Research Ethics Review (2005) Vol 1, No 2, 60–66 © The Association of Research Ethics Committees 2005

Presented at AREC Conference ‘Universal Ethics’. Harrogate 10 June 2005

Conference presentation

Research ethics in criminology

GERRY JOHNSTONE
University of Hull

Director of the Law School; Programme Director, Institute of Applied Ethics. University of Hull. E-mail J.G.Johnstone@hull.ac.uk

This paper provides a brief but critical review of current thinking and debate about research ethics in
criminology; it falls into two parts. The first part of the paper describes the sorts of ethical issues that
tend to be flagged up in ‘textbook’ accounts of ethics in criminological research; some recent efforts to
devise codes of ethics for researchers in criminology; and developments in what might be termed the
‘ethical policing’ of social research. The second part briefly sketches some deeper issues to do with the
ethics of research with ‘deviant subjects’. It suggests, in particular, that the ethical issues faced by
criminological researchers cannot be ‘read off’ from a medical model of research. This, however, is not
due simply to the greater use of qualitative methods of research in criminology. Rather, it is due to the
distinctive political and ethical terrain occupied by criminology, which is significantly different to that
occupied by medical research.

Introduction
Criminologists study processes of making criminal laws, the causes and meanings of criminal
law-breaking behaviour (offending), and the reactions to offending [1]. A wide range of
approaches are employed, including biological, psychological, sociological, historical, economic
and philosophical. Whatever the approach, criminologists tend to rely heavily, either directly or
indirectly, upon empirical research with human subjects. Some of these subjects are criminal
lawbreakers, ranging from perpetrators of the most shocking criminal acts through to the most
petty delinquents. Others are people involved in reaction to lawbreaking, whether as ordinary
members of the public (including victims) or in a professional capacity (such as police officers,
probation officers, judges, psychiatrists). The methods used in empirical studies reflect the wide
range of disciplines involved in the field. For instance, they include studies of the genetic make-
up of killers, statistical studies of crime and punishment rates, and qualitative studies of the
meaning of offending behaviour for those who engage in it.
Given this huge range and diversity, a comprehensive survey of ethical issues which arise in
criminological research would be a major undertaking. In what follows, I restrict myself to some
core contemporary concerns and to some key underlying issues in the debate about research
ethics in criminology.

Current issues and debates

Ethical issues in criminological fieldwork. A useful survey of ethical issues encountered by

criminological researchers – especially those engaged in empirical, qualitative research – is
provided by Gemma Buckland and Emma Wincup [2]. Their account is important, in that it is
the sort of piece that is likely to be recommended to students and in particular to postgraduate
students about to embark upon careers of research with deviant subjects.
Their first issue is ‘intrusion’. Noting that ‘intrusion into the lives of participants is
omnipresent in criminological research’, they suggest various ways of reducing the level of
 Research ethics in criminology 61

intrusion and countering any harm likely to result from it. Their suggestions include simple
practical measures, such as warning participants of potentially intrusive content, but also
questions of research design, such as selecting the least intrusive method of obtaining answers
to one’s research questions.
The second issue discussed by Buckland and Wincup is ‘informed consent’, defined by the
British Society of Criminology as:

Explaining as fully as possible, and in terms meaningful to participants, what the research
is about, who is undertaking and financing it, why it is being undertaken and how any
research findings are to be disseminated. [3]

Buckland and Wincup present informed consent as a general principle. Whilst they note that
some researchers have sought to justify covert research, they eschew discussion of this issue and
move instead to a discussion of the problem of ensuring that consent received is in fact fully
informed. They point out that in criminological research characteristics of research subjects –
such as age, poor literacy skills or mental health problems – can render the informed nature of
any apparent consent problematic. Gauging whether consent given is in fact voluntary and fully
informed is also problematic when research subjects are incarcerated or subject to other
interventions of criminal justice agencies. For instance, many research subjects tend to suppose
that researchers – no matter what they say – are part of the criminal justice apparatus with whom
it is advisable to co-operate [4].
Third, Buckland and Wincup discuss the issue of ‘confidentiality and disclosure’. This issue is
complicated by the fact that the ethical obligations of researchers may be in tension with their
legal obligations, and by the fact that, in some situations, the ethical obligations themselves may
be unclear. For instance, a significant problem confronting the criminological researcher is what
to do if research subjects disclose information about offences that have been committed or reveal
something which suggests that they may be harmful to others. One strategy for dealing with this
may be the preventative one of not asking any questions likely to result in such disclosure and
positively warning research subjects not to discuss offences for which they have not been
convicted. However, not only are such strategies far from foolproof, their use can seriously
undermine the research goals. A fairly obvious example of this would be if one were engaged in
research in order to find out how much deviance, rule-breaking, rule-bending etc. goes on in an
organisation without being detected, considered problematic or ‘criminalized’.

