THE WNIVERSITY OF CALGARY

Doing Time :

An Ethnomethodological Investigation of Time in a Prison

by

Clyde Brewster Freeman III

A TIESIS

SUMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF OUATE STUDIES

IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE

DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS

DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY

CALGARY, ALBERTA

JULY, 1997

O Clyde Brewster Freeman III 1997 National Library Bibliothèque nationale 1*1 ofCrnada du Canada Acquisitions and Acquisitions et Bibliographie Services seMces bibliographiques 395 Wellington Street 395, me Wellington Ottawa ON K1A ON4 Oüawa ON K1A ON4 Canada Canada

The author has granted a non- L'auteur a accordé une licence non exclusive licence aiiowing the exclusive permettant à la National Library of Canada to Bibliothèque nationale du Canada de reproduce, loan, distribute or se1 reproduire, prêter, disûi'buer ou copies of this thesis in microfom, vendre des copies de cette thèse sous paper or electronic formats. la forme de microfiche/nIm, de reproduction sur papier ou sur format électronique.

The author retains ownership of the L'auteur conserve la propriété du copyright in this thesis. Neither the droit d'auteur qui protège cette thèse. thesis nor substantial extracts fiom it Ni la thèse ni des extraits substantiels may be printed or otherwise de celle-ci ne doivent être imprimés reproduced without the author' s ou autrement reproduits sans son permission. autorisation. ABSTRACT This thesis examines how inmates "do time" by making temporal phenomena available through conversation. The study combines techniques of ethnomethodology and ethnography to analyse time-talk occurring in the natural language of prison inmates. The thesis argues that (a) an analysis of doing time is informative of the temporal dimensions of everyday life in the prison and (b) ethnomethodology would benefit from being attentive to time.

iii PREFACE In this section of the thesis 1 provide a context for the work in tenus of the meaning it has concerning the life course of its author. In doing so, 1 specify a problem I experienced during the research project. It is my express hope that if any of this work is to be taken seriously, what will be considered noteworthy is my caution to other graduate students not to lose sight of the focus of their work. There is great danger in doing social research. In that everything social is inherently fascinating, the dimensions of the "interesting stuff" are limitless . This is the serpent that hides in the tree of knowledge. 1 know. The snake bit me. It would be an extreme understatement to Say that completing this thesis was simply arduous. It has been for me a most difficult struggle. For the last four years 1 have attempted to make sense of different versions of competing, not to mention obscure, theoretical approaches to the study of human phenomena. 1 have considered my general substantive area, the prison, placing emphasis on prisoners' experience of the, from the perspective of a variety of often divergent approaches including biographical analysis, conversation analysis, discourse analysis, dramaturgical sociology, ethnomethodology, existential philosophy, historiography, interpretative analysis, narrative theory, phenomenological social science, social constructionism, and symbolic interactionism. My work has been multidisciplinary to the extreme, spanning an equally diverse roster of areas of formal studies . The disciplines of anthropology, criminology, cultural studies, history, human geography, law, literary studies, management science, penology, philosophy, social work, social psychology, and sociology have al1 had significant impact on my studies. Driving me forward was the realization that not one of these approaches is itself entirely adequate for the study of the cornplex human phenornena in which 1 was interested. The danger, however, in adopting such an eclectic approach to social research is that instead of invoking closure, one is tempted to look instead to finding the right approach in the next monograph or research paper. While there is always another scholarly book or journal to read, the solution one seeks might not be invariably forthcoming. 1 accept persona1 responsibility for the difficulty 1 endured during the research process. 1 chose to disregard what 1 recognize now as good advice and allowed my thesis to expand exponentially by delving into areas clearly beyond my ability to resolve over the duration of a masters program. In frustration, on many occasions, 1 deemed both my approach and the task unmanageable and considered with al1 seriousness abandoning the project and withdrawing from my graduate program. At other times, while less angry with myself, but troubled nevertheless, 1 contemplated initiating a far less ambitious undertaking. 1 considered exploring an entirely different substantive area while narrowing both rny reseaxch problern and theoretical toolbox. Perhaps for no reason other than plain stubbornness on the part of both rnyself and my supervisor, 1 continued my research, doing rny best to convince myself and those around me that the task was indeed feasible and that it could be completed within the time frame allotted by the university. 1 came slowly to the realization that in order to complete this project it was essential for me to lower my expectations. This was not easy for me to do. 1 entered graduate studies immediately after completing my undergraduate degree. Steeped with what was then a genuine enthusiasm for the social sciences, 1 focused my attention on the study of Social Anthropology, investigating what I considered to be an important thesis topic. Introduced here at the University of Calgary to ethnomethodology (and conversation analysis) by my supervisor, Professor Graham Watson, 1 recognized that this approach could provide a viable way to study the social phenomena 1 considered of interest: the phenomenon of the as experienced by prison inmates, involuntary members of a social context where time takes on new meanings and significance zt both the level of the social and the individual. Ethnornethodologists are concerned with the practical methods members use in particular contexts to make sense of those settings. Since Garfinkel, ethnomethodologists have argued that social order is to be found by being sensitive to the mundane practices of people carrying out the project of living their everyday lives. Order is there to be found because people describe or report their social context as orderly. By paying attention to these accounts, an ethnomethodological approach seeks to reveal the way people through practical social action (re)constitute their contexts as recognizably orderly and meaningful. Ethnomethodologists discover how people in their actual settings go about the work of sustaining Meir lives as sensible within that particular context. In that we as humans are situated in both space and time, our understanding of our social context reflects spatial and temporal dimensions. Aithough we are al1 bound in space and time, these features take on special significance for people in prison. These phenomena are very different "in the joint" than while "doing" everyday "life on the street. '' At the commencement of my research project, in considering approaches to fieldwork, ethnomethodology appeared to me to provide a feasible way to study how members in one social context establish and make sense of what a non-member would consider very strange temporal structure. 1 asked myself the research question, Wow is that prisoners de tinte? Many metaphors have been used to describe tirne. Some Say that time in contemporary western societies is conceptualized in terms of an arrow. When we consider an arrow in flight, the metaphor is suggestive of the flow of time as a linear progression from past to future, always from the point of reference to the immediate present. Conceptualizing life processes in tems of the arrow metaphor reveals distinct stages of the human life course. Consider f irst the arrow: it begins its path along a certain trajectory at a brisk velocity. The arrow gains altitude. Most of the flight is straight and unwavering. At its zenith, the arrow hones in on its distant, yet visible, target. During the final stage of flight, the arrow loses both speed and elevation. Dependent upon the archer's skill, the arrow either hits or misses its target. The arrow metaphor can be used as a conceptual mode1 of an individual's life passage. The life course can be understood in tems of a progressive narrative, soaring forward to what is recognized as an eventual decline and an inevitable death. We ascribe different meanings to certain points on the life course. Differing among social contexts, different stages of the life course are associated with certain social forrns, particular patterns of social relationships . Thus, the is for humans inherently social.

vii Conversely, the social is intrinsically temporal. But there is also a profound component of the experience of the that is located at the level of the individual. As social creatures, we need mechanisms with which to reveal to others our position in flight, to make socially available our position in flight, what may be considered as our "temporal selves. " People develop life stories to document and make sense of the many events that transpire over the course of their lives. We use these narratives to account to ourselves and others significant moments that occurred in our past. There is as well a desire to develop plans in which our future hopes, dreams, and aspirations are expressed. These future histories are grounded in tems of potential futures. In the moment of the present, we make sense of both our past and anticipated future by developing and sharing with others these temporal accounts of past and future. Many factors influence the specific text of such social documents. Life circumstance, that set of unique possibilities in which the individual is surrounded, imposes very real and sometimes harsh constraints on life patterns and life chances. For al1 of US, therefore, there exist fixed boundaries of freedom at each stage of the life course. Such limits are reflected in life stories and future life plans. The depiction of life process in terms of time as an arrow provides a powerful symbolic resource for people to account for their lives. Members of a society that values concepts such as "progress" and "self-improvement" can use this metaphor as a social fonn to describe their persona1 experience of time in either positive or negative terms. Time rnatters in these contexts. Life stories in such societies must demonstrate coherence between (a) past and viii future stories and (b) the subjective experience of the individual in the temporal present. Moreover, there is a need for adequate social mechanisms with which to make available such accounts. Temporal events may be expressed through various foms of social ritual. If members in a specific context lack social resources with which to develop and articulate coherent life stories, tksy must develop new temporalized life scripts with which to make sense of their lives within that context. It is for this reason that the metaphor of the as an arrow is not presented here as what anthropologists regard a "cultural universal." The metaphor does not provide a plausible way to account for deviations in the course of the arrowCs flight. Moving from metaphor to the experience of real persons, the arrest and subsequent incarceration of those who find themselves defined as criminals represents such an interruption of the life course. Prisoners are involuntary menbers of a social setting that is radically diiferent that other social contexts. Incarceration interrupts the linear temporal sequence of contemporary western society. Time for the prisoner no longer passes forward in the same way that made sense previously. Speaking rnetaphorically, the inmaters arrow is held motionless while technically still in flight. Confined in space and time, the former is the inmate's prison but it is the latter which is his or her enemy. As will be shown in this thesis, the does not pass for the prisoner along a predetermined course at a specific rate. The prisoner must instead acquire new ways of accomplishing and describing the passage of time. Surviving imprisonment compels the prisoner to develop new temporal competencies. To "do tirne" in prison necessitates that inmates make use of different metaphors of time in a way that explains or ix accounts for why the flight of their life arrow has been suspended in tMe. The prison is not the only social context in contemporary western society where the inadequacy of the tirne as an arrow metaphor is revealed. Over the course of this research, I have found remarkable similarities between my own life course and that of the prisoners with whom 1 have interacted. Like them, 1 find myself in an unfriendly environment that imposes on its members temporal demands. Like them, 1 too am subject to the demands of a rigid thetable. For both prisoners and students, a bureaucratie organization - the prison or university - attempts to define individualsr temporal experience. Like the prisoners my work investiqates, 1 too have struggled in attempting to develop a new temporal lexicon with which to account for my experience. At this point, attempting to emerge from the confusion, I have yet to develop a way of making sense of the experience of my graduate education. The confidence 1 had upon entering this program in my ability to develop skills within the social sciences has been replaced by a feeling of being lost in ocean of knowledge. Like the swimmer who nearly drowned in cornpetition, 1 am still expectorating water. But I am, on the other hand, assured by the fact that I am not the only one experiencing such difficulties. Over the last two weeks I have followed a fascinating dialogue between Tom Wilson and Dorothy Smith on an ethnomethodology discussion list. These two accomplished scholars are struggling now with some of the same issues I confronted over the course of my research. There obviously is much work left to be done. As this chapter in my life course closes, 1 am unable to specify with certainty the direction my career path will follow. 1 find rnyself, like the prisoner, trapped in tirne. Completion of this thesis brings me to a new beginning. As Eliot penned so succinctly: "The end is where we start from" (1963, p. 221). Although I have still to develop a meaningful account of my own persona1 temporal experience, 1 believe this thesis succeeds in revealing how most prisoners develop meaningful methods for doing the within the organizational context of the prison. It is perhaps fitting that a thesis on the phenomenon of time would begin by noting that al1 things have a beginning and an end. However, although we bestow on these temporal moments certain (special) qualities, thne itself is curiously ambiguous. Endings are in fact new beginnings. T. S. Eliot says this with great eloquence in his poem "Little Gidding" of the Four Quartets: What we cal1 the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. (1963, p. 221) Beginnings, endings, and new beginnings. My graduate career at the University of Calgary can be considered in terms of these things. The culmination of the process of initiating, writing, and defending this thesis brings closure to a significant chapter of rny life. Yet, at the same the, it marks the time of a new beginning, new opportunities, and new social affiliations. A compelling aspect of Eliot's writing is that tirne is marked by both positive and negative moments. In this section 1 focus on the former, acknowledging the knowledge and assistance so graciously provided by many individuals with whom 1 interacted during my four years at the University of Calgary. Foremost, 1 would like to thank the thousands of people 1 met who live or work in prisons. Through my participation as a member of the prison, 1 was afforded by inmates and staff an unique perspective of the dynamics of this complex social context, an environment in which few scholars venture. I would like to thank the people of Alberta for their support in making quality post-secondary education available

xii to me and other students in this province. E'unding for my research was provided in part through the Heritage Trust Fund. The vision of those who established this endowment program is greatly respected. It is my express wish that Albertans maintain adequate levels of financial support for post secondary institutions and their students so that students in future can benefit from the same first class education that 1 did. People, not money, are the cornerstone of the university. 1 extend my sincere gratitude to the Department of Anthropology for their continued support throughout my graduate program at the University of Calgary. Faculty members and support staff exceeded the demands of their position to help me see this project through to completion. It is difficult to express in words the appreciation and admiration 1 hold for my supervisor, Professor Graham Watson. Graham's continuous support and encouragement, coupled with an occasional measure of constructive criticism, aided in me "doing my tinte" as a graduate student. While 1 wish Graham well in his retirement, speaking for al1 his former students, as well those he could have otherwise taught, 1 must Say that there will soon be a vacant office on the ninth floor of the Social Sciences Building whose previous occupant will be sadly missed. There is little need to point out that building collegial relationships with one's peers is one of the more positive aspects of graduate education. 1 look back in particular with great fondness to the discussions and Friday night dinners shared with a dear friend and office mate, Liam Taylor. 1 am confident that Liam will find his graduate work to be as equally satisfying and rewarding as 1 did. Moving away from the communities of my research and the xiii university, I would like to give recognition to the fact that my family has been extremely supportive of my work. My mother, Jane Freeman, both brought me into the world and helped see me through this project. My father, Clyde Brewster Freeman Jr., died suddenly in December of 1995. 1 would have welcomed the opportunity to tell him that the thesis is finally complete. I thank my sister, Karen, for the kindness she has, on so many occasions, extended me. Finally, 1 would like to acknowledge the support provided to me by my brother, Joseph, and sister-in-law, Michelle. Thank you all.

xiv TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... xv CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION ...... 1 Introduction: Prison "Time-Talktr ...... 1 Traversing Contexts: Member and Analyst Talk . 3 The Multiple Dimensions of Prison The-Talk . . 6 Ethnomethodology and Time ...... 7 Organization of the Chapter ...... 8 Chronological Sequence and Human Behaviour ..... 9 TirneandMetaphor ...... 11 DoingTime ...... 12 Time as Reality and Identity Work ...... 13 "Respecification" of Time ...... 15 Doing Time: An Example from the Field . . 15 Conversation Segment 1-1 ...... 17 Conversation Segment 1-2 . 17 Time as a Scarce Resource . 18 The Future Through the Past .....18 Time as Repetition ...... 19 Understanding Time ...... 19 Suwnary ...... 21 Structure and Agency: Foucault% Timetable . . . . 21 Organization of the Thesis ...... 23 NOTES ...... 24 CHAPTER TWO: THE PHENOMENON OF TIME ...... Overview of the Chapter ...... Introduction or 'Dom the Rabbit HoIe of Tirne" The Multiple Dimensions of The ...... The Experience of Time ...... Time in Space ...... Biology and the Life Course ...... Anthony Giddens on Time and Identity . . Self-Identity ...... The Emergence of Identity ..... Institutions and Identity ..... History and Identity: La Longe Durée Time and Critical Situations ...... The Experience of Illness ...... 34 The Institutionalization of Illness . 34 Temporal Shifts ...... 35 Social Responsibility and Temporal Drift . 35 The as Taken-For-Granted ...... 36 The and Social Order ...... 37 A Multiplicity of Times ...... 38 The Enigma of The ...... 38 Recognizing Time ...... 39 Doing Time as a Practical Accomplishment ...39 Respecifying The ...... 41 Space. The. and The Anthropology Of Social Relations ...... 42 Ethnography and Space ...... 43 Ethnography and Time ...... 43 NOTES ...... 47

CHAPTER THREE: EiESEARCH EPISTEMOLOGY ...... 49 Introduction ...... 49 Organization of the Chapter ...... 50 Competing Paradigms for Empirical Research .....52 Conversation Segment 3-1 ...... 53 Positivism ...... 54 Hermeneutics ...... 56 Realism ...... 58 Developing "a Feel" for Methods: Moving Beyond the Familiar ...... 60 Common Sense or Scientific Sense? ...... 61 Naturalistic Investigation ...... 64 The Crisis of Representation ...... 66 Interpretive Anthropology ...... 68 Social Constructionisrn ...... 70 Ethnomethodology: An "Alternate" Approach ..... 74 Ethnornethodology. Social Structure. and Context ...... 76 Ethnomethodology and Ethnography ...... 77 Integrative Approaches ...... 80 Against Integration ...... 83 Context: Interna1 or External? ...... 87 Hopper's "Markings of Settings" .....89 Rod Watson and the Dialectic of Context . 92 Ernanuel Schegloff and Context as Vernacular ...... 94 "Relevance" as a Mechanism to Warrant Ethnographic Description ...... 95 Ethnomethodology and the Search for "Meaning" . 96 Ethnomethodology: Demonstrating Common Sense 100 Conversation Segment 3-1 ..... 101 Summary ...... 103 xvi NOTES ...... 104 CHAPTER FOUR: PUNISHMENT. PRISONS. AND TIME ...... 105 Overview of the Chapter ...... 105 Introduction or "Have a Nice Sentence" ...... 106 Making Sense of Punishment ...... 108 The Philosophy of the Law ...... 108 Retribution ...... 109 End-means Punishments ...... 110 Punishment and Time ...... 110 Anthropological Approaches ...... 111 Levi-Strauss ...... 111 Malinowski ...... 112 Durkheim ...... 114 Cohen ...... 116 "Penality" ...... 118 Criminal-Talk: "We're Ail Criminals" Here .... 120 Conversation Segment 4-1 ..... 120 The Discussion: An Overview ...... 121 The Institutional Accomplishent of Trust . . 121 Becoming An Inmate ...... 122 Stages1&2 ...... 123 Stages 3 and 4 ...... 124 Stages 5 & 6 ...... 124 Becoming a Prisoner and Time ...... 125 Criminals. Inmates and Time Sequence .... 126 Alcoholic Anonymous Accounts ...... 127 Teenagers-With-Problems Talk ...... 129 Rehabilitation Talk ...... 132 Conversation Segment 4-2 ..... 133 "Just Deserts" ...... 133 Conversation Segment 4-3 ..... 134 Summary ...... 135 NOTES ...... 136 CHAPTER FIVE: GETTING INTO THE FIELD .... Doing Research: "Getting In" ...... Access to the Prison Context ... "Metro Prisonff ...... YOCOPrisonff ...... Prison as Exotica ...... Police Checks and Prison Security . Trust as a Social Achievement ... Doing Research: 'Being There" ..... The Researcher Role ...... Data Collection ...... Limitations of Research Methodology After Fieldwork: Analysis and Reporting NOTES ...... xvii CHAPTERSIX: DOINGTIME ...... 157 Introduction ...... 157 Overview of the Chapter ...... 157 The Doing of The ...... 158 Making The Accountable ...... 160 Ethnomethodological Approaches to the Doing of Time ...... 161 The and Subjective Experience ...... 162 TalkandtheSocialOrder ...... 163 Escape Attempts: A Report from the Field ..... 164 Conversation Segment 6-1: ..... 164 Practicai Resources: Clothing and ID Cards . 165 Pragmatic Thinking: Ulterior Motives .... 166 Pragmatic Thinking: Time. Status Distinctions. and the Forma1 Consequences of A Botched Escape ...... 168 Status as Volunteer/Researcher ...... 169 Doing The: The Membersr Analysis ...... 170 Volunteering. Research. Doing "A Job. " and Understanding ...... 171 Conversation Segment 6-2 ..... 171 Ethnographic Details: Associations ..... 171 Inmate Volunteers ...... 173 Analysis ...... 173 ConningaCon ...... 175 Conversation Segment 6-3 ..... 176 Sam and Temporal Demands of Everyday Life in Prison ...... 177 "Thirty-Seven Days and I'm Outta Here." . 177 Conversation Segment 6-4 ..... 177 Deviance by "Deviants" ...... 178 Accounting for a Pre-Release ...... 180 In Jail? Which One? ...... 181 "In Jail" as the Temporal Present ... 181 "Twenty Days Left: 1 Feel Short ...... 182 Short-Time in the Literature ...... 182 Samf s Accounting for Short-Thne .... 182 Conversation Segment 6-5 ..... 183 Time and Metaphor: Accounting for Subj ective States ...... 183 "People Don't Know How Hard it is Being a Criminal .'' ...... 184 Summary of Time-Talk in Short-Time ... 185 Short-Time and Anxiety ...... 185 Conversation Segment 6-6 ..... 186 Dispersion as a Means of Social Control 187 "Bugging Out" in the Hole ...... 187 Making Sense of Short-Time Stress ... 188 xviii Another Way of Making Sense of Temporal Stress: Being "Bad" ...... The Ebture Through the Past ...... Summary ...... of The-Talk While "Chilling Out" "No One Cares About Us Here'' and "Do Your Own Time" ...... Conversation Segment 6-7 ..... Trust as Accomplished Order ...... Ethnicity as an Organizing Mechanism . . Staff-Inmate Relations ...... "DoingYourOwnTime" ...... "Two Weeks...... and a Coffee": Approaching the Gate Conversation Segment 6-8 . . . . Conversation Segment 6-9 ..... The Pains of Imprisonment ...... The Surprise of Imprisonment ...... Lawyer Accounts ...... Future Strategies: "I'm Not Coming Back." . . Conversation Segment 6-10 ..... "Losing:" Social Networks and the Return to Prison ...... 197 "EightSleepsMore8' ...... 198 Conversation Segment 6-11 ..... 198 'If Theyrd Let Me Go. Pd-~alkOut Buck Naked." ...... 199 Conversation Segment 6-12 ..... 200 Summary: Sam and Doing The ...... 201 Yt Sure 1s a Beautiful Day": Weather and Prison Talk

.m...... m...... 202 Conversation Segment 6-13 (a) ... 202 Making Small Talk ...... 203 Moving Beyond Small Talk ...... 204 Making Sense of the Obvious ...... 204 Srnall Talk (Continued) ...... 204 Conversation Segment 6-13 (b) ... 204 Making Sense of What 1s Not So Obvious ... 205 Inside and Outside: Spatial Metaphors in the Prison ...... 205 Repair as a Technique for Developing Understanding 206 "1 Donft Go To Yard" ...... 207 Suspending The ...... 207 ChapterSummary ...... 209 NOTES ...... a. 210

CHAPTER SEVEN: CONCLUSION ...... 212 Overview of the Chapter ...... 212 xix Introduction: Imprisoned in The ...... 213 Time and "Power" ...... 213 Nihilistic Approaches ...... 214 Doing Time ...... 215 Ironicizing Time ...... 216 Time and the Prisoner ...... 217 Looking Forward ...... 219 Ethnomethodology and The ...... 220 NOTES ...... 222 REFERENCES ...... 223

APPENDIX A: CERTIFICATION OF ETHICS REVIEW ...... 240 CHAPTER ONE : IhTRODUCT ION Most of them told the time very roughly by their meals, which were unpunctual and irregular: they amused themselves with the most childish games al1 through the day, and when it was dark they fell asleep by tacit consent - not waiting for a particular hour of darkness for they had no means of telling the the exactly: in fact there were as many times as there were prisoners. Graham Greene, The Tenth Man, p. 35.

