to claim ownership
over the diagnosis of these forms of deviance with their Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual of Mental Disorders (now in its current edition, the DSM-V) so that they
could administer outpatient or inpatient therapy and be reimbursed by insurance
companies. (Clinics for specialized medical conditions such as self-injury may
charge as much as $1,000 a day and require a 30-day stay.) Turf wars sprang
up, with psychiatrists attempting to exert domain claims over a variety of beha-
viors that were previously conceived as biological or sociological in order to
receive research grants for further study, diagnose patients, and then treat them.
For example, does your child have “dyspraxia”? Children with this new disorder
(“clumsy child syndrome”), affecting 2 percent of the population (mostly male),
will need the support of their families and qualified professionals to succeed in
school. Are you boorish, disrespectful of authority, rude, or lacking in etiquette?
Perhaps you have “impulse control disorder.” Do you spend too many hours on
your computer? You should consider having yourself diagnosed with “Internet
addiction disorder.” Are you an overly aggressive driver? Perhaps you suffer clin-
ically from “road rage.” The next edition of the DSM is set to include a new
 PARTI DEFINING DEVIANCE 15

category on “relational disorders” that identifies sickness in groups of individuals

and the relationships between them, including couples who constantly quarrel,
parents and children who clash, and troubled relationships between siblings.
The new DSM will define all of these conditions as mental illnesses, thereby
encroaching into sociological behaviors, attempting to psychologize and pathol-
ogize them.
The recovery movement, with its coterie of self-help (often 12-step) pro-
grams, educators, and public health organizations, further expanded the reach of
the medicalization paradigm to include addictions other than drug and alcohol
addictions, as well as eating disorders, self-injury, child abuse, child hyperactivity,
compulsive gambling, and interpersonal violence. Doctors and drug companies
leapt into the business, manufacturing and prescribing an array of medications to
“manage” or “cure” people. As a result, we are now the most legally medicated
society in world history. The success of this medicalization movement, fueled by
the prestige of science and the lure of the “easy fix” of a pill, drew huge areas of
attitudes, behaviors, and conditions into its sphere, so that society no longer toler-
ates people being too sad, depressed, rebellious, rambunctious, or fidgety, eating
too much or too little, or having too little or too much sex. One strong allure of
the medicalization perspective has been its destigmatization of some deviance, as
people who were seen as sick or acting on biological predispositions or inherited
“differences” came to be seen instead as doing things “beyond their control”
instead of making immoral choices. This new perspective made them more accept-
able to mainstream society, albeit not quite “normal” or “healthy.”
At the same time, some thought that the medicalization movement had
become too pervasive, absorbing too great a swath of social life within its grasp.
Some participants in deviance reached out to reclaim the rhetoric of selection over
their attitudes, behaviors, and conditions, arguing that these were the result of
voluntary choice. They, and the researchers who studied them, found groups
of people who rejected the medicalized interpretation of such things as homo-
sexuality, gambling, eating disorders, drug use, and self-injury. Participants
chafed at the control that “experts” held over them, their diagnoses, their treat-
ments, and their medicalization. Instead, they cast their behaviors as intentionally
selected, as forms of recreation, lifestyle choices, and coping strategies. This
demedicalization movement has in some ways empowered and destigmatized
people who participated in these forms of behavior. For them, to be seen as ill
was to be derogated; by contrast, to be seen as self-healing or voluntarily deviant
is conventional. There is no doubt that these diverse perspectives will continue
to compete for the ownership, control, and legitimacy of nonnormative forms of
expression.
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 On the Sociology of Deviance
KAI T. ERIKSON

This classic selection examines the functions of deviance for society. Erikson
asserts that deviance and the social reactions it evokes are key focal concerns of
every community. Scrutinized by the mass media, law enforcement, and ordinary
citizens, deviance leads us to continually redraw the social boundaries of
acceptability. Rather than being a fixed property, norms are subject to shifts and
evolution, and the interactions between deviants and agents of social control locate
the margins between deviance and respectability.
Erikson notes, ironically, that the very institutions and agencies mandated to
manage deviance tend to reinforce it. Once individuals have been identified as
deviant, they undergo “commitment ceremonies” where they are negatively
labeled, experiencing a status change that is hard to reverse. Society’s expectations
that deviants will not reform foster the “self-fulfilling prophesy,” by which norm
violators reproduce their deviance, living up to the negative images society holds of
them. Erikson suggests several other valuable functions that deviance performs in a
society: It fosters boundary maintenance so that people know what is acceptable
and unacceptable; it bolsters cohesion, integration, and solidarity, thus preserving
the stability of social life; and it promotes full employment, guaranteeing jobs for
people working in the deviance- and crime-management sectors.
Can you think of any cases where people you know have been pushed into
deviance by people’s expectations or definitions?

uman actors are sorted into various kinds of collectivity, ranging from rela-
tively small units such as the nuclear family to relatively large ones such as a
nation or culture. One of the most stubborn difficulties in the study of deviation
is that the problem is defined differently at each one of these levels: behavior that
is considered unseemly within the context of a single family may be entirely
acceptable to the community in general, while behavior that attracts severe cen-
sure from the members of the community may go altogether unnoticed else-
where in the culture. People in society, then, must learn to deal separately with
deviance at each one of these levels and to distinguish among them in [their]
own daily activity. A man may disinherit his son for conduct that violates old

Source: ERIKSON, KAI T., WAYWARD PURITANS: A STUDY IN THE

SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE, CLASSIC EDITION, Ist Edition, © 2005.
Reprinted by permission of Pearson Education, Inc., Upper Saddle Raver, NJ.

17
18 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

family traditions or ostracize a neighbor for conduct that violates some local cus-
tom, but he is not expected to employ either of these standards when he serves
as a juror in a court of law. In each of the three situations he is required to use a
different set of criteria to decide whether or not the behavior in question exceeds
tolerable limits.
In the next few pages we shall be talking about deviant behavior in social
units called “communities,” but the use of this term does not mean that the
argument applies only at that level of organization. In theory, at least, the argu-
ment being made here should fit all kinds of human collectivity—families as well
as whole cultures, small groups as well as nations—and the term “community” is
only being used in this context because it seems particularly convenient. '
The people of a community spend most of their lives in close contact with
one another, sharing a common sphere of experience which makes them feel
that they belong to a special “kind” and live in a special “place.” In the formal
language of sociology, this means that communities are boundary maintaining:
each has a specific territory in the world as a whole, not only in the sense that
it occupies a defined region of geographical space but also in the sense that it
takes over a particular niche in what might be called cultural space and develops
its own “ethos” or “way” within that compass. Both of these dimensions of
group space, the geographical and the cultural, set the community apart as a spe-
cial place and provide an important point of reference for its members.
When one describes any system as boundary maintaining, one is saying that it
controls the fluctuation of its consistent parts so that the whole retains a limited
range of activity, a given pattern of constancy and stability, within the larger envi-
ronment. A human community can be said to maintain boundaries, then, in the
sense that its members tend to confine themselves to a particular radius of activity
and to regard any conduct which drifts outside that radius as somehow inappro-
priate or immoral. Thus, the group retains a kind of cultural integrity, a voluntary
restriction on its own potential for expansion, beyond that which is strictly
required for accommodation to the environment. Human behavior can vary
over an enormous range, but each community draws a symbolic set of parentheses
around a certain segment of that range and limits its own activities within that
narrower zone. These parentheses, so to speak, are the community’s boundaries.
Now people who live together in communities cannot relate to one another
in any coherent way or even acquire a sense of their own stature as group mem-
bers unless they learn something about the boundaries of the territory they
occupy in social space, if only because they need to sense what lies beyond the
margins of the group before they can appreciate the special quality of the expe-
rience which takes place within it. Yet how do people learn about the bound-
aries of their community? And how do they convey this information to the
generations which replace them?
To begin with, the only material found in a society for marking boundaries
is the behavior of its members—or rather, the networks of interaction which link
these members together in regular social relations. And the interactions which do
the most effective job of locating and publicizing the group’s outer edges would
seem to be those which take place between deviant persons on the one side and
official agents of the community on the other. The deviant is a person whose
 CHAPTER 1 ON THE SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 19

activities have moved outside the margins of the group, and when the commu-
nity calls him to account for that vagrancy it is making a statement about the
nature and placement of its boundaries. It is declaring how much _variability
and diversity can be tole1rated within the group before it begins to lose its distinc-
tive shape, its unique identity. Now there may be other moments in the life of
the group which perform a similar service: wars, for instance, can publicize a
group’s boundaries by drawing attention to the line separating the group from
an adversary, and certain kinds of religious ritual, dance ceremony, and other
traditional pageantry can dramatize the difference between “we” and “they” by
portraying a symbolic encounter between the two. But on the whole, members
of acommunity inform one another about the placement of their boundaries by
participating in the confrontations which occur when persons who venture out
to the edges of the group are met by policing agents whose special business it is
to guard the cultural integrity of the community. Whether these confrontations
take the form of criminal trials, excommunication hearings, courts-martial, or
even psychiatric case conferences, they act as boundary-maintaining devices in
the sense that they demonstrate to whatever audience is concerned where the
line is drawn between behavior that belongs in the special universe of the
group and behavior that does not. In general, this kind of information is not
easily relayed by the straightforward use of language. Most readers of this para-
‘graph, for instance, have a fairly clear idea of the line separating theft from more
legitimate forms of commerce, but few of them have ever seen a published stat-
ute describing these differences. More likely than not, our information on the
subject has been drawn from publicized instances in which the relevant laws
were applied—and for that matter, the law itself is largely a collection of past
cases and decisions, a synthesis of the various confrontations which have occurred
in the life of the legal order.
It may be important to note in this connection that confrontations between
deviant offenders and the agents of control have always attracted a good deal of
public attention. In our own past, the trial and punishment of offenders were
staged in the market place and afforded the crowd a chance to participate in a
direct, active way. Today, of course, we no longer parade deviants in the town
square or expose them to the carnival atmosphere of aTyburn, but it is interest-
ing that the “reform” which brought about this change in penal practice coin-
cided almost exactly with the development of newspapers as a medium of mass
information. Perhaps this is no more than an accident of history, but it is none
theless true that newspapers (and now radio and television) offer much the sam
kind of entertainment as public hangings or a Sunday visit to the local gaol. ;
considerable portion of what we call “news” is devoted to reports about deviant
behavior and its consequences, and it is no simple matter to explain why these
items should be considered newsworthy or why they should command the
extraordinary attention they do. Perhaps they appeal to a number of psychologi-
cal perversities among the mass audience, as commentators have suggested, but
at the same time they constitute one of our main sources of information about
the normative outlines of society. In a figurative sense, at least, morality and
immorality meet at the public scaffold, and it is during this meeting that the
line between them is drawn.
20 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

Boundaries are never a fixed property of any community. They are always
shifting as the people of the group find new ways to define the outer limits of
their universe, new ways to position themselves on the larger cultural map. Some-
times changes occur within the structure of the group which require its members
to make a new survey of their territory—a change of leadership, a shift of mood.
Sometimes changes occur in the surrounding environment, altering the back-
ground against which the people of the group have measured their own unique-
ness. And always, new generations are moving in to take their turn guarding old
institutions and need to be informed about the contours of the world they are
inheriting. Thus, single encounters between the deviant and his community are
only fragments of an ongoing social process. Like an article of common law,
boundaries remain a meaningful point of reference only so long as they are repeat-
edly tested by persons on the fringes of the group and repeatedly defended by per-
sons chosen to represent the group’s inner morality. Each time the community
moves to censure some act of deviation, then, and convenes a formal ceremony
to deal with the responsible offender, it sharpens the authority of the violated
norm and restates where the boundaries of the group are located.
For these reasons, deviant behavior is not a simple kind of leakage which
occurs when the machinery of society is in poor working order, but may be, in
controlled quantities, an important condition for preserving the stability of social
life. Deviant forms of behavior, by marking the outer edges of group life, give
the inner structure its special character and thus supply the framework within
which the people of the group develop an orderly sense of their own cultural
identity. Perhaps this is what Aldous Huxley had in mind when he wrote:
Now tidiness is undeniably good—but a good of which it is easily
possible to have too much and at too high a price.... The good life can
only be lived in a society in which tidiness is preached and practised, but
not too fanatically, and where efficiency is always haloed, as it were, by
a tolerated margin of mess.”
This raises a delicate theoretical issue. If we grant that human groups often
derive benefit from deviant behavior, can we then assume that they are orga-
nized in such a way as to promote this resource? Can we assume, in other
words, that forces operate in the social structure to recruit offenders and to com-
mit them to long periods of service in the deviant ranks? This is not a question
which can be answered with our present store of empirical data, but one obser-
vation can be made which gives the question an interesting perspective—namely,
that deviant forms of conduct often seem to derive nourishment from the very
agencies devised to inhibit them. Indeed, the agencies built by society for
preventing deviance are often so poorly equipped for the task that we might
well ask why this is regarded as their “real” function in the first place.
It is by now a thoroughly familiar argument that many of the institutions
designed to discourage deviant behavior actually operate in such a way as to per-
petuate it. For one thing, prisons, hospitals, and other similar agencies provide
aid and shelter to large numbers of deviant persons, sometimes giving them a
certain advantage in the competition for social resources. But beyond this, such
 CHAPTER 1 ON THE SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 21

institutions gather marginal people into tightly segregated groups, give them an.
Opportunity to teach one another the skills and attitudes of a deviant career, and
even provoke them into using these skills by reinforcing their sense of alienation
from the rest of society.” Nor is this observation a modern one:
The misery suffered in gaols is not half their evil; they are filled with
every sort of corruption that poverty and wickedness can generate; with
all the shameless and profligate enormities that can be produced by the
impudence of ignominy, the range of want, and the malignity of dispair.
In a prison the check of the public eye is removed; and the power ofthe
law is spent. There are few fears, there are no blushes. The lewd inflame
the more modest; the audacious harden the timid. Everyone fortifies
himself as he can against his own remaining sensibility; endeavoring to
practise on others the arts that are practised on himself; and to gain the
applause of his worst associates by imitating their manners.”
These lines, written almost two centuries ago, are a harsh indictment of pris-
ons, but many of the conditions they describe continue to be reported in even
the most modern studies of prison life. Looking at the matter from a long-range
historical perspective, it is fair to conclude that prisons have done a conspicuously
poor job of reforming the convicts placed in their custody; but the very consis-
tency of this failure may have a peculiar logic of its own. Perhaps we find it
difficult to change the worst of our penal practices because we expect the prison
to harden the inmate’s commitment to deviant forms of behavior and draw hi
more deeply into the deviant ranks. On the whole, we are a people who do not
“Se expect deviants to change very much as they are processed through the
control agencies we provide for them, and we are often reluctant to devote
much of the community’s resources to the job of rehabilitation. In this sense;
the prison which graduates long rows of accomplished criminals (or, for that
matter, the state asylum which stores its most severe cases away in some back
ward) may do serious violence to the aims of its founders; but it does very little
violence to the expectations of the population it serves.
These expectations, moreover, are found in every corner of society and con-
stitute an important part of the climate in which we deal with deviant forms of
behavior.
To begin with, the community’s decision to bring deviant sanctions against
one of its members is not a simple act of censure. It is an intricate rite of transi-
tion, at once moving the individual out of his ordinary place in society and trans-
ferring him into a special deviant position.” The ceremonies which mark this
change of status, generally, have a number of related phases. They supply a for-
mal stage on which the deviant and his community can confront one another (as
in the criminal trial); they make an announcement about the nature of his devi-
ancy (e.g., a verdict or diagnosis); and they place him in a particular role which
is thought to neutralize the harmful effects of his misconduct (like the role of
prisoner or patient). These commitment ceremonies tend to be OpgatOus of
wide public interest and ordinarily take place in a highly dramatic setting, Per-
haps the most obvious example of a commitment ceremony is the criminal trial,
22 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

with its elaborate formality and exaggerated ritual, but more modest equivalents
can be found wherever procedures are set up to judge whether or not someone
is legitimately deviant.
~ Now an important feature of these ceremonies in our own culture is that
they are almost irreversible. Most provisional roles conferred by society—those
of the student or conscripted soldier, for example—include some kind of termi-
nal ceremony to mark the individual’s movement back out of the role once its
temporary advantages have been exhausted. But the roles allotted the deviant
seldom make allowance for this type of passage. He is ushered into the deviant
position by a decisive and often dramatic ceremony, yet is retired from it with
scarcely a word of public notice. And as a result, the deviant often returns home
with no proper license to resume a normal life in the community. Nothing has
happened to cancel out the stigmas imposed upon him by earlier commitment
ceremonies; nothing has happened to revoke the verdict or diagnosis pro-
nounced upon him at that time. It should not be surprising, then, that the people
of the community are apt to greet the returning deviant with a considerable
degree of apprehension and distrust, for in a very real sense they are not at all
sure who he is.
A circularity is thus set into motion which has all the earmarks of a “self-
fulfilling prophecy,” to use Merton’s fine phrase. On the one hand, it seems
quite obvious that the community’s apprehensions help reduce whatever chances
the deviant might otherwise have had for a successful return home. Yet at the
same time, everyday experience seems to show that these suspicions are wholly
reasonable, for it is a well-known and highly publicized fact that many if not
most ex-convicts return to crime after leaving prison and that large numbers of
mental patients require further treatment after an initial hospitalization. The
common feeling that deviant persons never really change, then, may derive
from a faulty premise; but the feeling is expressed so frequently and with such
conviction that it eventually creates the facts which later “prove” it to be correct.
If the returning deviant encounters this circularity often enough, it is quite
understandable that he, too, may begin to wonder whether he has fully gradu-
ated from the deviant role, and he may respond to the uncertainty by resuming
some kind of deviant activity. In many respects, this may be the only way for the
individual and his community to agree what kind ofperson he is.
Moreover, this prophecy is found in the official policies of even the most
responsible agencies of control. Police departments could not operate with any
real effectiveness if they did not regard ex-convicts as a ready pool of suspects to
be tapped in the event of trouble, and psychiatric clinics could not do a successful
job in the community if they were not always alert to the possibility of former
patients suffering relapses. Thus, the prophecy gains currency at many levels within
the social order, not only in the poorly informed attitudes of the community at
large, but in the best informed theories of most control agencies as well.
In one form or another this problem has been recognized in the West for
many hundreds of years, and this simple fact has a curious implication. For if our
culture has supported a steady flow of deviation throughout long periods of his-
torical change, the rules which apply to any kind of evolutionary thinking would
 CHAPTER 1 ON THE SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 23

suggest that strong forces must be at work to keep the flow intact—and this
because it contributes in some important way to the survival of the culture as a
whole. This does not furnish us with sufficient warrant to declare that deviance is
“functional” (in any of the many senses of that term), but it should certainly
make us wary of the assumption so often made in sociological circles that any
well-structured society is somehow designedtoprevent deviant behavior from

It might be then argued that we need new metaphors to carry our thinking
about deviance onto a different plane. On the whole, American sociologists have
devoted most of their attention to those forces in society which seem to assert a
centralizing influence on human behavior, gathering people together into tight
clusters called “groups” and bringing them under the jurisdiction of governing
principles called “norms” or “standards.” The questions which sociologists have
traditionally asked of their data, then, are addressed to the uniformities rather
than the divergencies of social life: how is it that people learn to think in similar
ways, to accept the same group moralities, to move by the same rhythms of
behavior, to see life with the same eyes? How is it, in short, that cultures accom-
plish the incredible alchemy of making unity out of diversity, harmony out of
conflict, order out of confusion? Somehow we often act as if the differences
between people can be taken for granted, being too natural to require comment,
but that the symmetry which human groups manage to achieve must be
explained by referring to the molding influence of the social structure.
But variety, too, is a product of the social structure. It is certainly remarkable
that members ofa culture come to look so much alike; but it is also remarkable
that out of all this sameness a people can develop a complex division of labor,
move off into diverging career lines, scatter across the surface of the territory
they share in common, and create so many differences of temper, ideology, fash-
ion, and mood. Perhaps we can conclude, then, that two separate yet often com-
peting currents are found in any society: those forces which promote a high
degree of conformity among the people of the community so that they know
what to expect from one another, and those forces which encourage a certain
degree of diversity so that people can be deployed across the range of group
space to survey its potential, measure its capacity, and, in the case of those we
call deviants, patrol its boundaries. In such a scheme, the deviant would appear
as a natural product of group differentiation. He is not a bit of debris spun out by
faulty social machinery, but a relevant figure in the community’s overall division
of labor.

NOTES

1. In fact, the first statement of the gen- in Groups,” Social Problems, VII (Fall
eral notion presented here was con- 1959), pp. 98-107.
cerned with the study of small groups. 2. Aldous Huxley, Prisons: The “Carcert”
See Robert A. Dentier and Kai T. Etchings by Piranesi (London: The
Erikson, “The Functions of Deviance Trianon Press, 1949), p. 13.
24 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

For a good description ofthis process in The classic description of this process as
the modern prison, see Gresham Sykes, it applies to the medical patient is found
The Society ofCaptives (Princeton, N,J.: in Talcott Parsons, The Social System
Princeton University Press, 1958). For (Glencoe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1951).
discussions of similar problems in two See Harold Garfinkel, “Successful
different kinds of mental hospital, see Degradation Ceremonies,” American
Erving Goffman, Asylums (New York: Journal of Sociology, LXI (January 1956),
Bobbs-Merrill, 1962) and Kai T. pp. 420-424.
Erikson, “Patient Role and Social
Albert K. Cohen, for example, speak-
Uncertainty: A Dilemma of the
ing for a dominant strain in sociolog-
Mentally Ill,” Psychiatry, XX (August
ical thinking, takes the question quite
1957), pp. 263-274.
for granted: “It would seem that the
Written by “a celebrated” but not control of deviant behavior is, by
otherwise identified author (perhaps definition, a culture goal.” See “The
Henry Fielding) and quoted in John Study of Social Disorganization and
Howard, The State of the Prisons, Deviant Behavior” in Merton et al.,
London, 1777 (London: J. M. Dent Sociology Today (New York: Basic
and Sons, 1929), p. 10. Books, 1959), p. 465.
 Applying an Integrated Typology
of Deviance to Middle-Class Norms
ALEX HECKERT AND DRUANN MARIA HECKERT

Deviance has traditionally been regarded as behavior that underconforms to

society’s norms of acceptability and is negatively received. Deviants were
considered antisocial misfits, either through their failure to live up to societal
standards or through their intentional defiance of norms. In previous works,
Heckert and Heckert challenged this view, exploring both of its dimensions: the
excessive enactment of prosocial behavior and people’s positive reactions to
deviance. They offered a controversial fourfold table interrelating the axis of
under/non- and overconformity (how well the behavior fits in with normative
expectations) with the suggestion that people do not always react to deviance
negatively, but sometimes admire it (by their social reactions and collective
evaluations). By cross-tabulating the dimension of underconformity and
overconformity with that of social evaluation, positive and negative, they
analytically came up with four types of deviance: negative deviance, rate busting,
deviance admiration, and positive deviance.
———~Tr this chapter, new to this edition, they further articulate their typology
by applying it to a list of 10 middle-class norms developed by Tittle and
Paternoster (2000). Addressing such issues as lying, disloyalty, hedonism,
irresponsibility, and invasion ofprivacy, Heckert and Heckert evaluate these forms
of “negative deviance” and suggest how such acts might translate into their
deviance admiration, positive deviance, and rate-busting counterparts. This creative
analysis strengthens their previous typology by fleshing it out with concrete
examples that further challenge traditional thinking about definitions of deviance.
What do you think ofHeckert and Heckert’s typologies? Should we stick
with the more conventional definition of deviance as norm violations that are
negatively received, or do you buy their assertions about positive deviance? Is too
much of a good thing a good thing, or is it really deviant?

rguably, the subfield of the sociology of deviance began in the late 1800s
with the publication of Durkheim’s The Rules of Sociological Method. Despite
its rich history, some scholars have recently claimed that the field of deviance is in a

Reprinted with permission from the author, Alex Heckert.

25
26 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

declining state (Best, 2004). Best asserts that a key problem is definitional; he con-
tends that analytical problems are created when too many attitudes, behaviors, and
conditions are defined as deviant. He conjectures that, as the field of criminology
began to ascend after the mid-1970s, the field of deviance began to descend.
Although crimes are defined as violations of criminal statutes, the boundaries
regarding what defines deviance are less clear and more fluid. We have argued,
however, that, although criminology has a unifying definition, like deviance, it 1s
not homogeneous and covers widely diverging behaviors. For example, the fol-
lowing behaviors all violate criminal statutes and are therefore criminal: homicide,
theft, rape, underage drinking, jaywalking, speeding, and littering. Yet, these beha-
viors are quite diverse. With regard to studying their etiology, what does a mur-
derer or a thief have in common with a person who listened to popular music
under the Taliban or an American adolescent who drinks illegally, jaywalks, and
then downloads music illegally? Criminologists need to study a wide range of
behaviors, as do sociologists who specialize in deviance. Compared with criminol-
ogists, what sociologists of deviance have lacked is a unifying definition.
We recently proposed an integrated typology of deviance that synthesizes nor-
mative and reactivist definitions of deviance in an attempt to ameliorate the defi-
nitional problems that have afflicted the field (Heckert and Heckert, 2002). We
conclude that deviance is still an integral area of sociology. Our typology proposed
the following four categories: negative deviance, deviance admiration, rate bustin
and positive deviance. Negative deviance deals with nonconformity or undercon-
formity that is negatively evaluated. Deviance admiration is nonconformity or
underconformity that is positively evaluated. Rate busting involves overconfor-
mity or hyperconformity that is negatively evaluated. Finally, positive deviance
has to do with overconformity or hyperconformity that is positively evaluated.
In this article, we review the various ways that deviance has been defined.
We next discuss a contested concept in deviance called positive deviance and
articulate how it has been defined. We then discuss our integrated typology of
deviance and show how it conceptually situates positive deviance and resolves
the definitional challenges in the field. Finally, we apply our typology to the
10 key middle-class norms proposed by Tittle and Paternoster (2000).

DEFINITIONS OF DEVIANCE

Deviance has been defined in four main ways: the absolutist approach, the statis-
tical approach, the normative/objectivist approach, and the reactivist/subjectivist
approach. The absolutist and_ statistical approaches have been thoroughly
rejected; the predominant bifurcation within the discipline is between the nor-
mative and reactivist perspectives. The absolutist approach suggests that there
are absolute ards of behavior that are moral and good, and any deviation
from these seindards constitutes deviance. The empirical relativity across so
groups and across time regarding what constitutes good behavior leads to the
rejection of the absolutist approach to defining deviance. The statistical approach
defines deviance as attitudes, behaviors, or conditions that are statistically rare.
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE

This definition is easily rejected because of the number of behaviors and condi-
tions that are considered deviant even though they are not rare, such as drinking
to excess, lying, and adultery, among many others. There are also conditions an
behaviors that are rare but not considered to be deviant, such as certain kinds of
cancer, having blonde hair, and running marathons. Normative, or objectivist,
definitions focus on the violation of norms. Some scholars simply defined devi-
ance as behavior that violates rules or normative expectations. Reactivist or sub-
jectivists definitions, by contrast, focus on the dynamics of the reactions and
evaluations ofa social audience. As Becker (1963:11) wrote in his seminal book
The Outsiders, “social groups constitute deviance by making rules whose infrac-
tions constitute deviance, and by applying those rules to particular people and
labeling them as outsiders.” ach—detiniton constitutes 2 _major_paracematc
understanding of devianee. All four definitions tend to emphasize behaviors;
nonetheless, most definitions of deviance include what Adler and Adler call in
this book the deviance: attitudes, behaviors, and conditions. Although
the examples we provide in this paper typically involve behaviors, it is also the
case that attitudes (or beliefs) and conditions are essential to deviance because
normative expectations and social reactions pertain to both of them as well.

Positive Deviance

Positive deviance is a contested term in the sociology of deviance. While some

theorists have rejected it as oxymoronic or as an unviable concept, other theorists
have argued that a substantial amount of deviant behavior is actually defined in a
positive fashion. Unfortunately, the same bifurcation that characterizes the field of
deviance as a whole also exists with regard to defining positive deviance. Scholars
who take a normative perspective define deviance as attitudes, behaviors, and
conditions that exceed or overconformto the norms. Scholars who take a reac-
tivist perspective define positive deviance as any attitude, behavior, or condition
at 1s positively evaluated.

INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE

In an attempt to resolve the definitional tensions in the field and to conceptually

locate the concept of positive deviance, we have proposed a typology that inte-
grates the normative and reactivist definitions of deviance (Heckert and Heckert,
2002). This typology treats the distinction as a false dichotomy and acknowledges
that both norms (or rules) of behavior (attitudes and conditions) and social reac-
~ tions and evaluations exist. Behavior and conditions can underconform (or fail to
or
Pe onion or overconform to normative expectations, as well as lead to negative
positive reactions. Accordingly, we have cross-classified the significance of both
norms and reactions, producing four possible scenarios. As Figure 2.1 demon-
strates, negative deviance involves underconfornuty or nonconformity that results
admiration has to do with underconformity or
in negative reactions. Deviance
nonconformity that is positively evaluated. Rate busting involves overconformity
 aa | DEFINING DEVIANCE

Normative Expectations

Underconformity or
Social Reactions Nonconformity Overconformity
and Collective [-
Evaluations

Negative Negative Rate Busting

Evaluations Deviance

Positive Deviance Positive

Evaluations Admiration Deviance

FIGURE 2.1 Deviance Typology

or hyperconforrmity to norms that is negatively evaluated, and positive deviance

deals with overconformity or hyperconformity that is positively evaluated. We will
briefly describe each type of deviance.
Historically, the substantive area of deviance has focused on negative devi-
ance, which refers to nonconformity or underconformity that is also negatively
evaluated. We have metaphorically labeled it the “Jeffrey Dahmer phenomenon”
after the serial murderer who was universally reviled for his behavior. Negative
deviance can range from the behavior of most criminals, to that of the mentally
ill, to the behavior of substance abusers, to that of individuals with unpopular
religious or political stances. The study of deviance has traditionally been con-
fined to the study of negative deviance.
Deviance admiration focuses on nonconformity or underconformity that is
positively evaluated. We have labeled such underconformity the “John Gotti” phe-
nomenon. John Gotti was an organized crime leader who was admired by many
conformists in the United States. Kooistra (1989) concluded that a surprising num-
ber of criminals, even brutal ones, have been transformed by the collective imagi-
nation from thugs into icons. In other words, the mythological Robin Hood has
bona fide real-life counterparts, such as Billy*the Kid, D. B. Cooper, Butch Cas-
sidy, and the Sundance Kid. As another example, in a society that often rejects
individuals who do not meet culturally dominant and socially constructed aes-
thetic images of appearance, there are also many who still admire the stigmatized
attribute (e.g., being tall and having red hair) and individuals with that attribute.
Rate busting refers to overconformity or hyperconformity that is negatively
evaluated. The “geek phenomenon” serves as the quintessential example of this
cell of the typology. Various social scientists have noted that norms operate at two
levels: the idealized (i.e., that which is believed sublimely better, but improbable,
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 29

for most people) and the realistic (i.e., that which is viewed as achievable by typi-
cal people). Regardless, this overconformity, even if idealized—or perhaps
because it is idealized—is often subjected to negative reactions. Rate busting has
occurred in various contexts in social life. For example, several studies have found
that gifted students are often rejected by their peers (Huryn, 1986; Shoenberger,
Heckert, and Heckert, 2012). Krebs and Adinolfi (1975) concluded that attractive
individuals are often slighted by members of their same sex, and Heckert (2003)
found that blonde women (defined as overconforming to traditional European
standards of beauty) are subjected to epic stereotyping, especially with regard to
their (assumed lack of) intellectual capacity.
The last cell of our typology highlights positive deviance, which refers to
overconformity or hyperconformity that is responded to in a positive or esteemed
fashion. We have labeled this category the “Mother Teresa phenomenon,” after
the universally admired nun who worked with the poor. As with negative devi-
ance, positive deviance has been defined in various ways, including from a nor-
mative perspective, from a reactivist perspective, and from the perspective that
positive deviance refers to overconformity which is positively evaluated (Dodge,
1985; Heckert and Heckert, 2002). Some examples of positive deviance include
saints and good neighbors (Sorokin, 1950), winners of the Congressional Medal
of Honor (Steffensmeier and Terry, 1975), and the physically attractive. Exceed-
ing normative expectations of conformity can, at times, create situations in which
positive reactions and consequences are abundant, often producing additional
advantages that can transcend even the norm at stake.
Overall, our typology recognizes that the traditional distinction between
normative expectations and social reactions constitutes a false dichotomy. Also,
our typology seeks to integrate normative definitions with reactivist definitions.
Doing so allows attitudes, behaviors, and conditions to be conceptualized as neg-
ative deviance, deviance admiration, rate busting, and positive deviance. Of
course, contexts do have to be considered because audiences can react differen-
tially to the same behaviors or conditions. For example, gifted and overachieving
students are rate busters but positive deviants to their teachers
(Shoenberger, Heckert, ). Similarly, elite tattoo collectors are
simultaneously positive deviants in their subculture and negative deviants to the
dominant culture in society (Irwin, 2003). As another example, some individuals
are castigated in their own era for not adhering to the normative expectations of
that time, only to be admired as extraordinary in a later era (e.g., Martin Luther
King, Galileo, Socrates, and the French Impressionists). For different reasons,
nonconformists and underconformers are sometimes positively evaluated while
overconformers are sometimes negatively evaluated.
‘This integrated typology allows deviance scholars to continue to acknowl
edge that deviance is relative and context is critical. It is important, moreover,
to analyze why nonconformity or underconformity can result in positive evalua-
tions or negative evaluations, depending on the era, place, or social group
involved. The same is true for overconformity or hyperconformnity. Power and
peoples’ self-interest are critical factors. With regard to both underconformi
and overconformity, negative reactions and evaluations are likely to occur when
30 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

the attitudes, behaviors, or conditions threaten the interests of the social group. As
Heckert and Heckert (2002:468—469) asserted,
Whether or not the negative reactions have an impact (or become
“sticky” to use a labeling term) is primarily determined by the relative
power of the (potential) deviant(s) and the social audience. The relative
power is determined by a number of factors such as the numbers in each
group (deviant and reactors), the amount of wealth and income
(property) of each group, the relative prestige of each group, the level of
organization of each group (from individualized to subcultural to
organized), and the relative quality of their discourse or claims (ability to
persuade and manipulate symbols). These various sources of power
interact in determining the ability of a given social group or audience to
apply negative or positive labels to a type of behavior, condition, or.
particular group of (potential) deviants. Viewed in this light, deviant
behavior is, in essence, a test of power are and serves as
potential threat to the power of th r
The same processes apply to overconformity. Other factors are also important,
such as the degree of violation of the norm (minor to extreme) and the definition
of the situation. High-consensus norms (e.g., first-degree homicide) will generally
generate more consistent evaluations than will low-consensus norms (Thio, 2001).
Future scholarship should investigate these factors, as well as consider others.
On the basis of the insights provided by our integrated typology of deviance,
we propose the following definition of deviance that accommodates all four cells:
Deviance consists of behaviors S, attitudes, orconditions that viola > ni
conform to norms, or serene to norms and that are either ne
tively evaluated and/or negatively or positively sanctioned (or wo Be if detected (

THE PREDOMINANT MIDDLE-CLASS NORMS

IN THE UNITED STATES

Norms are integral components of any social system; they guide expected behavior
and are based on values viewed as important. For example, on the basis of his reviey
of 14 common definitions of norm, Gibbs (1981:7) stated that the most common
definition of norm is “a belief shared to some extent by members of a social unit
as to what conduct ought to be in particular situations or circumstances.” Gusfiel
(1963:65) suggested, moreover, that cultural systems produce “regularities of action.”
Some sociologists have suggested that norms can be dually conceptualized as
encompassing the idealized and the more realistic or operative. In essence, the
more idealized norms are really values. Williams (1965) created the seminal and
most comprehensive description of the value system of the United States. His
description outlined the following dominant American values: achievement and
success, individualism, activity and work, efficiency and practicality, science and
technology, progress, material comfort, humanitarianism, freedom, democracy,
 CHAPTER 2. APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 31

equality, and racism and group superiority. Henslin (1975) added the following
values to that list: education, religiosity, romantic love, and monogamy. Overall,
the American value system has been sufficiently addressed.
More recently, Tittle and Paternoster (2000) expanded sociological under-
ee by outlining the normative system itself, as opposed to the idealized
scheme of values. They restrict their outline to the primary middle-class values
in the United States and highlight the following dominant norms: group loyalty,
privacy, prudence, conventionality, responsibility, participation, moderation,
honesty, peacefulness, and courtesy. Loyalty is valued because of the group’s
need to survive over individual concerns. Privacy suggests that individuals need
to be in command of certain spaces and places. Prudence places pleasure into
perspective and encourages practicing pleasure in moderation. Conventionality
involves people choosing habits and life scenarios that are similar to those of
other people. Responsibility entails dependability, especially when others must
count on an individual. Participation implies personal involvement in both social
and economic spheres, with alienation constituting the nonconforming counter-
part. Moderation is the avoidance of the extremes in life. Honesty has to do with
veracity and candor. Peacefulness involves a sedate and calm lifestyle. Finally,
courtesy pertains to refined social etiquette in human interaction. Clearly, Tittle
and Paternoster have thoroughly delineated one set of consequential norms.

APPLYING THE INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY

OF DEVIANCE TO MIDDLE-CLASS NORMS

To illustrate the utility of our integrated typology of deviance, as shown in

Table 2.1, we apply it to the normative system of U.S. middle-class norms

TABLE 2.1 A Classification of U.S. Middle-Class Deviance {p.

Negative Deviance
Norm Deviance Admiration Rate Busting Positive Deviance

Group loyalty Apostasy Rebellion Fanaticism Altruism

Privacy Intrusion Investigation Seclusion Circumspection

Prudence Indiscretion Exhibitionism Puritanism Discretion

Conventionality Bizarreness Faddishness Provincialism Properness

Responsibility Irresponsibility Adventuresome Priggishness Hyperresponsibility

Participation Alienation Independence Dependence Cooperation

Moderation Hedonism Roguishness Asceticism Temperance

Honesty Deceitfulness Tactfulness Tactlessness Forthrightness

Peacefulness Disruption Revelry Wimpishness Pacifism

Courtesy Uncouthness Irreverence Obsequiousness Gentility

Note: Types of negative deviance taken from Tittle & Paternoster, 2000:35.
32 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

outlined by Tittle and Paternoster (2000). In addition to documenting the domi-

nant middle-class norms in contemporary United States, they highlighted the
types of (negative) deviance associated with each norm. In addition to reviewing
the forms of negative deviance they featured, Table 2.1 shows the forms of devi-
ance admiration, rate busting, and positive deviance associated with each norm.

Negative Deviance
As noted earlier, negative deviance refers to nonconformity or underconformity
SB, UREA SR a, Tittle and Paternoster (2000) emphasized negative
deviance and provided examples of each category, as shown in Table 2.2.
These examples are quintessentially representative of the traditional nucleus of
the substantive area of the sociological study of deviance. We will highlight just
a few types of negative deviance in this section.

TABLE 2.2 Negative Deviance %

Negative
Norm Deviance Examples

Group loyalty Apostasy Revolution; betraying national secrets; treason; draft

dodging; defiling the flag; giving up citizenship;
advocating contrary government philosophy
Privacy Intrusion Theft; burglary; rape; homicide; voyeurism; forgery;
spying on records
Prudence Indiscretion Prostitution; homosexual behavior; incest; bestiality;
adultery; swinging; gambling; substance abuse
Conventionality Bizarreness “Mentally ill behavior” (handling excrement, talking
nonsense, eating human flesh, fetishes); separatist
lifestyles
Responsibility Irresponsibility Deserting the family desertion; reneging on debts;
unprofessional conduct; improper role performance;
violations of trust; pollution; conducting fraudulent
business
Participation Alienation Nonparticipatory lifestyles (being a hermit, street
living); perpetual unemployment; receiving public
assistance; suicide
Moderation Hedonism Chiseling; atheism; alcoholism; total deceit; wasting;
ignoring children
Honesty Deceitfulness Selfish lying; price fixing; exploitation of the weak
and helpless; bigamy; welfare cheating
Peacefulness Disruption Noisy disorganizing behavior; boisterous reveling;
quarreling; fighting; contentiousness
Courtesy Uncouthness Private behavior in public places (picking nose,
burping); rudeness (smoking in prohibited places,
breaking in line); uncleanliness
Note: Table from Tittle & Paternoster, 2000:35.
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 33

Tittle and Paternoster (2000) contend that, because survival of the group is
viewed as paramount, apostasy becomes deviantized. Accordingly, actions such as
revolution and treason are viewed as deviant. Given that prudence is valued,
indiscretions such as adultery, gambling, and substance abuse are negatively
deviantized. Because responsibility is highly valued, irresponsible behaviors such
as family desertion and fraudulent business practices are treated as deviant. In
light of the fact that honesty is valued, deceitful behaviors such as bigamy and
selfish lying are considered deviant. Because peacefulness constitutes an important
American norm, disruptive behaviors, including quarreling and boisterous revel-
ing, are negatively valued. In sum, Tittle and Paternoster (2000) provided a com-
prehensive conceptualization of various deviantized behaviors within the middle
class in the United States. Their framework highlights a number of forms of neg-
ative deviance and provides illustrative examples, all of which are comfortably
ensconced within the long-established core of the field of deviance.

Deviance Admiration

As noted earlier, deviance admiration involves nonconformity or undercon-

formity that is positively evaluated. Although people do not necessarily view
norm violators as doing right, in certain cases they nevertheless respond with
positive appraisals. Table 2.3 reveals the types of deviance admiration associated
with each of the 10 middle-class norms articulated by Tittle and Paternoster
(2000) and also provides examples of each type. We will highlight a few exam-
ples to illustrate.
The deviance admiration form of deviance deriving from the norm of group
loyalty is rebellion. As the quintessential example, the American revolutionaries,
such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Nathan Hale, and Paul Revere,
are some of the most revered people in American history. Their rebellion is now
emblematic of the highest level of patriotism. The type of deviance admiration
associated with the norm of conventionality is faddishness. Examples of faddish-
ness include body piercing and subcultures such as Wiccan and certain religious
sects. Roguishness 1s illustrative of the deviance admiration component of moder-
ation. The dominant middle-class culture has often venerated the charming rogue,
as opposed to the earnest, but dull, individual. Some of the charismatic charm of
former President Bill Clinton was attributable to his roguish violations of t
norm of moderation. Nonconformity to the norm of honesty is often appreciated
as tactfulness. The individual who tells “white lies” to spare a friend’s feelings, as
well as the cop who plays loose with the truth to extract a confession from a crim-
inal, are often admired for their violation of the norm of honesty. Finally, irrever-
ence is the deviance admiration behavior associated with the norm of courtesy.
Mischievous individuals such as the class clown and characters on shows like The
Simpsons and South Park are often appreciated for their underconformity to th
norm of courtesy.
Obviously, there is a corresponding form of deviance admiration associated
with each of the 10 middle-class norms outlined by Tittle and Paternoster
(2000). Various attitudes, behaviors, and conditions exemplify each category.
34 PARTI DEFINING DEVIANCE

TABLE 2.3 Deviance Admiration RV

Deviance
Norm Admiration Examples

Group loyalty Rebellion James Dean (Rebel Without a Cause); American

Revolution; Pentagon papers; admiration for
men who went to Canada to avoid draft during
Vietnam War
Privacy Investigation Investigative journalism; private investigators;
revelations on Jerry Springer show
Prudence Exhibitionism Famous strippers; gay rights movement; famous
gamblers; flamboyant entertainers (e.g., Liberace,
RuPaul; transvestites, female impersonators);
extreme sports; reality television with people like
the Osbournes and Anna Nicole Smith
Conventionality Faddishness The Osbournes’ show; tattoos; bizarre subcultures;
body piercing; Wiccan and similar subcultures
Responsibility Adventuresome Extreme sports (e.g., hang gliding, mountain
climbing, free diving); Jackass: the Movie humor;
explorers
Participation Independence Romantic loners; mysterious strangers; drifters;
hobos; explorers

Moderation Roguishness Charming rogue; the lovable drunk (e.g., Otis on

The Andy Griffith Show); Bill Clinton
Honesty Tactfulness Honest humor on The Man Show; telling “tall
tales”; the liar who is admired; telling “white lies”;
the person who lies to achieve a greater goal (e.g.,
national security, confession from serial killer
using “good cop,” “bad cop” strategies; an oper-
ative who lies to be able to capture an “enemy”
such as a terrorist, and the like)
Peacefulness Revelry Mardi Gras; fraternity partying; loud entertainer
at a party; spring break phenomenon
Courtesy Irreverence Class clown; humor on The Man Show; rude humor
on shows such as The Simpsons, South Park, Beavis
and Butthead, and the like

Rate Busting
Rate busting isthe negative reaction to overconformity,a reaction we have met-
aphorically referred to as the “geek phenomenon.” In Table 2.4, we highlight a
rate-busting form of deviance associated with each of the 10 middle-class norms
outlined by Tittle and Paternoster (2000). We also provide a nonexhaustive list
of examples for each category of rate busting and discuss a few of them to illus-
trate several types of rate busting.
With regard to the norm of group loyalty, overconforming to the group can
result in negative evaluations, which we refer to as fanaticism. As examples, hate
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 35

TABLE 2.4 Rate Busting led

Norm Rate Busting Examples

Group loyalty Fanaticism Various religious cults; Ku Klux Klan (which, of

course, engages in acts of negative deviance); Aryan
Nation; National Rifle Association; religious fanatics;
superpatriots; people who are “holier than thou”
Privacy Seclusion Hermits; loners; Amish and other reclusive religious
sects; secretive or reclusive behavior; Howard Hughes
Prudence Puritanism Negative attitudes and behavior toward Amish and
other conservative religious sects
Conventionality Provincialism Stepford wives; Martha Stewart and her followers;
keeping up with the Joneses in following every
little rule so as to be accepted; individuals who are
negatively evaluated for ritualistically following
convention
Responsibility Priggishness Negative attitudes regarding people who are
self-Righteous; jokes about, and meanness toward
Martha Stewart and her followers; some workaholics;
straight-A student
Participation Dependence Brownnoser; people trying so hard to be accepted
by every group that they lose their individuality;
the concepts of codependency and enabling
behavior
Moderation Asceticism Negative reactions to not drinking; People so meek
that they never take a stand on anything so as not to
offend anyone
Honesty Tactlessness Being too honest with friends (e.g., about ugly
clothing or an unattractive haircut); People so honest
that they won't tell a “white lie” or who will say
something mean to a child because it is honest rather
than protect the child’s feelings
Peacefulness Wimpishness People who never party or “let their hair down”;
a person who will never take a stand or stand up
to people; a “yes man”
Courtesy Obsequiousness The person who is overly polite; making fun of Miss
Manners and people who are overly courteous

group members and religious fanatics, who may be accepted by their subculture,
are too responsive to their groups and can be deviantized by the dominant
middle-class culture. Individuals who are “holier than thou” within dominant
religious traditions often alienate members of their own group. The rate-
busting form of deviance affiliated with the norm of prudence 1s puritanism.
For example, very conservative religious sects, such as the Amish, Hutterites,
and Jehovah’s Witnesses, that seem to eschew what dominant Americans view
as necessary pleasures are often shunned or not accepted by the dominant cul-
ture. Overconformity to the norm of responsibility can be negatively evaluated
36 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

as a deviant form of priggishness. Some workaholics who are motivated by an

intense sense of responsibility have been subjected to negative treatment by
their coworkers, even if praised by their supervisors. Similarly, peers have long
taunted overachieving students, labeling them as bookworms or geeks, while
their teachers view them as praiseworthy.
With regard to the norm of participation, dependence is the rate- busting
form of deviance. Among those who are negatively evaluated for their overpar-
ticipation in social life are the brownnoser, the codependent and enabling rela-
tive of a substance abuser, and the individual who wants to be accepted so badly
by a group that she or he sacrifices individuality. With regard to honesty, tact-
lessness is the rate-busting form of deviance. For example, some individuals are
so honest that they won’t tell a white lie, even to preserve the feelings of a child.
Imagine how the typical middle-class person would respond to an adult who
told children that they were ugly! The rate-busting form of deviance associated
with the norm of peacefulness is wimpishness. Meek individuals who never “let
their hair down” or who never stand up to anyone are often negatively appraised
as “mousy,” “wimpy,” or a “yes man.”
Clearly, a rate-busting form of deviance is affiliated with overconformity or
hyperconformity to each of the 10 norms listed by Tittle and Paternoster (2000).
We have provided examples for a few types of rate-busting deviance.

Positive Deviance

As suggested by our typology, positive deviance consists of overconformity or

hyperconformity to the norms that is positively evaluated. We have symnpalealy
labeled this type of deviance as the ZMother Teresa phenomenon.” Mother
Teresa overconformed to the norm of alteaisand she was amor universally
praised as a saintly woman. In Table 2.5, we list the types of positive deviance
associated with each middle-class norm and provide corresponding examples.
Overconformity to the norm of altruism that is positively evaluated is called
loyalty. Examples of individuals who have exhibited loyalty include religious
and political martyrs, many of whom have been viewed as heroes. Political
leaders who were assassinated, such as Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy,
and Martin Luther King, are greatly admired. Every soldier is honored on
Veteran’s Day, and soldiers who have died for the United States are venerated
on Memorial Day. With regard to the norm of prudence, discretion constitutes
its positive deviance counterpart. People, such as Olympic athletes and novelists,
who forgo unnecessary and frivolous pleasures to pursue valued goals, are often
admired.

ascetics, or those who overconform to the moderation norm for a more tran-
scendent purpose, are positively evaluated, their behavior is a form positive devi-
ance. One example is individuals who choose the religious life as the calling
of their life, such as priests, monks, nuns, preachers, and rabbis. Individuals
who overconform to the norm of honesty, but who are positively appraised,
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 37

TABLE 2.5 Positive Deviance y

Norm Positive Deviance Examples

Group loyalty Altruism Kamikaze pilots; martyrs; sharing food or other

resources; daring rescues (e.g., at sea, in the
mountains); patriot
Privacy Circumspection CIA operatives; FBI/Justice Department agents;
loyal company employees (e.g., Oliver North)
Prudence Discretion The good friend who practices discretion; people
who deny themselves pleasures to achieve a goal
(e.g., Olympians and other athletes)
Conventionality | Properness Junior League members; Martha Stewart's
followers; Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and similar
groups
Responsibility Hyperresponsibility | Overachiever; straight-A student (as viewed by
parents and teachers); workaholic (as viewed by
management); overzealous athlete (e.g., Tiger
Woods; Michael Jordan)
Participation Cooperation Athletic team on which individual talents are de-
emphasized so that the team can win; employees
who are positively viewed as team players
Moderation Temperance Monks; nuns; Women's Temperance Movement;
Mothers Against Drunk Drivers movement
Honesty Forthrightness Honest Abe Lincoln; story of George Washington
cutting down the cherry tree
Peacefulness Pacifism Gandhi; Martin Luther King; Jimmy Carter
Courtesy Gentility Miss Manners; the old-fashioned practitioners
of southern hospitality who are admired; the
gentleman; the “Southern Belle”

are engaging in forthrightness. Virtually every schoolchild in this country is suc-

cessfully socialized to revere the importance of honesty through the story of
George Washington and the cherry tree. The type of positive deviance associated
with the norm of peacefulness is pacifism. The Nobel Prize for Peace is given
annually to venerate individuals for their contributions to peace. Among indivi-
duals who are nearly universally admired for pacifism are Gandhi, Martin Luther
King, and even Jimmy Carter, who attempted peaceful approaches to accom-
plishing social change. The final form of positive deviance listed in Table 2.5.1
gentility, which is associated with the norm of courtesy. As examples, positive
appraisals of overconformity to the norm of courtesy occur with individuals
who give up their seat on a crowded bus or who give up their place in line in
a crowded grocery store.
Clearly, there is a type of positive deviance associated with each of the
10 middle-class norms developed by Tittle and Paternoster (2000). We have
provided various examples to illustrate some of those types.
38 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

DISCUSSION

In this article, we have demonstrated how our integrated typology of deviance

resolves the definitional disputes that have plagued the field of sociology of devi-
ance. In that vein, we offered the following definition of deviance: deviance 1s
defined as behaviors, attitudes, or conditions that violate norms, underconform
to norms, or overconform to norms and that are either negatively or positively
evaluated and/or negatively or positively sanctioned (or would be if detected).
By applying our integrated typology to 10 middle-class American norms, we
have illuminated the efficacy of the integrated typology asa heuristic device
and conceptually located the contested concept of positive deviance.
Long ago, Durkheim (1982) discussed the inevitability or normalcy of devi-
ance. Moreover, Durkheim (1964; 1982) illuminated the positive functions of
deviance. A variety of social psychological experiments, such as those conducted
by Sherif (1936), Asch (1952), and Schachter (1951), suggested the fundamental
existence of the processes of norms production, conformity, deviance production,
and individual and social reactions to (potentially) deviant behaviors, attitudes, and
conditions. The importance of power and social context in influencing norms,
social reactions, and deviance outcomes should not be ignored. The conditions
and behaviors of more powerful actors are less likely to be deviantized than those
of less powerful actors. Similarly, the reactions of powerful actors and social groups
are more important in determining what and who are successfully labeled as devi-
ant. As we have argued, deviant behavior actually serves as a test of power relation-
ships (Heckert and Heckert, 2002). When children lie, for example, they are
testing the parent’s ability to discern and react to the lie. When they “get away”
with the lie, a shift in the relative power between child and parent has occurred.
The same is true for other social relationships and forms of deviance.
The central place of norms, social reactions, efforts at social control, and
deviance processes, therefore, suggests the importance of an integrated frame-
work for understanding these factors and their interrelationships. Our integrated
typology constitutes an initial attempt to eliminate the false dichotomy imposed
by previous conceptualizations and definitions of deviance.

REFERENCES

Asch, Solomon. (1952). Social Psychology. Dodge, David L. (1985). “The Over-
Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: ~ Negativized Conceptualization of
Prentice Hall. Deviance: A Programmatic
Becker, Howard. (1963). Outsiders. New Exploration.” Deviant Behavior
York: The Free Press of Glencoe. 6:17-37.
Best, Joel. (2004). Deviance: Career of a Durkheim, Emile. (1895/1964). The Divi-
Concept. Belmont, California: sion ofLaborinSociety. Trs.J.Solovay and
Thomson/Wadsworth. J. Mueller. New York: The Free Press.
 CHAPTER 2 APPLYING AN INTEGRATED TYPOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 39

Durkheim, Emile. (1893/1982). The Rules Krebs, Dennis, and Allen A. Adinolfi.
of Sociological Method. Tr. S. Lukes. (1975). “Physical Attractiveness, Social
London: Macmillan. Relations, and Personality Style.”
Gibbs, Jack P. (1981). Norms, Deviance and Journal of Personality and Social Psychol-
Social Control. New York: Elsevier. ogy 31:245—253.
Gusfield, Joseph R. (1963). Symbolic Schachter, Stanley. (1951). “Deviance,
Crusade. Urbana, Illinois: University Rejection, and Communication.”
of Illinois Press. Journal of Abnormal Social Psychology
Heckert, Druann. (2003). “Mixed Bles-
46:190-207.
sings: Blonde Women as Positive Sherif, Muzifer. (1936). The Psychology of
Deviants and as Rate-Busters.” Free Social Norms. New York: Harper.
Inquiry in Creative Sociology 31:47—72. Shoenberger, Nicole, Heckert, Alex, and
Heckert, Alex, and Druann Maria Heckert. Druann M. Heckert. (2012). “Tech-
(2002). “A New Typology of Devi- niques of Neutralization and Positive
ance: Integrating Normative and Deviance.” Deviant Behavior
Reactivist Definitions of Deviance.” 33:774-791.
Deviant Behavior 23:449—479. Sorokin, Pitirrm A. (1950). Altruistic Love.
Henslin, James M. (1975). Introducing Boston: The Beacon Press.
Sociology: Toward Understanding Life Steffensmeier, Darrell J., and Robert M.
in Society. New York: Free Press. Terry. (1975). Examining Deviance
Huryn, Jean Scherz. (1986). “Giftedness as Experimentally. Port Washington, New
Deviance: A Test of Interaction The- York: Alfred Publishing.
ories.” Deviant Behavior 7:175—186. Thio, Alex. (2001). Deviant Behavior, 6th
Irwin, Katherine. (2003). “Saints and ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon.
Sinners: Elite Tattoo Collectors and Tittle, Charles R., and Raymond
Tattooists as Positive and Negative Paternoster. (2000). Social
Deviants.” Sociological Spectrum Deviance and Crime. Los Angeles,
YX IN oa eb California: Roxbury Publishing
Kooistra, Paul. (1989). Criminals as Heroes: Company.
Structure, Power and Identity. Bowling Williams, Robin M., Jr. (1965). American
Green, Ohio: Bowling Green State Society: A Sociological Interpretation,
University Popular Press. 2nd ed. New York: Knopf.
 THREE PERSPECTIVES

Relativism: Labeling Theory

HOWARD S. BECKER

Becker’s classic statement setting forth labeling theory advances the relativistic
perspective on defining deviance. Here, he argues that the essence of deviance is
contained, not within individuals’ behaviors, but in the response others have to
those behaviors. Deviance, he claims, is a social construction forged by diverse
audiences. Becker assesses the level of deviance attached to a behavior by the social
reactions to it. He supports this idea by pointing out that the same behaviors may
be.received very differently under varying conditions. He notes that variations in
the degree of deviance attached to an act may arise because of the temporal or
historical contexts framing the act, the social position and power of those who
committed or were harmed by the act, and the consequences that arise from the
act. These framing elements, which are sometimes unrelated to the behavior itself,
may lead one act to be designated as heinous and relegate another, similar one, to
obscurity. Becker thus locates the root of deviance in the response of people rather
than the act itself, and in the chain of events that is unleashed once people have
labeled acts and their perpetrators as deviant.

he interactionist perspective ... defines deviance as the infraction of some

agreed-upon rule. It then goes on to ask who breaks rules, and to search
for the factors in their personalities and life situations that might account for
the infractions. This assumes that those who have broken a rule constitute a
homogeneous category, because they have committed the same deviant act.
Such an assumption seems to me to ignore the central fact about deviance: it
is created by society. I do not mean this in the way it is ordinarily understood, in
age the causes 3 ofdeviance are located in the social situation of the Sa or

Reprinted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Publishing Group from the Free
Press edition of OUTSIDERS: Studies in the Sociology of Deviance by Howard S. Becker.
Copyright © 1963 by The Free Press, Copyright renewed © 1991 by Howard S. Becker.
All rights reserved.

40
 CHAPTER 3. RELATIVISM: LABELING THEORY 41

Sinke devenes is, among other things, a consequence of the responses of

others to a person’s act, students of deviance cannot assume that they are dealing
with a homogeneous category when they study people who have been labeled
deviant. That is, they cannot assume that those people have actually committed a
deviant act or broken some rule, because the process of labeling may not be
infallible; some people may be labeled deviant who, in fact, have not broken a
rule. Furthermore, they cannot assume that the category of those labeled deviant
will contain all those who actually have broken a rule, for many offenders may
escape apprehension and thus fail to be included in the population of “deviants”
they study. Insofar as the category lacks homogeneity and fails to include all the
cases that belong in it, one cannot reasonably expect to find common factors of
personality or life situation that will account for the supposed deviance. What,
then, do people who have been labeled deviant have in common? At the least,
they share the label and the experience of being labeled as outsiders. I will begin
my analysis with this basic similarity and view deviance as the product of a trans-
action that takes place between some social group and one who is viewed by
that group as a rule-breaker. I will be less concerned with the personal and social
characteristics of deviants than with the process by which they come to be
thought of as outsiders and their reactions to that judgment....
The point is that the response of other people has to be regarded as prob-
lematic. Just because one has committed an infraction of a rule does not mean
that others will respond as though this had happened. (Conversely, just because
one has not violated a rule does not mean that he may not be treated, in some
circumstances, as though he had.)
The degree to which other people will respond to a given act as deviant
varies greatly. Several kinds 4 variation seem worth aoe First of all, there 1is

sMesecitiss this clearly. At various times, enforcement officials may decide to make
an all-out attack on some particular kind of deviance, such as gambling, drug
addiction, or homosexuality. It is obviously much more dangerous to engage in
one of these activities when a drive is on than at any other time. (In a very inter-
esting study of crime news in Colorado newspapers, Davis found that the
amount of crime reported in Colorado newspapers showed very little association
with actual changes in the amount of crime taking place in Colorado. And, fur-
ther, that people’s estimate of how much increase there had been in crime in
Colorado was associated with the increase in the amount of crime news but
not with any increase in the amount of crime.)”
The degree to which an act will be treated as deviant depends also on wh
commits the act and who feels he has been harmed by it. R
42 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

applied e tt i \Studies of juvenile delinquency make

the point cleaner oys om middle-class“Areas do not get as far in the legal pro-
cess when they are apprehended as do boys from slum areas. The middle-class
boy is less likely, when picked up by the police, to be taken to the station; less
likely when taken to the station to be booked; and it is extremely unlikely that
he will be convicted and sentenced.” This variation occurs even though the orig-
inal infraction of the rule is the same in the two cases. Similarly, the law is dif-
ferentially applied to Negroes and whites. It is well known that a Negro believed
to have attacked a white woman is much more likely to be punished than a
white man who commits the same offense; it is only slightly less well known
that a Negro who murders another Negro is much less likely to be punished
than a white man who commits murder.’ This, of course, is one of the main
points of Sutherland’s analysis of white-collar crime: crimes committed by cor-
porations are almost always prosecuted-as Civil Cases, but the same crime commit-
ted by an individual iistomtinasiy treated as; a criminal offense.”

arried mother furnishes a clear pa Mingerit” eet out that die comal
relations seldom result in severe punishment or social censure for the offenders. If,
however, a girl becomes pregnant as a result of such activities, the reaction of
others is likely to be severe. (The illicit pregnancy is also an interesting example
of the differential enforcement of rules on different categories of people. Vincent
notes that unmarried fathers escape the severe censure visited on the mother.)
Why repeat these commonplace observations? Because, taken together, they
support the proposition that deviance is not a simple quality, present in some
kinds of behavior and absent in others. Rather, it is the product of a process
which involves responses of other people to the behavior. The same behavior
may be an infraction of the rules at one time and not at another or may be an
infraction when committed by one person, but not when committed by another;

act 1s deviant or not ai in cson the nature of th

not it violates some rule) a t on wh che i
Some people may itead at this is merely a pectnaleinteal suabbles that
one can, after all, define terms any way he wants to and that if some people
want to speak of rule-breaking behavior as deviant without reference to the reactions
of others they are free to do so. This, of course, is true. Yet it might be worth-
while to refer to such behavior as rule-breaking behavior and reserve the term
deviant for those labeled as deviant by some segment of society. I do not insist
that this usage be followed. But it should be clear that insofar as a scientist uses
“deviant” to refer to any rule-breaking behavior and takes as his subject of study
only those who have been labeled deviant, he would be hampered by the dispa-
rities between the two categories.
If we take as the object of our attention behavior which comes to be labeled
as deviant, we must recognize that we cannot know whether a given act will be
categorized as deviant until the response of others has occurred. Deviance is not a
quality that lies in behavior itself, but in the interaction between the person who
commits an act and those who respond to it....
 CHAPTER 3. RELATIVISM: LABELING THEORY 43

In any case, being branded as deviant has me POrsy Canseqastes: for one’s
penis social a oe foc cisamna ge: eungy Mpc

and being ms as caught at itplace ninain a new status. He has been revealed as
a differen: kind of person from the kind he was supposed to be. He is labeled a
“fairy,” “dope fiend,” “nut,” or “lunatic,” and treated accordingly.
In analyzing the consequences of assuming a deviant identity let us make use
of Hughes’ distinction between master and auxiliary status traits.” Hughes notes
that most statuses have one key trait which serves to distinguish those w
belong from those who do not. Thus the doctor, whatever else he may be, is a
person who has a certificate stating that he has fulfilled certain requirements and
is licensed to practice medicine; this is the master trait. As Hughes points out, in
our society a doctor is also informally expected to have a number of auxiliary
traits: most people expect him to be upper middle-class, white, male, and
Protestant. When he is not, there is a sense that he has in some way failed to
fill the bill. Similarly, though skin color is the master status trait determining
who is Negro and who is white, Negroes are informally expected to have certain
status traits and not to have others; people are surprised and find it anomalou
Negro turns out to be a doctor or a college professor. People often have the
master status trait but lack some of the auxiliary, informally expected character-
istics; for example, one may be a doctor but be a female or a Negro.
Hughes deals with this phenomenon in regard to statuses that are well
thought of, desired, and desirable (noting that one may have the formal qualifi-
cations for entry into a status but be denied full entry because of lack of the
pares aie traits),but the emme pyocess os in the case of deviant statuses.
have a g nae symbolic value, s
arer possesses esirable trai

oO petuelea aac Ein one need only commit a single criminal offense,
and this is all the term formally refers to. Yet the word carries a number of con-
notations specifying auxiliary traits characteristic of anyone bearing the label. A
man who has been convicted of housebreaking and thereby labeled criminal is
presumed to be a person likely to break into other houses; the police, in round-
ing up known offenders for investigation after a crime has been committed,
operate on this premise. Further, he is considered likely to commit other kinds
of crimes as well, because he has shown himself to be a person without “respect
for the law.” Thus, apprehension for one deviant act exposes a person to the
likelihood that he will be regarded as deviant or undesirable in other respects.
There is one other element in Hughes’ analysis we a borrow with profit:
the distinction between master and subordinate statuses.” Some statuses, in our
society as in others, override all other statuses and have a certain priority. Rac
is one of them. Membership in the Negro race, as socially defined, will override
most other status considerations in most other situations; the fact that one is a
physician or middle-class or female will not protect one from being treated as
Negro first and any of these other things second. The, status of deviant d
ing on the kind of deviance) 1s this pig ae One receives the status
 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

tii,

will beidentified

NOTES

The most important earlier statements Robert A. Nisbet, eds., Contemporary

of this view can be found in Frank Social Problems (New York: Harcourt,
Tannenbaum, Crime and the Commu- Brace and World, 1961).
nity (New York: Columbia University See Harold Garfinkel, “Research
Press, 1938), and E. M. Lemert, Social Notes on Inter- and Intra-Racial
Pathology (New York: McGraw-Hill Homicides,” Social Forces 27 (May
Book Co., 1951). A recent article 1949): 369-381.
stating a position very similar to mine
Edwin Sutherland, “White Collar
is John Kitsuse, “Societal Reaction to
Cnminality,” American Sociological
Deviance: Problems of Theory and
Review V (February 1940): 1-12.
Method,” Social Problems 9 (Winter
1962): 247-256. Clark Vincent, Unmarried Mothers
(New York: The Free Press of
F. James Davis, “Crime News in
Glencoe, 1961), pp. 3-5.
Colorado Newspapers,” American
Journal of Sociology LVII (January 1952): Everett C. Hughes, “Dilemmas and
2s 30). Contradictions of Status,” American
Journal of Sociology L (March 1945):
See Albert K. Cohen and James F.
35s"S59:
Short, Jr., “Juvenile Delinquency,”
p. 87 in Robert K. Merton and Ibid.
 Natural Law and the Sociology
of Deviance
ANNE HENDERSHOTT

Hendershott takes the absolutist perspective on defining deviance, proposing a

morally based view ofwhatistight-andaviong. She outlines the “Natural Law”
doctrine, rooting it in religious precepts. Societal values that define deviance, she
suggests, are morally based unwritten laws that stretch from community to
community over history. These laws can be found, she argues, in the founding
precepts of sociology, a discipline that arose to articulate and explain the collective
consciousness that bound people together by internalizing a set of social controls.
Hendershott suggests that society is founded on consensus, with most people
agreeing about right and wrong. Urging us to adopt a more sin-based model,
she criticizes contemporary sociologists and politicians for failing to speak in this
language of right and wrong and failing to condemn the immorality of deviance.
Clear boundaries, she argues, protect us from the instability of moral panics.
She further argues that we should construct the hard principles of the moral order
and enforce them. Like many strains of Marxism and feminism, Hendershott’s
morality-based approach to defining deviance is inherently absolutist because
it advances a situationally and temporally consistent universal yardstick for
assessing the meaning of behavior—a yardstick that is lodged in the essence of
the behavior itself.
What does Hendershott have to say about relativist definitions of deviance,
about how definitions of deviance have changed over time, and about those who
have proposed these kinds of changes? How does she feel about the medical model
of deviance? About the “experts” who support it? About the difference between
“psychological” and “Christian” man? Finally, what view does she propose
about how social definitions are formed?

n 1993, Pope John Paul II cautioned, “No one can escape from the funda-
mental questions: What must I do? How do I distinguish good from evil?”
(Veritatis Splendor, Introduction). Although Pope John Paul II (a sociologist by
training) was speaking of revealed truth, natural law, and moral theology, the
founding sociologists shared many of these same concerns about the moral

Reprinted with permission from the author, Anne Hendershott.

45
46 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

choices we make and the moral order we create. In some important ways, the
earliest sociologists were asking some of the same questions.
In fact, from the earliest days of the fledgling discipline of sociology, the foun-
ders were concemed about social order and the common good. They warned of
the threat to the social order of the community that comes with the breakdown of
traditional moral boundaries. And, from this time onward, sociologists continued
to assert that social stability is founded on moral order—a common worldview tha
binds people to their families, to their communities, and to the larger economi
and political institutions. Integral to this moral order is a shared concept of what
constitutes deviant behavior—behavior that is defined as “outside the norm’’—and
a willingness to identify the boundaries of appropriate behavior.
Today, many sociologists have become reluctant to acknowledge that there
are moral judgments to be made when discussing a subject such as deviance.
Globalization has created societies based less on shared*culture than on narrow
calculations of individual self-interest. A commitment to a common moral
order is much more difficult within a culture of such strong individualism.

DEFINING DEVIANCE DOWN AND UP

Emile Durkheim, the “founding father” of the sociology of deviance, wrote. that
deviance is an integral part of all societies because it affirms cultural norms and values.
Durkheim acknowledged that all societies require moral definition; some behaviors
and attitudes must be identified as more salutary than others. As a sociologist, he saw
that moral unity could be ensured only if all members of a society were anchored to
common assumptions about the world around them; without these assumptions, a
society was bound to degenerate and decay. Yet contemporary sociologists have
often embraced the dangerous principle of shifting moral boundaries.
In 1993, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a sociologist and four-term U.S. senator from
New York, wrote a seminal piece on deviance in The American Scholar. In his cle
alliteration “defining deviancy down” (the title of the piece), Moynihan Seedine Soe
essence of a ee apetietdin ae United States: the decli ty
ee cho
wai 4 - y “8
rOO Many ea
ur ung alifie Cc

. Out-of- avdloak ee teenage pregnancy, sroiiiscilithe sane dee

% valine dependency, and homelessness all seemed to be increasing, even in a
climate of prosperity. Worse, these behaviors appeared to be nominally condoned.
At the same time, there was a parallel, but opposite, development tha
senator did not touch on in his speech: a movement of eck * a
acaba or

nae a positive consequences for stiles For example, the Gets of advocacy
groups such as Mothers Against Drunk Drivers to stigmatize drunk driving has
achieved success and-saved-tives, and the civil rights movement has succeeded
in stigmatizing racism such that, if anyone dares utter a racist joke or attempts
to make a negative racial comment, that person will be immediately stigmatized
as a racist deserving of punitive sanctions.
 CHAPTER 4 NATURAL LAW AND THE SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 47

But more importantly, these kinds of shifts in the definitions of deviance

work for the convenience of society and ignore the kind of deeply seated
moral imperatives on which a consensually based society with shared boundaries
and a common moral order rests.

CULTURAL RELATIVISM AND EXPERTS

The process of redefining deviance is a subtle one, and changes in language are
so incremental and seemingly innocuous that the new meanings appear almost
invisibly. Social philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre says that ours is a culture domi-
nated by experts, experts who profess to assist the rest of us, but who often
instead make us their victims. MacIntyre says that we must be able to identify
the particular set of precepts that will help us achieve that which contribut
the common good. Most of us know that there are unwritten, morally based
“laws” that tell us what kind of behavior is deviant. These laws have not neces-
sarily been codified within the legal system, but are nonetheless binding.
In an age oftechnology and expertise, we have been convinced that we should
listen to the “experts” rather than common sense in determining the norms, values,
and attitudes of our families, our churches, and other trusted institutions. Cultural
relativists urge us to adapt to the changes of our times—changes that they define as
“progress” rather than mere change whose inevitability is not assured.
The continued attempts to psychologize and “understand” deviance—even
in the face of evil such as that which appeared in America on September 11—
show the distance some will go to avoid applying moral categories of judgment.
Sociologists Peter Conrad and Joseph Schneider (1980, 6) cautioned us more
than three decades ago that the medicalization of deviance a
a... events and people and prevent them from being confronted
evil.” Although medicalizing deviance does not automatically render evil con-
sequences good, the assumption that behavior is the product ofa “sick” mind or
body gives it a status similar to that of “accidents.” It infers that removing intent
or motive relieves us from the human element in the decisions we make, the
actions we take, and the social structures we create.
The reluctance of sociologists to acknowledge that there are moral judg-
ments to be made when discussing a subject like deviance shows how far the
discipline has strayed from its origins. From the earliest days of sociology, scholars
were concerned about the question of social order and the common good. Yet,
in a secular society, most—including most sociologists—believe that there are no
objective properties which all deviant acts can be said to share in common—even
within the confines of a given group.

THE ABSOLUTIST PERSPECTIVE ON DEVIANCE

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Committee on Doctrine is

so concerned about the dismissal of natural law because, from Catholic social
48 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

teaching, natural law includes ar

ee order
ion. Pope John Paul II (1993: 40)
ment on natural law when he writes, “The moral law has its origin in God and
always finds it source in him...Indeed, as we have seen, the natural law is noth-
ing other than the light of understanding infused in us by God, whereby we
understand what must be done and what must be avoided. God gave this light
and this law to man at creation.”
From a sociological perspective, drawing upon natural law is described as an
‘absolutist perspective” of deviance. Yet Catholics and other conservatives are
not the only ones who use an absolutist perspective today. Any point of view
which asserts that certain behaviors or conditions are intrinsically good or bad
falls within this approach. For example, Marxists believe that the oppression of
subordinate groups by the dominant groupie wrong: workers of the world, like
teachers, policemen, and factory workers, should throw off the chains of their
economic, capitalist suppression and revolt against the corporate ownership of
their governments by means of which the nch get richer and the middle class
progressively loses ground. ses can also be recognized as absolutists,
because they maintain that an absolute moral standard must be applied to some
behaviors; women should be liberated from the systems of patriarchal oppression
by men. Included among such absolutist feminists are proabortion feminists who
regard any restrictionson a woman’s right to choose, even in the last few months
of pregnancy, as deviant because they deprive women of equal rights. Some rad-
ical gay and lesbian sociologists are also absolutist, because they define “social
justice” so broadly that the term includes the right to marriage by same-sex cou-
ples. For these sociologists, any behavior that results in the exploitation of one
person or a category of persons for the benefit of another or that threatens the
dignity and quality of life for specific people humanity as a whole is inherently
evil, and thereby deviant. These are all absolutist perspectives of deviance—
yet because they support causes that many sociologists support, few define the
Marxist or the radical gay and feminist perspectives in that way.

SOCIAL ORDER AND SACRED ORDER

More than 50 years ago, the poet T. S. Eliot wrote about the sense of alienation
that occurs when social regulators begin to splinter and the controlling moral
authority of a society is no longer effective. In his play The Cocktail Party, a trou-
bled young protagonist visits a psychiatrist and confides that she feels a “sense of
sin” because of her relationship with a married man. She is distressed not so
much by the illicit relationship, but rather by the strange feeling of sinfulness.
Eliot (1950: 156) writes, “Having a sense of sin seems abnormal to her—she
had never noticed before that such behavior might be seen in those terms. She
believed that she had become ill.”
When Eliot writes of his protagonist’s feeling unease or uncertainty
about her behavior, he is really speaking of the sense of normlessness that has
 CHAPTER 4 NATURAL LAW AND THE SOCIOLOGY OF DEVIANCE 49

traditionally been a focus of sociology. In many ways, Eliot’s play is about

anomie—the state of normlessness that sociologists identify as resulting when one
is caught between the loosening moral norms regulating behavior and one’s own
moral misgivings. Eliot’s play echoes the scholarship of Durkheim. Both men
saw that the identification and stigmatization of deviant behavior is functional
for society because it can produce certainty for individuals and solidarity for the
group. Both recognized that dramatic social change through the rapid redefini-
tion of deviance can be dysfunctional for society. Strong cultural values and clear
concepts of good and evil integrate members into the group and provide mean-

Durkheim knew that social facts, like crime statistics, abortion rates, and poll
data on support for gay marriage, can be explained only by analyzing the unique
social conditions that evolve when norms break down. The resulting anomic
state leads to deviant behavior as the individual’s attachment to social bonds is
weakened. According to this view, people care what others think of them al
attempt to conform to pe tesions because they accept ES. others expert

This value-free ideology was Medea over 40. years ago an sociologist
Philip Rieff, who warned, in his now classic book The Triumph of the Therapeutic,
that “psychological man” was beginning to replace “Christian man” as the dom-
inant character type in our society. Unlike traditional Christianity, which made
moral demands on believers, the secular world of “psychological man” rejected
both the idea of sin and the need for salvation. Replacing the concept of sin with
the concept of sickness was documented by Rieff, who wrote in 1966 that the
authority that had been vested in Christian culture had been all but shattered.
Nothing had succeeded it. What worried him was that the institutions of
morality—especially the Church—lacked authority and could no longer per-
suade others to follow them. Further, Rieff (1966: 205) believed that this failure
of auenorey was no accident, but rather the program of “the modern cultural
revolution,” which was conducted * ‘not in the name of any new order of com-

“The ee Levies ee teachings on life issues and on marriage and the fam-
ily cannot be changed. For Catholics, there remain the enduring truths, those
which Philip Rueff (1966: 59) calls “commanding amr that cannot be chan-
ged: “Commanding truths will not b ; pt to the destruction of
everything sacred.” Of the family as a commanding truth, Rieff (1966: 107)
wrote, “the destruction of the family is the key regimen of technological inno-
vation and moral deviance.” And of life itself, Rieff (1966: 42) wrote, “We must
stand against the re-creation of life in the laboratory and the taking of life in the
abortion clinic.” Rieff knew, as the sociologists of the past knew, that culture
survives by faith in the highest absolute authority and its interdicts. For Catholics,
50 PART | DEFINING DEVIANCE

there can be no Catholic culture and no true Catholic Church without such
commanding truths.
The sociology of deviance provides a useful framework to help us under-
stand the success that the gay and lesbian community has achieved in defini
down what had long been viewed as the deviance of homosexuality. Beyond
redefining homosexuality, the continued refinement of the theory of deviance
is probably one of the greatest contributions that sociology can make to under-
standing social change. Yet, in an effort to avoid alienating those with divers
lifestyles and values, sociologists have become hesitant to make judgments
about the behavior of others.
In the aftermath of September 11, 2001, President George W. Bush repeat-
edly called the terrorist acts “evil” and those who perpetrated them “evildoers.”
This language drew only a minor protest from those who, on September 10,
would have excoriated the president for such inflammatory language. Reassessing
the politics and culture after the terrorists declared war on the United States, we
were reminded again that evil exists. We again realized that there are those who
are capable of doing monstrous acts. And, to achieve social order, we must be
willing to identify and defend ourselves against those who want to do us harm.
Perhaps the “remoralization” of our public discourse that occurred after Septem-
ber 11 was the only good to come out of the terrorist attacks. Most of us were
reminded again that evil exists and that good people must recognize this fact.
Perhaps, in time, sociologists will again be willing to recognize that a society
which continues to define down the deviant acts our common sense tells us are
destructive is a society that has lost the capacity to confront evil.

REFERENCES

Conrad, Peter, and Schneider, Joseph. The American Scholar 62:1 (Winter),
(1980). Deviance and Medicalization. pp. 17-30.
St. Louis: Mosby. Pope John Paul II. (1993). Veritatis Splendor.
Ehot, T. S. (1950). The Cocktail Party. [The Splendor of Truth]. Encyclical
Orlando, Florida: Harcourt Brace published by the Vatican.
Jovanovich. Rieff, Philip. (1966). The Triumph of the
Moynihan, Daniel Patrick. (1993). Therapeutic: The Uses of Faith after
“Defining Deviancy Down,” Freud. New York: Harper & Row.
 Social Power: Conflict
Theory of Crime
RICHARD QUINNEY

Quinney’s conflict theory of crime represents the social power’ perspective on

defining deviance. He builds on Becker’s relativist approach by asserting that
definitions ofdeviance are social constructions and not absolute “givens.” He, too,
rejects the essentialist view of deviance as inherent in specific acts. But while
Becker is not specific about the identity of those who formulate the definitions of
deviance, Quinney locates the decision makers in the dominant class. Definitions
of deviance, then, stem from the views of those who have the power to make and
enforce them. Members of this group formulate the definitions of deviance with the
express purpose of advancing themselves by labeling behaviors that threaten their
class interests as criminal. They then enforce the definitions unequally: more
harshly against their opponents and more leniently against members of their own
group. Yet they disguise the self-serving basis of their rules, creating and enforcing
them through justifications that legitimate their actions and that cast the rules as
rational or beneficial to others. In turn, those who are defined as criminal become
more likely to engage in future behavior that will be defined as criminal.
Quinney thus goes beyond Becker to offer a view ofsociety that radically
departs from previous perspectives. The conflict perspective envisions two groups in
society: the dominant class and those they dominate. Criminals are conceptual-
ized as _powerles »ppressed people who threaten the interests of alin
_
class. Defining and enforcing crime becomes a means of reproducing the power
and socioeconomic inequalities between these groups. Quinney’s conflict theory
suggests that definitions of deviance represent one of the coercive means throug
which the elite maintain their dominance over the masses.
How does Quinney’s conflict view ofsociety compare or contrast with
Erikson’s?

theory that helps us begin to examine the legal order critically is the one
I call the social_reality-efeiine. Applying this theory, we think of crime as it
is affected by the at mold the society’s social, economic, and political

From Richard Quinney, Criminology (Boston: Little, Brown, 1975). Reprinted by

permission of the author.

51
52 PARTI DEFINING DEVIANCE

structure. First, we recognize how criminal law fits into capitalist society. The
legal order gives reality to the crime problem in the United States. Everything
that makes up crime’s social reality, including the application of criminal law, the
behavior patterns of those who are defined as criminal, and the construction of
an ideology of crime, is related to the established legal order. The social reality of
crime is constructed on conflict in our society.
The theory of the social reality of crime is formulated as follows.
I. The Official Definition of Crime: Crime as a legal definition of human
conduct is created by agents of the dominant class in a politically organized society.
The essentiala 8 point is a eerinitiae of crime that itself is based on the legal
definition G

police, prosecutors, and yeigee) are iho for formulating and sdinininesas
criminal law. Upon formulation and application of these definitions of crime, per-
sons and ae besome criminal.

Titncnredagiuadagabit ea acteristics of rs. This prop-

sition allows us to focus on the formulation ane sdlduamistesticns wy the criminal
law as it applies to the behaviors that become defined as criminal. Crime is seen
as a result of the class-dynamic process that culminates in defining persons and
behaviors as criminal. It follows, then, that the greater the number of definitions
of crime that are formulated and applied, the greater the amount of crime.
II. Formulating Definitions of Crime: Definitions of crime are composed of
behaviors that conflict with the interests of the dominant class.
Definitions of crime are formulated according to the interests of those who have
the power to translate their interests into public policy. Those definitions are
ultimately incorporated into the criminal law. Furthermore, definitions of crime
in a society change as the interests of the dominant class change. In other words,
those who are able to have their interests represented in public policy regulate
the formulation of definitions of crime.
The powerful interests are reflected not only in the definitions of crime and
the kinds of penal sanctions attached to them, but also in the legal policies on
handling those defined as criminals. Procedural rules are created for enforcing
and administering the criminal law. Policies are also established on programs for
treating and punishing the criminally defined and programs for controlling and
preventing crime. From the initial definitions of crime to the subsequent proce-
dures, correctional and penal piiiewra? and policies.for controll ns oo dent ase
ing crime, t p ower egula

Il. Applying Definitions of Crime: Definitions of crime are applied by the class
that has the power to shape the enforcement and administration of criminal law.
The dominant interests intervene in all the stages at which definitions of crime
are created. Because class interests cannot be effectively protected merely by
 CHAPTER 5 SOCIAL POWER: CONFLICT THEORY OF CRIME 53

formulating criminal law, the law must be enforced and administered. The inter-
ests of the powerful, therefore, also operate where the definitions of crime reach
the application stage. As Vold (1958, 163) has argued, crime is “political behavior
and the criminal becomes in fact a member of a ‘minority group’ without suffi-
cient public support to dominate the control of the police power of the stat
Those whose interests conflict with the ones represented in the law must she
change their behavior or possibly find it defined as criminal.
The probability that definitions of crime will be applied varies according to
how much the behaviors of the powerless conflict with the interests of those in
power. Law enforcement efforts and judicial activity are likely to increase when
the interests of the dominant class are threatened. Fluctuations and variations in
applying definitions of crime reflect shifts in class relations.
Obviously, the criminal law is not applied directly by those in power; its
enforcement and administration are delegated to authorized legal agents. Because
the groups responsible for creating the definitions of crime are physically sepa-
rated from the groups that have the authority to enforce and administer law,
local conditions determine how the definitions will be applied. In particular,
communities vary in their expectations of law enforcement and the administra-
tion of justice. The application of definitions is also influenced by the visibility of
offenses in a community and by the public’s norms about reporting possible vio-
lations. And especially important in enforcing and administering the criminal law
are the legal agents’ occupational organization and ideology.
The probability that these definitions will be applied depends on the actions
of the legal agents who have the authority to enforce and administer the law. A
definition of crime is applied depending on their evaluation. Turk (1969) has
argued that during “criminalization,” a criminal label may be affixed to people
because of real or fancied attributes: “Indeed, a person is evaluated, either favor-
ably or unfavorably, not because he does something, or even because he is some-
thing, but because others react to their perceptions of him as offensive or
inoffensive.” Evaluation by the definers is affected by the way in which the sus-
pect handles the situation, but ultimately the legal agents’ evaluations and subse-

IV. How Behavior Patterns Develop in Relation to Definitions of

Crime: Behavior patterns are structured in relation to definitions of crime, and
within this context people engage in actions that have relative probabilities of being
defined as criminal. ?
Although behavior varies, all behaviors are similar in the way they represent pat-
terns within society. All persons—whether they create definitions of crime or are
the objects of these definitions—act in reference to normative systems learned in
relative social and cultural settings. Because it is not the quality of the behavior
but the action taken against the behavior that gives it the character of criminality,
which is defined as criminal is relative to the behavior patterns of the class that
54 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

formulates and applies definitions. Consequently, people whose behavior patterns

are not represented when the definitions of crime are formulated and applied
are more likely to act in ways that will be defined as criminal than those who
formulate and apply the definitions.
Once behavior patterns become established with some regularity within the
segments of society, individuals have a framework for creating personal_action-pat=~
ferns. These continually develop for each person as he moves from one experi-
ence to another. Specific action patterns give behavior an individual substance in
relation to the definitions of crime.
People construct their own patterns of action in participating with others. It
follows, then, that the probability that persons will develop action patterns with a
high potential for being defined as criminal depends on (1) structured opportu-
nities, (2) learning experiences, (3) interpersonal associations and identificatio
and (4) self-conceptions. Throughout the experiences, each person creates a con-
ception of self as a human social being. Thus prepared, he behaves according to
the anticipated consequences of his actions.
In the experiences shared by the definers of crime and the criminally
defined, personal-action patterns develop among the latter because they are so
defined. After they have had continued experience in being defined as criminal,
they learn to manipulate the application of criminal definitions.
Furthermore, those who have been defined as criminal begin to conceive of
themselves as criminal. As they adjust to the definitions imposed on them, they
learn to play the criminal role. As a result of others’ reactions, therefore, people
may develop personal-action patterns that increase the likelihood of their being
defined as criminal in the future. That is, increased experience with definitions of
crime increases the probability of their developing actions that may be subse-
quently defined as criminal.
Thus, both the definers of crime and the criminally defined are involved in
reciprocal action patterns. The personal-action patterns of both the definers and
the defined are shaped by their common, continued, and related experiences.
The fate of each is bound to that of the other.
V. Constructing an Ideology of Crime: An ideology of crime is constructed and
diffused by the dominant class to secure its hegemony.
This ideology is created in the kinds of ideas people are exposed to, the manner
in which they select information to fit the world they are shaping, and their way
of interpreting this information. People behave in reference to the social meanings
they attach to their experiences. Pn oorn fl
Among the conceptions that develop in a society are those relating to what
people regard as crime. The concept of crime must of course be accompanied by
ideas about the nature of crime. Images develop about the relevance of crime,
the offender’s characteristics, the appropriate reaction to crime, and the relation
of crime to the social order. These conceptions are constructed by communica-
tion, and, in fact, an ideology of crime depends on the portrayal of crime in
all personal and mass communication. This ideology is thus diffused throug
the ae
 CHAPTER 5 SOCIAL POWER: CONFLICT THEORY OF CRIME 55

One of the most concrete ways by which an ideology of crime is formed

and transmitted is the official investigation of crime. The President’s Commission
on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice is the best contemporary
example of the state’s role in shaping an ideology of crime. Not only are we as
citizens more aware of crime today because of the President’s Commission, but
official policy on crime has also been established in a crime bill, the Omnibus
Crime Control and Safe Streets Act of 1968. The crime bill, itself a reaction to
the growing fears of class conflict in American society, creates an image of a
severe crime problem and, in so doing, threatens to negate some of our basic
constitutional guarantees in the name of controlling crime.
Consequently, the conceptions that are most critical in actually formulating
and applying the definitions of crime are those held by the dominant class. T
conceptions are certain tode incorporated into the social cages 7 crime.
more the gov ence to crime, the mor ablevieekdthat
fi chao Dehation'patterns will develop -in
ppositic ions. The formulation of definitions of crime, their
Foaltaon. and the te Mopars of behavior patterns in relation to the defini-
tions are thus joined in full circle by the construction of an ideological hege-
mony toward crime.
I. Constructing the Social Reality of Crime: The social reality of crime is
constructed by the formulation and application of definitions ofcrime, the development
of behavior patterns in relation to these definitions, and the construction of an ideology
of crime.
The first five propositions are collected here into a final composition proposition.
The theory of the social reality of crime, accordingly, postulates creating a series
of phenomena that increase the probability of crime. The result, holistically, is
the social reality of crime.

Formulation of Application of
definitions of crime definitions of crime

A Tee nn NAS

Class Struggle
and
Class Conflict

Y
Development of
Construction of behavior patterns
the ideology of crime in relation to
definitions of crime

The Social Reality of Crime

56 PART! DEFINING DEVIANCE

Because the first proposition of the theory is a definition and the sixth is a
composite, the body of the theory consists of the four middle propositions.
These form a model of crime’s social reality. The model, as diagrammed, relates
the proposition units into a theoretical system (see figure on p. 55). Each unit is
related to the others. The theory is thus a system of interacting developmental
propositions. The phenomena denoted in the propositions and their relationships
culminate in what is regarded as the amount and character of crime at any time—
that is, in the social reality of crime.
The theory of the social reality of crime as I have formulated it is inspired by
a change that is occurring in our view of the world. This change, pervading all
levels of society, pertains to the world that we all construct and from which, at
the same time, we pretend to separate ourselves in our human experiences. For
the study of crime, a revision in thought has directed attention to the criminal
process: All relevant phenomena contribute to creating definitions of crime,
[developing] behaviors by those involved in criminal-defining situations, and
constructing an ideology of crime. The result is the social reality of crime that
is constantly being constructed in society.

REFERENCES

Turk, Austin. (1969). Criminality and Vold, George B. (1958). Theoretical Crimi-
the Legal Order. Chicago: Rand nology. New York: Oxford University
McNally. Press,
 PART II

HK

Theories of Deviance

D eviance holds a special intrigue for scholars of theory. Given its pervasive
nature in society, its enigmatic conditions, and its generic appeal, even the
earliest sociologists attempted to explain how and why deviance occurs. Espe-
cially considering people’s inclination to conform, the pressing question for scho-
lars has been ighy individuals engage in norm-violating behavior. Explanations
for deviant behavior are as divergent as the acts they explain, which range from
acts of delinquency to professional theft, acts of integrity to a search for kicks,
and acts of desperation to those of bravado and daring. We next outline some
of the major attempts at understanding deviant behavior.

BIOLOGICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORIES

The language of deviance used in everyday life tends to follow biological or psy-
chological assumptions about the causes of behavior. Sociology students often
have difficulty thinking in other terms about why people would violate norms.
Reinarman, in Chapter 15, calls everyday language having to do with deviance a
“Vocabulary of attribution,” suggesting that the cultural language of talking about
how and why-people-do-things is individualistic, rather than collective or socio-
ical. This book aims to remedy that problem.
In earlier times, scholars of crime approached deviant behavior as rooted
in people’s biological abnormalities or predispositions. They tried to find
inks between incarcerated criminals and genetic deficiencies. In the 1800s,
Cesare Lombroso and his followers suggested that criminals were more like
primitive human beings, resembling their apelike ancestors (Lombroso, 1876).

57
58 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

Women, he believed, were evolutionarily inferior to men (Lombroso, 1920).

This approach viewed criminals as born, not made, and therefore unresponsive
to rehabilitation or treatment. People’s “defective” criminal tendencies could be
classified into distinctive criminal types and inherited from one generation to the
next. Other researchers of this era, such as Charles Goring (1913) and Earnest
Hooton (1939), connected people with physical inferiorities, such as being
shorter and lighter, to born criminal types.
At around the same time, body-type theorists correlated criminality with
three “somatotypes”: body builds thought to be related to certain personality
characteristics or temperaments. William Sheldon (1949) suggested that neither
the slow, soft, and comfort-loving endomorphs nor the lean, fragile ectomorphs
were as criminally inclined as the muscular and activesmesomorphs, who were
more aggressive. Contemporary studies of body type focus on things such as
one’s body mass index (BMI: a person’s weight divided by his or her height
squared) and large early muscular development, suggesting that strongly built or
well-muscled people are more prone toward violence.
More recent biological approaches have pursued genetic explanations. Some
looked for chromosomal patterns in deviants, suggesting that variations on the
typical male (XY) and female (XX) configurations could foster abnormal behav-
ior. In particular, criminologists proposed an XYY syndrome that creates “dou=
ble male” or “supermale” individuals who were unusually tall and predisposed to
aggressive and violent behavior. An accused murderer in Australia was acquitt
on the basis of this genetic defense as recently as the 1960s, although it did not
work in the trial of Richard Speck, the man charged with killing eight Chicago
nurses. Studies of twins have been very popular in the nineteenth century as
well. The strongest connection between criminally convicted twins, people
who would likely be similarly inclined because of their biological imprinting,
was found to be only a 35 percent rate of offense for their identical
sibling, with an even smaller 12 percent for fraternal siblings.
Brain studies, popular in the 1930s, suggested that some people might cease
their deviant ways if their brains were surgically altered. It was believed that
chronic deviants, unresponsive to other treatments, might benefit from loboto-
mies that destroyed the frontal lobe of the brain (as portrayed in the book and
film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). From the 1930s to 1950s, approximately
50,000 such operations were performed. Lobotomies finally gave way to other
forms of psychosurgery involving inserting electric needles into the skull and
searing part of the cingulum, the emotional center of the brain. A host of other
sociobiological explanations related to diet, learning disorders, endocrine or hor-
monal imbalance, and allergies thought to influence behavior have since arisen.
One example of this kind of explanation can been seen in the “twinkie defense”
 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 59

from the trial of Dan White, charged with killing San Francisco Mayor George
Moscone (portrayed in the movie Milk). Defense attorneys brought in psychia-
trists who testified that individuals might become depressed and driven to |
uncontrollable violence as the result of excessively consuming junk food and
sugary soft drinks. They argued that, because of the chemicals these foods pro-
duced in his body, White exploded, went onto “autopilot,” and diminished his
capacity for rational thought. To some degree, jurors bought this argument,
rejecting the charge of premeditated murder and instead convicting White of |
the lesser crime of manslaughter. Brain theories continue to be popular with
the public and are being applied to attribute deviant behaviors such as rape,
spousal and date assault, child abuse and neglect, and cheating to hormonal func-
tioning (the PMS syndrome defense), cerebral and neuro-allergies to food
substances, EEG abnormalities, and a wide range of evolutionary theories.
Although early biological theories focused more on body types, more recent
thinking examines how people’s inherited characteristics translate into predispo-
sitions toward traits such as thrill seeking, risk taking, or substance abuse. But
biological theories fail to explain why people who share common biological
characteristics differ, with some turning to deviance while others remain conven-
tional. Biological factors may indeed exert some influence on people’s behavior,
but these theories tend to be limited and offer less convincing explanations than
explanations involving social and cultural factors. Many are now denounced as
racist_or-for-condoning genetic research on Sg ae
commonly used in contemporary society to provide a rationale for conservative
ideological principles and support a political climate that blames social ills such as
crime and poverty on individuals rather than on social policies.
Psychological theories have their roots in the late eighteenth century, draw-
ing on psychiatric, psychoanalytical, and psychological explanations of how indi-
viduals’ minds and personalities affect their deviance. Many have She
articulate a deviant or criminal personality, dating back to Sigmund Freud’s
(1925) model of the id, ego, and superego. Freud believed that people with
too little ability to resist their impulses had Oedipus or Electra complexes,
death wishes, inferiority complexes, or fears of castration, or suffered from
frustration—aggression syndromes or penis envy, leading them to commit hostile
acts. Freud’s early work was succeeded by more contemporary theories about a
range of impulse control disorders. Psychologists have also linked personality
traits, especially defiance, hostility, ambivalence toward authority, and emotional
psychopathologies, to crime and deviance. We see the popularity of this
approach in criminal profiling, which attempts to construct typical characteriza-
tions of certain offenders, although this technique may be more successful in
books, movies, and television than in real life.
60 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

Other psychological approaches have addressed “operant conditioning,”

examining the way behavior modification (B. F. Skinner, 1953) or human con-
ditioning (Hans Eysenck, 1977) can lead individuals to commit crime. Albert
Bandura (1973) proposed a social learning theory which suggested that exposure
to aggressive or aversive behaviors could reinforce people’s tendencies to become
ageressive.
Many people have tried to link distinct personality types to deviant behavior.
Succeeding in this endeavor is difficult because deviance comes in so many forms;
thus, identity thieves are likely to be rather different from robbers, gamblers, and
drug users. Samuel Yochelson and Stanton Samenow (1976) proposed that crim-
inals have distinctive personalities and thinking patterns, such as unrelenting opti-
mism, manipulativeness, intense anger, fear of being injured or insulted, an
inclination toward chronic lying, and an inflexibly high self-image. Although scho-
lars have yet to find evidence of a “criminal mind,” Yochelson and Samenow
believed that criminals were victimizers rather than victims ofsociety.
Finally, intelligence theorists have put forth a range of IQ theories, suggest-
ing that people whose “mental age” lags behind their chronological age might be
predisposed toward criminality, with one scholar (Henry Goddard, 1979) even
suggesting that criminals were feebleminded morons. Although the connection
between IQ and deviance was convincingly refuted by Edwin Sutherland in
1934, people still believe that low intelligence is linked to deviance.
he problem with many of these psychological theories is that they focus
almost exclusively on individuals’ personalities, ignoring their social conditions
or life situations. They tend to blame individuals, rather than the social structure
or environmental factors that may have fostered their deviance—a form of victim
blaming. Many psychological theorists have approached deviance as consisting of
intrinsically defined acts, rather than behavior that is regarded differently by dif
ferent groups in different times and places. Consequently, they distinctly over-
look the element of social power and its role in defining deviance and in
implementing such definitions. It is left up to sociology courses to expand stu-
dents’ horizons so that they can better understand the invisible forces of culture
and social structure.

THE STRUCTURAL PERSPECTIVE

The dominant theory in sociology for the first half of the twentieth century,
structural functionalism, also commanded the greatest amount of sway in
explaining deviant behavior. Durkheim advanced the theory that society is a
 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 61

moral phenomenon. He believed that, at its root, the morals (norms, values, and |
laws) that individuals are taught constrain their behavior. Youngsters are taught
the “rights” and “wrongs” of society early in life, with most people conforming
to these expectations throughout adulthood. These moral beliefs determine, in
large measure, how people behave, what they want, and who they are.
Durkheim suggested that societies with high degrees of social integration (bond-
ing, cohesion, community involvement) would increase the conformity of its
members. However—and this is what concerned Durkheim—in the modern
French society in which he was living, more and more people were becoming
distanced from each other, people were losing some of their sense of belonging
to their communities, and the norms and expectations of their groups were
becoming less clearly defined. He believed that this condition, which he referred
to as anomie, was producing a gradual social disintegration, leading to greater
degrees of deviance. Thus, for Durkheim, although norms still existed on the
societal level, the lack of social integration created a situation in which they
were no longer becoming as significant a part of each individual.
Despite his concerns about the increasing rates of deviance that society
would produce, Durkheim also subscribed to the idea that deviance was fun
tional for society. As we noted earlier, Durkheim felt that, despite its obvious
negative effects, deviance produces some benefits as well. At a time when people
are worrying about the moral breakdown and social disintegration of society,
deviance serves to remind us of the moral boundaries in society. Each time a
deviant act is committed and publicly announced, society is united in indignation
against the perpetrator. This unity serves to bring people together, rather than
tearing them apart. At the same time, society is reminded about what is “night”
and “wrong” and, for those who conform, greater social integration ensues.
These ideas were perhaps best illustrated by Yale sociologist Kai Erikson, who,
in his 1966 book Wayward Puritans (excerpted in Chapter 1), demonstrated the
role of deviance in defining morality and bringing people together. Enkson
examined Puritan patterns of isolating and treating offenders. He believed that
deviance serves as a means of promoting a contrast with the rest of the commu-
nity, thus giving members of the larger society more strength in their moral
convictions. Erikson’s analysis focused on the transformation of seventeenth-
century Bay Colony as a group of revolutionaries tried to establish a new
community in New England. These deviants, the revolutionaries, played.” an
important role in the transformation of norms and values: Their behavior elicited
societal reaction, which served to define the new community’s norms and values
clearly. In addition, punishing some people for violations of norms reminded
others of the rewards for conformity.
 62 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

Chapter 6, “Functionalism: The Normal and the Pathological,” by

Durkheim, lays out his theory of the inevitably of deviance in all societies. In
his ironic twist, Durkheim argues that deviance is normal rather than pathologi-
cal, serving a positive function in society. To achieve the maximum benefit,
however, a society needs a manageable amount of deviance. When the number
of people declared deviant by current moral standards rises or falls too much,
society alters its moral criteria, to maintain the level of deviance in the optimal
range. At different times, society may “define deviancy down,” as Moynihan
(1993) has suggested in looking at the 1s ale aTAeA behavior
has been lowered. When society lowers the bar of acceptability, fewer acts are
viewed as deviant and more become recast as tolerable. Over the years, we have
normalized violence, divorce, smoking maryuana, homosexuality, premarital sex,
tattooing and piercing, and unwed pregnancy. Or society may “define devia
up,” as Krauthammer (1993) has suggested, raising the bar defining normality.
When the bar is raised, behavior formerly considered acceptable becomes rede-
fined as deviant. Thus, things now considered deviant (or even criminal) that
used to be regarded as tolerable, even if not exactly embraced, include cigarette
smoking, spanking, date rape, sexual harassment, panhandling, talking in movi
theaters, and hate speech. What deviance does for society is define the Se moral
bou ies for everyone. The violation of norms serves emind the masses
what is acceptable and what is not; in Durkheim’s words, it enforces the “collec-
tive conscience” of the group. We saw this behavior in the public outcry over
the inadequate governmental response to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Per-
haps it is difficult to imagine that behaviors that disgust, revile, or even nauseate
you are not the acts of immoral, sick, or evil people, but are typical, and even
beneficial, parts of all societies. Durkheim’s theory suggests that structural needs
of the society as a whole, beyond the scope of its individual members, foster the
continuing recurrence of deviance.
The structural perspective locates the root cause of crime and deviance out-
side of individuals, in the invisible social structures that make up any society.
Structural explanations for deviance look at features of society that seem to gen-
erate higher rates of crime or deviance among some societies or groups within
hem. In looking for explanations for why some societies are likely to have
higher crime rates than others, sociologists have suggested that those with greater
degrees of inequality are likely to show more crime than those in which people
have roughly similar amounts of what the society values. Looking within each
society, structuralists locate the cause of crime in two main factors: the differen-
tial
opportunity
structure of society, and prejudice and discrimination to
Soe ee a ae EE ee |

certain groups. In a society with inequality, some groups will clearly have greater
 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 63

structural access to certain opportunities than others. Groups with access to

greater power and to more political and economic opportunity may use these
factors to define their acts as legitimate and the acts of others as deviant, at the
same time that they corruptly use their power to their own advantage. Not
everyone has equal opportunity to dispense political favors, to manipulate stock
prices, or to conduct covert operations. In the same society, groups with less
access to the legitimate opportunity structure through reduced educational
Opportunity, diminished access to health, a lower class background, and disad-
vantaged legitimate networks and connections do not have the same opportunity
to succeed normatively. Members of these groups may be propelled into alterna-
tive pathways by their position in the social structure.
It was Robert Merton, a mid-twentieth-century sociologist from Columbia
University, who actually extended Durkheim’s ideas and built them into a specific
structural strain theory of deviant behavior. Merton claimed that contradictions
are implicit in a stratified system in which the culture dictates success goals for all
citizens while institutional access is limited to just the middle and upper strata. In
other words, despite the American Dream of rags-to-riches opportunities, some
people, most often lower class individuals, are systematically excluded from the
competition. Instead of merely going through the motions while knowing that
their legitimate path to success (measured in American society by financial wealth)
is blocked, some members of the lower class retaliate by choosing a deviant alter-
native. Merton believed that these people have accepted society’s goals (to be
comfortable, to get rich) but have insufficient access to the approved means of
attaining those goals (deferred gratification, education, hard work). The problem
lies in the social structure of society, whereby, even if people follow the approved
means, there are “roadblocks” prohibiting them from rising through the stratifica-
tion system. Deviant behavior occurs when socially sanctioned means are not
available for the realization of highly desirable goals. In that case, the only way
to achieve these goals is to “detour” around them, to bypass the approved
means in order to get at the approved goals. For example, the road to “success”
for young men raised in urban ghettos with poor housing facilities, dilapidated
schools, and inconsistent family lives is more likely to be through dealing drugs,
pimping, or robbing than it is through the normative route of attending school
and engaging in hard work. According to Merton, then, anomie results from the
lack of access to culturally prescribed goals and the unavailability of legitimate
means for attaining those goals. Deviance (or, more specifically, crime) is the
obvious alternative. Once again, the lack of structural opportunities, rather than
some psychological or individual pathology, is seen as the root cause of deviance.
You can find an articulation of Merton’s theory in Chapter 7.
64 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

Richard Cloward and Lloyd Ohlin, in Delinquency and Opportunity (1960),

thought that Merton was correct in directing us toward the notion that mem-
bers of disadvantaged socioeconomic groups have less opportunity for achieving
success in a legitimate manner, but they thought that Merton wrongly assumed
that those groups would automatically choose deviance and crime when con-
fronted with the problem of differential opportunity. In their differential
opportunity theory, Cloward and Ohlin suggested that all disadvantaged
people have some lack ‘ef Opportunity for pursuing legitimate societal goals
but they do not have the same opportunity for participating in illegitimate p
tices. What Cloward and Ohlin believed was that deviant behavior depends on
people’s access to illegitimate opportunities. They found that three types of
deviant opportunities are present: criminal, conflict, and fetreatist. Criminal oppor-
tunities, similar to the type Merton described, arise from access to deviant sub-
cultures, although not all disadvantaged youths enjoy these avenues. Conflict
opportunities attract people who have a propensity for violence and fighting.
Retreatist opportunities attract people, such as drug users, who are not inclined
toward illegitimate means or violent actions but who want to withdraw from
society. According to Cloward and Ohlin, groups of people may have greater
or lesser opportunity to climb the illicit opportunity ladder by virtue of several
factors: (1) Some neighborhoods are rife with more criminal opportunities,
networks, and enterprises than others, and people reared in these neighbor-
hoods grow up amidst these increased opportunities, (2) some forms of illicit
enterprise are dominated by people of particular racial or ethnic groups, so
members of these groups have an easier time rising to the top of those busi-
nesses or organizations, and (3) the upper echelons of crime display a distinct
glass ceiling for women, with men dominating the positions of decision mak-
ing, earning, and power. Thus, Cloward and Ohlin extended Merton’s theory
by specifying the existence of differential illegitimate opportunities available to
members of disadvantaged groups. It is in this illegitimate-opportunity struc-
ture, rather than individual motivation, they argue, that the explanation for
deviance can be found.
Chapter 5, “Social Power: Conflict Theory of Crime,” by Richard Quinney
(discussed in connection with the social power perspective in the general intro-
duction), offers a conflict theory explanation that is not functionalist but is still
structural. Conflict theorists view society as pluralistic, heterogeneous, and con-
flictual, rather than unified and consensual as the functionalist sees it. Social con-
flict arises out of the incompatible interests of diverse groups in society, such as
businesses versus their workers, conservatives versus liberals, Whites versus people
of color, and the rich versus the poor. All of these groups have a structura
 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 65

conflict of interest with each other that stands above and beyond the individual
members and that frames the way those members come to recognize their inter-
ests and act in the siti ee eee
ment, but crime _is_as well. In a succinct summation of conflict theory’s major
~tenets-Citinney tells usthat crime exists because some behaviors conflict with
the interests of the dominant class. These powerful members of society create
legal definitions of human conduct, casting those behaviors that threaten its
interests as criminal. Then, the dominant class enforces those laws onto the less
powerful groups in society, through the police, the legal, and the criminal justice
system, ensuring that the interests of the dominant class are protected. Members
of subordinate classes are compelled to commit those actions which have been
defined as crimes because their poverty presses them to do so. The dominant
group can then create and disseminate its ideology of crime, which is that the
most dangerous criminal elements in society can be found in the subordinate
classes and that these groups deserve arrest, prosecution, and imprisonment.
Through class struggle and class conflict, crime is constructed, formulated, and
applied so that less powerful groups are subdued and more powerful groups are
strengthened. These processes are illustrated by the diagram in Quinney’s chap-
ter. This approach shows how larger social forces, such as group and class inter-
ests, shape the behavior of individual members, leading some to use their
advantage to dominate over others while the others react to their structural sub-
ordination by engaging in those behaviors already defined as deviant and deserv-
ing of punishment. All of these structural theories place the cause of deviance on
the structures of society, rather than on individuals and their problems.
Feminist theory, the subject of Chapter 10, takes a structural approach as
well, locating the pervasive discrimination and oppression of women in society
in the overarching patriarchal system. Through the intertwined effects of major
institutions and social structures, such as our legal codes, the economy, our polit-
ical system, social and cultural practices, religion, the family, the educational sys-
tem, and the media, women are systematically disadvantaged. Women, feminists
argue, are unprotected against verbal, physical, and sexual abuse, and their indi-
vidual attempts to rise up and protect themselves often subject them to being
labeled as offenders. When they flee abusive situations, the patriarchy of the
streets oppresses them further, funneling them into acts of survival defined as
deviant by the male hegemony. Feminists maintain that theories of deviance
are male centered when they impose stereotyped gender role requirements
onto teenage girls and when they problematize women’s attempts to survive
under oppressive conditions in a system that systematically deprives them of
resources.
66 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

THE CULTURAL PERSPECTIVE

Although structuralist theories had an enormous impact on sociologists’ thinking

about deviance, other authors arose who felt that the structuralist explanations
were not all-encompassing. These theorists believed that deviance was a collec-
tive act, driven and carried out by groups of people. Building on conflict theory’s
view that multiple groups with different interests exist in society, the subcultural
theorists examined the implications of membership in these groups. Groups with
conflicting interests include not only dominant and subordinate groups, but also
a variety of social, religious, political, ethnic, and economic factions. Membership
in each of these groups places people in distinct subcultures, each of which con-
tains its own set of distinct norms and values. A pluralistic nation that was once
thought of as the world’s “melting pot,” we have become, in part, a nation of
many different groups, each with its own distinct subculture.
Thorsten Sellin, writing about “The Conflict of Conduct Norms” (1938)
suggested in his culture conflict theory that, to some extent, the norms and
values of these subcultures incorporated and meshed with the norms and values
of the overarching American culture, but, to some extent, they were different
and in, conflict. The disparities between, and different cultural codes of, subcul-
tural groups may become apparent in three situations. First, when people from
one culture “migrate,” or cross over into the territory of another culture, they
may experience a disconnect. For example, when people from a rural area move
to the city, they find that their country ways do not mesh with modern urbanity.
In these cases, they may find themselves subject to the urban norms and values.
Second, cultural conflict may occur during a “takeover” situation, when one
group moves into and takes over the territory of another. In that case, the laws
of the cultural group that moves in are extended to apply to the group that is
taken over. A prime example is when middle-class people gentrify a run-down
neighborhood and the latitude that used to be enjoyed by the former occupants
to congregate outdoors, be homeless, do or deal drugs, or solicit prostitution
becomes lost. In these cases, the norms of the group that has taken over may
apply. Third, cultural codes may clash on the “border” of contiguous cultural
areas, as when people from different cultural groups find themselves in contact.
They may be on a national border or a neighborhood border, or they may sim-
ply be people encountering members of another subculture. In these cases, no
clear set of norms and values necessarily dominates, but individuals have to nego-
tiate their cultural understandings delicately, trying to understand each other’s
norms and values. Such a situation could come about when new first-year
students find themselves rooming with someone from a different cultural
 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 67

background and neither of their ways predominates. Sometimes this even hap-
pens when college students go home for the holidays, only to find that the
norms under which they were living at college are rather different from those
prevailing in their parents’ houses.
In each of these three cases, people may find themselves torn between the
norms and values of different group memberships. Following the norms and values
of their subcultural group may produce behavior that becomes defined as deviant
by the standards of the broader culture. Yet, from their subcultural perspective,
their behavior may be viewed as representing the acts of good people working to
uphold the behaviors they honor. In his writing, Sellin was thinking particularly
about the deviance of children who belong to immigrant ethnic or racial groups
moving into the United States, caught in the struggle between two cultures, but
his theory applies equally well to the large number of diverse subcultural groups
in our country. He extended his model to apply to all conflicts between cultural
groups that share a close geographic area, especially when one culture dominates
another normatively and imposes its values on the other culture.
Building on this idea, Albert Cohen, in Delinquent Boys (1955), posited a
reaction theory, according to which working-class adolescent males develop a
subc € with a different value system from the dominant American culture.
These boys, Cohen asserted, have the greatest degree of difficulty in achieving
success, because the establishment’s standards are so different from their own.
They try, at first, to fit in with the cultural expectations, but find that they are
unsuccessful. Exposed to middle-class aspirations and judgments they cannot rea-
sonably fulfill, they develop a blockage (or strain) that leads them to experience
“status frustration.” What results from this frustration is the reactive formation of
an oppositional subculture that allows them to achieve status based on nonutilitar-
ian, malicious, and negativistic behavior. These boys, reacting against what they
perceive as society’s unfairness toward them, substitute norms that are the reverse
of those of the larger society. Cohen claimed that because of their rejection by
society, delinquent boys turn society’s norms “upside down,” rejecting middle-
2

class standards and adopting values in direct opposition to those of the majority.
Walter Miller (1958), writing just after Cohen, further delineated the impor-
tance of subcultural values for the development of deviant behavior. Miller
believed that the values of the lower class culture produce deviance for its mem-
bers because those values are “naturally” in discord with middle-class values.
Young people who conform to the lower class culture in which they were
born almost automatically become deviant. That culture, by which members
attain status in the eyes of their peers, is characterized by several “focal concerns”:
getting into trouble, showing toughness, maintaining autonomy, demonstrating
68 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

street-smartness, searching for excitement, and being tied in their lot to the
capricious whims of fate. Peery ten epee EE Le that, when
these individuals follow the norms of their subculture, they become deviant
according to the predominantly middle-class societal norms and values.
The lasting impact of subcultural theories has been to suggest that conflicting
values may exist in society. When one part of society can impose its definitions
on other parts, the dominant group has the ability to label the minority group’s
norms and values, and the behavior that results from these, as deviant. Thus, any
act can be considered deviant if it is so defined. Subcultural theories are suited to
illustrating the motivations of people from minority, youth, alternative, or disad-
vantaged subcultures that are not well aligned with the dominant culture. They
locate the explanation for deviance not in the structures that shape society, but in
the flesh of the norms and values that compose different subcultural groups.
Through cultural transmission, groups pass their norms and values down from
one generation to the next, ensuring the survival and social placement of those
norms and values, as well as the continuation of cultural conflict.

THE INTERACTIONIST PERSPECTIVE

Although the theories discussed up to now produced insight into some explana-
tions of deviance, there are interactional forces that inevitably intervene between
the larger causes that the sociologists who espouse those theories propose and the
way deviant behavior takes shape. Many people are exposed to the same struc-
tural conditions and the same cultural conflicts and pressures that have been the-
orized as accounting for deviance, but still resist engaging in deviant behaviors.
Left unaddressed is how people from the same structural groups and same sub-
cultures can turn out so different, how members of some families turn to devi-
ance while others do not, and how members of the same family turn out so
different from one another. Interactionist theories fill this void by looking in a
more microlevel fashion at people’s everyday life behavior to try to understand
why some people engage in deviance and become so labeled while others do
not. Interactionist theories deal with real’ flesh-and-blood people in specific
times and places. They look at how people actually encounter specific others,
and they look at the influence of these others. They seek to understand not
only why deviance occurs, but how it happens. Many of these theories look at
specific social-psychological and interactional dynamics, such as family dynamics,
the influence of role models, and the role of peer groups. When people confront
the problems, pressures, excitements, and allures of the world, they most often
 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 69

do so in conjunction with their peer groups. It is within peer groups that people
make decisions about what they will do and how they will do it. Their core
feelings about themselves develop and become rooted in such groups. People’s
actions and reactions are thus guided by the collective perceptions, interpreta-
tions, and actions of their peer groups.
Edwin Sutherland and Donald Cressey recognized this point when they
proposed their differential association theory of deviance, the subject of
Chapter 8. The key feature oftheir view isthe belief that deviant behavior is
socially learned, and not from just anyone, but from people’s most intimate
friends and family members. People may be exposed to a variety of deviant and
nondeviant ideas and contacts without that exposure necessarily leading them to
engage in deviance. But as their circle of contacts shifts from being composed
primarily of people who hold nondeviant ideas to having greater numbers hold-
ing deviant ideas and favorable definitions of deviant acts, they become more
likely to engage in deviance. The more their friends hold deviant attitudes and
engage in deviant behavior, the more likely they are to follow suit.
Sutherland and Cressey further suggested that people learn a variety of ele-
ments critical to deviance from their associates: the norms and values of the
deviant subculture, the rationalizations for legitimizing deviant behavior, the
techniques necessary to commit deviant acts, and the status system of the subcul-
ture, by which members evaluate themselves and others. People thus do not
decide, at a fixed point in time, to become deviant, but move toward deviant
attitudes and behavior as they shift their circle of associates from more normative
friends to more deviant friends. Sutherland argued that people rarely stumble
onto deviance through their own devices or by seeing acts of deviance in the
mass media (as many would suggest), but do so rather by having the knowledge,
skills, attitudes, values, traditions, and motives passed down to them through
interpersonal (not impersonal) means. Influencing this tendency toward deviance
is the age at which they encounter the deviance (earlier in life is likely to be
more significant) and the intimacy of the deviant relationships (closer friends
and relatives will have greater sway).
Also looking at the interactional level, David Matza (1964) proposed drift_
theory, noting that the movement into deviant subcultures occurs through a pro-
cess of drift, as people gradually leave their old crowd and become enmeshed in a
circle of deviant associates. In proposing his idea, Matza suggested that, rather than
just jumping immediately into deviance, people may drift between deviance and
legitimacy, keeping one foot in each world. By simultaneously participating in
both deviant and “legitimate” worlds, people can learn about and experience the
nuances of the deviant world without having to abandon the advantages of their
70 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

status within the “legitimate” world. In fact, they may drift indefinitely, without
having to make a commitment to either for quite some time.
For example, college students may experiment with a different sexual orien-
tation without revealing this behavior to everyone (or, indeed, anyone) and with-
out necessarily giving up their claim to heterosexuality. At some point, they may
decide to align more firmly with one side, or a commitment may be forced on
them by outside events (getting caught, moving away, becoming sick). Being
confronted by someone who discovers the deviance may force people to make a
choice and get off the fence, or perhaps just leaving college and having to choose
which lifestyle and social network to align themselves with may force a choice. An
alternative is that, after a time, individuals choose one path and decide to follow it.
But Matza suggests that the dual-membership condition, in which individuals try
out both alternatives for a time without making a commitment, may precede such
a decision. Thus, Matza proposes that it is rare for people to turn to deviance
overnight; more commonly, they take smaller steps, gradually moving to making
deviant acquaintances, becoming familiar with deviant ideology, thinking about
engaging in deviant acts, trying some out, and then expanding their frequency
and range of deviance. Quitting deviance may be a similarly gradual and difficult
process, requiring the abandonment of the group of deviant friends and reintegra-
tion into conventional circles, perhaps with one foot in both worlds again, before
normative behavior becomes the mode that is finally chosen.
A third theory under the interactionist perspective is labeling theory, the
subject of Chapter 3. This approach suggests that many people dabble to greater
or lesser degrees in various forms of deviance. Studies of juvenile delinquency
suggest that high rates of youthful participation are extremely widespread, nearly
universal. How many people can claim to have reached adulthood without
experimenting in illicit drinking, drug use, cheating, stealing, or vandalism?
Yet, do all of these people consider themselves deviants? Most do not. Many
people retire out of deviance as they mature, avoiding developing the deviant
identity altogether. Others go on to engage in what Becker (1963) has called
“secret deviance,” violating norms without ever seriously encountering the devi-
ant label. Still others, many of them no more experienced in the ways of devi-
ance than the youthful delinquent or the secret deviant, become identified, and
identify themselves, as deviants. What causes this difference? One critical differ-
ence, labeling theory suggests, lies in who gets caught. Getting caught sets offa
chain reaction of events that leads to profound social and self-conceptual conse-
quences, Frank Tannenbaum (1938) has described how individuals are publicly
identified as norm violators and branded with that tag. They may go through
official or unofficial social sanctioning by which people identify and treat them
 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE 71

as deviant. Becker (1963, 9) noted that “the deviant is one to whom that label
has successfully been applied; deviant behavior is behavior that people so label.”
Deviance exists at the societal macrolevel of social norms and definitions through
the collective attitudes we assign to certain acts and conditions. But it also comes
into being at the everyday-life microlevel when the deviant label is applied to
someone. The thrust of labeling theory is twofold, focusing on diverse levels
and forces. As Edwin Schur (1979,160) summarized its complexity,

The twin emphases in such an approach are on definition and process at all
the levels that are involved in the production of deviant situations and
outcomes. Thus, the perspective is concerned not only with what hap-
pens to specific individuals when they are branded with deviantness
(“labeling,” in the narrow sense) but also with the wider domains and
processes of social definitions and collective rule-making that frequently
lie behind such concrete applications of negative labels. (italics in original)

In the chapter on labeling theory, Becker emphasizes that deviance lies in

the eye of the beholder. There is nothing inherently deviant in any particular
act, he claims, until some powerful group defines the act as deviant. Taking the
onus off of the individual, Becker emphasizes the importance of looking at the
process by which people are labeled deviant and of understanding that deviance
is a consequence of others’ reactions. This approach forces us to look, then, at
how people are defined as deviant, why some acts are labeled and others ignored,
and the circumstances that surround the commission of the act. Thus, deviance
exists only when it is created by society. The key emphasis of the labeling theory
approach to deviance, then, lies in the importance of human peer interaction in
understanding the cause of human behavior.
Rooted at the microlevel, but looking less at the specific dynamics of inter-
action and more at the relationship between individuals and society, is Travis
Hirschi’s control theory of delinquency, the subject of Chapter 9. Like label-
ing theory, which took as a given that people readily engage in acts of deviance
but focused its explanation on the process of identity change that occurs when
individuals are caught and labeled, control theory finds it unnecessary to look
for the causes of deviant behavior. These are obvious, Hirschi asserts, as deviance
and crime not only may be fun, but offer shortcuts and yield immediate, tangible
benefits (albeit with a risk). What we should be seeking to understand instead is
what holds people back from committing these acts—what forces constrain and
control deviance. Hirschi’s answer is that social control lies in the extent to which
people develop a stake in conformity—a bond to society. People who have a greater
investment in society will be less likely to risk losing that investment through
72 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

violations of norms or laws and will follow the rules more willingly. They may
have such a stake through their job, through relationships to friends and family, or
by virtue of their reputation in the community. Their stake may be fostered by
any of the four components discussed in this chapter: attachment to conventional
others; commitment to conventional institutions; involvement in conventional
activities, and deep beliefs in conventional norms. The extent to which a society
is able to foster greater bonds between itself and its potentially deviant members,
by giving them a greater stake in achieving success, will affect the constraint or
spread of its deviance, particularly, Hirschi notes, of the delinquent variety. It is
these ties, forged and maintained through interactions, that influence individuals
in their choice between deviant and nondeviant pathways.
Although these overarching perspectives and the theories nested within
them differ in the level at which they place their explanations, they all locate
them squarely in the social domain. In this aspect, they renounce the prevailing
tendency toward unidimensional psychological explanations that lodge causation
in pathology, compulsion, neurosis, or maladjustment—simplistic explanations
whose inadequacy in a modern, complex world cannot be overstated.
The most recent perspective on deviance theory has been advanced by social
constructionists, and Joel Best, one of its leading proponents, describes its history
and views in Chapter 11, “The Constructionist Stance.” Initially coming from a
microinteractionist approach, constructionist theorists sought to revitalize labeling
theory by bridging the gap between the way labels are applied to individuals,
who then internalize them in their everyday life context, and a larger, more
macroawareness of the power structure in society that influences the way these
labels are defined and enforced. When some citizens have access to greater
degrees of social power that enables the dominant groups to rationalize their ide-
ologies and behavior as legitimate, they are simultaneously defining the actions of
less powerful groups as deviant. In so doing, they use the vehicle of deviance and
its enforcement to boost their own power while disempowering those they con-
struct as illegitimate. The definitions they forge are then applied to individuals
who lack the power to repel them, and the agents of social control act to carry
out their moral edicts. The powerless segments of society become the recipients
of the activities of moral entrepreneurs (rule creators and rule enforcers) who lay
claims that certain behaviors are menacing and dangerous. Individuals connected
to these activities may be defined as deviant and may be isolated, sought out,
labeled, and stigmatized. Social constructionism thus builds on the basic labeling
theory foundation of identity construction by integrating conflict theory’s sensi-
tivity to inequality, looking at how the power struggle between dominant and
subordinate groups is directly tied to interactional and identity consequences.
 Functionalism: The Normal
and the Pathological
EMILE DURKHEIM

One of the founders of the functionalist approach to sociology, Durkheim integrates

deviance into his overarching view of society. If, as he believes, society can be
compared to a living organism, then all of its social institutions, like the parts 0
a human body, must contribute to its continuing existence. Under this view
eviance, because of its pervasive presence cross-culturally and over the entire cours
of history, is not an illness or pathology of the system, but rather something that
contributes to society’s positive functioning. Infact, like Erikson, Durkheim notes
several positive functions that deviance provides, including serving as a means of
introducing social change, as new behaviors move through criminal and deviant
status into respectability. Durkheim argues that deviance is so critical to society that,
ifpeople stopped engaging in it immediately (if we lived in a “society of saints”),
we would have to redefine acts now considered acceptable as deviant. Punishing and
curing criminals cannot simply, then, be regarded as the objective of society.

rime is present not only in the majority of societies of one particular species
but also in all societies of all types. There is no society that is not confronted
with the problem of criminality. Its form changes; the acts thus characterized are
not the same everywhere; but, everywhere and always, there have been men
who have behaved in such a way as to draw upon themselves penal repression.
If, in proportion as societies pass from the lower to the higher types, the rate of
criminality, that is the relation between the yearly number of crimes and the
population, tended to decline, it might be believed that crime, while still normal,
is tending to lose this character of normality. But we have no reason to believe
that such a regression is substantiated. Many facts would seem rather to indicate a
movement in the opposite direction. From the beginning of the [nineteenth]
century, statistics enable us to follow the course of criminality. It has everywhere
increased. In France, the increase is nearly 300 percent. There is, then, no

Reprinted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Publishing Group from the Free
Press edition of The Rules of Sociological Method, by Emile Durkheim, translated by Sarah
A. Solovay and John H. Mueller. Edited by George E.G. Catlin. Copyright © 1938 by
George E.G. Catlin. Copyright renewed © 1966 by Sarah A. Solovay, John H. Mueller,
George E.G. Caitlin. All nghts reserved.

73
74 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

phenomenon that presents more indisputably all the symptoms of normality,

since it appears closely connected with the conditions of all collective life. To
make of crime a form of social morbidity would be to admit that morbidity is
not something accidental, but, on the contrary, that in certain cases it grows out
of the fundamental constitution of the living organism; it would result in wiping
out all distinction between the physiological and the pathological. No doubt it is
possible that crime itself will have abnormal forms, as, for example, when its rate
is unusually high. This excess is, indeed, undoubtedly morbid in nature. What is
normal, simply, is the existence of criminality, provided that it attains and does
not exceed, for each social type, a certain level, which it is perhaps not impossi-
ble to fix in conformity with the preceding rules.’
Here we are, then, in the presence of a conclusion in appearance quite par-
adoxical. Let us make no mistake. To classify crime among the phenomena of
normal sociology is not to say merely that it is an inevitable, although regrettable
phenomenon, due to the incorrigible wickedness of men; it is to affirm that it is
a factor in public health, an integral part of all healthy societies. This result is, at
first glance, surprising enough to have puzzled even ourselves for a long time.
Once this first surprise has been overcome, however, it is not difficult to find
reasons explaining this normality and at the same time confirming it.
In the first place crime is normal because a society exempt from it is utterly
impossible. Crime, we have shown elsewhere, consists of an act that offends cer-
tain very strong collective sentiments. In a society in which criminal acts are no
longer committed, the sentiments they offend would have to be found without
exception in all individual consciousnesses, and they must be found to exist with
the same degree as sentiments contrary to them. Assuming that this condition
could actually be realized, crime would not thereby disappear; it would only
change its form, for the very cause which would thus dry up the sources of crim-
inality would immediately open up new ones.
Indeed, for the collective sentiments which are protected by the penal law of
a people at a specified moment of its history to take possession of the public
conscience or for them to acquire a stronger hold where they have an insuffi-
cient grip, they must acquire an intensity greater than that which they had hith-
erto had. The community as a whole must experience them more vividly, for it
can acquire from no other source the greater force necessary to control these
individuals who formerly were the most refractory. For murderers to disappear,
the horror of bloodshed must become greater in those social strata from which
murderers are recruited; but, first it must become greater throughout the entire
society. Moreover, the very absence of crime would directly contribute to pro-
duce this horror, because any sentiment seems much more respectable when it is
always and uniformly respected.
One easily overlooks the consideration that these strong states of the com-
mon consciousness cannot be thus reinforced without reinforcing at the same
time the more feeble states, whose violation previously gave birth to mere infrac-
tion of convention—since the weaker ones are only the prolongation, the atten-
uated form, of the stronger. Thus, robbery and simple bad taste injure the same
single altruistic sentiment, the respect for that which is another’s. However, this
 CHAPTER 6 FUNCTIONALISM: THE NORMAL AND THE PATHOLOGICAL 75

same sentiment is less grievously offended by bad taste than by robbery; and
since, in addition, the average consciousness has not sufficient intensity to react
keenly to the bad taste, it is treated with greater tolerance. That is why the per-
son guilty of bad taste is merely blamed, whereas the thief is punished. But, if this
sentiment grows stronger, to the point of silencing in all conscivusnesses the
inclination which disposes man to steal, he will become more sensitive to the
offenses which, until then, touched him but lightly. He will react against them,
then, with more energy; they will be the object of greater opprobrium, which
will transform certain of them from the simple moral faults that they were and
give them the quality of crimes. For example, improper contracts, or contracts
improperly executed, which only incur public blame or civil damages, will
_become offenses in law.
Imagine a society of saints, a perfect cloister of exemplary individuals. Crimes,
properly so called, will there be unknown; but faults which appear venial to the
layman will create there the same scandal that the ordinary offense does in ordinary
consciousness. If, then, this society has the power to judge and punish, it will
define these acts as criminal and will treat them as such. For the same reason, the
perfect and upright man judges his smallest failings with a severity that the majority
reserve for acts more truly in the nature of an offense. Formerly, acts of violence
against persons were more frequent than they are today, because respect for indi-
vidual dignity was less strong. As this has increased, these crimes have become
more rare; and also, many acts violating this sentiment have been introduced into
the penal law which were not included there in primitive times.”
In order to exhaust all the hypotheses logically possible, it will perhaps be
asked why this unanimity does not extend to all collective sentiments without
exception. Why should not even the most feeble sentiment gather enough
energy to prevent all dissent? The moral consciousness of the society would be
present in its entirety in all the individuals, with a vitality sufficient to prevent all
acts offending it—the purely conventional faults as well as the crimes. But a uni-
formity so universal and absolute is utterly impossible; for the immediate physical
milieu in which each one of us is placed, the hereditary antecedents, and the
social influences vary from one individual to the next, and consequently diversify
consciousnesses. It is impossible for all to be alike, if only because each one has
his own organism and that these organisms occupy different areas in space. That
is why, even among the lower peoples, where individual originality is very little
developed, it nevertheless does exist.
Thus, since there cannot be a society in which the individuals do not differ
more or less from the collective type, it is also inevitable that, among these diver-
gences, there are some with a criminal character. What confers this character
upon them is not the intrinsic quality of a given act but that definition which
the collective conscience lends them. If the collective conscience is stronger, if
it has enough authority practically to suppress these divergences, it will also be
more sensitive, more exacting; and, reacting against the slightest deviations with
the energy it otherwise displays only against more considerable infractions, 1t will
attribute to them the same gravity as formerly to crimes. In other words, it will
designate them as criminal.
76 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

Crime is, then, necessary; it is bound up with fundamental conditions of all

social life, and by that very fact it is useful because these conditions of which it is
part are themselves indispensable to the normal evolution of morality and law.
Indeed, it is no longer possible today to dispute the fact that law and morality
vary from one social type to the next, nor that they change within the same type if
the conditions of life are modified. But, in order that these transformations may be
possible, the collective sentiments at the basis of morality must not be hostile to
change, and consequently must have but moderate energy. If they were too
strong, they would no longer be plastic. Every pattern is an obstacle to new pat-
terns, to the extent that the first pattern is inflexible. The better a structure is artic-
ulated, the more it offers a healthy resistance to all modification; and this is equally
true of functional, as of anatomical, organization. If there were no crimes, this con-
dition could not have been fulfilled; for such a hypothesis presupposes that collec-
tive sentiments have arrived at a degree of intensity unexampled in history.
Nothing is good indefinitely and to an unlimited extent. The authority which
the moral conscience enjoys must not be excessive; otherwise no one would dare
criticize it, and it would too easily congeal into an immutable form. To make
progress, individual originality must be able to express itself: In order that the ong-
inality of the idealist whose dreams transcend his century may find expression, it 1s
necessary that the originality of the criminal, who is below the level of his time,
shall also be possible. One does not occur without the other.
Nor is this all. Aside from this indirect utility, it happens that crime itself plays
a useful role in this evolution. Crime implies not only that the way remains open
to necessary changes but that in certain cases it directly prepares these changes.
Where crime exists, collective sentiments are sufficiently flexible to take on a
new form, and crime sometimes helps to determine the form they will take.
How many times, indeed, it is only an anticipation of future morality—a step
toward what will be! According to Athenian law, Socrates was a criminal, and his
condemnation was no more than just. However, his crime, namely, the indepen-
dence of his thought, rendered a service not only to humanity but also to his
country. It served to prepare a new morality and faith which the Athenians needed,
since the traditions by which they had lived until then were no longer in harmony
with the current conditions of life. Nor 1s the case of Socrates unique; it is repro-
duced periodically in history. It would never have been possible to establish the
rreedom of thought we now enjoy if the regulations prohibiting it had not been
violated before being solemnly abrogated. At that time, however, the violation was
a crime, since it was an offense against sentiments still very keen in the average
conscience. And yet this crime was useful as a prelude to reforms which daily
became more necessary. Liberal philosophy had as its precursors the heretics of all
kinds who were justly punished by secular authorities during the entire course of
the Middle Ages and until the eve of modern times.
From this point of view the fundamental facts of criminality present them-
selves to us in an entirely new light. Contrary to current ideas, the criminal no
longer seems a totally unsociable being, a sort of parasitic element, a strange and
unassimilable body, introduced into the midst of society.’ On the contrary,
he plays a definite role in social life. Crime, for its part, must no longer be
 CHAPTER 6 FUNCTIONALISM: THE NORMAL AND THE PATHOLOGICAL 77

conceived as an evil that cannot be too much suppressed. There is no occasion

for self-congratulation when the crime rate drops noticeably below the average
level, for we may be certain that this apparent progress is associated with some
social disorder. Thus, the number of assault cases never falls so low as in times of
want.’ With the drop in the crime rate, and as a reaction to it, comes a revision,
or the need of a revision in the theory of punishment. If, indeed, crime is a dis-
ease, its punishment is its remedy and cannot be otherwise conceived; thus, all
the discussions it arouses bear‘on the point of determining what the punishment
must be in order to fulfill this role of remedy. If crime is not pathological at all,
the object of punishment cannot be to cure it, and its true function must be
sought elsewhere.

NOTES

4 - Mee = 7 5 3
1. From the fact that crime is a phe- nothing desirable about it; the indi-
nomenon of normal sociology, it does vidual dislikes it as a society does
not follow that the criminal is an crime, and yet it is a function of
individual normally constituted from normal physiology. Not only is it
the biological and psychological points necessarily derived from the very
of view. The two questions are inde- constitution of every living organism,
pendent of each other. This indepen- but it also plays a useful role in life, for
dence will be better understood when which reason it cannot be replaced. It
we have shown, later on, the differ- would, then, be a singular distortion of
ence between psychological and our thought to present it as an apology
sociological facts. for crime. We would not even think
2. Calumny, insults, slander, fraud, etc. of protesting against such an interpre-
; tation, did we not know to what
3. We have ourselves committed the
2 rie strange accusations and misunder-
error of speaking thus of the criminal,
standings one exposes oneself when
because of a failure to apply our rule
ae Fito one undertakes to study moral facts
(Division du travail social, pp. 395-96). tee :
ioe f objectively and to speak of them in a
4. Although crime is a fact of normal different language from that of the
sociology, it does not follow that we layman.
must not abhor it. Pain itself has”
 Social Structure and Anomie
ROBERT K. MERTON

Merton’s notable contribution to deviance theory locates the root causes of crime
in the structure of society, not in the individuals involved in criminal actions.
Broader patterns of crime characterize certain groups ofpeople because of the social
“strain” they face between the good things society offers and their inability to
legitimately attain them. Merton identifies a disjuncture for people between what
he calls cultural goals, or the ends toward which we are all socialized to strive
(largely conceived by him in a material sense) and institutional norms, or th
acceptable means that we use to reach these goals. He refers to this conditic —in
which people cannot attain their goals legitimately, as a “blocked opportunity
ructure.” Societies in which goals are more strongly emphasized than the
legitimate means of achieving them are likely to see people pursue the innovation
adaptation, as when schools make grades more critically important than the
learning required to attain them and when some groups lack the resources to
legitimately earn good grades. Merton sketches other ways that groups adapt to
their balance of means and ends (conformity, ritualism, retreatism, rebellion) as
alternative adaptations to their structural conditions in society.
How can Merton’s theory of deviance be seen as the pull of opposing forces
in the social structure rather than the decisions of specific individuals?

he framework set out in this essay is designed to provide one systematic

approach to the analysis of social and cultural sources of deviant behavior.
Our primary aim is to discover how some social structures exert a definite pressure
upon certain persons in the society to engage in nonconforming rather than conforming con-
duct. If we can locate groups peculiarly subject to such pressures, we shoul
expect to find fairly high rates of deviant behavior in these groups, not because
the human beings comprising them are compounded of distinctive biological
tendencies but because they are responding normally to the social situation in
which they find themselves. Our perspective is sociological. We_look at varia-
tions in the rates of deviant behavior, not at its incidence. Should our quest be

Repninted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Publishing Group from the Free
Press edition of Social Theory and Social Structure, Revised and Enlarged Edition, by Robert
K. Merton. Copyright © 1967, 1968 by Robert K. Merton, Copyright renewed © 1985
by Robert K. Merton. All rights reserved.

78
 CHAPTER 7 SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND ANOMIE 79

at all successful, some forms of deviant behavior will be found to be as psycho-

logically normal as conformist behavior, and the equation of deviation and psy-
chological abnormality will be put in question.

PATTERNS OF CULTURAL GOALS

AND INSTITUTIONAL NORMS

Among the several elements of social and cultural structures, two are of immedi-
ate importance. These elements are analytically separable although they merge in
concrete situations. The first consists of culturally defined goals, purposes, and
interests, held out as legitimate objectives for all or for diversely located members
of the society. The goals are more or less integrated—the degree is a question
empirical fact—and roughly ordered in some hierarchy of value. Involving vari-
ous degrees of sentiment and significance, the prevailing goals comprise a frame
of aspirational reference. They are the things “worth striving for:” They are a
basic, though not the exclusive, component of what Linton has called “designs
for group living.” And though some, not all, of these cultural goals are directly
related to the biological drives of man, they are not determined by them.
A second element of the cultural structure defines, regulates, and controls the
acceptable modes of reaching out for these goals. Every social group invariably
uples its cultural objectives with regulations, rooted in the mores or institutions
of allowable procedures for moving toward these objectives. These regulatory
norms are not necessarily identical with technical or efficiency norms. Many pro-
cedures which from the standpoint of particular individuals would be most effi-
cient in securing desired values—the exercise of force, fraud, power—are ruled
out of the institutional area of permitted conduct. At times, the disallowed pro-
cedures include some which would be efficient for the group itself—for example,
historic taboos on vivisection, on medical experimentation, on the sociological
analysis of “sacred” norms—since the criterion of acceptability is not technical
efficiency but value-laden sentiments (supported by most members of the group
or by those able to promote these sentiments through the composite use of
power and propaganda). In all instances, the choice of expedients for striving
toward cultural goals is limited by institutionalized norms.
We shall be primarily concerned with the first—a society in which there 1s
an exceptionally strong emphasis upon specific goals without a corresponding
emphasis upon institutional procedures. If it is not to be misunderstood, this
statement must be elaborated. No society lacks norms governing conduct. But
societies do differ in the degree to which the folkways, mores, and institutional
controls are effectively integrated with the goals which stand high in the hierar-
chy of cultural values. The culture may be such as to lead individuals to center
their emotional convictions upon the complex of culturally acclaimed ends, with
far less emotional support for prescribed methods of reaching out for these ends.
With such differential emphases upon goals and institutional procedures, the lat-
ter may be so vitiated by the stress on goals as to have the behavior of many
80 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

individuals limited only by considerations of technical expediency. In this con-

text, the sole significant question becomes: Which of the available procedures 1s
most efficient in netting the culturally approved value?
The technically most effective procedure, whether culturally legitimate or
not, becomes typically preferred to institutionally prescribed conduct. As this
process of attenuation continues, the society becomes unstable and there devel-
ops what Durkheim called “anomie” (ornormlessness).
The working of this orocew Svein Paromte-can be easily glimpsed in
a series of familiar and instructive, though perhaps trivial, episodes. Thus, in
competitive athletics, when the aim of victory is shorn of its institutional trap-
pings and success becomes construed as “winning the game” rather than “win-
ning under the rules of the game,” a premium is implicitly set upon the use of
illegitimate but technically efficient means. The star of the opposing football
team is surreptitiously slugged; the wrestler incapacitates his opponent through
ingenious but illicit techniques; university alumni covertly subsidize “students”
whose talents are confined to the athletic field.. The emphasis on the goal has
so attenuated the satisfactions deriving from sheer participation in the competi-
tive activity that only a successful outcome provides gratification. Through the
same process, tension generated by the desire to win in a poker game is relieved
by successfully dealing one’s self four aces, or when the cult of success has truly
flowered, by sagaciously shuffling the cards in a game of solitaire. The faint
twinge. of uneasiness in the last instance and the surreptitious nature of public
delicts indicate clearly that the institutional rules of the game are known to
those who evade them. But cultural (or idiosyncratic) exaggeration of the
success—goal leads men to withdraw emotional support from the rules.
This process is of course not restricted to the realm of competitive sport,
which has simply provided us with microcosmic images of the social macrocosm.
The process whereby exaltation of the end generates a literal ee that
is, a deinstitutionalization, of the means occurs in many groups where the two
components of the social structure are not highly integrated.
Contemporary American culture appears to approximate the polar type in
which great emphasis upon certain success—goals occurs without equivalent
emphasis upon institutional means. It would of course be fanciful to assert tha
accumulated wealth stands alone as a symbol of success just as it would be fanci-
ful to deny that Americans assign it a place high in their scale of values. In some
large measure, money has been consecrated as a value in itself, over and above its
expenditure for articles of consumption or its use for the enhancement of power.
“Money” is peculiarly well adapted to become a symbol of prestige. As Simmel
emphasized, money is highly abstract and impersonal. However acquired, fraud-
ulently or institutionally, it can be used to purchase the same goods and services.
The anonymity of an urban society, in conjunction with these peculiarities of
money, permits wealth, the sources of which may be unknown to the commu-
nity in which the plutocrat lives or, if known, to become purified in the course
of time, to serve as a symbol of high status. Moreover, in the American Dream
there is no final stopping point. The measure of “monetary success” is conve-
niently indefinite and relative. At each income level, as H. F. Clark found,
 CHAPTER 7 SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND ANOMIE 81

Americans want just about 25 percent more (but of course this “just a bit more”
continues to operate once it is obtained).
In this flux of shifting standards, there is no stable resting point, or rather, it
is the point which manages always to be “just ahead.” An observer of a commu-
mity in which annual salaries in six figures are not uncommon reports the
anguished words of one victim of the American Dream: “In this town, I’m
snubbed socially because I only get a thousand a week. That hurts.”
To say that the goal of monetary success is entrenched in American culture is
only to say that Americans are bombarded on every side by precepts which affirm
the night or, often, the duty of retaining the goal even in the face of repeated
frustration. Prestigeful representatives of the society reinforce the cultural empha-
sis. The family, the school, and the workplace—the major agencies shaping the
personality structure and goal formation of Americans—join to provide the inten-
sive disciplining required if an individual is to retain intact a goal that remains
elusively beyond reach, if he is to be motivated by the promise of a gratification
which is not redeemed. As we shall presently see, parents serve as a transmission
belt for the values and goals of the groups of which they are a part—above all, of
their social class or of the class with which they identify themselves. And the
schools are, ofcourse, the official agency for the passing on of the prevailing values,
with a large proportion of the textbooks used in city schools implying or stating
explicitly “that education leads to intelligence and consequently to job and money
success.” Central to this process of disciplining people to maintain their unfulfilled
aspirations are the cultural prototypes of success, the living documents testifying
that the American Dream can be realized if one but has the requisite abilities.
Coupled with this positive emphasis upon the obligation to maintain lofty
goals is a correlative emphasis upon the penalizing of those who draw in their
ambitions. Americans are admonished “not to be a quitter” for in the dictionary
of American culture, as in the lexicon of youth, “there is no such word as ‘fail.’”
The cultural manifesto is clear: one must not quit, must not cease striving, must
not lessen his goals, for “not failure, but low aim, is crime.”
Thus, the culture enjoins the acceptance of three cultural axioms: First, all
should strive for the same lofty goals because these are open to all; second, pres-
ent seeming failure is but a way-station to ultimate success; and third, genuine
failure consists only in the lessening or withdrawal of ambition.
In rough psychological paraphrase, these axioms represent, first a symbolic
secondary reinforcement of incentive; second, curbing the threatened extinction
of a response through an associated stimulus; third, increasing the motive—
strength to evoke continued responses despite the continued absence of reward.
In sociological paraphrase, these axioms represent, first, the deflection of crit-
icism of the social structure onto one’s self among those so situated in the society
that they do not have full and equal access to opportunity; second, the preserva-
tion of a structure of social power by having individuals in the lower social strata
identify themselves, not with their compeers, but with those at the top (whom
they will ultimately join); and third, providing pressures for conformity with the
cultural dictates of unslackened ambition by the threat of less than full member-
ship in the society for those who fail to conform.
82 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

It is in these terms and through these processes that contemporary American

culture continues to be characterized by a heavy emphasis on wealth as a basic
symbol of success, without a corresponding emphasis upon the legitimate ave-
nues on which to march toward this goal. How do individuals living in this cul-
tural context respond? And how do our observations bear upon the doctrine that
deviant behavior typically derives from biological impulses breaking through the
restraints imposed by culture? What, in short, are the consequences for the
behavior of people variously situated in a social structure of a culture in which
the emphasis on dominant success—goals has become increasingly separated from
an equivalent emphasis on institutionalized procedures for seeking these goals?

TYPES OF INDIVIDUAL ADAPTATION

Turning from these culture patterns, we now examine types of adaptation by indi-
viduals within the culture-bearing society. Though our focus is still the cultural and
social genesis of varying rates and types of deviant behavior, our perspective shifts
from the plane of patterns of cultural values to the plane of types of adaptation to
these values among those occupying different portions in the social structure.
We here consider five types of adaptation, as these are schematically set out
in the following table, where (+) signifies “acceptance,” (—) signifies “rejection,”
and (+) signifies “rejection of prevailing values and substitution of new values.”

I. Conformity
To the extent that a society is stable, adaptation type I—conformity to both cultural
goals and institutionalized means—is the most common and widely diffused. Were
this not so, the stability and continuity of the society could not be maintained ....

ll. Innovation

Great cultural emphasis upon the success—goal invites this mode of adaptation
through the use of institutionally proscribed but often effective means of attaining

TABLE 7.1 A Typology of Modes of Individual Adaptation

Modes of Adaptation Culture Goals Institutionalized Means

|. Conformity + +
Il. Innovation + ~
lil. Ritualism = a
IV. Retreatism = ph

V. Rebellion + I+
 CHAPTER 7 SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND ANOMIE 83

at least the simulacrum of success—wealth and power. This response occurs when
the individual has assimilated the cultural emphasis upon the goal without equally
internalizing the institutional norms governing ways and means for its attainment.
It appears from our analysis that the greatest pressures toward deviation are
exerted upon the lower strata. Cases in point permit us to detect the sociological
mechanisms involved in producing these pressures. Several researchers have
shown that specialized areas of vice and crime constitute a “normal” response
to a situation where the cultural emphasis upon pecuniary success has been
absorbed, but where there is little access to conventional and legitimate means
for becoming successful. The occupational opportunities of people in these
areas are largely confined to manual labor and the lesser white-collar jobs.
Given the American stigmatization of manual labor which has been found to hold
rather uniformly in all social classes, and the absence of realistic opportunities for
advancement beyond this level, the result is a marked tendency toward deviant
behavior. The status of unskilled labor and the consequent low income cannot
readily compete in terms of established standards of worth with the promises of power
and high income from organized vice, rackets, and crime.
For our purposes, these situations exhibit two salient features. First, incen-
tives for success are provided by the established values of the culture and second,
the avenues available for moving toward this goal are largely limited by the class
structure to those of deviant behavior. It is the combination of the cultural empha-
sis and the social structure which produces intense pressure for deviation ....

lil. Ri i
The ritualistic type of adaptation can be readily identified. It involves the aban-
doning or scaling down of the lofty cultural goals of great pecuniary success and
rapid social mobility to the point where one’s aspirations can be satisfied. But
though one rejects the cultural obligation to attempt “to get ahead in the
world,” though one draws in one’s horizons, one continues to abide almost
compulsively by institutional norms ....
We should expect this type of adaptation to be fairly frequent in a society
which makes one’s social status largely dependent upon one’s achievements. For,
as has so often been observed, this ceaseless competitive struggle produces acute
status anxiety. One device for allaying these anxieties is to lower one’s level of
aspiration—permanently. Fear produces inaction, or, more accurately, routinized
action.
The syndrome of the social ritualist is both familiar and instructive. His
implicit life-philosophy finds expression in a series of cultural clichés: “Pm not
sticking my neck out,” “I’m playing safe,” “I’m satistied with what I’ve got,”
“Don’t aim high and you won’t be disappointed.” The theme threaded through
these attitudes is that high ambitions invite frustration and danger whereas lower
aspirations produce satisfaction and security. It is the perspective of the frightened
employee, the zealously conformist bureaucrat in the teller’s cage of the private
banking enterprise or in the front office of the public works enterprise.
84 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

IV. Retreatism

Just as Adaptation I (conformity) remains the most frequent, Adaptation IV (the

rejection of cultural goals and institutional means) is probably the least common.
People who adapt (or maladapt) in this fashion are, strictly speaking, in the soci-
ety but not of it. Sociologically these constitute the true aliens. Not sharing the
common frame of values, they can be included as members of the society (in dis-
tinction from the population) only in a fictional sense.
In this category fall some of the adaptive activities of psychotics, autists, par-
iahs, outcasts, vagrants, vagabonds, tramps, chronic drunkards, and, drug addicts.
They have relinquished culturally prescribed goals and their behavior does not
accord with institutional norms. The competitive order is maintained but the
frustrated and handicapped individual who cannot cope with this order drops
out. Defeatism, quietism, and resignation are manifested in escape mechanisms
which ultimately lead him to “escape” from the requirements of the society. It
is thus an expedient which arises from continued failure to near the goal by legit-
imate measures and from an inability to use the illegitimate route because of
internalized prohibitions.

V. Rebellion

This adaptation leads men outside the environing social structure to envisage and
seek to bring into being a new, that is to say, a greatly modified social structure.
It presupposes alienation from reigning goals and standards. These come to be
regarded as purely arbitrary. And the arbitrary is precisely that which can neither
exact allegiance nor possess legitimacy, for it might as well be otherwise. In our
society, organized movements for rebellion apparently aim to introduce a social
structure in which the cultural standards of success would be sharply modified
and provision would be made for a closer correspondence between merit, effort,
and reward.

THE STRAIN TOWARD ANOMIE

The social structure we have examined produces a strain toward anomie and
deviant behavior. The pressure of such a social order is upon outdoing one’s
competitors. So long as the sentiments supporting this competitive system are
distributed throughout the entire range of activities and are not confined to the
final result of “success,” the choice of means will remain largely within the ambit
of institutional control. When, however, the cultural emphasis shifts from the
satisfactions deriving from competition itself to almost exclusive concern with
the outcome, the resultant stress makes for the breakdown of the regulatory
structure.
 Differential Association
EDWIN H. SUTHERLAND AND DONALD R. CRESSEY

Like Durkheim, Sutherland and Cressey do not regard crime and deviance as the
result of either pathology in society or pathological behavior patterns. Crime, they
argue, is learned in much the same way as all ordinary behavior and represents the
expression of the same behavioral needs and values as other behavior. Crime is less
likely to be learned, infact, from frightening or suspicious outsiders than from
people’s own intimate associates. In this way, Sutherland and Cressey cast the
learning of crime and deviance as a normal process and note that it is a likely
occurrence as people become surrounded with increasing numbers of deviant friends.
Sutherland and Cressey place the learning of deviance within people’s most intense
and personal relations: families and peer groups. By repeatedly watching others
modeling crime, by learning from them how to do it effectively, and by becoming
convinced by their rationalizations and neutralizations that such behaviors are
acceptable, individuals move into criminal or deviant behavior patterns.
How does Sutherland and Cressey’s perspective on the causes of deviance
separate the behavior of individuals from that of members of their subcultural group
or broader society?

he following statements refer to the process by which a particular person

comes to engage in criminal behavior.
1. Criminal behavior is learned. Negatively, this means that criminal behavior is
} not inherited, as such; the person who is not already trained in crime does
not also invent criminal behavior, just as a person does not make mechanical
inventions unless he has had training in mechanics.
FO. Criminal behavior is learned in interaction with other persons in a process of commu-
nication. This communication is verbal in many respects and includes also
“the communication of gestures.”
‘a The principal part of the learning ofcriminal behavior occurs within intimate personal
groups. Negatively, this means that the impersonal agencies of communica-
tion, such as movies and newspapers, play a relatively unimportant part in
the genesis of criminal behavior.

Principles of Criminology by Edwin H. Sutherland, Donald R. Cressey, and

David F. Luckenbill. Reproduced with permission of General Hall via Copyright
Clearance Center.

85 ,
86 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

When criminal behavior is learned, the learning includes (a) techniques of committing
the crime, which are sometimes very complicated, sometimes very simple; (b) the spe-
cific direction of motive, drives, rationalizations, and attitudes.
The specific direction of motives and drives is learned from definitions of the legal codes
as favorable or unfavorable. In some societies an individual is surrounded by
persons who invariably define the legal codes as rules to be observed, while
in others he is surrounded by persons whose definitions are favorable to the
violation of the legal codes. In our American society these definitions are
almost always mixed, with the consequence that we have culture conflict in
relation to the legal codes.
A person becomes delinquent because of an excess of definitions favorable to violation
of law over definitions unfavorable to violation of law. This is the principle of dif-
ferential association. It refers to both criminal and-anticriminal associations
and has to do with counteracting forces. When persons become criminal,
they do so because of contacts with criminal patterns and also because of
isolation from anticriminal patterns. Any person inevitably assimilates the
surrounding culture unless other patterns are in conflict; a southerner does
not pronounce r because other southerners do not pronounce r. Negatively,
this proposition of differential association means that associations which are
neutral so far as crime is concerned have little or no effect on the genesis of
criminal behavior. Much of the experience of a person is neutral in this
serise, for example, learning to brush one’s teeth. This behavior has no
negative or positive effect on criminal behavior except as it may be related to
associations which are concerned with the legal codes. This neutral behavior
is important especially as an occupier of the time of a child so that he is not
in contact with criminal behavior during the time he is so engaged in the
neutral behavior.
Differential associations may vary in frequency, duration, priority, and intensity. This
means that associations with criminal behavior and also associations with
anticriminal behavior vary in those respects. “Frequency” and “duration” as
modalities of associations are obvious and need no explanation. “Priority” is
assumed to be important in the sense that lawful behavior developed in early
childhood may persist throughout life, and also that delinquent behavior
developed in early childhood may persist throughout life. This tendency,
however, has not been adequately demonstrated, and priority seems to be
important principally through its selective influence. “Intensity” is not pre-
cisely defined, but it has to do with such things as the prestige of the source
of a criminal or anticriminal pattern and with emotional reactions related to
the associations. In a precise description of the criminal behavior of a person,
these modalities would be rated in quantitative form and a mathematical
ratio reached. A formula in this sense has not been developed, and the
development of such a formula would be extremely difficult.
The process of learning criminal behavior by association with criminal and anticriminal
patterns involves all of the mechanisms that are involved in any other learning.
 CHAPTER 8 DIFFERENTIAL ASSOCIATION 87

Negatively, this means that the learning of criminal behavior is not restricted
to the process of imitation. A person who is seduced, for instance, learns
criminal behavior by association, but this process would not ordinarily be
described as imitation.
B 9. While criminal behavior is an expression ofgeneral needs and values, it is not
explained by those general needs and values, since noncriminal behavior is an
expression of the same needs and values. Thieves generally steal in order to
secure money, but likewise honest laborers work in order to secure money.
The attempts by many scholars to explain criminal behavior by general
drives and values, such as the happiness principle, striving for social status,
the money motive, or frustration, have been, and must continue to be,
futile, since they explain lawful behavior as completely as they explain
criminal behavior. They are similar to respiration, which is necessary for any
behavior, but which does not differentiate criminal from noncriminal
behavior.
It is not necessary, at this level of explanation, to explain why a person has
the associations he has; this certainly involves a complex of many things. In an
area where the delinquency rate is high, a boy who is sociable, gregarious,
active, and athletic is very likely to come in contact with other boys in the
neighborhood, learn delinquent behavior patterns from them, and become a
criminal; in the same neighborhood the psychopathic boy who is isolated, intro-
verted, and inert may remain at home, not become acquainted with the other
boys in the neighborhood, and not become delinquent. In another situation, the
sociable, athletic, aggressive boy may become a member of a scout troop and not
become involved in delinquent behavior. The person’s associations are deter-
mined in a general context of social organization. A child is ordinarily reared
in a family; the place of residence of the family is determined largely by family
income; and the delinquency rate is in many respects related to the rental value
of the houses. Many other aspects of social organization affect the kinds of asso-
ciations a person has.
The preceding explanation of criminal behavior purports to explain the
criminal and noncriminal behavior of individual persons. It is possible to state
sociological theories of criminal behavior which explain the criminality of a
community, nation, or other group. The problem, when thus stated, is to
account for variations in crime rates and involves a comparison of the crime
rates of various groups or the crime rates of a particular group at different
times. The explanation of a crime rate must be consistent with the explanation
of the criminal behavior of the person, since the crime rate is a summary state-
ment of the number of persons in the group who commit crimes and the fre-
quency with which they commit crimes. One of the best explanations of crime
rates from this point of view is that a high crime rate is due to social disorgani-
disorganization-is-not entirely satisfactory, and it seems pref-
zation. The term social
erable to substitute for it the term differential social organization. The postulate on
which this theory is based, regardless of the name, is that crime is rooted in the
88 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

social organization and is an expression of that social organization. A group may

be organized for criminal behavior or organized against criminal behavior. Most
communities are organized for both criminal and anticriminal behavior, and in
that sense the crime rate is an expression of the differential group organization.
Differential group organization as an explanation of variations in crime rates is
consistent with the differential association theory of the processes by which per-
sons become criminals.
 Control Theory
TRAVIS HIRSCHI

Hirschi focuses on youthful delinquency, the age at which most deviation from the
norms generally occurs. In contrast to previous perspectives, Hirschi’s model is a
more individualistic one, looking at the bond between each person and society.
Conforming behavior is reinforced by individuals’ attachment to norm-abiding
members ofsociety; by their commitment to, and investment in, a legitimate life
and identity (e.g., earning educational credentials and a respectable reputation);
by their level of involvement in legitimate activities and organizations; and by
their subscription to the commonly held beliefs and values characterizing
normative society. People who violate norms have a flaw in one or more of
these bonds to society and can be brought back into the normative ranks by
strengthening and reinforcing those weak bonds. Hirschi’s perspective is thus more
social psychological than structural.
How can Hirschi’s theory suggest specific types of social policies that could
hold people back from entry into deviance?

ontrol the individual’s bond

to society is weak or b ince these theories embrace two highly com-
plex concepts, the bond of the individual to society, it is not surprising that they
have at one time or another formed the basis of explanations of most forms of
aberrant or unusual behavior. It is also not surprising that control theories have
described the elements of the bond to society in many ways, and that they have
focused on a variety of units as the point of control ....

ELEMENTS OF THE BOND

Attachment
In explaining conforming behavior, sociologists justly emphasize sensitivity to the
opinion of others.’ Unfortunately, ... they tend to suggest that man is sensitive
to the opinion of others and thus exclude sensitivity from their explanations of
deviant behavior. In explaining deviant behavior, psychologists, in contrast,

From Travis Hirschi, Causes of Delinquency, pp. 16-26, Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1969. Reprinted by permission of the author.