Ethical guidance for criminological researchers. Given the seriousness and complexity of the
ethical issues encountered by researchers in the field of criminology, it is interesting to ask how
criminologists go about handling these issues. In the absence of research into this issue, one can
only speculate and draw upon personal knowledge. My guess is that, in the past, two things have
happened. First, since many criminologists also had a ‘parent discipline’ – such as psychiatry,
psychology, or law – attached to a professional body with a code of professional ethics, they drew
upon such codes to develop an awareness of ethical issues and to inform their responses to
specific ethical problems. Second, research supervisors have handed down their own
‘commonsense’ advice and explained the prevailing norms in the field to those whom they
supervise, who have adjusted this in the light of their own experience and subsequently advised
their supervisees, and so on. More recently, however, efforts have been made to construct a more
formal code of ethics for researchers in the field of criminology. In the UK, the most relevant of
these is the British Society of Criminology’s (BSCs) Code of Ethics for Researchers in the Field
of Criminology (2003).
The BSCs code of ethics is a short (circa 1500 words) yet wide ranging document, which
covers not only researchers’ responsibilities towards their subjects, but also responsibilities
62 Gerry Johnstone

towards other researchers, colleagues, sponsors, the discipline of criminology and their ‘general
responsibilities’. The responsibilities range from the highly general:

Researchers should promote free and independent inquiry into criminological matters
and unrestricted dissemination of criminological knowledge (s. 2)

to the highly specific:

Researchers should recognise fully the contribution to the research of junior colleagues
and avoid exploitation of them. (For example, reports and publications emanating from
research should follow the convention of listing contributors in alphabetical order unless
one has contributed more than the other(s)) (s.3).

It is not surprising, given the range of responsibilities covered in such a small space, that the
guidance offered by the BSCs code of ethics is rather cursory. For instance, the thorny issue of
whether researchers should ever conceal part or all of their purpose is dealt with in two
inconclusive sentences:

Researchers should …base research on the freely given informed consent of those studied
in all but exceptional circumstances. (Exceptional in this context relates to exceptional
importance of the topic rather than difficulty of gaining access) (s.4.iii).

Also unsurprisingly, the BSCs code consists of assertions rather than arguments. It comes across
like a set of official rules of the game, rather than as an attempt to engage deeply with complex
ethical issues.
This is not to denigrate the BSC document, but rather to point to its limitations, limitations
which are explicable if one considers the rationale for producing such codes. The BSCs code of
ethics reads like an abridged and adapted version of the Social Research Association’s (SRAs)
Ethical Guidelines (SRA 2003) [5]. The document Ethical Guidelines makes it quite clear that
such codes emerged, less from a concern to provide serious ethical guidance to researchers
genuinely troubled by some ethical dilemma [6], but rather from the need to meet new public
and political demands upon large organizations that affect public well-being (such as
universities, the police, providers of financial services, and providers of heath and social care,
etc.). These are demands to ensure that they exercize proper governance over their members in
a manner that ensures that the organization meets not only measurable performance indicators
but also the highest ethical standards in their activities. As the SRA puts it: ‘This current
reconsideration of research ethics by the SRA matches a contemporary mood in both the public
and private sector to enhance responsible behaviour’ (ibid).
To say that such documents are produced primarily for these purposes is not, of course, to say
that they fulfil such requirements. Organizations such as the BSC and the SRA acknowledge that
they are extremely limited in their capacity to govern the activities of their members, and of
course one can conduct criminological and social research without ever becoming a member of
these organizations. The most these organisations can do is draw up ethical guidelines, encourage
their members to read and abide by them, and attempt to instil ethical practice and debate
throughout the relevant research community. As we shall now see, however, there are some who
aim to exercize more effective ethical governance over social and criminological research.