O1 Introduction: Prison mTime-Talk" A persona1 interest in the social organization of the prison motivated me to voluntarily enter this isolated environment. This is a social space normally populated by incarcerated persons, prison inmates, and the people who supervise them, prison guards. Aside from survey research, the prison has received surprisingly little attention from social scientists as a setting in which to conduct ethnographie research (Fleisher, 1989) . To augment qualitative studies of the prison, beginning in the fa11 of 1992, 1 have gone inside what Goffman (1961) refers to as "total institutions." As a long-term member of the prison context, both as a participant and an observer, I have noticed that natural members of this environment - prison inmates and staff - engage with great frequency in conversations concerning time.' These discussions take place both among groups of inmates and between inmates and staff members. 1 have myself engaged in many conversations with inmates in which the was a central topic. 1 draw analytical attention in this thesis to such mundane practices by calling these conversations prison time-talk. This is not to Say that members of the prison use this term. They do not. The expression is an imposition on my part. 1 use prison tirne-talk as a classificatory device with which to group a specific genre of inmate conversations. Other categories by which prisoners' talk could be assembled include "prison-talk,"

"street-talk, " "crime-talk, " and "drug-talk. " Prisoners do not order their conversation under these (or any) labels. They have no neeC to. Rather, they talk. Nevertheless, recurrent features of inmate talk include the topics of "time, " "prison, " "the street,'' "crime,'' and "drugs." These topics are recognizable to members of the prison context as items of and for practical discussion. They are for prisoners mundane, everyday affairs. The practical activity of discussing these ordinary matters is, as I argue in this thesis, central to what can be considered as the experience of prison life. 1 propose that though these mundane conversations about time, prisoners go about the practical but essential matter of doing tiine. While doing time prisoners make use of schemata to organize elements of their context. Such categories are often in the form of binary oppositions. For example, I have interacted with inmates who have made regular use of the following (among other) dichotomies : Boss (prison staff) Con (inmate)

PC scumbag (inmate in protective custody)

Easy time Hard time (prison tirne experience)

The joint (prison) The street (anywhere other than prison) Other practical designations of inmates address age (kid,. young or an immature inmate); an affine (old-lady, wife or girlf riend) ; crime ( skinner, a person convicted of a sexual offense) ; type of communication (Dear John letter, letter or telephone cal1 from wife or girlfriend indicating that the relationship is over), and so on. Members of the prison context (inmates and staff) are familiar with these designations. While these organizing features will be discussed in this thesis because they are, the general level, a method used by inmates to order their context, and, more specifically, used to reference time, they differ from our area of analytical inquiry in that they signify objects in the prison context that are taken-for-granted rather than phenomena requiring further "repais" work (for example, the doing of the or the doing that follows receiving a Dear John letter) . My point is that while a prisoner knows what hard tirne is, it is another matter to actually do it. By making hard time accountable, prisoners confer sense on the phenornenon of time. This is not to imply that there is a distinction between utterances that Say things and those that do things. John Austin, in How to Do Things with Words (1962), diff erentiates between "constatives" and "perfomatives ."

Whereas the former, for Austin, " 'describe or report' If (p. 5), the latter are said to accomplish practical activities. Performatives are conferred special distinction by speech act theorists like Austin because "the uttering of the sentence is, or is a part of, the doing of an action, which again would not normally be described as, or as \justr, saying sornething" (p. 5) . Ethnomethodologists rej ect Austin's dichotomy. In that al1 phenomena cari be made accountable, al1 utterances are performative. A distinction 1 do accept is the notion that some phenornena, depending on the context, requires more doing that other phenomena. 1.0.1 Traversing Contexts: Member and Analyst Talk The imposition of a classificatory scheme on prisoners' talk is not done to ironize the practices of inmates. 1 make no daim that 1 know better than them about either their own lives or the social context of the prison. Time- talk is a pedagogical device used to make available for analytical investigation a specific, important, and recurring feature of prisoner talk. One of the two objectives in writing this thesis is to bring this mundane praciice of prisoners to the attention of the academic community. This thesis contributes to the formal literature on the prison the argument that prisoners' talk about time, although unextraordinary in practice, is, nevertheless, an essential element of doing time. Prisoners have much to teach us about doing time. 1 report in this thesis the practical activities of members of one context in a written text that must satisfy the requirements established by the rnembers of another setting. 1 must, therefore, demonstrate a sensitivity to the users of both natural language systems. It has been necessary for me, in both my fieldwork and the writing of this thesis, to juxtapose two radically different social contexts. This presents both difficulty and opportunity. On the one han& 1 must remain constantly attentive to the specific context 1 both speak (a) from and (b) address. An example: While 1 am revising this chapter, the University of Calgary is the host to several events that make up the '1997 World Police/Fire Games." 1 have met in the university campus recreation complex some of the cornpetitors. They Unpress me with the extraordinarily high level of enthusiasrn they bring to Our city. During the same period, 1 have also interacted with incarcerated persons in a prison. Members of the latter group do not share the same fervour for the games that police and firefighters do. Inmates refer to the competition in terms the participants and spectators would likely consider derogatory. Prisoners cal1 the event "The Pig Games ." Aithough members of both contexts would recognize that the two expressions refer to the same conceptual object, the inmatesr te= carries an extra sense, a negative moral evaluation of the games' participants. While this designation is appropriate in the prison for use among inmates, it is unsuitable for use among the game competitors and spectators. Thus, venturing from one social context into another imposes on "the social traveller" certain interactional demands. What is suitable in one context may be indecorous in another setting. Traversing social settings, particularly between groups of what Goffman (1963) calls the "stigmatized'' and the "n~nnals,~'involves the exercise of practical tact and the occasional use of the conversational technique of "repair." The ability to negotiate different contexts is not specific to prison studies, the discipline of anthropology, or the scholarly community overall. Students of anthropology and sociology have long recognized that individuals in al1 social settings fil1 a variety of, and at times contradictory, "roles." An individual 'assumes the role of the other," argues George Herbert Mead, through Vole-taking" (1934, p. 254) . Robert Merton coined the term Vole-conflict" to draw attention to the possibility of incompatible demands of different roles (1957) . Each "social positionf8 carries with it certain expectations and a lexicon of "appropriatetr vernacular. Differences in the use and specific fom of utterances imply different meanings. They may, however, be recognizable to mernbers of each specific context and are, therefore, potentially problematic. This is not to Say that these obstacles are insurnountable. My point again is to stress the need for a special sensitivity to interactional details when crossing social contexts. 'd id t h Q, #4 d V *rl tn r( rd G 9 d U U 4 c: Q, 8 O a A4 d U O Q) 9 U k U I Q) 2 rl 4 4 -1 rd rl U 4J (II I vl ici Q) U O ai O 8 .ci 2 Ci d -rl O fi (II Q) (II rl tn k cd 01 F n a, cd w 6) U tn U O rd 4 k Ci 9 tn O k 9, QI V) V1 cl tO O cf ai w O & =rl (II k rl B a k al 2 a & h '4 QI k 4 7i .ci V) 3 P, Inmates make available their temporal experience through metaphor. Stanley Cohen and Laurie Taylor report on the basis of their fieldwork in "E-Wing," a unit in a British maximum-security prison, that talk about the is "the most frequently used metaphor [by prisoners] to describe prison experience" (1972, p. 90) . Reference will be made throughout this thesis to published writings by prisoners. These texts employ metaphor to describe the experience of everyday life in prison in temporalized terms. 1 argue that there is a third and more significant feature of prison time-talk. Talk about time goes beyond metaphor. Time-talk is itself constitutive of the organizational features of prison life. It is through these discussions that inmates describe, organize, and account for the experience of everyday life in prison. Through what I cal1 time-talk, prisoners make time accountable or, in other words, "observable-reportablegr (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970, p. 342). Ethnography and conversation analysis are used in this thesis as methodological devices to show how prisoners make the phenomenon of time accountable. In arguing that prisoners* talk about tirne is intrinsic to the doing of time, 1 assert that this discussion of prison time-talk is representative of the corpus of literature categorized under the rubric of ethnomethodology. 1.0.3 Ethnomethodology and Time This brings us to the second objective of this thesis. 1 advance the argument that there is a need to incorporate a temporal dimension in the ethnomethodological project. While ethnomethodology is an excellent approach to examine how prisoners make the phenomenon of time accountable, ethnomethodology, on the other hand, has been largely insensitive to the phenornenon of the. The significance prisoners place on time in the practical activities of their everyday lives has theoretical importance for ethnomethodology. They (the prisoners) make a strong case for a temporalized ethnomethodology. 1 propose that ethnomethodology can remain attentive to the accomplishment by members in the temporal present of what Garfinkel and Sacks (1970) refer to as the "formal structures of practical action" while investigating the significance of what both the past and the future hold for members of that context. Members bring to the present temporal resources - history, biography, and future plans. Accordingly, these temporal phenornena are recognizable features (to both rnernbers and analysts) of and for practical action. While these temporal objects are ambiguous, it is precisely this element of incertitude that is a practical concern for members to resolve in their here-and-now. Although 1 clah that ambiguity is a central feature of the time experience for al1 perçons; for prisoners, the ambivalence of thne is particularly acute. Time is a matter of practical concern for the inmate. That prisoner must do time. Thus, an investigation of time in the prison is instructive for ethnomethodologists because it argues that a temporalized ethnomethodology is both necessary to and consistent with ethnomethodology, -1.1 Organization of the Chapter Having outlined above the general problem to be investigated in this thesis, 1 explore below three different approaches for the analysis of prison time-talk. In doing so, 1 situate each analytic technique in relation to the established literature. A note on theory: An emphasis is placed in this chapter on explicating how inmates go about the business of making sense of time. Our primary theoretical interest is with what ethnomethodologists cal1 "practical theorizing," how members, through their activities, confer order on, by making recognizably sensible, their social context . Although Our interest is with the practices of merubers, 1 will briefly address the issue of structure and agency as it relates to Michel Foucault's seminal study of the social organization of the prison (1979). While Foucault seems to share with me little interest in the mundane affairç of prison inmates, his work is nevertheless influential and should, therefore, be situated in respect to this thesis. 1 conclude the chapter with an outline of subsequent chapters. We consider next three analytical techniques for the analysis of time-talk. -1.2 Chronological Sequence and Human Behaviour The relationship among (a) time spent in custody, (b) the the remaining in an inzateOs sentence, and (c) that inmatefs behaviour was the focus of Stanton Wheelerfç doctoral research. In considering the socialization process of prisoners, Wheeler (1958, 1961) argues that there is a "Ut'-shaped statistical correlation between the sequence of time spent by an individual inmate in prison and the degree to which the behaviour of that inmate confoms to staff expectations . Inrnates responding to Wheelerf s questionnaire indicated a propensity to succumb to institutional rules and staff demands during both the first and last six months of their prison sentence. On the other hand, Wheeler found that during the longest period of imprisonment, prisoners said they rejected the standards of "pro-social" behaviour as defined by prison administrators. During this phase of incarceration they reported they conform instead to the noms and values of their fellow "encultured" inmates. Wheeler argues that during the "early phase" of incarceration the new inmate is gradually socialized into the social system of prisoners. During this period of enculturation into "inmate culture,'' Wheeler's mode1 predicts that the behaviour of the "typical" inmate will meet the expectations of the prison staff. This is because, says Wheeler, the time focus of the new inmate has not yet shifted to that of the prison. Kowever, as the prisoner learns the specialized argot, values, noms, and procedures of fully socialized inmates, his temporal orientation adapts to meeting the requirements of the "prisoner role. " Wheeler calls this period of imprisonment the "Mddle phase, " noting that during this period the "institutionalized" inmate 'has to make sorne adjustment to the fact that he is there to stay for awhile" (1958, p. 183). Afinal transition, notes Wheeler, occurs approximately six months before the inmaters release. This is the 'late stage" of incarceration. Oves this phase of the "inmate career," the prisoner8s behaviour again conforms more closely to the expectations of prison staff. Wheeler argues that this is because the inmaters tirne focus shifts beyond the immediate context of the prison as the possibility of release becomes more tangible for that inmate. In examining Wheelerrs "U,'' the bottom segment is associated with the process of what Wheeler calls "prisonization" and the two crest periods (the "early" and "late" stages of incarceration) by the process of "differential attachent to the extra-institutional culture" (1958, p. 187) . The temporal orientation of an inmate, argues Wheeler, varies dependent upon whether that individual bases his time reference within or beyond the inmiediate context of the prison. Despite methodological shortcomings in Wheelerrs research, his work, nevertheless, raises the question that within the prison there may be a relationship between the sequence and inmate behaviour. If so, we would anticipate that prison the-talk is reflective of this correlation. The association between the and behaviour will be explored in subsequent chapters of this thesis. -1.3 Time and Metaphor The second dimension of the within the prison context involves the use of tirne as a metaphor to describe prison experience. For Lakof f and Johnson, the use of metaphoric laquage is a fundamental aspect of the human condition. The concepts that govern Our thought are not just rnatters of the intellect. They also govern our everyday functioning, dom to the most mundane details. Our concepts structure what we perceive, how we get around in the world, and how we relate to other people. Our conceptual system thus plays a central role in defining our everyday realities. If we are right in suggesting that our conceptual system is largely rnetaphorical, then the way we think, what we experience, and what we do every day is very much a rnatter of metaphor. (1980, p. 3) Members of different contexts rnay make use of different metaphoric devices. Conceptual systems, therefore, may vary across social contexts. As humans are situated in both space and tirne, both their conceptual systems and the specific metaphors they use to make spatial and temporal experience available rnay very well differ across settings. Time is featured in the talk of persons suffering from chronic illness . The patients Kathy Charmaz (1991) interviewed described their experience of disease in tems of "good" and "bad" days. Those inflicted by serious illness use temporal metaphors to convey pain sensation. Chamaz notes that for these perçons, "dividing life provides one rneasure of experiencing an intrusive illness and a part of the taken-for-granted lexicon through which illness becomes understandable and explainable" (p. 49). Charmaz' s informants, through their use of metaphoric language to describe their experience of illness in tems of the, made sense of their disease available to themselves, Chamaz as a researcher, and other rnembers of their social settings. As with the chronically ill, prisoners too use metaphoric language to explicate their personal and collective experience. The language of inmates literally overflows with metaphors of temporal phenomena. Consider the following text written by a former prisoner: In prison, time accumulates a new dimension. You try to eat it away rather than enjoy it. If a prisoner is having difficulty with his station, if the days are hopelessly long, he is doing "hard time." Instead of asking why another is making life difficult one asks 'why are you cutting into my time?" And a frequent answer when one tells of his trouble is "do your own tirne" or "donOt press my tirne." (Rosevear, 1970, p. 234, emphasis added) Inmates differentiate between time 'on the streetO'and "in the joint." Lakoff and Johnson note that people in the North American context use spatial metaphors to indicate their spatial-temporal 'orientation" far more frequently than they index time (1980, pp. 14-21). Clearly evident in Rosevear's text is that metaphors in the joint make reference to tirne at least as often as to space. As prisoners explain, this is because, in ways very different from on the street, time, in prison, matters. -1.4 Doinq Time Although both chronological sequencing and metaphoric language will be discussed in more detail throughout this thesis, this study of prison the-talk focuses primarily on phenomena of what 1 consider to be of the third kind. This thesis examines how participating in time-talk is a fundamental component of doing time. In analysing how prisoners do time, the tesearcher must select between two possible levels of investigation. Many researchers of the prison have focused on the adaptive response to prison by individual inmates. For example, psychologist Hans Toch (1992a, 1992b, 1992~)has published extensively on the coping skills and adjustment processes of inmates. Similarly, sociologists Cohen and Taylor (1972) have studied the prison experience of the inmate from the perspective of social psychology. We will briefly review their work before examining how ethnomethodology "respecifiesn the study of temporal processes in the prison. An example from the field is analysed using an ethnomethodological approach to illustrate how ethnomethodology diff ers frm the more "conventional" research approaches . 1.4.1 Time as Reality and Identity Work Cohen and Taylor (1972), in their ethnography study of "E-Wing," raise the possibility of prisoners structuring their own tirne. Prisoners, note Cohen and Taylor, tend to create stages for themselves. They build their own subjective clock in order to protect themselves from the terros of "the misty abyss ." There are a few achievements which can be used to mark the passage of tirne. One can engage in mind-building (reading or studying) and in body-building. (p. 95) Such pursuits, Say Cohen and Taylor, are employed by inmates as strategies with which to protect themselves from the negative ef fects of incarceration. "Survi~al~~is the name of the game for the individual prisoner.

1.4.2 Ethnomethodological "Respecificationm of Time It is argued in this thesis that by talking about time prison members make available the temporal order of the prison context. An ethnomethodological examination of time- talk investiqates what Harold Garfinkel (1991) calls "radical phenomena;" an analytical approach that "respecifies" both the classical and contemporary sociological project. Respecification entails adopting the ethnomethodological standpoint," a theoretical premise asserting that the world of "social facts" is accomplished through membersr interpretive work - activity through which actors produce and organize the very circumstances of everyday life. (Holstein and Gubrium, 1994, p. 262) Ethnornethodology - Garfinkel's respecification - involves a detailed examination of the mundane practices members in specific settings use in their social interaction to organize, understand, and explicate their social world (Pollner, 1974). Despite the everyday nature of such matters, for the ethnomethodologist it is the practical accomplishment of these unextraordinary activities that is itself constitutive of social order. 1 argue in this thesis that by talking about tirne, through their time-talk, prisoners do tirne. In other words, it is through the-talk that inmates make time accountable. An example from the prison will serve to illustrate this point. 1.4.2.1 Doing Time: An Example from the Field 1 (BF) was one of three participants in the two conversation segments below. As discussed in further detail in the methodology chapter, 1 transcribed conversation segments from memory within minutes after the conversations occurred. The two conversation segments we will consider in this section of the thesis took place in the prison gymnasium (gym) during a regularly scheduled gym period for Protective Custody (PC) prisoners. Ethnographie details are provided to situate these conversation segments within a contextual frame. Inmates are assigned to PC if they are perceived by prison staff to be at risk of being assaulted by other inmates. They house PC inmates in a "living unit" ("prison wing") separate from the "main inmate population0' ("general population") of the prison. When PC inmates move to an area of the prison "off their unit," they do so under a staff escort to safeguard them from other inmates. Prisoners are assigned to ("check-inn) the PC unit for a variety of reasons. Non-PC prisoners perceive, as one inmate from the main population told me, that "al1- PC inmates are \skinners' [convicted sex-offenders] 'ratsr [inmates who have informed on other criminals, either to the police or prison staff] , or 'dom-thieves' [inmates who steal property of other inmates]." No rnatter their particular "offense," whether it occurred either prior to or during their prison sentence, main population inmates speak frequently of the lack of respect they hold for this category of offender. To ensure their safety, PC inmates are afforded much less freedom of movement within the prison than is granted prisoners in the main population. Gym periods are generally the only time PC inmates are allowed off their unit. Immediately before the first conversation show here, a staff member and I escorted to the gym those PC inmates wanting a gym period. Al1 but one inmate during this gym period used the "Universa18' weight machines. That inmate approached the staff member and myself, who were in the staff office adjoining the gym, and initiated a conversation. Conversation "1-1" took place between the staff member and the inmate in my presence. Conversation "1-2" followed immediately after, in the absence of the inmate. Conversation Segment 1-1 [Staff M. 1, give us a couple badminton rackets . Staff M. No ! Inmate Corne on [Staff M.], quit fuckinr us around, werve less than hour to play. ( (pause)) Can we have th-? Staff M. No you can' t . Inmate Stop fuckinF me aroud! ( (pause) ) Are you gonna give em to us or not? Staff M. No, Ivm not going to give them to you. But you may use them. [Staff M. gives Inmate two rackets and one shuttlecock] Inmate Why do you always do this [Staff M. ]? You shouldnrt screw me 'round like this [Staff M. ] , have a look at my file sometime.