89
90 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

emphasize insensitivity to the opinion of others.” Unfortunately, they too tend

to ignore variation, and, in addition, they tend to tie sensitivity inextricably to
other variables, to make it part of a syndrome or “type,” and thus seriously to
reduce its value as an explanatory concept. The psychopath is characterized only
in part by “deficient attachment to or affection for others, a failure to respond to
the ordinary motivations founded in respect or regard for one’s fellow”;> he is
also characterized by such things as “excessive aggressiveness,” “lack of superego
control,” and “an infantile level of response.”* Unfortunately, too, the behavior
that psychopathy is used to explain often becomes part of the definition of psy-
chopath. As a result, in Barbara Wootton’s words: “[The psychopath] is ... par
excellence, and without shame or qualification, the model of the circular process
by which mental abnormality is inferred from antisocial behavior while antisocial
behavior is explained by mental abnormality.”
The problems of diagnosis, tautology, and name-calling are avoided if the
dimensions of psychopathy are treated as causally and therefore problematically
interrelated, rather than as logically and therefore necessarily bound to each
other. In fact, it can be argued that all of the characteristics attributed to the
psychopath follow from, are effects of, his lack of attachment to others. To say
that to lack attachment to others is to be free from moral restraints is to use lack
of attachment to explain the guiltlessness of the psychopath, the fact that he
apparently has no conscience or superego. In this view, lack of attachment to
others,is not merely a symptom of psychopathy, it is psychopathy; lack of con-
science is just another way of saying the same thing; and the violation of norms is
(or may be) a consequence.
For that matter, given that man is an animal, “impulsivity” and “aggres-
siveness” can also be seen as natural consequences of freedom from moral
restraints. However, since the view of man as endowed with natural propensities
and capacities like other animals is peculiarly unpalatable to sociologists, we need
not fall back on such a view to explain the amoral man’s aggressiveness.” The
process of becoming alienated from others often involves or is based on active
interpersonal conflict. Such conflict could easily supply a reservoir of socially
derived hostility sufficient to account for the aggressiveness of those whose attach-
ments to others have been weakened.
Durkheim said it many years ago: “We are moral beings to the extent that
we are social beings.”” This may be interpreted to mean that we are moral beings
to the extent that we have “internalized the norms” of society. But what does
it mean to say that a person has internalized the norms of society? To violate a
norm is, therefore, to act contrary to the wishes and expectations of other
people. If a person does not care about the wishes and expectations of other
people—that is, if he is insensitive to the opinion of others—then he is to that
extent not bound by the norms. He is free to deviate.
The essence of internalization of norms, conscience, or superego thus lies in
the attachment of the individual to others.* This view has several advantages over
the concept of internalization. For one, explanations of deviant behavior based
on attachment do not beg the question, since the extent to which a person is
attached to others can be measured independently of his deviant behavior.
 CHAPTER 9 CONTROL THEORY 91

Furthermore, change or variation in behavior is explainable in a way that it is not

when notions of internalization or superego are used. For example, the divorced
man is more likely after divorce to commit a number of deviant acts, such as
suicide or forgery. If we explain these acts by reference to the superego (or inter-
nal control), we are forced to say that the man “lost his conscience”? when he got
a divorce; and, of course, if he remarries, we have to conclude that he gets his
conscience back.
This dimension of the bond to conventional society is encountered in most
social control-oriented research and theory. F. Ivan Nye’s “internal control” and
“indirect control” refer to the same element, although we avoid the problem of
explaining changes over time by locating the “conscience” in the bond to others
rather than making it part of the personality.” Attachment to others is just one
aspect of Albert J. Reiss’s “personal controls”; we avoid his problems of tauto-
logical empirical observations by making the relationship between attachment and
delinquency problematic rather than definitional.'° Finally, Scott Briar and Irving
Piliavin’s “commitment” or “stake in conformity” subsumes attachment, as their
discussion illustrates, although the terms they use are more closely associated with
the next element to be discussed.'!

Commitment
a

“Of all passions, that which inclineth men least to break the laws, is fear. Nay,
excepting some generous natures, it is the only thing, when there is the appear-
ance of profit or pleasure by breaking the laws, that makes men keep them.”!7
Few would deny that men on occasion obey the rules simply from fear of the
consequences. This rational component in conformity we label commitment.
What does it mean to say that a person is committed to conformity? In Howard
S. Becker’s formulation it means the following:
First, the individual is in a position in which his decision with regard to
some particular line of action has consequences for other interests and
activities not necessarily [directly] related to it. Second, he has placed
himself in that position by his own prior actions. A third element is
present though so obvious as not to be apparent; the committed person
must be aware [of these other interests] and must recognize that his
decision in this case will have ramifications beyond it."
The idea, then, is that the person invests time, energy, himself, in a certain line
of activity—say, getting an education, building up a business, acquiring a reputa-
tion for virtue. When or whenever he considers deviant behavior, he must con-
sider the costs of this deviant behavior, the risk he runs of losing the investment
he has made in conventional behavior.
If attachment to others is the sociological counterpart of the superego or
conscience, commitment is the counterpart of the ego or common sense. To
the person committed to conventional lines of action, risking one to ten years
in prison for a ten-dollar holdup is stupidity, because to the committed person
the costs and risks obviously exceed ten dollars in value. (To the psychoanalyst,
92 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

such an act exhibits failure to be governed by the “reality-principle.”) In the

sociological control theory, it can be and is generally assumed that the decision
to commit a criminal act may well be rationally determined—that the actor’s
decision was not irrational given the risks and costs he faces. Of course, as Becker
points out, if the actor is capable of in some sense calculating the costs of a line of
action, he is also capable of calculational errors: ignorance and error return, in
the control theory, as possible explanations of deviant behavior.
The concept of commitment assumes that the organization of society is such
that the interest of most persons would be endangered if they were to engage
in criminal acts. Most people, simply by the process of living in an organized
society, acquire goods, reputations, prospects that they do not want to risk
losing. These accumulations are society’s insurance that they will abide by the
rules. Many hypotheses about the antecedents of delinquent behavior are based
on this premise. For example, Arthur L. Stinchcombe’s hypothesis that “high
school rebellion ... occurs when future status is not clearly related to present
performance”’'* suggests that one is committed to conformity not only by what
one has but also by what one hoped to obtain. Thus, “ambition” and/or “aspi-
ration” play an important role in producing conformity. The person becomes
committed to a conventional line of action, and he is therefore committed to
conformity.
Most lines of action in a society are of course conventional. The clearest
examples are educational and occupational careers. Actions thought to jeopardize
one’s chances in these areas are presumably avoided. Interestingly enough, even
nonconventional commitments may operate to produce conventional confor-
mity. We are told, at least, that boys aspiring to careers in the rackets or
professional thievery are judged by their “honesty” and “reliability” —traits tradi-
tionally in demand among seekers of office boys.'°

Involveme

Many people undoubtedly owe a life of virtue to a lack of opportunity to do

otherwise. Time and energy are inherently limited: “Not that I would not, if I
could, be both handsome and fat and well dressed, and a great athlete, and make
a million a year, be a wit, a bon vivant, and a lady killer, as well as a philosopher,
a philanthropist, a statesman, warrior, and African explorer, as well as a ‘tone-
poet’ and saint. But the thing is simply impossible.”'® The things that William
James here says he would like to be or do are all, I suppose, within the realm of
conventionality, but if he were to include illicit actions he would still have to
eliminate some of them as simply impossible.
Involvement or engrossment in conventional activities is thus often part of a
control theory. The assumption, widely shared, is that a person may be simply
too busy doing conventional things to find time to engage in deviant behavior.
The person involved in conventional activities is tied to appointments, deadlines,
working hours, plans, and the like, so the opportunity to commit deviant acts
rarely arises. To the extent that he is engrossed in conventional activities, he can-
not even think about deviant acts, let alone act out his inclinations.'’
 CHAPTER 9 CONTROL THEORY 93

This line of reasoning is responsible for the stress placed on recreational facil-
ities in many programs to reduce delinquency, for much of the concern with the
high school dropout, and for the idea that boys should be drafted into the army
to keep them out of trouble. So obvious and persuasive is the idea that involve-
ment in conventional activities is a major deterrent to delinquency that it was
accepted even by Sutherland: “In the general area of juvenile delinquency it is
probable that the most significant difference between juveniles who engage in
delinquency and those who do not is that the latter are provided abundant
opportunities of a conventional type for satisfying their recreational interests,
while the former lack those opportunities or facilities.”'®
The view that “idle hands are the devil’s workshop” has received more
sophisticated treatrnent in recent sociological writings on delinquency. David
Matza and Gresham M. Sykes, for example, suggest that delinquents have the
values of a leisure class, the same values ascribed by Veblen to the leisure class: a
search for kicks, disdain of work, a desire for the big score, and acceptance of
aggressive toughness as proof of masculinity.'” Matza and Sykes explain delin-
quency by reference to this system of values, but they note that adolescents at
all class levels are “to some extent” members of a leisure class, that they “move
in a limbo between earlier parental domination and future integration with the
social structure through the bonds of work and marriage.”~” In the end, then,
the leisure of the adolescent produces a set of values, which, in turn, leads to
delinquency.

Belief
Unlike the cultural deviance theory, the control theory assumes the existence of
a common value system within the society or group whose norms are being vio-
lated. If the deviant is committed to a value system different from that of con-
ventional society, there is, within the context of the theory, nothing to explain.
The question is, “Why does a man violate the rules in which he believes?” It is
not, “Why do men differ in their beliefs about what constitutes good and desir-
able conduct?” The person is assumed to have been socialized (perhaps imper-
fectly) into the group whose rules he is violating; deviance is not a question of
one group imposing its rules on the members of another group. In other words,
we not only assume the deviant has believed the rules, but we also assume he
believes the rules even as he violates them.
How can.a person believe it is wrong to steal at the same time he is stealing?
In the strain theory, this is not a difficult problem. (In fact, ... the strain theory
was devised specifically to deal with this question.) The motivation to deviance
adduced by the strain theorist is so strong that we can well understand the devi-
ant act even assuming the deviator believes strongly that it is wrong.” However,
given the control theory’s assumptions about motivation, if both the deviant and
the nondeviant believe the deviant act is wrong, how do we account for the fact
that one commits it and the other does not?
Control theories have taken two approaches to this problem. In one
approach, beliefs are treated as mere words that mean little or nothing if the
94 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

other forms of control are missing. “Semantic dementia,” the dissociation

between rational faculties and emotional control which is said to be characteristic
of the psychopath, illustrates this way of handling the problem.” In short,
beliefs, at least insofar as they are expressed in words, drop out of the picture;
since they do not differentiate between deviants and nondeviants, they are in
the same class as “language” or any other characteristic common to all members
of the group. Since they represent no real obstacle to the commission of delin-
quent acts, nothing need be said about how they are handled by those commit-
ting such acts. The control theories that do not mention beliefs (or values), and
many do not, may be assumed to take this approach to the problem.
The second approach argues that the deviant rationalizes his behavior so that
he can at once violate the rule and maintain his belief in it. Donald R. Cressey
had advanced this argument with respect to embezzlement,” and Sykes and
Matza have advanced it with respect to delinquency.~* In both Cressey’s and
Sykes and Matza’s treatments, these rationalizations (Cressey calls them “verbali-
zations,” Sykes and Matza term them “techniqués of neutralization”) occur prior
to the commission of the deviant act. If the neutralization is successful, the per-
son is free to commit the act(s) in question. Both in Cressey and in Sykes and
Matza, the strain that prompts the effort at neutralization also provides the
motive force that results in the subsequent deviant act. Their theories are thus,
in this sense, strain theories. Neutralization is difficult to handle within the con-
text of a theory that adheres closely to control theory assumptions because in the
control theory there is no special motivational force to account for the neutrali-
zation. This difficulty is especially noticeable in Matza’s later treatment of this
topic, where the motivational component, the “will to delinquency,” appears
after the moral vacuum has been created by the techniques of neutralization.”
The question thus becomes: Why neutralize?
In attempting to solve a strain-theory problem with control-theory tools, the
control theorist is thus led into a trap. He cannot answer the crucial question.
The concept of neutralization assumes the existence of moral obstacles to the
commission of deviant acts. In order plausibly to account for a deviant act, it is
necessary to generate motivation to deviance that is at least equivalent in force to
the resistance provided by these moral obstacles. However, if the moral obstacles
are removed, neutralization and special motivation are no longer required. We
therefore follow the implicit logic of control theory and remove these moral
obstacles by hypothesis. Many persons do not have an attitude of respect toward
the rules of society; many persons feel no moral obligation to conform regardless
of personal advantage. Insofar as the values.and beliefs of these persons are con-
sistent with their feelings, and there should be tendency toward consistency,
neutralization is unnecessary; it has already occurred.
Does this merely push the question back a step and at the same time produce
conflict with the assumption of a common value system? I think not. In the first
place, we do not assume, as does Cressey, that neutralization occurs in order to
make a specific criminal act possible.°° We do not assume, as do Sykes and
Matza, that neutralization occurs to make many delinquent acts possible. We
do not assume, in other words, that the person constructs a system of
 CHAPTER 9 CONTROL THEORY 95

rationalizations in order to justify commission of acts he wants to commit. We

assume, in contrast, that the beliefs that free a man to commit deviant acts are
unmotivated in the sense that he does not construct or adopt them in order to
facilitate the attainment of illicit ends. In the second place, we do not assume,
as does Matza, that “delinquents concur in the conventional assessment of
delinquency.”*’ We assume, in contrast, that there is variation in the extent to
which people believe they should obey the rules of society, and, furthermore,
that the less a person believes he should obey the rules, the more likely he is to
violate them.”®
In chronological order, then, a person’s beliefs in the moral validity of norms
are, for no teleological reason, weakened. The probability that he will commit
delinquent acts is therefore increased. When and if he commits a delinquent act,
we may justifiably use the weakness of his beliefs in explaining it, but no special
motivation is required to explain either the weakness of his beliefs or, perhaps,
his delinquent act.
The keystone of this argument is of course the assumption that there is vari-
ation in belief in the moral validity of social rules. This assumption is amenable
to direct empirical test and can thus survive at least until its first confrontation
with data. For the present, we must return to the idea of a common value system
with which this section was begun.
The idea of acommon (or perhaps better, a single) value system is consistent
with the fact, or presumption, of variation in the strength of moral beliefs. We
have not suggested that delinquency is based on beliefs counter to conventional
morality; we have not suggested that delinquents do not believe delinquent acts
are wrong. They may well believe these acts are wrong, but the meaning and
efficacy of such beliefs are contingent on other beliefs and, indeed, on the
strength of other ties to the conventional order.”

NOTES

1. Books have been written on the observation that an explanation of

increasing importance of interpersonal conformity should be an explanation
sensitivity in modern life. According of deviance cannot be translated as
to this view, controls from within have “an explanation of conformity has to
become less important than controls be an explanation of deviance.” For
from without in producing conformity. the view that interpersonal sensitivity
Whether or not this observation is true currently plays a greater role than
as a description ofhistorical trends, it is formerly in producing conformity, see
true that interpersonal sensitivity has William J. Goode, “Norm Commit-
become more important in explaining ment and Conformity to Role-Status
conformity. Although logically it Obligations,” American Journal of Soci-
should also have become more ology LXVI (1960): 246-258. And, of
important in explaining nonconfor- course, also see David Riesman,
mity, the opposite has been the case, Nathan Glazer, and Reuel Denney,
once again showing that Cohen’s The Lonely Crowd (Garden City, New
96 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

York: Doubleday, 1950), especially “Our observations show ... that

Part I. delinquent recidivists are less often
The literature on psychopathy is
persons with mature ego ideals or
N

voluminous. See William McCord

nondelinquent social roles” (p. 204).
and Joan McCord, The Psychopath nie Scott Briar and Irving Piliavin,
(Princeton: D. Van Nostrand, 1964). “Delinquency, Situational Induce-
ments, and Commitment to Confor-
John M. Martin and Joseph P.
Fitzpatrick, Delinquent Behavior (New
mity,” Social Problems XIII (1965):
York: Random House, 1964), p. 130.
41-42. The concept “stake in con-
formity” was introduced by Jackson
Ibid. For additional properties of the
Toby in his “Social Disorganization
psychopath, see McCord and
and Stake in Conformity: Comple-
McCord, The Psychopath, pp. 1-22.
mentary Factors in the Predatory
Barbara Wootton, Social Science Behavior of Hoodlums,” Journal of
and Social Pathology (New York: Criminal.Law, Criminology and Police
Macmillan, 1959), p. 250. Science XLVIII (1957): 12-17. See also
“The logical untenability [of the his “Hoodlum or Business Man: An
position that there are forces in man American Dilemma,” in The Jews, ed.
‘resistant to socialization’] was ably Marshall Sklare (New York: The Free
demonstrated by Parsons over 30 years Press, 1958), pp. 542-550. Through-
ago, and it is widely recognized that out the text, I occasionally use “stake
the position is empirically unsound in conformity” in speaking in general
because it assumes [!] some universal of the strength of the bond to con-
biological drive system distinctly sep- ventional society. So used, the concept
arate from socialization and social is somewhat broader than is true for
context—a basic and intransigent either Toby or Briar and Piliavin,
human nature” (Judith Blake and where the concept is roughly equiva-
Kingsley Davis, “Norms, Values, and lent to what is here called
Sanctions,” Handbook of Modem Sociol- “commitment.”
ogy, ed. Robert E. L. Pans [Chicago: . Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (Oxford:
Rand McNally, 1964], p. 471). Basil Blackwell, 1957), p. 195.
Emile Durkheim, Moral Education, . Howard S. Becker, “Notes on the
trans. Everett K. Wilson and Herman Concept of Commitment,” American
Schnurer (New York: The Free Press, Journal ofSociology LXVI (1960): 35-36.
1961), p. 64.
Arthur L. Stinchcombe, Rebellion in a
Although attachment alone does not High School (Chicago: Quadrangle,
exhaust the meaning ofinternalization, 1964), p. 5.
attachments and beliefs combined
. Richard A. Cloward and Lloyd E.
would appear to leave only a small
Ohlin, Delinquency and Opportunity
residue of “internal control” not sus-
(New York: The Free Press, 1960),
ceptible in principle to direct
p. 147, quoting Edwin H. Sutherland,
measurement.
ed., The Professional Thief (Chicago:
F. Ivan Nye, Family Relationships and University of Chicago Press, 1937),
Delinquent Behavior (New York: ppa2li-213.
Wiley, 1958), pp. 5-7.
16. William James, Psychology (Cleveland:
. AlbertJ. Reiss, Jr., “Delinquency as World Publishing Co., 1948), p. 186.
the Failure of Personal and Social
. Few activities appear to be so
Controls,” American Sociological Review
engrossing that they rule out
XVI (1951): 196-207. For example,
 CHAPTER 9 CONTROL THEORY

contemplation of alternative lines of embezzlement, where the problem

behavior, at least if estimates of the faced by the deviator is fairly specific
amount of time men spend plotting and he can reasonably be assumed to
sexual deviations have any validity. be an upstanding citizen. (Although
18. The Sutherland Papers, ed. Albert K. even here the fact that the embezzler’s
Cohen et al. (Bloomington: Indiana non-sharable financial*problem often
University Press, 1956), p. 37. results from some sort of hanky-panky
suggests that “verbalizations” may be
19. David Matza and Gresham M. Sykes,
less necessary than might otherwise be
“Juvenile Delinquency and Subterra-
assumed.)
nean Values,” American Sociological
Review XXVI (1961): 712-719. Delinquency and Drift, p. 43.
20. Ibid., p. 718. This assumption is not, I think,
contradicted by the evidence pre-
The starving man stealing the loaf of
sented by Matza against the existence
bread is the image evoked by most
ofa delinquent subculture. In com-
strain theories. In this image, the
paring the attitudes and actions of
starving man’s belief in the wrongness
delinquents with the picture painted
of his act is clearly not something that
by delinquent subculture theorists,
must be explained away. It can be
Matza emphasizes—and perhaps
assumed to be present without causing
exaggerates—the extent to which
embarrassment to the explanation.
delinquents are tied to the conven-
i)NO McCord and McCord, The Psychopath, tional order. In implicitly comparing
Ppa to delinquents with a supermoral
Donald R. Cressey, Other People’s man, I emphasize—and perhaps
Money (New York: The Free Press, exaggerate—the extent to which they
1953). are not tied to the conventional order.
Gresham M. Sykes and David Matza, The position taken here is therefore
“Techniques of Neutralization: A somewhere between the “semantic
Theory of Delinquency,” American dementia” and the “neutralization”
Sociological Review XXII (1957), positions. Assuming variation, the
664-670. delinquent is, at the extremes, freer
David Matza, Delinquency and than the neutralization argument
Drift (New York: Wiley, 1964), assumes. Although the possibility of
PP Lol LOW wide discrepancy between what the
delinquent professes and what he
In asserting that Cressey’s assumption
practices still exists, it is presumably
is invalid with respect to delinquency,
much rarer than is suggested by studies
I do not wish to suggest that it 1s
of articulate “‘psychopaths.”
invalid for the question of
 10

Feminist Theory
MEDA CHESNEY-LIND

Chesney-Lind speaks strongly for the feminist perspective in pointing out that
most theories of crime and deviance have focused overly on a male model of
offending. She points out that girls and women hold-a very different structural
position in society and that the experience they are likely to encounter along with
the opportunities (or lack thereof) they face are often markedly at odds with those
of boys and men. Girls grow up in the United States facing vastly different sets of
pressures, encounters, and forms of social control than their male counterparts.
Gender, notes Chesney-Lind, is a master status, which means that most of
girls’ experiences in society are filtered through this lens. From early youth, their
role in society is affected by the structure of male domination. When we consider
the effect of patriarchy on women, the special pathways that girls take into crime
and deviance are illuminated. Girls are more vulnerable to physical and sexual
abuse in the home than boys are, and girls lack the resources to rebuff or escape
such abuse, not only interpersonally, within the family, but because ofthe double
standard of sexuality and sexual control embedded within the juvenile justice
system. Runaways who escape from abusive families are systematically returned
right back into them. Girls who stay and remain subjected to further abuse often
marry at a young age to get out, but frequently find themselves domestically
abused by their partners. Girls who are strong enough to fight for survival escape
abusive family contexts to the street, where their opportunities (both legally and
within the world of crime) are extremely limited. Once again, then, they find
themselves subject to the domination and abuse of male predators. In these
situations, girls’ background experiences and lack ofother survival techniques
lead them into adult situations of abuse to which they voluntarily and
involuntarily subject themselves in order to stay fed, sheltered, and clothed.
This cycle of victimization to criminalization characterizes the gender-
related pathway ofgirls into deviance and crime, and illustrates the structural
disadvantage faced by younger and older women in society.
Where should we locate Chesney-Lind’s feminist theory among the broader
perspectives on deviance? Where is she placing the root causes of women’s
deviance: in society, subcultures, or individuals?

From Crime & Delinquency, 35(1), pp. 10-11, pp. 19-27. Copyright © 1989 by Sage
Publications. Reprinted by permission of Sage Publications, Inc.

98
 CHAPTER 10 FEMINIST THEORY 99

here is considerable question as to whether existing theories that were admit-

tedly developed to explain male delinquency can adequately explain female
delinquency. Clearly, these theories were much influenced by the notion that
class and protest masculinity were at the core of delinquency. Will the “add
women and stir approach” be sufficient? Are these really theories of delinquent
behavior as some have argued?
This article will suggest that they are not. The extensive focus on male
delinquency and the inattention to the role played by patriarchal arrangements
in the generation of adolescent delinquency and conformity has rendered the
major delinquency theories fundamentally inadequate to the task of explaining
female behavior. There is, in short, an urgent need to rethink current models
in light of girls’ situation in patriarchal society.
... This discussion will also establish that the proposed overhaul of delin-
quency theory is not, as some might think, solely an academic exercise. Specifi-
cally, it is incorrect to assume that because girls are charged with less serious
offenses, they actually have few problems and are treated gently when they are
drawn into the juvenile justice system. Indeed, the extensive focus on disadvan-
taged males in- public settings has meant that girls’ victimization and the relation-
ship between that experience and girls’ crime has been systematically ignored.
Also missed has been the central role played by the juvenile justice system in
the sexualization of girls’ delinquency and the criminalization of girls’ survival
strategies. Finally, it will be suggested that the official actions of the juvenile jus-
tice system should be understood as major forces in girls’ oppression as they have
historically served to reinforce the obedience of all young women to demands of
patriarchal authority no matter how abusive and arbitrary....

TOWARD A FEMINIST THEORY OF DELINQUENCY

To sketch out completely a feminist theory of delinquency is a task beyond the

scope of this article. It may be sufficient, at this point, simply to identify a few of
the most obvious problems with attempts to adapt male-oriented theory to
explain female conformity and deviance. Most significant of these is the fact that
g theories were developed with no concern about gender stratification.
Note that this is not simply an observation about the power of gender roles
(though this power is undeniable). It is increasingly clear that gender stratification
in patriarchal society is as powerful system as is class. A feminist approach to
delinquency means construction of explanations of female behavior that are
sensitive to its patriarchal context. Feminist analysis of delinquency would also
examine ways in which agencies of social control—the police, the courts, and
the persons—act in ways to reinforce woman’s place in male society. Efforts to
construct a feminist model of delinquency must first and foremost be sensitive to
the situations of girls. Failure to consider the existing empirical evidence on
girls’ lives and behavior can quickly lead to stereotypical thinking and theoretical
dead ends.
 100 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

An example of this sort of iinonoenr rat ames was the et sae

_
crime, a notion thatis now more or alex discredited. re:more recent onsen of
the same sort of thinking can be found in recent work on 1 the * paces as
s commit les delin-
- quency in part becanenlieh He 71a s more closely Ph Airt led bythepaviiehal
family. The authors’ promising beginning quickly gets bogged down in a very
limited definition of patriarchal control (focusing on parental supervision and var-
iations in power within the family). Ultimately, the authors’ narrow formulation
of patriarchal control results in their arguing that me work
(particularly in
1 high status occupations) leads to incre 1 da
since these girls find themselves in more “egalitarian families.”
This is essentially a not-too-subtle variation on the earlier “liberation”
hypothesis. Now, mother’s liberation causes daughter’s crime. Aside from the
methodological problems with the study (e.g., the authors argue that female-
headed households are equivalent to upper-class “egalitarian” families where
both parents work, and they measure delinquency using a six-item scale that
contains no status offense items), there is a more fundamental problem with the
hypothesis. There is no evidence to suggest that as women’s labor force partici-
pation has increased, girls’ delinquency has increased. Indeed, during the last
decade when both women’s labor force participation accelerated and the number
of female-headed households soared, aggregate female delinquency measured
both by self-report and official statistics either declined or remained stable.
By contrast, a feminist model of delinquency would focus more extensively
on the few pieces of information about girls’ actual lives and the role played by
girls’ problems, including those caused by racism and poverty, in their delin-
quency behavior. Fortunately, a considerable literature is now developing on
girls’ lives and much of it bears directly on girls’ crime.

CRIMINALIZING GIRLS’ SURVIVAL

It has long been understood that a major reason for girls’ presence in juvenile
courts was the fact that their parents insisted on their arrest. In the early years,
conflicts with parents were by far the most significant referral source; in
Honolulu 44 percent of the girls who appeared in court in 1929 and 1930
were referred by parents.
Recent national data, while slightly less explicit, also show that girls are
more likely to be referred to court by “sources other than law enforcement
agencies” (which would include parents). In 1983, nearly a quarter (23 percent)
of all girls but only 16 percent of boys charged with delinquent offenses were
referred to court by non-law enforcement agencies. The pattern among youth
referred for status offenses (for which girls are overrepresented) was even more
pronounced. Well over half (56 percent) of the girls charged with these offenses
and 45 percent of the boys were referred by sources other than law enforcement.
 CHAPTER10 FEMINIST THEORY 101

The fact that parents are often committed to two standa

of adolescent
rds
acai one explanation fi sels a disparity—and one that should not be
liscounted as a major source of tension even in modern families. Despite expec-
tations to the contrary, gender-specific socialization patterns have not changed
very much and this is especially true for parents’ relationships with their
daughters. It appears that even parents who oppose sexism in general feel
Jo ae oes ole with ice traditions” and “do not st
Iren b ning misfits.” Clearly, parental attempts to adhere to and
ehfotee these tracidonal notions ill continue to be a source of conflict between
girls and their elders. Another important explanation for girls’ problems with
their parents, which has received attention only in more recent years, is the
ae of em and sexual abuse. Looking specifically at the problem of
d sex use, it is increasingly clear that this form of abuse is a partic-
= pro blem a girls.
Girls are, for example, much more likely to be the victims of child sexual
abuse than are boys. Finkelhor and Baron estimate from a review of community
studies that roughly 70 percent of the victims of sexual abuse are female, they are
more likely than boys to be assaulted by a family member (often a stepfather), and,
as a consequence, their abuse tends to last longer than male sexual abuse. All of
these factors are associated with more severe trauma—causing dramatic short- and
long-term effects in victims. The effects noted by researchers in this area move
from the more well known “fear, anxiety, depression, anger and hostility, and
inappropriate sexual behavior” to behaviors of greater familiarity to criminologists,
including running away from home, difficulties in school, truancy, and early mar-
riage. Herman’s study of incest survivors in therapy found that they were more
likely to have run away from home than a matched sample of women whose
fathers were “seductive” (33 percent compared to 5 percent). Another study of
women patients found that 50 percent of the victims of child sexual abuse, but
only 20 percent of the nonvictim group, had left home before the age of 18.
Not surprisingly, then, studies of girls on the streets or in court populations
are showing high rates of both physical and sexual abuse. Silbert and Pines (1981,
p. 409) found, for example, that 60 percent of the street prostitutes they inter-
viewed had been sexually abused as juveniles. Girls at an Arkansas diagnostic
unit and school who had been adjudicated for either status or delinquent offenses
reported similarly high levels of physical abuse; 53 percent indicated they had
been sexually abused, 25 percent recalled scars, 38 percent recalled bleeding
from abuse, and 51 percent recalled bruises. A sample survey of girls in the juve-
nile justice system in Wisconsin revealed that 79 percent had been subjected to
physical abuse that resulted in some form of injury, and 32 percent had been sex-
ually abused by parents or other persons who were closely connected to their fam-
ilies. Moreover, 50 percent had been sexually assaulted (“raped” or forced to
participate in sexual acts). Even higher figures were reported by McCormack
and her associates in their study of youth in a runaway shelter in Toronto. They
found that 73 percent of the females and 38 percent of the males had been sexu-
ally abused. Finally, a study of youth charged with running away, truancy, or
listed as missing persons in Arizona found that 55 percent were incest victims.
102 PARTI] THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

verynaraa they do not have a lot of attachment to their delinquent activi-

ties. In fact, they are angry about being labeled as delinquent, yet all engaged in
illegal acts. The Wisconsin study found that 54 percent of the girls who ran away
found it necessary to steal money, food, and clothing in order to survive. A few
exchanged sexual contact for money, food, and/or shelter. In their study of run-
away youth, McCormack, Janus, and Burgess found that sexually abused female
runaways were significantly more likely than their nonabused counterparts to
engage in delinquent or criminal activities such as substance abuse, petty theft,
and prostitution. No such pattern was found among male runaways.
Research on the backgrounds of adult women in prison underscores the
important links between women’s childhood victimizations and their later crimi-
nal careers. The interviews revealed that virtually all of this sample were the vic-
tims of physical and/or sexual abuse as youngsters; over 60 percent had been
sexually abused and about half had been raped as young women. This situation
promoted these women to run away from home (three-quarters had been
arrested for status offenses) where once on the streets they began engaging in
prostitution and other forms of petty property crime. They also begin what
becomes a lifetime problem with drugs. As adults, the women continue in
these activities since they possess truncated educational backgrounds and virtually
no marketable occupational skills.
Confirmation of the consequences of childhood sexual and physical abuse
on adult female criminal behavior has also recently come from a large quantita-
tive study of 908 individuals with substantiated and validated histories of these
victimizations. Widom (1988) found that abused or neglected females were
twice as likely as a matched group of controls to have an adult record (16 percent
compared to 7.5). The difference was also found among men, but it was not as
dramatic (42 percent compared to 33 percent). Men with abuse backgrounds
were also more likely to contribute to the “cycle of violence” with more arrests
for violent offenses as adult offenders than the control group. In contrast, when
women with abuse backgrounds did become involved with the criminal justice
system, their arrests tended to involve property and order offenses (such as disor-
derly conduct, curfew, and loitering violations).
Given this information, a brief example of how a feminist perspective on the
causes of female delinquency might look seems appropriate. First, like young
men, girls are frequently the recipients of violence and sexual abuse. But unlike
boys, girls’ victimization and their response to that victimization is specifically
shaped by their status as young women. Perhaps because of the gender and sex-
ual scripts found in patriarchal families, girls are much more likely than boys to
be victims of family-related sexual abuse. Men, particularly men with traditional
attitudes toward women, are likely to define their daughters or stepdaughters as
their sexual property. In a society that idealizes inequality in male/female rela-
tionships and venerates youth in women, girls are easily defined as sexually
attractive by older men. In addition, girls’ vulnerability to both physical and
 CHAPTER 10 FEMINIST THEORY 103

sexual abuse is heightened by norms that require that they stay at home where
their victimizers have access to them.
Moreover, their victimizers (usually males) have the ability to invoke official
agencies of social control in their efforts to keep young women at home and
vulnerable. That is to say,a ave pep. See able to utilize the
uncritical | commi he juvenile justice system eward: paretical ax hority
to
to force girls to iG them. Girls’ complaints about abuse were, until recently,
routinely ignored. For this reason, statutes that were originally placed in law to
“protect” young people have, in the case of girls’ delinquency, criminalized their
survival strategies. As they run away from abusive homes, parents have been able
to employ agencies to enforce their return. If they persisted in their refusal to
ome however intolerable, they were incarcerated.
men the run from homes char-
orced by the very statutes
eS O 2 icts. Unable to enroll in
schoo! or take a immeto support Honea ieee eau they fear detection, young
female runaways are forced into the streets. Here they engage in panhandling,
petty theft, and occasional prostitution in order to survive. Young women in
conflict with their parents (often for very legitimate reasons) may actually be
forced by present laws into petty criminal activity, prostitution, and drug use.
In addition, the fact that young girls (but not necessarily young boys) are
defined as sexually desirable and, in fact, more desirable than their older sisters
due to the double standard of aging means that their lives on the streets (and
their survival strategies) take on unique shape—once again shaped by patriarchal
values. It is no accident that girls on the run from abusive homes, or on the
streets because of profound poverty, get involved in criminal activities that
exploit their sexual object status. The U.S. society has defined as desirable youth-
ful, physically perfect women. This means that girls on the streets, who have
little else of value to trade, are encouraged to utilize this “resource.” It also
means that the criminal subculture views them from this perspective.

FEMALE DELINQUENCY, PATRIARCHAL

AUTHORITY, AND FAMILY COURTS

The early insights into male delinquency were largely gleaned by intensive field
observation of delinquent boys. Very little of this sort of work has been done in
the case of girls’ delinquency, though it is vital to an understanding of girls’ defi-
nitions of their own situations, choices, and behavior. Time must be spent listen-
ing to girls. Fuller research on the settings, such as families and schools, that girls
find themselves in and the impact of variations in those settings should also be
undertaken. A more complete understanding of how poverty and racism shape
girls’ lives is also vital.
Finally, current qualitative research on the reaction of official agencies to
girls’ delinquency must be conducted. This latter task, admittedly more difficult,
104 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

is particularly critical to the development of delinquency theory that is as sensi-

tive to gender as it is to race and class.
It is clear that throughout most of the court’s history, virtually all female
delinquency has been placed within the larger context of girls’ sexual behavior.
One explanation for this pattern is that familial control over girls’ sexual capital
has historically been central to the maintenance of patriarchy. The fact that
young women have relatively more of this capital has been one reason for the
excessive concern that both families and official agencies of social control have
expressed about youthful female defiance (otherwise much of the behavior of
criminal justice personnel makes virtually no sense). Only if one considers the
role of women’s control over their sexuality at the point in their lives that their
value to patriarchal society is so pronounced, does the historic pattern of jailing
of huge numbers of girls guilty of minor misconduct make sense.
This framework also explains the enormous resistance that the movement to
curb the juvenile justice system’s authority over status offenders encountered.
Supporters of this change were not really prepared for the political significance
of giving youth the freedom to run. Horror stories told by the opponents of
deinstitutionalization about victimized youth, youthful prostitution, and youthful
involvement in pornography all neglected the unpleasant reality that most of
these behaviors were often in direct response to earlier victimization, frequently
by parents, that officials had, for years, routinely ignored. What may be at stake
in efforts to roll back deinstitutionalization efforts creme some
youth as it is curbing the right ofyoung women to defy patriarchy.
In sum, research in both the dynamics of girls’ eunecetey ahi official reac-
tions to that behavior is essential to the development of theories of delinquency
that are sensitive to its patriarchal as well as class and racial context.

REFERENCES

Silbert, Mimi. H., and Ayah Pines. (1981). |Widom, Cathy Spatz. (1988). “Sampling
“Sexual Child Abuse as an Antecedent Biases and Implications for Child
to Prostitution.” International Journal of Abuse Research.” American Journal of
Child Abuse ana Neglect 5:407—411. Orthopsychiatry 58(2):260—270.
 11

The Constructionist Stance

JOEL BEST
ae

Best, one of the leading practitioners of the social constructionist approach, offers a
historical analysis of the way theories of deviance have evolved. He notes the rise
and decline in significance of several approaches to deviance theory, showing how
social constructionism arose from its early roots in the sociology of deviance and
moved into explaining social problems. The constructionist perspective represents a
wedding of the views of labeling and conflict theories, as we noted in the general
introduction to this text. By looking at how individuals encounter societal reactions
and become labeled as deviants, the constructionist approach joins the microanalysis
of labeling theory with the broader, more structural, social power contribution of
conflict theory, isolating certain groups as more likely to have social reactions and
definitions formed and applied by and against them. It is this social constructionist
stance that will frame the organization and selections making up the remainder of
the book. We begin our investigation therein by examining the process by which
groups vie for power in society and try to legislate their views into morality. Then
we focus on how people develop deviant identities and manage their stigma as a
result of the definitions and enforcements which come out of that legislation.
What parts of Best’s analysis of the social construction ofsocial problems can be
applied to defining deviance?

hat does it mean to say that deviance is “socially constructed?” Some peo-
ple assume that social construction is the opposite of real, but this is a mis-
take. Reality, that is everything we understand about the world, is socially
constructed. The term calls attention to the processes by which people make
sense of the world: we create—or construct—meaning. When we define some
eS as deviant, we are socially constructing deviance. Th actionist
Bg I gta Hi cies nderstand ihe ee

THE EMERGENCE OF CONSTRUCTIONISM

The constructionist stance had its roots in two developments. The first was the
publication of Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann’s (1966) The Social Con-
struction of Reality. Berger and Luckmann were writing about the sociology of
Reprinted by permission of the author.

105
106 PARTIl THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

knowledge—how social life shapes everything that people know. Their book
introduced the term “social construction” to a wide sociological audience, and
soon other sociologists were writing about the construction of science, news,
and other sorts of knowledge, including what we think about deviance.
Second, labeling theory, which had become the leading approach to study-
ing deviance during the 1960s, came under attack from several different direc-
tions by the mid-1970s. Conflict theorists charged that labeling theory ignored
how elites shaped definitions of deviance and social control policies. Feminists
complained that labeling ignored the victimization of women at the hands of
both male offenders and male-dominated social control agencies. Activists for
gay rights and disability rights insisted that homosexuals and the disabled should
be viewed as political minorities, rather than deviants. At the same time, main-
stream sociologists began challenging labeling theory’s claims about the ways
social control operated and affected deviants’ identities.

THE CONSTRUCTIONIST RESPONSE

In response to these attacks, some sociologists sympathetic to the labeling

approach moved away from studying deviance. Led by John I. Kitsuse, a sociol-
ogist whose work had helped shape labeling theory, these sociologists of devi-
ance’ turned to studying the sociology of social problems. With Malcolm
Spector, Kitsuse published Constructing Social Problems (1977)—a book that
would inspire many sociologists to begin studying how and why particular social
problems emerged as topics of public concern. They argued that sociologist
ought to redefine social problems as claims that various conditions constituted
social problems; therefore, the constructionist approach involved studying claims
and those who made them—the claimsmakers. In this view, sociologists ought td
study how and why particular issues such as date rape or binge drinking on col-
lege campuses suddenly became the focus of attention and concern. How were
these problems constructed?
There were several advantages to studying social problems. First, construction-
ists had the field virtually to themselves. Although many sociology departments
taught social problems courses, there were no rival well-established, coherent the-
ories of social problems. In contrast, labeling had to struggle against functionalisn
conflict theory, and other influential approaches to studying deviance.
The constructionist approach was also flexible. Analysts of social problems
construction might concentrate on various actors: some examined the power of
political and economic elites in shaping definitions of social problems; others
focused on the role of activists in bringing attention to problems; and still others
concentrated on how media coverage shaped the public’s and policymakers’
understandings of problems. This flexibility meant that constructionists might
criticize some claims as exaggerated, distorted, or unfounded (the sort of critique
found in several studies of claims about the menace of Satanism), but they
might also celebrate the efforts of claimsmakers to draw attention to neglected
 CHAPTER 11 THE CONSTRUCTIONIST STANCE 107

problems (e.g., researchers tended to treat claims about domestic violence

sympathetically).
Again, it is important to appreciate that “socially constructed” is not a syno-
nym for erroneous or mistaken. All knowledge is socially constructed; to say that
a social problem is socially constructed is not to imply that it does not-exist, but
rather that it is through social interaction

THE RETURN TO DEVIANCE

Although constructionists studied the emergence and evolution of many different

social problems, ranging from global warming to homelessness, much of their
work remained focused on deviance. They studied the construction of rape,
child abduction, illicit drugs, family violence, and other forms of deviance.
Closely related to the rise of constructionism were studies of medicalization
(Conrad and Schneider, 1980). Medicalization—defining deviance as a form :
illness requiring medical treatment—was one popular, contemporary way
constructing deviance. By the end of the twentieth century, medical language
“disease,” “symptom,” “therapy,” and so on—was used, not only by medica
authorities, but even by amateurs (e.g., in the many Twelve-Step programs of th
recovery movement).
A large share of constructionist studies traced the rise of social problems to
national attention; for example, the construction of the federal War on Drugs
was studied by several constructionist researchers. However, other sociologists
began studying how deviance was constructed in smaller settings, through interper-
sonal interaction. In particular, they examined social problems work (Holstein and
Miller, 1993). Even after claamsmakers have managed to draw attention to some
social problem and shape the creation of social policies to deal with it, those claims
must be translated into action. Police officers, social workers, and other social pro-
blems workers must apply broad constructions to particular cases. Thus, after wife
abuse is defined as a social problem, it is still necessary for the police officer investi-
gating a domestic disturbance call to define—or construct—these particular events
as an instance of wife abuse (Loseke, 1992). Studies of this sort of social problems
work are a continuation of earlier research on the labeling process.

CONSTRUCTIONISM’S DOMAIN

Social constructionism, then, has become an influential stance for thinking about
deviance, particularly for understanding how concerns about particular forms of
deviance emerge and evolve, and for studying how social control agents con=
struct particular acts as deviance and individuals as deviants. Constructionism
emphasizes the role of interpretation, of people assigning meaning, or making
b yehaviors they classify as deviant. This can occur at a societal level,
B ,
16
108 PART Il THEORIES OF DEVIANCE

as when the mass media draw attention to a new form of deviance and legislators
pass laws against it, and it can also occur in face-to-face interaction, when one
individual expresses disapproval of another’s rule breaking. Deviance, like all
reality, is constantly being constructed.

REFERENCES

Berger, Peter L., and Thomas Luckmann. edited by James Holstein and Gale
(1966). The Social Construction of Miller. Hawthorne, NY: Aldine de
Reality. New York: Doubleday. Gruyter.
Conrad, Peter, and Joseph W. Schneider. Loseke, Donileen R. (1992). The Battered
(1980). Deviance and Medicalization. Woman _and Shelters. Albany: State
St. Louis: Mosby. University of New York Press.
Holstein, James A., and Gale Miller. Spector, Malcolm, and John I. Kitsuse.
(1993). “Social Constructionist and (1977). Constructing Social Problems.
Social Problems Work.” Pp. 151-72. Menlo Park, California: Cummings.
Reconsidering Social Constructionism,
 PART III

HK

Studying Deviance

ee and reliable knowledge about deviance is critically important to

many groups in society. First, policy makers are concerned with deviant |
groups such as the homeless and transient, the chronically mentally ill, high
school dropouts, criminal offenders, prostitutes, juvenile delinquents, gang mem-
bers, runaways, and other members of disadvantaged and disenfranchised popu-
lations. These people pose social problems that lawmakers and social welfare
agencies want to alleviate. Second, sociologists and other researchers have an :
interest in deviance based on their goal of understanding human nature, human
behavior, and human society. Deviants are a critical group to this enterpri
because they reside near the margins of social definition: They help define the
boundaries of what is acceptable and what is unacceptable by given groups.

primary data sources: official statistics, survey research, and field research. Offi-
cial statistics are numerical tabulations compiled by government officials and
employees of social service agencies (often, those receiving financial grants or
assistance from the government) in the course of doing their jobs. These people
routinely collect information about their clients as they process them and com-
bine them into statistics about deviance. This information includes arrest data
that are compiled by the police and published by the FBI (the Uniform Crime
Reports), census data on various shifting populations (such as the homeless), vic-
tim data from helping agencies (such as shelters for battered women), medical
data from emergency rooms (such as DAWN, the Drug Abuse Warning Net-
work) or from state public health agencies (such as the offices of the coroner
and medical examiner), and prosecution data on cases that are tried in the courts.
These official statistics are then compiled by the various government organiza-
tions responsible for collecting them and are made available to the public.

109
110 PART III STUDYING DEVIANCE

Official statistics are connected to the absolutist perspective on defining deviance

because they are considered an objective source of measurement.
Another source of statistical data about deviance is survey research. Some-
times sociologists want information about behavior that is not routinely collected
by the government or official agencies. For instance, when we wanted to find
out how emergency room admissions for self-injury (e.g., cutting, burning, and
branding oneself) varied over time, we were unable to do so, because the only
category emergency rooms use to document such cases is “self-inflicted injury,”
which also includes (and is made up mostly of) suicide attempts. Emergency
rooms simply do not differentiate between these very different types of acts,
and therefore there are no official statistics on hospital admissions for self-injury.
Accordingly, rather than being limited to official sources of data or to categories
that officials use, many sociologists choose to gather their own data. One very
popular way is to use large-scale questionnaire surveys. Prominent ones include
the National Youth Survey, a self-report questionnaire about delinquent behav-
ior; “Monitoring the Future,” an annual survey from the Institute for Social
Research at the University of Michigan on the drug use of high school seniors
(a survey in which many of you reading this book have probably participated);
and some of the Kinsey surveys about sexual behavior. Survey research can
inquire into instances of various behaviors, but it can also collect information
about people’s attitudes. Survey research is particularly prevalent in the political
domain, where we see opinion polls conducted all the time.
A third kind of information, richly descriptive and analytical rather than
numerical, comes from sociologists who conduct field research (also called
participant observation) on deviance. Much like artthropologists who go out
to live among native peoples, sociological fieldworkers live with members of
deviant groups and become intimately familiar with their lives. They hang
around with people, befriend them, become part of their lives, and learn how
and why they do things. They learn what their subjects think about things,
how their attitudes and behaviors change over time, and how they resolve the
many contradictions people find in life. This type of research yields information
more deeply based in the subjects’ own perspectives, detailing how they see the
world, the allure of deviance for them, the problems they encounter, the ways
they resolve those problems, the significant individuals and groups in their lives,
and their role among these others. Unlike other types of research, participant
observation is generally a longitudinal method, entailing years of involvement
with subjects. Researchers must gain acceptance by group members, develop
meaningful relationships with them, and learn about their deepest thoughts and
emotions.
 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE 111

There are many differences among these types of data and among the meth-
ods used to gather them. Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and each
may do a better job than the others of answering certain research questions.
Thus, depending on people’s particular needs, they may turn to one type of
data or use a mixed-method approach. Official statistics have the advantage of
being inexpensive to gather and quick to access, because they are already col-
lected and published. Moreover, they aim to include the entire population of
those they address—for example, all criminals, all victims, and all emergency
room admittees—not just some subsample thereof. In addition, records about
these occurrences can be accessed as far back as the official statistics have been
collected, potentially a rather long time. Yet, official statistics have certain valid-
ity problems and tend to be inaccurate in patterned and systematic ways.
Official police statistics, the Uniform Crime Reports, for example, fail to include
a host of crimes for several reasons: Crimes may be unrecognized by victims who
do not notice their occurrence or who lack the power to define them as deviant;
crimes may be unreported by individuals who see no gain by, or who fear embar-
rassment, censure, or retaliation from, calling police attention to their victimiza-
tion; or crimes may be unrecorded by police officers who use their broad
discretion to handle problems informally. Official statistics on suicide, determined
and collected by coroners and medical examiners, also fluctuate (Whitt, 2006).
They may be unreliable in rural areas because officials know families, making
them loath to render a verdict on a cause of death that would stigmatize a family
or impede thefamily’s collecting an insurance settlement. In urban areas, the col-
lection of official statistics may rise and fall because of political pressures, turnovers
in personnel, fluctuating resources, or policy changes and the statistics themselves
may be suppressed by placing them under other labels (as when statistics on drug
overdoses are placed into the category of “indeterminate causes”) or may be
“found” (as when statistics on single-car accidents are ruled as suicides).
Other types of official statistics vastly underrepresent criminal activity for sim-
ilar and other reasons, and may be problematic because the categories used to
conceive of them and the way they are assembled and reported change over
time, making comparisons over the years frustrating. In sum, although official sta-
tistics yield information about a broad spectrum of people, they may be fairly shal-
low and unreliable in nature. Besharov and Laumann-Billings’s chapter on child
abuse statistics (Chapter 12) discusses the dramatic rise in the number of reported
cases of child abuse and some of the sociological factors that have accounted for
this wild swing in the official statistics. Here, the authors examine factors that arti-
ficially both inflate and deflate our official estimates of child abuse and consider
the consequences of those factors for the protection of abused children.
112 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

Survey research lets social scientists collect data on topics of their choice, but
it is an expensive and time-consuming enterprise. Still, through careful sampling
ocedures, researchers can gather data about a smaller population and generalize
from it to a much larger group to a high degree of accuracy (external reliability).
Strict controls over the standardization of procedures and the detachment of data
gatherers make this method a relatively objective one. Correlations (although not
causal relations) between social factors can be established carefully. But survey
research, like official statistics, has internal validity problems: Chiefly, it may not
yield an accurate portrait of the sample group it is studying, especially with topics
as sensitive as deviance. To elaborate, first, it is unlikely that people—especially
deviants—will fill a questionnaire and readily disclose information about the
hidden aspects of their lives. Second, in responding to the questionnaire, subjects
may not define their behavior the same way or use the same terms as the
researchers who are writing the questions (e:g., prostitutes’ conceptions of a
“date” may be different from those of survey researchers, and runaways may
mean different things when they refer to their “home” than researchers intend).
Researchers are then likely to misinterpret the nature and extent of behavior
from the answers they receive. Third, sometimes the correlations produced by
survey research—that is, what trends occur together (such as deviance and
divorce, or violence in the media and violence in everyday life)—are mistakenly
assumed to be causal connections. But survey research cannot tell us why or /
people act; it can only tell us what people are doing, even if these trends range
across a broad spread of the population. A much-heralded study of sexual beh
ior is featured in Chapter 13, Laumann and colleagues’ description of their sur-
vey, a major, highly professionally designed and conducted study that gives us a
glimpse into the problems and creative adaptations that can arise when a com-
prehensive effort is made to conduct large-scale survey research into Americans’
sexual practices.
Field research, in contrast, cannot reach as many people, but yields deeper
and more accurate information about the people studied, information that is
backed by researchers’ own direct observations, to enhance its internal validity,
Participant observers spend long amounts of time in the field, becoming close to
the people they study and learning how their subjects perceive, interpret, and act
upon the complex and often contradictory nature of their social worlds. In con-
trast to the detached and objective relationships between survey researchers and
their subjects, field researchers rely on the subjectivity and strength of the close
personal relationships they forge with people they study in order to get behind
false fronts and to find out what is really going on. An in-depth understanding is
especially important in studying a topic such as deviance because so much
 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE 113

behavior is hidden due to its stigma and illicit status. Also critically important is
the ability of field research to study deviance as it occurs in situ, in its natural
setting, not via the structural constraints of police reporting or the interpretation
and recollection of questionnaire research (Polsky, 1967). Although often less
costly than survey research to conduct, field research is very time*consuming, as
building a rapport and trust with subjects takes a long time to develop. Field
research also lacks the generalizability of careful survey research, as subjects tend
to be gathered through a referral (“snowball”) technique or because they are
members of a common “scene.” The assurance of randomization and objectivity,
then, is not as strong as it is in other methodologies. In Chapter 14, on field
research, we share with readers our own experiences with participant observa-
tion, talking about what it is like to carry out such research with a criminal,
and potentially dangerous, group.
Figure 1 presents a comparison of the strengths and weakness of the preced-
ing three methods or sources of data.

FIGURE 1_— Strengths and Weakness of the Three Sources of Data

Category Survey Research Field Research Official Statistics

Cost High Low Free

Time Medium Long Short

Approach Objective Subjective Clerical

Generalizability High Low High

Accuracy Medium High Low

The empirical chapters that fill the remainder of this book are based primar-
ily on participant observation studies of deviance, for two main reasons. First, as
Becker (1973) remarked, participant observation is the method of the interac-
tionist perspective; it offers direct access to the way definitions and laws are
socially constructed, to the way people’s actions are influenced by their associ-
ates, and to the way people’s identities are affected by the deviant labels cast on
them. Second, these types of studies offer a deeper view of people’s feelings,
experiences, motivations, and social-psychological states—a richer and more
vivid portrayal of deviance than any charts or numbers can reveal.
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 12

Child Abuse Reporting

DOUGLAS J. BESHAROV WITH LISA A. LAUMANN-BILLINGS

Besharov and Laumann-Billings discuss official statistics in our first chapter on

the varieties ofways that deviance is studied. They note the spectacular rise in our
official rates of child abuse, with figures increasing by 300 percent over a recent
30-year period. Such a dramatic change cannot be attributable solely to changes in
deviant behavior, but must also involve a measurement artifact. The authors root
the increase in child abuse statistics in three factors: mandatory reporting laws,
media campaigns surrounding child abuse, and the changed social definition of
what constitutes abuse. Besharov and Laumann-Billings discuss two ironically
opposing problems associated with child abuse statistics: unreported cases and
unsubstantiated cases. On the one hand, they claim, we are still unaware of
many cases ofchild abuse because the abuse tends to be hidden, defined as a
private family matter, and regarded as “normal” child-rearing practice.
On the other hand, the way we, as a society, tumultuously attacked this
“discovered” social problem and deputized numerous social groups to document it
resulted in cases that could not be substantiated. Some of these cases were
unfounded because they were investigated and found to be lacking in substance;
others, however, were unprovable because the families could not be located, the
child abuse was able to remain hidden even in the face of investigation, or the
huge increase in the number of cases requiring investigation overburdened the
dockets of social service agencies and diminished their ability to resolve all
allegations. Some desperate situations are being attended to, but others are
slipping through the cracks because of overreporting problems. All of these cases,
both underreported and overreported, signal continued ambiguity over definitions
of child abuse.
Together, the problems encountered shed light on some of the enormous
inaccuracies that are inherent in the official statistics gathered by social welfare
agents. Official statistics have a number of advantages: They are inexpensive and
easy to collect (they are collected by people in the course of doing their jobs); they
go backward in time over long periods; and, unlike sampling, they contain
information about the entire population of interest. But official statistics are
notoriously inaccurate, relying for their credibility on the impartiality of

Reprinted by permission of Springer and Transaction Publishers. “Child Abuse

Reporting” by Douglas J. Besharov with Lisa A. Laumann, from Society, May/June 1996.
Copyright © 1996 by Transaction Publishers.

115
116 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

disinterested data gatherers, always subject to personal and political pressures

aimed at skewing official reports, and beseeching public agencies to stretch their
limited resources to collect the relevant data.
What do Besharov and Laumann-Billings suggest about the relative
strengths and weaknesses of these kinds of official statistics?

or 30 years, advocates, program administrators, and politicians have joined

ie encourage even more reports of suspected child abuse and neglect. Their
efforts have been spectacularly successful, with about three million cases of
suspected child abuse having been reported in 1993. Large numbers of endan-
gered children still go unreported, but an equally serious problem has developed:
Upon investigation, as many as 65 percent of the reports now being made are
determined to be “unsubstantiated,” raising serious civil liberties concerns and
placing a heavy burden on already overwhelmed investigative staffs.
These two problems—nonreporting and inappropriate reporting—are linked
and must be addressed together before further progress can be made in combat-
ing child abuse and neglect. To lessen both problems, there must be a shift in
priorities—away from simply seeking more reports and toward encouraging
better reports.

REPORTING LAWS

Since the early 1960s, all states have passed laws that require designated profes-
sionals to report specified types of child maltreatment. Over the years, both the
range of designated professionals and the scope of reportable conditions have
been steadily expanded.
Initially, mandatory reporting laws applied only to physicians, who were
required to report only “serious physical injuries” and “nonaccidental injuries.”
In the ensuing years, however, increased public and professional attention,
sparked in part by the number of abused children revealed by these initial report-
ing laws, led many states to expand their reporting requirements. Now almost all
states have laws that require the reporting of all forms of suspected child mal-
treatment, including physical abuse, physical neglect, emotional maltreatment,
and of course, sexual abuse and exploitation.
Under threat of civil and criminal penalties, these laws require most profes-
sionals who serve children to report suspected child abuse and neglect. About
twenty states require all citizens to report, but in every state, any citizen is per-
mitted to report.
These reporting laws, associated public awareness campaigns, and profes-
sional education programs have been strikingly successful. In 1993, there were
about three million reports of children suspected of being abused or neglected.
This is a twenty-fold increase since 1963, when about 150,000 cases were
reported to the authorities. (As we will see, however, [the three million] figure
is bloated by reports that later turn out to be unfounded.)
 CHAPTER12. CHILD ABUSE REPORTING 117

Many people ask whether this vast increase in reporting signals a rise in the
incidence of child maltreatment. Recent increases in social problems such as out-
of-wedlock births, inner-city poverty, and drug abuse have probably raised the
underlying rates of child maltreatment, at least somewhat. Unfortunately, so
many maltreated children previously went unreported that earlier reporting
statistics do not provide a reliable baseline against which to make comparisons.
One thing is clear, however: The great bulk of reports now received by child
protective agencies would not be made but for the passage of mandatory report-
ing laws and the media campaigns that accompanied them.
This increase in reporting was accompanied by a substantial expansion of
prevention and treatment programs. Every community, for example, is now
served by specialized child protective agencies that receive and investigate
reports. Federal and state expenditures for child protective programs and associ-
ated foster care services now exceed $6 billion a year. (Federal expenditures for
foster care, child welfare, and related services make up less than 50 percent of
total state and federal expenditures for these services; in 1992, they amounted
to a total of $2,773.7 million. In addition, states may use a portion of the
$2.8 billion federal Social Services Block Grant for such services, though detailed
data on these expenditures are not available. Beginning in 1994, additional fed-
eral appropriations funded family preservation and support services.)
As a result, many thousands of children have been saved from serious injury
and even death. The best estimate is that over the past twenty years, child abuse
and neglect deaths have fallen from over 3,000 a year—and perhaps as many as
5,000—to about 1,000 a year. In New York State, for example, within five years
of the passage of a comprehensive reporting law, which also created specialized
investigative staffs, there was a 50 percent reduction in child fatalities, from about
two hundred a year to less than one hundred. (This is not meant to minimize the
remaining problem. Even at this level, maltreatment is the sixth largest cause of
death for children under fourteen.)

UNREPORTED CASES

Most experts agree that reports have increased over the past 30 years because
professionals and laypersons have become more likely to report apparently abu-
sive and neglectful situations. But the question remains: How many more cases
still go unreported?
Two studies performed for the National Center on Child Abuse and
Neglect by Westat, Inc., provide a partial answer. In 1980 and then again in
1986, Westat conducted national studies of the incidence of child abuse and
neglect. (A third Westat incidence study is now underway.) Each study used
essentially the same methodology: In a stratified sample of counties, a broadly
representative sample of professionals who serve children was asked whether,
during the study period, the children they had seen in their professional
118 PART III STUDYING DEVIANCE

capacities appeared to have been abused or neglected. (Actually, the professionals

were not asked the ultimate question of whether the children appeared to be
“abused” or “neglected.” Instead, they were asked to identify children with cer-
tain specified harms or conditions, which were then decoded into a count of
various types of child abuse and neglect.)
Because the information these selected professionals provided could be
matched against pending cases in the local child protective agency, Westat was
able to estimate rates of nonreporting among the surveyed professionals. It could
not, of course, estimate the level of unintentional nonreporting, since there is no
way to know of the situations in which professionals did not recognize signs of
possible maltreatment. There is also no way to know how many children the
professionals recognized as being maltreated but chose not to report to the
study. Obviously, since the study methodology involved asking professionals
about children they had seen in their professional.capacities, it also did not
allow Westat to estimate the number of children seen by nonprofessionals, let
alone their nonreporting rate.
Westat found that professionals failed to egret many of the children they
saw who had observable signs of child abuse andneglect. Specifically, it found
that in 1986, 56 percent of apparently abused or neglected children, or about
500,000 children, were not reported to the authorities. This figure, however,
seems more alarming than it is: Basically, the more serious the case, the more
likely the report. For example, the surveyed professionals reported over 85 per-
cent of the fatal or serious physical abuse cases they saw, 72 percent of the sexual
abuse cases, and 60 percent of the moderate physical abuse cases. In contrast,
they only reported 15 percent of the educational neglect cases they saw, 24 per-
cent of the emotional neglect cases, and 25 percent of the moderate physical
neglect cases.
Nevertheless, there is no reason for complacency. Translating these raw per-
centages into actual cases means that in 1986, about 2,000 children with observ-
able physical injuries severe enough to require hospitalization were not reported
and that more than 100,000 children with moderate physical injuries went unre-
ported, as did more than 30,000 apparently sexually abused children. And these
are the rates of nonreporting among relatively well-trained professionals. One
assumes that nonreporting is higher among less-well-trained professionals and
higher still among laypersons.
Obtaining and maintaining a high level of reporting requires a continuation
of the public education and professional training begun 30 years ago. But, now,
such efforts must also address a problem as serious as nonreporting: inappropriate
reporting.
At the same time that many seriously abused children go unreported, an
equally serious problem further undercuts efforts to prevent child maltreatment:
The nation’s child protective agencies are being inundated by inappropriate
reports. Although rules, procedures, and even terminology vary—some states
use the phrase “unfounded,” others “unsubstantiated” or “not indicated”—an
“unfounded” report, in essence, is one that is dismissed after an investigation
finds insufficient evidence upon which to proceed.
 CHAPTER12 CHILD ABUSE REPORTING 119

UNSUBSTANTIATED REPORTS

Nationwide, between 60 and 65 percent of all reports are closed after an initial
investigation determines that they are “unfounded” or “unprovable.” This is in
sharp contrast to 1974, when only about 45 percent of all reports were
unfounded. Unfounded cases are those where investigation occurs and it is deter-
mined that the child abuse did not occur. Unprovable cases are those that quite
possibly did occur, but where definitive proof was not able to be obtained.
A few advocates, in a misguided effort to shield child protective programs
from criticism, have sought to quarrel with estimates that I and others have
made that the national unfounded rate is between 60 and 65 percent. They
have grasped at various inconsistencies in the data collected by different organi-
zations to claim either that the problem is not so bad or that it has always been
this bad.
To help settle this dispute, the American Public Welfare Association
(APWA) conducted a special survey of child welfare agencies in 1989. The
APWA researchers found that between fiscal years 1986 and 1988, the weighted
average for the substantiation rates in 31 states declined 6.7 percent—from 41.8
percent in fiscal year 1986 to 39 percent in fiscal year 1988.
Most recently, the existence of this high unsubstantiated rate was recon-
firmed by the annual Fifty State Survey of the National Committee to Prevent
Child Abuse (NCPCA), which found that in 1993 only about 34 percent of the
reports received by child protective agencies were substantiated.
The experience of New York City indicates what these statistics mean in
practice. Between 1989 and 1993, as the number of reports received by the
city’s child welfare agency increased by over 30 percent (from 40,217 to
52,472), the percentage of substantiated reports fell by about 47 percent (from
45 percent to 24 percent). In fact, the number of substantiated cases—a number
of families were reported more than once—actually fell by about 41 percent,
from 14,026 to 8,326. Thus, 12,255 additional families were investigated, while
5,700 fewer families received child protective help.
The determination that a report is unfounded can only be made after an
unavoidably traumatic investigation that is inherently a breach of parental and
family privacy. To determine whether a particular child is in danger, caseworkers
must inquire into the most intimate personal and family matters. Often it is nec-
essary to question friends, relatives, and neighbors, as well as school teachers,
day-care personnel, doctors, clergy, and others who know the family.
Laws against child abuse are an implicit recognition that family privacy must
give way to the need to protect helpless children. But in seeking to protect chil-
dren, it is all too easy to ignore the legitimate rights of parents. Each year, about
700,000 families are put through investigations of unfounded reports. This 1s a
massive and unjustified violation of parental rights.
Few unsubstantiated reports are made maliciously. Studies of sexual abuse
reports, for example, suggest that, at most, from 4 to 10 percent of these reports
are knowingly false. Many involve situations in which the person reporting, in a
well-intentioned effort to protect a child, overreacts to a vague and often
120 © PART Ill STUDYING DEVIANCE

misleading possibility that the child may be maltreated. Others involve situations
of poor child care that, though of legitimate concern, simply do not amount to
child abuse or neglect. In fact, a substantial proportion of unfounded cases are
referred to other agencies for them to provide needed services for the family.
Moreover, an unsubstantiated report does not necessarily mean that the child
was not actually abused or neglected. Evidence of child maltreatment is hard to
obtain and might not be uncovered when agencies lack the time and resources
to complete a thorough investigation or when inaccurate information is given to
the investigator. Other cases are labeled unfounded when no services are avail-
able to help the family. Some cases must be closed because the child or family
cannot be located.
A certain proportion of unsubstantiated reports, therefore, is an inherent—
and legitimate—aspect of reporting suspected child maltreatment and is necessary
to ensure adequate child protection. Hundreds of thousands of strangers report
their suspicions; they cannot all be night. But unfounded rates of the current
magnitude go beyond anything reasonably needed. Worse, they endanger chil-
dren who are really abused.
The current flood of unsubstantiated reports .is overwhelming the limited
resources of child protective agencies. For fear of missing even one abused
child, workers perform extensive investigations of vague and apparently unsup-
ported reports. Even when a home visit based on an anonymous report turns up
no evidence of maltreatment, they usually interview neighbors, school teachers,
and day-care personnel to make sure that the child is not abused. And even
repeated anonymous and unsubstantiated reports do not prevent a further inves-
tigation. But all this takes time.
As a result, children in real danger are getting lost in the press of inappropri-
ate cases. Forced to allocate a substantial portion of their limited resources to
unfounded reports, child protective agencies are less able to respond promptly
and effectively when children are in serious danger. Some reports are left unin-
vestigated for a week and even two weeks after they are received. Investigations
often miss key facts, as workers rush to clear cases, and dangerous home situa-
tions receive inadequate supervision, as workers must ignore pending cases as
they investigate the new reports that arrive daily on their desks. Decision making
also suffers. With so many cases of unsubstantiated or unproven risk to children,
caseworkers are desensitized to the obvious warning signals of immediate and
serious danger.
These nationwide conditions help explain why from 25 to 50 percent of
child abuse deaths involve children previously known to the authorities. In
1993, the NCPCA reported that of the 1,149 child maltreatment deaths, 42 per-
cent had already been reported to the authorities. Tens of thousands of other
children suffer serious injuries short of death while under child protective agency
supervision.
In a 1992 New York City case, for example, five-month-old Jeffrey Harden
died from burns caused by scalding water and three broken ribs while under the
supervision of New York City’s Child Welfare Administration. Jeffrey Harden’s
family had been known to the administration for more than a year and a half,
 CHAPTER 12. CHILD ABUSE REPORTING 121

Over this period, the case had been handled by four separate caseworkers, each
conducting only partial investigations before resigning or being reassigned to
new cases. It is unclear whether Jeftrey’s death was caused by his mother or her
boyfriend, but because of insufficient time and overburdened caseloads, all four
workers failed to pay attention to a whole host of obvious warning. signals:
Jeffrey’s mother had broken her parole for an earlier conviction of child sexual
abuse, she had a past record ofbeating Jeftrey’s older sister, and she had a history
of crack addiction and past involvement with violent boyfriends.
Here is how two of the Hardens’ caseworkers explained what happened:
Their first caseworker could not find Ms. Harden at the address she had listed
in her files. She commented, “It was an easy case. We couldn’t find the mother
so we closed it.” Their second caseworker stated that he was unable to spend a
sufficient amount of time investigating the case, let alone make the minimum
monthly visits because he was tied down with an overabundance of cases and
paperwork. He stated, “It’s impossible to visit these people within a month.
They’re all over New York City.” Just before Jeffrey’s death every worker
who had been on the case had left the department. Ironically, by weakening
the system’s ability to respond, unfounded reports actually discourage appropriate
ones. The sad fact is that many responsible individuals are not reporting endan-
gered children because they feel that the system’s response will be so weak that
reporting will do no good or may even make things worse....
 13

Survey of Sexual Behavior

of Americans
EDWARD O. LAUMANN, JOHN H. GAGNON, ROBERT T. MICHAEL,
AND STUART MICHAELS

A much-heralded study of sexual behavior isfeatured in this selection by Laumann

et al. This major study, which is highly professionally designed and conducted,
gives us a glimpse into the problems and creative adaptations that arise when a
comprehensive effort is made to conduct large-scale survey research into Americans’
sexual practices. The selection outlines the procedures for conceiving and carrying
out the study, from initial conceptualization to sampling, administration,
interviewer training, questionnaire design, and issues ofprivacy and confidentiality.
Readers can get some feel for the generic features of survey research, the specific
decisions as to how this project was implemented, and the strengths and weaknesses
associated with this mode ofgathering data about deviance. Survey research is an
objective methodology, scientifically controlled through the standardization of the
interview questionnaire and the careful training of interviewers so that they do not
lead respondents into or away from particular answers. When careful probability
sampling is used, such as that which we see here, survey research holds the greatest
potential for generalizability from the sample population to the larger population of
interest. Political, voting, and public opinion polls, for example, use this kind of
methodology and (with careful sampling) have a high degree of accurately predicting
the attitudes and behavior of large swaths ofpeople. Yet surveys have their
disadvantages as well, especially in their problems ofinternal validity, or
accuracy. People regularly misrepresent themselves on surveys because they can’t
understanding the meaning of the questions, because they misremember their past
attitudes or behavior, or just plain intentionally. When we look at the cost of survey
research, we see that this approach can be rather expensive, making a solid, social-
scientific study unaffordable without grant funding. Survey research represents one
of the major sources of information about deviance and is preferred by public policy
analysts because of its quantitative results and its use of the rhetoric ofscience. Its
strength lies in gathering broad (though not deep) levels of information about less
sensitive subjects from a wide spectrum ofpeople.

From Edward O. Laumann, et al., The Social Organization of Sexuality, © 1994, Reprinted
by permission of the University of Chicago Press and the author.

122
 CHAPTER 13 SURVEY OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR OF AMERICANS 123

What kinds of sociological questions can best be answered with the survey
research approach? How is it better in some ways than using official statistics or field
research? How is it worse in other ways?

MI ost people with whom we talked when we first broached the idea of a
national survey of sexual behavior were skeptical that it could be done.
Scientists and laypeople alike had similar reactions: “Nobody will agree to partic-
ipate in such a study.” “Nobody will answer questions like these, and, even if
they do, they won’t tell the truth.” “People don’t know enough about sexual
practices as they relate to disease transmission or even to pleasure or physical
and emotional satisfaction to be able to answer questions accurately.” It would
be dishonest to say that we did not share these and other concerns. But our
experiences over the past seven years, rooted in extensive pilot work, focus-
group discussions, and the fielding of the survey itself, resolved these doubts,
fully vindicating our growing conviction that a national survey could be con-
ducted according to high standards of scientific rigor and replicability....
The society in which we live treats sex and everything related to sex in a most
ambiguous and. ambivalent fashion. Sex is at once highly fascinating, attractive, and,
for many at certain stages in their lives, preoccupying, but it can also be frightening,
disturbing, or guilt inducing. For many, sex is considered to be an extremely private
matter, to be discussed only with one’s closest friends or intimates, if at all. And,
certainly for most if not all of us, there are elements of our sexual lives never
acknowledged to others, reserved for our own personal fantasies and_ self-
contemplation. It is thus hardly surprising that the proposal to study sex scientifi-
cally, or any other way for that matter, elicits confounding and confusing reactions.
Mass advertising, for example, unremittingly inundates the public with explicit and
implicit sexual messages, eroticizing products and using sex to sell. At the same time,
participants in political discourse are incredibly squeamish when handling sexual
themes, as exemplified in the curious combination of horror and fascination dis-
played in the public discourse about Long Dong Silver and pubic hairs on pop
cans during the Senate hearings in September 1991 on the appointment of Clarence
Thomas to the Supreme Court. We suspect, in fact, that with respect to discourse
on sexuality there is a major discontinuity between the sensibilities of politicians and
other self-appointed guardians of the moral order and those of the public at large,
who, on the whole, display few hang-ups in discussing sexual issues in appropriately
structured circumstances. This work is a testament to that proposition.
The fact remains that, until quite recently, scientific research on sexuality has
been taboo and therefore to be avoided or at best marginalized. While there is a
visible tradition of (in)famous sex research, what is, in fact, most striking is how
little prior research exists on sexuality in the general population. Aside from the
research on adolescence, premarital sex, and problems attendant to sex such as
fertility, most research attention seems to have been directed toward those
believed to be abnormal, deviant, criminal, perverted, rare, or unusual, toward
sexual pathology, dysfunction, and sexually transmitted disease—the label used
typically reflecting the way in which the behavior or condition in question is
to be regarded. “Normal sex” was somehow off limits, perhaps because it was
124 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

considered too ordinary, trivial, and self-evident to deserve attention. To be fair,

then, we cannot blame the public and the politicians entirely for the lack of sus-
tained work on sexuality at large—it also reflects the prejudices and understand-
ings of researchers about what are “interesting” scientific questions. There has
simply been a dearth of mainstream scientific thinking and speculation about sex-
ual issues. We have repeatedly encountered this relative lack of systematic think-
ing about sexuality to guide us in interpreting and understanding the many
findings reported in this book.
... In order to understand the results of our survey, the National Health and
Social Life Survey (NHSLS), one must understand how these results were gen-
erated. To construct a questionnaire and field a large-scale survey, many research
design decisions must be made. To understand the decisions made, one needs to
understand the multiple purposes that underlie this research project. Research
design is never just a theoretical exercise. It is a set. of practical solutions to a
multitude of problems and considerations that are chosen under the constraints
of limited resources of money, time, and prior. knowledge.

SAMPLE DESIGN

The sample design for the NHSLS is the most straightforward element of our
methodology because nothing about probability sampling is specific to or
changes in a survey of sexual behavior....
Probability sampling, that is, sampling where every member of a clearly
specified population has a known probability of selection—what lay commenta-
tors often somewhat inaccurately call random sampling—is the sine qua non of
modern survey research (see Kish, 1965, the classic text on the subject). There is
no other scientifically acceptable way to construct a representative sample and
thereby to be able to generalize from the actual sample on which data are col-
lected to the population that that sample is designed to represent. Probability
sampling as practiced in survey research is a highly developed practical applica-
tion of statistical theory to the problem of selecting a sample. Not only does this
type of sampling avoid the problems of bias introduced by the researcher or by
subject self-selection bias that come from more casual techniques, but it also
allows one to quantify the variability in the estimates derived from the sample.
In order to determine how large a sample size for a given study should be,
one must first decide how precise the estimates to be derived need to be. To
illustrate this reasoning process, let us take one of the simplest and most com-
monly used statistics in survey research, the proportion. Many of the most
important results reported are proportions. For example, what proportion of
the population had more than five sex partners in the last year? What proportion
engaged in anal intercourse? With condoms? Estimates based on our sample will
differ from the true proportion in the population because of sampling error (i.e.,
the random fluctuations in our estimates that are due to the fact that they are
based on samples rather than on complete enumerations or censuses). If one
 CHAPTER 13 SURVEY OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR OF AMERICANS 125

drew repeated samples using the same methodology, each would produce a
slightly different estimate. If one looks at the distribution of these estimates, it
turns out that they will be normally distributed (i.e., will follow the famous
bell-shaped curve known as the Gaussian or normal distribution) and centered
around the true proportion in the population. The larger the sample size, the
tighter the distribution of estimates will be.
This analysis applies to an estimate of a single proportion based on the whole
sample. In deciding the sample size needed for a study, one must consider the
subpopulations for which one will want to construct estimates. For example,
one almost always wants to know not just a single parameter for the whole pop-
ulation but parameters for subpopulations such as men and women, whites,
blacks, and Hispanics, and younger people and older people. Furthermore, one
is usually interested in the intersections of these various breakdowns of the pop-
ulation, for example, young black women. The size of the interval estimate for a
proportion based on a subpopulation depends on the size of that group in the
sample (sometimes called the base “N,” i.e., the number in the sample on
which the estimate is based). It is actually this kind of number that one needs
to consider in determining the sample size for a study.
When we were designing the national survey of sexual behavior in the
United States for the NICHD (National Institute of Child Health and Develop-
ment), we applied just these sorts of considerations to come to the conclusion
that we needed a sample size of about 20,000 people....

GAINING COOPERATION: THE RESPONSE RATE

First, let us consider the cooperation or response rate. No survey of any size and
complexity is able to get every sampling-designated respondent to complete an
interview. Individuals can have many perfectly valid reasons why they cannot par-
ticipate in the survey: being too ill, too busy, or always absent when an effort to
schedule an interview is made or simply being unwilling to grant an interview.
While the face-to-face or in-person survey is considerably more expensive than
other techniques, such as mail or telephone surveys, it usually gets the highest
response rate. Even so, a face-to-face, household-based survey such as the General
Social Survey successfully interviews, on the average, only about 75 percent of the
target sample (Davis and Smith, 1991). The missing 25 percent pose a serious
problem for the reliability and validity of a survey: is there some systematic (Le.,
nonrandom) process at work that distinguishes respondents from nonrespondents?
That is, if the people who refuse to participate or who can never be reached to be
interviewed differ systematically in terms of the issues being researched from those
who are interviewed, then one will not have a representative sample of the popu-
lation from which the sample was drawn. If the respondents and nonrespondents
do not differ systematically, then the results will not be affected. Unfortunately,
one usually has no (or only minimal) information about nonrespondents. It is
thus a challenge to devise ways of evaluating the extent of bias in the selection of
126 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

respondents and nonrespondents. Experience tells us that, in most well-studied

fields in which survey research has been applied, such moderately high response
rates as 75 percent do not lead to biased results. And it is difficult and expensive
to push response rates much higher than that. Experience suggests that a response
rate close to 90 percent may well represent a kind of upper limit.
Because of our subject matter and the widespread skepticism that survey meth-
ods would be effective, we set a completion rate of 75 percent as the survey orga-
nization’s goal. In fact, we did much better than this; our final completion rate was
close to 80 percent. We have extensively investigated whether there are detectable
participation biases in the final sample.... To summarize these investigations, we
have compared our sample and our results with other surveys of various sorts and
have been unable to detect systematic biases of any substantive significance that
would lead us to qualify our findings at least with respect to bias due to sampling.
One might well ask what the secret was of our remarkably high response
rate, by far the highest of any national sexual behavior survey conducted so far.
There is no secret. Working closely with the NORC (National Opinion
Research Center) senior survey and field management team, we proceeded in
the same way as one would in any other national area probability survey. We
did not scrimp on interviewer training or on securing a highly mobilized field
staff that was determined to get respondent participation in a professional and
respectful manner. It was an expensive operation: the average cost of a com-
pleted interview was approximately $450.
We began with an area probability sample, which is a sample of households,
that is, of addresses, not names. Rather than approach a household by knocking
on the door without advance warning, we followed NORC’s standard practice
of sending an advance letter, hand addressed by the interviewer, about a week
before the interviewer expected to visit the address. In this case, the letter was
signed by the principal investigator, Robert Michael, who was identified as the
dean of the Irving B. Harris Graduate School of Public Policy Studies of the
University of Chicago. The letter briefly explained the purpose of the survey as
helping “doctors, teachers, and counselors better understand and prevent the
spread of diseases like AIDS and better understand the nature and extent of
harmful and of healthy sexual behavior in our country.” The intent was to con-
vince the potential respondent that this was a legitimate scientific study addres-
sing personal and potentially sensitive topics for a socially useful purpose. AIDS
was the original impetus for the research, and it certainly seemed to provide a
timely justification for the study. But any general purpose approach has draw-
backs. One problem that the interviewers frequently encountered was potential
respondents who did not think that AIDS affected them and therefore that infor-
mation about their sex lives would be of little use.

Mode of Administration: Face-to-Face,

Telephone, or Self-Administered
Perhaps the most fundamental design decision, one that distinguishes this study
from many others, concerned how the interview itself was to be conducted.
 CHAPTER 13 SURVEY OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR OF AMERICANS 127

In survey research, this is usually called the mode of interviewing or of question-

naire administration. We chose face-to-face interviewing, the most costly mode,
as the primary vehicle for data collection in the NHSLS. What follows is the
reasoning behind this decision.
A number of recent sex surveys have been conducted over the telephone...
The principal advantage of the telephone survey is its much lower cost. Its major
disadvantages are the length and complexity of a questionnaire that can be real-
istically administered over the telephone and problems of sampling and sample
control.... The NHSLS, cut to its absolute minimum length, averaged about
ninety minutes. Extensive field experience suggests an upper limit of about
forty-five minutes for phone interviews of a cross-sectional survey of the popu-
lation at large. Another disadvantage of phone surveys is that it is more difficult
to find people at home by phone and, even once contact has been made, to get
them to participate.... One further consideration in evaluating the phone as a
mode of interviewing 1s its unknown effect on the quality of responses. Are peo-
ple more likely to answer questions honestly and candidly or to dissemble on the
telephone as opposed to face-to-face? Nobody knows for sure.
The other major mode of interviewing is through self-administered forms
distributed either face-to-face or through the mail.' When the survey is con-
ducted by mail, the questions must be self-explanatory, and much prodding is
typically required to obtain an acceptable response rate.... This procedure has
been shown to produce somewhat higher rates of reporting socially undesirable
behaviors, such as engaging in criminal acts and substance abuse. We adopted the
mixed-mode strategy to a limited extent by using four short, self-administered
forms, totaling nine pages altogether, as part of our interview. When filled out,
these forms were placed in a “privacy envelope” by the respondent so that the
interviewer never saw the answers that were given to these questions...
The fundamental disadvantage of self-administered forms is that the ques-
tions must be much simpler in form and language than those that an interviewer
can ask. Complex skip patterns must be avoided. Even the simplest skip patterns
are usually incorrectly filled out by some respondents on self-administered forms.
One has much less control over whether (and therefore much less confidence
that) respondents have read and understood the questions on a self-administered
form. The NHSLS questionnaire (discussed below) was based on the idea that
questions about sexual behavior must be framed as much as possible in the spe-
cific contexts of particular patterns and occasions. We found that it is impossible
to do this using self-administered questions that are easily and fully comprehen-
sible to people of modest educational attainments.
To summarize, we decided to use face-to-face interviewing as our primary
mode of administration of the NHSLS for two principal reasons: it was most
likely to yield a substantially higher response rate for a more inclusive cross sec-
tion of the population at large, and it would permit more complex and detailed
questions to be asked. While by far the most expensive approach, such a strategy
provides a solid benchmark against which other modes of interviewing can and
should be judged. The main unresolved question is whether another mode has
an edge over face-to-face interviewing when highly sensitive questions likely to
128 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

be upsetting or threatening to the respondent are being asked. As a partial con-

trol and test of this question, we have asked a number of sensitive questions in
both formats so that an individual’s responses can be systematically compared....
Suffice it to say at this point that there is a stunning consistency in the responses
secured by the different modes of administration.

Recruiting and Training Interviewers

Gaining respondents’ cooperation requires mastery of a broad spectrum of tech-
niques that successful interviewers develop with experience, guidance from the
research team, and careful field supervision. This project required extensive train-
ing before entering the field. While interviewers are generally trained to be neu-
tral toward topics covered in the interview, this was especially important when
discussing sex, a topic that seems particularly likely to elicit emotionally freighted
sensitivities both in the respondents and in the interviewers. Interviewers needed
to be fully persuaded about the legitimacy and importance of the research.
Toward this end, almost a full day of training was devoted to presentations and
discussions with the principal investigators in addition to the extensive advance
study materials to read and comprehend. Sample answers to frequently asked
questions by skeptical respondents and brainstorming about strategies to convert
reluctant respondents were part of the training exercises. A set of endorsement
letters from prominent local and national notables and refusal conversion letters
were also provided to interviewers. A hotline to the research office at the Uni-
versity of Chicago was set up to allow potential respondents to call in with their
concerns. Concerns ranged from those about the legitimacy of the survey, most
fearing that it was a commercial ploy to sell them something, to fears that the
interviewers were interested in robbing them. Ironically, the fact that the inter-
viewer initially did not know the name of the respondent (all he or she knew
was the address) often led to behavior by the interviewer that appeared suspicious
to the respondent. For example, asking neighbors for the name of the family in
the selected household and/or questions about when the potential respondent
was likely to be home induced worries that had to be assuaged. Another major
concern was confidentiality—respondents wanted to know how they had come
to be selected and how their answers were going to be kept anonymous.

THE QUESTIONNAIRE

The questionnaire itself is probably the most important element of the study
design. It determines the content and quality of the information gathered for anal-
ysis. Unlike issues related to sample design, the construction of a questionnaire is
driven less by technical precepts and more by the concepts and ideas motivating
the research. It demands even more art than applied sampling design requires.
Before turning to the specific forms that this took in the NHSLS, we should
first discuss several general problems that any survey questionnaire must address.
 CHAPTER 13 SURVEY OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR OF AMERICANS 129

The essence of survey research is to ask a large sample of people from a defined
population the same set of questions. To do this in a relatively short period of time,
many interviewers are needed. In our case, about 220 interviewers from all over
the country collected the NHSLS data. The field period, beginning on 14 Feb-
tuary 1992 and ending in September, was a time in which over 7,800 house-
holds were contacted (many of which turned out to be ineligible for the study)
and 3,432 interviews were completed. Central to this effort was gathering com-
parable information on the same attributes from each and every one of these
respondents. The attributes measured by the questionnaire become the variables
used in the data analysis. They range from demographic characteristics (e.g., gen-
der, age, and race/ethnicity) to sexual experience measures (e.g., numbers of sex
partners in given time periods, frequency of particular practices, and timing of
various sexual events) to measures of mental states (e.g., attitudes toward premar-
ital sex, the appeal of particular techniques like oral sex, and levels of satisfaction
with particular sexual relationships).
Very early in the design of a national sexual behavior survey, in line with
our goal of not reducing this research to a simple behavioral risk inventory, we
faced the issue of where to draw the boundaries in defining the behavioral
domain that would be encompassed by the concept of sex. This was particularly
crucial in defining sexual activity that would lead to the enumeration of a set of
sex partners. There are a number of activities that commonly serve as markers for
sex and the status of [one’s] sex partner, especially intercourse and orgasm. While
we certainly wanted to include these events and their extent in given relation-
ships and events, we also felt that using them to define and ask about sexual
activity might exclude transactions or partners that should be included. Since
the common meaning and uses of the term intercourse involve the idea of the
intromission of a penis, intercourse in that sense as a defining act would at the
very least exclude a sexual relationship between two women. There are also
many events that we would call sexual that may not involve orgasm on the
part of either or both partners.
Another major issue is what sort of language is appropriate in asking ques-
tions about sex. It seemed obvious that one should avoid highly technical lan-
guage because it is unlikely to be understood by many people. One tempting
alternative is to use colloquial language and even slang because that is the only
language that some people ever use in discussing sexual matters. There is even
some evidence that one can improve reporting somewhat by allowing respon-
dents to select their own preferred terminology (Blair et al., 1977; Bradburn,
Sudman, et al., 1979; Bradburn and Sudman, 1983). Slang and other forms of
colloquial speech, however, are likely to be problematic in several ways. First,
the use of slang can produce a tone in the interview that is counterproductive
because it downplays the distinctiveness of the interviewing situation itself. An
essential goal in survey interviewing, especially on sensitive topics like sex, is to
create a neutral, nonjudgmental and confiding atmosphere and to maintain a cer-
tain professional distance between the interviewer and the respondent. A key
advantage that the interviewer has in initiating a topic for discussion 1s being a
stranger or an outsider who is highly unlikely to come in contact with the
130 PART Ill STUDYING DEVIANCE

respondent again. It is not intended that a longer-term bond between the inter-
viewer and the respondent be formed, whether as an advice giver or a counselor
or as a potential sex partner.”
The second major shortcoming of slang is that it is highly variable across class
and education levels, ages, regions, and other social groupings. It changes mean-
ings rapidly and is often imprecise. Our solution was to seek the simplest possible
language—standard English—that was neither colloquial nor highly technical.
For example, we chose to use the term oral sex rather than the slang blow job
and eating pussy or the precise technical but unfamiliar terras, fellatio, and cunnilin-
gus. Whenever possible, we provided definitions when terms were first intro-
duced in a questionnaire—that is, we tried to train our respondents to speak
about sex in our terms. Many terms that seemed clear to us may not, of course,
be universally understood; for example, terms like vaginal or heterosexual are not
understood very well by substantial portions of the population. Coming up with
simple and direct speech was quite a challenge because most of the people work-
ing on the questionnaire were highly educated, with strong inclinations toward
the circumlocutions and indirections of middle-class discourse on sexual themes.
The detailed reactions from field interviewers and managers and extensive pilot
testing with a broad cross section of recruited subjects helped minimize these
language problems.

ON PRIVACY, CONFIDENTIALITY, AND SECURITY

Issues of respondent confidentiality are at the very heart of survey research. The
willingness of respondents to report their views and experiences fully and hon-
estly depends on the rationale offered for why the study is important and on the
assurance that the information provided will be treated as confidential. We
offered respondents a strong rationale for the study, our interviewers made
great efforts to conduct the interview in a manner that protected respondents’
privacy, and we went to great lengths to honor the assurances that the informa-
tion would be treated confidentially. The subject matter of the NHSLS makes
the issues of confidentiality especially salient and problematic because there are
so many easily imagined ways in which information voluntarily disclosed in an
interview might be useful to interested parties in civil and criminal cases involv-
ing wrongful harm, divorce proceedings, criminal behavior, or similar matters.

NOTES

1. We ruled out the idea ofa mail survey 2. Interviewers are not there to give
because its response rate is likely to information or to correct misinforma-
be very much lower than any other tion. But such information is often
mode of interviewing (see Bradburn, requested in the course of an inter-
Sudman, et al., 1979). view. Interviewers are given training
 CHAPTER 13 SURVEY OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR OF AMERICANS 131

in how to avoid answering such interviewers with a list of toll-free

questions (other than clarification of phone numbers for a variety of pro-
the meaning of particular questions). fessional sex- and health-related refer-
They are not themselves experts on ral services (e.g., the National AIDS
the topics raised and often do not Hotline, an STD hotline, the National
know the correct answers to questions. Child Abuse Hotline, a domestic vio-
For this reason, and also in case emo- lence hotline, and the phone number
tionally freighted issues for the of a national rape and sexual assault
respondent were raised during the organization able to provide local
interview process, we provided referrals).

REFERENCES

Blair, Ellen, Seymour Sudman, Norman Bradburn, Norman M., Seymour Sudman,
M. Bradburn, and Carol Stacking. Ed Blair, and Carol Stacking. (1979).
(1977). “How to Ask Questions About Improving Interview Method and Design.
Drinking and Sex: Response Effects in San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Measuring Consumer Behavior.” Jour- Davis, James Allan, and Tom W. Smith.
nal of Marketing Research 14: 316-321. (1991). General Social Surveys, 1972-
Bradburn, Norman M.., and 1991: Cumulative Codebook. Chicago:
Seymour Sudman. (1983). Asking National Opinion Research Center.
Questions: A Practical Guide to Kish, Leslie. (1965). Survey Sampling. New
Questionnaire Design. San Francisco: York: Wiley.
Jossey-Bass.
 14

Researching Dealers and Smugglers

PATRICIA A. ADLER

Adler offers us a glimpse of what it is like to carry out participant observation

research with a deviant group in this description of her study of upper-level drug
traffickers. This natural history carefully explains the process used in field
research, the relationships formed with setting members, and the feelings
researchers experience. A stage-by-stage analysis.of the activities, pitfalls, mishaps,
intimacies, and relationships Adler encountered, the piece shows the connection
and overlap between the development of research ties and those found in natural,
everyday life. Field research, we learn, cannot be carried out by just anyone in
every setting, but is dependent on researchers’ ability to build a bridge of
understanding, rapport, and trust between themselves and their subjects. Adler’s
experiences vividly show us the dangers posed to fieldworkers in criminal and
deviant settings and the intimacy of the connections forged there. These kinds
of ties, which form the basis of data gathering, make participant observation a
subjective, rather than an objective, type of research. The strength of the data rests
on the real-world bonds forged in the field as well as on researchers’ ability not
only to hear what their subjects have to say, but also to see them in action, and to
cross-check their self-presentations against hard facts, the accounts of others, and
common sense.
Field research, while costing considerably less than survey research, takes
much longer to conduct, requiring years to find deviants, develop trust and
relationships, and obtain deeply meaningful information. Nonetheless, it not only
offers us a better idea of the sequential development of causal forces in the field,
but also gives us the best insight into what is really going on in a deviant scene
inhabited by a hidden population. Thus, although field research may not yield
the ability to generalize with as much scientific precision as survey research, it is
the preferred approach for those who want to deeply and accurately understand the
perceptions, interpretations, analyses, life worlds, and unfolding careers of secretive
deviants.
What kinds of research questions can best be answered by field research? Do
its strengths outweigh its potential ethical and interpersonal dilemmas?

From Patricia A. Adler, Wheeling and Dealing (New York: Columbia University Press,
1985). Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

132
 CHAPTER 14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 133

|strongly believe that investigative field research (Douglas, 1976), with emphasis
on direct personal observation, interaction, and experience, is the only way to
acquire accurate knowledge about deviant behavior. Investigative techniques are
especially necessary for studying groups such as drug dealers and smugglers
because the highly illegal nature of their occupation makes them secretive,
deceitful, mistrustful, and paranoid. To insulate themselves from the straight
world, they construct multiple false fronts, offer lies and misinformation, and
withdraw into their group. In fact, detailed, scientific information about upper-
level drug dealers and smugglers is lacking precisely because of the difficulty
sociological researchers have had in penetrating into their midst. As a result, the
only way I could possibly get close enough to these individuals to discover what
they were doing and to understand their world from their perspectives (Blumer,
1969) was to take a membership role in the setting. While my different values
and goals precluded my becoming converted to complete membership in the
subculture, and my fears prevented my ever becoming “actively” involved in
their trafficking activities, I was able to assume a “peripheral” membership role
(Adler and Adler, 1987). I became a member of the dealers’ and smugglers’ social
world and participated in their daily activities on that basis. In this chapter, I dis-
cuss how I gained access to this group, established research relations with mem-
bers, and how personally involved I became in their activities.

GETTING IN

When I moved to Southwest County [not the real name] in the summer of
1974, I had no idea that I would soon be swept up in a subculture of vast drug
trafficking and unending partying, mixed with occasional cloak-and-dagger sub-
terfuge. I had moved to California with my husband, Peter, to attend graduate
school in sociology. We rented a condominium town house near the beach and
started taking classes in the fall. We had always felt that socializing exclusively
with academicians left us nowhere to escape from our work, so we tried to
meet people in the nearby community. One of the first friends we made was
our closest neighbor, a fellow in his late twenties with a tall, hulking frame and
gentle expression. Dave, as he introduced himself, was always dressed rather
casually, if not sloppily, in T-shirts and jeans. He spent most of his time hanging
out or walking on the beach with a variety of friends who visited his house, and
taking care of his two young boys, who lived alternately with him and his
estranged wife. He also went out of town a lot. We started spending much of
our free time over at his house, talking, playing board games late into the night,
and smoking marijuana together. We were glad to find someone from whom we
could buy marijuana in this new place, since we did not know too many people.
He also began treating us to a fairly regular supply of cocaine, which was a thrill
because this was a drug we could rarely afford on our student budgets. We
noticed right away, however, that there was something unusual about his use
and knowledge of drugs: while he always had a plentiful supply and was fairly
expert about marijuana and cocaine, when we tried to buy a small bag of
134 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

marijuana from him he had little idea of the going price. This incongruity piqued
our curiosity and raised suspicion. We wondered if he might be dealing in larger
quantities. Keeping our suspicions to ourselves, we began observing Dave’s activ-
ities a little more closely. Most of his friends were in their late twenties and early
thirties and, judging by their lifestyles and automobiles, rather wealthy. They
came and left his house at all hours, occasionally extending their parties through
the night and the next day into the following night. Yet throughout this time we
never saw Dave or any of his friends engage in any activity that resembled a
legitimate job. In most places this might have evoked community suspicion,
but few of the people we encountered in Southwest County seemed to hold
traditionally structured jobs. Dave, in fact, had no visible means of financial sup-
port. When we asked him what he did for a living, he said something vague
about being a real estate speculator, and we let it go at that. We never voiced
our suspicions directly since he chose not to broach-the subject with us.
We did discuss the subject with our mentor, Jack Douglas, however. He was
excited by the prospect that we might be living among a group of big dealers, and
urged us to follow our instincts and develop leads into the group. He knew that
the local area was rife with drug trafficking, since he had begun a life history case
study of two drug dealers with another graduate student several years previously.
That earlier study was aborted when the graduate student quit school, but Jack
still had many hours of taped interviews he had conducted with them, as well as
an interview that he had done with an undergraduate student who had known
the two dealers independently, to serve as a cross-check on their accounts. He
therefore encouraged us to become friendlier with Dave and his friends. We
decided that if anything did develop out of our observations of Dave, it might
make a nice paper for a field methods class or independent study.
Our interests and background made us well suited to study drug dealing.
First, we had already done research in the field of drugs. As undergraduates at
Washington University we had participated in a nationally funded project on
urban heroin use (see Cummins et al., 1972). Our role in the study involved
using fieldwork techniques to investigate the extent of heroin use and distribu-
tion in St. Louis. In talking with heroin users, dealers, and rehabilitation person-
nel, we acquired a base of knowledge about the drug world and the subculture
of drug trafficking. Second, we had a generally open view toward soft drug use,
considering moderate consumption of marijuana and cocaine to be generally
nondeviant. This outlook was partially etched by our 1960s-formed attitudes, as
we had first been introduced to drug use in an environment of communal
friendship, sharing, and counterculture ideology. It also partially reflected the
widespread acceptance accorded to marijuana and cocaine use in the surrounding
local culture. Third, our age (mid-twenties at the start of the study) and general
appearance gave us compatibility with most of the people we were observing.
We thus watched Dave and continued to develop our friendship with him.
We also watched his friends and got to know a few of his more regular visitors.
We continued to build friendly relations by doing, quite naturally, what Becker
(1963), Polsky (1969), and Douglas (1972) had advocated for the early stages of
field research: we gave them a chance to know us and form judgments about our
 CHAPTER14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 135

trustworthiness by jointly pursuing those interests and activities which we had

in common.
Then one day something happened which forced a breakthrough in the
research. Dave had two guys visiting him from out of town and, after snorting
quite a bit of cocaine, they turned their conversation to a trip they had just made
from Mexico, where they piloted a load of marijuana back across the border in a
small plane. Dave made a few efforts to shift the conversation to another subject,
telling them to “button their lips,” but they apparently thought that he was jok-
ing. They thought that anybody as close to Dave as we seemed to be undoubt-
edly knew the nature of his business. They made further allusions to his
involvement in the operation and discussed the outcome of the sale. We could
feel the wave of tension and awkwardness from Dave when this conversation
began, as he looked toward us to see if we understood the implications of what
was being said, but then he just shrugged it off as done. Later, after the two guys
left, he discussed with us what happened. He admitted to us that he was a mem-
ber of a smuggling crew and a major marijuana dealer on the side. He said that
he knew he could trust us, but that it was his practice to say as little as possible to
outsiders about his activities. This inadvertent slip, and Dave’s subsequent open-
ing up, were highly significant in forging our entry into Southwest County’s
drug world. From then on he was open in discussing the nature of his dealing
and smuggling activities with us.
He was, it turned out, a member of a smuggling crew that was importing a ton
of maryuana weekly and 40 kilos of cocaine every few months. During that first
winter and spring, we observed Dave at work and also got to know the other
members of his crew, including Ben, the smuggler himself. Ben was also very tall
and broad shouldered, but his long black hair, now flecked with gray, bespoke his
earlier membership in the hippie subculture. A large physical stature, we observed,
was common to most of the male participants involved in this drug community.
The women also had a unifying physical trait: they were extremely attractive and
stylishly dressed. This included Dave’s ex-wife, Jean, with whom he reconciled
during the spring. We therefore became friendly with Jean and through her met
a number of women (“dope chicks”) who hung around the dealers and smugglers.
As we continued to gain the friendship of Dave and Jean’s associates, we were
progressively admitted into their inner circle and apprised of each person’s dealing
or smuggling role.
Once we realized the scope of Ben’s and his associates’ activities, we saw the
enormous research potential in studying them. This scene was different from any
analysis of drug trafficking that we had read in the sociological literature because
of the amounts they were dealing and the fact that they were importing it them-
selves. We decided that, if it was at all possible, we would capitalize on this
situation, to “opportunistically” (Riemer, 1977) take advantage of our prior
expertise and of the knowledge, entrée, and rapport we had already developed
with several key people in this setting. We therefore discussed the idea of doing a
study of the general subculture with Dave and several of his closest friends (now
becoming our friends). We assured them of the anonymity, confidentiality, and
innocuousness of our work. They were happy to reciprocate our friendship by
136 PART IIl STUDYING DEVIANCE

being of help to our professional careers. In fact, they basked in the subsequent
attention we gave their lives.
We began by turning first Dave, then others, into key informants and col-
lecting their life histories in detail. We conducted a series of taped, in-depth
interviews with an unstructured, open-ended format. We questioned them
about such topics as their backgrounds, their recruitment into the occupation,
the stages of their dealing careers, their relations with others, their motivations,
their lifestyle, and their general impressions about the community as a whole.
We continued to do taped interviews with key informants for the next six
years until 1980, when we moved away from the area. After that, we occasion-
ally did follow-up interviews when we returned for vacation visits. These later
interviews focused on recording the continuing unfolding of events and included
detailed probing into specific conceptual areas, such as dealing networks, types of
dealers, secrecy, trust, paranoia, reputation, the law,;-occupational mobility, and
occupational stratification. The number of taped interviews we did with each
key informant varied, ranging between 10 and.30 hours of discussion.
Our relationship with Dave and the others thus took on an added dimension—
the research relationship. As Douglas (1976), Henslin (1972), and Wax (1952) have
noted, research relationships involve some form of mutual exchange. In our case, we
offered everything that friendship could entail. We did routine favors for them in the
course of our everyday lives, offered them insights and advice about their lives from
the perspective of our more respectable position, wrote letters on their behalf to the
authorities when they got in trouble, testified as character witnesses at their non-
drug-related trials, and loaned them money when they were down and out. When
Dave was arrested and brought to trial for check-kiting, we helped Jean organize his
defense and raise the money to pay his fines. We spelled her in taking care of the
children so that she could work on his behalf. When he was eventually sent to the
state prison we maintained close ties with her and discussed our mutual efforts to
buoy Dave up and secure his release. We also visited him in jail. During Dave’s
incarceration, however, Jean was courted by an old boyfriend and gave up her rec-
onciliation with Dave. This proved to be another significant turning point in our
research because, desperate for money, Jean looked up Dave’s old dealing connec-
tions and went into the business herself: She did not stay with these marijuana dealers
and smugglers for long, but soon moved into the cocaine business. Over the next
several years her experiences in the world of cocaine dealing brought us into contact
with a different group of people. While these people knew Dave and his associates
(this was very common in the Southwest County dealing and smuggling commu-
nity), they did not deal with them directly. We were thus able to gain access to a
much wider and more diverse range of subjects than we would have had she not
branched out on her own.
Dave’s eventual release from prison three months later brought our involve-
ment in the research to an even deeper level. He was broke and had nowhere to
go. When he showed up on our doorstep, we took him in. We offered to let
him stay with us until he was back on his feet again and could afford a place of
his own. He lived with us for seven months, intimately sharing his daily
 CHAPTER 14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 137

experiences with us. During this time we witnessed, firsthand, his transformation
from a scared ex-con who would never break the law again to a hard-working
legitimate employee who only dealt to get money for his children’s Christmas
presents, to a full-time dealer with no pretensions at legitimate work. Both his
process of changing attitudes and the community’s gradual reacceptance of him
proved very revealing.
We socialized with Dave, Jean, and other members of Southwest County’s
dealing and smuggling community on a near-daily basis, especially during the
first four years of the research (before we had a child). We worked in their legit-
imate businesses, vacationed together, attended their weddings, and cared for
their children. Throughout their relationship with us, several participants became
co-opted to the researcher’s perspective’ and actively sought out instances of
behavior which filled holes in the conceptualizations we were developing.
Dave, for one, became so intrigued by our conceptual dilemmas that he under-
took a “natural experiment” entirely on his own, offering an unlimited supply of
drugs to a lower-level dealer to see if he could work up to higher levels of deal-
ing, and what factors would enhance or impinge upon his upward mobility.
In addition to helping us directly through their own experiences, our key
informants aided us in widening our circle of contacts. For instance, they let us
know when someone in whom we might be interested was planning on drop-
ping by, vouching for our trustworthiness and reliability as friends who could be
included in business conversations. Several times we were even awakened in the
night by phone calls informing us that someone had dropped by for a visit,
should we want to “casually” drop over too. We rubbed the sleep from our
eyes, dressed, and walked or drove over, feeling like sleuths out of a television
series. We thus were able to snowball, through the active efforts of our key
informants,” into an expanded study population. This was supplemented by our
own efforts to cast a research net and befriend other dealers, moving from con-
tact to contact slowly and carefully through the domino effect.

THE COVERT ROLE

The highly illegal nature of dealing in illicit drugs and dealers’ and smugglers’
general level of suspicion made the adoption of an overt research role highly
sensitive and problematic. In discussing this issue with our key informants, they
all agreed that we should be extremely discreet (for both our sakes and theirs).
We carefully approached new individuals before we admitted that we were
studying them. With many of these people, then, we took a covert posture in
the research setting. As nonparticipants in the business activities which bound
members together into the group, it was difficult to become fully accepted as
peers. We therefore tried to establish some sort.of peripheral, social membership
in the general crowd, where we could be accepted as “wise” (Goffman, 1963)
individuals and granted a courtesy membership. This seemed an attainable goal,
since we had begun our involvement by forming such relationships with our key
138 PART Ill STUDYING DEVIANCE

informants. By being introduced to others in this wise rather than overt role, we
were able to interact with people who would otherwise have shied away from
us. Adopting a courtesy membership caused us to bear a courtesy stigma,” how-
ever, and we suffered since we, at times, had to disguise the nature of our
research from both lay outsiders and academicians.
In our overt posture we showed interest in dealers’ and smugglers’ activities,
encouraged them to talk about themselves (within limits, so as to avoid acting
like narcs), and ran home to write field notes. This role offered us the advantage
of gaining access to unapproachable people while avoiding researcher effects, but
it prevented us from asking some necessary, probing questions and from tape
recording conversations.” We therefore sought, at all times, to build toward a
conversion to the overt role. We did this by working to develop their trust.

DEVELOPING TRUST

Like achieving entrée, the process of developing trust with members of unorga-
nized deviant groups can be slow and difficult. In the absence of a formal struc-
ture separating members from outsiders, each individual must form his or her
own judgment about whether new persons can be admitted to their confidence.
No gatekeeper existed to smooth our path to being trusted, although our key
informants acted in this role whenever they could by providing introductions
and references. In addition, the unorganized nature of this group meant that
we met people at different times and were constantly at different levels in our
developing relationships with them. We were thus trusted more by some people
than by others, in part because of their greater familiarity with us. But as Douglas
(1976) has noted, just because someone knew us or even liked us did not auto-
matically guarantee that they would trust us.
We actively tried to cultivate the trust of our respondents by tying them to
us with favors. Small things, like offering the use of our phone, were followed
with bigger favors, like offering the use of our car, and finally really meaningful
favors, like offering the use of our home. Here we often trod a thin line, trying
to ensure our personal safety while putting ourselves in enough of a risk position,
along with our research subjects, so that they would trust us. While we were
able to build a “web of trust” (Douglas, 1976) with some members, we found
that trust, in large part, was not a simple status to attain in the drug world.
Johnson (1975) has pointed out that trust is not a one-time phenomenon, but an
ongoing developmental process. From my experiences in this research I would add
that it cannot be simply assumed to be a one-way process either, for it can be
diminished, withdrawn, reinstated to varying degrees, and requestioned at any
point. Carey (1972) and Douglas (1972) have remarked on this waxing and wan-
ing process, but it was especially pronounced for us because our subjects used large
amounts of cocaine over an extended period of time. This tended to make them
alternately warm and cold to us. We thus lived through a series of ups and downs
with the people we were trying to cultivate as research informants.
 CHAPTER14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 139

THE OVERT ROLE

After this initial covert phase, we began to feel that some new people trusted us.
We tried to intuitively feel when the time was right to approach them and go
overt. We used two means of approaching people to inform them that we were
involved in a study of dealing and smuggling: direct and indirect. In some cases
our key informants approached their friends or connections and, after vouching
for our absolute trustworthiness, convinced these associates to talk to us. In other
instances, we approached people directly, asking for their help with our project.
We worked our way through a progression with these secondary contacts, first
discussing the dealing scene overtly and later moving to taped life history inter-
views. Some people reacted well to us, but others responded skittishly, making
appointments to do taped interviews only to break them as the day drew near,
and going through fluctuating stages of being honest with us or putting up fronts
about their dealing activities. This varied, for some, with their degree of active
involvement in the business. During the times when they had quit dealing, they
would tell us about their present and past activities, but when they became
actively involved again, they would hide it from us.
This progression of covert to overt roles generated a number of tactical dif-
ficulties. The first was the problem of coming on too fast and blowing it. Early in
the research we had a dealer’s old lady (we thought) all set up for the direct
approach. We knew many dealers in common and had discussed many things
tangential to dealing with her without actually mentioning the subject. When
we asked her to do a taped interview of her bohemian lifestyle, she agreed with-
out hesitation. When the interview began, though, and she found out why we
were interested in her, she balked, gave us a lot of incoherent jumble, and ended
the session as quickly as possible. Even though she lived only three houses away
we never saw her again. We tried to move more slowly after that.
A second problem involved simultaneously juggling our overt and covert roles
with different people. This created the danger of getting our cover blown with
people who did not know about our research (Henslin, 1972). It was very con-
fusing to separate the people who knew about our study from those who did
not, especially in the minds of our informants. They would make occasional
veiled references in front of people, especially when loosened by intoxicants,
that made us extremely uncomfortable. We also frequently worried that our
snooping would someday be mistaken for police tactics. Fortunately, this never
happened.

CROSS-CHECKING

The hidden and conflictual nature of the drug-dealing world made me feel the
need for extreme certainty about the reliability of my data. I therefore based all
my conclusions on independent sources and accounts that we carefully verified.
First, we tested information against our own common sense and general
140 PART IIl| STUDYING DEVIANCE

knowledge of the scene. We adopted a hard-nosed attitude of suspicion, assum-

ing people were up to more than they would originally admit. We kept our
attention especially riveted on “reformed” dealers and smugglers who were
living better than they could outwardly afford, and [we] were thereby able to
penetrate their public fronts.
Second, we checked out information against a variety of reliable sources.
Our own observations of the scene formed a primary reliable source, since we
were involved with many of the principals on a daily basis and knew exactly
what they were doing. Having Dave live with us was a particular advantage
because we could contrast his statements to us with what we could clearly see
was happening. Even after he moved out, we knew him so well that we could
generally tell when he was lying to us or, more commonly, fooling himself with
optimistic dreams. We also observed other dealers’ and smugglers’ evasions and
misperceptions about themselves and their activities. These usually occurred
when they broke their own rules by selling to people they did not know, or
when they commingled other people’s money -with their own. We also cross-
checked our data against independent, alternative accounts. We were lucky, for
this purpose, that Jean got reinvolved in the drug world. By interviewing her,
we gained additional insight into Dave’s past, his early dealing and smuggling
activities, and his ongoing involvement from another person’s perspective. Jean
(and her connections) also talked to us about Dave’s associates, thereby helping
us to validate or disprove their statements. We even used this pincer effect to
verify information about people we had never directly interviewed. This
occurred, for instance, with the tapes that Jack Douglas gave us from his earlier
study. After doing our first round of taped interviews with Dave, we discovered
that he knew the dealers Jack had interviewed. We were excited by the prospect
of finding out what had happened to these people and if their earlier stories
checked out. We therefore sent Dave to do some investigative work. Through
some mutual friends he got back in touch with them and found out what they
had been doing for the past several years.
Finally, wherever possible, we checked out accounts against hard facts:
newspaper and magazine reports; arrest records; material possessions; and visible
evidence. Throughout the research, we used all these cross-checking measures to
evaluate the veracity of new information and to prod our respondents to be
more accurate (by abandoning both their lies and their self-deceptions).”
After about four years of near-daily participant observation, we began to
diminish our involvement in the research. This occurred gradually, as first preg-
nancy and then a child hindered our ability to follow the scene as intensely and
spontaneously as we had before. In addition, after having a child, we were less
willing to incur as many risks as we had before; we no longer felt free to make
decisions based solely on our own welfare. We thus pulled back from what many
have referred to as the “difficult hours and dangerous situations” inevitably pres-
ent in field research on deviants (see Becker, 1963; Carey, 1972; Douglas, 1972).
We did, however, actively maintain close ties with research informants (those
with whom we had gone overt), seeing them regularly and periodically doing
follow-up interviews.
 CHAPTER 14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 141

PROBLEMS AND ISSUES

Reflecting on the research process, I have isolated a number of issues which I

believe merit additional discussion. These are rooted in experiences which have
the potential for greater generic applicability.
The first is the effect of drugs on the data-gathering process. Carey (1972) has
elaborated on some of the problems he encountered when trying to interview
respondents who used amphetamines, while Wax (1952, 1957) has mentioned
the difficulty of trying to record field notes while drinking sake. I found that
marijuana and cocaine had nearly opposite effects from each other. The latter
helped the interview process, while the former hindered it. Our attempts to
interview respondents who were stoned on marijuana were unproductive for a
number of reasons. The primary obstacle was the effects of the drug. Often, peo-
ple became confused, sleepy, or involved in eating to varying degrees. This dis-
tracted them from our purpose. At times, people even simulated overreactions to
marijuana to hide behind the drug’s supposed disorienting influence and thereby
avoid divulging information. Cocaine, in contrast, proved to be a research aid.
The drug’s warming and sociable influence opened people up, diminished their
inhibitions, and generally increased their enthusiasm for both the interview expe-
rience and us.
A second problem I encountered involved assuming risks while doing research.
As I noted earlier, dangerous situations are often generic to research on deviant
behavior. We were most afraid of the people we studied. As Carey (1972),
Henslin (1972), and Whyte (1955) have stated, members of deviant groups can
become hostile toward a researcher if they think that they are being treated
wrongfully. This could have happened at any time from a simple occurrence,
such as a misunderstanding, or from something more serious, such as our covert
posture being exposed. Because of the inordinate amount of drugs they con-
sumed, drug dealers and smugglers were particularly volatile, capable of becom-
ing malicious toward each other or us with little warning. They were also likely
to behave erratically owing to the great risks they faced from the police and
other dealers. These factors made them moody, and they vacillated between
trusting us and being suspicious of us.
At various times we also had to protect our research tapes. We encountered
several threats to our collection of taped interviews from people who had
granted us these interviews. This made us anxious, since we had taken great
pains to acquire these tapes and felt strongly about maintaining confidences
entrusted to us by our informants. When threatened, we became extremely
frightened and shifted the tapes between different hiding places. We even ven-
tured forth one rainy night with our tapes packed in a suitcase to meet a person
who was uninvolved in the research at a secret rendezvous so. that he could
guard the tapes for us.
We were fearful, lastly, of the police. We often worried about local police
or drug agents discovering the nature of our study and confiscating or subpoena-
ing our tapes and field notes. Sociologists have no privileged relationship with
their subjects that would enable us legally to withhold evidence from the
142 PART III STUDYING DEVIANCE

authorities should they subpoena it.° For this reason we studiously avoided any
publicity about the research, even holding back on publishing articles in scholarly
journals until we were nearly ready to move out of the setting. The closest we
came to being publicly exposed as drug researchers came when a former sociol-
ogy graduate student (turned dealer, we had heard from inside sources) was
arrested at the scene of a cocaine deal. His lawyer wanted us to testify about
the dangers of doing drug-related research, since he was using his research status
as his defense. Fortunately, the crisis was averted when his lawyer succeeded in
suppressing evidence and had the case dismissed before the trial was to have
begun. Had we been exposed, however, our respondents would have acquired
guilt by association through their friendship with us.
Our fear of the police went beyond our concern for protecting our research
subjects, however. We risked the danger of arrest ourselves through our own
violations of the law. Many sociologists (Becker, 1963; Carey, 1972; Polsky,
1969; Whyte, 1955) have remarked that field researchers studying deviance
must inevitably break the law in order to acquire valid participant observation
data. This occurs in its most innocuous form from having “guilty knowledge”:
information about crimes that are committed. Being aware of major dealing and
smuggling operations made us an accessory to their commission, since we failed
to notify the police. We broke the law, secondly, through our “guilty observa-
tions,” by being present at the scene of a crime and witnessing its occurrence (see
also Carey, 1972). We knew it was possible to get caught in a bust involving
others, yet buying and selling was so pervasive that to leave every time it
occurred would have been unnatural and highly suspicious. Sometimes drug
transactions even occurred in our home, especially when Dave was living there,
but we finally had to put a stop to that because we could not handle the anxiety.
Lastly, we broke the law through our “guilty actions,” by taking part in illegal
behavior ‘ourselves. Although we never dealt drugs (we were too scared to be
seriously tempted), we consumed drugs and possessed them in small quantities.
Quite frankly, it would have been impossible for a nonuser to have gained access
to this group to gather the data presented here. This was the minimum involve-
ment necessary to obtain even the courtesy membership we achieved. Some
kind of illegal action was also found to be a necessary or helpful component of
the research by Becker (1963), Carey (1972), Johnson (1975), Polsky (1969), and
Whyte (1955).
Another methodological issue arose from the cultural clash between our research
subjects and ourselves. While other sociologists have alluded to these kinds of dif-
ferences (Humphreys, 1970; Whyte, 1955), few have discussed how the research
relationships affected them. Relationships with research subjects are unique
because they involve a bond of intimacy between persons who might not ordi-
narily associate together, or who might otherwise be no more than casual friends.
When field-workers undertake a major project, they commit themselves to
maintaining a long-term relationship with the people they study. However, as
researchers try to get depth involvement, they are apt to come across fundamen-
tal differences in character, values, and attitudes between their subjects and them-
selves. In our case, We were most strongly confronted by differences in present
 CHAPTER 14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 143

versus future orientations, a desire for risk versus security, and feelings of sponta-
neity versus self-discipline. These differences often caused us great frustration.
We repeatedly saw dealers act irrationally, setting themselves up for failure. We
wrestled with our desire to point out their patterns of foolhardy behavior and
offer advice, feeling competing pulls between our detached, observer role
which advised us not to influence the natural setting, and our involved, partici-
pant role which called for us to offer friendly help whenever possible.’
Each time these differences struck us anew, we gained deeper insights into our
core, existential selves. We suspended our own taken-for-granted feelings and
were able to reflect on our culturally formed attitudes, character, and life choices
from the perspective of the other. When comparing how we might act in situa-
tions faced by our respondents, we realized where our deepest priorities lay. These
revelations had the effect of changing our self-conceptions: although we, at one
time, had thought of ourselves as what Rosenbaum (1981) has called “the hippest
of nonaddicts” (in this case nondealers), we were suddenly faced with being the
straightest members of the crowd. Not only did we not deal, but we also had a
stable, long-lasting marriage and family life, and needed the security of a reliable
monthly paycheck. Self-insights thus emerged as one of the unexpected outcomes
of field research with members of a different cultural group.
The final issue I will discuss involved the various ethical problems which arose
during this research. Many field-workers have encountered ethical dilemmas or
pangs of guilt during the course of their research experiences (Carey, 1972;
Douglas, 1976; Humphreys, 1970; Johnson, 1975; Klockars, 1977, 1979;
Rochford, 1985). The researchers’ role in the field makes this necessary because
they can never fully align themselves with their subjects while maintaining their
identity and personal commitment to the scientific community. Ethical dilem-
mas, then, are directly related to the amount of deception researchers use in
gathering the data, and the degree to which they have accepted such acts as nec-
essary and therefore neutralized them.
Throughout the research, we suffered from the burden of intimacies and
confidences. Guarding secrets which had been told to us during taped interviews
was not always easy or pleasant. Dealers occasionally revealed things about them-
selves or others that we had to pretend not to know when interacting with their
close associates. This sometimes meant that we had to lie or build elaborate stor-
ies to cover for some people. Their fronts therefore became our fronts, and we
had to weave our own web of deception to guard their performances. This
became especially disturbing during the writing of the research report, as I was
torn by conflicts between using details to enrich the data and glossing over
description to guard confidences.*
Using the covert research role generated feelings of guilt, despite the fact
that our key informants deemed it necessary, and thereby condoned it. Their
own covert experiences were far more deeply entrenched than ours, being a
part of their daily existence with nondrug world members. Despite the universal
presence of covert behavior throughout the setting, we still felt a sense of
betrayal every time we ran home to write research notes on observations we
had made under the guise of innocent participants.
144 PART II STUDYING DEVIANCE

We also felt guilty about our efforts to manipulate people. While these were
neither massive nor grave manipulations, they involved courting people to pro-
cure information about them. Our aggressively friendly postures were based on
hidden ulterior motives: we did favors for people with the clear expectation that
they could only pay us back with research assistance. Manipulation bothered us
in two ways: immediately after it was done, and over the long run. At first, we
felt awkward, phony, almost ashamed of ourselves, although we believed our
rationalization that the end justified the means. Over the long run, though, our
feelings were different. When friendship became intermingled with research
goals, we feared that people would later look back on our actions and feel we
were exploiting their friendship merely for the sake of our research project.
The last problem we encountered involved our feelings of whoring for data.
At times, we felt that we were being exploited by others, that we were putting
more into the relationship than they, that they were taking us for granted or
using us. We felt that some people used a double standard in their relationship
with us: they were allowed to lie to us, borrow money and not repay it, and take
advantage of us, but we were at all times expected to behave honorably. This
was undoubtedly an outgrowth of our initial research strategy where we did
favors for people and expected little in return. But at times this led to our feeling
bad. It made us feel like we were selling ourselves, our sincerity, and usually our
true friendship, and not getting treated night in return.

CONCLUSIONS

The aggressive research strategy I employed was vital to this study. I could not just
walk up to strangers and start hanging out with them as Liebow (1967) did, or be
sponsored to a member of this group by a social service or reform organization as
Whyte (1955) was, and expect to be accepted, let alone welcomed. Perhaps such
a strategy might have worked with a group that had nothing to hide, but I doubt
it. Our modern, pluralistic society is so filled with diverse subcultures whose
interests compete or conflict with each other that each subculture has a set of
knowledge which is reserved exclusively for insiders. In order to serve and pros-
per, they do not ordinarily show this side to just anyone. To obtain the kind of
depth insight and information I needed, I had to become like the members in
certain ways. They dealt only with people they knew and trusted, so I had to
become known and trusted before I could reveal my true self and my research
interests.. Confronted with secrecy, danger, hidden alliances, misrepresentations,
and unpredictable changes of intent, I had to use a delicate combination of
overt and covert roles. Throughout, my deliberate cultivation of the norm of
reciprocal exchange enabled me to trade my friendship for their knowledge,
rather than waiting for the highly unlikely event that information would be deliv-
ered into my lap. I thus actively built a web of research contacts, used them to
obtain highly sensitive data, and carefully checked them out to ensure validity.
Throughout this endeavor I profited greatly from the efforts of my husband,
Peter, who served as an equal partner in this team field research project. It would
have been impossible for me to examine this social world as an unattached
 CHAPTER14 RESEARCHING DEALERS
AND SMUGGLERS 145

female and not fall prey to sex role stereotyping which excluded women from
business dealings. As a couple, our different genders allowed us to relate in dif-
ferent ways to both men and women (see Warren and Rasmussen, 1977). We
also protected each other when we entered the homes of dangerous characters,
buoyed each other’s initiative and courage, and kept the conversation going
when one of us faltered. Conceptually, we helped each other keep a detached
and analytical eye on the setting, provided multiperspectival insights, and corrob-
orated, clarified, or (most revealingly) contradicted each other’s observations and
conclusions. Finally, I feel strongly that to ensure accuracy, research on deviant
groups must be conducted in the settings where it naturally occurs. As Polsky
(1969: 115-16) has forcefully asserted:
This means—there is no getting away from it—the study of career
criminals au natural, in the field, the study of such criminals as they
normally go about their work and play, the study of “uncaught” crim-
inals and the study of others who in the past have been caught but are
not caught at the time you study them .... Obviously we can no longer
afford the convenient fiction that in studying criminals in their natural
habitat, we would discover nothing really important that could not be
discovered from criminals behind bars.
By studying criminals in their natural habitat I was able to see them in the
full variability and complexity of their surrounding subculture, rather than within
the artificial environment of a prison. I was thus able to learn about otherwise
inaccessible dimensions of their lives, observing and analyzing firsthand the
nature of their social organization, social stratification, lifestyle, and motivation.

NOTES

Gold (1958) discouraged this meth- for more detailed discussion of the
odological strategy, cautioning against nature, problems, and strategies for
overly close friendship or intimacy dealing with courtesy stigmas.
with informants, lest they lose their We never considered secret tapings
ability to act as informants by becom- because, aside from the ethical pro-
ing too much observers. Whyte blems involved, it always struck us as
(1955), in contrast, recommended the too dangerous.
use of informants as research aides, not See Douglas (1976) for a more detailed
for helping in conceptualizing the data account of these procedures.
but for their assistance in locating data
A recent court decision, where a fed-
which supports, contradicts, or fills in
eral judge ruled that a sociologist did
the researcher’s analysis of the setting.
not have to turn over his field notes to
See also Biernacki and Waldorf (1981); a grand jury investigating a suspicious
Douglas (1976); Henslm (1972); fire at a restaurant where he worked,
Hoffinan (1980); McCall (1980); indicates that this situation may be
and West (1980) for discussions of changing (Fried, 1984).
“snowballing” through key informants.
See Henslin (1972) and Douglas (1972,
See Kirby and Corzine (1981); 1976) for further discussions of this
Birenbaum (1970); and Henslin (1972) dilemma and various solutions to it.
146 PART III STUDYING DEVIANCE

8. Insome cases I resolved this by altering conclusions I drew from them would
my descriptions of people and their be accurate. In places, then, where my
actions as well as their names so that attempts to conceal people’s identities
other members of the dealing and from people who know them have
smuggling community would not been inadequate, I hope that I caused
recognize them. In doing this, how- them no embarrassment. See also
ever, I had to keep a primary concern Polsky (1969); Rainwater and Pittman
for maintaining the sociological (1967); and Humphreys (1970) for
integrity of my data so that the generic discussions of this problem.

REFERENCES

Adler, Patricia A., and Peter Adler. (1987). Gold, Raymond. (1958). “Roles in socio-
Membership Roles in Field Research. logical field observations.” Social Forces
Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. 367 217-23.
Becker, Howard. (1963). Outsiders. New Henslin, James M. (1972). “Studying
York: Free Press. deviance in four settings: research
Biernacki, Patrick, and Dan Waldorf. experiences with cabbies, suicides,
(1981). “Snowball sampling.” Socio- drug users and abortionees.” In Jack
logical Methods and Research 10: 141-63. D. Douglas, ed., Research on Deviance,
pp. 35-70. New York: Random
Birenbaum, Arnold. (1970). “On managing
House.
d courtesy stigma.” Journal of Health and
Social Behavior 11: 196-206. Humphreys, Laud. (1970). Tearoom Trade.
Chicago: Aldine.
Blumer, Herbert. (1969). Symbolic Interaction-
ism. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Johnson, John M. (1975). Doing Field
Research. New York: Free Press.
Carey, James T. (1972). “Problems of
access and risk in observing drug Kirby, Richard, and Jay Corzine. (1981).
scenes.” In Jack D. Douglas, ed., “The contagion of stigma.” Qualitative
Research on Deviance, pp. 71-92. New Sociology 4: 3-20.
York: Random House. Klockars, Carl B. (1977). “Field ethics for
Cummins, Marvin, et al. (1972). Report of the life history.” In Robert Weppner,
the Student Task Force on Heroin Use in ed., Street Ethnography, pp. 201-26.
Metropolitan Saint Louis. Saint Louis: Beverly Hills, CA: Sage.
Washington University Social Science —.. (1979). “Dirty hands and deviant
Institute. subjects.” In Carl B. Klockars and
Douglas, Jack D. (1972). “Observing Finnbarr W. O’Connor, eds., Deviance
deviance.” In Jack D. Douglas, ed., and Decency, pp. 261-82. Beverly Hills,
Research on Deviance, pp. 3-34. New CA: Sage.
York: Random House. Liebow, Elliott. (1967). Tally’s Comer.
——. (1976). Investigative Social Research. Boston: Little, Brown.
Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. McCall, Michal. (1980). “Who and where
Fried, Joseph P. (1984). “Judge protects are the artists?” In William B. Shaffir,
waiter’s notes on fire inquiry.” New Robert A. Stebbins, and
York Times, April 8: 47. Allan Turowetz, eds., Fieldwork
Goffman, Erving. (1963). Stigma. Engle- Experience, pp. 145-58. New York:
St. Martin’s.
wood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
 CHAPTER 14 RESEARCHING DEALERS AND SMUGGLERS 147

Polsky, Ned. (1969). Hustlers, Beats, and gender in field research.” Urban Life
Others. New York: Doubleday. 6: 349-69.
Rainwater, Lee R., and David J. Pittman. Wax, Rosalie. (1952). “Reciprocity as a
(1967). “Ethical problems in studying field technique.” Human Organization
a politically sensitive and deviant 11: 34-37.
community.” Social Problems 14: ——., (1957). “Twelve years later: An
357-66. analysis of a field experience.” Ameri-
Riemer, Jeffrey W. (1977). “Varieties of can Journal of Sociology 63: 133-42.
opportunistic research.” Urban Life West, W. Gordon. (1980). “Access to
5: 467-77. adolescent deviants and deviance.”
Rochford, E. Burke, Jr. (1985). Hare In William B. Shaffir, Robert
Krishna in America. New Brunswick, A. Stebbins, and Allan Turowetz, eds.,
NJ: Rutgers University Press. Fieldwork Experience, pp. 31-44. New
Rosenbaum, Marsha. (1981). Women on York: St. Martin’s.
Heroin. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers Whyte, William F. (1955). Street Corner
University Press. Society. Chicago: University of
Warren, Carol A. B., and Paul Chicago Press.
K. Rasmussen. (1977). “Sex and
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 PART IV

He

Constructing Deviance

A s we noted in the general introduction, the social constructionist perspec-

tive suggests that deviance should be regarded as lodged in a process of
definition, rather than in some objective feature of an object, person, or act.
That perspective therefore recommends that we look at the process by which a
society constructs definitions of deviance and applies them to specific groups of
people associated with deviant objects or acts. The dynamics of these deviance-
defining processes may sometimes eclipse the factual grounding on which they
rest in their significance for the rise of collective moral sentiments.

MORAL ENTREPRENEURS: CAMPAIGNING

The process of constructing and applying definitions of deviance can be under-

stood as a moral enterprise. That is, it involves the constructions of moral mean-
ings and the association of them with specific acts or conditions. The way people
“make” deviance is similar to the way they manufacture anything else, but
because deviance is an abstract concept rather than a tangible product, the pro-
cess involves individuals drawing on the power and resources of organizations,
institutions, agencies, symbols, ideas, communication, and audiences. Becker
(1963) has suggested that we call the people involved in these activities moral
entrepreneurs. The deviance-making enterprise has two facets: rule creation
(without which there would be no deviant behavior) and rule enforcement
(application of the rules that are created to specific groups of people). We thus
have two kinds of moral entrepreneurs: rule Creators and rule enforcers. Rule
creators include such people as politicians, crusading public figures, teachers, par-
ents, school administrators, and CEOs of business organizations. When we think

149
150 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

of rule enforcers, we immediately imagine the police, courts, and judges, but the
role can also be filled by dormitory resident assistants, members of neighborhood
associations, a school’s interfraternity council, and parents.
Rule creation can be done by individuals acting either alone or in groups.
Prominent individuals who have been influential in campaigning for definitions
of deviance include former First Lady Nancy Reagan, for her “Just Say No” and
D.A.R.E. antidrug campaigns in the 1980s; actor Charlton Heston, for his presi-
dency of the National Rifle Association (NRA); John Walsh, for founding the
National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and the television shows
“America’s Most Wanted” and “The Hunt”; and filmmaker Michael Moore, for
his documentaries about General Motors (Roger and Me), the gun lobby (Bowling
for Columbine), the relation between the oil industry and the Bush administration
(Fahrenheit 9/11), and the health care industry (Sicko). More commonly, however,
individuals band together to use their collective energy and resources to change
social definitions and to create norms and rules. Groups of moral entrepreneurs
represent interest groups that can be galvanized and activated into pressure groups,
such as Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD), Group Against Smoking
Pollution (GASP), National Organization for the Reform of Maryuana Laws
(NORML), and Focus on the Family (a nght-wing, Christian pro-family
group). Rule creators ensure that our society is supplied with a constant stock of
deviance by defining the behavior of others as immoral. They do this because
they perceive people as threats and feel fearful, distrustful, and suspicious of their
behavior. In so doing, they seek to transform private troubles into public issues
and their private morality into the normative order.
Moral entrepreneurs manufacture public morality through a multistage pro-
cess. Their first goal is to generate broad awareness of a problem. They do this
through a process of what Spector and Kitsuse (1977) called “claimsmaking.”
Claimsmakers draw our attention to given issues by asserting “danger
messages.” Not only do they use these messages to create a sense that certain
conditions are problematic and pose a present or future danger to society, but
they usually also have specific solutions that they recommend. Issues about
which we have recently seen danger messages raised include secondhand
smoke, drunk driving, hate crimes, college binge drinking, illegal immigrants
(and their link to terrorists), outsourcing, guns in schools, junk food, politics in
the classroom, and obesity. Because no rules exist to deal with the threatening
condition, claimsmakers construct the impression that such rules are necessary.
In so doing, they draw on the testimonials of various “experts” in the field,
such as scholars, doctors, eyewitnesses, ex-participants (professional exes), and
others with specific knowledge of the situation. Issues are framed in these
 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE 151

testimonials and disseminated to society via the media as “typical” in order to

promote specific examples, orientations, causes, and solutions. We see the sur-
geon general warning about the dangers of secondhand smoke, college adminis-
trators talking about student drinking and deaths, psychiatrists writing about the
dangers of self-injury and eating disorders, sociologists discussing-the spread of
date and acquaintance rape, national conservative watchdogs such as David Hor-
Owitz monitoring liberal bias in the classroom, and ex-FLDS (Fundamentalist
Latter Day Saints) members warning about the forced marriage (statutory rape)
of young girls, the expulsion of teenage boys, and the isolation and subservience
of whole communities to the point of brainwashing.
Several rhetorical techniques are used to package and present these issues in
the most compelling way. Statistics may show a rise in the incidence of a given
behavior, or its correlation with other social problems. For example, suicide statis-
tics may be contrasted with homicide statistics to draw attention to the importance
of suicide, which occurs at a rate nearly 50 percent higher than homicide. Growth
in the rates of obesity and its relation to diabetes, heart disease, stroke, and worker
absenteeism may be documented. We may hear about the rising tide of illegal
immigrants and their financial drain on our public schools and medical services.
Free trade agreements may be tied to increasing rates of unemployment. Dramatic
case examples can paint a picture of horror in the public’s mind, inspiring fear and
loathing. Particular cases are usually selected because they have no moral ambigu-
ity and feature the dimension of the problem that is being highlighted.
Thus, for missing children, we want to see stranger abductors rather than
snatchings by noncustodial parents, whereas for AIDS, we want to see innocent
children who are sick rather than gay men. New syndromes can be advanced,
packaging different issues together into a behavioral pattern portrayed as danger-
ous. Thus, we see “Internet addiction disorder” (caution: People are abandoning
their homes and families to spend all their time and money in chat rooms), “cen-
terfold syndrome” (caution: Men who read pornography objectify, commodify,
and victimize women, seek unattainable trophy figurines, and are unable to
engage in meaningful relationships), “road rage disorder” (caution: Traffic
induces people to cut us off and give us the finger), “compulsive hoarding” (cau-
tion: Practitioners have excessive clutter; difficulty categorizing, organizing, mak-
ing decisions about, and throwing away possessions; and fears about needing
items that could be thrown away), “chronic procrastination” (caution: You
may be an “arousal procrastinator,” putting things off for the last-minute rush,
or an “avoider,” putting off dealing with things because you fear either failure
or success), and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (caution: You could
have this medical problem if you daydream, are slow to complete tasks, fidget,
152 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

have poor concentration, or are distractible, hyperactive, impulsive, and/or reck-

less). Finally, rhetoric requires that each side seek the (usually competing) “moral
high ground” in their assertions and attacks on each other, disavowing special
interests and pursuing only the purest public good. For example, people who
are opposed to gay marriage are upholding the Bible, decency, and the sanctity
of marriage, while people who support it are upholding individual civil liberties
and fighting unjust discrimination.
Second, rule creators must bring about a moral conversion, convincing
others of their views. With the problem outlined, they have to convert neutral
parties and previous opponents into supporting partisans. Their successful con-
version of others further legitimates their own beliefs. To effect a moral conver-
sion, rule creators must compete for space in the public arena, often a limited
resource. Hilgartner and Bosk (1988) have suggested that only so many issues
can claim widespread attention, and they do-so at the expense of others. As
Durkheim noted regarding deviance, only a limited number of public concerns
can be supported in society at any given time. Thus, moral entrepreneurs must
draw on elements of drama, novelty, politics, and deep mythic themes of the
culture to gain the visibility they need. To gain such visibility, moral entrepre-
neurs must attract the media attention necessary to spread word of their
campaign widely. They may orchestrate their campaign to do this through hun-
ger strikes (such as students protesting the manufacturing of university-labeled
clothing in Third World “sweatshops”), demonstrations (e.g., antiwar or pro-
immigration), civil disobedience (such as environmentalists tying themselves to
trees to prevent deforestation or blocking highways to prevent nuclear waste
from being stored in their state), marches (e.g., the Gay Pride and Civil Rights
movements), and strikes and picketing (e.g., against de-unionization).
Rule creators must also enlist the support of sponsors—opinion leaders who
need not have expert knowledge on any particular subject, but who are liked
and respected—to provide them with public endorsements. Moral entrepreneur-
ial campaigners often turn to athletes, actors, musicians, religious leaders, and
media personalities for such endorsements. Former Democratic presidential can-
didate Al Gore is notable for his campaign highlighting the growth of global
warming (An Inconvenient Truth), actor Tom Cruise has actively promoted the
dangers of antidepressants, and actor Michael J. Fox campaigned for Democratic
candidates to endorse stem cell research.
Finally, rule creators look to different groups in society with which they can
form alliances or coalitions to support their campaigns. Alliances are made up of
long-term allies, such as the Christian Coalition, Focus on the Family, conserva-
tive Republican politicians, and big business. Coalitions, by contrast, represent
 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE 153

groups that do not normally lobby together, but that become bonded by their
mutual interest in a single issue, such as what we see in the strange union when
family groups, conservative Republicans, religious leaders, and, ironically, radical
feminists come together to campaign against pornography.
At times, the efforts of moral entrepreneurs are so successful that they create
a “moral panic.” The term was coined by Jock Young, but popularized in the
field of deviance by Stanley Cohen’s (1972) book on the Mods and the Rockers,
making it a widespread and enduring concept. Moral panics arise when a threat
to society is depicted, promoting terror and dread with its powerfully persuasive
focus on folk devils. Conditions of unsettling social strain make a community
ripe for a moral panic to erupt. When it does, expert “claimsmakers” (Spector
and Kitsuse, 1977), or issue entrepreneurs, articulate the scope and specific dan-
ger of the problem, identifying social conditions that members of some group or
other perceived to be offensive and undesirable. To make a claim, it is necessary
to engage in a variety of specific activities: naming the problem; distinguishing it
from other similar or more encompassing problems; determining the scientific,
technical, moral, or legal basis of the claim; and gauging who is responsible for
taking ameliorative action. The level of moral anxiety becomes stoked by con-
cerned individuals promoting the severity of the problem, legislators who react
and heighten the alarm, and sensationalist news media that whip the public into a
“feeding frenzy” through highly emotional claims and fear-based appeals. Folk
devils become treated as threats to dominant social interests and values. Moral
panics, most recently witnessed in cases of school shootings, priesthood pedo-
philia, child kidnapping, drinking and noting on college campuses, Internet pre-
dators, obesity, satanic exploitation of children, gangs, drugs, and domestic
terrorists, tend to develop a life of their own, irrationally moving in exaggerated
propulsion beyond their original impetus. Significant contests may emerge
between claimsmakers arguing for the stigmatization of various folk devils and
those who attempt to reject the stigmatization or even reverse it onto the origi-
nal accusers or project it onto some other parties. These stigma contests, central
to moral panic theory, tend to play out in the political domain. Their goal is to
achieve the dominance of specific moral perceptions and values. Launching a
moral panic in a complex and diverse society, in which public attention is
being sought by many different claimsmakers and issues, is difficult, and not all
would-be moral panics materialize. Moral panics, at their core, are thus power
struggles between various groups in society about which of them can dominate
and impose their worldviews and values on others as legitimate and true.
Erich Goode and Nachman Ben-Yehuda (1994) articulated a stage-by-stage
analysis of moral panics. To be successful, they argued, moral panics usually have
154 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

to occur during a ripe historical time, when a combination of social, ecological,

ideological, professional, and/or political forces has contributed to some growing
cultural anxiety. They are then triggered by a specific incident that precipitates
awareness of what is going on and that targets the public’s attention toward a
specific folk devil. Folk devils can take the form of particular individuals, groups,
or even behavioral trends. Groups may select their targets specifically for their
strategic value, as we see in Chapter 17’s discussion of the anti-Disney campaign,
to get the most attention out of their efforts. The content of allegations that form
the moral panic is explored, investigated in detail, repeated unceasingly, and pos-
sibly blown out of proportion. Awareness of the danger and of the ripples of the
moral panic may be spread through the mass media, grassroots word-of-mouth
communication, Internet warnings, public presentations, government hearings,
and the testimony of experts (claimsmakers, or what Tuggle and Holmes refer
to in Chapter 16 as the “knowledge class” and what Reinarman refers to in
Chapter 15 as “professional interest groups”). But all the moral panics fade or
decline eventually, since they represent inflated fears and cannot be sustained
indefinitely. They may founder of their own accord because the problem has
been addressed and solved, because the danger has been found to be exaggerated
and the claimsmakers grow silent, or because they are replaced by new panics
that steal the public’s attention. Moral panics usually leave in their wake some
residual effect, often taking the form of new institutional arrangements or
bureaucratic structures. For example, flying in the United States will never be
the same as it was prior to 9/11.
Once the public viewpoint has been swayed and a majority (or a vocal and
powerful enough minority) of people have adopted a social definition, it may
remain at the level of a norm or become elevated to the status of law through
a legislative effort. For example, although obesity has been defined as disgusting
and unhealthy, it is not illegal, whereas antismoking campaigns have been suc-
cessful in legally banning cigarette use in most public places. At the same time,
antimoral entrepreneurial campaigns arise that seek to sway public opinion in
favor of removing an existing moral stigma, as we have seen in the destigmatiza-
tion and increasing legalization of gay marriage and marijuana.
After norms or rules have been enacted, rule enforcers ensure that they are
applied. In our society, this process often tends to be selective. Because of their
socioeconomic, racial, religious, gender, political, or other status, various indivi-
duals or groups have greater or lesser power to resist the enforcement of rules
directed against them. Whole battles may begin anew over individuals’ or
groups’ strength to apply or resist the enforcement of norms and laws, with this
arena becoming once again a moral entrepreneurial combat zone. For example,
 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE 155

President George W. Bush’s efforts to rebuff the investigations launched by the

Democratic Party as a result of charges of manipulated intelligence over his
claims about weapons of mass destruction after the invasion of Iraq went sour
illustrate core issues of social power.

DIFFERENTIAL SOCIAL POWER: LABELING

Specific behavioral acts are not the only things that can be constructed as deviant;
the term can also be applied to a social status, demographic characteristic, or life-
style. When entire groups of people become relegated to a deviant status
through their condition (especially if that status is ascribed by virtue of birth
rather than being voluntarily achieved), we see the force of inequality and differ-
ential social power in operation. This dynamic has been discussed earlier in ref-
erence to both conflict theory and social constructionism: We noted that those
who control the resources in society (politics, social status, gender, wealth, reli-
gious beliefs, mobilization of the masses) have the ability to dominate the subor-
dinate groups, both materially and ideologically. Thus, certain kinds of laws and
enforcement are a product of political action by moral entrepreneurial interest
groups that are connected to society’s power base. Dominant groups use their
strength and position to label and subjugate the weak.
A range of different factors give certain groups greater social power in soci-
ety to construct definitions of deviance and to apply those labels to others.
Money is one of the clearest elements, with its potential influence being felt at
least two ways. One way is that big businesses can use money to make campaign
contributions and sway political candidates, to fund research favorable to their
products (studies paid for by the soft-drink industry were recently found to be
eight times more likely to find no harmful health influences of drinking soda
than studies otherwise funded), to lobby against unfavorable legislation, and to
fight restrictive lawsuits. Another way is that money defines individuals’ social
class, and although rich people do not have as much cash available to do
what businesses can afford, it is much harder to define the practices of the
middle and upper classes as deviant than those of the lower, working, and under
classes.
Second, race and ethnicity influence social power, so the behaviors of the
dominant White population are less likely to be labeled, and laws against them
enforced, than those of Hispanics and Blacks. Gender is a third element of social
power, with men dominating over women politically, economically, historically,
religiously, occupationally, culturally, and, hence, interpersonally.
156 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

Fourth, people’s age affects their relative power in society, with young
people (up to the age of 30) and older people (65 and older) holding less
respect, influence, attention, and command than their middle-aged counter-
parts. Fifth, greater numbers and superior organization can empower groups, as
positions backed by larger populations often hold sway over smaller ones. Yet, at
the same time, well-organized groups, even if they are in the minority, may
dominate over bigger, unorganized masses. Sixth, education is acknowledged as
a sixth element of social power: As the chapters in this section argue, well-
educated professionals have the ability to speak as experts, to organize moral
entrepreneurial campaigns, to advocate for their positions, and to argue from a
legitimate base of knowledge. Finally, social status (apart from social class) gen-
erates power through the prestige, tradition, and respectability associated with
various positions in society. For example, religious people have greater social
status in contemporary society than atheists have, heterosexual people command
greater legitimacy than homosexuals, and married individuals hold greater sway,
as a group, than single ones. There are, of course, many more elements of social
power that could be articulated as having an influence over labeling individuals,
groups, and their characteristics as deviant, but to us, those just presented are the
key ones.
Ina society characterized by striving for social influence, status, and power,
one way to attain those ideals is to pass and enforce rules that define others’
behavior as deviant. Thus, taken in this light, the labeling as deviant of attitudes,
behaviors, and conditions such as minority ethnic or racial status, female gender,
lower social class, youthful age, homosexual orientation, and a criminal record (as
some of the readings in this section show), can be seen to reflect the application
of differential social power in our society. Individuals in these groups may find
themselves discriminated against or blocked from the mainstream of society by
virtue of this basic feature of their existence, unrelated to any particular situation
or act. This application of the deviant label emphatically illustrates the role of
power in the deviance-defining enterprise, as those positioned closer to the cen-
ter of society, holding the greater social, economic, political, and moral
resources, can turn the force of the deviant stigma onto others less fortunately
placed. In so doing, they use the definition of deviance to reinforce their own
favored position. This politicization of deviance and the power associated with its
use serve to remind us that deviance is not a category applied only to those
on the marginal outskirts of society: the exotics, erotics, and neurotics. Instead,
any group can be pushed into the category by the exercise of another group’s
greater power.
 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE 157

DIFFERENTIAL SOCIAL POWER:

RESISTING LABELING

On the other side of the coin, powerful groups may be successful in working to
resist the application of definitions of deviance to them. Like better looking peo-
ple, they are granted a “halo effect” that leads others to think highly of them.
For example, higher status groups in society are less likely to be perceived as
deviant, whether they actively work to fight the label or not.
In some cases, privileged groups undertake proactive collective identity pro-
tection. In this regard, many organizations, such as gun owners, pharmaceutical
companies, and the manufacturers of cigarettes or alcoholic beverages, work to
build and sustain a positive social image. They may hire claimsmakers or lobby-
ists, contribute to politicians’ campaigns, or fund research showing that they are
upstanding individuals or organizations. (Recall the aforementioned study show-
ing that research funded by the soft-drink industry was eight times as likely to
find no negative correlation between consuming soft drinks and poor health as
those otherwise financed.)
But even when they do not become specifically involved in protecting their
images, members of more powerful and respected groups in society are less likely
to become tainted by deviant labels. Part of the reason is that people hold pre-
conceived biases in favor of those groups and assume that they are responsible
and pro-social, whether they are or are not. People also become biased toward
them on the basis of their appearances, occupations, behavior, and/or associa-
tions, forming instantaneous judgments about them that are positive. Members
of such protected groups are often unaware of their privileged status in society
and do not realize the discrimination routinely encountered by underprivileged
populations.
Differential social power may be applied either directly, as when individuals
or groups are judged on their own, or comparatively, as when society judges
the behavior of one group against another. Together, these groups of people
continue to receive treatment from society as either deviant or nondeviant that
reinforces social inequality and the status quo.
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 MORAL ENTREPRENEURS: CAMPAIGNING

15

The Social Construction of Drug Scares

CRAIG REINARMAN

In this overview of U.S. social policies, Reinarman tackles moral and legal
attitudes toward illicit drugs. He briefly offers a history of drug scares, the major
players engineering them, and the social contexts that have enhanced their
development and growth. He then outlines seven factors common to drug scares.
Knowledge of these factors enables him to dissect the essential processes in the rule
creation and enforcement phases of drug scares, despite the contradictory cultural
values of temperance and hedonistic consumption. From this selection, we can see
how drugs have been scapegoated to account for a wide array of social problems
and used, to keep some groups down by defining their actions as deviant. It is
clear that despite our society’s views on the negative features associated with
all illicit drugs, our moral entrepreneurial and enforcement efforts have been
concentrated more stringently against the drugs used by members of the
powerless underclass and minority racial groups.
What kind of analysis do you think Reinarman is offering us here of the root
causes of drug scares: structural, cultural, or interactionist (or some combination)?

rug “wars,” antidrug crusades, and other periods of marked public concern
about drugs are never merely reactions to the various troubles people can
have with drugs. These drug scares are recurring cultural and political phenom-
ena in their own right and must, therefore, be understood sociologically on their
own terms. It is important to understand why people ingest drugs and why some
of them develop problems that have something to do with having ingested them.
But the premise of this chapter is that it is equally important to understand pat-
terns of acute societal concern about drug use and drug problems. This seems
especially so for U.S. society, which has had recurring antidrug crusades and a his-
tory of repressive antidrug laws.
Many well-intentioned drug policy reform efforts in the United States have
come face to face with staid and stubborn sentiments against consciousness-
altering substances. The repeated failures of such reform efforts cannot be

Reprinted by permission of Craig Reinarman.

159
160 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

explained solely in terms of ill-informed or manipulative leaders. Something

deeper is involved, something woven into the very fabric of U.S. culture, some-
thing which explains why claims that some drug is the cause of much of what is
wrong with the world are believed so often by so many. The origins and nature of
the appeal of antidrug claims must be confronted if we are ever to understand
how “drug problems” are constructed in the United States such that more
enlightened and effective drug policies have been so difficult to achieve.
In this chapter I take a step in this direction. First, I summarize briefly some of
the major periods of antidrug sentiment in the United States. Second, I draw from
them the basic ingredients of which drug scares and drug laws are made. Third, I
offer a beginning interpretation of these scares and laws based on those broad fea-
tures of American culture that make self-control continuously problematic.

DRUG SCARES AND DRUG LAWS

What I have called drug scares (Reinarman and Levine, 1989a) have been a
recurring feature of U.S. society for 200 years. They are relatively autonomous
from whatever drug-related problems exist or are said to exist.' I call them
“scares” because, like Red Scares, they are a form of moral panic ideologically
constructed so as to construe one or another chemical bogeyman, a la “commu-
nists,” as the core cause of a wide array of preexisting public problems.
The first and most significant drug scare was over drink. Temperance move-
ment leaders constructed this scare beginning in the late eighteenth and early
nineteenth century. It reached its formal end with the passage of Prohibition in
1919.* As Gusfield showed in his classic book Symbolic Crusade (1963), there was
far more to the battle against booze than long-standing drinking problems. Tem-
perance crusaders tended to be native born, middle-class, non-urban Protestants
who felt threatened by the working-class, Catholic immigrants who were filling
up U.S. cities during industrialization.> The latter were what Gusfield termed
“unrepentant deviants” in that they continued their long-standing drinking prac-
tices despite middle-class W.A.S.P. norms against them. The battle over booze
was the terrain on which was fought a cornucopia of cultural conflicts, particu-
larly over whose morality would be the dominant morality in the United States.
In the course of this century-long struggle, the often wild claims of
Temperance leaders appealed to millions of middle-class people seeking explana-
tions for the pressing social and economic problems of industrializing the United
States. Many corporate supporters of Prohibition threw their financial and ideo-
logical weight behind the Anti-Saloon League and other Temperance and Pro-
hibitionist groups because they felt that traditional working-class drinking
practices interfered with the new rhythms of the factory, and thus with produc-
tivity and profits (Rumbarger, 1989). To the Temperance crusaders’ fear of the
bar room as a breeding ground of all sorts of tragic immorality, Prohibitionists
added the idea of the saloon as an alien, subversive place where unionists orga-
nized and where leftists and anarchists found recruits (Levine, 1984).
 CHAPTER 15 THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF DRUG SCARES 161

This convergence of claims and interests rendered alcohol a scapegoat for most
of the nation’s poverty, crime, moral degeneracy, “broken” families, illegitimacy,
unemployment, and personal and business failure—problems whose sources lay in
broader economic and political forces. This scare climaxed in the first two decades
of this century, a tumultuous period rife with class, racial, cultural, and political
conflict brought on by the wrenching changes of industrialization, immigration,
and urbanization (Levine, 1984; Levine and Reinarman, 1991).
The U.S. first real drug law was San Francisco’s antiopium den ordinance of
1875. The context of the campaign for this law shared many features with
the context of the Temperance movement. Opiates had long been widely and
legally available without a prescription in hundreds of medicines (Brecher, 1972;
Musto, 1973; Courtwright, 1982; cf. Baumohl, 1992), so neither opiate use nor
addiction was really the issue. This campaign focused almost exclusively on what
was called the “Mongolian vice” of opium smoking by Chinese immigrants (and
white “fellow travelers”) in dens (Baumohl, 1992). Chinese immigrants came to
California as “coolie” labor to build the railroad and dig the gold mines. A small
minority of them brought along the practice of smoking opium—a practice
originally brought to China by British and American traders in the nineteenth
century. When the railroad was completed and the gold dried up, a decade-
long depression ensued. In a tight labor market, Chinese immigrants were a tar-
get. The white Workingman’s Party fomented racial hatred of the low-wage
“coolies” with whom they now had to compete for work. The first law against
opium smoking was only one of many laws enacted to harass and control Chi-
nese workers (Morgan, 1978).
By calling attention to this broader political-economic context I do not wish
to slight the specifics of the local political-economic context. In addition to the
Workingman’s Party, downtown businessmen formed merchant associations and
urban families formed improvement associations, both of which fought for more than
two decades to reduce the impact of San Francisco’s vice districts on the order and
health of the central business district and on family neighborhoods (Baumohl, 1992).
In this sense, the antiopium den ordinance was not the clear and direct result
of a sudden drug scare alone. The law was passed against a specific form of drug
use engaged in by a disreputable group that had come to be seen as threatening
in lean economic times. But it passed easily because this new threat was under-
stood against the broader historical backdrop of long-standing local concerns
about various vices as threats to public health, public morals, and public order.
Moreover, the focus of attention was dens where it was suspected that whites
came into intimate contact with “filthy, idolatrous” Chinese (see Baumohl,
1992). Some local law enforcement leaders, for example, complained that Chi-
nese men were using this vice to seduce white women into sexual slavery (Mor-
gan, 1978). Whatever the hazards of opium smoking, its initial criminalization in
San Francisco had to do with both a general context of recession, class conflict,
and racism, and with specific local interests in the control of vice and the pre-
vention of miscegenation.
A nationwide scare focusing on opiates and cocaine began in the early
twentieth century. These drugs had been widely used for years, but were first
162 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

criminalized when the addict population began to shift from predominantly

white, middle-class, middle-aged women to young, working-class males, African
Americans in particular. This scare led to the Harrison Narcotics Act of 1914, the
first federal antidrug law (see Duster, 1970).
Many different moral entrepreneurs guided its passage over a six-year cam-
paign: State Department diplomats seeking a drug treaty as a means of expanding
trade with China, trade which they felt was crucial for pulling the economy out of
recession; the medical and pharmaceutical professions whose interests were threat-
ened by self-medication with unregulated proprietary tonics, many of which con-
tained cocaine or opiates; reformers seeking to control what they saw as the
deviance of immigrants and Southern Blacks who were migrating off the farms;
and a pliant press which routinely linked drug use with prostitutes, criminals, tran-
sient workers (e.g., the Wobblies), and African Americans (Musto, 1973). In order
to gain the support of Southern Congressmen for a-new federal law that might
infringe on “states’ rights,” State Department officials and other crusaders repeat-
edly spread unsubstantiated suspicions, repeated in the press, that, for example,
cocaine induced African-American men to rape white women (Musto, 1973: 6-10,
67). In short, there was more to this drug scare, too, than mere drug problems.
In the Great Depression, Harry Anslinger of the Federal Narcotics Bureau
pushed Congress for a federal law against marijuana. He claimed it was a “killer
weed” and he spread stories to the press suggesting that it induced violence—
especially among Mexican Americans. Although there was no evidence that mar-
ijuana was widely used, much less that it had any untoward effects, his crusade
resulted in its criminalization in 1937—and not incidentally a turnaround in his
Bureau’s fiscal fortunes (Dickson, 1968). In this case, a new drug law was put in
place by a militant moral-bureaucratic entrepreneur who played on racial fears
and manipulated a press willing to repeat even his most absurd claims in a con-
text of class conflict during the Depression (Becker, 1963). While there was not a
marked scare at the time, Anslinger’s claims were never contested in Congress
because they played upon racial fears and widely held Victorian values against
taking drugs solely for pleasure.
In the drug scare of the 1960s, political and moral leaders somehow recon-
ceptualized this same “killer weed” as the “drop out drug” that was leading
America’s youth to rebellion and ruin (Himmelstein, 1983). Bio-medical scien-
tists also published uncontrolled, retrospective studies of very small numbers of
cases suggesting that, in addition to poisoning the minds and morals of youth,
LSD produced broken chromosomes and thus genetic damage (Cohen et al.,
1967). These studies were soon shown to be seriously misleading if not mean-
ingless (Tijo et al., 1969), but not before the press, politicians, the medical pro-
fession, and the National Institute of Mental Health used them to promote a
scare (Weil, 1972: 44-46).
I suggest that the reason even supposedly hard-headed scientists were drawn
into such propaganda was that dominant groups felt the country was at war—and
not merely with Vietnam. In this scare, there was not so much a “dangerous class”
or threatening racial group as multi-faceted political and cultural conflict, particu-
larly between generations, which gave rise to the perception that middle-class
 CHAPTER 15 THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF DRUG SCARES 163

youth who rejected conventional values were a dangerous threat.* This scare
resulted in the Comprehensive Drug Abuse Control Act of 1970, which criminal-
ized more forms of drug use and subjected users to harsher penalties.
Most recently we have seen the crack scare, which began in earnest not
when the prevalence of cocaine use quadrupled in the late 1970s, nor even
when thousands of users began to smoke it in the more potent and dangerous
form of free-base. Indeed, when this scare was launched, crack was unknown
outside of a few neighborhoods in a handful of major cities (Reinarman and
Levine, 1989a) and the prevalence of illicit drug use had been dropping for sev-
eral years (National Institute on Drug Use, 1990). Rather, this most recent scare
began in 1986 when freebase cocaine was renamed crack (or “rock’’) and sold in
precooked, inexpensive units on ghetto street corners (Reinarman and Levine,
1989b). Once politicians and the media linked this new form of cocaine use to
the inner-city, minority poor, a new drug scare was underway and the solution
became more prison cells rather than more treatment slots.
The same sorts of wild claims and Draconian policy proposals of Temperance
and Prohibition leaders resurfaced in the crack scare. Politicians have so outdone
each other in getting “tough on drugs” that each year since crack came on the
scene in 1986 they have passed more repressive laws providing billions more for
law enforcement, longer sentences, and more drug offenses punishable by death.
One result is that the United States now has more people in prison than any indus-
trialized nation in the world—about half of them for drug offenses, the majority of
whom are racial minorities.
In each of these periods more repressive drug laws were passed on the
grounds that they would reduce drug use and drug problems. I have found no
evidence that any scare actually accomplished those ends, but they did greatly
expand the quantity and quality of social control, particularly over subordinate
groups perceived as dangerous or threatening. Reading across these historical
episodes one can abstract a recipe for drug scares and repressive drug laws that
contains the following seven ingredients:
1. A Kernel of Truth Humans have ingested fermented beverages at least
since human civilization moved from hunting and gathering to primitive
agriculture thousands of years ago. The pharmacopoeia has expanded expo-
nentially since then. So, in virtually all cultures and historical epochs, there
has been sufficient ingestion of consciousness-altering chemicals to provide
some basis for some people to claim that it is a problem.
2. Media Magnification In each of the episodes I have summarized and many
others, the mass media has engaged in what I call the routinization of caricature—
rhetorically recrafting worst cases into typical cases and the episodic into the
epidemic. The media dramatize drug problems, as they do other problems, in
the course of their routine news-generating and sales-promoting procedures
(see Brecher, 1972: 321-34; Reinarman and Duskin, 1992; and Molotch and
Lester, 1974).
3. Politico-Moral Entrepreneurs I have added the prefix “politico” to
Becker’s (1963) seminal concept of moral entrepreneur in order to
164 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

emphasize the fact that the most prominent and powerful moral entrepre-
neurs in drug scares are often political elites. Otherwise, I employ the term
just as he intended: to denote the enterprise, the work, of those who create
(or enforce) a rule against what they see as a social evil.”
In the history of drug problems in the United States, these entrepreneurs
call attention to drug using behavior and define it as a threat about which
“something must be done.” They also serve as the media’s primary source of
sound bites on the dangers of this or that drug. In all the scares I have noted,
these entrepreneurs had interests of their own (often financial) which had little
to do with drugs. Political elites typically find drugs a functional demon in that
(like “outside agitators”) drugs allow them to deflect attention from other,
more systemic sources of public problems for which they would otherwise
have to take some responsibility. Unlike almost every other political issue,
however, to be “tough on drugs” in U.S. political culture allows a leader to
take a firm stand without risking votes or campaign contributions.
Professional Interest Groups In each drug scare and during the passage of
each drug law, various professional interests contended over what Gusfield
(1981: 10-15) calls the “ownership” of drug problems—‘the ability to cre-
ate and influence the public definition of a problem” (1981: 10), and thus to
define what should be done about it. These groups have included industri-
alists, churches, the American Medical Association, the American Pharma-
ceutical Association, various law enforcement agencies, scientists, and most
recently the treatment industry and groups of those former addicts converted
to disease ideology.° These groups claim for themselves, by virtue of their
specialized forms of knowledge, the legitimacy and authority to name what
is wrong and to prescribe the solution, usually garnering resources as a result.
Historical Context of Conflict This trinity of the media, moral entrepre-
neurs, and professional interests typically interact[s] in such a way as to inflate
the extant “kernel of truth” about drug use. But this interaction does not by
itself give rise to drug scares or drug laws without underlying conflicts which
make drugs into functional villains. Although Temperance crusaders persuaded
millions to pledge abstinence, they campaigned for years without achieving
alcohol control laws. However, in the tumultuous period leading up to Pro-
hibition, there were revolutions in Russia and Mexico, World War I, massive
immigration and impoverishment, and socialist, anarchist, and labor move-
ments, to say nothing of increases in routine problems such as crime. I submit
that all this conflict made for a level of cultural anxiety that provided fertile
ideological soil for Prohibition. In each of the other scares, similar conflicts—
economic, political, cultural, class, racial, or a combination—provided a con-
text in which claims makers could viably construe certain classes of drug users
as a threat.
Linking a Form of Drug Use to a “Dangerous Class” Drug scares are
never about drugs per se, because drugs are inanimate objects without social
consequence until they are ingested by humans. Rather, drug scares are
about the use of a drug by particular groups of people who are, typically,
 CHAPTER 15 THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF DRUG SCARES 165

already perceived by powerful groups as some kind of threat (see Duster,

1970; Himmelstein, 1978). It was not so much alcohol problems per se that
most animated the drive for Prohibition but the behavior and morality of
what dominant groups saw as the “dangerous class” of urban, immigrant,
Catholic, working-class drinkers (Gusfield, 1963; Rumbarger, 1989), It was
Chinese opium smoking dens, not the more widespread use of other opiates,
that prompted California’s first drug law in the 1870s. It was only when
smokable cocaine found its way to the African-American and Latino
underclass that it made headlines and prompted calls for a drug war. In each
case, politico—moral entrepreneurs were able to construct a “drug problem”
by linking a substance to a group of users perceived by the powerful as
disreputable, dangerous, or otherwise threatening.
7. Scapegoating a Drug for a Wide Array of Public Problems The final
ingredient is scapegoating, that is, blaming a drug or its alleged effects on a
group of its users for a variety of preexisting social ills that are typically only
indirectly associated with it. Scapegoating may be the most crucial element
because it gives great explanatory power and thus broader resonance to
claims about the horrors of drugs (particularly in the conflictual historical
contexts in which drug scares tend to occur).
Scapegoating was abundant in each of the cases noted previously. To listen
to Temperance crusaders, for example, one might have believed that without
alcohol use, the United States would be a land of infinite economic progress
with no poverty, crime, mental illness, or even sex outside marriage. To listen
to leaders of organized medicine and the government in the 1960s, one might
have surmised that without marijuana and LSD there would have been neither
conflict between youth and their parents nor opposition to the Vietnam War.
And to believe politicians and the media in the past six years is to believe that
without the scourge of crack the inner cities and the so-called underclass would,
if not disappear, at least be far less scarred by poverty, violence, and crime. There
is no historical evidence supporting any of this.
In short, drugs are richly functional scapegoats. They provide elites with fig
leaves to place over unsightly social ills that are endemic to the social system over
which they preside. And they provide the public with a restricted aperture of
attribution in which only a chemical bogeyman or the lone deviants who ingest
it are seen as the cause of a cornucopia of complex problems.