The ethical policing of criminological research. In a recent paper, Carole Truman discusses the
implications for social research of the development whereby research ethics committees have
‘gained a powerful role as gatekeepers within the research process’ [7]. For Truman, the major
 Research ethics in criminology 63

thrust behind this development has been the need to re-build confidence in medical research,
which has been particularly dented by a number of well-publicised scandals. Hence, such
committees have assumed the role of protecting vulnerable and dependent research subjects,
within the research process.
As Truman points out, and as we have seen in the case of criminology, most social research
remains not subject to formal regulation of ethics committees. Rather, professional
organisations, membership of which is optional, try to persuade their members to comply with
ethical guidelines. However, this purely voluntary process has its critics, who presumably would
prefer to see a move in the direction of the ‘medical model’ of regulation.
Drawing upon her own experience in seeking ethical approval for an evaluation of a
community mental health project, Truman argues that such a move is likely to have detrimental
consequences. Traditional regimes of ethical scrutiny, she argues, are founded upon assumptions
about what constitutes a well-designed methodology which are simply inappropriate as a basis
for assessing qualitative and participatory research designs which are common in the field of
social research. By applying the standards of deductive research using quantitative methods to
the judgement of qualitative research proposals, the latter can look poorly designed and hence
unethical. A consequence of this is a lack of any constructive dialogue between researchers and
research ethics committees. Rather qualitative researchers tends to regard ‘the process of ethical
approval more as a bureaucratic hurdle to be negotiated, rather than as a constructive part of the
research process’. Meanwhile, researchers in qualitative traditions are developing their own
complex consciousness of, and strategies for dealing with, the ethical dilemmas of producing
research knowledge, strategies based on constructive dialogue rather than ‘regulation and fear’.
For Truman, these form a much more fruitful basis for any effort to ensure that research
processes are truly ethical.

What are the moral obligations of those who would engage in research
with ‘deviant subjects’?
The arguments of Truman – and of others who have addressed such matters – are of enormous
importance to the question of whether and how criminological research should be ethically
regulated [8]. However, an understanding of the ethics of criminological research cannot simply
be derived from more general discussions of ethical issues in social research. Rather, there are
more specific and deeper ethical issues, which are to do with the subject nature of criminology.
In order to unearth these issues, we need to reflect a little upon what criminology is. A very
useful starting point for such reflection is a paper written by the philosopher Jeffrey Reiman,
published in 1979 [9]. This work comes from a period in which many criminologists, drawing
upon wider currents in the sociology of deviance, were raising profound questions about the
status of criminology and about what was required to render it truly scientific rather than – in
their terms – ideology posing as science. Despite its many limitations and problems, particularly
its tendencies towards a quite radical moral relativism which this author would not endorse,
Reiman’s essay can provide a useful framework for thinking deeper abut research ethics and
criminology.
A useful way into the issues raised by Reiman is to look at his comparison between medical
research and research into deviance. Reiman points out that, in one significant respect, research
into deviant conduct (a much broader category than crime) has more in common with medical
research into disease than with social research into non-deviant conduct. Research into disease
is research into biological deviance, ie deviation from the norms of healthy bodily functioning;
research into deviant conduct is research into deviation from prevailing norms of socially
acceptable behaviour [10].
Reiman insists, however, that the similarity ends there and that there is a fundamental
difference between disease and deviant conduct, and hence between medical research and social
64 Gerry Johnstone