Conversation Segment 1-2

1 BF [Inmate] has been in here for a while, 2 1 've known him for the two years Irve been coming in. 3 Staff M. Yeah, 1 think hers a fed. Both conversation segments are rich in detail, conveying both (a) a sense of the interactive style of both this inmate and staff member and (b) general features of prison life. Our concern here, however, is with those aspects of the exchange that pertain to the phenornenon of time. Even when we restrict our focus to temporality, the two conversation segments provide an abundant source of data for analysis. These conversation segments can be used to investigate four features of temporality. First, that thne within the prison context is understood by prison members as a resource. Second, that events purported ta have taken place in the past can be used strategically to account for future action. Third, that the prison routine is repetitive. Finally, that time can be used as a device by which to test onefs understanding (interpretation) of a communicative event. We will explore in more detail how time is made accountable in each of these ways below. 1.4.2.1.1 Time as a Scarce Resource Considering first conversation segment "1-1, '' the inmate's utterance in line 4 is indicative of tirne - more specifically, "gym-the" - as a scarce resource. Unlike in other settings in the prison where the is abundant, in the gym context, the is limited. PC prisoners are allocated only fifty minutes of gym-time per day. This inmate would like to utilize his fifty minutes playing badminton as opposed to participating in language games. 1.4.2.1.2 The Future Through the Past We must interpret line 14 both within the context of (a) the immediate conversation and (b) the prison setting. The interlocutors to this conversation, as competent members of the prison context, were familiar with the institutional practices referenced by the inmate's utterance. A practical assumption on the part of the members of this context is that the prison organization maintains dossiers on prison inmates. Indeed, prisoners arrive at the prison accompanied by a file containing, among other documents, a warrant of committal. Taken for granted by the inmate in Conversation Segment 1-1 is (a) the type of information contained within these inmate records and (b) that prison staff have access to these data. Reference to something the staff member would find in this inmate's file is a device used by the inmate whereby an event that took place in the past can be used to account for something the inmate might do in the future, In other words, the inmate is using an account of his previous behaviour (which he claims is documented in his file) to explain potential future action. In his study of "bad" clinical records being put to "good" organization use, Garfinkel stressed that a "correct reading" of files is determined "emphatically not [by] the circumstances that accompanied the original writing, but the present circumstances of the reader in deciding their appropriate present use (1967, p. 202, ernphasis in original). In this interactional sequence (conversation segment 1-l), the inmate helps the staff rnernber by indicating what would be a "correct reading" of the inmaters file. Furthemore, the inmate shows how this reading could be used to account for (predict) future behaviour. 1.4.2.1.3 Time as Repetition Line 12 underscores the repetitive nature of prison life. The inmate charges that this particular staff rnernber is consistently "fuckin' [himl around." Inmates made reference throughout my fieldwork to what they described as a monotonous and unchanging routine. Topics for discussion included the predictability of prison (a) staff, (b) other inmates, and (c) the daily schedule. 1.4.2.1.4 Understanding Time 1 initiated conversation segment "1-2" to verify that rny interpretation of conversation segment "1-1" was correct. Sentencing practices in Canada take into account many factors including (a) the perceived seriousness of the crime, (b) the previous criminal history of the convicted person, and (c) extralegal factors including age, gender, and ethnicity (Brannigan, 1984, pp. 220-222). The judiciary holds that offenders convicted of serious crimes and/or having lengthy criminal records are to generally receive longer sentences than would persons convicted of less serious crime and/or having fewer prior convictions. Further, prisoners sentenced to serve less than two years are incarcerated in provincial prisons whilst those sentenced to two or more years serve their time in federal penitentiaries. The prison in which this conversation occurred is a provincial prison. While most offenders there are sentenced to less than two years, it does, however, house several inmates under longer federal sentences. Both inmates and staff members cal1 these inmates 'feds." Feds in provincial prisons make available, to both inmates and staff, their status as long-temu inmates, holding this distinction as what may be called a "badge of honour." Already sentenced to a comparatively long term of incarceration, feds are said to "have nothing to lose8' and, thus, are considered unpredictable (or, more accurately, predictably violent). In line 2 of Conversation Segment 1-2 I ask indirectly whether the inmate, to this staff member's knowledge, was a fed. As 1 had known that this inmate had been in this particular prison for a 'long stretch," 1 considered it likely that he was a fed convicted of a violent offense. My statement was a communicative device used to confirm that my interpretation of Conversation 1-1 was accurate. The prison staff rnember substantiated my practical assumption. There was no need to check this inmate's dossier. We can interpret Une 14 of Conversation Segment 1-1 as a threat. The inmate is accusing the staff member, to use Rosevear's expression, of "cutting into my tinte" (1970, p. 234) . The point he is making is that if this staff member does not allow him to "do his own time, violence would be a sensible outcome within this context. 1.4.2.2 Siimmary 1 explicate in the fieldwork chapter in much greater detail the specific processes used in inmate time-talk. At this point 1 would like to underscore two points Conversation Segments 1-1 and 1-2 demonstrate. First, that tirne is an important element to prison the talk. Second, that within the prison there are at least three essential features to time. On the one hand, time, for prisoners, is a limited resource. Paradoxically, however, prison life is repetitive and monotonous. The third feature of time - the most significant to this study - is that the multiple dimensions of time (past, present, and future) can be used strategically in and through conversation in an atternpt to achieve certain objectives. Such utterances display agency. Not only, as Cardozo-Freeman (1984) says, is this a form of doing time, but as argued here, such language games are a way of making tirne accountable. -1.5 Structure and Agency: Foucault's Timetable As will be described in Chapter 4, many authors on the prison characterize inmates as socially deprived individuals who lack the opportunity to exercise "free will" or "human agency ." In Discipline and Punish Foucault (1979) specifies an optimal form for the prison, the Panopticon, an ideal type of prison conceptualized by the Scottish moral philosopher Jererny Bentham (1995). For Foucault (1979),

Bentham*s Panopticon epitomizes "disciplinary power ." Foucault considers that within the social space of the prison control over prisoners is absolute and totalizing, that there is no room for resistance or defiance. Control is absolute. As such, for Foucault, the Panopticon must not be understood as a dream building: it is the diagram of a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal fonn; its functioning, abstracted from any obstacle, resistance or fiction, must be represented as a pure architectural and optical system: it is in fact a figure of political technology. (1979, p. 205) This "political technology" succeeds for two primary reasons. First, the inrnate is subject to constant "inspection." The Panopticon is particularly efficient as a mechanism of control in that the inmate does not need to be monitored continuously. The design affords the possibility of the inmate being observed at any the yet the inmate is unaware if he or she is actually being examined. Thus, social control is internalized by the inmate. Foucault argues that the second feature of the Panopticon is the imposition of a rigid and structured timetable. The timetable is for Foucault the most coercive and dehumanizing aspect of modern life; in the context of the prison, the workhouse, the factory, or the school, the timetable is both a disciplinary device and a means of affecting "correct training." The goal of these institutions, Foucault says, goes beyond the immediate control of individuals in the Panopticon. These political technologies have as their objective the establishment of "disciplined populations." An ethnomethodological study of the prison shows that Foucault, in his passionate quest to isolate the specific "mechanisms of power," prematutely rejects the ability of individuals to define and interpret their own situation. As 1 have shown above, the for prisoners is both a constraint and a resource. The focus in this thesis will be primarily on the latter; how prisoners can successfully use time as a strategic instrument with which to cope with what Sykes (1958) characterizes as "the pains of the imprisonment." My perspective of the prisoner is quite different frorn that of Foucault. Rather than a passive and disciplined "docile body," I know agents who, to the fullest extent possible within the prison context, take charge of and control their lives and circumstances. -1.6 Organizatïon of the Thesis Chapter Two considers the phenornena of the. Epistemological approaches to social research are explored in Chapter Three. Chapter Four is also theoretical. Here 1 discuss the issues of punishment, prisons, and time. 1 discuss entry to the field setting in Chapter Five to provide a point of departure for Chapter Six, the fieldwork section of the thesis. Data are provided from three sources: rny own fieldwork, the observations of other social science researchers, and autobiographical and fictional writings on prisons by various authors. The conclusion is found in Chapter Seven. NOTES 1. An explanatory note on certain features of the language used in this thesis. Some of the terms might strike certain readers as unconventional. Whereas social scientists tend to refer to those persons they study as "subjects8' or, when they feel predisposed to grant them agency, "actors8', 1 prefer and utilize the term 'menbers'' because the word infers these people are members of some kind of social organization. A second term 1 use frequently is ncontext." The expression is indexical in that it references particular settings, conveying the notion that members constitute their own social settings through their practical action. Other social scientists speak in terras of "societies" and "subcultures." I find these tems problematic because they imply al1 members share conmion characteristics. Context is preferable as it is not deterministic. Features of relations among members of contexts should not be assumed but is rather a matter for inquiry by both members and analysts. Another breach frorn established convention is my exclusive use of masculine pronoms in certain sections of the thesis. This should not be interpreted as a preference for the use of sexist language but rather is reflective of the gender of the prisoners 1, and many of the researchers referenced, studied. Accordingly, non-inclusive language is used when the population referred to is of one specific gender . Finally, the term "prisonn is used throughout this thesis to refer to provincial institutions where sentenced offenders are confined. It is considered here synonymous with lTcorrectionalinstitutionw and "reformatory". Prisons may be differentiated £rom other institutions of confinement designated for (a) people waiting trial andior sentencing (b) federal offenders. The former are comonly referred to as jails, "remand centres, "detention centres, " and wlockupsw. The term used varies dependent upon the jurisdiction. As well, some institutions house both sentenced and non-sentenced inmates. It is customary, even in such cases, to house sentenced offenders separate from non-sentenced inmates. The majority of inmates serving federal the (more will be said later in this thesis about the distinction) are housed in "penitentiaries." Inmates, corrections staff, and the general public use these tems interchangeably. 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a 0.4 a a, cc: ut).rld&V) a+, aoGA O rd JJ 4 V) cwc,aa QM~~PG mar40 au Q)A t2 (dari3'4-4 c: v>r,a,kcUa,a¶ a,d*;f ah'ftv,cdcd tnV) Ok *da a,dd 3atn OkV)c,crk mrld duO au Q) IZ-4 BciC)*riH-4U3a4xc us! u d au.r( d aiu g O a tn 4 53 mciUOU> O3kG Okd Ga O Q)O ""Uo ua u2du B$rn~.~~fi:w~; CHAPTER TWO: THE PHENOMENON OF TIME Alice sighed wearily. '1 think you might do something better with the the," she said, "than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers." 'If you knew Time as well as 1 do," said the Hatter, 'you wouldn't talk about wasting it. Itrs him. '1 '1 donrt know what you mean, " said Alice - 'Of course you donPt!" the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. '1 dare Say you never even spoke to Time!" Lewis Carroll, Alicefs Adventures in Wonderland, p. 89. We talk of measuring the, as if the were a concrete thing waiting to be measured; but in fact we create time by creating intervals in social life. Until we have done this there is no the to be measured. Edmund Leach, Rethinking Anthropology, p. 135 -2 Overview of the Chapter The possibilities for beginning and ending a chapter on time, like time itself, are boundless. 1 will begin by stating what 1 will not accomplish in this chapter. Earlier drafts included a review of the relevant literature from anthropology, philosophy, and sociology. 1 wanted to write more about Johannes Fabian's Time and the Other (1983) a brilliant study of how anthropology uses western temporal structure to construct its object; to Say that in Being and Time, Martin Heidegger (1962) established that Being-in-the- world is a temporal experience (only in death, the existentialist argues, does the cease); and acknowledge that "Social Time," a classical sociological article co- authored by Pitirim Sorokin and Robert Merton (1937), as the first effort to subject the phenomenon of time to functionalist analysis. Such an undertaking would be of an encyclopaedic scale. So 1 will leave this work to others suffice to Say that there are two excellent review articles by Werner Bergmann (1992) and Nancy Munn (1992) that survey the literature from the respective disciplines of sociology and anthropology. Rather than to review the literature, this chapter attempts to problematize the. 1 address the multiple dimensions of time, exdning how the is a site where space, identity, experience, and the social merge. Time takes on special qualities in extreme situations. Both imprisonment and chronic illness disrupt normal temporal routines. The experience of time is transformed during these liminal periods. The presents itself as an enigma, a puzzle we seem to need to make sense of. People living their everyday lives want to recognize time. This is a goal too of social scientists. As anthropologists, we attempt to capture time with ethnography. Carroll considers a looking glass to be a more appropriate tool. We will now briefly turn Our attention to Alice and her friends in their search for understanding time. -2.1 Introduction or mDown the Rabbit Hole of Timen The Mad Hatter speaks through his riddle of the infiniteness of the. One must, so to speak, be 'as mad as a hatter" to talk to (and perhaps to even talk or write about) Time. There is little need to chase a white rabbit dom a small hole to recognize that the Hatter offers considerable insight into the nature of tirne.' The Mad Hatter. unlike Aiice, does not erroneously attempt to reduce time to "universal" periods of duration. For the Hatter, a watch indicating only the day of the month is as adequate as a tirnepiece which reveals the actual time of the day. In fact, a clock that tells the time of day is not at al1 useful for the Hatter since the Queen accused the March Hare " 'of murdering the tirne! '", and frightened him by exclaiming, "[O] ff with his head!'" (1946, p. 136) From that tirne forward, in the Hatter's world, it is always six orclock.' The Hatter8s riddles are meaningless to Aiice because she does not understand, as Leach (1961) elucidates in an entirely different context, that the is negotiable; we assign meaning to time through the creative social act of constructing intervals. -2.2 The Multiple Dimensions of Time Time intersects every dimension of reality. The transcends (a) the physical universe, (c) the social world, and (d) the psychological. As a point of convergence of these diverse ~pheres,~time is not unlike a black hole, a moment or space at which existence both begins and ends. This multidimensional character of time makes the study of time a daunting task. Most authors overcome this immense problem by limiting their focus to one specific dimension of time. Such an approach, however, does little to clarify Our understanding of time and instead affirms rather narrow disciplinary boundaries. The fundamental questions of the Mad Hatter's riddles remain unanswered because within such a restricted framework the questions (let alone possible answers) seem either lirnitless, nonsensical, or both. In a recent article on the anthropology of time, Nancy Munn (1992) likens writing about time to "reading Borge's infinite Book of Sand: as one opens this book, pages keep growing from it - it has no beginning or end." (p. 93) Despite the span of the topic (or perhaps because of it), consideration of the nature of the has commanded the interest and imagination of philosophers, poets, and scientists. 2.2.1 The Experience of Time Our journey does, however, require a starting point: a point of departure for the consideration of time. Human experience would seem as good as any place to begin. After all, the is, as Lefebvre (1991) justifiably asserts, the Ynost essential part of lived experience" (p. 95) . Essential, yes; however time, but not its passage, evades us. As Anthony Giddens notes, "the is perhaps the most enigmatic feature of human experience" (1984, p. 34) Although we are embedded in time, we either ignore it or take it for granted. In the reality of day-to-life, the is extremely ambiguous. Lefebvre directs us: Let everyone look at the space around them. What do they see? Do they see time? They live time, after all; they are in time. Yet al1 anyone sees is movements. (1991, p. 95) Lefebvre accentuates the enigma of time. While we are temporal creatures and as such are embedded in time, our understanding of temporal structure is in tems of motion. As Newtonian physics demonstrates, the and space are not separate domains. Human beings are situated both temporally and spatially . 2 -2.2 Time in Space Recognizing the convergence of the physical world and human beings, David Park, a physicist, said at the "First Conference of the International Society for the Study of Time," that while "[slpace and the are part of the physicistrs theoretical picture of the world ...[these concepts are] also of the language in which we al1 describe our thoughts and sensations" (1972, p. 110). Yet, as Lefebvre points out, language used by persons to account for time is in spatial tenus. This translation of the subjective experience of time to the description of motion in space necessitates us to consider time and space dialectically . Obviously, the cannot be reduced to space (or visa versa). The two CO-exist within the the-space continuum. In other words, for something to exist, it must be situated both temporally and spatially. Nonexistence, therefore, is a condition of being outside of the and space. 2.2.3 Biology and th8 Life Course It is, however, possible to analytically separate the from space. Biology, for example, imposes an essential temporal dimension to human life; using biologically bench marks as indicators, our voyage through life has been referred to by many authors as the life course. Of course, we do not need Heidegger to rdnd us that our existential being is limited; unlike our gods in their own worlds, our lives in this plane of existence are finite. As mortal creatures, "[tlhe best we can hope for," asserts Robertson, "is a painless passage from the extreme dependence of infancy, to reproductive maturity, and then to senescence and deathfr (1994, p. 95). Both the fom and significance of each temporal stage of the life course is socially ascribed. In any social situation, formal practices are recognized appropriate for each particular stage of the life journey . 2.2-4 Anthony Giddens on Time and Identity Life course impacts not only one's temporal situation within the society but also affects subjective, self- ref erential processes. As Giddens (1991) declares, "self - identity for us forms a trajectory across the different institutional settings of modernity over the duree of what used to called the 'life cyclet " (p. 14, emphasis in original) . Four points are worthy of mention. 2.2.4.1 Self-Identity First, is Giddenrs notion of "self-identity." Giddens considers that [slelf-identity is not a distinctive trait, or even a collection of traits, possessed by the individual. It is the self as reflexively understood by the person in terms of her or his biography. Identity here still presumes continuity across the and space: but self- identity is such continuity as interpreted reflexively by the agent. (1991, p. 53, emphasis in original) Formation of both identity and self-identity is, for Giddens, a social process, Giddenrs structuration theory (1984, 1993) places emphasis on the "duality of structuretf; although we as humans are the architects of the social, we