TOWARD A CULTURALLY SPECIFIC

THEORY OF DRUG SCARES

Various forms of drug use have been and are widespread in almost all societies
comparable to ours. A few of them have experienced limited drug scares, usually
around alcohol decades ago. However, drug scares have been far less common
in other societies, and never as virulent as they have been in the United States
166 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

(Brecher, 1972; Levine, 1992; MacAndrew and Edgerton, 1969). There has never
been a time or place in human history without drunkenness, for example, but
in most times and places drunkenness has not been nearly as problematic as it has
been in the United States since the late eighteenth century. Moreover, in compa-
rable industrial democracies, drug laws are generally less repressive. Why then do
claims about the horrors of this or that consciousness-altering chemical have such
unusual power in U.S. culture?
Drug scares and other periods of acute public concern about drug use are
not just discrete, unrelated episodes. There is a historical pattern in the
United States that cannot be understood in terms of the moral values and per-
ceptions of individual antidrug crusaders alone. I have suggested that these cru-
saders have benefited in various ways from their crusades. For example, making
claims about how a drug is damaging society can help elites increase the social
control of groups perceived as threatening (Duster;1970), establish one class’s
moral code as dominant (Gusfield, 1963), bolster a bureaucracy’s sagging fiscal
fortunes (Dickson, 1968), or mobilize voter support (Reinarman and Levine,
1989a, b). However, the recurring character of pharmaco-phobia in U.S. history
suggests that there is something about our culture which makes citizens more vul-
nerable to antidrug crusaders’ attempts to demonize drugs. Thus, an answer to
the question of U.S. unusual vulnerability to drug scares must address why the
scapegoating of consciousness-altering substances regularly resonates with or
appeals to substantial portions of the population.
There are three basic parts to my answer. The first is that claims about the
evils of drugs are especially viable in U.S. culture in part because they provide a
welcome vocabulary of attribution (cf. Mills, 1940). Armed with “DRUGS” as a
generic scapegoat, citizens gain the cognitive satisfaction of having a folk devil
on which to blame a range of bizarre behaviors or other conditions they find
troubling but difficult to explain in other terms. This much may be true of a
number of other societies, but I hypothesize that this is particularly so in the
United States because in our political culture individualistic explanations for pro-
blems are so much more common than social explanations.
Second, claims about the evils of drugs provide an especially serviceable
vocabulary of attribution in the United States in part because our society devel-
oped from a temperance culture (Levine, 1992). The U.S. society was forged in the
fires of ascetic Protestantism and industrial capitalism, both of which demand self-
control. The U.S. society has long been characterized as the land of the individual
“self-made man.” In such a land, self-control has had extraordinary importance.
For the middle-class Protestants who settled, defined, and still dominate the
United States, self-control was both central to religious worldviews and a charac-
terological necessity for economic survival and success in the capitalist market
(Weber, 1930 [1985]). With Levine (1992), I hypothesize that in a culture in
which self-control is inordinately important, drug-induced altered states of con-
sciousness are especially likely to be experienced as “loss of control,” and thus to
be inordinately feared.’
Drunkenness and other forms of drug use have, of course, been present
everywhere in the industrialized world. But temperance cultures tend to arise
 CHAPTER15 THE SOCIAL CONSTRU
OFCTION
DRUG SCARES 167

only when industrial capitalism unfolds upon a cultural terrain deeply imbued
with the Protestant ethic.” This means that only the United States, England,
Canada, and parts of Scandinavia have Temperance cultures, the United States
being the most extreme case.
It may be objected that the influence of such a Temperance culture was
strongest in the nineteenth and early twentieth century and that its grip on the
USS. Zeitgeist has been loosened by the forces of modernity and now, many say,
post-modernity. The third part of my answer, however, is that on the founda-
tion of a Temperance culture, advanced capitalism has built a postmodern, mass
nsumption culture that exacerbates the problem of self-control in new ways.
Early in the twentieth century, Henry Ford pioneered the idea that by rais-
ing wages he could simultaneously quell worker protests and increase market
demand for mass-produced goods. This mass consumption strategy became cen-
tral to modern U.S. society and one of the reasons for our economic success
(Marcuse, 1964; Aronowitz, 1973; Ewen, 1976; Bell, 1978). Our economy is
now so fundamentally predicated upon mass consumption that theorists as
diverse as Daniel Bell and Herbert Marcuse have observed that we live in a
mass consumption culture. Bell (1978), for example, notes that while the Protes-
tant work ethic and deferred gratification may still hold sway in the workplace,
Madison Avenue, the media, and malls have inculcated a new indulgence ethic
in the leisure sphere in which pleasure seeking and immediate gratification reign.
Thus, our economy and society have come to depend upon the constant
iltivation of new “needs,” the production of new desires. Not only the hard-
ware of social life such as food, clothing, and shelter but also the software of the
self—excitement, entertainment, even eroticism—have become mass consump-
tion commodities. This means that our society offers an increasing number of
incentives for indulgence—Gnore ways to lose self-control—and a decreasing
number of countervailing reasons for retaining it.
In short, drug scares continue to occur in U.S. society in part because people
must constantly manage the contradiction between a Temperance culture that
insists on self-control and a mass consumption culture which renders self-control
continuously problematic. In addition to helping explain the recurrence of drug
scares, I think this contradiction helps account for why in the last dozen years mil-
lions of Americans have joined 12-Step groups, more than 100 of which have
nothing whatsoever to do with ingesting a drug (Reinarman, 1995). “Addiction,”
or the generalized loss of self-control, has become the meta-metaphor for a stag-
gering array of human troubles. And, of course, we also seem to have a staggering
array of politicians and other moral entrepreneurs who take advantage of such cul-
tural contradictions to blame new chemical bogeymen for our society’s ills.

NOTES

1. In this regard, for example, Robin rate of (alcohol) dependence as a

Room wisely observes “that we are cognitive and existential experience is
living at a historic moment when the rising, although the rate of alcohol
168 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

consumption and of heavy drinking is and the “angel dust” scare was short-
falling.” He draws from this a more lived (see Feldman et al., 1979). The
general hypothesis about “long waves” best analysis of how new drugs them-
of drinking and societal reactions to selves can lead to panic reactions
them: “[I]n periods of increased ques- among users is Becker (1967).
tioning of drinking and heavy drink- Becker wisely warns against the
ing, the trends in the two forms of “onesided view” that sees such crusa-
dependence, psychological and physi- ders as merely imposing their morality
cal, will tend to run in opposite on others. Moral entrepreneurs, he
directions. Conversely, in periods of a notes, do operate “with an absolute
“wettening” of sentiments, with the ethic,” are “fervent and righteous,”
curve of alcohol consumption begin- and will use “any means” necessary to
ning to rise, we may expect the rate of “do away with” what they see as
physical dependence... to rise while “totally evil.” However, they also
the rate of dependence as a cognitive “typically believe that their mission 1s a
experience falls” (1991: 154). holy one,” that if people do what they
I say “formal end” because Temper- want it “will be good for them.” Thus,
ance ideology is not merely alive and as in the case of abolitionists, the cru-
well in the War on Drugs but is being sades of moral entrepreneurs often
applied to all manner of human trou- “have strong humanitarian overtones”
bles in the burgeoning 12-Step (1963: 147-8). This is no less true for
Movement (Reinarman, 1995). those whose moral enterprise pro-
From Jim Baumohl I have learned that motes drug scares. My analysis, how-
while the Temperance movement ever, concerns the character and
attracted most of its supporters from consequences of their efforts, not their
these groups, it also found supporters motives.
among many others (e.g., labor, the As Gusfield notes, such ownership
Insh, Catholics, former drunkards, sometimes shifts over time, for
women), each of which had its own example, with alcohol problems,
reading of and folded its own agenda from religion to criminal law to med-
into the movement. ical science. With other drug pro-
This historical sketch of drug scares is blems, the shift in ownership has been
obviously not exhaustive. Readers away from medical science toward
interested in other scares should see, criminal law. The most insightful
for example, Brecher’s encyclopedic treatment of the medicalization of
work Licit and Illicit Drugs (1972), alcohol/drug problems is Peele (1989).
especially the chapter on glue sniffing, See Baumohl’s (1990) important and
which illustrates how the media actu- erudite analysis of how the human will
ally created a new drug problem by was valorized in the therapeutic tem-
writing hysterical stories about it. perance thought of nineteenth-
There was also a PCP scare in the century inebriate homes.
1970s in which law enforcement offi- The third central feature of Temper-
cials claimed that the growing use of ance cultures identified by Levine
this horse tranquilizer was a severe (1992), which I will not dwell on, is
threat because it made users so violent predominance of spirits drinking,
and gave them such super-human that is, more concentrated alcohol
strength that stun guns were necessary. than wine or beer and thus greater
This, too, turned out to be unfounded likelihood of drunkenness.
 CHAPTER 15 THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF DRUG SCARES 169

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 16

Blowing Smoke: Status Politics

and the Smoking Ban
JUSTIN L. TUGGLE AND MALCOLM D. HOLMES

Tuggle and Holmes’s chapter on the debate over cigarette smoking in the United
States expands Reinarman’s consideration to the licit drug realm, examining the
struggle and counterstruggle over tobacco between the moral entrepreneurs and the
status quo defenders. They note the medical, ethical, and socioeconomic
arguments raised to sway public opinion and demonize public consumption of
cigarettes. They mention the spate of claims put forward, pitting antismoking
groups, which have argued that secondhand smoke is toxic and that smokers
should not be allowed to inflict their pollution onto others, against opponents who
have argued that the government should not legislate their morality. These issues
illustrate the concern that frequently arises over deviance, a concern which
manifests itself in the idea that society must balance the right of individual
Sreedoms (the desire to smoke) against the needs of the common good (public
health). This selection also shows the relation between making claims and
exercising social power, tracing the status of the social groups on each side of the
antismoking campaign. Its fundamental message lies in how moral entrepreneurs
use their status to attach deviant labels to the behavior of others and, in so doing,
to keep those others in a subordinate position. Tuggle and Holmes thus show
deviance, as Quinney does, to be a tool by which groups with higher status in
society retain and enforce their interests over subordinate groups.
What features of Reinarman’s view of how deviance is socially constructed do
we see reinforced by Tuggle and Holmes? How does their thesis explain why
some groups in society carry out moral crusades against issues that seemingly have
little direct impact on them?

ver the past half century, perceptions of tobacco and its users have changed
dramatically. In the 1940s and 1950s, cigarette smoking was socially
accepted and commonly presumed to lack deleterious effects (e.g., Ram, 1941).
Survey data from the early 1950s showed that a minority believed cigarette
smoking caused lung cancer (Viscusi, 1992). By the late 1970s, however,

From “Blowing Smoke: Status Politics and the Smoking Ban,” Justin L. Tuggle and
Malcolm D. Holmes, Deviant Behavior, 1997, Taylor and Francis. Reprinted with
permission by the authors.

171
172 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

estimates from survey data revealed that more than 90 percent of the population
thought that this link existed (Roper Organization, 1978). This and other harms
associated with tobacco consumption have provided the impetus for an anti-
smoking crusade that aims to normatively redefine smoking as deviant behavior
(Markle and Troyer, 1979).
There seems to be little question that tobacco is a damaging psychoactive
substance characterized by highly adverse chronic health effects (Steinfeld,
1991). In this regard, the social control movement probably makes considerable
sense in terms of public policy. At the same time, much as ethnicity and religion
played a significant role in the prohibition of alcohol (Gusfield, 1963), social
status may well play a part in this latest crusade.
Historically, attempts to control psychoactive substances have linked their
use to categories of relatively powerless people. Marijuana use was associated
with Mexican Americans (Bonnie and Whitebread, 1970), cocaine with African
Americans (Ashley, 1975), opiates with Asians (Ben-Yehuda, 1990), and alcohol
with immigrant Catholics (Gusfield, 1963). During the heyday of cigarette
smoking, it was thought that
Tobacco’s the one blessing that nature has left for all humans to enjoy.
It can be consumed by both the “haves” and “have nots” as a common
leveler, one that brings all humans together from all walks of life
regardless of class, race, or creed. (Ram, 1941, p. 125)

But in contrast to this earlier view, recent evidence has shown that occupational
status (Ferrence, 1989; Marcus et al., 1989; Covey et al., 1992), education
(Ferrence, 1989; Viscusi, 1992), and family income (Viscusi, 1992) are related
negatively to current smoking. Further, the relationships of occupation and edu-
cation to cigarette smoking have become stronger in later age cohorts (Ferrence,
1989). Thus we ask, is the association of tobacco with lower-status persons a factor in the
crusade against smoking in public facilities? Here we examine that question in a case
study of a smoking ban implemented in Shasta County, California.

STATUS POLITICS AND THE CREATION

OF DEVIANCE

Deviance is socially constructed. Complex pluralistic societies have multiple,

competing symbolic—moral universes that clash and negotiate (Ben-Yehuda,
1990). Deviance is relative, and social morality is continually restructured.
Moral, power, and stigma contests are ongoing, with competing symbolic—
moral universes striving to legitimize particular lifestyles while making others
deviant (Schur, 1980; Ben-Yehuda, 1990).
The ability to define and construct reality is closely connected to the power
structure of society (Gusfield, 1963). Inevitably, then, the distribution of devi-
ance 1s associated with the system of stratification. The higher one’s social posi-
tion, the greater [is] one’s moral value (Ben-Yehuda, 1990). Differences in
 CHAPTER 16 BLOWING SMOKE 173

lifestyles and moral beliefs are corollaries of social stratification (Gusfield, 1963;
Ziircher and Kirkpatrick, 1976; Luker, 1984). Accordingly, even though
grounded in the system of stratification, status conflicts need not be instrumental;
they may also be symbolic. Social stigma may, for instance, attach to behavior
thought indicative of a weak will (Goffman, 1963). Such moral anomalies occa-
sion status degradation ceremonies, public denunciations expressing indignation
not at a behavior per se, but rather against the individual motivational type that
produced it (Garfinkel, 1956). The denouncers act as public figures, drawing
upon communally shared experience and speaking in the name of ultimate
values. In this respect, status degradation involves a reciprocal element: Status
conflicts and the resultant condemnation of a behavior characteristic of a partic-
ular status category symbolically enhances the status of the abstinent through the
degradation of the participatory (Garfinkel, 1956; Gusfield, 1963).
Deviance creation involves political competition in which moral entrepre-
neurs originate moral crusades aimed at generating reform (Becker, 1963;
Schur, 1980; Ben-Yehuda, 1990). The alleged deficiencies of a specific social
group are revealed and reviled by those crusading to define their behavior as
deviant. As might be expected, successful moral crusades are generally dominated
by those in the upper social strata of society (Becker, 1963). Research on the
antiabortion (Luker, 1984) and antipornography (Ziircher and Kirkpatrick,
1976) crusades has shown that activists in these movements are of lower socio-
economic status than their opponents, helping explain the limited success of
efforts to redefine abortion and pornography as deviance.
Moral entrepreneurs’ goals may be either assimilative or coercive reform
(Gusfield, 1963). In the former instance, sympathy to the deviants’ plight engenders
integrative efforts aimed at lifting the repentant to the superior moral plane allegedly
held by those of higher social status. The latter strategy emerges when deviants are
viewed as intractably denying the moral and status superiority of the reformers’
symbolic—moral universe. Although assimilative reform may employ educative strat-
egies, coercive reform tums to law and force for affirmation.
Regardless of aim, the moral entrepreneur cannot succeed alone. Success in
establishing a moral crusade is dependent on acquiring broader public support.
To that end, the moral entrepreneur must mobilize power, create a perceived
threat potential for the moral issue in question, generate public awareness of
the issue, propose a clear and acceptable solution to the problem, and overcome
resistance to the crusade (Becker, 1963; Ben-Yehuda, 1990).

THE STATUS POLITICS OF CIGARETTE SMOKING

The political dynamics underlying the definition of deviant behaviors may be seen
clearly in efforts to end smoking in public facilities. Cigarettes were an insignifi-
cant product of the tobacco industry until the end of the nineteenth century, after
which they evolved into its staple (U.S. Department of Health and Human Ser-
vices, 1992). Around the turn of the century, 14 states banned cigarette smoking
and all but one other regulated sales to and possession by minors (Nuehring and
174 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

Markle, 1974). Yet by its heyday in the 1940s and 1950s, cigarette smoking was
almost universally accepted, even considered socially desirable (Nuehring and
Markle, 1974; Steinfeld, 1991). Per capita cigarette consumption in the United
States peaked at approximately 4,300 cigarettes per year in the early 1960s, after
which it declined to about 2,800 per year by the early 1990s (U.S. Department of
Health and Human Services, 1992). The beginning of the marked decline in cig-
arette consumption corresponded to the publication of the report to the surgeon
general on the health risks of smoking (U.S. Department of Health, Education,
and Welfare, 1964). Two decades later, the hazards of passive smoking were
being publicized (e.g., U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 1986).
Increasingly, the recognition of the apparent relationship of smoking to
health risks has socially demarcated the lifestyles of the smoker and nonsmoker,
from widespread acceptance of the habit to polarized symbolic—moral universes.
Attitudes about smoking are informed partly by medical issues, but perhaps even
more critical are normative considerations (Nuehring and Markle, 1974); more
people have come to see smoking as socially reprehensible and deviant, and smo-
kers as social misfits (Markle and Troyer, 1979). Psychological assessments have
attributed an array of negative evaluative characteristics to smokers (Markle and
Troyer, 1979). Their habit is increasingly thought unclean and intrusive.
Abstinence and bodily purity are the cornerstones of the nonsmoker’s pur-
ported moral superiority (Feinhandler, 1986). At the center of their symbolic—
moral universe, then, is the idea that people have the nght to breathe clean air
in public spaces (Goodin, 1989). Smokers, on the other hand, stake their claim to
legitimacy in a precept of Anglo-Saxon political culture—the right to do what-
ever one wants unless it harms others (Berger, 1986). Those sympathetic to
smoking deny that environmental tobacco smoke poses a significant health haz-
ard to the nonsmoker (Aviado, 1986). Yet such arguments have held little sway
in the face of counterclaims from authoritative governmental agencies and high
status moral entrepreneurs.
The development of the antismoking movement has targeted a lifestyle par-
ticularly characteristic of the working classes (Berger, 1986). Not only has there
been an overall decline in cigarette smoking, but, as mentioned above, the neg-
ative relationships of occupation and education to cigarette smoking have
become more pronounced in later age cohorts (Ferrence, 1989). Moreover,
moral entrepreneurs crusading against smoking are representatives of a relatively
powerful “knowledge class,” comprising people employed in areas such as edu-
cation and the therapeutic and counseling agencies (Berger, 1986).
Early remedial efforts focused on publicizing the perils of cigarette smokers,
reflecting a strategy of assimilative reform (Nuehring and Markle, 1974; Markle
and Troyer, 1979). Even many smokers expressed opposition to cigarettes and a
generally repentant attitude. Early educative efforts were thus successful in
decreasing cigarette consumption, despite resistance from the tobacco industry.
Then, recognition of the adverse effects of smoking on nonusers helped precipi-
tate a turn to coercive reform measures during the mid-1970s (Markle and
Troyer, 1979). Rather than a repentant friend in need of help, a new definition
of the smoker as enemy emerged. Legal abolition of smoking in public facilities
 CHAPTER16 BLOWING SMOKE 175

became one focus of social control efforts, and smoking bans in public spaces
have been widely adopted in recent years (Markle and Troyer, 1979; Goodin,
1989).
The success of the antismoking crusade has been grounded in moral entre-
preneurs’ proficiency at mobilizing power, a mobilization made possible by
highly visible governmental campaigns, the widely publicized health risks of
smoking, and the proposal of workable and generally acceptable policies to ame-
liorate the problem. The success of this moral crusade has been further facilitated
by the association of deviant characteristics with those in lower social strata,
whose stigmatization reinforces existing relations of power and prestige. Despite
the formidable resources and staunch opposition of the tobacco industry, the tide
of public opinion and policy continues to move toward an antismoking stance.

RESEARCH PROBLEM

The study presented below is an exploratory examination of the link between

social status and support for a smoking ban in public facilities. Based on theoriz-
ing about status politics, as well as evidence about patterns of cigarette use, it was
predicted that supporters of the smoking ban would be of higher status than
those who opposed it. Further, it was anticipated that supporters of the ban
would be more likely to make negative normative claims denouncing the alleg-
edly deviant qualities of smoking, symbolically enhancing their own status while
lowering that of their opponents.
The site of this research was Shasta County, California. The population of
Shasta County is 147,036, of whom 66,462 reside in its only city, Redding (USS.
Bureau of the Census, 1990). This county became the setting for the implemen-
tation of a hotly contested ban on smoking in public buildings. .
In 1988, California voters passed Proposition 99, increasing cigarette taxes by
25 cents per pack. The purpose of the tax was to fund smoking prevention and
treatment programs. Toward that end, Shasta County created the Shasta County
Tobacco Education Program. The director of the program formed a coalition
with officials of the Shasta County chapters of the American Cancer Society
and American Lung Association to propose a smoking ban in all public buildings.
The three groups formed an organization to promote that cause, Smoke-Free Air
For Everyone (SAFE). Unlike other bans then in effect in California, the pro-
posed ban included restaurants and bars, because its proponents considered
these to be places in which people encountered significant amounts of second-
hand smoke. They procured sufficient signatures on a petition to place the
measure on the county’s general ballot in November 1992.
The referendum passed with a 56 percent majority in an election that saw an
82 percent turnout. Subsequently, the Shasta County Hospitality and Business
Alliance, an antiban coalition, obtained sufficient signatures to force a special elec-
tion to annul the smoking ban. The special election was held in April 1993.
Although the turnout was much lower (48 percent), again a sizable majority (58.4
percent) supported the ban. The ordinance went into effect on July 1, 1993.
176 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

ANALYTIC STRATEGY

. [D]ata were analyzed in our effort to ascertain the moral and status conflicts
underlying the Shasta County smoking ban ... [based on] interviews with five
leading moral entrepreneurs and five prominent status quo defenders.' These
individuals were selected through a snowball sample, with the original respon-
dents identified through interviews with business owners or political advertise-
ments in the local mass media. The selected respondents repeatedly surfaced as
the leading figures in their respective coalitions. Semistructured interviews were
conducted to determine the reasons underlying their involvement. These data
were critical to understanding how the proposed ban was framed by small groups
of influential proponents and opponents; it was expected that their concerns
would be reflected in the larger public debate about the ban.

FINDINGS

Moral Entrepreneur/Status Quo Defender Interviews

The moral entrepreneurs and status quo defenders interviewed represented
clearly different interests. The former group included three high-level admuinis-
trators in the county’s chapters of the American Cancer Society and American
Lung Association. A fourth was an administrator for the Shasta County
Tobacco Education Project. The last member of this group was a pulmonary
physician affiliated with a local hospital. The latter group included four bar
and/or restaurant owners and an attorney who had been hired to represent
their interests. Thus, the status quo defenders were small business owners who
might see their economic interests affected adversely by the ban. Importantly,
they were representatives of a less prestigious social stratum than the moral
entrepreneurs.
The primary concern of the moral entrepreneurs was health. As one
stated, I supported the initiative to get the smoking ban on the ballot
because of all the health implications that secondhand smoke can create.
Smoking and secondhand smoke are the most preventable causes of
death in this nation.
Another offered that

On average, secondhand smoke kills 53,000 Americans each year. And

think about those that it kills in other countries! It contains 43 cancer-
causing chemical agents that have been verified by the Environmental
Protection Agency. It is now listed as a Type A carcinogen, which is the
same category as asbestos.
Every one of the moral entrepreneurs expressed concern about health issues
during the interviews. This was not the only point they raised, however. Three
of the five made negative normative evaluations of smoking, thereby implicitly
degrading the status of smokers. They commented that “smoking is no longer an
 CHAPTER 16 BLOWING SMOKE 177

acceptable action,” that “smoke stinks,” or that “it is just a dirty and annoying
habit.” Although health was their primary concern, such comments revealed
the moral entrepreneurs’ negative view of smoking irrespective of any medical
issues. Smokers were seen as engaging in unclean and objectionable behavior—
stigmatized qualities defining their deviant social status.
The stance of the status quo defenders was also grounded in two arguments.
All of them expressed concern about individual rights. As one put it,
I opposed that smoking ban because I personally smoke and feel that
it is an infringement of my rights to tell me where I can and cannot
smoke. Smoking is a legal activity, and therefore it is unconstitutional
to take that nght away from me.
Another argued that
Many people have died for us to have these rights in foreign wars and
those also fought on American soil. Hundreds of thousands of people
thought that these rights were worth dying for, and now some small
group of people believe that they can just vote away these rights.
Such symbolism implies that smoking is virtually a patriotic calling, a venerable
habit for which people have been willing to forfeit their lives in time of war. In
the status quo defenders’ view, smoking is a constitutionally protected right.
At the same time, each of the status quo defenders was concerned about
more practical matters, namely business profits. As one stated, “My income was
going to be greatly affected.” Another argued,
If these people owned some of the businesses that they are including in this
ban, they would not like it either. By taking away the customers that
smoke, they are taking away the mainstay of people from a lot of businesses.
The competing viewpoints of the moral entrepreneurs and status quo defen-
ders revealed the moral issues—health versus individual rights—at the heart of
political conflict over the smoking ban. Yet it appears that status issues also fueled
the conflict. On the one hand, the moral entrepreneurs denigrated smoking,
emphasizing the socially unacceptable qualities of the behavior and symbolically
degrading smokers’ status. On the other hand, status quo defenders were con-
cerned that their livelihood would be affected by the ban. Interestingly, the
occupational status of the two groups differed, with the moral entrepreneurs
representing the new knowledge class, the status quo defenders a lower stratum
of small business owners. Those in the latter group may not have been accorded
the prestige and trust granted those in the former (Berger, 1986). Moreover, the
status quo defenders’ concern about business was likely seen as self-aggrandizing.

SUMMARY AND DISCUSSION

This research has examined the moral and status politics underlying the imple-
mentation of a smoking ban in Shasta County, California. Moral entrepreneurs
crusading for the ban argued that secondhand smoke damages health, implicitly
178 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

grounding their argument in the principle that people have a right to a smoke-
free environment. Status quo defenders countered that smokers have a constitu-
tional right to indulge wherever and whenever they see fit. Public discourse
echoed these themes, as seen in the letters to the editor of the local newspaper.
Thus debate about the smoking ban focused especially on health versus smokers’
rights; yet evidence of social status differences between the competing symbolic—
moral universes also surfaced. Competing symbolic—moral universes are defined
not only by different ethical viewpoints on a behavior, but also by differences
in social power—disparities inevitably linked to the system of stratification
(Ben-Yehuda, 1990). Those prevailing in moral and stigma contests typically
represent the higher socioeconomic echelons of society.
The moral entrepreneurs who engineered the smoking ban campaign were
representatives of the prestigious knowledge class, including among their mem-
bers officials from the local chapters of respected organizations at the forefront of
the national antismoking crusade. In contrast, the small business owners who
were at the core of the opposing coalition, of status quo defenders, represented
the traditional middle class. Clearly, there was an instrumental quality to the res-
taurant and bar owners’ stance, because they saw the ban as potentially damaging
to their business interests. But they were unable to shape the public debate, as
demonstrated by the letters to the editor.
In many respects, the status conflicts involved in the passage of the Shasta
County smoking ban were symbolic. The moral entrepreneurs focused attention
on the normatively undesirable qualities of cigarette smoking, and their negative
normative evaluations of smoking were reflected in public debate about the ban.
Those who wrote in support of the ban more frequently offered negative normative
evaluations than antiban writers; their comments degraded smoking and, implicitly,
smokers. Since the advent of the antismoking crusade in the United States, smoking
has come to be seen as socially reprehensible, smokers as social misfits characterized
by negative psychological characteristics (Markle and Troyer, 1979).
Ultimately, a lifestyle associated with the less educated, less affluent, lower
occupational strata was stigmatized as a public health hazard and targeted for
coercive reform. Its deviant status was codified in the ordinance banning smok-
ing in public facilities, including restaurants and bars. The ban symbolized the
deviant status of cigarette smokers, the prohibition visibly demonstrating the
community’s condemnation of their behavior. Further, the smoking ban symbol-
ically amplified the purported virtues of the abstinent lifestyle. A political victory
such as the passage of a law is a prestige-enhancing symbolic triumph that is per-
haps even more rewarding than its end result (Gusfield, 1963). The symbolic
nature of the ban serendipitously surfaced in another way during one author’s
unstructured observations in 42 restaurants and 21 bars in the area: Although
smoking was not observed in a single restaurant, it occurred without sanction
in all but one of the bars. Although not deterring smoking in one of its tradi-
tional bastions, the ban called attention to its deviant quality and, instrumentally,
effectively halted it in areas more commonly frequented by the abstemious.
Although more systematic research is needed, the findings of this exploratory
case study offer a better understanding of the dynamics underlying opposition to
smoking and further support to theorizing about the role of status politics in the
 CHAPTER16 BLOWING SMOKE 179

creation of deviant types. Denunciation of smoking in Shasta County involved

not only legitimate allegations about public health, but negative normative eva-
luations of those engaged in the behavior. In the latter regard, the ban consti-
tuted a status degradation ceremony, symbolically differentiating the pure and
abstinent from the unclean and intrusive. Not coincidentally, the stigmatized
were more likely found among society’s lower socioeconomic~ strata, their
denouncers among its higher echelons.
Certainly the class and ethnic antipathies underlying attacks on cocaine and
opiate users earlier in the century were more manifest than those revealed in the
crusade against cigarette smoking. But neither are there manifest status conflicts
in the present crusades against abortion (Luker, 1984) and pornography (Ziircher
and Kirkpatrick, 1976); yet the underlying differences of status between oppo-
nents in those movements are reflected in their markedly different symbolic—
moral universes, as was the case in the present study.
This is not to suggest that smoking should be an approved behavior. The
medical evidence seems compelling: Cigarette smoking is harmful to the individ-
ual smoker and to those exposed to secondhand smoke. However, the objective
harms of the psychoactive substance in question are irrelevant to the validity of
our analysis, just as they were to Gusfield’s (1963) analysis of the temperance
movement's crusade against alcohol use. Moreover, it is not our intention to
imply that the proban supporters consciously intended to degrade those of
lower social status. No doubt they were motivated primarily by a sincere belief
that smoking constitutes a public health hazard. In the end, however, moral
indignation and social control flowed down the social hierarchy. Thus, we
must ask: Would cigarette smoking be defined as deviant if there were a positive
correlation between smoking and socioeconomic status?

NOTE

1. Although the term “moral entrepre- have been employed, such as “forces
neur” is well established in the litera- for the status quo” (Markle and
ture on deviance, there seems to be Troyer, 1979), tend to be awkward.
little attention to or consistency in a “Status quo defenders” is used here for
corresponding term for the interest lack of a simpler or more common
group(s) opposing them. Those who term.

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Ben-Yehuda, Nachman. (1990). The Politics Luker, Kristin. (1984). Abortion and the
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 17

The Disadvantage of a Good

Reputation: Disney as a Target
for Social Problems Claims
JOEL BEST AND KATHLEEN S. LOWNEY

Definitions of what constitutes a social problem, like definitions of deviance,

represent arenas that are morally contested. Moral entrepreneurial campaigns are
waged on multiple sides of an issue, driven and supported by ideological,
religious, financial, public relations, and turf concerns. Such campaigns are also
often driven by claimsmakers who seek to alert the public to their views and
attempt to convert others to support them. Some campaigns are successful, while
others are not, and some issues are more likely to draw the attention necessary to
flourish while others fade into obscurity. In this selection, Best and Lowney break
down the moral entrepreneurial campaign against the Disney Company, long a
bastion of family orientation and values. Here, they highlight the political nature
of the grounds upon which claims against the company are founded, focusing
particularly on the role of Disney’s good reputation in attracting negative
claimsmaking. Their analysis of the rhetoric of three sets of claims, from
conservative Christians, political progressives, and social scientists, highlights the
role of Disney’s social capital in drawing moral entrepreneurial attention and in
combating it.
How does this chapter illustrate the dynamics and groups of actors commonly
found in moral entrepreneurial campaigns? In what way does it illustrate some
of the core elements introduced by the Reinarman and by Tuggle and Holmes
in their respective chapters? How does our analysis of social power play into
the reception of the aforementioned claims? How does the chapter compare
and contrast with Best’s chapter (11) on social constructionism?

ociologists often note the costs of bad reputations. For example, individuals
labeled as deviant experience enduring stigma, negative stereotypes are
assigned to members of racial and ethnic groups, historical Figures with “difficult

From Joel Best and Kathleen S$. Lowney (2009). The Disadvantage of a Good
Reputation: Disney as a Target for Social Problems Claims. The Sociological Quarterly,
50(3), 431-449. Copyright © 2009 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Reprinted with
permission by the publisher.

182
 CHAPTER 17. THE DISADVANTAGE OF A GOOD REPUTATION 183

reputations” are condemned to the roles of villains or fools in collective memory,

and so on. In general, bad reputations increase one’s vulnerability to having oppor-
tunities blocked, to being subjected to tighter social control, to having one’s future
actions framed in terms of the reputation, or to other disadvantages.
Conversely, good reputations usually are thought to convey advantages;
their holders receive the benefit of the doubt. Thus, psychologists speak of a
“halo effect” shaping expectations, and Merton (1968) argued that the “Matthew
effect” made it easier for esteemed scientists to receive credit for additional work.
Good reputations, codified in high grade point averages, impressive résumés,
good credit ratings, and other track records of accomplishment, open doors for
individuals that remain closed to those of more questionable repute. Similarly,
organizations conduct public-relations campaigns to establish good reputations
in hopes of warding off critics. In general, a good reputation is a resource that
can be drawn upon to improve one’s prospects, just as a bad reputation hinders
advancement.
Reputations—good and bad—can be used to construct social problems.
Claimsmakers compete in a social problems marketplace, each seeking to arouse
concern about particular issues from the press, the public, and policymakers. In
order to attract attention from these audiences, claimsmakers assemble claims that
feature a variety of rhetorical elements—statistics, expert opinions, appeals to
values, and so on—and, depending on the audiences’ reactions, may revise and
rework claims to make them more persuasive. This article considers some ways
reputations can be incorporated in[to] such claims.
At first glance, it might seem that social problems claimsmaking is particu-
larly likely to target those of bad reputations, and this is often the case. Social
problems claims frequently highlight typifying examples that illustrate the prob-
lem at its worst; describing particularly troubling incidents serves to direct atten-
tion to a problem’s most disturbing dimensions so as to make it seem especially
serious. These examples establish a problem’s bad reputation by becoming rhe-
torical touchstones over the course of a claimsmaking campaign; references ‘to
well-known atrocity tales remind audiences that a problem is serious and
demands attention. Moreover, once some condition has been constructed as a
social problem, that problem’s bad reputation can become the basis for further
claims that expand that problem’s domain or construct other, analogous pro-
blems. Thus, the construction of physical child abuse as a serious problem serve
as a foundation for claims not just about emotional abuse, sexual abuse, and
other forms of child abuse but also about elder abuse, wife abuse, and other pro-
blems that could be categorized as types of “abuse.”
In short, there is a general presumption that bad reputations increase one’s
vulnerability to critiques by activists and other claimsmakers, while good reputa-
tions can help protect individuals and organizations from such criticism.
However, there are scandalous exceptions, instances where individuals or orga-
nizations with good reputations stand revealed as involved in problematic behav-
ior. Thus, Nichols (1997) examines how the Bank of Boston—a Firm with a
good reputation—became the typifying example for claims about money laun-
dering. Although it was neither the first bank charged with money laundering
184 PART IV DEFINING DEVIANCE

nor the bank with the greatest number of questionable transactions, attention
focused on the Bank of Boston precisely because it was newsworthy to hear
that it was implicated in dubious practices. However, such scandals require par-
ticular conditions: An individual or organization with a good reputation is dis-
covered to have directly violated standards of propriety implicit in that
reputation (e.g., a member of the clergy is exposed as involved in sexual devi-
ance; an accounting Firm allows clients to submit questionable financial
statements).
This article examines another way good reputations can be used to construct
social problems. It argues that a good reputation can also make an organization
or institution generally vulnerable to becoming the target of social problem
claims. This is a form of blowback. Blowback refers to unanticipated, negative
consequences of social action. While achieving a good reputation might be
expected to produce benefits such as discouraging~criticism, linking those with
good reputations to social problems can be a useful rhetorical move in social
problems claimsmaking. Demonstrating that even those of good reputation are
implicated in some social problem is a way of suggesting that the problem is sur-
prisingly widespread and serious. We illustrate this point with a case study. We
argue that the Walt Disney Corporation’s close associations with what are widely
considered positive moral values serve to make it an attractive target for a broad
range of social problems claimsmakers.
By the end of the twentieth century, the Disney Corporation had emerged as
one of a handful of giant media conglomerates. In addition to owning Walt Disney
Pictures, the Disney theme parks in California, Florida, Paris, Tokyo, and Hong
Kong, and various other enterprises that bear the Disney name, Disney controlled
the ABC television network, ESPN, and other cable channels, movie production
under the Touchstone, Hollywood, and Miramax names, and other subsidiaries.
The name Disney has become closely linked in the public mind with decent,
family-oriented entertainment. This positive reputation, in turn, makes Disney
an attractive target for all sorts of social critiques in a way that its rivals are not.
Our analysis is inevitably selective. We have chosen to examine relatively
recent critiques of Disney from three very different sorts of claimsmakers—
conservative Christians, political progressives, and social scientists. We chose
these cases to demonstrate how a range of critics use Disney’s good reputation
as a key element in their clai king rhetoric. Our goal is not to somehow
measure the distribution {Aims abot Disney but rather to document how
some claims incorporate Disney’s good reputation and to show that such rhetoric
comes from very different claimsmakers.
Because our focus is on the rhetoric of claimsmaking, we are interested only in
how claimsmakers use Disney’s reputation to construct social problems. Although
we argue that Disney has a generally good reputation, as evidenced by the many
claims that link Disney to innocent, wholesome family entertainment, we offer no
judgment about whether that reputation is deserved. Similarly, when we identify
examples of critics using Disney’s good reputation as an element in their claims-
making, the accuracy of those claims is not at issue. The point is not that Disney is
good (or bad) or that the critics’ claims are correct (or wrong); rather, our point is
 CHAPTER 17 THE DISADVANTAGE OF A GOOD REPUTATION 185

that Disney’s reputation can be and is used to support a variety of social problems
claims. Further, we recognize that Disney evokes a range of responses: To say that
some conservative Christians or some social scientists attack Disney is not to imply
that all—or even most—people in those groups accept those claims. It is that some
claimsmakers, belonging to very different sectors of society and making claims
about very different issues, find themselves making parallel uses of Disney’s repu-
tation in their rhetoric that is of interest.
In the sections that follow, we consider three diverse examples—critiques by
conservative Christians, progressives, and social scientists—to illustrate how
Disney’s good reputation makes it a target for social problems claims. We con-
clude by reconsidering the relationship between reputation and claimsmaking.

CLAIMS FROM THE CHRISTIAN RIGHT

Religious authorities often offer moral critiques of popular culture. During the
late 1980s, the Disney Corporation became a frequent target for claimsmaking
by the Christian Right; their campaign peaked in 1996 when the American
Family Association (AFA) called upon its members to boycott Disney products:
For decades Disney was a name American families could trust. Disney
meant wholesomeness. Disney meant laughter. Disney meant quality
entertainment without the sex, violence and profanity. But more than
anything else, Disney meant children. Sadly, “the times they are a
changin’.” (Wildmon, n.d.:1)
These claims argued that while the Disney Corporation continued to
produce some morally suitable entertainment, the audience that consumed that
family fare was unknowingly helping the conglomerate to fund other, morally
bankrupt activities:
Disney is making millions of dollars off their family fare and then sink-
ing it into movies, television programs and printed materials that assail
the very values of those same families. Disney hopes decent minded
Americans never make this connection. AFA hopes and prays that
decent minded Americans will make the connection. (Wildmon, n.d.)
The AFA received strong support from the Southern Baptist Convention
(SBC), which in 1996 gave Disney one year to alter its pro-gay policies. After
the title character on the ABC sitcom Ellen came out as a lesbian, the SBC voted
in 1997 to join the boycott. On the “MacNeil/Lehrer News Hour” shortly
thereafter, the conservative columnist John Podhoretz said,

Disney is an interesting target because you have—you have essentially—

the accusation is that Disney is a front; that is, that Mickey Mouse and the
Little Mermaid and Aladdin and Timon and Pumba are fronts for
Miramax which produces Pulp Fiction and “Ellen.”... So the idea is that
hiding behind the Little Mermaid, using Little Mermaid as a screen, Dis-
ney is promoting serious—what we would have considered a generation
186 PART IV DEFINING DEVIANCE

ago—counter-cultural values, and that...you’ve got to go at it because it’s

a fatter target and a slipperier one. (MacNeil/Lehrer Productions 1997:4)
These critiques highlighted the Disney corporation as a media conglomerate
by drawing attention to questionable cultural content produced by firms owned
by Disney but not promoted using the Disney name. The AFA, for example,
criticized such “objectionable films from Disney subsidiaries” as Priest (“pro-
homosexual”), Dogma (“asserts that Christian beliefs are little more than mythol-
ogy”), Chasing Amy (lesbianism), Pulp Fiction (sex, violence), Color of Night
(sex), Clerks (graphic language), Chicks in White Satin (lesbianism), Lie Down
with Dogs (homosexuality), [and] The House of Yes (incest). Disney, these
critics argued, had tried to have it both ways—maintaining the Disney name as a
family-friendly brand while using other brand names to produce morally ques-
tionable content.
In particular, the AFA attacked Disney for its “headlong rush to promote
homosexuality as normal and to profit enormously from that promotion”
(Vitagliano, n.d.:2). In addition to critiques of the content of the corporation’s
popular culture, Disney was criticized for employing homosexuals (including
some in important management positions), for extending benefits coverage to
partners of those employees, and for supporting gay-themed events at its parks:
FACT: Disney helped promote the 6th annual “Gay and Lesbian Day at
Walt Disney World.” Disney has allowed the homosexual organizers to
‘portray Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck as homosexual lovers; and
Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck as lesbians. (AFA n.d.)
One AFA-affliated group “even had its spies ‘dress in gay garb’ and attend
gay and lesbian events. “They found pro-homosexual material being handed out.
They found a group discount ticket with a pink Mickey on it. They saw homo-
sexuals in drag, chanting “If you’re gay and you know it, clap your hands”’”
(Svetkey, 1995:42).
When the AFA called off its boycott in 2006, they claimed that they had
achieved enough change to warrant ending their campaign. AFA president Tim
Wildmon announced, “We feel after nine years of boycotting Disney we have
made our point....Boycotts have always been a last resort for us at AFA, and
Disney’s attitude, arrogance and embrace of the homosexual lifestyle gave us no
choice but to advocate a boycott of the company these last years” (AFA 2006:1).
He noted that Disney had made several changes—most notably the upcoming
departure of CEO Michael Eisner and the corporate “divorce” between Disney
and its Miramax film production company—as evidence of the boycott’s effect.
A hopeful sign was Disney’s decision to coproduce The Lion, the Witch, and the
Wardrobe, C. S. Lewis’s classic novel with Christian themes. An Orlando Sentinel
journalist wrote that “In taking the step of marketing The Lion, the Witch, and the
Wardrobe to the Christian community,..., Disney may have disarmed much of the
antagonism towards the company. that led many evangelicals to boycott the com-
pany” (AFA 2006:2). Yet conservative Christians continued to denounce Disney
even after the boycott ended (e.g., Garcia, 2007).
 CHAPTER 17. THE DISADVANTAGE OF A GOOD REPUTATION 187

In other words, claimsmakers who saw themselves as defenders of traditional

morality and family values attacked Disney for betraying the moral principles that
the corporation once seemed to represent. This perception of betrayal by critics
on the right contrasted with another set of charges coming from the left.

CLAIMS FROM PROGRESSIVES

Just as conservative moralists professed themselves shocked that a company with a

reputation for morality might produce popular culture with questionable moral
content, progressive critics have challenged Disney’s reputation as an exemplar of
decency. Their critiques focus on Disney’s failure to support various forms of
social justice. ne:
Disney has long attracted criticism from the labor movement, beginning
with a bitter animators’ strike in 1941. Disney’s resistance to unionization and
the working conditions at its theme parks have attracted considerable attention
from labor activists. In addition, a review of Websites critical of Disney notes a
substantial cluster of critiques by labor rights organizations focused on low wages
in Third World factories producing Disney products. These charges are part of
the broader campaign against Third-World working conditions, but Disney’s
good reputation may make it especially vulnerable to such charges. In 2008, |
Disney was inducted into the “Sweatshop Hall of Shame”; the announcement
juxtaposed Disney’s idealistic publicity with the harsh conditions under which |
its goods were produced: a
This year marks Disney’s “Year of a Million Dreams” celebration. But
for workers in China who make children’s books and toys for the
entertainment giant, it’s been a year of a zillion labor law violations...
So far, Disney has refused to address these serious allegations of worker
abuse and exploitation. (SweatFree Communities, 2008)
Many large corporations’ labor records can be questioned, but such chal-
lenges may be particularly embarrassing for a company with a good reputation.
Even more than labor issues, Disney’s progressive critics tend to target what they
define as conservative messages promoted by Disney’s popular cultural content.
In How to Read Donald Duck (Dorfman and Mattelart, 1971/1975), two Chilean
academics argued that while Disney invites “us all to join the great universal
Disney family, which extends beyond all frontiers and ideologies, transcends dif-
ferences between peoples and nations, and particularities of custom and lan-
guage” (p. 28), Disney comic books in general—and the character of Scrooge
McDuck in particular—presented thinly veiled messages endorsing capitalism
and imperialism. The U.S. critics have tended to focus on Disney’s willingness
to present racial and gender stereotypes and on its presentation of a sanitized
sion of U.S. history. For instance, Barbara Ehrenreich (2007) charges that the
Disney Princess “product line...is saturated with a particularly potent time-
release form of the date rape drug.” Her argument is that Disney’s female
188 PART IV. DEFINING DEVIANCE

characters are portrayed as relatively passive figures and that these products 5
encourage girls to accept traditional gender roles. :
Such arguments presume that Disney’s products reach large numbers
impressionable children and that the content of those products is harmful. But
progressive critics argue that it is precisely this “decent” content that deserves
criticism, in that its messages promote a hegemonic, uncritical acceptance of tra-
ditional values, so that children exposed to Disney learn to accept capitalism,
racism, sexism, and so on. Again, parallel critiques might be leveled at most
major media firms, but these claims argue that Disney’s good reputation dis-
courages a careful analysis of the values it promotes. If many parents view the
Disney label as a guarantee that popular cultural content will be appropriate for
children, they may fail to recognize—and therefore unwittingly expose their
children to—harmful messages implicit in Disney products. Progressive critics
insist that even as Disney’s content eschews extreme. violence and graphic sexu-
ality, other sorts of objectionable messages permeate its products.

CLAIMS FROM SOCIAL SCIENTISTS

In addition to the moral critiques of conservatives and the social-justice criticisms

of progressives, Disney has attracted a good deal of critical attention from social
scientists. Often, their focus has been the Disney theme parks. When the parks
opened, they struck analysts as something new: Customers entered an all-
encompassing, purposefully designed environment within which they would be
entertained. While all sorts of businesses (one thinks of restaurants or department
stores) seek to create environments that will appeal to customers, the Disney theme
parks displayed a more calculated, overarching concern with design. And critics
argued that this was a troubling development, that the parks offered an artificial
inauthentic experience. There was the implication that the parks purported to
offer fun, but that in fact they constrained and controlled behavior, so that while
customers might imagine they were enjoying the experience, they were in fact
participating in a degraded, emotionally stunted variety of leisure activity.
In particular, the critics deconstructed the methods used to convey the
theme park experience. The parks proved to be the product of a dense system
of rules and regulations, beginning with the vocabulary used by Disney to define
the principal roles. The people who paid to enter were not customers, let alone
the “marks” who visited carnivals; rather, Disney insisted that they be referred to
as “guests.” Similarly, the people working in the parks were not employees b
“cast members.” Critics viewed such linguistic conventions as deceptive in that
they ignored the parks’ underlying economic transactions (customers paying for
entertainment, employees working for wages). Even the language used to
describe what happened in the parks was artificial and inauthentic. ;
Consider a trivial example. Employees at the Disney theme parks operate
under fairly detailed codes governing dress and behavior; they are, for example,
required to smile at the customers, er, guests. The Disney parks sometimes use
the slogan “The Happiest Place on Earth.” Not surprisingly, low-paid service
 CHAPTER 17. THE DISADVANTAGE OF A GOOD REPUTATION 189

workers oftentimes do not enjoy their work—including this emotion work—all|

that much, and they may not always feel like smiling. Thus, there is an opportunity
for a Goffmanic backstage revelation: Many of those working—and smiling—at
the “happiest place on Earth” are not actually happy! Analysts then go on to detail
employees’ forms of resistance, such as smiling excessively, so that the customer/
guest realizes that the smile is not sincere. The argument can then be extended to
challenge the overall legitimacy of Disney’s claims about the parks as a happy
experience.
In addition, there are numerous social scientific content analyses of Disney
products. Analysts justify their research by noting the broad acceptance of Disney
products and the possibility that exposure to these works may prove influential:

The Disney animated classics are well known to millions of children

across the world because of their family-oriented topics, marketing,
availability, and success in the home-viewing market....[How] older
people are represented in Disney animated films [is of concern because
of] the cultivating effect that negative stereotypes of older individuals
and the marginalizing of older women and minority groups may have
on young children. Disney films may not be the primary source of
children’s negative perceptions of older people; however, there is evi-
dence that the media do influence children’s perceptions. (Robinson
et al., 2007:203, 209-10)

In general, social scientists have been critical of Disney as a corporation, as

lines of products, and even as social trends. Often, the analysts’ rationale for
focusing on Disney is the need to debunk its good reputation. Playing off
Disney’s good reputation allows academics to be shocked—shocked!—when reveal- |
ing that a major media conglomerate places profit-making above other goals.

DISCUSSION

We have sketched three sets of social problems claims about the Disney Corpora-
tion: conservative Christians’ complaints that Disney (and particularly its subsidiar-
ies) promote homosexuality and morally questionable values; progressives’
complaints about Disney’s unfair labor practices as well as sexism and other dis-
turbing positions fostered by the firm’s popular culture content; and social scien-
tists’ critiques that Disney theme parks promote an artificial, alienating ethos and
that its content conveys negative messages. In each case, these claims gain much of
their rhetorical power by linking Disney’s good name to social problems.
This reveals the importance of Disney’s good reputation as a moral exem-
plar. In part, of course, the Disney name is simply familiar—associated with well-
known, well-branded products; one suspects that a very large proportion of the
population knows that Mickey Mouse and Disney World come from the Disney
corporation. Disney is unusual in the way it combines brand familiarity with
corporate awareness. This familiarity makes news about Disney more interesting
than news about, say, Time Warner.
190 PART IV DEFINING DEVIANCE

Further, the Disney name is associated with childhood, family, innocence,

and other positive values. The corporation has carefully protected the name by
using it to market only the sorts of general-audience, nonthreatening, noncon-
troversial material that is widely understood to be Disneyesque. Parents assume
that they can take small children to a Disney movie or a Disney park with-
out worry—that the experience would not be too frightening or otherwise
disturbing. The result is a sort of idealization: Disney is associated with standing
for what is good, decent, and appropriate in a way that few other corporat-
ions are.
This imagery creates a recipe for blowback claimsmaking. One simply argues
that (1) everyone knows that Disney is associated with what is good; (2) X is
good (X being whatever the claimsmakers want to promote: environmentalism,
heterosexuality, fair labor practices, sexual purity, gender equality, patriotism,
tolerance, the list is endless); but (3) Disney’s actions can be seen as somehow
inconsistent with X. Therefore, Disney stands accused of hypocrisy, bad-faith,
and other problematic shortcomings.
Attacking Disney offers claimsmakers several rhetorical advantages. There is
the element of surprise—claiming that a firm with Disney’s good reputation 1s
associated with some social problem seems incongruous and therefore interesting.
Claims that Disney has fallen short of its own publicly avowed moral principles
open the corporation to charges of hypocrisy. Also, because many people are
familiar with Disney products (and because purchasing those products [is a] dis-
cretionary expense), it is relatively easy to call for action in the form of some sort
of boycott. In all of these ways, Disney must seem like an attractive target to
claimsmakers.
Why have anti-Disney claims not had more effect? In part, Disney may benefit from
its familiarity. Virtually all Americans—and much of the world’s population—have
been exposed to Disney’s products. This means that people can weigh claims that
Disney fosters one social problem or another and choose which items they wish to
consume.
Disney’s good reputation, then, has proven attractive to claimsmakers who
imagined that attacking Disney would gain attention. On the one hand, this tac-
tic works: Anti-Disney campaigns often attract media coverage, just as scholarly
critiques of Disney seem to have little difficulty finding their way into print. On
the other hand, Disney’s good reputation seems to have protected it from suffer-
ing much damage from these various attacks. Far from insulating Disney from
criticism, the firm’s good reputation attracts a broad range of social problems
claimsmakers. Yet although the company becomes a target for all manner of
claims, it seems relatively impervious to this criticism.
This suggests some limits of blowback claimsmaking. We take it for granted
that some enterprises are deeply morally contaminated. Really bad reputations
can infect much of what they touch; not surprisingly, they offer fodder for
claimsmakers. Reputations, good and bad, are available to anyone interested in
assembling claims. Like typifying examples or statistics, they can be used to make
claims more compelling, more competitive in the marketplace for media or
public attention.
 CHAPTER 17: THE DISADVANTAGE OF A GOOD REPUTATION 191

The best reputations for these rhetorical purposes are those—like Disney’s—
that are relatively consistent and widely understood. Thus, opposition to Columbus
Day celebrations [has] attracted considerable attention precisely because [claims-
makers] argue that Columbus, long viewed as an unambiguously heroic figure,
should be implicated in slavery, colonialism, and genocide. There may be relatively
few such targets. Claims targeting those with ambiguous reputations are likely to
attract less attention. Examining how claimsmakers incorporate reputations—good
or bad, consistent or ambiguous—offers a way of extending the analysis of social
problems rhetoric.

REFERENCES

American Family Association. (2006). Nichols, Lawrence T. (1997). “Social

“AFA Ends Disney Boycott.” Problems as Landmark Narratives:
Retrieved February 19, 2007 Bank of Boston, Mass Media and
(http://www.afa.net/disney/). ‘Money Laundering.” Social Problems
. (n.d.). “The Case against Disney” 44:324—-41.
(handout). Retrieved March 7, 2008 Robinson, Tom, Mark Callister,
(http://www.whatyouknowmight- Dawn Magoffin, and Jennifer Moore.
notbeso.com/factpage.html). (2007). “The Portrayal of Older
Dorfman, Ariel, and Armand Mattelart. Characters in Disney Animated
(1971/1975). How to Read Donald Films.” Journal ofAging Studies
Duck: Imperialist Ideology in the DAEe
OS =aSs
Disney Comic. Translated by David Svetkey, Benjamin. (1995). “Disney
Kunzle. New York: International Catches Hell.” Entertainment Weekly,
General. December 15, 305, pp. 42-43.
Ehrenreich, Barbara: (2007). “Bonfire of SweatFree Communities. (2008). “Sweat-
the Disney Princesses.” Retrieved shop Hall of Shame: Inductees for
December 20, 2007 (http://www 2008.” Retrieved September 13, 2008
.thenation.com/doc/20071224/ (http://www.sweatfree.org).
ehrenreich). Vitagliano, Ed. (n.d.). ““Disney Execs in
Garcia, Elena. (2007). “Christian Film- Collusion with Homosexual Activists.’
makers Probe Disney’s Anti-Family Why American Families Should
Trend.” Christian Post, October 25. Boycott Disney” (brochure, American
Retrieved March 6, 2008 (http:// Family Association): 2-3. Retrieved
www.christianpost.com/pages/print February 28, 2006 (http://www..afa
-htm?aid=29828). .net/disney/disney.pdpf).
MacNeil/Lehrer Productions. (1997). “Not Wildmon, Tim. (n.d.). “‘How We Are
Going to Disneyland.” Retrieved Financing Disney’s Depravity.’ Why
February 15, 2007 (http://www.pbs. American Families Should Boycott
org/newshour/bb/religion/disney_ Disney” (brochure, American Family
6-18.html). Association): 1. Retrieved February 28,
Merton, Robert K. (1968). “The Matthew 2006 (http://www.afa.net/disney/
Effect in Science.” Science 3810:56—-63. disney.pdf).
 DIFFERENTIAL SOCIAL POWER: LABELING

18

Legitimated Suppression: Inner-city

Mexican Americans and the Police
ROBERT J. DURAN

Beyond moral entrepreneurial campaigns, a range of social factors affects the

likelihood of different groups in society being defined as deviant and having
definitions of deviance enforced against them. Duran offers us a glimpse into the
everyday life realities of a group that holds a low degree of social power in society:
poor, young, inner-city Mexican-American men. He describes the way these
young people, individually and in groups, are treated by agents of social control.
If you’ve not lived in a poor neighborhood of color, you may not be aware of tl
routine ways police interact with and harass young people there. Duran’s detailed
insider account draws us into the lives and perspectives of these people and
elaborates the way society, through the police, profiles, tracks, targets, harasses,
and violates their basic rights as citizens. Illustrating the concept of dominant an
subordinate group
groups discussed byy Quinney’s
¥ chapter
ip on conflict
L theory,
ry Duran’s
narrative shows how deviant status is used by the police to disempower and
demean less powerful groups.
How valid do you find the complaints ofthese young people? What do you think
~.
of the proposition of “ecological contamination” or the “minority threat” hypothesis?
Does this war on gangs represent a “moral panic” that is really a version ofdisguised
racial prejudice? To what extent do you believe that the way the police treat inner-city
young Mexican Americans is based on what they do versus who they are?

uring the 1990s and early 2000s, law enforcement agencies nationwide
launched an aggressive offensive against gangs. Newspapers and nightly
newscasts regularly depicted shootings and murders that were labeled gang
related. Police officers reported through the media that gangs were growing in
number and increasing in violence. Since the mid-1980s, a large number of cities
have created specialized police gang units to support a “war on gangs.” As a

Reprinted with permission from the author, Robert J. Duran.

192
 CHAPTER 18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 193

society, we have been bombarded with a “law and order” view of gangs and
their communities. Police officers routinely recognize how such a war on gangs
is hindered by traditional constitutional protections, so they have developed sup-
port to create methods and tactics to sidestep disapproval; in many cases, those
methods and tactics have become legitimated.
Yet the effect of all of this antigang law enforcement is more widespread in
its reach than to merely gang members. In this article, based on a systematic
ethnographic study of Mexican-American gang life in Ogden, Utah, and Denver,
Colorado, I describe the way the ethnographic approach serves to systematically
disenfranchise and discriminate against a whole segment of U.S. society. The
analysis presented benefits from my own experience in gangs and law enforce-
ment to make sense of the data. I report and analyze four important facets of
“legitimated suppression”: (1) legitimated profiling, (2) interacting with suspected
gang members, (3) wnverigence gathering, and (4) serious forms of police miscon-
duct. The questionable tactics used by police officérs against gangs has created fur-
ther divisions between law enforcement and the Mexican-American community.

POLICING GANGS

The majority of gang members across the United States have been racially and
ethnically labeled by police officers as Latino (47 percent) or African-American
(31 percent), and they have been mostly poor (85 percent). Self-reported data
indicate that Whites identify as gang members at a higher rate than is captured
by police data. Many states legally define gangs as three or more people engaged
in criminal activity either collectively or individually. This neutral definition has
resulted in an application of the label “(gang member” to people who are consid-
ered non-White. Acknowledging the racial and ethnic focus is important because
policing strategies have created serious social consequences for individuals
involved or associated with gangs. Through a survey of 261 police departments,
Klein (1995) found that intelligence gathering, crime investigation, and suppres-
sion were the most common police actions against gangs and that many states
had instituted increased consequences for gang-related crimes. Spergel (1995)
agreed that a vigorous “lock-’em-up” approach remained the key action of
police departments, particularly in large cities with acknowledged gang problems.
This study began with the research question “How are the lives of people
who the police believe are involved in criminal groups affected by law enforce-
ment strategies to suppress gangs?” I chose the aforementioned two cities of
Denver, Colorado, and Ogden, Utah because community residents, media, and
police departments consider them to have a gang problem. My work focuses
specifically on people of Mexican 'descent who were born in the United States
(i.e., the largest percentage of Latinos in the United States). Police departments
in both cities consider this ethnic group to have the largest number of gangs and
gang members. I begin by discussing the methods I used in gathering my data
and the settings in which I did the research. I describe the wide array of factors
police gang units use in profiling and initially stopping a myriad of community
194 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

members. I then provide a portrayal of how the police interact with suspected
gang members. Finally, I offer a conclusion that expands on the notions of eco-
logical contamination, moral panic, and minority group threat. This research 1s
unique in its use of lived experience and inside access to a significant number of
people who have remained hidden from traditional research on gangs and police.

METHODS AND SETTINGS

The research reported in this article is part of a larger study of Mexican-

American gang life in two barrio communities, one in Denver and the other in
Ogden. The study was conducted for 5 years (2001-2006) and, informally,
throughout 14 years of my life (1992-2006). I used ethnographic research meth-
ods, such as direct observation, casual interaction; semistructured interviews,
introspection, photography, and videotaping, to collect the data.
A significant part of conducting ethnographic research includes the biogra-
phy and background of the researcher, because he or she is the research tool. I
was a gang member growing up in Ogden, Utah, and I later used my ex—gang
member status to keep myself located inside that social world to begin gathering
data. I benefited from my work experience and networks in child and family
services, law enforcement, and youth corrections. Had I remained an individual
gang member, I would have lacked a method that could allow me to gather data
and talk with the people directly involved in this lifestyle, and it would have
been impossible to understand the nature of gangs.
To gather research data on gangs in Denver, where I was never a gang
member, I became involved with a variety of groups focused on gang preven-
tion, high school reform, police observation, and community empowerment.
I used my advantage of having special expertise on gangs to begin “opportunistic
research” in a new setting. In particular, a significant part of my research in
Denver was from a group called Area Support for All People (ASAP). (All
names of individuals and groups in this article are pseudonyms.) Current and
ex-gang members helped start this group in 1991, with the goal of decreasing
escalating violence. A group of five to 15 gang members and adult mentors
met once a week for 3 hours. The group included a variety of youths from
around the city between the ages of 13 and 18. I attended meetings of this
group regularly for 2% years (December 2000 to September 2003).
In the fall of 2001, I began conducting semistructured interviews to capture
members’ and associates’ perspectives on gang culture. I tape-recorded and tran-
scribed 32 interviews with gang members or associates. I paid these respondents
$25 each for their time. I maintained 10 “key partners” (six in Denver and four
in Ogden) and interviewed them multiple times. Because of the pejorative conno-
tations associated with informants, I found that the term “key partners” better
reflected my working collaboration with people who knew gangs from actual
experience. I engaged in untaped interviews with 90 additional gang-involved
members and associates regarding gangs in both cities. (Overall, I conducted 122
taped and untaped interviews.) The interviews allowed me to maintain my infor-
mal insider role, whereas a more formal outsider research posture would have
 CHAPTER18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 195

distanced me from the very people I wanted to investigate. All interviews were
conducted in English with some minor use of Spanish. Most of my respondents
had been in the United States for two to six generations and thus spoke English as
their first language. The interviews lasted between 1 and 2 hours. All respondents
said that they were associated with Mexican-American or Mexican gangs.
In both cities, there were more associates in the gang scene, with only a
small percentage who had actually been “jumped in” and thereby acknowledged
as members by the gangs. For this reason, I made little use of snowball sampling
and instead followed what I call “judgment sampling”: I used my extensive
knowledge of people in the communities, a knowledge that was acquired
through my participant observation, my inside knowledge of gangs, and the aid
of my 10 key partners, to select each person for an interview.
During my research, I interviewed seven gang officers in both states. I regu-
larly requested the two cities’ police departments’ official statistics’ relating to
gangs and the gang unit. Before pursuing my doctoral work, I had worked a
year and a half in two youth correction facilities both prior to graduate studies
and during the completion of this research, and one year in law enforcement
in the state of Utah. In those capacities, I had been allowed to attend law-
enforcement-only sessions that outlined police gang tactics and intelligence
gathering. To remain objective about how police interact with possible gang
members, I chose to work with an ongoing group of residents who, upon seeing
a police stop, walked over and recorded the interactions with camcorders. We
worked in teams of two or more people. I call this group People Observing
the Police (POP). The group had been meeting regularly in Denver since 2000
and in Ogden during the summer of 2005. After the stop was over, we talked
with police officers and the person(s) of interest if possible.
I observed over two hundred police stops, 47 of which included gang units,
in all areas of these two cities for 3 years. Most of my time involved patrolling
areas with nightlife, such as cruising boulevards and minority communities.
The use of police scanners helped me travel to the segregated White communi-
ties when an infrequent stop was made. Observation of stops along cruising bou-
levards allowed me to witness a wide variety of racial and ethnic group
encounters with the police. Overwhelmingly, the stops were made in areas adja-
cent to communities of color, a circumstance that aided my ability to patrol both
areas. All of the observed gang stops included Latinos, with lesser numbers of
African Americans and Asians. I used the information I obtained to compare
and contrast Mexican-American gang members’ and associates’ claims with
those of police officers and the media. I also had official local police documents
relating to the purpose and policies of gang enforcement, a police tactic used to
suppress gang violence. (See next section.)
According to the U.S. Census, Denver and Ogden are both cities whose
Latino population grew from 1940 to 2000 and whose non-Hispanic White
population decreased over the same period. Both cities have neighborhoods
that, historically, have been primarily Latino (50 percent or more), are located
near industrial places of employment, and are segregated from certain other
areas of the city. These chiefly Latino areas are known as barrios. The numbers
of individuals below poverty and in the barrios are similar in the two cities, and
196 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

so are the median household incomes. The two cities are in geographical areas
that were once part of Mexico before westward U.S. expansion, and the major-
ity of Latinos living in those areas were born in the United States.

SYSTEMATIC SUPPRESSION

ccording to gang unit officers, suppression tactics using intelligence gathering

nd zero-tolerance policing (hereafter defined as gang enforcement) remained
t the heart of both the Denver and Ogden gang units. The premise behind
such police tactics is rooted in the broken-windows theory, which focused
enforcement efforts on minor offenses in order to prevent social and physical
disorder and thus reduce the level of overall crime. Gang officers used a varie
of indicators to initiate a stop and develop intelligence through interaction. In
Denver and Ogden, barrio community members felt unfairly profiled and poorly
treated, on the basis of police perceptions of gang membership, actual or per-
ceived. Mexican-American community claims of harassment were often met
with disbelief by middle-class White residents in the city, as well as by authority
figures. Police officers continually justified their beliefs by pushing for a higher
number of interactions with Mexican Americans in order to substantiate the gang
stereotypes that the police held.

Legitimated Profiling
In both Denver and Ogden, police officers were deployed primarily in high-crime
districts, which were more often neighborhoods with a higher concentration of
Latinos and Blacks (50 to 90 percent) and economic poverty (20 to 70 percent).
The police departments’ diversity paled in comparison with these neighborhoods.
Approximately 20 percent of Denver police officers, and 5 percent of Ogden
police officers, were Latino. Because most street crime did not occur in plain
sight, police officers had to determine which people were engaging in criminal

Police officers focused on making stops on the basis of the legal justification
of reasonable suspicion and probable cause. Probable cause includes a belief based
on objective fact which supports the suspicion that a person was committing _or
about to commit a crime. A lead prosecutor in northern Utah described reason
able suspicion as “facts and circumstances that would lead a reasonable officer to
believe that there is a particular problem or indication of criminal activity.”
Together, reasonable suspicion and probable cause legitimated a wide-ranging
assortment of stops.
However, this activity led to a confrontational relationship between police
and many residents in Denver and Ogden’s barrios because residents believed
that police officers were using gang and criminal stereotypes to justify their stops.
A little higher than 95 percent (31 out of 32) of the individuals formally inter-
viewed reported that they had been stopped for a variety of reasons that were
not based on criminality; in other words, they were profiled. Mexican-American
 CHAPTER 18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 197

youths reported the following reasons, among others, that the police commonl
gave for the stop: “It looked like I was wearing gang clothing” (i.e., sports team or
hip-hop clothing); “I was assumed to be out too late”; “people matched my
description”; “there were reports of shots fired”; “we had more than three people
in the car”; and “we looked suspicious.” Other reasons community members wére
stopped included minor traffic violations that could be detected only with strict
scrutiny. If the police found no traffic violations, officers had the option of using
vehicle safety ordinances, such as being without a front license plate, violating
noise ordinances, having overtinted windows (Utah), hanging rosaries or objects
from the rearview mirror (Colorado), standing or driving around in a known
gang area, and driving a customized (1.e., lowrider) vehicle. In sum, police offi
had a full range of reasons to initiate and later justify a “criminal” stop when speak-
ing with barrio residents.
POP observations supported Mexican-American claims of harassment. Dur-
ing their 5 years of watching the police in Denver, Randolph and Pam, two
middle-aged White observers of the police, reported the countless number of
times they witnessed gang unit officers searching suspected gang member vehi-
cles for drugs and weapons. Pam reported that officers would stop young men
for unclear reasons and take them all out of the vehicle. Randolph said the offi-
cers would then ID everyone in the car, check them for outstanding warrants,
search their pockets, and then send them on their way. He explained:
So when that happens over and over again, and it’s the same general age
group, ethnic group, gender group that it happens to time and time
again, and no one is arrested. Like detention and searches are supposed d
to be based on a reasonable suspicion that a crime has been or is about
to be committed, so what is the crime here? It seems that being a
Chicano youth for the Denver Gang Unit is reasonable suspicion of
criminal activity.
Traffic violations were highly discretionary and also very difficult to prove or
disprove. Several researchers have attempted to determine the role and signifi-
cance of racial profiling in such violations and how the practice is used to further
an investigation into the identity of occupants and to search for contraband.
Cola, a 27-year-old ex-gang member from Ogden, recalled:
They stopped me for everything. They even stopped me a couple times
to tell me they liked my car. I’m not sure what that had to do with
anything. At the time I thought it was nothing, but now that I think
back, I realize they would take down all of our names. We were just
Jad that we weren’t in trouble for anything.
The observed and described police discretion produced an elusive standard
for establishing reasonable suspicion and probable cause, because it was highly
influenced by extralegal factors (i.e., age, class, gender, neighborhood, a
race). While researching as a member of POP, I found that gang unit stops
were influenced particularly by age, gender, race, and local gang stereotypes in
100 percent (47 out of 47) of the observed police stops. The rationale for man
198 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

of these stops and for subsequent detention appeared far reaching. Compliance
with taking pictures and giving information resulted in the person’s release from
custody. The rationale of gang officers would leave researchers believing that™
most people stopped were gang members. However, gang members in both cit-
ies were a small percentage of barrio youths. Vigil (2002) found that, in Los
Angeles, only 4 to 14 percent of barrio youths joined gangs. Klein (1968) esti-
mated that only 6 percent of Los Angeles youths 10 to 17 years of age were
affiliated with gangs. According to my data accumulation over 5 years, there
was a greater number of associates than actual members of the gang, probably
in the ratio of 80 to 20.
Barrio youths faced greater difficulty than youths from other parts of the city
did in entering different parts of the city, because law enforcement often associ-
ated such entry with causing problems with rival gangs. Randolph, a middle-
aged member of POP from Denver, described a ‘situation in which a car was
stopped:
d the officer will say, I recognized the people in the backseat of that
K car as being from east Denver, and I wanted to know why they were in
west Denver. Now, that’s not a reasonable suspicion of a crime. People
in the United States are supposed to have freedom of movement.
Obviously, the reason they were there was because they were cruising
during Cinco de Mayo. It’s a famous event for a lot of youth, and so
.they will go cruise Federal [Boulevard] because it’s a big thing. So, it’s a
ridiculous reason to say someone is from another jurisdiction, and that’s
why I stopped them.
A third demographic factor community members believed that they were
stopped for was their gender. Men or teenage boys were perceived as more
highly targeted than women or teenage girls. Thus, the seven women inter-
viewed described fewer negative interactions with the police than the men
described, but still believed that the police would try to use them to gather infor-
mation. The young women who attended ASAP thought that the men were
stopped and harassed more by the police. Randolph, the middle-aged member
of POP from Denver, commented on this pattern:
If it’s a car full of girls, they are far less likely, we saw, to be stopped. So,
like, for every car full of girls they stopped, they stopped 10 cars full of
guys, and we know that multiple passengers were much more likely to
be targeted.
When police were unable to profile individuals as gang members, they relied
on other criteria, which many Mexican-American youths satisfied in the clothes
they wore (including clothing with numbers on them), the cut of their hair, or
the tattoos they had gotten. Most youths would dress in clothes that were fash-
ionable with their peers. Such dress, however, created great confusion for the
police and even for gang members when the majority of youths dressed in
baggy clothes from urban hip-hop brands (e.g., Ben Davis, Dickies, Johnny
Blaze, Karl Kani, Phat Farm, Roca Wear, and Sean John) and clothing with
 CHAPTER 18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 199

numbers (e.g., Fubu 05, Joker 77, and Sports Jerseys). Lucita, a 25-year-old gang
associate from Ogden, recalled seeing when the police would approach her
Mexican-American friends:
They get harassed, they get questioned, they get pulled over for any
reason because they got their sunglasses on, or their windows are too
tinted, or because they are wearing their pants a certain way, which is
funny because you catch these White kids trying to do the same thing
but they never get asked those questions. They never get asked “Why
you dress like that?” or “Where are you going?”
With police officers making a high percentage of their stops on the basis of
extralegal factors relating to age, gender, neighborhood, race, and gang stereo-
types, community members were skeptical about the officers’ stated prima
objective as that of targeting crime. Instead, a large number of residents believed EN
that police officers were there to enforce social control over the neighborhood
and the people who lived there.

Interacting with Suspected Gang Members

The interactions between police and the Mexican-American community mem-
bers were very tense because of the vagueness of the encounters and their
unknown outcomes. Several people who observed police officers interacting
with suspected gang members noted that the police used techniques of domina-
tion and suppression in dealing with them. Because police often lacked for a rea-
son to interact with, search, or arrest the urban youths they stopped, they
commonly attempted to incite provocations to justify a search or arrest.
A number of researchers have explored officers’ negative preconceptions
toward minorities and gang members, as well as police perceptions that stricter
enforcement is required. Bridges and Steen (1998) reported that probation off-
cers’ divergent beliefs about White and Black criminality shaped both thei
assessment of dangerousness and their recommendations regarding sentencing.
Bayley and Mendelsohn (1968) reported that officers’ beliefs are similar to those
held in the wider society. Through experience, individuals who associated with
or were in gangs came to feel that they were treated the worst.

Intelligence Gathering
Intelligence gathering was a key component of police suppression tactics.
Donner (1980) reported that police officers justified surveillance conducted on
people and groups on the grounds that it prevented violence. However, police
intelligence gathering has allowed the labeling of entire racial and ethnic groups,
especially men, as gang members. Once people land on such lists, it becom
more likely that their future acts will be discovered, prosecuted, and dealt with
punitively. Denver and Ogden gang lists do not require criminal activity wry
inclusion, and they remain in the file for at least 5 years.
200 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

To create lists of gang members, police officers repeatedly asked Mexican-

American youths to what gang they belonged. According to the police depart-
ment gang protocol, people who admitted gang membership satisfied the first
and primary requirement for being placed on a gang list. Most people asked,
however, denied membership. The police used different tactics, ranging from
talking nonchalantly to coercion, to discover gang involvement. Most. respon-
dents interviewed who were not involved with gangs and who therefore denied
membership, believed that officers suspected them of lying. Officers wo
search for clues to possible gang membership by asking individuals to pull up
their shirts so that the officers could look for tattoos. Or they asked what hig
school the youths attended, in the hope of associating them with a high school
that many gang members attended. Anne, the 24-year-old gang associate from
Ogden, said:
I was pregnant, and me and my friend were cruising, and we were just
sitting there parked, and the cops came over, and a couple other people
were parked there, and they were in a gang, but they said we couldn't
4
be loitering around there. And right away, they were yelling at us what
gang were we in. I said, “I’m not in a gang,” and he said, “Don’t lie,”
like yelling at me, “don’t lie.” I was like, “I’m not in a gang.” And then
he asked, ““Why you around all of these gang members if you’re not in a
gang?” I was pregnant and a girl hanging out with another girl, and so it
made me pretty mad. And frustrated, too, because I kept telling him,
but he wouldn’t let it go. He kept saying, “You're in a gang! Tell me!”
Although Anne was associating with gang members, she was not a member.
large number of people in the barrio know someone in-a gang, but that
acquaintanceship does not make them a member. Individual gang membership
created a stereotype of this or that particular racial or ethnic background, and
the stereotype spread to everyone living in the barrio. Police officers could
then use the gang label to legitimate their interactions with the Mexican-
American community. Gang labels were then maintained by the presumption
of clear and precise policies and guidelines that countered all forms of legal chal-
lenges and complaints, yet no one outside the gang unit had access to the police
files to verify their accuracy.
Others whose family members were involved in gangs were often treated as
members of the gang. Monique, a 22-year-old from Ogden who had two broth-
ers involved in gangs, mentioned how the police automatically assumed that she
was_a.member and accordingly treated her poorly.
Although acting civil and cordial may not be a requirement for policing,
stops during which the police were anything but civil and cordial produced
feelings of anger, distrust, and hopelessness, particularly when police could do
hatever they wished and get away with it. Everyone interviewed cited exam-
ples of being treated like dirt and then simply told to go on their way once offi-
cers found no reason to take the stop further (the majority of the time).
Interestingly, police officers’ “fishing expeditions” would not always pay off.
Anne, the 24-year-old gang associate from Ogden, said:
 CHAPTER 18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 201

They’re dicks; they don’t care, and they don’t care if you’re a girl. I had
one of the gang cops search me, and I know that is against the law. Not
search me but pat me down, like really pat me down! I know they are
not supposed to do that, and I told him, “You can’t pat me down.” ’m gp
like, “You're supposed to have a female officer.” He was all, “You
don’t tell me what to do.” You know, just their little attitude, they'll
put you down to your face. You're nothing, you’re a piece of shit,
They totally don’t have any respect for anybody who is a gang member
or who they think is a gang member. I don’t know how they choose
the gang task force, but they don’t seem to understand anything about
gangs. All they focus on is getting them off the street and into jail.
It’s awful.
Gang-labeled Mexican Americans—those who were on the gang list—were
approached differently because they were seen and treated as criminals even
when following the law. Police perceptions shaped gang membership as a “mas-
ter status” (Hughes, 1945) that combines ascribed and achieved statuses with the
belief that the member would have lifelong gang involvement. Changing this
image was very difficult for gang members, particularly those attempting to
leave the gang lifestyle. Many police stops of gang members would begin with
the police ordering these Mexican Americans out of their vehicle and telling r
them to put their hands up in the air or lie face down on the ground. The offis
cers drew their guns more frequently than they did when stopping other people
and attempted to investigate assumed gang involvement and planned activities.
On the one hand, Klein (2004) found that gang officer perceptions of ga
often did not match research findings. He found that (1) most gang crime is
minor, (2) most gang activity is noncriminal, (3) street gangs were social groups,
(4) street life becomes a part of gang culture, and (5) the community context in
which gangs arise was often ignored. The police, on the other hand, portraye
gangs as violent criminal organizations, fundamentally different from other social
groups and divorced from local community problems. Raul, an 18-year-old
ex-gang member from Denver, said:
They [the police] mess with you all of the time. Like, if you are a gang
member, they be stopping you all of the time. Checking to see if you
have any weapons, some of these police officers are racist, they think we
are all violent and do bad crimes, but I think we are different.

Police officers’ repeated profiling of Mexican Americans, which was based

on stereotypical perceptions, and their coercive intelligence-gathering tactics jus- fr
tified increased funding, increased gang-related legislation, and a movement to
relocate greater numbers of this population to the penitentiary.

Serious Forms of Police Misconduct

Respondents interviewed claimed that both Denver’s and Ogden’s police depart-
ments often used excessive physical force. Although researchers for the Bureau of
 202 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

Justice Statistics reported that the use of force occurred in less than 1 percent of
all encounters with citizens during the year of their survey (Greenfeld, Langan,
and Smith, 1999), at least 34 percent (11 out of 32) of my respondents had expe-
rienced physical abuse one or more times. Eighty percent of this misconduct
urred duri est_and in an isolated nea dnoing Senne ROT People
Tere iollihslpp, beudcnalieads penalagree
neighborhoods. The level of abuse and misconduct in the two cities was different
from that noted in the infamous Los Angeles Rampart Division case, but curs
rently remains underresearched and veiled in secrecy. Denver had a high rate of
police shootings from 1980 to 2007, with 222 people shot, and 103 people
killed, by the Denver Police Department. The captain of the Denver Ga
_ Unit assured me that many policies and protections were instituted to preven
misconduct from happening within his city. Nevertheless, two Denver gang o
cers were charged for not logging at least 80 pieces of drug evidence into th
police department property bureau after making numerous arrests and givin
tickets for possession of marijuana and related paraphernalia (Vaughan, 2006).
One of these officers was accused of harassing and brutalizing gang members
within the Denver area, and that was the likely reason he was shot by a suspected
gang member during a questionable traffic stop. The alleged gang member was
also shot to death during the incident. Nevertheless, the gang unit claimed that
they had few complaints. Rodney, an African-American Latino resident who
was a gang associate from Denver, told me:
I wish every gang member would actually report the abuse that they
would go through by the Denver Police Department. Then we would
have a better picture of what the role is that unit plays. But the gang
members don’t feel like they have a right to report when they have
been beat up. If they actually took the time to document this stuff, we
would actually see the Denver Police is putting in more work than
anybody. They_function as a gang.
Human Rights Watch (1998, 2) argued that “race continues to play a central
role in police brutality in the United States. Indeed, despite gains in many areas
since the civil nghts movement of the 1950s and 1960s, one area that has been
stubbornly resistant to change has been the treatment afforded racial minorities
by the police.” Cyclone, a 25-year-old ex—gang member and ex—prison inmate,
said:
I’ve been beaten by cops before. I was running from the police and I
was drunk. I wrecked a car and I got out and started to run and I
noticed there were five different counties of cops. There were cops
from every district surrounding me. I laid down on the ground, and the
cop that jumped on me started punching me in back of the head. I went
into County [Jail] and let them know that I was having serious
migraines, and I showed them the bumps on my head. They took a
report, and that’s all that was ever said. They didn’t do anything to the
officer that whupped my ass. I got charged with resisting arrest and was
 CHAPTER 18 LEGITIMATED SUPPRESSION 203

tied to the bumper of a car. [Question: How many times do you think
he hit you in the back of the head?] Probably about four of five. [What
were you doing?] I was in handcuffs on my stomach while his knee was
in my back and the other cops were watching. They know something
happened. If I wasn’t in cuffs when he was hitting me, I would have
defended myself. They have the reports on the bumps on my head,
severe handcuff marks on my arms; I couldn’t feel my left hand for
nearly an hour after they took the cuffs off.
Several of the interviewees also believed that illegal immigrants were treated
worse than others by police. Mirandé (1987) suggested that undocumented
immigrants were especially vulnerable because they lacked resources and famil-
larity with the justice system. ig also reported fewer instances of ab
because they feared ion. Problematic urban conditions and a minority
presence together have resulted in police violence being used proactively rather
than the police simply reacting to a criminal threat. The Mexican-American
community recognized that a simple stop or interaction with the police had a
variety of outcomes that were seen as legally permissible but that law enforce-
ment officers were not going to treat Whites living in their racially segregated
neighborhoods with the same type of aggression.

CONCLUSION

In many ways, the gang enforcement experiences of Mexican-American youths

living in the barrios can be difficult to believe compared with traditional notions
of policing and studies on gangs. The research reported here runs contrary to all
of the legitimated claims given by law enforcement and routinely heard in the
media. In these segregated barrios, police gang units systematically targeted peo
ple of Mexican descent by disguising the racial and ethnic implications of th *
units’ actions in a new, nonracial rhetoric discussed by Omi and Winant (1994)
as “code-words.” The higher number of stops and the coercive questioning dra-
matically increased the number of people labeled as gang members and associates.
Donner (1980) reported that the language used by law enforcement officers
shielded their tactics from attack. Suppression and intelligence gathering against
the Mexican-American community became legitimated when it was justified
with the term “gang.” The barrio residents were not antipolice; rather, they
were against the profilin 0
ageressive differential policing was a greater divide between the barrio and law
enforcement.
The 1990s brought a new policing effort involving gang units. The
endeavor spread to cities around the nation, targeting perceived criminality in
poor and minority communities. The problem became, not that of law, but
rather the enforcement of laws. Police gang units legitimated the social control of
people beyond involvement in crime to include merely perceived criminality.
Heymann (2000) found the effectiveness of this new policing problematic.
204 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

He reported that the cumulative effect of stopping more Blacks and Latinos 1s to
diminish their equal protection status in this country. An increasing number of
research studies related to gangs and police are questioning the suppression tactics
used by law enforcement to target groups of people living in racially and eco-
nomically segregated social environments. Jackson and Rudman (1993) suggested
that these suppression strategies were bound to fail because they had a negative
impact on impoverished communities and then spread gang influence by creating
a link between the community and prison.
The research presented in this paper supports Werthman and Piliavin’s
(1967) theoretical proposition of “ecological contamination”: people living in
neighborhoods high in alleged gang membership are often suspected of being
gang members because gang membership is “contagious” in these high-density
areas. The results highlight how people living in those neighborhoods became
viewed as poor, young Mexican-American males and not just anyone living
within the city. This focus supports the “minority group threat” hypothesis that
the rise in numbers of people of color in US. cities has created a disjuncture
between the perceived threat and the actual threat and has generated an
unfounded “moral panic” about the danger of such populations. In both cities
examined here, Latinos were increasing in number, and their growth produced
heightened perceptions of gang involvement.
In sum, gang enforcement by gang units and patrol officers involved several
theoretical patterns. First, police activities pushed more youths into joining
gangs. Second, structurally vulnerable areas became targeted with concentrated
aggressive gang enforcement that supported unsubstantiated assumptions about
gangs and that fueled a moral panic by labeling nongang members as gang mem-
bers (the ecological contamination). Third, aggressive policing of marginalized
and oppressed communities did not eliminate crime, but led instead to greater
divisions between barrio residents and law enforcement.

REFERENCES

Bayley, D. H., and Mendelsohn, H. (1968). 165040. Washington, DC: U.S.

Minorities and the police: Confrontation in Department of Justice, Bureau of
America. New York: Free Press. Justice Statistics and National
Bridges, G.S., and S. Steen, S. (1998). Racial Institute of Justice.
disparities in official assessments of Heymann, P. B. (2000). The new policing.
juvenile offenders: Attributional stereo- . Fordham Urban Law Journal, 28,
types as mediating mechanisms. Ameri- 405-456.
can Sociological Review, 63, 554-570. Hughes, E. C. (1945). Dilemmas and con-
Donner, F. J. (1980). The age ofsurveillance: tradictions of status. American Journal of
The aims and methods ofAmerica’s political Sociology, 50, 353-359.
intelligence system. New York: Knopf. Human Rights Watch. (1998). Shielded from
Greenfeld, L. A., Langan, P. A., and Smith, justice: Police brutality and accountability
S. K. (1999). Police use of force: in the United States. New York:
Collection of national data. NCJ Human Rights Watch.
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Jackson, P., and Rudman, C. (1993). Moral Omi, M., and Winant, H. (1994). Racial
panics and the response to gangs in formation in the United States: From the
California. In S. Cummings and D. J. 1960s to the 1990s. New York:
Monti (Eds.), Gangs: The origins and Routledge.
impact of contemporary youth gangs in Spergel, I. A. (1995). The youth gang prob-
the United States. Albany, NY: State lem: A community approach. New York:
University of New York Press. Oxford University Press.
Klein, M. W. (1968). From association to Vaughan, K. (2000). Charges filed against
guilt: The group guidance project in juve- two cops. Veteran gang officers
nile gang intervention. Los Angeles, CA: accused of destroying evidence in
Youth Studies Center, University of “at least” 80 criminal cases. Rocky
Southern California and the Los Mountain News, local section, July
Angeles County Probation 20:4A.
Department.
Vigil, J. D. (2002). A rainbow ofgangs: Street
Klein, M. W. (1995). The American street cultures in the mega-city. Austin, TX:
gang: Its nature, prevalence, and control. University of Texas Press.
New York: Oxford University Press.
Werthman, C., and Piliavin, I. (1967).
Klein, M. W. (2004). Gang cop: The words “Gang members and the police.” In
and ways of Officer Paco Domingo. D. Bordua (Ed.), The police: Six socio-
Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. logical essays. New York: Wiley.
Mirandé, A. (1987). Gringo justice. Notre
Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame.
 19

Homophobia and Women’s Sport

ELAINE M. BLINDE AND DIANE E. TAUB

Blinde and Taub explore the role of attributed sexual orientation in

disempowering women who violate gender norms: varsity female collegiate
athletes. By challenging the gender order and opposing.male domination, these
women intrude into a traditional male sanctum and threaten the male domain of
physicality and strength. By casting the lesbian label on women athletes, society
stigmatizes them as masculine and as sexual perverts. While the homosexual
label is routinely used to degrade male athletes who fail to live up to the
hypermasculine ideal, the lesbian label is used to divide and silence female
athletes. As a result, they may adopt the perspective of their oppressors and
demean their teammates as lesbians, thus destroying team solidarity.
Alternatively, they may shun the label but be forced to acknowledge its
demeaning power as they attempt to escape it. The forceful effect of the lesbian
label applied to women athletes shows the dominance not only of heterosexuals
over homosexuals, but also of men over women.
Why do you think the women athletes in this article passively accept the
stigma cast onto them? What factors lead some stigmatized groups to fight their
social labels while others accept such labels and hide their deviance?

CS to the preservation of a patriarchal and heterosexist society is a well-

established gender order with clearly defined norms and sanctions governing the
behavior of men and women. This normative gender system is relayed to and installed
in members of society through a pervasive socialization network that is evident in
both everyday social interaction and social institutions (Schur, 1984). Conformity
to established gender norms contributes to the reproduction of male dominance and
heterosexual privilege (Lenskyj, 1991; Stockard and Johnson, 1980).
Despite gender role socialization, not all individuals engage in behavior con-
sistent with gender expectations. Recognizing the potential threat of such aber-
rations, various mechanisms exist that encourage compliance with the normative
gender order. Significant in such processes are the stigmatization and devaluation
of those whose behavior deviates from the norm (Schur, 1984).

From Elaine M. Blinde and Diane E. Taube, “Homophobia and Women’s Sport: The
Disempowerment of Athletes.” Journal of the North Central Sociological Association, Vol. 25,
No. 2. Copyright © 1992. Reproduced by permission of Taylor & Francis, LLC,
http://www.taylorandfrancis.com.

206
 CHAPTER19 HOMOPHOBIA AND WOMEN’S SPORT 207

Women’s violation of traditional gender role norms represents a particularly

serious threat to the patriarchal and heterosexist society because this deviant
behavior resists women’s subordinate status (Schur, 1984). When women engage
in behavior that challenges the established gender order, and thus opposes male
domination, attempts are often made by those most threatened to devalue these
women and ultimately control their actions. One means of discrediting women
who violate gender norms and thereby questioning their “womanhood” is to
label them lesbian (Griffin, 1987).
The accusation of lesbianism is a powerful controlling mechanism given the
homophobia that exists within U.S. society. Homophobia, representing a fear of
or negative reaction to homosexuality (Pharr, 1988), results in stigmatization
directed at those assumed to violate sexuality norms. Lesbianism, in particular, is
viewed as threatening to the established patriarchal order and heterosexual family
structure since lesbians reject their “natural” gender role, as well as resist economic,
emotional, and sexual dependence on men (Gartrell, 1984; Lenskyj, 1991).
As a means for both discouraging homosexuality and maintaining a patriarchal
and heterosexist gender order (Pharr, 1988), homophobia controls behavior
through contempt for purported norm violators (Koedt, Levine, and Rapone,
1973). One method of control is the frequent application of the lesbian label to
women who move into traditional male-dominated fields such as politics, business,
or the military (Lenskyj, 1991). This “lesbian baiting” (Pharr, 1988:19) suggests
that women’s advancement into these arenas is inappropriate. Such messages are
particularly potent since they are lodged in a society that condemns, devalues,
oppresses, and victimizes individuals labeled as homosexuals (Lenskyj, 1990).
Another male arena in which women have made significant strides, and thus
risk damaging accusation and innuendo, is that of sport (Blinde and Taub, 1992;
Lenskyj, 1990). Sport is a particularly susceptible arena for lesbian labeling due to
the historical linkage of masculinity with athleticism (Birrell, 1988). When
women enter the domain of sport they are viewed as violating the docile female
gender role, and therefore extending culturally constructed boundaries of femi-
ninity (Cobban, 1982; Lenskyj, 1986; Watson, 1987). The attribution of mascu-
line qualities to women who participate in sport leads to a questioning of their
sexuality and subsequently makes athletes targets of homophobic accusations
(Lenskyj, 1986)....
Therefore, the present study explores the stereotyping of women athletes as
lesbians and the accompanying homophobia fostering this label. General themes
and processes which inform us of how these individuals handle the lesbian issue
are identified. These dynamics are grounded in the contextual experiences of
women athletes and relayed through their voices.
Athletic directors at seven large Division I universities were contacted by
telephone and asked to participate in a study examining various aspects of the
sport experience of female college athletes. These administrators were requested
to provide a list of the names and addresses of all varsity women athletes for the
purpose of contacting them for telephone interviews. [Three of the seven uni-
versities—two in the Midwest and one in the South—responded with lists.]...
Interested athletes were encouraged to return an informed consent form
208 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

indicating their willingness to participate in a tape-recorded telephone interview.

Based on this initial contact, a total of 16 athletes agreed to be in the study.
In order to increase the sample size to the desired 20 to 30 respondents,
the names of 30 additional athletes were randomly and proportionately selected
from the three lists. Eight of these athletes agreed to be interviewed, resulting in
a final sample size of 24. Athletes in the sample were currently participating in a
variety of women’s intercollegiate varsity sports—basketball (n = 5), track and
field (n = 4), volleyball (n = 3), swimming (n = 3), softball (n = 3), tennis
(n = 2), diving (n = 2), and gymnastics (n = 2). With an average age of
20.2 years and overwhelmingly Caucasian (92 percent), the sample contained
2 freshmen, 9 sophomores, 5 juniors, and 8 seniors. A majority of the athletes
(n = 22) were recipients of an athletic scholarship....
Semistructured telephone interviews were conducted by two trained female
interviewers. All interviews were tape-recorded and_lasted from 50 to 90 min-
utes. Questions were open-ended in nature so that athletes would not feel con-
strained in discussing those issues most relevant to their experiences. Follow-up
questions were utilized to probe how societal perceptions of women athletes
impact their behavior and experiences.

RESULTS

Examination of the responses of athletes revealed two prevailing themes related

to the presence of the lesbian stereotype in women’s sport—(a) a silence sur-
rounding the issue of lesbianism in women’s sport, and (b) athletes’ internalization
of societal stereotypes concerning lesbians and women athletes. It is suggested that
these two processes disempower women athletes and thus are counterproductive
to the self-actualizing capability of sport participation (Theberge, 1987).

Silence Surrounding Lesbianism in Women’s Sport

One of the most pervasive themes throughout the interviews related to the gen-
eral silence associated with the lesbian stereotype in women’s sport. Although a
topic of which athletes are cognizant, reluctance to discuss and address lesbianism
in women’s sport was evident. Based on the responses of athletes, this silence
was manifested in several ways: (a) athletes’ difficulty in discussing lesbian topic,
(b) viewing lesbianism as a personal and irrelevant issue, (c) disguising athletic
identity to avoid lesbian label, (d) team difficulty in addressing lesbian issue, and
(e) administrative difficulty in addressing lesbian issue.

Athletes’ Difficulty in Discussing Lesbian Topic

Initial indication of silencing was illustrated by the difficulty and uneasiness many
athletes experienced in discussing the lesbian stereotype. Some respondents were
initially reluctant to mention the topic of lesbianism; discussion of the issue was
 CHAPTER 19 HOMOPHOBIA AND WOMEN'S SPORT 209

frequently preceded by awkward or long pauses suggesting feelings of uneasiness

or discomfort. Athletes were most likely to introduce this topic when questions
were asked about societal perceptions of women’s sport and female athletes, as
well as inquiries about the existence of stereotypes associated with women ath-
letes. Moreover, the lesbian issue was sometimes discussed without specifically
using the term lesbian. For example, some athletes evaded the issue by making
indirect references to lesbianism (e.g., using the word “it” rather than a more
descriptive term)....
Respondents’ approach to the topic of lesbianism indicates the degree to
which women athletes have been socialized into a cycle of silence. Such silence
highlights the suppressing effects of homophobia. Moreover, athletes’ reluctance
to discuss topics openly related to lesbianism may be to avoid what Goffman
(1963) has termed “courtesy stigma,” a stigma conferred despite the absence of
usual qualifying behavior.

Viewing Lesbianism as a Personal and Irrelevant Issue

A second indicator of the silence surrounding the lesbian stereotype was reflected
in athletes’ general comments about lesbianism. Many respondents indicated that
sexual orientation was a very personal issue and thus represented a private and
extraneous aspect of an individual’s life. These athletes felt it was inappropriate
for others to be concerned about the sexual orientation of women athletes.
Although such a manifestation of silence might reflect the path of least resis-
tance by relieving athletes of the need to discuss or disclose their sexual orienta-
tion (Lenskyj, 1991), it does not eliminate the stigma and stress experienced by
women athletes. Also, making lesbianism a private issue does not confront or
challenge the underlying homophobia that allows the label to carry such signifi-
cance. The strategy of making sexual orientation a personal issue depoliticizes
lesbianism and ignores broader societal issues.

Disguising Athletic Identity to Avoid Lesbian Label

A third form of silence surrounding the lesbian stereotype was the tendency for
athletes to hide their athletic identities. Nearly all the respondents indicated that
despite feeling pride in being an athlete, there were situations where they pre-
ferred that others not know their athletic identity. Although not all athletes indi-
cated that this concealment was to prevent being labeled a lesbian, it was obvious
that there was a perceived stigma associated with athletics that many women
wanted to avoid (e.g., masculine women, women trying to be men, jock
image). In most cases, respondents indicated that disguising their athletic identity
was either directly or indirectly related to the lesbian stereotype....
Athletes also stated that they (or other athletes they knew) accentuated cer-
tain behaviors in order to reduce the possibility of being labeled a lesbian. Being
seen with men, having a boyfriend, or even being sexually promiscuous with
men were commonly identified strategies to reaffirm an athlete’s heterosexuality.
210 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

As one athlete commented: “If you are a female athlete and do not have a boy-
friend, you are labeled [lesbian].”
As reflected in the responses of athletes, the role of sport participant was
often intentionally de-emphasized in order to reduce the risk of being labeled
lesbian. Modification of athletes’ behavior, even to the point of denying critical
aspects of self, was deemed necessary for protection from the negativism attached
to the lesbian label. This disguising of athletic identity exemplifies what Kitzinger
(1987:92) termed “role inversion.” In such a situation individuals attempt to
demonstrate that their group stereotype is inaccurate by accentuating traits that
are in opposition to those commonly associated with the group (in the case of
women athletes, stressing femininity and heterosexuality).

Team Difficulty in Addressing Lesbian Issue

Not only did the silence surrounding lesbianism impact certain aspects of the
lives of individual athletes, but it also affected interpersonal relationships among
team members. This silence was often counterproductive to the development of
positive group dynamics (e.g., team cohesion, open lines of communication).
As was often true at the individual level, women’s sport teams were unable
collectively to discuss, confront, or challenge the labeling of women athletes as les-
bians. One factor complicating the ability of women athletes to confront the les-
bian stereotype was the divisive nature of the label itself (Gentile, 1982); the lesbian
issue sometimes split teams into factions or served as the basis for clique formation.
Heterosexual and lesbian athletes often had limited interaction with each
other outside the sport arena. Moreover, athletes established distance between
themselves and those athletes most likely to be labeled lesbian (i.e., those posses-
sing “masculine” physical or personality characteristics)...
From the interviews, there was little evidence that lesbian and nonlesbian
athletes collectively pooled their efforts to confront or challenge the lesbian
stereotype so prevalent in women’s sport. The silence surrounding lesbianism
creates divisions among women athletes; this dissension has the effect of prevent-
ing female bonding and camaraderie (Lenskyj, 1986). Rather than recognizing
their shared interests, women athletes focus on their differences and thus deny
the formation of “alliance” (Pheterson, 1986:149). This difficulty in attaining
team cohesion is unfortunate since women’s sport is an activity where women
as a group can strive for common goals (Lenskyj, 1990). The lesbian stereotype
not only limits female solidarity, but also minimizes women’s ability to challenge
collectively the patriarchal and heterosexist system in which they reside (Bennett
etialeed 987). :

Administrative Difficulty in Addressing Lesbian Issue

Another manifestation of silence relayed in the responses of athletes was the
apparent unwillingness of coaches and athletic directors to confront openly the
lesbian stereotype. As was found with individual athletes and teams, those in
leadership positions in women’s sport refused to address or challenge this
 CHAPTER19 HOMOPHOBIA AND WOMEN'S SPORT 211

stereotype. Reluctance to confront the lesbian issue at the administrative level

undoubtedly influenced the manner in which athletes handled the
stereotype...
Because the women’s intercollegiate sport system is homophobic-and pre-
dominately male-controlled (i.e., over half of coaches and four-fifths of adininis-
trators are men) (Acosta and Carpenter, 1992), it is assumed that survival in
women’s sport requires collusion in a collective strategy of silence about and
denial of lesbianism (Griffin, 1987). Coaches and administrators fear that openly
addressing the lesbian issue may result in women’s sport losing the recent gains
made in such areas as fan support, budgets, sponsorship, and credibility (Griffin,
1987). Therefore, leaders yield to this fear as they strive to achieve acceptability
for women’s sport. Such accommodation to the patriarchal, heterosexist sport
structure not only contributes to isolation as coaches and administrators are afraid
to discuss lesbianism, but also limits their identification with feminist and
women’s issues (Duquin, 1981; Hargreaves, 1990; Pharr, 1988; Zipter, 1988).

Conclusions

Based on athletes’ responses, it was evident that the silence surrounding the les-
bian issue in women’s sport was deeply ingrained at all levels of the women’s
intercollegiate sport structure. Such widespread silencing reflects the negativism
and fear associated with lesbianism that are so prevalent in a homophobic society.
This strategy of silence or avoidance, however, is counterproductive to efforts to
dispel or minimize the impact of the lesbian stereotype. Not only does silence
disallow a direct confrontation with those who label athletes lesbian, but it also
perpetuates the power of the label by leaving unchallenged rumors and insinua-
tions. Moreover, the fear, ignorance, and negative images that are frequently
associated with women athletes are reinforced by this silence (Zipter, 1988).
Numerous aspects of women’s experience in sport are ignored due to the
silence surrounding the subject of lesbianism. For example, refusing to address
this issue has limited understanding of the dimensionality and complexity of
women’s sport participation. Moreover, since the stigma associated with the les-
bian label inhibits athletes from discussing this topic with each other, these
women frequently do not realize that they possess shared experiences that
would provide the foundation for female bonding. Without an “alliance”
among athletes, little progress is made in improving their plight (Pheterson,
1986). Finally, as a result of this preoccupation with silence, women athletes
often engage in self-denial as they hide their athletic identity.

Athletes’ Internalization of Societal Stereotypes

A second major theme reflected in the responses of athletes was a general inter-
nalization of stereotypic representations of lesbians and women athletes. As
argued by Kitzinger (1987) and Pheterson (1986), members of oppressed and
socially marginalized groups often find themselves accepting the stereotypes and
prejudices held by the dominant society. Representing “internalized oppression” _
212 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

(Pheterson, 1986:148), the responses of athletes revealed an identification with

the aggressor, self-concealment, and dependence on others for self-definition
(Kitzinger, 1987; Pheterson, 1986). Acceptance of these societal representations
by a disadvantaged group (in this case women athletes) grants legitimacy to the
position of those who oppress and contributes to the continued subordination of
the oppressed (Wolf, 1986). Based on our interviews, athletes’ internalization
of stereotypes and prejudices were reflected by three categories of responses:
(1) acceptance of lesbian stereotypes, (2) acceptance of women’s sport team
stereotypes, and (3) acceptance of negative images of lesbianism.

Acceptance of Lesbian Stereotypes

In response to various open-ended questions, it was apparent that athletes were
able to identify a variety of factors that they felt led others to label women ath-
letes as lesbians (e.g., physical appearance, dress, personality characteristics, nature
of sport activity). Given that the attribution of homosexuality is most likely to be
associated with traits and behaviors judged to be more appropriate for members
of the opposite sex (Dunbar, Brown, and Amoroso, 1973; Dunkle and Francis,
1990), it was not surprising that athletes’ rationale for the lesbian label included
such attributes as muscularity, short hair, masculine clothing, etc.
When athletes were asked about the validity of the lesbian label in women’s
sport, affirmative replies were frequently based on conjecture. For example, to
provide support for why they felt there was a basis for labeling women athletes
as lesbians, respondents made such comments as “there are masculine girls on
some teams,” “it is really obvious,” or “you can just tell that some athletes are
lesbians.”
These explanations tend to reflect an acceptance of societal definitions of
lesbianism—beliefs that are largely male-centered and supportive of a patriarchal,
heterosexist system (e.g., “girls who look like guys”). Indeed, previous research
has shown that people associate physical appearance with homosexuality (Levitt
and Klassen, 1974; McArthur, 1982; Unger, Hilderbrand, and Madar, 1982). For
example, attractiveness is equated with heterosexuality and a larger, muscular
body build is identified with lesbianism.
Moreover, the remarks of athletes demonstrate that the very group that is
oppressed (in this case women athletes) accepts societal stereotypes about lesbians
and has incorporated these images into their managing of the situation. As sug-
gested by Gartrell (1984) and certainly evident in this sample of women athletes,
cultural myths about lesbianism perpetuated in a homophobic society are often
firmly ingrained in the thinking of affected individuals.

Acceptance of Women’s Sport Team Stereotypes

Relative to providing a rationale for why the lesbian label was more likely to be
associated with athletes in certain sports, respondents again demonstrated an under-
standing and internalization of societal stereotypes. The sports most commonly
identified with the lesbian label were softball, field hockey, and basketball.
 CHAPTER19 HOMOPHOBIA AND WOMEN'S SPORT 213

In attempting to explain why these team sports were singled out, athletes men-
tioned such factors as the nature of bodily contact or amount of aggression in the
sport, as well as the body build, muscularity, or athleticism needed to play the sport.
Respondents often relied on the “masculine” and “feminine” stereotypes to
differentiate sports in which participating women were more or less likely to be
subjected to the lesbian label. Although participants in team sports were more
likely than individual sports (e.g., gymnastics, swimming, tennis, golf) to be asso-
ciated with the lesbian label, it was interesting to note that volleyball was often
exempt from the connotations of lesbianism.
The higher incidence of lesbian labeling found in team sports (as opposed to
individual sports) may also be related to the potential that team sports provide for
interpersonal interactions. As mentioned earlier, emphasizing teamwork and
togetherness, team sports allow women rare opportunities to bond collectively in
pursuit of a group goal (Lenskyj, 1990). Recognition of this power of female bond-
ing is often reflected by male opposition to women-only activities (Lenskyj, 1990).

Acceptance of Negative Images of Lesbianism

During the course of the interviews, a large majority of athletes made comments
about lesbians which reflected an internalization of the negativism associated
with lesbianism. Respondents also demonstrated a similar acceptance when they
relayed conversations they had had with both teammates and outsiders.
One form of negativism was reflected by statements that specifically “put
down” lesbians. Athletes’ negative comments about lesbians were included in
conversations with outsiders so others would not associate the lesbian label with
them. Representing a form of projection (Gross, 1978), some athletes attempted
to disassociate from traits that they saw in themselves (e.g., strength, muscularity,
aggressiveness)...
It is ironic that athletes rarely directed their anger or condemnations at the
homophobic society that restricts the actions of women athletes, including
the nonlesbian athlete. Rather, by focusing on athletes as lesbians, a blame-
the-victim approach diverts attention from the cause of the oppression (Pharr,
1988). As is often true of oppressed groups, a blame-the-victim philosophy
results in an acceptance of the belief system of the oppressor (in this case a patri-
archal, heterosexist society) (Pharr, 1988). Like other marginalized groups,
women athletes accept the normative definitions of their deviance (Kitzinger,
1987); in effect, such responses represent a form of collusion with the oppressive
forces (Pheterson, 1986). Interestingly, no mention was made by respondents
about attempts to engage the assistance or support of units on campus sympa-
thetic to gay and lesbian issues (e.g., feminist groups, gay and lesbian organiza-
tions, affirmative action offices).

Conclusion

From the interview responses, it was evidence that athletes had internalized soci-
etal stereotypes related to lesbians and women athletes, as well as the negativism
214 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

directed toward lesbianism. This acceptance was so ingrained in these athletes

that they were generally unaware of the political ramifications of both lesbianism
and the accompanying lesbian stereotype as applied to women athletes. Despite
their gender norm violation as athletes, these women often had a superficial
understanding of gender issues. Such a lack of awareness may be due in part to
the absence of a feminist consciousness in athletes (Boutilier and SanGiovanni,
1983; Kaplan, 1979) and their open disavowal of being a “feminist,” “activist,”
or “preacher of women’s liberation.” Accepting societal definitions of their devi-
ance, as well as the inability to see their personal experiences as political in
nature, attests to this limited consciousness (Boutilier and SanGiovanni, 1983).
Athletes’ responses are indicative of the degree to which they exhibit internal
homophobia so common in USS. society.
Only a few athletes possessed deeper insight into factors that may underlie
the labeling of women athletes as lesbians. For example, one respondent felt
women athletes were a “threat to men since they can stand on their own feet.”
Or, in another situation, an athlete viewed lesbian labeling as a means to devalue
women athletes or successful women in general. Still another respondent sug-
gested the label stemmed from jealousy and thus was used as a means to “get
back” at women athletes. These rare remarks by respondents transcend the
blame-the-victim view held by the majority of athletes. Such commitments indi-
cate a deeper understanding of how homophobia and patriarchal ideology limit
or control women’s activities and their bodies.

DISEMPOWERMENT

Given the silence surrounding the lesbian issue and the degree to which athletes
have internalized societal images of lesbians and women athletes, the presence of
the lesbian stereotype has negative ramifications for women athletes. Although
sport participation possesses the potential for creativity and physical excellence
(Theberge, 1987), women modify their behavior so they will not be viewed as
“stepping out of line.” Women athletes become disempowered (Pharr, 1988)
through processes that detract from or reduce the self-actualizing potential of
the sport experience.
Attaching the label of lesbian to women who engage in sport diminishes the
sporting accomplishments of athletes. Women athletes are seen as something less
than “real women” because they do not exemplify traditional female qualities
(e.g., dependency, weakness, passivity); thus their accomplishments are not
viewed as threatening to men (Birrell, 1988). Interestingly, the athletes inter-
viewed believed that the specific group most likely to engage in lesbian labeling
was male athletes.
Discrediting women with the label of lesbian works further to control the
number of females in sport, particularly in a homophobic society where preju-
dice against lesbians is intense (Birrell, 1988; Zipter, 1988). Keeping women out
of sport, in turn, prevents females from discovering the power and joy of their
 CHAPTER 19 HOMOPHOBIA AND WOMEN'S SPORT 215

own physicality (Birrell, 1988) and experiencing the potential of their body.
Moreover, discouraging women from participating in sport dixernpowers them
by removing an arena where women can bond together (Birrell, 1984; Cobban,
1982)...
Another form of disempowerment occurs for those athletes who are Sedbians,
Intense homophobia often forces lesbians to deny their very ewence, thus making
the lesbian athlete invisible. Concealment, although protecting these lesbian
_athletes’ identity, imposes psychological strain and can undermine positive
self-conceptions (Schur, 1984), Misrepresenting their sexuality, lesbian athletes
are not in a position to confront the homophobia ~ prevalent in women’s
sport. Consequently, this ideology not only remains intact, but also is trength-
ened (Ettore, 1980).

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Acosta, RK, Vivian, and Linda Pp. 179-186 in Lesbian Studies: Present
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 20

The Mark of a Criminal Record

DEVAH PAGER

To measure concretely the interactive effects of race and a criminal record, Pager
devised an experimental design in which she constructed a fabricated pair ofjob
applicants who were matched on all features except their criminal history. She
then sent out these matched pairs, of Whites and Blacks, to apply for real jobs in
Milwaukee, and noted how far the candidates got in the interview process. Along
the way, she recorded the employer’s likelihood of dismissing the applicants right
away, checking their references, calling them back for further interviews, and
offering them the job. In a real demonstration of the effects of race and a criminal
record on employment opportunities, Pager found that, while Whites were offered
more jobs than Blacks and applicants with no criminal history were offered more
jobs than those who had served time, even Whites with criminal pasts were more
likely to be hired than Blacks who had led law-abiding lives. She also found that
employers were more likely to hold stereotypes suspecting Blacks, especially young
Black men, of being prone to crime and of being unreliable employees.

hile stratification researchers typically focus on schools, labor markets, and

the family as primary institutions affecting inequality, a new institution has
emerged as central to the sorting and stratifying of young and disadvantaged
men: the criminal justice system. With over 2 million individuals currently incar-
cerated, and over half a million prisoners released each year, the large and grow-
ing numbers of men being processed through the criminal justice system raises
important questions about the consequences of this massive institutional
intervention.
This article focuses on the consequences of incarceration for the employ-
ment outcomes of black and white men. While previous survey research has
demonstrated a strong association between incarceration and employment, there
remains little understanding of the mechanisms by which these outcomes are
produced. In the present study, I adopt an experimental audit approach to test
formally the degree to which a criminal record affects subsequent employment
opportunities. By using matched pairs of individuals to apply for real entry-level
jobs, it becomes possible to directly measure the extent to which a criminal

From “The Mark of a Criminal Record,” by Devah Pager in American Journal of

Sociology 108(5). Copyright © 2003 by the University of Chicago Press. Reprinted by
permission of the publisher and author.

217
218 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

record—in the absence of other disqualifying characteristics—serves as a barrier

to employment among equally qualified applicants. Further, by varying the race
of the tester pairs, we can assess the ways in which the effects of race and crimi-
nal record interact to produce new forms of labor market inequalities.

TRENDS IN INCARCERATION

Over the past three decades, the number of prison inmates in the United States
has increased by more than 600 percent, leaving it the country with the highest
incarceration rate in the world (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2002; Barclay,
Tavares, and Siddique, 2001). During this time, incarceration has changed from
a punishment reserved primarily for the most heinous offenders to one extended
to a much greater range of crimes and a much larger segment of the population.
Recent trends in crime policy have led to the imposition of harsher sentences
for a wider range of offenses, thus casting an ever-widening net of penal
; ; 1
intervention.

the maxes 2 mauthon rhdividusls currently incareeyaeee: roughly 95 percent will be

released, with more than half a million being released each year (Slevin, 2000).
According to one estimate, there are currently over 12 million ex-felons in the
Unitéd States, representing roughly 8 percent of the working-age population
(Uggen, Thompson, and Manza, 2000). Of those recently released, nearly two-
thirds will be charged with new crimes and over 40 percent will return to prison
within three years (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2000). Certainly, some of these
outcomes are the result of desolate opportunities or deeply ingrained dispositions,
grown out of broken families, poor neighborhoods, and little social control
(Sampson and Laub, 1993; Wilson, 1997). Besides these contributing factors,
there is evidence that experience with the criminal justice system in itself has
adverse consequences iosae Se In soe

a ism (Shover, 1996;i deanery‘nidub, 1993: Uggen, 2000).

The expansion of the prison population has been particularly consequential
for blacks. The incarceration rate for young black men in the year 2000 was
nearly 10 percent, compared to just over 1 percent for white men in the same
age group (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2001). Young black men today have a
28 percent likelihood of incarceration during their lifetime (Bureau ofJustice Sta-
tistics, 1997), a figure that rises above 50 percent among young black high school
dropouts (Pettit and Western, 2001). These vast numbers of inmates translate into
a large and increasing population of black ex-offenders returning to communities
and searching for work. The barriers these men face in reaching economic self-
sufficiency are compounded by the stigma of minority status and criminal record.
The consequences of such trends for widening racial disparities are potentially
profound (see Western and Pettit, 1999; Freeman and Holzer, 1986).
 CHAPTER 20 THE MARK OF A CRIMINAL RECORD 219

The objective of this study is to assess whether the effect of a criminal record
differs for black and white applicants. Most research investigating the differential
impact of incarceration on blacks has focused on the differential rates of incarcer-
ation and how those rates translate into widening racial disparities. In addition to
disparities in the rate of incarceration, however, it is also important to consider
possible racial differences in the effects of incarceration. Almost none of the exist-
ing literature to date has explored this issue, and the theoretical arguments
remain divided as to what we might expect.
On one hand, there is reason to believe that the signal of a criminal record
should be less consequential for blacks. Research on racial stereotypes tells us that
Americans hold strong and persistent negative stereotypes about blacks, with one
of the most readily invoked contemporary stereotypes relating to perceptions of
violent and criminal dispositions (Smith, 1991; Sniderman and Piazza, 1993;
Devine and Elhot, 1995). If it is the case that employers view all blacks as poten-
tial criminals, they are likely to differentiate less among those with official crimi-
nal records and those without. Actual confirmation of criminal involvement then
will provide only redundant information, while evidence against it will be dis-
counted. In this case, the outcomes for all blacks should be worse, with less dif+
ferentiation between those with criminal records and those without.
On the other hand, the effect of a criminal record may be worse for blacks if
employers, already wary of black applicants, are more hesitant when it comes to
taking risks on blacks with proven criminal tendencies. The literature on racial
stereotypes also tells us that stereotypes are most likely to be activated and rein-
forced when a target matches on more than one dimension of the stereotype
(Quillian and Pager, 2002; Darley and Gross, 1983; Fiske and Neuberg, 1990).
While employers may have learned to keep their racial attributions in check
through years of heightened sensitivity around employment discrimination,
when combined with knowledge of a criminal history, negative attributions are
likely to intensify.
A third possibility, of course, is that a criminal record affects black and white
applicants equally. The results of this audit study will help to adjudicate between
these competing predictions.

STUDY DESIGN

The basic design of this study involves the use of four male auditors (also called
testers), two blacks and two whites. The testers were 23-year-old college students
from Milwaukee who were matched on the basis of physical appearance and gen-
eral style of self-presentation. Objective characteristics that were not already iden-
tical between pairs—such as educational attainment and work experience—were
made similar for the purpose of the applications. Within each team, one auditor
was randomly assigned a “criminal record” for the first week; the pair then rotated
which member presented himself as the ex-offender for each successive week of
employment searches, such that each tester served in the criminal record condition
for an equal number of cases. By varying which member of the pair presented
220 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

himself as having a criminal record, unobserved differences within the pairs of

applicants were effectively controlled. No significant differences were found for
the outcomes of individual testers or by month of testing.
Job openings for entry-level positions (defined as jobs requiring no previous
experience and no education greater than high school) were identified from the
Sunday classified advertisement section of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.” In addi-
tion, a supplemental sample was drawn from Jobnet, a state-sponsored Web site
for employment listings, which was developed in connection with the W-2
Welfare-to-Work initiatives.”
The audit pairs were randomly assigned 15 job openings each week. The
white pair and the black pair were assigned separate sets of jobs, with the same-
race testers applying to the same jobs. One member of the pair applied first, with
the second applying one day later (randomly varying whether the ex-offender
was first or second). A total of 350 employers were audited during the course
of this study: 150 by the white pair and 200 by the black pair. Additional tests
were performed by the black pair because black testers received fewer callbacks
on average, and there were thus fewer data points with which to draw compar-
isons. A larger sample size enabled me to calculate more precise estimates of the
effects under investigation.
Immediately following the completion of each job application, testers filled
out a six-page response form that coded relevant information from the test.
Important variables included type of occupation, metropolitan status, wage, size
of establishment, and race and sex of employer.’ Additionally, testers wrote nar-
ratives describing the overall interaction and any comments made by employers
(or included on applications) specifically related to race or criminal records.

Tester Profiles

In developing the tester profiles, emphasis was placed on adopting characteristics

that were both numerically representative and substantively important. In the
present study, the criminal record consisted ofa felony drug conviction (posses-
sion, with intent to distribute, cocaine) and'18 months of (served) prison time. A
drug crime (as opposed to a violent or property crime) was chosen because of its
prevalence, its policy salience, and its connection to racial disparities in incarcer-
ation.” It is important to acknowledge that the effects reported here may differ
depending on the type of offense.

THE EFFECT OF A CRIMINAL RECORD FOR WHITES

I begin with an analysis of the effect of a criminal record among whites. White
noncriminals can serve as our baseline in the following comparisons, representing
the presumptively nonstigmatized group relative to blacks and those with crimi-
nal records. Given that all testers presented roughly identical credentials, the dif
ferences experienced among groups of testers can be attributed fully to the effects
of race or criminal status.
 CHAPTER 20 THE MARK OF A CRIMINAL RECORD 221

Called
Percentage
Back

Criminal Record No Record

FIGURE 20.1 The effect of a criminal record on employment opportunities for

whites. The effect of a criminal record is statistically significant (P < .01).

Figure 20.1 shows the percentage of applications submitted by white testers

that elicited callbacks from employers, by criminal status. As illustrated below,
there is a large and significant effect of a criminal record, with 34 percent of
whites without criminal records receiving callbacks, relative to only 17 percent
of whites with criminal records. A criminal record thereby reduces the likelihood
of a callback by 50 percent.
There were some fairly obvious examples documented by testers that illus-
trate the strong reaction among employers to the signal of a criminal record. In
one case, a white tester in the criminal record condition went to a trucking ser-
vice to apply for a job as a dispatcher. The tester was given a long application,
including a complex math test, which took nearly 45 minutes to fill out. During
the course of this process, there were several details about the application and the
job that needed clarification, some of which involved checking with the super-
visor about how to proceed. No concerns were raised about his candidacy at this
stage. When the tester turned the application in, the secretary brought it into a
back office for the supervisor to look over, so that an interview could perhaps be
conducted. When the secretary came back out, presumably after the supervisor
had a chance to look over the application more thoroughly, he was told the
position had already been filled. While, of course, isolated incidents like this are
not conclusive, this was not an infrequent occurrence. Often testers reported see-
ing employers’ levels of responsiveness change dramatically once they had
glanced down at the criminal record question.
Clearly, the results here demonstrate that criminal records close doors in
employment situations. Many employers seem to use the information as a
screening mechanism, without attempting to probe deeper into the possible
222 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

context or complexities of the situation. As we can see here, in 50 percent of

cases, employers were unwilling to consider equally qualified applicants on the
basis of their criminal record.
Of course, this trend is not true among all employers, in all situations. There
were, in fact, some employers who seemed to prefer workers who had been
recently released from prison. One owner told a white tester in the criminal
record condition that he “like[d] hiring people who ha[d] just come out of
prison because they tend to be more motivated, and are more likely to be hard
workers [not wanting to return to prison].” Another employer for a cleaning
company attempted to dissuade the white noncriminal tester from applying
because the job involved “a great deal of dirty work.” The tester with the crimi-
nal record, on the other hand, was offered the job on the spot. A criminal record
is thus not an obstacle in all cases, but on average, as we see above, it reduces
employment opportunities substantially.

THE EFFECT OF RACE

A second major focus of this study concerns the effect of race. African Americans
continue to suffer from lower rates of employment relative to whites, but there is
tremendous disagreement over the source of these disparities. The idea that race
itself—apart from other correlated characteristics—continues to play a major role
in shaping employment opportunities has come under question in recent years
(e.g., D’Souza, 1995; Steele, 1991). The audit methodology is uniquely suited
to address this question. While the present study design does not provide the
kind of cross-race matched-pair tests that earlier audit studies of racial discrimina-
tion have used, the between-group comparisons (white pair vs. black pair) can
nevertheless offer an unbiased estimate of the effect of race on employment
opportunities.
Figure 20.2 presents the percentage of callbacks received for both categories
of black testers relative to those for whites. The effect of race in these findings
is strikingly large. Among blacks without criminal records, only 14 percent
received callbacks, relative to 34 percent of white noncriminals (P < .01). In
fact, even whites with criminal records received more favorable treatment (17 per-
cent) than blacks without criminal records (14 percent). The rank — of
groups in thisoo is ema ee of employer a

The Aa of as race effect fund here corresponds closely to those

found in previous audit studies directly measuring racial discrimination. Bendick
et al. (1994), for example, found that blacks were 24 percentage points less likely
to receive a job offer relative to their white counterparts, a finding very close to
the 20 percentage point difference (between white and black nonoffenders)
found here. Thus in the eight years since the last major employment audit of
race was conducted, very little has changed in the reaction of employers to
minority applicants. Despite the many rhetorical arguments used to suggest that
 CHAPTER 20 THE MARK OF A CRIMINAL RECORD 223

Percentage
Called
Back

Black White

FIGURE 20.2 The effect of a criminal record for black and white job applicants. The
main effects of race and criminal record are statistically significant (P < .01). The interac-
tion between the two is not significant in the full sample. Light bars represent criminal
record; dark bars represent no criminal record.

direct racial discrimination is no longer a major barrier to opportunity (e.g.,

D’Souza, 1995; Steele, 1991), as we can see here, employers, at least in
Milwaukee, continue to use race as a major factor in hiring decisions.

RACIAL DIFFERENCES IN THE EFFECTS

OF A CRIMINAL RECORD

The final question this study sought to answer was the degree to which the effect
of a criminal record differs depending on the race of the applicant. Based on the
results presented in Figure 20.2, the effect of a criminal record appears more pro-
nounced for blacks than it is for whites. While this interaction term is not statis-
tically significant, the magnitude of the difference is nontrivial. While the ratio of
callbacks for nonoffenders relative to ex-offenders for whites is 2:1, this same
ratio for blacks is nearly 3:1. The effect of a criminal record is thus 40 percent
larger for blacks than for whites.
This evidence is suggestive of the way in which associations between race
and crime affect interpersonal evaluations. Employers, already reluctant to hire
blacks, appear even more wary of blacks with proven criminal involvement.
Despite the fact that these testers were bright articulate college students with
effective styles of self-presentation, the cursory review of entry-level applicants
leaves little room for these qualities to be noticed. Instead, the employment
224 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

The salience of employers’ sensitivity toward criminal involvement among

blacks was highlighted in several interactions documented by testers. On three
separate occasions, for example, black testers were asked in person (before sub-
mitting their applications) whether they had a prior criminal history. None of the
white testers were asked about their criminal histories up front.

DISCUSSION

There is serious disagreement among academics, policy makers, and practitioners

over the extent to which contact with the criminal justice system—in itself—
leads to harmful consequences for employment. The present study takes a strong
stand in this debate by offering direct evidence of the causal relationship between
a criminal record and employment outcomes. While survey research has pro-
duced noisy and indirect estimates of this effect, the current research design offers
a direct measure of a criminal record as a mechanism producing employment
disparities. Using matched pairs and an experimentally assigned criminal record,
this estimate is unaffected by the problems of selection, which plague observa-
tional data. While certainly there are additional ways in which incarceration may
affect ECaDOYEpCnt outcomes, this Sndiag evi conclusive evidence that

it study investigates emplog heh pleaets to ex- ofeades

from a microperspective, the implications are far-reaching. The finding that ex-
offenders are only one-half to one-third as likely as nonoffenders to be consid-
ered by employers suggests that a criminal record indeed presents a major barrier
to employment. With over 2 million people currently behind bars and over
12 million people with prior felony convictions, the consequences for labor mar-
ket inequalities are potentially profound.
Second, the persistent effect of race on employment opportunities is pain-
fully clear in these results. Blacks are less than half as likely to receive consider-
ation by employers, relative to their white counterparts, and oe Senet enees

ing racial inequality. In light ag these findings, current niki opinion

seems racks misinformed. According to a recent survey of residents in Los
Angeles, Boston, Detroit, and Atlanta, researchers found that just over a quarter
of whites believe there to be “a lot” of discrimination against blacks, compared
to nearly two-thirds of black respondents (Kluegel and Bobo, 2001). Over the
past decade, affirmative action has come under attack across the country based
on the argument that direct racial discrimination is no longer a major barrier
to opportunity. According to this study, however, employers, at least in
Milwaukee, continue to use race as a major factor in their hiring decisions.
 CHAPTER 20 THE MARK OF A CRIMINAL RECORD 225

When we combine the effects of race and criminal record, the problem grows
more intense. Not only are blacks much more likely to be incarcerated than
whites; based on the findings presented here, but they may also be more strongly
affected by the imipact of a criminal record. Previous estimates of the aggregate
consequences of incarceration may therefore underestimate the impact on racial
disparities.
Finally, in terms of policy implications, this research has troubling conclu-
sions. In our frenzy of locking people up, our “crime control” policies may in
fact exacerbate the very conditions that lead to crime in the first place. Research
consistently shows that finding quality steady employment is one of the strongest
predictors of desistance from crime (Shover, 1996; Sampson and Laub, 1993;
Uggen, 2000). The fact that a criminal record severely limits employment
opportunities—particularly among blacks—suggests that these individuals are
left with few viable alternatives.°
As more and more young men enter the labor force from prison, it becomes
increasingly important to consider the impact of incarceration on the job prospects
of those coming out. No longer a peripheral institution, the criminal justice system
has become a dominant presence in the lives of young disadvantaged men, playing
a key role in the sorting and stratifying of labor market opportunities. This article
represents an initial attempt to specify one of the important mechanisms by which
incarceration leads to poor employment outcomes. Future research is needed to
expand this emphasis to other mechanisms (e.g., the transformative effects of
prison on human and social capital), as well as to include other social domains
affected by incarceration (e.g., housing, family formation, political participation,
etc.); in this way, we can move toward a more complete understanding of the col-
lateral consequences of incarceration for social inequality.
At this point in history, it is impossible to tell whether the massive presence
of incarceration in today’s stratification system represents a unique anomaly of
the late twentieth century, or part of a larger movement toward a system of strat-
ification based on the official certification of individual character and compe-
tence. Whether this process of negative credentialing will continue to form the
basis of emerging social cleavages remains to be seen.

NOTES

1. For example, the recent adoption of a drug offense rose by 547 percent
mandatory sentencing laws, most often between 1980 and 1992 (Bureau of
used for drug offenses, removes dis- justice Statistics, 1995).
cretion from the sentencing judge to 2. Occupations with legal restrictions on
consider the range offactors pertaining ex-offenders were excluded from the
to the individual and the offense that sample. These include jobs in the
would normally be taken into account. health care industry, work with chil-
As a result, the chances of receiving a dren and the elderly, jobs requiring the
state prison term after being arrested for handling of firearms (i.e., security
226 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

guards), and jobs in the public sector. has had a disproportionate impact on
An estimate of the collateral conse- African Americans. Between 1990 and
quences of incarceration would also 1997, the number of black inmates
need to take account of the wide range serving time for drug offenses
of employment formally off-limits to increased by 60 percent, compared to
individuals with prior felony a 46 percent increase in the number of
convictions. whites (Bureau of Justice Statistics,
Employment services like Jobnet have 1995). In 1999, 26 percent ofall black
become a much more common state inmates were incarcerated for
method of finding employment in drug offenses, relative to less than half
recent years, particularly for difficult- that proportion of whites (Bureau of
to-employ populations such as welfare Justice Statistics, 2001).
recipients and ex-offenders. Likewise, There are two primary policy recom-
a recent survey by Holzer and Stoll mendations implied by these results.
(2001) found that nearly half of First and foremost, the widespread use
Milwaukee employers (46 percent) use of incarceration, particularly for non-
Jobnet to advertise vacancies in their violent drug crimes, has serious, long-
companies. term consequences for the employ-
See Pager (2002) for a discussion ment problems of young men. The
of the variation across each of these substitution of alternatives to incar-
dimensions. ceration, therefore, such as drug
treatment programs or community
Over the past two decades, drug
supervision, may serve to better pro-
crimes were the fastest growing class of
mote the well-being of individual
-offenses. In 1980, roughly one out of
offenders as well as to improve public
every sixteen state inmates was incar-
safety more generally through the
cerated for a drug crime; by 1999, this
potential reduction of recidivism.
figure had jumped to one out of every
five (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2000). Second, additional thought should be
In federal prisons, nearly three out of
given to the widespread availability of
every five inmates are incarcerated for criminal background information. As
a drug crime (Bureau ofJustice Sta-
criminal record databases become
tistics, 2001). A significant portion of increasingly easy to access, this infor-
this increase can be attributed to mation may be more often used as the
changing policies concerning drug basis for rejecting otherwise qualified
enforcement. By 2000, every state in applicants. If instead criminal history
the country had adopted some form of information were suppressed—except
truth-in-sentencing laws, which in cases that were clearly relevant to a
impose mandatory sentencing mini- particular kind of job assignment—
mums for a range of offenses. These ex-offenders with appropriate creden-
laws have been applied most fre- tials might be better able to secure
quently to drug crimes, leading to legitimate employment. While there is
more than a fivefold rise in the num- some indication that the absence of
ber of drug arrests that result in incar- official criminal background informa-
ceration and a doubling of the average tion may lead to a greater incidence of
length of sentences for drug convic- statistical discrimination against blacks
tions (Mauer, 1999; Blumstein and
(see Bushway, 1997; Hdlzer et al.
Beck, 1999). While the steep rise in 2001), the net benefits of this policy
drug enforcement has been felt across change may in fact outweigh the
the population, this “war on drugs” potential drawbacks.
 CHAPTER 20 THE MARK OF A CRIMINAL RECORD 227

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 ee
DIFFERE————
—————————
E NTIALe
SOCIAL POWER: RESISTING LABELING
e eA EEING

21

The Saints and the Roughnecks

WILLIAM J. CHAMBLISS

Chambliss’ description of the Saints and the Roughnecks shows how the power
of social class can operate to facilitate groups’ resistance to deviant labels. In this
classic selection from the sociological literature, Chambliss describes how the Saints
engage in as many or more delinquent acts than the Roughnecks, yet are
perceived as “good boys” merely engaging in typical adolescent high jinks. On
the one hand, the greater social power contained in their higher class background
enables the definition of their behavior as socially normative, allowing the police,
teachers, community members, and parents to look the other way. On the other
hand, the Roughnecks, who come from the “wrong side of the tracks,” are
perceived to be troublemakers, rabble-rousers, and delinquents. We see conflict
and labeling theories in effect here because social class is the determinant of
society’s reactions. Behavior done by teenagers from upstanding, middle-class
families is tolerated, while similar behavior engaged in by lower class youths is’
reinforced as deviant. Once again, labels are applied on the basis of status, not
patterns of behavior.
How does Chambliss’s concept of reinforcement compare with Erikson’s use
of the self-fulfilling prophecy? How does it affect the Saints and the Roughnecks
differently?

ight promising young men—children of good, stable, white, upper-

middle-class families, active in school affairs, good precollege students—
were some of the most delinquent boys at Hanibal High School. While commu-
nity residents and parents knew that these boys occasionally sowed a few wild
oats, they were totally unaware that sowing wild oats completely occupied the
daily routine of these young men. The Saints were constantly occupied with
truancy, drinking, wild driving, petty theft, and vandalism. Yet not one was offi-
cially arrested for any misdeed during the two years I observed them.

From Society, V. 11. No. 1, 1973, “The Saints and the Roughnecks,” by WilliamJ.
Chambliss. Copyright ©: 1973, with kind permission of Springer Science and Business Media.

229
230 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

This record was particularly surprising in light of my observations during the

same two years of another gang of Hanibal High School students, six lower-class
white boys known as the Roughnecks. The Roughnecks were constantly in
trouble with police and community even though their rate of delinquency was
about equal with that of the Saints. What was the cause of this disparity? The
result? The following consideration of the activities, social class, and community
perceptions of both gangs may provide some answers.

THE SAINTS

The Saints From Monday to Friday

The Saints’ principal daily concern was with getting out of school as early as
possible. The boys managed to get out of school with minimum danger that
they would be accused of playing hookey through an elaborate procedure for
obtaining “legitimate” release from class. The most common procedure was for
one boy to obtain the release of another by fabricating a meeting of some com-
mittee, program, or recognized club. Charles might raise his hand in his 9:00
chemistry class and ask to be excused—a euphemism for going to the bathroom.
Charles would go to Ed’s math class and inform the teacher that Ed was needed
for a 9:30 rehearsal of the drama club play. The math teacher would recognize
Ed and Charles as “good students” involved in numerous school activities and
would permit Ed to leave at 9:30. Charles would return to his class, and Ed
would go to Tom’s English class to obtain his release. Tom would engineer
Charles’s escape. The strategy would continue until as many of the Saints as pos-
sible were freed. After a stealthy trip to the car (which had been parked in a
strategic spot), the boys were off for a day of fun.
Over the two years I observed the Saints, this pattern was repeated nearly
every day. There were variations on the theme, but in one form or another,
the boys used this procedure for getting out of class and then off the school
grounds. Rarely did all eight of the Saints manage to leave school at the same
time. The average number avoiding school on the days I observed them was five.
Having escaped from the concrete corridors the boys usually went either to
a pool hall on the other (lower-class) side of town or to a cafe in the suburbs.
Both places were out of the way of people the boys were likely to know (family
or school officials), and both provided a source of entertainment. The pool hall
entertainment was the generally rough atmosphere, the occasional hustler, the
sometimes drunk proprietor, and, of course, the game of pool. The cafe’s enter-
tainment was provided by the owner. The boys would “accidentally” knock a
glass on the floor or spill cola on the counter—not all the time, but enough to
be sporting. They would also bend spoons, put salt in sugar bowls, and generally
tease whoever was working in the cafe. The owner had opened the cafe recently
and was dependent on the boys’ business which was, in fact, substantial since
between the horsing around and the teasing they bought food and drinks.
 CHAPTER 21 THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 231

The Saints on Weekends

On weekends the automobile was even more critical than during the week, for
on weekends the Saints went to Big Town—a large city with a population of
over a million 25 miles from Hanibal. Every Friday and Saturday night most of
the Saints would meet between 8:00 and 8:30 and would go into Big Town. Big
Town activities included drinking heavily in taverns or nightclubs, driving drunk-
enly through the streets, and committing acts of vandalism and playing pranks.
By midnight on Fridays and Saturdays the Saints were usually thoroughly
high, and one or two of them were often so drunk they had to be carried to
the cars. Then the boys drove around town, calling obscenities to women and
girls; occasionally trying (unsuccessfully so far as I could tell) to pick girls up; and
driving recklessly through red lights and at high speeds with their lights out.
Occasionally they played “chicken.” One boy would climb out the back win-
dow of the car and across the roof to the driver’s side of the car while the car was
moving at high speed (between 40 and 50 miles an hour); then the driver would
move over and the boy who had just crawled across the car roof would take the
driver’s seat.
Searching for “fair game” for a prank was the boys’ principal activity after
they left the tavern. The boys would drive alongside a foot patrolman and ask
directions to some street. If the policeman leaned on the car in the course of
answering the question, the driver would speed away, causing him to lose his
balance. The Saints were careful to play this prank only in an area where they
were not going to spend much time and where they could quickly disappear
around a corner to avoid having their license plate number taken.
Construction sites and road repair areas were the special province of the
Saints’ mischief. A soon-to-be-repaired hole in the road inevitably invited the
Saints to remove lanterns and wooden barricades and put them in the car, leav-
ing the hole unprotected. The boys would find a safe vantage point and wait for
an unsuspecting motorist to drive into the hole. Often, though not always, the
boys would go up to the motorist and commiserate with him about the dreadful
way the city protected its citizenry.
Leaving the scene of the open hole and the motorist, the boys would then go
searching for an appropriate place to erect the stolen barricade. An “appropriate
place” was often a spot on a highway near a curve in the road where the barricade
would not be seen by an oncoming motorist. The boys would wait to watch an
unsuspecting motorist attempt to stop and (usually) crash into the wooden barri-
cade. With saintly bearing the boys might offer help and understanding.
A stolen lantern might well find its way onto the back of a police car or
hang from a street lamp. Once a lantern served as a prop for a reenactment of
the “midnight ride of Paul Revere” until the “play,” which was taking place at
2:00 A.M. in the center of a main street of Big Town, was interrupted by a
police car several blocks away. The boys ran, leaving the lanterns on the street,
and managed to avoid being apprehended.
Abandoned houses, especially if they were located in out-of-the-way places,
were fair game for destruction and spontaneous vandalism. The boys would
232 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

break windows, remove furniture to the yard and tear it apart, urinate on the
walls, and scrawl obscenities inside.
Through all the pranks, drinking, and reckless driving the boys managed
miraculously to avoid being stopped by police. Only twice in two years was I
aware that they had been stopped by a Big City policeman. Once was for speed-
ing (which they did every time they drove whether they were drunk or sober),
and the driver managed to convince the policeman that it was simply an error.
The second time they were stopped they had just left a nightclub and were
walking through an alley. Aaron stopped to urinate and the boys began making
obscene remarks. A foot patrolman came into the alley, lectured the boys, and
sent them home. Before the boys got to the car one began talking in a loud
voice again. The policeman, who had followed them down the alley, arrested
this boy for disturbing the peace and took him to the police station where the
other Saints gathered. After paying a $5.00 fine, and with the assurance that there
would be no permanent record of the arrest, the boy was released.
The boys had a spirit of frivolity and fun about their escapades. They did not
view what they were engaged in as “delinquency,” though it surely was by any
reasonable definition of that word. They simply viewed themselves as having a
little fun and who, they would ask, was really hurt by it? The answer had to be
no one, although this fact remains one of the most difficult things to explain
about the gang’s behavior. Unlikely though it seems, in two years of drinking,
driving, carousing, and vandalism no one was seriously injured as a result of the
Saints’ activities.

The Saints in School

The Saints were highly successful in school. The average grade for the group was
“B,” with two of the boys having close to a straight “A” average. Almost all of
the boys were popular and many of them held offices in the school. One of the
boys was vice-president of the student body one year. Six of the boys played on
athletic teams.
At the end of their senior year, the student body selected ten seniors for
special recognition as the “school wheels”; four of the ten were Saints. Teachers
and school officials saw no problem with any of these boys and anticipated that
they would all “make something of themselves.”
How the boys managed to maintain this impression is surprising in view of
their actual behavior while in school. Their technique for covering truancy was
so successful that teachers did not even realize that the boys were absent from
school much of the time. Occasionally, of course, the system would backfire and
then the boy was on his own. A boy who was caught would be most contrite,
would plead guilty and ask for mercy. He inevitably got the mercy he sought.
Cheating on examinations was rampant, even to the point of orally commu-
nicating answers to exams as well as looking at one another’s papers. Since none
of the group studied, and since they were primarily dependent on one another
for help, it is surprising that grades were so high. Teachers contributed to the
deception in their admitted inclination to give these boys (and presumably others
 CHAPTER21. THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 233

like them) the benefit of the doubt. When asked how the boys did in school,
and when pressed on specific examinations, teachers might admit that they
were disappointed in John’s performance, but would quickly add that they
“knew that he was capable of doing better,” so John was given a higher grade
than he had actually earned. How often this happened is impossible to’ know.
During the time that I observed the group, I never saw any of the boys take
homework home. Teachers may have been “understanding” very regularly.
One exception to the gang’s generally good performance was Jerry, who had
a “C” average in his junior year, experienced disaster the next year, and failed to
graduate. Jerry had always been a little more nonchalant than the others about the
liberties he took in school. Rather than wait for someone to come get him from
class, he would offer his own excuse and leave. Although he probably did not miss
any more classes than most of the others in the group, he did not take the requi-
site pains to cover his absences. Jerry was the only Saint whom I ever heard talk
back to a teacher. Although teachers often called him a “cut up” or a “smart kid,”
they never referred to him as a troublemaker or as a kid headed for trouble. It
seems likely, then, that Jerry’s failure his senior year and his mediocre performance
his junior year were consequences of his not playing the game the proper way
(possibly because he was disturbed by his parents’ divorce). His teachers regarded
him as “immature” and not quite ready to get out of high school.

The Police and the Saints

The local police saw the Saints as good boys who were among the leaders of the
youth in the community. Rarely, the boys might be stopped in town for speeding
or for running a stop sign. When this happened the boys were always polite, con-
trite, and pled for mercy. As in school, they received the mercy they asked for.
None ever received a ticket or was taken into the precinct by the local police.
The situation in Big City, where the boys engaged in most of their delin-
quency, was only slightly different. The police there did not know the boys at
all, although occasionally the boys were stopped by a patrolman. Once they
were caught taking a lantern from a construction site. Another time they were
stopped for running a stop sign, and on several occasions they were stopped for
speeding. Their behavior was as before: contrite, polite, and penitent. The urban
police, like the local police, accepted their demeanor as sincere. More important,
the urban police were convinced that these were good boys just out for a lark.

THE ROUGHNECKS

Hanibal townspeople never perceived the Saints’ high level of delinquency. The
Saints were good boys who just went in for an occasional prank. After all, they
were well dressed, well mannered, and had nice cars. The Roughnecks were a
different story. Although the two gangs of boys were the same age, and both
groups engaged in an equal amount of wild-oat sowing, everyone agreed that the
234 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

not-so-well-dressed, not-so-well-mannered, not-so-rich boys were heading for

trouble. Townspeople would say, “You can see the gang members at the drug-
store, night after night, leaning against the storefront (sometimes drunk) or slouch-
ing around inside buying cokes, reading magazines, and probably stealing old
Mr. Wall blind. When they are outside and girls walk by, even respectable girls,
these boys make suggestive remarks. Sometimes their remarks are downright lewd.”
From the community’s viewpoint, the real indication that these kids were in
for trouble was that they were constantly involved with the police. Some of
them had been picked up for stealing, mostly small stuff, of course, “but still
it’s stealing small stuff that leads to big time crimes.” “Too bad,” people said.
“Too bad that these boys couldn’t behave like the other kids in town: stay out
of trouble, be polite to adults, and look to their future.”
The community’s impression of the degree to which this group of six boys
(ranging in age from 16 to 19) engaged in delinquency was somewhat distorted.
In some ways the gang was more delinquent than the community thought; in
other ways they were less.
The fighting activities of the group were fairly readily and accurately per-
ceived by almost everyone. At least once a month, the boys would get into some
sort of fight, although most fights were scraps between members of the group or
involved only one member of the group and some peripheral hanger-on. Only
three times in the period of observation did the group fight together: once against
a gang from across town, once against two blacks, and once against a group of boys
from another school. For the first two fights the group went out “looking for
trouble”—and they found it both times. The third fight followed a football game
and began spontaneously with an argument on the football field between one of
the Roughnecks and a member of the opposition’s football team.
Jack had a particular propensity for fighting and was involved in most of the
brawls. He was a prime mover of the escalation of arguments into fights.
More serious than fighting, had the community been aware of it, was theft.
Although almost everyone was aware that the boys occasionally stole things, they
did not realize the extent of the activity. Petty stealing was a frequent event for
the Roughnecks. Sometimes they stole as a group and coordinated their efforts;
other times they stole in pairs. Rarely did they steal alone.
The thefts ranged from very small things like paperback books, comics, and
ballpoint pens to expensive items like watches. The nature of the thefts varied
from time to time. The gang would go through a period of systematically sho-
plifting items from automobiles or school lockers. Types of thievery varied with
the whim of the gang. Some forms of thievery were more profitable than others,
but all thefts were for profit, not just thrills.
Roughnecks siphoned gasoline from cars as often as they had access to an
automobile, which was not very often. Unlike the Saints, who owned their
own cars, the Roughnecks would have to borrow their parents’ cars, an event
which occurred only eight or nine times a year. The boys claimed to have stolen
cars for joy rides from time to time.
Ron committed the most serious of the group’s offenses. With an unidentified
associate the boy attempted to burglarize a gasoline station. Although this station
 CHAPTER 21 THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 235

had been robbed twice previously in the same month, Ron denied any involve-
ment in either of the other thefts. When Ron and his accomplice approached the
station, the owner was hiding in the bushes beside the station. He fired both bar-
rels of a double-barreled shotgun at the boys. Ron was severely injured; the other
boy ran away and was never caught. Though he remained in critical condition for
several months, Ron finally recovered and served six months of the following year
in reform school. Upon release from reform school, Ron was put back a grade in
school, and began running around with a different gang of boys. The Roughnecks
considered the new gang less delinquent than themselves, and during the follow-
ing year Ron had no more trouble with the police.
The Roughnecks, then, engaged mainly in three types of delinquency: theft,
drinking, and fighting. Although community members perceived that this gang
of kids was delinquent, they mistakenly believed that their illegal activities were
primarily drinking, fighting, and being a nuisance to passersby. Drinking was
limited among the gang members, although it did occur, and theft was much
more prevalent than anyone realized.
Drinking would doubtless have been more prevalent had the boys had ready
access to liquor. Since they rarely had automobiles at their disposal, they could
not travel very far, and the bars in town would not serve them. Most of the boys
had little money, and this, too, inhibited their purchase of alcohol. Their major
source of liquor was a local drunk who would buy them a fifth if they would
give him enough extra to buy himself a pint of whiskey or a bottle of wine.
The community’s perception of drinking as prevalent stemmed from the fact
that it was the most obvious delinquency the boys engaged in. When one of the
boys had been drinking, even a casual observer seeing him on the corner would
suspect that he was high.
There was a high level of mutual distrust and dislike between the Roughnecks
and the police. The boys felt very strongly that the police were unfair and corrupt.
Some evidence existed that the boys were correct in their perception.
The main source of the boys’ dislike for the police undoubtedly stemmed from
the fact that the police would sporadically harass the group. From the standpoint of
the boys, these acts of occasional enforcement of the law were whimsical and
uncalled-for. It made no sense to them, for example, that the police would come
to the corner occasionally and threaten them with arrest for loitering when the night
before the boys had been out siphoning gasoline from cars and the police had been
nowhere in sight. To the boys, the police were stupid on the one hand, for not
being where they should have been and catching the boys in a serious offense, and
unfair on the other hand, for trumping up “loitering” charges against them.
From the viewpoint of the police, the situation was quite different. They
knew, with all the confidence necessary to be a policeman, that these boys
were engaged in criminal activities. They knew this partly from occasionally
catching them, mostly from circumstantial evidence (“the boys were around
when those tires were slashed”), and partly because the police shared the view
of the community in general that this was a bad bunch of boys. The best the
police could hope to do was to be sensitive to the fact that these boys were
engaged in illegal acts and arrest them whenever there was some evidence that
236 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

they had been involved. Whether or not the boys had in fact committed a par-
ticular act in a particular way was not especially important. The police had a
broader view: their job was to stamp out these kids’ crimes; the tactics were
not as important as the end result.
Over the period that the group was under observation, each member was
arrested at least once. Several of the boys were arrested a number of times and
spent at least one night in jail. While most were never taken to court, two of the
boys were sentenced to six months’ incarceration in boys’ schools.

The Roughnecks in School

The Roughnecks’ behavior in school was not particularly disruptive. During
school hours they did not all hang around together, but tended instead to
spend most of their time with one or two other members of the gang who
were their special buddies. Although every member of the gang attempted to
avoid school as much as possible, they were not particularly successful and most
of them attended school with surprising regularity. They considered school a
burden—something to be gotten through with a minimum of conflict. If they
were “bugged” by a particular teacher, it could lead to trouble. One of the
boys, Al, once threatened to beat up a teacher and, according to the other
boys, the teacher hid under a desk to escape him.
Teachers saw the boys the way the general community did, as heading for
trouble, as being uninterested in making something of themselves. Some were
also seen as being incapable of meeting the academic standards of the school.
Most of the teachers expressed concern for this group of boys and were willing
to pass them despite poor performance, in the belief that failing them would
only aggravate the problem.
The group of boys had a grade point average just slightly above “C.” No
one in the group failed a grade, and no one had better than a “C” average.
They were very consistent in their achievement or, at least, the teachers were
consistent in their perception of the boys’ achievement.
Two of the boys were good football players. Herb was acknowledged to be
the best player in the school and Jack was almost as good. Both boys were criti-
cized for their failure to abide by training rules, for refusing to come to practice
as often as they should, and for not playing their best during practice. What they
lacked in sportsmanship they made up for in skill, apparently, and played every
game no matter how poorly they had performed in practice or how many prac-
tice sessions they had missed.

TWO QUESTIONS

Why did the community, the school, and the police react to the Saints as though
they were good, upstanding, nondeliquent youths with bright futures but to the
Roughnecks as though they were tough, young criminals who were headed for
 CHAPTER 21 THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 237

trouble? Why did the Roughnecks and the Saints in fact have quite different
careers after high school—careers which, by and large, lived up to the expecta-
tions of the community?
The most obvious explanation for the differences in the community’s and
law enforcement agencies’ reactions to the two gangs is that one group of boys
was “more delinquent” than the other. Which group was more delinquent? The
answer to this question will determine in part how we explain the differential
responses to these groups by the members of the community and, particularly,
by law enforcement and school officials.
In sheer number of illegal acts, the Saints were the more delinquent. They
were truant from school for at least part of the day almost every day of the week.
In addition, their drinking and vandalism occurred with surprising regularity.
The Roughnecks, in contrast, engaged sporadically in delinquent episodes.
While these episodes were frequent, they certainly did not occur on a daily or
even a weekly basis.
The difference in frequency of offenses was probably caused by the Roughnecks’
inability to obtain liquor and to manipulate legitimate excuses from school. Since
the Roughnecks had less money than the Saints, and teachers carefully supervised
their school activities, the Roughnecks’ hearts may have been as black as the
Saints’, but their misdeeds were not nearly as frequent.
There are really no clear-cut criteria by which to measure qualitative differ-
ences in antisocial behavior. The most important dimension of the difference is
generally referred to as the “seriousness” of the offenses.
If seriousness encompasses the relative economic costs of delinquent acts,
then some assessment can be made. The Roughnecks probably stole an average
of about $5.00 worth of goods a week. Some weeks the figure was considerably
higher, but these times must be balanced against long periods when almost noth-
ing was stolen.
The Saints were more continuously engaged in delinquency but their acts
were not for the most part costly to property. Only their vandalism and occa-
sional theft of gasoline would so qualify. Perhaps once or twice a month they
would siphon a tankful of gas. The other costly items were street signs, construc-
tion lanterns, and the like. All of these acts combined probably did not quite
average $5.00 a week, partly because much of the stolen equipment was aban-
doned and presumably could be recovered. The difference in cost of stolen
property between the two groups was trivial, but the Roughnecks probably
had a slightly more expensive set of activities than did the Saints.
Another meaning of seriousness is the potential threat of physical harm to
members of the community and to the boys themselves. The Roughnecks
were more prone to physical violence; they not only welcomed an opportunity
to fight; they went seeking it. In addition, they fought among themselves fre-
quently. Although the fighting never included deadly weapons, it was still a
menace, however minor, to the physical safety of those involved.
The Saints never fought. They avoided physical conflict both inside and
outside the group. At the same time, though, the Saints frequently endangered
their own and other people’s lives. They did so almost every time they drove a
 238 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

car, especially if they had been drinking. Sober, their driving was risky; under the
influence of alcohol it was horrendous. In addition, the Saints endangered the
lives of others with their pranks. Street excavations left unmarked were a very
serious hazard.
Evaluating the relative seriousness of the two gangs’ activities is difficult. The
community reacted as though the behavior of the Roughnecks was a problem,
and they reacted as though the behavior of the Saints was not. But the members
of the community were ignorant of the array of delinquent acts that character-
ized the Saints’ behavior. Although concerned citizens were unaware of much of
- the Roughnecks’ behavior as well, they were much better informed about the
Roughnecks’ involvement in delinquency than they were about the Saints’.

Visibility
Differential treatment of the two gangs resulted in part because one gang was
infinitely more visible than the other. This differential visibility was a direct func-
tion of the economic standing of the families. The Saints had access to automo-
biles and were able to remove themselves from the sight of the community. In as
routine a decision as to where to go to have a milkshake after school, the Saints
stayed away from the mainstream of community life. Lacking transportation, the
Roughnecks could not make it to the edge of town. The center of town was the
only practical place for them to meet since their homes were scattered through-
out the town and any noncentral meeting place put an undue hardship on some
members. Through necessity the Roughnecks congregated in a crowded area
where everyone in the community passed frequently, including teachers and
law enforcement officers. They could easily see the Roughnecks hanging around
the drugstore.
The Roughnecks, of course, made themselves even more visible by making
remarks to passersby and by occasionally getting into fights on the corner. Mean-
while, just as regularly, the Saints were either at the cafe on one edge of town or
in the pool hall at the other edge of town. Without any particular realization that
they were making themselves inconspicuous, the Saints were able to hide their
time-wasting. Not only were they removed from the mainstream of traffic, but
they were also almost always inside a building.
On their escapades the Saints were also relatively invisible, since they left
Hanibal and travelled to Big City. Here, too, they were mobile, roaming the
city, rarely going to the same area twice.

Demeanor
To the notion of visibility must be added the difference in the responses of group
members to outside intervention with their activities. If one of the Saints was
confronted with an accusing policeman, even if he felt he was truly innocent
of a wrongdoing, his demeanor was apologetic and penitent. A Roughneck’s
attitude was almost the polar opposite. When confronted with a threatening
adult authority, even one who tried to be pleasant, the Roughneck’s hostility
 CHAPTER 21 THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 239

and disdain were clearly observable. Sometimes he might attempt to put up a

veneer of respect, but it was thin and was not accepted as sincere by the
authority.
School was no different from the community at large. The Saints could
manipulate the system by feigning compliance with the school norms. The avail-
ability of cars at school meant that once free from the immediate sight of the
teacher, the boys could disappear rapidly. And this escape was well enough
planned that no administrator or teacher was nearby when the boys left. A
Roughneck who wished to escape for a few hours was in a bind. If it were possible
to get free from class, downtown was still a mile away, and even if he arrived there,
he was still very visible. Truancy for the Roughnecks meant almost certain detec-
tion, while the Saints enjoyed almost complete immunity from sanctions.