research into deviant behaviour. The medical researcher, he argues, need not remain neutral on
the question of whether disease ought to be corrected, fought and eliminated. Indeed, one could
go further and say that, whilst some might undertake research into disease out of pure curiosity,
the value of medical research to us lies almost wholly in its utility for the project of controlling
disease. This, as we shall see, has important implications when it comes to considering the moral
responsibility of medical researchers towards human beings. We will return to this shortly.
Reiman argues that, by contrast, those undertaking research into deviant conduct – if they are
to be scientists – must remain neutral on the question of whether the deviance ought to be
corrected, fought or eliminated. This is because deviant conduct is not naturally and
unambiguously injurious, in the way that disease is. Rather, deviant conduct is problematic only
from within a particular world-view, a world view which it may be reasonable and right to
challenge. As many contemporary criminologists will be aware, this argument represents a
damning critique of what we might call ‘correctionalist’ criminology, which was arguably the
dominant form of criminology until the 1970s and which is still widely practiced. It suggests that,
to the extent that criminologists look to medicine as a model for their enterprise, no matter how
scientific they see and represent themselves as being, they remain ‘ideologues’ (ibid: 41) [11].
The point made by Reiman is easy enough to grasp at this abstract level. What is often not
appreciated is the full, quite radical, implication of this for the project of criminology. For
Reiman, in order to remain scientific, the criminologist must be prepared to ask different types
of questions than the medical researcher would ask about disease. To confine oneself to
questions designed to help in the project of controlling, eradicating or reducing criminal
conduct is to make an implicit judgement about the wrongness or unreasonableness of the
deviant behaviour and hence to lose one’s ‘credentials as an independent observer’ and to
become a servant of shared norms (ibid: 39). Instead, researchers must be prepared to adopt the
stance of a neutral observer of the subject matter.
Such arguments form part of the core of the radical challenge presented by some sociologists
of deviance and social problems to correctionalist criminology in the 1960s and 1970s [12].
Their merits and limitations have been much debated since [13]. However, rather than re-hash
these debates, what I want to focus upon here are the interesting conclusions Reiman draws from
such arguments about the ethical obligations of criminological researchers. I should warn the
reader, however, that what follows is a brief and necessarily crude account of what is in fact a
much more sophisticated argument.
Reiman observes that analyses of the ethical obligations of researchers tend to take as their
point of departure some combination of two opposed ethical orientations. One is a utilitarian
orientation, which starts from the assumption that harm suffered by individual human (or
sentient) subjects in research is justifiable if, and only if, it is outweighed by the benefits the
research will bring to humanity as a whole. The other is a Kantian orientation, which takes as
its point of departure the need to respect the autonomy of persons, and rules out practices (such
as covert research and various other forms of deception) where they are incompatible with
respect for personal autonomy regardless of the benefits that may accrue. The utilitarian stance,
Reiman claims, tends to yield excessively permissive ethical codes, the Kantian excessively
restrictive. Hence, those addressing questions of what is ethically permitted in research tend to
search for some balance between the two.
Reiman argues that we should not decide upon some general position on the ethical
responsibilities of citizens and then apply this to all, including researchers. Rather, the ethical
obligations of researchers are determined, he claims, partly by the nature of the research itself.
In medical research, utilitarian arguments have a particular attraction. This is because the
benefits promised are often so obviously of immense value to so many people (eg means of
preventing, curing and containing diseases – such as cancer – that are both widespread and
cause untold human suffering and death) that arguments for imposing tight restrictions upon
 Research ethics in criminology 65

such research in the name of human dignity and autonomy sound hollow. So long as the benefits
seem to have some chance of accruing (even in the very long term) and so long as any violation
of the autonomy of research subjects that occurs does not strike us as outrageous, we are
inclined to allow medical researchers considerable license. Our approach to the ethics of medical
research tends to be predominantly utilitarian, with Kantian concerns operating as a break only
on the most obvious and gross violations of autonomy and dignity.
Would such a stance be appropriate for research into deviant conduct? Reiman argues not. If
we view deviant conduct scientifically, it is by no means clear that its elimination, cure of better
control would yield any benefits to humankind whatsoever. To assume that benefits would
accrue is to adopt a ‘political’ stance, ie to adopt the prevailing world view which regards the
deviant behaviour as problematic. No matter how reasonable it may seem to adopt such a world
view – indeed no matter how vigorously one might, as a lay person, want to defend such a world
view – it is nevertheless the case, Reiman, argues, that it is not a scientific view.
If we are to approach the deviant subject scientifically, we must regard their behaviour as just
as right and reasonable as conforming behaviour. There are lots of very interesting and important
questions to ask about deviant conduct, but there are no scientific grounds, argues Reiman, for
supposing that obtaining a better understanding of deviant conduct will have any utility at all
for humankind, or at least that it will bring the sorts of benefits that are promised and sometimes
delivered by medical research into disease.
Although overstated, this argument is valuable in that it yields an important perspective on the
ethical obligations of the criminological researcher. Reiman suggests that the sorts of utilitarian
arguments that seem so persuasive in the medical sphere can have little force in the sphere of
criminological research. Research into deviant conduct, he concludes, must be governed by a strict
Kantian ethics, meaning that researchers must acknowledge that there can be no justification
whatsoever for research practices which violate the autonomy of deviant research subjects [14].
What might this mean at the level of concrete ethical codes? For Reiman, it means that,
research in the spheres of deviance and crime must not be research on deviant subjects, but
research with these subjects. Research subjects must be regarded as participants and collaborators
in an intellectual adventure, rather than as objects to be investigated for what we can learn from
them that might be of benefit to the larger society. Most obviously and importantly, for Reiman,
this rules out forms of deception in research unless it can be shown to be compatible with respect
for the person’s autonomy and dignity. Coincidentally, I would add, it lends theoretical support to
Carole Truman’s arguments about the inappropriateness of the sorts of scrutiny employed by
research ethics committees (which take medical research as the paradigm) and the value of the
strategies of constructive dialogue which she detects in much qualitative social research.
As I have indicated, there are all sorts of limitations and problems with Reiman’s arguments
and I am not calling, therefore, for a wholesale adoption of Reiman’s position or presenting his
work as a solution to all the ethical dilemmas of criminological research. What I do want to
argue is that – for all its flaws – there are some very useful things in Reiman’s essay that have
recently been lost sight of in criminology. Of particular importance is the distinction Reiman
draws between, on the one hand, research which is conducted and valued for reasons of the
direct ‘utility’ of the knowledge it promises, and on the other hand, research which promises to
produce knowledge of great interest and value, but which is not intended or expected to have
such direct utility. Most medical research falls into the former category, and a great deal of
criminological research continues to aspire to fall into that category. But in the case of ‘socially
useful’ research, any adequate discussion of research ethics must include discussion of the
political and moral judgements involved in the claim that the knowledge is useful to society.
This is because, as Reiman makes clear, the greater the claim to utility, the greater the appeal of
a permissive utilitarian approach to the question of the ethical obligations of the researcher. The
more questionable the claim is, the more we should question such a permissive approach.
66 Gerry Johnstone