clarifies, to always establish and project stable identities, as Our situation within the social world changes, so too must we adjust or alter our self-identity. Such identity work, the ref lexive respecification of our understanding of Our "self", is an ongoing accomplishment. At any moment we can (a) reflect upon past experience and (b) anticipate what is in store for us in the future. Such activity gives meaning to the present. As G, H. Mead (1959) informs us, the "self" is realized by action practised in the present; Our interpretation of Our biographies and our expectations for the future are always accomplished in the moment of the present. Accordingly, the "self" rnust be viewed as always in the process of emergence within a social context. 2.2.4.2 The Emergence of Identity The second point we can extrapolate from Giddens is that although the "self" is realized in the present, the present is always in a continuous state of emergence. This momentrs present becomes the present-past . Hence, there is always with time a linear trajectory from one moment to the next. For Giddens, "self-identity" is unstable as it is always reformulated in accordance with this forward passage of tirne. 2.2.4.3 Institutions and Identity Giddenps third point is to establish "self-identity" for us within the social context of institutional settings of the modern. Giddens (1990) differentiates between pre- modern (or "traditional") , modern, and post-modern societies. These social foms, according to Giddens, correspond to different (a) modes of tinte-space relations and (b) foms of social relations. For Giddens, social institutions Vary depending upon social type. Lyotardrs assertion that the west has breached the "meta-narratives" of the modern, thereby beginning a new period of humanity (1984), is rejected by Giddens who argues that we remain instead situated within the modern. "Post- modernism," for Giddens, "if it means anything .... concerns aspects of aesthetic reflection upon the nature of modernity" (1990, p. 45). 2.2.4.4 History and Identity: La Longe Duree Finally, Giddens makes reference to the duree of the individual. Giddens is responding here to an important essay by Fernand Braudel (1980), "History and the Social Sciences: The Longue Duréeoff In advancing his argument for a unified social sciences, Braudel asserts that historians would be key players in such an assemblage because "history is the total of al1 possible histories - an assemblage of professions and points of view, from yesterday, today, and tomorr~w'~(p. 34) . The moment of the hunediate present is contrasted by Braudel with the longue durée; "nothing is more important, nothing cornes closer to the crux of social reality than this living, intimate, infinitely repeated opposition between the instant of the and that time which flows only slowly" (p. 26) . In establishing this opposition, Braudel succeeds in dif ferentiating ''social'f from "historical" time. Whereas social time, for Braudel, is fixed in the moment of the present, " [hl istorical time," on the other hand, . .lends itself less easily to the supple double action of synchrony and diachrony: it cannot envisage life as a mechanism that can be stopped at leisure in order to reveal a frozen image" (p. 48) . For Braudel, historians contribution of the longue duree to a cross-disciplinary social science enriches the analytical pro ject. Giddens accepts Braudel's challenge and integrates time into his social theory. His social psychology reflects clearly the contextually contingent task of maintaining a stable life history. " [Il dentity," asserts Giddens, Ys not to be found in behaviour, nor - important thought this is - in the reactions of others, but in the capacity to keep a particular narrative going" (1991, p. 54, emphasis in original) . 2.2.5 Thne and Critical Situations The life course can, however, be disrupted by a variety of unanticipated and potentially disruptive events, what Giddens refers to as "critical situations" (1984, p. 60) . One's life passage may be unexpectedly interrupted or teminated due to a wide range of causal agents. A person may, for example, terminate one's own life.6 Illness, particularly acute injury or disease, disrupts normative life passage. Such events mark a change not only in the life course of the individual affected but also significant members of his or her social group. Myra Bluebond-Langner, writing of her experience with dying leukaemic children, considers that "[dleath is not merely a biological phenornenon, but a social and cultural one as well" (1978, p. 231). Metaphorically, serious illness cuts through the body, mind, and social world of the patient deeper than any surgeon's scalpel. 2.2.5.1 The Experience of Illness In a narrative account, speaking from the dual perspective of a sociologist and a survivor of both heart disease and cancer, Arthur Frank points out that: Critical illness leaves no aspect of life untouched... Your relationships, your work, your sense of who you are and who you might become, your sense of what life is and ought to be - these al1 change, and the change is terrifying. Twice, as 1 realized how il1 1 was, 1 saw these changes coming and was overwhelmed by them. (1991, p. 6) While to the patient these changes are both significant and frightening, neither the psychological nor social dimensions of illness are of primary concern to health care providers. "Hospital spaces and schedules are designed," asserts Frank, 'to treat disease; they do not accommodate people trying to sustain relationships while illness is tearing apart their lives"' (p. 105). 2.2.5.2 The Institutionalization of Illness According to Michel Foucault (l975), it is through the institutionalization of the "medical gaze" that western medical practitioners accomplish the separation of the physical space of the diseased organ from the moral space of the suffering patientma The professionalization of medicine, for Foucault an development of the eighteenth century, is associated with new forms of relationships between healers and their patients. For both Frank and Foucault, while sick bodies may be healed at medical "clinics," the custodians of these social spaces are not equipped to treat, much less even recognize, the psychological and social turmoil "treatment" inflicts. While medical practitioners tend to the disease, the patients are left to their own devices to incorporate their experience of illness within their own personas. 2.2.5.3 Temporal Shifts Dismptive events need not be precipitated only by medical events. Brose (1989) draws attention to the temporal instability experienced by temporary workers; people "whose life courses differ from institutionalized and standardized patterns.'' (p. 3) Many Canadians are affected by (a) job or career shifts or (b) changes in place of residence. Sometimes such events are by choice; however, not infrequently, these occurrences are precipitated by external factors, beyond the individuals control . In al1 such situations, though, the task for the affected societal member is to reestablish what, in the new context, is considered constitutive of a "normal" existence. 2.2.5.4 Social Res~onsibilityand Temporal Drift Those of us who go on must somehow make sense of such events and communicate this understanding to other members of our new social context. Irrespective of the social situation, members, if they are to be defined as members of their society, are expected to fulfil certain social responsibilities. Says John Shotter: [Tlo be a person and to qualify for certain rights as a free, autonomous individual, one must be able to show in one's actions certain social cornpetencies, that is, to fulfil certain duties and to be accountable to others in the sense of being able to justify one's actions to them, when challenged, in relation to the "social reality" of the society of which one is a member. (1993b, p. 16, emphasis in original) Returning again to Myra Bluebond-Langner's study of dying children, even the most marginal members of society must account for their situation within the social. Bluebond- Langner considers that "as long as individuals fulfill their obligations and responsibilities and do not violate the social order, they are granted continued membership in the society and al1 that cornes with it - freedom from fear and abandonment" (1978, p. 232-3) . For young children dying from leukaemia, affirmation of the legitimacy of their soles as societal members (children, siblings, and patients ) enables them to effect a series of transition^.^ In life "these children came to see their own task in life as supporting others. They showed themselves to be responsive to the needs of their parents" (Bluebond-Langner, 1978, p. 232). Appearances dominate the hospital setting because '[elveryone alround the il1 person becomes comrnitted to the idea that recovery is the only outcome worthwhile thinking about" (Frank, 1991, p. 64). Unaddressed, however, is the question of the patient/sociologist. Arthur Frank asks "how much work does the il1 person have to do to make other feel good?" (1991, p. 64). 2.2.6 Time as Taken-For-Granted Despite the possibility of rupture occurring at any time during one's life course, most people engaged in the task of living their daily lives adopt, as Barbara Adam (1990) points out in Time and Social Theory, an attitude in which time is accepted as a 'fact of lif eff (p. 1) . Unless confronted with a significant change in the life course, humans suspend the task of inquiry into the nature of time; most of the time, 'time is curiously invisible and constitutes one of the most taken-for-granted features of our lives" (Adam, 1994, p. 503). This does not mean, however, that time is not problematic. Although time may be neither visible nor routinely contemplated, its impact on our lives is nevertheless of substantial consequence. We age. We reflect upon past events. We develop and share with others individual biographies and collective histories. We talk of experiencing both "good" times and "bad" times. We relate time to Our environment. The is thus a point at which the individual is connected to the social. 2.2.7 Time and Social Order Bluebond-Langner (1978) emphasizes that the ability of individual members to situate thernselves in a socially recognizable temporal structure is essential to meeting "the most fundamental demand that society places on al1 its members - preservation of the social order" (p. 232) . Even dying children are capable of both (a) recognizing this need and (b) fulfilling their requirements as members of the social. The living, dying, and dead al1 have a part to play in the maintenance of the social order. Accordingly, says Bluebond-Langner , [t]he funeral is for the living, and so is the dying. The way we are permitted to die, and the way that we permit others to die, is to enable the living to continue the process of their lives. The dying have to be fitted into this scheme of the living, there is no way to separate them. (1978, p. 233) Time is, therefore, of great consequence; it is "embedded in social interactions, structures, practices and knowledge, in artefacts, in the mindful body, and in the environment" (Adam, 1995, p. 6) . Time is a component of both our individual psychology, social context, and environment . 2.2.8 A Multiplicity of Times At once individual, social, and cosmological, there is not one time but rather, as Georges Gurvitch (1963) suggests, 'a multiplicity of times." The task of negotiating multiple times is generally considered to be routine and unburdensome. "We se-, '' says Adam, "to weave in and out of a wide variety of times without giving the matter much conscious consideration" (1990, p. 3) As with our understanding of time, Our ability tu negotiate time is generally taken-for-granted. On the other hand, the sciences, both human and physical, have considered the a deserving domain for analysis, However, a notable weakness in the scientific investigation of time is that models for the reflect the theoretical perspectives of academic disciplines. These representations of the are insufficient in explaining the complexity of temporal process from the perspective of people situated within actual social contexts. Our perception of time is grounded in Melvin Pollner (1974) refers to as "mundane assumptions" about relationships between the temporal order and the physical and social worlds. Aside from these mundane assumptions about time - both within everyday life and the domain of science - the social dimension of time and its consequence to both to the individual and the development of social theory has been largely ignored (LUscher, 1974) . It is not my intention to disparage mundane assumptions made about time; it is argued here, rather, that this fom of reasoning is fundamental to temporal order. -2.3 The Enigma of Time Norbert Elias, drawing upon the enignna of time first written by Saint Augustine, begins his essay on time with both an observation and a question, Elias writes: "1 know what tirne is if 1 am not asked,' a wise old man once said, 'if 1 am asked, 1 no longer how.' Why do 1 ask?" (1992, p. 1) . Two important points are made here by Elias . First, as with Adam (1990), we experience the rather than reflect upon it. Aç Elias' "wise old man" correctly notes, when we consciously engage or attempt to explicate Our mundane assumptions about time, Our object of analysis eludes us. Second, Elias illuminates the existence for the researcher a compelling aspect to thne that warrants its contemplation and examination. Whether our intention is to control or to understand, the scientist wants to know time, -2.4 Recognizing Time In this discussion of time we will consider the fundamental problem of how the can be made visible for investigation. Must time always be considered in terrus of motion? 1 agree with Adam that in Our everyday lives the is not generally apparent nor contemplated. On the other hand, it is proposed in this thesis that in certain contexts - in this case the prison - time reveals itself to members and researchers as an object of and for social organization. Prisoners must, as it is said in the language common to prisons, learn to do time. In other words, once confined, the practical, taken- for-granted assmptions about the no longer work. 2.4.1 Doing Time as a Practical Accamplishment The prisoner must acquire new cornpetencies in order to successfully negotiate the different temporal framework he or she has been involuntarily been placed within. These skills are eventually routinized and the cognitive practices associated with them accepted as the mundane social reality. Not infrequently, the temporal cornpetencies of prisoners is different from the the referencing of the institution. Jane Framers fictional character Istina Mavet, confined at Cliffhaven, a psychiatric hospital, compares her own situation with that of a death row prisoner: It is said that when a prisoner is condemned to die al1 clocks in the neighbourhood of the death ce11 are stopped; as if the removal of the clock will cut off the flow of time and maroon the prisoner on a coast of timelessness where the moments, like breakers, rise and surge near but never touch the shore. But no death of an oceanographer ever stopped the sea flowing; and a condition of sea is its meeting with the land. And in the death ce11 time flows in as if al1 the cuckoo clocks grandfather clocks alarm clocks were striking simultaneously in the ears of the prisoner. Again and again when 1 think of Cliffhaven 1 play the time game, as if I have been condemned to die and the signals have been removed yet 1 hear them striking in my ears, warning me that nine o'clock, the time of treatment, is approaching and that 1 must find myself a pair- of woolen socks in order that 1 shall not die. Or is it eleven o'clock and treatment is over and it is the early hours or years of my dream when I was not yet sitting in rainbow puddles in Ward Two Yard or tramping the shorn park inside the ta11 picket fence with its rusty nails sprouting from the top, their points to the sky. (1961, p. 31) By examining how the prisoner' s play Istinafs "the game, '' 1 respond to Kurt Ltisher's plea 'for a more deliberate consideration of the time dimension in contemporary sociology" (1974, p. 112). 1 do not, however, consider such foundational matters to involve simply the incorporation of a temporal dimension to contemporary social theory. Barbara Adam also both points : An understanding through time cannot simply be added on to existing perspectives and theories of social science. It requires a reconceptualisation of not merely social time but the very nature of "the social." (1990, p. 8) But reconsideration of "the social0' necessitates a different sociological approach. 2.4.2 Respecifying Time Harold Garfinkel (1991) argues forcibly of the need for a respecification of the classical social science pro ject . 1 share Garf inkel' s concern for the need of the development of new methods to study "radical phenornena." My interest, like his, is how the "doings" of social life are practically accomplished and accounted for. This thesis reports the rnanner in one context in which mundane activities are grounded in a temporal framework. This approach, as we will see, is very much at odds with the more "traditional" anthropological, philosophical, psychological, and sociological perspectives of time. Most would have t that time is situated either (a) as most physicists would have it, external to the both social and the individual (although few would argue that time is independent of either) or (b) grounded within the individual psyche. The vocabulary used by social scientists to talk about the relations between the and people reflects this dichotorny, they speak of such concerns as "the-reckoning" (Nilsson, 1920) and "the-perspective" (Edlund, 1987). My objection to both approaches to time is that irrespective of whether time is situated external to people or, other hand, within their minds, they presume that time is a constraint - sornething to contend with, to manage - as opposed to something which is, to some extent, partly actively constructed by individuals situated in a social context while engaged in the task of living out of their everyday lives. -2.5 Space, Time, and The Anthropology Of Social Relations The difficulty of translating multidimensional social processes into a singular linear narrative is considered by Jorge Luis Borges (1970). In a short story the author contemplates the difficulty in the task of writing about the

"limitless Aleph, "lo a position in space af fording the viewer a total and al1 encompassing gaze. The Aleph, write Borges, is "the only place on earth where al1 places are - seen from every angle, each standing clear, without confusion or blending" (p. 23) . Although an ideal vantage point for an ethnographer- voyeur, upon first gazing aL the social space of the infinitive Aleph the author notes, [i]n that single gigantic instant 1 saw millions of acts both delightful and awful; not one of them amazed me more than the fact that al1 of the occupied the same point in space, without overlapping or transparency. What my eyes beheld was simultaneous, but what 1 shall now write down will be successive, because language is successive. (Borges, 1970, p. 26) Ethnographers encounter similar problems in their attempt to translate social worlds into words about the social. Upon first entering a social context which we are not personally familiar, we lack a sense-making apparatus with which to interpret the social action unfolding. Anthropologists have in the past considered such situations of "cultural shock" as an opportunity with which to explore social difference. As the anthropologist atternpts to gain insight into the perceived understanding of "the natives," as the mode1 goes, the anthropologist assumes the role of research instrument. He or she writes about the new understandings gained in "learning the culture." While there have been many criticisms of this approach ( (Said (1978), Marcus and Fischer (1986), and Atkinson (1990)) , we will consider the problem of the social scientist collapsing the world(s) of "the natives" in two dimensions, that of space and the. Although such notions are central to anthropological thought, these fields have received limited scholarly attention by the discipline, Yet consideration of space and time should constitute the very core of anthropological theory. When we begin to do this, as Friedland and Boden point out, " [tlhinking with time and space requires rethinking central concepts of social theory, most particularly the notion of the territorially and temporally bounded and bonded society" (1994, p. 42) . 2.5.1 Ethnography and Space The first problem, as outlined by Henri Lefvere, is that of reductionisrn in space. Humans and social relations are always geographically situated. "Knowledge falls into a trap when it makes representations of space the basis for the study of 'life' , for in doing so it reduces lived experience" (1991, p. 230). Wittgenstein recognizes this dilemnia. "Every sign by itself seems dead. What gives it life? - In use it is alive. 1s life breathed into it there? - Or is the use its life?" (1968, 5 432, emphasis in original] . Throughout Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein makes a clear case that a sign in isolation signifies nothing until it is put in use. Wittgenstein's solution to Borges's dilemma is to not translate a fraction of the multiple spectacles of the Aleph but rather to demonstrate the language-games used by persons in these situations in attempting to make sense of their own lived experience. 2.5.2 Ethnoqraphy and TFme The ethnographer's second problem is that of temporality. Ricoeur recognizes that in the process of writing al1 attempts by the author to ground what we could consider "sub jective the8' within an "objective thef8 invariably fail. Such projects reflect the temporal projections assigned by the observer and may have no direct bearing on the activities of the people in the narrative context . The search for connectors between phenomenological the and cosmological time - the institution of the calendar; the the of contemporaries, predecessors, and successors; the replacement of generations; documents and traces - thus seems, at least as a first approximation, to lose al1 reason for existing. Each fictive temporal experience unfolds its world and each of these worlds is singular, incomparable, unique. Not just plots, but also the worlds of experience they unfold, are ...limitations belonging to a unique imaginary world. Fictive temporal experience cannot be totalized. (Ricoeur, 1988, p. 128) This inability to link "subjective the" to "objective" chronological states is responsible for the "ultimate unrepresentability of tirne," a condition Ricoeur considers "rnakes even phenomenology continually turn to metaphors and to the language of myth, in order to talk about the upsurge of the present or the flowing of the unitary flux of tirne" (1988, p. 243, emphasis added). Despite this problem of unrepresentability, we cannot, however, ignore Borges' Aleph. As Anthony Giddens states in The Constitution of Society, it is at this precise social point at which the merger between the individual and what we understand to be society can be understood. The opposition between "micro" and "macro" is best reconceptualized as concerning how interaction in context of CO-presence are structurally implicated in systerns of broad the-space distanciation - in other words, how such systems span large sectors of time- space. (1984, p. xxvi) Wittgenstein emphasizes members' practices in determining a practical response to the question "what time is it?" and in doing so provides a more appropriate way than Giddens to reconceptualize this opposition between "micro" and "macro." How does one judge what the it is? 1 do not mean by external evidences, however, such as the position of the Sun, the lightness of the room, and so. - One asks oneself, Say, "What time can it be?", pauses a moment, perhaps imagines a clock-face, and then says a the. - Or one considers various possibilities, thinks first of one time, then of another, and in the end stops at once. That is the kind of way it is done.... And as for the feeling of certainty: 1 sometimes Say to myself '1 am sure itfs .. . of clock", and in a more or less confident tone of voicer and so on. If you ask me the reason for this certainty I have none. If 1 Say, 1 read it off from an inner clock, - that is a picture, and the only thing that corresponds to it is that 1 said it was such-and-such a tirne. And the purpose of the picture is to assimilate this case to the other one. 1 am refusing to acknowledge two different cases here. (1968, § 607) Wittgenstein rejects Gidden' s assertion that the problems of time and space can be understood only in terms of system distanciation. For Wittgenstein, these matters are practical concerns of members situated in actual social contexts. The problem they rnust resolve is not at what level "system" is realized but rather what is necessary or sufficient to achieve the ability to make the social clairn, "Wow 1 understand' .. .. . or 'Now 1 can go on*" (Wittgenstein, 1968, 5 154) . In Frame Analysis, Erving Goffman nakes the same point in a somewhat different way. Ail the world is not a stage - certainly the theatre isnrt entirely. (Whether you organize a theatre or an aircraft factory, you need to find places for cars to park and coats to be check, and these had better be real places, which incidentally, had better carry real insurance against theft.) Presumably, a "definition of the situationtris almost always to be found, but those who are in the situation ordinarily do not create this definition, even though their society often can be said to do so; ordinarily, al1 they do is to assess correctly what the situation ought to be for them and then act accordingly. True, we personally negotiate aspects of al1 the arrangements under which we live, but often once these are negotiated we continue on mechanically as though the matter had always been settled. (1986, pp. 1-2) For both Wittgenstein and Goffman, the ethnographerts problem of representing time and space is different than the practical problem members face in detedning "what the is this space?" In some societies, this rnatter might not even be an issue. But it is a practical problem for anyone in the prison context. Using reports from the field we will below explore how prisoners accomplish such practical rnatters. NOTES 1. The reader will recall that what struck Alice odd was not when she thought she could "hear the Rabbit Say to itself 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!'" (p. 17) but rather "when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on" (p. 18, emphasis in original) For Aiice it is one thing for a rabbit to talk about time but a completely different matter for a rabbit to use a timekeeping device. While rabbits are, as Alice would have it, situated within and concerned about time, practical sense reasoning would suggest that should not be carrying and reading watches..

2. Despite possessing a watch indicating the day of the month, the Hatterfs the reckoning is imprecise. When Alice informs him that it actually the fourth, he responds: Ywo days wrong!" sighed the Hatter. "1 told you butter nouldnrt suit the works!" he added looking angrily at the March Hare. 'It was the best butter," the March Hare meekly replied. (L. Carroll, 1946, pp. 86-87)

3. The other fundamental dimension is that of space.

4. Arnold van Genneprs classic monograph The Rites of Passage (1960) considers transition ceremonies from a cross cultural perspective. For van Gennep, social passages involve three stages: (a) separation, (b) liminality or transition, and (c) incorporation. The model may be applied effectively to the process of incarceration. The initiate is physically removed from his or her normal social group, undergoes a liminal stage in prison. and is (usually) returned to society as an "ex-inmate." 5. The assertion that the various stages of the life course are socially recognized is not to be taken as indicative of acceptance of an overly "cultural deteministic" model. As with any social entity, the life course is subject to continuous negotiation.

6. Emile Durkheim (1951) dispels in Suicide, the notion that self-destruction is entirely a pathology of the individual. Durkheim sociological study of suicide demonstrates that social factors do affect suicide rates. 7. A similar statement could be made about prisons. The function of these institutions is to warehouse alleged 'dangerous personsO'; the need of these persons to maintain and/or develop meaningful social relations is of secondary consideration.