Bias

Community members were not aware of the transgressions of the Saints. Even if
the Saints had been less discreet, their favorite delinquencies would have been
perceived as less serious than those of the Roughnecks.
In the eyes of the police and school officiais, a boy who drinks in an alley
and stands intoxicated on the street corner is committing a more serious offense
than is a boy who drinks to inebriation in a nightclub or a tavern and drives
around afterwards in a car. Similarly, a boy who steals a wallet from a store will
be viewed as having committed a more serious offense than a boy who steals a
lantern from a construction site.
Perceptual bias also operates with respect to the demeanor of the boys in the
two groups when they are confronted by adults. It is not simply that adults dis-
like the posture affected by boys of the Roughneck ilk; more important is the
conviction that the posture adopted by the Roughnecks is an indication of their
devotion and commitment to deviance as a way of life. The posture becomes a
cue, just as the type of the offense is a cue, to the degree to which the known
transgressions are indicators of the youths’ potential for other problems.
Visibility, demeanor, and bias are surface variables that explain the day-
to-day operations of the police. Why do these surface variables operate as they
do? Why did the police choose to disregard the Saints’ delinquencies while
breathing down the backs of the Roughnecks?
The answer lies in the class structure of U.S. society and the control of
legal institutions by those at the top of the class structure. Obviously, no repre-
sentative of the upper class drew up the operational chart for the police which
led them to look in the ghettoes and on street corners—which led them to
see the demeanor of lower-class youth as troublesome and that of upper-
middle-class youth as tolerable. Rather, the procedure simply developed from
experience—experience with irate and influential upper-middle-class parents
insisting that their son’s vandalism was simply a prank and his drunkenness only
a momentary “sowing of wild oats”—experience with cooperative or indifferent,
powerless, lower-class parents who acquiesced to the law’s definition of their
son’s behavior.
240 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

ADULT CAREERS OF THE SAINTS

AND THE ROUGHNECKS

The community’s confidence in the potential of the Saints and the Roughnecks
apparently was justified. If anything the community members underestimated the
degree to which these youngsters would turn out “good” or “bad.”
Seven of the eight members of the Saints went on to college immediately
after high school. Five of the boys graduated from college in four years. The
sixth one finished college after two years in the army, and the seventh spent
four years in the air force before returning to college and receiving a B.A.
degree. Of these seven college graduates, three went on for advanced degrees.
One finished law school and is now active in state politics, one finished medical
school and is practicing near Hanibal, and one boy is now working for a Ph.D.
The other four college graduates entered submanagerial, managerial, or executive
training positions with larger firms.
The only Saint who did not complete college was Jerry. Jerry had failed to
graduate from high school with the other Saints. During his second senior year,
after the other Saints had gone on to college, Jerry began to hang around with
what several teachers described as a “rough crowd”—the gang that was heir
apparent to the Roughnecks. At the end of his second senior year, when he
did graduate from high school, Jerry took a job as a used car salesman, got mar-
ried, and quickly had a child. Although he made several abortive attempts to go
to college by attending night school, when I last saw him (ten years after high
school) Jerry was unemployed and had been living on unemployment for almost
a year. His wife worked as a waitress.
Some of the Roughnecks have lived up to community expectations. A
number of them were headed for trouble. A few were not.
Jack and Herb were the athletes among the Roughnecks and their athletic
prowess paid off handsomely. Both boys received unsolicited athletic scholarships
to college. After Herb received his scholarship (near the end of his senior year), he
apparently did an about-face. His demeanor became very similar to that of the
Saints. Although he remained a member in good standing of the Roughnecks, he
stopped participating in most activities and did not hang on the corner as often.
Jack did not change. If anything, he became more prone to fighting. He
even made excuses for accepting the scholarship. He told the other gang mem-
bers that the school had guaranteed him a “C” average if he would come to play
football—an idea that seems far-fetched, even in this day of highly competitive
recruiting.
During the summer after graduation from high school, Jack attempted sui-
cide by jumping from a tall building. The jump would certainly have killed most
people trying it, but Jack survived. He entered college in the fall and played four
years of football. He and Herb graduated in four years, and both are teaching and
coaching in high schools. They are married and have stable families. If anything,
Jack appears to have a more prestigious position in the community than does
Herb, though both are well respected and secure in their positions.
 CHAPTER 21 THE SAINTS AND THE ROUGHNECKS 241

Two of the boys never finished high school. Tommy left at the end of his
Junior year and went to another state. That summer he was arrested and placed
on probation on a manslaughter charge. Three years later he was arrested for
murder; he pleaded guilty to second degree murder and is serving a 30-year
sentence in the state penitentiary.
Al, the other boy who did not finish high school, also left the state in his
semior year. He is serving a life sentence in a state penitentiary for first-degree
murder.
Wes is a small-time gambler. He finished high school and “bummed around.”
After several years he made contact with a bookmaker who employed him as a
runner. Later he acquired his own area and has been working it ever since. His
position among the bookmakers is almost identical to the position he had in the
gang; he is always around but no one is really aware of him. He makes no trouble
and he does not get into any. Steady, reliable, capable of keeping his mouth
closed, he plays the game by the rules, even though the game is an illegal one.
That leaves only Ron. Some of his former friends reported that they had
heard he was “driving a truck up north,” but no one could provide any concrete
information.

REINFORCEMENT

The community responded to the Roughnecks as boys in trouble, and the boys
agreed with that perception. Their pattern of deviancy was reinforced, and
breaking away from it became increasingly unlikely. Once the boys acquired an
image of themselves as deviants, they selected new friends who affirmed that
self-image. As that self-conception became more firmly entrenched, they also
became willing to try new and more extreme déviances. With their growing
alienation came freer expression of disrespect and hostility for representatives of
the legitimate society. This disrespect increased the community’s negativism, per-
petuating the entire process of commitment to deviance. Lack of a commitment
to deviance works the same way. In either case, the process will perpetuate itself
unless some event (like a scholarship to college or a sudden failure) external to
the established relationship intervenes. For two of the Roughnecks (Herb and
Jack), receiving college athletic scholarships created new relations and culminated
in a break with the established pattern of deviance. In the case of one of the
Saints (Jerry), his parents’ divorce and his failing to graduate from high school
changed some of his other relations. Being held back in school for a year and
losing his place among the Saints had sufficient impact on Jerry to alter his self-
image and virtually to assure that he would not go on to college as his peers did.
Although the experiments of life can rarely be reversed, it seems likely in view of
the behavior of the other boys who did not enjoy this special treatment by the
school that Jerry, too, would have “become soinething” had he graduated as
anticipated. For Herb and Jack outside intervention worked to their advantage;
for Jerry it was his undoing.
242 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

ously delinquent or not. Other kids, ‘eis dave established a vo patanide or

beingyomene fee though underachieving), disciplined and involved in respect-
able activities, who are mobile and monied, will be invisible when they deviate
from sanctioned activities. They'll sow their wild oats—perhaps even wider and
thicker than their lower-class cohorts—but they won’t be noticed. When it’s
time to leave adolescence most will follow the expected path, settling into the
ways of the middle class, remembering fondly the delinquent but unnoticed fling
of their youth. The Roughnecks and others like them may turn around, too. It is
more likely that their noticeable deviance will have been so ieee by police
and community that their lives will be effectively channeled into c
 22

Doctors and the Context of Medical

Crime and Deviance
JOHN LIEDERBACH

Doctors are another group with the social status and power to rise above the
deviant acts they commit and maintain a prestigious reputation. Malfeasance and
misconduct are rampant in the medical professions, as we constantly read in the
newspaper, yet we are less likely to suspect doctors of wrongdoing, Liederbach
suggests, because of their positive reputation and role as altruistic healers. They
are, nonetheless, as subject to the temptations to commit fraud and abuse as are
any other individuals. Liederbach describes such common deviant and criminal
practices as billing schemes, prescription violations, unnecessary treatments,
kickbacks, and fraud. Liederbach notes that occupational crimes such as these, in
which people engage in deviance for their own benefit, not that of their
organizations, will occur wherever opportunities can be found. This chapter is
especially relevant to today’s political debates about universal health care, the
precarious financial footing of Medicaid and Medicare, the corporatization
of health care, and the rise offor-profit hospitals, which have led both the
government and patients to mistrust medical providers.
What sources of social power are discussed in this chapter that give doctors
the ability to refute their potential labeling as deviant?

H ealth care is big business in the United States. The delivery of medicine
involves not only physicians, but also health maintenance organizations
(HMOs), large-scale insurance conglomerates, for-profit hospital chains, and
government-sponsored medical benefit programs. Health care spending on a
national basis was recently estimated to top $2.8 trillion, or roughly 18 percent
of the nation’s gross domestic product (GDP). The exponential growth of the
health care industry and spending on medical care has undoubtedly expanded
opportunities for fraud and abuse in the system. Doctors, with their position of
status and trust, have a special place in it.
Recent estimates of the cost of health care fraud ranged from $42 billion
to $80 billion annually. The annual cost of fraud and abuse associated with
the government-sponsored Medicare program alone has been estimated to be

Reprinted with permission from the author, John Liederbach.

243
244 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

$60 billion to $90 billion, including $48 billion in improper payments to doctors.
The enormous cost of medical crime and deviance has been defined as a form of
“white-collar wilding” perpetrated by medical professionals, a reference usually
reserved for the most heinous street criminals (Watkin, Friedman, and Doran,
1992). The consequences are not limited to financial fraud and abuse: Unneces-
sary medical procedures, negligent care, prescription violations, and the sexual
abuse of patients exact an enormous physical toll as well. An estimated 400,000
patients are said to be victims of negligent mistakes or misdiagnoses each year.
Almost 180,000 patients die every year, at least in part because of negligent
care. Up to two million patients are needlessly subjected to physical risks through
unnecessary operations each year. The resulting cost of unnecessary medical pro-
cedures approaches $4 billion. These startling statistics provide an overview of
the vast costs—including both financial and physical costs—that result from med-
ical crime and deviance.

THE “OPPORTUNITY CONTEXT” OF MEDICAL

CRIME: TRUST, STATUS, AND SELF-REGULATION

The term “opportunity context” has routinely been used in the research literature
to describe how crime and deviance occur within and among different groups of
offenders, depending on their social, cultural, or occupational circumstances.
Among those to whom the term has been applied are juvenile delinquents and
traditional street criminals, various white-collar or high-status offenders, and
even those who work within the criminal justice system, such as police officers.
The idea is that crime does not result solely from the motivations of people who
are unscrupulous, maladjusted, or otherwise defined as “defective”; crimes occur
in situations or contexts that allow and even encourage these individuals to perpe-
trate them. In the case of doctors, the context within which they practice medi-
cine provides both opportunities and incentives for rogue doctors to engage in
deviance and crime, as well as receive some degree of protection in the event
that they are identified and become the subject of potential punishment.
The first factor in the¢ context for medical crime is doctors’
istic or trustworthy public image. The altruistic or trustworthy image of
doctors originates with the Hippocratic Oath, or the explicit profession of a doc-
tor’s commitment to the best interest of the patient. The oath contains state-
ments on the avoidance of “overtreatment” and nihilistic or useless treatment,
as well as a description of medicine as an “art” that requires warmth, sympathy,
and understanding toward the patient. The oath defines doctors as selfless profes-
sionals whose priorities lie with the well-being of the patient rather than financial
gain or profit. The oath and related altruistic image fosters opportunities for
crime and deviance in at least two ways. First, the image promotes a certain
degree of trust on the part of patients. Patients who believe that their wellness
is the most important or even the only priority may not hold doctors accountable
in cases where the patients are clearly the victims of negligent care or financial
 CHAPTER 22 DOCTORS AND THE CONTEXT OF MEDICAL CRIME 245

fraud. Second, the trustworthy image of doctors potentially hinders the identifi-
cation and prosecution of medical crimes because these kinds of accusations are
difficult to make against individuals like doctors, who are highly trusted and
respected. Taken together, these two considerations seem to create what Bucy
(1989) described as a “pattern of deference” or reverence toward doctors that
both affords them deviant and criminal opportunities and protects them from
scrutiny and potential punishment.
The second factor in the opportunity context for medical crime is the high
social status of doctors. Doctors have consistently been recognized as high-status
professionals primarily because of their lucrative salaries and degree of occupa-
tional prestige. The median salary of family physicians was recently estimated to
be $175,000 per year. Doctors who specialize can earn considerably more. For
example, the average salary range for oncologists is $315,000-$457,000, and the
average salary for neurosurgeons is $767,627. Doctors are consistently ranked
among the most prestigious occupations, and they often outrank other “very
prestigious” professionals, including members of the clergy, business executives,
and college professors.
Criminologists who specialize in the study of white-collar crime have always
emphasized the general reluctance to criminally prosecute high-status offenders,
as well as the criminal opportunities that are afforded to those with economic
power and prestige. High-status professionals possess the financial and political
clout to influence how criminal statutes are written and enforced, and they are
more likely to “escape arrest and conviction...than those who lack such power”
(Sutherland, 1949). The relative absence of criminal prosecutions of Wall Street
and other financial executives associated with the recent mortgage default crisis
provides a clear example of how culpable high-status professionals often escape
criminal penalties. Previous scholarship that focused on the specific crimes of
physicians demonstrates the lenient criminal penalties—or the complete absence
of them—in sanctions imposed on doctors who pillage the Medicaid program,
provide negligent patient care, and/ or physically abuse their patients.
The third factor in the Oppo: ty contex elf-regu
Professional groups, including doctors, Pees accountants, and professors, main-
tain member organizations designed to identify and punish misconduct within the
group. These mechanisms of “self-regulation” are populated by members of the
professional group who are responsible for investigating misconduct and imposing
penalties against members of their own profession. The justification for self-
regulation relies on two main assumptions. First, members of the professional
group are presumed to be in the best position to identify misconduct within the
group; and second, members of the professional group are uniquely qualified to
judge the scope of misconduct and adjudicate appropriate penalties. In the medical
profession, state medical review boards populated primarily by doctors are supposed
to provide a “first line of defense” against medical deviance and crime. These boards
can revoke medical licenses or otherwise discipline doctors who fail to meet profes-
sional or legal standards. The medical community regards the imposition of civil or
criminal penalties as both unwarranted and unnecessary, especially in cases that
involve errors in clinical judgment.
246 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

The profession’s reliance on self-regulation, however, may facilitate criminal

opportunities by shielding its members from more effective punishments. State
medical boards have continually failed to identify doctors who are chronically
incompetent, and they often punish them with “slaps on the wrist.” Liederbach,
Cullen, Sundt, and Geis (2001) describe how self-regulation and other traditional
systems of control, including state medical boards, failed to adequately discipline
doctors who were obviously incompetent and, in some cases, had maimed and
or killed patients during one or more medical procedures. The potential effec-
tiveness of self-regulation in medicine is also limited by the well-documented
“code of silence” among medical professionals, who may sometimes be hesitant
to report cases of deviance and crime because they fear retaliation.

TYPES OF MEDICAL DEVIANCE AND CRIME

Taken together, the factors that make up the context of medical crime provide
rogue doctors ample opportunities to perpetrate deviance and crime. Medical
deviance and crime includes a range of acts committed by medical professionals
within the context of their occupational role. More generally, medical crimes
have been included in the category of “professional occupational crimes” because
they derive from opportunities provided through trust given only to occupa-
tional elites (Green, 1997). This section provides an overview of selected medical
offenses, including fraudulent billing schemes, prescription violations, unneces-
sary treatments and procedures, medical “kickbacks,” and Medicaid fraud.

Billing Schemes
Fraudulent billing schemes comprise a wide variety of acts, including, but not
limited to, (a) billing in cases where no medical service was provided, (b) billing
for services that were not rendered as described in the claim for payment,
(c) billing for services that have been previously billed and paid, and (d) duplicate
claims. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) has become the primary
agency for exposing cases of health care fraud, including billing schemes, and
the agency maintains jurisdiction over federal and private insurance programs.
Recent FBI initiatives designed in collaboration with the health care industry
utilize sophisticated technology and data-mining techniques to identify patterns
of fraud in medical billing and other electronic databases. Through 2011, the
FBI had investigated 2,690 cases of health care fraud that resulted in 736 convic-
tions. These investigations yielded $1 billion in fines and over $1 billion in civil
settlements against fraudulent health care providers.

Prescription Violations
Medical doctors are the only persons entrusted to prescribe dangerous drugs and
addictive drugs, including narcotics, amphetamines, tranquilizers, and opioid pain
relievers (OPRs). Doctors are required by law to limit access to prescription
 CHAPTER 22 DOCTORS AND THE CONTEXT OF MEDICAL CRIME 247

drugs on the basis of medical need. An alarming number of physicians violate this
trust. The Public Citizen Health Research Group (PCHRG) identified 1,521
doctors who were disciplined for misprescribing or overprescribing drugs
between 1988 and 1996. At least 69 percent of those doctors were not even
temporarily suspended from practicing medicine. The PCHRG described various
types of scenarios with prescription violations. Among these scenatios were doc-
tors caught selling blank prescriptions to known drug addicts, one physician who
dispensed expired drugs from an old, unlabeled spice jar, and another doctor
who prescribed dangerous weight loss pills to a patient for 4 years without any
medical exam. The patient eventually had a stroke.
More recently, significant public attention has focused on problems related
to opioid analgesic prescription offenses (offenses involving OPRs). OPRs are a
class of drugs that include oxycodone, methadone, and hydrocodone. The Cen-
ters for Disease Control (CDC) have documented significant increases in over-
dose deaths involving OPR’s; deaths involving OPRs now exceed deaths
involving heroin and cocaine combined, and it is believed that prescription
drugs account for most of the increase in those death rates since 1999. A recent
study by Goldenbaum et al. (2008) identified and described 725 doctors who
were charged with criminal and/or administrative offenses related to prescribing
OPRs between 1998 and 2006. The study provides composite descriptions
representing the typical offense and charges involved in these cases, including
those which involved (a) medically unnecessary and clinically inappropriate pre-
scriptions, (b) the prescription of high-dosage units of oxycodone together with
muscle relaxants, (c) the prescription of OPRs without prior medical exams, and
(d) doctors who purposively supplemented their income by selling presigned
blank prescription pads and dispensing OPR samples without examinations or
prescriptions.

Unnecessary Treatments, Tests, and Surgery

Doctors who subject patients to noninvasive medically unnecessary treatments
and tests commit fraud in that they receive compensation based on deception:
They get paid for services that were not needed. Recent studies demonstrate
the scope of the problem and the staggering financial and physical costs associated
with unnecessary medical treatments and tests. Unnecessary and inappropriate
tests and treatment, including unnecessary blood tests, urinalyses, electrocardio-
grams, and bone density scans, costs roughly $6.8 billion per year. The afore-
mentioned studies focused only on costs derived from unnecessary treatments
and tests associated with primary care practices and did not consider costs derived
from more costly specialty care practices. The recent publicized case of one New
York area cardiologist provides an egregious case of unnecessary and costly spe-
cialty care. The doctor admitted to ordering diagnostic tests regardless of patient
symptoms. The tests cost over $19 million over a 9-year period. The doctor
pleaded guilty to health care fraud, and his practice was characterized by prose-
cutors as a “medical mill,” or a medical practice intentionally designed to pre-
scribe unnecessary treatments or engage in fraudulent billing schemes.
248 PART IV. CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

Doctors who perform unnecessary invasive medical procedures, including

surgery, can be considered to perpetrate a form of assault because they expose
the patient to needless physical risks. Unnecessary surgery, including cardiac pro-
cedures and spinal surgeries, is estimated to cost at least $150 billion per year and
account for 10 to 20 percent of all operations in some specialties. Spinal fusion
surgery has recently come under increased scrutiny in this regard. The number of
spinal fusion surgeries performed in the United States doubled from 2002 to
2008, to 413,000, generating $34 billion in bills. One prominent spine surgeon,
who chairs the Department of Orthopedics at Dartmouth Medical School, pub-
licly commented, “It’s amazing how much evidence there is that fusions don’t
work, yet surgeons do them anyway...The only one who isn’t benefitting from
the equation is the patient” (quoted in Waldman and Armstrong, 2010). The
implication is that the fee-for-service nature of the U.S. health care system
rewards doctors who perform more surgeries, whether or not they are necessary
or in the best interest of the patient.

Medical “Kickbacks”

“Kickbacks” are defined as payments from one party to another in exchange for
referred business or other income-producing deals. Two primary types of medi-
cal “kickbacks” are recognized in the research literature: fee splitting and self-
referrals. Fee splitting occurs when one doctor receives payment from another
doctor in exchange for referring patients. These arrangements typically occur
with a primary care physician receiving a referral fee from some type of medical
specialist. Fee splitting artificially inflates medical costs and can also endanger the
quality of patient care. The American Medical Association (AMA) recognizes fee
splitting as an unethical practice. Fee splitting was recognized as a common form
of deviance among physicians as early as the 1940s, and the problem was the
focus of congressional investigations during the 1970s. Self-referrals involve
sending patients to specialized medical facilities in which the physician has a
financial interest. Studies have shown that self-referring doctors who own a
financial stake in clinical laboratories, rehabilitation facilities, or diagnostic imag-
ing centers tend to refer patients more often to these facilities. The practice is
presumed to increase both costs and insurance premiums. In 1992, Congress
enacted the “Stark Law,” which prohibits physicians from referring Medicare
patients to treatments that involve the doctor’s own medical scanning equip-
ment; however, exceptions to the law have limited its effectiveness.

Medicaid Fraud
The Medicaid program originated during the 1960s with the goal of extending
health coverage to Americans who could not otherwise afford it. Medicaid
covers over 62 million people (roughly 20 percent of all Americans), including
low-income individuals, children and families, pregnant women, and those with
disabilities. The program fills obvious and enormous gaps in the national health
 CHAPTER 22 DOCTORS AND THE CONTEXT OF MEDICAL CRIME 249

care coverage landscape, but fraud and abuse have been endemic to the program
since its inception. Jesilow, Pontell, and Geis (1993) provide a detailed overview
of the origins and structure of the Medicaid program, and they identify some
factors that explain how the Medicaid program greatly expanded opportunities
for medical deviance and crime.
Many within the medical profession opposed the creation of the Medicaid
program because it introduced an unwelcome influence—the government—into
the practice of medicine. Many physicians were dissatisfied with the intrusion of
government into medical practice, and the situation led to both flaws in the ini-
tial design of the program and opposition on the part of some doctors against the
rules and regulations of the program. For example, the original opposition of
doctors helped to influence the creation of a program that initially did not
include any provisions for punishing doctors who violated the rules. Doctors
who had opposed the system were unlikely to feel guilty about violating the
rules or even to view acts of deviance and crime perpetrated within the system
as unethical or wrong.
In 2012, improper payments through the program were estimated to total
$19 billion in federal Medicaid funds and $11 billion in state funds. For example,
a dentist operating out of a Brooklyn storefront was indicted on charges that he
had fraudulently billed Medicaid for more than $1 million dollars after he
claimed to have performed as many as 991 dental procedures per day. Also,
one Buffalo area school district referred 4,434 students to Medicaid-provided
speech therapy sessions in a single day without talking to them or even reviewing
their medical records, and a former New York State fraud prosecutor character-
ized the state’s Medicaid program as a “honeypot” for unscrupulous medical
providers.
The recent movement toward in-home health care has expanded opportu-
nities for crime in the system. For example, investigations in New Orleans and in
Washington, DC, uncovered fraud perpetrated by operators of home-care agen-
cies and the so-called personal care assistants. In some cases, medical providers
recruited Medicaid recipients, told them to claim that they needed expensive
Medicaid-provided in-home health care, and instructed them on how to exagger-
ate their claims and convince doctors to approve treatment plans that were never
actually necessary or implemented. Other cases involved personal care attendants
who billed for services that were never provided to disabled seniors and for
Medicaid-provided transportation services to medical facilities that never
occurred. The number of people covered by Medicaid has recently expanded, in
part because of unemployment and economic hardship caused by the Great
Recession, and implementation of the Affordable Care Act in 2014 will likely
quicken the pace of this expansion, increasing the potential for fraud and abuse.
The Medicaid program posed one of the first significant challenges to the
professional autonomy of physicians. The program not only successfully expanded
health coverage to many of the nation’s poorest citizens, but it also changed the
traditional opportunity context of medical crime and created ways for rogue
doctors and other medical care providers to plunder and loot the system.
250 PART IV CONSTRUCTING DEVIANCE

CORPORATIZED MEDICINE AND THE RESPONSE

TO MEDICAL NEGLIGENCE

The health care landscape has changed dramatically since the 1980s, with the
emergence of what has been referred to as the medical—industrial complex, or
the enormous for-profit industry in medical care that now involves investor-
owned for-profit hospital chains, HMOs, the health care insurance industry,
and the pharmaceutical industry. The emergence of these and other for-profit
entities has driven a revolution in the provision of health care (McKinlay and
Stoeckle, 1988) and affected the opportunity context of medical deviance and
crime in at least two important ways. First, the nature and character of corporat-
ized medicine and the profit-oriented strategies associated with the model seem
to create incentives to reduce the quality of patient care and thereby the cost of
doing business. Second, corporatized medicine may change the way in which
society responds to cases of medical negligence and may increase the vulnerabil-
ity of doctors to legal attacks and the imposition of criminal penalties against
doctors who harm patients through negligent or reckless medical care.
The most obvious impact of these trends can be demonstrated by a review
of the for-profit strategies pursued by some hospital chains and HMOs. For-
profit hospitals are owned by private investors or shareholders and may distribute
profits derived from the medical care they provide to owners and/or share-
holders. There is evidence to demonstrate that for-profit hospitals are both
more costly to patients and provide worse quality of care. One of the largest
for-profit hospital chains is the Hospital Corporation of America (HCA), a con-
glomerate of 165 hospitals and 115 surgery centers located in 20 USS. states
and England. In 2001, the company was fined $840 million for Medicaid fraud
and eventually also agreed to pay an additional $631 million in civil penalties and
damages to the U.S. government for submitting false medical claims. The case
was then the largest health care fraud in U.S. history.
For their part, HMOs utilize a number of procedures that are designed to
increase the economic productivity of physicians. For example, HMOs reward
doctors for not using diagnostic tests and for avoiding patient referrals. A twist on
the traditional problems associated with medical kickbacks and fee splitting is the
“premium split,” whereby the HMO compensates doctors who refuse to make referrals.
There is also evidence to suggest that profits are increasing at the expense of
quality patient care. The use of financial incentives by some HMOs has been
found to alter physician treatment decisions significantly. The situation suggests
an inherent conflict of interest between the profit-driven strategies of HMOs and
the best interests of the patient. Conflicted doctors may not perform effectively
or may exploit their position and harm patients.
The emergence of corporatized medicine and incentives that could reduce
the quality of patient care may also change the way society responds to cases of
medical negligence, increasing the vulnerability of doctors to legal attacks and to
the imposition of criminal penalties against doctors who harm patients through
negligent or reckless medical care. Corporatization can thus significantly alter the
 CHAPTER22 DOCTORS AND THE CONTEXT OF MEDICAL CRIME 251

opportunity context of medical crime in terms of the degree of trust that patients
afford to doctors. As Liederbach et al. (2001) explain, “Doctors and patients have
been replaced by ‘providers’ and ‘enrollees’ in the new managed care environ-
ment. Physicians must now divide their loyalties between the patient and the
organization, and the patient is fast assuming a secondary role.” This develop-
ment has the potential to shift the public image of doctors from that of the self-
less, altruistic professional committed to the best interest of the patient to one
that is more similar to the way the public views corporate business executives.
Corporatization ties the medical enterprise more clearly to money, and when
the profit motive competes with doctors’ commitment to quality patient care,
victims of medical negligence may be more likely to demand the imposition of
criminal penalties against doctors.

REFERENCES

Bucy, P. H. (1989). “Fraud By Fright: of Physician Violence: Social Control

White Collar Crime by Health Care in Transformation?” Justice Quarterly
Providers.” North Carolina Law Review 18(1): 141-167.
67: 855-937. McKinlay, J. B., andJ.D. Stoeckle. (1988).
Goldenbaum, D. M., M. Christopher, “Corporatization and the Social
R. M. Gallager, S. Fishman, R. Payne, Transformation of Medicine.” Interna-
D.Joranson, D. Edmonson,J.McKee, tional Journal of Health Services 18:
and A. Thexton. (2008). “Physicians 191—200.
Charged with Opioid Analgesic- Sutherland, E. H. (1949). White-Collar
Prescribing Offenses.” Pain Medicine Crime. New Haven: Yale University
9(6): 737-747. Press.
Green, G. S. (1997). Occupational Crime, Waldman, P., and D. Armstrong. (2010).
2nd ed. Chicago: Nelson Hall. “Highest Paid US Doctors Get Rich
Jesilow, P., Pontell, H. N., and G. Geis. with Fusion Surgery Debunked by
(1993). Prescription For Profit: How Studies.” Bloomberg, December 30.
Doctors Defraud Medicaid. Berkeley: Watkin, G., D. Friedman, and G. Doran.
University of California Press. (1992). “Health Care Fraud.” US
Liederbach, J., F. T. Cullen, J. Sundt, and News and World Report, February 24,
G. Geis. (2001). “The Criminalization pp. 34-43.
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 PART V

HK

Deviant Identity

VW e have just looked at how some categories of people and behavior

become defined as deviant. Yet social constructionism suggests that a
deviant classification floating around abstractly in society is not meaningful unless
it gets attached to people. Groups in society work not only to create definitions
of deviance, but also to create situations in which deviance occurs and is labeled.
In this section, we will examine the way deviance is evoked and shaped. Having
a definition of deviance and an environment in which it can occur is not enough
to apply the label; also required is that that people accept the identity and make
it their own. Identities are the way people think of themselves. The study of
deviant identities has focused on how people develop and manage nonnormative
self-conceptions. In Part V, we will examine how the concept of deviance
becomes applied to individuals and how it affects their self-conception.

IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

We mentioned earlier that, although many people engage in deviance, the label
is applied to only a small percentage of them. Such labeling is tied to their for-
merly “secret deviance” (Becker, 1963) becoming exposed or to an abstract sta-
tus coming to bear on their personal experience. Thus, Jews may not feel
stigmatized unless they experience anti-Semitism, and embezzlers may not
think of themselves as thieves until they are caught. When those things happen,
the group involved enters the pathway to the deviant identity, a pathway that
follows a certain trajectory. The process of acquiring a deviant identity unfolds
as a “deviant” (Becker, 1963) or “moral” (Goffman, 1961) career, with people
passing through stages that move them out of their innocent identities and

253
254 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

toward one labeled as “different” by society. In our own work (Adler and Adler,
2006), we proposed a model of the seven stages of the deviant identity career.
Stage 1 begins once people are caught and publicly identified as deviant; their
lives change in several ways. Others start to think of them differently. For exam-
ple, suppose there has been a rash of thefts in a college dormitory, and Jessica, a
first-year student, is finally caught and identified as the culprit. She may or may
not be reported to authorities and charged with theft, but regardless, she will
experience an informal labeling process. Once she is caught, the news about
her is likely to spread. In stage 2, people will probably change their attitudes
toward her, as they find themselves talking about her behind her back. They
may look at her behavior and engage in “retrospective interpretation” (Schur,
1971) as they think about her differently, reflecting about her past to see if her
current and earlier behavior can be recast differently in light of their new infor-
mation. Where did she say she was when the last theft occurred? Where did she
say she got the money to buy that new sweater?
In stage 3, as the news about Jessica spreads, either informally or through offi-
cial agencies of social control, she may develop what Goffman (1963) has called a
“spoiled identity”: an identity with a tarnished reputation. Erikson (Chapter 1)
noted that news about deviance is of high interest in a community, commanding
intense focus from a wide audience. Deviant labeling is hard to reverse, he sug-
gested, and once people’s identities are spoiled, they are hard to rehabilitate
socially. Erikson discussed “commitment ceremonies,” such as trials or psychiatric
hearings, in which individuals are officially labeled as deviant. Few corresponding
ceremonies exist, he remarked, to mark the cleansing of people’s identities and wel-
come them back into the normative fold. Individuals may thus find it hard to
recover from the lasting effect of such identity labeling, and despite their best
efforts, they often find that society expects them to commit further acts of devi-
ance. Merton (1938) referred to this expectation as a “self-fulfilling prophesy,”
whereby people tend to enact the behavior associated with the labels placed
upon them despite possible intentions otherwise.
Jessica’s dorm mates and former friends may then engage in stage 4 behavior:
what Lemert (1951) has called “the dynamics of exclusion.” In this stage, Jessica’s
friends deride her and ostracize her from their social group. When she enters
the room, she may notice that a sudden hush falls over the conversation. People
may not feel comfortable leaving her alone in their room. They may exclude her
from their meal plans and study groups. She may become progressively shut out
from nondeviant activities and circles, such as honors societies, professional asso-
ciations, relationships, or jobs. At the same time, in stage 5, others may welcome
or include Jessica in their deviant circles or activities. She may find that she has
 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY 255

developed a reputation that, though repelling to some groups, is attractive to

others, who may welcome her as “cool” and invite her into their circles. Thus,
individuals may find that, as they move down the pathway of their deviant
careers, they shift friendship circles, being pushed away from the company of
some while being simultaneously welcomed into the company of others.
Sixth, others usually begin to treat differently those defined as deviant, indicat-
ing through their actions that their feelings and attitudes toward the newly devi-
ant have shifted, often in a negative sense. They may not accord Jessica the same
level of credibility they previously accorded her, and they may tighten the mar-
gin of social allowance they allot her. Seventh, and finally, people react to this
treatment by using what Charles Horton Cooley referred to as their “looking-
glass selves.” In the culminating stage of the identity career, they internalize the
deviant label and come to think of themselves differently. This new perspective
is likely to affect their future behavior. Although not all people who get caught
in deviance progress completely through the full set of seven stages, Becker
(1963) described the process as the effects of labeling.
Once people are labeled as deviant and accept that label into their self
conceptions, a variety of outcomes may ensue. We all juggle a range of identities
and social selves through which we relate to people, including those of sibling,
child, friend, student, neighbor, and customer. Identities also derive from some
of our demographic or occupational features, such as race, gender, age, religion,
and social class. Hughes (1945) suggested that some statuses are highly dominant,
overpowering others and coloring the way people are viewed. Having a known
deviant identity may become one of these “master statuses,” rising to the top
of the hierarchy, infusing people’s self-concept and others’ reactions, and taking
precedence over all other statuses. Many social statuses fade in and out of rele-
vance as people move through various situations, but a master status accompanies
them into all their contexts, forming the key identity through which others see
them. Deviant attributes such as a minority race, heroin addiction, and homosex-
uality are prime examples of this kind of master status. Others then may think of
an individual, for instance, as a Hispanic person, as a heroin addict, or as gay,
with the individual’s occupation or hobbies being seen as secondary to his or
her deviant attribute. Hughes noted that master statuses are linked in society to
auxiliary traits, the common social preconceptions that people associate with
these statuses. Self-injurers, for example, may be widely assumed to be either
adolescent White women from middle-class backgrounds or disadvantaged
youths whose lives are unhappy. They may be thought of as lacking impulse
control, seeking attention, survivors of abuse, or mentally unstable, or as people
who seek to cry for help or inject control into their lives. Heroin addicts may
256 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

be suspected of being prostitutes or thieves, and homosexuals may be suspected

of being sexually promiscuous or infected with AIDS. This type of identification
spreads the image of deviance to cover the person as a whole and not just one
part of him or her.
The relationship between master statuses and their auxiliary traits in society 1s
reciprocal. When people learn that others have a certain deviant master status,
they may impute the associated auxiliary traits onto them. Inversely, when peo-
ple begin to recognize a few traits that they can put together to form the pattern
of auxiliary traits associated with a particular deviant master status, they are likely
to attribute that master status to others. For example, if parents notice that their
children are staying out late with their friends, wearing “alternative” clothing
styles, growing dreadlocks in their hair, dropping out of after-school activities,
and hanging out with the “wrong” crowd of friends, they may suspect them of
using drugs or committing crimes.
Lemert (1967) asserted another processual depiction of the deviant identity
career with his concepts of primary and secondary deviance. Primary devi-
ance consists of a stage when people commit deviant acts but their deviance
goes unrecognized. As a result, others do not cast the deviant label onto them,
and they neither assume it nor perform a deviant role. Their self-conceptions are
free of this image. Some people remain at the primary deviance stage throughout
the time they are committing deviance, never advancing further. Yet, a percent-
age of them do progress to secondary deviance. The seven stages of the identity
career move people from primary to secondary deviance; their infractions
become discovered, others identify them as deviant, and the labeling process
ensues, with all of its identity consequences. Others come to regard these indivi-
duals as deviant, and they do as well. As they move into secondary deviance,
individuals initially deny the label but eventually come to accept it reluctantly
as it becomes increasingly pressed upon them. They recognize their own devi-
ance as they are forced to interact with others through the stigma with which
they have been labeled. Sometimes this internalization comes as a justification
of, or social defense against, the problems associated with their deviant label, as
individuals use the label to take the offensive. At any rate, the label becomes an
identity that significantly affects their role performance. Some people may com-
partmentalize their deviant identity, but others exhibit “role engulfment” (Schur,
1971), becoming totally caught up in this master status.
Most individuals who progress to secondary deviance advance no further,
but a subset of them moves on to what Kitsuse (1980) called tertiary deviance.
In contrast to primary deviants, who engage in deviance denial, and secondary
deviants, who accept their deviant identities, tertiary deviants, as seen by Kitsuse,
 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY 257

are those who embrace their deviance. These are people who decide that their
deviance is not a bad thing. They may adopt a relativist perspective and decide
that their deviant label is socially constructed by society, not intrinsic to their
behavior. For example, individuals with learning differences consider themselves
more creative than “typical” people. Or they may hold to an absolutist perspec-
tive and embrace their deviant category as intrinsically real, as when gays who
“discover” their underlying homosexuality accept it as natural. They therefore
strongly identify with their deviance and fight, usually with the organized help
of like others, to combat the deviant label that is applied to them. They may
engage in “identity politics” and speak publicly, protest, rally, pursue civil dis-
obedience, educate, raise funds, lobby, and practice various other forms of polit-
ical advocacy to change society’s view of their deviance. Examples include
people who fight to destigmatize labels applied to obesity, prostitution, and
race or ethnicity.
All of these identity career concepts encompass a progression through several
stages. They begin with the commission of the deviant act and lead to. indivi-
duals’ apprehension and public identification. They move through the changing
expectations of others toward them, marked by shifting social acceptance or
rejection by their friends and acquaintances. The breadth, seriousness, and lon-
gevity of the deviant identity label are significantly more profound when indivi-
duals undergo official labeling processes than when they are merely informally
labeled. With their internalization of the deviant label, adoption of the associated
self-identity, and public interaction through that self-identity, they ultimately
move into groups of different deviant associates and commit further acts of
deviance.

ACCOUNTS

When people say or do things that appear odd to others, they risk being labeled
as deviant. We all engage in instances of deviant behavior, but at the same time
we desire to maintain a positive self-image in both our own eyes and the eyes of
others. In order to avoid the negative consequences of being labeled as deviant
and to preserve their untarnished identities, individuals may engage in a variety
of interactional strategies designed to normalize their behavior. Mills (1940) sug-
gested that people use “vocabularies of motive” in conversation, presenting legit-
imate reasons to others around them that explain the meaning of their actions.
This motive talk restores a sense of normalcy to interactions that are disrupted by
questionable events.
258 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Sykes and Matza (1957, 666) suggested that people commonly make “justi-
fications for deviance that are seen as valid by the delinquent but not by the legal
system or society at large.” Individuals using these justifications are attempting to
resolve the contradictions between what people say and what they do. Sykes and
Matza offered five “techniques of neutralization” through which people
rationalize their behavior, either prospectively or retrospectively. Through denials
of responsibility, individuals suggest that their deviance was due to acts beyond
their control (“I couldn’t help myself,” 99 66 “It was not my fault”). In denying injury,
they mitigate their offense by alluding to the absence of consequences, arguing
that no one was hurt (“No harm, no foul”). When they make a denial of the
victim, they legitimate their behavior by suggesting either that no specific victim
can be identified (“It’s a huge corporation; nobody will notice it’) or that the
persons who are hurt do not deserve victim status (“Gays deserve to be beaten
up”). Some people appeal to higher loyalties by rationalizing their behavior as serv-
ing a greater good (loyalty to a friend, to higher principles, to God). Finally, in
condemning the condemners, people turn the table on the accusers, throwing atten-
tion away from themselves by focusing on things their accusers have done wrong
(“Oh, you think you’re so easy to live with?” “Police are nothing but pigs’).
Scott and Lyman (1968) further refined our conception of accounts by sug-
gesting that all accounts can be seen as either excuses or justifications. In offer-
ing excuses, individuals admit the wrongfulness of their actions but distance
themselves from the blame. Their excuses are often fairly standard phrases or
ideas designed to soften the deviance and relieve individuals of their accountabil-
ity. Excuses may include appeals to accidents (‘My computer malfunctioned and
lost my file”), appeals to defeasibility or misinformation (“I thought my roommate
turned my paper in”), appeals to biological drives (“Men will be men”) and scape-
goating (“She borrowed my notes, and I couldn’t get them back in time to study
for the test’).
With justifications, individuals accept responsibility for their actions but seek
to have specific instances excused. In so doing, they try to legitimate the acts or
its consequences. In drawing on justifications, individuals may invoke sad tales
(“I am a prostitute so that I can afford to put food on the table to feed my
kids” or “I turn tricks because I was sexually abused as a child”) or the need for
self-fulfillment (“Taking hallucinogenic drugs expands my consciousness and
makes me a more caring person”).
Hewitt and Stokes (1975) added to our understanding of accounts by pre-
senting a set of verbal explanations designed specifically to precede the deviant
acts that people saw as imminent in their future. They suggested that Lyman and
Scott’s accounts were primarily retrospective in nature, whereas their own
 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY 259

“disclaimers” were fundamentally prospective. People hedge, they suggested, by

prefacing their remarks to indicate a measure of uncertainty about what they are
going to do (“I’m not sure this is going to work, but...”), They use credentializing
when they know their act will be discredited but they are attempting to give a
purpose or legitimacy to it (“I’m not prejudiced; in fact some of my best friends
are XXX, but ...”). Sometimes people invoke sin licenses when they know that
their behavior will be poorly received but they want to suggest that this is a time
when the ordinary rules might be suspended (“I realize you might think this is
wrong, but...”). Cognitive disclaimers try to make sense out of something that
looks like it might not be well understood (“This may seem strange to
you...”). Finally, appeals for the suspension ofjudgment aim to deflect the negative
consequences of acts or remarks that may be offensive or angering (“Hear me
out before you explode...”). Disclaimers, then, are conversational tactics that
people invoke specifically before they launch ahead into something commonly
judged as inappropriate.

STIGMA MANAGEMENT

When people are labeled as deviant, it marks them with a stigma in the eyes of
society. As we have seen, this label may lead to devaluation and exclusion. Conse-
quently, people with deviant features learn how to “manage” their stigma so that
they are not shamed or ostracized. This effort requires considerable social skills.
Goffman (1963) has suggested that people with potential deviant stigma fall
into two categories: “the discreditable” and “the discredited.” The former
are those with easily concealable deviant traits (ex-convicts, secret homosexuals)
who may manage themselves so as to avoid the deviant stigma. The latter are
either members of the former category who have revealed their deviance or
those who cannot hide their deviance (the obese, racial minorities, the physically
disabled). The lives of discreditables are characterized by a constant focus on
secrecy and information control. Goffman observed that most discreditables
engage in “passing” as “normals” in their everyday lives, concealing their devi-
ance and fitting in with regular people. They may do this by avoiding contacts
with “‘stigma symbols,” those objects or behaviors that would tip people off to
their deviant condition. Thus, an anorectic avoids family meals, and mental
patients take their medications surreptitiously. Another technique for passing
includes using “disidentifiers” such as props, actions, or verbal expressions to dis-
tract people and fool them into thinking that one does not have the deviant
stigma. Thus, homosexuals brag about heterosexual conquests or take a date to
260 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

the company picnic, and members of ethnic minorities laugh at ethnic slurs
about their group. Finally, discreditables may “lead a double life,” maintaining
two different lifestyles with two distinct groups of people, one that knows
about their deviance and one that does not.
In their endeavor to conceal their deviance, people may employ the aid of
others to help “cover” for them. In these team performances, friends and family
members may assist the deviants by concealing their identities, their whereabouts,
their deficiencies, or their pasts. They may even coach the deviants on how to
construct stories designed to hide their deviance.
Another form of stigma management, sometimes adopted when conceal-
ment fails, involves disclosing the deviance. People may do this for cathartic rea-
sons (alleviating their burden of secrecy), therapeutic reasons (casting the
deviance in a positive light), or preventive reasons (so that others don’t find out
in negative ways later). Although many people’s disclosures lead to rejection,
others, such as people with sexually transmitted diseases, may find that some peo-
ple even sympathize with them about their condition.
Disclosures of deviance can follow two courses. In observing the interactions
between discredited deviants and nondeviants, Davis (1961) noted that nondevi-
ants often interact with people who possess recognizable deviant traits in patterned
ways. He proposed a normalization process that begins with “deviance dis-
avowal”: The nondeviants ignore the others’ deviance and act as if it does not
exist. After this conspicuous and stilted ignoring of the individual’s deviance, if
they spend more time in the company of the deviants, nondeviants progress to a
stage of limited engagement in which more relaxed interaction begins and is
directed at features of the people other than their deviant stigma. The relationship
can achieve full normalization—the point at which the deviant stigma is over-
looked and almost forgotten—only when the deviance is broached by someone
(usually the deviant him- or herself) and discussed enough so that all the questions
are answered and set to rest. Davis illustrated this form of stigma management by
discussing the case of physically disabled people who, at first, are shunned by their
coworkers or fellow students, but who gradually fit into the crowd when others
realize that there is more to them than their disability. (They root for the same
teams, listen to the same music, share the same major, etc.).
In contrast, deviant people can strive to normalize their relationships with
nondeviants through “deviance avowal” (Turner 1972), in which the deviants
openly acknowledge their stigma but try to present themselves in a positive light.
This avowal often takes the form of humor, with the deviants “breaking the ice”
by joking about their deviant attribute. In that way, they show others that they
can take the perspective of nondeviants and see themselves as deviant too, thus
 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY 261

forming a bridge to others. This action demonstrates further that deviants have
nondeviant aspects and that they can see the world as others do. An example is
when members of ethnic minority groups make self-deprecating comments
about themselves based on stereotypes.
Thus far, we have considered individual modes of adaptation to the stigma
of deviance. Yet these stigma can also be managed through a group or collective
effort. Many voluntary associations of stigmatized individuals exist, from the early
organizations of prostitutes (COYOTE: Call Off Your Old Tired Ethics) to
more recent ones such as the Gay Liberation Front, the Little People of America,
the National Stuttering Project, and the Gray Panthers. Most well known are
the 12-step programs modeled after the tremendous success of Alcoholics
Anonymous, including such groups as Overeaters Anonymous, Narcotics
Anonymous, and Gamblers Anonymous.
These groups vary in character. Some are organized along what Lyman
(1970) calls an expressive dimension, whose primary function is to provide sup-
port for their members. This support can take the form of organizing social and
recreational activities, dispersing legal or medical information, or offering services
such as shopping, meals, or transportation. Expressive groups tend to be apoliti-
cal, helping their members adapt to their social stigma rather than evade it. They
also serve their members by permitting them to come together in the company
of other deviants, avoid the censure of nonstigmatized nondeviants, and seek col-
lective solutions to their common problems. It is within such groups that they
can make disclosures to others without fear of rejection. For instance, the Little
People of America have an annual conference that not only provides a social
gathering for people of similar height, but also offers support and advice regard-
ing practical problems (e.g., setting up one’s house) and social concerns (such
as dating).
Lyman has also described groups with an instrumental dimension, whereby
members gather together not only to accomplish the expressive functions, but
also to organize for political activism. This dimension embodies Kitsuse’s tertiary
deviation, in which individuals reject the societal conception and treatment
of their stigma and organize to change social definitions. They fight to get others
to modify their views of the status or behavior in question so that society,
like they, will no longer regard it as deviant. Examples of such groups include
ACT UP, an AIDS organization whose members have tried to change social
attitudes toward AIDS patients; National Organization for Women (NOW);
and Disabled in Action.
On another continuum, Lyman noted that groups may vary between con-
formity and alienation. Conformative groups fundamentally adhere to the norms
262 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

and values of society. They accept most conventional views, with the occasional
exception of their own deviance. They generally use their backstage arenas to
counsel members on how to fit in with others who may neither accept nor
understand them. Thus, support groups for bipolar people may offer advice to
members on how to find the right doctor and on how to find information on
various benefits and side effects of different drugs and on the risks and benefits of
going drug free. But they do not generally glorify either mania or depression.
When these groups do break with society in the way they regard their own
deviance and when their members instrumentally try to fight for the legitimation
of their deviance, they use conventional means to attain their goals.
Groups may be alienative for one of two reasons: Either they are willing to
step outside of conventional means to fight for changed definitions of their single
form of deviance, or they have multiple values that conflict with society’s values.
There are many examples of such groups. Activists such as the Black Panthers, a
single-issue group, were willing to break the law to fight for improved social
opportunities and status for African Americans. Radical feminists might not resort
to violating laws, but their dissatisfaction with the social structures that disem-
power women is grounded in multiple dimensions of society. Modern-day des-
cendants of the Ku Klux Klan, such as the skinheads, Aryan Nation, and various
militia groups, may incorporate both elements, rejecting social attitudes of accep-
tance of Blacks, Jews, ummigrants, gays, and others, and, at the same time, resort-
ing to violence to attain their ends, such as blowing up the Murrah Federal
Building in Oklahoma City to avenge the Waco siege in which members of
the Branch Davidian cult and their leader, David Koresh, perished during an
Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) assault. Members of other groups that
exhibit alienation, such as the Amish, nudists, and hippie communes, simply
want to take their radically different values and form communities removed
from conventional society.
 IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

23

The Adoption and Management

of a “Fat” Identity
DOUGLAS DEGHER AND GERALD HUGHES

Degher and Hughes’s selection on the way people come to think of themselves as
fat is a study in identity transformation. The authors posit a model in which
individuals align their self-conception with cues that they derive from their
external environment. Although the subjects in this study originally do not hold a
view of themselves as obese, they receive active status cues (people say things) and
passive status cues (their clothes no longer fit) that jar them away from their former
self-conceptions. They follow a process of recognizing that they can no longer be
considered to have a normal build, after which they reconceptualize themselves as
fat, a category that they judge fits them more appropriately. The fat status has a
new, negative identity that they adopt, devaluing them and locating them within
the deviant realm.
Do you accept Degher and Hughes’s suggestion that people change their
identities by going through this sequential process, or do you think it is something
that happens in other ways: more suddenly or through another process? How
important do you consider the role of others versus the individuals themselves in
shifting identities?

he interactionist perspective has come to play an important part in contem-

porary criminological and deviance theory. Within this approach, deviance is
viewed as a subjectively problematic identity rather than an objective condition
of behavior. At the core is the emphasis on “process” rather than on viewing
deviance as a static entity. To paraphrase vintage Howard Becker, “... social
groups create deviance by making the rules whose infraction constitutes devi-
ance. Consequently, deviance is not a quality of the act ... but rather a conse-
quence of the application by others of rules and sanctions to an offender”

From Douglas Degher and Gerald Hughes, “The Identity Change Process: A Field Study
of Obesity.” Deviant Behavior, 12(4). Copyright © 1991. Reproduced by permission of
Taylor & Francis, LLC, http://www.taylorandfrancis.com.

263
264 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

(Becker, 1963, p. 9). Attention is focused upon the interaction between those
being labeled deviant and those promoting the deviant label. In the interactionist
literature, emphases are in two major areas: (a) the conditions under which the
label “deviant” comes to be applied to an individual and the consequences for
the individual of having adopted that label (Tannenbaum, 1939; Lemert, 1951;
Kitsuse, 1962, p. 247; Goffman, 1963; Baum, 1987, p. 96; Greenberg, 1989,
p. 79), and/or (b) the role of social control agents’ in contributing to the appli-
cation of deviant labels (Becker, 1963; Piliavin & Briar, 1964, p. 206; Cicourel,
1968; Schur, 1971s, Conrad, 1975, p12).
Much of this literature frequently assumes that once an individual has been
labeled, the promoted label and attendant identity [are] either internalized or
rejected. As Lemert proposes, the shift from primary to secondary deviance is a
categorical one, and is primarily a response to problems created by the societal
reaction (Lemert, 1951, p. 40).
What is most often neglected is an examination of the mechanistic features of
this identity shift. Our focus is on this “identity change process,” which is what we
have chosen to call this identity shift. Of interest is how individuals come to make
some personal sense out of proffered labels and their attendant identities.

METHODOLOGY

The primary methodological tool employed to construct our identity change

process model comes from “grounded” analysis.... The model presented in this
paper emerged from comments and codes appearing in interviews with obese
members of a weight reduction organization that had weekly meetings. The fre-
quency of attendance allowed us to consider the members typical, and allowed
us to suggest that major issues of obesity are transsituational and temporally dura-
ble. If obesity disappeared tomorrow, we would still be able to apply the generic
concepts generated from our data to make statements about the process of “iden-
tity change.” As suggested by Hadden, Degher, and Fernandez, our focus is on pro-
cess rather than on unit characteristics of social phenomena (Hadden, Degher, &
Fernandez, 1989, p. 9). This provides us with insights that have import for major
issues in sociological theory.

SITE SELECTION

Because obese individuals suffer both internally (negative self-concepts) and

externally (discrimination), they possess what Goffman refers to as a “spoiled
identity” (Goffman, 1963). This seems to be the case particularly in contemporary
United States with what may be described as an almost pathological emphasis on
fitness. The boom in health clubs, sales of videotapes on fitness, diet books, and so
forth promote a definition of the “healthy” physical presence. As Kelly (1990)
CHAPTER 23 THE ADOPTION AND MANAGEMENT OF A “FAT” IDENTITY 265

sees it, the boom in physical fitness in the mid-1980s is an attempt by many
people to create a specific image of an ideal body. Thus, body build becomes a
crucial element in self-appraisal. Consequently, fat people are an ideal strategic
group within which to study the “identity change process.”
Obese people are not only the subject of negative stereotypes; but they are
also actively discriminated against in college admissions (Canning & Mayers,
1966, p. 1172), pay more for goods and services (Petit, 1974), receive prejudicial
medical treatment (Maddox, Back, & Liederman, 1968, p. 287; Maddox & Lie-
derman, 1969, p. 214), are treated less promptly by salespersons (Pauley, 1989,
p. 713), have higher rates of unemployment (Laslett & Warren, 1975, p. 69),
and receive lower wages (Register, 1990, p. 130). The obese label is one that
seems to clearly fit Becker’s description of a “master status,” that is,

Some statuses in our society, as in others, override all other statuses and
have a certain priority... the status deviant (depending on the kind of
deviance) is this kind of master status ... one will be identified as a
deviant first, before other identifications are made. (Becker, 1963, p. 33)

Obese people are “fat” first, and only secondarily are seen as possessing ancil-
lary characteristics.
The site for the field observations had to meet two requirements: (a) it had
to contain a high proportion of obese, or formerly obese individuals; and
(b) these individuals had to be identifiable by the observer. The existence of a
large number of national weight control organizations (a) whose membership is
composed of individuals who have internalized an obese identity, and (b) who
emphasize a radical program of identity change, make these organizations an
excellent choice as strategic sites for study and analysis. The local franchise chap-
ter of one of these national weight loss organizations satisfied both of our
requirements, and was selected as the site for our study.
Attendance at the weekly meetings of this national weight control group is
restricted to individuals who are current members of the organization. Since one
requirement for membership is that the individual be at least 10 pounds over the
maximum weight for his or her sex and height (according to New York Life
tables), all of the people attending the meetings are, or were, overweight, and a
high proportion of them are, or were, sufficiently overweight to be classified as
obese.”
During the period of the initial field observations, the weekly membership
of the group varied from 30 to 100 members, with an average attendance of
around 60 members. Although there was a considerable turnover in member-
ship, the greatest part of this turnover consisted of “rejoins” (individuals who
had been members previously, and were joining again).
Although we have no quantitative data from which to generalize, the group
membership appeared to represent a cross section of the larger community. The
group included both male and female members, although females did constitute
about three-fourths of the membership. Although the membership was predomi-
nantly white, a range of ethnicities, notably Hispanic and Native American, existed
266 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

within the group. The majority of the members appeared to fall within the 30 to
50 age range, although there was a member as young as 11, and one over 70.

DATA COLLECTION

Two types of data were gathered for this study: field observations and in-depth
interviews. The field observations were performed while [we attended] meetings
of a local weight control organization. The insights gained from these observa-
tions were used primarily to develop interview guides. There were two major
sources of observation during this period: premeeting conversations; and
exchanges during the meeting itself? The observations were recorded in note
form and served to provide an orientation for the subsequent interviews. The
goal during this period of observation was to gain insight into the basic processes
of obesity and the obese career.
The in-depth interviews were carried out with 29 members from the local
group. The interviews were solicited on a voluntary basis, and each individual
was assured anonymity. The interviewees were representative of the group
membership. Although most were middle-aged, middle-income white females,
various age groups, ethnicities, marital statuses, genders, and social classes were
represented.
These interviews lasted in length from % to 2% hours, with the average
interview being about 1 hour and 15 minutes in duration. The interviews pro-
duced almost 40 hours of taped discussion, which yielded more than 600 pages
of typed transcript for coding.

THE IDENTITY CHANGE PROCESS

In conceptualizing the “identity changes” process, the concept of “career” was

employed. As Goffman notes, “career” refers “... to any social strand of any per-
son’s course through life” (Goffman, 1961, p. 127). In the present paper, our
concern is the change process that takes place as individuals come to see defini-
tions of self in light of specific transmitted information.
An important aspect of this career model is what Becker referred to as
“career contingencies,” or “... those factors on which mobility from one posi-
tion to another depends. Career contingencies include both the objective facts of
social structure, and changes in the perspectives, motivations, and desires of the
individual” (Becker, 1963, p. 24).
Thus, the “identity change” process must be viewed on two levels: a public
(external) and a private (internal) level. As Goffman has stated, “One value of the
concept of career is its two-sidedness. One side is linked to internal matters held
dearly and closely, such as image of self and felt identity; the other [to a] publicly
acceptable institutional complex” (Goffman, 1961, p. 127; Adler & Adler
interpolation).
CHAPTER 23 THE ADOPTION AND MANAGEMENT OF A “FAT” IDENTITY 267

Initial New
Recognition Placing
Status Status

FIGURE 23.1 Visualization of the Identity Change Process (ICP)

On the public level, social status exists as part of the public domain; social status
is socially defined and promoted. The social environment not only contains defini-
tions and attendant stereotypes for each status, [but] also contains information, in the
form of status cues, about the applicability of that status for the individual.
On the internal level, two distinct cognitive processes must take place for
the identity change process to occur: first, the individual must come to recognize
that the current status is inappropriate; and second, the individual must locate a
new, more appropriate status. Thus, in response to the external status cues, the
individual comes to recognize internally that the initial status is inappropriate;
and then he or she uses the cues to locate a new, more appropriate status.
The identity change occurs in response to, and is mediated through, the status
cues that exist in the social environment (see Figure 23.1).

STATUS CUES: THE EXTERNAL COMPONENT

Status cues make up the public or external component of the identity change
process. A status cue is some feature of the social environment that contains
information about a particular status or status dimension. Because this paper is
about obesity, the cues of interest are about “fatness.” Such status cues provide
information about whether or not the individual is “fat,” and if so, how “fat.”
“Recognizing” and “placing” comprise the internal component of the iden-
tity change process and occur in response to, and are mediated through, the sta-
tus cues that exist in the social environment. In order to understand completely
the identity change process, it is necessary to explain the interaction between
outer and inner processes (Scheff, 1988, p. 396), or in our case, external and
internal components of the process.
Status cues are transmitted in two ways: actively and passively. Active cues
are communicated through interaction. For example, people are informed by
peers, friends, spouses, etc., that they are overweight. The following are some
typical comments that occurred repeatedly in the interviews in response to the
question, “How did you know that you were fat?”
I was starting to be called chubby, and being teased in school.
When my mother would take me shopping, she’d get angry
because the clothes that were supposed to be in my age group wouldn’t
fit me. She would yell at me.
268 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Well, people would say, “When did you put on all your weight,
Bob?” You know, something like that. You know, you kind of get the
message, that, you know, I did put on weight.
A second category of cues might accurately be described as passive in form.
The information in these cues exists within the environment, but the individual
must be sensitized in some way to that information. For example, standing on a
scale will provide an individual with information about weight. It is up to the
individual to get on the scale, look at the numbers, and then make some sense
out of them. Other passive cues might involve seeing one’s reflection in a mirror,
standing next to others, fitting in chairs, or, as frequently mentioned by respon-
dents, the sizing of clothes. The comments below, all made in response to the
question, “How did you know that you were fat?” are representative of passive
cue statements.
I think that it was not being able to wear the clothes that the other kids
wore. .
How did I know? Because when we went to get weighed, I
weighed more than my, uh, a girl my height should have weighed,
according to the chart, according to all the charts that I used to read.
That’s when I first noticed that I was overweight.
I would see all these ladies come in and they could wear size 11 and
12, and I thought, Why can’t I do that? I should be able to do that.
Both active and passive cues serve as mechanisms for communicating infor-
mation about a specific status. As can be seen from the data, events occur that
force the individual to evaluate his or her conception of self.

RECOGNIZING

The term “recognizing” refers to the cognitive process by which an individual

becomes aware that a particular status is no longer appropriate. As shown in the
figure, the process assumes the individual’s acceptance of some initial status. For
obese individuals, the initial status is that of “normal body build.* “This assump-
tion is based on the observation that none of our interviewees assumed that they
were “always fat.” Even those who were fat as children could identify when they
became aware that they were “fat.” Through the perception of discrepant status
cues, the individual comes to recognize that the initial status is inappropriate. It is
possible that the person will perceive the discrepant cues and will either ignore
or reject them, in which case the initial status is retained. The factors regulating
such a failure to recognize are important, but are not dealt with in this paper.
Further research on this point is called for.
Status cues are the external mechanisms through which the recognizing takes
place, but it is paying attention to the information contained in these cues that
triggers the internal cognitive process of recognizing.
CHAPTER 23 THE ADOPTION AND MANAGEMENT OF A “FAT” IDENTITY 269

An important point is that the acceptance (or rejection) of a particular status

does not occur simply because the individual possesses a set of objective charac-
teristics. For example, two people may have similar body builds, but one may
have a self-definition of “fat” whereas the other may not. There appears to be
a rather tenuous connection between objective condition and subjective defini-
tion. The following comments are supportive of this disjunction.
I was really, as far as pounds go, very thin, but I had a feeling about
myself that I was huge.
Well, | don’t remember ever thinking about it until I was about in
eighth grade. But I was looking back at pictures when I was little. I was
always chunky, chubby.
This lack of necessary connection between objective condition and subjec-
tive definition points up an important and frequently overlooked feature of social
statuses: the extent to which they are self-evident. Self-evidentiality refers to the
degree to which a person who possesses certain objective status characteristics is
aware that a particular status label applies to them.”
Some statuses possess a high degree of evidentiality: gender identification is
one of these.° On the other hand, being beautiful or intelligent is somewhat
nonself-evident. This is not to imply that individuals are either ignorant of
these statuses or of the characteristics upon which they are assigned. People
may know that other people are intelligent, but they may be unaware that the
label is equally applicable to them.
One idea that emerged quite early from the interviews was that being “fat”
is a relatively nonself-evident status. Individuals do not recognize that “fat” is a
description that applies to them.’ The objective condition of being overweight is
not sufficient, in itself, to promote the adoption of a “fat” identity. This non-
self-evidentiality is demonstrated in the following excerpts.
I think that I just thought that it was a little bit here and there. I didn’t
think of it, and I didn’t think of myself as looking bad. But you know,
I must have.
I have pictures of me right after the baby was born. I had no idea
that I was that fat.
The self-evidentiality of a status is important in the discussion of the identity
change process. The less self-evident a status, the more difficult the recognizing
process becomes. Moreover, because recognition occurs in response to status
cues, the self-evidentiality of a status will influence the type of cues that play
the most prominent role in identity change.
A somewhat speculative observation should be made about status cues in the
recognizing process. For our subjects, recognizing occurred primarily through
active cues. When passive cues were involved, they typically were highly visible
and unambiguous. In general, active cues appear to be more potent in forcing
the individual’s attention to the information that the current status is inappropri-
ate. The predominance of these active cues is possibly a consequence of the rel-
atively nonself-evident character of the “fat” status. It is probable that the less
270 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

self-evident a status, the more likely that the recognizing process will occur
through active rather than passive cues.
Once the individual comes to recognize the inappropriateness of the initial
status, it becomes necessary to locate a new, more appropriate status. This search
for a more appropriate status is referred to as the “placing” process.”

PLACING

Placing refers to a cognitive process whereby an individual comes to identify an

appropriate status from among those available. The number of status categories
along a status dimension influences the placing process. A status dimension may
contain any number of status categories. If there are only two status dimensional
categories, such as in the case of gender, the placement process is more or less
automatic. When individuals recognize that they do not belong in one category,
the remaining category becomes the obvious alternative. The greater the number
of status categories, the more difficult the placing process becomes.
The body build dimension contains an extremely large number of catego-
ries. When an individual recognizes that he or she does not possess a “normal”
body build, there are innumerable alternatives open. The knowledge that one’s
status lies toward the “fat” rather than the “thin” end of the continuum still pre-
sents a wide range of choices. In everyday conversation, we hear terms that
describe these alternatives: chubby, porky, plump, hefty, full-figured, beer
belly, etc. All are informal descriptions reflecting the myriad categories along
the body build dimension.
I wasn’t real fat in my eyes. I don’t think. I was just chunky.
Not fat. I didn’t exactly classify it as fat. I just thought, I’m, you
know, I am a pudgy lady.
I don’t think that I have ever called myself fat. I have called myself
heavy.
Even when individuals adopt a “fat” identity, they attempt to make distinc-
tions about how fat they are. Because being fat is a devalued status, individuals
attempt to escape the full weight of its negative attributes while still acknowledg-
ing the nonnormal status. The following responses exemplify this attempt to
neutralize the pejorative connotations of having a “fat” status. The practice of
differentiating one’s status from others becomes vital in managing a fat identity.
Q. How did you know that you weren’t that fat?
A. Well, comparing myself to others at the time, I didn’t really feel that I was that
fat. But I knew maybe because they didn’t treat me the same way they treated
people who were heavier than me. You know, I got teased lightly, but I was
still liked by a lot of people, and the people that were heavy weren't.
As is apparent from this excerpt, the individual neutralized self-image by
linking “fatness” with the level of teasing done by peers.
CHAPTER 23 THE ADOPTION AND MANAGEMENT OF A “FAT” IDENTITY 271

NEW STATUS

The final phase of the identity change process involves the acceptance of a new
status. For our informants, it was the acceptance of a “fat” status, along with its
previously mentioned pejorative characterizations.”
I hate to look in mirrors. I hate that. It makes me feel so self-conscious. If]
walk into a store, and I see my reflection in the glass, I just look away.
We'd go somewhere and I would think, “I never look as good as
everybody else.” You know everybody always looks better. I’d cry
before we’d go bowling because I’d think, “Oh, I just look awful.”
As is clear, the final phase of the identity change process involves the inter-
nalization of a negative (deviant) definition of self. For many fat people accepting
Te status means starting on the merry-go-round of weight reduction pro-
grams." Many of these programs or organizations attempt to get members to
accept a devalued status fully, and then work to change “ Ponseruently, indi-
hs oe forced to “admit” that they are fat and to “witness” in front of
others.'' The new identity becomes that of a “fat” person, which the weight
reduction programs then attempt to transform. A further analysis of the impact
of informal organizations on the identity change process will be attempted in
another paper.

CONCLUSION

In this paper, we have attempted to fill a void within the interactionist literature
by presenting an inductively generated model of the identity change process.
The proposed model treats the change process from a career focus, and thus
addresses both the external (public) and the internal (cognitive) features of the
identity change.
We have suggested that the adoption of a new status takes place through two
sequential cognitive processes, “recognizing” and “placing.” First, the individual
must come to recognize that a current status is no longer appropriate. Second,
the individual must locate a new, more appropriate status from among those avail-
able. We have further suggested that these internal or cognitive processes are
triggered by and mediated through status cues, which exist in the external environ-
ment. These cues can be either active or passive. Active cues are transmitted
through interaction, whereas passive cues must be sought out by the individual.
We also found a relationship between the evidentiality of the status, that is,
how obvious that status is to the individual, and the role of the different types of
cues in the identity change process. Finally, we have suggested that the adoption
of a new status is a trigger for further career changes.
Although the model presented in this paper was generated inductively from
field data on obese individuals, we are confident that it may be fruitfully applied
to the study of other deviant careers. It seems particularly appropriate where the
identity involved has a low degree of self-evidentiality.
272 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

In addition, we feel that the focus upon the different types of status cues and
their differing roles in the recognizing and placing processes can lead to a better
understanding of how institutionally promoted identity change occurs.

NOTES

Included here is research on both rule communicating that the individual

creators and rule enforcers. We have possesses it” (Goffman, 1963, p. 48).
not made an attempt to analytically The focus of the concept is on how
separate the two types of investigation. readily the social environment can
Some of the members had successfully identify that the individual possesses a
lost their excess weight. When these stigmatized trait. The concept of self-
people were present at a meeting, a evidentiality deals with how readily
leader was careful to introduce them the individual can internalize posses-
to the other members of the class and sion of the stigmatized trait. The focus
to tell how much weight they had lost. is upon the actor’s perceptions, not on
This was done to uphold their claim to the audience.
acceptance by the other group 6. We are referring here to the physio-
members. logical description of being male or
Access to this information was gained female. We realize that sex roles are
from an “insider” perspective because much less self-evident.
one of the researchers was well known +7. ~Conversely, a number of individuals
among the membership, being an “off thought of themselves as “fat” or
and on” member of the organization “obese,” and were objectively
for three years. Thus, he was not “normal.” In this case, the existence of
confronted with the problem of objective indicators was insufficient to
gaining entry into a semiclosed social prevent the individual from adopting a
setting. Similarly, because the observer “fat” identity.
had “been an ongoing participant of 8. In some instances, recognizing and
the group,” he did not have to placing occur simultaneously. This is
desensitize the other members of the especially true when the cue involved
group to his presence. is an active one, and contains infor-
It is important to note that this process mation about both the initial and new
can operate generically. That is, it is statuses. For example, if peers call a
not only applicable to the “identity child “fatty,” this interaction informs
change” from a “normal” to a the child that the “normal” status is
“deviant” identity, but can also inappropriate. At the same time, it
encompass the reverse process as well. informs the child that being “fat” is the
In a forthcoming project, we will use appropriate status. Even here however,
the process to analyze how various the individual must recognize before it
rehabilitation programs attempt to get is possible to place.
individuals back to the initial status. 9. This phase corresponds closely to that
This concept is different in an impor- presented in much ofthe “subcultural”
tant way from what Goffman calls research. (See Schur, 1971; Becker,
“visibility.” He uses the term to refer 1963; Sykes & Matza, 1957, p. 664.)
to “... how well or how badly the 10. Weight Watchers, TOPS, Overeaters
stigma is adapted to provide means of Anonymous, Diet Center, and
CHAPTER 23 THE ADOPTION AND MANAGEMENT OF A “FAT” IDENTITY 273

OptiFast are typical examples of this self and former behaviors associated
type of program. with that self. Some religious groups,
11. By witnessing, we are referring to the Synanon, Alcoholics Anonymous,
process whereby individuals come to etc., seem to encourage this type of
renounce, in front of others, a former degradation of self.

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the sociology of deviance. New York: 287-298.
Free Press. Maddox, G. L., and V. Liederman. (1969).
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Kitsuse, J. (1962). Societal reactions to
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Lemert, E. (1951). Social Pathology. New
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 24

The Paradox of the Bisexual Identity

MARTIN S. WEINBERG, COLIN J. WILLIAMS, AND DOUGLAS W. PRYOR

Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor’s study of the identity career followed by

individuals who become bisexual illustrates a much more complex identity
trajectory than Degher and Hughes’s portrayal of their-fat subjects. As the
selection sets forth, the attraction of individuals to members of the same gender
leads them to question and reject their affiliation with the heterosexual identity.
But their continuing attraction to members of the other gender leads them to
question the appropriateness, for them, of the homosexual designation. Aware
that they do not fit comfortably into either of these common sexual identity labels,
they can become confused about their identity label. After struggling with their
ambivalence about their dual sexual orientations, they discover the bisexual option
and begin the process of reconceptualizing themselves. Although finding this label
and discovering bisexual others aids their process of self-acceptance, they remain
doubly stigmatized because of their rejection by both the heterosexual and gay and
lesbian communities, and they may not feel completely comfortable with this
liminal identity. Over time, as they age, they experience a decrease in the salience
of the bisexual identity, yet their dual attractions do not wane; thus, they
experience an increase in the certainty and stability of their bisexual identity.
The social processes underlying such an identity trajectory are described in
“this piece as well.
How important do you consider the role of individuals, the people they
encounter, the individuals’ subcultures, and/or society in affecting deviant iden-
tities? How likely do you think it is for people to form and re-form their identity
over time?

iven that taking on a bisexual identity involves the rejection of not one but
two recognized categories of sexual identity, heterosexual and homosexual,
how is it that some people come to identify themselves as bisexuals? To our
knowledge, no previous model of bisexual identity formation exists. We present
such a model based on the following questions: (1) How far is the label “bisex-
ual” clearly recognized, understood, and available to people as an identity? and
(2) For the study participants, what are the problems in finding the “bisexual”
label, understanding what the label means, dealing with social disapproval from

Reprinted with permission from the author, Martin S. Weinberg.

274
 CHAPTER 24 THE PARADOX OF THE BISEXUAL IDENTITY 275

straight and gay/lesbian people, and continuing to use the label once it is
adopted? From the fieldwork and interviews, we found that four stages captured
the participants’ most common experiences when dealing with questions of
identity: initial confusion, finding and applying the label, settling into the iden-
tity, and continued uncertainty.

METHODS

At the outset of the research, to be included as a study participant, a person had

to self-identify as bisexual, have more than incidental sexual feelings toward and/
or sexual activity with both sexes, and have attended the Bisexual Center, a sup-
port center for bisexuals established in the mid-1970s. The first wave of inter-
views was completed in 1983 with 100 people. This research was followed up
with a second-wave study 5 years later (in 1988), when 61 of the original group
were reinterviewed. A third wave, conducted 8 years later (in 1996), contained
37 of the initial 100 individuals. Furthermore, for the second wave, besides the
61 repeat cases, we interviewed 39 people, none of whom were in the first wave
of the study. In the third wave, we reinterviewed 19 of this latter subgroup a
second time. Thus, we analyze what happened in the lives of 56 study partici-
pants over a period of 8 years, as well as what happened for about two-thirds of
the participants over a period of 13 years. The timing of the periods 1s also sig-
nificant, occurring before, during, and after the emergence of the AIDS crisis and
during the height, as well as after the demise, of the Bisexual Center.

THE STAGES

\ Initial Confusion

Many people interviewed said that they had experienced a period of considerable
confusion, doubt, and struggle regarding their sexual identity before defining
themselves as bisexual. This perplexity was ordinarily the first step in the process
of becoming bisexual.
They described a number of major sources of early confusion about their sexual
identity. For some, it was the experience of having strong sexual feelings for both
sexes that was unsettling, disorienting, and sometimes frightening. Often, they said
that they did not know how to easily handle or resolve these sexual feelings:
In the past, I couldn’t reconcile different desires I had. I didn’t under-
stand them. I didn’t know what I was. And I ended up feeling really
mixed up, unsure, and kind of frightened. (Female, hereafter F)
I thought I was gay, and yet I was having these intense fantasies and
feelings about fucking women. I went through a long —— of
confusion. (Male, hereafter, M)
276 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Others were confused because they thought strong sexual feelings for,
or sexual behavior with, the same sex meant an end to their long-standing
heterosexuality:
I was afraid of my sexual feelings for men and ... that if I acted on them
that would negate my sexual feelings for women. I knew absolutely no
one else who had... sexual feelings for both men and women, and
didn’t realize that was an option. (M)
A third source of confusion in this initial stage stemmed from attempts by
participants to categorize their feelings for, and/or behaviors with, both sexes,
yet not being able to do so. Unaware of the term “bisexual,” some tried to orga-
nize their sexuality by using readily available labels of “heterosexual” or “homo-
sexual”—but these did not seem to fit. No sense of sexual identity jelled; an
aspect of themselves remained unclassifiable:
I thought I had to be either gay or straight. That was the big lie. It was
confusing.... That all began to change in the late sixties. It was a long
and slow process. (F)
Finally, others suggested that they experienced a great deal of confusion
because of their “homophobia”—their difficulty in facing up to the same-sex
component of their sexuality. The consequence was often long-term denial:
I thought I might be able to get rid of my homosexual tendencies
through religious means—prayer, belief, counseling—before I came to
accept it as part of me. (M)
This experience was more common among the men than the women, but
not exclusively so.
The intensity of the confusion and the extent to which it existed in the lives
of the people we met at the Bisexual Center, whatever its particular source, was
summed up by Bill, who said he thinks this sort of thing happens a lot at the
Bi Center. People come in “very confused” and experience some really painful stress.

Finding and Applying the Label

Following the initial period of confusion, which often spanned years, was the
experience of finding and applying the label. We asked the people we inter-
viewed for specific factors or events in their lives that led them to define them-
selves as bisexual.
For many who were unfamiliar with the term “bisexual,” the discovery that
the category in fact existed was a turning point. This happened simply by their
hearing the word, reading about it somewhere, or learning of a place called the
Bisexual Center. The discovery provided a means of making sense of long-
standing feelings for both sexes:
Early on I thought I was just gay, because I was not aware there was
another category, bisexual. I always knew I was interested in men and
 CHAPTER 24 THE PARADOX OF THE BISEXUAL IDENTITY 277

women. But I did not realize there was a name for these feelings and
behaviors until I took Psychology 101 and read about it, heard about it
there. That was in college. (F)
The first time I heard the word, which was not until I was 26, I realized
that was what fit for me. What it fit was that I had sexual feelings for
both men and women. Up until that point, the only way that I could
define my sexual feelings was that I was either a latent homosexual or a
confused heterosexual. (M)

In the case of others, the turning point was their first same-sex or other-sex
experience, coupled with the recognition that sex was pleasurable with both
sexes. These were people who already seemed to have knowledge of the label
“bisexual” yet, without experiences with both men and women, could not label
themselves accordingly:
The first tume I had actual intercourse, an orgasm with a woman, it
led me to realize I was bisexual, because I enjoyed it as much as I did
with a man, although the former occurred much later on in my sexual
experiences.... I didn’t have an orgasm with a woman until
twenty-two, while with males, that had been going on since the
age of thirteen. (M)
After my first involved sexual affair with a woman, I also had feelings for
a man, and I knew I did not fit the category dyke. I was also dating gay-
identified males. So I began looking at gay/lesbian and heterosexual
labels as not fitting my situation. (F)
Still others reported not so much a specific experience as a turning point, but
emphasized the recognition that their sexual feelings for both sexes were simply
too strong to deny. They eventually came to the conclusion that it was unneces-
sary to choose between them:
I found myself with men but couldn’t completely ignore my feelings
for women. When involved with a man, I always had a close female
relationship. When one or the other didn’t exist at any given time, I felt
I was really lacking something. I seem to like both. (F)
The last factor that was instrumental in leading people to initially adopt
the label “bisexual” was the encouragement and support of others. Encouragement
sometimes came from a partner who already defined himself or herself as
bisexual:
Encouragement from a man I was in a relationship with. We had been
together 2 or 3 years at the time—he began to define as bisexual...
[He] encouraged me to do so as well. He engineered a couple of
threesomes with another woman. Seeing one other person who
had bisexuality as an identity that fit them seemed to be a real
encouragement. (F)
278 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Encouragement also came from sex-positive organizations, primarily the

Bisexual Center, but also places like San Francisco Sex Information (SFSI), the
Pacific Center, and the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality.
At the gay pride parade, I had seen the brochures for the Bisexual
Center. Two years later, | went to a Tuesday night meeting. I imme-
diately felt that I belonged and that, if I had to define myself, that this
was what I would use: (M)
Through SFSI and the Bi Center, I found a community of people...
[who] were more comfortable for me than were the exclusive gay or
heterosexual communities.... [It was] beneficial for myself to be... in a
sex-positive community. I got more strokes and came to understand
myself better.... I felt that it was necessary to express my feelings for
males and females without having to censor them, which is what the
gay and straight communities pressured me to do. (F)
Thus, the participants became familiar with, and came to the point of adopt-
ing, the label “bisexual” in a variety of ways: through reading about it on their
own, being in therapy, talking to friends, having experiences with sex partners,
learning about the Bi Center, visiting SFSI or the Pacific Center, and coming to
accept their sexual feelings.

Settling into the Identity

Usually, it took years from the time of their first sexual attractions to, or beha-
viors with, both sexes before people came to think of themselves as bisexual. The
next stage then was one of settling into the identity, a stage that was character-
ized by a more complete transition in self-labeling.
Most reported that this settling-in stage was the consequence of becoming
more self-accepting. They became less concerned with the negative attitudes o
others about their sexual preferences:
I realized that the problem of bisexuality isn’t mine. It’s society’s.
They are having problems dealing with my bisexuality. So I was
then thinking, if they had a problem dealing with it, so should I. But
I don’t. (F)

I learned to accept the fact that there are a lot of people out there who
aren't accepting. They can be intolerant, selfish, shortsighted, and so on.
Finally, in growing up, I learned to say “So what, I don’t care what
others think.” (M)
The increase in self-acceptance was often attributed to the continuing sup-
port from friends, counselors, and the Bi Center, to reading, and to just being in
San Francisco:

I think going to the Bi Center really helped a lot. I think going to the
gay baths and realizing there were a lot of men who sought the same
 CHAPTER 24 THE PARADOX OF THE BISEXUAL IDENTITY 279

outlet I did really helped. Talking about it with friends has been helpful,
and being validated by female lovers that approve of my bisexuality.
Also, the reaction of people whom I’ve told, many of whom weren’t
even surprised. (M)

The majority of the people we came to know through the interviews

seemed settled in their sexual identity. Ninety percent said that they did not
think they were currently in transition from being homosexual to being hetero-
sexual or from being heterosexual to being homosexual. However, when we
probed further by asking this group “Is it possible, though, that someday you
could define yourself as either lesbian/gay or heterosexual?” about 40 percent
answered yes. About two-thirds of these indicated that the change could be in
either direction, although almost 70 percent said that such a change was not
probable.
We asked those who thought that a change was possible what it might take
to bring it about. The most common responses referred to becoming involved in
a meaningful relationship that was monogamous or very intense. Often, the sex
of the hypothetical partner was not specified, underscoring the fact that the over-
all quality of the relationship was what really mattered:
If I should meet a woman and want to get married, and if she was not
open to my relating to men, I might become heterosexual again. (M)
Getting involved in a longer term relationship like marriage where I
wouldn’t need a sexual involvement with anyone else. The sex of the...
partner wouldn’t matter. It would have to be someone who|m] I could
commit my whole life to exclusively, a lifelong relationship. (F)
Thus, “settling into the identity” must be seen in relative terms. We were
struck by the absence of closure that characterized the study’s participants—even
those who appeared most committed to their identity. This absence of closure
led us to posit a next stage in the formation of sexual identity, one that seems
unique to bisexuals.

Continued Uncertainty
The belief that bisexuals are confused about their sexual identity 1s quite com-
mon. The conception has been promoted especially by those lesbians and gays
who see bisexuality as being an inauthentic identity in and of itself. One evening,
a facilitator at a Bisexual Center rap group put this belief in a slightly
different form:
One of the myths about bisexuality is that you can’t be bisexual without
somehow being “schizoid.” The lesbian and gay communities do not
see being bisexual as a crystallized or complete sexual identity. The gay
and lesbian community believes there is no such thing as bisexuality.
They think that bisexuals are people who are in transition [to becoming
gay/lesbian] or that they are people afraid of being stigmatized [as gay/
lesbian] by the heterosexual. majority.
280 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

We addressed the issue directly in the interviews with two questions:

“Do you presently feel confused about your bisexuality?” and “Have you ever
felt confused about your sexuality?” For the men, a quarter and 84 percent
answered “‘yes.” For the women, it was about a quarter and 56 percent.
When asked to provide the details about this uncertainty, the participants’
primary response was that, even after having discovered and applied the label “bisexual”
to themselves and having come to the point of apparent self-acceptance, they still experi-
enced continued intermittent periods of doubt and uncertainty regarding the use of this
label to make sense of their sexuality. One reason was the lack of social validation
and support that came with being a self-identified bisexual. The social reaction
people received made it difficult to sustain the identity over the long haul.
Although the heterosexual world was said to be completely intolerant of any
degree of homosexuality, the reaction of the gay and lesbian world mattered
more. Many bisexuals referred to the persistent pressures they experienced to
relabel themselves “gay” or “lesbian” and to engage in sexual activity exclusively
with the same sex. It was asserted that no one was really bisexual and that calling
oneself “bisexual” was a politically incorrect and inauthentic identity:
Sometimes, [the pressure comes from] the repeated denial the gay
community directs at us. Their negation of the concept and of the term
“bisexual” has sometimes made me wonder whether I was just imagin-
ing the whole thing. (M)
[The pressure comes from] my involvement with the gay community.
There was extreme political pressure. The lesbians said that bisexuals
didn’t exist. To them, I had to make up my mind and identify as
lesbian.... I was really questioning my identity—that is, about defining
myself as bisexual. (F)

Lack of support also came from the absence of bisexual role models, no
real bisexual community aside from the Bisexual Center, and nothing in the
way of public recognition of bisexuality, all of which bred uncertainty and
confusion:
I went through a period of dissociation, of being very alone and iso-
lated. That was due to my bisexuality. People would ask, well, what was
I? I wasn’t gay and I wasn’t straight. So I didn’t fit. (F)
I don’t feel like I belong in a lot of situations because society is so
polarized as heterosexual or homosexual. There are not enough bi
organizations or public places to go to, like bars, restaurants, clubs... (F)
For some, continuing uncertainty about their sexual identity was related to
their inability to translate their sexual feelings into sexual behaviors (some of the
women had never engaged in sex with a woman):
Should I try to have a sexual relationship with a woman? ... Should I
just back off and keep my distance, just try to maintain a friendship? I
question whether I am really bisexual because I don’t know if I will ever
act on my physical attractions for females. (F)
 CHAPTER 24 THE PARADOX OF THE BISEXUAL IDENTITY 281

I know I have strong sexual feelings towards men, but then I don’t
know how to get close to or be sexual with a man. I guess that what
happens is I start wondering how genuine my feelings are.... (M)
For the men, confusion stemmed more from the practical concerns of
implementing and managing multiple partners or from questions-about how to
find an involved same-sex relationship and what that might mean on a social and
personal level:
I felt very confused about how I was going to manage my life in terms
of developing relationships with both men and women. J still see it as a
difficult lifestyle to create for myself because it involves a lot of hard
work and understanding on my part and that of the men and women
I’m involved with. (M)
Many men and women felt doubts about their bisexual identity because of
being in an exclusive sexual relationship. After being exclusively involved with
another-sex partner for a time, some of the participants questioned the homosexual
side of their sexuality. Conversely, after being exclusively involved with a partner of
the same sex, other participants called into question the heterosexual component of
their sexuality:
In the last relationship I had with a woman, my heterosexual feelings
were very diminished. Being involved in a lesbian lifestyle put stress on
my self-identification as a bisexual. It seems confusing to me because I
am monogamous for the most part; monogamy determines my lifestyle
to the extremes of being heterosexual or homosexual. (F)
Others made reference to a lack of sexual activity together with weaker sex-
ual feelings and affections for one sex. Such awareness did not fit in with the
perception that bisexuals should have balanced desires and behaviors. The conse-
quence was doubt about “really” being bisexual:
On the level of sexual arousal and deep romantic feelings, I feel them
much more strongly for women than for men. I’ve gone so far as
questioning myself when this is involved. (M)
I definitely am attracted to, and it is much easier to deal with, males.
Also, guilt for my attraction to females has led me to wonder if I am just
really toying with the idea. Is the sexual attraction I have for females
something I constructed to pass time, or what? (F)
Just as “settling into the identity” is a relative phenomenon, so, too, is “con-
tinued uncertainty,” which can involve a lack of closure as part and parcel of
what it means to be bisexual.

Reaching Midlife: Diminished Salience, Yet Increased Certainty

When we interviewed the participants in the final wave, we found that their
identity trajectories had taken a surprising turn. Four areas stood out as arenas
282 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

of change as they grew older. The first was a change in sexual involvement: Their
sexual activity and interest had declined. This change was often the first step in
the weakened relevance of their bisexual identity. The participants attributed it
both to the aging process itself and to the effect of increasing responsibilities asso-
ciated with age. One woman captured the totality of the decline most vividly:
“Less activity, less partners, less interest, less time, less energy.” Women were also
more likely to attribute their loss of sexual interest to either the onset of meno-
pause or a perceived decrease in sexual attractiveness connected with aging.
For men, outside factors played a larger part. Steve (age 49), who wanted us
to know that his bisexual feelings had not changed, said it had become harder
to act on them: “The drive just isn’t there as much anymore. The libido is less
and I view people more paternally.” Charlie (age 44) was currently married and
had had sexual relations with only one other woman (an old friend) in the pre-
vious 8 years:
It [sex] seems less important most of the time. It’s a combination of
being older and having other stuff in our lives: work, all the stuff people
do, a house to take care of. Our energy just goes in other directions.
The passage of time often meant that these distractions—notably, increasing
social commitments for people as they entered into new occupational and famil-
ial roles—loomed larger.
In the past, a majority of the participants had described themselves as having
had more energy and having been less encumbered with occupational and famil-
ial commitments. This meant that most had previously experienced more free-
dom and felt a greater desire to explore their sexuality and to make a greater
commitment to a bisexual lifestyle. Since then, new commitments and identities
competed with the salience of a bisexual identity in organizing their lives.
A second factor, which also affected the salience of the bisexual identity, lay
in participants’ changes in sexual direction. Nearly half the group was now sexu-
ally active with only one sex.
Almost a third of the participants had become exclusively heterosexual in
their sexual behavior. A move in the heterosexual direction was often linked to
meeting a new other-sex partner. Heidi (age 41) said, “[I’ve] become more het-
erosexual because I’ve been involved with a new man since 1988. So I’m more
heterosexual by default.” A move toward monogamy often hindered continued
participation in same-sex activity. Sometimes, this had to do with a desire for a
simpler life. For a few, it was linked to a partner’s sexual preference or demands.
Ingrid (age 40) used to be very involved in the swing community but reported,
“In the last seven years, I’ve been involved with the same man.... I don’t think
it’s okay for him to be with other women. He’s straight. So I don’t think
I should be with others either.”
Just as often, a reason offered for sexual drift in the heterosexual direction
was a decrease in opportunities for same-sex partners. This change frequently
was because of some mundane life-course factor, such as a move, a new job, or
a lack of time due to the changing demands and circumstances of everyday life.
Frank, age 58, noted, “It’s occurred through lack of opportunity since moving
 CHAPTER 24 THE PARADOX OF THE BISEXUAL IDENTITY 283

from the Bay. I’m not around homosexual people here, which has led me to be
more heterosexual. That part of my life may be over.”
Previous waves in the research showed that a major factor leading partici-
pants to call their bisexuality into question was whether they were having sex
with both sexes. Fewer were doing so as they aged, because of a change in com-
mitments and a decrease in the salience of a bisexual identity. Nonetheless, dual
attractions did not necessarily disappear.
A third factor that characterized the lives of participants was a change in their
community ties. In 1984, the Bisexual Center closed, cutting off many partici-
pants from easy access to other bisexuals. Even though new groups for bisexuals
emerged, participants found them to be more youth oriented and radical. For
example, the queer and transgender movements challenged older notions of
what it meant to be bisexual. One of these groups, Queer Nation, was a move-
ment of young activists against conventional gay and lesbian politics. Two-fifths
of the study participants said that they had absolutely no knowledge of the cur-
rent use of the term queer. The remainder said that they had heard of the term
and the movement, which they saw as being positive, especially in its emphasis
on inclusiveness, which they felt affirmed bisexuality, yet, at the same time, they
were not involved in queer politics.
Aging, lifestyle, and historical changes, then, had detached the study partici-
pants from the bisexual community as much as the bisexual community had
become detached from them. This outcome could mean that a particular per-
son’s bisexual identity would lose the support necessary to maintain it.
Finally, we directly examined whether the study participants experienced a
change in self-identity. The earlier waves of the research found participants who
had, often with some uncertainty, adopted a self-identity as bisexual. By the third
wave, many of the study’s participants, now in midlife, had become more certain
of their bisexual identity and had obtained closure. In addition, four-fifths of
those who identified as bisexual in the second wave in 1988 continued to self-
define as bisexual in the final wave in 1996. This finding shows that, contrary to
popular belief, the bisexual identity can be stable and that people who self-define
as bisexual are not necessarily “in transition” toward another sexual preference
identity. Even though life-course events and generational changes may have
decreased bisexual commitments, the identity nonetheless survived intact,
although the role it played in the participants’ lives was reduced. The processes
of decreasing salience, yet increasing certainty and stability of identity, may thus
coexist.
As the participants aged, there were often confirmatory experiences that
made the certainty of their bisexuality stand out in relief, even for those who
were not having sex with both sexes. This certainty made their bisexuality diffi-
cult to deny. Penny (age 41) reported, “Age has made me stop wondering [about
my identity]. I accepted the way I am [bi], even though others said I would
change. I’m more sure my identity won’t change now.” Harry (age 46) said,
“I’ve become more positive and more accepting of the fact that that’s who I
am.” Paul (age 53) said that he continued to identify as bisexual “[because of]
growing older. The longer your history, the more sure you are. The longer
284 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

you live with something, the more you're sure of it. I’ve a stronger sense of my
bisexuality as part of my core being.” And Colleen (age 54), summed it up in the
statement, “I would lke—‘Still bisexual, damn you; it wasn’t a transition’—
written on my tombstone.” Thus, as the experience of dual attractions continued
across the life course, people could look back and see a continuing pattern in
their sex lives.

CONCLUSION

We do not wish to claim too much for the model we present of bisexual identity
formation. There are limits to its general application. The people we interviewed
were unique in that not only did all the participants.define themselves as bisexual
(a consequence of the selection criteria), but they were also all members of a
bisexual social organization in a city that, perhaps more than any other in the
United States, could be said to provide a bisexual subculture of some sort. Bisex-
uals in places other than San Francisco surely must move through the early
phases of the identity process with a great deal more difficulty. Many probably
never reach the later stages.
Finally, the phases of the model we present are very broad and somewhat
simplified. Although the particular problems we detail within different phases
may:be restricted to the type of bisexuals interviewed in this study, the broader
phases can form the basis for the development of more sophisticated models of
bisexual identity formation.
Still, not all bisexuals will follow these patterns. Indeed, given the relative
weakness of the bisexual subculture, there may be more varied ways of acquiring
a bisexual identity. Also, the involvement of bisexuals in the heterosexual world
means that various changes in heterosexual lifestyles (e.g., a decrease in open
marriages or swinging) will be a continuing, and as yet unexplored, influence
on bisexual identity. Wider societal changes, notably the existence of AIDS and
the rise of the queer movement, may also make for changes in the overall iden-
tity process. Being used to choice and being open to both sexes can give bisex-
uals a range of adaptations in their sexual life that is not available to others.
Finally, although doing may be necessary to being for a bisexual person, a
continuing sexual attraction to both women and men may suffice when the
salience of the sexual preference identity is lower and the time, energy, and
opportunities to act on the attraction decrease.
 25

Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia

PENELOPE A. McLORG AND DIANE E. TAUB

McLorg and Taub’s study of eating disorders describes and analyzes women’s
progression along an identity career from their initial stage of hyperconformity
through Lemert’s stages of primary and secondary deviance. They illustrate how
the intense societal preoccupation about weight leads women to the kind of deviant
behavior that initially maintains their positive external status while they are
deteriorating internally. Along the way, these women move through a progression
of more common fixations about dieting to frustration with dieting and movement
toward more radical solutions, such as bingeing, purging, compulsive exercising,
and stopping eating. These behaviors stand apart from the individuals’ identities,
McLorg and Taub argue, and enable them to avoid the deviant label and
self-conception. As a result, those affected with anorexia nervosa or bulimia can
remain in the primary deviance stage until they get caught and labeled as having
an eating disorder. Once that happens, however, they move to secondary
deviance, reconceptualized by others as anorectic or bulimic. With this label cast
on them, they are forced to interact with others through the vehicle of their
deviance, thus reinforcing their eating disorders.
How might you relate this article to the typology of deviance proposed in
Heckert and Heckert?

Ge appearance norms stipulate thinness for women and muscularity for

men; these expectations, like any norms, entail rewards for compliance and
negative sanctions for violations. Fear of being overweight—of being visually
deviant—has led to a striving for thinness, especially among women. In the
extreme, this avoidance of overweight engenders eating disorders, which them-
selves constitute deviance. Anorexia nervosa, or purposeful starvation, embodies
visual as well as behavioral deviation; bulimia, binge-eating followed by vomit-
ing, and/or laxative abuse, is primarily behaviorally deviant.
Besides [having] a fear of fatness, anorexics and bulimics exhibit distorted body
images. In anorexia nervosa, a 20 to 25 percent loss of initial body weight occurs,
resulting from self-starvation alone or in combination with excessive exercising,
occasional binge-eating, vomiting and/or laxative abuse. Bulimia denotes cyclical

From Penelope A. McLorg and Diane E. Taub, “Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia: The
Development of Deviant Identities.” Deviant Behavior 8(2). Copyright © 1987.
Reproduced by permission of Taylor & Francis, LLC, http://www.taylorandfrancis.com.

285
286 PART V DEVIANT IDENTITY

(daily, weekly, for example) binge-eating followed by vomiting or laxative abuse;

weight is normal or close to normal (Humphries et al., 1982). Common physical
manifestations of these eating disorders include menstrual cessation or irregularities
and electrolyte imbalances; among behavioral traits are depression, obsessions/
compulsions, and anxiety (Russell, 1979; Thompson and Schwartz, 1982).
Increasingly prevalent in the past two decades, anorexia nervosa and bulimia
have emerged as major health and social problems. Termed an epidemic on col-
lege campuses (Brody, as quoted in Schur, 1984: 76), bulimia affects 13 percent
of college students (Halmi et al., 1981). Less prevalent, anorexia nervosa was
diagnosed in 0.6 percent of students utilizing a university health center (Stangler
and Printz, 1980). However, the overall mortality rate of anorexia nervosa 1s
6 percent (Schwartz and Thompson, 1981) to 20 percent (Humphries et al.,
1982); bulimia appears to be less life-threatening (Russell, 1979).
Particularly affecting certain demographic groups, eating disorders are most
prevalent among young, white, affluent (upper-middle to upper class) women in
modern, industrialized countries (Crisp, 1977; Willi and Grossmann, 1983).
Combining all of these risk factors (female sex, youth, high socioeconomic status,
and residence in an industrialized country), [the] prevalence of anorexia nervosa
in upper class English girls’ schools is reported at 1 in 100 (Crisp et al., 1976). The
age of onset for anorexia nervosa is bimodal at 14.5 and 18 years (Humphries
et al., 1982); the most frequent age of onset for bulimia is 18 (Russell, 1979).
Eating disorders have primarily been studied from psychological and medical
perspectives.’ Theories of etiology have generally fallen into three categories: the
ego psychological (involving an impaired child—maternal environment); the
family systems (implicating enmeshed, rigid families); and the endocrinological
(involving a precipitating hormonal defect). Although relatively ignored in pre-
vious studies, the sociocultural components of anorexia nervosa and bulimia (the
slimness norm and its agents of reinforcement, such as role models) have been
postulated as accounting for the recent, dramatic increases in these disorders
(Schwartz et al., 1982; Boskind-White, 1985).°
Medical and psychological approaches to anorexia nervosa and bulimia
obscure the social facets of the disorders and neglect the individuals’ own defini-
tions of their situations. Among the social processes involved in the development
of an eating disorder is the sequence of conforming behavior, primary deviance,
and secondary deviance. Societal reaction is the critical mediator affecting the
movement through the deviant career (Becker, 1963). Within a framework of
labeling theory, this study focuses on the emergence of anorexic and bulimic
identities, as well as on the consequences-of
being career deviants.

METHODOLOGY

Sampling and Procedures

Most research on eating disorders has utilized clinical subjects or nonclinical
respondents completing questionnaires. Such studies can be criticized for simply
 CHAPTER 25 ANOREXIA NERVOSA AND BULIMIA 287

counting and describing behaviors and/or neglecting the social construction of

the disorders. Moreover, the work of clinicians is often limited by therapeutic
orientation. Previous research may also have included individuals who were not
in therapy on their own volition and who resisted admitting that they had an
eating disorder.
Past studies thus disregard the intersubjective meanings respondents attach to
their behavior and emphasize researchers’ criteria for definition as anorexic or
bulimic. In order to supplement these sampling and procedural designs, the pres-
ent study utilizes participant observation ofa group of self-defined anorexics and
bulimics.” As the individuals had acknowledged their eating disorders, frank
discussion and disclosure were facilitated.
Data are derived from a self-help group, BANISH, Bulimics/Anorexics In
Self-Help, which met at a university in an urban center of the mid-South.
Founded by one of the researchers (D. E. T.), BANISH was advertised in local
newspapers as offering a group experience for individuals who were anorexic or
bulimic. Despite the local advertisements, the campus location of the meetings
may have selectively encouraged university students to attend. Nonetheless, in
view of the modal age of onset and socioeconomic status of individuals with
eating disorders, college students have been considered target populations (Crisp
etalet 976 balmict.al,, 1981);
The group’s weekly two-hour meetings were observed for two years. Dur-
ing the course of this study, 30 individuals attended at least one of the meetings.
Attendance at meetings was varied: 10 individuals came nearly every Sunday;
5 attended approximately twice a month; and the remaining 15 participated once
a month or less frequently, often when their eating problems were “more severe”
or “bizarre.” The modal number of members at meetings was 12. The diversity in
attendance was to be expected in self-help groups of anorexics and bulimics.
[Most] people’s involvement will not be forever or even [for] a long
time. Most people get the support they need and drop out. Some take
the time to help others after they themselves have been helped but even
they may withdraw after a time. It is a natural and in many cases
necessary process. (Emphasis in original.) (American Anorexia/Bulimia
Association, 1983)
Modeled after Alcoholics Anonymous, BANISH allowed participants to dis-
cuss their backgrounds and experiences with others who empathized. For many
members, the group constituted their only source of help; these respondents
were reluctant to contact health professionals because of shame, embarrassment,
or financial difficulties.
In addition to field notes from group meetings, records of other encounters
with all members were maintained. Participants visited the office of one of the
researchers (D. E. T.), called both researchers by phone, and invited them
to their homes or out for a cup of coffee. Such interaction facilitated genuine
communication and mutual trust. Even among the 15 individuals who did not
attend the meetings regularly, contact was maintained with 10 members on a
monthly basis.
288 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Supplementing field notes were informal interviews with 15 group mem-

bers, lasting from two to four hours. Because they appeared to represent more
extensive experience with eating disorders, these interviewees were chosen to
amplify their comments about the labeling process, made during group meetings.
Conducted near the end of the two-year observation period, the interviews
focused on what the respondents thought antedated and maintained their eating
disorders. In addition, participants described others’ reactions to their behaviors as
well as their own interpretations of these reactions. To protect the confidentiality
of individuals quoted in the study, pseudonyms are employed.

Description of Members
The demographic composite of the sample typifies what has been found in other
studies (Fox and James, 1976; Crisp, 1977; Herzog, 1982; Schlesier-Stropp, 1984).
Group members’ ages ranged from 19 to 36, with the modal age being 21.
The respondents were white, and all but one were female. The sole male and
three of the females were anorexic; the remaining females were bulimic.*
Primarily composed of college students, the group included four non-
students, three of whom had college degrees. Nearly all the members derived
from upper-middle or lower-upper class households. Eighteen students and two
nonstudents were never-marrieds and uninvolved in serious relationships; two
nonstudents were married (one with two children); two students were divorced
(one with two children); and six students were involved in serious relationships.
The duration of eating disorders ranged from 3 to 15 years.

CONFORMING BEHAVIOR

In the backgrounds of most anorexics and bulimics, dieting figures prominently,

beginning in the teen years (Crisp, 1977; Johnson et al., 1982; Lacey et al.,
1986). As dieters, these individuals are conformist in their adherence to the cultural
norms emphasizing thinness (Garner et al., 1980; Schwartz et al., 1982). In our
society, slim bodies are regarded as the most worthy and attractive; overweight is
viewed as physically and morally unhealthy—“obscene,” “lazy,” “slothful,” and
“gluttonous” (Dejong, 1980; Ritenbaugh, 1982; Schwartz et al., 1982).
Among the agents of socialization promoting the slimness norm is advertis-
ing. Female models in newspaper, magazine, and television advertisements are
uniformly slender. In addition, product names and slogans exploit the thin ori-
entation; examples include “Ultra Slim Lipstick,” “Miller Lite,” and “Virginia
Slims.” While retaining pressures toward thinness, an Ayds commercial attempts
a compromise for those wanting to savor food: “Ayds... so you can taste, chew,
and enjoy, while you lose weight.” Appealing particularly to women, a nation-
wide fast-food restaurant chain offers low-calorie selections, so individuals can —
have a “license to eat.” In the latter two examples, the notion of enjoying food
is combined with the message to be slim. Food and restaurant advertisements
 CHAPTER 25 ANOREXIA NERVOSA AND BULIMIA 289

overall convey the pleasures of eating, whereas advertisements for other products,
such as fashions and diet aids, reinforce the idea that fatness is undesirable.
Emphasis on being slim affects everyone in our culture, but it influences
women especially because of society’s traditional emphasis on women’s appear-
ance. The slimness norm and its concomitant narrow beauty standards exacerbate
the objectification of women (Schur, 1984). Women view themselves as visual
entities and recognize that conforming to appearance expectations and “becoming
[an] attractive object [is a] role obligation” (Laws, as quoted in Schur, 1984: 66).
Demonstrating the beauty motivation behind dieting, a recent Nielsen survey
indicated that of the 56 percent of all women aged 24 to 54 who dieted during
the previous year, 76 percent did so for cosmetic, rather than health, reasons
(Schwartz et al., 1982). For most female group members, dieting was viewed as a
means of gaining attractiveness and appeal to the opposite sex. The male respon-
dent, as well, indicated that “when I was fat, girls didn’t look at me, but when I got
thinner, I was suddenly popular.”
In addition to responding to the specter of obesity, individuals who develop
anorexia nervosa and bulimia are conformist in their strong commitment to
other conventional norms and goals. They consistently excel at school and
work (Russell, 1979; Bruch, 1981; Humphries et al., 1982), maintaining high
aspirations in both areas (Theander, 1970; Lacey et al., 1986). Group members
generally completed college-preparatory courses in high school, aware from an
early age that they would strive for a college degree. Also, in college as well as
high school, respondents joined honor societies and academic clubs.
Moreover, preanorexics and prebulimics display notable conventionality as
“model children” (Humphries et al., 1982: 199), “the pride and joy” of their
parents (Bruch, 1981: 215), accommodating themselves to the wishes of others.
Parents of these individuals emphasize conformity and value achievement
(Bruch, 1981). Respondents felt that perfect or near-perfect grades were
expected of them; however, good grades were not rewarded by parents, because
“A’s” were common for these children. In addition, their parents suppressed
conflicts, to preserve the image of the “all-American family” (Humphries et al.,
1982). Group members reported that they seldom, if ever, heard their parents
argue or raise their voices.
Also conformist in their affective ties, individuals who develop anorexia ner-
vosa and bulimia are strongly, even excessively, attached to their parents. Respon-
dents’ families appeared close-knit, demonstrating palpable emotional ties. Several
group members, for example, reported habitually calling home at prescribed times,
whether or not they had any news. Such families have been termed “enmeshed”
and “overprotective,” displaying intense interaction and concern for members’
welfare (Minuchin et al., 1978; Selvini-Palazzoli, 1978). These qualities could be
viewed as marked conformity to the norm of familial closeness.”
Another element of notable conformity in the family milieu of preanorexics
and prebulimics concerns eating, body weight/shape, and exercising (Kalucy et al.,
1977; Humphries et al., 1982). Respondents reported their fathers’ preoccupa-
tion with exercising and their mothers’ engrossment in food preparation. When
group members dieted and lost weight, they received an extraordinary amount
290 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

of approval. Among the family, body size became a matter of “friendly rivalry.”
One bulimic informant recalled that she, her mother, and her coed sister all
strived to wear a size five, regardless of their heights and body frames. Subsequent
to this study, the researchers learned that both the mother and sister had become
bulimic.
As preanorexics and prebulimics group members thus exhibited marked con-
formity to cultural norms of thinness, achievement, compliance, and parental
attachment. Their families reinforced their conformity by adherence to norms
of family closeness and weight/body shape consciousness.

PRIMARY DEVIANCE

Even with familial encouragement, respondents, like nearly all dieters (Chernin,
1981), failed to maintain their lowered weights. Many cited their lack of will-
power to eat only restricted foods. For the emerging anorexics and bulimics,
extremes such as purposeful starvation or bingeing accompanied by vomiting
and/or laxative abuse appeared as “obvious solutions” to the problem of retain-
ing weight loss. Associated with these behaviors was a regained feeling of control
in lives that had been disrupted by a major crisis. Group members’ extreme
weight-loss efforts operated as coping mechanisms for entering college, leaving
home, or feeling rejected by the opposite sex.
The primary inducement for both eating adaptations was the drive for slim-
ness: with slimness came more self-respect and a feeling of superiority over
“unsuccessful dieters.” Brian, for example, experienced a “power trip” upon
consistent weight loss through starvation. Binges allowed the purging respon-
dents to cope with stress through eating while maintaining a slim appearance.
As former strict dieters, Teresa and Jennifer used bingeing/purging as an alterna-
tive to the constant self-denial of starvation. Acknowledging their parents’ desires
for them to be slim, most respondents still felt it was a conscious choice on their
part to continue extreme weight-loss efforts. Being thin became the “most
important thing” in their lives—their “greatest ambition.”
In explaining the development of an anorexic or bulimic identity, Lemert’s
(1951; 1967) concept of primary deviance is salient. Primary deviance refers to a tran-
sitory period of norm violations which do not affect an individual’s self-concept or
performance of social roles. Although respondents were exhibiting anorexic or
bulimic behavior, they did not consider themselves to be anorexic or bulimic.
At first, anorexics’ significant others complimented their weight loss,
expounding on their new “sleekness” and “good looks.” Branch and Eurman
(1980: 631) also found anorexics’ families and friends describing them as “‘well-
groomed,” “neat,” “fashionable,” and “victorious.” Not until the respondents
approached emaciation did some parents or friends become concerned and with-
draw their praise. Significant others also became increasingly aware of the anor-
exics’ compulsive exercising, preoccupation with food preparation (but not,
consumption), and ritualistic eating patterns (such as cutting food into minute
pieces and eating only certain foods at prescribed times).
 CHAPTER 25 ANOREXIA NERVOSA AND BULIMIA 291

For bulimics, friends or family members began to question how the respon-
dents could eat such large amounts of food (often in excess of 10,000 calories a
day) and stay slim. Significant others also noticed calluses across the bulimics’
hands, which were caused by repeated inducement of vomiting. Several bulimics
were “caught in the act,” bent over commodes. Generally, friends and family
required substantial evidence before believing that the respondents’ bingeing or
purging was no longer sporadic.

SECONDARY DEVIANCE

Heightened awareness of group members’ eating behavior ultimately led others

to label the respondents “anorexic” or “bulimic.” Respondents differed in their
histories of being labeled and accepting the labels. Generally, first termed anorexic
by friends, family, or medical personnel, the anorexics initially vigorously denied
the label. They felt they were not “anorexic enough,” not skinny enough;
Robin did not regard herself as having the “skeletal” appearance she associated
with anorexia nervosa. These group members found it difficult to differentiate
between socially approved modes of weight loss—eating less and exercising
more—and the extremes of those behaviors. In fact, many of their activities—
cheerleading, modeling, gymnastics, aerobics—reinforced their pursuit of thin-
ness. Like other anorexics, Chris felt she was being “ultra-healthy” with “total
control” over her body.
For several respondents, admitting they were anorexic followed the realization
that their lives were disrupted by their eating disorder. Anorexics’ inflexible eating
patterns unsettled family meals and holiday gatherings. Their regimented lifestyle
of compulsively scheduled activities—exercising, school, and meals—precluded
any spontaneous social interactions. Realization of their adverse behaviors pre-
ceded the anorexics’ acknowledgment of their subnormal body weight and size.
Contrasting with anorexics, the binge/purgers, when confronted, more
readily admitted that they were bulimic and that their means of weight loss was
“abnormal.” Teresa, for example, knew “very well” that her bulimic behavior
was “wrong and unhealthy,” although “worth the physical risks.” While the
bulimics initially maintained that their purging was only a temporary weight-
loss method, they eventually realized that their disorder represented a “loss of
control.” Although these respondents regretted the self-indulgence, “shame,”
and “wasted time,’ they acknowledged their growing dependence on
bingeing/purging for weight management and stress regulation.
The application of anorexic or bulimic labels precipitated secondary devi-
ance, wherein group members internalized these identities. Secondary deviance
refers to norm violations which are a response to society’s labeling: “secondary
deviation ... becomes a means of social defense, attack or adaptation to the overt
and covert problems created by the societal reaction to primary deviance”
(Lemert, 1967: 17). In contrast to primary deviance, secondary deviance is gen-
erally prolonged, alters the individual’s self-concept, and affects the performance
of his/her social roles.
292 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

As secondary deviants, respondents felt that their disorders “gave a purpose” to

their lives. Nicole resisted attaining a normal weight because it was not “her” —she
accepted her anorexic weight as her “true” weight. For Teresa, bulimia became a
“companion”; and Julie felt [that] “every aspect of her life,” including time man-
agement and social activities, was affected by her bulimia. Group members’ eating
disorders became the salient element of their self-concepts, so that they related to
familiar people and new acquaintances as anorexics or bulimics. For example,
respondents regularly compared their body shapes and sizes with those of others.
They also became sensitized to comments about their appearance, whether or not
the remarks were made by someone aware of their eating disorder.
With their behavior increasingly attuned to their eating disorders, group
members exhibited role engulfment (Schur, 1971). Through accepting anorexic
or bulimic identities, individuals centered activities around their deviant role,
downgrading other social roles. Their obligations as students, family members,
and friends became subordinate to their eating and exercising rituals. Socializing,
for example, was gradually curtailed because it interfered with compulsive
exercising, bingeing, or purging.
Labeled anorexic or bulimic, respondents were ascribed a new status with a
different set of role expectations. Regardless of other positions the individuals
occupied, their deviant status, or master status (Hughes, 1958; Becker, 1963),
was identified before all others. Among group members, Nicole, who was
known as the “school’s brain,” became known as the “school’s anorexic.” No
longer viewed as conforming model individuals, some respondents were termed
“starving waifs” or “pigs.”
Because of their identities as deviants, anorexics’ and bulimics’ interactions
with others were altered. Group members’ eating habits were scrutinized by
friends and family and used as a “catchall” for everything negative that happened
to them. Respondents felt self-conscious around individuals who knew of their
disorders; for example, Robin imagined people “watching and whispering”
behind her. In addition, group members believed others expected them to
“act” anorexic or bulimic. Friends of some anorexic group members never
offered them food or drink, assuming continued disinterest on the respondents’
part. While being hospitalized, Denise felt she had to prove to others she was not
still vomiting, by keeping her bathroom door open. Other bulimics, who lived
in dormitories, were hesitant to use the restroom for normal purposes lest several
friends be huddling at the door, listening for vomiting. In general, individuals
interacted with the respondents largely on the basis of their eating disorder; in
doing so, they reinforced anorexic and bulimic behaviors.
Bulimic respondents, whose weight-loss behavior was not generally detect-
able from their appearance, tried earnestly to hide their bulimia by bingeing and
purging in secret. Their main purpose in concealment was to avoid the negative
consequences of being known as a bulimic. For these individuals, bulimia con-
noted a “cop-out”: like “weak anorexics,” bulimics pursued thinness but yielded
to urges to eat. Respondents felt other people regarded bulimia as “gross” and
had little sympathy for the sufferer. To avoid these stigmas or “spoiled identi-
ties,” the bulimics shrouded their behaviors.
 CHAPTER 25 ANOREXIA NERVOSA AND BULIMIA 293

Distinguishing types of stigma, Goffman (1963) describes discredited (visible)

stigmas and discreditable (invisible) stigmas. Bulimics, whose weight was approx-
imately normal or even slightly elevated, harbored discreditable stigmas.
Anorexics, on the other hand, suffered both discreditable and discredited
stigmas—the latter due to their emaciated appearance. Certain anorexics were
more reconciled than the bulimics to their stigmas: for Brian, the “stigma of
anorexia was better than the stigma of being fat.” Common to the stigmatized
individuals was an inability to interact spontaneously with others. Respondents
were constantly on guard against [the] topics of eating and body size.
Both anorexics and bulimics were held responsible by others for their behav-
ior and presumed able to “get out of it if they tried.” Many anorexics reported
being told to “just eat more,” while bulimics were enjoined to simply “stop eat-
ing so much.” Such appeals were made without regard for the complexities of
the problem. Ostracized by certain friends and family members, anorexics and
bulimics felt increasingly isolated. For respondents, the self-help group presented
a nonthreatening forum for discussing their disorders. Here, they found mutual
understanding, empathy, and support. Many participants viewed BANISH as a
haven from stigmatization by “others.”
Group members, as secondary deviants, thus endured negative consequences,
such as stigmatization, from being labeled. As they internalized the labels anorexic
or bulimic, individuals’ self-concepts were significantly influenced. When others
interacted with the respondents on the basis of their eating disorders, anorexic or
bulimic identities were encouraged. Moreover, group members’ efforts to coun-
teract the deviant labels were thwarted by their master statuses.

DISCUSSION

Previous research on eating disorders has dwelt almost exclusively on medical

and psychological facets. Although necessary for a comprehensive understanding
of anorexia nervosa and bulimia, these approaches neglect the social processes
involved. The phenomena of eating disorders transcend concrete disease entities
and clinical diagnoses. Multifaceted and complex, anorexia nervosa and bulimia
require a holistic research design, in which sociological insights must be included.
A limitation of medical/psychiatric studies, in particular, is researchers’ use of a
priori criteria in establishing salient variables. Rather than utilizing predetermined
standards of inclusion, the present study allows respondents to construct their own
reality. Concomitant to this innovative approach to eating disorders is the selection
of a sample of self-admitted anorexics and bulimics. Individuals’ perceptions of
what it means to become anorexic or bulimic are explored. Although based on a
small sample, findings can be used to guide researchers in other settings.
With only 5 to 10 percent of reported cases appearing in males (Crisp, 1977;
Stangler and Printz, 1980), eating disorders are primarily a women’s aberrance.
The deviance of anorexia nervosa and bulimia is rooted in the visual objectification
of women and [its] attendant slimness norm. Indeed, purposeful starvation and
bingeing/purging reinforce the notion that “a society gets the deviance it
294 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

deserves” (Schur, 1979: 71). As recently noted (Schur, 1984), the sociology of
deviance has generally bypassed systematic studies of women’s norm violations.
Like male deviants, females endure label applications, internalizations, and
fulfillments.
The social processes involved in developing anorexic or bulimic identities
comprise the sequence of conforming behavior, primary deviance, and secondary
deviance. With a background of exceptional adherence to conventional norms,
especially the striving for thinness, respondents subsequently exhibit the primary
deviance of starving or bingeing/purging. Societal reaction to these behaviors
leads to secondary deviance, wherein respondents’ self-concepts and master sta-
tuses become anorexic or bulimic. Within this framework of labeling theory, the
persistence of eating disorders, as well as the effects ofstigmatization, is elucidated.
Although during the course of this research some respondents alleviated their
symptoms through psychiatric help or hospital treatment programs, no one was
labeled “cured.” An anorexic is considered recovered when weight is normal for
two years; a bulimic is termed recovered after being symptom-free for one and
one-half years (American Anorexia/Bulimia Association Newsletter, 1985). Thus,
deviance disavowal (Schur, 1971), or efforts after normalization to counteract the
deviant labels, remains a topic for future exploration.

NOTES

1. Although instructive, an integration of (Lawson, as reprinted in American

the medical, psychological, and socio- Anorexia/Bulimia Association News-
cultural perspectives on eating disor- letter, 1985: 1). The proportion of
ders is beyond the scope of this paper. bulimics to anorexics in the sample is 6.5
2. Exceptions to the neglect of sociocul- to 1. In addition, compared to bulimics,
tural factors are discussions of sex-role anorexics may be less likely to attend a
socialization in the development of self-help group as they have a greater
eating disorders. Anorexics’ girlish tendency to deny the existence of an
appearance has been interpreted as a eating problem (Humphries et al.,
rejection of femininity and woman- 1982). However, the four anorexics in
hood (Orbach, 1979; Bruch, 1981; the present study were among the
Orbach, 1985). In contrast, bulimics members who attended the meetings
have been characterized as overcon- most often.
forming to traditional female sex roles Interactions in the families of anorexics
(Boskind-Lodahl, 1976). and bulimics might seem deviant in
3. Although a group experience for self being inordinately close. However, in
defined bulimics has been reported the larger societal context, the family
(Boskind-Lodahl, 1976), the members epitomize the norms of
researcher, from the outset, focused on family cohesiveness. Perhaps unusual
Gestalt and behaviorist techniques in their occurrence, these families are
weathim a fanniniiat aereniatens still within the realm of conformity.
4. One explanation for fewer anorexics Humphries and colleagues (1982: 202)
than bulimics in the sample is that, in refer to the “highly enmeshed and
the general population, anorexics are protective” family as part of the
outnumbered by bulimics at 8 or 10 to 1 “idealized family myth.”
 CHAPTER 25 ANOREXIA NERVOSA AND BULIMIA 295

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 26

Challenging a Marginalized Identity:

The Female Parolee
TARA D. OPSAL

In this chapter on the deviant identity, Opsal looks at how women who have
been released from prison navigate the complex waters of parole and the stigma of
its deviant identity. As we saw in Pager’s chapter on the stigma of a criminal
record, incarceration leaves a mark that makes life extremely difficult. The women
in Opsal’s carefully researched study discuss the way they use the rhetoric of their
narrative accounts to frame their identity (to themselves and others) in a positive
way. They align themselves with more socially acceptable behaviors and positions,
and they distance themselves from those whom they morally condemn. At the
same time, they are forced to constantly navigate the complex waters of parole,
meeting its demands and managing its restrictions.
How would you compare the deviant status and social power of the women
described in this chapter with the Mexican-American youths, the women athletes,
the Black criminals, the Saints and Roughnecks, and the doctors discussed in
other chapters? How does the women’s outcasting, or “othering,” affect the way
they can be treated in society? How effective would you rate their claims to more
prosocial identities? From reading this chapter, on what basis do you think that
people can remake their identities?

was cautiously optimistic about Liz’s circumstances after our first interview,
even knowing the challenges women face postincarceration. After being
released from prison as a parolee to a community unfamiliar to her, Liz had
found subsidized and stable housing through an organization that offers support
to individuals postincarceration. And she had found full-time work that not only
allowed her to meet her basic needs but also seemed to sustain her in more
meaningful ways. Liz explained:
I don’t get paid all that much... . Building from scratch is a little diff-
cult, to try to get out on your own like that. But, it'll happen. Like,
I—the harder I work, the more I feel like I’m working towards that in a
positive way, you know?

Reprinted with permission from the author Tara D. Opsal.

297
298 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

There was, however, an unusual aspect to Liz’s work that made it tenuous.
A day laborer agency had placed her at an apartment complex as a temporary
employee doing ground work and building maintenance. Impressed by her
work ethic, the boss there requested Liz on a long-term basis. She explained to
me that, even though she outworked all the other employees (who were men),
the corporation that owned the complex was unlikely to hire her on a more
permanent basis because they had a policy against hiring felons. “Hiring” Liz
via the day laborer agency largely dissolved the company of any legal liability
that could arise from hiring her directly. Liz was aware of how being a felon
limited her work opportunities and set her back. Despite these experiences, she
explained adamantly that she did not let people’s preconceived notions limit her:
“T’ve learned not to let people’s opinions affect me.”
Three months later, at our second interview, Liz’s employment circum-
stances had changed dramatically. Because of her reliability and continued hard
work, her boss “decided that they were gonna go to the corporate office and ask
them to overlook my felony” in order to hire her on a permanent basis. She
explained what happened next:
Soon as corporate found out I had a felony, there was a person on the
property who said, “Get her off the property nght this minute.”
They didn’t even know me. They didn’t even know how much I had
done for them. My boss, I thought he was gonna cry ... they have
my back. They wanted me. But, corporate said, “A felony.”
Although Liz understood herself in a very different way, her employer
ultimately defined her as a felon. Situations like this provide indisputable evi-
dence that felons are stigmatized. The U.S. culture clearly demonstrates the social
meaning it attaches to this stigmatized identity. Our cultural stories position
felons at or near the bottom rung of our social order; Americans view and discuss
them primarily in ways that point to their deficits and the problems those deficits
cause. These cultural stories also frame offenders as irredeemable criminals.
Hence, felons, as social deviants, are regarded as fundamentally different from
the rest of “us,” and whether they have served their time on the inside or not,
they remain both culpable and suspect.
Despite a diverse and developed body of research that illustrates the strategies
and identity work of individuals with stigmatized identities, and despite growing
interest in understanding the effects of living with a criminal record on formerly
incarcerated individuals, as well as the experiences of women postincarceration,
we still know little about the identity work of the formerly incarcerated. The
focus of this article is on understanding how individuals negotiate a negative
social identity that is premised on their culpability.

STIGMA AND IDENTITY TALK

In his classic work on stigma, Erving Goffman (1963, 2-3) explains that, when
people consider an attribute of an individual “bad, or dangerous, or weak,” they
reduce that individual “from a whole and usual person to a tainted, discounted
 CHAPTER 26 CHALLENGING A MARGINALIZED IDENTITY 299

one.” Goffman also posits that individuals who inhabit a stigmatized identity
adhere to the same beliefs about their own identities and characteristics; they
see and understand themselves as holding a stigmatized identity or attribute.
However, other scholars argue that individuals do not passively accept the stig-
matized identities others bestow upon them and, instead, actively resist them,
using a variety of different strategies.
Although these scholars challenge Goffman’s framing of stigma management,
they do recognize that, because stigma is a social construct, attributes of
individuals become stigmatized only in comparison to what collectives define as
normal and good within the current structural and cultural boundaries of a par-
ticular society. Hence, stigma is not a fixed or immutable trait. Rather, we create
it via interaction and, therefore, can also contest or resist it in the same manner.
One way that individuals do so is through “narrative identity work,” a strategy
that provides them the opportunity to create a vivid version of how they see
themselves or even to construct new identities. In this article, I examine the nar-
rative strategies that women returning to their communities as parolees utilize to
contest and resist their connection to a stigmatized identity. Specifically, I
describe how they draw on conventional scripts and story lines to repair their
identity and create a socially valued prosocial self. First, however, I briefly
describe the social meaning connected to the felon identity, as well as its
consequences.

The Stigma of a Criminal Record

Researchers have established that individuals reintegrating into their communities
after spending time in prison experience a host of difficulties. After walking out
of the prison gates, they struggle to meet their basic needs, such as finding hous-
ing and employment and reuniting with their families. They must restart their
lives, often in similar or worse structural circumstances than prior to their incar-
ceration. Furthermore, they do so—as illustrated at the outset of this article—
while contending with the stigma of a criminal record.
Criminal behavior is widespread among the general population, suggesting
that the line between “offenders” and “nonoffenders” is blurry at best. Yet,
most social groups in the United States consider a criminal record deeply discre-
diting. “Criminal” is not just a reflection of one’s past misdeeds but is also a pre-
diction of future behavior, and because “the idea that people can become
essentially good seems to contradict a fundamental belief of contemporary soci-
ety” (Maruna, 2001, 5), individuals branded “criminal” by the state struggle to
escape the label. As others have pointed out, this dichotomy creates two distinct
categories of people: us (the nonoffenders) and them (the offenders). The
women in this study were well aware that many viewed them as part of an
underclass because they were felons; they explained that people believed that
“felons are trash” or are a “menace to society.”
It is important to understand that there are social, economic, and political
costs to being labeled a felon. For example, employers are significantly less likely
to hire ex-offenders, and it is exponentially more difficult for felons to find safe
and affordable housing. Moreover, the government revokes a number of rights
300 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

and privileges; for example, many convicted felons are deemed ineligible for
education loans, public assistance, driving privileges, and public housing.

The Parolee Identity

People and social policy, then, stigmatize felons. The participants in this study
acknowledged being cast as “other” and experiencing tangible consequences as
a result. These women, however, were also forced to contend with an additional
stigmatized identity connected to their past misdeeds: the identity of parolee.
Some states release individuals from prison unconditionally; however, many indi-
viduals leave prison and reenter their communities under the continued supervi-
sion of the state. On top of having to meet their basic needs, these individuals are
also required to meet a variety of technical conditions deemed necessary by the
state parole board. Typical conditions include submitting to regular drug or alco-
hol testing, meeting regularly with their parole officer, attending mandated
counseling sessions, holding down employment, not associating with other indi-
viduals with felony records, and abstaining from committing new crimes. Utiliz-
ing methods of surveillance, the parole officer is responsible for making sure that
the parolee consistently meets these conditions; if the parolee fails to meet a
condition, the parole officer is able to use his or her discretion to revoke the
individual’s parole, with the ultimate consequence that the parolee is returned
to prison. Participants in this study were persistently aware that they lived
under a system of surveillance that bounded their behavior. Zaria explained:
These people have control over my life right now. They know that.
Little do they know—no they know it, and I know it, that they have
complete control over my life right now, they do. I can’t go anywhere,
I can’t talk to anybody, I can’t do nothin’. I have to do everything they
tell me to do.
Their connection to the institution of parole reminded the women not only
they held a stigmatized identity, but also that they were a part of the criminal
processing system and, hence, not actually free. Any potential misstep could be
the one that sent them back to prison.

METHOD

This article derives from data gathered through a series of interviews with 43
women who were newly released from prison onto parole in the Denver metro-
politan area. I conducted up to three semistructured interviews over a period of
1 year with each woman and focused on understanding the challenges they faced
as they were released from prison and returned to their communities as parolees.
The interviews lasted, on average, 90 minutes and took place in public locations
of the participant’s choosing or in their homes. I digitally recorded each inter-
view and then transcribed all the interviews verbatim.
 CHAPTER 26 CHALLENGING A MARGINALIZED IDENTITY 301

Initially, I recruited participants by working directly with prison officials

from a local women’s prison. Officials welcomed me into the prison each week
and spoke about the study directly with women who were about to be released
to the Denver metropolitan area. As the study progressed, I used additional
recruitment methods, including advertising at community organizations that
offered resources to the recently released, as well as snowball sampling that
occurred both inside and outside the prison.
[interviewed each participant up to three times over a period of 1 year. The first
interview occurred as soon as possible after the person’s release from prison. I
attempted to conduct the second interview as close as possible to 3 months after
the initial interview. The manifest purpose of this interview was to track change
among the participants in the study. Retaining contact with newly released prison-
ers proved to be a formidable task. Women struggled to secure stable housing, so
their contact information often changed once or several times relatively quickly
after our first interview. I conducted second interviews with 30 women.
The final interview occurred 1 year after the initial contact or 1 year after
the woman was released on parole. This last interview occurred with a much
smaller subset (n = 9) of the original sample. I utilized the last interview primarily
to develop and fine-tune themes that emerged as central during data analysis.
The demographic characteristics of the sample were racially and ethnically
diverse. However, in comparing the racial composition of the sample with the
racial makeup of all women released onto parole in Colorado during the study’s
recruitment period, it turned out that Blacks are overrepresented in the sample.
A racial composition similar to this one should be anticipated, because the sample
for the current study was limited to the Denver metropolitan area and offenders
who are Black are more likely to be released to this area than are members of
other racial or ethnic categories. The age of the participants ranged from 23 to
54 years, with a mean and median of 37 years of age.
Consistent with other research on female offenders, a significant number of
the participants were mothers (n = 31). In addition, most were in prison because
of drug-related offenses; even those women who officially went to prison for
offenses unrelated to drugs often reported that the offense occurred because of
their drug use. Almost all of the women (n = 39) reported a history of drug or
alcohol dependency. The role of drug use was important because of the increas-
ing use of drug testing as a form of supervising parolees. Parole officers required
each woman in the sample—including women who were not incarcerated for a
drug offense—to take regular random drug tests.

RECRAFTING PERSONAL IDENTITY

BY RESISTING STIGMA

Goffman (1963) noted that individuals with stigmatized identities use information
management strategies to “pass” or “cover.” The women in this study reported
responding in both of these ways, particularly in their search for employment.
302 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

These kinds of strategies enabled the women to mitigate or at least manage poten-
tial harm that might have come to them by virtue of the stigma attached to t
identity. The stories they told about inhabiting an identity that was stigmatize
centered on separating the suspect meanings attached to being a felon from how
they viewed their own selves. Through their narratives, the women worked to
detach the meanings associated with being a felon—“untrustworthy,” “trash,”
“dysfunctional,” “a menace,” “negative,” —from their self-conception.
The women I interviewed actively resisted the stigma associated with being
incarcerated by refusing to internalize its meaning; Riessman (2000) calls this
type of resistance strategy ‘‘zesistant thinking.” The major way these women
resisted this label was by ER ae cs that the stigma of a criminal
record relies on: that bad people who do bad things end up in prison. Women
pointed out that the situations that end with somebody in prison are not, as
Ronda states, “black and white.” Drawing from her own experiences with
being incarcerated, she explained:
They [society] don’t see that a person who’s doing good, something can
happen and their life can change. It happens. It can happen to anybody.
They can go through a really hard time in their life and decide to do
something really stupid, and that one step and now you're in front ofa
judge and you’re gonna get in trouble for it.
Similar to this passage, many participants told stories that illuminated how
good people (i.e., not criminals) often end up in prison after experiencing some-
thing that could happen to anybody at any time. These stories allowed the
women in the study to alleviate part of the social distance that existed between
them and those who did not have to deal with the stigma of a criminal recagrd.
Another type of resistant thinking that some women employed paralleled
the strategy just explained but uses different reasoning. Specifically, some
women resisted stigma by refusing to acknowledge that there were any signifi-
cant differences between themselves and individuals who had never been a p
of the criminal justice system. Vie described this approach when she stated that it
does not “bother” her when people know that she has a criminal record. She
explained, “I look at it like this: If you don’t have a record, I guarantee you’re
doin’ somethin’ you ain’t got no business doin’ and you haven’t got caught for
it. So you just be a little smarter than others.” Similarly, Tamara stated,
Most people have done a lot of dirt, they just didn’t get caught, you
know? You just got away with it. You can thank God that you did that.
But when the shoe is on the other foet, they can look down at the
other person, and they do. . . . Some of them are very judgmental, and
if not for the mercy of God they could have been sitting where I’m
sitting. Some people don’t remember that.
This latter resistance strategy parallels the technique of neutralization that
Sykes and Matza (1957) described as “condemnation of the condemners.” This neuz
tralization technique, like the others Sykes and Matza identified, allows individuals
to rationalize their own criminal behavior so that they can align themselves with
 CHAPTER 26 CHALLENGING A MARGINALIZED IDENTITY 303

conventional society and moderate potential damage to their «image The

technique enables women to craft self-stories that resist the stigma associatet? with
being a felon, rather than simply abdicating responsibility for their actions.
By resisting the stigma associated with a criminal record, the women in this
study simultaneously refashion their identity in a way that aligns them with con-
ventional society and actors; using identity work, they are able to craft them-
selves as an “us” rather than a “them” or “other.”

Building a Postdrug-using Self

Parolees are legally mandated to inhabit a stigmatized social identity that exists
solely to make sure that they do not pose continued risk to the larger commu-
nity of “noncriminals.” Although parole is also supposed to assist individuals
postincarceration, the women in the current study clearly understood that the
purpose of the institution was to “keep an eye on them.” The most common
way that parole did this was through regular drug testing.
All of the women who had previously used drugs or alcohol explained that,
after their time away from the streets, from drugs, and from old acquaintances,
they realized that they deeply desired to change their relationship with illegal
drugs by “being done with all that illegal stuff.” Not only did they state their
desire to change, but they also posited themselves as individuals who were
already changed and fundamentally different from their past selves. By identify-
ing not just as clean, but as different, the women were able to frame their present
selves as individuals who no longer made the kinds of choices they did whei
they were addicted. Nisha’s story illustrates this process well.
Nisha had a criminal justice record related to her off-and-on drug use that
began for her as a teenager. She spent over 2 years in prison, was released, and
was quickly revoked because she started “meeting the wrong people, getting in
with the dope dealers.” Nisha, however, looks at her second stint in prison that
resulted from this revocation as the time she changed herself. She explained,
“Going back the second time, I decided I wanted to do this sober. I wanted a
better life. I wanted to be free from misery.”
Nisha used this new and improved refashioned identity self-centered on dif-
ference and change to support her belief that she would be able to complete
parole successfully this time. To be able to finish parole without going back to
prison, she explained, you really have to be a different person:
If you want change, you'll do change. But if you don’t want change,
you can’t change. You can only temporarily change. Before, I thought I
wanted change, and then I chose to go back on the path I used to lead,
because it was easier for me, but I knew, and I chose not to change, so
therefore my parole officer sent me back. So I got another chance, and
I’m gonna do it this time, because I want change. I want to go home
and be with my kids, I want to live a drug-free life. I want to be able to
be an abiding citizen and do what I need to do and not always be in
trouble and be bad-ass. That’s not me.
304 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

In this final passage, Nisha configures a “replacement self,” clearly separating her
“new” self from her old drug-using and cfiminal self. As the women constructed
these replacement selves, they also demonized their past drug-using behavior by
identifying why those former selves needed to be replaced. They explained that,
while they used drugs or alcohol, they sacrificed relationships with family, expe-
rienced violence, or were consumed with getting their next hit. Most of the
women who talked about their drug or alcohol addictions told extremely painful
stories about how they believed that these behaviors were detrimental to their
lives in some way. For example, Tamara explained that being on drugs and out
on the streets using drugs was dangerous:
Man, when I think about how many chances I took with my life and
didn’t care, didn’t care, really, really didn’t care. That’s pretty much
how at the bottom I was. It was kind of like I didn’t care whether I
lived or died today, pretty much.
By distancing themselves from their drug-using behavior and their past drug-
addicted selves, the women decenter the necessity of being labeled a parolee,
because it was their past drug-addicted selves who acquired that label. It was
their former selves whom the criminal justice system deemed necessary to be
monitored, and thus it is only these former selves who justify the appellation of
the parolee identity. Moreover, their identity work described in this section that
fashions themselves as changed also connects them to a valued prosocial identity,
one that is drug and crime free.

Negotiating “Slipups”
Time played an important role in the women’s identity work because occasion-
ally some who identified strongly with the narrative of acquiring a new, nonpar-
olee identity at an initial interview “slipped up” and in subsequent interviews
reported using drugs or alcohol. These slipups were almost always characterized
as big mistakes and weighed quite heavily on the minds of the women, who
expressed a great deal of guilt and remorse. After being drug free for several
months, LouLou attended a family party where there was coke. She stated,
“I don’t know what got into me or what, but I did it. I just tasted it.’ About
this lapse in her postdrug self, LouLou explained:
I really felt little, like, I just—I—|long pause] don’t know. Like, I just
let everybody down, that’s how I felt. Like stupid, you know? And I
know it was stupid, but you know, I just, I’m trying to live with it.
When they relapsed, many women expressed significant concern that their
parole officer would find out and they would be returned to prison for violating
a parole condition. However, the few women that used and remained on the
outside typically emphasized how, by using drugs, they sacrificed relationships
with other people who were important to them. LouLou, for example, had
restarted a relationship with her teenage daughter before using and was scared
that her daughter and her other children would find out about her lapse: “I just
 CHAPTER 26 CHALLENGING A MARGINALIZED IDENTITY 305

don’t want to lose my kids, and I’m scared of that.” Although some women, like
LouLou, “slipped” after presenting themselves as drug free and changed, most
continued to identify as changed. As Zaria explained about her slip,
That was the first I ever, ever used and came home, ever in my whole
entire life. Back in the day, I’d use and use and use and use and days and
days ... and I didn’t do that. So I know that it really wasn’t what I
wanted to do. It wasn’t because I knew I had to be home. I just went
home. And that’s somethin’ I would have never done back then.

Connecting to a Culturally Coveted Social Identity

Because motherhood is a readily available and widely accepted identity, being a
mom allows many women access to a culturally valued identity. The final way
that the women in this study narratively repaired their damaged identity was by
identifying strongly as mothers.
Contemporary (socially constructed) U.S. middle-class norms indicate that
mothers must be wholly committed to rearing their children and dedicated to
meeting those children’s needs, always at the sacrifice of their own. Most “real-
hfe” mothering practices do not coincide with this model of mothering. With
certainty, the women in the study fall outside of these constructed boundaries.
For example, the state often rescinded the mothers’ custody of their children
because of drug addictions, family members or foster parents cared for these
women’s children because the women were in prison, or the mothers never
really had a role in their children’s lives because of their addiction histories or
having gotten caught up in the system.
Some of the women expressed feeling remorse over the way they believed
that their drug history had been detrimental to their children. Some explained
that they felt regret being behind bars while their children were on the outside.
They were aware, for example, that their actions before becoming incarcerated
had exposed their children to the “wrong kinds” of people and left some chil-
dren temporarily homeless. Some mothers also spoke of feeling guilty for having
to leave their children behind when they spent time in jail or prison knowing
that few custody arrangements provided their children healthy environments
where they received the kinds of caretaking they needed. However, although
many of the mothers spoke briefly about their mothering practices they identi-
fied as harmful and how those practices resulted in feelings of guilt and remorse,
when I attempted to probe these stories further, they changed. Women entirely
resisted continuing to talk about stories that might qualify them as bad mothers
and challenge their connection to their “new” identity as a mother. Instead, they
either discontinued their narrative about their identity as a mother or, more
commonly, they reconstructed their experiences so that they could be under-
stood as “acceptable mothering practices.” By engaging in this kind of narrative,
they were able to legitimate their connection to the motherhood identity.
The following remarks from Dee, who used illegal substances offand on while
she raised two children into adulthood, illustrate the process. She explained, “I took
306 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

care of my kids all the time. I was a good mother.” She pointed to the fact that her
daughter was now a registered nurse and her son was a “good father” as evidence of
her own quality parenting practices. More so, she expressed that she taught them
“You gotta get into this world, you gotta take care, you gotta grow up and do your
own thing. You’ve gotta be responsible for yourself, regardless of me, because I’m
your mother.” Later, she stated that, although, growing up, her children “didn’t
like” the fact that she was using drugs, “they learned some things about bein’ strong
because ofit. I told them, ‘I gotta do me. I love you guys, but you guys gotta do you
too.’ They grew up that way. So I pushed them to do good.”
This narrative and others like it pointed to how their children developed
strength, autonomy, and responsibility as a result of these women’s mothering
practices—clearly traits that were valued in the mothers’ eyes. Reconstructing
the boundaries of good mothering allowed the women a more valid connection
to the socially coveted role of mother because it gave them an opportunity to
recast their past and present their mother self on their own terms.

Motherhood as a Source of Motivation

Although the women explained that their mothering practices benefited their
children, they also explained how being mothers benefited them. The women
in this study often reported that the prospect of reuniting with children and hav-
ing a presence in their lives served as a motivating factor to do well on parole or
stay away from drugs. Nisha, a mother of two children, illustrates this attitude
when she explains,
I know that the sooner I get this [parole] done with, the sooner I can go
home to my kids, and that’s my main and most important focus right
now, getting my life straight so I can go be a mother to my kids.
Several months after being released from prison, Freesia found out that she
was pregnant. She saw the future possibility of being a mother as a reason to stay
off of the streets. She explained that being pregnant “makes me want to be more
responsible.” Further, she stated that she was done with drugs and drinking
because she was not going to “jeopardize this little kid.” Freesia’s outlook is con-
sistent with other research which suggests that motherhood may provide a strong
incentive for desistance from crime and from drug use.

Challenges to the Women’s Identity Work

Although it may benefit formerly incarcerated women to connect with their
children, regaining custody postprison can be an arduous process. Many indivi-
duals who return to their communities from prison struggle to meet their own
basic needs; bringing a child into this financially volatile equation is simply not an
option for many caregivers., Indeed, although many women in the study narra-
tively worked to connect with their mother identity and deeply desired to “be”
mothers on the outside and directly reconnect with their children in a perma-
nent way, none of the women realized that desire during the study period.
 CHAPTER 26 CHALLENGING A MARGINALIZED IDENTITY 307

A few women had full custody of their children prior to going to prison
and, when sentenced, handed custody over to various family members. Hence,
upon their release, they knew where their children were, they could have some
form of contact with them, and they knew that regaining custody of their chil-
dren was largely a matter of negotiating with their parole officer, Negotiating,
however, was not easy or straightforward. Ronda’s children, for example, were
in the custody of her parents, who lived several states away. Ronda had hoped
that she would be paroled to California, where her parents resided; if that hap-
pened, she explained, it would make the custody transition smoother and would
also provide her with built-in emotional and financial support. She noted, how-
ever, that, upon her release, her parole officer was not interested in transferring
her parole to California: “She’s like, ‘No, you have to get established here,” said
Ronda, “‘you’re not going back to California.’” Similarly, Linda took custody of
her son after her mother decided that she could not watch him any longer
because he was acting aggressively toward her. Linda explained that, when her
parole officer found out, he said, “You can either send your son back to your
mom, he can go into a foster home, or you’re goin’ back to prison.”
Unlike Ronda and Linda, most women in this study did not have custody of
their children prior to incarceration. Often, custody had been rescinded by the
state because of drug addiction or time spent in prison, or else at some point the
state had determined the women to be negligent parents. As these women
worked to understand what their relationship could look like with their children,
they worked through greater levels of ambiguity surrounding that relationship.
Indeed, although some of the women looked forward to the day when they
would connect with their children, most stmply hoped that they would be able
to see, speak with, or live with their children again.
Lola, a mother of three, strongly identified as a mother despite not having
had contact with her two youngest children for over 4 years or with her
13-year-old daughter for even longer. Notwithstanding this passage of time,
and not knowing where her second ex-husband and two youngest children
lived, she emphatically explained at our first interview together, “I want to start
a relationship with my kids as soon as possible. I’ve wasted too much time.” Lola
said that her first husband took her oldest daughter away from her “because I was
drinking pretty heavily” and that she lost her two youngest kids to social services.
Expanding on this statement, she explained that, after she and her second
husband started using crack, she was incarcerated for drug-related charges at the
same time that she was supposed to be in court for her custody hearing. Because
of the missed court date, she lost custody of her children. After spending over
2 years in prison, she was trying to figure out how to negotiate the court
system and paperwork in order to restore her custody rights. About this process,
she stated,

I don’t know, it’s confusing, and it’s hard. It’s complicated and it hurts.
But I’m not gonna let that alter what I’m doing... . It’s like everyone is
offering you help as far as the [criminal justice] spiein, but ney don’t
take it further than that for a mother, a mom.
308 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

This story points to the idea that the resources available to parolees are likely
based on a male model and do not consider the role of gender.
As their time on the outside passed, some women continued to narrate a
strong connection to their mother identities at follow-up interviews; these
women were more likely to have some sort of contact with their children and
were also significantly more likely to remain optimistic about their desisting
selves, as well as their reentry process more generally. In contrast, women who
became less likely to narrate themselves as mothers were not only less optimistic
about reconnecting with their children, but also more likely to develop a sense
of generalized hopelessness about being on the outside. In fact, several of these
women—including Lola—became reengaged with illegal activity—in particular,
the use of illegal drugs.

CONCLUSION

In this article, | have focused on a group of formerly incarcerated women as they

returned to their communities as parolees living under the continued supervisio
and surveillance of the state. I described how they challenged the stigma of a
criminal record through narrative identity talk that relied on prosocial cultural
values, stories, and characters. For this group of women, negotiating their stigma-
uzed.identuty did not just mean refashioning an identity in the present; it also
meant engaging with their past selves. For example, as they created “new”
postdrug-using selves by narrating stories of self-transformation, the women
drew on their past experiences as drug users as evidence of the need for thei
new selves. In addition, some women reconstructed the boundaries of good
mothering to redefine their past mother selves. These claims about their past
selves provided them an opportunity to narrate a more credible connection to
prosocial conventional story lines and characters in the present and future. By
drawing on their experiences with stigma postincarceration, this article ultimately
demonstrates how these women used their own experiences to reject the cultural
story that casts them as irredeemable offenders of our moral code.

REFERENCES

Goffman, Erving. (1963). Stigma: Notes on — Riessman, Catherine Kohler. (2000).

the management of spoiled identity. * Stigma and everyday resistance prac-
Englewood Clitts, NJ: tices: Childless women in South India.
Prentice Hall. Gender & Society 14: 111-35.
Maruna, Shadd. (2001). Making good: Sykes, Gresham, and David Matza. (1957).
How ex-convicts reform and rebuild their “Techniques of neutralization: A
lives. Washington, DC: American theory of delinquency.” American
Psychological Association. Sociological Review 22: 664-70.
 ACCOUNTS

27

Convicted Rapists’
Vocabulary of Motive
DIANA SCULLY AND JOSEPH MAROLLA

Scully and Marolla’s study of the way rapists rationalize their behavior offers a
fascinating glimpse into the accounts offered by criminals. The authors interview
the most hard-core segment of the rapist population, those sentenced to prison
time. In analyzing these men’s rationalizations, Scully and Marolla draw on
Scott and Lyman’s (1968) classic typology of accounts: excuses and justifications.
In using excuses, men acknowledge the wrongfulness of the act but deny full
responsibility. The authors find that excuses are used primarily by those who
admit to their deviant acts. Men who deny having committed rape (over
80 percent of the population) are more prone to use justifications, accepting
responsibility for their act but providing reasons that legitimate their behavior as
not wrong. Scully and Marolla examine the various disavowal techniques, shed
light on the repertoire of culturally available neutralizing accounts, and analyze
the connection between types of accounts used and the way offenders locate blame.
Which types of accounts do you find more compelling, excuses or
justifications? How does this article make you feel about the effectiveness of
accounts in neutralizing people’s views of themselves as deviant? How effective do
you think they are in neutralizing others’ views of them?

pe has dominated the literature on rapists since “irresistible impulse”

(Glueck, 1925: 243) and “disease of the mind” (Glueck, 1925: 243) were
introduced as the causes of rape. Research has been based on small samples of
men, frequently the clinicians’ own patient population. Not surprisingly, the
medical model has predominated: rape is viewed as an individualistic, idiosyn-
cratic symptom of a disordered personality. That is, rape is assumed to be a

From Diana Scully and Joseph Marolla, “Convicted Rapists’ Vocabulary of Motive:
Excuses and Justifications.” Social Problems, Vol. 31, No. 5, 1984. Copyright © 1984
Society for the Study of Social Problems. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of
University of California Press Journals and Diana Scully.

309
310 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

psycho-pathologic problem and individual rapists are assumed to be “sick.”

However, advocates of this model have been unable to isolate a typical or even
predictable pattern of symptoms that are causally linked to rape. Additionally,
research has demonstrated that fewer than 5 percent of rapists were psychotic at
the time of their rape (Abel et al., 1980).
We view rape as behavior learned socially through interaction with others;
convicted rapists have learned the attitudes and actions consistent with sexual
aggression against women. Learning also includes the acquisition of culturally
derived vocabularies of motive, which can be used to diminish responsibility
and to negotiate a nondeviant identity.
Sociologists have long noted that people can, and do, commit acts they
define as wrong and, having done so, engage various techniques to disavow
deviance and present themselves as normal. Through the concept of “vocabulary
of motive,” Mills (1940: 904) was among the first to-shed light on this seemingly
perplexing contradiction. Wrongdoers attempt to reinterpret their actions
through the use of a linguistic device by which norm-breaking conduct is
socially interpreted. That is, anticipating the negative consequences of their
behavior, wrongdoers attempt to present the act in terms that are both culturally
appropriate and acceptable.
Following Mills, a number of sociologists have focused on the types of tech-
niques employed by actors in problematic situations (Hall and Hewitt, 1970;
Hewitt and Hall, 1973; Hewitt and Stokes, 1975; Sykes and Matza, 1957).
Scott and Lyman (1968) describe excuses and justifications, linguistic “accounts”
that explain and remove culpability for an untoward act after it has been com-
mitted. Excuses admit [that] the act was bad or inappropriate but deny full
responsibility, often through appeals to accident, or biological drive, or through
scapegoating. In contrast, justifications accept responsibility for the act but deny
that it was wrong—that is, they show [that] in this situation the act was appro-
priate. Accounts are socially approved vocabularies that neutralize an act or its
consequences and are always a manifestation of an underlying negotiation of
identity.
Stokes and Hewitt (1976: 837) use the term “aligning actions” to refer to
those tactics and techniques used by actors when some feature of a situation is
problematic. Stated simply, the concept refers to an actor’s attempt, through var-
ious means, to bring his or her conduct into alignment with culture. Culture in
this sense is conceptualized as a “set of cognitive constraints—objects—to which
people must relate as they form lines of conduct” (1976: 837), and includes phys-
ical constraints, expectations and definitions of others, and personal biography.
Carrying out aligning actions implies both awareness of those elements of nor-
mative culture that are applicable to the deviant act and, in addition, an actual
effort to bring the act into line with this awareness. The result is that deviant
behavior 1s legitimized.
This paper presents an analysis of interviews we conducted with a sample of
114 convicted, incarcerated rapists. We use the concept of accounts (Scott and
Lyman, 1968) as a tool to organize and analyze the vocabularies of motive which
this group of rapists used to explain themselves and their actions. An analysis of
 CHAPTER 27 CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 311

their accounts demonstrates how it was possible for 83 percent (n = 114)' of

these convicted rapists to view themselves as nonrapists.
When rapists’ accounts are examined, a typology emerges that consists of
admitters and deniers. Admitters (n = 47) acknowledged that they had forced
sexual acts on their victims and defined the behavior as rape. In contrast, deniers”
either eschewed sexual contact or all association with the victim™(n = 35),° or
admitted to sexual acts but did not define their behavior as rape (n = 32).... By
and large, the deniers used justifications while the admitters used excuses.
In some cases, both groups relied on the same themes, stereotypes, and images:
some admitters, like most deniers, claimed that women enjoyed being raped.
Some deniers excused their behavior by referring to alcohol or drug use,
although they did so quite differently than admitters. Through these narrative
accounts, we explore convicted rapists’ own perceptions of their crimes....

JUSTIFYING RAPE

Deniers attempted to justify their behavior by presenting the victim in a light

that made her appear culpable, regardless of their own actions. Five themes run
through rapists’ attempts to justify their rapes: (1) women as seductresses;
(2) women mean “yes” when they say “no”; (3) most women eventually relax
and enjoy it; (4) nice girls don’t get raped; and (5) guilty of a minor wrongdoing.

(1) Women as Seductresses

Men who rape need not search far for cultural language which supports the
premise that women provoke or are responsible for rape. In addition to common
cultural stereotypes, the fields of psychiatry and criminology (particularly the sub-
field of victimology) have traditionally provided justifications for rape, often by
portraying raped women as the victims of their own seduction (Albin, 1977;
Marolla and Scully, 1979). For example, Hollander (1924: 130) argues:
Considering the amount of illicit intercourse, rape of women is very
rare indeed. Flirtation and provocative conduct, i.e. tacit (if not actual)
consent is generally the prelude to intercourse.
Since women are supposed to be coy about their sexual availability, refusal
to comply with a man’s sexual demands lacks meaning and rape appears normal.
The fact that violence and, often, a weapon are used to accomplish the rape 1s
not considered. As an example, Abrahamsen (1960: 61) writes:
The conscious or unconscious biological or psychological attraction
between man and woman does not exist only on the part of the
offender toward the woman but, also, on her part toward him, which
in many instances may, to some extent, be the impetus for his
sexual attack. Often a women [sic] unconsciously wishes to be taken
by force—consider the theft of the bride in Peer Gynt.
312 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Like Peer Gynt, the deniers we interviewed tried to demonstrate that their
victims were willing and, in some cases, enthusiastic participants. In these
accounts, the rape became more dependent upon the victim’s behavior than
upon their own actions.
Thirty-one percent (n = 10) of the deniers presented an extreme view of the
victim. Not only willing, but she was also the aggressor, a seductress who lured
them, unsuspecting, into sexual action. Typical was a denier convicted of his first
rape and accompanying crimes of burglary, sodomy, and abduction. According to
the presentence reports, he had broken into the victim’s house and raped her at
knife point. While he admitted to the breaking and entry, which he claimed was
for altruistic purposes (“to pay for the prenatal care of a friend’s girlfriend”), he also
argued that when the victim discovered him, he had tried to leave but she had
asked him to stay. Telling him that she cheated on her husband, she had voluntar-
ily removed her clothes and seduced him. She was,-according to him, an exem-
plary sex partner who “enjoyed it very much and asked for oral sex.* Can I have it
now?” he reported her as saying. He claimed they had spent hours in bed, after
which the victim had told him he was good looking and asked to see him again.
“Who would believe I’d meet a fellow like this?” he reported her as saying.
In addition to this extreme group, 25 percent (n = 8) of the deniers said the
victim was willing and had made some sexual advances. An additional 9 percent
(n = 3) said the victim was willing to have sex for money or drugs. In two of
these three cases, the victim had been either an acquaintance or picked up,
which the rapists said led them to expect sex.

(2) Women Mean “Yes” When They Say “No”

Thirty-four percent (n = 11) of the deniers described their victim as unwilling, at
least initially, indicating either that she had resisted or that she had said no.
Despite this, and even though (according to presentence reports) a weapon had
been present in 64 percent (n = 7) of these 11 cases, the rapists justified their
behavior by arguing that either the victim had not resisted enough or that her
“no” had really meant “yes.” For example, one denier who was serving time for
a previous rape was subsequently convicted of attempting to rape a prison hospi-
tal nurse. He insisted he had actually completed the second rape, and said of his
victim: “She semistruggled but deep down inside I think she felt it was a fantasy
come true.” The nurse, according to him, had asked a question about his con-
viction for rape, which he interpreted as teasing. “It was like she was saying,
‘rape me.’” Further, he stated that she had helped him along with oral sex and
“from her actions, she was enjoying it.” In another case, a 34-year-old man con-
victed of abducting and raping a 15-year-old teenager at knife point as she
walked on the beach, claimed it was a pickup. This rapist said women like to
be overpowered before sex, but to dominate after it begins.
A man’s body is like a Coke bottle, shake it up, put your thumb over
the opening and feel the tension. When you take a woman out, woo
her, then she says “no, I’m a nice girl,” you have to use force. All men
 CHAPTER 27 CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 313

do this. She said “no” but it was a societal no, she wanted to be coaxed.
All women say “no” when they mean “yes” but it’s a societal no, so
they won’t have to feel responsible later.
Claims that the victim didn’t resist or, if she did, didn’t resist enough, were
also used by 24 percent (n = 11) of admitters to explain why, during the inci-
dent, they believed the victim was willing and that they were not raping. These
rapists didn’t redefine their acts until sometime after the crime. For example, an
admitter who used a bayonet to threaten his victim, an employee of the store he
had been robbing, stated:

At the time I didn’t think it was rape. I just asked her nicely and she
didn’t resist. I never considered prison. I just felt like I had met a friend.
It took about five years of reading and going to school to change my
mind about whether it was rape. I became familiar with the subtlety of
violence. But at the time, I believed that as long as I didn’t hurt anyone
it wasn’t wrong. At the time, I didn’t think I would go to prison,
I thought I would beat it.
Another typical case involved a gang rape in which the victim was abducted
at knife point as she walked home about midnight. According to two of the
rapists, both of whom were interviewed, at the time they had thought the victim
had willingly accepted a ride from the third rapist (who was not interviewed).
They claimed the victim didn’t resist and one reported her as saying she would
do anything if they would take her home. In this rapist’s view, “She acted like
she enjoyed it, but maybe she was just acting. She wasn’t crying, she was engag-
ing in it.” He reported that she had been friendly to the rapist who abducted her
and, claiming not to have a home phone, she gave him her office number—a
tactic eventually used to catch the three. In retrospect, this young man had
decided, “She was scared and just relaxed and enjoyed it to avoid getting
hurt.” Note, however, that while he had redefined the act as rape, he continued
to believe she enjoyed it.
Men who claimed to have been unaware that they were raping viewed sex-
ual aggression as a man’s prerogative at the time of the rape. Thus, they regarded
their act as little more than a minor wrongdoing even though most possessed or
used a weapon. As long as the victim survived without major physical injury,
from their perspective, a rape had not taken place. Indeed, even U.S. courts
have often taken the position that physical injury is a necessary ingredient for a
rape conviction.

(3) Most Women Eventually Relax and Enjoy It

Many of the rapists expected us to accept the image, drawn from cultural stereo-
type, that once the rape began, the victim relaxed and enjoyed it.” Indeed,
69 percent (n = 22) of deniers justified their behavior by claiming not only that
the victim was willing, but also that she enjoyed herself, in some cases to an
immense degree. Several men suggested that they had fulfilled their victims’ dreams.
314 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Additionally, while most admitters used adjectives such as “dirty,” “humiliated,”

and “disgusted” to describe how they thought rape made women feel, 20 per-
cent (n = 9) believed that their victim enjoyed herself. For example, one denier
had posed as a salesman to gain entry to his victim’s house. But he claimed he
had had a previous sexual relationship with the victim, that she agreed to have
sex for drugs, and that the opportunity to have sex with him produced “a
glow, because she was really into oral stuff and fascinated by the idea of sex
with a black man. She felt satisfied, fulfilled, wanted me to stay, but I didn’t
want her.” In another case, a denier who had broken into his victim’s house
but who insisted the victim was his lover and let him in voluntarily, declared
“She felt good, kept kissing me and wanted me to stay the night. She felt
proud after sex with me.” And another denier, who had hid in his victim’s
closet and later attacked her while she slept, argued that while she was scared
at first, “once we got into it, she was OK.” He continued to believe he hadn’t
committed rape because “she enjoyed it and it was like she consented.”

(4) Nice Girls Don’t Get Raped

The belief that “nice girls don’t get raped” affects perception of fault. The vic-
tim’s reputation, as well as characteristics or behavior which violate normative
sex role expectations, are perceived as contributing to the commission of the
crime. For example, Nelson and Amir (1975) defined hitchhike rape as a
victim-precipitated offense.
In our study, 69 percent (n = 22) of deniers and 22 percent (n = 10) of admit-
ters referred to their victims’ sexual reputation, thereby evoking the stereotype that
“nice girls don’t get raped.” They claimed that the victim was known to have been
a prostitute, or a “loose” woman, or to have had a lot of affairs, or to have given
birth to a child out of wedlock. For example, a denier who claimed he had picked
up his victim while she was hitchhiking stated, “To be honest, we [his family]
knew she was a damn whore and whether she screwed one or 50 guys didn’t
matter.” According to presentence reports this victim didn’t know her attacker
and he abducted her at knife point from the street. In another case, a denier who
claimed to have known his victim by reputation stated:
If you wanted drugs or a quick piece of ass, she would do it. In court
she said she was a virgin, but I could tell during sex [rape] that she was
very experienced.
When other types of discrediting biographical information were added to
these sexual slurs, a total of 78 percent (n = 25) of the deniers used the victim’s
reputation to substantiate their accounts. Most frequently, they referred to the vic-
tim’s emotional state or drug use. For example, one denier claimed his victim had
been known to be loose and, additionally, had turned state’s evidence against her
husband to put him in prison and save herself from a burglary conviction. Further,
he asserted that she had met her current boyfriend, who was himself in and out of
prison, in a drug rehabilitation center where they were both clients.
Evoking the stereotype that women provoke rape by the way they dress, a
description of the victim as seductively attired appeared in the accounts of
 CHAPTER 27 CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 315

22 percent (n = 7) of deniers and 17 percent (n = 8) of admitters. Typically,

these descriptions were used to substantiate their claims about the victim’s repu-
tation. Some men went to extremes to paint a tarnished picture of the victim,
describing her as dressed in tight black clothes and without a bra; in one case, the
victim was portrayed as sexually provocative in dress and carriage. Not only did
she wear short skirts, but she was observed to “spread her legs while getting out
of cars.” Not all of the men attempted to assassinate their victim’s reputation
with equal vengeance. Numerous times they made subtle and offhand remarks
like, “She was a waitress and you know how they are.”
The intent of these discrediting statements is clear. Deniers argued that the
woman was a “legitimate” victim who got what she deserved. For example, one
denier stated that all of his victims had been prostitutes; presentence reports indi-
cated they were not. Several times during his interview, he referred to them as
“dirty sluts,” and argued “anything I did to them was justified.” Deniers also
claimed their victim had wrongly accused them and was the type of woman
who would perjure herself in court.

