Research is considered
to be an essential part of the duties of university professors,
as well as an expectation of educators in other institutions.
Hammack (1997) states, "Thus research or scholarship of
some kind is necessary to demarcate their [the professional's]
expertise from that of the general population" (pp. 247-248).
Indeed engaging in research and publishing research findings
are deemed so important, at least in some quarters, that the aphorism
publish or perish is sometimes touted as the motto for
university professors. Universities, research institutions and
schools, especially within the last five years, appear to be increasingly
concerned with ethics in research, especially as they relate
to human participants. The fair, consistent and humane treatment
of research participants should be the paramount consideration
of a researcher. The seemingly lack of ethical regard for participants
in the past, as exhibited by the psychologists Stanley Milgram
in the 1960s (Lucas & Lidstone, 2000), and even earlier in
the 1920s by John B. Watson (Watson & Rayner, 1920; Harris,
1979), are often cited examples of what can happen when research
is conducted without adequate ethical safeguards. To be sure,
there are other examples of published research which, upon analysis,
suggest that the sort of ethical considerations that some might
consider essential today, were not followed previously. From
such examples, however, it does not follow that most educational
researchers are unethical in their research, or that they
lack professional knowledge of ethical practice. Naturally, I
am not contending that there should neither be ethical policies
nor mechanisms for ensuring that human participants are treated
in a consistent and ethical manner. I certainly support
Pritchard's (2002) views that researchers, when intending to deal
with human participants must: ensure that their potential participants
are informed about the nature of the research; obtain informed
consent from participants; ensure that participants understand
that they may freely opt out of the process at any stage; preserve
anonymity and/or confidentiality; not change the purpose of their
research without informing participants. I question, however,
the motives of the sudden increase in the number of regulations
established by particular institutions that are often delivered
in a top-down manner without any discussion or latitude for appeal.
Such arbitrary and autocratic action raises the question as to
whether such strictures arise solely from an interest to safeguard
the rights and dignity of participants and help ensure that researchers
do not commit misconduct. Are there other, not-so-altruistic
motives, perhaps? According to Lucas and Lidstone (2000), much
of the recent concern about ethics arises from institutional fear
of litigation. From my own experience, and that of colleagues
from other educational institutions, many research ethics boards,
when asked, respond that they are indeed trying to minimize the
likelihood of litigation. Safeguarding an institution against
litigation sounds laudable, but the process appears to interfere
with research as well as being largely useless in preventing litigation.
For instance, I was told recently that even if I wish to write
a biography of a deceased individual, I would not receive ethics
clearance unless I obtained permission from the decedent's relatives.
When I questioned this in a meeting for faculty on research ethics,
I was told that the policy existed to prevent the decedent's relatives
from suing if I happened to say something harmful about
the decedent. I inquired further, first noting that British Common
Law holds that one cannot slander or libel the dead. If I were
to say, for example, that Adolf Hitler was a racist, and if Hitler's
heirs wished to sue, they would not prevail, especially since
archival evidence and Hitler's own writing support my conclusion
(Hitler, 1927-28). Moreover, the United States Code of Federal
Regulations states, "Human Subjects [participants]
means a living individual about whom an investigator" (34
CFR 97.102[f]). The key point in this clause is living individual.
A dead person, by definition, is not living.
The response was that neither the individuals on the ethics board nor I were lawyers, and so the point about libel or slander could not be debated. Moreover, the U.S. code was not Canadian, and since there was no counterpart, I should simply go along with the spirit of the ethics board. Second, I asked that if I were going to research the life of Joseph Stalin, and received permission from his daughter to do so, what about other relatives who might not wish me to write about him? This time, I was told that "famous people" were not in the same category as those who are not famous. Even so, "it would probably be a good idea to ask for permission from all relatives". When I asked to see the regulation in print, I was told that "they are in a state of flux right now". In other words, some research ethics boards are making up regulations as they go along. However, it was added that if one does not comply with whatever the research ethics board decides, I could expect "dire consequences that could affect my employment, as we have a zero tolerance policy". In a feeble attempt to appeal to my loyalty to the institution, I was informed that at the very least, a breach of these nebulous research ethics could result in the university losing federal grant moneys.
Insofar as litigation is concerned, no matter what safeguards one puts into place, one cannot preclude someone else from suing. Consider the recent case of an obese person who sued a well-known international fast food establishment, blaming the obesity on the establishment for not warning that eating their menu items frequently would result in obesity (BBC News, 2002, November 22). Although the suit failed in court (Sweet, 2003), this example shows that no matter how ridiculous or unfounded the premise might be, one may sue. In other words, it is practically impossible to safeguard an institution against litigation. About the only way that an institution could preclude being sued over matters related to research, is to prohibit all research. While possibly appealing to some fourth-rate legal minds, this approach goes against one of the main purposes of a university, or a collection of professionals interested in discovery or improvement of practice.
On another plane, the tendency for research ethics boards to prevent research that may in some way be construed as contentious, or challenging some popular orthodoxy or dogma, raise the spectre that the research ethics boards are transcending their intended purpose and are engaged in gate keeping. Pritchard (2002) notes that ignorance by members of boards, obsession with "risk management" and regulating research, has led some research ethics boards to exceed their purpose. On the surface this transgression may seem rather trivial, but it belies deep-seated threats both to what is researched, and to the fundamental principle of academic freedom.