8. The Birth of the Clinic is explicatory of Foucault's archeological method. His concern is not with specific systems of thought but rather under what conditions certain forms of knowledge (discourse) emerge . For Foucault, [wlhat counts in the things said by men is not so much what they may have thought or the extent to which these things represent their thoughts, as that which systematizes them from the outset, thus making them thereafter endlessly accessible to new discourses and open to the task of transfodng them. (1975, p. ixi) 9. From the perspective of health care providers and parents, leukaemic children vacillate between two modes of being, each state reflective of the official account of their rnedical condition. These accounts define not only how these children and their families are to view their status but are determinate of the institutional structures and social relations in which these children are embedded. Leukaemic children are considered either in (a) treatment (illness, hospital, parents and siblings) or (b) remission ("wellness," home, medical practitioners) . Bluebond-Langner (1978) reveals, however, that the children themselves are well aware of the limitation of the wellness-sickness dichotomy: the mode1 rejects the possibility of death; an end state the children themselves recoqnize as inevitable. 10. Aleph or N is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet. CHAPTER THREE: RESEARCH EPISTEMOLOGY Introduction or 'In and Out of the Methodological Forestn In this chapter I outline the epistemological approach used to conduct and report the research. 1 describe first the difficulties 1 experienced during the research and analysis and address how 1 resolved these problems. My experience speaks of both (a) problems in conducting social research, (b) the broad theoretical fissures within the disciplines of the human sciences, and (c) the impact this rift has on being a graduate student during such an ambivalent period. As to my first point, the social sciences lack a unified method and theory. This is not to Say that a single social theory is either desirable or attainable. However, such a development would be welcorned by graduate students in the sense that a single approach to social thought would provide rigid constraints on one's training. We find instead many often competing (although occasionally complementary) approaches to the study of human phenornena. Complicating matters further is that (a) within each of these schools of thought, a wide continuum of points of view are often fokd and (b) these different perspectives sornetimes overlap. It is obligatory for researchers to declare their position within this epistemological muddle. What seems a straightforward task is in fact extremely complicated. In approaching social research the student is likely to find that the old euphemism that "one cannot see the forest for the trees" holds true. Confronted by a vast array of different approaches to social research with the advocates of each approach defending the superiority of their own program, the student experiences, as Derrida (1993) describes, an extreme sense of aporia or, to restate the metaphor differently, the sensation of being lost in the woods, not knowing wheie to go. In providing direction for a way out of the forest, my understanding of the advice given to the graduate student is, in colloquial terms, "pick one approach that feels right to you and go with it." 1 am saying neither that the selection of an epistemological framework for research is haphazard nor that the student is ill-prepared to choose an appropriate methodology. Graduate students of the human sciences generally have taken advanced training in both social science methodology and theory before the commencement of their own research. Moreover, we have access to mentors, our graduate supervisors, distinguished acadernics specializing in theoretical or substantive areas that parallel in many respects our own interests. Despite this solid platform from which to launch one's research, the journey is nevertheless hazardous and difficult. After providing an overview of this chapter, 1 will move on to address my own experience in developing an adequate methodological framework with which to ground rny research . -3.1 Organization of the Chapter This chapter is ambitious. 1 seek first to ground my approach to social research within ethnornethodology (consistent with Garfinkel (1991, p. 14) , ethnomethodology incorporates conversation analysis). Readers who lack an appreciation for social theory will undoubtably find this chapter unappealing. 1 begin by discussing three approaches to naturalism within the social sciences: (a) positivism, (b) hermeneutics, and (c) realism. To relate these competing philosophical positions to my own research, 1 use the three positions to analyse a conversation segment 1 collected during my fieldwork. 1 also make use of published material demonstrating the application of each of these three analytical techniques. My intention in this section of the thesis is to demonstrate that analysis is detedned greatly by the philosophical underpinnings of the methodology employed by the researcher. 1 am not satisfied with this conclusion. Therefore, 1 move on to attempt to find an alternative approach that is not deterministic. 1 found Wittgenstein helpful in reminding me that 1 should not fear to move beyond convention. Although his advice was comforting, the direction to turn was less than clear. Revisiting the classical origins of social anthropology, particularly the work of Emile Durkheim and Bronislaw Malinowski, was advantageous in that 1 could better appreciate the issue 1 was struggling with in respect to the disciplines of anthropology and sociology. This led me to consider the problem of representation in the human sciences. Interpretative anthropology and social constructionism have been proposed as ways to challenge the crisis Our disciplines face. After discussing the relative merit of these innovations, 1 conclude that both positions are f lawed. At this point 1 outline ethnomethodology as an approach which deals successfully with the problem of representation. Unlike other approaches to social research, ethnomethodology has no interest in ironicizing the practices of the people we study. In reviewing the literature, however, 1 found it necessary to address a controversial issue relative to the practice of supplementing ethnomethodology with ethnographie description. 1 discovered that the issue of "context" continues to be a subject of debate among ethnomethodologists. 1 side with Michael Moerman (1988) in his view that conversation analysis and ethnography are mutually supportive. Relevance to members, 1 argue, can be used as a criterion by which to ensure that ethnographie text is warranted. The conversation segment from the prison is analysed a fourth time to illustrate how ethnomethodology "respecifies" both classical and contemporary approaches to social research by analysing data in the same way that members of their own contexts do. -3.2 Competing Paradi- for Exnpirical Research Dichotomizing the work of social theorists to reflect a naturalism vs . (post) s tructuralism debate is relatively straightforward and a useful place from which to begin our methodological journey. The former advocates an empirically based social science, concerned with the analysis of human phenomena. The latter theoretical approach is anti-human in the sense that the structures analysed are abstract phenomena which 'exist" only at the conceptual level. 1 had little difficulty situating my own interest in social research within the naturalist camp. While 1 do not discount the utility of structuralist investigation, my own philosophy toward the social sciences privileges research investigating phenomena accessible to empirical investigation. Despite my resolve to ground my investigation in the interaction of inmates and staff in prisons, a central problem 1 experienced during the research is that 1 found that the domain of the social sciences informed rny analysis instead of the naturally occurring language used by members of the prison community. 1 proposed originally to go about both describing and explaining the methods used by people who live in prison. 1 sought to make available their temporal experience in tems recognizable to members of the prison context. However, while conducting my research, 1 found myself drifting toward explanation based on systems of sense-making unfamiliar to most prisoners. A domain of knowledge external to the members of my research context informed the accounts 1 wrote of the temporal experience of prisoners. Unbeknownst initially to me, 1 found myself trapped within an ardent and longstanding philosophical debate within the social sciences. Naturalism, as a formal approach within the social sciences, is far from a unified analytic. Roy Bhaskar (1989) describes three distinct forms of naturalism: (a) positivism, (b) hemeneutics, and (c) realism. Complicating matters further is that none of these individual positions reflect unanimity. Each approach to research, both historically and contemporarily, can be viewed in tems of a continuum. 1 shall in this next section consider briefly each position and its relevance within contemporary social theory. First, however, I will provide an example of a conversation "from the field. '' The following conversation segment was part of a longer conversation between an inmate and a staff member. While 1 did take part in this particular conversation, 1 did not speak in the segment transcribed below. Conversation Segment 3-1' 1 Inmate Two more weekends and I'm outa here. 2 Staff M. So yourre dom to a couple more weeks. (?) 3 Inmate No. 4 30 days more. 5 My girlfriend visits every other weekend. 6 Staff M. Oh. 7 Then you'll be able to see her everyday. As with al1 naturally occurring conversation, this sequence is rich with data. We shall consider below how this conversation may be analysed using each of the three naturalistic paradigms. 3.2.1 Positinsm The development of a positivist social science can be attributed to the work of Auguste Comte (1957). Comte's evolutionary social philosophy holds that knowledge systems progress through three sequential stages: beginning with the theological, with belief in supernatural phenomena; the middle phase being the metaphysical, abstract "natural" phenornena are used as explanatory criteria; and the final stage in this hierarchy is positivisticf 'science" is used to account for phenomena of al1 types, whether physical or social. Comte accounted for social change, what he called social dynamics, in tems of this progression from religion to science. Sociology, for Comte, involved the scientific study of social phenomena with the goal of - through an inquiry into, and understanding of, regularities - to improve society. Jonathan Turner, whose own work ref lects the influence of the "the father of sociology," describes Comtefs positivism in these tenns, [Tlhe social universe is amenable to the development of abstxact laws that can be tested through the careful collection of data ...[Tlhese abstract laws will denote the basic and generic properties of the social universe and they will specify their "natural relations". (1985, p. 24) Although most (but not all) social scientists have rejected Comte's bid for what could be considered "sociological priests" charting the course of a positive society, his insistence of an empirical social science driven by methods borrowed from the natural sciences has been the most important paradigm for the disciplines of social anthropology and sociology. Fuictionalism, as pioneered by Emile Durkheim (1915, 1933, 1982) and continued by A. R. Radcliffe-Brown (1948, 19521, Bronislaw Malinowski (1926, 1984), Robert K. Merton (l968), and Talcott Parsons (1951), with its analytical concern for an empirically grounded study of the effects of certain social phenomena, is a positivist approach to social investigation. In considering Conversation Segment 3-1 from a positivist perspective one might consider this sequence in terms of rules and their effects. Adopting this form of analysis, one might say that this particular inmate is "confused." A possible research hypothesis is: "an effect of imprisonment is the inability to reckon time, hence the incapacity on the part of this inmate to recognize that, by our calender, more than two weekends will fa11 within any consecutive period of thirty days." This is a plausible explanation of the transcript informed frorn the perspective of positivist analysis. Psychologist Hans Toch considers the time experience of the prisoner using a functionalist approach in his book, Living in Prison. Toch (1992a) regards the length of the prison sentence in terms of the psychological significance it may have for the individual prisoner as well its impact crime deterrence for the larger society. If the in prison is psychologically longer than the chronological sentence of the inmate, his punishment exceeds its prescription. And if time in prison seems short in retrospect, the deterrent effect of irnpxisanment is reduced. (p. 28) 3.2.2 Hermsneutics The development of a hermeneutical approach to the study of human phenomena emerged as a critical response to positivism. Originally concerned with the interpretation of Biblical scripture, hermeneutics was introduced to the social sciences by the German philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey (1976). Max Weber incorporates a hermeneutical approach to his work. Sociology is , for Weber, "a science concerning itself with the interpretive understanding of social action and thereby with a causal explanation of its course and consequences" (1978, p. 4) . Verstehen (understanding) is achieved through the analysis of social action in terms of subjectively intended

"meaning ." Weber considers it possible for social researchers to develop an understanding of such subjective "meaning structure^.^' "(Ilf we," asserts Weber, "are competent in our pursuit (which must be presupposed here) we can force the individual, or at least we can help him, to give hirnself an account of the ultimate meaning of his own conduct" (1946, p. 148, emphasis in original) . Weber uses the example of religious beliefs to illustrate the goal of social research. In that "[elvery theology ...presupposes that the world must have a meaning ....the question is how to interpret this meaning so that it is intellectually conceivable" (1946, p. 149, emphasis in original) . Both the philosophic traditions of existentialism and phenornenology are grounded in hermeneutics. The writings of Martin Heidegger (1962), Snren Kierkegaard (1958, 1987), Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1962, 1964), and Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1967, 1968) had immense impact on twentieth- century social thought. An interpretative anthropology, as advocated by Clifford Geertz (1973, 1983), seeks to social interaction. Symbolic Interactionism, as developed by Herbert Blumer (1969), pursues the development of an understanding of how meaning is communicated through the process of social interaction. On a macrosociological level, the communicative action theory promoted by JIirgen Habermas (1984, 1987) intends also to resolve this problem of meaning. Considering Conversation Segment 3-1 from a hermeneutic approach, the analyst asks what meaning can be interpreted from this social event. An interpretive approach grants the analyst considerable flexibility. In searching for what

Geertz (1973) calls "deep structure, " the analyst may consider many dimensions of prison life. Some interpretive analysts might read this conversation as a text that reveals aspects of the depersonalizing and repetitive nature of prison life, an existence 1 have heard prisoners describe using the metaphoric expression of 'life on ice." Philip Marlowe, the famed fictional "private eyef8of novelist Raymond Chandler, characterizes prison life in similar terms in The Long Good-bye. In jail a man has no personality. He is a minor disposa1 problem and a few entries on reports. Nobody loves or hates him, what he looks like, what he did with his life. Nobody reacts to him unless he gives trouble. Nobody abuses him. Al1 that is asked of him is that he go quietly to the right ce11 and remain quiet when he gets there. There is nothing to fight against, nothing to be mad atm The jailers are quiet men without anhosity or sadism....The life in a jail is in suspension, without purpose or meaning. In another ce11 you might see a man who cannot sleep or even try to sleep. He is sitting on the edge of his bunk doing nothing. He looks at you or doesn't. You look at him. He says nothing and you Say nothing. There is nothing to communicate. (1953, pp. 45-46) 3.2.3 Realism Bealiçm attempts to bridge two dimensions of "reality" by incorporating (a) the everyday practices of individuals and (b) the social constructs used to describe social entities or structures into its social philosophy. Realist philosopher Roy Bhaskar uses the example of marriage to consider the relations between what he considers to be two different Levels of "social reality." People do not marry to reproduce the nuclear family or work to reproduce the capitalist economy. Yet it is nevertheless the unintended consequence (and inexorable result) of, as it is also a necessary condition for, their activity. (1989, p. 4) Bhaskar seeks to fuse (a) the practices of people marrying with (b) kinship patterns and economic systems. This dialectical perspective is not unlike Anthony Giddensf concept of the "duality of structure" (1984). Giddens considers society as both an outcome and condition of hurnan agency. As such, Giddens argues that it not possible to study human agency without considering social structure. By incorporating elements of structuralism or (post)structuralism, realist social philosophy, unlike either a positivist or hemeneutical approach, can be considered in some respects to be both anti-human and anti- empirical. The realist argues that the objects social scientists study are comprised of a variety of different forms . Hence, realist Andrew Sayer (1992) advocates " [t]hat we should study things in context" (p. 248) because "social structures exist on a variety of scales, from the interpersonal to the internationalff (p. 249). It is this unresolved tension between naturalisrn and structuralism within realist social science that 1 find most problematic. In attempting to bridge both agency and structure, realists resolve very little about either. Although the theoretical texts produced by these authors are interesting in their own right as social theory, they tell us precious little about social life. Despite this shortcoming of the realist approach, many social scientists situate themselves within this theoretical space. Following Bourdieu (1977, 1990) and Giddens (1984, 1990), they write about the practices of people as constrained by and within social institutions. This is for them (the theorists) a space affording great creative potential. In order to describe a social practice, one "invents" a social structure with which to account for that social interaction. Returning now to Conversation Segment 3-1, the realist, like the interpretive analyst, has considerable freedom in approaching this text. One reading would be that the utterances displays the power of the political state to inflict psychological injury on individuals. Like the positivist, the realist would likely consider this inmate confused. However, rather than simply considering the inmate's psychological state in terms of the immediate experience of imprisonment, the analyst would likely probe deeper to explore the association between the imprisonment and social structure. Inmate Jack Henry Abbott, in writing from prison, engages in this kind of analysis. In the Belly of the Beast Abbott says: In prison, if 1 were asked the single most consistent cause of mental derangement in prisoners, 1 can tell you with utmost confidence: injustice. First and foremost, the injustice of the laws and courts of this land. The injustice of the prison administration can be endured if that were the only injustice. (1981, p. 129, emphasis in original) 3.3 Developing -a Feel" for Methods: Moving Beyond the - Familiar My overview of the positivist, herrneneutic, and realist paradigms in the preceding section show that each epistemological framework accounts for the phenomena under consideration in remarkably different ways. What is consistent, however, is that although each approach attempts to explain social behaviour, in each case the analysis is informed by the method of interpretation rather than by the data. My supervisor, Professor Watson, reminds me frequently that academic work involves both serious work and the taking of risk. One attempts to argue a position on the basis of what one knows. If evidence is found that the path chosen is inadequate for the matter at hand, the student tries a different approach. Academic work, in this respect, is not unlike a language game. We begin from the base of the familiar and venture off into uncharted territory. In "playing the gamet' we develop a certain feel for "the game," discovering what is adequate to allow us, as Wittgenstein (1968) writes in the first part of Philosophical Investigations, "to go on." But "play" (in other words, each move within a language game), is determined not by the structure of the game but rather by Our situation within it. "Language, " says Wittgenstein, "is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way" (1968, 5 203, emphasis in original) . Wittgenstein raises here an ontological distinction between "the familiar" and "the strange." Knowing how to proceed is dependent upon one's ontological footing.

My investigation became informed increasingly by a form of rationalist positivism. For Durkheim (as with Sayer, 1992) there is an objective reality to society, the regularities of which are independent of both the actions and consciousness of social members. It is in these tenus Durkheim defines the sociological pro ject . Durkheim asserts in the preface to The Rules of the Sociological Method that our main objective is to extend the scope of scientific rationalism to cover human behaviour by demonstrating that, in the light of the past, it is capable of being reduced to relationships of cause and effect, which, by an operation no less cational, can be transforrned into rules of action for the future. (1982, p. 33) Incorporating elements of a positivist approach in my investigation of "obj ective8, phenomena is not to Say that 1 viewed the practice of people in prisons as unimportant. To the contrary, these are the data that my investigation is grounded on. The difference, however, is that unlike the ethnomethodologist, 1 found myself shifting from the conceptual categories as used by members in the context of the prison to those used by social scientists. In examining abstract phenornena such as time 1 found it both appealing and convenient to utilize a sense-making system externa1 to the people 1 studied. Even though my research project demanded 1, as Wittgenstein puts it, take rny analysis to the "points beyond," 1 took great comfort among the familias techniques of the social sciences. In deliberating about the uncertainty to my approach, 1 consider that now 1 shifted between an ethnomethodological standpoint and that of the social constructionist. Whereas the latter position shares features of the ethnomethodological program, social constructionism does not require the researcher to analyse data only in terms recognizable to mernbers of the context examined. For example, a social constructionist would not consider it odd that members in a context were unaware that their own "social reality8' was in fact a socially construction. In respect to my topic, rather than considering how

prisoners "do time, " I found myself framing my work using the jargon of the human sciences, a vernacular unfamiliar to most prisoners. 1 wrote, in the initial drafts of this chapter, of the merit of translating the practices of prisoners into the jargon of the human sciences. Greatly influenced by the social constructionist literature, 1 defined rny project in tems of an examination of "the social