(5) Only a Minor Wrongdoing

The majority of deniers did not claim to be completely innocent and they also
accepted some accountability for their actions. Only 16 percent (n = 5) of
deniers argued that they were totally free of blame. Instead, the majority of
deniers pleaded guilty to a lesser charge. That is, they obfuscated the rape by
pleading guilty to a less serious, more acceptable charge. They accepted being
oversexed, accused of poor judgment or trickery, even some violence, or guilty
of adultery or contributing to the delinquency of a minor, charges that are hardly
the equivalent of rape.
Typical of this reasoning is a denier who met his victim in a bar when the
bartender asked him if he would try to repair her stalled car. After attempting
unsuccessfully, he claimed the victim drank with him and later accepted a ride.
Out riding, he pulled into a deserted area “to see how my luck would go.”
When the victim resisted his advances, he beat her and he stated:

I did something stupid. I pulled a knife on her and I hit her as hard as I
would hit a man. But I shouldn’t be in prison for what I did. I shouldn’t
have all this time [sentence] for going to bed with a broad.
This rapist continued to believe that while the knife was wrong, his sexual
behavior was justified.
In another case, the denier claimed he picked up his under-age victim at a
party and that she voluntarily went with him to a motel. According to presentence
reports, the victim had been abducted at knife point from a party. He explained:
After I paid for a motel, she would have to have sex but I wouldn’t use
a weapon. I would have explained. I spent money and, if she still said
no, I would have forced her. If it had happened that way, it would have
been rape to some people but not to my way of thinking. I’ve done
that kind of thing before. I’m guilty of sex and contributing to the
delinquency of a minor, but not rape.
316 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

In sum, deniers argued that, while their behavior may not have been
completely proper, it should not have been considered rape. To accomplish
this, they attempted to discredit and blame the victim while presenting their
own actions as justified in the context. Not surprisingly, none of the deniers
thought of himself as a rapist. A minority of the admitters attempted to lessen
the impact of their crime by claiming the victim enjoyed being raped. But
despite this similarity, the nature and tone of admitters’ and deniers’ accounts
were essentially different.

EXCUSING RAPE

In stark contrast to deniers, admitters regarded their behavior as morally wrong

and beyond justification. They blamed themselves rather than the victim,
although some continued to cling to the belief that the victim had contributed
to the crime somewhat, for example, by not resisting enough.
Several of the admitters expressed the view that rape was an act of such
moral outrage that it was unforgivable. Several admitters broke into tears at
intervals during their interviews. A typical sentiment was,
I equate rape with someone throwing you up against a wall and tearing
your liver and guts out of you.... Rape is worse than murder ... and
I’m disgusting.
Another young admitter frequently referred to himself as repulsive and
confided:

I’m in here for rape and in my own mind, it’s the most disgusting crime,
sickening. When people see me and know, I get sick.

Admitters tried to explain their crime in a way that allowed them to retain a
semblance of moral integrity. Thus, in contrast to deniers’ justifications, admitters
used excuses to explain how they were compelled to rape. These excuses
appealed to the existence of forces outside of the rapists’ control. Through the
use of excuses, they attempted to demonstrate that either intent was absent or
responsibility was diminished. This allowed them to admit rape while reducing
the threat to their identity as a moral person. Excuses also permitted them to
view their behavior as idiosyncratic rather than typical and, thus, to believe they
were not “really” rapists. Three themes run through these accounts: (1) the use of
alcohol and drugs; (2) emotional problems; and (3) nice guy image.

(1) The Use of Alcohol and Drugs

A number of studies have noted a high incidence of alcohol and drug consump-
tion by convicted rapists prior to their crime (Groth, 1979; Queen’s Bench
Foundation, 1976). However, more recent research has tentatively concluded
that the connection between substance use and crime is not as direct as previ-
ously thought (Ladouceur, 1983). Another facet of alcohol and drug use
 CHAPTER 27 CONVICTED RAPISTS' VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 317

mentioned in the literature is its utility in disavowing deviance. McCaghy (1968)

found that child molesters used alcohol as a technique for neutralizing their devi-
ant identity. Marolla and Scully (1979), in a review ofpsychiatric literature, dem-
onstrated how alcohol consumption is applied differently as a vocabulary of
motive. Rapists can use alcohol both as an excuse for their behavior and to dis-
credit the victim and make her more responsible. We found the former common
among admitters and the latter common among deniers.
Alcohol and/or drugs were mentioned in the accounts of 77 percent (n =
30) of admitters and 84 percent (n = 21) of deniers and both groups were
equally likely to have acknowledged consuming a substance—admitters, 77 per-
cent (n = 30); deniers, 72 percent (n = 18). However, admitters said they had
been affected by the substance; if not the cause of their behavior, it was at least a
contributing factor. For example, an admitter who estimated his consumption to
have been eight beers and four “hits of acid” reported:

Rapists’ Accounts of Own and Victims’ Alcohol and/or Drug (A/D)

Use and Effect

Admitters n = 39% Deniers n = 25%

Neither self nor victim used A/D 23 16

Self used A/D 77 72
Of self used, no victim use 51 12
Self affected by A/D 69 40
Of self affected, no victim use or effect 54 24
Self A/D users who were affected 90 56
Victim used A/D 26 72.
Of victim used, no self use 0 0
Victim affected by A/D 15 56
Of victim affected, no self use or effect 0 40
Victim A/D users who were affected 60 78
Both self and victim used and affected by A/D 15 16

Straight, I don’t have the guts to rape. I could fight a man but not that.
To say, “I’m going to do it to a woman,” knowing it will scare and hurt
her, takes guts or you have to be sick.
Another admitter believed that his alcohol and drug use,

... brought out what was already there but in such intensity it was
uncontrollable. Feelings of being dominant, powerful, using someone
for my own gratification, all rose to the surface.

In contrast, deniers’ justifications required that they not be substantially

impaired. To say that they had been drunk or high would cast doubt on their
ability to control themselves or to remember events as they actually happened.
318 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Consistent with this, when we asked if the alcohol and/or drugs had had an
effect on their behavior, 69 percent (n = 27) of admitters, but only 40 percent
(n = 10) of deniers, said they had been affected.
Even more interesting were references to the victim’s alcohol and/or drug
use. Since admitters had already relieved themselves of responsibility through
claims of being drunk or high, they had nothing to gain from the assertion that
the victim had used or been affected by alcohol and/or drugs. On the other
hand, it was very much in the interest of deniers to declare that their victim
had been intoxicated or high: that fact lessened her credibility and made her
more responsible for the act. Reflecting these observations, 72 percent (n = 18)
of deniers and 26 percent (n = 10) of admitters maintained that alcohol or drugs
had been consumed by the victim. In addition, while 56 percent (n = 14) of
deniers declared she had been affected by this use, only 15 percent (n = 6) of
admitters made a similar claim. Typically deniers argued that the alcohol and
drugs had sexually aroused their victim or rendered her out of control. For
example, one denier insisted that his victim had become hysterical from drugs,
not from being raped, and it was because of the drugs that she had reported him
to the police. In addition, 40 percent (n = 10) of deniers argued that while the
victim had been drunk or high, they themselves either hadn’t ingested or weren’t
affected by alcohol and/or drugs.. None of the admitters made this claim. In fact,
in all of the 15 percent (n = 6) of cases where an admitter said the victim was
drunk or high, he also admitted to being similarly affected.
These data strongly suggest that whatever role alcohol and drugs play in sex-
ual and other types of violent crime, rapists have learned the advantage to be
gained from using alcohol and drugs as an account. Our sample were aware
that their victim would be discredited and their own behavior excused or justi-
fied by referring to alcohol and/or drugs.

(2) Emotional Problems

Admitters frequently attributed their acts to emotional problems. Forty percent
(n = 19) of admitters said they believed an emotional problem had been at the
root of their rape behavior, and 33 percent (n = 15) specifically related the prob-
lem to an unhappy, unstable childhood or a marital—domestic situation. Still others
claimed to have been in a general state of unease. For example, one admitter said
that at the time ofthe rape he had been depressed, feeling he couldn’t do anything
right, and that something had been missing from his life. But he also added, “being
a rapist 1s not part of my personality.” Even admitters who could locate no source
for an emotional problem evoked the popular image of rapists as the product of
disordered personalities to argue they also must have problems:
The fact that I’m a rapist makes me different. Rapists aren’t all there.
They have problems. It was wrong so there must be a reason why
I did it. I must have a problem.
Our data do indicate that a precipitating event, involving an upsetting prob-
lem of everyday living, appeared in the accounts of 80 percent (n = 38) of
 CHAPTER 27 CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 319

admitters and 25 percent (n = 8) of deniers. Of those experiencing a precipitat-

ing event, including deniers, 76 percent (n = 35) involved a wife or girlfriend.
Over and over, these men described themselves as having been in a rage because
of an incident involving a woman with whom they believed they were in love.
Frequently, the upsetting event was related to a rigid and unrealistic double
standard for sexual conduct and virtue which they applied to “their” woman but
which they didn’t expect from men, didn’t apply to themselves, and, obviously,
didn’t honor in other women. To discover that the “pedestal” didn’t apply to
their wife or girlfriend sent them into a fury. One especially articulate and typical
admutter described his feeling as follows. After serving a short prison term for auto
theft, he married his “childhood sweetheart” and secured a well-paying job.
Between his job and the volunteer work he was doing with an ex-offender
group, he was spending long hours away from home, a situation that had bothered
his wife. In response to her request, he gave up his volunteer work, though it was
clearly meaningful to him. Then, one day, he discovered his wife with her former
boyfriend “and may life fell apart.” During the next several days, he said his anger
had made him withdraw into himself and, after three days of drinking in a motel
room, he abducted and raped a stranger. He stated:
My parents have been married for many years and I had high expecta-
tions about marniage. I put my wife on a pedestal. When I walked in on
her, I felt like my life had been destroyed, it was such a shock. I was
bitter and angry about the fact that I hadn’t done anything to my wife
for cheating. I didn’t want to hurt her [victim], only to scare and
degrade her.
It is clear that many admitters, and a minority of deniers, were under stress at
the time of their rapes. However, their problems were ordinary—the types of
upsetting events that everyone experiences at some point in life. The over-
whelming majority of the men were not clinically defined as mentally ill in
court-ordered psychiatric examinations prior to their trials. Indeed, our sample
is consistent with Abel et al. (1980) who found fewer than 5 percent of rapists
were psychotic at the time of their offense.
As with alcohol and drug intoxication, a claim of emotional problems works
differently depending upon whether the behavior in question is being justified or
excused. It would have been counter-productive for deniers to have claimed to
have had emotional problems at the time of the rape. Admitters used psycholog-
ical explanations to portray themselves as having been temporarily “sick” at the
time of the rape. Sick people are usually blamed for neither the cause of their
illness nor for acts committed while in that state of diminished capacity. Thus,
adopting the sick role removed responsibility by excusing the behavior as having
been beyond the ability of the individual to control. Since the rapists were not
“themselves,” the rape was idiosyncratic rather than typical behavior. Admitters
asserted a nondeviant identity despite their self-proclaimed disgust with what
they had done. Although admitters were willing to assume the sick role, they
did not view their problem as a chronic condition, nor did they believe them-
selves to be insane or permanently impaired. Said one admitter, who believed
320 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

that he needed psychological counseling: “I have a mental disorder, but ’m not

crazy.” Instead, admitters viewed their “problem” as mild, transient, and curable.
Indeed, part of the appeal of this excuse was that not only did it relieve respon-
sibility, but, as with alcohol and drug addiction, it allowed the rapist to
“recover.” Thus, at the time of their interviews, only 31 percent (n = 14) of
admitters indicated that “being a rapist” was part of their self-concept. Twenty-
eight percent (n = 13) of admitters stated they had never thought of themselves
as rapists, 8 percent (n = 4) said they were unsure, and 33 percent (n = 16)
asserted they had been a rapist at one time but now were recovered. A multiple
“ex-rapist,” who believed his “problem” was due to “something buried in my
subconscious” that was triggered when his girlfriend broke up with him,
expressed a typical opinion:
I was a rapist, but not now. I’ve grown up, had_to live with it. I’ve hit
the bottom of the well and it can’t get worse. I feel born again to deal
with my problems.

(3) Nice Guy Image

Admitters attempted to further neutralize their crime and negotiate a nonrapist
identity by painting an image of themselves as a “nice guy.” Admitters projected
the image of someone who had made a serious mistake but, in every other
respect, was a decent person. Fifty-seven percent (n = 27) expressed regret and
sorrow for their victim indicating that they wished there were a way to apologize
for or amend their behavior. For example, a participant in a rape—murder, who
insisted his partner did the murder, confided, “I wish there was something |
could do besides saying ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ I live with it 24 hours a day and,
sometimes, I wake up crying in the middle of the night because of it.”
Schlenker and Darby (1981) explain the significance of apologies beyond the
obvious expression of regret. An apology allows a person to admit guilt while at
the same time seeking a pardon by signaling that the event should not be con-
sidered a fair representation of what the person is really like. An apology sepa-
rates the bad self from the good self, and promises more acceptable behavior in
the future. When apologizing, an individual is attempting to say “I have
repented and should be forgiven,” thus making it appear that no further rehabil-
itation is required.
The “nice guy” statements of the admitters reflected an attempt to commu-
micate a message consistent with Schlenkei’s and Darby’s analysis of apologies. It
was an attempt to convey that rape was not a representation of their “true” self.
For example,
It’s different from anything else I’ve ever done. I feel more guilt about
this. It’s not consistent with me. When I talk about it, it’s like being
assaulted myself. I don’t know why I did it, but once I started, I got into
it. Armed robbery was a way of life for me, but not rape. I feel like I
wasn't being myself.
 CHAPTER 27. CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 321

Admitters also used “nice guy” statements to register their moral opposition
to violence and harming women, even though, in some cases, they had seriously
injured their victims. Such was the case of an admitter convicted of gang rape:
I’m against hurting women. She should have resisted. None of us were
the type of person that would use force on a woman. I never positioned
myself on a woman unless she showed an interest in me. They would
play to me, not me to them. My weakness is to follow. I never would
have stopped, let alone pick her up without the others. I never would
have let anyone beat her. I never bothered women who didn’t want
sex; never had a problem with sex or getting it. I loved her—like all
women.
Finally, a number of admitters attempted to improve their self-image by
demonstrating that, while they had raped, it could have been worse if they had
not been a “nice guy.” For example, one admitter professed to being especially
gentle with his victim after she told him she had just had a baby. Others claimed
to have given the victim money to get home or make a phone call, or to have
made sure the victim’s children were not in the room. A multiple rapist, whose
pattern was to break in and attack sleeping victims in their homes, stated:
I never beat any of my victims and I told them I wouldn’t hurt them if
they cooperated. I’m a professional thief. But I never robbed the women
I raped because I felt so bad about what I had already done to them.
Even a young man, who raped his five victims at gun point and then stabbed
them to death, attempted to improve his image by stating:
Physically they enjoyed the sex [rape]. Once they got involved, it
would be difficult to resist. I was always gentle and kind until I started
to kill them. And the killing was always sudden, so they wouldn’t know
it was coming.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Convicted rapists’ accounts of their crimes include both excuses andjustifications.

Those who deny what they did was rape justify their actions; those who admit it
was rape attempt to excuse it or themselves. This study does not address why some
men admit while others deny, but future research might address this question.
This paper does provide insight on how men who are sexually aggressive or vio-
lent construct reality, describing the different strategies of admitters and deniers.
Admitters expressed the belief that rape was morally reprehensible. But they
explained themselves and their acts by appealing to forces beyond their control,
forces which reduced their capacity to act rationally and thus compelled them
to rape. Two types of excuses predominated: alcohol/drug intoxication and emoti-
onal problems. Admitters used these excuses to negotiate a moral identity for them-
selves by viewing rape as idiosyncratic rather than typical behavior. This allowed
322 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

them to reconceptualize themselves as recovered or “ex-rapists,” [people] who had

made a serious mistake which did not represent their “true” [selves].
In contrast, deniers’ accounts indicate that these men raped because their
value system provided no compelling reason not to do so. When sex is viewed
as a male entitlement, rape is no longer seen as criminal. However, the deniers
had been convicted of rape, and like the admitters, they attempted to negotiate
an identity. Through justifications, they constructed a “controversial” rape and
attempted to demonstrate how their behavior, even if not quite nght, was appro-
priate in the situation. Their denials, drawn from common cultural rape stereo-
types, took two forms, both of which ultimately denied the existence of a victim.
The first form of denial was buttressed by the cultural view of men as sexually
masterful and women as coy but seductive. Injury was denied by portraying the
victim as willing, even enthusiastic, or as politely resistant at first but eventually
yielding to “relax and enjoy it.” In these accounts, force appeared merely as a
seductive technique. Rape was disclaimed: rather than harm the woman, the rapist
had fulfilled her dreams. In the second form of denial, the victim was portrayed as
the type of woman who “got what she deserved.” Through attacks on the victim’s
sexual reputation and, to a lesser degree, her emotional state, deniers attempted to
demonstrate that since the victim wasn’t a “nice girl,” they were not rapists. Con-
sistent with both forms of denial was the self-interested use of alcohol and drugs as
a justification. Thus, in contrast to admitters, who accentuated their own use as an
excuse, deniers emphasized the victim’s consumption in an effort to both discredit
her and make her appear more responsible for the rape. It is important to remem-
ber that deniers did not invent these justifications. Rather, they reflect a belief sys-
tem that has historically victimized women by promulgating the myth that women
both enjoy and are responsible for their own rape.
While admitters and deniers present an essentially contrasting view of men
who rape, there were some shared characteristics. Justifications particularly, but
also excuses, are buttressed by the cultural view of women as sexual commodi-
ties, dehumanized and devoid of autonomy and dignity. In this sense, the sexual
objectification of women must be understood as an important factor contributing
to an environment that trivializes, neutralizes, and, perhaps, facilitates rape.
Finally, we must comment on the consequences of allowing one perspective
to dominate thought on a social problem. Rape, like any complex continuum of
behavior, has multiple causes and is influenced by a number ofsocial factors. Yet,
dominated by psychiatry and the medical model, the underlying assumption that
rapists are “sick” has pervaded research. Although methodologically unsound,
conclusions have been based almost exclusively on small clinical populations of
rapists—that extreme group of rapists who seek counseling in prison and are the
most likely to exhibit psychopathology. From this small, atypical group of men,
psychiatric findings have been generalized to all men who rape. Our research,
however, based on volunteers from the entire prison population, indicates that
some rapists, like deniers, viewed and understood their behavior from a popular
cultural perspective. This strongly suggests that cultural perspectives, and not an
idiosyncratic illness, motivated their behavior. Indeed, we can argue that the psy-
chiatric perspective has contributed to the vocabulary of motive that rapists use
to excuse and justify their behavior (Scully and Marolla, 1984).
 CHAPTER 27: CONVICTED RAPISTS’ VOCABULARY OF MOTIVE 323

Efforts to arrive at a general explanation for rape have been retarded by the
narrow focus of the medical model and the preoccupation with clinical popula-
tions. The continued reduction of such complex behavior to a singular cause
hinders, rather than enhances, our understanding of rape.

NOTES

1. These numbers include pretest inter- themselves found oral sex marginally
views. When the analysis involves acceptable, the frequent mention is
either questions that were not asked in probably another attempt to discredit
the pretest or that were changed, they the victim. However, since a tape
are excluded and thus the number recorder could not be used for the
changes. interviews and the importance of these
2. There is, of course, the possibility that claims didn’t emerge until the data was
some of these men really were inno- being coded and analyzed, it is possible
cent of rape. However, while the U.S. that it was mentioned even more
criminal justice system is not without frequently but not recorded.
flaw, we assume that it is highly Research shows clearly that women
unlikely that this many men could do not enjoy rape. Holmstrom and
have been unjustly convicted of rape, Burgess (1978) asked 93 adult rape
especially since rape is a crime with victims, “How did it feel sexually?”
traditionally low conviction rates. Not one said they enjoyed it. Further,
Instead, for purposes of this research, the trauma of rape is so great that it
we assume that these men were guilty disrupts sexual functioning (both fre-
as charged and that their attempt to quency and satisfaction) for the over-
maintain an image of nonrapist springs whelming majority of victims, at least
from some psychologically or socio- during the period immediately fol-
logically interprétable mechanism. lowing the rape and, in fewer cases, for
3. Because of their outright denial, an extended period of time (Burgess
interviews with this group of rapists and Holmstrom, 1979; Feldman-
did not contain the data being Summers et al., 1979). In addition, a
analyzed here and, consequently, number of studies have shown that
they are not included in this paper. tee: ERS CAP OLE? adverse con-
4. It is worth noting that a number of Lice eek.
change jobs, or drop out of school
deniers specifically mentioned the
(Burgess and Holmstrom, 1974;
victim’s alleged interest in oral sex.
Kilpatnck et al., 1979; Ruch et al.,
Since our interview questions about
1980; Shore, 1979).
sexual history indicated that the rapists

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Holmstrom, Lynda Lytle, and Ann Wolbert
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Violet Franks (eds.), Gender and 22(6): 664-670.
 28

The Devil Made Me Do It: Use

of Neutralizations by Shoplifters
PAUL CROMWELL AND QUINT THURMAN

Cromwell and Thurman offer a discussion of shoplifters’ rationalizations that

many people will find familiar. Stealing from stores has long been widespread
among American youths, and practitioners have found it convenient and easy to
rationalize pilfering from large companies that do not have a visible or identifiable
local owner. This chapter compliments the Scully and Marolla analysis by
drawing on Sykes and Matza’s (1957) “techniques of neutralization,” a
conceptualization of accounts that predates the distinction between excuses and
justifications. Cromwell and Thurman show how shoplifters make ample use of
the latter existing categories and invent a few new ones of their own. These
accounts, like all others, help individuals deflect the labeling process and the
deviant identity.
How would you divide the techniques of neutralization discussed in this
chapter into the categories of excuses and justifications laid out in Scully and
Marolla’s chapter? Which of the two chapters do you find offers the most
compelling argument, and why?

un ou know that cartoon where the guy has a little devil sitting on one
shoulder and a little angel on the other? And one is telling him ‘Go
ahead on, do it,’ and the angel is saying ‘No, don’t do it.’ You know?... Some-
times when I’m thinking about boosting something, my angel don’t show up.”
(30-year-old male shoplifter)
Nearly five decades ago Gresham Sykes and David Matza (1957) introduced
neutralization theory as an explanation for juvenile delinquency. Sykes and
Matza’s (1957) theory is an elaboration of Edwin Sutherland’s (1947) proposition
that individuals can learn criminal techniques, and the “motives, drives, rationa-
lizations, and attitudes favorable to violations of the law.” Sykes and Matza
argued that these justifications or rationalizations protect the individual from
self-blame and the blame of others. Thus, the individual may remain committed
to the value system of the dominant culture “while committing criminal acts

From Paul Cromwell and Quint Thurman, “The Devil Made Me Do It: Use of
Neutralizations by Shoplifters.” Deviant Behavior 24(6). Copyright © 2003. Reproduced
by permission of Taylor & Francis, LLC, http://www.taylorandfrancis.com.

325
326 PART VV. DEVIANT IDENTITY

fondu Salk followine the crime. It 1s this ability to use neutralizations that dif-
ferentiates delinquents from nondelinquents (Thurman, 1984).
While Sykes and Matza (1957) do not specifically maintain that only offen-
ders who are committed to the dominant value system make use of these tech-
niques of neutralizations, they appear to contend that delinquents maintain a
commitment to the moral order and are able to drift into a sage eoeee

One issue ae Tes not tesa satisfacto ily wted is when neutralization
occurs. Sykes and Matza (1957) contend that deviants-must neutralize moral pre-
scriptions prior to committing a crime. However, most research is incapable of
determining whether the stated neutralization is a before-the-fact neutralization
or an after-the-fact rationalization.

TECHNIQUES OF NEUTRALIZATION

Sykes and Matza (1957) identified five techniques of neutralization commonly

offered to justify deviant behavior—denial of responsibility, denial of injury,
denial of the victim, condemning the condemners, and appeal to higher loyalties.
Five additional neutralization techniques have since been identified. These
include defense of necessity (Klockars, 1974), metaphor of the ledger (Minor,
1981), denial of the necessity of the law, the claim that everybody else is doing
it, and the claim of entitlement (Coleman, 1994).
This article examines neutralization theory as it might apply to a specific
form of criminal activity that is highly prevalent across a wide range of the pop-
ulation. The purpose of this study is to determine the extent to which adult
shoplifters use techniques of neutralizations and to analyze the various neutraliza-
tions available to them. We examine offenders who shoplift and explore the jus-
tifications that they say they rely upon to excuse behavior they also acknowledge
as morally wrong.

STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM

Shoplifting may be the most serious crime with which the most people have
some personal familiarity. Research has shown that one in every 10-15 persons
who shops has shoplifted at one time or another. Further, losses attributable to
shoplifting are considerable, with estimates ranging from 12 to 30 billion dollars
lost annually. Shoplifting also represents one of the most prevalent forms of
 CHAPTER28 THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT 327

larceny, accounting for approximately 15 percent of all larcenies, according to

data maintained by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (1996).
Unlike many other forms of crime, people who shoplift do not ordinarily
require any special expertise or tools to engage in this crime. Consequently,
those persons who shoplift do not necessarily conform to most people’s percep-
tion of what a criminal offender is like. Instead, shoplifters tend to be demo-
graphically similar to the “average person.” In a large study of nondelinquents,
Klemke (1982) reported that as many of 63 percent of those persons he inter-
viewed had shoplifted at some point in their lives. Students, housewives, business
and professional persons, as well as professional thieves constitute the population
of shoplifters. Loss prevention experts routinely counsel retail merchants that
there is no particular profile of a potential shoplifter. Turner and Cashdan
(1988) conclude, “While clearly a criminal activity, shoplifting borders on what
might be considered a ‘folkcrime.’” In her classic study, Mary Cameron (1964: x1)
wrote:
Most people have been tempted to steal from stores, and many have
been guilty (at least as children) of “snitching” an item or two from
counter tops. With merchandise so attractively displayed in department
stores and supermarkets, and much of it apparently there for the taking,
one may ask why everyone isn’t a thief.
Neutralization theory argues that ordinary individuals who engage in deviant
or criminal behavior may use techniques that permit them to recognize extenu-
ating circumstances that enable them to explain away delinquent behavior.
Without worrying about guilty feelings that would stand in their way of com-
mitting a criminal act, the theory asserts that those persons are free to participate
in delinquent acts that they would otherwise believe to be wrong.

METHOD

The data presented here were obtained in 1997 and 1998 in Wichita, Kansas.
We obtained access to a court-ordered diversion program for adult “first-
offenders” charged with theft. Of these, the majority of offenders were charged
with misdemeanor shoplifting and [were] required to attend an eight-hour ther-
apeutic/education program as a condition of having their record expunged. A
new group met each Saturday. The average group size was 18-20 participants.
Participants were encouraged by the program facilitator to discuss with the group
the offense that brought them to the diversion program, why they did what they
did, and how they felt about it. We obtained interviews with 137 subjects from
approximately 350 subjects who were approached. Ethnicity and gender of the
sample are shown in Table 28.1. The mean age of the sample was 26. The age
range was 18 to 66 years of age. Although the diversion program was designed
for first offenders, over one-half of the participants had been apprehended for
shoplifting in the past.
328 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

TABLE 28.1 Neutralizations by Shoplifter Respondents by

Gender and Ethnicity (N = 137)

White Hispanic Black Total

Male 48 11 29 88
Female 30 6 iS 49
Total 78 17 42 SZ

FINDINGS

The informants appeared to readily use neutralization techniques. We identified

nine categories of neutralizations; the five Sykes and Matza (1957) catego-
ries, the Defense of Necessity and Everybody Does It, identified by
Coleman (1994) and two additional, which we labeled Justification by Com-
parison and Postponement. Only 5 of the 137 informants failed to express a
ationalization or neutralization when asked how they felt about their illegal
behavior. Three of these subjects responded by admitting their guilt and expres-
sing remorse. Two others simply stated that they had nothing to say on that
issue. In many cases, the respondents offered more than one neutralization for
the same offense. For example, one female respondent stated, “I don’t know
what comes over me. It’s like, you know, is somebody else doing it, not me[?]”
(Denial of Responsibility). “I’m really a good person. I wouldn’t ever do some-
thing like that, stealing, you know, but I have to take things sometimes for my
kids. They need stuff'and I don’t have any money to get it” (Defense of Necessity).
They frequently responded with a motivation (“I wanted the item and could not
afford it”) followed by a neutralization (“Stores charge too much for stuff. They
could sell wae for halt what henay and so make a pone They're just too
a ’). Thus, in many the m tion was linked to 7) etnaaaneeee
as to mak se a part of the motivation. The cheer were in effect
‘cece the reason the devianta act Bounited ne justifying it at the same time.
The following section illustrates the neutralizations we discovered in use by the
informants.

Denial of Responsibility (“I Didn’t Mean It”)

ender views him- or herself as being acted upon rather than acting. Thus,
attributing behavior to poor parenting, bad companions, or internal forces (the
devil made me do it) allows the offender to avoid disapproval of self or others,
which in turn, diminishes those influences as mechanisms of social control. Sykes
and Matza (1957: 666) describe the individual resorting to this neutralization as
having a “billiard ball conception of himself in which he see himself as helplessly
propelled into new situations.”
 CHAPTER 28 THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT 329

T admit that I lift. 1 do. But, you know, it’s not really me—I mean,
I don’t believe in stealing. I’m a church-going person. It’s just that
sometimes something takes over me and I can’t seem to not do it. It’s
like those TV shows where the person is dying and he goes out of his
body and watches them trying to save him. That’s sorta how I feel
sometimes when I’m lifting. (26-year-old female)
I wasn’t raised night. You know what I mean? Wasn’t nobody to
teach me right from wrong. I just ran with a bad group and my mamma
didn’t ever say nothin’ about it. That’s how I turned out this way—
stealin’ and stuff. (22-year-old female)
If it wasn’t for the bunch I ran with at school I never would have
started taking things. We used to go the mall after school and everybody
would have to steal something. If you didn’t get anything, everybody
called you names—chicken-shit and stuff like that. (20-year-old male)
Many of the shoplifter informants neutralized their activities [by] citing loss
of self-control due to alcohol or drug use. This is a common form of denial of
responsibility. If not for the loss of inhibition due to drug or alcohol use, they
argue, they would not commit criminal acts.
I was drinking with my buddies and we decided to go across the street
to the [convenience store] and steal some beer. I was pretty wasted or
I wouldn’t done it. (19-year-old white male)
I never boost when I’m straight. It’s the pills, you know?
(30-year-old white female)

Denial of Injury (“I Didn't stant Hurt

2 eonameece

Pettoeta the loss (big store, insurance » company, wealthy person) or the
crime may be semantically recast, as when auto theft is referred to as joyriding,
or vandalism as a prank.
They [stores] big. Make lotsa money. They don’t even miss the little bit
I get. (19-year-old male)
They write it off their taxes. Probably make a profit off it. So,
nobody gets hurt. I get what I need and they come out O.K. too.
(28-year-old male)
Them stores make billions. Did you ever hear of Sears going out of
business from boosters? (34-year-old female)

Denial of the Victim (“They Had It Se

at the large stores from whicl they stole were ea victims because of
330 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

high prices and the perception that they made excessive profits at the expense of
ordinary people. The shoplifters frequently asserted that the business establish-
ments from which they stole overcharged consumers and thus deserved the pay-
back from shoplifting losses.
Stores deserve it. It don’t matter if Iboost $10,000 from one, they’ve
made 10,000 times that much ripping off people. You could never steal
enough to get even... I don’t really think ’'m doing anything wrong.
Just getting my share. (48-year-old female)
Dillons [food store chain] are totally bogus. A little plastic bag of
groceries is $30, $25. Probably cost them $5.... Whatta they care about
me? Why should I care about them? I take what I want. Don’t feel
guilty a bit. No sir. Not a bit. (29-year-old female)
I have a lot of anger about stores and the way they np people off.
Sometimes I think the consumer has to take things into their own
hands. (49-year-old female)

av | law rs. It
ne the heat sitethe offender to thos as Negras ofie or hes acts. This
neutralization views the “system” as crooked and thus unable to justify making
and enforcing rules it does not itself live by. Those who condemn [the offen-
ders’] behavior are viewed as hypocritical since many of them engage in deviant
behavior themselves.
P’ve heard of cops and lawyers and judges and all kind of rich dudes
boosting. They no better than me. You know what I’m saying.
(18-year-old male)
Big stores like J.C. Penneys—when they catch me with
something—like two pairs of pants, they tell the police you had like
5 pairs of pants and 2 shirts or something like that. You know what I’m
saying? What they do with the other 3 pairs of pants and shirts?
Insurance company pays them off and they get richer—they’s bigger
crooks than me. (35-year-old female)
They thieves too. Just take it a different way. They may be smarter
than me—use a computer or something like that—but they just as
much a thief as me. Fuck’em. Cops too. They all thieves. Least, I’m
honest about it. (22-year-old male)

Appeal to Higher Loyalties (“I Didn’t Do It For Myself”)

Appeal to higher loyalties functions to legitimize deviant behavior when a non-
conventional social bond creates more immediate and pressing demands than one
consistent with conventional society. The most common use of this technique
among the shoplifters was pressure from delinquent peers to shoplift and the per-
ceived needs of one’s family for items that the informant could not afford to buy.
 CHAPTER 28 THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT 331

This was especially common with mothers shoplifting for items for their
children.

I never do it ’cept when I’m with my friends. Everybody be taking stuff

and so I do too. You know—to be part of the group. Not to seem like
I’m too good for ‘em. (17-year-old female)
I like to get nice stuff for my kids, you know. I know it’s not O.K.,
you know what I mean? But, I want my kids to dress nice and stuff.
(28-year-old female)

The Defense of Necessity (“I Rae No Othe See)

t that
Areea0 “pe ad no choice unde t to engage
a criminal act. In the case of shoplifting, the defense of Peceuits is most often
d ihen the offender states that the crime was necessary to help one’s family.
I had to take care of three children without help. I'd be willing to steal
to give them what they wanted. (32-year-old female)
I got laid off at Boeing last year and got behind on all my bills and
couldn’t get credit anywhere. My kids needed school clothes and
money for supplies and stuff. We didn’t have anything and I don’t
believe in going on welfare, you know. The first time I took some
lunch meat at Dillons (grocery chain) so we’d have supper one night.
After that I just started to take whatever we needed that day. I knew it
was wrong, but I just didn’t have any other choice. My family comes
first. (42-year-old male)

Everybody Does It

. A better labe for thisie might be ‘ Fie of guilt.” The

behigior’ is justified or the guilt 1s diffused because of widespread similar acts.
Everybody I know do it. All my friends. My mother and her boyfriend
are boosters and my sister is a big-time booster. (19-year-old female)
All my friends do it. When I’m with them it seems crazy not to
take something too. (17-year-old male)
I bet you done did it too... when you was coming up. Like 12-13
years old. Everybody boosts. (35-year-old female)

Justification by Comparison (“If 1 Wasn’t Shoplifting

ild Be Doing aah More Serious”)
Jers justifying
their actions by
ses. While it might be argued
332 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

that Justification by Comparison is not a neutralization in the strict Sykes and

Matza (1957) sense in that these offenders are not committed to conventional
norms, they are nonetheless attempting to maintain their sense of self-worth by
arguing that they could be worse or are not as bad as some others. Even persons
with deviant lifestyles may experience guilt over their behavior and/or feel the
necessity to justify their actions to others. The gist of the argument is that “I may
be bad, but I could be worse.”

I gotta have $200 every day—day in and day out. I gotta boost a
thousand, fifteen-hundred dollars worth to get it. I just do what I gotta
do.... Do I feel bad about what I do? Not really. If Iwasn’t boosting,
I'd be robbing people and maybe somebody would get hurt or killed.
(40-year-old male)
Looka here. Shoplifting be a little thing. Net a crime really. I do it’
stead of robbing folks or breaking in they house. [Society] oughta be
glad I boost, stead of them other things. (37-year-old male)
It’s nothing. Not like its “jacking” people or something. It’s just a
little lifting. (19-year-old male)

Postponement (“I Just Don’t Think About It”)

In a previous study one of the present authors (Thurman, 1984) suggested that
ANS research Ste consider oakexcuse sn BYdunsaees” b

min a We fauid te strategy to be a common

occurrence among our informants. They made frequent statements that indicated
that they simply put the incident out of their mind. Some stated that they would
deal with it later when they were not under so much stress.
I just don’t think about it. I mean, if you think about it, it seems wrong,
but you can ignore that feeling sometimes. Put it aside and go on about
what you gotta do. (18-year old male)
Dude, I just don’t deal with those kinda things when I’m boosting.
I might feel bad about it later, you know, but by then it’s already over
and I can’t do anything about it then, you know? (18-year-old male)
I worry about things like that later. (30-year-old female)

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION

We found widespread use of neutralizations among the shoplifters in our study.

We identified two new neutralizations: Justification by Comparison and Postpone-
ment. Even those who did not appear to be committed to the conventional
moral order used neutralizations to justify or excuse their behavior. Their use
of neutralizations was not so much to assuage guilt but to provide them with
the necessary justifications for their acts to others. Simply because one is not
 CHAPTER 28 THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT 333

committed to conventional norms does not preclude their understanding that

most members of society do accept those values and expect others to do so as
well. They may also use neutralizations and rationalizations to provide them
with a convincing defense for their crimes that they can tell to more convention-
ally oriented others if the need arises.
As stated earlier, our research approach could not determine whether the
informants neutralized before committing the crime or rationalized afterward.
Pogrebin, Poole, and Martinez (1992: 233) suggest that postevent reasons given
for deviant behavior are not neutralizations but accounts, or “socially approved
vocabularies that serve as explanatory mechanisms for deviance.” No one, how-
ever, has yet been able to empirically verify the existence of preevent neutraliza-
tions. In fact, neutralization theory depends upon analysis of postevent accounts by
the offender. We suggest that accounts, neutralizations, and rationalizations are
essentially the same behavior at different stages in the criminal event. We argue
that Hirschi (1969) was correct in stating that a postcrime rationalization may
serve as a precrime neutralization the next time a crime is contemplated. Whether
neutralization allows the offender to mitigate guilt feelings before the crime is
committed or afterward, the process still occurs. Once an actor has reduced his
or her guilt feelings through the use of techniques of neutralization, he or she
can continue to offend, assuaging guilt feelings and cognitive dissonance both
before and after each offense. It would follow that continued utilization of neu-
tralization and rationalization habitually over time might serve to weaken the social
bond, reducing the need to neutralize at all.
Our exploratory study of shoplifters’ use of neutralization techniques also
suggests that neutralization (theory) may not be a theory of crime but rather a
description of a process that represents an adaptation to morality that leads to
criminal persistence. Neutralization focuses on how crime is possible, rather
than why people might choose to engage in it in the first place. In a sense, neu-
tralization serves as a form of situational morality. While the offender knows an
act is morally wrong (either in his or her eyes or in the eyes of society), he or she
makes an adaptation to convention that permits deviation under certain circum-
stances (the various neutralizations discussed). Whether the adaptation is truly
neutralizing (before the act) or rationalizing (after the act) the result is same—
crime without guilt.

REFERENCES

Cameron, Mary. (1964). The Booster and the Coleman, James W. (1998). Criminal Elite:
Snitch. New York: Free Press. Understanding White Collar Crime. New
Coleman, James W. (1994). “Neutraliza- York: St. Martin’s Press.
tion Theory: An Empirical Applica- Federal Bureau of Investigation. (1996).
tion and Assessment.” Ph.D. Crime in the United States—1995.
Dissertation, Oklahoma State Univer- Washington, DC: U.S. Department
sity, Department of Sociology, of Justice.
Stillwater.
334 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Hirschi, Travis. (1969). Causes of Delin- Clients by Psychotherapists.” Deviant

quency. Berkeley, CA: University Behavior 13: 229-52.
of California Press. Sutherland, Edwin H. (1947). Principles of
Klemke, Lloyd. (1982). “Exploring Juve- Criminology. Philadelphia: Lippincott.
nile Shoplifting.” Sociology and Social Sykes, Gresham M., and David Matza.
Research 67: 59-75. (1957). “Techniques ofNeutralization:
Klockars, Carl B. (1974). The Professional A Theory of Delinquency.” American
Fence. New York: Free Press. Sociological Review 22(6): 664-70.
Minor, William W. (1981). “Techniques of Thurman, Quint C. (1984). “Deviance and
Neutralization: A Reconceptualization Neutralization of Moral Commit-
and Empirical Examination.” Journal ment: An Empirical Analysis.” Deviant
of Research in Crime and Delinquency Behavior 5: 291-304.
(July): 295-318. Turner, C. T., and S. Cashdan. (1988).
Pogrebin, M., E. Poole, and A. Martinez. “Perceptions of College Students’
(1992). “Accounts of Professional Motivations for Shoplifting.” Psycho-
Misdeeds: The Sexual Exploitation of logical Reports 62: 855-62.
 STIGMA MANAGEMENT

29

Contesting Stigma in Sport:

The Case of Men Who Cheer
MICHELLE BEMILLER

Just as the lesbian athletes discussed by Blinde and Taub violated gender roles
by being intercollegiate athletes, Bemiller’s male cheerleaders encounter gender
stigma from venturing into a female-dominated activity. Female labels of
lesbianism in sport correspond to male labels of homosexuality in cheerleading.
The men Bemiller studied know that their descent into a girls’ realm will
lead to masculinity challenges of various sorts from the people they encounter,
and they take a variety of measures intended to forestall their deviant labeling.
Their face-saving strategies are fairly aggressive, as they attempt to invoke
hypermasculine demeanors to counter their taint offemale association. This
chapter, like many in the book, reveals the hierarchy ofgender stratification that
positions hypermasculine men at the top, soft/gentle/androgynous men in a lower
position, gay men below them, and all women at the bottom. In attempting to
elevate themselves to a higher rung on this ladder, the male cheerleaders demean the
role of their female squad mates in order to distance themselves from them and to
enhance their own position. Earlier, we noted this behavior in Tuggle and
Holmes’s article on the antismoking campaign, where the authors described how
nonsmokers gained status and power by stigmatizing and diminishing smokers.
Similarly, male cheerleaders draw on high-status attributes of their gender role by
emphasizing hypermasculine features such as toughness and the sexual
objectification ofwomen. Demeaning women is revealed as more than an
innocuous form of male jocularity; it is a powerful strategy for maintaining
differential access to status, opportunity, and power in society.
How would you compare the stigma faced by the women athletes with that
encountered by the male cheerleaders? How would you compare the two groups’
adaptations? To what do you attribute these differences?

Reprinted with permission from the author, Michelle Bemiller.

335
336 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

he institution of sports has long been associated with the construction and
maintenance of masculinity among boys and men. As an institution, sport
reinforces the patriarchal superstructure in which masculinity is valued over fem-
ininity. The devaluation of femininity is reflected in the subordination of
women, as well as in men who participate in nonmasculine activities or who
exhibit nonmasculine characteristics or mannerisms. Participation in competitive
sports that emphasize physical size, strength, and power reinforces and reaffirms
the masculinity of men who participate as viewers or players. Thus, sports such as
football, basketball, ice hockey, and baseball, which emphasize mental toughness,
competitiveness, and domination, are viewed as the domain of men.
Athletics provides young men with status among their peers, increasing their
popularity and acceptance, assuming, of course, that these men are participating
in appropriate “male” sports. Men who do not participate in masculine sports are
stigmatized, leading to negative appraisals regarding their gender and sexuality.
Despite the possibility of negative appraisals, men have become more visible
within female-dominated sports such as cheerleading, leading to a unique opportu-
nity for research on gender presentation, relations, and identity. Yet this area has
not received a lot of attention to date. In contrast, notable work has been done
on men’s entry into female-dominated occupations. Williams (1989, 1995), for
example, indicates that, when men do women’s work, gender differences are
reproduced. Men are viewed as highly competent at their work and rise quickly
through the ranks. The same is not true for women in male-identified occupations.
Men in female-dominated occupations do encounter questions regarding
their sexuality. This questioning, however, does little to impede their progress in
the organization. To reaffirm their masculinity, these men seek out male-identified
specialties, emphasize masculine aspects of the job, and pursue administrative posi-
tions (Williams, 1989, 1995). Similarly, in her work on men working in “safe” and
“embattled” organizations, Dellinger (2004) found that, when men work in an
organization dominated by feminist ideals, they construct their masculinity by sep-
arating themselves from women in the work context and aligning with other
males. In contrast, when men work in an environment which is supportive of mas-
culinity, they have better relationships with their female coworkers.
Although these findings are useful in helping us understand men who do
women’s work, we still know little about men who do women’s sports. Do
these same patterns and outcomes emerge when men participate in women’s
sports? To further our understanding of men in female-dominated arenas, this
paper will use cheerleaders at one northeastern Ohio university to examine the
maintenance of gender and sexuality in a female-dominated sport.

METHODS

Sample and Procedures

Participants for this study were selected from a cheerleading squad at a northeast-
ern Ohio public university. To recruit participants, I attended a cheerleading
practice and asked for volunteers to participate in a study about men who
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMA IN SPORT 337

cheer. I was introduced by the cheerleading coach as a sociologist interested in

doing research on cheerleaders. The coach’s introduction provided me with sta-
tus as a legitimate researcher, a standing that may have influenced the cheerlea-
ders’ decision to participate in the study. Upon introduction, I simply told the
cheerleaders that I was interested in learning about men’s participation as cheer-
leaders and that I would appreciate their assistance in learning more about the
men who cheer. At the time of recruitment, the men and women had just fin-
ished practice and were talking among themselves about their plans after practice.
Most of them were planning on going out to the local bars. A few men and
women agreed to participate in the study. Once these individuals agreed, their
friends decided to participate as well. My assumption was that they agreed to
participate together because they were all going out after the practice.
I used convenience sampling—sampling cases that were available at the time
of the study. Out of 25 possible participants, 17 volunteered: 8 men and
9 women between the ages of 18 and 25. Four men and four women declined
to participate. Because both men and women were equally willing to participate,
there does not seem to be anything unique about the individuals who chose to
participate. The individuals who chose not to participate did not provide me
with a reason for declining. Of the 17 participants in the study, no racial minor-
ities were present. Had any minorities participated, some of the information pro-
vided by the respondents might have been different, because experiences may
have differed on the basis of not only gender, but also race.
The data provided are meant to present a glimpse into the lives of men who
cheer at one university, not to be generalized to all cheerleaders at all universi-
ties. University and regional culture may certainly play a role in an individual’s
experiences, with the size of the university and region and the cultural diversity
of the campus and community affecting individual attitudes regarding men’s and
women’s participation in gendered sports. The community in which the univer-
sity is located is a large urban area with over 200,000 residents. The residents of
the city are predominantly White, middle-class individuals with a high school
education. The university is a large, urban campus with roughly 20,000 under-
graduate students; approximately 11,000 are women and 9,000 are men. Non-
Whites make up about 20 percent of the overall student population.
Data collection consisted of two stages. Focus group discussions were held in
the summer of 1999. Reviews of earlier versions of the focus group research
indicated that men may not be willing to discuss issues related to sexuality in
focus group settings, so in-depth, one-on-one interviews were conducted in
2001 to probe for a deeper understanding of issues related to sexuality and stig-
matization. One-on-one interviews were conducted with both new participants
(n = 7) and participants from the 1999 focus groups (n = 4).

FINDINGS

Two main themes emerged from the cheerleaders’ narratives. The first was the
stigma that coincides with being a male cheerleader. Stigmatization included the
negative experiences men had because they are cheerleaders, as well as
338 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

accusations regarding their sexuality. The second theme analyzes face-saving

strategies that men use to protect their masculinity in a female-dominated sport.
These strategies include emphasizing the masculine qualities of cheerleading (e.g.,
injury and risk) and acting in hyperheterosexual ways (e.g., claiming ownership
over the sport and objectifying the female cheerleaders).

Stigma
Goffman (1963) argued that individuals are stigmatized when they possess an
undesired differentness from what is anticipated. In the present study, the differ-
entness under investigation is men participating in cheerleading. Goffman
pointed to the need to determine whether one’s stigma is evident (e.g., as in
the case of race) or less visible and difficult to discern. Men who cheer possess a
potentially discreditable identity due to their deviation from gendered proscrip-
tions regarding participation in sports. This identity is “discreditable” because it is
not a status that everyone necessarily knows about, yet, if known or found out, it
can be stigmatizing.

Participation in a Feminine Sport Throughout the focus group discussions

and one-on-one interviews, the male and female cheerleaders talked about the
stigmatization and resulting undesirable outcomes associated with being a male
cheerleader. This talk is consistent with prior research showing that men are stig-
matized because of their participation in what is considered a feminine sport.
Thus, male cheerleaders are labeled as nonmasculine and homosexual for “cross-
ing over” into a female domain. The quotes that follow capture some of these
comments. According to Betty in her one-on-one interview,
Cheerleading is known more as a girl’s sport than a guy’s sport, so the
guys get a lot of teasing. I give them a lot of credit for putting up with
people talking about them. The comments bother them, but they really
like doing it, so they put up with them.
Annie elucidates this point further: “I think it is more acceptable to be a girl
cheerleader than a guy cheerleader on campus. It is hard for people to adjust to
the idea that men are cheerleaders too.” In the all-male focus group discussion,
one participant asserted that his fraternity brothers give him a hard time about
being a cheerleader, teasing and taunting him about participation in a female-
dominated sport. Another stated that he works in construction and that the
guys at work “rib him pretty good” about being a male cheerleader.
The stigma of participation is further magnified because cheerleading is in a
category of activities that many people would not define as a sport at all. John
discusses other men’s views of cheerleading by specifically focusing on the teasing
that goes along with cheerleading. “Men from other sports,” he claims, “say ‘you
can’t participate in a real sport.”” The suggestion that cheerleading is not a “real”
sport implies that men should be playing football or some other contact
sport that demonstrates their manliness and that the majority of society labels as
a sport.
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMAIN SPORT 339

Brett provides an interesting look at the importance of playing a “real” sport

as opposed to a feminine sport. Although Brett participates in cheerleading prac-
tices, he has not yet performed at a football or basketball game. In other words, he
has not made a “public” appearance as a male cheerleader. Brett tells me that he
does not intend to cheer at the games. Although he enjoys cheerleading, he fully
understands and attempts to avoid the stigma that he faces as a male cheerleader.
“Td rather be playing football than cheering for the football team. It would hurt
my self-esteem, because guys don’t cheer. I mean what percentage of the male
population cheers? I mean, I like cheerleading, but it’s a girl’s sport.” By partici-
pating in the cheerleading practices but not the public events, Brett attempts to
have his cake and eat it too. In other words, Brett enjoys participating in the prac-
tices, but has avoided being publicly labeled as “‘a man who cheers.” Thus, he has
attempted to avoid the stigma associated with participation in a female activity.
The emphasis on “real” sports not only stigmatizes males who choose to be
cheerleaders but also marginalizes cheerleading as a sport altogether.

Sexuality Besides the stigma that occurs with participation in a female-

dominated sport, men’s participation in cheerleading calls into question their
sexual identity, interpreted through the lens of gender. Men who cheer are per-
ceived and labeled as homosexual. As a case in point, prior to becoming a male
cheerleader, Adam assumed that men who cheered were homosexual: “I was
hesitant to become a cheerleader because of the idea that you have to be gay
to be a cheerleader.” After discussing this issue with several of the men and
women who cheer, Adam decided to participate in the sport despite these
stereotypes. Even after discussing the issue with his teammates, however, Adam
still faces stereotyping regarding his and his teammates’ sexuality: “A lot of peo-
ple think that the men are gay and ask me if they are. People make fun of them.
People say they’re all a bunch of fags.” Similarly, Brett is teased by his close
friends: “People definitely perceive that the male cheerleaders are fags. All of
my friends give me a hard time about being a cheerleader.” Brett’s words dem-
onstrate that strangers react not only to male cheerleaders, but also to the people
who know them. Because significant others (e.g., family and friends) often have a
strong impact, Brett’s friends’ reactions affected how he saw himself as a cheer-
leader. In fact, his friends’ reactions probably had a stronger impact on how he
saw himself as a cheerleader than strangers’ comments would.
Perceptions about male cheerleaders’ sexuality, however, do not just come
from external forces. As in the cases of Adam and Brett, men who cheer bring
internalized stereotypes with them into the sport. Specifically, many of the
respondents claimed that, prior to their own participation in the sport, they
thought that male cheerleaders were gay, and some current participants indicated
that some of the men on the squad might be gay. Brett is one example of some-
one who holds that belief:
The men here have more feminine characteristics. I would assume that
they are gay. Iwould say they seem to be gay because they are cheerleaders,
but then I put myself in that group. I think that I perceive them as gay
340 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

because they gossip a lot and have more girl friends than guy friends.
Something is weird about a guy who can have all girls for friends.
By claiming that men who exhibit these qualities are gay, Brett buys into the
stereotypes associated with nonmasculine men or men who participate in non-
masculine activities. Brett acknowledges that he is a male cheerleader, but he
does not belong “in that group” (i.e., gay cheerleaders). Both Adam and Brett
distance themselves from the homosexual stereotype of male cheerleaders by
referring to other male cheerleaders as “the men” and “they.” By using the
third person, they verbally and mentally remove themselves from an association
with men whom they perceive as gay. In other words, they might be cheerlea-
ders, but they are certainly not gay.
Brett and Adam articulate the gendered belief system which limits men and
women to certain activities and which claims that deviation must relate to sexuality
and must be a departure from heterosexual normativeness. For example, Brett’s
comment regarding the strangeness of males with female friends coincides with per-
ceptions that all male-female relationships are inherently sexual. In other words, ifa
male has a female friend, he must have a sexual interest in her, and if he does not, he
must be gay. Brett’s comments reaffirm what is normatively assumed and accepted:
that women and men cannot be friends unless a sexual relationship exists. Brett’s
assumptions regarding cross-gender friendships are not necessarily supported by
research on this topic. Although some research on cross-gender friendships does
indicate that male-female friends may experience sexual feelings toward one
another, other research finds the opposite to be true. In sum, it is possible for men
and women to be friends without having a sexual interest or dynamic intervene.
In Annie’s discussion of male cheerleaders, she draws attention to their ten-
dency to believe in the stereotypical image of men who cheer:
We had a guy come in the last week of tryouts, and he fit the media’s
image of a gay person, and the guys made fun of him behind his back.
It’s almost like the guy cheerleaders believe the perception that male
cheerleaders are gay. So, they participate, but they still believe the
stereotype.
This adherence to stereotypical images of male cheerleaders, however, does
not rest solely with men who cheer. The female cheerleaders also indicated that
they had thought all male cheerleaders were gay until they participated in college
cheerleading. In her one-on-one interview, Cindy asserted,
Before I started cheering, I thought it was different for guys to cheer
because, when I was in high school, we only had girls on the squad.
People think the guys are gay and they say they wouldn’t want to cheer.
They say “they’re gay,” and I tell them that I know all of them and
they’re not gay.
Cindy’s views are not far from the other women’s perceptions. In the focus
group discussions, one woman said, “I thought they were gay,” and another
woman stated, “Yeah, I thought they were freaky.”
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMAIN SPORT 341

Throughout both the focus group discussions and the one-on-one inter-
views, the male and female cheerleaders acknowledged that, on the basis of per-
ceptions about sexuality, it is more acceptable for females than males to cheer.
One woman explains why participation is less acceptable for the men: “The peo-
ple that don’t know the men still have the idea that the guys are gay and the girls
are okay.” This response was followed by nods of agreement by the rest of the
females in the focus group. In his one-on-one interview, Adam states, “I’ve been
made fun of by people; they’ve said, like, ‘What are you doing? You're in a girl’s
sport, you're gay, blah, blah, blah.’” All these responses capture a central issue:
If the image of male cheerleading can be heterosexually validated, then any man
should be able to cheer without the assumption that he is homosexual. Unfortu-
nately, the link that was established by the female participants between being gay
and being “freaky” reflects the power of the labeling and stigmatization process
of people believed to be sexually deviant. Homophobia limits choices by labeling
anyone who deviates from gender-appropriate norms as sexually deviant or gay.

SAVING FACE

In response to stigma and stereotyping, the male cheerleaders participate in strat-

egies to help them save face as they participate in a female-dominated activity.
According to Goffman (1959), face-saving behavior involves attempts to salvage
an interactional performance that hasn’t gone as planned. By participating in a
female-dominated sport, men who cheer fail to “do gender” appropriately
because of their failure to participate in masculine sports. They therefore must
use face-saving techniques to be viewed as acceptable in interactions. The men
in this study saved face by acting in hypermasculine ways. According to Connell
(1992), hypermasculinity becomes manifest when hostility exists toward homo-
sexual men and heterosexual men attempt to create social distance from homo-
sexuality by emphasizing their heterosexuality. For the men who cheer, this
hypermasculinity was demonstrated as they claimed territoriality over the sport,
stressed the masculine nature of the sport, and sexually objectified the female
cheerleaders. Through these actions, the men attempted to deflect accusations of
homosexuality.

Territoriality Both the male and female cheerleaders discussed the fact that
cheerleading is viewed as a female-dominated sport. However, many of the
male cheerleaders insisted that cheerleading is becoming a male-dominated
sport and that the female cheerleaders would not be able to participate in it with-
out the help of the men. Female cheerleaders have been cheering without men
at the high school and professional level for quite some time. Yet, these state-
ments coincide with attitudes of entitlement, superiority, and solidarity that
exist in male athletics, a realm that encourages homophobia and sexism.
This sense of entitlement, superiority, and solidarity was apparent during the
focus group discussions. The men were adamant about the importance of men in
342 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

cheerleading, marginalizing female participation. The tenor of the conversation

became tense and defensive as the men proclaimed their dominance in the sport.
One male stated, “Males started the sport of cheerleading in the first place.” This
comment was followed by agreement from other respondents, “Yeah, they
wouldn’t let women do it, so we started it. We’re just coming back.” Males’
reclaiming the sport requires marginalizing the women’s status. Women’s impor-
tance in the sport has been relegated to the margins because “men started the
sport.” Once this territoriality was established, the atmosphere became much
more comfortable. The male cheerleaders had asserted their authority and
defended their masculinity.
In the all-female focus group, the female cheerleaders acknowledged that
cheerleading started as a male-dominated sport. One female said, “Cheerleading
started with men. I think the media has turned it into a sexualized female sport.
That’s what people like to see.” In so saying, the women recognize the second-
ary, sexualized status of women in cheering. At the same time, the women are
invested in helping the men to protect and maintain their masculine guise. The
women’s willingness to elevate men into a superior position within the sport
demonstrates that gender maintenance occurs in social interactions, with both
men and women cooperating. By subordinating their role as cheerleaders, the
women “do femininity” as they demonstrate submissiveness to the men who
cheer. The women also help the males “do masculinity” by assisting in the con-
struction of cheerleading as a masculine sport through the emphasis placed on
ageression and injury.

Masculine Aspects of the Sport: Toughness and Aggression The male

cheerleaders used imagery and examples from their cheerleading lives to demon-
strate their heterosexuality and establish their masculinity in much the same way
that people working in other gendered or sexualized arenas might draw on
aspects of those scenarios to validate their claims to membership. Through these
masculine examples, the men saved face, or protected their masculine identities.
Specifically, some of the men referred to fighting, or the possibility of fighting,
with individuals who made derogatory comments to them about participation in
cheerleading. These men said that no one would have the nerve to say anything
offensive for fear of being injured for their remarks. One male stated, “I don’t
think that anyone’s ever had the balls to say anything negative to me,” implying
that there would be consequences for anyone who voiced negative comments.
Another respondent demonstrated his masculinity by stating, “Me and Bob
fought the football team one year. I don’t think that had anything to do with
cheerleading though. We kicked their asses.” Demonstrating physical prowess
and the ability to defeat the most masculine of sports teams, the two cheerleaders
not only saved face, but also were elevated in status. In a one-on-one interview,
Adam alluded to this incident with the football team, saying, “I’ve heard of
cheerleaders taking on the football team and winning before. I wasn’t a part of
that, but I did hear about it.” Again, he uses the incident to demonstrate that
male cheerleaders should not be messed with and that they are able to protect
themselves through violence if necessary. Because he had heard of the incident, it
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMA IN SPORT 343

is apparent that the story had been talked about within the cheerleading group,
serving to reinforce the idea that the men who cheer can take care of themselves
physically. This storytelling demonstrates how the men collectively maintain
their masculinity in a female-dominated activity.
During the female focus group discussion, this masculine facade was also dis-
cussed. One female commented, “They always say, ‘They won’t mess with me,
I'm a cheerleader.” This comment and the aforementioned ones illustrate how
the men are creating and exuding a collective identity in which male cheerlea-
ders are defined as dominant and aggressive. The statements cited demonstrate
how the male cheerleaders maintain their masculinity by emphasizing their abil-
ity to defend themselves in physical altercations with other men. The use of vio-
lence and aggression are common characteristics utilized in maintaining
masculinity for men.
The emphasis on toughness and aggression is also apparent when the male
and female cheerleaders discuss the men’s role as cheerleaders. Male-dominated
sports, such as football, wrestling, and hockey, are often labeled as “real” sports
because they contain elements of violence and an increased likelihood of injury.
In order to equate cheerleading with these “real” sports, Leeann talks about the
men’s injuries and the need for strength to masculinize cheerleading, showing
that cheerleading is not just a “girl’s sport”:
You're always going to have people that think it’s just a girl’s sport. But,
as people start to see more men doing it and once people see what they
do and see all of these bloody noses and broken mouths, then they
realize that it’s not a girl’s sport. It’s tough for them. They do a lot of
lifting and stuff that requires a lot of strength.
Similarly, Mary states, “I think guys like cheerleading because they get the
satisfaction of knowing that they can lift two girls at once. It takes a lot of
strength.” Cindy also acknowledges the difficulty of the sport: “It’s a lot more
physical than you would think.” Adam agrees with the women, stating,
“T don’t think that people realize how hard it is.” Brett also emphasizes the
difficulty of cheerleading for guys. He says, “It’s physical. I’m tired [when
Il cheer|>”
The male and female cheerleaders define cheerleading as a sport because it
requires strength, manual labor, and physical exertion and it involves competi-
tion, much like sports defined as masculine (e.g., football, wrestling). The male
cheerleaders act tough and aggressive to prove their masculinity, which then
confirms their heterosexuality. The link between toughness, masculinity, and
heterosexuality for these men is woven throughout their face-saving strategies.

Sexual Objectification of Women The use of sexual objectification of women

to “save face” is one of the most important findings that demonstrate how gender
inequalities on a macrolevel are replicated on a microlevel through denigration of
the subordinate sex. We see this happen in other areas besides sports. There are
many arenas of gendered work in which men advance more quickly than women
in female-dominated occupations. Male cheerleading demonstrates all aspects of
344 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

gender: gender on the individual level (e., socialization into gender roles
through various agents of socialization), gender on the interactional level
(i.e., “doing gender” through male-female interactions that demonstrate power
dynamics), and gender on the structural level (i.e., replication of gendered
relationships on a microlevel that are seen on a macrolevel in patriarchal societies).
Patriarchal societies are built upon the premise of compulsory heterosexuality:
Everyone is straight until proven gay. As an illustration, this attitude can be seen
when lesbian women attend sex toy parties: The assumption is that they are
there to please their man, that they are heterosexual when, in fact, they are
homosexual and are purchasing toys to enjoy with their female companions or
are there simply to support their friend who is throwing the party. “Straight
until proven gay” holds true until someone enters a nontraditional gender realm
such as cheerleading. Men who cheer are faced with immediate accusations of
homosexuality because of their participation in a female-dominated sport. Given
the emphasis placed upon compulsory heterosexuality in our society, they act in a
hypermasculine manner to counter such attacks, even when they may in fact be
homosexual.
Connell (1992) asserts that hypermasculinity becomes manifest when hostil-
ity exists toward homosexual men and heterosexual men attempt to create social
distance. In cheerleading, the men do this in large part by sexualizing the female
cheerleaders. The women indicated this sexual objectification in both the focus
group discussions and the one-on-one interviews. One participant stated, “Peo-
ple say the guys are girly. Not at all ... they are probably more manly than guys
who don’t participate in the sport. They’re perverted and sexual sometimes.” In
agreement with this female, another participant stated, “The male cheerleaders
are the most heterosexual males I have ever met, so people have the wrong per-
ception when they say they are gay. It makes me laugh. They are the most per-
verted guys that I have ever met.” By “perverted,” the women mean that the
men talk about the women’s bodies among themselves and to the women. For
example, one female focus group respondent stated, “They say, like, ‘Oh, people
think I’m gay, but I get to grab your butt.’ They’re perverts.” Another cheer-
leader in the female focus group said, “They always think all the girls want them.
They'll say, “She wants me.’”
The female focus group participants agreed that, when a group of men and
women work closely, sexual innuendos occur and sexual tensions build. Cindy
provides an explanation of why the male cheerleaders sexualize the females:
When the guys are accused of being gay, I think they try to overcom-
pensate for these accusations by being all about the girls. They act very
sexual toward girls. I think that the guys look at us as sex objects, but all
guys would have that attraction to the women. But they’ve never made
me or any of the other girls feel uncomfortable. I’m sure they find us
attractive, but it’s kind of more like a sisterly—brotherly thing.
Cindy’s statement is, of course, contradictory, asserting that the men are sex-
ually attracted to the women but that the relationship is sisterly—brotherly. This
confusion continues as another participant also comments on the attraction
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMAIN SPORT 345

between the men and women, as well as the familylike relationship between the
male and female cheerleaders:
At first, I think that the girls and guys are attracted to each other. It’s
only natural when you have guys and girls together in a sport. You are
constantly touching and it is sexual at first, but you get over that. It
becomes like kissing your grandma.
The contradiction between sexual and familial relationships demonstrated by
the females reveals the limited frame of reference available for mixed gender set-
tings. The women construct the men as both “brotherly” and “perverted.” Both
instances provide defenses for the men’s sexualization of the women. In the first,
the women argue that the men’s comments are often misconstrued as perverted
when, in actuality, they are simply jokes and that their touching is more like that
of a brother than a boyfriend. With this claim, the women become accepting of
the men’s antics. In the second instance, the women do claim that the men are
perverted. However, the women defend the men’s comments and actions as
“boys being boys.” In essence, the women normalize the perverse comments
and actions by inadvertently stating that this sexual banter is part of the men’s
attempts to demonstrate their masculinity. By defending the men’s actions, the
women allow the men to display their gender, thereby negating perceptions that
male cheerleaders are gay.
Both the men and the women see the objectification of the women as a
component of being a man or being masculine within society. While the
women demonstrate contradictions regarding their relationships with the male
cheerleaders, the men emphasize a sexualized relationship with the women as
opposed to a familial relationship. When asked why they chose to cheer, many
of the men asserted that it was because of the presence of the beautiful girls and
because they get to have intimate physical contact with the women. Brett said,
I participate in cheerleading because of the girls. Most of the cheerlea-
ders are hot all around the board. I would love to go to a cheerleading
competition. There are tons of girls there. That’s the only reason that
I’m a cheerleader.
George sees the female cheerleaders as sex objects because all of the women
are in good physical shape. George states, “If they were ugly cheerleaders, I
probably wouldn’t cheer.”
In the male focus group discussion, the men continuously talked about the
fact that they get to touch the female cheerleaders. The males asserted that one
of the best perks of being a male cheerleader is the closeness to the females’ bod-
ies. The “hot chicks” that stand beside them are seen as prizes and a major reason
for participating in the sport of cheerleading. One male even stated that people
who might make allegations of homosexuality do not realize that they get to
“touch the girls’ butts and stuff.” Another respondent stated, “I worked at a
trucking company for 3 years, and all the guys loved it [that he was a male
cheerleader]. They would come over and ask me stories and stuff, like, what
do you do with these girls?”
346 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

The construction of masculinity through the objectification of women is

applied when men are in the minority, engaged in a female-dominated activity.
The route to power in this situation is the use of sex and sexuality to realize
gender relations. By talking about these women as sex objects, they are subordi-
nating women within the sport. The men were so excited about touching the
women that they even suggested that more men might be interested in cheering
if they were aware of how beautiful the women are and how much time they
would get to spend with them, talking to them and touching them. One male
specifically suggested that the athletic department needs to “sell the female
cheerleaders” in order to recruit more men.
The objectification of women provides the male cheerleaders with a mech-
anism for asserting their heterosexuality and masculinity to the noncheering
world in the context of cheering. In so doing, the male cheerleaders are main-
taining a socially constructed ideal of manliness through the objectification of
women—an ideal that confirms their heterosexuality and masculinity to them-
selves while also reinforcing hegemonic, dominating, sexualized masculinity for
public consumption.

CONCLUSION: CROSSING THE GREAT

GENDER DIVIDE

The aim of this research was to explore male participation in a female-dominated

sport by focusing on men who cheer. The findings highlight the methods used
by both male and female cheerleaders to redefine men’s roles and activities
within cheerleading in ways that stabilize and reassert hegemonic masculinity.
Both the male and female cheerleaders articulated the stigma that goes hand in
hand with participation as a male cheerleader.
In an attempt to masculinize cheerleading, the male and female cheerleaders
focused attention on the men’s strength and toughness. The male cheerleaders
asserted their dominance through claims that cheerleading started as a male
sport and that the women “need” the men in order to perform stunts. In addi-
tion, the males used objectification of the women to pronounce their heterosex-
uality and counter the stigma attached to men engaged in “women’s” activities.
Claiming territoriality over a female domain happens in other female-
dominated areas besides sports, because in a patriarchal society maleness is valued
over femaleness, allowing men to take over organizations that were previously
identified as female oriented. For example, Williams (1989, 1995) found that
men in female-dominated occupations were paid better and promoted more
quickly than females in the organizations in which they worked. Some of these
men, however, were perceived as homosexuals when outsiders observed their
participation in a female-dominated occupation. Because of these perceptions,
the men adhered to a macho image and distanced themselves from the women
in the organization by participating in male-identified specialties, emphasizing
the masculine nature of their jobs, and by pursuing higher administration jobs.
 CHAPTER 29 CONTESTING STIGMA IN SPORT 347

Similar to Williams’ findings is the finding here that men who cheer also experi-
ence accusations of homosexuality because of their participation in a female-
dominated sport. Contrary to Williams’ findings, however, the men who cheer
did not distance themselves from their female counterparts. Instead, to prove
their masculinity, these men physically objectified the female cheerleaders. This
sexual objectification may be unique to the sport of cheerleading because of the
close physical contact that is essential within the sport. Men and women are
expected to perform stunts that require physical contact, and this physical contact
is used by the men to demonstrate their heterosexuality.
The findings presented in this paper demonstrate that both male and female
cheerleaders redefine cheerleading to emphasize masculinity and subordinate fem-
ininity. The tactics used to re-create and maintain masculinity for the male cheer-
leaders demonstrate the importance of maintaining male dominance over women
and gay men. The cheerleaders’ adherence to male dominance and male power
within cheerleading reinforces the maintenance of a masculinity that emphasizes
strength, skill, aggression, and competition, as well as heterosexuality.

REFERENCES

Connell, Robert W. (1992). “A Very (1959). The Presentation of Self in

Straight Gay: Masculinity, Homosex- Everyday Life. Garden City:
ual Experience, and the Dynamics of Doubleday.
Gender.” American Sociological Review Williams, Christine. (1995). Still a Man’s
57: 735-751. World: Men Who Do ‘Women’s Work.’”
Dellinger, Kirsten. (2004). “Masculinities in Berkeley, CA: University of California
‘Safe’ and ‘Embattled’ Organizations: Press.
Accounting for Pornographic and (1989). Gender Differences at Work:
Feminist Magazines.” Gender & Society Women and Men in Nontraditional
18: 545-566. Occupations. Berkeley, CA: University
Goffman, Erving. (1963). Stigma: Notes on of California Press.
the Management of Spoiled Identity.
Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
 30

Moral Stigma Management

Among the Transabled
JENNY L. DAVIS

Some forms of deviance are so different that they challenge even those who
customarily think of themselves as nonjudgmental. The Internet has enabled even
extreme groups of people to find others like themselves who can help each other
find legitimacy and acceptance. Davis’s research on people with body integrity
identity disorder (BILD) documents the stigma cast upon those who see themselves
as having a disjuncture between how they see themselves and how they appear
externally. Although they are able bodied, they want and/or need to live in a
body that is physically impaired. This chapter touches on the ways people deal
with this disjuncture and how they manage the stigma of wanting or claiming a
deviant physical status that they do not physically have.
To what do you attribute the extreme reactions voiced by readers of the blog
Transabled.org to the transabled people who post on it? How would you assess
their claims? To what extent are they trying to manage the impressions others
have about them by downplaying or concealing the sexual dimension of their
disorder? By lying or omitting significant other details of their conditions? How
would you assess these people’s claims to legitimacy in terms of the three S’s of
stigma attribution? How do people in our society generally feel about physical
versus mental disabilities? Voluntary versus involuntary physical impairment?
The claims transabled people have for assistance as individuals with special needs?
Should we as a society feel responsible for accommodating them? How do you feel
about this condition compared with other mind-body disjunctures, such as gender
identity disorder or body dysmorphic disorder?
Do you find the stigma management claims of the transabled effective? Why
or why not? What are the most successful aspects of their claims, and what are the
least successful? How do those claims relate to the claims made in the accounts of
rapists and shoplifters presented in Chapters 27 and 28?
I just know that ever since I was a little kid, the most comforting
sensation I am capable of experiencing involves having my neck encased

Jenny L. Davis (2014). Morality Work among the Transabled, Deviant Behavior,
35:6, 433-455.

348
 CHAPTER 30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 349

and immobilized. Some people have a favorite singer, or a movie, or a

place they like to go when they need to be comforted... . I need to be
unable to move my head (and preferably the rest of my body as well)
(Sarah—blogger on Transabled.org).

Transabled.org is a website and interaction forum for people with body integrity
identity disorder (BID). BIID is a condition of incorrectly abled embodiment.
Individuals with BIID are born able bodied, but want or need to live in a body
that is physically impaired.' They experience a painful schism between a physically
able body and a disabled self-image (e.g., amputated limbs, paraplegia, blindness,
deafness, etc.) (First and Fisher, 2012; First, 2005). Perhaps being transabled is best
described on the site’s home page by Sean, the founder of Transabled.org:
So you'll ask: “That ‘thing’, transabled, just exactly what is it?” It is hard to
define in just a few words, the best way to learn is by going through the
site, but in a nutshell, someone who is transabled “wants” to be dis-
abled. But it is not so much a “want” as much as a “need.” Our “desire” is
more a reflection of the fact that our self-image is that of a paraplegic (or
amputee, or blind, or any number of other disabilities) [rather] than that
of an able bodied man or woman (Sean http://transabled.org/)
(emphasis in original).
I demonstrate stigma management by using data from an extensive qualita-
tive analysis of 17 years (1994-2011) of blog posts, archived content, and links to
and from Transabled.org.

OVERVIEW AND HISTORY OF BIID

In 1977, John Money and colleagues wrote the first article about the need for
physical impairment (Money, Jobaris, and Furth, 1977). From two related case
studies, Money and colleagues developed two key diagnostic terms: apotemno-
philia and acrotomophilia. The former refers to those who wish to have their
own limbs amputated and who fantasize sexually about themselves as amputees.
The latter refers to those who require amputee partners (real or imagined) in
order to experience sexual satisfaction.
Money and colleagues’ germinal article did two key things: First, it defined the
need for physical impairment as amputee specific; second, it defined the need for
physical impairment as a sexual pathology. The focus on amputation remains
strong within the literature. Despite a large and long-standing presence of
nonamputee BID sufferers online, only recently have nonamputee manifestations
been professionally acknowledged. Sexuality, however, has received more critical
attention from the onset, with scholars and doctors offering opposing perspectives.
Most recently, the condition has been defined primarily as one of identity
incongruence. Michael First (2005) introduced the identity model, using
data from his 2005 survey of people with the professed need for amputation.
350 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

His was the first piece of research on the topic to go beyond individual case
studies (n = 52). The majority of participants rooted their need for impairment
in a quest to “restore their bodies to be in line with their ‘true-self’ identities”
(2005:22). First coined the term “body integrity identity disorder” and explicitly
connected it to gender identity disorder (GID)—a condition in which an indi-
vidual feels that she or he was born in an incorrectly sexed body (First, 2005).
Today, this terminology and the meanings embedded within it dominate the lit-
erature on the need for impairment. However, debates still remain as scholars
and doctors work to make sense of this emergent condition.
In addition to the formal terminology discussed in connection with Money
and colleagues and with First, members of the BIID community use a self-
created set of lay terminology. Those who profess a need for physical impairment
are often called “wannabes” or “need-to-bes.” Those who enact their desired
embodiment (e.g., by using crutches, a wheelchair, braces, opaque contacts,
etc.) are called “pretenders.” Those who experience fetishistic attraction toward
the physically impaired bodies of others are called “devotees.” The boundaries
between these three designations (wannabe, pretender, and devotee) are quite
permeable, and none of the terms are mutually exclusive with any other of
them. Many individuals who fall into one category also fall into at least one, if
not both, of the others. Note, however, that wannabes and pretenders are more
likely to overlap with each other than with devotees (Elliott, 2003; First, 2005).
Encompassing wannabes, pretenders, and, sometimes, devotees, is the term
“transabled.” Sean, the founder of Transabled.org, was the first to coin the term.
He uses it as an informal alternative to BIID, one that is personal and inclusive.
Inclusivity is of particular importance, in that being transabled necessarily
includes the need for all kinds of physical impairments, combating the hereto-
fore emphasis on amputation. The term has caught on and is used not only on
Transabled.org, but also in other BIID-related interaction forums online.
As with many marginalized groups, members of the transabled community
hotly debate the language with which they describe themselves. In particular,
debates surround the use of the terms “wannabe” and “pretender.” Those who
reject these terms argue that they connote a lack of authenticity and thereby
stand in direct opposition to the notion that impaired embodiment is, for them,
the authentic way to live. Through these debates, members of Transabled.org came
up with the term “persons with BIID” (PWBs) to describe themselves. This ter-
minology seems to avoid the divisive connotations of “wannabe” and “pre-
tender.” Accordingly, throughout the remainder of the work, I will refer to
people with the need for physical impairment as either transabled or PWBs.

MORALITY WORK: A THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK

Goffman (1963: 3) canonically defined stigmatization as that which is “deeply

discrediting” and reduces the subject “from a whole and usual person to a
tainted, discounted one.” Stigmatization can be defined more broadly as incor-
porating labeling, stereotyping, separation, loss of status, and discrimination.
 CHAPTER30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 351

This encompassing conceptualization of stigma entails not only difference, but

devaluation, tangible consequences, and power deficits of the stigmatized subject
relative to stigmatizing agents.
PWBs fit the status of stigmatized subjects. They desire, and sometimes enact
or even pursue, physical impairment, a socially devalued bodily state. They are not
recognized by medical authorities, and they risk losing jobs, friends, families, and
even freedom (through institutionalization) if their desires are exposed. Moreover,
their condition represents a moral stigma, as those with BIID are often accused of
“not trying hard enough” to rid themselves of their abnormal desires.
Moral stigmatization is charged against those who seem to hold a degree of
control over their stigmatizing attribute(s). For example, physical disabilities and
mental illness are both stigmatized statuses, but only the latter is a moral stigma.
Although all stigmatized persons experience negative effects from their stigmati-
zation, those who hold moral stigmas are most at risk of internalizing negative
self-evaluations and suffering emotional consequences.
Recent empirical research, however, tempers this claim, showing that, under
some conditions, those with moral stigmas can actively resist negative moralizing
judgments and maintain a positive sense of self. I refer to this process of remor-
alization as morality work. Transabled.org is a fruitful site for studying the remorali-
zation process.

METHODS

Data for the present work come from a qualitative analysis of 17 years of blog posts,
comments, content, and links to and from Transabled.org, a publicly accessible,
nonpassword-protected website centered around the experiences of bloggers
with BIID. The site was founded by Sean in 1994 as a personal blog, on which
he talked about his own need for below-the-waist paralysis. In 2005, Sean recon-
structed the site into its current form, with an expanded list of blog authors. The
site remained active until 2013, although my formal analysis for the present work
ended in 2011. Blog authors write about various experiences with BIID, offer tips
and suggestions, and ask for advice. All posts are open for public comment, and all
site content was archived, making the space particularly fruitful for research.
The location of this community in an online space is theoretically and empir-
ically significant. The potential for anonymity and geographic transcendence
makes computer-mediated communication ideal for the exploration and enact-
ment of marginalized and secretly held identities. Further, the status of the site
as a public arena and its links to and from other sites (e.g., www.biid-info.org,
the Wikipedia entry for BIID, and several Yahoo chat groups) speak to the pur-
pose of the community: Transabled.org provided a space for people to talk about
their experiences with BIID and for outsiders to learn of, become educated about,
and engage with, being transabled. In short, the site not only connected trans-
abled people, but also shared their individual and collective voice(s), offering a
safe space in which transability could be personally and publicly negotiated as a
way to be in the world, even while community members remain anonymous.
352 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

In collecting data, I read each of the blog posts and all of the comments
written throughout the existence of the site (1994-2011), a total of approxi-
mately 2,900 pages of text. Although this is an extensive data set in its own
right, Internet research is necessarily multisited. Consequently, I followed all
hyperlinks to outside sites included in the archived content. I also Googled the
terms “transabled,” “Transabled.org,” “BUD,” “body integrity identity disorder,”
“apotemnophilia,” and “amputee identity disorder,” reading and analyzing all
sites that linked back, directly or indirectly, to Transabled.org.
One of the major themes that emerged was that of morality. The content
from this category is the focus of the present work. Specifically, I look at four
types of interaction: (1) the moral accusations made by those who come to
the site expressing disagreement with and/or hostility toward BID and PWBs.
(2) The moral accusations made against BID and PWBs on outside sites, linked
either directly or indirectly to Transabled.org. (3) The-responses by PWBs to the
aforementioned moral accusations. (4) Preemptive or hypothetical responses by
PWBs to potential moral accusations (e.g., “some people say that we are being
dishonest when we use a wheelchair....”).

STIGMA MANAGEMENT STRATEGIES

I begin with descriptive accounts of moral stigmatization and remoralization

practices among PWBs. The first part of this section lays the empirical ground-
work for the second part, in which participants rebut accusations and offer
“accounts” to legitimate their beliefs and actions.

Moral Accusations

Moral stigmas are as idiosyncratic as they are numerous. As such, each moral
stigma brings with it specific accusations of moral failings. Detractors aimed the
following attributions of immorality at PWBs: (1) sexual perversion, (2) emo-
tional weakness, (3) dishonesty, and (4) greed. Detractors articulate these broad
failings via specific moral accusations. I discuss and illustrate each of thesé
(im)morality claims in turn, pulling from comments written by visitors to Trans-
abled.org, as well as from outside websites and articles linked via Transabled.org.
Although, in practice, these moral claims often overlap and exist in conjunction
with one another, I separate them here for purposes of clarity.
The first moral accusation is that of sexual perversion. As mentioned earlier,
Money and colleagues (1977) were the first introduce
to the notion of the need
for impairment and so were the first to coin the term “apotemnophilia,” catego-
rizing such needs into the class of sexual disorders known as “paraphilia.” The
need for physical impairment was therefore grouped with disorders as disparate
as necrophilia (the desire for sex with dead bodies), pedophilia (the desire for sex
with children), and others commonly categorized as perversions.
This sexual pathology model continues to have an effect and is a means by
which detractors deem PWBs immoral. Miska (2009), the moderator of a
 CHAPTER 30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 353

feminist website (fabmatters.com), writes a critical post about transability, ponder-

ing its fetishistic qualities and providing a link to Transabled.org. The following
are comments written by fabmatters readers in response to the article:
I followed your link to Transabled.org ... maybe after I stop emotionally
puking I will come back and respond to it more in-depth. For now,
I would point to the very disturbing way ... this person [is] essentially
describing a BDSM [bondage, discipline, sadism, and masochism]...”
consensual encounter” with a surgeon, in order ... to “achieve” her
desired deafness. (oh crap, I just emotionally vomited again) (Factcheckme).
This is beyond fucked up. I’m not going to apologize for being
extremely pissed off at the so-called “transabled” folk here.... That you
fetishize the suffering of the disabled (and yes, this is fetishization) is just
as fucked up beyond all regard (Calliope).
A second moral accusation is that of emotional _weakness—in particular,
the need for attention. This accusation (along with that of sexual perversion)
complicates the identity model. For example Penny, a nontransabled visitor to
Transabled.org, writes the following:
Sean, I have been reading your comments on a variety of forums
including this site. | wanted to share some thoughts. I think it is about
attention.... Disabled people get more attention, and people expect less
of them and consider small achievements great successes when com-
pared to the gauge associated with AB[able-bodied] persons ... you
want to be a sufferer ... you want to have attention ... you want to be
special... you want to be a paraplegic as it is the easy way to ensure
[that] you are always seen as special and different and a battler....
A third moral accusation is that of dishonesty. Outsiders often reprimand PWBs
for falsely representing themselves. This accusation is aimed particularly at those
who enact their desired embodiments by using wheelchairs, crutches, braces, etc.
We can see it in the following comment left by a visitor to Transabled.org:
Ugh. You are NOT disabled, and it is offensive that you think it 1s OK to
pose as someone who needs a wheelchair (michiru—emphasis in original).
Similarly, when a D/deaf blogger brings up BIID on a deafness forum (alldeaf.com),
commentators by and large decry the dishonest performances of those who enact
impaired embodiment. They particularly express empathetic anger for those
whom PWBs “deceive” with their performances. This anger is seen in the follow-
ing exchange between poster RedFox (2007) and commenter Morbid-Mongoose:
RedFox says, “I found another deaf forum with a thread about. ..a hoh [hard of hear-
ing] pretender who made friends with a real hoh person. What would happen ifthe
real one found that the other one is a pretender?” Morbid-Mongoose reposts this seg-
ment of RedFox’s text and provides oenee response: “If someone BSed
ay So not only is dishonesty itself con-
{bullshitted] me like that, I’d be pissed.f!
sidered morally reprehensible, but the way in which this dishonesty affects an
already disadvantaged group (i.e., the disability community) makes it doubly so.
354 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

The fourth moral charge against PWBs is that of greed. People with BID are
thought to desire a disproportionate amount of resources—be it physical care,
government benefits, medical treatment, or convenient parking. Further, detrac-
tors accuse PWBs of unfairly using or wanting to use a set of scarce resources—
resources that those with “real” disabilities rely upon.
For example, when Sean contributes to the disability forum disaboom (to which
he provides a link on Transabled.org), he is met with the following comment:
How about you tell this new group how fond you are of taking han-
dicapped spaces/stalls that people who really are handicapped need to
have?... be in a wheelchair all you want, but don’t take advantage of
services that are actually needed for handicapped people, because
regardless of what you say, you are a horribly selfish person! (Sharon).
Through moral accusations of greed, detractors paint PWBs as consumers of
more than their fair share of resources. Not only is this egregious consumption
depicted as generally “unfair” but it purportedly undermines the rights and
resources available to those with “real” need (1.e., people with nonvoluntary
physical impairments).

Discursive Techniques of Remoralization

PWBs engage in their own morality work, responding to their accusers by
relying on (1) medicalization/biologization and (2) claims to self-actualization/
authenticity. The former works to neutralize (im)morality claims. The latter goes
beyond neutralization and locates PWBs on a moral high ground.

Medicalization and Biologization Moral stigmatization is characterized by

stigmatized subjects’ perceived control over their stigmatizing attribute(s). Thus,
one way for stigmatized individuals and groups to neutralize claims of immorality
is to redefine their condition as existing outside of personal control.
Medicalization and biologization, or the “biological drives” (Scott and
Lyman, 1968) technique, are related methods by which morally stigmatized sub-
jects can neutralize their moral denigration. These terms refer to the practice of
defining a condition as biologically rooted and/or medically treatable. By refor-
mulating BHD into a condition with genetic and/or neurological roots, one
legitimized by the mental health profession, PWBs relocate their stigmatizing
attribute outside of themselves—absolving themselves from blame.
The importance of medicalization is shown in many PWBs’ explicit support
for BIID’s inclusion in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
(DSM). As noted in footnote 1, at the time of this publication, BIID was not
included in the DSM-IV, but was under consideration for inclusion in the
DSM-V. The significance of inclusion is both symbolic and material, as it
would provide particular identity meanings, but also potential resources and
treatment protocols. Sean articulates his support: “Having BIID documented
would...ensure us a certain level of legitimacy. Too many people are saying
we're “just sick.” Being able to point to the DSM and say “yes, we are...it is a
REAL condition” would be very helpful.”
 CHAPTER 30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 355

In this vein, many bloggers and participants at Transabled.org define BIID as

“just another disability.” This phrase was first used by Sean to articulate the debil-
itating effects of BllID—linking it to the debilitating effects of physical
impairment—and has become a common discursive tool among PWBs.
As sufferers of a contested illness, PWBs struggle to legitimate their medical
claims. In. an era of biomedical advancement, society expects illnesses to have
visible and measurable effects. When symptoms are not connected with bodily
abnormality, the experience is largely negated—or contested. People with con-
tested illnesses therefore have a stake in finding biomedical abnormalities associ-
ated with their symptoms.
By decoupling PWBs from control over their condition, medicalization and
biologization allow PWBs to confront and neutralize the explicit claims of immo-
rality charged against them. In combating claims of dishonesty, transabled bloggers
reject the notion that their use of assistive devices is deceitful, arguing instead that it
is simply a means of treating their disabilities with the available technology. Chloe
articulates this clearly when she justifies her use of a wheelchair and braces by say-
ing, “I am treating BIID, not paraplegia.” Using this same logic, Elizabeth says,
I am a transabled wheelchair user. I never pretend to be a paraplegic,
I never told anybody I was one....The use of a wheelchair depends on
my state of mind. Sometimes I need a high dosage, I need to wheel all
the time. Other times, walking is fine with me.... But I am the one
who makes the medical choice.... Because after all wheeling is my
medical choice, it’s not a lifestyle choice.
Bloggers often discuss the issue of honesty when pondering the dilemma of what
to say when asked by others about their use of assistive devices. They discursively
maintain a sense of honesty by explaining their use of these devices as treatment
for a “neurological condition” and leaving it at that. Sasha, for example, gives the
following anecdote from an experience in which she was asked about her
wheelchair:
I told...somebody that I have a “very rare neurological disorder that 1s
not progressive but is incurable, can be extremely painful, and do you
have any more questions?” It was actually the most truthful statement
about my BID.
In combating the moral accusation of greed, PWBs’ professed membership
in the “disability community” allows them to argue that they do not use a dis-
proportionate share of resources, but rather utilize only that which their medical
condition requires. Sean makes the following argument in defense of his disabil-
ity parking placard:
I use a wheelchair all day, every day... I require a wider parking space
so I can get my wheelchair in and out of the car. I need the disability
space because without it, I cannot use my wheelchair. And I need my
wheelchair to function....What it really comes down to is a question of
validity: Is BIID a valid condition or not?... How do we make people
understand that BIID is indeed a valid condition?
356 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Finally, in combating claims of sexual perversion, transabled bloggers use not

only the legitimacy of medicalization, but also the particular meanings associated
with the medical diagnosis of having a neurological condition that results in
mind—body incongruence. Specifically, they emphasize the language and mean-
ings of “body integrity identity disorder” over that of “apotemnophilia.”
PWBs often point to the use of BIID in the literature and as a potential
diagnostic category in the DSM to promote the need for impairment as an
identity-based condition while rejecting the etiology of sexual pathology. Exem-
plifying the importance of this distinction for PWBs is Kyla’s response to a visitor
on Transabled.org who used the term “apotemnophilia”:
While I see nothing inherently wrong with someone who has peculiar
sexual fetishes, and will defend their right to have them, I don’t see
clouding the issue of transability with fetishism as doing any good for
anyone....The point is that when there is a condition associated with
sexual fetish (‘paraphilia’), it gives society justification (rightly or not) to
marginalize us and discriminate against us—and to ignore the issue that
needs to be addressed. The condition of being transabled with the need
to have an amputation was long ago called ‘apotemnophilia,’ which is
classified as an unhealthy paraphilic sexual fetish...the term BIID has
been coined to distinguish us from those for whom the desire is sexual
in nature.

Kyla’s comment not only articulates the “correct” way to make sense of transability
(1.e., as a disorder of identity, not sexuality) but also points to the importance of
doing so in terms of remoralization and resistance to stigma. Specifically, she points
out the danger of the “paraphilia” label (i.e., when...a condition is associated with sexual
fetish... .itgives society justification. ..to marginalize and discriminate against us).
By broadly placing their desires (and related actions) in a “natural” rather
than a “social” frame, PWBs are able to combat a host of specific moral accusa-
tions. Their use of assistive devices is not dishonest, because they use these
devices to treat BI[D—a real disability. Their desire for others to treat them as
persons with disabilities does not signify emotional weakness, but is instead a
form of treatment for mind—body incongruence. They take no more resources
than their disability requires of them; and they have BID, a condition of incor-
rect embodiment, not apotemnophilia, a condition of sexual pathology.

Authenticity and Self Actualization: The Moral High Ground In the last
150-200 years, the Western world has come to view authenticity as a sacred
moral value. As bioethicist Carl Elliott eloquently states,
The ideal of authenticity says that if you are not living life as yourself ...
you are squandering your short time on this earth...this is not simply
the sense that an authentic life is a happier life; it is the sense that an
authentic life is a higher life” (2003:39 emphasis in original).
Therefore, to live a “good” and “righteous” life is to live a fulfilling life. To live a
fulfilling life is to be true to the self: Not surprisingly, research has long shown the
 CHAPTER 30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 357

use of “self-fulfillment” (Scott and Lyman, 1968) as a discursive remoralization

technique. Following this tradition, transabled bloggers claim not only that they
have a right to inhabit physically impaired bodies, but have a moral duty to do so.
The following excerpts from transabled bloggers exemplify this claim:
When you embrace your BIID and start living it, you disable your body
some, you get physical limitations but you free your soul and spirit
(Elisabeth).
If we believe that our true selves are disabled, then is it not the
bigger le, and therefore the bigger sin, to present ourselves as able
bodied? (Chloe).
This discourse of authenticity renders claims of sexual perversion irrelevant, turns
the greedy use of resources into the essential use of tools for self-fulfillment,
reworks the need for attention into a need for self-verification, and justifies
lying as a necessary evil in the sacred quest for an authentic and fulfilling life.
As noted previously, PWBs actively police the use of medical terminology,
rejecting “apotemnophilia” in favor of “BIID.” Such language effectively relocates
the discussion out of the realm of sexuality entirely and into the realm of identity
and, in turn, authenticity. The language of authenticity paints the need for physical
impairment not as a sexual fetish to be gratified, but as a destiny to be fulfilled. This
sentiment is exemplified by Chloe’s response to a visitor who claims that BIID is
“clearly” sexual in nature. Chloe dismisses the claim as laughable and cites the phys-
iological sexual limitations that she will encounter as a paraplegic: “Oh yes,
REALLY clear. That’s exactly why I need to have no genital sensation and be anor-
~ gasmic. It’s for the sex!!! Thanks for giving me a good laugh though” (emphasis in
original). As Chloe (sarcastically) points out, it is about the self. It is not about sex.
It is also, as discussed earlier, not about greed. By medicalizing the need for
physical impairment, the use of assistive devices and societal resources is defined
as just that: a morally neutral use of medical equipment and services for the
treatment of a (neuropsychological) disability. Upping the morality ante, the lan-
guage of authenticity redefines these resources as essential tools for achieving self-
fulfillment. Sean and Claire, who both wheel (almost) full time and have
obtained legal disability parking placards, describe the existential strife they
would feel if they were unable to utilize this particular resource:
Here is the deal with my placard. Without it, | am a quivering mess of
fear and anxiety... With it Iam much more calm and stable... (Claire).
It has been suggested by some people with disabilities that as I am
physically able to walk, I should park in a regular space, and walk to the
trunk where I should stow my wheelchair, then sit in the chair... The
thing is, I could physically do that, yes. Emotionally, it would mp me
apart. The mere idea of doing that makes me shaky (Sean).
Finally, the language of authenticity works to remoralize PWBs in the face
of accusations of dishonesty. Bloggers on the site recognize that, at times, they
tell only partial truths and that sometimes, they must straight-out lie. They utilize
the moral ethic of authenticity, however, to reframe lying as a small sacrifice to
358 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

make in fulfilling the larger moral purpose of living a good and true life within a
hostile society. In short, bloggers morally privilege being true to the self over
being truthful with others. In the following passages, Sean articulates this com-
plex and nuanced treatment of honesty:
I say often enough that I don’t pretend to use a wheelchair. | am a
wheelchair user. Period. I spend nearly 100% of my public life as a
wheelchair user. I do, however, pretend. I pretend to have a physical
impairment. The reason I pretend is that I have long felt the need to
have that physical impairment. I am pretending (lying) because society
at large is not ready to accept me as an individual with BIID. I am tell-
ing a lie to live my own truth (Sean).
In sum, the language of authenticity more than neutralizes claims of immo-
rality. It places PWBs on a higher path of self-discovery, self-fulfillment, and the
“good” life. This morally stigmatizing trait is not something to be fought against
(such a fight is self-destructive) but is to be embraced and accepted by oneself
and others. Indeed, under the Western ethic of authenticity, those who prevent
PWBs from realizing their desires could very well be the true culprits of immo-
rality. In a time and place in which morality is found by looking inward and
morality is achieved by following what one finds inside, transabled individuals
can ethically do no better than to enact, or even pursue surgically, impaired
embodiment.

CONCLUSION

Moral identity is not a binary state (moral/immoral) but instead operates along a
continuum (more moral/less moral). The morally accused begin at a relative
moral deficit. Morality work is a means by which to rectify this deficit, relocating
the morally accused higher on the moral continuum and potentially relocating
the accuser to a lower moral status as well. In this vein, PWBs neutralize, rise
above, and flip the moral script in response to moral accusations.
PWBs employ medicalization and biologization discourses to pull themselves
out of a moral deficit. By locating impairment desires within the material of the
body, they externalize the blame for these desires and divorce themselves from
control. In doing so, they decouple the stigmatizing trait from moralizing judg-
ments, moving their need for impairment from a morally reprehensible to a
morally neutral way of being in the world.
Claims of authenticity effectively move PWBs further along the morality
continuum, placing bloggers on a moral high ground. By appealing to the
value of inner truth, PWBs make abnormal embodiment not only acceptable,
but a righteous pursuit. With this logic, PWBs not only heighten their own
moral standing, but also flip the moral script on those who stand ‘in the way of
such a pursuit and relocate their accusers into a position of relative moral deficit,
to become objects of moral derision.
 CHAPTER 30 MORAL STIGMA MANAGEMENT 359

In addition, morality work operates simultaneously at the interpersonal and

institutionallevels. Interpersonally, the morally accused come together to validate
experiential claims, construct a narrative with which to talk about themselves and
their collective condition, and combat those who rail against them. At the insti-
tutional level, the morally accused work toward official recognition, inclusion,
protection, and/or entitlements.
We see interpersonal moral labor as PWBs comment supportively on each
other’s posts, enveloping each other in shared experiences and providing a safe
space in which to articulate these experiences. This support is illustrated further as
newcomers adopt the moral discourse of established bloggers, who validate
the newcomers’ embodied experiences and welcome the newcomers into the com-
munity through mutually verifying exchanges. Indeed, new bloggers often report
“finding themselves” in the words of others, and established bloggers reaffirm iden-
tity meanings through newcomers’ fresh articulations. In this way, bloggers simulta-
neously produce and consume their individual and collective selves into being.
Morality work, however, goes beyond the interpersonal level, as the morally
accused strive for material resources. Indeed, this striving is the drive behind the
fight for the inclusion of BIID in the DSM and the related access to insurance
coverage, disability services, and protocols for ability reassignment surgery. As
Giddens (1991) points out, the contemporary era is characterized by a tension
between an increase in self-advocacy and a continued reliance on institutional
structures. Stigmatization necessarily involves power differentials, and the morally
stigmatized, though agentic, depend upon institutional channels of support.
Morality work functions as potential entrée into these channels. For instance,
one of the major arguments against ability reassignment surgery is the Hippo-
cratic Oath, which dictates that doctors are to “do no harm.” By formulating
BIID as a medical condition, surgery can be construed as a treatment, rendering
voluntary impairment a viable ethical procedure. Moreover, to assert that
impaired embodiment is the only route to existential fulfillment and that failure
to achieve correct embodiment will forever be a source of existential strife is to
assert that a refusal to treat this condition of incorrect embodiment is, in fact,
doing far greater harm than that caused by, say, a spinal cord transection.

NOTE

1. at the time of this publication, BIID was under consideration for inclusion
was not included in the DSM-IV, but in the DSM-V (First and Fisher 2012).

REFERENCES

Elliott, Carl. (2003). Better than Well: First, Michael. (2005). “Desire for
American Medicine Meets the American Amputation of a Limb: Paraphilia,
Dream. New York: W.W. Norton and Psychosis, or a New Type of Identity
Company, Inc.
360 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Disorder.” Psychological Medicine Money, John, Russell Jobaris, and

35(6): 919-928. Gregg Furth. (1977). “Apotemnophi-
First, Michael, and Carl E. Fisher. (2012). lia: Two Cases of Self-Demand
“Body Integrity Identity Disorder: Amputation as a Paraphilia.” The
The Persistent Desire to Acquire a Journal of Sex Research 13(1): 115-125.
Physical Disability.” Psychopathology RedFox. (2007). “Something Shocking
45(1): 3-14. and Creepy, Deaf Wannabes, Preten-
Giddens, Anthony. (1991). Modernity and ders and Others.” Alldeaf.com.
Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Retrieved December 2011 (http://
Modern Age. Stanford, CA. Stanford www.alldeaf.com/topic-debates/
University Press. 45323-something-shocking-creepy-
deaf-wannabes-pretenders-others
Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the
-html).
management of spoiled identity. New
York: Simon and Schuster, Inc. Scott, Marvin B., and Stanford M. Lyman.
(1968). “Accounts.” American Sociolog-
Miska. (2009). “The Transabled.” Fabmat-
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ters. Retrieved January 2010 (http://
fabmatters.wordpress.com/2009/11/
13/the-transabled/).
 31

Passing as Black: Identity Work Among

Biracial Americans
NIKKI KHANNA AND CATHRYN JOHNSON

Over the last decade, we have become more aware of the multidimensional aspects of
people’s racial identities, highlighted by such celebrities as President Obama, Tiger
Woods, Halle Berry, and others. With this new awareness, and reinforced by the
2010 U.S. Census finally incorporating a multiracial category, U.S. society has
seen an increase in the number of multi- and biracial people living among us.
For many years, multi- and biracial people were classified according to the “one
drop” rule, wherein those who had even one Black ancestor were viewed as Black.
But more recently, as Khanna and Johnson document, the trend is changing,
opening a wider range of options. This chapter discusses the conditions under which
biracial Americans cast themselves as either White or Black and the reasons they do
so, noting in particular the rise in optional Black self-labeling. The identity strategies
that the people the authors studied employ are useful to consider beyond the notion of
racial identity self-presentation. Like Bemiller, Khanna and Johnson go beyond the
idea ofsimply denying a deviant identity (by passing forWhite) to examine the way
people engage in covering up or diminishing the relevance of a known identity to
accent an alternative, more acceptable identity by highlighting its existence and
relevance to the situation and group. The authors’ discussion of the various
motivations for such “identity work” are likely to resonate with readers beyond
the one context they present.
How would you assess the prevalence of the “not-me” identity strategy in
relation to other deviant statuses? Can you think of other multiple identities in
which people shift back and forth in their self-presentation? Do you think their
strategies are effective? Are they moral?

My father has sixteen brothers and sisters and ... . a lot of them used to pass
as white ... I mean it’s easier if you can go to any movie theater you want.
[A] few of my aunts told me about a place they used to go to and eat all the
time that was “whites only” ... they did it as a joke ... they did it because
they wanted to show how stupid [segregation] was. —Olivia, age 45

From Nikki Khanna and Cathryn Johnson, “Passing as Black Racial Identity Work
among Biracial Americans”, Social Psychology Quarterly, 73(4), 380-397. Copyright © 2010
by Sage Publication. Reprinted with permission by the publisher.

361
362 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

ntil relatively recently, few racial options have been available to multiracial
U people—especially those with black ancestry. The one-drop rule, rooted in
slavery and Jim Crow segregation, defined multiracial people with any drop of
black blood as black. Just like their monoracial black counterparts, they had few,
if any, rights (e.g., they were enslaved, they could not vote, they were restricted
from many public facilities). According to Daniel (1992), “Multiracial individuals
for the most part have accepted the racial status quo, and have identified them-
selves as Black. A significant number of individuals, however, have chosen the
path of resistance ... . Individual resistance has taken the form primarily of ‘pass-
ing’” as white (91). Like Olivia’s aunts (described above), many Americans passed
as white to resist the racially restrictive one-drop rule and the racial status quo of
the Jim Crow era.
Racial passing has generally been understood as a phenomenon in which
people of one race identify and present themselves as another (usually white).
According to Ramona Douglass, a multiracial activist and cofounder of the
Association of Multiethnic Americans, however, the concept of passing (not
the act itself) is racist in origin (Russell, Wilson, and Hall, 1992) because it is
entwined with the racist one-drop rule. Even if people have white ancestry
and look white, they are considered “really” black because of their black
ancestry (no matter how distant); white identity is perceived as somehow
“fraudulent.” Kennedy (2003) provides a more precise definition and defines
passing as “a deception that enables a person to adopt specific roles or identi-
ties from which he or she would otherwise be barred by prevailing social stan-
dards” (283; emphasis added). Thus, if people were “really” black, as defined
by the social standards of the Jim Crow era (e.g., the one-drop rule) and pre-
sented themselves as white, they were perceived as deceiving the public with
a false identity.
Passing as white was especially attractive during the Jim Crow era when
blacks had few rights and opportunities, yet little is known about racial passing
today. Some scholars argue that given the increase in opportunities to black
Americans, passing is a relic of the past. While the driving force behind passing
may have faded, we ask: Are biracial people still passing today? If yes, how so and why?
This study also investigates the ways in which black-white people manage their
racial identities in day-to-day interactions. How much individual strategy is involved
in racial identity today? And what types of strategies, other than passing, are used?
Symbolic interactionists suggest that identity is process—society influences
identities, yet individuals are also active agents in shaping their identities. We
find that respondents use various strategies—verbal identification/disidentifica-
tion, selective disclosure, manipulation of phenotype, highlighting/downplaying
cultural symbols, and selective association. We delineate a typology that distin-
guishes passing from other types of identity work in order to create a more
nuanced and fluid analysis of identity and the ways in which people manage
their identities—respondents use these strategies to conceal aspects of their racial
ancestry (1.e., to pass as monoracial), but when passing is not feasible or desired,
they may cover (i.e., downplay) (Goffman, 1963) or accent (i.e., draw attention
to) particular ancestries. We further extend research on identity work by identi-
fying structural-level factors, such as social class and social networks, which limit
 CHAPTER 31. PASSING AS BLACK 363

the accessibility and/or effectiveness of some strategies of identity work (in addi-
tion to individual-level factors like phenotype).
Moreover, we find that the majority of these biracial respondents identify as
biracial or multiracial, but occasionally pass as monoracial. While passing during
the Jim Crow era involved passing as white, we find a striking reverse pattern of
passing today—only a few respondents situationally pass as white, while the
majority of respondents describe situations in which they pass as black. After
describing the identity strategies that respondents use, we explore their motiva-
tions for identity work—with a focus on passing as black.

DATA AND METHODS

This paper is part of a larger study examining racial identity among black-white
biracial adults. In 2005 and 2006, Khanna conducted semi-structured interviews
with 40 black-white biracial adults living in a large urban area in the South. To
participate in the study, respondents must have had one black and one white
parent (as identified by respondents). Respondents were asked open-ended ques-
tions on a range of topics such as their racial identities, how others have influ-
enced their identities, how their identities have changed over time and situation,
and if and how they assert particular identities to others. Interviews were audio-
taped and respondents’ names were replaced with pseudonyms.
Because locating biracial individuals within the general population is often
difficult, we primarily relied on convenience sampling. Khanna began recruiting
respondents by placing flyers in a variety of places, including local colleges, uni-
versities, and places of worship. Flyers read, “Do you have one black parent and
one white parent?” We omitted terms such as “biracial” or “multiracial”. from
the flyers, aware that individuals who did not consider themselves biracial or
multiracial may not have responded. Khanna also asked interviewees to pass
along her information to others with similar backgrounds.
Our data collection efforts resulted in a sample of 40 black-white biracial indi-
viduals. The ages ranged from 18 to 45, with the average age a little over 24 years
of age. More than half of the respondents fell between the ages of 18 and 22,
which is typical college age; this is not surprising considering that our recruitment
efforts began at local colleges and universities. Of the remaining respondents,
27.5 percent fell between the ages of 23 and 30, and 15 percent were over the
age of 30. Regarding gender, 22.5 percent are men and 77.5 percent are women.
In terms of socioeconomic background, the majority of respondents have a
middle-to upper-middle class background as measured by their educational back-
grounds and that of their parents. All respondents are currently enrolled in col-
lege or are college-educated—67.5 percent are current college students and
32.5 percent had completed a bachelor’s degree; 15 percent of respondents are
pursuing advanced degrees. While respondents often had limited information
about their parents’ incomes, they frequently described parents who were highly
educated. Most had at least one parent with a bachelor’s degree (75 percent) or
some college (87.5 percent), and 47.5 percent had at least one parent who held
an advanced degree.
364 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Finally, regarding racial identification, the majority of respondents (33 of 40)

label themselves [by] using multiracial descriptors (e.g., as biracial, multiracial,
mixed-race). In comparison, only six respondents labeled themselves as black,
and one respondent as white. The fact that so few respondents labeled them-
selves as black mirrors recent studies, which similarly show a weakening of the
one-drop rule and widening of racial options. Furthermore, respondents’ identi-
fications are situational; they generally identified themselves to others as biracial,
but in some contexts, passed as black or white.

RACIAL IDENTITY WORK: STRATEGIES

AND MOTIVATIONS

We find that respondents regularly do racial “identity work” and employ a vari-
ety of strategies to present their preferred racial identities to others. In this sec-
tion, we first explore the strategies that respondents use to manage their
identities, and we identify factors which influence the accessibility and efficacy
of these strategies. After outlining the various identity strategies and limitations,
we then examine the motivations of identity work with a focus on passing as
black. Of those presenting monoracial identities to others, we find that they
more often situationally pass as black (31), rather than white (3).

STRATEGIES OF IDENTITY WORK

Respondents use a variety of strategies to pass or, when passing is not desirable
or feasible, to cover an identity (i.e., downplay its obtrusiveness [Goffman, 1963]).
Further, identity work is not just about concealing or covering a stigmatized
identity, but highlighting a nonstigmatized or preferred identity, or what we
term accenting. While covering involves downplaying an attribute, accenting
involves emphasizing or accentuating it. Further, accenting differs from passing;
not all people can pass as black or white (e.g., their ancestry may be well-known;
their phenotype may prevent it), but they may be able to accent their black or
white ancestry as a form ofidentity work. To conceal (1.e., pass), cover, or accent
particular aspects of their racial ancestries, respondents use five strategies: (1) ver-
bal identification/disidentification, (2) selective disclosure, (3) manipulation of
phenotype, (4) highlighting/downplaying cultural symbols, and (5) selective
association. :
First, respondents do “identity talk” (Snow and Anderson, 1987) via verbal
identification /disidentification. In short, they claim or disclaim identities by ver-
bally saying, “I’m this” or “I’m not that.” Anthony presents himself as black
through verbal identification, and says, “I guess I just always make sure people
know I’m black. Like even when I went to an all-white school, I used to say,
‘T’m black ... Even though they knew I had a white father, if they ask, ‘I’m
black. That’s it.” By saying “I’m black,” Anthony invokes a “me” identity
(McCall, 2003).
 CHAPTER 31. PASSING AS BLACK 365

According to McCall (2003), identity processes must be studied in terms of

the “Me” (identifications), but also the “Not-Me”’ (disidentifications). Caroline, for
example, verbally resists being classified as black and says:
In my [graduate] program, I think we maybe have like four black peo-
ple, not including myself. And the other day, one of the [black] guys
said to me, “Oh, in our class, there are only three of us.” And I said,
“Three of who?” And I didn’t know what he was talking about and he
looked at me. And I was like, “Don’t do that. Don’t lump me in [with
being black] because I don’t see myself that way and I don’t like it when
you just assume that.” And then one time, I was taking an African
Cultural Studies class and our teacher was black and she made reference
to the black students in the class and lumped me in there with them.
And I raised my hand and I was like, “I’m not black.” And she almost
wanted to argue with me like, “Yes you are.” And no, no I’m not.
A second, and related identity strategy is selective disclosure—selectively
revealing and/or concealing particular racial identities to others. Unlike Anthony
and Caroline, where peers were aware of their biracial backgrounds, some
respondents manage the racial information they give to others to pass as mono-
racial (often as black). In school, Samantha intentionally conceals her biracial
background and says, “There was a time in middle school [that] I never told
anyone what I was. A lot of times they never asked. They just kind of assumed,
Well she’s black. They just assumed ... I [was] like, Okay, what’s the reason for
bringing it up?” Similarly, Natasha, who currently attends an HBCU (an Histor-
ically Black College/University) selectively reveals only her black background to
her black peers. She says, “Since I’ve been at college, I don’t even mention [that
I’m biracial]. I don’t bring it up unless it’s brought up to me. ...I would just
rather say ‘I’m black’ and that be the end of it. It’s definitely not something
that I advertise.” Both Samantha and Natasha conceal their white/biracial ances-
try to pass as black.
In addition to selectively disclosing particular identities in face-to-face social
interactions, respondents strategically reveal and conceal particular ancestries
when filling out race questions commonly found on school, job, and scholarship
applications. While Natasha reveals only her black identity to black peers, she
consciously manipulates her identity in different ways on forms. Highlighting
the situational nature of her identity, she says, ““[W]hen I fill out the little ques-
tion things, I used to always check ‘other.’ Now Ijust check ‘black’ ... . P’ve also
learned to manipulate the situation that I’m in. I know that if I say I’m ‘biracial,’
I will get certain things, and if I say I’m ‘black’ I will get certain things. So I
know I probably play with that a little bit.” Like Natasha, the majority of
respondents use selective disclosure on applications.
Third, respondents manipulate their phenotypes (e.g., hair, skin) to manage
their identities; this parallels Snow and Anderson’s (1987) “cosmetic facework or
arrangement of personal appearance” in their study of the homeless. Most
respondents cannot alter their phenotypes in ways to present themselves as
white, but they often describe modifying their phenotypes to pass as black or
366 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

to accent their black ancestry. Others alter their phenotypes to cover or down-
play their white ancestry. When growing up, Olivia’s peers knew she was bira-
cial, yet she manipulated her hair to downplay her white ancestry and says:
When I was younger ... I had very long hair and I identified more with
African Americans ... So I usually kept my hair pulled black or kept it
up or tried to do different things to blend in more ... . [Other black
girls] used to call me “white girl” because my hair was very long and it
would blow in the wind ... . Back then I used to get up in the morning
for school and leave my hair down and run out. And then when they
started saying I was a white girl ... | would never leave my hair down.
Likewise, Anthony modifies his hair to pass as black and says, “I used to have
really long hair and sometimes I would pick it up into a “fro.” Michelle, who claims
that she looks white, covers her white background by manipulating her skin color
(e.g., tanning) because she does not “want to be seen as a white person.”
Fourth, respondents manage their identities by highlighting and/or down-
playing cultural symbols they perceive associated with whiteness and blackness
(e.g., clothing/dress, food, language). While altering phenotype is not an option
for everyone (e.g., not everyone can pick their hair into an afro), invoking cul-
tural symbols is frequently employed in racial identity work. For example, to pass
as black, Anthony draws on cultural symbols of clothing and language. Describ-
ing how he presented himself as black in school, he says, “You know, pants sag-
ging ... I used to kind of slur my speech a little bit because I used to talk very
properly and I used to force myself to sound different. Sound like I was more
black.” Denise, too, describes passing as black especially when “trying to get into
a step team or... choir...or... something where people in the organization are
black, like a fraternity or sorority.” When asked how she presents herself as
black, she responds, “Probably the way I style my clothes ... looking like I
dress like ’m a black person ... I have to change how I appear.”
While Anthony and Denise highlight black cultural symbols (via clothing
and language) to manage their black identities, Stephanie managed her black
identity in school by distancing herself from cultural symbols of whiteness:
[I attended] an all black school and so all my friends were black then
....[ remember NSync being out ... and my friends listened to them
and I hated that. I hated any music that wasn’t black. I hated any clothes
that black people didn’t wear ...I felt like I had to stress to people that I
was black ... . So I felt like “I hate NSync. I hate this white music.”
By distancing herself from these so-called white symbols (e.g., white music,
clothing), Stephanie works to downplay or cover her white ancestry.
A final identity strategy is selective association. Respondents selectively associ-
ate with a particular racial group (via peers, friends, and romantic partners) and
organizations/institutions (e.g., clubs, colleges, churches), which mirrors Snow
and Anderson’s (1987) strategy of “selective association with other individuals or
groups.” This strategy is often used by respondents to pass as black or to accent
their black identity. For example, Stephanie says, “When I got to high school, all
 CHAPTER 31 PASSING AS BLACK 367

the white people were so nice ....And I hated them. I didn’t want to be friends with
them. I didn’t want to sit with them. I didn’t want them to talk to me. I wanted to
sit at the black table. I felt like I had to stress to people that I was black.” While
Stephanie associated only with black peers, Olivia dated only dark black men as a
strategy to emphasize her black identity: “I used to only date very dark-skinned
black men because I didn’t want people to think I was trying to be white ....So I
stayed with dark-skinned men because it’s like I want to prove that I was black.
Yeah, that I’m this black woman. ‘See, I’ve got this very dark man.’ It sounds stupid
now, but back then it was important.”
Other respondents manage black identities by joining organizations that
reflect their preferred black identities. Alicia limits her peer network to black
people and dates only black men, and she also describes being drawn to black
organizations:
I'm pretty black ... . Maybe I’m just more concerned about being black
right now... . And I want to have kids that are part of Jack and Jill and
I'm infatuated with my [black] boyfriend. I want to marry him and have
children with him. I can’t imagine a life where I wasn’t part of Jack and
Jill and I wasn’t in AKA ... things that are exclusively black ... I feel
like I’m pretty segregated. I kind of segregate myself and I pretty much
just hang out with black people.
Alicia, who is “concerned about being black,” consciously controls the racial
makeup of her social circles and purposefully participates in organizations
(jack and Jill of America, Alpha Kappa Alpha’) that reflect her preferred black
identity.

MOTIVATIONS FOR PASSING AS BLACK

Motivations for passing as white, especially during the Jim Crow era, are well-
documented. Less is known, however, about the motivations for passing as black.
While we find [that] a few respondents have passed as white in rare situations,
the majority of respondents have, at one time or another, passed as black and
they do this for several reasons—to fit in with black peers, to avoid a (white)
stigmatized identity, and/or for some perceived advantage or benefit.

To fit in Not wanting to stand out, especially in adolescence, respondents often

describe working to “blend in” to feel accepted by peers. In some cases, they try to
fit in with both black and white peers. Kristen grew up attending a predominantly
white school and a predominantly black gymnastics program, and says, “Going to
school and going to the gym were just two totally different things for me. So it’s
like I had to switch. I was like Superman. I was kind of like Clark Kent—take off
my glasses going to the gym and then put them back on when I was in school ....I
would just kind of change. I would just do little things that I very well knew what
I was doing.” The “little things” included changing her clothing and speech
depending upon the race of her audience (i.e., drawing on black and white cultural
368 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

symbols). When asked why she altered her appearance and behavior between
friends, she says, “To fit in probably. Because I wanted friends in both areas.”
While some respondents employ identity strategies to “fit in” with their black
and white peers, the majority claim that their black characteristics (e.g., dark skin)
prevent their full acceptance by whites (unlike Kristen, above, who claims she
looks white). Feeling thwarted by whites, many respondents pass as black to find
a place with their black peers. Stephanie describes her experiences in school and
says, “First grade through eighth grade I was in the same school and it was an all
black private school. So everybody there was black... . And all the kids ... basically
told me I was white ....And I got so frustrated because I wanted to fit in and they
kind of made me feel like I wasn’t going to fit in if I didn’t go along with being
totally black.” Stephanie uses several strategies (e.g., downplaying white cultural
symbols, selective association with black peers) to present a black identity.
Fitting in with black peers also appeared more important for women than
men in the sample; [women] more often describe situations in which they were
discredited as black if their biracial background was revealed. Rockquemore and
Brunsma (2002) find that biracial women often encounter negative experiences
with black women because of their looks and/or biracial ancestry, and we also
find that they, at times, find their blackness challenged. Describing her experiences
with black women, Natasha says:
For some [black] people, [a biracial background] is a strike against you
-... with girls, I can’t escape [my white] side. It’s constantly being brought
up ... they always seem to make sure to tell me I’m not really black. IfI
would tell someone I’m black, they would say, “No, you're mixed”...
when people are always reminding you, “You’re mixed”... trying to
discredit you, it’s hard.
Natasha is constantly reminded that she is biracial and “not really black.”
Olivia, too, describes how some black women do not see her as black: “I think
when I was growing up, [black girls] just did not accept me as being a black girl
. with [black] women, | still think there are some instances where they don’t
see me as an authentic black woman... .” Thus, wanting to fit in, not have their
blackness discredited, nor feel contention with black peers, some respondents
consciously concealed their white/biracial ancestries.

To avoid a stigmatized identity In the Jim Crow era, blackness was stigma-
tized (e.g., as inferior, backward) and is arguably stigmatized today. In describing
an experience as an undergraduate, Caroline notes the stigma and says:
I can remember when I was an undergrad, one time I got braids in my
hair ... that were down my back. And it wasn’t anything dramatic and I
thought it looked really nice and I liked it. And as soon as I went back
to school in the city ... I was immediately on guard when I was walking
down the street. And I was like, “Oh gosh, I don’t want people to think
I’m black because I have these braids in my hair.” ... I was so nervous
. that was all that went through my mind, “I don’t want people to
think that I’m black.” ... I know it sounds awful, but I don’t want
 CHAPTER 31. PASSING AS BLACK 369

people to think that P’m stupid or that I’m bitchy or anything like that.
So I didn’t keep them in for very long.
Here, Caroline manipulates her phenotype (removes her braids) to avoid nega-
tive stereotypes she associates with blackness (e.g., stupidity, bitchiness).

For advantage Finally, whiteness in the slave and Jim Crow eras conferred many
advantages and privileges, and three respondents describe occasionally passing as
white, even today, for some perceived benefit. Beth describes a context when she
passed as white via selective disclosure: “I used to be a caseworker. Some of [my
white coworkers] assumed I was white and I just rolled with it ... yeah, you’re
just sitting there like, “You really don’t have a clue. I'll just continue to be white,
if that’s what you're going to insist on.’ ... I just left it as ‘I’m going to let you
assume |[?’m white]. And I'll go along with it.’” When asked why she allowed
others to assume she is white, she describes this as a protective strategy to avoid
prejudice from coworkers. Similarly, Michelle uses selective disclosure to pass as
white at work, and says:

I [identify as white] more so when it’s convenient to me in corporate

America. I’ve witnessed where white people get further than the black
people ... . And I just think in my whole experience, not just with this
job but other jobs, I have to ... put forth that ’m white. Then they’re
more likely to trust me ....I think I use it to my advantage when I need
to. [In the work setting?] Yes, because I’m trying to get ahead.
While these respondents pass as white for some perceived workplace advan-
tage, the majority (29 respondents) pass as black in other contexts for perceived
advantage—in particular, on college, scholarship, financial aid, and job applica-
tions. Frequently unaware that being biracial is often sufficient for affirmative
action purposes, they presented themselves exclusively as black. While Michelle
describes passing as white at work to “get ahead,” she also describes passing as
black on college applications. Explaining why she checks the “black box,” she
says, “I thought maybe if I chose black, especially in college, I'd get more finan-
cial aid. I’d get more opportunities, and so I kind of thought it was to my best
advantage to just say I was black.”

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION

That people perform race is not new; during the Jim Crow era some “blacks”
passed as white. With the implementation of civil rights legislation, however,
many argue that the strategy of passing is a relic of the past. We surprisingly
find, however, that passing still occurs today and quite frequently, although it
looks different: a few respondents occasionally pass as white, but the majority
describe situations in which they pass as black.
That so few respondents passed as white is not surprising given that this option
is unavailable to most (unless they have white skin and appearance) and because
370 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

passing as white is often viewed with disdain by other blacks today. Also, not sur-
prising were the motivations for the few individuals who did pass as white—in all
three cases, respondents passed as white to avoid prejudice/discrimination and/or
for advantage in the workplace. Further, we find that passing as white today 1s
temporary and situational, not the continuous type of passing that marked the
Jim Crow era.
Most interesting, however, are not the few respondents who passed as white,
but the many that passed as black. Scholars understand the motivations of passing
as white in a society dominated by whites, but less is known about motivations
for passing as black. We find that biracial people pass as black for several reasons.
Most notably, we argue, because they can. While passing as white is difficult for
most, passing as black is less difficult given the wide range of phenotypes in the
black community regarding skin color and other physical features. With genera-
tions of interracial mixing between blacks and whites and the broad definition of
blackness as defined by the one-drop rule, most Americans cannot tell the differ-
ence between biracial and black. Hence, there is little difficulty when many bira-
cial people conceal their biracial background; this is because many “blacks” also
have white phenotypic characteristics (because they, too, often have white ances-
try). Further, we find that biracial respondents pass as black for additional reasons—
to fit in with black peers in adolescence (especially since many claim that whites
reject them), to avoid a white stigmatized identity, and, in the postcivil rights era
of affirmative action, to obtain advantages and opportunities sometimes available
to them if they are black (e.g., educational and employment opportunities, college
financial aid/scholarships).
Passing as black is an interesting concept in and of itself given the unique
history of race in this country, and it further illuminates changes in race and pol-
itics in the United States. In previous decades, the notion of passing as black was
impossible given the one-drop rule—if people had black ancestry, they did not
pass as black, they were black. People could only pass as white based on a concept
that was inherently racist and asymmetrical (i.e., one drop of black blood made
one black, but one drop of white blood did not make one white). As the one-
drop rule weakens, what it means [for a person] to pass is arguably undergoing
modification, especially in an era where blackness (at least in some contexts) con-
fers tangible benefits. While the notion of passing has historically conjured up
images of black-white people (who were perceived as really black) passing as
white, shifting definitions of blackness may change this and draw new attention
to the concept ofpassing as black.

NOTE

1. Jack and Jill of America is one of the the first sorority established by black
oldest black social organizations in the women.
United States; Alpha Kappa Alpha was
 CHAPTER 31 PASSING AS BLACK 371

REFERENCES

Daniel, Reginald G. (1992). “Passers and J. Owens, Richard T. Serpe, and

Pluralists: Subverting the Racial Peggy A. Thoits. New York: Plenum.
Divide.” Pp. 91-107 in Racially Mixed Rockquemore, Kerry Ann, and David
People in America, edited by Maria L. Brunsma. (2002). Beyond Black:
P. P. Root. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Biracial Identity in America. Thousand
Publications. Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.
Goffman, Erving. (1963). Stigma: Notes on Russell, Kathy, Midge Wilson, and Ronald
the Management of Spoiled Identity. E. Hall. (1992). The Color Complex:
Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. The Policies of Skin Color Among African
Kennedy, Randall. (2003). Interracial Inti- Americans. New York: Harcourt Brace
macies. New York: Vintage Books. Jovanovich.
McCall, GeorgeJ. (2003). “The Me and Snow, David A.,and Leon Anderson. (1987).
the Not-Me: Positive and Negative “Identity Work among the Homeless:
Poles of Identity.” Pp. 11-25 in The Verbal Construction and Avowal
Advances in Identity Theory and Research, ofPersonal Identities.” American Journal
edited by PeterJ.Burke, Timothy of Sociology 92(6):1336—71.
 32

Fitting In and Fighting Back: Homeless

Kids’ Stigma Management Strategies
ANNE R. ROSCHELLE AND PETER KAUFMAN

The homeless occupy a particularly stigmatized position in society, serving as

general pariahs. People go out of their way to avoid seeing them or interacting
with them, and as Reinarman notes, the American “vocabulary of attribution”
assigns blame to them based on their individual failures rather than to the unequal
opportunity structure of society. Nowhere is this blame less worthy than it is for
homeless kids, who have inherited their homeless status from parents unable to
house them. On the basis of research conducted in moderate-term housing shelters
for (usually) single mothers with children, Roschelle and Kaufman articulate some
of the strategies these youngsters use to disguise or manage their deviant status.
They divide their techniques into strategies of inclusion and exclusion. In the
former, children attempt to fit into society and attain the appearance, friendships,
and acceptance they see among their “homed” peers. Their attempts to pass,
cover, and forge relationships are poignant, revealing their pain and insecurity.
When these fail, however, and they cannot escape their stigma, they muster a
bravado designed to achieve a tough and intimidating persona. Like the
cheerleaders and the bankrupt, they seek to raise their status by comparing
themselves with others whom they deem lower than themselves, although in so
doing, they denigrate others in similarly unfortunate situations whom they can
construct as more socially and morally abject than themselves.
Why do you think these homeless kids pursue such different approaches in
dealing with in-groups and out-groups? How effective do you think these two
approaches are at protecting them from stigma?

B eginning in the 1980s the gap between the rich and the poor widened sig-
nificantly, and there was a concomitant increase in homelessness. Social
scientists responded to this crisis by studying the rates and causes of homelessness.
However, with the exception of a few notable studies (Liebow, 1993; Snow and
Anderson, 1993), there has been little ethnographic research on the daily strug-
gles this population encounters. Moreover, research has been slow to address the

From Anne R. Roschelle and Peter Kauffman, “Fitting In and Fighting Back: Homeless
Kids’ Stigma Management Strategies.” Symbolic Integration, Vol. 27, No. 1, 2004. All rights
reserved. Reprinted by permission of the University of California Press Journals.

372
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 373

growing feminization of the homeless. The proportion of women and children

constituting the urban homeless population increased from 9 percent in 1987 to
34 percent in 1997 to a staggering 40 percent in 2001. Although there has been
some recent work on familial homelessness, most accounts have disproportion-
ately examined street homelessness among single men. More research is needed
on women and children who are homeless and, in particular, on the strategies
they use to construct meaning, participate in social interactions, and negotiate
the boundaries with the nonhomeless world....
In our analysis, stigma and homelessness are both construed as structural
locations. Like stigma, homelessness must be recognized as a structural compo-
nent characterizing the individual’s relationship to the social world. Individuals
may find themselves delegitimized socially, politically, or economically if they
cannot accumulate normative resources, are unable to receive positive appraisals,
and are incapable of following expected rules of behavior. Such is the case with
homeless individuals and other stigmatized populations. In daily life, these popu-
lations often find themselves disadvantaged because they do not have the means
to engage in successful social interactions. Implicitly then, stigma, like homeless-
ness, is about power—or the lack thereof. As Link and Phelan (2001, p. 367)
argue, “[S]tigmatization is entirely contingent on access to social, economic,
and political power that allows the identification of differentness, the construc-
tion of stereotypes, the separation of labeled persons into distinct categories, and
the full execution of disapproval, rejection, exclusion, and discrimination.”
Recognizing stigma as a condition deriving from macro-level forces does not
negate the micro-level processes that characterize an individual’s stigma manage-
ment. Although stigma should be understood as a consequence of structural
relationships, the ways in which individuals manage their stigma is micro-
interactional. Acknowledging the macro-origins of stigma forces researchers to
incorporate an analysis of the structural while studying the ways in which indivi-
duals manage their stigma interpersonally. Because stigmatized individuals lack
power, their ability to protect their sense of self may be severely compromised.
Asa result, their actions may unintentionally augment their stigmatization and per-
petuate the structural relationships that generate their stigmatized status (Link and
Phelan, 2001). Much like impoverished individuals, therefore, acquiring the capi-
tal (social, cultural, economic, political, etc.) that is needed to overcome stigma
may be difficult because of the spoiled identity. In short, stigma may be a chronic
status until the individual accumulates the resources necessary to break the cycle.
Much of the existing literature concentrates on strategies that presumably
lessen stigma and neglects to consider the extent to which stigma management
strategies may perpetuate the individual’s stigmatized status. Since Goftman’s
1963 work, the assumption that stigma management strategies result in positive
outcomes has prevailed. Researchers generally explore the ways in which stigma-
tized individuals protect their sense of self and attempt to gain social acceptance.
The underlying assumption is that through these strategies, deviant individuals
will achieve some degree of normalcy. Clearly, some actions benefit the indivi-
dual’s social standing. However, more attention should be given to the process
through which stigma management strategies might result in the acquisition of
374 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

characteristics that further spoil one’s identity. Recognizing stigma management

strategies as micro-level reactions to macro-level conditions elucidates how such
strategies may lead to unintended and potentially negative consequences.
In the case of kids who are homeless, the structural disadvantages are signifi-
cant. [These kids] come from poor families and are also marginalized because of
their age, race, ethnicity, and gender. Unlike some of their privileged peers who
may go to great lengths to distinguish themselves through dress, taste, and behav-
ior, kids who are homeless experience what Goffman (1963, p. 5) calls “unde-
sired differentness.”” Homeless kids are social outcasts because of the situation into
which they were born or because of their parents’ current predicament. Conse-
quently, when we attempt to understand the homeless kids’ strategies to manage
their stigma, we must examine how structural disparities influence these strategies
and how the nonhomeless interpret them. As we illustrate, although some of
their stigma management strategies produced positive results with regard to
their identities and social standing, others led to unanticipated and negative con-
sequences. In effect, it is through the use of these strategies that kids who are
homeless, like some stigmatized populations, unwittingly reproduce their stigma-
tization and cement their status loss.

RESEARCH SITE

The research site is an organization in San Francisco called A Home Away From
Homelessness. Home Away serves homeless families living in shelters, residential
motels, foster homes, halfway houses, transitional housing facilities, and low-
income housing. The program operates a house in Marin County (called the
Beach House), provides shelter support services, a crisis hotline, a family drop-in
center (the Club House), a mentorship program, and, in conjunction with the San
Francisco Unified School District, an afterschool educational program (the School
House). Home Away is neither a typical homeless service agency nor a shelter.
Home Away serves a population of approximately one hundred five- to
eighteen-year-old children annually. Fifty percent of the participants are boys
and 50 percent are girls. The racial-ethnic breakdown of homeless families par-
ticipating in Home Away programs is 40 percent African American, 30 percent
white, 20 percent Latino, and 10 percent multiracial. All the kids participating in
Home Away programs lived with at least one parent (none are runaways or
homeless youth[s] living independently), although some were essentially on
their own as a result of parental neglect. Many of the kids suffered from a variety
of physical, emotional, and developmental deficits, which is not surprising given
the harsh conditions under which they live (e.g., Bassuk and Gallagher, 1990;
Rafferty, 1991),
A majority of Home Away’s families come from northern California; some
families are from southern California and the Pacific Northwest. These families,
often mother-only, typically come from chronically poor communities and usually
become homeless after losing a job or stable housing. When extended kinship net-
works deteriorate as a result of poverty (Menjivar, 2000; Roschelle, 1997) and
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 375

violence, these transient families are forced to rely on institutional forms of social
support. There are primarily two types of families using the services of Home
Away: short-term participants who experience brief spells of homelessness and
the chronically homeless who use programs over several years...
Chronically homeless families who cycled in and out of Home Away were
the most frequent users of Home Away programs. Because of the severe housing
shortage and exorbitant rents in San Francisco, many homeless families had their
shelter stays extended past the three-month deadline. Some families eventually
moved to motels, others doubled up with family members, and some shuffled
between substandard apartments in violent neighborhoods. Many of the chroni-
cally homeless kids went to the Beach House on a weekly basis over the course
of several years. As they got older, some of the teenagers who no longer wanted
to go to the Beach House went to the Club House a few times a week. Some of
these kids attended the afterschool educational program several times a week, but
their transience made it difficult for many to stay in the program. During the past
six years, nearly 1000 children and their parents have participated in various pro-
grams provided by Home Away.

METHODS AND DATA

The ethnographic component of our research included participant observation at

the Beach House, the School House, and the family drop-in center where Anne
collected the data and did volunteer work for four years (1995-99), During this
time, she also attended meetings of relevant social service agencies at which she
took copious notes and conducted observational research at residential motels,
transitional housing facilities, and homeless shelters throughout the San Francisco
Bay area. In addition, she conducted thousands of hours of informal interviews,
sometimes asking leading questions (Gubrium and Holstein, 1997) and some-
times just listening. Many of the informal interviews were taped and transcribed.
In addition, she conducted and transcribed verbatim formal taped interviews
with 97 kids and parents who were currently or previously homeless. While in
the field, when something that seemed profound about the homeless experience
was uttered or occurred, Anne would go to the bathroom and quickly record it.
This strategy was necessary because sitting in a room full of kids and simulta-
neously taking notes creates an artificial atmosphere that inspires skepticism and
mistrust among kids who may already be wary of adults. Anne typically spoke
her field notes and critical interpretations of the days’ happenings into a tape
recorder immediately after working with the kids. These tapes were eventually
transcribed....
Gathering ethnographic data among kids who are homeless presents a num-
ber of methodological challenges. The first is the difficulty of gaining entry,
although this proved easier than expected. Anne developed rapport with
the kids by spending considerable time with them at a variety of locations.
Entry was further facilitated by the House Mother (a formerly homeless woman)
who regularly conveyed to the kids her support for and fondness of Anne.
376 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

This legitimacy was crucial because it allowed kids to be interviewed and observed
in the context oftheir social group interactions....
The second, related challenge is being attentive to their devalued social posi-
tion. This awareness is particularly necessary because of our interest in how
homeless kids manage their stigma. As noted, because these kids are poor,
young, and predominantly racial—-ethnic minorities, their behavior is often inter-
preted pejoratively even when it mirrors that of their nonhomeless peers. For this
reason, it is important to record and respect the ways in which kids construct
meanings and to not assume “the existence of a unidimensional external reality”
(Charmaz, 2000, p. 522)....
The third strategy, and challenge, was participating in impromptu conversa-
tions, which captured the ways kids managed their devalued social status. These
gatherings, which Anne tape recorded and later transcribed verbatim, were not
focus groups because they had neither an identifiable agenda nor a formal media-
tor. Rather, these were freewheeling conversations that allowed Anne to “remain
as close as possible to accounts of everyday life while trying to minimize the dis-
tance between [herself] and [the] research participants” (Madriz, 2000, p. 838).
These conversations were particularly appropriate because they allowed for the
expression of ideas in a forum where individuals felt comfortable speaking up. Fur-
thermore, talking with kids in relaxed group settings in which the kids outnumber
the adults minimizes the inherent power differential between the adult researcher
and the respondents and gives voice to those who have been subjugated.

STIGMA MANAGEMENT STRATEGIES

Goftman (1963, p. 3) suggests that stigma should be understood as “a language of

relationships” as opposed to the attributes a person possesses. Moreover, he notes
that “the stigmatized are not persons but rather perspectives” (p. 138). These
ideas are particularly relevant for understanding the stigmatization of kids who
are homeless. While these kids do not necessarily exhibit physical manifestations
of their stigma, they are stigmatized because of their marginalized status in soci-
ety. The discourse surrounding poverty and homelessness has a long history of
blaming individuals for their predicament. Kids who may have been defined in
the past as deserving of societal sympathy have more recently been recast as part
of the legions of the undeserving poor.
Home Away kids were aware of their relationship to normative society and
understood that others generally saw them as undesirable. Because of the large
numbers of homeless in San Francisco and the visibility of the street homeless,
there were numerous negative public discussions about the issue. The local news-
papers constantly featured articles that were contemptuous of the homeless, and
mayoral races often focused on ridding the city of its unsightly homeless popula-
tion. The kids in the sample were attuned to the negative discourse surrounding
homelessness and often expressed their anxiety about being demonized by the
public. In fact, the kids spent many hours sitting in front of the fireplace discussing
how hard it was for them to be routinely disparaged. As Dominic, an articulate
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 377

16-year-old, said, “Everyone hates the homeless because we represent what sucks
in society. If this country was really so great there wouldn’t be kids like us.”....
Kids who are homeless manage their stigma in a variety of ways. One com-
mon typology of stigma management strategies assumes an in-group/out-group
dichotomy (Anderson, Snow, and Cress, 1994; Blum, 1991). Although thi
typology is useful for understanding some stigmatized populations, the stigma
management strategies of Home Away kids were more fluid and could not be
so neatly categorized. As kids who are homeless make their way through the
world, they transgress—yet simultaneously create—boundaries and often use
similar stigma management strategies with both peers and strangers.
Although the in-group/out-group dichotomy did not fit our data, we devel-
oped an alternative schema that enabled us to better categorize the stigma man-
agement strategies Home Away kids use. We observed that the kids displayed
two sets of strategies. The first set conformed to societal norms of appropriat
behavior and aimed at creating a harmonious environment with both peers and
strangers. In other words, these strategies represented attempts at establishing self-
legitimation in both hostile and supportive environments. We refer to these as
strategies of inclusion because they reflected the kids’ desire to eradicate the bound-
ary—betweeir a homeless and a nonhomeless identity. Through these inclusive
strategies, Home Away kids hoped to be recognized simply as kids—without
the stigmatizing label and discredited status of being homeless. The most com-
mon strategies of inclusion among Home Away kids were forging friendships,
passing, and covering.
The second set of strategies ... also [consisted of] attempts at gaining social
acceptance but were not necessarily aimed at creating a harmonious atmosphere.
We refer to these as strategies of exclusion because Home Away kids use them to
distinguish themselv& from-beth_peers_and strangers. With these strategies, kids
who are homeless attempted to redress their spoiled identity by declaring them-
selves tougher, more mature, and better than others. These exclusive stigma
management strategies included verbal denigration and physical and sexual pos-
turing. Unlike strategies of inclusion in which kids used conciliatory tactics to be
accepted, strategies of exclusion were aggressive and forceful attempts by the kids
to blend in. These strategies largely reflected the kids’ interpretations of socially
acceptable behavior. However, given their disenfranchised social position, these
behaviors were often perceived as maladaptive and threatening. As a result, when
kids engaged in strategies of exclusion, they provided members of the dominant
culture with a seemingly legitimate justification to further disqualify and dispar-
age them....

STRATEGIES OF INCLUSION

Forging Friendships

The language of relationships that identifies kids who are homeless as a stigma-
tized group is so embedded in society that it is implicit in all their social
378 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

relations. Even when these kids are in situations in which their homelessness is
unknown or unimportant, they still feel the need to manage their spoiled iden-
tities. For example, one would expect that in the consonant social environment
of the Beach House they would not have to engage in stigma management
strategies. However, because their stigmatization is defined by their relationship
to mainstream society, their stigma is always part of their identity....
At the Beach House, the kids attempted to construct a positive identity.
Children were treated with dignity and respect by volunteers and were
included in important decision-making processes. The services provided by
Home Away gave kids an opportunity to experience childhood in a way
most individuals take for granted. In addition to providing a break from the
difficulties of living in shelters, transitional housing, residential motels, and so
on, Home Away gave the kids a place to forge friendships with caring adults.
Many of these relationships offered the only opportunity for homeless kids to
obtain positive self-appraisals from nondisenfranchised adults. This supportive
environment allowed for greater self-legitimation, gave the kids a respite
from their stigmatization, and provided them with a sense of belonging
(Brooks, 1994). As a result of this inclusive strategy, many of the kids devel-
oped more favorable self-images. Silvia’s discussion of her friendship with
Tami, a volunteer, illustrates the importance of forging friendships as a way
to manage stigma.

Sitvia: I call her whenever I feel really bad. She is so nice. She makes me feel
better when I’m depressed and she never makes me feel like a freak
because I’m homeless.
ANNE: Is that important to you?
Sitvia: Yeah. Most of the time I feel pretty bad about my life. I mean my mom
has a new boyfriend every few weeks, we live in this nasty ass hotel, and
I feel like everyone knows I’m a loser. Tami is always trying to make me
feel better about my life. She tells me how smart and pretty I am and that
I should feel good about being such a great older sister. Tami really cares
about me and makes me feel better about myself. I don’t know what I’d
do without her.
Home Away also provided these kids with the opportunity to befriend other
impoverished youths. By embracing other disenfranchised children, Home Away
kids created a safe space where they could construct a positive identity and man-
age their stigmatized status. For example, when new kids were incorporated into
Beach House activities, instead of rejecting them, the “old-timers” served as
mentors and attempted to create a harmonious climate. Old-timers initiated the
new kids into the program by teaching them the rules, showing them around,
and introducing them to secret hiding places. Much like the traditional African
American role of “old heads” and “other mothers,” this mentor relationship
allowed the old-timers to gain self-esteem. By initiating newcomers, they
became experts at something and shared their wisdom with other impoverished
kids. In addition, as the following conversation suggests, old-timers took great
pride in their knowledge of the surrounding environment.
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 379

Cartos: Hey, Hernan, don’t go in the water without your life jacket.
HERNAN: No hay problema—I’m a great swimmer.
CarLos: It doesn’t matter, man, the undertow is really strong and you can get
swept under really easily.
HERNAN: Don’t be such a pussy.
CarLos: Seriously man, people drown here all the time. Last week some kid
almost died.
HERNAN: Really?
Cartos: Yeah, man. Listen I been coming here for two years and I’ve seen a lot
of shit—you gotta believe me.
HERNAN: Gracias, Carlos—thanks for watching my back. You really are a cool
dude. I guess I better to stick close to you so I don’t get into any trouble.
Caros: Hey after we finish swimming Marcus and I can show you the secret
hiding place.
HERNAN: Cool.
Forging friendships with newcomers is an important stigma management
strategy because it [gives] kids who are homeless an opportunity to transcend
their discredited status and assume a role invested with interactional legitimacy.
Through forging friendships, Carlos is able to negate feelings of worthlessness
bestowed on him by society and feel like a valuable member of the kids’ com-
munity. Similarly, Hernan’s stigma is mitigated because he now feels like a legit-
imate member of Home Away. This strategy of inclusion anchors kids in a
particular social group and subsequently provides them with a desired social
identity that is conferred by significant others.

Passing
Goffman (1963) suggests that visibility is a crucial factor in attempts at passing. To
pass successfully, an individual must make his or her stigma invisible so that it is
known only to himself or herself and to other similarly situated individuals.
Unlike their nonhomeless peers who have legitimate access to the public
domain, kids who are homeless must often pass as nonhomeless as a means of
appropriating heretofore unavailable and legitimate public space. One “passing”
strategy kids in our study used entailed adopting the dress and demeanor of non-
homeless kids. Whenever clothing was donated to Home Away, the kids
selected outfits based on style rather than function. It was extremely important
that clothing and shoes looked new and were “hip.” On numerous occasions,
kids refused to take donated coats during the winter because they were ugly
and out of style. The importance of fitting in is evidenced by the following con-
versation between Anne, Jamie, and Cynthia (Jamie’s mom) while they were
hanging out at Stonestown Mall.
Jamie: Hey, do you think these people can tell we are homeless?
ANNE: No, how could they possibly know?
380 PART V DEVIANT IDENTITY

JAMIE: I don’t know. I always feel like people are looking at me because they
know I am poor and they think I am a loser.
CYNTHIA: I feel like that a lot too—it makes me feel so bad—tke I’m a bad
mother and somehow being homeless is my fault. I feel so ashamed.
JAMIE: Me too.
ANNE: Jamie, what are some of the ways you keep people from knowing you
are homeless?
JAMIE: I try and dress like the other kids in my school. When we get clothes
from Home Away, I always pick stuff that is stylin’ and keep it clean
so kids won’t know I’m poor. Sometimes it’s hard though because all
the kids try and get the cool stuff and there isn’t always enough for
everyone. I really like it when we get donations from people who
shop at the Gap and Old Navy. I got one of those cool vests and it
made me feel really great.
ANNE: Is it important for you to keep your homelessness a secret?
JAMIE: Yeah, I would die if the kids at school knew.

Home Away kids also attempt to pass by using code words. Their use of
code words illustrates the importance of language as a symbolic indicator of
membership in a social group. As Herman (1993) argues, individuals selectively
withhold or disclose information as a way to maintain secrecy about their nega-
tive attributes. Knowing the rules of social interaction and the symbolic impor-
tance of words, Home Away kids resist language that reveals their homelessness
to others. They purposefully choose words they associate with middle-class
life to articulate their social reality and simultaneously conceal their marginalized
social existence. The following impromptu conversation illustrates this point.
ROSINA: I hate that kid Jamal that lives with us in Hamilton [Family Shelter],
you know his cot is three over from mine.
SHELLEY: Sssh, be quiet, someone will hear you and then people will know we
are homeless.
ROSINA: I don’t care.
SHELLEY: I do.
LINDA: So do I. You should say that you don’t like Jamal who lives three
houses down—that way people will think you are talking about a kid
in your neighborhood.
ANNE: Is that how you guys talk in school?
SHELLEY: Yeah, we say things like that and we make up other stuff so people
don’t know we live in the shelter.
LINDA: Or in the motels.
SHELLEY: When we talk about our caseworkers we say our aunts and when we
talk about shelter staff we call them our friends.
ANNE: That is a really clever way of keeping people from knowing you're
homeless.
 CHAPTER32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 381

Rosina: It totally is, but then you can’t invite friends over after school because
they think you live in a house.
Linpa: We can’t hang out with kids who are not poor. There is no way I
would invite a kid from school over to my room in that skanky motel
we live in, I’d be so embarrassed.
SHELLEY: Yeah, we can’t make friends with a lot of kids because how can we
bring them to the shelter after school?
This example illustrates how homeless kids use words to construct a positive
identity, protect their sense of self, and feel integrated with the larger society.
Moreover, it shows that language reflects and reproduces power relations in soci-
ety. Interestingly, although these kids use code words to mask their stigmatized
status and construct a positive identity, their language choices disqualify them
from participating in normative social interactions. These verbal gestures reflect
the extent to which homeless kids are in danger of having their homelessness
revealed. When they do not use code words, their stigmatized identity will be
evident, and they will be unlikely to befriend middle-class children. Alterna-
tively, when they do use code words, they reduce their chances of befriending
nonhomeless kids because they risk exposing their stigma. In managing stigma
through passing, the threat of discovery is ever present. Although the kids desire
acceptance in mainstream society, the threat of discovery leads them to monitor
and curtail their social involvement.

Covering
Individuals engage in covering when they attempt to minimize the prominence
of their spoiled identity. Covering allows individuals to participate in more nor-
mative social interactions by reducing the effects their stigma elicits (Goffman,
1963). Unlike passing, the point of covering is not to deny one’s stigma but
rather to make it less obtrusive and thereby reduce social tension (Anderson,
Snow, and Cress, 1994). Home Away kids often engaged in this stigma manage-
ment strategy when they became friends with nonhomeless kids who knew
about their predicament. Home Away kids would especially use this strategy
around the parents of their nonhomeless friends, and they would often ask the
staff to advise them on appropriate dress or behavior when they were going out
with nonhomeless kids and their families.
One Home Away kid, Ellie, became a close friend of an affluent school-
mate, Carol, who lived in the Marina district of San Francisco. Ellie was honest
with Carol and her family about where she lived. Still, when Elle went to
Carol’s house for dinner, she wore the least tattered, cleanest clothes she owned
and would eliminate her ghetto swagger and jargon. As she said to Anne, “They
know I’m homeless and all, but I don’t want to act like I’m homeless. I don’t want
to embarrass them. You know my clothes aren’t that fancy and I’m used to eating
at the shelter where everyone is talking really loud and eating with their hands and
being kinda sloppy.” To fit in and be “normal,” Ellie decided to minimize the
obvious manifestations of her homelessness.... For the most part, these strategies
382 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

had the intended effect of protecting the kids’ identities by offering them a degree
of social legitimacy and by aligning them with nonhomeless individuals. In spite of
the chaotic nature of their lives and their awareness of their stigmatization, it 1s
noteworthy that these kids attempt to conform to society through socially accept-
able means. In this sense, Home Away kids do not fit the traditional conception of
the homeless as disaffiliated and socially isolated individuals. They seem surpris-
ingly resilient in their attempts to develop relationships with nonhomeless people
in spite of being denigrated by them....

STRATEGIES OF EXCLUSION

Verbal Denigration
When individuals face a social world that labels them deviant, they are likely to
fight back by maligning others as a way to augment their self-esteem. Termed
“defensive othering” by Schwalbe et al. (2000), this type of stigma management
strategy was common among Home Away kids. Many kids in the sample pro-
tected their sense of self by verbally denigrating other stigmatized groups such as
homosexuals and homeless street people. This was a form of identity work that
allowed homeless kids to distance themselves from the stigmatized “other”
(Snow and Anderson, 1987) and proclaim their superiority over these similarly
disparaged groups. Because homeless kids recognize that they are problematic
in the eyes of society, their denigration of other stigmatized groups is a “largely
verbal effort to restore or assure meaningful interaction” and align themselves
with the dominant culture (Stokes and Hewitt, 1976, p. 838).
Along these lines, many of the kids were homophobic and freely expressed
their disgust for homosexuality. This attitude can be attributed to the kids’ (argu-
ably accurate) interpretation of societal norms and values with regard to homo-
sexuality. By portraying gays and lesbians as ‘freakin’ faggots” and “child
molesters,” the kids were placing others lower than themselves in the social hier-
archy. The kids’ stigmatized status was deflected onto others, thereby bolstering
their own sense of self. This exclusionary strategy was especially interesting in the
context of San Francisco—a city in which there is a large population of gay and
lesbian activists and citizens, many of whom have achieved positions of power
and prestige and who themselves often denigrate the homeless. The following
conversation illustrates the pejorative discourse Home Away kids often used
when talking about gays and lesbians:
ANTOINE: Look at those homos, they make me sick.
Frep: Yeah, they be all trying to grab your ass when you walk by.
ANTOINE: I know man, they’d love a piece of us but I’d make ’em suck on a
bullet before I'd let °em suck on my thang.
Frep: People think we are nasty because we live at the Franciscan, but at
least we don’t do little boys. I mean those guys are freaks.
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 383

ANTOINE: I hear ya, I'd rather be a dope fiend livin’ in the Tenderloin than a
fuckin’ faggot! [Loud laughter]
Frep: I'd rather be a dope fiend, livin’ in the Tenderloin, selling crack to
ho’s than be a fuckin’ faggot! [Louder laughter]
Homeless kids also spoke disparagingly about homeless street people. Home-
less kids in our sample lived in shelters, residential motels, transitional housing, fos-
ter homes, and other institutional settings. Though many of them have spent a
night or two sleeping in parked cars, in a park, or on the street with their parents,
their homeless experience has taken place primarily in some type of sheltered envi-
ronment. The main reason they have not spent the majority of their lives on the
streets is because there are many more programs for homeless families in San
Francisco than there are for childless homeless adults. Essentially, the only factor
preventing their parents from becoming part of the homeless street population 1s
them. Despite this, Home Away kids often made fun of homeless street people.
Rosita: Man look at those smelly street people, they are so disgusting, why
don’t they take a shower.
Jatesa: Yeah, I’m glad they don’t let them into Hamilton with us.
Rosita: Really, they would steal our stuff and stink up the place! [Laughter]
Jatesa: Probably be drunk all the time too.
Rosita: Yeah, and smokin’ crack all night long!
Ironically, the mothers of both these girls have struggled with drug and alco-
hol addiction and have had several episodes of homelessness. By distancing them-
selves from the “true” social pariahs of San Francisco, Jalesa and Rosita mitigate
their own stigmatized status and maintain some semblance of a positive self. Fur-
ther, identifying a group as more discredited than themselves allows the girls to
feel superior to “those losers on the street.”...

Physical Posturing

Physical posturing is another form of identity work that grants homeless and
nonhomeless kids a momentary degree of empowerment. Kids who are homeless
use physical posturing to feel powerful in their interaction with nondisenfran-
chised kids, a feeling that is rarely available to them. It has long been recognized
that many adolescents are filled with insecurity as they attempt to establish their
identities. However, middle- and upper-class kids have more socially acceptable
means than low-income ones to demonstrate to others (and to themselves) that
they are important. As Anderson (1999, p. 68) notes, privileged kids “tend to be
more verbal in a way unlike those of more limited resources.
In poor inner-city neighborhoods verbal prowess is important for establish-
ing identity, but physicality is a fairly common way of asserting oneself. Physical
assertiveness is also unambiguous.” In this sense, Home Away kids’ use of physi-
cal demeanor is a stigma management technique that emerges from their social
structural location and protects them from a hostile world.
384 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

One common manifestation of this physical posturing was the use of body
language. When encountering nonhomeless children, kids in our study often
adopted threatening postures by altering their walk, speech, and clothing to
mimic “gangsta” bravado. In short, these kids adopted what Majors (1986) refers
to as the “cool pose.” For example, to get from the parking lot to the beach, we
had to walk over a very small, narrow wooden bridge. As we crossed the bridge,
we often passed kids coming from the opposite direction. As soon as the Beach
House kids spotted other kids coming toward them, they would immediately
change their demeanor. They metamorphosed from sweet cuddly kids to ghetto
gangstas. The kids grabbed their pants and pulled them down several inches to
mimic the large baggy low-riding pants of the gangbanger. They turned their
baseball caps around so that the brim was in the back and swaggered in exagger-
ated ways. Their speech became filled with ghetto jargon, and they spoke louder
than usual. When encountering other kids, the topic of conversation on the
bridge would also suddenly shift from how much fun we just had to the fate of
a gang member they knew who had just been arrested.
These self-presentations mirror what Anderson (1990, p. 175) calls “going
for bad.” Anderson argues that this intimidation tactic is clearly intended to
“keep other youths at bay” and allow disempowered kids to feel tougher, stron-
ger, and superior. Like verbal denigration, this strategy of exclusion also helped
Home Away kids to lessen their stigma. Interestingly, these behaviors clearly imi-
tate.mages of adolescence that pervade popular culture. In music videos, movies,
television shows, video games, and so on, images of baggy pants, baseball caps,
and swaggering walks abound. Although this strategy had the intended effect of
empowering Home Away kids by intimidating their nonhomeless peers, it also
reinforced their stigmatization. As Nonn (1998, p. 322) notes, “While the coping
mechanism of cool pose weakens the stigma of failure, it undermines identity ...
and contribute[s] to their own alienation from other groups in society.” Though
some kids recognized that their behavior may stigmatize them further, they still
engaged in such posturing because it was one of the few areas in their lives over
which they had some control....

Sexual Posturing
Some Home Away kids used sexuality to validate themselves. Although nonho-
meless youth|s] also engage in sexual posturing to establish a sense of self in their
social groups, Home Away kids engage in it more explicitly and overtly than
their nonhomeless peers. For Home Away kids, sexual posturing and promiscuity
articulate the sexual exploitation and violence they experienced both within and
outside the family. As researchers have documented, victims of child sexual abuse
often resort to promiscuity in adolescence and adulthood.
Molestation by older men was not uncommon, and many of these kids
learned at an early age to use their sexuality to gain status among their peers.
For example, several young women in the sample dressed and behaved in overtly
sexualized ways that surpassed what we expect from the budding sexuality of
“normal” adolescents. In one poignant incident, a 14-year-old girl was teaching
 CHAPTER 32 FITTINGIN AND FIGHTING BACK 385

a younger girl how to perform oral sex on an eleven-year-old boy. By bragging

to his friends about his newfound sexual prowess and achieving prominence
among his peers, this boy exhibited an exaggerated masculine alternative com-
monly found among lower-income racial—ethnic males (Oliver, 1984). The girls
involved increased their status by demonstrating a level of sexual maturity that
is typically associated with older women.
In another example, Patti, a 13-year-old, discussed the self-esteem she gained
through her sexual posturing.
I mean not everyone is pretty enough to get a man to pay for a room
for the night. At least I know that I can get anything I need from a man
because I am totally hot. I get lots of attention and some of my friends
are jealous of me because they know I got it going on. Some girls are so
butt ugly no man would ever even want to fuck them anyway—but not
me—they think I’m a hotty—you know what they say—if you got it
flaunt it!
As these examples illustrate, sexual posturing is an exclusionary tactic kids
use to distinguish themselves from their peers and to lessen their stigmatization.
Research has shown that some poor racial—ethnic girls invoke a discourse of
sexuality in order to negotiate and construct a more empowering identity
(Emihovich, 1998), and others may attempt to achieve similar results through
motherhood (Luker, 1996). In a society bombarded with images of hyper-
sexuality, it is not surprising that Home Away kids imitate these sexual scripts
in an attempt to strengthen their social standing....

CONCLUSION

In this article, we examine the stigma management strategies of kids who are
homeless. Although researchers of stigma management have studied a variety of
populations, our work contributes to existing knowledge by including this pre-
viously neglected group. By examining the stigma management strategies home-
less kids use, we address a number of gaps in the literature. First, our work
emphasizes the need to acknowledge stigma and homelessness as structural loca-
tions. Much like homelessness, we must posit stigma not as an individual attri-
bute but as a relationship to the social structure (Goffman, 1963; Link and
Phelan, 2001). This perspective is noteworthy because it attends to how indivi-
duals’ behaviors are both informed by and interpreted through their social struc-
tural location. This insight is particularly true of homeless kids who are oppressed
socially because of their age, race, ethnicity, and social class. Kids who are home-
less encounter and interpret a world that is characterized by hunger, uncertainty,
chaos, pain, drug abuse, violence, sexual abuse, degradation, and social rejection,
among other things. This social reality epitomizes the violence of poverty and
ultimately results in a lack of consistency, stability, and safety in their lives. Fur-
thermore, these kids exist in a constrained public domain and are forced to carve
386 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

out their own space in a limited urban environment that is generally hostile to
them. It is in this environment that kids who are homeless engage in social inter-
actions that aim to construct positive identities and overcome their discredited
status.
By positing stigma and homelessness as social structural phenomena, our
work also illustrates the processes whereby stigma may become a chronic status.
In contrast to much of the literature on stigma management, we found that the
tactics used by Home Away kids sometimes had the unintended effect of perpet-
uating their spoiled identities. Although their actions were attempts at protecting
their sense of self and gaining a degree of social acceptance, strategies such as
sexual posturing and verbal denigration substantiated societal stereotypes of kids
who are homeless as violent, disrespectful, and dangerous delinquents to be
avoided. Obviously, it is not these kids’ intention to engage in behaviors that
perpetuate their stigmatized identities and their disenfranchised positions. Rather,
it is their social structural location that offers them limited opportunities to exert
their agency in a socially acceptable way.
In attempting to negate their stigmatization, Home Away kids engaged in
strategies that often imitated the behaviors of mainstream youth[s]. By interpret-
ing popular culture and the social interactions of their nonhomeless peers, home-
less kids behaved in ways that are often exhibited, condoned, and even rewarded
when enacted by their more privileged peers. In mimicking this behavior, Home
Away kids naively expected to obtain a modicum of social acceptance. Unfortu-
nately, they failed to understand that the parameters of acceptable and unaccept-
able behavior are mediated by one’s social location. In other words, the deviant
behaviors middle-class and affluent peers engage in have different consequences
than when they are perpetrated by homeless kids (Chambliss, 1973).

