Box ♦ 2-3

CURRENT RESEARCH

REPLICATION AS A RESEARCH TOOL—MIDDLETOWN REVISITED

I

n reviewing scientific litera­ture, researchers occasion­ally find that a study has raised such important issues—and has been so thoroughly and effec­tively constructed—that a replica­tion is desirable. As an example, sociologists Howard Bahr, Theo­dore Caplow, and Bruce Chadwick (1983) replicated the famous Mid-dletown studies conducted by Rob­ert and Helen Lynd (1929, 1937). The Lynds' remarkably productive research examined the effects of industrialization on the small mid-western city of "Middletown"— actually, Muncie, Indiana. They focused particularly on such topics as work, social class, power, fam­ily life, community activities, and religion (see Chapter 13).

Replications are taken for granted in the natural sciences. However, they present greater dif­ficulties for social science re­searchers, since the institution, community, or social system under study may have undergone signifi­cant changes over the years. If this is the case, then it may be mislead­ing to compare new data with the

original findings. Bahr and his col­leagues have reflected on the op­portunities and pitfalls inherent in such replications and have offered five guidelines for researchers who wish to utilize this technique:

1 Clearly establish the research design to be replicated.

2 Resist the temptation to include new topics absent from the original study.

3 When incorporating new topics seems justified, develop linkages to the past through techniques for reconstructing life histories (such as interviews in which people are asked to recall past events).

4 Retain the original wording used in questionnaires and inter­views whenever possible.

5 In replicating community stud­ies such as Middletown, pay close attention to the interplay between macro-level variables (such as population change or industrial output) and data on individual atti­tudes and experiences.

Replication can be a difficult challenge for sociologists. For ex-

ample, Bahr and his colleagues now regret that they changed the language of certain questions to make them more contemporary. The Lynds had asked Muncie resi­dents to respond to the statement: "Some men have much more money than others." In the replica­tion, it became: "Some people have much more money than oth­ers." While this revision reflects both the growing role of women in the economy and the importance of nonsexist language, it also makes it more difficult to compare current responses with the original data. Fortunately, such textual changes were largely avoided in the Mid­dletown replication.

Bahr, Caplow, and Chadwick have become staunch defenders of replication and have expressed alarm at the infrequent use of such studies in social scientific research. In their view (1983:262): "Replica­tion is not merely one method for the study of social systems. It is the essential method, and our science will never progress far until we learn to replicate when we can and innovate only when we must."

Tearoom Trade Sociologist Laud Humphreys (1970a, 1970b, 1975) published a pioneering and controversial study of homosexual behavior in which he described the casual homosexual en­counters between males meeting in public rest-rooms in parks. Such restrooms are sometimes called tearooms by homosexual men. As one conse­quence of this provocative research, the chancel­lor of the university where Humphreys was em­ployed terminated his research grant and teaching contract.

In order to study the lifestyle of homosexual males in tearooms, Humphreys acted as a partici­pant observer by serving as a "lookout," warning patrons when police or other strangers ap-

proached. While he was primarily interested in the behavior of these men, Humphreys also wanted to learn more about who they were and why they took such risks. Yet how could he obtain such information? Secrecy and silence were the norms of this sexual environment. Most of the men under study were unaware of Humphreys's identity and would not have consented to stan­dard sociological interviews.

As a result, Humphreys decided on a research technique that some social scientists later saw as a violation of professional ethics. He recorded the license plate numbers of tearoom patrons, waited a year, changed his appearance, and then inter­viewed them in their homes. The interviews were

PART ONE ♦ THE SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE

BOX ♦ 2-4

PRESERVING CONFIDENTIALITY—ONE SOCIOLOGIST'S VIEW

In his book Doomsday Cult, sociolo­gist John Lofland (1977:xi) analyzes the "first five years in America (1959-1964) of an obscure end-of-the- wor/d religion that went on to be­come nationally and internationally famous in the 1970s." He explains that this cult, which he refers to as the "Divine Precepts," or "DPs," is led by a Korean man who arrived in the United States in 1971. Lofland adds that, by the 1970s, the DPs had be­come widely viewed as a "powerful and nefarious social force that had to be countered."

Many readers of Doomsday Cult suspected that the DPs were, in fact, Reverend Sun Myung Moon's Unifi­cation church (see Chapter 13). How­ever, after years of observation re­search, Lofland refused to break his initial promise of anonymity and re­veal the real names of the DPs and their leader. At the end of the book, Lofland (1977:345-346) explains why he maintained this position:

... First, I continue to have a personal and private obligation to the members with whom I spent many months. I am determined that they will not suffer infamy on my account, despite the fact that some have achieved infamy by their own actions. Second, I am a sociologist rather than an investigative jour­nalist..., muckraker or other moralist....

Sociologists must agree to pro-

John Lofland.

tect the people they study in ex­change for permission to be privy to the secrets of social organiza­tion and social life. I made such an agreement with the group reported in this book, and although the fame of the group now makes it difficult to continue this protection, I must try. Anything less endangers the future of sociology itself, threaten­ing to bring it into even more disre­pute by giving credence to the charge that sociologists are merely one more breed of muckraker, whistle-blower, undercover agent, police spy, or worse....

The position I offer above is not, of course, absolute.... There are a few circumstances in which I would not grant or continue the protections of anonymity. A prime one is if I believed that the DPs seri­ously threatened the pluralism of American society, that they had any serious chance of taking over

the United States government, I would try to stop them, and use personally identified information on members to do so. That is, a pluralistic and more or less free society is one indispensable condi­tion of practicing sociology itself. I would not stand by and allow them to destroy my discipline (which they would do if they could) and the society that makes that discipline possible. In my judgment, they do not now nor are they ever likely to pose such a threat.