construction of the by prisoners. " I mistakenly assumed that how prisoners "do" time (the ethnomethodological position) is equivalent to how they "make" time (the constructionist standpoint). Many of the authors 1 have read over the course of this study (in particular, Potter (1996) and Shotter (1993a, 1993b)l consider these phenomena analogous. But, as my supervisor Professor Watson reminded me, there is a significant difference between these two approaches. Whereas the first strategy would take seriously the methods used by prisoners to make the available to the members of that context as a "reality" to and for th-, the interpretation of these practices as accounted for by the constructionist (the "social reality") is reported as independent of the social context in which it was occasioned. 1 was confronted with a choice. If 1 was to remain true to the standard for empiricisrn demanded by ethnomethodologists, my study should consider the manner in which prisoners do time. However, while wearing the social constructionist hat, rny concern is with how they make time. Unlike the social constructionist, the ethnomethodologist is unwilling to interpret social action in terms unfamiliar to the members of the actual context considered. Ethnomethodology is radical in its refusal to represent the practices of members in their contexts in terms not informed by the natural attitude of those people. If my investigation is to move to "points beyond" the analysis of conventional social science, it is necessary for me to ground both my observations and analysis in the everyday practices of inmates. Professor Watson's point is well taken that I cannot have it both ways. A thesis, by definition, mcst argue a specific point of view. For the purpose of this academic exercise it is necessary for me to declare the position from which 1 am arguing. It became imperative that 1 ask myself: "Am 1 an ethnomethodologist or a social constructionist?" or, alternatively, '5s it possible to merge elements of both programs into a new theory?" These are issues I struggled with over the course of my investigation. To resolve my methodological problem, to find my way out of the epistemological forest, 1 found it useful to consider the historical heritage of my discipline. We shall consider first the tradition of naturalistic research relative to British Social Anthropology. 3.3.2 Naturalistic Investigation and iti mots in Social Anthropology Bronislaw Malinowski defined fieldwork as "the study by direct observation of the rules of custom as they function in actual life" (1926, p. 125) . Rejecting "hearsay anthropology," Malinowski argued strongly in favour of field-based anthropological research, a methodological approach that would take seriously the social interaction of the persons studied in their own contexts. Malinowski was the first of a long lineage of social researchers who took the lived experience of the everyday world of the Other as the starting point for anthropological investigation. Social anthropology, following Malinowskifs tutelage, places a strong emphasis on the accurate description of social interaction as is occasioned in the field. Indeed, it is this dedication to naturalistic investigation that remains the very core of our discipline. Malinowski's exhortation that observations must not be stripped from their context holds as true now as it did when he wrote: "The touch of ridicule which hangs about most writings of anthropology is due to the artificial flavour of a statement torn out of its life-context" (1926, p. 127) . While Malinowski did instill in the discipline an emphasis on accurate description, the analysis of those observations has remained largely the domain of social scientists. Our observations from the field are documented in the form of ethnographic writings. Ethnography, says Paul Atkinson, is foremost a rhetorical device. Atkinson correctly notes that the genre of the ethnographic text is closely implicated in its methodological and epistemological warrants. The ethnography is especially dependent upon discursive formats to inform and persuade the reader. Hence the ethnographerfs reliance on rhetorical formats to inform and persuade the reader. (1990, p. 11) When Malinowski speaks above of "rules of custom," he uses a rhetorical form passed to anthropology by Emile Durkheim. "The first and most basic rule," said Durkheim in outlining his rules for sociological investigation, '5s to consider social facts as things" (1982, p. 60, emphasis in original) . Consistent with Durkheim, Malinowski objectifies "rules of custorn" as facts independent yet representative of the practices of the Other. Malinowskirs ethnographic writing, although particular to the practices of the Other, nevertheless translates such social phenornena through the application of a literary fom of the human sciences. But the representation of the Other using rhetorical forms peculiar to the human sciences does far more than sirnply translate their experience into a fom recognizable to social scientists. James Clifford, in the introductory chapter to Writing Culture, goes far beyond Atkinson by outlining six distinct domains in which ethnographie writing is grounded: (1) contextually (it draws from and creates meaningful social milieux) ; (2) rhetorically (it uses and is used by expressive conventions) ; (3) institutionally (one writes within and against, specific traditions, disciplines, audiences) ; (4) generically (an ethnography is usually distinguishable from a novel or travel account) ; (5) politically (the authority to represent cultural realities is unequally shared and at times contested); (6) historically (al1 the above conventions and constraints are changing) . (Clifford and Marcus, 1986, p. 6) Ethnography, as a textual fom, does more than simply report contextually situated social interaction (what Malinowski called "natural life"). It is not a far step from naturalistic investigation to question, as Malinowski does, what constitutes such interaction. Our accounts of the Other are in fact a representation of the Other as informed by our own knowledge systems. We shall in the next section demonstrate the problem with this process of translation. 3.3.3 The Ctiaia of Representation in the Social Sciences The problem of representation can be traced to the earliest stages of the Enlightenment project and has been considered by many eminent authors since. The question of the manner (or even the possibility) of representation, particularly this century, has captured the interest of most disciplinary fields within the human sciences. Wittgenstein questions in Philosophical Investigations if it is possible to rnirror "social reality." The concept of a representation of what is seen, like that of a copy, is very elasticf and so together with it is the concept of what is seen. The two are intimately connected. (Which is not to Say that they are alike) . (1968, p. 198e, emphasis in original) Yet the representation of the Other, following Malinowski' s lead, is Social Anthropologyfs raison d 'être. Recognition that the discipline's theoretical underpinnings are deficient in explaining the complexity of social life is the point that Marcus and Fisher (1986) make when they proclaim that the social sciences are confronted with what they cal1 "the crisis of representation." Here is how Marcus and Fisher characterize the state of the discipline: The present is a time of reassessment of dominant ideas across the human sciences...It is not just the ideas themselves that are coming under attack but the paradigmatic style in which they have been presented. Particularly in the social sciences, the goal of organizing disciplines by abstract, generalizing frameworks that encompass and guide al1 efforts at empirical research is being fundamentally challenged. (p. 7) The pressing issue Marcus and Fisher identify has resulted in a divergent response by social scientists. Although most researchers concede that there is indeed a problem with the disciplines' theoretical premises, little progress, as Watson (1978) pointed out nearly a decade before Marcus and Fisher, has actually been made in the human sciences to effect a shift in the theoretical assumptions underlying social research. Watson's point is well taken that while social researchers are willing to speak of the need to develop new ways to represent the Other, their work reveals that their acceptance of such a gestalt shift is at best shallow. While fashionable expressions such as "reflexivity" and "experientialn have been consolidated within the social science canon, the practice of social science continue largely to reflect a sustained belief in the grand theories we clah to have rejected. Despite these "new" developments, our investigations of the Other continues to be guided largely by the theoretical canon of the human sciences. We shall consider next an analytic approach intended to address the crisis of representation in the social sciences. 3.3.3.1 Interpretive Anthropology "Interpretive anthropologyg8has been championed by the distinguished cultural anthropologist Clifford Geertz as one way to pull social science out of the grand theory trap. In a collection of essays together called The Interpretation of Cultures, Geertz (1973) encourages researchers to cast aside their own theoretical premises and instead ground ethnography "in tems of the interpretations to which persons of a particular denomination subject their experience" (1973, p. 15). An interpretative approach seeks to make sense of the "cultural practices" of the Other. In writing on the interpretive turn in the social sciences? Rabinow and Sullivan consider it in largely favourable terms; a response to the crisis of the human sciences that is constructive in the profound sense of establishing a connection between what is studied, the means of investigation, and the ends of informing the investigators. (1987, pp. 14-15) An anthropology as conceptualized by Geertz can be viewed as an exercise in "cultural hemeneutics ." The output of social research for Geertz is the "catching of 'their' views in 'our' vocabulary" (1983, p. 10). Hence, for Geertz, social research involves making sense of 'a stratified hierarchy of meaningful structures" used by the Other (1973, p. 7) . Ethnography, therefore, involves a translation of the structures of significance underlying the subjective experience of the Other into anthropological writings. It is this process of translation that is most problematic for the social researcher concerned with the resolving the problem of representation. Although the object of study for the social sciences is considered by Geertz to be the "symbolic action* of the Other, Our ethnographie accounts of social interaction are, for him, always mediated through and by our own interpretative framework. Geertz asserts that in the doing of social science, the descriptions of Berber, Jew, or French culture must be cast in tems of the constructions we imagine Berbers, Jews, or Frenchmen to place upon what they live through, the fomulae they use to define what happens to them. (1973, p. 15, emphasis added) Geertz, on the one hand, emphasizes the importance of being sensitive to the practices of the Other but yet, on the other hanci, admits freely that it is necessary to translate their meaning structures into terras understandable to social scientists. In attempting to get closer to the practice of the Other, Geertz has simply replaced the meaning structures of grand theory with the interpretations of the social researcher . As Geertz would have it, ethnography should be informed not by a corpus of theory but rather by the understandings achieved in the field by the social researcher. Geertz attempts to resolve the crisis of representation by allowing the Other to speak through the social researcher instead of being mediated through theory. Although his approach does demonstrate an interest in paying close attention to the practices of our research subjects, interpretative anthropology fails to resolve the crisis of representation in that the product produced remains a translation of phenomena of one kind into that of another. While Geertz affords his reader the sensation of being in the field, Geertz freely admits that this representation of the field has been crafted by his experience rather than that of the members of the social context. Geertzfs "interpretive anthropology" can be considered as a form of social constructionism. It is to this topic and its shortcomings that we shall now turn Our attention. 3.3.3.2 Social Constructionism The human sciences owe a tremendous debt to Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmaan for their seminal monograph, The Social Construction of Reali ty. Berger and Luckrnann incorporate a phenomenological analysis as informed by Alfred SchIltz into the sociological project. Society, or the "social world," is both an objective and subjective reality, it is comprised of a "dialectic between social reality and individual existence" (Berger and Luckmann, 1966, p. 187). Although the social sciences have from their conception been concerned with this connection between the individual and the social realm, Berger and Luckmannfs approach was groundbreaking in that it advocates paying attention to the way members in their own settings constitute their own knowledge systems. Thus, Berger and Luckmann argue, the sociology of knowledge must concern itself with whatever passes for "knowledge" in a society, regardless of the ultimate validity or invalidity (by whatever criteria) of such "knowledge." And insofar as al1 human "knowledge" is developed, transmitted and maintained in social situations, the sociology of knowledge must seek to understand the processes by which this is done in a way that a taken-for-granted "reality" congeals for the man in the street. In other words, we contend that the sociology of knowledge is concerned with the analysis of the social construction of reality. (1966, p. 3, emphasis in original) Although Berger and Luchann are quite correct to bracket "reality" within the natural attitude of members of specific contexts, sociological knowledge is not considered to be constituted through the same practices. Phenomenological brackets are not inserted by Berger and Luckmann around the "reality" constructed by the social constructionists. Jonathan Potter recognizes the dangers of taking the occasioned practice of members out of context. Potter points out that social constructionists are forced into a mixture of ironizing and reifying accounts as they produce a singular realist narrative, and this means that they have not always attended carefully to the rhetorical orientation of [the members'] accounts. (1996, p. 37) By privileging the practice of the human sciences, social constructionists fail to take the practices of members seriously. There is, for Potter, a "reality" out there that can be described and analysed in tems of how people go about the process of "reality building." Potter describes such a pro ject in this way: Reality enters into human practices by way of the categories and descriptions that are part of those practices. The world is not constituted by God or nature in ways that we are al1 forced to accept. It is constituted in one way or another as people talk it, write it and argue it. (1996, p. 98, emphasis in original) Similarly, John Shotter advocates "a non-cognitive, non- systematic, rhetorical, critical social constructionist approach" to the study of mental phenomena (1993b, p. 19) . "We must move away," says Shotter, "front the use of inference ...towards a concern with modes of hemeneutical inquiry" (1993b, p. 21). Thus Shotter' s "metamethodology" is an interpretative approach to social life. Potter would like to take things one step further by incorporating a critical approach in the interpretative process. "Rather than treat construction as a taken-for- granted start point," Shotter argues that a social science "should consider construction and deconstruction as a central and researchable feature of hurnan affairs" (1996, p. 206). Woolgar and Pawluch (1985) refer to the juxtaposition of the activities of members in local contexts and the practices of sociological explanation as a form of "ontological gerrymandering." In using concepts of the human sciences such as "realityn and "social construction," researchers like Shotter (1993a, 1993b) and Potter (1996) assume an ontological space distinct from the practices of their research subjects. The problem here is that such concepts are considered as objects independent of the practices of social scientists who use such abstractions. The social construction of social problems is problematic, Say Woolgar and Pawluch, because explanation depends upon making problematic the truth status of certain states of affairs selected for analys is and explanation, while backgrounding or minimising the possibility that the same problems apply to the assumptions upon which the analysis depends. By means of ontological gerrymandering, proponents of definitional explanations place a boundary between assumptions which are to be understood as (ostensibly) problematic and those which are not. (1985, p. 216) Social constructionism is, Say Woolgar and Pawluch, logically inconsistentO2 Whereas social constructionists claim their work is grounded in the everyday practices of their research subjects, the conceptual categories used to explain those practices are informed not by the members of the social contexts researched but rather by the conceptual framework of the human sciences. In the prologue to Constructing the Social, Sarbin and Kitsuse (1994) differentiate between three foms of social analysis: realist, phenomenological, and constructionist. Their example is useful in conceptualizing the ways these three approaches inform our understanding of the social world. Three baseball umpires are reflecting on their professional practice of calling balls and strikes . The first, a self-confident realist, says, '1 call lem the way they are," to which the second one who leans toward phenomenological analysis says, "1 call 'em as I see 'em," and the third closes the discussion with 'They ain't nothinr until 1 call 'em." (Çarbin and Kitsuse, 1994, p. 1) The third umpire, the social constructionist, advances the claim that the ontological significance of baseballs in play are irrelevant until meaning has been assigned to them through the action of the umpire actually calling the play. Our imaginary umpire reiterates literary critic Stanley Fishrs point that "interpretation is the only game in tom"

The problem with a radical interpretative perspective is the issue of authority. The question is raised who is warranted to "call the play." Social life, as with baseball, involves interaction among multiple participants, each of whom may extend a potentially competing version of the events taking place. As Cuff points out, menibersr 'grasp of the world is characterised by certainty and conviction that their way of seeing the world is not simply a way, but, rather, the way of seeing it" (1993, p. 17, emphasis in original). Social constructionists, although admittedly sensitive to social interaction as occasioned in context, still want, like both Durkheim and Malinowski who proceeded them, to clad that their interpretation, a sociological account of that "reality," is in fact the correct version of that context. Although this position is attractive in that it grants the researcher incredible privilege in being able to define that reality in tenus of however he or she calls it, returning once again to Wittgenstein, we need a way to move "points beyond" the rhetoric of the human sciences. Ethnomethodology is a program with which to move beyond the conceptual categories as entrenched within the disciplines of anthropology, philosophy, ps ychology, and sociology. The methodological contribution of ethnomethodology to naturalisrn relative to the human sciences is the issue to which we will now turn.

Garfinkel (1991, 1996) introduces ethnomethodology as an "alternate" to the methods of "conventional" social research. He seeks to "respecify" the social science project. As 1 have noted above, there is much comfort and security to be found in the theories and research practices developed and widely used by conventional social researchers. Ethnomethodology, on the other hanci, insists that the researcher abandon such cosy shelters and ground research in the ordinary, mundane practices of people in local settings. An investiqator employing such an approach must be prepared to experience a severe fom of "cultural shock" when confronted by the realization that mundane, " [ilmortal, [and] ordinary society is strangen (Garf inkel, 1996, p. 8). The ethnomethodologist does not use the theories and methods of social science to make order out of the social world. We explore instead the methods used by people in those contexts to make what would othemise be recognized as "strange" orderly. Adopting the ethnomethodological standpoint involves discarding the privilege conferred on the researcher by conventional social science. Instead of insisting that a sociological "realit~'~can be used to interpret the 'reality" of those people we study, ethnomethodologists consider the sociological account simply as another "reality" constituted by its own members (who happen to be sociologists). The difference between the ethnomethodologist and social constructionist is the unwillingness of the former to analyse any 'social reality" in terms not recognizable to members of the context examined. Whereas social constructionists construct "reality" in terms understandable to other social constructionists, people in their own contexts (prisons, homes, businesses or any other social milieux) do things to make sense of social phenomena that is understandable to rnembers of that context. Ethnomethodologists, following Harold Garfinkel, argue that what sets ethnomethodology apart from conventional social science is the outright rejection by the ethnomethodologist of the practice of translating the experiences of the Other into the normative paradigms of the social sciences. In responding to the question 'what is ethnometh~dology?,'~Garfinkel contextualizes the ethnomethodological program in these terms: EM is not an interpretative enterprise. Enacted local practices are not texts which symbolize "meanings" or events. They are in detail identical with themselves, and not representative of something else. The witnessably recurrent details of ordinary everyday practices constitute their own reality. They are studied in their unmeditated details and not as signed enterprises. (1996, p. 8) Concerned with how members of specific contexts accomplish social order through their own local, recognizable, and, therefore, practical action, Garfinkel offers ethnomethodology as an "alternate" social science (1996, pp. 9-17). In that ethnomethodology considers phenomena of a different kind than is studied by conventional researchers, Garfinkel positions his program not as an alternative to conventional sociology or anthropology but rather as a "respecification" of the problem of social order (1991, p. 10 ) . For Garf inkel, whereas conventional methodologies find order through their investigations as guided by the research discipline, the concern of the ethnomethodologist is to demonstrate order in the methodologies used by, and therefore available to, members of local contexts. 3.4.1 Ethnamothodology, Social Structure, and Context "Social structure" is considered by Garfinkel to be found neither in researchers' (a) interpretative practices nor (b) their theoretical premises. Garfinkel considers social structure to be "an achieved phenornenon of order" accomplished by members of actual social contexts (1996, p. 6) . Emanuel Schegloff, a conversation analyst, differentiates between how conventional social scientists and ethnomethodologists consider context. On the one hand, the notion of "context" can be understood as a kind of formal orientation of practical actors - participants in the scenes of everyday lives....On the other hand, in any particular scene, on any particular occasion, moment-by-moment, this formal orientation is "filled in" by particulars, is implemented or realized in particular contextual orientations. Our access to these particular contextual orientations as social science analysts is, in principle, the same as those of real-world co- participants: they (the orientations) infiltrate and pemeate and enter constitutively into the talk and other conduct of the participant, and are thereby made accessible to others for uptake. (1991, p. 215) Schegloff raises three important points. First, he draws attention to the commitment by ethnomethodologists to study the mundane features of everyday life. Rather than considering the "formal orientations held by actors," our concern as ethnomethodologists is with examining how members in specific settings go about the process of assigning meaning to their context and their lives. Second, but related to this first point, Schegloff raises an important methodological issue. To gain access to the object of our interest (the "filled in particulars"), ethnornethodologists approach social phenornena in exactly the same marner as the people in the contexts we study. Unlike researchers employing formal analytical techniques, ethnomethodologists make sense of the practical action taking place not through the filter of a process of translation but rather in the same way as the people with whom we interact. Schegloff raises a third point, one which 1 must raise here as it concerns the compatibility of ethnomethodology and ethnography. An analyst would supplant, considers Schegloff, the Yilled in particulars" of members if the conversation details were acquired outside of the particular conversation being analysed. Schegloffrs position is that this would make for very bad conversation analysis. As 1, in my own research, supplement transcribed conversational materials with ethnographic data, 1 must deal with this problem raised by Schegloff. Does ethnographic description make for bad ethnomethodology? 1 will consider this issue in the section below. 3.4.2 E thnomethodology and Ethnography This section will explore the relative merit of combining ethnomethodology with ethnography. Some consider the two approaches to social research compatible. There are those who would go further. Graham Watson quotes Rodney Watson as saying in persona1 conversation that "ethnomethodology and good ethnography are identical." Still to be resolved are the attributes of ethnomethodology constitutive of "good ethnography." This would provide an excellent topic for a research paper but is beyond the scope of the discussion here. Our concern is of a more general level. 1 advance the modest clah that ethnography can be complementary to ethnomethodology. It is argued that ethnography should be used by the researcher to frame the conversations analysed within the social context in which they were occasioned. There is a temporal dimension to social context and it is this specific component of social relations that 1 wish to explore relative to the integration of ethnomethodology and ethnography. I argue that each social context is unique because membersf settings ref lect a particular assemblage of perçons, place, and the. This last attribute of setting has largely been ignored by ethnomethodologists whose work is situated temporally in the emergent present of the here- and-now. Conversation analysts like Çchegloff, for example, are interested only in the sequence of turns within a specific conversation. Not to understate the importance of the unfolding of the present, such an approach neglects to consider other dimensions of the. Ethnomethodology has been unresponsive to (a) the past, both in the fom of a collective history and individual biography and (b) the future, both the certain and the enbers bring these temporal features to social e form of history, biography, obligations, and

contextr8 (1987, p. 221, emphasis in original) . Although Schegloffrs distinction between two forms of context is useful as an analytic construct, significant limitations are encountered when attempting to restrict analysis to context of the second kind. Both approaches are reviewed below and 1 move on to situate my own research relative to this debate. 1 maintain that ethnography should be used to supplement ethnomethodological research under the provision that the ethnographic account is demonstrated to be relevant to the members of the context described. The criterion of relevancy is borrowed from Schegloff, although, admittedly, my use of the term involves a radical departure from his. 1 argue that 'good ethnography" augments members* accounts by the ethnographer providing details both (a) of and (b) relevant to members of the context in which social interaction is accomplished. This goes beyond the criterion of plausibility (Mandelbaum, 1990-91, p. 333) where the responsibility for the ethnographer is to situate membersp activities in possible external contexts. 1 maintain that ethnographic details must not merely be reports of potentialities of membersr context but must be demonstratively linked to these contextual settings. In contrast to Schegloff, however, 1 do not impose the constraint that such details must be associated temporally with members' practical actions. 3.4.2.1 Integrative Approaches: Moerman's Talking Culture Paul Atkinson, in calling for a "principled and systematic rapprochement between ethnography and conversation analysis" (1985, p. 118), considers that the two approaches to social research are not mutually exclusive. Anthropologist Michael Moerman responds to the challenge in his seminal book, Talking Culture. Moerman writes of the need for 'a synthesis of ethnography - with its concern for context, meaning, history, and intention - with the sometimes arid and always exacting techniques that conversation analysis offers for locating culture in situ" (1988, p. xi, emphasis in original) . For Moeman, ethnography benef its from the addition of a methodologically rigorous investigation of naturally occurring language-in-use ("talk" 1 while conversation analysis gains by supplementing the analytic within a social context. Moerman calls this merger "culturally contexted conversation analysis"; an approach he characterizes as 'a rough and ready applied phenomenology" seeking to describe social interaction (1988, p. xiii) . Moerman uses ethnography to augment 'the dry bones of the talk"; data extrinsic to the utterances is used to explicate the "clacking of turns" (1988, p. xi) . A rationale and specific analytic strategy is outlined by Moerman: Components of meaning, ingredients for interpretation, are locally occasioned. They are triggered into relevance then and there. The analyst, so long as he claims to be working empirically, f inds them after, not in advance, of the uttering, This can make his reasoning sometimes seem (and perhaps sometimes really be) gratuitous and pst hoc, But the list of ingredients is guided by the participants8 finished product: the interpretation of this utterance that the next utterance shows them to have made. Further, culturally contexted conversation analysis tries to limit the ingredients of interpretation, the components of meaning, to ones that are locally significant and locally occasioned. Whenever 1 point to "class" or "dialect" or "gender," 1 take on the tasks of reporting as an ethnographer on how those things work in this society, and of showing as a conversation analyst that and how they were invoked and used in that very moment of talk. (1988, p. 7) While Moerman makes a strong argument in favour of incorporating ethnographie description with conversation analysis, his approach has &am unfriendly fire from sorne ethnomethodologists. His methodology is subject to criticism on at least two grounds . First is the problem of whether the ethnographer's interpretation of locally occasioned action is consistent with that of members of the actual context in which the social interaction is occasioned. Although Moerman' s analysis is informed by the sequential communicative practices of rnembers, there is no guarantee that the analyst will interpret "components of meaning" in the same way that would "natusal" members of that context. Stated simply, the fact of observing an utterance does not ensure that the analyst will 'have gotten it righLRf3 This problem of shared interpretation is closely related to my second and more serious objection, that is Moerman's use of categories foreign to members of research