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Salvadoran Immigrant Networks in
 33

Dark Secrets and the Collective

Management of Inflammatory
Bowel Disease
ALEX |. THOMPSON

The way organizations help people collectively manage their stigma is the focus
of Thompson’s study of a group that supports sufferers of inflammatory bowel
diseases (IBDs). IBDs comprise a set of conditions of the small intestine and
bowel and are found mostly in people with Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis.
Thompson discusses his participant observation of two groups, a project that was
driven by his own recent diagnosis and his transition from a membership to a
“research role.
IBDs, Thompson found, are especially stigmatized because they deal with
issues normally considered “dirty,” such as flatulence, diarrhea, incontinence, and
other shame-generating symptoms. People customarily seek out support groups of
like others to find a safe haven where they can surround themselves with those
who will understand and not judge them and, at the same time, give them advice
on how to manage the symptoms and stigma of their condition. Yet, surprisingly,
Thompson found that even members of the two groups he studied censored
themselves in this backstage realm, using group-approved euphemisms to replace
certain topics and language.
Thompson’s study is poignantly troubling because he lays bare the emotional
struggles he and others navigated in handling their medical and social selves as
they learned how to manage this stigmatized disability.
How would you compare the stigma management strategies members used
in these groups with those discussed in the individual stigma management
chapters preceding this one? At what point is it useful for them to pass over,
cover up, or accent their deviant conditions? Why do you think the shame
associated with these diseases was so strong for participants that they imposed
such strict normative guidelines for conversing with each other? What do their
stigma management strategies mean for the way they likely present themselves
to outsiders?

Reprinted with permission from the author, Alex I. Thompson.

388
 CHAPTER 33: DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 389

As the women and men around me, in turn, told of their recent
triumphs over and tragedies caused by IBD, I became increasingly
anxious. It wasn’t what they said but what they didn’t say that hit me in
wave after distressing wave. They seemed to be discussing the dirty details
of the disease without actually discussing them. As my turn approached,
I felt like an actor about to be thrust onto a stage without having seen the
script. Nevertheless, the director, Corey, gave my cue: “Alex, why don’t
you tell us a little bit about yourself.” [Fieldnote excerpt]

O ur bodies are made meaningful in the unfolding drama of social life in the set-
tings in which we find ourselves, the props we find scattered about in them,
the clothes we wear, and the words we choose. Bodies play a key role in shaping the
selves that we present and are as the curtain rises and falls on stages we inhabit.
Therefore, those living within chronically defiant “failed bodies” face an unending
threat to their selves. When this bodily defiance is also entangled in stigma, people
often encounter an additional barrier against maintaining a moral embodied self. By
exploring the ways in which individuals cope with this dilemma, we have the
opportunity to clarify the relationship between body and self, the contemporary
boundaries of the private body, and the role of the unmentionable aspects of our
physical bodies in the ongoing assembly of our dramaturgical bodies.
This discussion 1s born out of an ethnographic study broadly focusing on the
“dramaturgical body.” Goffman (1959) observed that, just as every successful
theater production relies on a dirty, chaotic backstage, so does the presentation
of self. Self-presentation depends on the “secretive creaturely body.” In focusing
on the dramaturgical embodiment of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), I ask
what happens when one is unable to keep this creature secretly tamed. I explore
IBD support group dynamics and the disparate ways in which group members
collectively harness language, and its absence, to protect their embodied selves
from the stigma of fecal matters.
I intend this research to contribute to our understanding of the unique genre of
interaction taking place in support groups. I aim to demonstrate, specifically in the
case of those organized around chronic illness, that the alternative label of “self-help
group” is true in more ways than one. A chronic illness is a chronic role, persisting
across time, place, and audience. When support group participants come together
to define their physiological and behavioral deviations, they are defining a perma-
nent and pervasive part oftheir bodies and selves. I present a view into another set-
ting focusing around the social significance and individual experience of feces and
defecation—of the private body. This focus uncovers the pressures we feel and
efforts we go to as we labor tirelessly to sanitize a relentlessly unsanitary body.
This paper explores the interactive processes by which the body afflicted
with IBD comes to be. Life for the over 1.4 million Americans living within
such a body is characterized by frequent and unpredictable diarrhea, flatulence,
abdominal cramping, and incontinence. Therefore, IBD ties together both our
understanding of the social and individual experience of chronic illness and that
390 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

of fecal matters. IBD implies a life at the intersection of the unmentioned and
the unmentionable, where the private body is constructed and maintained. This
aspect of the human body, as all others, comes about dramaturgically.

METHODS

Data were drawn from a yearlong ethnographic study of achapter of the Crohn’s
and Colitis Foundation of America (CCFA). I attended support groups, seminars,
social outings, and fund-raising drives in a CCFA chapter located in the north-
eastern United States. Ultimately, my attendance was an attempt to better under-
stand the particularities of the lives of those around me. However, finding
the connection between the personal and the professional in qualitative work,
I entered this setting not as a social scientist but as a young man.
In the spring of 2009, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, one of the two
conditions classified as IBD. In the months that followed, I was overcome with
embarrassment, shame, confusion, anger, and resentment. Although I had never
kept a personal journal before, I began writing in one daily. Feeling that I
needed to find an additional way to deal with these issues, I joined the CCFA
and began attending one of the support groups sponsored by my chapter.
During my first support group meeting, I was fascinated and troubled by the
ways that the other IBD sufferers around me chose to refer to their condition
and its consequences. While I had initially expected to be able to discuss my
experiences with IBD to whatever extent I chose, I soon realized that this was
not the case. Nevertheless, because being in the group made me feel that I was
not alone in trying to cope with the emotions and dilemmas I had recently been
dealing with, I decided to return the next month. In the subsequent months, as I
kept attending the support group meetings, my journal entries took on the
appearance of field notes. I found myself paying attention to the specific words
the support group members used and encouraged, those they avoided and dis-
couraged, and the way that stigma shaped them. Curious about whether I would
find the same phenomenon elsewhere, I increased my involvement in my CCFA
chapter and gradually came to view my participation as an ethnographic
endeavor. Over the next year, I took on the role of participant observer in
three monthly, 90-minute, CCFA-sponsored support groups. My status as a
Crohn’s disease patient and CCFA member enhanced my ability to establish
myself in that role. I also found that this personal connection allowed me to
gain rapport with my respondents, a bond that aided in the interview process.
Following a year of participant observation, I conducted semistructured
interviews with 12 support group members with IBD. These interviews ranged
from 25 minutes to 90 minutes in length. Their primary focus was on intervie-
wees’ perception of, and experiences with, the stigma of IBD. During the inter-
view process, I drew significantly on my own experiences with IBD, both to
structure my interviews and to comfort my respondents during highly emotional
conversations. This intimate personal connection did, however, pose a dilemma.
 CHAPTER 33 DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 391

As my research progressed, my health declined. I was progressively over-

whelmed by an aversion to the research. I found it suffocating to fight my own
battle against IBD while I simultaneously sought to immerse myself in the battles
fought by other sufferers. This conflict came to a head when I was hospitalized a
year after my diagnosis. One incident, in particular, typified my bewilderment, as
I recalled in the following field note excerpt:
At just past 2:00 a.m. last night, I found myself impatiently trying to
untangle my IV tube so that I could write a few jottings on the back of
a “get well soon” card. After beginning to write, I paused and let a small
ink splotch seep slowly from the tip of my pen onto the card’s glossy
surface. I was recalling the argument for ethnographers working where
we live. What I was doing seemed like something else entirely, how-
ever. It felt like debasing self-exploitation. I violently capped my pen
and threw it across the room, yelling: “Stop! You’re in the fucking
hospital!”
An incident two days later, however, significantly changed my perspective:
In preparation for today’s colonoscopy and endoscopy, I had to take
two different laxatives last night. In the midst of my countless trips to
the bathroom, my stomach pain increased dramatically. So, as I tried, in
vain, to sleep, my nurse gave me a considerable dose of morphine.
While the morphine masked my pain, it also made me semi-comatose.
I woke this morning to find that I had soiled myself in the night.
I called for a nurse, who came in and left for clean bedding. As she
stepped into the hallway, a nurse at the nurse’s station called to her:
“What’s up?” She replied: “The guy in 10 shit all over himself.”
[Fieldnote excerpt]
Although I was initially mortified by the episode, I came to see it differently
later. Having experiences like this allowed me to be intimately attuned to the
implications of IBD in a way that a nonafflicted researcher might never have
been. If I were not a sufferer myself, perhaps I never would have picked up on
the way that the stigma and interactional consequences of this illness shaped IBD
support group discourse.

IT’S A “BATHROOM DISEASE”

Living with IBD is no more or less than living with a chronic illness entrenched
in the stigma of “fecal matters.” The patients I spoke with expressed immense
distress over the associated stigma. Of greatest concern was the strong association
of IBD with restroom behavior, as Julian attempted to convey:
I feel that it’s kind of embarrassing just because it involves, you know,
the whole bathroom situation so it’s embarrassing so [long pause] I don’t
know [long pause] it’s hard for people to understand it. It’s just very
392 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

involved. The bathroom is like one of those forbidden areas that people
just don’t like to talk about. It’s like sex and a few other things [long
pause] actually sex is probably more acceptable. Everyone gets a little
squeamish when you start talking about your bowel habits [emphasis in
original].
As it was for Julian, all of the IBD patients I spoke with reported feeling
shame and humiliation at the thought of, and pressure to avoid, discussing their
illness publicly. IBD sufferers often explained it in the same guarded manner as
Karl: “I’m ashamed about it. Don’t ask me why I am; I just am.” Elaborating on
this attitude, Nancy confided in me: “It’s a very difficult disease to communicate
about and feel okay about having. No one wants to admit they have it because
it’s [pause] a ‘bathroom disease.’ No one wants to hear about that.” In the fol-
lowing field note excerpt, I wrote of Shane’s reflecting, during one of his sup-
port group’s monthly meetings, on what this feeling meant for his visits to the
pharmacy:
With his elbows on the table and resting his head in his cupped hands,
Shane stared with glazed eyes at the laminate tabletop. Whispering
almost imperceptibly, he said: “Buying enemas is humiliating, just
humiliating. Because, they make you say what you want to refill. Then,
they hand you that big bag that can only be one thing. Everyone knows
it. I wish I could go through the drive-up window but that goddamn
bag won’t fit through the window!” As he wiped a tear from the out-
side corner of his right eye with his middle finger, he said, “I just want a
normal life. I just want a normal life and to do normal activities and not
have to worry they'll all mock me [emphasis in original].”
Most told of keeping their condition a secret from both friends and family.
While some seemed to have taken it upon themselves to do so, others spoke of
feeling pressured to remain silent. Nate recounted being overtly muzzled: “After
I told her about my diagnosis, my mom gave me a look I'll always remember
and said to me, ‘Nobody wants to hear about it. We all have our issues.’” In
contrast, others realized the importance of remaining silent among family mem-
bers when they learned of a family history of gastrointestinal issues that those
members refused to talk about.
Social castigation and tacit accusation of being physically unacceptable often
pushed the IBD sufferers I spoke with to use an array of “normalizing tactics”
throughout their daily lives. As Karen described,
I just have no one. No one else knows that I have this problem. I don’t
want them to know. I mean, I'll sit there and hold it for 8 hours if I
have to. If I’m at a friend’s house I'll eat anything they give me because
I don’t want them to know anything is wrong. That’s what I do. I really
really pay for it later, but ’'d rather do that than be humiliated.
Echoing Karen’s fear of humiliation, others reported traveling with a personal
supply of toilet paper to mask the frequency of their bathroom visits, carrying a
 CHAPTER 33 DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 393

change of clothes in case of incontinence, limiting or eliminating their food

intake for as much as a full day before and/or during social engagements, and
mapping out the location of public restrooms along travel routes.
Although Turner (1984, 112) observed that “all illness is social illness,” not
all illnesses are created equal. The social sentiments attached to fecal mattets stand
as a significant hurdle in the lives of IBD sufferers above and beyond the hurdles
created by the physiological challenges of the disease. The negative social con-
struction of feces and defecation has made discussion of these matters largely
taboo. The inability to openly discuss their illness with others places IBD suf-
ferers in a precarious position as they attempt to go about dealing with the
day-to-day implications of, reconciling themselves to a lifelong affliction with,
and embodying this bodily abomination. Turning to the IBD support group,
they find that the affliction that pulls the members together is also the dark secret
threatening to push them apart. For, as Jill imparted to me, “Sometimes, I think I
might say too much during the support group [meeting].”

SOILED WORDS

In a dramaturgical sense, support groups are teams working toward, and per-
forming a working consensus on, the definition of the situation, a definition
of the commonality that brings them together. As the curtain rises and the facil-
itator begins the support group meeting, the actors are ultimately responsible
for presenting their ideal selves and for creating the opportunity for the others
to do the same. This interdependence between actors, documented in
Alcoholics Anonymous, Codependents Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous,
posttraumatic stress disorder group therapy sessions, and all kinds of support
groups (for parents of children with disabilities, separation, divorce, and bereave-
ment; parents of troubled teens; caregivers; organ transplant recipients; infertile
women; and gay and ex-gay Christians), entails limitations on individual
performances.
Across these settings, members arrive with a uniquely shaped narrative that is
often forcefully recast to fit into the group’s rigid framework. The actors are
given a relatively fixed script containing the words they may choose from and
the ways in which they may combine them. This script provides structure,
answers, and a sense of normalcy for those who are often seeking all three.
In the IBD support group, the commonality structuring the performance
was an unspeakable failed body. As IBD sufferers defined their condition, they
were defining a permanently pervasive condition of the body and self. Although
they were solely amongst those already “in the know” about IBD, support group
members expressed statements about their bodies in such a way as to implicitly
deny the entrenchment of their illness in fecal matters. By disregarding fecal mat-
ters in their discussions, support group members were able to maintain a self
unsoiled by them; they were able to avoid internalizing a soiled self. There
were several strategies they used to do so.
394 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Sidestepping
As Inglis (2000, 164) suggests, “[WJords are dirty if they refer to dirty things, and
to avoid the shame carried by the latter, one must censor the former.” Across the
attempts at explaining the silences surrounding us is a consensus that silence acts
as a barrier against embarrassment, shame, and attributions of immorality. In the
IBD support group, members disregarded the potentially damaging influence of
deviant bodies caked with fecal matters and reaffirmed the order of interaction
by participating in “a conspiracy of silence,” sidestepping soiled words.
In order to overcome the immorality often attributed to individuals who are
incapable of stringently maintaining the boundary between their public and pn-
vate bodies, IBD support group participants actively fostered silence through
avoidance and euphemisms. Early on in my observations, Gary’s attempt to
describe, to the New Holland support group facilitator Ben, the recent improve-
ments he had seen in his health encouraged me to explore this process. I docu-
mented the following in my field notes:
Ben: And how about you, Gary? How have things been goin’ lately?
Gary: I’m good. It’s much better.
BEN: Great! How so?

Gary smiled, though it was small and tight-lipped, and fidgeted in his
chair. He then furtively let his eyes and head dip towards his abdomen
as he began:
Gary: Digestively it’s [pause] things down there are [pause] I’m going less. I’m
having more solid [pause] you know [pause] it just feels like things down
there are [pause] better than they are otherwise.”
Here, two common patterns in IBD support group discourse are evident.
Members of each group made frequent references to things “down there,” accom-
panied by eye and/or hand gestures to indicate the lower half of their body. “You
know” was also a frequent catchphrase, indicating that support group members
were relying on others to mentally fill in a blank in their narration.
Individuals also frequently made statements intimating that they relied on
others to understand them solely upon the basis of those others’ own intimate
understanding of IBD. For example, Sheila informed the Mercer support
group, “It’s all, well [pause] not good. It’s just a guess but I’m probably anemic
[pause] had to buy a box of lotion Kleenex.” It was clear to me, and likely to
the others, from her statement that she had recently been dealing with bloody
diarrhea and anal irritation but neither she nor anyone else said anything further
on the matter. In a similar incident in the New Holland group, Rhonda simply
shared “Well, lately P’'ve had to start carrying a book of matches with me
wherever I go.” Again, this statement likely meant that she lately had had to
manage excessive flatulence, although she did not choose to elaborate. Other
examples included “Last week, all hell broke loose for me,” “I’m a straight
pipe,” “I’m having symptoms,” “Are you anemic?” “I’m stuck eating absolutely
no fiber,” and
 CHAPTER 33 DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 395

I did a naughty thing. I had a piece of banana cream pie. Bananas don’t
like me. I definitely paid for it. If ’'m not careful, I always pay for it. I
suffered fromit for almost two weeks. I felt like I was going to die!
In addition to appealing to general avoidance and euphemisms, the Mercer
support group had established a unique substitutive vocabulary that I have
labeled “system speak.” During their meetings, when attendees wished to refer
to their bowel, their digestive tract, or its processes or by-products, they instead
made reference to their “system.” Moreover, if members wished to highlight the
degree of severity of their diarrhea, they spoke instead in terms of the speed of
their system. For example, instead of Allen stating that he had lately been suffer-
ing from frequent diarrhea, he said, “My system has been moving very quickly
lately.” Instead of describing oatmeal as having the ability to solidify his stools,
Seth described it as “great for slowing down your system, really gums things up.”
In a related example, Olivia asked Nate, “Before your surgery, did you have a
really fast system?” He replied, “Nope. I was actually always really slow.” In my
experience with the three support groups, the Mercer group had the steepest
learning curve for new members. I credit this to the unifying utility of “system
speak.”

Soaking Up the Vocabulary

According to Goffman (1959), when preventative practices employed by a team
fail and the definition of the situation is threatened by members acting “out of
character,” actors frequently turn to corrective practices. Often, these practices
take the form of “staging cues’—“techniques for saving the show” (Goffman,
1959)—to reorient their performance. In the case of the IBD support group,
when such preventative practices as avoidance, euphemism, and/or system
speak failed, actors zealously gave staging cues. For example, new members to
the group would make mistakes, speaking openly of diarrhea, flatulence, laxa-
tives, and the like. But soon the old members told them that they were using
soiled words and taught them to do otherwise.
Here, facilitators were the most vocal and active in their attempts to socialize
new members. They acted as the directors, working to ensure that the show
went on. They usually did so in one of two ways. At times, facilitators attempted
to teach new members the proper script, or “sayings,” through what I term
“vocabulary lessons.” These cues took the form of interruption and rephrasing
directed toward relatively new members struggling to learn their role. Facilitators
subtly rephrased individuals’ statements in an acceptable form. For example, the
following is an example from an evening at the Mercer support group:
Tonight was Lora’s first time attending the group. She was silent for
about the first thirty minutes, sitting on her hands on the front few
inches of her chair, avoiding eye contact with all of us. When it came
time for her to share, she began by only answering Corey’s probing
questions with short, quiet, simple answers. After a couple of minutes,
though, she began to speak more freely, slid back into her chair, and
396 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

began to make brief eye contact with each of us. In discussing a medi-
cation she’d recently began taking, she reflected: “I feel better and it
helps to keep the diarrhea under con...” Corey’s hand shot up as if he
were a traffic cop urgently signaling her to stop. He interrupted her
with: “So, your system is moving pretty fast, right?” Lora’s posture
stiffed slightly and her eyebrows came together as her mouth seemed to
fumble for an answer: “I [pause] um [pause] sure. I guess you could say
that. But I’ve just been having a lot of diarrhea.” His hand still in the air,
Corey replied, “Yeah, when your system refuses to slow down like that,
it’s tough. We’ve all been there.” [fieldnote excerpt]
More often, however, facilitators preemptively interrupted new members. In
a closely related happening at a New Holland support group meeting, Ben used
the form of interruption common to the group facilitators:
Bryan: The cramps are the worst and [pause] I can’t take any laxatives and I
[pause]
Ben: Oh, ok. Yeah. Yeah. You can’t. I know. I hear ya.
In these instances of definitional disruption of new members, the other group
members played a smaller role in correcting the situation. Their cues were largely
passive and included downcast eyes, fidgeting, and “conspiracies of noise,” such
as nervous laughter and audible sighs. Although most new members, apparently
picking up on these cues, adopted the discursive practices imposed upon them by
the group, a few seemed unable to internalize the need to do so and stopped
attending.
I asked the Mercer support group facilitator what type of influence he per-
ceived such seemingly unaware group members as having on his support group.
He reflected on the challenges that frankness and visibility can create:
Well [pause] you have people like Greg. You remember him, right? He
showed up for a few months but hasn’t been around for more than a
while. He was just sooo [pause] outright. You know what I mean? He’d
just sit there and tell you his entire life story. It’s like when you've got
those people who come in here with an IV ‘cause they can’t keep
anything down or like that guy that came last month who’s got no
treatment options left. It all just makes me, and I’m positive everybody
else too, really uncomfortable. This is a safe place, but not that safe.
As the facilitator highlighted, the structural integrity of the situated reality fos-
tered in the group is akin to a house of cards. When members’ words or bodies
betray this reality, their presence is often akin to the slight breeze capable of top-
pling the house and burying everyone inside.

Suspending the Rules

There were exceptions to the restrictions placed on using soiled words in the
IBD support groups. When group discussions were either explicitly clinical or
 CHAPTER 33 DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 397

joking in nature, the members’ usually tight lips were noticeably looser. In these
circumstances, support group members were protected from attributions of fault
or shame either by the power of technical medical jargon to sterilize their spoiled
bodies or by the utility of satire to relieve the tension created by their deviance.
Group members demarcated two acceptable extremes within which fecal matters
were appropriate elements of discussion, on either side of an “unmarked” region
where such discussions were profane.
In avoiding the midrange of the continuum between “sterilization” and
“satirization,” a range over which public discussion of fecal matters is discredit-
ing, support group members engaged in a form of “the ceremonial labor of per-
son production.” At the extremes, only when in the presence of either medical
professionals or those choosing to make light of IBD did support group members
allow one another to discuss the dirty details of their illness. The “marked” cate-
gories of “sterilization” and “satirization” constitute a reprieve from the moral
necessity of shying away from soiled words and from the acknowledgment of
the body and self that they imply.

Sterilization

Numerous scholars have argued that a biomedical diagnosis carries with it legiti-
mation and forgiveness for an ill individual’s physiological and social limitations.
Goftman (1963) pointed to the utility of being defined as “physically sick,” for
when individuals are so defined, their deviance no longer threatens the moral
evaluation of their group.
Each support group I attended hosted a physician at least once during the
year that I spent with them. On each of these occasions, when the IBD support
group setting could be framed as clinical, the members were open about the
details of IBD that were otherwise unspeakable. As I wrote in my field notes
one evening after a meeting of the Joliet support group,
We had a guest speaker at the meeting this evening. She was a well-
known gastroenterologist from the [a nearby city] IBD specialty clinic.
I knew before the meeting that she would be in attendance but I
suppose I didn’t think much of it until a few minutes into the meeting, at
which point I was quite astonished. The physician turned to Chad, who
had just discussed the bowel resection he underwent as a child, and asked,
“Have you been dealing with considerable diarrhea? When a patient has
the type of bowel resection that it sounds like you had, it’s not uncom-
mon for them to end up having to manage a high level of motility.” I felt
my eyes widen as I listened to the conversation that followed:
CuHap: Yeah. They say the body adjusts and I’ve been with it for seventeen
years now. So, there’s a little adjustment but it’s kind of like [pause]
Dr.: Loose?
Cuap: Still a little loose, yep.
Dr.: Not watery?
398 PART V. DEVIANT IDENTITY

Cuap: Not watery. I don’t really get the diarrhea unless [pause] well, caffeine is
a big killer. I remember when I first had the surgery; a can of soda
would come out of me within minutes because of the caffeine.
Joan: Do you eat any kind of natural foods, organic, that type of thing?
Cuap: I stay away from fresh vegetables because of the gas and the fiber. I don’t
need the fiber. I don’t need anything to be pushing anything out any
quicker than it normally does.
Ceuta: I had two bowel resections. Now no matter what I eat, it doesn’t stay in
there.
SARAH: See, I’m the opposite. A lot of people have more diarrhea than me.
Upon hearing and later recalling this conversation, I noted how incongruous
it was relative to what I had come to expect from this group and these members.
Chad, Joan, and Celia each had been attending the Joliet group for at least
5 years, and although in meetings before this one they had stuck strictly to the
sidestepping, avoidance, and euphemism tactics described earlier, on this evening
they lapsed into openness, without pause, at the addition of medical profes-
sionals. Throughout the meeting, members brought up and freely discussed
bowel movement frequency, consistency, odor, and incontinence.
Two months after the aforementioned exchange in Joliet, the members of
the Mercer support group showed trepidation at allowing physicians into their
group because they feared that they would be unable to oppose the “sterile”
clinical approach that the physicians’ conversation might foster. They resolved
their mixed feelings by inviting only one doctor instead of the four who offered
to come because they were reluctant to open their dynamics up to the kind of
medical sterility and frankness the doctors’discourse would foster.

CONCLUSIONS: SELF-HELP AND FECAL MATTERS

The self is less a finished product than an ongoing work in progress found within
the discrete scenes in which we act. We are the actions we undertake, the state-
ments we make, and the narratives we tell. However, for the stigmatized, finding
a place to make these declarations and tell these stories can be a thorny proposi-
tion. Moreover, even once they have seemingly found such a place in a support
group, they often find themselves both the censored and the censors within it.
Goffman (1963, 36) argued that the veteran stigmatized go to great lengths
to “instruct him in how to manage himself physically and psychically.” This
management is aimed not only at helping the new member but also at helping
other members of the support group. Those in attendance view themselves and
their bodies through new members’ gazes, gestures, and expressions, through the
scene that they help to stage. As attendees share their stories with each other,
they help each other amend them so as to not offend one another. For, support
groups are far less settings for people to talk about their selves and far more set-
tings that they bring about by learning how to talk about their selves.
 CHAPTER 33. DARK SECRETS AND THE COLLECTIVE MANAGEMENT 399

In short, with no need or utility to be found in passing, support group mem-

bers use their gatherings not as performances but as rehearsals. They come
together and rehearse the lines making up the narratives that allow for the emer-
gence of the most admirable self, given their shared hardship. Recognizing this
tendency among the chronically ill, Charmaz (1991, 4) noted that. “most people
live with their illnesses rather than for them. Often they try to keep illness at the
margins of their lives and outside the boundaries of their self-concepts.” In this
regard, Charmaz champions the liberating power of private gatherings of those
kept silent by fear and humiliation. In breaking the silence, group members are
capable of forming favorable feelings about their selves through the eyes of those
around them.
The IBD support group offers a unique window into these support group
processes and their interplay with members’ body perceptions and _self-
perceptions. Participants in IBD support groups practice misdirection and use
euphemisms to hide their befouled private bodies from their ideally immaculate
public selves. Even in what is advertised to be a setting of honesty and openness,
in which a frequent facilitator refrain is “Don’t worry; we’ve heard it all,” they
do not allow themselves or those around them to verbally acknowledge that IBD
is a bowel condition, a life spent on a toilet. In so doing, individuals with IBD
alter and fashion the body and self that their stories exhibit. They discursively
remold an immoral failed body steeped in feces into a vaguely challenged one.

REFERENCES

Charmaz, Kathy. 1991. Good Days, Bad Days: Inglis, David. 2000. A Sociological History of
The SelfinChronic Illness and Time. New Excretory Experience: Defecatory Manners
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. and Toiletry Technologies. Lewiston,
Goffman, Erving. 1959. The Presentation NY: The Edwin Mellen Press.
of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Turner, Bryan S. 1984. The Body and Social
Doubleday. Theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.
. 1963. Stigma: Notes on the Man-
agement of Spoiled Identity. Englewood
Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
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 PART VI

HK

The Social Organization

of Deviance

|n Part VI, we turn to a closer examination of the lives and activities of devi-
ants. Once they get past dealing with outsiders, they must deal with other
members of their deviant communities and with the specifics of accomplishing
their deviance. There are several ways of looking at how deviants organize their
lives. We start by examining the relationships among groups of deviants, focusing
on the character, structure, and consequences of different types of organizations.
This typology encompasses the structure or patterns of relationships in which
individuals engage when they enter the pursuit of deviance.
As Best and Luckenbill (1980) have noted in their analysis of the social orga-
nization of deviants, relationships among deviants can follow many models. All
of the models vary along a dimension of sophistication involving complexity,
coordination, and purpose. Deviant associations differ in their numbers of mem-
bers, the task specialization among members, the stratification within the group,
and the amount of authority concentrated in the hands of a leader or leaders.
Some groups of deviants are loose and flexible, with members entering or leav-
ing at their own will, uncounted and unmonitored by anybody. Others maintain
more rigid boundaries, with access granted only by the consent of one or more
insiders. Membership rituals may vary from none to highly specific acts that must
be performed by prospective inductees, thereby granting them not only mem-
bership, but also a place in the pecking order once they are inside. In some
ways, rigidity inside deviant groups is related to their insulation from conven-
tional society: The more a group’s members withdraw into a social and eco-
nomic world of their own, the more they will develop norms and rules to
guide them, replacing those of the outside order.

401
402 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Groups of deviants also vary in their organizational sophistication, with the

more organized groups capable of more complex activities. Such organized
groups provide greater resources and services to their members; pass on the
norms, values, and lore of their deviant subculture; teach novices specific skills
and techniques when necessary; and help one another out when they get in
trouble. As a result, individuals who join more tightly knit deviant scenes tend
to be better protected from the efforts of social control agents and more deeply
committed to a deviant identity.
Best and Luckenbill outlined a range of ways by which deviants may orga-
nize socially. Loners are the most solitary, interacting with people, but keeping
their deviant attitudes, behaviors, or conditions secret. They lack the company of
other, similar deviants with whom they can share their interests, troubles, and
strategies. Serial rapists or murderers and embezzlers commit their acts without
the benefit of the camaraderie of like others. However, through the nse of Inter-
net communities, many individuals who hold themselves as loner deviants in the
real world are now finding that they are not alone. Without jeopardizing their
identities and social relations with conventional people, they have found ways to
connect anonymously with people who share their deviance and from whom
they seek company and advice. People such as sexual asphyxiates, self-injurers,
anorectics and bulimics, computer hackers, depressives, pedophiles, and others
now have the opportunity to go online and find international cybercommunities
populated 24/7 by a host of like others. These Websites offer chat rooms, Usenet
groups, email discussion lists, and bulletin boards or message boards for indivi-
duals to post where they can provide or seek the advice and cybercompany o
others. Some, such as the “proana” (anorexia) and “promia” (bulimia) sites
explicitly state that they reinforce and support the deviant behavior, regarding
it as a lifestyle choice (Force, 2005). Others, such as many self-injury sites, pur-
port to help users desist from their deviance but may actually end up reinforcing
it by providing a supportive and accepting community to whom individuals can
go when they feel misunderstood and rejected by the outside world, as we note
in our own Chapter 35 on the cybercommunities of self-injury.
Whether the sites aim to reinforce or discourage the deviance, néarly all tend
to serve several unintended functions that have significant consequences for par-
ticipants. First, they transmit knowledge of a practical and ideological sort among
people, enabling them to engage in and legitimate the behavior more effectively.
This knowledge helps people learn new variants of their activities, how to carry
them out, how to obtain medical or legal services, and how to deal with out-
siders. Second, the sites tend to be leveling, bringing people together into a
common discourse, regardless of their age, gender, marital status, ethnicity,
 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE 403

or socioeconomic status (although users do need a computer, and most have high-
speed Internet access). Third, they bridge huge spans of geographic distance,
putting Americans in contact with English-speaking people from the United
Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and, in fact, all over the world.
These interactions, regularly conducted among a range of heavy and moder-
ate users, as well as periodic posters and “lurkers” (those who read but do not
post), forge deviant communities. Participants develop ties to those communities
by virtue of the support and acceptance they offer, especially to individuals who
are lonely or semi-isolated. People who are unable to find “real” friends “FTP”
(face-to-face) may come to rely on these cybercommunities and cyberrelation-
ships, interacting with members for years and even traveling large distances to
meet each other. Such Internet relationships may come to take the place of core
friendships. In this way, if in no other, they reinforce continuing participation in
the deviance as a way of maintaining membership. The stronger and more fre-
quent the bonds, the greater effect they have on strengthening members’ deviant
identities. Deviant cybercommunities thus provide a space and a mechanism for
deviance to grow and thrive in a way that it has not previously had.
Colleagues represent the next most organizationally sophisticated associ-
ational form. Participants have face-to-face relationships with other deviants
like themselves but do not need the cooperation of fellow deviants to perform
their deviant acts. The jump from loner to colleague is the greatest leap-in the
spectrum of deviant individuals, as mutual association brings the possibility
membership in a deviant subculture or counterculture from which people ca
learn specific norms, values, and rationalizations; helpful information; specialize
terms or vocabulary; and gossip about people like them. From others, they Cin
gain social support, as we see with the expressive groups discussed earlier, and a
sense of their position in the status hierarchy of their kind. Deviants stent oe
colleagues include the homeless, recreational drug users, and con artists. Collea=
gues may interact and perform their deviance with nondeviants, such as prosti-
tutes’ clients, or johns.
Deviants socially organized as peers engage in their deviance with others
like themselves, but have no more than a minimal division of labor. Members
of neighborhood gangs who congregate with their friends generally engage in
all of the same types of activities and see role specialization only when it comes
to the leader versus the followers. Most peers traffic in a black market of illegal
goods and services, such as drugs, guns, endangered species, stolen art, and exotic
forms of sex.
Especially fascinating to the media and the public is the crew form, in which
groups of anywhere from three to a dozen individuals band together to engage
er D
404 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

in more sophisticated deviant capers than less organized deviants can accomplish.
Crews fascinate observers because their more sophisticated division of labor usu-
ally requires specialized training and socialization, giving them a more profes-
sional edge. Bounded by their lack of affiliation with other crews, they are
dependent on a leader who organizes and recruits them, sets and enforces the
group rules, plans their activities, and organizes travel and lodging if they go on
the road. Crews usually commit intricate forms of theft, but they may also
engage in smuggling and in hustling at cards and dice.
At the top of this organizational continuum are deviant formal organiza-
tions, which are much larger than crews and extend over time and space. They
may stand alone or be connected to other, similar organizations domestically or
even internationally, as we see with the Cosa Nostra Mafia families and the
Colombian drug cartels. Their affiliations may take the form of what Godson and
Olson (95) callstcansastional links,” whereby they have regular connections to
do business or exchange services with other criminal organizations, or they may
have a “global scope,” by which they conduct extensive operations in various con-
tinents through franchised branches of their own organization located in different
places. In this regard, they are akin to multinational corporations. Much larger than
crews, deviant formal organizations may have 100 or more members, so even if
their leaders are killed, the group endures. Ethnically homogeneous, these organi-
zations trade in a currency of violence, are vertically and horizontally stratified, and
have the resources to corrupt law enforcement. They are the most organizationally
sophisticated of the deviant associations formed for purely deviant purposes.
Legitimate individuals and organizations also engage in deviant activities,
although these activities may be their side, rather than primary, purpose. It is
worth noting that, although most studies of crime and deviance focus primarily
on crime in the streets, a more socially injurious amount of deviance occurs at
the top, in the suites, through white-collar_crime. But the FBI’s Uniform Crime
Reports publishes statistics only on “street crime in the United States,” so, in this
document, you will read about burglary, robbery, and theft, but not about price-
fixing, corporate fraud, pollution, or public corruption.
In the Introduction to Part II, we noted Cloward and Ohlin’s belief,
advanced in their differential opportunity theory, that access to illegitimate
opportunity is unequal. They talked about people from distinct neighborhoods,
ethnic groups, and criminal ladders having better criminal opportunities, but their
concept of differential opportunity can apply to the privileged as well. White-
collar crime is directly related to opportunities to abuse positions of financial,
organizational, and political power. We often tend to associate white-collar
crimes with strictly financial activities, but they extend to bodily injury and
 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE 405

death as well. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) estimates that 19,000
Americans are murderé every year. Compare this figure with the 56,000 Amer-
icans who die every year on the job or from occupational diseases such as black
lung and asbestosis and with the tens of thousands of other Americans who fall
victim to the silent violence of pollution, contaminated foods, hazardous con-
sumer products, and hospital malpractice. These deaths are often the result of
criminal recklessness. They are sometimes prosecuted as homicides or as criminal
violations of federal laws. And environmental crimes often result in death, disease,
and injury. In 1998, for example, a Tampa, Florida, company and the company’s
plant manager were found guilty of violating a federal hazardous-waste law. i
Those illegal acts resulted in the deaths of two 9-year-old boys who were playing
in a dumpster at the company’s facility.
erhaps the most telling statistic in the field of deviance/criminality is that
the cost of white-collar deviance to the average U.S. citizen is much greater
than that of the so-called street crime. The FBI estimates that the United States
Oses $3.8 billion a year through burglary and robbery; Compare this figure with
the loss of $300 to $500 billion a year for health care fraud alone. Yet the percep-
tron of many is that we are at a greater risk from street crime than from crime that,
emanates from executive suites. This perception is reflected in the justice system: by ¥
The average sentence for bank robbery is 7.8 years; it is 2.4 years for embezzling
money from the same institution.
White-collar crime can be divided into two main sections: occupational
crime and organizational crime. Occupational crime is pursued by individuals
acting on their own behalf. Employees at all levels of organizations may steal
from their companies, and we have also seen the rise of embezzlement and com-
puter crime. Corporate executives at such firms as Enron, Tyco, and WorldCom
looted their companies, shareholders, and employee retirement plans of millions
of dollars through fraudulent accounting, offshore and dummy corporations, and
the manipulation of information so that they could live in high style. Individuals
in charge of purchasing for their firms also frequently accepted bribes to give
business to vendors. Ponzi schemes, such as the ones run by Bernard L. Madoff,
Allen Stanford, Michael Kelly, the Villalobos brothers, and others defrauded
investors by allegedly generating high rates of returns on investments that were
secretly paid for only by the influx of funds from new subscribers. These schemes
are named after Charles Ponzi, the “king of get rich quick,” who became a mil-
lionaire in 6 months by promising investors a 50 percent return in 45 days on
international postal coupon investments.
In the government sector, we see people evading taxes through offshore com-
panies and fraudulent tax shelters, often sold to them by top accounting and
406 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

brokerage firms that charged millions of dollars for these services. Politicians—
especially those in charge of awarding government contracts—have been caught
selling power. A case in point is now-jailed U.S. Republican Congressman
Randy “Duke” Cunningham, the former Air Force flying ace (whom Tom Cruise
portrayed in the film Top Gun), who had a price list in the tens of thousands
of dollars for military appropriations. Politicians also sell business to companies
(sometimes in no-bid contracts) whose products and services are inferior or if
they have a stake in those companies. Politicians and police officers may also
receive individual remuneration for selling immunity from prosecution to
criminals or companies, in either direct cash payments or campaign contributions.
People connected to the government may also sell their influence, as we saw in
the scandals surrounding former U.S. Republican Congressman Tom DeLay and
lobbyist Jack Abramoff, both of whom collected millions from Indian tribes to
secure their gambling interests.
Nor are professionals above collecting money for their individual benefit, as
we see with doctors who accept gifts from pharmaceutical companies to steer
their patients toward certain drugs, who overcharge and overservice their patients,
and who commit Medicare and Medicaid fraud, some of which is discussed
in Liederbach’s Chapter 22. Top stockbrokers and their clients make money
through insider trading, such as what we saw in the Martha Stewart scandal.
Organizational crime, committed with the support and encouragement of
a legitimate formal organization, is intended to advance the goals of the firm or
agency. Looking at the corporate world, we see that environmental crimes top
the list, with double the dollar amount of the next-closest offenders. We also see
many instances of false advertising, with products (e.g., air and water purifiers, fire
retardants) misleadingly alleged to do something and either failing to do so or hav-
ing the reverse effect, and fraud, with companies misrepresenting themselves to
investors and the general public. Antitrust violations are the second most common
types of corporate offenses. In these situations, companies (e.g., Microsoft, Com-
cast) engage in monopolistic practices to control the market, artificially subsidizing
or cheapening their products or services (microchips, airlines, entertainment
products) to drive competitors out of business or conspiring (Samsung, General
Electric) with other companies to set minimum threshold prices for consumers.
Corruption among companies with government service contracts is rife, with
$5 billion to $7 billion lost annually during the Iraq war alone. Because of their
immense political power, big corporations have the resources to defend them-
selves in courts of law and in the court of public opinion.
Injury and loss of life may result from unsafe working conditions, as we
saw in 2005 in a number of mining deaths. In these tragedies, governmental
 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE 407

regulators let enforcement slide among several drilling organizations so that they
could strengthen their business. Widespread illness and fatalities have also arisen
because of the working conditions found in nuclear power plants, oil and chem-
ical companies, and pesticide manufacturers. But few Americans realize that,
when they buy Exxon stock or when they fill up at an Exxon gas station, the hey |
are in fact supporting a criminal recidivist corporation. For every company con-
victed of polluting the nation’s waterways, many others are not prosecuted
because their corporate defense lawyers are able to offer up a low-level employee
to go to jail in exchange for a promise from prosecutors not to touch the com-
pany or any of its high-level executives. Unsafe products represent another case
in which companies put their balance sheet above the lives of consumers, figur-
ing that it is cheaper to settle lawsuits against them than to fix the company’s
goods. Notable offenders are the pharmaceutical companies, the automobile
and tire industry, medical manufacturers, the cattle industry, and even peanut
butter companies. This system continues
This system continues to because corporations defin
thrive because
to thrive define
ee ee eri ic the
For example, ooo automobile industry
nae
worked its will on Congress over the past 30 years to block legislation me
would impose criminal sanctions on knowing and willful violations of the federal
auto safety laws. Now, if an auto company is caught violating the law and if the
cops are not asleep at the wheel, only a civil fine is imposed.
A disturbing amount of government activity also falls into this category, with
politicians abusing the public trust, manipulating information, and breaking laws
to advance their administrations. ee ee
most common area of corporate crime. Yet, for every corporation convictedo
bribery or of giving money directly to a public official in violation of federal i
there are thousands who give money legally to candidates and political parties
through political action committees. These companies profit from a system that
has effectively legalized bribery. American international policy is often clearly
tied to the interests of the corporate sector, most notably recently with the oil
industry in Middle Eastern diplomatic and military activities. The K Street proj-
ect was designed by Republican strategist Karl Rove to engineer a Republican
takeover of the lobbying industry, bringing corporate and governmental interests
and financial obligations closer together, to enrich politicians and favor their con-
tributors. Numerous domestic governmental scandals, such as the Watergate
break-in, the Iran-Contra scandal, and the National Security Agency (NSA) war-
rantless surveillance controversy, have erupted in violation of the law. The spy-
ing of the CIA, the military, the FBI, and private burglars into the telephone
records, bank accounts, Internet logs, library records, and credit card transactions
of alleged terrorists may be acceptable to the American public, but when these
408 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

things are done in violation of law or in the interest of political parties and
against reporters, political opponents, chaplains or lawyers counseling political
prisoners, or antiwar activists, they are regarded by a large number of Americans
as very grave offenses indeed. International violations have also been common,
with the secret CIA “black site” torture prisons in unknown Eastern European
countries, Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse violations, Guantanamo Bay prison
in Cuba, and numerous political dirty tricks and secret assassination attempts. All
of these white-collar crimes have led to greater cost, more loss of life, forfeit of
international prestige, and the violation of conventional norms and values than
the sum total of conventionally recognized crime and deviance. Yet big compa-
nies that are criminally prosecuted represent only the tip of a very large iceberg
of corporate wrongdoing.
 LONERS

34

Drug Use and Disordered Eating

Among College Women
KATHERINE SIRLES VECITIS

The intersection between eating disorders and drug use represents a growing form
of contemporary deviance. Sirles examines this hidden and highly stigmatized
behavior, drawing stark contrasts between her two dimensions: priority (Which
came first, eating disorder or drug use?) and the legality of the substances used
(pharmaceuticals versus street drugs). Her resulting fourfold table illuminates
several pathways that college women take in adapting to the enormous pressures
found in contemporary society—especially among the population she interviewed—
to conform to feminine standards ofbeauty. You may be alternately drawn to the
easy solutions her subjects offer and repulsed by them, but their solutions will not be
easily forgotten. This behavior compares to other loner forms of deviance, including
sexual asphyxia, anorexia and bulimia, embezzling, rape, and physician and
pharmacist drug addiction.
How would you assess the relative stigma of each of Sirles’s four types? How
would you assess them in terms of Heckert and Heckert’s categories? How do
Sirles’s types make you feel about these categories?

hen I was an undergraduate sociology student, I read the story of a young

woman’s long-time struggles with disordered eating. Her narrative had an
impact on me, particularly because of her descriptions of street amphetamine use
for appetite control. While I was certainly familiar with eating disorders gener-
ally, I was awestruck that this young woman reported using powerful, potentially
dependence-producing substances in order to control her weight. Entering grad-
uate school, I turned to this topic avidly, and was not surprised to find that
sociological research had not previously been used to analyze the relationship
between drug use and eating disorders, most prior studies coming from the med-
ical establishment. Sociological scholarship on substance use seemed to focus on

From Katherine Anne Sirles, Drug Use and Disorderly Eating Among College Women.
Reprinted by permission of the author.

409
410 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

either recreational or medicinal manifestations, of which this specific type was

neither. Instead, the use of drugs for weight control struck me as utilitarian, pur-
poseful, and extreme. In addition, the use of substances in this manner was
largely the pursuit of women, a population that I was most suited to research.
This research reports original research on college women who used licit pharma-
ceutical drugs or illicit street drugs in an ongoing effort to manage their body
weight. My goal was to analyze women’s use of these substances as a tool in
their attempts to modify their bodies.
Extreme weight control practices, which I term eating disorders or disor-
dered eating, are a serious problem. Although there is evidence that eating dis-
orders have existed since ancient times, before the late 1960s they were virtually
unknown to the general public. Diagnosis of anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa,
and other eating related medical syndromes skyrocketed during the 1970s. As
rates of disordered eating increased among young. women, the public took
notice. Mass media fueled interest in the subject as women began starving them-
selves, or bingeing and purging. This increased interest led to not only popular
reporting of the phenomenon, but also academic scholarship in the field. Since
the 1980s, researchers have analyzed problematic eating behaviors from numer-
ous different perspectives.
The majority of research focusing on women’s efforts to control and manage
their weight has failed to recognize the potentially extreme measures that young
women may take in an effort to conform to an American ideal of feminine
beauty. Increasingly, women who are or wish to be a part of the “cult of thin-
ness” are turning to street drugs and illegally or unethically obtained prescription
drugs in an effort to be ultra-slim. Despite the substantial amount of research in
the area of risky weight management, this drug use, both licit and illicit, has
not been documented. Existing literature on the relationship between substance
use and weight loss has understood drug use (e.g., alcohol, depressants, or anti-
depressants) mainly as a coping mechanism for the trials and tribulations associ-
ated with extreme weight-controlling behaviors. While the exact extent of drug
use and abuse is not known, the lack of scholarly inquiry into the relationship
between substance use and intentional weight management has left the impres-
sion that they [are] two completely distinct behavioral patterns.

METHODS

In this paper I draw on in-depth life-history interviews I conducted with 57 col-

lege age women at a large, public university. This was an appropriate place to
study drug use and eating disorders because body image distortions and distur-
bances in eating were common among college women, and illicit drug use was
widespread at university campuses. As women transitioned from high school to
college, changes occurred socially, psychologically, and academically. Women’s
eating patterns, usually set by family in the past, were subject to change, and
the pressures at college of academics, dating, and peer expectations were
 CHAPTER 34 DRUG USE AND DISORDERED EATING 411

precursors to developing eating disorders. Finding subjects for this study was dif-
ficult, as this behavior is hidden by people, even from their closest friends. I gath-
ered a convenience sample of anyone I could find to interview, culling research
participants through the posters with which I blanketed the campus and from
visits | conducted to many classes (upper and lower division), where I announced
my intentions for this project. Participants contacted me via email or phone after
my research solicitations, whether they heard about it directly or through others
on campus. I prescreened research candidates before scheduling an interview to
insure that individuals currently or historically used drugs, either licit or illicit, for
the primary purpose of weight management.
Class rank among participants ranged from freshman to seniors, and also
included three recent college graduates who remained engaged in the college
environment. Women lived both on and off campus. All participants were
between the ages of 18-25, with most identifying as white. As college students,
women in this sample represented a relatively privileged, well-educated group,
predominantly reporting growing up in either middle or upper-middle class
homes. As such, participants fell squarely within the population that has already
been identified by researchers as most prevalent among women with disordered
eating. I conducted semi-structured interviews that were very open and conver-
sational in the privacy of a campus faculty office or empty classroom, and these
usually lasted between one and two hours. After assuring my participants of
complete confidentiality, I found that they were more than willing to talk to
me about their drug use and histories of disordered eating.

TYPOLOGY OF INSTRUMENTAL DRUG USERS

Participants reported using two distinct types of substances: licit (pharmaceutical)

and illicit (street) drugs, all falling into the category of stimulants. The packaging
and distribution of these substances varied, but they all shared the side effect of
appetite control. Women’s goal-orientation (as opposed to recreation or experi-
mentation) in their drug use defined them as instrumental users, motivated by the
substances’ specific effects. Not unlike bodybuilders who used steroids instru-
mentally, women in this research conceived of their drug use as essentially per-
formance enhancing.
At the same time, instrumental drug using women varied according to the
temporal nature of their disturbed eating and drug use. Some women reported
disordered eating behaviors before the onset of their instrumental substance use.
For these women, the discovery that there were drugs that could assist them in
achieving their body and weight-control goals followed months or years of
experience with significant and deliberate weight management. Other partici-
pants reported the development of nonnormative weight managing behaviors
afier a period of drug use. Generally, these women transformed their personal
drug usage patterns from recreational or medicinal into instrumental use. This
usually followed positive social reinforcement and personal satisfaction about
412 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

TABLE 34.1 Typology of Instrumental Drug Users

Licit Drug Users Illicit Drug Users

Disordered Eating Foundation Conventional Over-Conformist Scroungers

Drug Use Foundation Journeyers Opportunists

changes in their bodily appearance. Women who then identified drug use as a
desirable means to maintain or continue weight loss, and perceived the results of
their efforts as positive, were compelled to further develop their behaviors. To be
clear, I termed the behavior women engaged in first, whether it was drug use or
problematic eating, as women’s instrumental drug using foundation. Table 34.1
introduces the four types of instrumental drug users analyzed in this research:
The first category of women consisted of the “conventional over-
conformists.” These women reported a history: (foundation) of disordered eating
prior to their instrumental prescription drug use for weight loss. They were con-
ventional in their choice to use the more socially accepted prescription drugs
instead of street drugs. Although they used drugs instrumentally, their overall
motivation centered on achieving the cultural ideal of thinness; their goal was
conformist. Most of these women’s weight management goals evolved from
conforming to over-conforming, with an acute fixation on weight that tended
to exceed average social expectations for personal body modification. Partici-
pants’ excessive adherence to ideals of beauty, along with their nonnormative
means used to accomplish this ideal, distinguished them as deviants (although
their deviant means were largely unknown to others in everyday life). Most con-
ventional over-conformists presented as thin, but not too thin, and constituted
the largest category in my typology of users (n = 24).
The second largest category of instrumental drug users (n = 13) [was] the
“scroungers.” This group consisted of women who reported a foundation of dis-
ordered eating, only later (after the onset of problematic weight control) turning
to street drugs for weight control. I call them scroungers because their choice of
street drugs represented a much less socially accepted form of substance use.
Many of the women conceived of these drugs as “dirty,” “unacceptable,” or
“inappropniate,” highlighting their conception of illicit drugs. Their access to
illicit substances was customarily not as consistent or reliable as it was for those
using pharmaceuticals, leaving them, at times, forced to forage or scrounge for
their supply. Generally speaking, however, women reported scarcely more diffi-
culty in obtaining street drugs than was typically expected for illicit substances.
Third, women who used prescription drugs recreationally or medicinally
prior to their instrumental use for weight control made up the category of “jour-
neyers” (n = 11). This term depicts the journey, or evolution, through which
their drug use patterns evolved. While some women in this category reported
using pharmaceuticals instrumentally for academic purposes, intentionally gear-
ing their drug use toward weight management shifted aspects of their deviant
career in ways that were specific to their body modification goals. For example,
 CHAPTER 34 DRUG USE AND DISORDERED EATING 413

journeyers tended to ration their supply of pharmaceuticals in a different mannet

once weight management became a priority.
The last, and smallest, category was the “opportunists” (n = 9). Opportunists
were women who initially used street drugs recreationally, and later transformed
their drug use into instrumental patterns for weight control purposes. | call them
opportunists for the way they recognized the positive social feedback about their
drug-assisted weight loss and defined it as an opportunity for the transformation
of self. Like journeyers, opportunists engaged in substance use before they turned
into instrumental drug users. Opportunists, like journeyers, shifted a wide array
of behavioral practices in order to accommodate their instrumental drug use.
Opportunists did not necessarily stop using drugs recreationally during their per-
iods of instrumental use; in fact, many participants (not just journeyers or oppor-
tunists) reported recreational drug use, some on a fairly regular basis.

SOLITARY DEVIANCE

Some deviance is practiced by individuals alone, away from the company of

others. Scholars have conceptualized forms of solitary deviance in a number of
ways. Best and Luckenbill (1980) described individuals engaged in deviance
alone as “loners.” These people did not associate with others “for the purpose
of sociability, the performance of deviant activities, or the exchange of supplies
and information” (p. 15). Prus and Grills (2003) further elaborated categories of
individual deviance through their work on “solitary operators” and “subcultural
participants.”’ Solitary operators, like loners, acted alone, and did not associate
with deviant others. Subcultural participants also acted alone, but their deviant
behaviors were heavily influenced by particular group memberships. Other
examples of loner deviants include sexual asphyxiates, self-injurers, substance
abusing pharmacists, embezzlers, and anorectics and bulimics. While loners devi-
ants lack contact with the company of fellow similar deviants but may victimize
others, as is the case with obscene phone callers or violent individuals, the
women in this research were completely solo actors.
In Adler and Adler’s study of self-injurers (2005: 352), they described loners
as “on their own,” noting that they “must find the deviance, decide to engage in
it, and figure out how to do it themselves.” Unlike other forms of deviant asso-
ciations, where individuals learn from and support each other, loners evolve from
conforming behavior to nonconforming behavior without any aid. Such an evo-
lution demanded that individuals singularly create the means and rationaliza-
tions for any given behavior. This, in a large way, differentiated loners from
other varieties of deviants. They lacked others to introduce them to specific
behavior and guide them through the learning process, to offer support and
guidance throughout their deviant careers, and to provide them with alternative
values and ideals, helping them define and rationalize their behavior. They also
lacked help dealing with the practical hurdles or problems of the deviant lifestyle.
Instrumental users were unable or unwilling to seek out deviant others, and thus
lived without the support that potentially accompanied deviant associations.
414 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Generally, loners subscribed to normative social values, ideas, and behaviors.

They were “entrenched” in the dominant culture and “likely, then, to view
their deviant acts through the value system of conventionality” (Adler and
ler 2005: 347). This contradiction of normative values and deviant actions was
ever-present for women in this research, causing a strain that many felt forced
them to keep nonnormative behaviors private.

Loners and Secrecy

For the most part, women in this research reported employing lies and secrecy
during the course of their deviant behaviors. They were fully capable of engaging
in, or at least sharing information about, their deviance with trusted others, yet
they consistently chose to keep these behaviors hidden. In an effort to lessen the
potential negative consequences (such as labeling) that might result from others
knowing, individuals chose the loner lifestyle. Their fear of stigmatization
was not the only motivation for keeping behaviors private; many women feared
that if others knew about their instrumental drug use, they would be forced
to stop.
Women who were motivated to adopt extreme weight control practices
needed to look no further than an Internet search on “pro-anorexia” or “pro-
bulimia” to find other like-minded individuals gathered in an online community.
They could have thus easily sought out the company of like others. Online,
individuals were willing to trade tips and tricks for weight loss, explaining and
neutralizing their behaviors as a “lifestyle choice.” However, outside of the
anonymous support and camaraderie an Internet community might have offered,
women practicing extreme weight control were often embarrassed about their
methods. As a result, they went to great lengths to maintain secrecy. This consis-
tent drive to conceal their chosen weight control method highlights the extreme
deviance of these behaviors.
In addition to drug use, the specific weight controlling behaviors my subjects
practiced at one time or another included severe caloric restriction, episodes of
bingeing and purging, laxative abuse, cigarette smoking, dishonesty in the course
of medical care, and obsessive thoughts about weight and body management.
Most of these behaviors were likely to be viewed as nonnormative by the
women themselves. Although their means were deviant, these behaviors were
specifically aimed at achieving an appearance that would be praised and admired
by others. Thus women’s secrecy did not surround the results of their drug use
(i.e., their thinner bodies); rather it centered on their pathways.
Generally, my research participants were high achievers or perfectionists, ful-
filling or exceeding societal expectations in a variety of arenas. These privileged
and socially accepted individuals included honors students, college athletes, social
leaders, award winners, and future professionals. Through their prosocial bonds,
ideals, and entrenchment, these women had high levels of attachment, and thus
a high “stake” in conventional society. With much to lose, many perceived
the consequences of being caught and labeled as deviant to be severe, even
unacceptable.
 CHAPTER 34 DRUG USE AND DISORDERED EATING 415

Secrecy among Licit Substance Users Women who engaged in pharmaceu-

tical substance use displayed differences from those using illicit substances in their
level and intensity of secrecy about their weight control methods. Many college
campuses reported high rates of prescription stimulant use, but such behaviors
were more socially acceptable when aimed at academic performance (McCabe
et al. 2005; McCabe, Teter, and Boyd 2005). Women in this study feared that
their instrumental drug use would be too readily associated with disordered eat-
ing, which was generally negatively stigmatized by others. For example, Corina,
a 22-year-old college senior studying sociology, reported that:
Um, I don’t think anyone knows. I never said anything and um.... I
don’t really want to. I’ve definitely, uh, thought about it, ike who
knows? Who knows? ... But I think mostly I’m being paranoid ’cause I
don’t know why they would.... Sometimes I talk about using Adderall
to study, um, but that’s, you know, different. No one cares about that;
they'll just ask you if they can have some.
Given that it was relatively easy to hide both pharmaceutical drugs and their
ingestion, many licit substance users suspected that no one knew about their use
at all.
Pharmaceutical users employed a variety of means for hiding their behavior.
Women often employed secrets and lies to obtain their medications. Getting
their drugs required them to construct “covers” for their frequent visits to the
doctor. Students, who routinely had to visit doctors on campus, did so during
the weekdays, spending an hour at the campus health center instead of eating
lunch with friends. They created a host of alibis for these visits. Cynthia, a
21-year-old young woman studying biology, spoke directly to this point:
What would I tell people? Oh I dunno. Ha, I mean it’s not that much
ofa stretch.... Once a month.... I say something like uh, um, say, “I
have to get my teeth cleaned.” Or “I have a group project meeting in
[the dorms].” ... No one, no one thinks, you know, no one thinks too
much of it.

Secrecy among Illicit Substance Users When compared to licit substance

users, women using illicit drugs reported a different kind of secrecy. The use of
street drugs was not only illegal, but it was also largely frowned upon socially.
Regardless, subcultures surrounding black market drugs have existed throughout
history, populated by individuals who, despite dominant cultural proscriptions,
engaged in deviant drug use. As a result, illicit drug users had access to others
who valued and used, to one degree or another, psychoactive substances. For
example, Opal, 20-year-old college sophomore and cocaine user, told me:
A lot it’s by myself but, uh, you know, I always do, when my dealer is
around, uh, not too much, you know, but always some.... I have
friends who I sniffed up with but, uh, also people who did not by any
means, you know, blow coke, like ever.
416 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Study participants were generally discrete about using illicit drugs in casual
everyday conversations with their peers, but were able to let loose in the com-
pany of others using substances. Their secrecy surrounded their motivations
for using drugs and the regularity of their consumption. Sasha, a 21-year-old
college senior, reported extreme reluctance to talk with friends or family who
did not use illegal drugs, noting that her family was particularly unfamiliar with
drugs:
Absolutely not, no way, uh-uh.... They would shit. I mean, look, let
me tell you that my family is completely against drugs so I don’t know
why they even let me come to [this school].... Really they just have no
clue about anything. They’d be like that woman who thought that a
bong was, um, a horn.... If they knew about any of this, well I bet my
dad’d say that I was going to end up jumping out of a window.

SOCIAL ISOLATION

As a result of keeping their deviance hidden from others, loners kept an important
dimension of their lives secret. Unlike the self-injurers described by Adler and
Adler (2005) who wanted to concentrate fully on themselves during the act,
these instrumental drug users preferred to be alone primarily so others would
not find out what they were doing. Some women reported that they had rituals
surrounding drug use which they enjoyed, but isolating themselves during epi-
sodes of drug use was a choice. Ophelia, a 21-year-old junior, told me:
I did coke and stuff at parties; it’s not like I have a problem with drugs
at all. I mean, I don’t really care what people do, whatever. I'd do stuff
with my friends and drink. But mostly since I was using all the time,
I ended up keeping it to myself because, uh, I don’t know. I was
embarrassed how much I cared about being skinny.
Many instrumental users feared that if others found out how they were con-
trolling their weight, the benefits others associated with their own weight con-
trol would be diminished. Women enjoyed the idea that others thought they
were “naturally thin.” In order to maintain that appearance, they had to keep
secrets from their friends and sneak around, creating a wall between others and
themselves.

PRACTICAL HURDLES

To manage the impressions others developed about them, the women in my

study were forced to navigate the practical problems they encountered in main-
taining their deviance alone. Many women identified with the common narra-
tives of eating disorders, but a piece of the puzzle was missing. They lacked
access to information regarding substance use for weight control.
 CHAPTER 34 DRUG USE AND DISORDERED EATING 417

Health Consequences of Instrumental Drug Use Very little was known or

discussed about the behaviors described in this research. Consequently, women
were left to create their own drug-using systems. These included assessing their
health risks, such as how much drug use was physiologically safe. They were
forced to rely on self-created systems of interpreting signs and signals regarding
changes in their bodies. This began, but did not end, with rapid or excessive
weight loss. Carla, a 20-year-old college junior, discussed some of the other
symptoms she noticed:
Sometimes I can, uh, feel like, my heart beating a little bit faster. Like a
little bit.... It definitely raced sometimes, but not a lot.... And it
sometimes gives you this taste, um, “metally,” in your mouth. That
happens when you really don’t eat.
When physical signs like these presented, women dealt with them on their
own.
While pharmaceutical drug users could mention any physical symptoms to
their doctors, many of my subjects felt constrained, often withholding negative
information from their doctors in order to protect their prescriptions. Cheyenne,
a 20-year-old junior and former cross-country runner, said:
These appointments are short, ya know? So I just kinda, um, say things
are good, you know, whatever. It’s working.... Sometimes in the
beginning he would ask me how, uh, or why I thought it was working
and I’d give some bullshit story ... But it’s not like a physical exam or
anything.... He doesn’t ask too much about my health besides asking
about how it’s going with my dose.
Since many women went to psychiatrists for their medications, appoint-
ments did not generally include any physical exams. As such, any health pro-
blems that arose from women’s drug use often went undocumented and
untreated by the medical establishment.
Illicit substance users, like licit users, most often dealt with health-related
concerns that resulted from drugs, on their own. The types of health questions
or problems often varied according to the amount of drugs they were consum-
ing. Higher doses or prolonged use often led to greater health consequences.
Sammy, a college sophomore, recalled an incident that was related to her drug
use and health:
Well, I passed out once, full on.... I was standing by my closet folding
some laundry and I sort of, uh, fell into the clothes that were hanging
there. I hit the wall with my head.... Everything went totally black....
But it only lasted like, um, five seconds. It was weird, but it didn’t, like,
scare me or anything.
Like Sammy, a few participants reported dizzy spells, which were sometimes
blamed on caloric restriction instead of drug use. In addition, many women
explained that consistent low calorie diets caused feelings of weakness or
disconnection.
418 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

All participants reported that using drugs had effects on their moods and
energy levels. For many, this aspect of drug use was a two-sided coin. First, sti-
mulants gave an initial boost, a general feeling of well-being for a period of time
following consumption. However, after time, many women reported that these
substances made them irritable or cranky. Savannah, a college senior, told me:
I'd be gritting my teeth, just so irritated with the world.... You know,
especially in the morning, I’d sometimes just feel like shit.... You’d
want to stay away from me, trust me on that one.
Reports of mood swings were quite common, and were generally regarded
as an annoyance by participants. Stimulants also interfered with normal sleeping
and eating patterns.
Financing Drug Use Another practical problem these women encountered
involved financing their drug use. The associated costs varied according to the
regularity and dosages of drug use, varying also by specific substances. For exam-
ple, illicit drug users, who tended to prefer cocaine, faced relatively high street
costs for their supplies. On average, women using cocaine reported spending
between fifty and one hundred dollars per gram. Pharmaceutical users reported
variations in cost as well, but these were generally reported as a per-month esti-
mation, whereas illicit users reported their costs by weight. Prescriptions tended
to cost women between forty and two hundred dollars a month.
Supporting a cocaine habit placed different levels of strain on women’s
finances depending on how much and how often they used, as well as [on]
their general financial situations. For some women, money flowed from their
families, [so these women were] endowed with hefty enough allowances to
support drug use. I asked Odessa, a 21-year-old college student who received
such an allowance, if she told her parents what she spent money on. She said:
They don’t really know. I mean, I think clothes and going out or
whatever, they don’t really ask.... Once my dad found shit in my
bathroom though, and he asked me about it. Not money, I mean; he
asked about if I was using drugs.... I don’t think they know.
Some women, on the other hand, did not have parents willing or able to
support them while they were in school. Even those who received moderate
support were sometimes forced to finance drugs on their own.
Specific means for securing monies ranged greatly among participants. Many
women held jobs while they went to school. Outside employment was not gen-
erally full-time, but for many, it was enough to supplement their income. Sally, a
junior studying biology, reported a scheme she used throughout college:
I sign up for eighteen credits, then my parents pay my tuition.... Then I
wait ‘til school starts and drop classes, so I’ve got like, uh, twelve cred-
its.... I have it set up so that the refund from that tuition, you know,
goes into my bank.... I’ve done it a few times.... I get a chunk of
money.
 CHAPTER 34 DRUG USE AND DISORDERED EATING 419

Contrary to my expectations, participants did not report engaging in illicit

drug sales in order to fund their drug use. While a few women had acted at
one point or another, as middle-men, “hooking” friends up with drugs, regular
systematic dealing was not reported.
Although women did not become sellers themselves, many reported that the
more time they spent immersed in drug subcultures, hanging out with dealers or
fellow users, the less money their drugs cost them. However, because most illicit
users were relatively secretive about the regularity of their use, their dealers were
privy to more information than were their fellow drug users. Close relationships
with dealers were useful for some women, but price structures for cocaine were
still set by the local black market. Accordingly, even though frequent contact
with the drug world may have sometimes yielded lower prices, drugs ended up
being a major financial cost in illicit users’ lives.
Pharmaceutical users’ reports of financial strain were very different from
street drug users’ experiences. Since women did not obtain their substances
from the black market, their costs remained relatively stable, depending on
how many prescriptions they were filling and what types of pills they received.
In addition, many women were able to at least partially, if not wholly, cover
the costs of their medications with health insurance. A 30-day supply of Adderall
cost one woman roughly forty dollars. That same supply, same brand, same dose,
cost another participant around one hundred dollars. The former had health
insurance; the latter paid out-of-pocket.
Financing drug use certainly put constraints on many women. At times, use
patterns would be affected by individuals’ pocketbooks. Times of plenty enabled
more frequent or heavier use. When money was scarce, many women were
forced to use less. Plenty of participants reported a regular system for funding
drug use. Women used certain amounts regularly and figured out how to pay
for their supplies. While some women reported shifts in their use patterns,
many participants maintained fairly stable habits for significant chunks of time.
The relative privilege of women who participated in this research may have
accounted for their ability to continue using. In addition, these types of weight
managing behaviors may have been largely self-selected by those who were able
to support consistent drug use. For example, there could have been women who
employed extreme weight control techniques who would have adopted drug use
as well, if not for the cost. Instrumental users’ reports of financial strain were
common during interviews. However, most did not report money as the cause
of significant concern. While one might think that, especially for illicit drug
users, finances would eventually force them out of their deviant career, this was
generally not the case.

CONCLUSION

The deviant associations reported by the women discussed in this study varied by
the legal status of their drug of choice. Although a few pharmaceutical users
obtained their pills on the black market, most purchased these drugs through
420 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

conventional medical routes. As a result, licit drug users were not forced to inter-
act with other drug users. Street drug users were more likely, however, to inter-
act with other drug users, and reported many nonnormative associations. While
they were not comfortable talking with these people about their drug use for
weight control, illicit drug users were at least likely to engage in sociability
with other drug users. Yet all of the women discussed in this study hid their
instrumental drug use and its relation to their feelings about their bodies and
weight. The goals of their drug use, the regularity of their drug use, and the
combination of their drug use with their eating disorders shamed them into
maintaining a degree of secrecy that kept them from opening up to even their
closest friends and family members about this behavior. As such, they were alone
with their deviance.

REFERENCES

Adler, Patricia, and Peter Adler. 2005. from.a National Survey.” Addictive
“Self-Injurers as Loners: the Social Behaviors 30: 78-805.
Organization of Solitary Deviance.” McCabe, Sean E., Christian J. Teter, and
Deviant Behavior 26: 345-378. CarolJ.Boyd. 2005. “Illicit Use of
Best, Joel and David F. Luckenbill. 1980. Prescription Pain Medication among
The Social Organization of Devi- College Students.” Drug and Alcohol
ants.” Social Problems 28: 14-31. Dependence 77: 34—47.
McCabe, Sean E., John R. Knight, Prus, Robert, and Scott Grills. 2003. The
Christian J. Teter, and Henry Deviant Mystique: Involvements, Reali-
Wechsler. 2005. “Non-Medical Use ties, and Regulation. Westport, CN:
of Stimulants among U.S. College Praeger.
Students: Prevalence and Correlates
 ONLINE COMMUNITIES

35

Cybercommunities of Self-Injury
PATRICIA A. ADLER AND PETER ADLER

Self-injurers—those who cut, burn, brand, pick at, or otherwise injure themselves
in a deliberate, but nonsuicidal, attempt to achieve reliefbyharming themselves—
grew from a relatively small and unknown population into a burgeoning, but
largely secretive, group in the late 1990s. Although these people are no longer
regarded as mentally ill or suicidal, as they once were, a strong stigma remains
attached to the behavior. Consequently, they are still, for the strongest part, loners
in the solid (or real-life) world, hiding or giving legitimate accountsfor their scars.
Yet the early 2000s saw the rise of online communities of self-injurers, first just
as places where individuals could find each other and gain nonjudgmental accep-
tance, but later as support groups composed of like-minded others. Self-injurers
thus represent a hybrid associational form, behaving as loners in the solid world
and colleagues in the cyberworld. Based on extensive online research and more
than 135 in-depth, life-history interviews, this contribution by the Adlers gives
us a rich portrayal of these deviant communities and the relationships that form
within them.
How do you think these cyber support groups compare and contrast with
those of other deviants? With those who meet in person, like Thompson’s in
Chapter 33, or with those who meet online? How do they compare with those
people mentioned in Davis’s discussion of the transabled? Do you think that this
hybrid associational
form is unusual or more common? What does it suggest about
the types of interactions people have online versus in person? Do you think that
cyberselves and cyberrelationships serve as a staging ground, helping to prepare
people to interact more successfully in the real world, or do they take people
away from the real world, replacing it with a community that is more important
to them?

he cyberworld represents a new frontier, one that extends what has often been
colloquially referred to as the fourth and fifth dimensions: time and space. The
cyberworld occurs in a new form of space that is both “out there,” and “in here,”

Reprinted with permission from the authors, Patricia A. Adler and Peter Adler.

421
422 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

simultaneously public and social, while remaining private and solitary. It is created
by technology and populated by disembodied people in a virtual universe
detached from any physical location. This space is a fertile location for the rise of
virtual communities, which challenge traditional notions of identity and associa-
tions. In this paper, we focus on the way self-injury—the deliberate, nonsuicidal
destruction of one’s own body tissue, incorporating practices such as self-cutting,
burning, branding, scratching, picking at skin or reopening wounds, biting, head
banging, hair pulling (trichotillomania), hitting (with a hammer or other object),
and bone breaking, has been affected by the Internet.
In an earlier work (Adler and Adler, 2005), we described the way self-
injurers hid their behavior from others and embodied the deviant associational
form (Best and Luckenbill, 1982) of “loners,” bereft of the subcultural support,
knowledge, and interaction with others who, like themselves, live on the mar-
gins. Yet, through the computer-mediated communication of the World Wide
Web, these individuals, unconnected in what they (and almost everybody else)
call real life, have constructed myriad cyberforums and cybercommunities. We
describe some outgrowths of this cybercommunication—specifically, the rise of
cyber subcultures that transform face-to-face loner deviants into cyber “collea-
gues,” and we analyze the implications of this development for the concept of
deviant associations in the postmodern world.
Drawing on data gathered through analysis of self-injury bulletin boards and
Usenet groups, in-depth life history interviews with self-injurers, and email com-
munications and relationships formed over a period of 5 years, we begin by dis-
cussing the way people discovered the existence of self-injury on the Internet
and some of the ways they engaged it. We then examine self-injury cybercom-
munities and their characteristics. Beyond community, the virtual networks of
self-injurers reveal complex forms of social relationships, as people engage and
disengage from contact with others they meet online, forging bonds that bypass
and transcend the corporeality of real life. We examine the differences between
face-to-face relationships and those developed in the anonymity, intimacy, and
invisibility of cyberspace. We conclude by analyzing the implications of the
development of cybercommunities and cyber subcultures in the postmodern
world and reflect on the effect of this postmodern medium on self-injurers’
cyberselves and their lives in the solid world.

METHODS

The nascent idea for this research began in 1982 when a student of Peter’s spoke to
him about her cutting. Over the next few years, we continued to hear reports
from friends and students about cutting, burning, branding, and bone breaking,
further piquing our curiosity about this behavior and its spread. We began
our formal research in 2000 and since that time have conducted 125 in-depth
interviews, in person and on the telephone, generating the largest existing qualita-
tive data set with a nonclinical self-injuring population. Participants ranged in age
from 16 to their mid-fifties, with more women (100) than men (25), nearly all
 CHAPTER 35 CYBERCOMMUNITIES OF SELF-INJURY 423

Caucasian. We initially found participants through a convenience sample of indi-

viduals who heard, usually on one of our two campuses, that we were looking to
talk with people who selfinjured. Interested parties requested interviews via email.
In addition, beginning in early 2002 we began to explore the Websites,
message/bulletin boards, and public postings of self-injurers, joining a growing
group of Internet ethnographers. Since 2002, we have collected tens of thou-
sands of Internet messages and emails, including those posted publicly and those
written to and by us. This computer-mediated communication offered insight
into the subcultures of self-injurers and their naturally occurring conversations.
Further, like other cyberresearchers, we used the Web as a means of recruitment,
going to various sites, lists, groups, boards, and chat rooms to solicit subjects. We
posted copies of our informed consent form and the complete range of interview
topics on Patti’s university Website, directing potential participants to view and
sign these before agreeing to be interviewed.
Because of the vulnerable nature of the self-injuring population, we specifi-
cally told people that we were not interested in interviewing minors over the
telephone and we asked people who agreed to talk to us to print, sign, and
FAX, or mail us their consent form along with proof of their age. The resulting
telephone interviews ranged from locations all over the United States to Canada,
the United Kingdom, Sweden, Australia, New Zealand, Bulgaria, and Germany.
Of the interviews we conducted, nearly two-thirds of respondents said that used
the Internet in connection with their self-injury. Finally, over the course of these
years, we developed deeper cyberrelationships with people we “met” on message
boards and in groups, through interviews, through side instant messages and
email conversations, and through friends of these friends, and these dozen or so
individuals helped us as we struggled to conceptualize our data, sharing their life
stories with us and regularly responding to questions we posed out of the socio-
logical literature.
The extremely sensitive nature of this topic and the gender patterning of the
people who came forward dictated that Patti conduct the interviews. These fol-
lowed a natural-history approach and then moved to specific sociological con-
cerns that evolved creatively over the years. This paper relies upon data from
both Internet postings and in-depth interviews. All the postings are presented
unedited, with the exception of replacing real screen names with pseudonyms.

SELF-INJURY IN CYBERSPACE

During our early face-to-face interviews, most of the people we encountered

worked hard to hide their self-injury and felt the sting of social condemnation
and shame. They were primarily loner deviants, unconnected to other self-
injurers and lacking the social support and information diffusal prevalent in devi-
ant subcultures.
Beginning in the late 1990s and early 2000s, people began going to the
Internet as a resource. Most felt confused and alone, unable to find counterparts
424 PART VI. THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

in the solid world, and sought help for themselves. Paula, a 38-year-old holistic
massage therapist who had picked open wounds for years, described the frustra-
tion that led her, in 2000, to search the Web:

Sometimes the picking episodes would be like three or four hours long
and when I would use the needle, this wasn’t a hugely bloody thing,
but it was a little bloody. And I’d be in a position like this [leaning the top
of her head forward toward the mirror, but with her eyes peeking up], in kind of
a grimace, because you can’t be in a position like this for three hours
without being really physically just pshhh. And you know, ’m emo-
tionally disconnected, so there’d be this sort of like insane look in my
eyes, and I’m looking in the mirror and I’m not really seeing my
reflection because I’m focusing on this. Blood is gathered on my hands,
so I have caked blood all over my fingers, maybe some moments where
more blood comes, and it really starts to drip. So I had one of these,
“Pm here for hours,” and then all of a sudden the veil comes up and I
see myself like this, and I see the look in my face and I see the blood on
my hands, and that’s when I went to my computer and I said, “I need
fuckin’ help.” And I know there’s gotta be something out there, and I
don’t know what the hell it is, but I need help. And that’s when I got
online and just put in words.
We describe here the ways that self-injurers’ lives were dramatically changed
by their cybercommunication, compared with their status as isolates in the solid
world. Self-injurers participated in three of the four common modes of Internet
engagement. They participated passively by going to Websites, reading others’
postings and poetry, and viewing their images, some of which were rather
graphic. They participated interactively in message/bulletin boards, newsgroups,
Usenet groups, or listservs that offered supportive communities. They found
real-time communication in chat rooms, populated around the clock all over
the world. We found no virtual spaces—the interactive, multiuser, online cyber-
games, cyberpubs, cybercafes, or other forums that go beyond mere words to
offer visual representations of characters in “textual virtual reality’—however,
marked by or for self-injurers.

Cybercommunities
Critical to becoming a regular participant in self-injury cyberspace was establish-
ing membership in one of the many cybercommunities.

Finding a Community People searched until they found a community that

seemed to fit their specialized needs. In this endeavor, they considered the size,
level of activity, demographics, and orientation of the group. People with the
greatest communication needs gravitated toward busier communities. Some of
those communities marketed themselves specifically as teen oriented (the largest
numbers of people), others were for older people (twenty somethings were still
 CHAPTER 35 CYBERCOMMUNITIES OF SELF-INJURY 425

numerous, people in their thirties were steady but fewer, in their forties still a
group, and the smallest numbers were in their fifties), and many invited a mix-
ture of ages.
Individuals came to rely on their cybercommunities to help them. They
found it important to talk to people who knew what they were going through,
given that most people they knew in real life did not really understand self-
injury. When they found a community that fit them well, the experience was
rewarding. Paula, the holistic massage therapist, expressed the sense of commu-
nity she got from her group:
It’s a good feeling to find a community that can accept your darkest
shadows, but it’s also a really scary thing to see those shadows. So it was
double-edged. But it got to where, the same way I would look forward
to coming home to pick, I would look forward to getting home and
getting on the computer and reading all the emails, and I would go on
the chats. It’s a world, it is definitely a world.
Yet many others found that no one community completely satisfied their
needs. Self-injurers searched around, moving through different sites and groups,
finding some that were partially, but not completely, satisfying.
Others used memberships in multiple communities to express different iden-
tities or different aspects of their identities. Tim, a 21-year-old part-time college
student who held various part-time jobs and who moderated his own self-injury
group, felt that he had to offer a hopeful self-presentation to the people he was
helping on his site, so he proclaimed himself free of self-injury for 2 years when,
in fact, he had lapsed in and out of cutting. Tim also used his membership in
another group to discuss his ongoing problems, presenting a different self and
identity there, although he used the same screen name.

Nature of the Community Communities differed in their policies, their

norms, and their orientations toward self-injury. Some were highly regulated,
while others were fairly open; some were highly focused, while others were dif-
fuse; some were stringently anti-self-injury, while others were more accepting of
people’s continuing practice. A moderator on one group regularly posted the
following policy:
The reason that this group exists is to help people in recovery. All
members are asked to identify the alternatives s/he tried to use to avoid
using [self-injury] as a coping mechanism. For those who are not ready
to embrace recovery, this is the wrong group.
Linda, a 40-year-old former medical transcriptionist, discussed how she felt
frustrated by her membership in a group that was highly regulated and that pro-
hibited any actual discussion of self-injury. She had to supplement this site with
visits to another that was not as rigidly recovery oriented, one in which the
absence of a “no trigger” policy enabled her to vent her feelings about suicide
and injuring.
426 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Finally, a few sites were more avowedly pro-self-injury. These sites

approached self-injury in much the same way as the pro-anorexia and pro-suicide
movements. They treated it as a voluntary lifestyle choice and a long-term cop-
ing mechanism. Considering individuals’ decision to injure themselves, rather
than injuring others, constructive, they encouraged people to help themselves
embrace their self-injury and, like others in a tertiary deviant stage (Kitsuse,
1980), to shed the stigma.. Along with this encouragement, they offered practical
suggestions for engaging in self-injury and dealing with the physical problems
that it generally engendered. Zoe, a member of an unregulated Website, posted
the following view of self-injury:
I honestly dont see what is so wrong with cutting. I think Im kinda
looking to see if anyone agrees. I mean, instead of punching a pillow, you
just take it out on yourself. As long as you dont do it too deep, whats the
big deal??? Its better than abusing the people around you. The real prob-
lem with it is the emotions and the depression BEHIND the cutting,
right? If it isnt “adversely affecting one’s life,” as is required for anything
to be a legal disorder, then why does everyone else think it is wrong...
Am I making any sense to anyone???
She received the following response from Angie:
Hi there!! Nice to hear from you, welcome! As I was reading your
posts, I couldn’t help but feel as tho I was reading something that I had
written!!! I don’t see too much wrong with it either, it doesn’t hurt
anyone but myself.
These deviant cyber subcultures may be thought of as “back places,” where
people of similar preferences felt no need to conceal their pathology and openly
sought out one another for support and advice. As Deshotels and Forsyth
(2007:212) noted, “Socially proscribed and severely sanctioned behavior that
was once relegated largely to secrecy among isolated individuals is now at the
center of a cybercommunity in which all manner of support is readily
available.” Jenkins (2001) discussed the feeling of freedom and safety that child
pornographers felt whose participants were loner deviants in real life but mem-
bers of an online subculture.

Identification with the Community Although people belonged to various

sites and sometimes went for long periods between postings, when they found
a community that fit well, it gave them a sense of identity. They experienced this
sense whether they were actively self-injuring or not. Jones (1997) noted that
our sense of identity is derived not only from identification with the group, but
also from our understanding of the group identity. As Erica, an 18-year-old
college freshman, noted,

You’ve been there; you know what it’s like. I have traits in common
with other members of the community: being sexually abused, being a
perfectionist, having an ED [eating disorder]. Always like, trying to help
 CHAPTER 35 CYBERCOMMUNITIES OF SELF-INJURY 427

other people, doing community service, volunteer work, I’m really into
that. Like everything they say on those Websites is completely me. I
don’t think it’s all cutters; I think it’s the majority of cutters. I just hap-
pen to fit. So it makes me feel more connected to the community as a
member.
Identifying with members of the community was vitally important to most
people we encountered, whether they had fully functioning work and social lives
and hid their self-injury or whether they were trapped in their houses or bed-
rooms, unable to make contacts with people in the solid world. McKenna and
Bargh (1998) suggested that people with concealable stigma identify strongly
with these Internet support groups and consider them important to their identi-
ties. As a result, they are also more likely to achieve greater self-acceptance,
decreased estrangement from society, and decreased social isolation. Deshotels
and Forsyth (2007) proposed that identities forged with the aid of Internet
groups may help people disengage themselves from normative social control.
Yet, although people found these sites helpful, their identification with the
community might also reinforce their self-injurious behavior, as Amber, a
20-year-old college junior, noted:
If you go to, like, the same chat room and stay there, you kind of get
this group of friends, maybe. I guess you could get a sense of belonging
or something. It’s like you need to cut to stay in that group, you know?
Because that’s what the chat rooms are for. It’s a cutting chat room |
guess, even though it says it’s a no-cutting chat room. And so I think it
just escalates people because we’re kind of co-dependent in a way
because, like say someone tells their friends the experience of it in that
group, everyone will try it and they'll just keep on doing it and it'll just
keep on escalating because, like, that’s what’s expected in that group
and it just gets worse because there’s no outside force preventing you
from doing that, I guess.
When people affiliated with a community, that identity often transferred to
them. Lemert (1967) discussed how primary deviants, who keep their deviance
hidden from others, have the luxury of denying self-identification with their behav-
ior. Becker (1963) echoed this theme, arguing that “secret deviants” are unlikely to
conceive of themselves through the deviant lens. Erica, the college freshman,
explained what it was about membership in her site that changed her identity:
Just the fact that there were other people doing it. Maybe like it really
is, there’s a group of people. I am part of this group, obviously. That
helped me connect my identity to a self-abuser. Whereas before I was
just, like, one of two people doing it so it wasn’t really an identity, it
was more of a problem. I didn’t really think it was a problem, just a
habit. Whereas on the Internet it’s a lifestyle almost, the way you are,
instead of just a habit. They were connected to it in a more long-term
way. It was a more central focus of people’s lives. It was the central
focus of mine for quite a while.
428 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Oscillating In and Out of Communities As many scholars have noted, a

common feature of cybercommunities, much more than communities in the
physical world, was members’ transience. People moved fluidly through groups,
looking for one that felt right. As their lives evolved and changed, what had
once been a good fit might no longer suit them. People’s support needs were
dependent on the stage of their self-injury career. Bonnie, a 33-year-old bank-
ruptcy coordinator for a student loan service, commented on how she was ready
to move on to a different kind of group:
And I think [site name] is a good group and I’ve met a lot of really nice
people there. But there’s also a lot of that constant crisis, like help me
right now, right now, right now kind of thing. And I’m trying to avoid
being in that situation again. Because I was in that situation so I have a
little harder time with that group now.
Communities differed in their composition, with some having “regulars” who
posted a lot and others characterized by people who posted sporadically and then
disappeared. Regular posters were often moderators or people likely to be tapped
as moderators in the future when current moderators burned out and moved on to
something else. It was also common to see people announce that they were going
to either leave or take a break from the group. Sometimes people indicated what
was causing their departure, but other times they just said goodbye. Bob, a regular
on one list, posted this message, in which he clearly was upset:
I must excuse myself for a while while 1 cope with this situation.. i will
look in on mail daily - please contact me directly. 1 will not open group
mail for a while until i feel better about things. I sign off wishing
everyone a safe weekend while i mull over whether or not i wish to
remain a member of this group or not.
Eventually, Bob returned.
Oscillations in and out of participation were an expected characteristic of
these communities. People dropped in when they were having trouble and left
when they were excessively triggered or when they felt able to cope without the
group support.
Eventually, some people left the community for good. Many held on long
after they had (allegedly) desisted from self-injuring for months or years, enjoy-
ing the outreach they provided to those still in the throes of the behavior. Cindy,
a 19-year-old retail sales clerk, found a better job, got into therapy, and met a
boyfriend, and her life improved significantly. She no longer felt the need to self
injure, and although her group had been a huge part of her life for 3 years, she
gradually faded out of the picture. At first she did not write as often, but did read
some of the posts; eventually, however, she found people’s stories depressing and
self-absorbed. She stayed with the group for as long as she felt strong urges to
self-injure, but as these weakened, she was able to leave. Reflecting on her life
after self-injury, she noted that if she had a problem or got upset, she was likely
to turn to her boyfriend or find some other way of dealing with it.
 CHAPTER 35 CYBERCOMMUNITIES OF SELF-INJURY 429

CONCLUSION

Embarking on the journey into cyberspace is a simultaneously communal and

lonely experience. Although people seek out online interaction in order to
bond into relationships and communities, they do so in a physical space of sepa-
rateness. The technology of the Internet thus offers both separation and connec-
tion, a time to be alone yet be with others, leading people to spend their days
alone at their computers trying to retribalize.
The cyberworld represents an ephemeral space of creation and destruction.
It offers people who are dispossessed by mainstream society a reservoir of cultural
hiding places where they can form their own cultures and communities, even
though normative standards and assumptions are not totally absent. “Space”
refers not only to physical, but to social, proximity—to how far or close we
feel with others, the connections between people. It includes everything with
the character of “beside-each-otherness.”
The cyberworlds of self-injurers have altered classic typologies about the
social organization of deviance, transforming individuals who were isolated
loner deviants in their face-to-face life into deviant cybercolleagues. While self-
injurers with no Internet connections, as well as those who regularly frequented
the bulletin boards, email groups, and chat rooms, remained loner deviants in
everyday life, the latter lived Goffman’s classic enactment of a “double life:”
They were closeted to people around them yet open about their behavior in
cyberspace. Accordingly, they reaped the benefits of membership in a global
cyber subculture without the associated risk of exposure, stigma, or rejection,
gaining practical advice, legitimation for their behavior, social support, and a set
of nonjudgmental cyberfriends and cyberacquaintances.
Only a few studies have emerged that discuss loner deviants who found
community in cyberspace. (e.g., studies of pedophiles, men who seek castration,
eating disorders, depressives, and female-to-male transsexuals). This research sug-
gests that we may have to change our conception of the social organization of
deviance because loner deviants may be becoming obsolete in the era of the
cyberworld. Deshotels and Forsyth (2007) noted that the Internet is an especially
effective environment for spawning and supporting communities formed around
extreme behaviors, which characterize much loner deviance.

REFERENCES

Adler, Patricia A., and Peter Adler. Best, Joel, and David F. Luckenbill. 1982.
2005. “Self-Injurers as Loners: The Organizing Deviance. Englewood Cliffs,
Social Organization of Solitary NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Deviance.” Deviant Behavior 26(4): Deshotels, Tina H., and CraigJ. Forsyth.
345-378. 2007. “Postmodern Masculinities and
Becker, Howard S. 1963. Outsiders. New the Eunuch.” Deviant Behavior 28:
York: Free Press. 201-218.
430 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Jenkins, Philip. 2001. Beyond Tolerance: Social Problems.” Social Problems 28:
Child Pornography on the Internet. 1-13.
New York: New York University Lemert, Edwin M. 1967. Human Deviance,
Press. Social Problems, and Social Control.
Jones, Steven G. 1997. “The Internet and Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
its Social Landscape.” In S. Jones, McKenna, Katelyn Y. A., and John A.
(Ed.), Virtual Culture: Identity and Bargh. 1998. “Coming Out in the Age
Communication in Cybersociety of the Internet: Identity ‘Demargina-
(pp. 535). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. lization’ through Virtual Group Par-
Kitsuse, John. 1980. “Coming Out All ticipation.” Journal of Personality and
Over: Deviants and the Politics of Social Psychology 75:681-694.
 SUBCULTURES

36

Subcultural Evolution: The Influence

of On- and Off-line Hacker Subcultures
THOMAS J. HOLT

The influence of subcultural norms is the focus of this research on subcultures of

Interriet hackers formed both online and through face-to-face association. Holt’s
research is especially interesting because he integrates and compares these two
realms and asks how each realm influences members and why. Incorporating
strings of thread postings, cybergroups, and a convention ofcyberhackers, Holt
integrates his interview data with group presentations and with posted Web blogs
and accounts. From these, he distills five “normative orders,” or subcultural
norms, that guide hacker behavior, stratification, and social status: technology,
knowledge, commitment, categorization, and law. These orders frame the way
individuals account for their behavior, legitimate legal vs. illegal hacks, and
generate identity within the subculture.
Reading this chapter, be sensitive to the importance of the members’
presentations in encouraging or discouraging various types of behavior. How
important do you think subcultural feedback is to people who hack? Harking back
to the chapters on accounts, how would you compare their excuses and
justifications and their techniques of neutralization with those of rapists and
shoplifters? Do you think that such accounts work merely for self-legitimation, or
do they neutralize deviant acts for others as well? How important is a deviant
subculture to Internet hackers compared with self-injurers or people with IBD?
What functions does such a subculture serve?

great deal of criminological research has explored the impact of subcultures

in a variety of contexts, including street gangs, drug sellers, professional
thieves, and other deviant groups. This research has provided insight into the
relationships and knowledge shared between individuals in the real world, and
has important ramifications for the explanation of crime. At the same time,

From ThomasJ. Holt (2007). Subcultural Evolution: the Influence of On- and Off-Line
Hacker Subcultures. Deviant Behavior, 28(2), 171-198.

431
432 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCET

numerous deviant and criminal subcultures have developed in cyberspace,

including hate groups and pedophiles. The Internet and computer-mediated
communication methods, such as newsgroups and Web forums, allow individuals
to exchange all sorts of information almost instantaneously. Deviant and criminal
peers can communicate online across great distances, facilitating the global trans-
mission of subcultural knowledge without the need for physical contact with
other members of the subculture.
However, most research couches deviant or criminal subcultures in either
cyberspace or real-world social situations. A limited number of studies have con-
sidered the overlap and effects of on- and off-line experiences in the develop-
ment of gender, race, and political identity off-line. Recent research by Wilson
and Atkinson (2005) explored the structure of subcultural norms, values, and
beliefs as a result of on- and off-line experiences in Rave and straightedge
youth subcultures. Yet there have been no real considerations of the role of vir-
tual and real experiences in the development and structure of deviant subcul-
tures, despite the growing number of online deviant subcultures. As a result,
there is a need to consider how deviant subcultures may be structured by peo-
ple’s experiences in social environments in the real world and in cyberspace.
This research attempts to address this gap by examining the influence of on-
and off-line experiences on the subculture of one of the most easily recognized
computer criminals: computer hackers. Hackers are individuals with a profound
interest in computers and technology [who] have used their knowledge to access
computer systems, often with malicious illegal consequences. For example, unau-
thorized access of computer systems cost U.S. businesses $31 million dollars in
2005 alone. Hackers have also been linked with the creation of malicious viruses
that affect all computer users, such as the Melissa virus, which infected computers
worldwide causing at least $80 million in damages.
However, computer hackers do not use computers as a means of attack only;
they use the Internet as a way to communicate with others around the globe. At
the same time, they often have connections with individuals in the real world
through various regional groups and conventions. As a result, this is an ideal
criminal behavior to explore the contours of subculture stemming from experi-
ences in the real world and cyberspace.

THE PRESENT STUDY

This study uses three qualitative data sets to examine hacker subculture across
both social settings, including a series of 365 strings from 6 hacker Web forums,
interviews with active hackers, and observations from Defcon, a hacker conven-
tion held annually in Las Vegas, Nevada. These multiple data sources are trian-
gulated and used to explore the normative orders of hacker subculture. This is
followed by an exploration of the ways that experiences in virtual and real social
settings impact the socialization process and normative structure of computer
hackers, and deviant groups generally.
The first data set consists of a series of 365 posts to 6 different public Web
forums run by and for hackers. Web forums are online discussion groups where
 CHAPTER 36 SUBCULTURAL EVOLUTION 433

individuals can discuss a variety of problems or issues. Web forums demonstrate

relationships between individuals and provide information on the quality and
strength of ties between hackers. They also include a variety of users with differ-
ent skill levels and knowledge of hacker subculture. For this study I included
Web forums with both large and small user populations, high-traffic forums,
and public forums. A snowball sampling procedure was used to develop the
sample of six forums used in this analysis. The six forums that compose this
data set include a total of 365 strings, providing copious amounts of data to
analyze. These strings span two and a half years, from August 2001 to January
2004. Moreover, they represent a range of user populations, from only 20 to
400: users.
The second data set is a series of 13 in-depth face to face and e-mail inter-
views with active hackers. These interviews probed individuals’ experiences and
impressions of the normative orders of hacker subculture on- and off-line. They
were asked to describe their experiences with hacking, interactions with others in
on- and off-line environments, and their direct opinions on what constitutes
hacker subculture. Interviewees were identified through the use of a fieldworker,
word of mouth solicitations at a Midwestern university, [the] Defcon 12 hacker
convention, and IT listservs. Hackers who could be met in person were asked
to participate in an open-ended semi-structured interview, lasting between two
and three hours. These interviews (n = 5) were taped and transcribed verbatim.
The third data source consists of first-hand observations of hackers and data
collected at the 2004 Defcon, the largest hacker convention held in the United
States. This three-day convention draws participants from around the world,
including law enforcement agents, attorneys, and hackers of all skill levels. Writ-
ten and tape-recorded field notes were made during scheduled events at the con-
vention, including panels and games. Observations and discussions with attendees
were also documented in unscheduled social situations, such as gatherings in the
halls, pools, and in room parties. These observations provide ample insight into
hacker subculture as attendees were continuously exchanging ideas and engaging
in social intercourse off-line.

FINDINGS

Subcultural values and norms are measured using the concept of “normative
order.” This is a “set of generalized rules and common practices oriented around
a common value.” An order “‘provide[s] guidelines and justifications” for behav-
ior, demonstrating how subcultural membership impacts actions (Herbert
1998:347). This gives a dynamic view of culture, recognizing that individual
behavior can stem from individual decisions as well as through adherence to sub-
cultural values. Normative orders also provide for the identification of informal
rules considered important by members of the subculture because of the values
they uphold. Furthermore, this frame allows the researcher to recognize conflicts
in the subculture based on the presence of contradicting orders.
The social world of computer hackers is shaped by five normative orders
including technology, knowledge, commitment, categorization, and law.
434 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCET

The orders are used to generate justifications for behavior, affect attitudes toward
hacking, and structure identity and status within the subculture.

Technology
One of the most significant normative orders in the hacker subculture is the rela-
tionship between hackers and technology. Hackers across the data sets clearly
possessed a deep connection to computers and technology, which played an
important role in structuring the interests and activities of hackers. For example,
all of the interviewees reported developing an interest in technology before or
during adolescence. Spuds wrote, ‘““my Grandparents saw my aptitude for all
things technical at an early age. At the age of seven, my grandparents decided
to nurture that interest and aptitude by purchasing me my first PC.” Mutha
Canucker wrote, “I got a computer when I was 12, and my interest grew from
there. The more I played with it, the more I realized what I could do.”
Once hackers were given access to a computer, they spent their time
becoming acquainted with its functions in a variety of ways. They played video
games and developed interests in the many different facets of computer technol-
ogy. This gave them an appreciation for a variety of technical skills such as pro-
gramming, software, hardware, and computer security. For example, Spuds
“learned how to program the machine to make my own programs to do things
for which there were no programs readily available to do. I learned how to fix
the machine, upgrade the machine, and so much more.”
The more time hackers spent familiarizing themselves with technology, the
more their skill level increased. Whether on- or off-line, hackers discussed the
need to understand the interrelated elements of computer systems, as a hacker’s
knowledge level directly relates to [his or her] ability and skill. To meet the
intense internal desire to understand computer technology, hackers sought out
a variety of online resources, especially Web forums. For instance, the poster
MorGnweB wrote,
You might want to remember that this forum is designed for people to
ask questions, despite the fact that you can find almost anything on
google. Soif [sic] we all should just searched [sic] for things ourselves
thered [sic] be no forums.
Defcon also illustrated hackers’ fascination with computers and technology.
Most of the panels held during the course of the convention related to technol-
ogy. A wide range of topics [was] discussed, including hardware hacking, phreak-
ing, computer security, exploits, cryptography, privacy protections, and the legal
issues surrounding hacking and piracy. Technology structured many of the com-
petitions held during the convention as well, including the IP Appliance show-
case where participants integrated fully functional computer hardware into
common household appliances. Contestants also demonstrated their technologi-
cal know-how in wardriving, WiFi, and robotics challenges. All these elements
 CHAPTER 36 SUBCULTURAL EVOLUTION 435

demonstrated the importance of technology in the activities and interests of

hackers in the real world and cyberspace.

Knowledge
Another important order identified in hacker subculture is knowledge. Hackers
across the data sets demonstrated that hacker identity is built on a devotion to
learn and understand technology. As one forum poster suggested, “if you want
to be a hacker, then you should start to learn ... hacking is all about learning new
stuff and exploring.”’ Forum users and interviewed hackers stressed the notion of
curiosity and a desire to learn. For example, the interviewee MG defined 7
hacker as “any person with a sincere desire for knowledge about all things and
is constantly trying to find it.”
‘As a result, hackers spent a great deal of time learning and applying their
knowledge on- and off-line. Most hackers stressed that the learning process
began with the basic components of computer technology. An understanding
of the rudimentary functions of computers provided hackers with an appreciation
for the interrelated nature of computer systems. Dark Oz explained his own
learning experience with computers:
You do this long enough, with many different technical projects, and
you begin to really learn a lot. ... Once you learn the logic and how to
“think” like a computer or programmer would, you can just guess at
how things are working, based on existing knowledge.
- Forum users echoed this sentiment as well, such as the poster dBones who
wrote, “you will become more knowledgeable if you were to find out informa-
tion by yourself and then teach yourself that information.” As a result the notion of
earning on one’s own was addressed in a different fashion online. When an indi-
vidual asked a question, users would almost always respond by giving a Web link
that would help answer the question. Users would have to actively open the link
and read in order to find their answer. These links provided specific information
about an issue or topic discussed in the string without repetition or wasted time for
the other posters. Tutorials were also provided, giving detailed explanations on
topics from programming to the use of hack tools. In some instances, users made
actual programs available for download to help individuals learn. However, hack-
ers did not rely solely on their online social connections to learn about hacking.
Cyberspace relationships existed in tandem with real world social networks to pro-
vide hackers with new information and techniques. Vile Syn explained, “‘we [a
small group of hackers] would constantly spend time trading pirated software,
and discussing the next find. Here my interest in electronic engineering, cryptog-
raphy and the lack of respect for software copyrights developed.”
Learning and knowledge were also intimately tied to status within hacker
subculture on- and off-line. When an individual shared useful information with
ers, [he or she was] able to gain status and respect. For example, those who
successfully applied their knowledge in the unique challenges at Defcon were
436 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCET

acknowledged during an award ceremony at the end of the convention. Contest

winners were announced, brought on stage, and distinguished for their achieve-
ments. Individuals were given a black conference admission badge and, in some
cases, a black leather Defcon logo jacket. These items could not be purchased,
and the black badge provided the recipient with free convention admission for
life. Since the convention badge design changed each year, the black badge stood
out as a symbol of achievement and ability.
Hackers’ levels of knowledge affected how they were viewed and labeled by
others within the subculture. Several different terms were used by interviewees,
forum users, and even at Defcon, to differentiate between hackers based on their
skill level. Those with a deep understanding of technology were referred to as
hackers. The extremely skilled hacker was also called elite, spelled “1337,” or
“leet.” A hacker with little skill who used tools and scripts was referred to as a
script kiddie. New hackers or people with little knowledge were labeled noobs.
A unique term was used at Defcon for those who knew nothing of hacker cul-
ture but attended the convention. These individuals were referred to as scene
whores, which had an extremely negative connotation. The terms script kiddie
and noob also had negative associations as individuals often applied these terms to
the unskilled or uninitiated. Thus, knowledge plays a significant role in hacker
subculture on- and off-line.

Commitment

Commitment structured individual behavior on- and off-line through [the]

continued study and practice of hacking techniques. The poster Ashy Larrie
suggested:
If you are just starting you might not have a clue what to learn, or what
you should know. As for me, I just started reading texts for a long time ...
after awhile things become more clear and you get the idea of what
hacking is all about.
Although these comments echo elements of the order knowledge, the poster
kes very distinct statements about the importance of commitment to learning.
commitment to learning and understanding computers and technology was
needed to discover what topics [hackers] truly find interesting. In addition, con-
tinuous changes and improvements in technology compounded the length of
ime required to learn. Thus, hackers must be committed to the continuous
identification and acquisition of new information. Mack Diesel emphasized the
importance of commitment, saying, “the minute you feel you’ve learned every-
thing is the minute you’re out. There’s always something new to learn.” Hence,
hacker subculture placed tremendous value on constant learning over time.
Commitment also reflects the significant amount of effort applied to learn
the tradecraft of hacking. It was apparent across the data that the time people
spent hacking improved their skills. Dark Oz reflected on this, writing, “You
do this long enough, with many technical projects, and you begin to really
learn a lot, and then it becomes quicker to pick up more things faster then you
 CHAPTER 36 SUBCULTURAL EVOLUTION 437

did before.” Although this statement references the importance of learning, it

clearly indicates the value of expending constant and consistent effort in the pro-
cess of learning.
Commitment also refers to the hours or days required to complete some
acks. For example, Defcon competitors demonstrated a high level of commit-
ment to performing and completing complicated lengthy hacks. Individuals spent
onths developing and testing equipment for use in the games. Participants also
spent many hours in competition to win the contests. The Root Fu hacking
challenge lasted for 36 straight hours with no scheduled breaks for the competi-
tors. Thus, these games demonstrated the skill of each competitor and empha-
sized the value of commitment to hacking as an important way to gain status
within the subculture off-line.
Commitment to hacking has a significant impact on the activities and inter-
ests of hackers. The importance of this order makes it clear why the forum poster
WisdomCub3 wrote, “hacking is a lifestyle. Spend all your time on it and you
will get better and better.’”” Many forum users and interviewees echoed this sen-
timent, especially when defining the term hacker. For instance, MG indicated in
his interview that “‘to be a hacker, you must live the life, not just play the part.
You must be hacker in everything you do.”

Categorization
The ways individuals create and define the hacker identity constitutes the fourth
normative order of hacker subculture: categorization. There was significant dis-
cussion over how to define hackers and their motives in the forums. Posters
spent considerable time explicating who and what is a hacker. Disputes ove
the nature of hackers and hacking allowed posters to define and differentiat
themselves from others within the subculture. One such discussion bega
because an individual asked ““When did you start thinking you were a ‘hacker’?”
This post was a survey giving users options including when they “used a port
scanner [a tool that identifies the programs running on a target computer],”
“used a lamer program with ‘hacker tools,’”’ or “tried to download malicious
scripts [programs including viruses and worms] and only ended up hurting
yourself.”” The options available to posters accentuated behavioral measures or
benchmarks in a hacker’s development. Many users validated the use of such
measures, arguing that once they performed a certain task or understood a com-
plicated process they could consider themselves a hacker.
At the same time, many posters suggested there were attitudinal comp-
onents of their definition of “hacker.”’ This included a certain state of mind or
spirit, such as [that referenced by] Brainiackk who wrote, “the hacker seeks for
knowledge, the unknown and tries to reach his own goals. That’s the spirit.”
Curiosity and a desire to learn was an important part of most definitions of
hacker.
Individual conceptions also generated much of the discussion about what
different types of hackers do and how this relates to their label or title. This
was especially true of the ideology or behaviors associated with each typ
438 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCET

For example, there were many disagreements and discussions surrounding two of
the main subtypes of hackers: white hats and black hats. Both were very skilled
types of hackers who engaged in different behaviors because of different ideolo-
gies. As the forum user j@ckO indicated, “‘the black hats use their knowledge to
destroy things. The whitehats use it to build things.”” However, there was some
disagreement over the malicious nature of black hat hackers. For example,
kFowl3r responded to j@ck0’s comments, suggesting,
One thing about blackhats, its [sic] totally wrong that blackhats only use
their knowledge to destroy ... blackhats just hack ... not like whitehats
which arent [sic] really hackers since they work against hackers, they
build tools to stop people from breaking into systems etc.
These comments indicate [that] white hats were active in the computer
security industry, securing systems from hacks. Black hats were more prevalent
in the hacking community identifying weaknesses and exploits for later attack.

Law

The final normative order identified in this analysis is law. This was reflected in
discussions on the legality of hacking and information sharing in the real world
and in cyberspace. Hackers in the forums often discussed whether some hacks
related activities were legal, and if they should be performed. There was a split
between hackers who felt [that] no illegal hacks were appropriate and those who
viewed hacking in any form as acceptable. Such competing perspectives were
addressed in the following exchange. An individual asked for information on a
password cracking tool and how to use it. Pilferer answered the poster’s question
and gave an admonition that was quickly contradicted:
PILFERER: You do understand that using these password crackers on machines
which you don’t own or have no permission to access is ILLEGAL?
LeeTerR: Illegal ... So is masturbation in a public place, but we don’t get
reminded of that every time anyone thinks about it do we?
Legal matters were also addressed off-line during multiple different presenta-
tions at Defcon. For example, a panel of attorneys from the Electronic Freedom
Foundation, a legal foundation supporting digital free speech rights and hacker
interests, spoke on the current state of law relative to computer hacking. A simi-
lar talk was given by an attorney addressing the ways that the Digital Millenium
Copyright Act could be used to deal with civil and criminal hacking cases. There
was also a panel titled “Meet The Fed,” where attendees could ask a number of
different law enforcement agents questions on the law and hacking.
However, concern over potential law violations appeared to have little effect
on hacker behavior. Individuals across the data sets provided information that
could be used to perform a hack regardless of their attitude toward the law.
This led to a contradiction in the process of information sharing. If hackers
shared knowledge with possible illegal applications, they justified its necessity.
 CHAPTER 36 SUBCULTURAL EVOLUTION 439

Individuals on- and off-line stated [that] they provided information in the hopes
of educating others, as in this statement from a tutorial posted in one of the for-
ums On macro-virus construction:

This is an educational document, I take no responsibility for what use

the information in this document is used for. I am unable to blamed for
any troubles you get into with the police, FBI, or any other department.
... It is not illegal to write viruses, but it is illegal to spread them—
something I do not condone and take responsibility for.
Similar justifications were used at Defcon, especially when a presenter’s
content had rather obvious or serious illegal applications. An excellent example
of this was a presentation titled ‘““Weakness in Satellite Television Protection
Schemes or ‘How I learned to Love The Dish.’” The presenter, A, indicated,
“T will not be teaching you how to steal [satellite Internet connectivity] service,
but I will give you the background and information to understand how it could
be done.” However, the second slide in his presentation included the message
“Many topics covered may be illegal!” as well as the potential laws they
[might] break by stealing service.
This legal warning reduced the presenter’s accountability for how individuals
used the information he provided. He simply shared his knowledge on satellite
systems and television service. If someone used the information to break the law,
A had clearly described the laws they could violate by engaging in these actions.
Just as with the warning in the macrovirus tutorial, he justified sharing informa-
tion that could be used to engage in illegal behavior, stealing satellite service, as
part of the pursuit of knowledge.
Nevertheless, forum users and the Defcon staff did not condone the
exchange or supply of overtly illegal information. In the forums, hackers
eschewed posting blatantly illegal content and forcefully explained this idea. For
example, an individual proclaimed himself, “the kind of hacker police really
hate” and posted someone’s credit card information. One of the senior users
posted the following comments in reply:
No [sic] only do the police hate you Regardless if this is a honeycard
and regardless if its good or bad to card (btw its bad), someone should
delete it because it IS illegal and this is an open forum Go away
However, seven interviewees, including those in the IT field, felt [that]
some types of hacks were acceptable. For example, Vile Syn said, “when dealing
with hacking that isn’t violating privacy, it shouldn’t be illegal at all.” Hacks that
did no damage or left no trace of entry were also deemed acceptable. For exam-
ple, Dark Oz felt these sorts of hacks were a measure of one’s skill, writing, “It
takes little skill to get into a system and cause damage, destroy; or make it
unavailable. The true skill is in getting in, looking around, doing whatever you
want, but no one ever knows you were there.”” Thus, hackers created boundaries
within the subculture based on the ability to hack, as well as their beliefs about
hacking.
440 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCET

DISCUSSION

Hacker subculture places significant value on concealing blatantly illegal behavior

from law enforcement on- and off-line, but justifies open involvement in certain
activities. Hence, this study provides support for the contradictory role of secrecy
found in previous examinations of hacker subculture.
Researchers must also consider how virtual and real experiences can differ-
entially impact the normative structure of deviant subcultures. This study
revealed a lack of uniformity in hackers’ subcultural experiences on- and off-
line. Specifically, the normative order categorization was largely present in hack-
ers’ online experiences. There was vigorous debate between forum posters on
the various terms used to define hackers and the act of hacking. Users discussed
the meaning of labels, like white and black hat hackers, and the various activities
of these hacker subcategories. The meaning of these terms differed across posters,
demonstrating the significance of personal opinion in the development of an
individual’s beliefs about [who] and what constituted a hacker online.
Yet there was very little [off-line] discussion on how to define hackers and
what constitutes a hack. The interviewed hackers used Web forums and online
resources with some frequency, though there was little disparity in their defini-
tions for different hacker terms. There were also no protracted discussions [at
Defcon] on the meaning of hacking. This suggests that active debate over hacker
identity may be common online, but does not play a significant role in hacker
subculture off-line. However, this finding is contradictory to other studies that
report identity is shaped by both virtual and real experiences. Hence, further
research is needed examining the way hackers and other deviants and criminals
form and accept a deviant identity as a consequence of on- and off-line experi-
ences. Such information is necessary to specify the dynamics between cyberspace
and real-world experiences in the creation and acceptance of deviant identity.

REFERENCES

Herbert, Steve. 1998. “Police Subculture Virtual and the Real: Exploring
Reconsidered.” Criminology 36: Online and Offline Experiences in
343-369. Canadian Youth Subcultures.”’ Youth
Wilson, Brian, and Michael Atkinson. and Society 36(3):276-311.
2005. “Rave and Straightedge, the
 GANGS

37

Gender and Victimization Risk among

| Young Women in Gangs
JODY MILLER

Miller offers a glimpse into the contemporary urban world of street gangs in this
analysis of the role and dangers faced by female gang members. Gang members
not only associate together, but need each other’s participation in the deviant act
in order to function. (No man or woman is a gang unto him- or herself.) Once
nearly faded to obscurity, gangs made a rebound in U.S. society in the late
1980s, fueled by the drug economy and the increasing economic plight of urban
areas. Since that time, they have evolved considerably, adding sophisticated
nuances and female members. Miller finds that, although women gain status,
social life, and some protection from the hazards of street life by joining gangs,
they assume a new set of dangers: By entering the gang world, they are exposing
themselves to violence, from both rival gang members and their own homeboys.
Miller discusses the particularly gendered status dilemmas and risks for these
young women, and how these vary depending on their activities, stance, and
associations within the group.

A: underdeveloped area in the gang literature is the relationship between

gang participation and victimization risk. There are notable reasons to con-
sider the issue significant. We now have strong evidence that delinquent lifestyles
are associated with increased risk of victimization (Lauritsen, Sampson, and Laub
1991). Gangs are social groups that are organized around delinquency (see Klein
1995), and participation in gangs has been shown to escalate youth’s involvement
in crime, including violent crime (Esbensen and Huizinga 1993; Esbensen,
Huizinga, and Weiher 1993; Fagan 1989, 1990; Thornberry et al. 1993). More-
over, research on gang violence indicates that the primary targets of this violence
are other gang members (Block and Block 1993; Decker 1996; Klein and

From Jody Miller, “Gender and Victimization Risk Among Young Women in Gangs.”
Journal ofResearch in Crime & Delinquency (Vol. 35, Issue 4). Copyright © 1998. Reprinted
by permission of Sage Publications, Inc.

441
442 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Maxson 1989; Sanders 1993). As such, gang participation can be recognized as a

delinquent lifestyle that is likely to involve high risks of victimization (see Huff
1996: 97). Although research on female gang involvement has expanded in
recent years and includes the examination of issues such as violence and victimi-
zation, the oversight regarding the relationship between gang participation and
violent victimization extends to this work as well.
The coalescence of attention to the proliferation of gangs and gang violence
(Block and Block 1993; Curry, Ball, and Decker 1996; Decker 1996; Klein
1995; Klein and Maxson 1989; Sanders 1993), and a possible disproportionate
rise in female participation in violent crimes more generally (Baskin, Sommers,
and Fagan 1993; but see Chesney-Lind, Shelden, and Joe 1996), has led to a
specific concern with examining female gang members’ violent activities. As a
result, some recent research on girls in gangs has examined these young women’s
participation in violence and other crimes as offenders (Bjerregaard and Smith
1993; Brotherton 1996; Fagan 1990; Lauderback, Hansen, and Waldorf 1992;
Taylor, 1993). However, an additional question worth investigation is what rela-
tionships exist between young women’s gang involvement and their experiences
and risk of victimization. Based on in-depth interviews with female gang mem-
bers, this article examines the ways in which gender shapes victimization risk
within street gangs....

METHODOLOGY

Data presented in this article come from survey and semistructured in-depth
interviews with 20 female members of mixed-gender gangs in Columbus,
Ohio. The interviewees ranged in age from 12 to 17; just over three-quarters
were African American or multiracial (16 of 20), and the rest (4 of 20) were
White. The sample was drawn primarily from several local agencies in Columbus
working with at-risk youths, including the county juvenile detention center, a
shelter care facility for adolescent girls, a day school within the same institution,
and a local community agency.' The project was structured as a gang/nongang
comparison, and I interviewed a total of 46 girls. Gang membership was deter-
mined during the survey interview by self-definition: About one-quarter of the
way through the 50+ page interview, young women were asked a series of ques-
tions about the friends they spent time with. They then were asked whether
these friends were gang involved and whether they themselves were gang mem-
bers. Of the 46 girls interviewed, 21 reported that they were gang members”
and an additional 3 reported beinggang involved (hanging out primarily with
gangs or gang members) but not gang members. The rest reported no gang
involvement.
The survey interview was a variation of several instruments currently being
used in research in a number of cities across the United States and included a
broad range of questions and scales measuring factors that may be related to
gang membership.’ On issues related to violence, it included questions about
 CHAPTER 37: GENDER AND VICTIMIZATION RISK 443

peer activities and delinquency, individual delinquent involvement, family vio-

lence and abuse, and victimization. When young women responded affirmatively
to being gang members, I followed with a series of questions about the nature of
their gang, including its size, leadership, activities, symbols, and so on. Girls who
admitted gang involvement during the survey participated in a follew-up inter-
view to talk in more depth about their gangs and gang activities. The goal of the
in-depth interview was to gain a greater understanding of the nature and mean-
ings of gang life from the point of view of its female members. A strength of
qualitative interviewing is its ability to shed light on this aspect of the social
world, highlighting the meanings individuals attribute to their experiences
(Adler and Adler 1987; Glassner and Loughlin 1987; Miller and Glassner 1997);
In addition, using multiple methods, including follow-up interviews, provided
me with a means of detecting inconsistencies in young women’s accounts of
their experiences. Fortunately, no serious contradictions arose. However, a limi-
tation of the data is that only young women were interviewed. Thus, I make
inferences about gender dynamics, and young men’s behavior, based only on
young women’s perspectives.

GENDER, GANGS, AND VIOLENCE

Gangs as Protection and Risk

An irony of gang involvement is that although many members suggest [that] one
thing they get out of the gang is a sense of protection (see also Decker 1996; Joe
and Chesney-Lind 1995; Lauderback et al. 1992), gang membership itself means
exposure to victimization risk and even a willingness to be victimized. These
contradictions are apparent when girls talk about what they get out of the
gang, and what being in the gang means in terms of other members’ expectations
of their behavior. In general, a number of girls suggested that being a gang mem-
ber is a source of protection around the neighborhood. Erica,* a 17-year-old
African American, explained, “It’s like people look at us and that’s exactly what
they think, there’s a gang, and they respect us for that. They won’t bother us....
It’s like you put that intimidation in somebody.” Likewise, Lisa, a 14-year-old
White girl, described being in the gang as empowering: “You just feel like, oh
my God, you know, they got my back. I don’t need to worry about it.” Given
the violence endemic in many inner-city communities, these beliefs are under-
standable, and to a certain extent, accurate.
In addition, some young women articulated a specifically gendered sense of
protection that they felt as a result of being a member of a group that was pre-
dominantly male. Gangs operate within larger social milieus that are character-
ized by gender inequality and sexual exploitation. Being in a gang with young
men means at least the semblance of protection from, and retaliation against,
predatory men in the social environment. Heather, a 15-year-old White girl,
noted, “You feel more secure when, you know, a guy’s around protectin’ you,
you know, than you would a girl.” She explained that as a gang member,
444 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

because “you get protected by guys ... not as many people mess with you.”
Other young women concurred and also described that male gang members
could retaliate against specific acts of violence against girls in the gang. Nikkie, a
13-year-old African American girl, had a friend who was raped by a rival gang
member, and she said, “It was a Crab [Crip, the name of the rival gang] that
raped my girl in Miller Ales, and um, they was ready to kill him.” Keisha, an
African American 14-year-old, explained, “If 1 got beat up by a guy, all I gotta
do is go tell one of the niggers, you know what I’m sayin’? Or one of the guys,
they’d take care of it.”
At the same time, members recognized that they [might] be targets of rival
gang members and were expected to “be down” for their gang at those times
even when it meant being physically hurt. In addition, initiation rites and internal
rules were structured in ways that required individuals to submit to, and be
exposed to, violence. For example, young women’s descriptions of the qualities
they valued in members revealed the extent to which exposure to violence was
an expected element of gang involvement. Potential members, they explained,
should be tough, able to fight and to engage in criminal activities, and also should
be loyal to the group and willing to put themselves at risk for it. Erica explained
that they didn’t want “punks” in her gang: “When you join something like that,
you might as well expect that there’s gonna be fights.... And, if you’re a punk, or if
you're scared of stuff like that, then don’t join.” Likewise, the following dialogue
with Cathy, a white 16-year-old, reveals similar themes. I asked her what her gang
expected out of members and she responded, “to be true to our gang and to have
our backs.” When I asked her to elaborate, she explained,
Catuy: Like, uh, if you say you’re a Blood, you be a Blood. You wear your rag
even when you’re by yourself. You know, don’t let anybody intimidate
you and be like, “Take that rag off.” You know, “You better get with
our set.” Or something like that.
JM: OK. Anything else that being true to the set means?
Catuy: Um. Yeah, I mean, just, just, you know, I mean it’s, you got a whole
bunch of people comin’ up in your face and if you’re by yourself they
ask you what’s your claimin’, you tell °em. Don’t say, “Nothin’.”
JM: Even if it means getting beat up or something?
CatHy: Mmhmm.
One measure of these qualities came through the initiation process, which
involved the individual submitting to victimization at the hands of the gang’s
members. Typically this entailed either taking a fixed number of “blows” to
the head and/or chest or being “beat in” by members for a given duration
(e.g., 60 seconds). Heather described the initiation as an important event for
determining whether someone would make a good member:
When you get beat in if you don’t fight back and if you just like stop and
you start cryin’ or somethin’ or beggin’ ’em to stop and stuff like that,
then, they ain’t gonna, they’ll just stop and they'll say that you’re not gang
material because you gotta be hard, gotta be able to fight, take punches.
 CHAPTER 37° GENDER AND VICTIMIZATION RISK 445

In addition to the initiation, and threats from rival gangs, members were
expected to adhere to the gang’s internal rules (which included such things as
not fighting with one another, being “true” to the gang, respecting the leader,
not spreading gang business outside the gang, and not dating members of rival
gangs). Breaking the rules was grounds for physical punishment, either in the
form of a spontaneous assault or a formal “violation,” which involved taking a
specified number of blows to the head. For example, Keisha reported that she
talked back to the leader of her set and “got slapped pretty hard” for doing so.
Likewise, Veronica, an African American 15-year-old, described her leader as
“crazy, but we gotta listen to *im. He’s just the type that if you don’t listen to
‘im, he gonna blow your head off. He’s just crazy.”
It is clear that regardless of members’ perceptions of the gang as a form of
“protection,” being a gang member also involves a willingness to open oneself
up to the possibility of victimization. Gang victimization is governed by rules and
expectations, however, and thus does not involve the random vulnerability that
being out on the streets without a gang might entail in high-crime neighbor-
hoods. Because of its structured nature, this victimization risk may be perceived
as more palatable by gang members. For young women in particular, the gen-
dered nature of the streets may make the empowerment available through gang
involvement an appealing alternative to the individualized vulnerability they oth-
erwise would face. However, as the next sections highlight, girls’ victimization
risks continue to be shaped by gender, even within their gangs because these
groups are structured around gender hierarchies as well.

Gender and Status, Crime and Victimization

Status hierarchies within Columbus gangs, like elsewhere, were male dominated
(Bowker, Gross, and Klein 1980; Campbell 1990). Again, it is important to high-
light that the structure of the gangs these young women belonged to—that is,
male-dominated, integrated mixed-gender gangs—likely shaped the particular
ways in which gender dynamics played themselves out. Autonomous female
gangs, as well as gangs in which girls are in auxiliary subgroups, may be shaped
by different gender relations, as well as differences in orientations toward status,
and criminal involvement.
All the young women reported having established leaders in their gang, and
this leadership was almost exclusively male. While LaShawna, a 17-year-old Afri-
can American, reported being the leader of her set (which had a membership
that is two-thirds girls, many of whom resided in the same residential facility
as her), all the other girls in mixed-gender gangs reported that their Original
Gangster [OG] was male. In fact, a number of young women stated explicitly
that only male gang members could be leaders. Leadership qualities, and qualities
attributed to high-status members of the gang—being tough, able to fight, and
willing to “do dirt” (e.g., commit crime, engage in violence) for the gang—were
perceived as characteristically masculine. Keisha noted, “The guys, they just
harder.” She explained, “Guys is more rougher. We have our G’s back but, it
ain’t gonna be like the guys, they just don’t give a fuck. They gonna shoot you
in a minute.” For the most part, status in the gang was related to traits such as the
446 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

willingness to use serious violence and commit dangerous crimes and, though
not exclusively, these traits were viewed primarily as qualities more likely and
more intensely located among male gang members.
Because these respected traits were characterized specifically as masculine,
young women actually may have had greater flexibility in their gang involvement
than young men. Young women had fewer expectations placed on them—by
both their male and female peers—in regard to involvement in criminal activities
such as fighting, using weapons, and committing other crimes. This tended to
decrease girls’ exposure to victimization risk comparable to male members, because
they were able to avoid activities likely to place them in danger. Girls could
gain status in the gang by being particularly hard and true to the set. Heather,
for example, described the most influential girl in her set as “the hardest girl, the
one that don’t take no crap, will stand up to anybody.” Likewise, Diane, a white
15-year-old, described a highly respected female member in her set as follows:
People look up to Janeen just ’cause she’sso crazy. People just look up
to her ’cause she don’t care about nothin’. She don’t even care about
makin’ money. Her, her thing is, “Oh, you’re a Slob [Blood]? You're a
Slob? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ shit to me?” Pow, pow! And that’s
it. That’s it.
However, young women also had a second route to status that was less
available to young men. This came via their connections—as sisters, girlfriends,
cousins—to influential, high-status young men.” In Veronica’s set, for example,
the girl with the most power was the OG’s “sister or his cousin, one of em.” His
girlfriend also had status, although Veronica noted that “most of us just look
up to our OG.” Monica, a 16-year-old African American, and Tamika, a
15-year-old African American, both had older brothers in their gangs, and both
reported getting respect, recognition, and protection because of this connection.
This route to status and the masculinization of high-status traits functioned to
maintain gender inequality within gangs, but they also could put young
women at less risk of victimization than young men. This was [so] both because
young women were perceived as less threatening and thus were less likely to be
targeted by rivals, and because they were not expected to prove themselves in
the ways that young men were, thus decreasing their participation in those delin-
quent activities likely to increase exposure to violence. Thus, gender inequality
could have a protective edge for young women.
Young men’s perceptions of girls as lesser members typically functioned to
keep girls from being targets of serious violence at the hands of rival young men,
who instead left routine confrontations with rival female gang members to the
girls in their own gang. Diane said that young men in her gang “don’t wanna
waste their time hittin’ on some little girls. They’re gonna go get their little cats
[females] to go get em.” Lisa remarked,
Girls don’t face [as] much violence as [guys]. They see a girl, they say,
“We'll just smack her and send her on.” They see a guy—’cause guys
are like a lot more into it than girls are, I’ve noticed that—and they like,
well, “we'll shoot him.”
 CHAPTER 37 GENDER AND VICTIMIZATION RISK 447

In addition, the girls I interviewed suggested that, in comparison with young

men, young women were less likely to resort to serious violence, such as that
involving a weapon, when confronting rivals. Thus, when girls’ routine confron-
tations were more likely to be female on female than male on female, girls’ risk
of serious victimization was lessened further.
Also, because participation in serious and violent crime was defined primarily
as a masculine endeavor, young women could use gender as a means of avoiding
participation in those aspects of gang life they found risky, threatening, or mor-
ally troubling. Of the young women I interviewed, about one-fifth were
involved in serious gang violence: A few had been involved in aggravated assaults
on rival gang members, and one admitted to having killed a rival gang member,
but they were by far the exception. Most girls tended not to be involved in seri-
ous gang crime, and some reported that they chose to exclude themselves
because they felt ambivalent about this aspect of gang life. Angie, an African
American 15-year-old, explained,
I don’t get involved like that, be out there goin’ and just beat up people
like that or go stealin’, things like that. That’s not me. The boys, mostly
the boys do all that, the girls we just sit back and chill, you know.

Likewise, Diane noted,

For maybe a drive-by they might wanna have a bunch of dudes. They
might not put the females in that. Maybe the females might be weak
inside, not strong enough to do something like that, just on the
insides.... Ifa female wants to go forward and doin’ that, and she wants
to risk her whole life for doin’ that, then she can. But the majority of
the time, that job is given to a man.
Diane was not just alluding to the idea that young men were stronger than
young women. She also inferred that young women were able to get out of
committing serious crime, more so than young men, because a girl shouldn’t
have to “risk her whole life” for the gang. In accepting that young men were
more central members of the gang, young women could more easily participate
in gangs without putting themselves in jeopardy—they could engage in the
more routine, everyday activities of the gang, like hanging out, listening to
music, and smoking bud (marijuana). These male-dominated mixed-gender
gangs thus appeared to provide young women with flexibility in their involve-
ment in gang activities. As a result, it is likely that their risk of victimization at
the hands of rivals was less than that of young men in gangs who were engaged
in greater amounts of crime.

Girls’ Devaluation and Victimization

In addition to girls choosing not to participate in serious gang crimes, they also
faced exclusion at the hands of young men or the gang as a whole (see also
Bowker et al. 1980). In particular, the two types of crime mentioned most
448 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

frequently as “off-limits” for girls were drug sales and drive-by shootings.
LaShawna explained, ‘““We don’t really let our females [sell drugs] unless they
really wanna and they know how to do it and not to get caught and
everything.” Veronica described a drive-by that her gang participated in and
said, “They wouldn’t let us [females] go. But we wanted to go, but they
wouldn’t let us.” Often, the exclusion was couched in terms of protection.
When I asked Veronica why the girls couldn’t go, she said, “so we won't go
to jail if they was to get caught. Or if one of ’em was to get shot, they wouldn’t
want it to happen to us.” Likewise, Sonita, a 13-year-old African American,
noted, “If they gonna do somethin’ bad and they think one of the females
gonna get hurt they don’t let ’em do it with them.... Like if they involved
with shooting or whatever, [girls] can’t go.”
Although girls’ exclusion from some gang crime may be framed as protective
(and may reduce their victimization risk vis-a-vis rival gangs), it also served to
perpetuate the devaluation of female members as less significant to the gang—
not as tough, true, or “down” for the gang as male members. When LaShawna
said her gang blocked girls’ involvement in serious crime, I pointed out that she
was actively involved herself. She explained, “Yeah, I do a lot of stuff cause I’m
tough. I likes, I likes messin’ with boys. I fight boys. Girls ain’t nothin’ to me.”
Similarly, Tamika said, “girls, they little peons.”
Some young women found the perception of them as weak a frustrating
one. Brandi, an African American 13-year-old, explained, “Sometimes I dislike
that the boys, sometimes, always gotta take charge and they think, sometimes,
that the girls don’t know how to take charge ‘cause we're like girls, we’re
females, and like that. ” And Chantell, an African American 14-year-old, noted
that rival gang members “think that you’re more of a punk.” Beliefs that girls
were weaker than boys meant that young women had a harder time proving
that they were serious about their commitment to the gang. Diane explained,
A female has to show that she’s tough. A guy can just, you can just look
at him. But a female, she’s gotta show. She’s gotta go out and do some
dirt. She’s gotta go whip some girl’s ass, shoot somebody, rob somebody
or something. To show that she is tough.
In terms of gender-specific victimization risk, the devaluation of young
women suggests several things. It could lead to the mistreatment and victimiza-
tion of girls by members of their own gang when they didn’t have specific male
protection (i.e., a brother, boyfriend) in the gang or when they weren’t able to
stand up for themselves to male members. This was exacerbated by activities that
led young women to be viewed as sexually available. In addition, since young
women typically were not seen as a threat by young men, when they did pose
one, they could be punished even more harshly than young men, not only for
having challenged a rival gang or gang member but also for having overstepped
“appropriate” gender boundaries.
Monica had status and respect in her gang, both because she had proven
herself through fights and criminal activities, and because her older brothers
 CHAPTER 37. GENDER AND VICTIMIZATION RISK 449

were members of her set. She contrasted her own treatment with that of other
young women in the gang:

They just be puttin’ the other girls off. Like Andrea, man. Oh my God,
they dog Andrea so bad. They like, “Bitch, go to the store.” She like,
“All nght, I be right back.” She will go to the store and go and get
them whatever they want and come back with it. If she don’t get it
right, they be like, “Why you do that bitch?” I mean, and one dude
even smacked her. And, I mean, and, I don’t, I told my brother once. I
was like, “Man, it ain’t even like that. If you ever see someone tryin’ to
disrespect me like that or hit me, if you do not hit them or at least say
somethin’ to them....” So my brothers, they kinda watch out for me.

However, Monica put the responsibility for Andrea’s treatment squarely on

the young woman: “I put that on her. They ain’t gotta do her like that, but she
don’t gotta let them do her like that either.” Andrea was seen as “weak” because
she did not stand up to the male members in the gang; thus, her mistreatment
was framed as partially deserved because she did not exhibit the valued traits of
toughness and willingness to fight which would allow her to defend herself.
An additional but related problem was when the devaluation of young
women within gangs was sexual in nature. Girls, but not boys, could be initiated
into the gang by being “sexed in”—having sexual relations with multiple male
members of the gang. Other members viewed the young women initiated in this
way as sexually available and promiscuous, thus increasing their subsequent mis-
treatment. In addition, the stigma could extend to female members in general,
creating a sexual devaluation that all girls had to contend with.
The dynamics of “sexing in” as a form of gang initiation placed young
women in a position that increased their risk of ongoing mistreatment at the
hands of their gang peers. According to Keisha, “If you get sexed in, you have
no respect. That means you gotta go ho’in’ for ’°em; when they say you give ’em
the pussy, you gotta give it to ‘em. If you don’t, you gonna get your ass beat.
I ain’t down for that.” One girl in her set was sexed in and Keisha said the girl
‘Just do everything they tell her to do, like a dummy.” Nikkie reported that two
girls who were sexed into her set eventually quit hanging around with the gang
because they were harassed so much. In fact, Veronica said the young men in her
set purposely tricked girls into believing they were being sexed into the gang and
targeted girls they did not like:
If some girls wanted to get in, if they don’t like the girl they have sex
with ’em. They run trains on ’em or either have the girl suck their
thang. And then they used to, the girls used to think they was in. So,
then the girls used to just come try to hang around us and all this little
bull, just ’cause, ‘cause they thinkin’ they in.
Young women who were sexed into the gang were viewed as sexually pro-
miscuous, weak, and not “true” members. They were subject to revictimization
and mistreatment, and were viewed as deserving of abuse by other members,
450 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

both male and female. Veronica continued, “They [girls who are sexed in] gotta
do whatever, whatever the boys tell ’em to do when they want ’em to do it,
right then and there, in front of whoever. And, I think, that’s just sick. That’s
nasty, that’s dumb.” Keisha concurred, “She brought that on herself, by bein’ the
fact, bein’ sexed in.” There was evidence, however, that girls could overcome
the stigma of having been sexed in through their subsequent behavior, by chal-
lenging members that disrespect them and being willing to fight. Tamika
described a girl in her set who was sexed in, and stigmatized as a result, but suc-
cessfully fought to rebuild her reputation:
Some people, at first, they call her “little ho” and all that. But then,
now she startin’ to get bold.... Like, they be like, “Ooh, look at the
little ho. She fucked me and my boy.” She be like, “Man, forget y’all.
Man, what? What?” She be ne to squat [fight] with ’em. I be like,
“Ah, look at her!” he huh.... At first we looked at her like, “Ooh,
man, she a ho, man.” But now we look at her like she just our kickin’-
it partner. You know, however she got in that’s her business.
The fact that there was such an option as “sexing in” served to keep girls
disempowered, because they always faced the question of how they got in and
of whether they were “true” members. In addition, it contributed to a milieu in
which young women’s sexuality was seen as exploitable. This may help explain
why young women were so harshly judgmental of those girls who were sexed
in. Young women who were privy to male gang members’ conversations
reported that male members routinely disrespect girls in the gang by disparaging
them sexually. Monica explained,
I mean the guys, they have their little comments about ’em [girls in the
gang] because, I hear more because my brothers are all up there with
the guys and everything and I hear more just sittin’ around, just listenin’.
And they'll have their little jokes about “Well, ha I had her,” and then
and everybody else will jump in and say, “Well, I had her, too.” And
then they'll laugh about it.
In general, because gender constructions defined young women as weaker
than young men, young women were often seen as lesser members of the
gang. In addition to the mistreatment these perceptions entailed, young women
also faced particularly harsh sanctions for crossing gender boundaries—causing
harm to rival male gmembers when they had been viewed as ninthiene nian
One young woman? participated in the assault of a rival female gang member,
who had set up a member of the girl’s gang. She explained, “The female was
supposingly goin’ out with one of ours, went back and told a bunch of [rivals]
what was goin’ on and got the [rivals] to jump my boy. And he ended up in the
hospital.” The story she told was unique but nonetheless significant for what it
indicates about the gendered nature of gang violence and victimization. Several
young men in her set saw the girl walking down the street, kidnapped her, then
brought her to a member’s house. The young woman I interviewed, along with
several other girls in her set, viciously beat the girl, then to their surprise the
 CHAPTER37. GENDER ANDVICTIMIZATION
RISK 451

young men took over the beating, ripped off the girl’s clothes, brutally gang-
raped her, then dumped her in a park. The interviewee noted, “I don’t know
what happened to her. Maybe she died. Maybe, maybe someone came and
helped her. I mean, I don’t know.” The experience scared the young woman
who told me about it. She explained,
I don’t never want anythin’ like that to happen to me. And I pray to
God that it doesn’t. "Cause God said that whatever you sow you're
gonna reap. And like, you know, beatin’ a girl up and then sittin’ there
watchin’ somethin’ like that happen, well, Jesus that could come back
on me. I mean, I felt, I really did feel sorry for her even though my boy
was in the hospital and was really hurt. I mean, we coulda just shot her.
You know, and it coulda been just over. We coulda just taken her life.
But they went farther than that.
This young woman described the gang rape she witnessed as “the most bru-
tal thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” While the gang rape itself was an unusual
event, it remained a specifically gendered act that could take place precisely
because young women were not perceived as equals. Had the victim been an
“equal,” the attack would have remained a physical one. As the interviewee her-
self noted, “we coulda just shot her.” Instead, the young men who gang-raped
the girl were not just enacting revenge on a rival but on a young woman who had
dared to treat a young man in this way. The issue is not the question of which is
worse—to be shot and killed, or gang-raped and left for dead. Rather, this par-
ticular act sheds light on how gender may function to structure victimization risk
within gangs.

DISCUSSION

Gender dynamics in mixed-gender gangs are complex and thus may have multi-
ple and contradictory effects on young women’s risk of victimization and repeat
victimization. My findings suggest that participation in the delinquent lifestyles
associated with gangs clearly places young women at risk for victimization. The
act of joining a gang involves the initiate’s submission to victimization at the
hands of her gang peers. In addition, the rules governing gang members’ activi-
ties place [the initiates] in situations in which they are vulnerable to assaults that
are specifically gang related. Many acts of violence that girls described would not
have occurred had they not been in gangs.
It seems, though, that young women in gangs believed [that] they ... traded
unknown risks for known ones—that victimization at the hands of friends, or at
least under specified conditions, was an alternative preferable to the potential of
random, unknown victimization by strangers. Moreover, the gang offered both a
semblance of protection from others on the streets, especially young men, and a
means of achieving retaliation when victimization did occur....
Girls’ gender, as an individual attribute, can function to lessen their exposure
to victimization risk by defining them as inappropriate targets of rival male gang
452 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

members’ assaults. The young women I interviewed repeatedly commented that

young men were typically not as violent in their routine confrontations with
rival young women as with rival young men. On the other hand, when young
women are targets of serious assault, they may face brutality that is particularly
harsh and sexual in nature because they are female—thus, particular types of
assault, such as rape, are deemed more appropriate when young women are the
victims.
Gender can also function as a state-dependent factor, because constructions
of gender and the enactment of gender identities are fluid. On the one hand,
young women can call upon gender as a means of avoiding exposure to activities
they find risky, threatening, or morally troubling. Doing so does not expose
them to the sanctions likely faced by male gang members who attempt to
avoid participation in violence. Although these choices may insulate young
women from the risk of assault at the hands of rival gang members, perceptions
of female gang members—and of women in general—as weak may contribute to
more routinized victimization at the hands of the male members of their gangs.
Moreover, sexual exploitation in the form of “sexing in” as an initiation ritual
may define young women as sexually available, contributing to a likelihood of
repeat victimization unless the young woman can stand up for herself and fight
to gain other members’ respect.
Finally, given constructions of gender that define young women as non-
threatening, when young women do pose a threat to male gang members, the
sanctions they face may be particularly harsh because they not only have caused
harm to rival gang members but also have crossed appropriate gender boundaries
in doing so. In sum, my findings suggest that gender may function to insulate
young women from some types of physical assault and lessen their exposure to
risks from rival gang members, but also to make them vulnerable to particular
types of violence, including routine victimization by their male peers, sexual
exploitation, and sexual assault.

NOTES

1. I contacted numerous additional women; they simply chose not to

agency personnel in an effort to draw follow up. I do not believe that much
the sample from a larger population bias resulted from the nonparticipation
base, but many efforts remained of these agencies. Each has a client
unsuccessful despite repeated attempts base of “at-risk” youths, and the
and promises of assistance. These ~ young women I interviewed report
[agency personnel] included persons at overlap with some of these same
the probation department, a shelter agencies. For example, a number had
and outreach agency for runaways, been or were on probation, and sev-
police personnel, a private residential eral reported staying at the shelter for
facility for juveniles, and three addi- runaways.
tional community agencies. None of tN One young woman was a member of
the agencies I contacted openly denied an all-female gang. Because the focus
me permission to interview young of this article is gender dynamics in
 CHAPTER 37 GENDER AND VICTIMIZATION RISK 453

mixed-gender gangs, her interview is to successfully exhibit masculine traits

not included in the analysis. such as toughness. Young women
3. These [surveys] include the Gang appear to be held to more flexible
Membership Resistance Surveys in standards.
Long Beach and San Diego, the 6. Because this excerpt provides a
Denver Youth Survey, and the detailed description of a specific seri-
Rochester Youth Development Study. ous crime, and because demographic
All names are fictitious. information on respondents is avail-
5. This is not to suggest that male able, I have chosen to conceal both the
members cannot gain status via their pseudonym and gang affiliation of the
connections to high-status men, but
young woman who told me the story.
that to maintain status, they will have

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 FORMAL ORGANIZATIONS

38

Hezbollah’s Global Criminal Operations

MICHAEL P. ARENA

One of the international terrorist organizations most germane to world peace is

the Arab group Hezbollah, a Shi’a Islamic militant group and political party
based in Lebanon yet active in other countries. Hezbollah, which began as only a
small militia, has grown into a large pyramid-shaped hierarchal organization that
receives military training, weapons, and financial support from Iran and political
support from Syria. It wields political power, holding seats in the Lebanese
government and sponsoring a radio station and a satellite television station as
well as programs for social development. At the same time, it is involved in
terrorism, sometimes under the name of the Islamic Jihad Organization.
Less well known about Hezbollah are the criminal operations that support it.
Uncertain of continuing financing by its sponsors in the Arab world, Hezbollah
has followed a path to financial independence taken by many international crim-
inal organizations. In this chapter, Arena discusses the diversity of Hezbollah’s
financial dealings that support its international political mission.
How would you assess the financial basis of an organization such as
Hezbollah compared with other, traditional international criminal groups, such as
the Italian mafia, the Colombian cartels, the Chinese triads and dyads, and
the Russian mobs? How does Hezbollah compare against them in terms of ethnic
and family homogeneity, long-term commitment, specialization or diversification,
vertical and/or horizontal differentiation, and loose or tight structuring? How
does the political mission of Hezbollah compare and contrast with these other
groups? What kind of influence can governments and law enforcement agencies
have over such groups?

O: July 12, 2006, Lebanese Hezbollah militants attacked Israeli military out-
posts in the Shebaa Farms, kidnapping two Israeli soldiers and leaving at least
eight dead. The attack sparked a month long volley of Israeli air strikes in southern
Lebanon and a barrage of Hezbollah Katyusha rocket attacks on northern Israel.

From Michael P. Arena (2006). Hezbollah’s Global Criminal Operations. Global Crime,
7(3-4), 454-470.

455
456 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

The crisis peaked with an Israeli ground assault before a ceasefire was finally
reached in mid-August. The fighting caused hundreds of deaths and injuries,
extensive damage to civilian infrastructure, and hundreds to become homeless.
The Lebanese Hezbollah (Party of God) first came onto the world stage in
April 1983 when one of its operatives drove a van packed with explosives into
the U.S. Embassy in Beirut, killing 63 people. A second attack followed in Octo-
ber 1983 when an explosive-laden pickup was driven into the U.S. Marine bar-
racks also in Beirut and detonated, killing 241 Marines. Moments later, 58 French
paratroopers were killed in the Beirut suburb of Jnah when another explosive-
filled vehicle detonated in their barracks. Initially, an organization called the
Islamic Jihad claimed responsibility for the attacks but it was soon determined
that it was a front for Hezbollah [which] was intent on expelling Western influ-
ence from the region. These attacks made Hezbollah responsible for more Ameri-
can deaths than any other terrorist organization prior to September 11, 2001.
Hezbollah evolved from a ragtag group of militants into a sophisticated orga-
nization with several thousand supporters and members and a multi-dimensional
infrastructure complete with military, political, social welfare, and finance wings
requiring a substantial amount of money to operate. While Hezbollah is often
quoted as being allied with Syria, the organization’s chief financial sponsor is Iran
which is believed to provide somewhere between $60 [million and] $100 million
dollars a year to the group. Iran has been a steady sponsor of Hezbollah since
its inception[;]however, its funding has fluctuated. Under the presidencies of
Rafsanjani (1989-1997) and Khatami (1997-2005), Iran’s financial support to
Hezbollah was cut by almost 70 percent. This reduction may have been a key
factor in Hezbollah’s reliance upon funding from business interests and external
sources such as charitable donations from the Lebanese diaspora community.
Recently, it has also come to light that Hezbollah receives a great deal of funding
from a worldwide network of criminal enterprises.
Hezbollah appears to be profiting from a variety of criminal enterprises, most
notably, Intellectual Property Crime (IPC), drug smuggling, cigarette smuggling,
and the exploitation of the African diamond trade. This essay aims to provide a
brief description of these enterprises, [an account of] instances in which Hezbollah’s
members and supporters have been found to be involved in such crimes, and some
indication as to how much money has been funneled to the Hezbollah organiza-
tion. However, it begins with a brief history of the Hezbollah organization.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF HEZBOLLAH

Lebanese Hezbollah is a radical Shia organization which was formed in 1982 as a

result of an interaction of several disparate forces. One of these forces was the
political mobilization of the southern Shia community during the 1960s. With
Shia, Sunni, and Druze Muslims, Christian Maronites, and Greek Orthodox
Christians, Lebanon utilizes a confessional system in which political offices and
bureaucratic appointments are distributed along sectarian lines to govern its reli-
giously divided. population. Inhabiting the rural regions of south Lebanon and
the Biq’a Valley, Shia Muslims tended to be politically and economically
 CHAPTER 38 HEZBOLLAH'S GLOBAL CRIMINAL OPERATIONS 457

marginalized until a charismatic Imam by the name of Musa al-Sadr began orga-
nizing the community and fighting for official representation in the late 1950s.
The political awakening of the Shia community was also spurred by the
growing power of the Palestinian refugee community [that] had escaped to
Lebanon after the declaration ofIsrael in 1948 and whose population was growing
after the violence of the Six Day War in 1967. By the early 1970s, the Palestinian
Liberation Organization (PLO) [had] relocated its base of operations to Lebanon
after King Hussein evicted the militants from Jordan. Once the PLO arrived, [it]
proceeded to launch attacks on Israel’s northern border and, subsequently, invite
periodic incursions by the Israel Defense Force (IDF) into Lebanon. With tensions
in the region at a peak, civil war erupted in 1975. Intent on defending itself from
the various armed forces in the region, Musa al-Sadr founded the Lebanese
Resistance or what would come to be known as the Amal militia.
A second force to influence the creation of Hezbollah was the Iranian Revo-
lution. The revolution had what Ahmad Hamzeh called a “demonstration effect”
on the Lebanese Shia by showing them [that] it was possible to create an Islamic
regime. Heavily influenced by Khomeini, Hezbollah became fiercely anti-Western,
dedicated to destroying Israel, and committed to establishing an Islamic state in
Lebanon in accordance with Islamic law. The Iranian regime and its supreme
leader Ayatollah Khamenei continue to be a source of inspiration for Hezbollah.
The third and perhaps the most influential force to contribute to the creation
of Hezbollah was the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon dubbed Operation Peace
for Galilee. While Israel had made periodic incursions into Lebanon in the past,
this large-scale invasion was aimed at permanently eliminating the PLO’s threat
to Israel’s northern border. Israeli forces stormed the southern region with rela-
tive ease before moving north to Beirut and forcing the PLO leadership to flee to
surrounding Arab states. At first, the Shia community welcomed the IDF hoping
that, once the PLO was gone, Amal would be free to reign. However, the
Shia community soon realized [that] Israeli officials had no intention of leaving
Lebanon before implementing [their] own security plan. In response, small
groups of Shia militants began attacking the Israeli troops who[m] they viewed
as occupiers. Anxious to spread its brand of Islamic revolution, Iran dispatched
1,500 members of its Revolutionary Guard to the Biq’a Valley to infiltrate orga-
nizations such as Amal and train Lebanese Shia militants. Eventually, these mili-
tants gathered under one umbrella to form Hezbollah. The IDF withdrew from
Lebanon in 1985 but continued to occupy a 15 kilometer wide security zone on
the Lebanese border to help prevent further cross-border attacks. This strip of
land would ultimately become Hezbollah’s proving ground in its resistance to
Israel which finally made a complete withdrawal from the zone in 2000.

HEZBOLLAH’S PYRAMID STRUCTURE

Since evolving from an underground movement into a bona fide political party,
Hezbollah’s once guarded organizational structure has become more open to
public view. Hezbollah is organized into a hierarchical pyramid whose territorial
divisions parallel Lebanon’s governorates, more specifically, the regions of Beirut,
458 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Biq’a, and south Lebanon as they have the highest concentration of Shia
Muslims. The first administrative tier of this pyramid is Hezbollah’s seven-
member council called the Majlis al-Shura or Consultative Council. It consists
primarily of Shia clergy but also has some positions for laypersons. The Shura
council’s primary function is to oversee the second tier of the organization, the
Executive Administrative Apparatus (Shura Tanfiz). This administrative body
consists of the Politburo which oversees political activities, the Parliamentary
Council which is made up of Hezbollah members who have won seats in the
Lebanese Parliament, the Judicial council which resolves conflict in the Hezbollah
controlled Shia community, and the Executive Council which handles the
day-to-day activities of the organization through its eight units.
The eight units of the Executive Council can be viewed as the organiza-
tion’s third tier and [are] further subdivided into the Social Unit[,] which over-
sees welfare services to members, supporters, and the families of martyrs; the
Islamic Health Unit|,] which provides health care; the Education Unit, which
provides financial aid and scholarships; the Information Unit, which controls
the organization’s media outlets and propaganda campaigns; the Syndicate Unit,
which oversees professional associations; the External Relations Unit, which acts
as a liaison between Hezbollah and the government; the Finance Unit, which is
responsible for fundraising, expenditures, and budgeting; and the Engagement
and Coordination Unit, which is responsible for general security and addressing
threats against the organization. There are two additional components that fall
outside the primary hierarchy and report solely to the Shura Council[:] the
Islamic Resistance and the Security Apparatus. The Islamic Resistance is the clos-
est entity Hezbollah has to a standing army. The Security Apparatus is broken
into two parts[:] the internal security, which polices the Hezbollah membership,
and the external security[,] which is responsible for countering foreign intelli-
gence services. The final components organized under the Executive Council
and Military and Security Apparatus are the various geographic regions broken
into Beirut, Biq’a, and South Lebanon and corresponding sectors, branches and
groups. In whole, it is estimated that Hezbollah has several thousand supporters
and members and a few hundred terrorist operatives.
Hezbollah was designated as a Foreign Terrorist Organization by the U.S.
Department of State in 1997 based on the terror campaign it began in the 1980s.
The bombings of the U.S. Embassy and the Marine barracks were soon followed
by the 1984 kidnapping and detention of seventeen Americans in Lebanon. The
last hostage was finally released in December 1991. In June 1985, hijackers over-
took TWA Flight 847 in route from Athens to Rome. One hundred and forty-
three passengers and crew members were held hostage as they were shuttled back
and forth from Beirut to Algiers over a four-day period. During the ordeal, Robert
D. Stethem, a Navy diver on board the aircraft, was murdered and dumped on the
tarmac at Beirut International Airport prior to all of the remaining passengers
eventually being released. During the 1990s, Hezbollah was focused primarily
on expelling Israel from southern Lebanon, however{.][W]orking under a front
organization, Hezbollah is believed to have detonated a car bomb outside the
Israeli embassy in Buenos Aires, Argentina, killing 32 people in 1992. Two years
 CHAPTER 38 HEZBOLLAH’S GLOBAL CRIMINAL OPERATIONS 459

later, in 1994, a second attack in the form of another vehicle bomb was
detonated outside the Israeli-Argentine Mutual Association (AMIA) in Buenos
Aires, killing 86 people. As mentioned earlier, prior to the September 11, 2001
attacks Hezbollah was responsible for killing more Americans than any other
terrorist organization.

Intellectual Property Crime

One criminal enterprise Hezbollah has profited from is the IPC. According to
Ronald K. Noble, Secretary General for the International Criminal Police Orga-
nization, intellectual property is defined as:
[T]he legal nights that correspond to intellectual activity in the industrial,
scientific, and artistic fields. These legal rights, most commonly in the
form of patents, trademarks, and copyright, protect the moral and eco-
nomic rights of the creators, in addition to the creativity and dissemi-
nation of their work[.] Industrial property, which is part of intellectual
property, extends protection to inventions and industrial designs.'
Therefore, IPC refers to “...the counterfeiting or pirating of goods for sale
where the consent of the rights holder has not been obtained”.* The World
Customs Organization reported [that] there were over 4,000 cases in 2004
involving the seizure of more than 166 million counterfeit or pirated articles by
customs officials.
IPC is considered a low risk, high gain crime meaning [that] it has the
potential
considerable
to provide monetary rewards but does not carry substantial
penalties if [the perpetrator is] caught. As one suspect in an IPC investigation
explained “It’s better than the dope business, no one[’|s going to prison for
[pirating] DVDs”.° This makes IPC an attractive enterprise to organized crime,
street gangs, and international terrorists associated with groups such as Hezbollah.
Terrorist groups typically take two types of roles in IPC. The first type of role is
direct involvement|,| where the group 1s implicated in the production, distribu-
tion, or sale of counterfeit goods and uses the money to fund its activities. The
second is indirect involvement[,] where sympathizers or militants are involved in
IPC and remit some of the profits back to the group through couriers or money
wires via third parties. It appears [that] Hezbollah is indirectly involved in IPC as
its members and supporters are committing the act of pirating intellectual prop-
erty and then funneling the proceeds back to the group via third parties.
Aside from their many operations abroad, Hezbollah profits from the com-
mission of intellectual property theft in North America. During a recent hearing
conducted by the U.S. Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Govern-
mental Affairs, Los Angeles County Sheriffs Department Lieutenant John C.
Stedman detailed two instances in which his “investigative team encountered
what he believed were indications that some associates of Hezbollah may be
involved in IPC in Los Angeles, California. The first instance was experienced
while [he was] executing an IPC related search warrant of a suspect’s home.
During the search he saw small Hezbollah flags displayed in the suspect’s
460 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

bedroom along with a photograph of Secretary General Hassan Nasrallah. The

suspect’s wife asked Lt. Stedman if he knew the individual in the portrait to
which he responded in the affirmative. The wife explained, “We love him
because he protects us from the Jews.” The investigators also found dozens of
audio tapes of Nasrallah’s speeches and a locket which contained a picture of
the male suspect on one side and a picture of Nasrallah on the other. The second
instance involved the execution of a search warrant at a clothing store in which
thousands of dollars in counterfeit clothing and two unregistered firearms were
seized. The suspect revealed a tattoo of the Hezbollah flag on his arm while
being booked into custody.
Stedman explained that one of the biggest issues for those who commit IPC
is how to disperse the money generated by the enterprise. He identified one
instance, not explicitly identified as being linked to Hezbollah, in which a sus-
pect who was arrested at Los Angeles International airport by U.S. Customs
officers had more than $230,000 strapped to her body. She told authorities that
she was traveling to Lebanon for “vacation”. The suspect was soon identified as
the owner of a chain of cigarettes shops. Investigators seized more than 1,000
cartons of counterfeit cigarettes, an additional $70,000 in cash, and wire transfers
to banks throughout the world.

Drug Trafficking
The illegal drug trade has proven to be another profitable enterprise for the Leba-
nese Hezbollah. While testifying before a U.S. Congressional Subcommittee,
Ambassador-at-large for counterterrorism, Francis X. Taylor, stated that drug traf-
ficking, in particular, is one illicit venture terrorist organizations have used to
replace funding lost as a result of declining state sponsorship. He went on to say
that the terrorist organizations’ role in the drug trade has taken several forms,
ranging from protecting production operations to directly trafficking illicit drugs.
Both drug traffickers and terrorist organizations have similar needs, such as
covert funding sources, weapons, and operational security, and possess similar
skill sets, such as the production of fraudulent documents, establishing front orga-
nizations, money laundering, and the clandestine movement of logistics and peo-
ple. These similarities have made terrorist organizations a natural and effective fit
for participation in the drug trade.
Hezbollah’s involvement in the drug trade may have begun with the smug-
gling of opiates out of the Bi’ga Valley, a Hezbollah stronghold. Lebanese and
Syrian farmers have traditionally raised opium poppies and cannabis in the region
to make hashish for local consumption. However, the cultivation and processing
of opium and cannabis has been largely suppressed since the Lebanese and Syrian
governments joined international drug eradication initiatives in the early 1990s.
According to the International Policy Institute for Counterterrorism, the success
of the government-led eradication program prompted Hezbollah to find an
alternate drug supply, mainly from the Latin America route (Colombia, Peru,
Brazil, etc.) and the Far East route (Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Turkey, and
Syria). The Tri-Border area is believed to be a focal point for Hezbollah’s drug
 CHAPTER 38 HEZBOLLAH‘S GLOBAL CRIMINAL OPERATIONS 461

trafficking operations in Latin America as evidenced by several recent, highly

publicized cases.

Cigarette Smuggling
Another U.S.-based Hezbollah criminal operation was revealed in July 2000
when federal authorities levied charges against 25 suspects for their involvement
in racketeering, money laundering, immigration fraud, credit card fraud, mar-
riage fraud, visa fraud, bribery, and providing material support to a terrorist
organization. Dubbed Operation Smokescreen, the investigation began in the
mid-1990s after an off-duty sheriff, working as a security officer at a cigarette
wholesaler in Statesville, North Carolina, watched three Arabic-speaking men
enter the store, collect 299 cartons of cigarettes apiece, pay for the merchandise
in cash, and load the goods into minivans before heading north. With the passing
of the Contraband Trafficking Act of 1978, it is a federal offense to transport
more than 60,000 cigarettes or 300 cartons from one state to another without
proof [that] the appropriate state tax had been paid in each state. Realizing this,
the off-duty deputy reported his suspicions to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco,
and Firearms (ATF) which initiated an investigation.
The ATF soon discovered a multimillion dollar cigarette smuggling ring
which was using a classic organized crime scheme. The ring purchased cigarettes
in a low tax state, in this case, North Carolina whose rate was 50 cents a carton,
and transported them to Michigan, a high tax state which charged $7.50 a car-
ton. The ring was also taking advantage of the fact that neither North Carolina
nor Michigan marked cigarettes with a tax stamp making it difficult for authori-
ties to determine if appropriate taxes were paid. By exploiting the discrepancy in
tax rates, the smugglers stood to make roughly $13,000 per van load. In all, the
ring is estimated to have purchased $8 million in cigarettes making roughly
$2 million in profit. As authorities began to make preparations to dismantle the
ring, agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) approached the fed-
eral prosecutor, informing him that they had stumbled onto a Hezbollah cell
operating out of Charlotte, North Carolina, and explained that they already
had two of the cell members under electronic surveillance.
Members of the cigarette smuggling ring became well versed in the art of
criminal conspiracy. They opened multiple bank accounts, fraudulently obtained
credit cards, and learned how to establish multiple identities by obtaining the
names of departing international students by retrieving corresponding driver’s
licenses, social security numbers, and Immigration and Naturalization Service
work authorizations and credit histories. Many of the credit card scam and iden-
tity theft skills were taught by Said Mohamad Harb, one of the cell members
who was described by authorities as “a one-man crime wave”. Through the
assistance of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, it was revealed that
Harb was the key link in the cell’s provision of material support to Hezbollah.
Harb was childhood friends with Mohammud Dbouk who was sent to Canada
from Lebanon by Hezbollah’s chief procurement officer to lead its North
American Procurement Program which was charged with obtaining dual use
462 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

military equipment from retail outlets in Canada and the United States. Through
Dbouk, Harb arranged for the Charlotte cell members to fulfill equipment orders
from Hezbollah in Lebanon in exchange for a percentage of the purchase price.
The Charlotte cell provided items such as night-vision goggles, cameras, global-
positioning systems, metal-detection gear, video equipment, computers, and
stun guns.