There is an interesting postscript to this story. Despite Lofland's firm ef­forts to protect the anonymity of the DPs and their leader, it was com­monly assumed —and even flatly asserted in print by other scholars — that the DPs were indeed Moon's Unification church. By the early 1980s, Lofland (1985:120-121) finally concluded that the "'secret' had become absurdly obvious, so obvi­ous that continuing the 'cover' seemed pointless." Consequently, in 1983, he asked the president of the American branch of the Unification church to release him from his 1962 agreement with church officials. This request was granted, but it was agreed that only the organization and its founder would be named by Lofland. He continues to protect the identities of the cult members whom he met during his years of observa­tion research.

conducted as part of a larger survey, but they did provide information that Humphreys felt was necessary for his work.

Although the researcher recognized each of the men interviewed from his observations in the testrooms, there was no indication that they rec­ognized him. Humphreys learned that most of his subjects were in their middle thirties and mar-

ried. They had an average of two children and tended to have at least some years of college edu­cation. Family members appeared to be unaware of the men's visits to park restrooms for casual homosexual encounters.

Even before the public outcry over his research began, Humphreys (1970b;167-173; 1975:175-232) was aware of the ethical questions that his

CHAPTER TWO ♦ METHODS OF SOCIOLOGICAL RESEARCH

study would raise. He exerted great care in main­taining the confidentiality of his subjects. Their real identities were recorded only on a master list kept in a sale-deposit box. The list was destroyed by Humphreys after the research was conducted.

For social scientists, the ethical problem in this research was not Humphreys's choice of subject matter, but rather the deception involved. Pa­trons of the tearoom were not aware of Humphreys's purposes and were further misled about the real reasons for the household inter­views. However, in the researcher's judgment, the value of his study justified the questionable means involved. Humphreys believed that, with­out the follow-up interviews, we would know little about the kinds of men who engage in tearoom sex and would be left with false stereotypes.

In addition, Humphreys believed that by de­scribing such sexual interactions accurately, he would be able to dispel the myth that child moles­tation is a frequent practice in restrooms. One unintended consequence of the research was that it has been increasingly cited by attorneys seeking acquittal for clients arrested in public bathrooms. These lawyers have used the study to establish that such behavior is not unusual and typically involves consenting adults.

Do these gains in our knowledge and under­standing offset Humphreys's actions in encroach­ing on people's private lives and deceiving them during interviews? Essentially, in reflecting on the study, we are left with a conflict between the right to know and the right to privacy. There is no easy resolution of this clash of principles. Yet we can certainly ask that sociologists be fully-aware of the ethical implications of any such re­search techniques (Horowitz and Rainwater, 1970; Von Hoffman, 1970).

Tragic Accident or Suicide? Л similar ethical issue—with the right to know posed against the right to privacy—became apparent in research on automobile accidents in which fatalities occur. Sociologist William Zellner (1978) wished to learn if fatal car crashes are sometimes suicides that have been disguised as accidents in order to pro­tect family and friends (and perhaps to collect otherwise unredeemable insurance premiums). These acts of "autocide" are by nature covert, even more so than the sexual behavior of Humphreys's subjects.

Are some people who die in single-occupant automobile crashes actually suicides? One sociological study of possible "autocides," which raised interesting ethical questions concerning the right to know and the right to privacy, concluded that at least 12 percent of such accident victims have in fact committed suicide.

In his efforts to assess the possible frequency of such suicides, Zellner sought to interview the friends, coworkers, and family members of the deceased. He hoped to obiain information that would allow him lo ascertain whether the deaths were accidental or purposeful. Persons ap­proached for interviews were told that Zellner's goal was to contribute to a reduction of future accidents. For this reason (as they were falsely in­formed), Zellner wished to learn about the emo­tional characteristics of accident victims. No men­tion was made of the interviewer's suspicions of autocide, out of fear that potential respondents would refuse to meet with him.

PART ONE ♦ THE SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE

Zellner eventually concluded that at least 12 percent of all fatal, single-occupant crashes are suicides. This information could be valuable for society, particularly since some of the probable suicides actually killed or critically injured inno­cent bystanders in the process of taking their own lives. Yet the ethical questions still must be faced. Was Zellner's deception (in misrepresenting his motives for study) unethical? Or was it justified by the social value of his findings?

As in the study of tearoom trade, the answers are not immediately apparent. Like Humphreys, Zellner appeared to have admirable motives and took great care in protecting confidentiality. Names of suspected suicides were not revealed to insurance companies, though Zellner did recom­mend that the insurance industry drop double indemnity (payment of twice the person's life in­surance premium in the event of accidental death) in the future.

Zellner's study raised an additional ethical issue: the possibility of harm to those who were interviewed. Subjects were asked if the deceased had "talked about suicide" and if they had spoken of how "bad or useless" they were. Could these questions have led people to guess the true inten­tions of the researcher? Perhaps, but according to Zellner, none of the informants voiced such sus­picions. More seriously, might the study have caused the bereaved to suspect suicide—when be­fore the survey they had accepted the deaths as accidental? Again, we have no reason to believe this, but we cannot be sure.

Given our uncertainty about this last question, was the research justified? Was Zellner taking too large a risk in asking the friends and families of the deceased persons if they had spoken of sui­cide before their death? Does the right to know outweigh the right to privacy in this type of situa­tion? And who has the right to make such a judg­ment? In practice, as in Zellner's study, it is the researcher, not the subjects of inquiry, who makes the critical ethical decisions. Therefore, sociolo­gists and other investigators bear the responsibil­ity for establishing clear and sensitive boundaries for ethical scientific investigation.

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