settings . "Class, " "dialect, " and "gender" are concepts of the social sciences. By suggesting that these analytical constructs can be discovered by analysts in local settings, Moerman's approach can be viewed as an attempt to integrate micro phenornena (members' talk) with macro concepts (analystsf schema) . Moerman assumes that the distinctions between practical and analytical theorizing can be reconciled analytically. R. Watson rightly rejects efforts by theorists like Moerman who ahto integrate the micro with the macro. For Watson, the distinction is an imposition by the analyst rather than a feature of the social practices of people in their everyday lives. Watson cautions that 'to accept the terms of such a dualism is to risk analytic incoherence'' (1992, p. 17) . The analytical quest for microhacro integration is misguided because it presumes that these phenomena are in fact separate and distinct. Unconsidered is the fact that members, in their everyday settings, negotiate without difficulty, what social scientists consider to be separate levels of "social reality". As opposed to the micro-macro debate, "contextfris a far more useful analytic concept with which to situate social interaction. Despite (or perhaps on account of) its utility, the issue of context has invoked heated debate. Whereas Moerman's analytic takes him outside of the conversation under study, there are those who argue that context for ethnomethodology and conversation analysis is to be found only within a specific interactive sequence. We shall consider this perspective next. 3.4.2.2 Against Integration: Context and Conversation Analys ts Schegloff differentiates between two diff~rentfoms of context. On the one hand, context may be understood in terms of a "forma1 orientation'' held by members relative to their setting. This would be the contextual domain Anderson and Moerman explicate. Alternatively, Schegloff proposes that 'in any particular scene, on any particular occasion, moment-by-moment, this formal orientation is Yilled in' by particulars, is implemented or realized in particular contextual orientations" (1991, p. 215). These latter "particularsn are regarded by Schegloff as a different form of 'context", significant to both members and analysts for two specific reasons: First, these ways of fomulating context are procedurally relevant; they directly implicate sequential conduct of the interaction. Second, in the very ways in which the parties organize distribution of their participation, they exhibit their orientation to, and constitute the reality of, their contexts so understood. (1987, p. 226) Schegloff argues rhetorically: "If kontext' is in the conduct itself, if it is in a sense the conduct itself, then rethinking context is the omnipresent job of analysis" (1991, p. 215, emphasis in original). Thus, for conversation analysts who take Schegloff seriously, Moermanfs "clacking of turns" is regarded not as decontextualized chatter but rather as the substantive material for analytical investigation. This perspective would hold that to either supplant or supplement the "dry bones of the talk" would rnake for very bad conversation analysis. Rod Watson, arguing in favour of an approach like that of Schegloff, acknowledges that while conversation occurs within a social context, talk may itself be considered constitutive of context. It is this aspect of language-in- use that Watson considers of interest for analytical investigation. Following Garfinkelrs cal1 for a "respecificationJ' of the sociological pro ject, Watson predicts that [a] respecified analysis of talk may make even more clear that we can study members' speech as contextualising as well as contextualised and that members themselves furnish context within their talk. We do not need to skip from their own contextualising activities to the analystsw more or less independent furnishing of context and, at worst, the analystsg arrogation of definitional privilege concerning context. (1997, p. 75) Following Watson, the further the analyst ventures from the utterances as occasioned by membess in their local contexts, the greater the risk the analyst runs of imposing his or her own analytical interpretation on membersg practices. Arthur Frank comments on the propensity of ethnomethodologists to "inscribe a hierarchy in which the form judged to be supplementary iç subordinated: .. . the live conversation enjoys a privilege over the tape, which in turn privileged over the transcription" Writing recently, Tom Wilson argues against this generalization: 1 object to the judgements "preferred" and "less adequate" . Recordings and transcripts are simply different, and a recording is not to be preferred over the transcript in doing an analysis. Transcripts are indispensable, and they are far more adequate than recordings for enabling the analyst to keep in mind, focus on, and track relevant features, just as it would be impossible without recordings, My point is that those relevant features must be locatable in the recording if the analysis is to have a defensible clah to being empirically graunded. (e-mail discussion list, June 12, 1997) Wilson asserts that the data for "good" conversation analysis must be empirically grounded. This imposes a limitation on research, features available for analysis are only that can recorded or transcribed. There mechanical or dehumani zing aspect to this type of investigation. The approach, as Sharrock and Anderson put it, demonstrates more interest in utterances than with speakers and hearers. It [conversation analysis] is much less concerned with talk as a relation between persons than it is with conversation as a relation between utterances. It is...devoted to examining the ways in which utterances can relate to one another, with the ways in which utterances can make up interwoven patterns and the ways in which utterances, in their interrelation, build up those patterns. (1986, p. 68) FG~a social anthropologist, with an interest in social interaction, the imposition of this boundary conversation analysts is troublesome. Talk-in-action, although the product of human interaction, is occasioned within a social context. To focus exclusively on utterances is to remove conversation from the social context in which it emerges, Zn doing so, conversation analysis decontextualizes its subject matter: talk. Dorothy Smith grounds her criticism of conversation analysis in the unintended effects of the "technologies of recording ." Any such text strips away multiple aspects of what is going on in ways that are not intended or examined .... It strips, for example, what is going on in peoplefs heads; it strips what is not seedheard from a particular angle; it strips the befores and afters and the connections with elsewheres. (e-mail discussion list, June 18, 1997) Smith draws attention to the fact that to decontextualize talk is to detemporalize social experience. A rigorous examination of talk as it unfolds is blind to the temporal context external to the sequence of talk within that conversation. In the pursuit of methodological rigour, the conversation analyst "strips" layers of context from conversation. Tirne-past and the-future is lost to the time-present that is made available in the conversation segment analysed. Pierre Bourdieu is aware the temporal limitations of such a decontextualized approach: For the analyst, time no longer counts: not only because - as has been often repeated since Max Weber - arriving post festum, he cannot be in any uncertainty as to what may happen, but also because he has the time to totalize, ie. to overcome the effects of time. Scientific practice is so "detemporalized" that it tends to exclude even the idea of what it excludes: because science is possible only in a relation to time which is opposed to that of practice, it tends to ignore time and, in doing so, to reify practices. (1977, p. 9) Thus, conversation analysis detemporalizes social interaction. As Jeff Coulter notes, "sequential location cannot tell the whole story, no matter how much of an advance such a focus may be over the decontexualizing propensities of certain sorts of speech-act analysis" (1983, p. 370). Conversely, however, the possibility of reifying analysts' practices must also be considered. In telling "the whole story," one runs the risk of imposing analytical definitions on merabersr social processes. In considering next the issue of context in further detail, we shall explore how ethnography can be utilized as an analytic which is, on the one hand, sensitive to external context while, on the other hand, not imposing analytic interpretations on members' practices . 3.4.3 Context: Interna1 or External? Form has been identified by Frank (1985) as the basis by which ethnomethodologists assess the suitability of data for ethnomethodological investigation. Wilson (1997) responds to this by stating that the concern is not form but methodological rigour. We shall explore in greater detail the criterion used by ethnomethodologists to adjudicate whether data is empirically grounded. Graham Watson and Anne Irwin delineate two objections ethnomethodologists raise about conventional social science. Watson and Irwin note ethnomethodologists oppose, firstly, the imposition of exogenous, ironic unders tandings upon participants' accounts ( such that the analyst always has the final say) and, secondly, the temptation to consider 'context" as a set of factors that surround an event and determine its significance. (1996, p. 92) Watson and Irwin specify what is indeed "radical" about ethnomethodology. They restate a point raised by Harvey Sacks in his seminal paper, "Sociological Description." The essential "message" of this paper is: even if it can be said that persons produce descriptions of the social world, the task of sociology is not to clarify these, or to "get them on the record," or to criticize th-, but to describe them. (1963, p. 7) Yommon-sense categories," Sacks argues, are to be regarded by sociologists in the same way that they are utilized by members of research settings. They should be viewed as recognizable and reportable Yeatures of social life" rather than resources for analytical inquiry (1963, p. 16) . Sacks urges researchers not to supplant sociological description with resources extraneous to the "practical theorizing" of members in local contexts. Hence, as Watson and Irwin point out, the unwillingness on the part of ethnomethodologists to treat such practices as (a) ironic or (b) determined by social circumstance extraneous to the actual activities of rnembers in their local settings. As discussed above, Moerman is open to criticisrn for his insistence in using the knowledge systems of the social sciences to inform his analytical investigations. By venturing outside of the natural attitude of his informants, Moerman ironicizes their practices. Less clear, however, is whether Moeman is right to supplement utterances with ethnographic description that is native to the contexts in which the social interaction is occasioned. This raises the possibility that ethnomethodology and ethnography are compatible (or, as R. Watson views it, one and the same) provided that the ethnographic details reported do not supplant the natural attitude of the mers of the contexts studied. This would provide the analyst the opportunity to ground conversation in a contextual framework that goes beyond the here-and-now of the talk. Contextualizing talk is not radical. As will be demonçtrated in the next three sub-sections, conversation analysts do situate their data in either an assumed or explicit social context . Zronically, the examples 1 provide are from Moerman's staunchest critics. As will be seen, Robert Hopper, Rod Watson, and Emanuel Schegloff can be shown to contextualize talk. 3.4.3.1 Hopper's "Karkings of Settings" Robert Hopper's study of institutional talk reveals the need to supplement conversation analysis with contextual data external to the utterances spoken in the conversation. Hopper, however, would appear to side with Schegloff and R. Watson by advocating that the details for analysis must be found within the conversation under examination. Hopper writes : If we describe talk that occurs in a setting (e.g., a medical interview), we should rely on empirical evidence that the participants orient to that setting. For example, two perçons meet in a physicianrs examining room and perfonn this encounter opening:

UTCL Street: 14 D: Hello Mister Steen= P: =Good morning D: 1' m Doctor Krone In this exchange of greetings and name identifications, D calls both himself and P by title plus last name. This asymmetrical pair of reference tems, mister/doctor (and who speaks them both), shows at least one participant characterizing this encounter as one between a physician and a patient. (1995, pp. 372- 373) There is a logical inconsistency in Hopper's argument. Contrary to his assertion that this conversation can be interpreted on the basis of the utterances in the absence of contextual data, his analysis of the conversation is in fact dependent upon details external to the conversation features. Two characteristics facilitate the interpretation of utterances: (a) familiarity with the context in which these communicative practices are occasioned (in this case, a physician' s examining room) and (b) the natural attitude held by members of this specific context. These details are resources available to persons in these specific contexts. As mernbers of these settings, they command a 'mastery of [the] natural language" of that context (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970, p. 342). Kuch is taken-for-granted within such practical settings for Schiitz, "practical knowledge" is '(1) incoherent, (2) only partially clear, and (3) not at al1 free from contradictions" (1970, p. 75) Hence, as Sacks points out, in conversation,"a \descriptionf need only be 'good enoughr to permit the encounter to proceed" (Sacks, 1963, p. 9). Ambiguity is a feature of conversation, misunderstandings are resolved (if they are resolved) when the communicative encounter cannot otherwise continue. Non-members of these contexts do not share the same orientation to the context as do members. Hence, contextual details must be supplied to the reader. In Hopper's example, the analyst infers that Mister Steen is a patient seeking consultation £rom Doctor Krone, Mister Steen's physician. These data are to be found not in the utterances but must rather be filled in by both (a) ethnographic description provided by the analyst and (b) comrnon sense assumptions held on the part of the reader. Hopper's example provides evidence of both. Firstly, Hopper, through ethnographic description, situates the interaction at a physicianfs examining room. Hopper, not the interlocutors, informs us that 'D, " Dr Krone, is the physician and that "Pm, Mr Steen, the doctorfs patient. Secondly, a person accustomed to the procedures of western medicine is inclined not to view this either as supplementation or supplantation because, for US, going to the physicianrs of fice is a mundane, commonplace event. We take it for granted that people (patients) do consult with physicians in examining rooms and that patients generally display what may be considered "deference" to their physiciansm4 Hence, as we assume that we share the same natural attitude as the interlocutors in the conversation sequence, Hopper's analysis is consistent with what we would expect of interaction occurring within this particular context. Provided that we as readers share the same orientation to this context as do the interlocutors, no communicative difficulties are encountered in interpreting the utterances. The utterances, situated ethnographically in a specific context, are adequate to allow our "encounter" with the data to proceed. To demonstrate this point, to emphasize that context is not always to be found within, 1 will provide a different, but equally plausible, context for Hopper's example. Mister Steen could very well be a distinguished businessperson, let us Say the Chief Executive Officer of a large, multinational Company. Doctor Krone, a professor of management, is attending the firms's Annual Shareholderrs Meeting and approaches Mr. Stone to ask a question. Set within this context, one might advance a completely different analysis of the conversation by pointing to these two features of the conversation: (1) Dr Krone initiates the conversation, introducing hirn/her -self to Mr Steen.

(2) Dr KroneRs use of an academic title in the introduction is an attempt by the professor to level an asymmetrical social relationship. Academic rank is used as a device with which to reduce the social distance between the two interlocutors. Ethnographic context is used to fil1 in the details of the conversation. Contra Schegloff and R. Watson, the three lines of text above are meaningless to non-members of the context unless the utterances are situated within a contextual framework. Hopper refers to these contextual featuses as "markings of settings" but he understates their importance in social interaction. While 1 agree with Hopper that it would be inappropriate to regard "setting as the explanation for action0' (1995, p. 373, emphasis in original), it is also true that contextual features are important communicative resources for both members and analysts in making sense of a sequence of utterances. 3.4.3.2 Rod Watson and the Dialectic of Context Unlike Hopper, Rod Watson accepts that the talk is both occasioned within a context and constitutive of a context. He misses the point, however, that there is a dialectic relationship between these two contextual dornains. In a study of Mernbership Categorization Devices (MCD's) , Watson makes the following daim in reference to two paragraphs written by one of England's best-known literary figures. The quotation is from Man Bennett's Writing Home. Bearing in mind the above considerations of integral (turn-generated) and distal categorical identities, of multiple incumbency of single categories, of the groupings of categories in SRPrs and MCDrs and of the visible availability of these, we are in a good position to appreciate (and analyse) the multi-faceted organizational detail of the following (from Bennett 1994, 101): - 6 ~arch,London. 1 corne through Heathrow and in the queue parallel to mine an Indian family is heldpup at-Immigration, the father, thin, dark, with burning eyes being questioned by a woman so stone-faced she could be at the East German border rather than at Heathrow. There are several sons, looking languid and beautiful and the mother with a small child in her ams.

"Who are these people?" says the official, jabbing at the passport. '1 want to -see al1 these people." Whereupon the father swiftly rounds up his family and marshals them in front of her. She does not even look up. (Watson, 1997, p. 72) In order to both "appreciate (and analyse)" this text, the reader must take for granted that: (a) Heathrow is an airport; (b) passengers arriving from international flights are subject to immigration inspection; (c) prior to Geman reunification, the East Gerrnan border was considered by Europeans to be an extremely difficult international border to cross; (ci) persons are generally required to show immigration officials a passport; and (e) some countries permit family members to be included in a single passport. Aithough Watson is quite correct that this short passage from Bennett's book is a fine example of MCD8s in use, Watson fails to consider that the reader, to make sense of the text, must take for granted the five points 1 raise above. Watson assumes that his reader shares with him the same sense-making apparatus necessary to interpret this passage. Although Watson is likely right that Euro-American readers of a specialized academic text will understand these contextual features in Bennett's writing, many other people, themselves competent within their own settings, would not recognize these features of the text. To appreciate Bennett's work, the reader must recognize the contextual features to which the text refers. It would seem that for R, Watson, the immigration queue at Heathrow is such a taken-for-granted place that he does not see the need to "fill-in" the contextual details prior to proceeding on to analysis. The third example illustrates a technique whereby context external is said to be differentiated from context internal. 3.4.3.3 Emanuel Schegloff and Context as Vernacular Unlike R, Watson, Schegloff acknowledges that he does situate conversational material within a social context. Schegloff explains why his own use of external context is warranted: These formulations of context [in this case, "classroomsn and "presidential press conferences"] are the type to which 1 have just objected. 1 use them here as vernacular tenus to enlist the readerfs recognition in commonsense terms (and outside of the scope of a technical analysis of detailed data) of the familiar scenes to which 1 mean to be referring. The ensuing discussion begins to develop a technical characterization for some sets of activities that goes on in the vernacularly named context. The goal is to arrive at technical characterizations of the one or more speech exchange systems organizing the kinds of activities that occur there. (1987, p. 232) Conversation analysts must share with their readers an adequate understanding of the external contextual features in which a conversation is occasioned prior to moving on to the "technical analysis". The study of "speech exchange systems" cannot proceed until the analyst shares with the conversationalists a working capacity of the natural language in which the conversation sequence is occasioned. There is also the need for the analyst to ensure that the vernacular reported in the conversation can be recognizable to the reader as vernacular reflective of that held as common sense by members of that context. The problem, then, is not whether it is desirable to ground utterances in ethnographie description but rather what measures are to be taken to ensure that such an approach meets the conditions for ethnomethodology as specified by Watson and Irwin, If we are to examine the practice of members from an ethnomethodological perspective, we rnust ensure our analysis neither ironicizes nor supplants the practices of members in and of their contexts. The criterion of relevance as raised by Schegloff is a useful technique by which investigators can ensure that they are steadfast in the analysis of interaction using members' tems. We shall explore below how Schegloffrs notion of relevance may be utilized to support the supplementation of ethnomethodology with ethnographic description. 3.4-4 nRalevancem as a Mechaniam to Warrant Ethnographie Description As opposed to defining interaction in tems of analytical categories recognizable only to social scientists, Schegloff proposes as an alternative that the use of such categories is appropriate only when they can be shown by the analyst to be "demonstrably relevant to the participants, and at that moment - at the moment that whenever we are trying to provide an account of occurs" (1992, p. 109, emphasis in original) . Following Schegloff, it is possible to supplement ethnomethodology with ethnographic description if the criterion of relevance is satisfied. The task for the analyst is twofold. First, it is necessary to ensure that the description used is recognizable to the members of the context described. For example, we would not categorize social interaction involving only females as "gendered" unless this term was used by members of this context. The second matter Schegloff raises is temporal. It is incumbent upon the investigator to show that ethnographic description used to supplement conversation is relevant to the members of that context at that particular time. Schegloffrs test for relevance enables the ethnographer to supplement ethnomethodology with ethnographic description while neither (a) ironicizing membersr accounts nor (b) pointing to causal factors external to the membersr practices. Relevance is a powerful analytical tool that allows the analyst to supplement the "clacking of turns" with description recognizable to the members of that context. The criterion holds the analyst accountable to not supplant members categories. On the other hand, situating conversation within a context supplemented by ethnographic description allows a reader who is not a member of that context to orientate him- or her- self to both that setting and the conversation taking place in that context. By incorporating Scheglofffs test of relevance as a criterion to ensure that ethnographic descriptions are warranted in terms of members' practices, we are able to meet his requirement of providing a "rigorous account of the details of social action in its own tems" (1987, p. 229) . Understood this way, "good ethnography" (or ethnornethodology) is consistent with Sack' s proposal for a sociology that describes the descriptions members provide of their own social world(s) (1963, p. 7) . 3.4.5 Ethnomathodology and the Seatch for WeaningM ft is argued that a major contest played in the everyday world is in ascribing "meaning" to one's life and action. Alasdair MacIntyre likens meaningfulness to senselessness in his book, After Virtue. When someone complains - as do some of those who attempt or codt suicide - that his or her life is meaningless, he or she is often and perhaps characteristically complaining that the narrative of their life has become unintelligible to them, that it lacks any point, any movement towards a climax or a telos. Hence the point of doing any one thing rather than another at crucial junctures in their lives seems to such a person to have been lost. (1981, p. 202) "Meaning" is not given. Whether contemplated consciously or unconsciously, "meaning'' is constantly in the emergent process of being interpreted, challenged, and renegotiated. "Meaning" can be better understood in the social in terms of authenticity. "Meaning" in the human world is not given but must be, in one word, negotiated. The meanings we attach to events in the social world are continuously in the process of being achieved, ascribed, and affirmed. We can think of our everyday world as being similar in many ways to the fabric polyester. While clothing manufactured from this material appears genuine, it is in fact the product of a human process. The polyester analogy reminds us too of the issue of change. Those polyester suits, once highly fashionable in the early seventies, are now, with the exception of "retro nights," no longer in vogue as we near the close of the second millennium. Not unlike washing polyester, navigating the everyday world is not particularly difficult. It does, however, involve a certain degree of effort to ensure the end result is wrinkle-free. To solve this problem automatic washers and dryers are equipped with permanent press cycles. What is the equivalent in the social realm? Harvey Sacks, the founder of conversation analysis, quite possibly wore polyester when he lectured his students on what he calls the ''inference-making machinen (1992a, pp. 113-125). According to Sacks humans are equipped with a device with which to organize, to make sense of our experience of the social world. Sacksr methodology is nothing more than a search for these sense-making devices. If we accept the everyday social world on these tenus, one might be tempted to ask whether it is possible for us to transcend these constitutive practices. Such is the West of conventional social scientists, a noble project seeking the development of a meta-language with which to speak of the social. As discussed above, the interpretative anthropology of Clifford Geertz reconstitutes the constitutive practices of local members into language understandable to social scientists. Ethnomethodologists consider such epistemological questions meaningless but nevertheless demonstrative of the compulsion to make sense of both our lives and everyday life. Interpretative anthropologists are simply making sense of the practices of the Other using a form familiar to other interpretative anthropologists. From an ethnomethodological standpoint, the human condition is neither an inevitable struggle between social classes nor representations of the Other as inscribed ethnographically by social scientists. We see social life as a situated contest in which people attempt to understand and potentially change their circumstance in ways that are both meaningful and recognizable to them. The research problem for ethnornethodologists is not to translate the social world into a vernacular that makes sense to social scientists but rather to capture those practices used by members in their own contexts to organize their lives in terms recognizable to thern. In other words, the concern of the ethnomethodologist is to document the practices of members in social settings used to constitute their social world as recognizably meaningful. Therefore, the goal of ethnomethodology is the discovery and description of mundane (although practical) matters. Garfinkel instructs us to f ind, collect, specify, and rnake instructably observable the local endogenous production and natural accountability of immortal familiar society's most ordinary organizational things in the world, and to prov..de for them both and simultaneously as objects and procedurally, as alternate methodologies. (1996, p. 6, emphasis in original) This involves a respecification of social science in that instead of grounding our observations in terms of the theoretical and/or methodological practice of social science, the ethnomethodologist considers how the practices of people in their local settings make available to those people what they perceive to be their "social reality." Benson and Hughes consider ethnomethodology in a similar way: [Tl he analytic task is. . .to explicate and describe the rnembersF methods that could have been used to produce "what happened in the way that it did." So, in characterising some action, some setting, the description is warranted by showing how the "rnachinery" being described can 'reproduce" the data at hand. (1991, p. 132) Members in local contexts use these apparatuses, the sense- making "machineries,lr to make sense of their own social worlds. Instead of translating these procedures into language understandable only to social scientists, ethnomethodologyrs commitment is to "demonstrate relevance to the participantsf0 (Schegloff, 1991, p. 215) . As Schegloff emphasises, conventional social science has the sarne objective. The difference, of course, between the two programs is which community the participants are frorn. Ethnornethodologists hold that analysis should be relevant to the rnembers of the social contexts examined. Conventional social scientists seek to demonstrate relevance to their peers. Ethnornethodologists do not criticize such activities in their own right but, as Sharrock asserts, they find such pursuits unappealing methodologically as a fom of social research. One of the reasons 1 find theoreticism unappealing is because it shows little awareness of the thing that researchers of al1 sociological persuasions know, that making studies work out to do what you want them to is really hard, and that studies are really first stabs at objectives they can't realistically be expected to realize. Given the way things work, they are usually first and last stabs. (1989, p. 675)