Even a brief examination of recent history provides evidence how, if not challenged, such exceeding of authority can lead to profound consequences for both the researcher and the advancement of knowledge. A colleague of mine, who earned a doctorate in an eastern European country while it was under communist rule, told me that because she dared to investigate an aspect of young students' behaviour that clearly showed a pattern related to gender difference, she was told not include those findings in her dissertation. The explanation given was,"The state says that we are all the same. Therefore research focusing on gender differences is not only unethical, it is wrong". By refusing to omit those findings, or altering them to conform to policy, she precluded any opportunity of obtaining a scholarly position in that country. The situation was untenable, and this led her to seek employment elsewhere in the world. This scenario is neither unique nor rare. Consider that "approved" history books in the Soviet Union contained pictures that were altered. Photographs originally showing Stalin alongside Trotsky or the Menshevik leader Zinoviev were airbrushed, so that these individuals were either removed or rendered unrecognizable. This was sound ethical practice in Soviet research, as not complying with the dictate that non-persons did not exist, would likely have resulted either in long-term incarceration of the researcher, or death. With such strictures, the value of such research and consequent publication is dubious. Moreover, the ethical structure that restricted research in such ways, rendered research as nothing more than propaganda and pandering to state-sanctioned orthodoxy. By extension, according to what a local research ethics board states, if I wish to publish a photograph of a barefoot child attending a rural Alberta school in 1900, to illustrate the condition of some students at that time, I must first obtain permission of the subject in the picture. If I cannot ascertain the identity of the individual, I cannot get permission from him or her, or from the relatives for that matter. I then either have to forget about sharing this information, or I can alter the image so that the person is not recognizable. While this may satisfy some amateurish ideas of how to prevent litigation, the truthfulness and trustworthiness of my research is likely to be called into question. If I altered that aspect of the image, what assurance does the reader have that I have not changed other attributes? Indeed, this type of data alteration was undertaken by some unscrupulous researchers in the past to help support hypotheses about the heritability of intelligence that were otherwise unsubstantiated. Stephen Jay Gould (1981) for example, notes that before World War One, the psychologist H.H. Goddard had photographs of subjects retouched so as, "to give eyes and mouths their diabolical appearance" (p. 171).
Although many of the totalitarian governments that created such farcical research ethics are gone, the potential for research ethics boards presently to travel the same road is great. An example of this is the experience of a colleague who wanted to research the interaction of minority groups with the general population of schools. Although the research methodology was deemed ethical, the project was turned down nevertheless. After providing varied and sometimes conflicting reasons why permission was refused, when pressed, the board told my colleague that no reason had to be given; permission was simply refused. While one can speculate as to the actual reason why permission was refused, this episode reiterates that the current emphasis on ethics is a one-way street. Rulings are made, but there is no discussion or even explanation.
While we can debate the issue of ethics philosophically, much as some mediæval scholars debated how many angels could dance upon the head of a pin, the practical implications of either poorly thought out ethical procedures, or policies driven by fear of litigation, are considerable. In some respects, events are developing much along the lines of the Inquisition. This general court, with sweeping powers, was instituted by the Roman Catholic Church in the thirteenth century, initially to correct misunderstandings of scripture and doctrine, and to rectify heresy. Without a means of external governance, the Inquisition later degenerated into a means of controlling views and stifling discussion through brutal and arbitrary practices. Attempts to moderate the Inquisition, such as that by Girolamo Savonarola (1452-98), usually led to torture and execution. In the case of Galileo Galilei (1564-1642), however, who recanted his unethical and heretical views that the earth was not the centre of the universe, he was merely placed under house arrest. This injustice was not redressed until 1992, when Pope John Paul II stated that the Inquisition had made errors in the case against Galileo.
As with the Inquisition, it appears that many institutions expect their researchers to accept passively and without question, the increasing stranglehold of strictures under the guise of ethics. This expectation runs contrary to what Winston and Saunders (1998) and Hardy (2002) advocate. Hardy contends that, "professional educators [should] continually consider and discuss institutional and professional ethical standards and fundamental legal principles" (p. 388). However, when professionals are told in a parochial, top-down manner that questioning is tantamount to disobedience, and that such behaviour will result in "dire consequences", it is time for this absurdity to be challenged. If collegial discussion, the tradition of universities, is no longer welcome or sanctioned by their administration, then perhaps the challenge needs to occur by the very means that the gatekeepers fear, litigation. For as Juvenal said almost two millennia ago, Quis custodiet ipsos custodes [Who will watch those who watch?](Statire 6, line 347).
George H. Buck
References
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http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/2502431.stm
Gould, S.J. (1981). The mismeasure of man. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company.
Hammack, F.M. (1997). Ethical issues in teacher research. Teachers College Record, 99 247-265.
Hardy, D.E. (2002). Ethical considerations affecting teaching in community colleges: An abundance
of feelings and limited facts. Community College Journal of Research and Practice, 26, 383-399.
Harris, B. (1979). Whatever happened to Little Albert? American Psychologist, 34 151-160.
Hitler, A. (1927-28). Mein kampf. München : Eher Nachfolger.
Juvenal. Satires (commentary by J. Ferguson, 1979). New York, NY: St. Martin's Press.
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Sweet, R.W. (2003, January 22). 02 Civ. 7821 (RWS). Retrieved February 22, 2003,
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Winston, R.B., Jr., & Saunders, S.A. (1998, Summer). Professional ethics in a risky world.
New Directions for Student Services, 82 77-94.
Copyright © AJER, the Faculty of Education, and the University
of Alberta, 2003.
Last revised: May 6, 2003.
Designed by G.H. Buck