References and Notes

1. A useful, up-to-date and accessible introduction is Muncie J and Wilson D, eds. Student handbook of criminal justice and
criminology. London: Cavendish, 2004.
2. Buckland G and Wincup E. Researching crime and criminal justice. In Muncie J and Wilson D, op. cit. 35-48.
3. British Society of Criminology. Code of ethics for researchers in the field of criminology, 2003. Available at
www.britsoccrim.org/ethics.htm), s.4iii, quoted in Buckland and Wincup, op. cit. 42.
4. This last point is not made by Buckland and Wincup, but is based on my own experience of interviewing young offenders
(aged 14-16) who had been through a restorative justice process. In order to get access to these offenders, it was necessary
to go through the police service which had conducted the restorative conferences. Despite efforts to inform them – though
words and general demeanour – that I was not connected to the police, I am not convinced that they fully accepted this,
and I think they tended to see me as somebody with ‘the authorities’ who was worth speaking to for that reason.
5. Social Research Association. Ethical guideline. 2003. Available at www.the-sra.org.uk
6. Although the BSCs Professional Affairs and Ethics sub-committee does ‘offer an advisory service to all members of the BSC
regarding ethical issues’ (s.6).
7. Truman C. Ethics and the ruling elations of research production. Sociological Research Online, 2003; 8 (1): quote from
paragraph 1.1.
8. See also: Coomber R. Signing away your life?: Why research ethics committees (REC) shouldn’t always require written
confirmation that participants in research have been informed of the aims of the study and their rights – the case of
criminal populations. Sociological Research Online, 2002; 7 (1). Welland T and Pugsley L, eds. Ethical Dilemmas in
Qualitative Research. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.
9. Reiman J. Research subjects, political subjects and human subjects. In Klockars C and O’Connor F, eds. Deviance and
decency: the ethics of research with human subjects. London: Sage, 1979.
10. Reiman does not quite get this comparison right. To make the comparison work he should have made it clear that disease
is just one form of biological deviance, ie that there are many forms of biological deviance which are not diseases and
hence not properly the subject of medical research. This flaw in Reiman’s argument is not fatal for the use of it which I
want to make here.
11. On the historical use of medical model in criminology see Johnstone G. Medical concepts and penal policy. London:
Cavendish, 1996.
12. The other part of the core is the argument that, in order to retain scientific neutrality, researchers need to devote as much
attention to the making of norms and societal reaction to their breach, as well as to deviants and deviant conduct.
13. For what its worth, my own view is that, in their eagerness to radicalize criminology, writers such as Reiman tend to
caricature correctionalist interventions into the lives of offenders and overstate the differences between the social problem
of illness and that of crime (see Johnstone. Medical concepts and penal policy. op. cit.).
14. For an opposing view see Douglas J. Living morality versus bureaucratic fiat. In Deviance and Decency: the ethics of
research with human subjects. op. cit. 13-33.