Exploiting the African Diamond Trade

The link between the diamond trade and international terrorism was publicized
in November 2001 when the Washington Post published an article claiming inter-
national terrorist groups, namely al Qaeda and Hezbollah, had made millions of
dollars from the illicit sale of diamonds mined by rebel groups in Sierra Leone.
The topic of international terrorists profiting from the illicit diamond trade
received a more comprehensive treatment when the Global Witness, a British
nongovernmental organization dedicated to exposing the relationship between
natural resource exploitation and human rights abuses, published “For a few dol-
lars more: How al Qaeda moved into the diamond trade”. The report detailed
how international terrorists had infiltrated West African diamond networks by
taking advantage of illicit trading structures, weak governments, and lax trade
regulations.
The U.S. General Accounting Office (GAO) identified the illegal trafficking
of precious metals and stones as one means by which terrorist groups raise funds,
explaining that illicit diamond dealing is an attractive criminal enterprise for several
reasons. Diamonds serve as a form of currency that can be used for money laun-
dering, exchanged for cash, or to purchase an array of illicit goods such as arms or
drugs. The international diamond industry is fragmented and there is limited scru-
tiny of the flow of diamond[s] from mine to consumer. In addition, there are
numerous small mining operations across Africa which has porous borders and
little rule of law, making it less complicated for traders to acquire and smuggle
diamonds. Areas such as Sierra Leone became notorious for the sale and export
of conflict diamonds, the name given to diamonds mined in a war zone and used
to finance armed conflicts. The Revolutionary United Front used the proceeds of
the sales to drive [its] failed attempt to overthrow the government ofSierra Leone,
during which [it] committed countless human rights abuses. Diamonds are condu-
cive to smuggling because of their low weight, lack of odor, and untraceable ori-
gins. Additionally, they can be easily sold on the black market. Authorities report
that in Antwerp, the world’s largest diamond trading center, a substantial number
of diamonds are sold on the black market with no transaction records.
Hezbollah has been profiting off the African diamond market since the
1980s when it first began establishing networks of operatives in the region. In
the Congo, Hezbollah is reported to take a direct role in the market by purchas-
ing diamonds from miners and local merchants at a fraction of the market value
and selling them in Antwerp, Mumbai, and Dubai. In West Africa, Hezbollah is
reported to be siphoning off profits from the region’s diamond trade through the
extortion of Lebanese merchants. As the Deputy Chief of mission for the U.S.
 CHAPTER 38 HEZBOLLAH'S GLOBAL CRIMINAL OPERATIONS 463

Embassy in Sierra Leone explained, “One thing [that] is incontrovertible is the

financing of Hezbollah. ... It’s not even an open secret|;]there is no secret.
There’s a lot of social pressure and extortionate pressure brought to bear: ‘You
had better support our cause, or we'll visit your people back home’”.*

CONCLUSION

The gradual decrease in state sponsorship for terrorism has forced many terrorist
organizations to seek alternative sources of funding. The Lebanese Hezbollah is
no exception. It has come to rely upon a worldwide network of members and
supporters who engage in various forms of criminal enterprise and remand a por-
tion of its illicit profits back to the group. Regardless if the Hezbollah leadership
is completely witting of the source, it is presumed that generating its own fund-
ing has enabled the organization to become less dependent upon Iran, whose
funding has fluctuated over the years, and more self-sufficient. Furthermore,
this source of funding may prove vital in the aftermath of recent fighting
between Hezbollah and the IDF. The group will desperately need money to
rebuild its weapon and equipment stockpiles and infrastructure. It will also
need money to rebuild goodwill among the Lebanese Shia population. In mid-
August, its Secretary General pledged to pay for rent and furniture to those
Lebanese Shia whose homes were destroyed.
It is anticipated that Hezbollah’s criminal networks will remain dynamic and
adaptable in the face of law enforcement initiatives to cut off terrorism funding.
According to the FBI, terrorists will switch to another commodity or industry
once they realize authorities have become aware of their illegal activities. With
this utilitarian aim, these networks may become active in any number of illegal
enterprises in an effort to meet the organization’s financial needs. The enterprise
may have been around for a while, like cigarette smuggling and trafficking in
stolen automobiles, or it may yet [remain] to be contrived. The only limit is that
the enterprise [be] lucrative and relatively undetected. One final observation is
warranted when assessing Hezbollah’s global criminal operations. There is concern
that those who are participating in illicit enterprises worldwide could be tasked
with committing an act of terrorism on behalf of Hezbollah or at the behest of
Iran. With an intimate knowledge of the inner workings of smuggling routes,
clandestine money transfers, and illicit materials procurement, Hezbollah may be
well positioned to perpetrate a terrorist attack almost anywhere in the world.

NOTES

1. Intellectual property crimes: Are House of Representatives (2003) 108th

proceeds from counterfeited goods cong, Ist sess, GPO, Washington, DC.
funding terrorism?: Hearing before the Available at: http://comm«docs.house.
Committee on International Relations, gov/committees/intlrel/
464 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

hfa88392.000/hfa88392_Of-htm CHRG-109shrg21823.htm (retrieved

(retrieved 11 November 2005). 16 July 2006).
i) Ibid. ‘Hezbollah extorts diamond profits
Counterfeit goods: Easy cash for from Lebanese, U.S. says’, Rapaport
criminals and terrorists: Hearing before News, June 30, 2004, Available at:
the Committee on Homeland Security http://www.diamonds.net/News/
and Governmental Affairs, United Newsltem.aspx?ArticleID=9852&
States Senate (2005) 109th cong, 1st Article Title=Hizballah+Extorts+
sess, GPO, Washington, DC. Avail- Diamond-+ Profits+From+Lebanese%
able at: http://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/ 2C+U.S.+Says (retrieved 11
pkg/CHRG-109shrg21823/html/ November 2005).
 STATE—CORPORATE CRIME

39

State—Corporate Crime in the Offshore

Oil Industry: The BP Oil Spill
ELIZABETH A. BRADSHAW

The complementary interplay between governmental and corporate interests has

given rise to a rash ofstate-sponsored and supported crime. Over the last decade
or two, we have seen in the political and economic realms the ascendance of a
“neoliberal” philosophy that, drawing on neoclassical economic theory, advocates
support for great economic liberalization, privatization, free trade, open markets,
deregulation, and reductions in government spending in order to enhance the role
of the private sector in the economy. During this period, we have also witnessed
an increase in governmental functions contracted out to private industry. At the
same time, government agencies have lost funding and employees, with an
associated weakening in their regulatory and oversight capabilities. The original
rationale underpinning this transfer was that private industry would operate more
efficiently and profitably than government bureaucracy, because private industry is
driven by competitive market forces. But what has happened, instead, is that
corporate and governmental interests have become incestuously joined, and _favor-
itism and no-bid contracts have replaced the free-market economy when it comes to
bidding for government contracts. This climate has fostered one of the greatest
environments for the growth of white-collar crime ever seen. The oil industry, the
tobacco industry, and the pharmaceutical industry are three that notably come to
mind as enmeshed in governmental connections and decision making.
The twenty-first century has seen one company after another taken down, their
employees’ pension funds and shareholders’ investments robbed by the corporate
fraud of top executives. Yet an even higher price has been less visibly paid by
members of the ordinary public through state-supported corporate crime. Politicians
have fostered this practice by decreasing business regulation and creating a revolving
door, as Bradshaw aptly depicts, among business, lobbying, and government.
One of the most dramatic recent examples lies in the Deepwater Horizon oil
spill, also known as the BP oil spill or the Gulf of Mexico spill. Here, we see the
effects of the conflict between state policies aimed at protecting the environment and

Reprinted with permission ftom the author, Elizabeth A. Bradshaw.

465
466 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

the temptation to ignore environmental dangers in the face of the pressure forfinan-
cial profit. Just as we saw in Liederbach’s chapter on the doctors who regulated their
own behavior, we see here that, when industries are left to set their own policies and
enforce them, temptations trump restrictive guidelines and directives. We are faced,
again, with recognizing the ability ofpowerful groups and entities in society to
engage in deviance while resisting being labeled and treated as deviant. Thus, we
come face-to-face with the social reality that we live in a world characterized by
inequality—a world in which structural connections such as that which we see here
between business and government allow companies to take risks and evade their
consequences, leaving ordinary people to shoulder the ultimate cost.
To what extent do you think things have changed or stayed the same since
this major oil spill occurred? Since the economic meltdown of 2008 left the global
economy in shambles? What other kinds of organizations do you think might be
operating under these kinds of collusions?

n April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon rig operated by British Petro-
leum (BP) exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, killing 11 workers and spilling
nearly 5 million barrels of oil over a period of 3 months. The cause of this envi-
ronmental disaster was not rogue industry or governmental officials, but a sys-
tematic collusion between government policies and industry practices, caused
by a radical reshaping of the nature of federal and corporate relations in the off-
shore oil industry. Motivated to earn royalties from leasing the Outer Continen-
tal Shelf (OCS) of the Gulf of Mexico, the
gover
federal nment
granted the oil_
industry greater access for expansive drilling. Yet, at the same time, it reduced
the royalties oil companies had to pay the government and curtailed the regula-
tory oversight by which it monitored offshore drilling.
Initially, these functions were carried out by different government agencies.
The U.S. Geological Survey studied and protected public lands and resources.
The Bureau of Land Management granted leases and collected royalties. How-
ever in 1982, in the context of increasing governmental deregulation, the
Minerals Management Service (MMS) was founded, and these two conflicting
missions were combined into one organization. From that point forward, the
operative goal of collecting royalties began to take precedence over regulation
of the industry. Within this context, a normalization of deviance developed not
only within the MMS, but between the MMS and the offshore oil industry. In
the years leading up to the Deepwater Horizon disaster, relations between the
MMS and the oil industry had become so close that at times it was impossible
to tell them apart. This normalized deviance within and between organizational
cultures paved the way for state—corporate criminality to flourish.

STATE-CORPORATE CRIME AS
ORGANIZATIONAL DEVIANCE

A major assumption underpinning the study of state—-corporate deviance is that state

and corporate organizations are social actors in and of themselves that must be
 CHAPTER 39 THE BP OIL SPILL 467

understood as both connected to, yet distinct from, individual employees, man-
agers, owners, and regulators. Although individuals occupy organizational positions,
their thoughts, actions, and behaviors are fundamentally shaped by the goals, pro-
cedures, standards, and norms of an organization. Moreover, the structure of any
organization is composed ofpositions occupied by replaceable people. an approach
designed to ensure the longevity of the organization. Directing inquiry toward the
goals, procedures, standards, and norms of organizations draws attention to the
power and influence of organizations in society and helps to further the understand-
ing of the socially injurious behaviors that result from such features. Applying an
organizational perspective to the concept of white-collar crime turns the subfield
away from focusing narrowly on the role of the individual, as with occupational
crime, and reorients it toward the power of organizational structures.
The concept of state—corporate crime includes illegal or socially injurious
actions that result from mutually reinforcing interactions between the policies
and practices of one or more institutions of political governance and one or
more institutions of economic production and distribution (Michalowski and
Kramer, 2006:20). This definition of state—corporate crime encompasses both
legal criteria and socially injurious actions while centering on the nexus between
government and business.
Further refining the concept, state—corporate crime can be categorized into
two distinct forms: state-facilitated corporate crime and state-initiated corporate crime.
State facilitation of corporate crime occurs when government institutions of
social control clearly fail to establish regulatory institutions that are capable
of restraining deviant activities by business, because of either direct collusion or
shared, common goals. State initiation of corporate crime occurs when a business
employed by the government undertakes deviant or illegal actions at the direc-
tion, or with the tacit approval, of government.
The concept of state—corporate crime has three useful characteristics for
understanding deviant interactions between government and business as organi-
zational actors. First, by highlighting the relationships between social institutions,
it refutes the notion that organizational deviance is a discreet act. Second, by
embracing the relational character of the state, the concept of state—corporate
crime demonstrates how the horizontal interactions between political and eco-
nomic institutions contain the potential for illegal and social injurious actions to
occur. Finally, adopting a relational approach to the state allows for not only a
consideration of horizontal interactions, but also the vertical relationships
between different levels of organizational action: political-economic, organiza-
tional, and interactional.

STATE FACILITATION OF CORPORATE CRIME

IN THE OFFSHORE OIL INDUSTRY

As guardian and administrator of the nation’s offshore resources, the federal gov-
ernment has profited immensely from the private leasing of public offshore
lands. Revenue from offshore leases has been the primary goal behind federal
468 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

expansion of deepwater exploration and development. Regardless of political

party, each presidential administration has played a key role in supporting legisla-
tion that paved the way for drilling in deeper waters within the Gulf of Mexico.
Although offshore disasters, such as the 1969 Santa Barbara oil spill, have helped
to raise awareness of the need for increased safety and environmental oversight
in the oil industry, offshore development has consistently superseded environ-
mental protection.
Particularly since the Reagan administration and the creation of the MMS,
federal policy has allowed regulation and development of the OCS to become
increasingly controlled by the oil industry itself. Although the relationship
between the offshore industry and the Department of the Interior (DOI) was
close from the beginning, it became even closer as drilling moved into deeper
waters. However, federal legislation has provided the opportunity for corporations
to take additional risks by reducing the royalties on OCS leases in deep water
while simultaneously weakening regulatory oversight, especially in the Gulf
of Mexico.

Government Pursuing Revenue over Regulation

Federal ownership over the OCS was established with the passage of the Outer
Continental Shelf Lands Act (OCSLA) of 1953, which gave the federal govern-
ment jurisdiction and control over the OCS, extending outward beyond the
coastal states’ 3-mile tidelands, and which furthermore stipulated a process for
leasing the ocean lands involved. As authorized under the OCSLA, the secretary
of the interior was charged with overseeing and administering the lease, a task
that was to be coordinated by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and the
U.S. Geological Survey (USGS). Under this arrangement, the BLM was respon-
sible for reviewing nominations for leases and overseeing competitive bids on the
basis of the highest cash bonus bid with fixed royalty or the highest percentage
bid with fixed cash basis. After the sale, the USGS regulated OCS activities and
collected royalties.
Established in 1982 by Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of the Interior James Watt,
the MMS combined the functions previously held by the USGS and the BLM.
By placing the mandates of regulatory oversight of offshore development and
revenue collection within the same agency, Watt set the seeds for the maximiza-
tion of revenue to become the dominant mission of the MMS. Secretary Watt
also introduced the practice of “areawide leasing” (AWL), which opened much
larger sections of land to industry at one time, superseding the previous practice of
offering only select areas specifically nominated by firms. Policy changes during
this period, such as AWL, expanded the industry’s access and choice of leasing
areas while requiring less government oversight. These changes at the MMS
mutually benefited both the federal government and the offshore oil industry.
Income from offshore oil leases represents the second-largest source of revenue
for the federal government, providing strong motivation for both government
and industry to pursue revenue collection at the expense of regulation.
 CHAPTER 39 THE BP OIL SPILL 469

Diminished Government Oversight

By the mid-1990s, the offshore oil industry had expanded beyond the MMS’s
capacity to oversee it. Revenue generation had consumed the majority of the
MMS's efforts at the expense of regulatory oversight, something that was openly
acknowledged by former MMS directors for years. In November 1996, the
MMS's budget had reached its lowest point, even further hindering its ability to
oversee the industry effectively. With the lack of funding came fewer unan-
nounced inspections. As highlighted in a report by the Department of Interior’s
inspector general, by 1999 MMS inspections had declined significantly and were
no longer effective. Just as the need for regulatory oversight was at its greatest,
the MMS’s capacity for oversight had been undercut.
As the industry moved ever further offshore, the MMS struggled to keep
pace with the evolving deepwater technology, and the little training inspectors
did receive was inadequate. The MMS lacked a formal inspection certification
program for the oil and gas industry, and no exam was required in order to
become certified. So unfamiliar with the inspection process, some government
inspectors depended on oil industry representatives to explain the technology at
facilities. Federal salaries at the MMS stagnated, and the agency struggled to
attract trained and qualified personnel, especially engineers. In the MMS Gulf
of Mexico offices, for instance, the number of permits for offshore drilling
increased 71 percent between 2005 and 2009, yet there were not enough quali-
fied engineers to review them. As the agency became more and more over-
whelmed with applications, operators began to “shop around” at different
offices outside of the appropriate jurisdictional area to seek an engineer who
would approve the permit (U.S. National Commission 2011:74).
A culture of complacency concerning federal environmental regulations also
developed within the MMS owing to a lack of funding. Scientists at the agency
experienced strong pressure from their managers to rapidly approve development
plans without proper evaluation of the environmental effects. As the volume of
lease applications increased, especially in the Gulf of Mexico, the capacity of MMS
regulators to oversee implementation of federal environmental policy was reduced.
The means by which the MMS collected revenues from industry changed signif-
icantly in 1997, making it more difficult to verify royalty payments and giving the
industry even greater control. Known as taking “royalties in kind” (RIK), accepting
payment in this manner differed from the MMS’s former policy of accepting cash
payments based on the value of oil produced, known as “royalty in value” (RIV).
This new method of royalty collection allocated payment to the MMS in the form
of oil and gas. The agency could then transfer the commodities to other federal
agencies or sell them to refineries. The switch from RIV to RIK advantaged the
oil industry, because it reduced administrative costs and made it so that leases
would not be subject to audit, despite being worth millions (and sometimes billions)
of dollars. So lax was regulation under RIK, that the Government Accounting
Office asserted that the program’s management operated on an “honor system.”
Encouraged by exploration into ever deeper waters, lavish royalty relief programs
facilitated an increasingly close relationship between the oil industry and the MMS.
470 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

Resulting from extensive lobbying by the oil industry, the RIK program
became a central part of the Bush-Cheney administration’s energy strategy. As
RIK continued to blossom, so did the relationship between MMS and the oil
industry. Exemplifying the “revolving door” between government and industry,
there were multiple examples of high-ranking DOI and MMS officials serving
during the Bush administration who left their regulatory appointments to work
for companies they formerly oversaw. Likewise, the Obama administration
favored a continuation and expansion of deepwater exploration and royalty relief
through the RIK program.

Deviance Normalized: Government and Industry as One

Epitomizing the intimate relationship between the MMS and the offshore oil
industry, in 2008 congressional reports revealed that-up to a third of the MMS
department employees involved in the RIK program had been engaged in seri-
ous misconduct over the past several years, including rigging oil contracts, taking
money as oil consultants, and having sexual relationships and using drugs with oil
and gas company representatives. The investigation into the MMS RIK program
based in Denver, Colorado, uncovered a pattern of ethical failure that revealed
“a pervasive culture of exclusivity, exempt from the rules that govern all other
employees of the Federal Government” (U.S. Department of Interior, 2008, no
page numbers in document).
The investigation revealed that MMS was no longer fulfilling its regulatory
mandate and that employees had fully adopted a “business model” approach to
the RIK program, embracing a private-sector perspective on almost everything
they did. In an attempt to codify their unique relationship with industry and
exempt themselves from the guidelines governing all other federal employees,
MMS RIK employees formed a study group in June 2006 to consider altering
the rules to commonly align government and business interests.
Allegations of inappropriate relations with the oil industry are not unique to
the MMS RIK office in Denver. MMS officials at the Lake Charles, Louisiana,
district office that oversaw drilling in the Gulf of Mexico were investigated in
2010 for accepting gifts, such as meals, tickets to sporting events, and hunting
and fishing trips, from industry representatives. Following a 2007 investigation
and termination of one regional MMS supervisor of the New Orleans office for
accepting gifts from an offshore drilling contractor, employees at the Lake
Charles office appeared to drastically decrease their participation in these illegal
behaviors (U.S. Department ofInterior, 2010). It seems that the MMS organiza-
tional culture was plagued by corruption atthe highest levels, setting the tone for
other members throughout the agency.
Without any oversight or regulation, employees of the MMS RIK program
and the oil industry had melded to become one. Far from being perceived as
“deviant” activity, intimate fraternization between the MMS and the industry
had become the norm, enough to even consider legally codifying the relation-
ship. This normalization of deviance had become so ingrained that employees of
the RIK program sought to legalize their intimate relationships with industry
 CHAPTER 39 THE BP OIL SPILL 471

that were prohibited by federal law. After the fallout from the RIK scandal, DOI
Secretary Ken Salazar was forced to announce on September 16, 2009, that it
was time to end the RIK program. Nevertheless, although the RIK program
may have been terminated, the influence of the oil industry continued to per-
vade the MMS organizational culture.
As the offshore industry expanded, employees at the underfunded and inad-
equately staffed MMS turned to illegal means to perform their jobs. Fraternizing
with oil industry representatives had become a normal part of the culture at the
MMS despite federal ethics guidelines that prohibited such close interactions. By
the time its employees were having sex and doing drugs with oil industry repre-
sentatives, the regulatory mission of the MMS was overcome by the shared goal
of profit for both the federal government and the offshore industry. Without
regulatory controls, the disintegration of federal oversight further allowed the
offshore industry to take additional risks in the pursuit of profit.

CONCLUSIONS

An Integrated Theoretical Model of State—Corporate

Crime and the Deepwater Horizon Spill
In the decades leading up to the Deepwater Horizon explosion, the political—
economic climate in the United States underwent substantive changes that paved
the way for the spill to occur. Neoliberalsim (a trend characterized by the privatiza-
tion of public goods and services) brought about important shifts in the institutional
relationships between government and business. During the Reagan administra-
tion, government oversight and control were retracted while greater power and
autonomy was granted to businesses and corporations. Within this institutional
context, the reorganization of the MMS by Reagan’s secretary of the interior com-
bined the conflicting mandates of leasing offshore lands and royalty collection, on
the one hand, with regulation, on the other, setting the seeds for disaster to occur.

Motivation Motivation, the first catalyst for action, concerns goal attainment,
which in turn draws on the interactional level and on Sutherland’s differential
association theory. The federal government’s pursuit of royalties from offshore
leases aligned with the oil industry’s goals of maximizing profit and the pressure
for goal attainment between the two was amplified. It did not take long for the
goal of royalty collection from offshore leases to supersede the agency’s regula-
tory mission, and the motivation for criminality in the pursuit of profit devel-
oped. The MMS began to operate under a business model, offering industry
more offshore leases of greater swaths of the Gulf of Mexico while simulta-
neously reducing supervision of offshore lands.

Opportunity Opportunity, the second catalyst for action, assumes that organiza-
tional deviance is more likely when legitimate means are scarce relative to goals.
This approach draws on the organizational level and directs inquiry toward the
472 PART VI THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF DEVIANCE

goals, procedures, standards, and norms of organizations; draws attention to the

power and influence of organizations in society; and helps to further the under-
standing of the socially injurious behaviors that result from such structures. Cater-
ing to the industry’s interests became an implicit part of the MMS’s mission, and
corruption became a pervasive part of the organization in multiple sectors. Owing
to the revolving door between government and industry, most of the employees at
the MMS had at some point worked for the private sector and maintained deep
bonds with friends in the industry—bonds rooted in the region and in the culture
and personal histories of the players. As a result of these close interactions, the nor-
malization of deviance between government officials and industry representatives
provided the opportunity to pursue the goal of profit at the expense of safety.

Lack of Social Control Finally, the third catalyst for action is the presence or
absence of social control. Organizations subjected-to a high operationality of
social control are more likely to foster cultures that favor compliance with laws
and regulations, and organizations that are not subject to such control are more
likely to develop cultures of resistance. As the offshore oil industry expanded into
deeper waters, the MMS experienced cuts in funding that hindered its ability to
provide oversight. Furthermore, the MMS was unable to adapt its regulatory
framework to address the new proliferation of specialized contractors relied on
by the industry. The MMS and the DOI were unable to effectively regulate
the rapidly evolving industry and the increasing reliance on outsourced contrac-
tors. Absent any government control and oversight from the MMS, the offshore
oil industry as a whole was left to police its own behavior. By the time Secretary
Salazar attempted to reform the MMS following the 2008 RIK scandal, the
closeness between the MMS and the industry had become far too normalized
to prevent the explosion of the Deepwater Horizon rig on April 20, 2010, caus-
ing loss of life and untold environmental damage.

REFERENCES

Michalowski, Raymond, and Ronald .washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/investi-

Kramer (Eds). 2006. State—Corporate gative/documents/mmsoil-081908
Crime: Wrongdoing at the Intersection of pdf.
Business and Government. New Bruns- U.S. National Commission on the BP
wick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill and
U.S. Department of the Interior, Office ofthe Offshore Drilling. January 2011. Deep
Inspector General, Minerals Manage- Water: The Gulf Oil Disaster and the
ment Service. 2010. Investigative Report: Future of Offshore Oil Drilling, Report
Island Operating Company et al. http:// to the President. http://cybercemetery
www.doioig.gov/images/stories/ -unt.edu/archive/oilspill/
reports/pdf/IslandOperatingCo.pdf. 20121211005728/http:/www
____. 2008. Investigative Report: MMS Oil -oilspillcommission.gov/sites/default/
Marketing Group—Lakewood. Septem- files/documents/DEEPWATER_
ber 9, 2008. http://media ReporttothePresident_FINAL. pdf.
 PART VII

3K

Structure of the Deviant Act

/Ailes the structure of deviant associations is revealing, in Part VII we

investigate the characteristics of the acts of deviance themselves. Deviant
associations involve the social organization of the deviants as people, depicting
the types of relationships they have with other deviants. Deviant acts focus on
the particular instance of deviance, not the relationships surrounding those acts.
When we look at the structure of deviant acts, we look at the nature of the
transaction: its length, its goals, its stability, the degree of cooperation or conflict
involved, the number of parties involved, and the way the participants interact
(or do not interact) with one another.
Deviant acts involve one or more people aiming to accomplish a particular
deviant goal. These acts vary widely in character, from those enduring over a
period of months to the more fleeting encounters that last only a few minutes,
from those conducted alone to those requiring the participation of several or
many people, and from those in which the participants are face-to-face to those
in which they are physically separated. At the same time, acts of deviance can be
looked at in terms of what they have in common. All deviant acts consist of
purposeful behavior intended to accomplish a gratifying end, require the coordi-
nation of participants (if there is more than one participant), and depend on indi-
viduals reacting flexibly to unexpected events that may arise in this relatively
unstructured and unregulated arena. Like the relations among deviants, deviant
acts fall along a continuum of sophistication and organizational complexity. Fol-
lowing Best and Luckenbill’s (1981) typology, we arrange them here according
to the minimum number of their participants and the intricacy of the relations
among these participants, moving again from the least to the most organization-
ally sophisticated.

473
474 PART VIl_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

Some deviant acts can be accomplished by a lone individual, without

recourse to the assistance or presence of other people. This does not mean that
others cannot accompany the deviant, either before or during the deviant act, or
even that two deviants cannot commit acts of individual deviance together.
Rather, the defining characteristic of an individual act of deviance is that it can
be committed by one person, to that person, on that person, and for that person.
A teenager’s suicide, a drug addiction, a skid row transient’s alcoholism, and a
self-induced abortion are examples of individual behavioral deviance. Nonbe-
havioral forms of individual deviance include obesity, minority group status, a
physical disability, and a deviant belief system (such as alternative religious or
political beliefs). Individual deviance has areas of overlap with loner deviance,
discussed in Part VI, but there are also ways in which they diverge. Sexual
asphyxia, eating disorders, and suicide all fall within both categories, able to be
accomplished alone and usually done without the benefit of associations with
other, like deviants. But individual deviants, unlike loners, can hang around
and participate in subcultures and countercultures with other fellow deviants, as
long as they can accomplish their deviant act alone. Individual deviants, such as
illicit-drug users, stutterers, transvestites, the depressed, the obese, and the home-
less, are colleagues. In contrast, loners, unlike individual deviants, need not rely
exclusively on themselves to accomplish their acts of deviance; they may have
victims. Rapists, murderers, embezzlers, physician drug addicts, and obscene tele-
phone callers are loners, but not individual deviants.
A second type of deviant act involves the cooperation of at least two vol-
untary participants. This cooperation usually involves the transfer of illicit goods,
such as pornography, arms, or drugs, or the provision of deviant services, such as
those in the sexual or medical realm. Cooperative deviant acts may involve the
exchange of money. When they do not, participants usually trade reciprocal acts.
They both come to the interaction wanting to give and get something. In devi-
ant sales, one participant supplies an illicit goods or service in exchange for
money. One or more of the participants in such acts may be earning a living
through this means.
Newmahr’s Chapter 41, on the sadomasochistic scene of sexual play, illus-
trates the way sexual partners negotiate roles, communicate with other through
these roles, and enact them with authenticity, even while in public and in front
of spectators. Scull’s chapter on male strippers (Chapter 42) takes us into another
world where men and women enact sexual roles in a voluntary exchange, but
one motivated by financial, rather than sexual, gain.
The final type of deviant act is one of conflict between the involved parties.
In it, one or more perpetrators force the interaction on the unwilling other(s),
 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT 475

or an act seemingly entered into through cooperation turns out with one party
“setting up” the other. In either case, the core relationship between the interac-
tants is one of the hostilities, with one person getting the more favorable out-
come. Conflictual acts may be carried out through secrecy, trickery, or physical
force, but they end up with one person giving up goods or services to the other,
involuntarily and without adequate compensation. Conflictual acts may be
highly volatile in character, with victims complaining to the authorities or enlist-
ing the aid of outside parties if they have the chance. To be successful, therefore,
perpetrators must control not only their victims’ activities, but also the victims’
perception of what is going on. Such acts can range from kidnapping and black-
mail to theft, fraud, arson, pickpocketing, trespassing, and assault.
Various types of conflictual and exploitive deviance abound and are thriving,
both domestically and internationally. We have witnessed the repopularization of
kidnapping abroad for political, military, and financial purposes. Domestic rates
of rape committed by strangers, friends, and family members have never been
higher. The prevalence of fraud is also rising precipitously, aided by the Internet,
through fake stock tips, travel scams, identity theft, “phishing” (a practice in
which victims disclose account passwords and other data online in response to
emails that seem to come from legitimate businesses), “pharming” (in which
experienced hackers are able to redirect people from a legitimate site to a
bogus site without the people even knowing it), mail-order bride schemes, and
“advance fee” 419 scams (in which people are contacted by a solicitor from
abroad offering fabulous riches if they will help the slicitor recover some lost
fortune). Identity theft is also prevalent and, apparently, popular among metham-
phetamine addicts, because the skill set of meth users facilitates this kind of fraud.
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 INDIVIDUAL

40

Artificial Love: The Secret Worlds

of iDollators
NANCY J. HERMAN-KINNEY, DAVID A. KINNEY, KARA TAYLOR, AND ASHLEY M. MILLER

Through documentaries, dramatic portrayals in movies and television shows, and

some sociological studies, people have become increasingly aware in the 2000s of
the existence of Real Dolls®: life-size silicone dolls between 4 and 5 feet tall that
weigh up to 100 pounds and are quite realistic and customizable, especially in
their genitalia. Men form meaningful relationships with these (male and female)
dolls, substituting them for sexual and romantic partners. Yet, consorting with
such artificial partners is highly stigmatized, and most people find themselves
hiding these relationships.
In this study, Herman-Kinney and colleagues present data gathered through
Internet chat rooms and interviews conducted over the phone and in person of men
in this highly hidden world. Comprising both loners and individual deviants, they
carry out these relationships completely on their own, inventing feelings, behaviors,
and desires for their loved ones. Some people have more than one of these dolls.
Why they turn to artificial girlfriends and boyfriends and the way they manage
these relationships is the subject of this fascinating chapter.
In thinking about the social organization of this behavior, compare it with that
of the loners and colleagues described earlier. What advantages do these people have
compared with them? What disadvantages? Why do you think they seclude
themselves as loners?

People either don’t know us or [they] have this perception that we are
freaks, nuts, sex addicts, sicko doll fuckers, women haters, or should just
be plain locked up. They have a real narrow-minded, myopic view of
iDollators. We’re just like everyone else, except we choose to spend
time with synthetic women instead of organic women... and it’s not
just about the sex! (John, a 32-year-old 1Dollator).

Reprinted with permission from the author, Nancy J. Herman-Kinney.

477
478 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

INTRODUCTION

Examination of the sociological literature indicates that researchers have catego-

rized different types of deviance on the basis of the social organization of those
participating and by the behaviors of the individuals involved. Sociologists
have developed several categories to describe individuals who perform their
deviance alone (Best and Luckenbill, 1980, 1982; Prus and Grills, 2003).
Best and Luckenbill (1982) define “individual deviants” as those individuals
who commit their acts completely by themselves, for themselves, to themselves,
and on themselves. Similar to other individuals, such as the mentally ill (Herman,
1993, 1994), homeless people (Snow and Anderson, 1993), and drug users
(Goode, 2005); iDollators, or doll lovers, do not need others in order to carry
out their deviant actions. They may at times associate with like deviants within
a deviant subculture, but the vast majority of the time they enact their devi-
ance alone.
In a similar vein, Prus and Grills (2003) make this distinction when they
speak of solitary deviance and explain the differences between solitary operators
and subcultural participants. Solitary deviants operate alone, while subcultural
participants may engage in deviance by themselves, but they are involved with
a group by which they are shaped and influenced. The iDollators in this study
fall within the domain of those who engage in individual or solitary deviance,
because they engage in their actions alone. They act alone as free agents who
perform their acts by themselves and for themselves on inanimate objects. Some
do, however, associate with other iDollators in an online subculture.' In this
chapter, we define and describe the social worlds of doll lovers, or iDollators—
their “definitions of the situation” (Thomas and Thomas, 1928) and their “construc-
tions of reality” (Berger and Luckmann, 1966). In particular, we begin by discussing
what iDollatry is and the types of dolls that are available and purchased. We then
discuss our methods of data collection. We subsequently address the motives
underlying iDollators’ decisions to purchase these dolls, the types of relationships
they develop, and the functions that dolls serve in their lives.
iDollators, for the purpose of our chapter, are defined as persons who are
aficionados of high-end love dolls and who use them not only as sex toys but
also for companionship. Until recently, the world of iDollatry and iDollators
was largely unknown, kept hidden or misunderstood. With their relatively new
exposure on various reality television shows such as Taboo and My Strange Addic-
tion; television sitcoms such as Boston Legal; a contemporary movie, “Lars and the
Real World”; popular talk shows (such as Anderson Cooper); documentaries such
as Synthetic Dolls and the Men Who Love Them (National Geographic Channel)
and Guys and Dolls (BBC); and celebrities such as Howard Stern, Charlie
Sheen, and Vince Neil of Motley Criie coming forward to speak about their
dolls, society has become increasingly curious to find out about iDollators.
Ranging from $250 to $10,000, female synthetic dolls, or Real Dolls”, are
often customized to individual preferences. These life-size silicone dolls are quite
realistic, fluctuating in height from 4 to 5 feet tall and weighing up to 100 pounds.
Purchasers can customize their dolls by choosing from a variety of head, face, skin,
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 479

hair, eye, makeup, and fingernail color options. So too, can buttock, breast size,
clitoris, and hymen be customized to the desires of the purchaser. For an additional
cost, to heighten the realism of the doll, some owners add freckles, real eyebrows,
custom wigs, artificial milk glands, pressure-released urination, and custom pubic
hair (ranging from “trimmed” to “full”). In addition, the genitalia are fully cus-
tomizable: a purchaser can order the “she-male” style, which means that the doll
has an interchangeable penis and vagina, a permanently attached penis and vagina
(without the testicles), or a permanently attached penis with no vagina.

METHODS

The idea for this project burgeoned out of a project that the third author
(Taylor) conducted in 2011 for a photojournalism class, a series of photos and a
video on a prominent iDollator named Davecat. The other authors became
interested in the topic and began conducting a qualitative, sociological study of
iDollators early in 2012. We have conducted interviews, entered chat rooms on
the Internet, and have had conversations with those who possess dolls. We
posted a questionnaire on several iDollator Websites, we interviewed partici-
pants, and we often reinterviewed them through email or via the telephone.
We also conducted face-to-face interviews with three iDollators and met their
dolls. The respondents live all over the United States, and overseas in Great
Britain, Canada, Australia, Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands. Participants
range in age from 17 to their mid-70s. Their occupations range from blue-collar
workers to upper-level management positions; some are retired. We were
completely overt about our identities, the aims of the study, its voluntary partici-
pation, and the ability of the participants to end the interview at any time. At the
time of writing this chapter, we have interviewed or otherwise talked with 48
participants. Thirty-one individuals have responded to our questionnaire. This
chapter is based upon data from all of these sources. All the names have been
replaced with pseudonyms to ensure the anonymity of the respondents.
Although women do also possess synthetic dolls, and a few responded to our
questionnaire, this chapter includes only information from men.

iDOLLATORS’ MOTIVATIONS

Examination of the data indicates that the social worlds of iDollators are very
complex. Some observers have dismissed these people as pathological, misogy-
nistic, and potential rapists (Lasocky, 2005; Price, 2008). Psychologists have
portrayed doll lovers as having a significant psychopathology. They argue
that iDollators use dolls because of their “disturbed attachments,” their inabil-
ity to form normal attachments with humans; moreover, they contend that
some iDollators may be suffering from Asperger’s syndrome. Others argue that
iDollators possess a “rubber fetish.” However, on the basis of our extensive
480 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

literature review, no systematic psychological research has been conducted to

support these theoretical assertions of pathological behavior. On the contrary,
our qualitative sociological study has found that iDollators present a radically dif-
ferent picture of themselves.
It is important to note that some men who purchase synthetic dolls are not
iDollators. They have more of a “doll fetish” and use the dolls as mere sex toys.”
Many consider the dolls as objects, store them in the closet, under the bed, or in
the basement and pull them out when engaging in sexual pleasure. They subse-
quently hide them. These men are not the subject of this chapter. We were
interested in finding, talking to, and understanding those men whom we refer
to as 1Dollators, their social relationships with dolls, and their reasons for so
doing.

Sexually Curious
About one-fifth of the men in our study indicated that they purchased a syn-
thetic doll largely in response to sexual boredom. They were curious, wanted
to seek out novel sexual experiences, or wanted to perform sexual acts that
their partners were not interested in doing. Rico20, a 28-year-old graduate stu-
dent, speaks to the issues of curiosity and novelty and the companionship that his
doll provides him, when he states,
I went on-line and was reading a lot about these high end sex dolls. I
had to save up a long time before I could afford mine—she cost over
$8,000. I had a lot of custom things done to her. The main reason I got
involved with Maria [his doll] was first out of sheer curiosity. I wanted
to know what it would feel like; I was surprised how realistic they are in
every way.... I was also bored sexually with college girls and the same
old, same old with them. So, I acquired my Maria and she has definitely
not been a disappointment. We spend a lot of time together in my
room—she is there when I am writing my thesis—I bounce things off
her; she is my refuge and source of contentment as well as sexual
excitement. She is many things to me.
Don, a 48-year old salesman and owner of three synthetic dolls says,
I have always been sexually adventurous. I’m up for trying new things,
especially when it comes to sex and my wife is pretty old-fashioned and
a prude when it comes to these things. She is very religious. So, about
three years ago, I purchased my first doll, Blanca. I could do a lot of
things with her that my wife would definitely say is taboo. Then the
next year, I bought Maria, my second doll. She was more customized—
the eyes, the breasts, the butt, and even her clit. I find her very satisfy-
ing. Two months ago, I acquired Arabella. She is totally custom too. I
had to work a lot of extra hours and make a lot of sales to afford her. All
these girls allowed me to be very experimental—my sex life has been
spiced up tremendously. My wife doesn’t know about my girls, but
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 481

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her....I have them out in my pole
barn where she never goes....When I go out on the road for a week or
two at a time selling [his product], I have, on occasion, taken Blanca
with me. She is a whole lot of company. After a period of time, I have
found that the girls mean much more to me than just sex dolls. Espe-
cially, Blanca and Maria, I would say that we have become partners in
life. I talk to them, and they keep me company in ways that I never
thought they would! They are a huge part of my life now.
In short, one of the major reasons that some men purchased and spent time with
their dolls was initially based on their sexual intrigue and appeal, a curiosity that
subsequently developed into a full-fledged relationship.

Physically Disqualified
About one quarter of the men in our study reported that a major reason that
they turned to synthetic women with whom to have a relationship was a direct
result of their own perceived physical unattractiveness. Following Goffman’s
(1963) seminal piece on stigma, such men possess abominations of the body. These
men contend that aspects of their physical appearance, such as morbid obesity, a
big nose, large ears, or an ugly face disqualified them in the eyes of others and
prevented them from forming “normal” relationships with “organic women.” As
a result, they turned to what they perceived to be the next best thing: a synthetic
form of woman. As Chuck, a 44-year-old single male, speaking on his dating
past, or lack thereof, puts it,

I was never a lady’s man. Never could get a date. Kids always called me
ugly and lard-ass. ... Hell, I was called ugly by pretty much everyone in
my whole damn family. When I was a teenager, girls used to run from
me or just ridicule me. I was picked on by everyone—the brunt of their
cruel jokes. I was about 400 lbs. then. I never went to any proms or
nothing. Sometimes I felt like they viewed me like I was the Elephant
Man in that movie. About two years ago, after being alone all this time,
I realized that I was never going to be able to get a woman like all my
friends, so I looked into those Real Dolls and I settled for her. | had to
save up a long while for her but she is worth every penny. She is my
girlfriend, she’s not organic, but she is the next best thing and we love
each other. She doesn’t care that I weigh 600 lbs. now. She loves me for
who | am.
Similarly, Alberto, a 37-year-old single man, who never had a date in his entire
life, adds,

I have never been able to measure up to other guys. I am a failure at life

when it comes to relationships and love. I was shy, wore big glasses and
had a lot of acne. Iam only 5 foot 7 and what girls want to date such a
small guy? They’re looking for big, football player types. Every time I'd
get my nerve up to ask someone out, I would either be stood up or
482 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

they’d make some lame-ass excuse. Even when I was set up...the
women would call at the last minute and cancel....When I would call a
woman, they would sometimes hang up on me....That’s when I turned
to the Real Doll, my darling Vanessa. It is a step down in some ways—
she is synthetic, but she never turns me down, or stands me up or makes
fun of me. At least I don’t feel like a fucking defect no more!
Following Merton’s (1967) typology of deviants in which he distinguishes
between the conformist and the ritualist, Chuck, Alberto, and some of the
iDollators in our study once started out as conformists, seeking an attractive,
organic woman, but gradually came to realize that this goal was unattainable to
them; so, they deescalated their goals and settled for a synthetic woman with
which to interact and develop relationships.

Rejected and Wary

A third reason that (one-fifth of) the men in our study turned to synthetic
women was that they had experienced negative relationships with organic
women. These men were either victims of infidelity, domestic abuse, deception,
and financial and/or emotional exploitation, so they decided that it was easier
and safer to have relationships with synthetic women who could “do them no
wrong.” For example, Vince, a 36-year-old fireman, turned to synthetic rela-
tionships after a long string of negative relationships with organic women:
I was tired of all the fighting and the drama involved with relationships
with some women. Some are so high maintenance and some are just
plain hard work. You never know what pleases them; you don’t know
what they want half the time. I was sick and tired of dealing with them;
breaking up and making up—the lying, the cheating and all of the
bull-crap that generally goes along with them. I went bankrupt twice
because I was used! I got to the point where I was fucking fed up wi
it all. That’s why, I found a solution that works for me: I have my
Palamuna [his doll] who doesn’t talk back, she listens to me, she is always
smiling; I can count on her 24/7.
Similarly, Big Ben, a thirtysomething-year-old who owns four dolls, speaks
about his reasons for buying Real Dolls after a divorce from his unhappy
marriage:

I was constantly depressed when married. Being around people in gen-

eral stresses me out. I feel only love and peace with my dolls. They give
me a refuge from the aggravations of the world. My relationship with
my dolls is one of tranquility and joy. They comfort me and help me
feel loved and accepted, which I have not found being in relationships
with real women.
In sum, then, acquiring a synthetic doll and developing a social relationship with
her helped these men to overcome overwhelming feelings of negativity and
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 483

allowed them to be in control and have someone in their lives with whom they
would feel comfortable, safe, and at peace.

Sad
Another major motivation why men purchased synthetic dolls was to fill a void
after the loss of a partner. One-sixth of the men in our sample indicated that
a wife or partner had died, and after a period of intense grief, they decided
to purchase a synthetic doll to help in the grieving process. Chucky G., a
68-year-old retired policeman, tells of his decision to purchase a synthetic doll
3 months after the death of his wife:
My wife and I had been married forty-two years before she passed. It
was very sudden and I wasn’t prepared for it. When she died, I thought
my whole life was over; I lost everything, but a friend told me about
these expensive dolls. He said I could cuddle with them. I bought
myself one and it changed everything. ...at first I thought that Nina [his
doll] would just help me get through the bad times, a temporary thing.
But as time progressed, I started talking to her, being with her more,
reading books with her, watching the television or watching a flick.
She gradually took the place of my wife. Sure we have sex, but she is
now my life partner. We are married to each other and I have a new
lease on life.
In a similar vein, Ron, a 53-year-old teacher, adds,

My live-in girlfriend got cancer very suddenly and in three months she
was gone. I just couldn’t process it. We were together over 20 years and
I couldn’t just go out and start dating again. Anyway, who would want
to? After a few long months, I came over this article on the Internet
about Real Dolls and I looked into them. They were very expensive
and I need to save up to get one, but I thought that it would help me
deal with my grief....When I first got Francesca, she was more of a
sexual distraction—she took my mind off Dottie [his girlfriend]. But the
oddest thing happened. She has turned into a girlfriend for me. We do
everything together at home. I dress her, comb her hair; I read poetry to
her. I talk about my day to her. I have even given her a ring. She has
made life worth living again and I am thankful to have her in my life!
In short, then, for Chucky G., Ron, and others, their synthetic doll helped them
to deal with the death of a loved one. Although they had initially thought to use
the dolls as a therapeutic, transitional object, they gradually developed feelings
for them, and these feelings burgeoned into full-fledged relationships.

Handicapped
Examination of the data indicated that another group of men (one eighth of the
sample) who turned from organic to synthetic women were individuals who
484 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

were either physically or mentally handicapped or who possessed a physical ill-

ness that precluded dating and becoming involved with organic women. Myron,
a 72-year-old wounded veteran who was partially disabled, speaks of the reasons
that he became involved with a synthetic woman:
I am an old veteran. I served my country by fighting in Korea. I can’t
walk. I am in a wheel chair. Who in the hell would date me or let
alone, do anything else like in bed? I am missing one of my legs. It was
blown off. Suzie Q [his doll] is the love of my life. She is beautiful,
luscious; she is there for me. She has given me a new lease on life. I feel
like a teenager with her around. She makes me feel like a man again!
Walter, a 42-year-old physically handicapped man adds,
I know that I’m not normal. I have never been normal and I don’t want
to be normal. I’ve only wanted to find peace and joy in life. Due to my
disability, I was often depressed and even suicidal. | felt a little better
after my divorce, which I asked for so I would no longer feel guilty for
preventing my wife at the time from having children....But then I felt
lonely. I tried to date, but no one only could truly accept me and my
disability...I grew tired of the rejection. I thought about hiring an escort
to cuddle with me, but it seemed legally questionable and extremely
expensive. I thought about body pillows and a few months later I pur-
chased a doll, then another, and another....It may not be perfect, but
for the first time in my life, I don’t constantly hate my life...I do have
some peace and joy thanks to my dolls.
Interestingly, we found that one mother acquired a doll for her adult son who
was developmentally handicapped. Speaking about the significance that this doll
played in her son’s life, she says,
I found out about these Real Dolls about five years ago. I ran across an
article on the Internet. Then I talked to somebody about them. At first,
I was grossed out and thought the idea was kind of perverted. But I
knew my son needed someone, not just for a sexual outlet, but to truly
have a bonding and kind of relationship with. It may sound kind of
bizarre, but Leo [her son] doesn’t just use Kitty [his doll] for sex; he
watches TV with her, talks to her, carries her around, plays games with
her. She is like a real girlfriend to him. And that makes me happy.
In short, then, synthetic dolls helped to make damaged men feel whole again. In
turn, their self-images and identities were elevated.

Sexually Unfulfilled
The data also indicated that some men chose to purchase and develop relation-
ships with dolls for other reasons. Specifically, one-fifth of the men in our study
had wives or significant others who were ill and could not have sexual inter-
course. Henry a 47-year-old, speaks to this issue when he states,
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 485

My wife has MS [multiple sclerosis] and she is now in an advanced state.

I have a healthy libido and I did not want to go to a prostitute or cheat
on her in any way. It is devastating when one partner becomes ill....So,
I decided to purchase Veronica [his doll] at the urging of a friend who
already had a doll. She is not only my sex partner, but she also fills a
void in my life for companionship. My wife can do less and less. She is
becoming a shell of who she once was and I am scared. When my wife
is asleep, I watch movies with Veronica. I talk to her; I confide in her all
my fears and frustrations. I brush her hair. She is my escape from reality.
She 1s like my shrink! I feel better after talking with her.
In a similar vein, Robert, a 62-year-old married man, commenting on his rea-
sons for turning to iDollatry, says,
My wife is no longer interested in having sex. She is over it. We have
been married for over 35 years; we had kids and she and I raised them.
We always had a healthy sex life; she says she still loves me and I love
her, but she doesn’t want to engage in the act anymore. I respect that.
But I still have needs. So, I bought this synthetic doll, Maisy. Maisy
is much more than just a sex toy. We have developed a very intense
relationship, a loving relationship. I see her as my second wife. I have
even given her a ring. In an odd way, we have become husband
and wife.
It is interesting to note that a large number of men in our study stated that,
although the dolls were first purchased primarily as a sex aid, the men later
formed a relationship with them. Moreover, some of the wives had knowledge
of the dolls and not only condoned their existence, but also established a rela-
tionship with them. Ron, a 57-year-old man, whose wife possesses a debilitating
disease, remarked,

My wife knows that I have Sandy [his doll]. She in fact gave her
blessings to get her. Because of her paralysis, she can’t have sex with me
anymore, so it is a big relief for her to know that my urges are being
met with Sandy. At first, Sandy was more or a sexual aid of sorts, but
the funny thing happened, both my wife and I started talking to Sandy;
my wife now dresses her up with me; and she has become a real person
in both our lives. She’s a companion for me and also for my wife too.
When I am gone, Sandy sits with my wife and they keep each other
company.

Fearful

Just as some men reported acquiring synthetic dolls, developing relationships

with them, and even “marrying” them for the aforementioned reasons, others
told us that they chose synthetic women over their organic counterparts because
they were afraid of acquiring various sexually transmitted diseases, were afraid of
486 PART VIl_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

getting a woman pregnant, or had already experienced these kinds of negative

consequences. As SuperSid, a 49-year-old speaking on this matter, says,
Out there in the world today, it is just too dangerous. It is not like it
used to be. We don’t live in a Leave it to Beaver world anymore.
Everyone is hooking up with everyone else for one night stands.
They’re shacking up with anyone. My buddy got the clap and some
other damn crap of a disease by fucking a whore. It’s not worth it. I would
rather have my silicone girl with me. I know that she 1s safe. She ain’t going
to give me nothing and I ain’t going to pass anything on to her neither.
Similarly, Darwin the Great, a 41-year-old iDollator, speaking to the issue of
pregnancy, adds,
When I was younger, I got tricked into getting two girls pregnant.
They both said they were on the pill or using some IUD or something,
but they got knocked up anyway....I’ve learned the hard way, that it is
much easier and safer to stay at home and be in a relationship with
Vivienne [his synthetic doll]. No matter how many times we are
intimate, I know that she is never going to get pregnant. I find that
very satisfying and relieving.
In short, we found that some men who had had real or anticipated negative
consequences from having sex with organic women alleviated their fears and
anxieties by choosing a synthetic woman.

Ashamed

A final reason given by several of our respondents for turning to synthetic

women with whom to have relationships centers on their strict religious dogma
prohibiting homosexuality. Approximately one-fifth of the respondents in our
study indicated that they had been socialized to believe that homosexuality was a
“sin.” Faced with the desire to have sex with other men, which would be highly
stigmatizing in their minds, they turned instead to dolls. These men chose either
male dolls or female dolls with penises; by so doing, they were able to maintain
their heterosexual identities. According to Charlie69, a prominent deacon from a
Catholic church,

I grew up my entire life believing that homosexuality is a sin. I went to

Catholic school, and it was drilled into me by the teachers and the
priest. Now, I am in a position of authority within the Church; people
respect me, and I have to go along with the Church’s teachings. So I
have abstained from having any relationship with a man....The con-
gregation would shit if they knew I had this doll and what I did with
her. But I do have my synthetic doll to satisfy my sexual wants and
cravings. Kathleen has breasts and long brown hair, but the thing I adore
about her is her 7 inch schlong. It is permanently attached. I didn’t opt
for the vagina thing; I do everything with her penis. It makes me hard
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 487

just thinking about it...And when I am making love to Kathleen, even

though she has a tool, I still feel “normal” and I don’t think I am going
against the Church. She is a wonderful companion to me and I look
forward to going home every night to be with her.
BigBarry, a 52-year-old lifelong Baptist, expresses similar sentiments when he
states,
I am basically a Bible-Belt Christian, Baptist all of my living days. I have 4
a Real Doll—George. He is 5 foot 3 and weighs 95 pounds. I ordered =”
him with an 8 inch hard dong (penis) ... He is actually very handsome.
I would never fuck a guy—that’s not my kind of thing and people
around here don’t think highly of gays and their so-called lifestyle. I
have always liked guys and fantasized about it, but it is out of the
question to start living a gay lifestyle—not around these parts, not in my
family’s eyes, and certainly not if I am going to stay a member of the
Church.... So, for me, I am turned on by a male doll with a dong.
I suck it and lick it. George also does the back-door thing on me too.
He likes it and so do I. So in my mind, I am not going against the
Church—I am still “normal”—I am not doing things with fags. I am
just having sex with [a] male synthetic guy....I spend a lot of my free
time hanging out with George at home—he’s my best buddy.
In short, then, a number of the men in our study with heterosexual tendencies
actively chose to purchase synthetic male and female dolls with penises giving
them the ability to engage in guilt-free sex with what otherwise would be
defined as sexually prohibited activities. By so doing, they were able to maintain
“normal,” heterosexual identities.

iDOLLATORS’ REAL DOLL FUNCTIONS

Our study illustrates that synthetic dolls provided men with a number of benefits.
In the majority of cases, we found that these men chose synthetic dolls as a way
to combat, adapt to, or otherwise alleviate problems they were experiencing in
their lives. First, for the vast majority, the acquisition of a synthetic life partner
provided them with companionship to combat their loneliness, sadness, and/or
grief. Second, having a synthetic doll in their lives allowed various men to deal
with their past (or anticipated) anxiety and the difficulties that they experienced
in some of their previous relationships with organic women. Third, iDollators
who perceived themselves as either physically unattractive or disqualified in the
eyes of others because of a physical disability, improved their self-images and
identities via their relationship with their synthetic companions. Fourth, choos-
ing to purchase and interact with synthetic dolls (male or female) allowed some
men to engage in what they self-labeled as sexually prohibited behavior while, at
the same time, not labeling themselves as deviant (homosexual) and avoiding the
associated stigma. These men justified having sex and a relationship with a male
488 PART VIl STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

doll or a female synthetic doll with a penis as different from engaging in a homo-
sexual relationship with an organic being. They were thus able to maintain posi-
tive, heterosexual identities.
Although the preceding functions relate to these men turning to dolls to
solve certain problems in their lives, we also found that dolls served an additional
function by providing an outlet for owners’ desires for sexual novelty and sexual
satisfaction. Although some men initially used their dolls as a sexual toy, over
time they formed meaningful social relationships with their dolls in a manner
similar to that of the men who used the dolls to solve pressing life problems
and challenges. A final function that we discovered, beyond the scope of this
chapter, centers on how some iDollators used their synthetic dolls to engage in
artistic expression, dressing them up, photographing and filming them, and post-
ing their pictures and videos on Websites for others’ views and comments.

DISCUSSION

In this chapter, we have focused on how a particular group of men find mean-
ingful companionship. We have illustrated both how our iDollators correspond
to Best and Luckenbill’s (1982) ideal typical model of the individual deviant and
the motivations and rationalizations of these men for pursuing this form of soli-
tary deviance.
Close examination of solitary involvements in deviance suggests that people
become involved in individual deviance in ways that are not so different from
those characterizing group-based deviance. As Prus and Grills (2003:166) have
aptly pointed out, “while some instances of individual deviance may come
about as it was imposed on them; in some cases, people may also become involved
in solitary endeavors through instrumentalism, seekership and recruitment.” We have
shown in our study that some iDollators came about their activities because it
was imposed on them as a result of the loss of a partner, a personal illness, or a
disability; in effect, they became involved by default. Others purchased synthetic
dolls and pursued activities with them because they considered the dolls to be
instrumentally advantageous (e.g., the dolls were safe from pregnancy and sexually
transmitted diseases, some men avoided the pain of being turned down for dates
with organic women, and others sought out dolls to have secret homosexual
sex). Still others, through seekership, turned to an iDollatry lifestyle because they
found it appealing and intriguing (e.g., these men sought sexual novelty and sex-
ual satisfaction). Most recently, we have observed that some men are encouraged
by others to pursue these interests through recruitment via iDollatry Websites.
Because we are dealing with issues of human agency with reference to
instrumentalism, seekership, and recruitment, we need to point out that some
men in our study did, at times, have reservations about having a synthetic doll
in their lives (e.g., they fear discovery, they dislike the exorbitant costs involved,
and they feel twinges of immorality). In contrast to those involved in deviant
subcultures who have the benefit of others to help them deal with the problems
 CHAPTER 40 ARTIFICIAL LOVE: THE SECRET WORLDS OF iDOLLATORS 489

associated with their deviant activity, those engaging in individual deviance have
to develop more extensive rationales for engaging in their practices, have to deal
with their reservations and misgivings, and must manage the anticipated discov-
ery of their actions and concomitant stigma exclusively on their own (Herman,
2002; Prus and Gnills, 2003).
In closing, the popular media that have often portrayed iDollators as creeps,
perverts, or misogynists who want to have complete control over the “perfect
woman” and/or physically mistreat her. In contrast, we have found that the
iDollators in our study were experiencing some combination of being lonely,
hurt, wary, unhappy, or depressed. They were individuals searching for compan-
ionship and unconditional love—needs that go far beyond their desire for sex.
Rather than hating or mistreating women, the men who possessed these syn-
thetic dolls cherished them. Like all of us in life, they used these dolls in their
search for meaning and acceptance.

NOTES

1. An examination of the Web-based dolls primarily as sex toys and then

subculture of the iDollator community store them away and do not develop
is beyond the scope of this chapter, relationships with them—are not “real
which focuses on the individual, soli- iDollators.” After consultation with
tary nature of their deviance. The long-term iDollators, for purposes of
authors are currently investigating the this chapter we have chosen to accept
subcultural world of iDollators. this distinction between those with
2. There is some debate in the iDollator doll fetishes and those who are full-
community that those with doll fledged iDollators.
fetishes—that is, those who use the

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Berger, Peter, and Thomas Luckmann. Herman, Nancy J. 1993. “Return to

1966. The Social Construction of Reality. Sender: Reintegrative Stigma-
New York: Doubleday. Management Strategies of
Ex-Psychiatric Patients.” Journal of
Best, Joel, and David F. Luckenbill. 1980.
Contemporary Ethnography 22:
“The Social Organization of Devi-
ance.” Social Problems 28(1):14-31. 295-350.
Herman, Nancy J. 1994. “Former Crazies
Best, Joel, and David F. Luckenbill. 1982.
in the Community.” pp. 25-42 in
Organizing Deviance. Englewood Chifts,
Mary Lorenz Dietz, Robert Prus, and
NJ: Prentice Hall.
William Shaffir (Eds.), Doing Everyday
Goffman, Erving. 1963. Stigma: Notes on the Life: Ethnography as Human Lived
Management of Spoiled Identities. Engle- Experience. Toronto: Copp Clark
wood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Longman.
Goode, Erich. 2005. Drugs and American Herman, NancyJ. 2002. “‘Mixed Nutters,’
Society (6th ed.). New York: McGraw ‘Loney Tuners,’ and “Daffy Ducks.’”
Hill.
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pp. 244-256 in Earl Rubington and 2008. http:/www.salon.com/2008/

Martin S. Weinberg (Eds.), Deviance: 0401/robot_sex/. Retrieved
The Interactionist Perspective (8th ed.). November 11, 2012.
Toronto: Allyn & Bacon. Prus, Robert, and Scott Grills. 2003. The
Lasocky, Meghan. 2005. “Just like a Deviant Mystique: Involvements, Reali-
woman.” Salon.com. October 11, 2005. ties, and Regulation. Westport, CT:
http://www.salon.com/2005/10/11/ Praeger.
real_dolls/. Retrieved November 23, Snow, David A., and Leon Anderson.
2ON2: 1993. Down on Their Luck: A Study of
Merton, Robert K. 1967. Social Theory Homeless Street People. Berkeley:
and Social Structure. New York: University of California Press.
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Price, Catherine. 2008. “Your girlfriend 1928. The Child in America. New
seems so fake.” Salon.com. April 1, York: Knopf.
 COOPERATION

AY

Subculture and Community:

Pain and Authenticity in SM Play
STAC] NEWMAHR

Sexual deviance represents one of the large arenas for cooperative deviant
interactions and relationships. Newmahr’s study ofa sadomasochism club,
where people go to engage and watch others engaging in voluntary, cooperate
public sex featuring dominance and submission, inflicting and receiving pain, and
feeling fear and excitement presents an example of such an arena. Newmahr’s
research offers us a fascinating glimpse into this hidden subculture and the social
meanings constructed by participants. As she describes her entry into, and growing
membership in, this scene, we live with her through the subtle dynamics of the
role interplay, the intensity of the sex and of the drama framing it, and the
energy that fuels ultralate-night bouts of coffee and breakfasts at all-night diners
afterward.
How does this portrayal compare with the impressions you have gathered
about this scene from your everyday lives? What stereotypes has it reinforced or
dispelled? In which role do you believe the power lies in these relationships?
Which role appears to be the most demanding and sought after? How do these
relationships compare with those of the iDollitors?
After a few minutes, Jesse asked me, “Do you like knives?”

“Sure,” | replied.

“Close your eyes,” Jesse said. She took my wrist. | felt a dull blade trail
along the inside of my forearm. | opened my eyes and saw that it was not a
blade at all, but a paper-thin plastic card. We marveled at how like a blade it felt.

Adam began to dig all of his sharps out of his bag. He held out his hand
for mine. | gave it to him and watched as he placed a two-bladed finger cuff
over his index finger. | had not seen a cuff like that before. It was a new toy

Reprinted with permission from the author Staci Newmahtr.

491
492 PART VIl|_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

for Adam also. He dragged it along the back of my hand. We discussed how
to make them, how expensive they were, and where to find them.

Handing the cuff to Jesse, he said, “Here, try it on her neck.”

“Do you mind?” Jesse asked me.

“No, it’s okay,” | replied, piling my hair atop my head with a hair band so
that my hair wouldn't cause the blades to skip.

Jesse dragged the blades up and down my neck, softly at first. It gave me
goose bumps. When | shivered, Adam wrapped my arms in his. Within a few
seconds Jesse was no longer using the blade lightly enough to tickle, and | was
no longer shivering. Adam reached into his pocket, removed his pocketknife
and flipped it open. Taking my wrists in one hand, he stretched my arms
across the table, palms up.

In soft voices, just above whispering, Jesse and Adam talked as they used
the blades on my skin. | kept my eyes closed and focused on the feeling.

“She marks so nicely,” Adam said.

“| know. And look at her face. It’s like it’s putting her to sleep,” replied
Jesse.

“Except when it hurts,” Adam said as he pressed the knife into my skin.

he term “community” is contested in the social sciences. Its meanings vary

widely, and criteria for its use are elusive. It is always, however, about
boundaries. The notion of community is used to draw lines between insiders
and outsiders. Participants in various subcultures or scenes find a bond created
by shared life experiences, norms, values, and shared objectives.
The concept of community offers insight into the roles of identification and
identity, community seeking and community building, and, ultimately, the
intersection of community, identity, and interaction. In light of identities of mar-
ginality, it is not surprising that people conceive of their entrance into what I call
the “Caeden” (a fictitious place-name) community, an urban sadomasochism
(SM) community in the northeastern United States, as a metaphor for finding a
home. Members of the scene readily share the perspective that they did not
belong anywhere prior to finding the SM scene. They frequently assert that
“people here get it,” and the “it” refers not narrowly to SM interest, but to
marginality more broadly, for the reasons and in the ways that are so common
in Caeden. The sense of being understood, of being known, underlies the
importance of community for many people in Caeden. By subsuming the mar-
ginalities under one overarching identity, the community offers understanding of
the experiences of outsiderness that many have lived. The metaphor of home
conveys not only like-minded people, but a belief in kindred spirits, acceptance,
and connectedness.
Membership involves a sense of belonging and identification, a category in
which those two terms include the feeling, belief, and expectation of fitting in, as
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 493

well as a sense of acceptance within the group. As much as community member-

ship is derived from identification, it is defined by drawing boundaries between
people who belong in a group and those who do not. These lines are linked not
only to familiarity, but to trust; the shift from outsider to insider begins with
visibility and moves quickly to immersion in the public scene. For the people
in Caeden, the most common criterion for inclusion is involvement; unknown
SM participants may be “kinky,” but they are not considered part of the com-
munity. Players are able to, and many do, successfully arrange their lives around
scene activities, avoiding “normals” (Goffman, 1963). During any given week,
there are at least five SM-related events one can attend, of varying types: educa-
tional, activist, or social and/or play oriented.
Acquiring membership in the scene includes socialization to the practices
and the meanings those practices had for participants. In this chapter, I illustrate
that notion by focusing on two concepts that are key to the SM subculture: pain
and authenticity. Among sadomasochists, the use of pain is a complex issue; some
members of the community believe that people have the power to reshape the
experience of pain, while others view the unpleasantness of pain as central to its
appeal. Regardless of the differences among community members in their rela-
tionships to pain, it 1s always necessarily related to experiences of power and
powerlessness. An understanding of pain-friendly behavior must therefore wrestle
not only with the reasons people appear to seek pain, but whether it is “really”
pain and what else it may be. To that end, I explore the ways in which partici-
pants in sadomasochism construct and preserve their experiences of power imbal-
ances through their framings of pain and its meanings for them.

METHOD

This analysis emerges out of a multisite ethnographic fieldwork project; I joined

a well-established SM organization and attended informational lectures, demon-
strations, and workshops; public and private SM parties; social lunches and
dinners; organizational planning meetings; and activist fund-raising benefits. I
was a member of this community for 4 years (2002-2006), normaily participating
in political and social activities, including SM interactions (called “scenes,” or
“play”) several times a week. Very quickly, my involvement came to dominate
my life in much the same way as it does for many people in this community.
While I was in the field, privately owned SM clubs functioned as the most
important community space in Caeden. An SM “scene” is a social interaction
that involves the mutually consensual and conscious use, among two or more
people, of pain, power, perceptions about power, or any combination thereof,
for psychological, emotional, or sensory pleasure. For most people, SM play is
not feasible at home. Clubs provide adequate space, equipment, soundproofing,
and privacy for SM play, as well as a place to socialize.
Often during my fieldwork, weekend nights at the primary SM club in
Caeden began with dinner, followed by 6 hours at the club. After the club
closed, community members normally went out to eat at an all-night diner. This
494 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

get-together frequently resulted in several more hours of conversation and then

breakfast. On several occasions, breakfast spilled over into lunch and the next
night was another club night. There were thus weekends during which I was
in the field and awake from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. Throughout
the week, I maintained near-constant contact with community members via
email, telephone, Web blogging, and instant messaging. I also attended multiday
events in Caeden and other cities.
After approximately 6 months (and countless informal discussions), I began
conducting formal ethnographic interviews. The interviews focused not only on
entire life histories, but also explored SM-related questions. To ensure thematic
uniformity, I employed an interview guide, but the format was flexible and
dynamic in terms of structure, off-topic conversation, and sequence. In total, I
conducted 20 ethnographic—thematic interviews, ranging from 4 to 11 hours.
The average duration was 6% hours.

SM AND PERFORMANCE

Outside the community, SM is often framed as “role play.” In this image, con-
senting adults are free to suspend their individual lived realities for the sake of
erotic enjoyment: The “teacher” spanks the misbehaving “student” in an eroti-
cization of hierarchy. Pain is not central in these understandings of SM. It is
either entirely absent or relegated to a less important role than the aesthetic of
the interaction. More than any other mainstream image of SM, this view is
“playful,” innocent by way of the nonseriousness of pain. The role-play view
of SM thus mitigates what might otherwise be understood as violence. It is,
first and foremost, a game of “make-believe.” Second, it does not really hurt.
This is not the prevailing discourse of SM within the community, in which
role play occurs only occasionally. SM is not understood as either a pretense or a
performance. When roles are adopted, pain is often a central aspect of the scene.
For SM participants, there is no “show” for which to prepare on a conscious or
discursive level. Nearly all the SM scenes begin without onlookers. There are no
curtains to raise or lights to dim. Observers drift from scene to scene, moving
through an SM club and sampling the goings-on, rather than witnessing a
scene from the beginning to the end. Often, the most private play spaces in a
venue are the most desirable, and at times players even enlist friends to help
direct potential onlookers elsewhere.
Although the presence of onlookers certainly affects public play in numerous
ways, SM participants are not playing to the audience. In fact, participants’
reputations can be harmed if the participants appear aware of spectators beyond
the extent necessary for safety. A “top” (a person who appears to be directing
the action in an SM scene, in contrast to the “bottom’’) must be vigilant enough
that she checks behind her before she throws a whip, but she will be sanctioned
for appearing distracted, preoccupied, self-conscious, or otherwise inappropri-
ately concerned with onlookers during a scene. SM is unlike other spontaneous
performances, such as professional wrestling and improv, in which players
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 495

generally attempt to affect the audience together. SM participants seek instead to

affect each other in the presence of onlookers. The goal in SM experience is a
successful performance, not for the sake of the audience, but for the sake of the
players.

“POWER EXCHANGE”: QUESTS FOR

AUTHENTICITY

In the SM community nationwide, the term “power exchange” is used to describe

both the objective and the dynamics of SM interactions. The term is used to
describe a trade of sorts; generally, one person seeks to feel more powerful, the
other less powerful. At its core, then, the link between SM participants is a quest
for a sense of authenticity in experiences of power imbalance. To achieve this
authenticity, participants must suspend belief in their own egalitarian relations for
the duration of the scene. When they do, the sense of power imbalance feels real.
This goal is what is sought, and what often occurs, in and through power
exchange.
SM participants seek authenticity in emotional, physical, and psychological
experience, rather than authenticity in their presentation to others. This achieve-
ment of authenticity is beyond that of what one might experience when playing a
role. In other words, SM participants who, when they play, feel as if they are
playing a role (as an actor might) do not achieve the authenticity of players
who say that they feel afraid, helpless, evil, or invincible during their play. Unlike
improv or other kinds of performance, SM provides authenticity to the extent
that SM participants are able to convince themselves, and each other, of the real-
ness of the experience.
SM is a carnal experience. It is enacted, performed, processed, lived, and
experienced on and through the body. Bodily manifestations and consequences
of SM, such as bruises, scratches, and scars, are deeply entwined in ideologies of
power. For SM participants, “marks” are indicators of authenticity, as well as vis-
ible sites of its accomplishment. Similarly, the spilling of blood (less common in
public play but not unusual) is a powerful symbol of authenticity:
Phoebe stood in the brightly lit conference room beside a small
steel table that held supplies for the demonstration. She unwrapped a
cotton-looking scalpel pack and laid it beside a bottle of rubbing
alcohol, a first aid kit, and.a large box of cotton gauze. Aidan, shirtless
and in jeans, was lying face down on the table with his arms at his sides.
I moved farther into the room, closer to the top half of his body... .
When Phoebe cut into the flesh of Aidan’s shoulder, he hissed. He
came up on his toes, feet flexed and his back muscles visibly rigid. She
put her hand on his back and waited a second, while blood trickled
from the wound. She continued her work, inserting the tip of the
scalpel into his skin and making small slices. Slowly she cut a simple
496 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

pattern, angled and tribal looking. Every couple of minutes, she wiped
the blood off of the scalpel on a swathe of gauze she kept on the small
table. Once or twice she blotted his wound with a fresh piece of gauze
(in order to see what she was doing, she later explained). Aidan was
quiet throughout, punctuating the silence with only an occasional
pained (sounding) moan—soft, deep and brief. (May 2003)
In the scene just described, whether Aidan feels that he was “hurting” or
not, Phoebe is injuring his body. The blood testifies to her ability and willingness
to wound him, and to his mortality. The power exchange—the suspension of
belief in egalitarianism—here is assisted by the visibility of Aidan’s blood.
In negotiating the tension between the aspirations for authentic experiences
of power imbalance and the desire to play safely, SM participants must navigate
conceptually muddy waters. Their experiences are constructed and interpreted
through a complex, and sometimes competing, set of discursive and social-
psychological strategies in the community. Pain, as a concept, is central to these
strategies. In SM, pain may be experienced, disavowed, evidenced, sought, and
avoided, but it plays a crucial role in the quest for authenticity.

FRAMING PAIN

My analysis identified four distinct discourses of pain, which I call “transformed

pain,” “sacrificial pain,” “investment pain,” and “autotelic pain.” These dis-
courses intersect with decisions to engage in or refrain from particular activities,
motivations participants claim for engaging in SM, the SM identifications they
adopt, and ideologies of power and powerlessness.
Discourses of pain in this SM community also intertwine with larger narra-
tives of pain in interesting ways. Participants most commonly draw on the
overarching cultural narrative of pain as fundamentally undesirable or a necessary
evil. In three of the discourses—transformed pain, sacrificial pain, and investment
pain—pain is framed as inherently unpleasant. Only one competing discourse
challenges this assumption, and this challenge is met with resistance within the
community.
In exploring these discourses, I have chosen to blur the distinctions between
topping and bottoming (providing service or being “done to,” respectively, in an
SM scene), for several reasons. In part, the choice reflects my position that SM is
best understood as a collaborative social interaction, rather than the site of inter-
action of two conceptually opposed objectives. In addition, many SM partici-
pants “switch,” topping in some scenes and bottoming in others. Because of
this practice, the attribution of particular discourses to either tops or bottoms
would be misleading. Finally, the people in Caeden did not divide themselves
socially along lines of “top” and “bottom.” For my purposes here, I use “top”
and “bottom” to refer to actions in moments in time, rather than as indicative of
fixed identities.
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 497

Transformed Pain: Turning Pain into Pleasure

Among many members of this community, the belief that power differentials
between participants in a scene are authentic (experienced as real) is fortified by
the claim that the pain is not authentic. The transformed pain discourse centers
on a disavowal of pain as such. SM participants who frame pain this way tend to
engage in mild to moderate pain play, but when pain is experienced, it is under-
stood as not hurting. Instead, pain is “transformed into pleasure.” This transforma-
tion occurs almost instantly, usually in a process that is understood as conscious,
though barely. Viewed in this manner, would-be painful situations are not expe-
rienced as hurt. This frame of mind relies on a conceptualization of pain as an
objective stimulus, which may or may not result in the feeling of hurt. During a
conversation at a restaurant one night, Faye captured the idea; she said that she
“can convert pain to pleasure . .. make my body produce chemicals” by chang-
ing the context in her conscious experience.
This “processing” of pain sensations as pleasurable, within seconds or less,
fuels a discourse in which pain can be real but not bad, without sacrificing per-
ceptions of authentic power imbalances. For bottoms, this discourse reconciles
masochism with rational thought: If pain does not “really” hurt, it is depatholo-
gized and therefore unproblematic—a thing to enjoy. Tops engage in the same
discourse, potentially mitigating some of the struggles with guilt that often
accompany topping, particularly for newer players. When I asked Seth about a
scene I had watched in which it seemed to me he had caused Stephanie a good
deal of (intended and desired) pain, I used the word “hurt.” Seth was quick to
correct me:
SETH: She doesn’t want to be hurt. She wants to be given the sensation of pain.
No. I want to provide the sensation of pleasure. If that pleasure is pain
transmogrified into pleasure, I’m very happy to provide it.
Me: What if it’s not?
SETH: I don’t want to beat somebody who wants to be beaten so that they feel
something. I’ll beat somebody—I'll flog somebody or I’ll cane somebody
who is enjoying the sensation of being caned. The experience. It’s having
a good time. That’s what I’m there for. . . . If they’re going, “Fuck, that
hurts!” Generally, my agreement is—what I say to people is, for me, if
you say “Ow,” in a way that indicates that you don’t like it, I’m going to
yellow. I’m gonna yellow on our scene and I’m going to slow down or
do something else. I use “Ow” as a safeword. My default position is
“Ow” is bad. Generally when someone says “Ow,” it’s something that
they don’t like.

Seth’s sense was that his play partners’ experience of pain is “I like pain; pain
feels like pleasure,” rather than “I like to be hurt.” His definition of SM hinges
on this distinction:
SM is the seeking of pleasure, I think, in a way, by people who can
translate pain into pleasure, and by people who can translate the act of
498 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

giving pain .. . or seeing that the other person . . . is having pleasure.

I think a good sadist is somebody who is really empathic—somebody
who really can feel what the other person is feeling, and take joy in that.
By recasting pain as something other than hurt, Seth, like other participants
for whom this frame resonates, does not draw explicitly on discourses of violence
and victimization, relying on other aspects of SM play to construct an authenti-
cally imbalanced experience.
The recasting of pain as transformed frames the pain in accordance with the
hegemonic views of pain, but modifies the pain (and the narrative) by turning it
into something that is not pain. The participant who modifies pain is actively
changing the sensation, working to claim it and process it differently, toward
an eventual understanding of the pain as pleasure.

Sacrificial Pain: For a Greater Good

In a definitive contrast, sacrificial pain is framed as an undesirable sensation that

remains an undesirable sensation throughout (as in, for example, punishment and
discipline). In this conceptual move, pain does not transform into pleasurable
sensation. Pain is, and must remain, suffering, for the suffering 1s a sacrifice on
the part of the bottom. This sacrifice is conceptualized as being for the benefit
or desires of the top. Framed this way, pain is a primary tool used to reinforce
and construct a power imbalance between players. Leah said, of the first time
that she “got the concept of power exchange,”
He’s doing all this really horrible stuff to me. I’m going I don’t like this.
He’s going, I do. And I want you to take five more, seven more, three
more, whatever it was, depending on how miserable I looked at the
time (laughs) I don’t know where he was fishing his numbers from. But
he was going, you know, it was just it was the first time it was like okay
you have the power. Because you’re doing all this nasty stuff. ’m trying
to exert what little power I have, going “I don’t like it.” ’'m not safe-
wording, which might be stupid, or might not be, but I really didn’t—
I didn’t want to, and I don’t know why. . . . And it was like okay, well
if you want to, and this is going to please you, then that’s a good
enough reason for me and I guess I can do this, and I’m going to just
draw off on the fact that you want to and that’s going to make you
happy. And I’m just going to draw from that and that'll work for me at
some level.
Actively constructing a narrative in which she is powerless to stop the activ-
ities in the scene, Leah uses the pain first to justify her acquiescence to this
“horrible” treatment and then to provide a sense of purpose: to make the top
happy. Understanding in this way her “miserable” experience as a sacrifice for
his happiness requires her to process the pain as suffering. If the pain were to
be pleasurable in its own right, she would be sacrificing nothing for him, and
thus the play would lose its value.
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 499

Sophie, who also draws on the discourse of “transformed pain,” describes a

situation here in which she actively resists transforming pain into pleasure, pre-
cisely for the sake of experiencing her pain as a sacrifice instead:
What we had gotten into the practice of doing, is when he was using
clamps on me, and it was almost impossible for me to take, he had gotten
into the habit of having me sort of like focus on his eyes, almost like hyp-
notizing. So I would focus on his eyes, and he would say things like “You
can take this because you know I want you to feel this, and you want to
do it for me, and like, you know . . . and I would almost get into this
trance sort of state, and then it would stop feeling—it wouldn’t stop feeling
like pain, but it would stop feeling like pain that I had to stop. Does that
make sense? And it’s not that it hurt less, necessarily. I think once, a long
time ago, we were at a diner and you were saying things like you don’t
understand people who could transform pain into pleasure. It was impor-
tant to me always to—like I’ve heard people ask “how do you cope with
pain?”’ Well, I go into this space where I don’t feel the pain anymore, or I
move beyond the pain, or whatever. When playing with Joe, it was always
really, really important to me to not do that. Because if the whole point of
doing it was to let him exercise his sadism, which is what I also ultimately
enjoyed, if I was not experiencing the pain, then he wasn’t really getting to
be sadistic. And it wasn’t gonna be as much fun for him. So I would like
almost deliberately stop myself from trying to do that defense thing that
your mind might want to do, and be like, No! Concentrate on how bad it
feels (laughs). So here I am, so I’m not not feeling the pain, but now I’m
like “I’m feeling the pain and it feels hornble, but that’s good because it’s
like this gift I’m giving you when I want to feel horrible for you.” So I’d
be doing that little mental gymnastic as he’s looking at me.

Investment Pain: Pain Payoffs

In contrast, the investment pain discourse draws heavily on hypermasculine nar-
ratives of pain (“No pain, no gain”). This discourse frames pain as an unpleasant
stimulus that promises future rewards. Not surprisingly, men, whether bottoming
or topping, frame pain this way more often than women do.
Sociologists of sport find that pain is often framed as an investment toward a
greater reward. Pain is understood not merely as an unfortunate by-product,
but as a means to a particular end. While the hurting is not the goal in and of
itself, it is rewarding both for what it evidences and for what it produces.
Because this suffering is not for the sake of another, it is uniquely masculine. It
is competitive—a challenge to the self—an investment given of free will and,
more importantly, framed as such. Describing a hook-suspension scene, Kyle,
for example, did not romanticize the pain itself, but wanted it for what it could
provide him physiologically:
After I got over the pain of it, and I was—you know, with any sort of
play in the scene, there’s a time early on where it just hurts. And then
500 PART VIL STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

after a while, the endorphins kinda build up and it doesn’t hurt any-
more. That’s kinda how this was too. Once I got past the pain of it and
I could really pull back, and really pull, and have the hooks pull
forward.... at one point, early on, when that happened, I stopped caring
about the pain of it and just wanted the experience.
Similarly, when discussing a heavy flogging scene, Lawrence said:
It was a very intense buzz. My body was very light. I didn’t feel the weight
of my body. I didn’t lose awareness of where I was, but my head cleared up
completely, which was really wonderful, because I’m always thinking. I
have a very busy mind and sometimes that gets the better of me. And it was
wonderful just to be able to relax and not have to force yourself to relax.
Me: Did it hurt?
LAWRENCE: Oh, it hurt immensely.

Investment pain is often less personal than sacrificial pain, in which the expe-
rience of pain is wrapped up in the bottom’s relationship to the person inflicting
the pain. Investment pain, in sharp contrast, is rewarded by the result of the pain,
regardless of the relationship to the inflictor.
Investment pain can also be a reward that comes from having withstood
pain, rather than from pain itself. The investment here is not in order to play
but for what the pain itself will yield. The pain is undesirable, and the experience
of pain is not for the sake of the sport (as it is in athletic contexts of pain), but
because it provides its own rewards. In this slant, investment pain remains rela-
tively impersonal. It appears ideologically more selfish than sacrificial pain, but
nevertheless seeks to reconcile the experience of infliction with the notion of a
loving (rewarding) top, without sacrificing authenticity.
The investment pain discourse contains a few different variations on the
same theme. The overarching connection in this frame, however, is that there
are dividends to be earned as a result of the pain. Pain is thus inherently aversive,
but worth the endurance. Not surprisingly, this is a more common frame among
men who bottom, and the frame of sacrificial pain is more commonly used by
women who bottom.

Autotelic Pain: Liking the Hurting

The three discourses described thus far maintain and reproduce the conceptuali-
zation of pain as aversive. Pain is something to be withstood, endured, altered, or
conquered. To be able to do so provides rewards, but pain is still, in and of itself,
negative. Most people in the Caeden SM community draw on one or more of
these discourses. Generally, people who understand pain in these ways do not say
that pain itself feels good, do not claim to desire pain, and take care in the com-
munity to clarify that they are not pain seekers.
In contrast, the terms sadist and masochist are used to describe people who
frame their relationships to pain in positive terms. These identity labels are some-
what stigmatic in the community. In some instances, they are self-identifications.
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 501

They are also attributed to people who do not appear to rely on strategies to
achieve authentic experiences of power imbalance. Participants who transform
or provide pain, for example, distinguish themselves from masochists, who they
believe “like the pain,” and also from sadists, who “like to hurt people.” Inter-
estingly, the only discourse in the SM community in which pain appears as an
(almost) unqualified “good” thing is, by far, the least common.
The foundation of this discourse is fairly simple for those who draw on it:
The pain hurts, but the hurt also feels good. Participants who frame pain this
way have an extraordinarily difficult time articulating their experience of pain.
They generally distinguish between kinds of pain that they do like and kinds of
pain that they do not like; the particular kind of pain, rather than the context,
determines whether the response is favorable. In an interview, Laura (having
already discussed the considerable extent to which pain hurts her) attempted to
clarify for me what she liked about pain:
Laura: Thuddy, deep pain. It feels good.
Me: While it hurts?
Laura: Yes and no. It’s a very difficult thing to explain. It registers as pain. But
it also registers as good. Like, I like this feeling. Like flogging—it hurts
but it doesn’t. Spanking—it hurts but it doesn’t. I don’t like stingy pain
all that much. A little bit, but not all that much. I like thuddy pain.
Laura’s paradigm did not depend on the relationship, the rewards for her or
for the top, or on the conceptualization of pain as not hurting. Instead, Laura
articulated an intersection between pain and pleasure, a place where it hurts
and it is enjoyable. People who frame pain this way struggle to express it in con-
versation, reluctant to choose between the seemingly dichotomous experiences
of pain and pleasure. Usually, bottoms who view pain this way simply rely on
the less stigmatized identity labels like “pain slut” and “heavy bottom”; these
terms dismiss the question of pain experience and shut down conversation
about the liking of the pain. Frank, for example, whom I had seen play with
what is sometimes considered “heavy pain,” used the phrase “processing pain,”
but had difficulty articulating this experience:
Me: How do you process pain?
FRANK: I used to breathe a lot and then I’d slump and I’d be mush. Now it’s
screaming, jumping up and down, lots of breathing.
Me: But how do you feel it—when it hits, does it hurt?
FRANK: Depends on the pain, depends on the instrument. . . . Like a flogging is
going to be much more force . . . impact, hard, breath coming out of
me, versus the singletail, you know, trying to resist the tearing sensation.
Me: Do you like the pain?
FRANK: I think so. It’s not a like, like “oh yeah, yeah, give it to me.” But I do,
but it’s not a hard-on thing, but, you know, it hurts, certainly. But not
necessarily hurts. It’s pain, I can identify it as pain . . .
502 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

Me: When someone says do you like pain, what’s your answer?
FRANK: No. I guess no.
Me: But you . . . enjoy it, in the context of certain scenes?
FRANK: Yes. Yes.

Autotelic pain is experienced, valued, and appreciated as pain. Bottoms who

frame pain this way say that it hurts and that they like it anyway. Unlike those
who frame pain as transformed, those who view pain as autotelic do not feel that
they engage in a conversion process; the hurting itself feels good, instantly and
without work. For tops, this discourse casts them as villainous, drawing on a
romantic concept of the Marquis de Sade, the seductive evildoer. Tops who
frame pain this way are often desired as play partners precisely because of their
sadism: The stronger the belief that the top enjoys the actual infliction of pain,
the more authentic the scene becomes for bottoms.
Tops and bottoms who identify as wanting pain for its own sake and to its own
ends are in the minority in the community. The autotelic pain discourse rejects
conventional conceptualizations of pain as undesirable and, by extension, pain
seeking as pathological. Most SM participants actively employ strategies to disavow,
minimize, or rationalize their engagement with pain, perhaps precisely to avoid
understanding their activities in the pathological terms of sadism and masochism.
Ultimately, this discourse appears to disentangle the enjoyment of pain from
the understanding of pain as bad. Although the end result of transformed pain is
pleasure, it becomes, posttransformation, pleasure instead of pain. Autotelic pain
begins as pain, ends as pain, and is enjoyable nonetheless. The overarching context,
however, must remain one of inflictor—inflicted. Sadists and masochists, either self—
defined or other identified, do not appear to enjoy pain in other, solo contexts
(such as medical pain, accidental harm, or self-injury). Nonetheless, they claim to
enjoy pain in and of itself, extricated from contexts of power and control.

THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION OF PAIN

To understand pain, we must look at the situations in which people seek pain. In
the SM community examined in this chapter, ideologies of power and discourses
of pain are constructed in relation to one another. “Power exchange” is the
attempt to achieve authentic experiences of power imbalances within social,
legal, and ethical limitations. SM participants engage in the closest translation
they can approximate within two sets of overlapping constraints: the
community-policed mantra of “safe, sane, and consensual” and their own ethical
and physical boundaries.
Discourses of pain assist in this translation process. All of these discourses blur
the contradictions between otherwise egalitarian relations and embodied experi-
ences of power differentials. In so doing, they each help construct SM experi-
ence in accordance with ideologies of powerfulness and powerlessness, without
sacrificing authenticity.
 CHAPTER 41 SUBCULTURE AND COMMUNITY 503

These discourses of pain also lessen, or sometimes mitigate, ethical qualms

for participants. Viewing the pain as not ultimately painful (transformed) or
worth the cost of the pain (sacrificial or investment) allows participants to more
comfortably understand their activities alongside moral proscriptions against hurt-
ing and being hurt. In the autotelic discourse, the pain hurts but can be simulta-
neously pleasurable, thereby justifying its appeal. More commonly, though, this
discourse subsumes the claim “It hurts but I like it anyway.” Here, the ethical
“problem” of SM stands unconfronted, and people who make these claims are
rare and stigmatized within the community. Nonetheless, by allowing pain to
stand as nothing other than painful, authenticity is achieved more exclusively
through carnal experience; when the idea is that one body is authentically hurt-
ing another body in a context that emphasizes the hurting, the belief in an egal-
itarian relationship can be fairly easily suspended.
Finally, these frames allow participants to carve out a range of metaphoric
spaces in which to locate and understand their SM involvement. Community
members can move along and between multiple dimensions of — pain,
porer and gender relations. Hence, the same person may identify as a “masoch-
ist,” a “service top,” and a “slave,” playing with shifting parameters of authentic
experience of power imbalances in any given SM scene.

REFERENCE

Goffman, Erving. 1963. Stigma: Notes on

the Management of Spoiled Identity.
Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
 42

Selling Excitement: Gender Roles

at the Male Strip Show
MAREN T. SCULL

Scull takes us into another sexual arena with her portrayal of a sex show featuring
male erotic dancers. In this setting, she has the opportunity to turn the gendered
tables on the better known world offemale strippers and ask the question whether
the gendered dynamics ofpower and dominance play out similarly to the reversed
gender roles of the performers and audience. Does an arena of heightened sexuality,
in which the performers are selling sexual titillation and fantasy in exchange
for a night out and a good time, translate into one in which the women are
dominant?
Scull asserts, following the proclamations ofthe performers, that the men are in
control, much like studies offemale strippers which argue that these performers hold
sway. In this study, we see women seizing the opportunity to get wild, to try to
dominate the men, and inflicting bodily harm on the performers. But, ultimately,
she argues, the men rise up with their hypermasculinity and put those women back
in their traditional place.
How do you assess Scull’s description of the balance ofpower in this arena?
Does the money exchanged give the purchasers greater control? Does the repeated
nature of the men’s performances give the men greater control? How do these roles
and power differentials translate outside of the strip club arena? How does the
introduction of money reframe the sexuality compared with the SM partners in the
previous chapter and the iDollators before that?

he exotic-dance literature is quite vast, a popular topic among academics

since the 1960s. Given that, in the United States today, strip clubs featuring
women are t far more common than strip clubs featuring men, much of this
literature focuses on women who dance for men (WDM). There are also pockets
of research regarding men who dance for men (MDM). These studies concen-
trate on strippers’ personal characteristics: their feelings of objectification, issues of
empowerment, deviant behaviors at the strip club, the importance of dramaturgy
in their performances, and how the occupation shapes their identities. Scholars
have also expanded their inquiries to other populations of exotic dancers, such

Reprinted with permission from the author, Maren T, Scull.

504
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 505

as transsexual strippers and female dancers who cater to Black same-sex-desiring

women (BSSDW).
Given this extensive literature, it is surprising that so little attention has been
paid to men who dance for women (MDW). The few studies that focus on this
group explore reasons for entering the career, issues of social control, customer—
dancer interactions, feelings of empowerment, and the motivations“and opinions
of female customers. In this research article, I focus exclusively on the perspec-
tives and experiences of male dancers, concentrating on how they perform mas-
culinity and the ways in which these performances promote and reinforce
traditional gender roles. Although it is not always the case, masculine character-
istics are usually intertwined with power, control, dominance, and aggression.

GENDER ROLES REVERSED OR REINFORCED?

Like almost every other space, strip clubs contain people who actively “do” and
“perform” their gender. However, gendered performances are magnified and
exaggerated at strip clubs because both dancers and customers rely on traditional,
stereotypical ideas of masculinity and femininity while engaging in impression
management. For instance, female strippers use hyperfeminine presentations of
self to create superficial intimate relationships with their customers, while male
patrons and bouncers use the space to enact and demonstrate their masculinity.
Some studies of MDW suggest that the behaviors exhibited by female audi-
ence members are an exception to this pattern. Specifically, the male strip show
often emboldens women to act wild, assertive, and free to perform their gender
differently than they do on a day-to-day basis. In other words, the male strip
show encourages a reversal of gender roles, or what Petersen and Dressel
(1982) refer to as “gender role transcendence.” When women experience gender
role transcendence, they behave in ways that mimic male stereotypes and act
contrary to how they would in the presence of their husbands, partners, or boy-
friends. The male strip show is a situation in which men become objects, rather
than subjects, of the “gaze,” with MDW exposed to the gaze.
Some male performers experience gender role transcendence, as some aspects 0
their job are not considered “manly” by conventional standards. For example, some
MDW take a passive role by waiting for women to approach them rather than the
other way around. In addition, male strippers accept money from women despite
the fact that providing monetary support is usually defined as a man’s responsibility.
In fact, Dressel and Petersen (1982: 392) found that some men were “kept” by those
of their customers who gave them gifts and large sums of money.
Others propose that the male strip show sustains and reinforces gender roles
by promoting gender inequalities and men’s domination over women. This is
because the show is a space where women feel “forced” to interact with strippers
who regularly attempt to humiliate and embarrass them. These performances also
permit male dancers to exercise power and control over female patrons and
coerce them into passive positions and roles. In this chapter, I will address this
question.
506 PART VIL STRUCTURE
OF THE DEVIANT ACT

THE STUDY

I used ethnographic methods and in-depth interviews for this research, spending
over 18 months conducting fieldwork at a strip club that I call “Dandelion’s,”
located in the western region of the United States. On Friday and Saturday
nights, the management hired male strippers from a company called “Erotic
Sensations” to perform from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. Although female strippers per-
formed completely naked in the nude room, male dancers were not permitted
to dance naked. I attended Dandelion’s almost every Friday and Saturday night
from September of 2009 to March of 2011. Overall, I observed 42 male dancers
and engaged in over 60 informal conversations with male and female strippers,
patrons, bartenders, cocktail waitresses, bouncers, doormen, cashiers, bussers, and
managers. Like many researchers who study exotic dance, I assumed the role of
the “peripheral member” (Adler and Adler, 1987) and did not actively engage in
stripping or tipping.
In addition to field observations, I conducted 22 semistructured, in-depth
interviews with men who were employed as strippers at the time of the research.
Interviews lasted from 45 minutes to 4 hours. They were conducted in a private
room in a variety of locations, such as the respondent’s home, a hotel room,
a library, an office, or the dressing room. Respondents’ ages ranged from 22 to
44 years, with a mean age of 32.5 years. There were many levels of experience
among my participants. Some had been stripping for as long as 22 years, while
others had been dancing for only 2 weeks at the time of our interview. There
were many ethnicities represented in my sample. Ten respondents identified
themselves as Caucasian and four as African American. The remaining partici-
pants described their ethnicity as Hawaiian, Hungarian, Laotian, Italian, Spanish,
Latino, French—Native American, and Puerto Rican. All interviewees said they
were heterosexual.
All interviews were tape-recorded and transcribed in full. Because writing
field notes would have been inconsistent with the norms at Dandelion’s, I used
my cell phone to send myself messages via text. Sending extensive field notes was
not possible, so I texted partial sentences and key words to trigger my memory
about specific events. I also carried a tape recorder in my car to record verbal
field notes as I drove home. I then used the combination of my recordings and
texts to write detailed field notes on my computer, along with personal notes,
methodological notes, and theoretical notes.

The Setting of Dandelion’s

Dandelion’s Strip Club was dark and very loud. The air was usually thick with
cigarette smoke accompanied by the occasional scent of cologne or perfume.
The space contained four octagonal stages, two bars, and a large dance floor.
Disco balls, strobe lights, and multicolored spotlights hung from the ceiling,
and almost all of the walls were lined with mirrors. In the back of the club was
a giant screen featuring either videos that corresponded to the music, or sport-
ing events such as football games, basketball games, and Ultimate Fighter
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 507

Championship matches. Dandelion’s also hosted a variety of themed activities,

competitions, and events. For example, during the summer, the club had a
“Teeny Tiny Tan, Line Contest,” in which the female customer with the
most attractive tan was awarded $100. Also featured was a “Mullet Mayhem
Trailer Trash Bash,” in which female patrons could win money for wearing
the shortest “Daisy Duke” style shorts while men were encouragéd to wear a
mullet hairstyle. There were also events called “The Leather and Lace Fetish
Party,” “Bikes, Babes, and Beer Night,” “Naked Dodgeball Night,” and
“Midget Wrestling.”
Dandelion’s closely resembled what Bradley-Engen and Ulmer (2009) cate-
gorize as a “hustle club,” as employees regularly attempted to con customers into
spending more than they had originally planned. In addition, as in other hustle
clubs, some dancers used drugs, were subjected to sexual harassment, were
offered sex for money, and/or stole from coworkers. However, Dandelion’s
also was similar to what Bradley-Engen and Ulmer (2009: 45) refer to as a “social
club” because it was located in a blue-collar area and had a “good time” feeling.
Like some strip clubs in other research, Dandelion’s had an atmosphere that was
like the television show Cheers, because, for many, it was not only a strip club,
but also the local watering hole where people came to watch sports, socialize
with the staff, and talk to other regulars.

MDW’S PHYSICAL INTERACTIONS

WITH CUSTOMERS

Strippers first illustrated the reinforcement of gender roles through the physically
aggressive ways they handled female patrons.

Dominating
Although there were situations where dancers lost control over their interactions
with women, the number of instances in which male performers physically domi-
nated and controlled female audience members was overwhelming. My participants
regularly touched women in ways that appeared to render them powerless both
symbolically and literally. An excerpt from my field notes indicates this dominance:
Many of the dancers wear big boots with large, silver, metal buckles that
go all the way up the sides. It looks uncomfortable and dangerous when
they wrap their legs around a woman’s neck. This is interesting, as it
does not appear to represent or mimic a sexual act. It is difficult to see
the reaction of the women when they do this because their faces are
almost completely buried. However, many of the women seem rattled
and embarrassed when dancers let them go.
Male strippers actively encouraged women to touch the men’s bodies by
grabbing the women’s hands and rubbing them against the men’s chest, thighs,
508 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

buttocks, and groin. It was also common for the male dancers to grab a patron’s
breasts, rub her vaginal area, or slap her rear end. In some instances, a stripper
would grab a customer by the back of the head and press her face firmly against
his crotch. Another variation of this move was to place a woman’s head in the
man’s groin and either spank the woman with his hand or a belt or give the
appearance that the stripper was humping the woman’s face by gyrating his
hips up and down. One stripper inserted a bottle partially filled with beer into
the front of his G-string and instructed women to drink from the bottle.
Some strippers performed a move in which they sat a female patron on their
lap with her back facing them. They would then jerk their hips up and down,
causing the woman to bounce on their laps repeatedly. Although this was a fairly
common gesture, I rarely saw women appear to enjoy it. One evening, I watched
Luscious do this to a young, attractive female who was in the club with her
friends. After he set her down, she turned to her female friend and waved her
hand horizontally in front of her neck as if to say “cut.” She then shook
her head and made an exaggerated frightened face while her friends laughed.

Aggressive Touching
Other forms of aggressive touching included making customers grab themselves in
sexual ways. Chicago regularly forced women to grab their own breasts during his
performances. He would kneel down on the stage, take hold of a woman by her
shoulders, and spin her around so that she was facing away from him. Holding her
wrists tightly, he then placed her hands on each of her breasts. He would yell and
scream as he moved his hands up and down, forcing the woman to jostle her
breasts. In addition, Chicago frequently snatched women by the hand and made
them rub their own crotch. Many customers seemed shocked when he did this,
and some even exhibited obvious signs of fear. One evening, I witnessed a female
patron run away from the stage after being subjected to one of his performances.
There were also instances when I observed audacious dancers use their body
parts to “accidentally” hit women. One evening in particular, I saw Lover Boy
smack a woman in the face with his G-string-covered penis. This contact
appeared to be painful to the customer, as she winced when he did it. Instead
of apologizing or checking to make sure that she was not hurt, he laughed loudly
and then yelled to her friends “She just got bopped in the face!” Customers who
were celebrating a special occasion were frequently the targets of physical mis-
treatment from overzealous strippers. These women were usually readily notice-
able, as they wore lacy headbands, veils, crowns with blinking lights, sashes, or
tinseled tiaras. One evening, I saw Ace be particularly pushy with a bachelorette:
He grabbed her so hard that her bachelorette crown fell off. The combs
in her hair came loose as well. She looked rattled by the time he let her
go. She walked away trying to smooth out the top of her hair and
reposition her crown. Her hair had been extensively styled, and it was
too difficult for her to put her crown back in. She eventually gave up
and set it on the table.
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 509

Humiliating
It was clear that many of my participants intentionally tried to humiliate female
patrons for the purpose of entertaining the crowd. These women were expected
to manage any negative emotions and endure the interaction without expressing
discomfort. Scott, a 26-year-old Caucasian stripper, talked about how some
women allowed unpleasant encounters to continue because they did not want
to be seen as a “bitch”:
I think it’s embarrassing for them. I think it’s different if a girl were
doing that to me because I wouldn’t care. But there’s this big burly man
doing this to you, and you really don’t want it to happen. But you can’t
really say, “Stop” because you'll look like a bitch. So you never say
anything. Not everybody is willing to have that sort of attention.
It happens that some girls love it and some girls...I can tell that they
just don’t like it at all.
Occasionally, dancers went beyond embarrassing women and violated them in
more sexual ways. One evening in particular, Ace performed a lap dance for a
bachelorette on stage and then lifted her entire body straight above his head. As
she was suspended horizontally in the air, he inserted his thumbs inside her very,
very short denim skirt. When he set her down, she looked surprised and con-
fused. He then moved his hands down her back, lifted up her skirt, and rubbed
her buttocks and vaginal area. Scott explained that some female customers com-
plained about performers like Ace who were too aggressive:
I’ve had many females come up to me in regard to one person in par-
ticular. They say, “Ya know, he’s just a dirty slut. He’s always grabbing
my ass, he’s grabbing my tits.” So um, ya know, I’m speaking about
Ace. They come up to me and say stuff about him like, “Tell him to
stay the fuck away from me” and that kind of stuff. So when Ace is
doing these things, he thinks they’re enjoying it, which it seems like
they are. But they’re actually thinking, “This guy needs to get the fuck
off of me. I’m gonna go tell Scott because he knows him.” So, it’s not
like girls are up front with guys at all.
The physical control of women was also evident when strippers performed
special tricks. As is the case with female dancers who use a “gimmick” while on
stage, the majority of my respondents had at least one movement that was dis-
tinct from their coworkers. For example, Rico Suave, a 36-year-old Puerto
Rican dancer, performed what was known as the “Rico Suave Special.” To
start, he would direct a woman to sit in a chair placed at the center of the
stage. Once seated, he performed a lap dance for her. He moved his body seduc-
tively, swayed his hips from left to nght, and removed articles of clothing while
the audience screamed and cheered. He then sat in the patron’s lap, pumped his
hips up and down, and tugged on his boxer briefs to reveal his G-string. On
several occasions, I observed him put the front of his boxer briefs over the
woman’s head. Once her head was securely wrapped in his underwear, he
510 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

moved his hips back and forth to make it appear as though she was performing
fellatio. After removing his boxer briefs to reveal his fringe G-string, he posi-
tioned himself in a handstand. Given the height of the chair in which the cus-
tomer was seated, this position usually put his crotch at the same level as her
head. He would then “pop” his crotch back and forth so that the fringe of his
G-string brushed against her face. After he did this, he would sit in the chair
while the patron performed a lap dance for him.
Although many of these actions were against club policies, dancers contin-
ued to engage in these behaviors without regard. In fact, I observed them touch
women in sexually forceful ways so frequently that I was surprised to learn that
these behaviors violated the club’s rules. More commonly, however, the man-
agement at Dandelion’s did not enforce club policies or mete out punishments
when dancers violated them. The rules at private parties were even more lenient
and, in some situations, nonexistent. This was one of the main reasons many
dancers preferred performing at private residences. Sex Machine, a 27-year-old
African-American dancer, compared the rules that operated at private parties ver-
sus those at Dandelion’s:
I prefer private parties. | can be more of who I am and my style of
personality comes out. They allow me to have more freedom during the
show. Dancing on stage is like, robotic. There’s a big difference
between dancing on the stage and dancing at a private party. At the
private parties the girls can get really wild. At the parties, the girls are
allowed to interact more with the dancers...way more compared to the
club. At private shows we do all kinds of stuff. We let the women put
whip cream on the dancers or we put it on the girls. Some of the dan-
cers lick the whip cream off the girls, or vice versa. They get wild by
trying to take off my G-string, smacking my butt, and putting whip
cream on my butt and licking it off. When the parties get really wild,
we go all nude and incorporate sex toys. If I’m dressed as a cop, I may
put a jelly donut in between her breasts and eat it.
Overall, my participants were not passive beings while performing. Instead,
they actively positioned themselves in ways that enabled them to physically con-
trol and manhandle female audience members. As Tewksbury (1993:174) notes,
male strippers are not “merely objects available for the taking, as might be
expected with female strippers.”

DANCERS’ HYPERMASCULINE
PRESENTATION OF SELF

Masculinity is not a given and is not inherent in a male body. Instead, it must
be attempted, accomplished, performed, and defended. This was evident at
Dandelion’s, as dancers reinforced conventional gender roles through their
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 511

hypermasculine presentation of self and their use of body technologies. Hyper-

masculinity is a type of masculinity that involves presenting oneself as possessing
exaggerated “male’’ characteristics, such as being assertive, uncaring, forceful,
strong, and dominant.
The body is central to exotic dance because performers must utilize their
somatic selves to engage in impression management for the purpose of economic
gain. Goffman (1959) explains that impression management is a process in which
- individuals, much like actors in a play, attempt to influence and sustain the per-
ceptions others have of them through the use of props, gestures, and symbols.
the case of stripping, dancers must engage in “counterfeit intimacy,” by convey-
ing the impression that they are sexually interested in their customers, even
though most are genuinely not. Using Goftman’s language, the main “prop”
strippers use is their body. By positioning their body in certain ways, MDW
and WDM try to cater to the perceived sexual desires of club patrons.
- In order to present themselves as manly and powerful, my respondents used
what Wesely (2003) refers to as “body technologies.” Body technologies are “thie|
techniques we engage in to change or alter our physical appearance” (Wesely,
2003: 644). All of my respondents emphasized the importance of shaping their
body and overall look, and engaged in many body technologies to create a
“macho” appearance. These included wearing costumes, dieting, exercising,
using steroids, maintaining the skin, and dealing with erections.
First, dancers wore a variety of outfits while performing, all of them con-
forming to gendered stereotypes. They wore clothing that resembled soldiers,
businessmen, doctors, sailors, football players, firemen, police officers, gladiators,
and cowboys. Hercules, a 42-year-old Caucasian dancer and the owner of Erotic
Sensations, emphasized the importance of creating a convincing costume:
In terms of getting costumes, you need to design them or put them
together yourself. You need to have a theme to work off of. For
example, your main costume could be a fireman, or a construction
worker...whatever you think would be your normal costume. One of
the guys, he’s got like tall motorcycle boots, and so he dresses like a
cop...to look like a motorcycle cop, and so he took it to another level.
With my cop outfit, I’ll have a flashlight and a gun. It’s not a real gun. It
looks real...it just has to look real.
In most cases, strippers’ costumes also included what they referred to as
“tear-aways.” Tear-aways are pants that detach at the sides to allow strippers to
rip them off with ease. Although some dancers buy these pants, most said that
they were difficult to find and prohibitively expensive. Therefore, most partici-
pants made their own tear-aways by cutting the sides of a pair of jeans or dress
pants, hemming the edges with a sewing machine, and inserting strips of Velcro”
to hold the sides together. This arrangement enabled the dancers to remove and
reassemble their clothing quickly during their performances. In addition, almost
all ofthe dancers wore a G-string underneath their pants or tear-aways. Overall,
these garments were used as props to create the impression that they were hyper-
sexual beings and to maintain a lustful, romantic environment.
512 PART VIl STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

Dancers also used diet and exercise to create a hypermasculine appearance.

Despite having different body types, all respondents emphasized the importance
of exercising and taking care of their body. Rick, a 34-year-old Caucasian
dancer, worked out 6 days a week and was vigilant about what, how, and
when he ate, consuming six preweighed meals per day at specific intervals.
Connor, a 29-year-old Caucasian dancer, also closely monitored what he ate:
I diet a lot. When I wake up I eat 10 egg whites and five pieces of
Ezekiel bread. And then for my second meal of the day I usually do a
couple cans of low-sodium tuna and one cup of apple juice, and I blend
that together and eat it. Then my third meal is tilapia with brown rice.
And then there are a lot of protein shakes in there too. And then dinner
is egg whites again with maybe a little avocado in there. Sometimes I'll
cheat. Like every once in a while I'll have a piece of toast with peanut
butter, or I'll go to McDonald’s and order like five hamburger patties
with nothing else. Then I go home and I just eat the patties.
My respondents not only adhered to a strict meal plan, but also talked about the
importance of working out on a regular basis. On average, dancers reported
exercising 15 hours per week. Some participants exercised immediately before
their performances in order to make their muscles appear larger and more defined.
Many dancers incorporated anabolic-androgenic steroids into their diet.
Given the physical demands associated with stripping and the expectations
regarding physical appearance, this behavior is not surprising. Matt, a 33-
year-old Caucasian stripper, talked about how the steroids enabled him to create
the macho physique central to being an exotic dancer:
All the guys take steroids, you know? And when I say all, I mean
about 90% of them. Steroids put more testosterone in the body, and
testosterone is the key component for every type of muscle building and
protein synthesis. Basically, it helps make you stronger and faster. See,
you won't last long in this industry if you don’t use steroids. They all
do steroids. You just can’t look like this without doing steroids. It’s
physically impossible. Just building the muscle, getting the definition,
getting the large size...it just goes with the territory.
There are several potential negative side effects associated with long-term
steroid use, such as heightened blood pressure, acne, male-pattern baldness, a
lower sperm count, a decrease in the size of the testicles, liver damage, changes
in the libido, and gynecomastia (an increase in the amount of flesh in the pecto-
ral region of men). Matt explained how thé formation of gynecomastia, or what
he called “gyno” or “bitch tits,” develops:
Over time [steroids] can cause gyno, which is bitch tits. It’s sort of like
extra fleshiness...it’s not like boobs, but I mean I’ve got a little bit of it
(he lifted up his shirt to reveal the pockets of flesh on his chest). I mean ’

every male has a certain amount of estrogen. It’s a small amount. And
then they have a certain amount of testosterone, and it has to be stable
and in balance. When you take steroids, what happens is your
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 513

testosterone shoots up very high. The estrogen is naturally gonna shoot

up too...to balance it. So, if you come off steroids too quick you can
get it. That’s what happens with a lot of people. And we’re in an envi-
ronment where we're not thinking about our futures. So what happens
is, one day you don’t have any steroids and you can’t get more. So now
it’s like you’re a chick because that testosterone has shot down and that
estrogen just hasn’t had a chance to catch up yet.
The benefit of having an exceptionally masculine physique through steroid
use 1s often accompanied by the detriment of psychological and behavioral side
effects, including mood swings, irritability, aggression, psychiatric problems, and,
in extreme cases, psychotic episodes. Many of my respondents referred to this
cluster of feelings as “roid rage” and described its prevalence among strippers
who used steroids. For the most part, these side effects were not problematic for
dancers, because they were consistent with a hypermasculine presentation of self.
Matt discussed the negative definition, noting that “The downside to steroids is
that they enhance who you are. So if you’re a dick, you'll be an even bigger
dick when you're on steroids. They can also make you more aggressive.”
My respondents also paid special attention to their skin when they were pre-
paring themselves for an erotic performance. This attention came in the form of
tanning, moisturizing, hair removal, and tattoos. Tanning was central to improv-
ing the look of their skin and attracting customers. Tanned skin made their bulg-
ing muscles look more defined, so most used self-tanners and tanning beds.
Second, many strippers talked about moisturizing their skin before performances
and the importance of warding off dry, flaky patches, or what some respondents
disparagingly described as “ashy” skin. Most dancers accomplished this by coating
their bodies with tanning lotion or baby oil before going on stage. Third, most
of my participants shaved their arms, legs, back, stomach, and genital region to
make their skin look more attractive. Preston, a 27-year-old Latino dancer,
remarked that he liked to keep his body hair looking neat:
With the shaving, you don’t have to shave your legs and arms. Some
guys shave everything. ..like their body is bald. I just trim myself, like my
legs (he lifted up his pants to show me his leg). Obviously, I don’t shave
much. Like I don’t have a lot of arm hair so I shave my arms. I have no
chest hair, so it’s just maintenance because you want to come out looking
pretty so-to-speak. You don’t want to look like a hairy dancer. You
don’t want to come out all grizzly. You want to turn women on, and
they prefer someone who “manscapes” I guess the term would be.
The last body technology involved dealing with erections. There were no
written rules forbidding male strippers from having, or appearing to have, an
erection while performing at Dandelion’s. On several occasions, I observed strip-
pers who looked like they had a partially or fully erect penis while on stage. In
fact, some participants appeared to have enormous penises bulging under their
G-strings while other strippers’ penises were hardly noticeable.
There was a wide range of viewpoints and behaviors regarding having an
erection while on stage. Some dancers felt that it was important to have an
514 PART VIl_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

erection while performing, and they actively engaged in techniques to produce

and maintain one. One of these techniques was known as “tying off,” which
involved creating an erection through the use of visual materials and/or mastur-
bation (also known as “‘fluffing”’). They then placed a cock ring to act as a tour-
niquet to keep the penis engorged with blood. Rick talked about tying off:

I think some people fluff themselves before getting on stage. They just
get themselves hard in the back room. They may be looking at porn or
pictures or something. But I don’t think there’s any standard or rule.
There’s tricks...there’s cock rings that you can wear, which is really
common. And a lot of guys get hard before a set with just masturbating.
I think we all wear a cock ring. All it does is just push everything to the
front of the thong. Also, there are certain thongs that are specifically
made to insert the penis into. Sort of like a cock ring in and of itself,
and you can tighten ’em and stuff like that. You can tell they’re one of
those if they have that elephant trunk—looking thing.

Other dancers talked about how they attempted to create the illusion of
an erection without actually being fully stimulated. For example, Ryan, a
38-year-old Caucasian stripper, talked about how substances prescribed for erec-
tile dysfunction helped him appear to have an erection without having to put
considerable effort into sustaining one:

There are some guys that will use Levitra or something before they go
on their shift. When I first started here, not knowing the crowd, and
not knowing the people, I would take half of a tab of Levitra. Really
what it does is it relaxes the penis rather than inflates the penis. For me
to have an erection, I have to have personal touch. I have to have
stimulation to get an erection. Also, when you get nervous, the male
body will retract and that’s not good for business. So the Levitra allows
you to loosen up, and it makes the blood flow to that area a little better.
There are some guys that are very tactile and they may pop an erection
in a minute but, you know, the professional dancers wear a cock ring.
You don’t necessarily wear it for an erection. You wear it because it
pushes the testicles forward, you know? And it makes your package
stand out in the front, so it’s all up in the front. It just looks bigger and
it just enhances the presentation of everything...a lot of guys do that.

Others defined erections as problematic, rather than desirable. For instance,

Blade, a 42-year-old Hungarian stripper, preferred to have a flaccid penis while
on stage. He made concentrated attempts to control his “friend,” as he called it,
by focusing on unattractive customers. Sex Machine expressed that, irrespective
of one’s choice to display an erection, having confidence in one’s genitals was
what was most important:

Some guys try to put fake dongs on. They put a jelly dong on their
dong, and you put it inside your G-string. Guys do it to look bigger.
But I think that, overall, you just need to be secure about your package
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 515

when you go up there. There are some guys that believe in being
natural. I like to be natural. At least I don’t have to sit there and act
like this and that. I don’t want to see it in the dressing room. I think
it is competiveness, but it’s not spoken about. Each guy is thinking,
“Pm better than you, I’m sexier than you, I’m hotter than you.”
Ace is a big dude and I don’t get bothered by that at all. There are
guys that are bigger...it’s not about size; it’s about how confident
you are.

AGGRESSIVE WOMEN

Although my participants’ actions reinforced the gender hierarchy in society

through their physical control of women and their hypermasculine presentations
of self, there were also examples of gender role transcendence. Specifically,
there were times when women violated conventional gender expectations by
physically abusing and degrading dancers. Hero, a 29-year-old Caucasian stripper,
talked about a particular occurrence when he was scratched by a patron:
There was a girl that was in here with a bachelorette party. She was
really aggressive...really grabby. I put her arms around my sides and
around my back. I kinda grabbed her hair and neck, and I was blowing
on her neck and kissing her neck. And then she completely scratched
me. She literally peeled the skin down my back. It was to the point
where I walked back to the dressing room and I was like, “Oh my
God.” See, I didn’t really feel it when I was up there. But then I got off
[the stage] and I was like, “Alright you just need to stay away from that
one.” Then I go back in the dressing room and the guys are like,
“You're bleeding.” Hercules was pissed because he doesn’t want us
looking like that. He actually went up to her, but she didn’t get kicked
out. There have also been times when girls just grab your penis...and
they grab hard.
Like DeMarco (2007:115), who reported that some MDM must deal with
patrons who “try to put their fingers where they don’t belong,” some customers
attempted to stick objects into a dancers’ anus. Scott talked about a bachelorette
who tried to violate him in this way:
One girl attempted to put her finger up my butthole. It’s just really odd
to me that someone would just feel like it’s okay to do that. I mean,
regardless of them being inebriated, ya know? So I just grabbed her
wrist and threw it back at her and said, ““You can’t do that.” And
when you do that, there’s no playing around. It’s serious. I’ve had a
bachelorette try to do that to me in front of her whole bachelorette
“party. That to me is crazy. I’m like, “You're getting married within a
week, and you’re trying to put your finger up a guy’s butthole? Does
516 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

that really make any sense?” It’s like they think they can do anything
they want.
Although these encounters were unpleasant and painful, like MDM, my
respondents felt compelled to tolerate them in order to maximize their tips. Fur-
ther, dancers reported that dealing with rowdy patrons was not particularly chal-
lenging, as women were easy to control and physically restrain. Strippers were so
adept at dealing with forceful customers that there was only one occasion on
which a performer, Hercules, walked out on a private party because a woman
was overly forceful. He said,
Some of the more aggressive ones...I don’t think that they realize that
they’re hurting you. But when you have nail marks on your back, or
when you get slapped, or when you are bit...that hurts. I’ve been bit.
I was at a party and this girl bit my ass. Then she was jumping around
and jumping on my back. It was like, “Okay we gotta tone this down a
little bit.” Finally when she bit me I said, “Ya know what? This is the
first tme I’ve ever had to shut down a party.” I mean, I had teeth marks
for two weeks. It’s not common in that it doesn’t happen all of the
time, but it does happen.
Matt suggested that women acted so recklessly because they were unsatisfied
with how their male partners treated them at home and therefore used dancers
to vent and express their frustrations:
I think a lot of women kinda get off on degrading us. You get all
different kinds of people and some people think it’s cool. I think
they honestly just get a kick out of degrading us because their husbands
treat them like shit, and this is their chance in their own little way to
get even.

CONCLUSIONS

The performances of male dancers unveiled much about the gendered aspects of
exotic dance and the reinforcement of gender roles. The male strip show both
reflected and reproduced socially constructed notions of what it means to be a
“man” in our society.
First, dancers demonstrated this notion by physically dominating and con-
trolling female patrons. Although there were situations in which strippers were
subjected to unruly customers, for the most part these occurrences were infre-
quent and inconsequential. Most importantly, my respondents rarely felt as
though they lost control over those interactions. In fact, they said that even the
most aggressive Customers were easy to manage and manipulate. In addition, par-
ticipants did not express any feelings of trauma or psychological stress as a result
of physical mistreatment from overzealous customers. Instead, most respondents
were simply bewildered or irritated by these occurrences. Overall, my findings
 CHAPTER 42 GENDER ROLES AT THE MALE STRIP SHOW 517

are consistent with Pilcher’s (2009: 230), that the way MDW interact with
patrons is “not playful, fun, or ‘liberating,’ but rather violent, forceful and resem-
bles the harassment of women more than it leaves room for women to be auton-
omous sexual adventurers.”
Second, exploring the body technologies strippers used reveals much about
how they-performed their masculinity. Strippers were obsessed with creating a
manly appearance, spending enormous efforts to prepare and maintain their
bodies. By wearing costumes, dieting, exercising, using steroids, maintaining their
skin, and dealing with erections, dancers were able to enact a specific kind of mas-
culinity: one that was exaggerated, inflated, and overdone. In many ways, some
dancers looked so masculine and so macho that they appeared to be caricatures of
themselves. Enacting their masculinity in this way contributed to the reinforce-
ment of traditional power differentials between genders, rather than to gender
role transcendence. As Tewksbury (1993: 179) found in his research of MDM,
my respondents adjusted the “traditional patriarchal privileges within the arena
of sexual objectification and consumption,” reconstructing a conventionally fem-
inine occupation by introducing masculine elements into their performances.
Thus, like female strip acts, the male dance revue at the Dandelion represented
an environment in which masculinity was catered to and where it dominated.
Overall, the male strip show had the potential to both reinforce and over-
turn conventional, normative expectations associated with being either male or
female. Although the male strippers were subjected to aggressive women, not
only did they remain in control over their interactions with customers, but
they dominated the customers. This domination contributed to the reinforce-
ment of conventional, deeply ingrained gender norms and did little to generate
feelings or behaviors associated with gender role transcendence.

REFERENCES

Adler, Patricia A., and Peter Adler. 1987. Ideological Development.” Work and
Membership Roles in Field Research. Occupations 9(3): 387-406.
Newbury Park, CA: Sage Goffman, Erving. 1959. The Presentation of
Publications. Self in Everyday Life. Garden City, NY:
Bradley-Engen, Mindy S., and Doubleday.
Jeffery Ulmer. 2009. “Social Worlds of Petersen, David M., and Paula
Stripping: The Processual Orders of L. Dressel. 1982. “Equal Time for
Exotic Dance.” Sociological Quarterly Women: Social Notes on the Male
50: 29-60. Strip Show.” Urban Life 11(2):
DeMarco, Joseph R. G. 2007. “Power and 185-208.
Control in Gay Strip Clubs.” Journal of Pilcher, Katy Elizabeth Mary. 2009.
Homosexuality 53(1/2): 111-127. “Empowering, Degrading or a
Dressel, Paula L., and David M. Petersen. ‘Mutually Exploitative’ Exchange for
1982. “Becoming a Male Stripper: Women? Characterizing the Power
Recruitment, Socialization, and Relations of the Strip Club.” Journal of
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International Women’s Studies 10(3): Newbury Park, CA: Sage

73-83% Publications.
Tewksbury, Richard. 1993. “Male Wesely, Jennifer K. 2003. “Exotic Dance
Strippers: Men Objectifying Men.” and the Negotiation of Identity: The
in Christine L. Williams (Ed.), Doing Multiple Uses of Body Technologies.”
Women’s Work: Men in Nontraditional Journal of Contemporary Ethnography
Occupations: pp. 168-181. 32(6): 643-669.
 CONFLICT

43

Sexual Assault on Campus

ELIZABETH A. ARMSTRONG, LAURA HAMILTON, AND BRIAN SWEENEY

In the twenty-first century, American colleges and universities have been rocked
by alcohol-related scandals leading to rape and death. School administrators have
tried to clamp down on students by using punitive measures such as “strikes,”
probations, and expulsions. Students living in university housing have been
particularly vulnerable to those measures, as they are under the watchful eye of
resident advisors. The restrictions have pushed student partying—most prevalent
among White, middle-class populations, according to Armstrong, Hamilton, and
Sweeney—increasingly into the fraternity scene. There, women with these
demographics are most at risk of rape, the authors find.
We have known for more than a decade that college women’s risk of sexual
assault by people they know far outweighs that of stranger rape. Armstrong,
Hamilton, and Sweeney explore some of the popular explanations for the
pervasiveness offraternity rape, from individual bad boys, to the fraternity culture,
to dangerous environments, and integrate them all by going beyond them. The
authors locate the problem for women in a structural situation whereby they are
forced out of their dorms by harsh sanctions against alcohol in the residence halls,
leaving them to party elsewhere. The party scene they find is located in private
environments where men control access to alcohol, transportation, and, more
importantly, social status through their attentions to women. Here, traditional
gender roles end up contributing to the victimization of women as men and
women voluntarily engage in a “dance” where women seek flirtation to gain
status and men offer flirtation and status to gain sex. Most women, being
disempowered in these male-dominated settings, put themselves into situations
where they are at high risk of victimization. When they are the victimized, they
are likely to attribute blame to their girlfriends individually (remember
Reinarman’s comments about the vocabulary of attribution being individualistic

Source: Elizabeth A. Armstrong, Laura Hamilton, and Brian Sweeney, “Sexual Assault on
Campus: A Multilevel, Integrative Approach to Party Rape.” Social Problems, Vol. 53,
No. 4, November 2006. © 2006 by the Society for the Study of Social Problems.
Published by the University of California Press.

519
520 PART VIl_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

rather than structural?) rather than banding together to fight the unequal power
structure in which men have the control and advantage. Older women and
women of higher status look down on their less fortunate female schoolmates as
“stupid,” or “asking for it,” despite the likelihood that they may have
experienced these same troubles themselves at an earlier age.
Armstrong, Hamilton, and Sweeney offer disturbing insights into how
women fight to protect their access to the party scene despite their risk of being
taken advantage of and disempowered. We are reminded that fraternity culture,
regardless of its deviant aspects, represents an enclave of the dominant culture
where women are complicit in their own victimization and men use their gender
advantage to callously foster their own ends.
What factors influence the relative status and opportunity of the women who
are assaulted? What factors influence the relative status and opportunity of their
assailants? What are the repercussions of the frat scene’s location in the dominant
majority culture for the position of women and men?

1997 National Institute of Justice study estimated that between one-fifth

and one-quarter of women are the victims of completed or attempted
rape while in college (Fisher, Cullen, and Turner 2000). College women “are
at greater risk for rape and other forms of sexual assault than women in the gen-
eral population or in a comparable age group” (Fisher et al. 2000: iii).' At least
half and perhaps as many as three-quarters of the sexual assaults that occur on
college campuses involve alcohol consumption on the part of the victim, the
perpetrator, or both (Abbey et al. 1996; Sampson 2002). The tight link between
alcohol and sexual assault suggests that many sexual assaults that occur on college
campuses are “party rapes.” A recent report by the U.S. Department ofJustice
defines party rape as a distinct form of rape, one that “occurs at an off-campus
house or on- or off-campus fraternity and involves ... plying a woman with
alcohol or targeting an intoxicated woman” (Sampson 2002: 6).7 While party
rape is classified as a form of acquaintance rape, it is not uncommon for the
woman to have had no prior interaction with the assailant, that is, for the assail-
ant to be an in-network stranger (Abbey et al. 1996).
Colleges and universities have been aware of the problem of sexual assault
for at least 20 years, directing resources toward prevention and providing services
to students who have been sexually assaulted. Programming has included educa-
tion of various kinds, support for Take Back the Night events, distribution of rape
whistles, development and staffing of hotlines, training of police and administra-
tors, and other efforts. Rates of sexual assault, however, have not declined over
the last five decades (Adams-Curtis and Forbes 2004: 95; Bachar and Koss 2001;
Marine 2004; Sampson 2002: 1).
Why do colleges and universities remain dangerous places for women in spite
of active efforts to prevent sexual assault? While some argue that “we know what
the problems are and we know how to change them” (Adams-Curtis and Forbes
2004: 115), it is our contention that we do not have a complete explanation of the
problem. To address this issue we use data from a study of college life at a large
Midwestern university and draw on theoretical developments in the sociology of
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 521

gender. Continued high rates of sexual assault can be viewed as a case of the repro-
duction of gender inequality—a phenomenon of central concern in gender
theory.
We demonstrate that sexual assault is a predictable outcome of a synergistic
intersection of both gendered and seemingly gender neutral processes operating
at individual, organizational, and interactional levels. The concentration of
homogenous students with expectations of partying fosters the development of
sexualized peer cultures organized around status. Residential arrangements inten-
sify students’ desires to party in male-controlled fraternities. Cultural expectations
that partygoers drink heavily and trust party-mates become problematic when
combined with expectations that women be nice and defer to men. Fulfilling
the role of the partier produces vulnerability on the part of women, which
some men exploit to extract nonconsensual sex. The party scene also produces
fun, generating student investment in it. Rather than criticizing the party scene
or men’s behavior, students blame victims. By revealing mechanisms that lead to
the persistence of sexual assault and outlining implications for policy, we hope to
encourage colleges and universities to develop fresh approaches to sexual assault
prevention.

APPROACHES TO COLLEGE SEXUAL ASSAULT

Explanations of high rates of sexual assault on college campuses fall into three
broad categories. The first tradition, a psychological approach that we label the
“individual determinants” approach, views college sexual assault as primarily a
consequence of perpetrator or victim characteristics such as gender role attitudes,
personality, family background, or sexual history. While “situational variables”
are considered, the focus is on individual characteristics. For example, Antonia
Abbey and associates (2001) find that hostility toward women, acceptance of ver-
bal pressure as a way to obtain sex, and having many consensual sexual partners
distinguish men who sexually assault from men who do not. Research suggests
that victims appear quite similar to other college women (Kalof 2000), except
that white women, prior victims, first-year college students, and more sexually
active women are more vulnerable to sexual assault (Adams-Curtis and Forbes
2004; Humphrey and White 2000).
The second perspective, the “rape culture” approach, grew out of second
wave feminism. In this perspective, sexual assault is seen as a consequence of
wide-spread belief in “rape myths,” or ideas about the nature of men, women,
sexuality, and consent that create an environment conducive to rape. For exam-
ple, men’s disrespectful treatment of women is normalized by the idea that men
are naturally sexually aggressive. Similarly, the belief that women “ask for it”
shifts responsibility from predators to victims. This perspective initiated an
important shift away from individual beliefs toward the broader context. How-
ever, rape supportive beliefs alone cannot explain the prevalence of sexual assault,
which requires not only an inclination on the part of assailants but also physical
proximity to victims.
522 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

A third approach moves beyond rape culture by identifying particular

contexts—fraternities and bars—as sexually dangerous. Ayres Boswell and Joan
Spade (1996) suggest that sexual assault is supported not only by “a generic cul-
ture surrounding and promoting rape,” but also by characteristics of the “specific
settings” in which men and women interact (p. 133). Mindy Stombler and
Patricia Yancey Martin (1994) illustrate that gender inequality is institutionalized
on campus by [a] “formal structure” that supports and intensifies an already
“high-pressure heterosexual peer group” (p. 180). This perspective grounds sex-
ual assault in organizations that provide opportunities and resources.
We extend this third approach by linking it to recent theoretical scholarship
in the sociology of gender. Martin (2004), Barbara Risman (1998; 2004), Judith
Lorber (1994), and others argue that gender is not only embedded in individual
selves, but also in cultural rules, social interaction, and organizational arrange-
ments. This integrative perspective identifies mechanisms at each level that con-
tribute to the reproduction of gender inequality (Risman 2004). Socialization
processes influence gendered selves, while cultural expectations reproduce gender
inequality in interaction. At the institutional level, organizational practices, rules,
resource distributions, and ideologies reproduce gender inequality. Applying this
integrative perspective enabled us to identify gendered processes at individual,
interactional, and organizational levels that contribute to college sexual
assault...

METHOD

Data are from group and individual interviews, ethnographic observation, and
publicly available information collected at a large Midwestern research university.
Located in a small city, the school has strong academic and sports programs, a
large Greek system, and is sought after by students seeking a quintessential col-
lege experience. Like other schools, this school has had legal problems as a result
of deaths associated with drinking. In the last few years, students have attended a
sexual assault workshop during first-year orientation. Health and sexuality edu-
cators conduct frequent workshops, student volunteers conduct rape awareness
programs, and Take Back the Night marches occur annually.
The bulk of the data presented in this paper were collected as part of ethno-
graphic observation during the 2004-2005 academic year in a residence hall
identified by students and residence hall staff as a “party dorm.” While little par-
tying actually occurs in the hall, many students view this residence hall as one of
several places to live in order to participate in the party scene on campus. This
made it a good place to study the social worlds of students at high risk of sexual
assault—women attending fraternity parties in their first year of college. The
authors and a research team were assigned to a room on a floor occupied by 55
women students (51 first-year, 2 second-year, 1 senior, and 1 resident assistant
[RA]). We observed on evenings and weekends throughout the entire academic
school year. We collected in-depth background information via a detailed nine-
page survey that 23 women completed[,] and [we] conducted interviews with
 _ CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 523
\

42 of the women (ranging from 1% to 2% hours). All but seven of the women on
the floor completed either a survey or an interview.
With at least one-third of first-year students on campus residing in “party
dorms” and one-quarter of all undergraduates belonging to fraternities or sorori-
ties, this social world is the most visible on campus. As the most visible scene on
campus, it also attracts students living in other residence halls and those not in
the Greek system. Dense precollege ties among the many in-state students, class
and race homogeneity, and a small city location also contribute to the domi-
nance of this scene. Of course, not all students on this floor or at this university
participate in the party scene. To participate, one must typically be heterosexual,
at least middle class, white, American-born, unmarried, childless, [of] traditional
college age, politically and socially mainstream, and interested in drinking. Over
three-quarters of the women on the floor we observed fit this description.
There were no nonwhite students among the first and second year students
on the floor we studied. This is a result of the homogeneity of this campus and
racial segregation in social and residential life. African Americans (who make up
3 to 5 percent of undergraduates) generally live in living-learning communities
in other residence halls and typically do not participate in the white Greek party
scene. We argue that the party scene’s homogeneity contributes to sexual risk for
white women. We lack the space and the data to compare white and African-
American party scenes on this campus, but in the discussion we offer ideas about
what such a comparison might reveal....

Selves and Peer Culture in the Transition

from High School to College
Student characteristics shape not only individual participation in dangerous party
scenes and sexual risk within them but the development of these party scenes.
We identify individual characteristics (other than gender) that generate interest
in college partying and discuss the ways in which gendered sexual agendas gen-
erate a peer culture characterized by high-stakes competition over erotic status.

Nongendered Characteristics Motivate Participation in Party Scenes

Without individuals available for partying, the party scene would not exist. All
the women on our floor were single and childless, as are the vast majority of
undergraduates at this university; many, being upper-middle class, had few
responsibilities other than their schoolwork. Abundant leisure time, however, 1s
not enough to fuel the party scene. Media, siblings, peers, and parents all serve as
sources of anticipatory socialization (Merton 1957). Both partiers and non-
partiers agreed that one was “supposed” to party in college. This orientation
was reflected in the popularity of a poster titled “What I Really Learned in
School” that pictured mixed drinks with names associated with academic disci-
plines. As one focus group participant explained:
You see these images of college that you’re supposed to go out and
have fun and drink, drink lots, party and meet guys. [You are] supposed
524 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

to hook up with guys, and both men and women try to live up to that.
I think a lot of it is girls want to be accepted into their groups and guys
want to be accepted into their groups.
Partying is seen as a way to feel a part of college life. Many of the women we
observed participated in middle and high school peer cultures organized around
status, belonging, and popularity (Eder 1985; Eder, Evans, and Parker 1995;
Milner 2004). Assuming that college would be similar, they told us that they
wanted to fit in, be popular, and have friends. Even on move-in day, they were
supposed to already have friends. When we asked one of the outsiders, Ruth,
about her first impression of her roommate, she replied that she found her:
Extremely intimidating. Bethany already knew hundreds of people here.
Her cell phone was going off from day one, like all the time. And I was
too shy to ask anyone to go to dinner with me or lunch with me or
anything. I ate while I did homework.

Peer Culture as Gendered and Sexualized Partying was also the primary way
to meet men on campus. The floor was locked to nonresidents, and even men
living in the same residence hall had to be escorted on the floor. The women
found it difficult to get to know men in their classes, which were mostly mass
lectures. They explained to us that people “don’t talk” in class. Some com-
plained [that] they lacked casual friendly contact with men, particularly com-
pared to the mixed-gender friendship groups they reported experiencing in high
school.
Meeting men at parties was important to most of the women on our floor.
The women found men’s sexual interest at parties to be a source of self-esteem
and status. They enjoyed dancing and kissing at parties, explaining to us that it
proved men “liked” them. This attention was not automatic, but required the
skillful deployment of physical and cultural assets. Most of the party-oriented
women on the floor arrived with appropriate gender presentations and the
money and know-how to preserve and refine them. While some more closely
resembled the “ideal” college party girl (white, even features, thin but busty, tan,
long straight hair, skillfully made-up, and well dressed in the latest youth styles),
most worked hard to attain this presentation. They regularly straightened their
hair, tanned, exercised, dieted, and purchased new clothes.
Women found that achieving high erotic status in the party scene required
looking “hot” but not “slutty,” a difficult and ongoing challenge. Mastering
these distinctions allowed them to establish themselves as “classy” in contrast to
other women. Although women judged other women’s appearance, men were
the most important audience. A “hot” outfit could earn attention from desirable
men in the party scene. A failed outfit, as some of our women learned, could
earn scorn from men. One woman reported showing up to a party dressed in a
knee-length skirt and blouse only to find that she needed to show more skin. A
male guest sarcastically told her “nice outfit,” accompanied by a thumbs-up
gesture...
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 525

Men also sought proof of their erotic appeal. As a woman complained,

“Every man I have met here has wanted to have sex with me!” Another inter-
viewee reported that: this guy that I was talking to for like ten/fifteen minutes
says, “Could you, um, come to the bathroom with me and jerk me off?” And
I’m like, “What!” I’m like, “Okay, like, I’ve known you for like, fifteen min-
utes, but no.” The women found that men were more interested than they were
in having sex. These clashes in sexual expectations are not surprising: men
derived status from securing sex (from high-status women), while women
derived status from getting attention (from high-status men). These agendas are
both complementary and adversarial: men give attention to women en route to
getting sex, and women are unlikely to become interested in sex without getting
attention first.

University and Greek Rules, Resources, and Procedures

Simply by congregating similar individuals, universities make possible heterosex-
ual peer cultures. The university, the Greek system, and other related organiza-
tions structure student life through rules, [the] distribution of resources, and
procedures.
Sexual danger is an unintended consequence of many university practices
intended to be gender neutral. The clustering of homogeneous students intensi-
fies the dynamics of student peer cultures and heightens motivations to party.
Characteristics of residence halls and how they are regulated push student party-
ing into bars, off-campus residences, and fraternities. While factors that increase
the risk of party rape are present in varying degrees in all party venues (Boswell
and Spade 1996), we focus on fraternity parties because they were the typical
party venue for the women we observed and have been identified as particularly
unsafe (see also Martin and Hummer 1989; Sanday 1990). Fraternities offer the
most reliable and private source of alcohol for first-year students excluded from
bars and house parties because of age and social networks.

University Practices as Push Factors The university has latitude in how it

enforces state drinking laws. Enforcement is particularly rigorous in residence halls.
We observed RAs and police officers (including gun-carrying peer police) patrol-
ling the halls for alcohol violations. Women on our floor were “documented”
within the first week of school for infractions they felt were minor. Sanctions are
severe—a $300 fine, an 8-hour alcohol class, and probation for a year. As a conse-
quence, students engaged in only minimal, clandestine alcohol consumption in their
rooms. In comparison, alcohol flows freely at fraternities.
The lack of comfortable public space for informal socializing in the residence
hall also serves as a push factor. A large central-bathroom divided our floor. A
sterile lounge was rarely used for socializing. There was no cafeteria, only a con-
venience store and a snack bar in a cavernous room furnished with big-screen
televisions. Residence life sponsored alternatives to the party scene such as
“movie night” and special dinners, but these typically occurred early in the
526 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

evening. Students defined the few activities sponsored during party hours (e.g., a
midnight trip to Walmart) as uncool...

Male Control of Fraternity Parties The campus Greek system cannot operate
without university consent. The university lists Greek organizations as student
clubs, devotes professional staff to Greek-oriented programming, and disbands
fraternities that violate university policy. Nonetheless, the university lacks full
authority over fraternities; Greek houses are privately owned and chapters answer
to national organizations and the Interfraternity Council (IFC) (1.e., a body gov-
erning the more than 20 predominantly white fraternities).
Fraternities control every aspect of parties at their houses: themes, music,
transportation, admission, access to alcohol, and movement of guests. Party
themes usually require women to wear scant, sexy clothing and place women
in subordinate positions to men. During our observation period, women
attended parties such as “Pimps and Hos,” “Victoria’s Secret,” and “Playboy
Mansion”—the last of which required fraternity members to escort two scantily
clad dates. Other recent themes included: “CEO Secretary Ho,” “School
Teacher Sexy Student,” and “Golf Pro/Tennis Ho.”
Some fraternities require pledges to transport first-year students, primarily
women, from the residence halls to the fraternity houses. From about 9 to 11 P.M.
on weekend nights early in the year, the drive in front of the residence hall
resembled a rowdy taxi-stand, as dressed-to-impress women waited to be car-
pooled to parties in expensive late-model vehicles. By allowing party-oriented
first-year women to cluster in particular residence halls, the university made
them easy to find. One fraternity member told us this practice was referred to as
“dorm-storming.”
Transportation home was an uncertainty. Women sometimes called cabs,
caught the “drunk bus,” or trudged home in stilettos. Two women indignantly
described a situation where fraternity men “wouldn’t give us a ride home.” The
women said, “Well, let us call a cab.” The men discouraged them from calling
the cab and eventually found a designated driver. The women described the men
as “just dicks” and as “rude.”
Fraternities police the door of their parties, allowing in desirable guests (first-
year women) and turning away others (unaffiliated men). Women told us of
abandoning parties when male friends were not admitted. They explained that
fraternity men also controlled the quality and quantity of alcohol. Brothers
served themselves first, then personal guests, and then other women. Non-
affiliated and unfamiliar men were served last, and generally had access to only
the least desirable beverages. The promise of more or better alcohol was often
used to lure women into private spaces of the fraternities.
Fraternities are constrained, though, by the necessity of attracting women to
their parties. Fraternities with reputations for sexual disrespect have more success
recruiting women to parties early in the year. One visit was enough for some of
the women. A roommate duo told of a house they “liked at first” until they
discovered that the men there were “really not nice.”
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 527

The Production of Fun and Sexual Assault in Interaction

Peer culture and organizational arrangements set up risky partying conditions,

but do not explain how student interactions at parties generate sexual assault. At
the interactional level we see the mechanisms through which sexual assault is
produced. As interactions necessarily involve individuals with particular charac-
teristics and occur in specific organizational settings, all three levels meet when
interactions take place. Here, gendered and gender neutral expectations and rou-
tines are intricately woven together to create party rape. Party rape is the result
of fun situations that shift—either gradually or quite suddenly—into coercive
situations. Demonstrating how the production of fun is connected with sexual
assault requires describing the interactional routines and expectations that enable
men to employ coercive sexual strategies with little risk of consequence.
College partying involves predictable activities in a predictable order (e.g.,
getting ready, pregaming, getting to the party, getting drunk, flirtation or sexual
interaction, getting home, and sharing stories). It is characterized by “shared
assumptions about what constitutes good or adequate participation” —what Nina
Eliasoph and Paul Lichterman (2003) call “group style” (p. 737). A fun partier
throws him or herself into the event, drinks, displays an upbeat mood, and evokes
revelry in others. Partiers are expected to like and trust party-mates. Norms of
civil interaction curtail displays of unhappiness or tension among party-goers.
Michael Schwalbe and associates (2000) observed that groups engage in scripted
events of this sort “to bring about an intended emotional result” (p. 438). Drink-
ing assists people in transitioning from everyday life to a state of euphoria.
Cultural expectations of partying are gendered. Women are supposed to
wear revealing outfits, while men typically are not. As guests, women cede con-
trol of turf, transportation, and liquor. Women are also expected to be grateful
for men’s hospitality, and as others have noted, to generally be “nice” in ways
that men are not. The pressure to be deferential and gracious may be intensified
by men’s older age and fraternity membership. The quandary for women, how-
ever, is that fulfilling the gendered role of partier makes them vulnerable to
sexual assault.
Women’s vulnerability produces sexual assault only if men exploit it. Too
many men are willing to do so. Many college men attend parties looking for
casual sex. A student in one of our classes explained that “guys are willing to
do damn near anything to get a piece of ass.” A male student wrote the follow-
ing description of parties at his (nonfraternity) house:

Girls are continually fed drinks of alcohol. It’s mainly to party but my
roomies are also aware of the inhibition-lowering effects. I’ve seen an
old roomie block doors when girls want to leave his room; and other
times I’ve driven women home who can’t remember much of an
evening yet sex did occur. Rarely if ever has a night of drinking for my
roommate ended without sex. I know it isn’t necessarily and assuredly
sexual assault, but with the amount of liquor in the house I question the
amount of consent a lot.
528 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

Another student—after deactivating [his membership]—wrote about a fra-

ternity brother “telling us all at the chapter meeting about how he took this
girl home and she was obviously too drunk to function and he took her inside
and had sex with her.” Getting women drunk, blocking doors, and controlling
transportation are common ways men try to prevent women from leaving sexual
situations. Rape culture beliefs, such as the belief that men are “naturally” sexu-
ally aggressive, normalize these coercive strategies. Assigning women the role of
sexual “gate-keeper” relieves men from responsibility for obtaining authentic
consent, and enables them to view sex obtained by undermining women’s ability
to resist it as “consensual” (e.g., by getting women so drunk that they pass out).
In a focus group with her sorority sisters, a junior sorority woman provided
an example of a partying situation that devolved into a likely sexual assault.
ANNA: It kind of happened to me freshman year. I’m not positive about what
happened, that’s the worst part about it. I drank too much at a frat one
night, I blacked out and I woke up the next morning with nothing on
in their cold dorms, so I don’t really know what happened and the guy
wasn’t in the bed anymore, I don’t even think I could tell you who the
hell he was, no I couldn’t.
SARAH: Did you go to the hospital?
ANNA: No, I didn’t know what happened. I was scared and wanted to get the
hell out of there. I didn’t know who it was, so how am I supposed to go
to the hospital and say someone might've raped me? It could have been
any one of the hundred guys that lived in the house.
SARAH: It happens to so many people, it would shock you. Three of my best
friends in the whole world, people that you like would think it would
never happen to, it happened to. It’s just so hard because you don’t
know how to deal with it because you don’t want to turn in a frat
because all hundred of those brothers ...
ANNA: I was also thinking like, you know, I just got to school, I don’t want to
start off on a bad note with anyone, and now it happened so long ago,
it’s just one of those things that I kind of have to live with.
This woman’s confusion demonstrates the usefulness of alcohol as a weapon:
her intoxication undermined her ability to resist sex, her clarity about what hap-
pened, and her feelings of entitlement to report it. We collected other narratives
in which sexual assault or probable sexual assault occurred when the woman was
asleep, comatose, drugged, or otherwise incapacitated.
Amanda, a woman [in] our hall, provides insight into how men take advan-
tage of women’s niceness, gender deference, and unequal control of party
resources. Amanda reported meeting a “cute” older guy, Mike, also a student, at
a local student bar. She explained that, “At the bar we were kind of making out a
little bit and I told him just cause I’m sitting here making out doesn’t mean that I
want to go home with you, you know?” After Amanda found herself stranded by
friends with no cell phone or cab fare, Mike promised that a sober friend of his
would drive her home. Once they got in the car Mike’s friend refused to take
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 529

her home and instead dropped her at Mike’s place. Amanda’s concerns were
heightened by the driver’s disrespect. “He was like, so are you into ménage A
trois?” Amanda reported staying awake all night. She woke Mike early in the
morning to take her home. Despite her ordeal, she argued that Mike was “a really
nice guy” and exchanged telephone numbers with him. These men took advan-
tage of Amanda’s unwillingness to make a scene. Amanda was one of the most
assertive women on our floor. Indeed, her refusal to participate fully in the culture
of feminine niceness led her to suffer in the social hierarchy of the floor and on
campus. It is unlikely that other women we observed could have been more asser-
tive in this situation. That she was nice to her captor in the morning suggests how
much she wanted him to like her and what she was willing to tolerate in order to
keep his interest.” This case also shows that it is not only fraternity parties that are
dangerous; men can control party resources and work together to constrain
women’s behavior while partying in bars and at house parties. What distinguishes
fraternity parties is that male dominance of partying there is organized, resourced,
and implicitly endorsed by the university. Other party venues are also organized in
ways that advantage men.
We heard many stories of negative experiences in the party scene, including
at least one account of a sexual assault in every focus group that included hetero-
sexual women. Most women who partied complained about men’s efforts to con-
trol their movements or pressure them to drink. Two of the women on our floor
were sexually assaulted at a fraternity party in the first week of school—one was
raped. Later in the semester, another woman on the floor was raped by a friend. A
fourth woman on the floor suspects she was drugged; she became disoriented at a
fraternity party and was very ill for the next week.
Party rape is accomplished without the use of guns, knives, or fists. It is carried
out through the combination of low level forms of coercion—a lot of liquor and
persuasion, manipulation of situations so that women cannot leave, and sometimes
force (e.g., by blocking a door, or using body weight to make it difficult for a
woman to get up). These forms of coercion are made more effective by organiza-
tional arrangements that provide men with contro] over how partying happens
and by expectations that women let loose and trust their party-mates. This sys-
tematic and effective method of extracting nonconsensual sex is largely invisible,
which makes it difficult for victims to convince anyone—even themselves—that a
crime occurred. Men engage in this behavior with little risk of consequences.

Student Responses and the Resiliency of the Party Scene

The frequency of women’s negative experiences in the party scene poses a prob-
lem for those students most invested in it. Finding fault with the party scene
potentially threatens meaningful identities and lifestyles. The vast majority of
heterosexual encounters at parties are fun and consensual. Partying provides a
chance to meet new people, experience and display belonging, and to enhance
social position. Women on our floor told us that they loved to flirt and be
admired, and they displayed pictures on walls, doors, and websites commemorat-
ing their fun nights out.
—
530 PART VIL STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

The most common way that students—both women and men—account for
the harm that befalls women in the party scene is by blaming victims. By attrib-
uting bad experiences to women’s “mistakes,” students avoid criticizing the party
scene or men’s behavior within it. Such victim-blaming also allows women to
feel that they can control what happens to them. The logic of victim-blaming
suggests that sophisticated, smart, careful women are safe from sexual assault.
Only “immature,” “naive,” or “stupid” women get in trouble. When discussing
the sexual assault of a friend, a floor resident explained that:
She somehow got like sexually assaulted ... by one of our friends’ old
roommates. All I know is that kid was like bad news to start off with.
So, I feel sorry for her but it wasn’t much of a surprise for us. He’s a
shady character.
Another floor resident relayed a sympathetic account of a woman raped at
knife point by a stranger in the bushes, but later dismissed party rape as nothing
to worry about “‘cause I’m not stupid when I’m drunk.” Even a feminist focus
group participant explained that her friend who was raped “made every single
mistake and almost all of them had to with alcohol.... She got ridiculed when
she came out and said she was raped.” These women contrast “true victims”
who are deserving of support with “stupid” women who forfeit sympathy
(Phillips 2000). Not only is this response devoid of empathy for other women, but
it also Jeads women to blame themselves when they are victimized (Phillips 2000).
Sexual assault prevention strategies can perpetuate victim-blaming. Instruct-
ing women to watch their drinks, stay with friends, and limit alcohol consump-
tion implies that it is women’s responsibility to avoid “mistakes” and their fault if
they fail. Emphasis on the precautions women should take—particularly if not
accompanied by education about how men should change their behavior—may
also suggest that it is natural for men to drug women and take advantage of
them. Additionally, suggesting that women should watch what they drink, trust
party-mates, or spend time alone with men asks them to forgo full engagement
in the pleasures of the college party scene.
Victim-blaming also serves as a way for women to construct a sense of status
within campus erotic hierarchies. As discussed earlier, women and men acquire
erotic status based on how “hot” they are perceived to be. Another aspect of erotic
status concerns the amount of sexual respect one receives from men. Women can
tell themselves that they are safe from sexual assault not only because they are
savvy, but also because men will recognize that they, unlike other women, are
worthy of sexual respect. For example, a focus group of senior women explained
that at a small fraternity gathering their friend Amy came out of the bathroom.
She was crying and said that a guy “had her by her neck, holding her up, feeling
her up from her crotch up to her neck and saying that I should rape you, you are a
fucking whore.” The woman’s friends were appalled, saying, “no one deserves
that.” On other hand, they explained that: “Amy flaunts herself. She is a whore
so, I mean ...” They implied that if one is a whore, one gets treated like one.*
Men accord women varying levels of sexual respect, with lower status
women seen as “fair game.” On campus the youngest and most anonymous
women are most vulnerable. High-status women (i.e., girlfriends of fraternity
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 531

members) may be less likely victims of party rape.” Sorority women explained
that fraternities discourage members from approaching the girlfriends (and ex-
girlfriends) of other men in the house. Partiers on our floor learned that it was
safer to party with men they knew as boyfriends, friends, or brothers of friends.
One roommate pair partied exclusively at a fraternity where one of the women
knew many men from high school. She explained that “we usually don’t party
with people we don’t know that well.” Over the course of the year, women on
the floor winnowed their party venues to those fraternity houses where they
“knew the guys” and could expect to be treated respectfully.

Opting Out While many students find the party scene fun, others are more
ambivalent. Some attend a few fraternity parties to feel like they have participated
in this college tradition. Others opt out of it altogether. On our floor, 44 out of
the 51 first-year students (almost 90 percent) participated in the party scene. Those
on the floor who opted out worried about sexual safety and the consequences of
engaging in illegal behavior. For example, an interviewee who did not drink was
appalled by the fraternity party transport system. She explained that:
All those girls would stand out there and just like, no joke, get into
these big black Suburbans driven by frat guys, wearing like seriously no
clothes, piled on top of each other. This could be some kidnapper
taking you all away to the woods and chopping you up and leaving
you there. How dumb can you be?
In her view, drinking around fraternity men was “scary” rather than “fun.”
Her position was unpopular. She, like others who did not party, was an out-
sider on the floor. Partiers came home loudly in the middle of the night, threw
up in the bathrooms, and rollerbladed around the floor. Socially, the others sim-
ply did not exist. A few of our “misfits” successfully created social lives outside
the floor. The most assertive of the “misfits” figured out the dynamics of the
floor in the first weeks and transferred to other residence halls.
However, most students on our floor lacked the identities or network con-
nections necessary for entry into alternative worlds. Life on a large university
campus can be overwhelming for first-year students. Those who most needed
an alternative to the social world of the party dorm were often ill-equipped to
actively seek it out. They either integrated themselves into partying or found
themselves alone in their rooms, microwaving frozen dinners and watching tele-
vision. A Christian focus group participant described life in this residence hall:
“When everyone is going out on a Thursday and you are in the room by your-
self and there are only two or three other people on the floor, that’s not fun, it’s
not the college life that you want.”...

DISCUSSION AND IMPLICATIONS

Individual characteristics and institutional practices provide the actors and con-
texts in which interactional processes occur. We have to turn to the interactional
level, however, to understand how sexual assault is generated. Gender neutral
532 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

expectations to “have fun,” lose control, and trust one’s party-mates become
problematic when combined with gendered interactional expectations. Women
are expected to be “nice” and to defer to men in interaction. This expectation 1s
intensified by men’s position as hosts and women’s as grateful guests. The het-
erosexual script, which directs men to pursue sex and women to play the role of
gatekeeper, further disadvantages women, particularly when virtually all men’s
methods of extracting sex are defined as legitimate.
The mechanisms identified should help explain intra-campus, cross-campus,
and overtime variation in the prevalence of sexual assault. Campuses with similar
students and social organization are predicted to have similar rates of sexual
assault. We would expect to see lower rates of sexual assault on campuses char-
acterized by more aesthetically appealing public space, lower alcohol use, and
the absence of a gender-adversarial party scene. Campuses with more racial
diversity and more racial integration would also bé-expected to have lower
rates of sexual assault because of the dilution of upper-middle class white peer
groups. Researchers are beginning to conduct comparative research on the
impact of university organization on aggregate rates of sexual assault. For exam-
ple, Meichun Mohler-Kuo and associates (2004) found that women who
attended schools with medium or high levels of heavy episodic drinking were
more at risk of being raped while intoxicated than women attending other
schools, even while controlling for individual-level characteristics. More compar-
ative research is needed.
This perspective may also help explain why white college women are at
higher risk of sexual assault than other racial groups. Existing research suggests
that African American college social scenes are more gender egalitarian (Stombler
and Padavic 1997). African American fraternities typically do not have houses,
depriving men of a party resource. The missions, goals, and recruitment practices
of African American fraternities and sororities discourage joining for exclusively
social reasons (Berkowitz and Padavic 1999), and rates of alcohol consumption
are lower among African American students (Journal of Blacks in Higher Educa-
tion 2000; Weschsler and Kuo 2003). The role of party rape in the lives of white
college women is substantiated by recent research that found that “white women
were more likely [than nonwhite women] to have experienced rape while intoxi-
cated and less likely to experience other rape” (Mohler-Kuo et al. 2004: 41).
White women’s overall higher rates of rape are accounted for by their high rates
of rape while intoxicated. Studies of racial differences in the culture and organiza-
tion of college partying and its consequences for sexual assault are needed.
Our analysis also provides a framework for analyzing the sources of sexual
risk in nonuniversity partying situations. Situations where men have a home
turf advantage, know each other better than the women present know each
other, see the women as anonymous, and control desired resources (such as alco-
hol or drugs) are likely to be particularly dangerous. Social pressures to “have
fun,” prove one’s social competency, or adhere to traditional gender expectations
are also predicted to increase rates of sexual assault within a social scene.
This research has implications for policy. The interdependence of levels
means that it is difficult to enact change at one level when the other levels
 CHAPTER 43 SEXUAL ASSAULT ON CAMPUS 533

remain unchanged. Programs to combat sexual assault currently focus primarily

or even exclusively on education. But as Ann Swidler (2001) argued, culture
develops in response to institutional arrangements. Without change in institu-
tional arrangements, efforts to change cultural beliefs are undermined by the cul-
tural commonsense generated by encounters with institutions. Efforts to educate
about sexual assault will not succeed if the university continues to support orga-
nizational arrangements that facilitate and even legitimate men’s coercive sexual
strategies. Thus, our research implies that efforts to combat sexual assault on
campus should target all levels, constituencies, and processes simultaneously.
Efforts to educate both men and women should indeed be intensified, but they
should be reinforced by changes in the social organization of student life.
Researchers focused on problem drinking on campus have found that reduc-
tion efforts focused on the social environment are successful (Berkowitz 2003: 21).
Student body diversity has been found to decrease binge drinking on campus
(Weschsler and Kuo 2003); it might also reduce rates of sexual assault. Existing
student heterogeneity can be exploited by eliminating self-selection into age-
segregated, white, upper-middle class, heterosexual enclaves and by working to
make residence halls more appealing to upper-division students. Building more
aesthetically appealing housing might allow students to interact outside of
alcohol-fueled party scenes. Less expensive plans might involve creating more
living-learning communities, coffee shops, and other student-run community
spaces.
While heavy alcohol use is associated with sexual assault, not all efforts to
regulate student alcohol use contribute to sexual safety. Punitive approaches
sometimes heighten the symbolic significance of drinking, lead students to
drink more hard liquor, and push alcohol consumption to more private and
thus more dangerous spaces. Regulation inconsistently applied—that is, heavy
policing of residence halls and light policing of fraternities—increases the power
of those who can secure alcohol and host parties. More consistent regulation
could decrease the value of alcohol as a commodity by equalizing access to it.
Sexual assault education should shift in emphasis from educating women on
preventative measures to educating both men and women about the coercive
behavior of men and the sources of victim-blaming. Mohler-Kuo and associates
(2004) suggest, and we endorse, a focus on the role of alcohol in sexual
assault. Education should begin before students arrive on campus and [should]
continue throughout college. It may also be most effective if high-status peers
are involved in disseminating knowledge and experience to younger college
students. ...

NOTES

1. In ongoing research on college men acceptable ways to obtain sex even

and sexuality, Sweeney (2004) and among men who belong to the same
Rosow and Ray (2006) have found fraternities. Rosow and Ray found
wide variation in beliefs about that fraternity men in the most elite
534 PART VIl_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

houses view sex with intoxicated subordinated group seek to maintain

women as low status and claim to status by deflecting stigma [on]to
avoid it. others. Maneuvering to protect or
NO On party rape as a distinct type of improve [one’s] individual position
sexual assault, see also Ward and within hierarchical classification sys-
associates (1991). Ehrhart and Sandler tems is common; however, these
(1987) use the term to refer to group responses support the subordination
rape. We use the term to refer to one- that makes them necessary.
on-one assaults. We encountered no While “knowing” one’s male party-
reports of group sexual assault. mates may offer some protection, this
3. Holland and Eisenhart (1990) and protection is not comprehensive.
Stombler (1994) found that male Sorority women, who typically have
attention is of such high value to some the closest ties with fraternity men,
women that they are willing to suffer experience more sexual assault than
indignities to receive it. other college women (Mohler-Kuo
et al. 2004). Not only do sorority
4. Schwalbe and associates (2000) suggest
women typically spend more time in
that there are several psychological
high-risk social situations than other
mechanisms that explain this behavior.
women, but also arriving at a high-
Trading power for patronage occurs
status position on campus may require
when a subordinate group accepts [its]
[undergraduates] to begin their college
status in exchange for compensatory
social career as one of the anonymous
benefits from the dominant group.
young women who are frequently
Defensive [“Jothering|”] is a process
victimized.
by which some members of a

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 Aa.

Opportunity Structures
for White-Collar Crime
OSKAR ENGDAHL

Returning once again to the crimes of the powerful, we see a smaller scale example
of fraud and its relation to American culture than the BP Deepwater Horizon
disaster. Our society has been rocked over the last decade by the unraveling of
large numbers of white-collar crimes. New instances offraud are revealed every
month, with devastating financial consequences for millions. Not just the domain
of the rich and well connected, fraud is alive andflourishing in our capitalist
system from top to bottom.
Engdahl illustrates his analysis with the fraud perpetrated by a stockbroker who
flew past the reach ofregulators, buoyed beyond suspicion by a history of high financial
returns. The author shows the way individuals with little expertise in the inner
workings ofthe complex system ofderivatives and other financial instruments put their
trust in people to manage their hard-earned money. Firms with the responsibility for
overseeing brokers’ fiduciary responsibility gave these individuals enormous
flexibility, as long as they generated profits for their organization. Regulators were
likewise blinded, by their close ties to the financial industry and their political beliefin
the capitalist system. All parties to these transactions believed that the smart, well-
connected segment of the population deserved to prosper at the expense of lesser folk.
Engdahl depicts the loss ofcontrol that subsequently arose in the financial world.
How does this story compare with the events that led to the financial crash of
2008 and beyond? How does it compare with the giant Ponzi scheme perpetrated by
Bernard Madoff or the real estate bubble that was buoyed by loose loans and their
repackaging into complex packages ofderivatives? Whose responsibility is it, or should
it be, to regulate such behavior? Why has such regulation weakened, and why has it
proved so difficult to reinstate? Has the public become protected from these kinds of
financial frauds to any extent, and how so? What are the structural causes and
motivations of this type of crime, compared with street crime? How is white-collar
crime viewed as similar to or different from street crime? How is it viewed as similar to
or different from infractions ofsocial values, such as abortion or gay marriage?

From Engdahl, Oskar, “Barriers and Back Regions and Opportunity Structure for White-
Collar Crime.” Deviant Behavior, 30.2. Copyright © 2009. Reproduced by permission of
Taylor & Francis, LLC. http://taylorandirancis.com.

537
538 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

ossibility or “opportunity” is a central component in many explanatory

models for criminality. In research on white-collar crime, this [theme]
emerges especially through an emphasis on the importance of social position for
the possibility of carrying out crime. The emphasis has been a key aspect of
economic-crime research since Sutherland, using the concept of white-collar
crime, began to study criminality among upper social classes, which in his view
was made possible by “positions in power” (Sutherland 1983: 7). By white-collar
crime Sutherland meant [crime perpetrated] primarily [by] people who held
positions in the sense that they were regarded as “respectable” and had “high
social status.” He connected such positions with the holders’ “professional
practice.” Criminality then had to do with the fact that the position conveyed
by the profession was misused in order to commit crime.
Sutherland’s conceptualization has had great influence on how crime in the
world of companies and businesses is understood and investigated in criminology
and related disciplines. The discussion of which component is most central
among those that Sutherland included in his concept has been extensive,
as have attempts to refine the concept. Of the better-known notions that have
defined the orientation of this research field, the most important are considered
to be “corporate crime” and “occupational crime,” which place the focus on
crimes that occur through and on behalf of companies, or are committed by
virtue of the position that accrues to a person in his or her professional role.
Common to the diverse choices of concept is, however, a tendency to see it as
essential to contextualize people and their activities by setting them in some
form of social position with respect to each other. Equally often, the aim is
seemingly to clarify that it is the position in the profession or company that create
opportunities for crime. This [viewpoint] is plainly expressed by Vaughan
(1983: 85) when, in a study of corporate misconduct, she says that “[p]osition is
a key variable for understanding the response of members to the tensions
organizations experience when competing for scarce resources. The skills used
to commit a violation are those associated with a particular position in the
organization.”
In sharp contrast to the relatively great efforts made with other aspects of
white-collar crime research, much less attention than might be expected has
been devoted to explaining how social positions create opportunities for commit-
ting crime .... My approach to these issues will maintain the following:
1. The more or less explicit ideas advanced by research in the area can be
systematized and classified according to different types of resources with
whose help a position makes crime possible. These resources are understood
in terms of access to authority, social contact networks, and technical—
administrative systems.
2. Goffman’s concepts of “barriers” and “back regions” can be used to clarify
what it is in a social position that creates opportunities for crime, because
[those concepts] have to do with how a concealed space for maneuvering
is established by preventing others’ insight ....
 CHAPTER 44 OPPORTUNITY STRUCTURES FOR WHITE-COLLAR CRIME 539

BARRIERS AS OPPORTUNITY STRUCTURES FOR

WHITE-COLLAR CRIME: AN EMPIRICAL EXAMPLE

Background
In order to clarify both the theoretical content and the empirical relevance of the
barrier concept, the argument that follows is illustrated with a case of white-
collar crime. It involves a broker in a well-reputed brokerage firm who was
found guilty of breach of trust (SGNECB 2000; SDC 2001; SAC 2002; SC
2003). The case is treated as a typical one for strategic reasons so as to demon-
strate and stress essential characteristics. At the core of the case is a losing deal that
the broker perpetrated after having worked in the firm for a couple of years. The
broker conducted a large number of deals on behalf of clients, among them the
firm’s most important private client. Both the client and the broker enjoyed high
status at the firm. On a certain occasion, one of the broker’s deals for this client
did not proceed as planned, resulting in a loss corresponding to 1 million USD.
The broker tried to hide the bad deal from the client and employees at the firm.
He did so temporarily by transferring the deal to one of the firm’s accounts for
ongoing and unfinished deals, and permanently by conducting other deals
secretly—through accounts belonging to clients or the firm—in order to gener-
ate profits that could cover the loss. The broker succeeded in concealing the loss
for four years, but his secret deals failed to create profits that covered the initial
loss. The total loss grew to 21 million USD by the time the irregularities were
brought to light.
During those four years, no suspicions of the irregularities arose. The fact
that the broker could hide extensive losses and deals for so long without being
suspected can be explained: his relations with the client and the firm’s other
employees, chiefs, and accounts were permeated with barriers that obstructed
suspicion and detection of crime. These [barriers] are referred to in the following
analysis as financial self-interest, low priority of control, and interpretative pri-
macy. [Their] great importance ...[is] central to understanding the broker's
case; it was not until the broker turned himself in that his irregularities came
into light. During the four years of irregularities he had—at least [on] a couple of
occasions—made so many good deals that he had been close to erasing his initial
loss. But he never succeeded fully in erasing the loss, and when he later—once
again—started making big losses he, in his own words, “felt that I was on the
verge of what I could endure” (SNECB 2000: 88). During the four years he
had, for periods of time, suffered from psychological stress, and the day following
his confession he was hospitalized for a heart condition.

Financial Self-Interest

The relations between the broker and the client involved informal and oral
agreements in person; no agreements were codified in writing. At first, the bro-
ker and client met “over a cup of coffee” to examine the deals, but this did not
lead to any special basic orders. Instead, the client gave the broker general
540 PART VIL STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

instructions of the type “do the deals you think are good” (SNECB 2000: 60,
211, 243; SDC 2001: 13f.). The client felt sure that the broker and his way of
working were in line with reasonable business strategies. Moreover, the client
believed that it was in his own interest to exploit the broker’s knowledge,
which he did by committing funds to the broker’s care. The client not only
regarded the broker as knowledgeable quite generally, but spoke of him as the
country’s “derivative king” (SNECB 2000: 62). It should be added that the cli-
ent considered the broker to be very reliable. The client claimed to have wide
experience of brokers who attempted to enrich themselves on others’ deals, and
according to him it was therefore normally necessary to constantly oversee bro-
kers who were retained and to check their deals. However, he did not think
such control necessary in the present case because he perceived this broker to
be highly reliable. Hence, the client handed over the entire responsibility for all
deals on one of his accounts to the broker, and handled the related papers him-
self only sporadically. The papers went “straight into the notebook” with no
thorough control. The client described the broker as “the most serious person
you can imagine” and commented further that “It’s like I can rely on my own
father” (SNECB 2000: 62). The broker was well aware that the client [neither]
interfere[d] with whatever positions were taken on the account [nor] controlled]
it afterward: “The only thing he looks at now and then is when he gets an
account statement once a month and sees that the balance is more or less okay”
(SNECB 2000: 177).
Thus, the client considered himself to have good knowledge of and trust in
the broker. The business relationship functioned “extremely well” according to
him, and was gradually complemented by the fact that, according to them both,
they “got close to each other” (SNECB 2000: 62). This [closeness] was mani-
fested by the broker being one of those who accompanied the client on trips,
and by the client being best man at the broker’s wedding. The client’s percep-
tion of good knowledge about and trust in the broker contributed to his letting
the broker manage his money. It should be noted, however, that good knowl-
edge of how a broker functions can nonetheless include knowledge that leads
one to refrain from committing assets to management by others. This knowl-
edge, therefore, is not in itself decisive for the realization of an assignment of
management. It is rather the perception that such commitment is in one’s self-
interest that is central for doing so. In the present case, the client judged the
broker’s skill, reliability, and loyalty to fulfill the requirements. His judgment
was also confirmed in a manner clear to him: during the period of handling his
deals, the broker was able to take out tens’of million USD in profits.
From the broker’s position, financial self-interest acted in two respects:
besides the client’s interest in letting the broker manage parts of his assets, the
firm also showed this interest. The broker was known to be highly trusted
among other employees in the firm, and quickly became operative chief of the
options department. Initially this happened because he was one of the few who
were acquainted with the business area of options, an area in which the firm
wanted to expand its activities. The trust in him also increased when he con-
ducted deals that satisfied clients, generated courtage for the firm, and built up
 CHAPTER 44 OPPORTUNITY STRUCTURES FOR WHITE-COLLAR CRIME 541

the firm’s stock trade with good results. Moreover, it was to him that other bro-
kers in the firm left deals, clients, or problems of [a] relatively complicated
nature. Not least due to these aspects, it lay in the firm’s interest that he should
take care of the present client. This client was very wealthy and constituted by
far the biggest private client of the firm. For him, the firm managed large assets
and carried out numerous deals that yielded sizable courtage income for it. The
chent was regarded as a “pro,” strongly interested in “generating profits,” and
“demanding” (SNECB 2000: 60, 22, 243). By virtue of his position, the client
had good insight into the firm as a whole and socialized with several of its
employees. He helped the firm in various ways when it got into difficulties, and
was also a landlord and something of a “royal purveyor” of residences for a num-
ber of the firm’s employees. Thus, he was a key client in diverse respects. At the
firm it was well known, too, that the client had great trust in the broker con-
cerned, who was regarded as “smart at handling demanding clients” (SNECB
2000: 243). It therefore lay in the firm’s interest that he took care of this client.

Low Priority of Control (or Preoccupation with Other Matters)

Another aspect that is central for understanding the broker’s opportunity struc-
ture has its basis in the fact that the client was continually involved in many
extensive deals, which he had no possibility of conducting and controlling by
himself. The client was also more interested in and preoccupied with business
expansion, than with administration and control of his own assets. Thus, he left
it to the broker to carry out deals in certain areas and, as mentioned earlier, he
was sparing with examination of the account statements and other papers that
were sent to him. Satisfied with checking whether the account balance was
plus or minus, he limited his information to the latest daily telephone talk that
he had with the broker, or when he visited the firm. The client’s neglect to
control the conduct and administration of the deals was due partly to his scarce
time for controlling all the deals, but mainly to his giving priority to the planning
and initiation of deals. He himself thought that he was “almost unhealthily inter-
ested in deals,” yet also that he found it “nice to avoid the constant supervision
of deals” (SNECB 2000: 61, 38f.).
Possibly one can understand the client’s actions in terms of ignorance, lack
of interest, or the often-used term “absence of capable guardians” (Felson and
Clarke 1998). However, in cases that can be said to concern absence of capable
guardians, there is a strong tendency to point out primarily what does not hap-
pen, at the same time as one overlooks the relational components that allow this
lack of control to arise. In the present case, the reason for neglect of control was
that the client prioritized other matters than administration and control—a prior-
itization that created a barrier. It should thus be most plausible to conceptualize
this aspect in terms of low priority of control, or perhaps of preoccupation with
other matters. Here lies an explanation for why the control is deficient and cre-
ates opportunities for crime. In short, my view is that the problem does not
essentially involve an “absence” of anything, but an activity’s orientation toward
something else so strongly that the control function is given low priority. It is the
542 PART VII|_ STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

strength of this orientation that creates barriers that ultimately protect criminality,
because people do not see what is happening “alongside” what they are preoc-
cupied with. In the present brokerage firm, this barrier included a large number
of people around the broker.
Just as the client was busy with other projects and therefore did not control
his deals to any great extent, the firm was busy expanding in the years when the
broker worked there. No great interest existed in administration and control. The
firm made clear to the broker that he was employed to make deals and be
income-generating. For this purpose he received responsibility and leeway for
action as large as the concern was small in administration and control of him.
He never got training or an introduction to relevant regulations in the area. The
firm’s attitude was expressed perhaps most plainly when he worked on new blank
forms for options trade and one of his chiefs remarked, “Don’t worry about the
administrative stuff, you’re employed to make deals” (SDC 2001: 25). As a result,
the broker was able to create possibilities of concealing the bad deal. The clearest
example was when he used the firm’s “question-mark account.” The broker
knew that control of this account was deficient. Considering also that the firm
had limited control over the security requirements when issuing new options,
the broker began systematically to use the question-mark account for re-
booking the loss so that nobody would notice it. He also used the account for
conducting secret deals. Normally, options issued and bought by the firm were
supposed to undergo an assessment so that the firm knew [that] the parties could
fulfill their promises when the options expired. But this [assessment] was not done
systematically and automatically—it required an agreement to be written. Only
when this had been done were deals examined by the firm’s lawyers. Therefore,
the broker began to construct options by himself. These might be worthless, but
because the broker wrote no agreement that he gave to the legal department, he
avoided control. The constructed options were purchased by him for a small sum
and placed on the client’s account. Shortly afterward, he saw to it that the options
were bought by the firm’s question-mark account for a much higher price. The
loss hole in the client’s account was thereby covered. Obviously the firm’s
account had paid an over-price that would later be realized at a loss—but as
long as the option had not expired, the loss was only potential and did not appear
in the book-keeping as such for the uninitiated. The broker bought and sold
options in such a way that the time it took for a loss to be realized was constantly
“rolled” into the future. Worthless options passed to the firm, which neither had
control over its accounts nor could judge the options’ value. This [situation]
brings us to another type of barrier.

Interpretative Primacy
That the type of deals that the broker conducted were notoriously complicated,
and that his own knowledge in the area was matched by ignorance from clients,
colleagues, chiefs, and other people related to his work, were further aspects that
created opportunities for the broker to commit crime without being detected.
Here it is less important that he was indisputably adept in the area, or that the
 CHAPTER 44 OPPORTUNITY STRUCTURES FOR WHITE-COLLAR CRIME 543

deals he made were regarded as extremely complicated. It is not mainly in envir-

onments with such conditions that one should look to find opportunities for
crime. Instead one should look in environments where the differences in knowl-
edge give certain actors an interpretative primacy over others. In the broker’s case,
the knowledge gap meant that in practice he acquired an interpretative primacy
regarding the content determination and evaluation of various transactions,
accounts, and transfers. The broker also realized that the deals he made were
hard to understand and check the contents of. This [difficulty] applied to his col-
leagues at the firm as well as to accounts and clients. Besides being aware that the
client did not always check his deals very carefully, the broker thought that many
of the deals were so complex that the client in question “never really understood
what it was about” (SNECB 2000: 5) when he executed transactions on the cli-
ent’s account. The client knew this too, and thought that when it came to
option deals a lot was “so complicated that I had no idea what was going in
and out, shifting here and there....” (SNECB 2000: 62). Further, the broker
had this advantage in relation to the firm’s accountants:
It’s some women who have audited ... they have often sat and asked
me about things they don’t understand and then I’ve answered them
about it. Certainly they haven’t asked about [the account I myself
managed for the client] ... as to whether this account is unbalanced or
whether it has an actual loss. That has also been very hard to detect.
I don’t think their competence is up to seeing it. (SNECB 2000: 179)

SUMMARY

What have been designated here as financial self-interest, low priority of control,
and interpretative primacy are three examples of barriers that obstruct other people
(such as clients, colleagues, chiefs, etc.) from suspecting and discovering criminal
events. Concretely they meant that the broker’s relations with these other people
were characterized by his being considered so able in the area that it was in their self-
interest that he handled their deals; by them being more preoccupied with complet-
ing deals and expanding than with administration and control; and by the broker
having an interpretative primacy in the area that led them to rely on his statements.
These conditions functioned as barriers and allowed opportunities to accrue for his
commission of acts whose real content was concealed, explaining why he could
perform his hidden rolling program and keep it going for four years.

CONCLUSIONS

In this article, Goffman’s (1959) concepts of “barriers” and “back regions” have
been used to show more precisely how social positions strengthen the possibility
of carrying out economic crime. The fundamental idea is that opportunities for
crime arise in social situations where individuals, by virtue of their positions,
544 PART VII STRUCTURE OF THE DEVIANT ACT

build up barriers that hinder others from controlling a course of events. [These
opportunities] can happen firstly through [those individuals] obstructing suspicion
and detection, secondly through their impeding investigation and—once suspicion
isestablished—assessment of an event as a crime, and thirdly through their prevent-
ing legal action and implementation of sanctions. With an empirical case study,
the reasoning has been deepened as regards the type of barrier that creates oppor-
tunities for crime by hindering suspicion and detection. Here it was shown
how three variants of this type of barrier—termed financial self-interest, low prior-
ity of control, and interpretative primacy—enabled a broker, by virtue of his
position, to gather opportunities for operating without insight in back regions
and committing crime.
The barrier concept offers, I think, a more viable explanation for how
opportunities of white-collar crime are created than what has earlier been pro-
posed in the field. It is undoubtedly true that the resources emphasized earlier,
which in summary are access to authority, social contact networks, and
technical—administrative systems, create possibilities for committing crime. As
regards the previous explanatory models, however, the issue is rather of resources
that improve the opportunity for realizing actions in general, not the opportunity
of committing criminal acts. Through the concepts of barriers and back regions,
the possibility of crime becomes clearer. These concepts should therefore, in my
opinion, be incorporated and refined in the research on white-collar cme. They
have good prospects of serving as an analytical apparatus that heightens the sen-
sitivity to what occurs, or can occur, in certain environments and contributes to
knowledge of decisive factors....

REFERENCES

Felson, M. and R. V. Clarke. 1998. Sutherland, E. 1983. White Collar Crime:

“Opportunity Makes the Thief’—Crime The Uncut Version. New Haven, CT:
Detection and Prevention Series. London, Yale University Press.
UK: Home Office. Vaughan, D. 1983. Controlling Unlawful
Goffman, E. 1959. The Presentation ofSelfin Organizational Behavior: Social Structure
Everyday Life. New York: Doubleday. and Corporate Misconduct. Chicago: The
University of Chicago Press.

CASE MATERIAL CONSULTED

SAC (Svea Appeals Court). 2002. Decision SNECB (Swedish National Economic
of Svea Appeals Court 26 April 2002 Crime Bureau). 2000. Preliminary
in case B 5803-01. Investigative protocol in case B
SDC (Stockholm District Court). 2001. 10030-94. Stockholm: Swedish
Decision of Stockholm District Court National Economic Crime Bureau,
12 July 2001 in case B 10030-94. East Department.
SC (Supreme Court). 2003. Decision of
Supreme Court 14 October 2003 in
case B 2100 02.
 PART VIII

HK

Deviant Careers

O ne of the fascinating things about people’s involvement in deviance is that

it evolves, yielding a shifting and changing experience. Doing something
for the first time is very different from doing it for the hundredth time. It is fruit-
ful, then, to consider involvement in deviance from a career perspective, to see
what the nature of deviance is and how it develops over the course of people’s
involvement with it. Sociologists have documented various stages of participation
in such things as drug use, drug dealing, fencing, carrying out a professional hit,
engaging in prostitution, and shoplifting. Although these activities are different in
character, they have structural similarities in the way people experience them
according to the stage of involvement in them. In fact, the career analogy has
been applied fruitfully to the study of deviance because people go through the
same cycle of entry, upward mobility, achieving career peaks, aging in the career,
burning out, and getting out of deviance as they do in legitimate work.
Six themes tend to be most commonly addressed in the literature on deviant
careers. Entering deviance attracts the greatest bulk of scholarly attention, for
two reasons: Policy makers have great interest in finding out how and why peo-
ple enter deviance so that they can prevent them from doing so, and entry repre-
sents fairly easy data for most scholars to gather, because every individual deviant
or group of deviants can tell the story of how they got into the scene. Over the
last couple of decades, sociologists have worked to discover and disseminate
information that has been adopted by the public in making decisions aimed at
influencing and deterring potential deviants. First, they have developed the con-
cept of at-risk populations and articulated a range of risk factors associated with
various forms of deviance, such as gang membership, dropping out of school,
unwed pregnancy, suicide, depression, eating disorders, detainment, arrest, and
incarceration (Loeber and Farrington, 1998; Werner and Smith, 1992).

545
546 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

Complementing these risk factors, sociologists have identified protective factors

that, in the face of exposure to multiple risks, help prevent individuals from
becoming involved in deviance (Werner and Smith, 1992).
Although some people venture into deviance on their own, the vast major-
ity do it with the encouragement and assistance of others, often joining cooper-
ative deviant enterprises. The turning points that mark significant phases in their
transitions have been explored, as have their changing self-identities. Most com-
monly, people who become involved in deviance do so through a process of
shifting their circle of friends. They drift into new peer groups as they are drift-
ing into deviance, or their peer group as a whole drifts into deviance as the
members enter a new phase of the life cycle.
Second, the career perspective incorporates an interest in the training and
socialization of new deviants. Relatively little has been written about this area,
for several reasons. One is that, although most deviants might be socialized to the
norms and values of their activity through their contacts with fellow deviants, they
get relatively little explicit training in how to perform their deviance, how to avoid
detection, how to deal with the police, and other important concerns. Another
reason is that real training generally occurs when deviants are working together,
side by side, as a team in their enterprise. That leaves only crews and deviant formal
organizations as the likely sources of training, and these forms of deviant organiza-
tion are relatively rare. In their analysis of the career of a professional burglar and
fence, Steffensmeier and Ulmer (2005) have suggested that the kind of professional
criminals engaged in crew operations has diminished in number.
Third, focusing on careers in deviance enables people to study how indivi-
duals’ involvement in their deviant worlds and with their deviant associates and
activities change over time. This type of processual analysis represents a highly
nuanced understanding of deviance that cannot easily be captured by the frozen-
in-time snapshot of most survey research. Longitudinal studies of deviant careers
are rare, but valuable, assets in the literature, as they distinguish for us some of
the different motivations, rewards, conflicts, and problems that deviants encoun-
ter over the course of their participation in deviance. Because they illuminate
motivations and deterrents which are more or less effective at different career
stages, these studies are enormously helpful, not only to policy makers, but also
to people who struggle to understand deviance and to help themselves, friends,
and family members who are caught in its lure.
Over the course of their deviant careers, participants must face the various
challenges involved in managing their deviance. They must navigate the chang-
ing dimensions of available opportunities to commit their deviance, evolving
technologies that can catch them in committing their acts of deviance, their
 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS 547

relationships within deviant communities, and their safety from agents of social
control. They must also evolve a personal style for their deviance. They must
balance their deviance with the nondeviant aspects of their lives, such as their
relationships with family members, people in the community, and those on
whom they rely to meet their legitimate needs. Yip’s (1997) work on gay male
Christian couples, for example, illustrates some of the creative ways that homo-
sexuals find to maintain their relational commitment in a social environment in
which their union is sanctioned by neither church nor state.
Wanting out, or exiting deviance, represents the fourth major area in this
literature. As with entering deviance, there is a high political interest in the topic,
with policy makers looking for ways to induce people to quit their deviance.
Information on longer-term deviants, their attitudes toward the scene and the
people in it, their satisfactions and dissatisfactions, and their hopes or dreams for
the future is somewhat hard to get. People tend to feel most comfortable talking
to others like themselves, and the most active researchers are young. Yet there
are valuable studies of aging deviants.
A number of factors “push” people out of the deviant life and “pull” them
back into the conventional world. People are pushed out by factors intrinsic to
the deviant experience and lifestyle. They may burn out from the hours, the
stress, the transience, and the drug use. Friends or associates who get arrested,
jailed, injured, or killed may make them rethink their continuing involvement
with deviance. Moreover, each time they get arrested, they face an increasing
likelihood of doing a longer jail sentence. People who have spent some years
in prison know that their next arrest is likely to lead to a more serious stint in
prison. Loath to return, they may look for other things they can do to make a
living. The longer people stay in deviance, the greater the likelihood is that there
will be a change in the nature of the experience. What initially seemed daring
and glamorous eventually becomes mundane, and the excitement turns to para-
noia. People change during their involvement with deviance as well.
Pull factors are located outside of the deviant arena and entice people to
leave that world behind and return to conventionality. Individuals such as
friends, girlfriends, spouses, children, and other family members may encourage
or intervene with deviants to entice or pressure them to quit their deviant ways.
Legitimate recreational and occupational interests are key in helping to facilitate
individuals’ transition out of deviance. Yet returning to legitimate jobs in which
their earning potential is reduced may involve restricting their spending patterns,
something that people find difficult. They also become accustomed to the free-
wheeling lifestyle and open value system associated with a deviant community,
in which conventional norms are disdained.
548 PART VIIl_ DEVIANT CAREERS

Reentering the straight world with its morality may chafe. Finding legiti-
mate work may be difficult, especially if the participants were involved in occu-
pational deviance, making money through illicit means. Former deviants often
have difficulty putting together a résumé that accounts for their gap in legitimate
employment and finding someone who will hire them. They may find adhering
to the structure of the 9-to-5 straight world overly constraining. Yet most people
do not want to spend their whole lives engaged in deviance.
Very little information is available on the postdeviant features of individuals’
lives. These are the hardest data to get because, as we described in Part V, just as
developing a deviant identity moves people out of their conventional friendships
and social worlds into those populated by deviants, quitting deviance usually requires
exiting from these same relationships and scenes. Once people decide to get out and
actually make that move, they disperse and leave no forwarding address.
Finally, there is a literature on crime and deviance as work. This literature com-
pares occupational deviance with legitimate jobs and examines deviant versus legit-
imate careers. Working in deviant fields holds many similarities to the skills,
professionalism, connections, and attitudes needed for conventional jobs (Letkemann,
1973). Goods and services may be bought and sold, credit arranged and extended,
costs and profits calculated, and business associates, suppliers, and customers assessed.
Contracts cannot be legally enforced in deviant occupations, however, nor are associ-
ates as reliable or durable. Because of the high turnover of personnel and the greater
likelihood of drug use involved in all facets of deviant work, people are less likely to
have expertise in their trade or to deliver on promises made.
There are also limitations to the career analogy. Although legitimate work
may have several structures (the compressed career, the bureaucratic career, the
entrepreneurial career), the patterns for deviant careers are more generally
entrepreneurial. Entry may take many shapes and lengths of time. Once one enters
into deviance, behavioral shifts may be lateral and downward as well as upward,
precipitous as well as gradual and controlled, repetitive as well as dissimilar, and
they may involve continuity or a complete shift into other venues (Luckenbill
and Best, 1981). Exits are problematic, varying in the degree to which the partici-
pant initiates the exit, in whether they are temporary or lasting, and in whether
they involve anything from going out on top to slinking away in debt and dis-
grace. Perhaps the biggest contrast between deviant and legitimate careers (taking
the bureaucratic organizational form for the latter) lies in the legitimate career’s
slower ascent at the beginning and the greater stability and security toward the
end, compared with the deviant career’s rapid upward mobility and earlier burn-
out (as we see in Chapter 47 on the pimp-controlled prostitute’s career).
 ENTERING DEVIANCE

45

Deciding to Commit a Burglary

RICHARD T. WRIGHT AND SCOTT H. DECKER

In this classical occupational study of deviance, Wright and Decker share with us
their insights into the motivations and behavior of residential burglars. Simply
written and filled with rich quotes, this chapter affirms the view that most
burglaries are committed spontaneously by semiskilled criminals. Crimes of
opportunity, burglaries are fueled by perpetrators’ desire formoney. Although
most attempt to diminish the stigma of their crimes by rationalizing that they steal
to support their basic living expenses, Wright and Decker undercut these accounts
as impression management, citing subjects’ behavior and alternative explanations
that they steal to gain money for drugs, for partying, to impress women, and to
sustain an overall high lifestyle with the trappings of material success. Enmeshed
in the world of instant gratification, these burglars give lip service to their desire for
legitimate jobs, but have neither the patience nor the interest in developing the
skills required for legitimate work or in working their way up the ladder of
legitimate career success. For most of Wright and Decker’s subjects, burglary is
their “main line,” although not the only line of deviant income. In addition to
burglarizing for the financial yield, they are attracted to residential burglary by the
excitement, the freedom, the adventure, the spontaneity, the identity it confers
upon them, and the instant gratification. These people enact a criminal lifestyle
that is reinforced by the norms and values of the deviant subculture in which
they are ensconced.

he demographic characteristics of residential burglars have been well docu-

mented. As Shover (1991) has observed, such offenders are, among other
things, disproportionately young, male, and poor. These characteristics serve to
identify a segment of the population more prone than others to resort to break-
ing into dwellings, but they offer little insight into the actual causes of residential
burglary. Many poor, young males, after all, never commit any sort of serious

From Richard T. Wright and Scott H. Decker, Burglars on the Job: Streelife and Residential
Break-ins, pp. 35-61. © University Press of New England, Lebanon, NH. Reprinted with
permission.

549
550 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

offense, let alone a burglary. And even those who carry out such crimes are not
offending most of the time. This is not, by and large, a continually motivated
eroup of criminals; the motivation for them to offend is closely tied to their
assessment of current circumstances and prospects. The direct cause of residential
burglary is a perceptual process through which the offense comes to be seen as a
means of meeting an immediate need, that is, through which a motive for the
crime is formed. Walker (1984: viii) has pointed out that, in order to develop a
convincing explanation for criminal behavior, we must begin by “distinguishing
the states of mind in which offenders commit, or contemplate the commission
of, their offenses.” Similarly, Katz (1988: 4), arguing for increased research into
what he calls the foreground of criminality, has noted that all of the demographic
information on criminals in the world cannot answer the following question:
“Why are people who were not determined to commit a crime one moment
determined to do so the next?” This is the question to which the present chapter
is addressed. The aim is to explore the extent to which the decision to commit a
residential burglary is the result of a process of careful calculation and deliberation.
In the overwhelming majority of cases, the decision to commit a residential
burglary arises in the face of what offenders perceive to be a pressing need for
cash. Previous research consistently has shown this to be so and the results of the
present study bear out this point. More than nine out of ten of the offenders in
our sample—95 of 102—reported that they broke into dwellings primarily when
they needed money[:]
Well, it’s like, the way it clicks into your head is like, you'll be thinking
about something and, you know, it’s a problem. Then it, like, all relates.
“Hey, I need some money! Then how am I going to get money? Well,
how do you know how to get money quick and easy?” Then there it is.
Next thing you know, you are watching [a house] or calling to see if
[the occupants] are home. (Wild Will—No. 010) ...
These offenders were not motivated by a desire for money for its own sake. By
and large, they were not accumulating the capital needed to achieve a long-
range goal. Rather, they regarded money as providing them with the means to
solve an immediate problem. In their view, burglary was matter of day-to-day
survival|:]

I didn’t have the luxury of laying back in on damn pinstriped [suit]. ’'m
poor and I’m raggedy and I need some food and I need some shoes ...
So I got to have some money some kind of way. If it’s got to be the
wrong way, then so be it. (Mark Smith—No. 030) ...
Given this view, it is unsurprising that the frequency with which the offenders
committed burglaries was governed largely by the amount of money in their
pockets. Many of them would not offend so long as they had sufficient cash to
meet current expenses|:|
Usually what I'll do is a burglary, maybe two or three if Ihave to, and
then this will help me get over the rough spot until I can get my shit
 CHAPTER 45 DECIDING TO COMM
A BURGLARY
IT 551

straightened out. Once I get it straightened out, I just go with the flow
until I hit that rough spot where I need the money again. And then I hit
it ... the only time I would go and commit a burglary is if Ineeded the
money at that point in time. That would be strictly to pay light bill, gas
bill, rent. (Dan Whiting—No. 102)

Long as I got some money, I’m cool. IfIain’t got no money and I want
to get high, then I go for it. (Janet Wilson—No. 060)
You know how they say stretch a dollar? I’ll stretch it from here to the
parking lot. But I can only stretch it so far and then it breaks. Then I
say, “Well, I guess I got to go put on my black clothes. Go on out there
like a thief in the night.” (Ralph Jones—No. 018)
A few of the offenders sometimes committed a burglary even though they
had sufficient cash for their immediate needs. These subjects were not purposely
saving money, but they were unwilling to pass up opportunities to make more.
They attributed their behavior to having become “greedy” or “addicted” to
money|:]

I have done it out of greed, per se. Just to be doing it and to have more
money, you know? Say, for instance, I have two hundred dollars in my
pocket now. If I had two more hundreds, then that’s four hundred
dollars. Go out there and do a burglary. Then I say, “If I have four
hundred dollars, then I can have a thousand.” Go out there and do a
burglary. (No. 018) ...
Typically, the offenders did not save the money that they derived through bur-
glary. Instead, they spent it for one or more of the following purposes: (1) to
“keep the party going”; (2) to keep up appearances; or (3) to keep themselves
and their families fed, clothed, and sheltered.

KEEPING THE PARTY GOING

Although the offenders often stated that they committed residential burglaries to
“survive,” there is a danger in taking this claim at face value. When asked how
they spent the proceeds of their burglaries, nearly three-quarters of them—68 of
95—-said they used the money for various forms of (for want of a better term)
high-living. Most commonly, this involved the use of illicit drugs. Fifty-nine of
the 68 offenders who spent the money obtained from burglary on pleasure-
seeking pursuits specifically mentioned the purchase of drugs. For many of
these respondents, the decision to break into a dwelling often arose as a result
of a heavy session of drug use. The objective was to get the money to keep
the party going.
The drug most frequently implicated in these situations was “crack”
cocaine.
552 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

[Y]ou ever had an urge before? Maybe a cigarette urge or a food urge,
where you eat that and you got to have more and more? That’s how
that crack is. You smoke it and it hits you [in the back of the throat]
and you got to have more. I’ll smoke that sixteenth up and get through,
it’s like I never had none. I got to have more. Therefore, I gots to go do
another burglary and gets some more money. (Richard Jackson—
Nox 009): e2.
Lemert (1953: 304) has labelled situations like these “dialectical, self-enclosed
systems of behavior” in that they have an internal logic or “false structure,”
which calls for more of the same. Once locked into such events, he asserts, par-
ticipants experience considerable pressure to continue, even if this involves
breaking the law[:]
A man away from home who falls in with a group of persons who have
embarked upon a two or three-day or even a week’s period of drinking
and carousing ... tends to have the impetus’to continue the pattern
which gets mutually reinforced by [the] interaction of the participants,
and [the pattern] tends to have an accelerated beginning, a climax and a
terminus. If midway through a spree a participant runs out of money,
the pressures immediately become critical to take such measures as are
necessary to preserve the behavior sequence. A similar behavior
sequence is [evident] in that of the alcoholic who reaches a “high point”
in his drinking and runs out of money. He might go home and get
clothes to pawn or go and borrow money from a friend or even apply
for public relief, but these alternatives become irrelevant because of the
immediacy of his need for alcohol. (Lemert, 1953: 303)
Implicit in this explanation is an image of actors who become involved in
offending without significant calculation; having embarked voluntarily on one
course of action (e.g., crack smoking), they suddenly find themselves being
drawn into an unanticipated activity (e.g., residential burglary) as a means of sus-
taining that action. Their offending is not the result of a thoughtful, carefully
reasoned process. Instead, it emerges as part of the natural flow of events, seem-
ingly coming out of nowhere. In other words, it is not so much that these actors
consciously choose to commit crimes as that they elect to get involved in situa-
tions that drive them toward lawbreaking.
Beyond the purchase ofillicit drugs and, to a lesser extent, alcohol, 10 of the
68 offenders—15 percent—also used the proceeds from their residential burglar-
ies to pursue sexual conquests. All of these’ offenders were male. Some liked to
flash money about, believing that this was the way to attract women ....[:]
[I commit burglaries to] splurge money with the women, you know,
that’s they kick, that’s what they like to do. (jon Monroe—No. 011) ...
Like getting high, sexual conquest was a much-prized symbol of hipness through
which the male subjects in our sample could accrue status among their peers on
the street. The greatest prestige was accorded to those who were granted sexual
 CHAPTER 45 DECIDING TO COMMIT
A BURGLARY 553

favors solely on the basis of smooth talk and careful impression management.
Nevertheless, a few of the offenders took a more direct approach to obtaining
sex by paying a streetcorner prostitute (sometimes referred to as a “duck”) for
it. While this was regarded as less hip than the more subtle approach described
above, it had the advantage of being easy and uncomplicated. As such,
it appealed to offenders who were wrapped up in partying and therefore reluc-
tant to devote more effort than was necessary to satisfy their immediate sexual
desires|:]

I spend [the money] on something to drink, ... then get me some

[marijuana]. Then I’m gonna find me a duck. (Ricky Davis—No. 015)
It would be misleading to suggest that any of the offenders we spoke to commit-
ted burglaries specifically to get money for sex, but a number of them often
directed a portion of their earnings toward this goal.
In short, among the major purposes for which the offenders used the money
derived from burglary was the maintenance of a lifestyle centered on illicit drugs,
but frequently incorporating alcohol and sexual conquests as well. This lifestyle
reflects the values of the street culture, a culture characterized by an openness to
“illicit action” (Katz, 1988: 209-15), to which most of our subjects were strongly
committed. Viewed from the perspective of the offenders, then, the oft-heard
claim that they broke into dwellings to survive does not seem quite so farfetched.
The majority of them saw their fate as inextricably linked to an ability to fulfill
the imperatives of life on the street.

KEEPING UP APPEARANCES

Of the 95 offenders who committed residential burglaries primarily for financial

reasons, 43 reported that they used the cash to purchase various “status” items.
The most popular item was clothing; 39 of the 43 said that they bought clothes
with the proceeds of their crimes. At one level, of course, clothing must be
regarded as necessary for survival. The responses of most of the offenders, how-
ever, left little doubt that they were not buying clothes to protect themselves
from the elements, but rather to project a certain image; they were drawn to
styles and brand names regarded as chic on the streets|:]

See, I go steal money and go buy me some clothes. See, I likes to look
good. I likes to dress. All I wear is Stacy Adams, that’s all I wear. [I own]
only one pair of blue jeans cause I likes to dress. (No. O11) ....

After clothes, cars and car accessories were the next most popular status items
bought by the offenders. Seven of the 43 reported spending at least some of
the money they got from burglaries on their cars[:]
I spent [the money] on stuff for my car. Like I said, I put a lot of money
into my car ... I had a 779 Grand Prix, you know, a nice car. (Matt
Detteman—No. 072)
554 PART VII| DEVIANT CAREERS

The attributes of a high-status vehicle varied. Not all of these offenders, for
example, would have regarded a 1979 Grand Prix as conferring much prestige
on its owner. Nevertheless, they were agreed that driving a fancy or customized
car, like wearing fashionable clothing, was an effective way of enhancing one’s
street status ....[:|
I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about it, but I think every crook
likes the life of thieving and then going and being somebody better.
Really, you are deceiving people; letting them think that you are well
off .... You’ve got a nice car, you can go about and do this and do that.
It takes money to buy that kind of life.
Shover and Honaker (1990: 11) have suggested that the concern of offenders
with outward appearances, as with their notorious high-living, grows out of
what is typically a strong attachment to the values of street culture[:] values that
place great emphasis on the “ostentatious enjoyment and display of luxury
items.” In a related vein, Katz (1988) has argued that for those who are commit-
ted to streetlife, the reckless spending of cash on luxury goods is an end in itself,
demonstrating their disdain for the ordinary citizen’s pursuit of financial security.
Seen through the eyes of the offenders, therefore, money spent on such goods
has not been “blown,” but rather represents a cost of raising or maintaining one’s
status on the street.

KEEPING THINGS TOGETHER

While most of the offenders spent much of the money they earned through res-
idential burglary on drugs and clothes, a substantial number also used some of it
for daily living expenses. Of the 95 who committed burglaries to raise money,
50 claimed that they needed the cash for subsistence[:]
I do [burglaries] to keep myself together, keep myself up.
(Games Brown—No. (25) ...

Quite a few of the offenders—13 of 50—said that they paid bills with the
money derived from burglary. Here again, however, there is a danger of being
misled by such claims. To be sure, these offenders did use some of their burglary
money to take care of bills. Often, though, the bills were badly delinquent
because the offenders avoided paying them for as long as possible—even when
they had the cash—in favor of buying, most typically, drugs. It was not until the
threat of serious repercussions created unbearable pressure for the offenders that
they relented and settled their accounts[:]
[Sometimes I commit burglaries when] things pressuring me, you know?
I got to do somethin’ about these bills. Bills. | might let it pass that mor-
nin’. Then I start trippin’ on it at night and, next thing you know, it’s
wakin’ me up. Yeah, that’s when I got to get out and go do a burglary.
I got to pay this electric bill off, this gas bill, you know? (No. 009) ...
 CHAPTER 45 DECIDING TO COMMIT
A BURGLARY 555

Spontaneity is a prominent feature of street culture (Shover and Honaker,

1992); it is not surprising that many of the offenders displayed a marked ten-
dency to live for the moment. Often they would give every indication of
intending to take care of their obligations, financial or otherwise, only to be dis-
tracted by more immediate temptations. For instance, a womam in our sample,
after being paid for an interview, asked us to drive her to a place where she could
buy a pizza for her children’s lunch. On the way to the restaurant, however, she
changed her mind and asked to be dropped off at a crack house instead....
Katz (1988: 216) has suggested that, through irresponsible spending, persis-
tent offenders seek to construct “an environment of pressures that guide[s] them
back toward crime.” Whether offenders spend money in a conscious attempt to
create such pressures is arguable; the subjects in our sample gave no indication of
doing so, appearing simply to be financially irresponsible. One offender, for
example, told us that he never hesitated to spend money, adding, “Why should I?
I can always get some more.” However, the inclination of offenders to free-
spending leaves them with few alternatives but to continue committing crimes.
Their next financial crisis is never far around the corner.
The high-living of the offenders, thus, calls into question the extent to
which they are driven to crime by genuine financial hardship. At the same
time, though, their spendthrift ways ensure that the crimes they commit will be
economically motivated (Katz, 1988). The offenders perceive themselves as
needing money, and their offenses typically are a response to this perception.
Objectively, however, few are doing burglaries to escape impoverishment.

WHY BURGLARY?

The decision to commit a residential burglary, then, is usually prompted by a

perceived need for cash. Burglary, however, is not the only means by which
offenders could get some money. Why do they choose burglary over legitimate
work? Why do they elect to carry out a burglary rather than borrow the money
from a friend or relative? Additionally, why do they select burglary rather than
some other crime?
Given the streetcorner context in which most burglary decisions were made,
legitimate work did not represent a viable solution for most of the offenders in
our sample. These subjects, with few exceptions, wanted money there and then
and, in such circumstances, even day labor was irrelevant because it did not
respond to the immediacy of their desire for cash (Lemert, 1953). Moreover,
the jobs available to most of the offenders were poorly paid and could not sustain
their desired lifestyles. It is notable that 17 of the 95 offenders who did burglaries
primarily to raise money were legitimately employed[:]
[I have a job, but] I got tired of waiting on that money. I can get money
like that. I got talent, I can do me a burg, man, and get me five or six
hundred dollars in less than a hour. Working eight hours a day and waiting
for a whole week for a check and it ain’t even about shit. (No. 022)....
556 PART VIII DEVIANT CAREERS

Beyond this [attitude], a few of the offenders expressed a strong aversion to

legitimate employment, saying that a job would impinge upon their way of life[:]
I ain’t workin’ and too lazy to work and just all that. I like it to where I
can just run around. I don’t got to get up at no certain time, just
whenever I wake up. I ain’t gotta go to bed a certain time to get up ata
certain time. Go to bed around one o’clock or when I want, get up
when I want. Ain’t got to go to work and work eight hours. Just go in
and do a five minute job, get that money, that’s just basically it. (Tony
Scott—No. 085) ...
Nevertheless, a majority of the offenders reported that they wanted lawful
employment; 43 of the 78 unemployed subjects who said that they did burglaries
mostly for the money claimed they would stop committing offenses if someone
gave them a “good” job[:]
I’m definitely going to give it up as soon as I get me a good job. I don't
mean making fifteen dollars an hour. Give me a job making five-fifty
and I’m happy with it. I don’t got to burglarize no more. I’m not doing
it because I like doing it, ’'m doing it because I need some [drugs].
(ING. O79) >”:
When faced with an immediate need for cash, then, the offenders in our
sample perceived themselves as having little hope of getting money both quickly
and legally. Many of the most efficient solutions to financial troubles are against
the law (Lofland, 1969). However, this [fact] does not explain why the subjects
decided specifically on the crime of residential burglary. After all, most of them
admitted committing other sorts of offenses in the past, and some still were doing so.
Why should they choose burglary?
For some subjects, this question held little relevance because they regarded
residential burglary as their “main line” and alternative offenses were seldom
considered when the need for money arose....[:]
[I do burglary] because it’s easy and because I know it. It’s kind ofgetting a
speciality or a career. If you’re in one line, or one field, and you know it
real well, then you don’t have any qualms about doing it. But if you try
something new, you could really mess up .... At this point, ve gotten
away with so much [that] I just don’t want to risk it—it’s too much to risk
at this point. I feel like I have a good pattern, clean; go in the house, come
back out, under two minutes every time. (Darlene White—No. 100) ...
When these subjects did commit another kind of offense, it typically was trig-
gered by the chance discovery of a vulnerable target ... most of the burglars
we interviewed identified themselves as hustlers, people who were always look-
ing to “get over” by making some fast cash; it would have been out of character
for them to pass up any kind of presented opportunity to do sof:]
If Isee another hustle, then I’ll do it, but burglary is my pet.
(Larry Smith—No. 065) ...
 CHAPTER 45 DECIDING TO COMMIT
A BURGLARY 557

THE SEDUCTIONS OF RESIDENTIAL BURGLARY

For some offenders, the perceived benefits of residential burglary may transcend
the amelioration of financial need. A few of the subjects we interviewed—7 of
102—said that they did not typically commit burglaries as much for-the money
as for the psychic rewards. These offenders reported breaking into dwellings pri-
marily because they enjoyed doing so. Most of them did not enjoy burglary per
se, but rather the risks and challenges inherent in the crimef[:]
[I]t’s really because I like [burglaries]. I know that if I get caught I’m a
do more time than the average person, but still, it’s the risk. I like doin’
them. (No. 013)

I think [burglary is] fun. It’s a challenge. You don’t know whether
you're getting caught or not and I like challenges. If I can get
a challenging [burglary, I] like that. It’s more of the risk that
you got to take, you know, to see how good you can really be.
(No. 103)
These subjects seemingly viewed the successful completion of an offense as “a ce

thrilling demonstration of personal competence” (Katz, 1988: 9). Given this

[frame of mind], it is not surprising that the catalyst for their crimes often was a
mixture of boredom and an acute sense of frustration born of failure at legitimate
activities such as work or schoo][:]
[Burglary] just be something to do. I might not be workin’ or not going
to school—not doing anything. So I just decide to do a burglary.
(No. 017)
The offense provided these offenders with more than something exciting to do;
it also offered them the chance to “be somebody” by successfully completing a
dangerous act. Similarly, Shover and Honaker (1992: 288) have noted that,
through crime, offenders seek to demonstrate a sense of control or mastery
over their lives and thereby to gain “a measure of respect, if not from others, at
least from [themselves].”...
While only a small number of the subjects in our sample said that they were
motivated primarily by the psychic rewards of burglary, many of them perceived
such rewards as a secondary benefit of the offense. Sixteen of the 95 offenders
who did burglaries to raise cash also said that they found the crime to be “excit-
ing” or “thrilling.”...[:]
[Beyond money], it’s the thrill. If you get out [of the house], you smile
and stand on it, breathe out. (No. 045)
It’s just a thrill going in undetected and walking out with all they
shit. Man, that shit fucks me up. (No. 022) ...
Finally, one of the offenders who did burglaries chiefly for monetary
reasons alluded to the fact that the crime also provided him with a valued
identity...
558 PART VIIl|_ DEVIANT CAREERS

SUMMARY

Offenders typically decided to commit a residential burglary in response to a per-

ceived need. In most cases, this need was financial, calling for the immediate
acquisition of money. However, it sometimes involved what was interpreted as
a need to repel an attack on the status, identity, or self-esteem of the offenders.
Whatever its character, the need almost invariably was regarded by the offen-
ders as pressing, that is, as something that had to be dealt with immediately.
Lofland (1969: 50) has observed that most people, when under pressure, have a
tendency to become fixated on removing the perceived cause of that pressure “as
quickly as possible.” Those in our sample were no exception. In such a state, the
offenders were not predisposed to consider unfamiliar, complicated, or long-term
solutions (see Lofland, 1969: 50—54) and instead fell back on residential burglary,
which they knew well. This [fallback] often seemed to-happen almost automati-
cally, the crime occurring with minimal calculation [and] as part of amore general
path of action (e.g., partying). To the extent that the offense ameliorated their
distress, it nurtured a tendency for them to view burglary as a reliable means of
dealing with similar pressures in the future. In this way, a foundation was laid for
the continuation of their present lifestyle which, by and large, revolved around
the street culture. The self-indulgent activities supported by this culture, in turn,
precipitated new pressures; and thus a vicious cycle developed.
That the offenders, at the time of actually contemplating offenses, typically
perceived themselves to be in a situation of immediate need has at least two
important implications. First, it suggests a mind-set in which they were seeking
less to maximize their gains than to deal with a present crisis. Second, it indicates
an element of desperation which might have weakened the influence of threat-
ened sanctions and neutralized any misgivings about the morality of breaking
into dwellings....

REFERENCES

Katz,J. 1988. Seductions of Crime: Moral and Property Offenders: A Review of

Sensual Attractions in Doing Evil. New Evidence.” Paper presented at the
York: Basic Books. Forty-second Annual Meeting of the
Lemert, E. 1953. “An Isolation and Closure American Society of Criminology,
Theory of Naive Check Forgery.” Baltimore, November.
Journal of Criminal Law, Criminology, . 1992. “The Socially Bounded
and Police Science 44: 296-307. Decision Making of Persistent Prop-
Lofland, J. 1969. Deviance and Identity. erty Offenders.” Howard Journal of
Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Criminal Justice 31. no. 4: 276-93.
Shover, N. 1991. “Burglary.” In Tonry,M., |Walker, N. 1984. “Foreword.” In
Crime and Justice: A Review ofResearch. Bennett, T., and Wright, R. Burglars
vol. 14. pp. 73-113. Chicago: Uni- on Burglary: Prevention and the
versity of Chicago Press. Offender. pp. viii-ix. Aldershot,
UK: Gower.
Shover, N., and Honaker, D. 1990. “The
Criminal Calculus of Persistent
 MANAGING DEVIANCE

46

Social Smoking: A Liminal Position

JASON WHITESEL AND AMY SHUMAN

Social smokers occupy a marginal status, belonging to neither the category of

smokers nor that of nonsmokers. Although they self-identify more closely with the
latter, society may place them more strongly in the camp of the former. All of the
people in Whitesel and Shuman’s study had previously been, at one point or
another, regular smokers. But they intentionally removed themselves from this
category to occupy a more difficult and ephemeral one falling somewhere in
between; they smoke on social occasions only.
This chapter offers a fascinating discussion, that you are likely to find
familiar, of some of the ways social smokers justify their status and somewhat
“mooching” behavior. Techniques for bumming are discussed, as are the ways
these individuals manage their position in relation to nonsmokers, regular
smokers, and other social smokers. In reading this piece, pay particular attention
to the social status and identity of social smokers as they relate to those three
groups of people. How does their liminal status benefit them? Disadvantage
them? How does this type of status compare with that of the bisexuals discussed
by Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor in Chapter 24?

ith increasing attention to health consequences, smoking in the United

States has decreased in everyday practice, while, at the same time, con-
tinuing to be a means for claiming or denying a socially performed identity.
Even in a climate of awareness regarding its health risks, social smoking helps
negotiate complex roles of performance and exchange. In this paper, we discuss
the availability and sustainability of the category of the “social smoker” in a
world that requires a sharp distinction between the habitual [smoker] and the
nonsmoker (both of which require identity work). The paradox for social
smokers is that they believe that they are nonsmokers, but they tend to find
their allies among habitual smokers, those who share a similar stigmatized and

From Jason Whitesel and Amy Shuman (2009). Social Smoking: A Liminal Position.
Sociological Focus, 42(4), 330-349.

559
560 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

regulatory discourse. In the current climate of smoking bans in public places, the
alienation of smokers is exacerbated. Social smokers move in and out of passing
as either habitual smokers or as nonsmokers, even as passing in one category
inevitably delegitimizes their claims to membership in the other. Social smokers
do not belong to a coherent or fixed category; rather, social smoking destabilizes
the rigidity of the habitual smoker/nonsmoker binary.
Social smokers eventually experience a disconfirming reality. This is an
estrangement problem in which people lack social alliances in a society that does
not recognize their experiences. Social smokers, who also experience a lack of cat-
egory recognition, can suffer from a kind of hypervisibility in which olfactory and
visible evidence forces them to question which version of reality is correct, or if
they can sustain the reality they prefer. The alternative is not only for stigmatized
individuals to pass as normal, but also—more importantly—to find a means to sus-
tain the ambiguity of a contradictory position.
Conscious of the possibility that smoking produces real consequences for
physical health and that smoking is stigmatized as a filthy habit, social smokers
try to differentiate themselves from habitual smokers, and they convince them-
selves that they are effectively nonsmokers. Survey results representing the pri-
mary motivation for social smoking as “a dismissive attitude to the dangers of
smoking” cannot account for its social dimension. Our research documents social
smoking as a self-conscious performance involving elaborate, practiced, ongoing
behavioral management. We argue that social smokers formulate intricate strate-
gies that depend on reciprocity and mutual recognition to create a barely sustain-
able social identity associated with a stigmatized practice.
Social smokers use a variety of terms to distinguish between levels of commit-
ment to smoking, including “antismoker,” “situational smoker,” and “stress
smoker.” Smokers categorize their practice according to either the contexts in
which they smoke or the quantity of cigarettes consumed (i.e., ““pack-a-day”’ smo-
kers). Our research demonstrates how the particular category of social smoker is
characterized by more than the superficial self-regulatory practice of smoking
fewer cigarettes or smoking in limited circumstances. Consequently, cigarettes
become an available resource for a slew of things, such as a way of working out
social relationships or communicating social and economic positions. This [even-
tuality] leads to a relatively unknown dimension of the sociability of smoking:
social smokers’ shared understanding ofthe cigarette gift economy—that is, elabo-
rate negotiations of exchange, even reciprocity, in which the decision not to
purchase cigarettes helps create the self-definition of the nonsmoker who then
borrows or bums cigarettes.
We explore how the contradictory and incompatible demands on social
smokers’ identity performance are negotiated. We investigate two broad research
questions. First, what self-presentation creates alignment with nonsmokers, habitual
smokers, reformed smokers, and even antismokers? Second, as the number of existing social
categoriesforsmoking diminishes, how do social smokers adjust their identities? In addres-
sing these questions, we focus on the relationship between smoking practices and
metacommentaries about those practices.
 CHAPTER46 SOCIAL SMOKING: A LIMINAL POSITION 561

METHODS

After reviewing historical data and conducting participant observation research

Over a period of two years, we determined that the best means to identify and
collect the performance strategies of self-identified social smokers was in-depth,
semistructured interviews. We conducted seventeen interviews and ethnographic
observations of women from Columbus, Ohio, and the surrounding Midwest area
between the fall of 2001 and the summer of 2003, resulting in 442 single-spaced
typed pages of data. To obtain as diverse a sample as possible, we recruited volun-
teers by posting and distributing project advertisements seeking social smokers at
the local university, in an undergraduate newsletter, and in local bars. Purposive
sampling was used to ensure that women who are social smokers would be
included. We sampled women, based on prior research that suggests that female
informants, unlike males, might be more attuned to external, social intangibles,
such as holding or smelling a cigarette, or other factors that arouse the urge to
smoke. Interviewees were mostly young women associated with a college, follow-
ing recent research indicating the prevalence of social smoking among that group.
This convenience sample offered us the opportunity to study smoking decisions
among people who have the resources to consider alternatives to smoking.
In these confidential interviews, we inquired about informants’ beneficial and
negative experiences with smoking. One woman limited her smoking identity to a
“closet smoker” and only four of the women had previously considered themselves
habitual smokers. Though the extent of the women’s participation in social smoking
ranged from five months to 40 years, most fell within a three- to eight-year window
of involvement, with five years being the median. Three types of potential
informants were not interviewed, based on the purposive sampling design: irrefut-
able nonsmokers, current daily smokers, and exclusive cannabis smokers.
Informants described a wide range of smoking practices, including [the prac-
tices of] people who just “looked like” smokers but did not smoke. Some of the
interviewees were antismokers, claimed to be nonsmokers for the purposes of
medical records, [and] had previously considered themselves habitual smokers,
and some were looking to become irrefutable nonsmokers. Despite these multiple,
and, perhaps, contradictory selflabels, the respondents all shared the characteristics
of nondaily smoking and [using smoking as] a social means for self-control (as
opposed to addiction).
Of the women interviewed, fifteen were between 20 and 35 years old; one was
36, and one was 60. Of the seventeen interviewees, one was Asian, one African
American, and the rest were white. The participants were invited to describe
their relationship status. Nine of the respondents were single at the time of the
interview, [and] the majority of them were heterosexual; eight of the respondents
were in long-term relationships (three were married, three cohabited, two were in
a lesbian partnership). Three young women identified as bisexual or “curious.”
Our research might support existing arguments for the correlation between already
marginal (especially lower socioeconomic) people and smoking in the United
States. However, we are less interested in whether already marginal people
562 PART VII|_ DEVIANT CAREERS

smoke than in how those in one category of smokers (social smokers) redefine
themselves as outside the stigma. Our respondents utilize elaborate mechanisms
to sustain their identities and disidentify with the stigmatized practice of smoking.

FINDINGS

Social smoking is a self-conscious category. We are interested not only in what

social smokers do, but also in how they attach meaning to their practices and in
their discourse about smoking as an identityshaping practice.

Smoking as a Social Activity

Smoking has always offered possibilities for camaraderie and social interaction.
“Smoke breaks” were once a feature of many U.S. workplaces. In the new anti-
smoking climate, especially in communities dominated by a nonsmoking ethos,
smoking requires a more careful presentation of self, involving several paradoxes
that challenge personal integrity. One veteran ‘social smoker commented, “I
think ’'m the bisexual in the smoking world.... Bisexuals aren’t really accepted
by straights or gays—they’re not accepted by either niche. [Likewise,] we’re not
accepted as either being a smoker or nonsmoker.” We describe how social
smokers characterize the integrity of their practice and how it is challenged by a
complex gift economy in the exchange of cigarettes and lighters. Social smoking
is a mode of social interaction characterized by self-deception, face-saving, and
repositioning within a culturally unavailable category.
Our interviews with self-identified social smokers confirm smoking as a
social activity. The interviewees recognized that even the “real ... ‘tried and
true’ heavy smokers” often hype up their smoking in order to enjoy the com-
pany of others. One woman was bewildered when we asked her to try to iden-
tify any individuals with a smoking habit similar to hers. However, when she
began to consider those individuals outside the imagined social smoking commu-
nity, she readily acknowledged that those in her larger fellowship of bona fide
smokers also tend to “increase the number of cigarettes they smoke and appear
to use cigarettes in a more socially engaged manner.” She elaborated that this
sociability between all smokers occurs “in a way that is interactive with those
around them,” making smoking “a shared experience.”
Among the interviewees, those who were students reported that stepping
out for a cigarette provides the social intercourse that the solitary work of aca-
demic life often inhibits. One student reported that the irony of being a social
smoker is that she became more conscious af how habitual smokers also employ
cigarettes in order to fulfill an interpersonal need: “Regina, in my department,
she’ll always go around to the smokers, ‘Are you going to smoke? Are you going
to smoke?’ She doesn’t want to smoke by herself, even [when she’s] a heavy
smoker.” According to a social smoker who works at a drugstore, social and
habitual smokers smoke within group settings where cigarettes serve as the adhe-
sive for “an atmosphere of conviviality.” Unable to smoke in the company of
nonsmokers, smokers seek each other out.
 CHAPTER 46 SOCIAL SMOKING
A LIMINAL
: POSITION 563

Bumming a Cigarette or a Light

In deciding not to purchase cigarettes, social smokers align themselves with non-
smokers as opposed to habitual smokers, but then they must borrow or “bum”
cigarettes. This situation requires occasional cigarette purchases, not just for
themselves but for a group of nonpurchasing bumming social smokers. Not
having cigarettes is a hallmark of the social smoker—thus, bumming takes on a
different significance than it has for smokers generally, who also participate in the
gift economy but who reciprocate more readily. One of the untenable dimen-
sions of social smokers is that they should not have cigarettes; they prefer to bum
them, but they seldom reciprocate. They occupy a contradictory, culturally
unavailable position. Social smokers are beholden to and enabled by the very
others with whom they do not want to be associated.
Many informants commented on the widespread phenomenon of bumming
a cigarette, which involves engaging in elaborate negotiations of exchange, even
reciprocity. According to the informants, “cadging a cigarette” not only restrains
smoking involvement, but also sustains the self-identity of nonsmoker. They
believe that if a pack of cigarettes seldom infiltrates their residence, there will
probably be insufficient means to support routine smoking. One respondent
stated, “I only bum cigarettes from others. | don’t want to buy cigarettes for
myself. ... Everyone I bum cigarettes from knows that I’m not interested in get-
ting rehooked, so it’s a casual thing. And everyone asks for my girlfriend’s per-
mission first.” This quote clearly illustrates that for social smokers, the intent
behind bumming is both to limit smoking to public occasions and to exclude
cigarettes and paraphernalia from private domains.
In his foundational research on public gifting, Marcel Mauss demonstrated
how every offering is actually embedded in a larger system of reciprocity. He
argued [that] the relationship between giver and receiver is governed by the
rule that the recipient should always give back more than what was received;
there is no such thing as free alms ([1950] 1990). Consistent with this rule, the
social smokers in this study discussed several ways in which the act of “bum-
ming” enhanced their smoking objectives but potentially damaged their reputa-
tions. One informant insisted that with cigarettes costing “four dollars a package
now,” seeking and accepting them from others is an “intrusion.” She asserted,
““neither a borrower nor a lender be’ ... cigarettes are expensive.... I feel that
it’s socially incorrect [to bum], but it wouldn’t stop me from doing it.... Nor
would I resent it if anybody bummed a cigarette from me.” These comments
of a social smoker highlight that in contrast to market exchanges, gifts tend
to be given “in the context of public drama,” which makes them highly sus-
ceptible to public scrutiny, or, as the respondent suggested, to a judgment of
fairness.
Cigarettes and “lights” have long been understood as public exchange com-
modities. Carol Brooks Gardner (1986) discusses exhaustible and renewable aid,
the first corresponding to systems of giving, and the second to systems of bor-
rowing. According to Gardner, a match or a cigarette is an exhaustible aid and a
lighter is a renewable aid.
564 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

As part of their self-characterization as nonsmokers, social smokers also

referred to “bumming a light.” Though the majority of respondents at one time
or another had made the customary request to bum a light, more than half man-
aged to avoid purchasing lighters altogether: over a third just procured free matches
at restaurants, bars, and weddings. One woman said, “I don’t know when the last
time I bought a lighter was.... [U]sually Pll bum someone else’s if Idon’t have
one.” Some respondents remarked on how nondescript lighters, without prior
claimants, are also cycled swiftly among members: “I’m a lighter clipper... [S]ome-
times you can’t help it because sometimes you have the same lighter... [B]ut, if I
see a lighter lying around and nobody’s got dibs on it, it’s mine.”
“Floating” lighters are symbolic of the social smoker’s reluctance to join the
category of smokers. Not having a lighter is about not smoking, although of course
smokers, too, can participate in the exchange of lighters on the move. Respon-
dents chronicled movement, meaning, and image-making as relevant to the social
context of their behavior. Lewis Hyde identifies the central criterion of gifts as
their movement: “the gift must always move. There are other forms of property that
stand still, that mark a boundary or resist momentum, but the gift keeps going”
({1979] 1983:12 italics in original). One couple, both social smokers, reported
the mysterious appearance of a lighter that prominently displayed a male stripper.
The male striptease lighter, though appreciated as retro or kitsch, was detected as
an anomaly in an economy in which lighters came and went without being
accounted for. Here, the lighter seemed to be one of those objects that often
escapes accountability and yet belongs to the exchange economy. In this case,
identity 1s produced through circulation of rather than attachment to objects.
The unbroken sequence of the lighter reiterates how social smokers’ seemingly
insignificant improvisational acts actively bring together a smoking community—
if only assembling it by the evocations brought to mind through exchanged
objects. Informants’ reports about the fluidity of lighter ownership illustrate an
alternative to the model of reciprocity described by Mauss[—that] is, that recipro-
city is achieved not by giving in equal or greater amounts but by a shared knowl-
edge that what goes around, comes around—one loses lighters, one finds them.

Four Characteristics of Bumming

The interviewees displayed four smoking behaviors associated with bumming:
acquiring a cigarette, resolving how to ask, status differentiations, and inventing
a reciprocal community.

Acquiring a Cigarette The women often reported being offered a cigarette

without having petitioned for it. These offerings frequently came as the result
of a benefactor’s knowledge about the informant’s penchant for occasional
tobacco use. Kitty said that it was common for her close friends to offer cigarettes
spontaneously, but she also noted, “Even habitual smokers that are just kind of
acquaintances, when they go to light up, they'll offer so you don’t really have to
ask.” For one woman, knowing the donor determined whether she made a
request or a demand: “I usually just say, “Can I have one?’ and that suffices.
 CHAPTER 46 SOCIAL SMOKING
A LIMINAL
: POSITION 565

If it’s a cigarette from my boyfriend, I don’t actually ask ... it’s more of a com-
mand: “Give me one.’” Most women described uncomfortable moments when
they had not anticipated going out with less intimate compatriots, but the mood
seemed appropriate for a cigarette. One young woman said:

Occasionally, a group of friends will go to a bar after a meeting or

something and Ill just kinda go to go along and they'll be like, “Well,
_I'm going to have a cigarette,” and they'll be like, “Do you want one,”
and I'll be like, “Um, sure,” or I’ll say “No” and then I’ll be like, “Uh,
yeah, can I have a cigarette now? I changed my mind.” Well, sometimes
I feel awkward asking people like, if I’m at a bar, or party, or something,
Pll be like, okay, who am I going to ask to bum a cigarette off of and
how am I gonna say it?

This dilemma about whom to ask for a cigarette and how to ask for it caused
the women to develop both styles of soliciting and more commonly, alternatives
to conventional bumming. We can differentiate here between “demand sharing”
within already existing social relationships (such as the woman telling her boy-
friend to “give me one”) and more subtle means for procuring a cigarette that
requires added identity work.

Resolving How to Ask About one-fourth of the women had at one time or
another used flirtation or misrepresentation to resolve the quandary of how to
ask for a cigarette. Informant tactics often depended on the perceived audience.
One woman reiterated that demands can be made of people one knows, but, “if
it’s a stranger, I'll be just like uh, cute and be like, oh, ‘Can I bum a cigarette?’ in
a sweet little voice.” Similarly, another respondent remarked on the social
advantage that can be garnered by altering one’s intonation and mannerisms for
dramatic effect. “I mean the way girls ask for [cigarettes] ... they have their little
(especially if it’s a guy but as a girl too), you kind of have the whole like, cock
your head, like, voice raised, “Can I have a cigarette?’ Like that type of thing, it
seems to kind of get girls pretty far.” Another woman said that she opted for
speech that was rather ingratiating as she cajoled potential gay male donors: “If
I’m in a gay bar ... I’m like, ‘Honey, can I have a cigarette?’ I mean, it’s very sort
of gentle and friendly I think.”
Blandishment to secure a cigarette from a stranger sometimes escalates to
minor deception. One woman reported feigning either being out of cigarettes
or claiming that she forgot them[:] “When I’m with one of my smoking friends,
I don’t even really ask, I just take it or point to the box and I’m like, ‘Do you
mind?’” However, she often felt compelled to offer a rationale for coaxing cigar-
ettes from strangers: “‘I left them in my car,’ or you know, ‘I didn’t bring any
with me,’ or ‘I ran out,’ or whatever. Like if they look at you funny, that’s when
I supply the excuse. And they always say, ‘No, it’s fine. Go ahead.’ So ... it’s not
that hard.” As she explained, “You get free cigarettes that way and you don’t
have to pay for them yourself.”
In Erving Goffman’s terms, this woman’s strategies are a means of face-saving
([1955] 1967). The excuse provides a retrospective warrant for the request and
566 PART VIIl_ DEVIANT CAREERS

restores equality in a one-down situation when people “look at you funny”. As

Weiner (1976, 213) observed, “the untenable extremes of complete autonomy
from others and total dependence on others are avoided through the mechanism
of exchange. Exchange allows social space to be negotiable at the same time that
personal space (one’s autonomy) is inviolable.” The problems of losing face or
being onedown are compounded in the case of both bumming and smoking cigar-
ettes. The concepts of face-saving and one-up/one-down relationships can be mis-
leading if they are used to suggest the maintenance of existing social status. Instead,
the use of flattery or excuses can create new social configurations.

Status Differentiation Mauss demonstrated how the generalized norm of reci-

procity operates at the level of public domain in which givers and receivers
exchange roles somewhat equally. In social smoking, the roles are sometimes
more stable, as for example when one person is a fixed moocher and another a
fixed provider. Here our research on cigarette gifting provides an important
corrective to current research on the moral dimension of smoking, perhaps the
most misunderstood dimension. After conducting surveys about how much
people smoke and when, researchers too often turn to moral explanations (the
dismissal of health concerns) or the inability to quit (representing a weak will).
Smokers know the moral arguments well, but their rehearsal of them does not
indicate that they play a large role in social smoking. Instead, our research sug-
gests that issues of morality figure more into social relationships, demonstrated by
patterns of reciprocity.
Social actors begin to appraise bumming in terms of the constraint created
by expense and the social opportunities available for bumming. Social smokers
(and conceivably habitual smokers alike) realize that requesting a cigarette from
strangers can be an imposition. One woman pointed out that “at the bars, [cigar-
ettes are] not the cheapest thing. And I don’t like approaching strangers and ask-
ing for them. Even though I would give them if somebody asked me for one,
then I would give one, but I just don’t like ‘mooching.”” When we asked the
young woman above, “What is mooching?” she plainly replied, “Going and get-
ting cigarettes from people you don’t know.” In other words, a moocher
imposes too much on other people’s generosity by repeatedly trying to get
something from them.
Most informants agreed that bumming etiquette dictated that only one ciga-
rette from a stranger was permissible. A receptionist tried to avoid asking for
cigarettes but when she did solicit, “it would be one and that would be the
only time I would hit that person up for the night, and then, I would probably
try to find a cigarette machine.” She said she-would reciprocate a single cigarette,
“as long as they don’t abuse it.” Even social smokers who located cigarette
machines or put a pack on their tab during an evening at the tavern, ultimately
intending to return home without cigarettes, still endorsed the tenets set forth by
the rule of one: “One’s okay. I mean, I was at a bar one time and I gave the guy
like ten cigarettes ’cause I didn’t want the pack after that night. I was like, ‘This
is ... I’m drunk. Take these out of my hand.’ But, yeah, I think I should have
said, “One is acceptable; then go find somebody else to ask or something.’”
 CHAPTER 46 SOCIAL SMOKING
A LIMINAL
: POSITION 567

Informants recognized that gifting and borrowing cigarettes could presumably

entangle two different types of social actors: habitual [smokers] and social smokers.
Habitual smokers by far were considered both susceptible and perhaps less at lib-
erty to provide charity because of potential “nicotine fits.” One respondent, in
describing her time engaged in social smoking (generally at her favorite video
bar), said she became wary of “bumming off habitual smokers.” She explained
that she did not “want to leave them with nothing because they might have it
planned out.” The informant simulated how this smoker’s thoughts might be:
“I have this one for before I go to bed. I’ll have this one in the morning and I
have this one for driving in the car on the way to work.” Social smoking is less
predictable; that is, social smokers do not predict their next smoke, but rather they
see themselves as spontaneously responding to social occasions.

Inventing a Reciprocal Community One solution designed to circumvent

bumming... was to call on friends and family members to split a pack: “Usually
my sister and I, or my friends and I, will buy a pack and split it, you know—so that
I don’t buy them that often.” Another woman claimed that she and her friends
anticipated their needs: “When I would go out with Matt and Candy, it would
be like, ‘Well, are you going to bring the cigarettes? Okay then, we don’t have
to stop and get any.’ Like we’d be going out together and it'd be like, ‘Oh, should
we stop for cigarettes? —‘No, I brought some so don’t worry about it.’”” Calling
on friends with a mutual understanding that “I'll have some of yours, but I will
take a turn in providing them next time” was commonplace etiquette.
The women contrasted borrowing from friends with bumming from stran-
gers. Vivian described a tacit code of social smokers: “I think at some point it’s
kosher just to buy, even if you buy for the table, it’s just kosher to buy and
contribute. I think there is something sort of [communal] about that, that even
if you’re buying to have one or two, you go ahead and buy because you buy to
replace what you’ve bummed.” Such social organization among cooperating
friends with similar smoking interests was a widespread solution for effectively
reducing cigarette consumption.
The community of social smokers is defined by the practice of borrowing
and collectively purchasing cigarettes. Borrowing contributes to the mythology
of the distinction between social smoking and habitual smoking, and sets up
smoking in terms of social relations rather than in terms of health-based
decision making. Social smokers restrict their tobacco use by using social controls
based on an exchange economy, rather than on medical means of regulation.

Management Strategies

Social smokers attempt to manage their cigarette consumption in part through

strategies for purchasing, not purchasing, gifting, borrowing, and “mooching”
cigarettes. All of the respondents self-consciously monitored having cigarettes in
their possession (a behavior also confirmed in our observations). Three categories
of these tactics emerged, each corresponding to patterns of gifting and borrowing
and each involving performed identities.
568 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

Self-regulation In his study of the history of smoking habits, Jason Hughes

(2003) argues that tobacco use has shifted from something one does to lose con-
trol, to something people characterize in terms of self-control. Overwhelmingly,
the women attributed their ability to engage in limited tobacco use as the result
of some form of self-regulation: “Basically, like if I don’t bring cigarettes I won't
want them, and then, maybe I’ll only bring like maybe two.... [S]o there’s dif-
ferent ways I try to regulate how much I smoke.” One woman recounts using a
stylized smoking accoutrement to personalize and creatively regulate her smok-
ing[:] “Somebody bought me a little silver cigarette case and it used to be a ritual
for me, because, it was like, you opened the case, you tapped the cigarette on
the case and I would put in like maybe four, like three to five, to control my
smoking.” Similar to regulating the number of cigarettes kept on hand, some
social smokers periodically tallied the quantity of cigarettes consumed at one
time. One informant said that she, “just count|s] the cigarettes” and sets a maxi-
mum number to smoke.... She joked that she had become quite accustomed to
smoking “‘a lot of stale cigarettes.”
Accountability partners also helped some women achieve self-control. One
informant’s first year of college brought new freedoms and more frequent use of
cigarettes, and, subsequently, the need to address a number of contradictions.
Smoking was not something that Colleen ever wanted “to do all the time.”
She flatly tells her friends: “Jane, no matter what I do, don’t let me smoke” or
“Brooke, I’m not buying cigarettes.” Unwaveringly, this respondent draws the
line between habitual smoker and social smoker and asks that her close peers be
involved in shaping her culpability during particular social occasions or time-
frames. In short, a behavior plan aimed at a level of control and a contract with
dependable supporters held respondents accountable to their self-selected guide-
lines and served to maintain their limited relationship with tobacco.

Reframing Many of our respondents reframed their smoking, sometimes using

incongruous frames. One woman reported: “I buy Marlboro Ultra Lights. I’m
on a diet with my smoking.” Typically, the word “diet” refers to efforts driven
by health- and/or appearance-[conscious] individuals to reduce their consump-
tion of food. Though there is evidence to suggest that women who smoke con-
sider cigarettes to have an appetite-suppressing effect, the word “diet” in this
context suggests that there is such a thing as a healthy consumption of cigarettes.
It sets up an analogy between watching one’s weight and abstaining from strong-
tasting cigarettes. This informant followed up her slogan by stating [that] she
would never smoke Marlboro “Reds” because they “scare [her], quite frankly”
and they “just feel, like heavier” from the “heavier taste of the tobacco.” Thus,
the flavor is too heavy for a social smoker’s tastes and she perceives having offset
the undesired effects of tobacco by choosing a low tar and nicotine cigarette.
Although a nurse reported that she associates social smoking with indiscrim-
inately enjoying the pleasures of the moment (with little regard for her future),
most women reported that this notion of carpe diem was not necessarily their
approach to occasional tobacco use, or, for that matter, to day-to-day life in gen-
eral. Susie said that she was not exceedingly “scared about cancer or anything”
 CHAPTER 46 SOCIAL SMOKING
A LIMINAL
: POSITION 569

and that her optimistic predisposition plays a role in limiting smoking and coun-
terbalancing tobacco’s effects through diet and exercise:
Some people have the attitude, well just live for today and you know
it’s not going to do you any good to not smoke a cigarette today ‘cause
you might be dead tomorrow. I’m not like that because ... if that was
the way [I thought, then] I wouldn’t try to exercise or do anything else
-good for myself, I would just kind of give up. I guess that affect[s] my
decision not to smoke all the time.
Several informants considered a lifestyle of “moderation” to stave off the ill
effects of tobacco.
Most informants said that they had felt the need to avert potential harass-
ment or manage possibly “discrediting information” brought on by the scrutiny
of others (Goffman 1963). Their willingness to be open about their smoking sta-
tus was, in part, based on anticipated criticism; many were secretive, though they
realized that even without openly acknowledging smoking, the practice was
potentially perceptible. The “perceptibility” of smoking is not only marked by
sight, being spotted with cigarette wafting smoke, but also by smell (Goffman
1963:48). Informants reported being personally repelled by the smell of smoke;
they used elaborate routines, including designated smoking garments and pro-
ducts and folk remedies that remove odors lingering on their hair or clothing.

Negotiating “footing” To maintain their footing as social smokers (which

[invariably] meant nonsmoker), the women reported strategies of self-criticism
and self-awareness. Goffman (1981, 128) observed, “A change in footing implies
a change in the alignment we take up to ourselves and the others present.”
Though all the women could typically deliver “passable” impressions of either
a smoker or nonsmoker, the respondents consistently reported being deliberately
attentive to their cravings out of a fear of becoming addicted. Women who
regularly reported being fearful also tested their doubts and ultimately implemen-
ted new cognitive—behavioral systems such as avoiding having cigarettes in
their possession. One respondent commented that she had renegotiated her
smoking status:
I didn’t like what I saw. People look silly. They made themselves look
silly. How would you like to see yourself stepping into a cigarette closet
at my age? Silly really isn’t the word for it. Perhaps “stupid.”

As Goffman points out, performances offer the option for individuals to be “taken
by [their] own acts or be cynical about them” (1959: 19). Here, the interviewee
reflects somewhat cynically on her previous practice and performance and realigns
herself with outside interpretations and negative evaluations of smoking.
Positioning oneself in opposition to tobacco companies, and yet smoking,
represents at times unsustainableidentity construction. One respondent’s social
smoking served to minimize the guilt she feels for supporting tobacco companies,
the unpleasant physical repercussions apparent after a smoking “streak,” and the
expense: she had been regionally conditioned by years spent in San Francisco,
570 PART VII] DEVIANT CAREERS

where purportedly cigarettes “jumped from like three dollars to, like, five or six.”
Alice said that when she first began experimenting with smoking that she would
scale it back until she no longer craved a cigarette or at least had stopped thinking
about them: “When I first started out, I would smoke a cigarette because I would
think about it too much. I was afraid I was becoming addicted. So, I would smoke
a cigarette and I said the next time I could smoke would be the time I forgot about
it.’ Another woman tested out her physiological dependence based on an act of
remembrance. A young Catholic woman framed her check as an issue of discipline
and packaged it in an annual maintenance program that corresponded with her act
of contrition: “I tried to give up smoking for Lent every year.... [Flor four or six
weeks ... |would be like, ‘I’m not going to smoke... [I]t wasn’t, like, because I was
so religious, it was just kinda like, see if I could do it.” Renouncing smoking for the
sake of personal control was an integrative cognitive—behavioral approach used to
manage and maintain an individual’s limited use of tobacco.
The four- to six-week hiatus, devoted to nonsmoking, was a very common
way for the women to test themselves. Richelle shared that there have been
times when she genuinely longed for a cigarette; in those moments, management
is crucial because those physical yearnings for a cigarette signify that she has been
smoking too much:
It’s that thing of you never want to be addicted and you sometimes,
you'll test yourself, like, well if 1 can go without it for a month that
doesn’t make me a smoker does it. One of my friends said, “Richelle,
just admit it” (because I was smoking pretty heavily). “Just admit it:
you're not just a social smoker, you smoke,” because she was a smoker,
and I was like, I don’t want to say that ’m a smoker, so I cut back.
This reining in of one’s smoking was associated with being able to maintain a foot-
hold in a nonsmoking life world, an “untenable position.” To illustrate further, a
veteran smoker decided to engage in social smoking about a year after “quitting
cold turkey.” Recounting her experiences of withdrawal, she called attention to
how the aggregate of the (1) “constant use ofcigarettes”; (2) “nicotine habit”; and
(3) “emotional investment” made her previous self-described addiction “very dif-
ferent from [her] smoking now.” She explained that, “Now I rarely feel the urge
to smoke, and it is easily overcome. I don’t purchase cigarettes any longer; I don’t
include ‘smoker’ in my self-definition.” By periodically giving up and routinely
inhibiting smoking, the women were of the opinion that they were entitled to
denounce publicly the identity label of smoker.

DISCUSSION

Historically, social smokers were considered marginal smoking figures, if they

were characterized at all. Both academic and popular discussions have created a
dominant narrative in which smoking is gradually disappearing among educated
Western groups (who, if they smoke, know they ought to quit). Under a non-
smoking novus ordo seculorum, the outlying social smoking characters ought to
 CHAPTER 46 SOCIAL SMOKING:
A LIMINAL POSITION 571

have become even less imaginable. However, the informant tactics reported here
suggest a new smoking imagery, involving elaborate social frameworks that
embrace and support smoking in contradiction of the existing medical and social
discourses. Further, the strategies created by social smokers are entwined with
other dimensions of identity production in which individuals engage in self-
regulation to avoid the stigmatized category of smoker, including overt recipro-
city and under-the-radar borrowing in their acquisition of cigarettes and lighters.
The women we studied occupy a marginalized status within a cultural con-
text of discrimination, and they appear to have developed both an exonerating
and oppositional orientation to smoking behavior and identity. They convince
themselves that they occupy a social status distinct from habitual smokers. The
interviewees expressed mixed motives that led them to practices such as bum-
ming, self-regulatory measures, accountability partners, optimistic biases, com-
pensatory measures, fumaphobia, frequent member checks, and smoking
reprieves. These processes and rituals all serve to limit smoking and to verify
that an individual is still outside the limits of habitual smoking. In this narrative,
social smoking falls between ordered categories where behaviors that are more
interesting can be observed. Our findings demonstrate the innovation of liminal
beings who have found ways to participate in a highly stigmatized behavior, if
only marginally.
To dismiss the category of social smoking by saying that all social smokers are
smokers would miss the point. What is interesting here is how social smokers man-
age and sustain a culturally unavailable (stigmatized) category. Some self-defined
habitual smokers practice the same behaviors our respondents reported and exhib-
ited. However, our research suggests that self-defined social smokers differ in the
fact that they self-consciously deploy particular strategies to differentiate themselves
from habitual smokers. Moreover, they believe themselves to be successful in
claiming and sustaining this role and do not consider either the discourses or prac-
tices they share with habitual smokers to undermine their claim.
To sustain untenable social categories, depending on the situation, indivi-
duals may pass, readjust their position, or strategically attempt to maintain ambig-
uous identities. The challenge is for individuals faced with a choice between a
stigmatized and a culturally acceptable position. In the absence of a recognized
category, individuals can create imaginary communities; in the case of social
smokers these are sustained by tacit rules of reciprocity and exchange. Individuals
who not only lack available categories, but who also are faced with disconfirming
realities can self-consciously create seemingly unsustainable identities.

REFERENCES

Gardner, Carol Brooks. 1986. “Public in Social Interaction.” pp. 5-45 in

Aid.” Urban Life 15:37-69. Interaction Ritual; Essays on Face-to-Face
Goffman, Erving. [1955] 1967. “On Face- Behavior. New York: Pantheon
Work: An Analysis of Ritual Elements Books.
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——. 1959. The Presentation of Self in Hyde, Lewis. [1979] 1983. The Gift:
Everyday Life. New York: Anchor Imagination and the Erotic Life of Prop-
Books Doubleday. erty. New York: Vintage Books.
——. 1963. Stigma: Notes on the Manage- Mauss, Marcel. [1950] 1990. The Gift:
ment of Spoiled Identity. Englewood The Form and Reason for Exchange in
Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Archaic Societies. New York:
—— 7 Sle. Foote ppe d24- 159m W. W. Norton.
Forms of Talk. Philadelphia: University Weiner, Annette B. 1976. Women of Value,
of Pennsylvania Press. Men of Renown: New Perspectives in
Hughes, Jason. 2003. Learning to Smoke: Trobriand Exchange. Austin: University
Tobacco Use in the West. Chicago: The of Texas Press.
University of Chicago Press.
 CAREER STAGES

47

Pimp-Controlled Prostitution
CELIA WILLIAMSON AND TERRY CLUSE-TOLAR

Although underrepresented in the sociological literature on prostitution, the

relationship between pimps and prostitutes is legendary, yet often misunderstood,
in popular culture. Based on qualitative interviews, Williamson and Cluse-Tolar’s
study offers an insightful analysis of pimp-controlled prostitutes’ careers. Pimps
often “turn prostitutes out,” introducing them to the sex work industry. But while
these women are seduced into accepting a pimp as their manager by the impression
he gives that he is romantically interested in them, this behavior often turns out to
be part of his “game,” in which he does whatever it takes to lure them into an
obligatory relationship that supports him inflashy style. The authors show how the
power relationship between these prostitutes and their pimps shifts dramatically in a
predictable fashion over the course of their deviant careers. At the beginning, the
women have the greatest cachet, as the men must woo them into their service by
“gaming” them with their charm and enticements of money and control over the
customers. For a brief “honeymoon” period, the women have the freedom to move
around from one pimp to another, but even here the men dominate these exchanges
(“bros before hos”). The further the women get into the relationship, the less the
pimps need to woo them or treat them well, and they eventually become subjected
to severe forms of emotional and physical manipulation that is often violent in
nature. Their careers in pimp-controlled prostitution peak early and go through a
gradual, but early, decline, landing them worse off than they were before they
entered the relationship. Only once they have hit bottom do they get the courage to
exit, often fleeing with nothing more than their lives.
In what ways do the relationships here compare and contrast with those
of married couples? How do they compare and contrast with the relationship
between drug dealers and crack-addicted women? With that between male and
female gang members? Can you think of any other deviant careers that follow a
similar trajectory?

From Celia Williamson and Terry Cluse-Tolar, “Pimp-Controlled Prostitution,”

of
Violence Against Women, Vol. 8, No. 9. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission
Sage Publications.

573
574 PART VIII DEVIANT CAREERS

pimp is one who controls the actions and lives off the proceeds of one or
[Nee women who work the streets. Pimps call themselves “players” and call
their profession “the game.” The context in which this subculture exists is called
“the life” (Milner & Milner, 1972). Social scientists of the 1960s and 1970s
devoted a significant amount of research energies toward exposing and under-
standing pimp-controlled prostitution within street-level prostitution (Goines,
1972; Heard, 1968; Milner & Milner, 1972; Slim, 1967, 1969). Street-level pros-
titution entails sexual acts for money or for barter that occur on and off the
streets and include sexual activities in cars and motels, as dancers in gentlemen’s
clubs, massage parlor work, truck stops, and crack house work (Williamson,
2000). It represents that segment of the prostitution industry where there is the
most violence.
This study aims to examine pimp-related violence toward women
involved in street-level prostitution within the context-of pimp-controlled pros-
titution. To understand contemporary pimp-controlled prostitution and, more
specifically, pimp-related violence, it is necessary to examine the type of relation-
ships between pimps and prostitutes, the roles that each play in the business, and
the social rules that accompany the lifestyle.

METHOD

Information regarding the traditional pimp-—prostitute phenomenon was

obtained from a larger study that included both independent and pimp-
controlled women. Criteria for inclusion in the study were women 18 years of
age and older who were no longer involved in prostitution activities. Participants
were selected through a process of purposive, or snowball, sampling by word of
mouth. In total, 21 former street prostitutes from the Midwest were interviewed.
Respondents ranged in age from 18 to 35. Of the total sample, 13 were Appala-
chian white women, 7 were African American women, and one was a Hispanic
woman. The time spent in prostitution ranged from 3 months to 13 years.
From this total sample, 6 of the women had pimps and 13 women worked
independently. The small number of women found by the researcher who
worked for pimps and were willing to be interviewed may underscore the lim-
ited access researchers have to this population and hence the importance of
research in this area.
Of the six women who are the focus for this report, five were Appalachian
white and one was Hispanic. They ranged in age from 18 to 28. For this sub-
group, the time spent in prostitution ranged from four to eight years.
The researcher spent six months on the streets, three days per week, learning
the culture, language, and geographic layout of the streets. The researcher
learned where the dope houses were, who the pimps were, and how to identify
a customer from a typical passerby.
Subsequently, in-depth, face-to-face interviews were conducted with six
participants who were involved in pimp-controlled prostitution, and one
 CHAPTER 47 PIMP-CONTROLLED PROSTITUTION 575

interview was conducted with a pimp. Each interview lasted approximately two
hours. Data were analyzed line by line. Codes were developed from the raw
data. Codes were collapsed into larger themes. By connecting relevant themes,
the researcher was able to develop the theoretical propositions that supported the
subsequent theory of the lived experience of pimp-controlled prostitution.
In addition to these interviews, added interviews were conducted with some
of the participants for the purpose of member checking, a process of clarification
for qualitative methods, and to gather any additional missing data. Interviews
were taped and transcribed verbatim. In addition to the member-checking tech-
niques, the researcher engaged a group ofsocial work experts in the area of street
prostitution to critique the methodology and to provide guidance toward accu-
rate interpretation of the data. This gathering is known as peer debriefing for the
purpose of challenging the researcher’s interpretations to increase the accuracy of
the study findings. Both member checks and peer debriefing were used to
enhance the credibility of the study.

FINDINGS

Pimping: Rules of the Game

Pimps involved in prostitution activities refer to this sector of the underground
economy as “the game.” Players, pimps, and macks are those at the top of the
pimping game. To these men in power, it is a game in which they control and
manipulate the actions of others subordinate to them. Monica, a prostituted
woman for three years, explains,

It’s all about the game. Nothing in the game changes, but the name. It’s
all about getting that money. Some women have pimps that they give
the money to, some are just out there on their own. (Monica)
A player or pimp has a particular manner or style of playing the game. The
pimping game requires strict adherence to the rules. The idea of a game parallels
the formal economy in that one can be said to be in a game; for example, he is
in the real estate game. Pimps are also said to “have” game. To have game is to
possess a certain amount of charisma and smooth-talking, persuasive conversation
toward women.
There are several rules that one must be willing to follow to be a successful
and professional pimp. Massi, a “bottom bitch”! to a pimp who boasts having six
women in his stable,* outlines the rules for pimping. The most paramount rule
in the pimping game is “the pimp must get paid” (Massi). This means [that] there
cannot be any “shame in your game” (Massi); one must require and, if necessary,
demand the money without shame. Second, any successful pimp will remember
that the game is “sold and not told.” This means that pimps are expected to sell it
to a prospective prostitute that he wants to occupy his stable without revealing
his entire game plan. To do this, he has to develop his game or “his rap.” [This]
consist[s] of a series of persuasive conversations similar to poetic and rhythmic
576 PART VII|_ DEVIANT CAREERS

scats that are philosophical in nature and ideological about life and making
money. For Sonya, it was the combination of his rap and her need to feel
loved by someone|:]
For me, it was wanting to be loved and liked the words that was said.
And you know, the nice things you got. I have two beautiful children
that I wanted to take care of, and I guess that’s the kind of hold they
have on you. (Sonya)
... The third and final ingredient for successful pimping is that a pimp must
have a woman or women that want to see him on top. He is looking for dedi-
cation. He is looking for someone who wants to see her man in fine clothes and
driving fine cars. His success or lack of success is a reflection on her. If her man is
not looking his best, then she is not a very successful ho, and this will make for
an embarrassing impression. As a prostituted woman, she must work very hard to
earn his respect and his love and to keep him achieving the best in material pos-
sessions. He in return invites her into his underground social network with the
sense of belonging it brings and the promise of material possessions it provides|:]
You just, you just take control of the tricks. You know what you gotta
do to make your man happy.... Some prostitutes are out there for a
man, for a pimp. We’re out there bustin’ our ass to get our money for a
man. (Sonya)

I worked for months to get my man into a new Cadillac. (Sandra)

The most well-respected pimps are called “macks.” They are at the top of
their game and employ many hardworking and successful prostitutes. Dominat-
ing the pimp scene are “players” who have an average stable of women, are
well respected, and make a good living. Lowest in the hierarchy of pimping
are tennis shoe pimps. These pimps may have one or possibly two prostitutes
on the street. They are seen as least successful in the game, and unlike more
successful pimps, they may do drugs and allow their women to do drugs. In
this study, six of the women previously had pimps ranging from tennis shoe
pimps to players.

Turning a Woman Out

A pimp’s chance at gaining a woman’s attention is by looking good, smelling
good, flashing his possessions, and presenting himselfassomeone who can counter
boredom with both adventure and excitement. This is rarely enough, however, to
get a woman to prostitute herself. A pimp must be skilled at assessing a woman’s
needs and vulnerabilities. Understanding how to exploit those vulnerabilities and
fulfill those unmet needs will enable him to prostitute her. Reese, a player in
Toledo, Ohio, explains how he appeals to what women need:
I tell her “Now, you need to leave them drugs alone” and I get her
cleaned up. She may come here, on drugs or not on drugs, with noth-
ing. I mean nothing. Dirty, strung out. Some of them don’t even have a
 CHAPTER 47 PIMP-CONTROLLED PROSTITUTION 577

social security card or state ID, nothing. I ask ’em if they want some-
thing better, you know, you can make some money. I'll set you up
right. Let you have a few things in your life. You wanna have nice
clothes, some good jewelry, be able to have your own place, maybe a
little car to drive around in? (Reese)

A pimp offers hope for the future, and women see this as an opportunity to
be financially successful. During the time a prostitute is entering the profession of
street-level prostitution, the pimp is said to be “turning her out” or has “turned
her out” on the streets to make a profit[:]

I knew this guy, and he brought me here and turned me out on the
streets. He was a pimp.... The first day, I was scared, but I got the
money. And once I seen the money, I mean, my first day I made $600
in a three-hour period. (Sonya)
Women involved with a pimp in this study were typically not engaged in
drug abuse. Pimps realize that crack is the competition and frown upon any drug
abuse in their stable. However, two women involved with tennis shoe pimps
indulged in drug use along with their pimp.
Pimp-controlled women in the study were told they were beautiful and that
men wanted them—that they desired them so much, they would pay hard-
earned money for them. In the words of Massi, the message is conveyed early
in the relationship that women are literally “sitting on a gold mine. If they
could work the game good enough, the game would work for them.”
Although pimps never guaranteed emotional or financial security, the poten-
tial for success inspired women to test the waters in this new life. There was a
sense of belonging that women longed for, a sense of exciting hope for the
future, an adventure that would take them from their meager existence into a
life with a man who told them they had special skills, intelligence, and beauty.
In return for his attention, protection, and love, she would be required to work
to bring their dream into reality. Reese speaks in terms of “goals” as he works his
women:
I have them set little goals for themselves. Say they want to buy some-
thing they want; well, we would set a little goal. Say you make this
certain amount of money: Keep working and I'll set aside a little at a
time and you'll have what you want. Say if she wants a little piece a car,
she can work and I’ll make sure that she gets that car. So I try to have
them set goals for themselves, something they’re working for.
... Over time, as women learn the game and have become proficient in play-
ing, they are known as thoroughbreds. Thoroughbreds are professionals in the
prostitution industry and are responsible for maintaining the market rates in the
profession. A thoroughbred is able to handle customers, command money, and
conduct business effectively and efficiently to maximize profits[:]
When you’re turned out, you’re just out there. You don’t know what
you’re doing. You're just being turned out for a new job. You're being
578 PART VIIl_ DEVIANT CAREERS

trained for it. And then once you get down the steps, you know, you
become a thoroughbred. You don’t let the guy take control of you, you
take control of it. (Sonya)

Free Enterprise and Choosing Up

Pimps understand the meaning of business over personal ventures, that is, mar-
keting a product and investing in your product first so your product can return
profits. Thus, there is a honeymoon period or courting time between pimps and
prostitutes. This is the time in which the pimp “runs his game.” This may last
one day or several months[:]
He progressively led up to the fact that that’s what he wanted. You
know, he didn’t come out that night when I met-him and tell me,
“This is what I am. This is what you need to do.”... I think they really
feel like they have to gain your trust before they can dump something
like that on you. We spent a lot of time together. | mean ... we would
go out to eat, go to the movies, and we did, you know, normal couple
things. But ... in my head I’m just thinking it’s just normal couple
things, but he’s thinking that he’s winning ... that he’s gonna win and
I’m gonna end up doing what he wanted. And he was nght. (Tracey)
Pimps understand the meaning of capitalism in that it is a pimp’s prerogative
to entice any woman away from another pimp. It is viewed as a component of
free enterprise. Therefore, other pimps are free to attempt to seduce a woman
away from her current pimp and into [their] stable for [their] financial gain.
[They] may do this without retaliation from the current pimp, as the street rule
is “bros before ho’s” (Massi). The woman being approached is instructed not to
respond to the seducing pimp’s advances. She is never to make eye contact
with another pimp. If she does, then she is “out of pockets,” a term referring
to a woman who puts a pimp’s money at risk, and she is subject to “being
broke,” meaning physically reprimanded. On the other hand, the seducing
pimp may also choose to “break her” and take all her money. These rules vary
[from] situations where a woman is prohibited from making eye contact with a
pimp to situations in which she is not allowed to make eye contact with any
African American male[:]
I mean, most of the time, if they’re a true pimp, they’re not gonna play
like that. You know, they’ll harass you and you mainly just turn away
and look in the other direction or whatever and try not to come in
contact with them, because if you do, then they do what you call
“break you,” they take your money.... He’s allowed to harass you as
much as he wants. But if Idon’t talk back to him, then I’m cool. But if
I’m “out of pockets” that means you’re doing something that you ain’t
suppose to be doing. You know, some pimps will beat you or you go
through a lot of stuff.... They’re in control. You do what they say.
(Sonya)
 CHAPTER 47 PIMP-CONTROLLED PROSTITUTION 579

In the event that a woman is dissatisfied with her current pimp, the appro-
priate way to switch pimps is to make a definite decision and “choose up”:
You choose up. And if you’re with a pimp and you want to go with
another pimp, you have to put the money in the other pimp’s hand
and let your man know, you know, you’re leaving and going with
somebody else.... I’ve been with three. (Elsie)
Reese explains the transaction between pimps when a woman chooses up:
If he comes to me like a man and tells me “That’s my ho now,” and she
done gave him the money, then that’s cool. Leave your ho clothes here
and go. You can take your regular clothes, the clothes I bought you to
go see your family now and then, but you leave the ho clothes. But if
she leaves here and is gone and then don’t come back with my money
and she been out there making money and giving it to him, “Nigga,
that’s my money you got.”

Pimp and Prostitute Relationships in the Game

Each woman in the study had a pimp who set the rules, controlled her actions,
and took her earnings. Most reported [that] they were infatuated with their
pimp, but not always. Women involved with a tennis shoe pimp, a man who
had only one or two women, were more likely to consider themselves in love
and defined the involvement with their pimp as a relationship. The more corpo-
rate the pimp, for instance, a player possessing three or more women, the less
likely it was for women to describe their feelings as love or to define their inter-
action as a relationship. Women’s feelings were instead described as ones of infat-
uation, admiration, and loyalty. The more women involved with a pimp, the less
probable it became for each woman to achieve a status that allowed for the com-
forts of his affections, time, and attention. It was more likely that each became a
part of his pimp family or stable that was made up of many women. This type of
arrangement between women is known as a “wife-in-law” situation, in which
each prostituted woman is a member of the family that works for the benefit of
the same pimp. They are known as wife-in-laws to each other. However, some
women did not tolerate such arrangements and moved on, whereas others wel-
comed the prestige of being with a successful pimp and willingly took on the
challenge and responsibilities as a prostituted woman under his direction|:}
It’s just like when a pimp goes out and gets another girl and she’s in the
family. She’s whoring for him like you are. Like a wife-in-law is what
they call it. Sometimes you just getting tired of it and you know
cheating on me and you know the wife-in-law stuff where you know
the wife-in-law is another girl that is working for him, and I just
couldn’t handle all that. (Tonya)
[Wives-in-law] may be responsible for ongoing training of recent inductees.
However, the availability of wife-in-law training depends on how large the
580 PART VII] DEVIANT CAREERS

stable and how corporate the pimp. A bottom bitch, or number one lady, may
also be required to work but may only use her mouth or hands when working
and to save intercourse for her pimp. She may live with her pimp and may be
required to train the new women joining his stable. Women may even drop off
money to her after work in the event that their pimp is otherwise occupied|:]
I know about the game because I was [his] bottom bitch. I knew
everything about hoeing, tricking, or whatever. I was with [him] for
eight years. He had women out here working their asses off. Wouldn’t
even ask him for money or nothing, not even $5, thinking that’s
making him respect them more. (Massi)
The true talents of a pimp, however, are in his ability to keep his women
happy, command money, and portray a deep mysterious and somewhat mean
demeanor about him, one that conveys the message that he is not to be crossed.
He is then said to be “cold-blooded” or “icy,” able to turn off any warm feelings
and loving affection in exchange for certain emotional cruelty and physical harm.
Two famous and successful pimps, Iceberg Slim and Ice Tea, were said to be so
cold blooded they called themselves “Ice” to let everyone know their capacity
for heartlessness|:|
He would just snap. Like his whole expression would change. One day,
he came to my motel room to beat my ass. And made it clear that he
came over to beat on me. He said he had some extra time on his hands,
that he didn’t have anything to do, so he wanted me to know that he
knew I was thinking about doing something stupid. And I was too.
I was thinking about leaving him again. The last time I left him, I ended
up in Cleveland .... He beat me until I blacked out .... But he was like
that. He could be so much fun one time, silly and playing around, and
the next minute, he could be something else, somebody you don’t want
to fuck with. (Massi)
A pimp’s approach is never to cow down to his woman at any time. He
cannot let love cloud his judgments concerning business. If he lets these weak-
nesses show, he will be left vulnerable and runs the risk of being less successful.
Although pimps appear to be in control, in a sense every pimp becomes a whore
to his prostitutes. The pimp rule is “purse first, ass last” (Massi). He may treat his
[ho] in loving ways in return for the amount of money he requested she bring
him. She must pay for his love with her sheer tenacity to work and bring him
the money. She must in turn request little emotionally and financially. Because
of his generosity, he gives her what he thinks she needs.

Pimp-Related Violence: Physical Control of Women

The extent to which women felt threatened by a pimp was, in part, a function of
[their] evaluation of the likelihood that he [would] become violent. This threat
had been realized by all of the women in the study. Pimp-related violence was
sometimes unpredictable and took on many forms. However, the most revealing
 CHAPTER 47 PIMP-CONTROLLED PROSTITUTION 581

form of pimp-related violence was immediate attack following a violation of the

rules. One such violation is leaving the “ho stroll” or designated work area early
without making one’s daily quota[:]
Different pimps have different rules. I mean some of ’em set quotas with
the girls, you have to make a certain amount of money before you can
go home .... When I first started, I was bringing in $1,000 a day.
-(Tonya)

After it was found out that Debbie was holding back some money from her
pimp, without hesitation she was quickly and brutally assaulted[:]
He ended up getting mad at me one day and punched me in my chest
and cracked my rib. That was cracked, and all I could remember is
that I couldn’t breathe. I mean, I passed out. I was knocked out all day.
I was unconscious. (Debbie)

Some pimps use violence as a means of discouraging freelance work and

coercing money from women who work within pimp territory but not for the
benefit of any pimp|:]
There was this guy that kept beatin’ me in my head, telling me I was
gonna pay him, and every time he’d see me, if I didn’t give him some
money, he’d punch me in my forehead. (Cara)
In the instance that a woman is found to be “out of pockets,” she is subject
to being broke. Carol told of an incident when she took an unauthorized leave
without the permission of her pimp|:]
When he caught me, he was like “I got you now,” and he jumped out.
We was in the projects. We were high as fuck off crack, me and Tony
was. We were like “Oh, fuck.” He was like “I got you now.” He had a
baseball bat, and Tony ran and left me. So, yes, I got the baseball bat, he
beat me in my legs and told me “If you fall, bitch, ?m a hit you in your
head and kill you.” So I didn’t fall, I just stood there and screamed and
took it. The police came ... and they asked if Iwas going to press
charges, and I said, “No.” My face was swelling, I looked like a cabbage
patch, I was horrible. (Carol)

Pimp-Related Violence: Emotional Control of Women

A pimp’s success is dependent on arousing love and fear in his women. By giving
his attention to more than one woman at the same time, he heightens both the
love each woman desires all to herself and the fear that she may lose any part of it.
However, the negative consequences of such arrangements may be jealousy and
rivalry for his affections[:]
He had got back with the girl that he had kids by, which she. was
already a seasoned hooker. She hated me from the jump start.
582 PART VIII DEVIANT CAREERS

Since they were in that life, he made her deal with me. When she
found out that I wanted him for me, she wanted to fight me every time
she would see me and we did.... She hit me in the head with a beer
glass, and I had stitches in my head. (Chris)
Relationships require a level of trust and a degree of vulnerability, and
pimp-prostitute relationships are no different. Trust determines how vulnerable
the person is willing to be. Without some degree of trust, interactions are limited
to explicit contracts (Holmes, 1991), which is what prostitutes have with custo-
mers. “Trust involves coming to terms with the negative aspects of a partner,
accepting or perhaps tolerating issues by buffering them in the broader context
of the lifestyle” (Holmes, 1991, p. 79). Women take abuses from pimps in stride.
They learn to cope with this relationship by not focusing on the abusive aspects
for what they are but by instead encapsulating those aspects of their pimp that
serve their needs for security and protection. Therefore, a pimp-—prostitute
relationship often lacks cognitive and behavioral consistency. What is believed
and desired on the part of the prostitute and what actually happens in the
relationship do not correspond and often require repeated leaps of faith on the
part of the prostitute.

Leaving Pimp-Controlled Prostitution

Many factors prevent women from pursuing legal assistance. Often, women are
fearful, intimidated by what may happen as a result of reporting, and may love
their pimp despite his abuses. It is likely that [they] may buy into the rules of the
pimping game and blame [themselves] for violating them. Women who have
previously experienced the reluctance of law enforcement to take their claims
about customer-related violence seriously are reluctant to take such risks where
pimps are concerned{:]
I had this guy pull a gun on me, and he made me do things that I didn’t
want to do.... I ran to a gas station and called the police. The guy who
worked at the gas station gave me his jacket to wear. All I had on was a
shirt. I called the police and told them. They came. I described the guy
to the police and showed them the spot. I told them what kind of car
he had, what we was wearing, what he said, what he did, everything.
They never even wrote anything down. They ran me for warrants, and
when I didn’t have any, they left. (Jerri)
Women who are fed up may choose to leave prostitution. The primary
means for leaving pimp-controlled prostitution was escape[:|
I had gotten like four calls that day. And I hadn’t seen him, so I had all
the money on me and Ijust took it. I mean, none of my clothes, none
of my nothing. I just took a cab to the bus station, and I went in to
Amtrak police and told them what was going on. He had his own
driver, and he knew that when I didn’t get in the driver’s car, that
 CHAPTER 47: PIMP-CONTROLLED PROSTITUTION 583

something was up. I took a regular cab, and I went to Amtrak police
and I knew that he was coming, so I told °em what was going on....
And, um, then the Amtrak police ... paid the cab driver to take me to
the airport, and I caught a plane home. (Tracey)

DISCUSSION

Using the definition of pimping as controlling and living off the proceeds of one
or more women, the findings suggest that pimp-controlled prostitution is still an
integral part of street-level prostitution for some women and girls. Just how
many is difficult to determine because pimp-controlled women and girls would
be those most unlikely to be able to respond to requests for interviews. Pimp-
controlled women in the study were reportedly subject to following the rules of
the game. The old adage that “nothing in the game changes but the name” may
be truer than not when viewing the dynamics of pimp-controlled prostitution. It
is clear that many of the themes identified in this study have appeared in varied
form in earlier studies of the 1960s and 1970s (Goines, 1972; Heard, 1968; Mil-
ner & Milner, 1972; Slim, 1967, 1969). The important point is that although
pimps and prostitutes may differ [in] the extent to which they apply and adhere
to the rules, even allowing for the wide range of situational differences, this code
of conduct, termed pimpology, is a common practice in this underground society
and still exists today (Hughes, Hughes, & Messick, 1999; Milner & Milner, 1972;
Owens & Sheperd, 1998; Williamson, 2000).
On an interpersonal level, the power and control pimps maintain over
women in their stable is akin to that used in abusive relationships. Just as pimps
resemble batterers in intimate relationships (Giobbe, 1993), women working in
pimp-controlled prostitution seem to be similar to those who are survivors of
domestic violence. They often express feelings of love and admiration for the
pimp, have their freedom and finances controlled, and may feel [that] they some-
how deserve the violence they are dealt. However, there are differences in terms
of the cycle of violence. Domestic violence survivors will often express that they
knew when the violence was about to occur as evidenced by the building up of
tension in their mate before an explosive episode. Beatings and other forms of
violence occurring among pimp-controlled women may not follow a familiar
pattern and may instead occur by surprise.

NOTES

1. Ina more corporate pimp family, the 2. A stable is what a pimp calls a group
term bottom bitch refers to a woman of women that prostitute for him.
who is the closest in rank to her pimp.
584 PART VIII DEVIANT CAREERS

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Goines, D. 1972. Whoreson: The Story of a Owens, B. (Producer/Director), and
Ghetto Pimp. Los Angeles: Holloway Shepard, B. (Coproducer). 1998.
House. Pimps Up, Ho’s Down [Film docu-
Heard, N. C. 1968. Howard Street. New mentary]. United States: Home Box
York: Signet. Office.
Holmes,J.C. 1991. Trust and the Appraisal Slim, I. 1967. Trick Baby. Los Angeles:
Process in Close Relationships. In Holloway House.
W. H. Jones and D. Perlman (eds.), Slim, I. 1969. Pimp: The Story of My Life.
Advances in Personal Relationships Los Angeles: Holloway House.
(pp. 57-104). London: Jessica Williamson, C. 2000. Entrance, Mainte-
Kingsley. nance, and Exit: The Socioeconomic
Hughes, A., Hughes, A., and Messick, K. Influences and Cumulative Burdens of
1999. American Pimp [Film documen- Female Street Prostitution. Dissertation
tary]. United States: Metro Goldwyn Abstracts International, 61(02).
Mayer Pictures. (UMI No. 9962789).
 EXITING DEVIANCE

48

Shifts and Oscillations in the Careers

of Drug Traffickers
PATRICIA A. ADLER AND PETER ADLER

In this selection on exiting drug trafficking, Adler and Adler discuss the process
by which people burn out of deviance. After spending several years in the upper
echelons of the drug trade, many marijuana dealers and smugglers, who were
initially attracted to drug trafficking by the same lure of the excitement, high life,
and spontaneity that drew Wright and Deckers’ burglars to their deviance,
eventually find that the drawbacks of the lifestyle exceed the rewards. Their initial
challenges and thrills turn to paranoia, people whom they know get busted all
around them, and their risk of arrest grows. Years of excessive drug use take its
toll on them physically, and they come to reevaluate the straight life they formerly
rejected as boring. Yet they cannot easily quit dealing: They have developed a
high-spending lifestyle that they are loath to abandon. One thing that they do is
to shift around in the drug world, making changes in their involvement. When
this approach doesn’t bring them satisfaction, or when the factors pushing them
out continue to grow, they try to retire from trafficking. Commonly, however,
they quickly spend all their money and are drawn back into the business. Thus,
their patterns of exiting often resemble a series of oscillations, or quittings and
restartings, as they move out of deviance with great difficulty. It is interesting to
note that this mode of oscillating in and out of deviance as a means offinally
making an exit is often found in other forms of deviant careers, such as quitting
cigarette smoking and leaving an abusive relationship.

Reese and policy makers have a much better idea of the kinds of factors
that draw people into deviance than of what happens to them once they
enter these worlds. Unlike career trajectories in legitimate occupations, deviant
pathways are less structured and more fluid. Many people working legitimate
jobs are lodged in corporations or bureaucracies, where they have to work
their way through a rigid hierarchy of rungs, progressing only as slots become
available above them. Deviant work, in contrast, is entrepreneurial, lacking
both the constraints and the security of conventional occupations.

585
586 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

Studies of career patterns in deviance are few, but there are two things we
commonly do see. First, people do a lot of shifting around. They may rise up the
ranks or slip downward; they may learn a set of skills or acquire new connections
from people they know; they may hop around, combining part-time activities in
one realm with those in another. These shifts are facilitated by the fact that most
deviant work is unskilled or semiskilled and no credential is required. Second, devi-
ant activities are the province of the young. As people age, they often burn out from
the risk and the dangers; their friends leave the field, get arrested, or die; they start to
think that a less glamorous, but more stable, lifestyle seems more appealing. So, at
some point, most people think about exiting deviance. What they often find, how-
ever, is that getting out may not be as easy as getting in, especially if they have no
legitimate skills to support themselves. Attempts to escape deviance, then, may be
unsuccessful. What we often see is that people make several attempts to exit devi-
ance, returning fora while and then trying to get out again. This pattern of oscillat-
ing in and out of deviance may characterize both occupational deviance as well as
relational (battered women) or recreational (sex, cigarette smoking) forms.
We examine the case of upper-level drug dealers and smugglers to see one
of the ways that this pattern is illustrated. The upper echelons of the marijuana
and cocaine trade constitute a world that is rarely penetrated by sociologists.
Importing and distributing tons of marijuana and kilos of cocaine at a time, suc-
cessful operators can earn upward of a half million dollars per year. Their traffic in
these so-called “soft” drugs constitutes a potentially lucrative occupation, yet few
participants manage to accumulate any substantial sums of money, and most peo-
ple envision their involvement in drug trafficking as only temporary. In this study,
we focus on the career paths followed by members of one upper-level drug-
dealing and drug-smuggling community. We discuss the various modes of entry
into trafficking at these upper levels, contrasting them with entry into middle- and
low-level trafficking. We then describe the pattern of shifts and oscillations that
these dealers and smugglers experience. Once they reach the top rungs of their
occupation, they begin periodically quitting and reentering the field, often chang-
ing the degree and type of their involvement upon their return. Their careers,
therefore, offer insights into the problems involved in leaving deviance.
We begin by describing where our research took place, the people and
activities we studied, and the methods we used. Second, we outline the process
of becoming a drug trafficker, from initial recruitment through learning the
trade. Third, we look at the different types of upward mobility displayed by
dealers and smugglers. Fourth, we examine the career shifts and oscillations that
veteran dealers and smugglers display, outlining the multiple conflicting forces
that lure them both into and out of drug trafficking. We conclude by suggesting
a variety of paths that dealers and smugglers pursue out of drug trafficking and
discuss the problems inherent in leaving this deviant world.

SETTING AND METHOD

We based our study in Southwest County (a fictitious name), one section of

a large metropolitan area in southwestern California near the Mexican bor-
der. Southwest County consisted of a handful of beach towns dotting the
 CHAPTER 48 SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS IN THE CAREERS 587

Pacific Ocean, a location offering a strategic advantage for wholesale drug

trafficking.
Southwest County smugglers obtained their marijuana in Mexico by the
ton and their cocaine in Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru, purchasing between 10
and 40 kilos at a time. These drugs were imported into the United States
along a variety of land, sea, and air routes by organized smuggling crews.
Southwest County dealers then purchased the drugs and either “middled”
them directly to another buyer for a small, but immediate, profit of approxi-
mately $2 to $5 per kilo of marijuana and $5,000 per kilo of cocaine or
engaged in “straight dealing.” As opposed to middling, straight dealing usually
entailed adulterating the cocaine with such “cuts” as manitol, procaine, or ino-
sitol and then dividing the marijuana and cocaine into smaller quantities to sell
them to the next-lower level of dealers. Although dealers frequently varied the
amounts they bought and sold, a hierarchy of transaction levels could be
roughly discerned. “Wholesale” marijuana dealers bought directly from the
smugglers, purchasing anywhere from 300 to 1,000 “bricks” (averaging a kilo
in weight) at a time and selling in lots of 100 to 300 bricks. “Multikilo” deal-
ers, while not the smugglers’ first connections, also engaged in upper-level
trafficking, buying between 100 to 300 bricks and selling them in 25- to
100-brick quantities. These were then purchased by middle-level dealers, who
filtered the maryuana through low-level and “ounce” dealers before it reached
the ultimate consumer. Each time the marijuana changed hands, its price
increase was dependent on a number of factors: the purchase cost; the distance
it was transported (including such transportation costs as packaging, transporta-
tion equipment, and payments to employees); the amount of risk assumed; the
quality of the marijuana; and the prevailing prices in each local drug market.
Prices in the cocaine trade were much more predictable. After purchasing kilos
of cocaine in South America for $10,000 each, smugglers sold them to South-
west County “pound” dealers in quantities of 1 to 10 kilos for $60,000 per
kilo. These pound dealers usually cut the cocaine and sold pounds ($30,000) and
half-pounds ($15,000) to “ounce” dealers, who in turn cut it again and sold
ounces for $2,000 each to middle-level cocaine dealers known as “cut-ounce”
dealers. In this fashion, the drug was middled, dealt, divided, and cut—sometimes
as many as five or six times—until it was finally purchased by consumers as grams
or half-grams.
Unlike low-level operators, the upper-level dealers and smugglers we stud-
ied pursued drug trafficking as a full-time occupation. If they were involved in
other businesses, these were usually maintained to provide them with a legiti-
mate front for security purposes. The profits to be made at the upper levels
depended on an individual’s style of operation, reliability, and security, as well
as the amount of product he or she consumed. About half of the 65 smugglers
and dealers we observed were successful, some earning up to three-quarters of a
million dollars per year.! The other half continually struggled in the business,
either breaking even or losing money.
Although dealers’ and smugglers’ business activities varied, the two kinds of
drug traffickers clustered together for business and social relations, forming a
moderately well-integrated community whose members pursued a “fast” lifestyle
588 PART VIIl|_ DEVIANT CAREERS

that emphasized intensive partying, casual sex, extensive travel, abundant drug
consumption, and lavish spending on consumer goods. The exact size of South-
west County’s upper-level dealing and smuggling community was impossible to
estimate because of the secrecy of its members. At these levels, the drug world
was quite homogeneous. Participants were predominantly White, came from
middle-class backgrounds, and had little previous criminal involvement.
Although the dealers’ and smugglers’ social world contained both men and
women, most of the serious business was conducted by the men, ranging in
age from 25 to 40 years old.
We gained entry to Southwest County’s upper-level drug community
largely by accident. We had become friendly with a group of our neighbors
who turned out be heavily involved in smuggling maryuana. Opportunistically,
we seized the chance to gather data on this unexplored activity. Using key infor-
mants who helped us gain the trust of other members.of the community, we
drew upon snowball sampling techniques and a combination of overt and covert
roles to widen our network of contacts. We supplemented intensive participant
observation between 1974 and 1980 with unstructured taped interviews and
stayed in touch with our participants for many more years. Throughout, we
employed extensive measures to cross-check the reliability of our data whenever
possible. In all, we were able to closely observe 65 dealers and smugglers, as well
as numerous other drug world members, including dealers’ “old ladies” (girl-
friends or wives), friends, and family members.

SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS

Despite the gratification that dealers and smugglers originally derived from the
easy money, material comfort, freedom, prestige, and power associated with
their careers, 90 percent of those we observed decided, at some point, to quit
the business. This decision stemmed, in part, from their initial perceptions of
the career as temporary (Hell, nobody wants to be a drug dealer all their
life”). Adding to these early intentions was a process of rapid aging in the career:
Dealers and smugglers became increasingly aware of the restrictions and sacrifices
their occupations required and got tired of living the fugitive life. They thought
about, talked about, and in many cases took steps toward getting out of the drug
business. But, as with entering, disengaging from drug trafficking was rarely an
abrupt act. Instead, it more often resembled a series of transitions, or oscillations,
out of and back into the business. For, once out of the drug world, dealers and
smugglers were rarely successful in making it in the legitimate world, because
they failed to cut down on their extravagant lifestyle and drug consumption.
Many abandoned their efforts to reform and returned to deviance, sometimes
picking up where they left off and other times shifting to a new mode of oper-
ating. For example, some shifted from dealing cocaine to dealing marijuana,
some dropped to a lower level of dealing, and others shifted their role within
the same group of traffickers. This series of phaseouts and reentries, combined
 CHAPTER 48 SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS IN THE CAREERS 589

with career shifts, endured for years, dominating the pattern of their remaining
involvement with the business. But it also represented the method by which
many eventually broke away from drug trafficking, for each phaseout had the
potential to be an individual’s final departure.

Aging in the Career

Once recruited and established in the drug world, dealers and smugglers entered
into a middle phase of aging in the career. This phase was characterized by a
progressive loss of enchantment with their occupation. While novice dealers
and smugglers found that participation in the drug world brought them thrills
and status, the novelty gradually faded. Initial feelings of exhilaration and awe
began to dull as individuals became increasingly jaded. This transformation was
the result of an extended exposure both to the mundane, everyday business
aspects of drug trafficking and to an exorbitant consumption of drugs (especially
cocaine). One smuggler described how he eventually came to feel:
It was fun, those three or four years. I never worried about money or
anything. But after awhile it got real boring. There was no feeling or
emotion or anything about it. I wasn’t even hardly relating to my old
lady anymore. Everything was just one big rush.
This frenzy of overstimulation and resulting exhaustion hastened the process
of “burnout,” which nearly all individuals experienced. As dealers and smugglers
aged in the career, they became more sensitized to the extreme risks they faced.
Cases of friends and associates who were arrested, imprisoned, or killed began to
mount. Many individuals became convinced that continued drug trafficking
would inevitably lead to arrest (“It’s only a matter of time before you get
caught”). Although dealers and smugglers generally repressed their awareness of
danger, treating it as a taken-for-granted part of their daily existence, periodic
crises shattered their casual attitudes, evoking strong feelings of fear. In reaction
to such crises, they temporarily intensified security precautions and retreated into
near isolation until they felt that the “heat” was off.
As a result of these accumulating “scares,” dealers and smugglers increasingly
integrated feelings of “paranoia” into their everyday lives. One dealer talked
about his feelings of paranoia:
You’re always on the line. You don’t lead a normal life. You’re always
looking over your shoulder, wondering who’s at the door, having to
hide everything. You learn to look behind you so well you could
probably bend over and look up your ass. That’s paranoia. It’s a really
scary, hard feeling. That’s what makes you get out.
Drug world members also grew progressively weary of their exclusion from
the legitimate world and the deceptions they had to manage to sustain that sepa-
ration. Initially, the separation was surrounded by an alluring mystique. But as
they aged in the career, this mystique became replaced by the reality of everyday
boundary maintenance and the feeling of being an “expatriated citizen within
590 PART VIII DEVIANT CAREERS

one’s own country.” One smuggler who was contemplating quitting described
the effects of the separation:
I’m so sick of looking over my shoulder, having to sit in my house and
worry about one of my non—drug world friends stopping in when I’m
doing business. Do you know how awful that is? It’s like leading a
double life. It’s ridiculous. That’s what makes it not worth it. It'll be a
lot less money [to quit], but a lot less pressure.
Thus, although the drug world was somewhat restricted, it was not an
encapsulated community, and dealers’ and smugglers’ continuous involvement
with the straight world made the temptation to adhere to normative standards
and “go straight” omnipresent. With the occupation’s novelty worn off and the
“fast life” taken for granted, most dealers and smugglers felt that the occupation
no longer resembled their early impressions of it. Once-they reached the upper
levels, their experience began to change. Eventually, the rewards of trafficking
no longer seemed to justify the strain and risk involved. It was at this point that
the straight world’s formerly dull ambience became transformed (at least in the-
ory) into a potential haven.

Phasing Out
Three factors inhibited dealers and smugglers from leaving the drug world. Pn-
mary among these factors were the hedonistic and materialistic satisfactions the
drug world provided. Once accustomed to earning vast quantities of money
quickly and easily, individuals found it exceedingly difficult to return to the
income scale of the straight world. They were also reluctant to abandon the
pleasure of the “fast life” and its accompanying drugs, casual sex, and power.
Second, dealers and smugglers identified with, and developed a commitment
to, the occupation of drug trafficking (Adler and Adler, 1982). Their self
images were tied to that role and could not be easily disengaged. The years
invested in their careers (learning the trade, forming connections, building repu-
tations) strengthened their involvement with both the occupation and the drug
community. And since their relationships were social as well as business related,
friendship ties bound individuals to dealing. As one dealer in the midst of strug-
gling to phase out explained,
The biggest threat to me is to get caught up sitting around the house
with friends that are into dealing. I’m trying to stay away from them,
change my habits.
Third, dealers and smugglers hesitated to quit the field voluntarily because of the
difficulty involved in finding another way to earn a living. Their years spent in
illicit activity made it unlikely for any legitimate organizations to hire them. This
situation narrowed their occupational choices considerably, leaving self-
employment as one of the few remaining avenues open.
Dealers and smugglers who tried to leave the drug world generally fell into
one of four patterns.” The first and most frequent pattern was to postpone
 CHAPTER 48 SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS IN THE CAREERS 591

quitting until after they could execute one last “big deal.” Although the inten-
tion was sincere, individuals who chose this route rarely succeeded: The “big
deal” too often remained elusive. One marijuana smuggler offered a variation
on this theme:
My plan is to make a quarter of a million dollars in four months during
the prime smuggling season and get the hell out of the business.
"A second pattern we observed was individuals who planned to change
immediately but never did. They announced that they were quitting, yet their
outward actions never varied. One dealer described his involvement with this
syndrome:
When I wake up I'll say, “Hey, I’m going to quit this cycle and just run
my other business.” But when you're dealing you constantly have peo-
ple dropping by ounces and asking, “Can you move this?” What’s your
first response? Always, “Sure, for a toot.”

In the third pattern of phasing out, individuals actually suspended their deal-
ing and smuggling activities but did not replace them with an alternative source
of income. Such withdrawals were usually spontaneous and prompted by
exhaustion, the influence of a person from outside the drug world, or problems
with the police or other associates. These kinds of phaseouts usually lasted only
until the individual’s money ran out, as one dealer explained:
I got into legal trouble with the FBI a while back and I was forced to
quit dealing. Everybody just cut me off completely, and I saw the dan-
ger in continuing, myself. But my high-class tastes never dwindled.
Before I knew it I was in hock over $30,000. Even though I was hot,
I was forced to get back into dealing to relieve some of my debts.
In the fourth pattern of phasing out, dealers and smugglers tried to move
into another line of work. Alternative occupations included (1) those they had
previously pursued; (2) front businesses maintained on the side while dealing or
smuggling; and (3) new occupations altogether. While some people accom-
plished this transition successfully, there were problems inherent in all three
alternatives:
1. Most people who tried resuming their former occupations found that those
occupations had changed too much while they were away. In addition,
they themselves had changed: They enjoyed the self-directed freedom and
spontaneity associated with dealing and smuggling, and were unwilling to
relinquish it.
2. Those who turned to their legitimate front businesses often found that those
businesses were unable to support them. Designed to launder, rather than
earn, money, most of these ventures were retail outlets (restaurants, movie
theaters, automobile dealerships, small stores) with a heavy cash flow. They
had become accustomed to operating under a continuous subsidy from illegal
funds. Once their drug funding was cut off, they could not survive for long.
592 PART VIIl_ DEVIANT CAREERS

3. Many dealers and smugglers utilized the skills and connections they had
developed in the drug business to create a new occupation. They exchanged
their illegal commodity for a legal one and went into import-export,
manufacturing, wholesaling, or retailing other merchandise. For some, the
decision to prepare a legitimate career for their future retirement from the
drug world followed an unsuccessful attempt to phase out into a “front”
business. One husband-and-wife dealing team explained how these
legitimate side businesses differed from front businesses:
We always had a little legitimate “scam” [scheme] going, like mail-order
shirts, wallets, jewelry, and the kids were always involved in that. We
made a little bit of money on them. Their main purpose was for a
cover. But [this business] was different; right from the start this was
going to be a legal thing to push us out of the drug business.
About 10 percent of the dealers and smugglers we observed began tapering
off their drug world involvement gradually, transferring their time and money
into a selected legitimate endeavor. They did not try to quit drug trafficking
altogether until they felt confident that their legitimate business could support
them. Like spontaneous phaeseouts, many of these planned withdrawals into
legitimate endeavors failed to generate enough money to keep individuals from
being lured into reentering the drug world.
In addition to voluntary phaseouts caused by burnout, about 40 percent of
the Southwest County dealers and smugglers we observed experienced a “bust-
out” at some point in their careers. Forced withdrawals from dealing or smug-
gling were usually sudden and motivated by external factors, either financial,
legal, or reputational. Financial bustouts generally occurred when dealers or
smugglers were either “burned” or “ripped off’ by others, leaving them in too
much debt to rebuild their base of operation. Legal bustouts followed arrest and,
possibly, incarceration: Arrested individuals were so “hot” that few of their for-
mer associates would deal with them. Reputational bustouts occurred when
individuals “burned” or “ripped off’ others (regardless of whether they intended
to do so) and were banned from business by their former circle of associates. One
smuggler gave his opinion on the pervasive nature of forced phaseouts:
Some people are smart enough to get out of it because they realize,
physically, they have to. Others realize, monetarily, that they want to
get out of this world before this world gets them. Those are the lucky
ones. Then there are the ones who have to get out because they’re hot
or someone else close to them is so hot that they'd better get out. But in
the end when you get out of it, nobody gets out of it out of free choice;
you do it because you have to.
Death, of course, was the ultimate bustout. Some pilots met this fate because of
the dangerous routes they navigated (hugging mountains, treetops, or other air-
craft) and the sometimes ill-maintained and overloaded planes they flew. Despite
much talk of violence, few Southwest County drug traffickers died at the hands
of fellow dealers.
 CHAPTER 48 SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS IN THE CAREERS 593

Reentry
Phasing out of the drug world was temporary more often than not. For many
dealers and smugglers, it represented but another stage of their drug careers
(although this may not have been their original intention), to be followed by a
period of reinvolvement. Depending on the individual’s perspective, reentry into
the drug world could be viewed as either a comeback (from a forced withdrawal)
or a relapse (from a voluntary withdrawal).
Most people forced out of drug trafficking were anxious to return. The deci-
sion to phase out was never theirs, and the desire to get back into dealing or smug-
gling was based on many of the same reasons that drew them into the field
originally. Coming back from financial, legal, and reputational bustouts was possi-
ble, but difficult, and was not always successful. The dealers or smugglers had to
reestablish contacts, rebuild their organization and fronting arrangements, and raise
the operating capital necessary to resume dealing. More difficult was the problem
of overcoming the circumstances surrounding their departure. Once smugglers
and dealers resumed operating, they often found their former colleagues suspicious
of them. One frustrated dealer described the effects of his prison experience:
When I first got out of the joint [jail], none of my old friends would
have anything to do with me. Finally, one guy who had been my
partner told me it was because everyone was suspicious of my getting
out early and thought I made a deal [with police to inform on his
colleagues].
Dealers and smugglers who returned from bustouts were thus informally sub-
jected to a trial period in which they had to reestablish their trustworthiness
and reliability before they could once again move in the drug world with ease.
Reentry from voluntary withdrawal involved a more difficult decision-
making process, but was easier to implement. The factors enticing individuals to
reenter the drug world were not the same as those which motivated their original
entry. As we noted earlier, experienced dealers and smugglers often privately
weighed their reasons for wanting to quit and wanting to stay in. Once they left,
their images of, and hopes for, the straight world failed to materialize. They could
not make the shift to the norms, values, and lifestyle of the straight society and
could not earn a living within it. Thus, dealers and smugglers decided to reenter
the drug business for basic reasons: the material perquisites, the hedonistic gratifi-
cations, the social ties, and the fact that they had nowhere else to go.
Once this decision was made, the actual process of reentry was relatively
easy. One dealer described how the door back into dealing remained open for
those who left voluntarily:
I still see my dealer friends, I can still buy grams from them when I want
to. It’s the respect they have for me because I stepped out of it without
being busted or burning someone. I’m coming out with a good repu-
tation, and even though the scene is a whirlwind—people moving up,
moving down, in, out—if I didn’t see anybody for a year I could call
them up and get right back in that day.
594 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

People who relapsed thus had not much of a problem obtaining fronts, reestab-
lishing their reputations, or readjusting to the scene.

Career Shifts

Dealers and smugglers who reentered the drug world, whether from a voluntary
or forced phaseout, did not. always return to the same level of transaction or
commodity that characterized their previous style of operation. Many individuals
underwent a “career shift” and became involved in some new segment of the
drug world. These shifts were sometimes lateral, as when a member of a smug-
gling crew took on a new specialization, switching from piloting to operating a
stash house, for example. One dealer described how he utilized friendship net-
works upon his reentry to shift from cocaine to marijuana trafficking:
Before, when I was dealing cocaine, I was too caught up in using the
drug and people around me were starting to go under from getting into
“base” [another form of cocaine]. That’s why I got out. But now I think
I’ve got myself together and even though I’m dealing again I’m staying
away from coke. I’ve switched over to dealing grass. It’s a whole
different circle of people. I got into it through a close friend I used to
know before, but I never did business with him because he did grass and
I did coke.

Vertical shifts moved operators to different levels. For example, one former
smuggler returned and began dealing; another, top-level, marijuana dealer came
back to find that the smugglers he knew had disappeared and he was forced to
buy in smaller quantities from other dealers.
Another type of shift relocated drug traffickers in different styles of operation.
One dealer described how he tightened his security measures after being arrested:
I just had to cut back after I went through those changes. Hell, I’m not
getting any younger and the idea of going to prison bothers me a lot
more than it did 10 years ago. The risks are no longer worth it when
I can have a comfortable income with less risk. So I only sell to four
people now. I don’t care if they buy a pound or a gram.
A former smuggler who sold his operation and lost all his money during
phaseout returned as a consultant to the industry, selling his expertise to those
with new money and fresh manpower:
What I’ve been doing lately is setting up deals for people. I’ve got
foolproof plans for smuggling cocaine up here from Colombia; I tell
them how to modify their airplanes to add on extra fuel tanks and to fit
in more weed, coke, or whatever they bring up. Then I set them up
with refueling points all up and down Central America, tell them how
to bring it up here, what points to come in at, and what kind of
receiving unit to use. Then they do it all and I get 10 percent of what
they make.
 CHAPTER 48 SHIFTS AND OSCILLATIONS IN THE CAREERS 595

Reentry did not always involve a shift to a new niche, however. Some deal-
ers and smugglers returned to the same circle of associates, trafficking activity,
and commodity they worked with prior to their departure. Thus, drug dealers’
careers often péaked early and then displayed a variety of shifts, from lateral
mobility, to decline, to holding fairly steady.
A final alternative involved neither completely leaving nor remaining within
the deviant world. Many individuals straddled the deviant and respectable worlds
forever by continuing to dabble in drug trafficking. As a result of their experi-
ences in the drug world, they developed a deviant self-identity and a deviant
modus operandi. They might not have wanted to bear the social and legal burden
of full-time deviant work, but neither were they willing to assume the perceived
confines and limitations of the straight world. They, therefore, moved into the
entrepreneurial realm, where their daily activities involved some kind of hustling
or “wheeling and dealing” in an assortment of legitimate, quasi-legitimate, and
deviant ventures, and where they could be their own boss. This dual existence
enabled them to retain certain elements of the deviant lifestyle and to socialize
on the fringes of the drug community. For these individuals, drug dealing shifted
from a primary occupation to a sideline.

LEAVING DRUG TRAFFICKING

This career pattern of oscillation into and out of active drug trafficking makes it
difficult to speak of leaving drug trafficking in the sense of final retirement.
Clearly, some people succeeded in voluntarily retiring. Of these, a few managed
to prepare a postdeviant career for themselves by transferring their drug money
into a legitimate enterprise. A larger group was forced out of dealing and either
didn’t or couldn’t return: The bustouts were sufficiently damaging that these
people never attempted reentry, or they abandoned efforts after a series of unsuc-
cessful attempts. But there was no way of structurally determining in advance
whether an exit from the business would be temporary or permanent. The vacil-
lations in dealers’ intentions were compounded by the complexity of operating
successfully in the drug world. For many, then, no phaseout could ever be defi-
nitely assessed as permanent. As long as individuals had skills, knowledge, and
connections to deal, they retained the potential to reenter the occupation at
any time. Leaving drug trafficking may thus be a relative phenomenon, charac-
terized by a trailing-off process in which spurts of involvement appear with
decreasing frequency and intensity.

SUMMARY

Drug dealing and smuggling careers are temporary and fraught with multiple
attempts at retirement. Veteran drug traffickers quit their occupation because of
the ambivalent feelings they develop toward their deviant life. As they age in the
596 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

career, their experience changes, shifting from a work life that is exhilarating and
free to one that becomes increasingly dangerous and confining. But just as their
deviant careers are temporary, so, too, are their retirements. Potential recruits are
lured into the drug business by materialism, hedonism, glamor, and excitement.
Established dealers are lured away from the deviant life and back into the main-
stream by the attractions of security and social ease. Retired dealers and smug-
glers are lured back in by their expertise and by their ability to make money
quickly and easily. People who have been exposed to the upper levels of drug
trafficking therefore find it extremely difficult to quit their deviant occupation
permanently. Their inability to quit stems, in part, from their difficulty in mov-
ing from the illegitimate to the legitimate business sector. Even more significant
is the affinity they form for their deviant values and lifestyle. Thus, few, if any, of
our subjects were successful in leaving deviance entirely. What dealers and smug-
glers intend, at the time, to be a permanent withdrawal from drug trafficking can
be seen in retrospect as a pervasive occupational pattern of midcareer shifts and
oscillations. More research is needed into the complex process of how people get
out of deviance and enter the world of legitimate work.

NOTES

1. This is an idealized figure representing and smugglers we observed simply

the profit a dealer or smuggler could “disappeared” from the scene and
earn and does not include deductions were never heard from again. We
for such miscellaneous and hard- therefore have no way of knowing if
to-calculate costs as time or money they phased out (voluntarily or invol-
spent in arranging deals (some of untarily), shifted to another scene, or
which never materialize); lost, stolen, were killed in some remote place. We
or unrepaid money or drugs; and the cannot, therefore, estimate the num-
personal drug consumption ofa drug bers of people who left the Southwest
trafficker and his or her entourage. Of County drug scene via each of the
these costs, the single largest expense is routes discussed here. It is also impos-
the last one, accounting for the bulk of sible to determine the exact percent-
deductions from most Southwest age of people falling into the different
County dealers’ and smugglers’ phaseout categories: Because of oscil-
earnings. lation, people could experience several
At this point, a limitation on our data types of phaseout and thus appear in
must be noted. Many of the dealers multiple categories.

REFERENCE

Adler, Patricia A., and Peter Adler. 1982.

“Criminal Commitment Among Drug
Dealers.” Deviant Behavior 3: 117-135.
 49

Obstacles to Exiting Emotional

Disorder Identities
JENNA HOWARD

Howard’s chapter on how people with emotional disorders grow to challenge and
become discontented with their diagnoses shows us the identity dimensions of
exiting deviance. In reading about fat and bisexual identities earlier, we saw the
kinds of processes people underwent to change and enter into deviant identities.
But Howard shows how it is equally difficult to exit them, reinforced by the
tendency of comfort and friendships to hold the individuals to the status quo.
The people with emotional disorders she describes have often bought into their
psychological diagnoses with difficulty, suffering and in pain. Quitting them
is likely to bring an equal amount of psychological trauma.
How does exiting emotional disorder identities compare with quitting drug
trafficking? Are the stages of the process, the shifts around, or the oscillations in
and out similar or different? What factors are pushing people out of each versus
pulling them toward other activities or identities? How do Howard’s existential,
interactional, and cultural barriers to identity change compare with the active and
passive status cues described by Degher and Hughes (Chapter 23) for the fat
people?

Ce subjective identity career entrances and exits can be a rich source

of social psychological insight into identity processes. At what point do par-
ticular self-definitions begin and at what point do they end? While some identity
careers have “highly articulated” (Glaser and Strauss 1967) durations that are
publicly marked by explicit symbols of entrance and exit (such as acquiring a
uniform or receiving a diploma), the duration of other identity careers is more
subjectively determined. One such identity career involves identities that are
based on emotional disorder labels. Because the sensations and experiences that
qualify as symptoms of these conditions tend to be internally located and lack
visible boundaries, the determination of whether to consider oneself ill or not
may be highly subjective. This study explores the subjective. self-meanings of
people who formerly identified with emotional disorder labels and no longer

From Jenna Howard. “Negotiating an Exit: Existential, Interactional, and Cultural

Obstacles to Disorder Disidentification.” Social Psychology Quarterly, Vol. 71(2). Copyright
© 2008. Reprinted by permission of the American Psychological Association.

597
598 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

do (delabelers). My analysis of their narratives offers nuance to our understand-

ing of identification and disidentification processes by highlighting the tension
between the individual’s decision to discard the disorder labels and the simulta-
neous reluctance to relinquish the associated identity. In particular, I focus on
delabelers’ descriptions of the difficulties involved in the disidentification process,
classifying them as existential, interactional, and cultural obstacles to disidentifica-
Hoty:
This study is based on in-depth interviews with 40 individuals who claim to
have formerly identified with emotional disorder labels and no longer use
the label as a source of subjective identification. I refer to these individuals as
delabelers. These individuals formerly identified with a wide range of emotional
disorder labels as diverse as “anorexic,” “codependent,” “bipolar,” or “agora-
phobic”....[T]hese individuals, by definition, have subjectively~ disidentified
with their emotional disorder labels, and their narratives offer insight into the
changing subjective meanings of their disorder identities over time as well as
into the exiting process itself. One of the outstanding themes common to a
majority of delabelers’ narratives depicts the disidentification process as
difficult ....
This focus on the challenges to exiting experienced by this underresearched
population offers insight into the experiences of delabelers specifically and it pro-
vides a sensitizing framework for broadening our inquiry into the processes and
consequences of labeling within a mental health context.

DATA AND METHODS

The only criterion for being considered a delabeler is to have formerly identified
oneself with a labeled emotional disorder. I do not distinguish between those
who were professionally labeled or “self-labeled” (Thoits 1985), nor do I con-
sider the current presence or absence of “symptoms” in my inclusion criterion.
This means that being a delabeler is not necessarily synonymous with being
“cured” (although in some cases it may be); it simply implies that one has chosen
to no longer use the disorder label as a source of identity, for any reason. The
scope of this work is limited to issues of self-identification; it does not address
objective clinical outcomes ...
The unmarked nature of this population makes recruitment difficult because
individuals who have disidentified from their labels generally cannot be found
attending support group meetings or treatmerit centers. Therefore, to locate the
forty delabelers that make up this sample, I depended on snowball sampling and
advertising with flyers, including voluntary postings by two informants to online
networks of therapists and social workers of which they are members. As a result,
my informants came from ten different states, and all but four local respondents
were interviewed in tape-recorded phone sessions.
It is a primarily female sample (31 women and nine men), ranging in age
from 20 to 69. More than a third are over 50, and half are in social service,
 CHAPTER 49 OBSTACLES TO EXITING EMOTIONAL DISORDER 599

mental health, or other health-related professions. The gender skew may be

attributed to the increasing feminization of psychotherapy and other care-giving
professions as well to the socialized gender differences in the level of comfort
with speaking about emotional problems. The occupational concentration may
be due in part to the recruitment from the two online postings that target pro-
fessionals in these fields, as well as to the “professional-ex phenomenon” (Brown
1991), which acknowledges that former sufferers are often attracted to helping
professions. One consequence is that I may have inadvertently selected an espe-
cially self-reflective sample, both because reflective qualities can be expected to
increase with age and because social service and mental health professions
encourage sophistication in psychological matters. The prevalence of these occu-
pations in this sample may have additionally influenced my findings because
these individuals likely had greater access to professional discourses on mental
health than the average person. Exposure to these discourses could have provided
them with interpretive resources that may have informed their disidentification
experiences.
While the range of disorder labels represented in this sample is wide, the
distribution leans heavily toward the conditions that would be classified in the
DSM-IV-TR (2000) as anxiety, eating, substance, and mood disorders. There
are only eight cases of identification with psychotic or dissociative disorders.
Nearly one quarter of the sample identified/disidentified with more than one
label. A majority identified with their labels for less than ten years, while eleven
delabelers report having identified with the labels for more than ten years ....

OBSTACLES TO DISIDENTIFICATION

All delabelers, by definition, ultimately decide to discard their disorder labels. For
most, however, this identity exit is fraught with intra- and interpersonal conflicts
that make the process emotionally difficult, thus posing obstacles to the disiden-
tification process. In what follows, I use excerpts from delabelers’ narratives to
illustrate these obstacles on existential, interactional, and cultural levels. While
these three types of obstacles are experientially interrelated, I discuss them sepa-
rately for analytic clarity.

EXISTENTIAL OBSTACLES

Delabelers’ narratives suggest that exiting disorder identities can be an existentially

uncomfortable experience. Several delabelers describe having gone through a
period of questioning, “Who am I now?” after deciding to disidentify with their
labels, and some talk about having anticipated the identity transition with a great
deal of anxiety about a potential lack of self-meaning. These delabelers describe
the existential uncertainty that can accompany the decision to discard the disorder
label as a profound obstacle in the disidentification process.
600 PART VII| DEVIANT CAREERS

One of the reasons that discarding disorder identities can be so existentially

unsettling is that it involves a transition from a culturally “marked” category to
an “unmarked” (Brekhus 1998) one. Many identity transitions involve a transition
from one identity status to a subsequent “ex-role” (Ebaugh 1988) (i.e., employee
to retiree; spouse to divorcee; native to immigrant); however, disidentifying from
emotional disorder labels does not involve adopting a new, labeled status. Rather,
the transition moves the exiting individual from a highly marked, culturally re-
cognized status (with associated support groups, national organizations, media
attention, and self-help literature directed toward that status) to a completely
unmarked, unrecognized nonidentity. Instead of replacing one identity with
another (as when a transsexual trades one gender identity for a different one) this
identity transition requires individuals to simply forfeit a source of identity ....
In addition to letting go of amarked identity in a cultural context that does
not provide a marked ex-identity, delabelers face an additional existential chal-
lenge in their exiting processes due to their reason for discarding the disorder
identity. Almost unanimously, delabelers explain their decision to discard the
label as a result of becoming aware that the disorder identification had begun
to have internally limiting consequences for their self-perceptions. More specifi-
cally, they commonly describe a realization that continuing to identify as “‘dis-
ordered” was narrowing the complexity of their self-concepts. In many cases, the
disorder label had developed into a master status. As delabeler Gretchen remarks
about her former “addict” identity, “I built who I was around it ... My entire
life was recovery!”
Many delabelers explain that this recognition of the limiting consequences of
the disorder identity initiated a more general questioning of the nature and con-
sequences of all individual identity. For this reason, many conclude that simply
replacing their attachment to the disorder identity with another categorical entity
would not help them avoid the limitations that prompted them to discard the
disorder identity in the first place. This creates an existential predicament for a
number of delabelers after they decide to discard their disorder identities: they
are faced with an identity void. Delabeler Eliza realized as she was discarding her
disorder identity (“sex and love addict”) that-to replace it with another label
would be “pointless”: “It would be like sticking myself in another box that I
would then have to climb out of!” From this perspective, the decision to discard
the disorder labels is better characterized as walking into an identity void than as
straddling two distinct identities.
For this reason many delabelers describe feeling a tremendous reluctance to
turn in their illness identities. Anne’s narrative offers some insight into the expe-
rience of the identity void. In her story about*her exit from her identification as a
“multiple” ([one with] multiple personality disorder) she explains why it can feel
desirable to hold onto a label even after determining it has “‘out-served its
usefulness.” After having considered herself a “multiple” for many years she
became aware that she “needed to be very cautious” about using the words “I
am” in reference to her label. She ultimately came to believe, “By saying it over
and over (‘I am this; I am that’) we start to define ourselves in a way that’s hard
to break because we really believe that’s who we are, as opposed to being more
 CHAPTER 49 OBSTACLES TO EXITING EMOTIONAL DISORDER 601

than that.” Despite this insight, however, the prospect of disidentifying with a
label that had provided a way for her to understand her experience for so many
years was unsettling. Articulating her reasoning for wanting to maintain her dis-
order identity, she poignantly explains, “It can be so comforting to know who
you are, even if ifs a false self”.
Naomi’s narrative offers a akin’ example of an extended experience of such
ambivalence. She was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder and was hospi-
talized in an intensive “MPD unit,” where she was assumed to be a “textbook”
case of the disorder The staff's assessment, she recalls, was that “if I wasn’t MPD,
nobody was.” There was, however, much more conflict in her ability to under-
stand her own condition. She describes a dual relationship with her disorder iden-
tity: on the one hand, she claims that she always doubted whether the diagnosis
was accurate, and at the same time, she was deeply attached to the label. She
describes feeling great anxiety at the very thought of not having that label with
which to identify. Describing these contradictory feelings she explains:
I knew this diagnosis was wrong on a level that was not allowed to be
discussed .... But at the same time I had become terrified that if anyone
contradicted the idea that I was a ‘multiple,’ then what in the hell had
my life been about? ... If Iwasn’t ‘multiple’ then what the hell was
going on? I was very invested in, “You better believe me! Don’t you
dare tell me I’m not ‘multiple’. And, on another level I knew I wasn’t.
Naomi struggled with this dual understanding of her identification for sev-
eral years. So much of her self-understanding depended on her disorder label,
and yet she was also eager to let it go because she was simultaneously convinced
that “this was not [her] story.” She had, however, “invested” so much of her
sense of self into this label that the prospect of discarding it forced her to face a
“terrifying” identity void ....
The anxiety of this existential uncertainty can present a serious obstacle to
the disorder identity exiting process. Identity transitions of any kind can be diffi-
cult, but when they involve giving up an identity without the cultural support of
a recognized ex-identity, there can be a disconcerting sense of existential loss.
This challenge, delabelers’ narratives suggest, is compounded when the exiting
process is actually prompted by a questioning of the nature and consequences
of personal identity itself.

interactional Obstacles

In addition to the existential anxieties about displaced identity, delabelers also

describe interactional obstacles that make exiting disorder identities especially dif-
ficult and stressful. Issues of group solidarity are common in these narratives, par-
ticularly for individuals who participated in support groups or associated with
other people who shared their disorder labels. Although the existential aspect of
the exiting process tends to initiate feelings of anxiety, the interactional aspect of
disassociating with the group identity can trigger feelings of guilt and fear. Both
guilt and fear are closely associated with issues of loyalty to the group: one side
602 PART VIIl DEVIANT CAREERS

includes individuals’ feelings of indebtedness toward the group and the guilt that
results from considering leaving (the deserter complex), whereas the other side
involves the fear of being ostracized by the group for choosing to disidentify
with the label (reverse stigmatization). Both are expressed in delabelers’ narratives
as consequences of considering the process of exiting the collective identity.

Deserter complex Two similar examples of the deserter complex are expressed
by Judy and Kasey who were participants in 12-step recovery groups, Co-
dependents Anonymous (CoDA) and Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), respectively.
After several years, they both felt that they had “outgrown” these groups and the
disorder labels associated with them. Despite this recognition, deciding to exit
was not straightforward for either of them, as they both suffered from guilt for
deserting the group that they felt had, at one time, been so helpful to them. Judy
explains that even though she was “ready to move on,” she remembers:
I felt like I was abandoning them ... I thought I was supposed to stay.
But, then I realized I can’t rescue anyone. I had to do this for me. It’s
not that I didn’t want to pay back what the group had done for me ...
[but] I came to realize that I had been giving all along by participating in
the group, even in my need. The hard part, though, is letting go.
Kasey describes a similar sentiment in her story about deciding to disidentify
as an “alcoholic” and leave AA after nine years:
I wasn’t drinking anymore, and I wasn’t having cravings. So, some-
where in my ninth year I stopped feeling the need to go to meetings ...
I didn’t have as much time to spare to go to meetings since I started
going to graduate school, but I was feeling guilty about not going.
Even after participation is no longer considered to be beneficial, loyalty to
the group spawning the deserter complex can be understood by considering the
group solidarity that is often generated in these small groups ....
Delabeler Reina describes having experienced feelings of solidarity guilt
when she decided to minimize her involvement in the regional telephone sup-
port network she had established for people suffering from anxiety and panic
attacks. As the founder, Reina had developed a reputation within the network
as being an especially supportive, sympathetic listener for “phobics” who called
her in need. Similar to the 12-step philosophy, her network was founded on the
principle that identifying with fellow sufferers and sharing similar experiences is
mutually beneficial for both participants’ recovery processes. As her own “re-
covery” progressed, however, she found herself less interested in talking about
anxiety and decided to remove herself from the network she had built. She
experienced a great deal of guilt when someone would call, and she would
have to tell them that she didn’t have the time to talk that she used to have. In
her guilt, she would question herself]:] ““Am I still a good person? I don’t want to
be an insensitive, uncaring person by not being there to talk to every phobic ...
but I can’t share that space with them anymore in the same way. I’m just
not there.”
 CHAPTER 49 OBSTACLES TO EXITING EMOTIONAL DISORDER 603

This description of ambivalence and guilt for abandoning one’s fellow suf-
ferers parallels mobility experiences more generally because all mobility narra-
tives, by definition, are formally similar in at least two ways: they involve both
departure and progress. That is, one must not only leave (even if only symboli-
cally) a former association but also surpass it for an association of a sucially per-
ceived higher status ....

Reverse Stigmatization Delabelers narratives express both sides of the interac-

tional coin: group loyalty not only has the capacity to trigger feelings [of] guilt
for “abandoning” the group but also fear of being ostracized by the group for
choosing to leave. The prospect of losing close friends or being considered “in
denial” is a difficult prospect for some individuals to face. This ostracism from the
group (actual or anticipated) can be understood as a form of stigma for behaving
as a deviant, from the perspective of the group of labeled individuals. I refer to
this as reverse stigmatization because typical conceptions of stigma assume the
culturally dominant “normals” to be the “reference group” according to which
the stigmatized deviants are defined. In this case, the reference groups are
reversed. Delabelers’ narratives suggest that this reverse stigma (or even the per-
ceived potential for it) can be quite distressing and can discourage disiden-
tification.
Gretchen’s narrative illustrates this dilemma when she discusses her fear of
stigmatization by her former recovery community for choosing to discard her
“addict” identity. As a college student, she had lived in a special dorm for recov-
ering students, regularly attended AA and NA [Narcotics Anonymous] meetings,
and interacted only with friends who were “in recovery.” When the semester
ended she moved out of the recovery dorm and chose to stop going to meetings.
Despite her conviction that she had made the right decision for herself, she finds
herself “deathly afraid of the judgments” of her “recovery friends.” Anticipating
their reactions she admits, “I know I'll look like a failure to them. Even though I
don’t see it like that, to them I am. I dread that.” Although this fear did not
ultimately prevent her from exiting the disorder identity, she admits that even
now (several months later) she has remained fearful of encountering friends
from recovery and facing the anticipated criticism ....
Both the deserter complex and reverse stigmatization demonstrate a deep
degree of attachment to the recovery community. This attachment seems incon-
gruous with delabelers’ assertions about the disorder label having “outlived its
purpose” or their having already “gotten what [they] could” out of participation
in the recovery group. Considering the expressed desire for disidentification from
the disorder identity, it seems surprising that delabelers would care so much
about what these former group members would think about their decision to
leave. Why should the opinions of the group members matter if delabelers
have already decided to extricate themselves from these groups? One answer
reflects the crucial issue involved in collective disorder identification: the recov-
ery group is not only a treatment resource but also a source of community. Thus,
to dissociate with such a community involves both forfeiting a sense of belonging
as well as rejecting the microculture of the local group. From this perspective,
604 PART VII! DEVIANT CAREERS

it is understandable that individuals would experience attachment to their recov-

ery communities and care about the opinions of the other participants, even after
deciding to discard their disorder labels.

Cultural Obstacles

In addition to the existential and interactional obstacles to disidentifying

with their labels, delabelers also describe cultural pressure to remain identified
as “disordered” ...
Delabelers’ narratives reflect this cultural trend of assuming that a label is
needed in order to understand and cope with life’s difficulties. For example,
delabelers Keith and Vicky suggest that this belief influenced their identification
with their respective disorder labels. When Keith tells of how he came to see
himself as “disordered,” he explains that because he was unhappy and having
problems in his marriage, he felt he “had to go somewhere,” implying that he
should participate in some kind of therapeutic setting. He says that because he
did not know where else to go, he went to an Alanon meeting “because it was
available” and he was familiar with the name. When he eventually concluded
that he had “gotten all that [he] could” from Alanon, he continued to believe
that he “had to go somewhere,” and so he began identifying as a “codependent”
and attending CoDA meetings, upon the advice of his mother.
Similarly, Vicky explains that after five years of AA membership, she con-
cluded that she was not an “alcoholic” but found herself assuming, “I should be
in something ....” She explains:
I went around and around and could never figure out which group to
go to: Should I go to AA again? No, that doesn’t fit anymore. Should I
go to an Adult Child meeting? Alanon? Nothing really ever fit right so I
ended up never going back, but many times I thought maybe I should.
Like Keith, Vicky felt that because she continued to have some emotional
difficulties, ... she should find a new disorder label to classify her trouble.
The prevalent assumption that disorder labels are needed in order to under-
stand and cope with difficult life experiences can be seen as symptomatic of the
“triumph” of what Philip Rieff (1966) named the “therapeutic culture” in the
1960s 08
This increased psychologization of everyday life has borne an explosion in
the number of therapeutic practitioners and therapeutic self-help groups; the
interplay between the expert domain of psychological professionals[, on the one
hand,| and popular self-help culture and media representations[, on the other,|
further reinforces a cultural preoccupation with therapeutics. As Dana Becker
(2005) points out “[T]he ideas that emanate from both the popular and
professional cultures ... are often combined, transformed, recycled, and used for
purposes other than the therapeutic.” The result is a culture that increasingly
views normal human emotion in pathological terms.
This transformation in our understanding of emotional disorder is not only a
matter of increasing diagnostic categorization, [but] the very nature of emotional
 CHAPTER 49 OBSTACLES TO EXITING EMOTIONAL DISORDER 605

disturbance has also come to be seen more and more in biomedical terms. Karp
(2006) cautions, “With the increasing acceptance of the biomedical model,
we begin to believe that more and more of our feelings are illegitimate and ab-
normal and require biological intervention to correct.” He asserts that the conse-
quence of this belief, which is “unrelentingly pushed by. pharmaceutical
companies and some doctors,” poses a threat to “personal autonomy and respon-
sibility” (208).
This potential [threat] is suggested in several delabelers’ narratives [which]
reveal [that] an internalization of the disease concept of their emotional behavior
made disidentifying with their disorder labels especially difficult. Eva, for exam-
ple, was diagnosed as “clinically depressed” when she was in her early twenties.
She explains:
I was always told I had a “chemical imbalance” and that taking this pill
every day would make everything wonderful. I was given various pills
over a period of twenty years .... The idea that “depression” is an illness
is SO pervasive on the TV, and I used to read articles in magazines and
books, and these people like [William] Styron come out with these
books and say they suffered all their lives, and they had a chemical
imbalance and now they take this one pill every day and everything is
wondertul. I would read them, and I did kind of believe it was true ... I
really wanted to believe because I was unhappy, and I wanted to believe
that all we had to do was find the right pill and everything would be
wonderful. And, I was like most people, wanting to put my trust and
faith in somebody else, especially the medical profession and have them
tell me what to do.
Eva’s eventual inclination to disidentify with the disorder label posed a chal-
lenge for her because of her desire to trust the medical system, as well as the
cultural encouragement to feel that she should trust it. In retrospect, she realizes
that in the hands of the psychiatrists, she had become “very passive and depen-
dent; dependent on somebody else to figure things out.” She eventually began to
internally question the psychiatric authorities, but she kept it a private struggle
because she had “never heard of something that was not a biochemical analysis
[of depression].” Deciding to discard the disorder label was, therefore, so difficult
because it required her to take a stand against a cultural authority when she
believed that she was alone in her views. She emphasizes, “I always thought it
[doubting ‘the system’] was just me.” ....

DISCUSSION

Delabelers’ narratives suggest that the decision to discard one’s disorder identity 1s
often just the beginning of a difficult process of disidentification, fraught with a
variety of obstacles. It seems ... that the extent to which one 1s able to success-
fully negotiate the disorder identity exit would be related to the amount of
“recovery capital” one possesses. Robert Granfield and William Cloud (1999)
606 PART VII| DEVIANT CAREERS

have coined this term to refer to the total number of one’s resources that can be
used to “promote and sustain a recovery experience” (179). They explain that
such resources can include various forms of physical, social, and human capital
such as one’s financial status, friendship networks, and vocational skills ....
Individuals who have involvements in alternate jobs, relationships, and hob-
bies have a “far easier adjustment” than individuals who exited without such
“bridges.” As a general rule, Ebaugh (1998) suggests that “there seems to be a
direct relationship between the number and quality of bridges and the degree
of role adjustment and happiness after the exit.”
In addition, delabeler Stacey suggests how financial resources may serve as a
form of recovery capital. She started receiving Supplemental Security Income
(SSI) after being diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) follow-
ing what she describes as a traumatic loss. She explains that, until recently, her
anxiety symptoms made holding a job impossible, and’so she depended on the
disability benefits for survival. She is now employed in her first part-time job
since the diagnosis but does not feel quite ready for a full-time position. In the
meantime, she continues to claim eligibility for half of her original benefits
because her salary is only about $600 each month. She explains, although she
no longer identifies with her diagnosis, using the disorder label to claim benefits
makes a complete disidentification from the label difficult:
One of the difficulties for me now is that, on the one hand, I don’t
want to be limited by a label or think I’m limited because of what I’ve
gone through. But, at the same time, in terms of losing my benefits,
sometimes I find myself having to argue for the limitations, and that’s
really frustrating for me. I don’t want to be arguing it so convincingly
that I start to convince myself!
Stacy’s story suggests one way that financial resources can serve as recovery capi-
tal[:] if she had not been financially dependent on SSI, she likely would have felt
free to disidentify from the label entirely.
To be clear, this discussion of disorder disidentification is not to suggest that
everyone who identifies with an emotional disorder label should eventually dis-
identify with it. In fact, as Estroff (1981) suggests, for many chronically ill psychiatric
patients, the diagnostic label may provide a sense of identity and resources that they
may be unlikely to receive otherwise. This analysis of delabelers is thus not recom-
mending disidentification. It is, however, highlighting, the intra- and interpersonal
forces that may discourage disidentification, even in cases where it is desirable.
Several delabelers claim that their primary reason for participating in this
study is to make it easier for others to discard their disorder labels than it was
for them. Since the recovery discourse is so focused on acquiring disorder labels
and coping with the symptoms of problematic emotional conditions, the possi-
bility of exit is typically not emphasized. One important step in addressing the
existential, interactional, and cultural obstacles to disidentification could be to
incorporate a notion of“recovery from recovery” into the discourse so that dis-
identification can gain legitimacy as a possible course for some disorder identity
careers.
 CHAPTER 49 OBSTACLES TO EXITING EMOTIONAL DISORDER 607

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