This research presents for the author a considerable epistemological problem in that, on the one hand, the thesis attempts to report a "social reality'' through an examination of the practices used by members in a particular context to make recognizable that "reality," while, on the other hand, in that it is a thesis, it is also necessary to display an understanding of the literature developed by conventional social scientists within both my theoretical and substantive

There is a danger here. Atkinson put it well when he cautioned social researchers to recognize (a) the reflexive nature of fieldwork and (b) that the products of social research are invariably in the form of written texts: If we recognize - as we must - that our acts of research inevitably implicate us and involve us in our accounts of the social world as equally implicated. Our textual practices themselves constitute the social realities constructed and reconstructed in ethnoqraphic writing. (1990, p. 178) This thesis is a text. 1 report in it certain aspects of everyday life in prison using terms 1 hope my thesis cornmittee will recognize, understand, and ultimately approve. It is unavoidable that much is lost of the "social reality" as constructed, lived, and experienced by the people living in the examined context. Although it is hoped that this thesis will shed some light on social relations within the prison, there is a constant danger that the report of particular aspects one "social reality," although a creative process, might distort the underlying social practices the report attempts to depict- Ethnomethodologists attempt to resolve this problem of representation by paying strict attention to the details of social life as occasioned by the participants. Analysis should, in an ethnomethodological pro ject , always specify who is engaging in specific practicesr whether it be the rnernbers of that context or the social researcher. O£ crucial importance is the issue of relevance. Ethnomethodologists are committed to demonstrate relevance to persons in and of their local settings. Ethnomethodology is not so much a method as it is an approach to social research. Garfinkel puts it this way: "Ethnomethodology applied emphasis in original). Ethnomethodologists are engaged in the practice of demonstrating how members in their own contexts, through their own practices, go about the business of making sense of their everyday lives. To demonstrate this point we will reconsider Conversation Segment 3-1. This time our analysis will be informed by the sense-making methods of the members of the prison context. Conversation Segment 3-1 1 Inmate Two more weekends and I'm outa here. 2 Staff M. So you're dom to a couple more weeks . (?) 3 Inmate No. 4 30 days more. 5 My girlfriend visits every other weekend . 6 Staff M. Oh. 7 Then yourll be able to see her everyday. As 1 stated above, the ethnomethodologist is not prepared to treat this or any other naturally occurring conversation as ironic. The prisoner is not confused. A second difference between ethnomethodology and conventional social science is that we are not prepared to talk about "meaning" or "social structure" in terms external of the data. The talk transcribed in Conversation Segment 3-1 involves a discussion of (a) being released from prison, (b) the inmates relationship with his girlfriend, and (c) time. These three components of the discussion are interrelated. The ethnomethodologist is interested in answering the question: Wow is sense-making being accomplished here?" For those unfamiliar with the context of the prison, there would seem to be a problem in this conversation. The Staff Member in line 2 would appear to be testing his understanding of the opening statement of the inmate (line 1) . This could be interpreted as a "repairf' device. The inmate makes available in lines 4 and 5 that there can be only two weekends in thirty days. Weekends for this inmate are only weekends when his girlfriend visits him at the prison. The Staff Member demonstrates that he understands how the prisoner accounts for time in line 7. Upon release the inmate will enter a different temporal order. Weekends will then not necessarily fa11 only on every second weekend. Ethnomethodology has much more to Say about Conversation Segment 3-1. Our analysis, for example, could investigate the doing of social relationships e., inmate- staff rnember and inmate-girlfriend) . For our purposes here, however, the analysis is likely sufficient in having achieved the desired effect of impressing upon the reader unfamiliar with ethnomethodology that Our approach is indeed "strange." As so it should. What is demonstrated here is that the familiar is strange. The interlocutors in Conversation Segment 3-1 are involved in the complicated task of making sense of what most of us take for granted. The ethnomethodologist is concerned with how people go about the process of doing this in their own contexts rather than to impose our own systems of sense-making on the membersr practical activities. -3.5 sumnary This concludes our general discussion of epistemology and, more specifically, ethnomethodology as a research program to address many of the shortconings of the human sciences, particularly relative to positivism, hemeneutics, and realism. The criterion of relevance is used to warrant supplementing conversation analysis with ethnographic description. This provides a context-rich methodology. An approach that is sensitive, on the one hand to the practices and natural attitude of members, while, on the other hand, is not fearful of stepping outside of the conversation when required to fill-in details of the conversation not contained specifically within the interactional sequence as occasioned by the conversation. NOTES 1. On the assumption that my readers will be familiar with the standard transcript notation used by ethnomethodologists and conversation analysts, I have not included in this thesis an explanation of the symbols used. An excellent overview of the notation system developed by Gai1 Jefferson is found in Atkinson and Heritage (1984, pp. ix-xvi).

2. Ironically, in his own work Woolgar (1988) engages in the very practice he criticizes.

3. As conversation analysis has shown since the pioneering work of Harvey Sacks, the interpretation of everyday talk by members of natural language communities is not the straightforward task that it would seem. Membership in a speech community does not necessarily mean that the listener will interpret utterances in the way intended by the speaker. Members of natural speech communities, like analysts, employ numerous technical devices (whether the natural attitude or a philosophic anthropology) with which to facilitate communication.

4. The observation that patients may display "deference" to physicians should not be considered to imply that these relationships are at al1 times asymmetrical. Parsons, in clairning that "by ...institutional definition[,] the sick person is not.. .competent to help himself" (1951, p. WI), fails to recognize that physicians and patients may not share these "institutional definitions." The physician is in fact dependent upon the patient as both a source of knowledge and an object for practice. The hierarchy Parsons typifies may not correspond to the practices of physicians and patients in practical settings. CHAPTER FOUR: PLTNISHMENT, PRISONS, AND TIME 1 canrt imagine a prison better than this. Except, perhaps a prison where they let you have a typewriter or a word processor. In the state prisons, they allow them. But, as far as creature comfort goes, therers no problem hese, Wefre not krutalized. There are no daily stabbings. The food is very edible and reasonably nutritious. Sometimes the preparation is a little lax. But, corne on, itrs a prison and the inmates prepare it. There is a reasonable change of meals. What bothers the inmate here, of course - as in every prison - is the loss of his freedom. That's No. 1. No. 2 is the control they have over you in little things. They have the control, and they keep telling you they have the control. The lawns look beautiful, donf t they? But we can8t walk on them. We can only walk on the sidewalks. We never walk on the grass. (convicted murderer Jef f rey MacDonald discussing everyday life in the Sheridan (Oregon) Federal Correctional Institution in an interview with Janet Malcolm, 1995, pp. 106-7) -4 Overview of the Chapter In this chapter we explore both punishment at a general level and the prison as a specific form of penality. There are two main sections to this chapter. The first section considers punishment as it is informed by social theory. The second section is descriptive and analytical. There are three subsections to the part on the social theory of punishment. 1 attempt to show that there are several competing views as to the purpose penality serves. Each of these conceptual frameworks for punishment reflects a certain temporal framework. It is my intent to show that accounts of punishment carry with them different notions about the. I explore approaches to social control from the s tandpoint of philosophy, anthropology, and sociology . As was done in the previous chapter, we return again to the field in the second major section. Three conversation segments from discussions held with prisoners are partially analysed. This is done to illustrate that prisoners, like philosophers and social scientists, also must make sense of punishment. These conversation segments make both explicit and implicit reference to tirne. As is argued in this thesis, the day-to-day talking about the is integral to doing the. The three inmate conversations also make relevant distinct features of the Canadian criminal justice system. 1 take this opportunity to step outside of the conversations to provide ethnographie details to supplement the talk. 1 also use this as an occasion to demonstrate an analytic association between these inmates* talk and that of two other groups: (a) Alcoholic Anonymous members and (b) teenagers-in-trouble. While 1 fully recognize that members of these two very different contexts do not share the same natural attitude as do inmates, 1 consider this material nevertheless important in that similar processes would seem (analytically) to be at work. 1 will begin the chapter with a brief introduction. The subtitle to the section was the text to sign 1 saw in a guard station in a prison. Clearly visible to inmates, this sign featured a yellow "happy face." Prison staff members too have conflicting ideas about the purpose of prisons in Canadian society . -4.1 introduction or "Have a Nice Sentence" Much has been said by social scientists, prison officials, and prisoners about prison i culture"^, prison life, the social organization of correctional institutions, and what are often considered to be the two conflicting but primary objectives of incarceration: punishment and treatment. Considerable research - mostly quantitative with sorne notable exceptions - has been done in the prison setting over the last half-century exploring these issues. Research has addressed the following problems: (a) is there such as thing as prison culture and, if so, is it a function of the institutional environment?; (b) what are the effects of imprisonment: (i) can the prison function to 'rehabilitate" offenders or (ii) does incarceration 'harm" inmates?; (c) what type of social hierarchies exist within the prison structure and what patterns of social interaction are associated with these?; and (d) what is the subjective experience of imprisonment like for the prison inmate? "Prisonizaton" is said by Donald Clemmer to be process of socialization into the prison. It is an adaptive response to the prison context and is marked by a series of changes in both psychological and social functioning by the inmate. CIemmer elaborates: Every man who enters the penitentiary undergoes prisonization to some extent. The first and most obvious integrative step concerns his status. He becomes at once an anonymous figure in a subordinate group. A number replaces a name. He wears the clothes of the other members of the subordinate group. He is questioned and admonished. He learns that the warden is all-powerful. He soon learns the ranks, titles, and authority of various officials. And whether he uses the prison slang and argot or not, he cornes to know its meanings. (1958, p. 299) Clemmer would consider that Jeffrey MacDonald has adapted successfully to his new social context. Although he suffers minor hardships such as the lack of a cornputer or typewriter, MacDonald' s primary complaint is his loss of freedom. This is the liberty prisons deny their captives. To address why this is so we must consider the philosophy underlying punishment systems. It is to this topic we will now turn. -4.2 Making Sense of Punishment: Rehabilitation, Vust Deserts." and Time - Scholarly disciplines engage in the formal practice of making sense out of the phenomena of the world. How moral philosophers and anthropologists have considered crime and punishment is the focus of the next two subsections of the chapter . 4.2.1 The Philosophy of the Law The reader might ask "what relevance has competing philoso~hicpositions for an ethnomethodological pxoject?" The question is valid. The work of philosophers often has little bearing on the practical activities of people engaged in the process of living their everyday lives. Wittgenstein differentiates between the language of philosophers and that of people engaged in the practical task of language in use when he cautions that [wlhen philosophers use a word - "knowledge", "being", "ob ject", "I", "proposition", "name" - and try to grasp the essence of the thing, one must always ask oneself: is the word ever actually used in this way in the language-game which is its original home? - What we do is to bring words back from their metaphysical to their everyday use. (1968, 5 116) Following Wittgenstein, an effort will be made in this thesis to meet his challenge, to "bring words back to their everyday use." However, prior to examining language in use by people in their practical contexts, it is useful to first consider what philosophers have to Say about punishment. The reason for engaging in this academic exercise is that there appears to be some slippage between the two contextual domains. The reason for this is unclear, the discovery of which will be left to some future historian. This slippage, however, is relevant for the development of a practical theory of tirne. An underlying tension in the philosophy of punishment is found in two competing approaches by which a particular society legitimizes both (a) its right and (b) the methods to discipline societal members. Duf f (1986) characterizes the players of the opposing sides of this moral debate as retributivists, on the one hand, and consequentialists, on the other. We shall consider below the position of each perspective in more detail. 4.2.1.1 Retribution: Punishment as "Just Deserts" For Duff, retributivists attempt "to find the positive justification of punishment in its relation to a past offense" (1986, p. 3, emphasis in original) as opposed to some future benefit which might be realized at some later time. Punishment is regarded in tems of "just deserts," the offender receiving an appropriate penalty for having codtted a social transgression. Retributivism is a deontological system of punishment. Retribution is irrational. Punishment is imposed because the offender breached certain religious or secular principles. Therefore, retributivist accounts for pmishment are grounded in systems of abstract absolutes such as a god (s), "justice, " "natural law," and the "social contract." Consequently, social accounts are necessary to dernonstrate that the punishments inflicted are fitting and proper responses to breaches of moral standards. A system of law is not just a systa of exhortations or requests directed toward the citizen; it is a system of requirements, which are iniposed on her - it claims power over her will. (Duff, 1986, p. 196) Michel Foucault, in his epic study of the prison, Discipline and Punish, situates such power initially in the site of the sovereign king. The right to punish ....is an aspect of the sovereign's right to make war on his enemies.. .. [and] punishment is always a way exacting retribution that is both persona1 and public, since the physico-political force of the sovereign is in a sense present in the law. (1979, p. 48) For Foucault. it is this power of the sovereign ruler, the ability to impose his or her will over that of his or her subjects, that authorizes systems of law to hold certain binding obligations over societal members and deliver social sanctions to those subjects who do not comply with divine will. 4.2.1.2 End-means Punishments Utilitarian philosophers, on the other hand, regard punishment as a necessary evil which can only be morally justified in terms of the useful social effects it produces. Consequentialists, therefore, justify punishment 'as an attempt to achieve certain goals (primarily the moral reform of the offender) .#' (Duff. 1986, p. 7) The effectiveness of a penal system is determined by its ability to produce such positive effects as to deter other potential offenders and to reform and/or incapacitate criminals. The potential social "goodttto be achieved is to be realized at some point in the future. 4.2.2 Punishment and The Underlying the retributivist and utilitarian approaches to the philosophy of punishment are two different temporal perspectives. Whereas one approach focuses on the past, the second social strategy is grounded in the future. Time and social order are dialectically fused. "In addition to change and stability." notes Adam, "the is central to order since ...without a temporal order there is no order at all" (1990, p. 9) . This temporal structure - whether accounted for in tems of past transgressions or future benefits - is the foundation of social attempts to legitimize punishment . The discipline of anthropology has shared a common interest with criminology, philosophy, and sociology in developing a better understanding of traditional and contemporary systems of social control and their bearing on time. 1 will review below the work of Claude Levi-Strauss, Bronislaw Malinowski, Emile Durkheim, and Anthony Cohen on the anthropology of law related specifically to punishment. Anthropological Approaches to Social Control 4.2.3.1 Levi-Strauss The French ethnologist Claude Levi-Strauss dif ferentiates between two foms of social control in his monograph Tristes Tropiques. For Levi-Strauss, whereas some societies assimilate deviant members, other social groups vomit out such aberrant individuals. If we were to look at them from outside it would be tempting to distinguish between two opposing types of society: those which practice cannibalism - who believe, that is to Say, that the only way to neutralize people who are the repositories of certain redoubtable powers, and even to turn them to one's own advantage, is to absorb thern into one's own body. Second would corne those which, like our own, adopt what rnight be called the practice of anthropemy (from the Greek emein, to vomit) . Faced with the same problem, they have chosen the opposite solution. They expel these formidable beings from the body public by isolating them for a time, or for ever, denying them al1 contact with humanity, in establishments especially devised for that express purpose. (1969, p. 386, emphasis in original) The extreme example of cannibalism is presented above by Levi-Strauss in metaphoric terras. Social "absorption" of deviant members does not necessarily involve literally "swallowing them up" but rather is taken as a figurative account of a social process in which the transgresser is reintegrated by and into the social group. Reincorporation does not, however, preclude the possibility of the individual being assigned a new social role or status. Levi-Strauss contrasts this process with an alternative response. Instead of integrating the offender back into the community, the deviant individual is instead cast out. He or she is socially isolated over a period of time (potentially perpetually) from the social group. Stanley Cohen (1985) views these social processes in geographic and, more specifically, spatial terms. Whereas the first response may be characterized as a process of inclusion by which "deviants are retained, as long as possible within conventional social boundaries and institutions, there to be absorbed" (p. 219), the second practice is regarded by Cohen as that of exclusion whereby, "temporarily or permanently, deviants are driven beyond social boundaries or separated out into their own designated space" (p. 219). In addition to the spatial dynamics involved in these processes of inclusion or exclusion as noted by Cohen (1985), there are also here distinct temporal components to these two social responses to deviancy. Whereas the first response involves the present-future activities of the group to reintegrate the deviant rnember, perhaps in a new social capacity, exclusion involves, for the group, pemanently transfixing the outcast individual in the tirne-sense of the immediate-past. 4.2.3.2 Malinowski While it is of heuristic use to view social control in tems of binary opposites as advocated by Levi-Strauss, Bronislaw Malinowski, after considering customary and "savage" law of Trobriand society, argued that it is impossible to reduce punishment practices to two (or more) ideal types. Commenting on his fieldwork in Melanesia, Malinowski remarks that the principles according to which crime is punished are very vague ...the methods of carrying out retribution are fitful, governed by chance and persona1 passion rather than by any system of fixed institutions. The most important methods, in fact, are a bye-product [sic] of non-legal institutions, customs, arrangements and events such as sorcery and suicide, the power of the chief, magic, the supernatural consequences of taboo and personal acts of vindictiveness. (1926, p. 90 1 Malinowski exhorts his peers to avoid theoretical reductionism, warning his fellow anthropologists of "the danger of ignoring the seamy side of savage law" (1926, p. 121). As opposed ta ontological questions raised by his contemporaries such as "what is the origin of primitive society," Malinowski ernphasizes instead that it is anthropologists' concern to consider " [w]hat makes society run, or what makes society run so smoothly" (Thorton, 1996, p. 253) . "The problem, " delimits Malinowski, "is not to study how human life submits to rules. ..the real problem is how the rules become adapted to life" (1926, p. 127). So that we do not risk losing what Malinowski so aptly characterizes as the "seamy side" of social life, we should not analytically reduce social relations to binary opposites. Stanley Cohen makes this point, noting that the two modes of social control in Levi-Strauss' model,

"inclusion" and "exclusion," are rarely practised exclusively in a given society. "Most societies," says Cohen, "employ both modes of control, constantly oscillating between one and the other" (1985, p. 219). Cohen, as did Malinowski before him, recognizes the dialectic nature of systems of social control. Crime and punishment in "primitive society," for Malinowski, "like everything else in human cultural reality is not a consistent logical scheme, but rather a seething mixture of conf licting principles' (1926, p. 121) . 4.2.3.3 Durkheim The "seamy side" to punishment is evidenced when societal members are confronted by an apparent transgression of normative standards. Emile Durkheim wrote at length in The Division of Labor in Society (1933) on this process, elaborating that strong social feelings are invoked when there is felt by the body social a sense that the shared "conscience collective" is violated. Durkheim insists that significant violations of the moral order invoke a collective response of moral outrage, the reaction proportional to the sentiments attached by group members on the standard breached. [W]hen it is a question of a belief that is dear to us, we do not, and cannot, permit a contrary belief to rear its head with impunity. Every offence directed against it calls forth an emotional reaction, more or less violent, which turns against the of fender. (1933, pp. 97-98) Those breaking social noms trigger an emotional response by members of the moral community. These deeply felt sentiments. for Durkheim, can be appeased only through vengeance. While a thorough overview of Durkheim's functionalism is beyond the scope of this thesis, the distinction Durkheim. (1933) makes between societies bound by either "mechanical" or "organic" solidarity should be noted. "Primitive" societies reflect the former type of social organization. For Durkheim, mechanical solidarity reflects social organization based on kinship networks; families are self- sufficient and the society itself largely homogeneous. Individuals share a common moral code, deviance £rom which invokes a strong, personally felt moral reaction. Sanctions are swift and often violent. Offenders are punished for the sake of punishing. For this reason, Durkheim associates mechanical solidarity with "repressive law." Technically "advanced" societies, on the other band, are associated by Durkheim with increased social stratification. Rather than being linked by kinship networks, members of societies bound by organic solidarity rely on other members to perforrn increasingly specialized occupational functions for the collective group. Values including individual freedorn, rationality, and tolerance are important to members of these heterogenous groups. Law enforcement and infliction of social penalties are delegated to specialized social institutions. Violations continue to evoke an emotional response but the object of administering sanctions is to repair the disruption to the social order rather than to "rightO*a moral "wrong." For this reason Durkheim speaks of legal systems in "advanced" societies as functioning on the basis of "restitutive law." Durkheim's evolutionary model is seriously flawed. One criticisrn is that it does not account for why sorne of the most technologically advanced countries ( i .e ., The United States of America) continue to practice capital punishment . Despite these shortcomings, Durkheim, utilizes his evolutionary model to typify social types and argues that there is a correspondence among social foms and social sanctions. "Advanced" societies develop, according to Durkheim, less brutal ways to administer social penalties because these societies value different principles. Durkheim's point is that social form determines what is important to individuals. The supreme penalty in "advanced societies," valuing such concepts as liberty and freedom, is to impose on a person restrictions on their ability to enjoy such freedoms. However, ultimately for Durkheim, punishments in al1 societies involve the infliction of pain on the individual and thereby function to fulfil a social need for vengeance. The spirit of foresight which has been aroused no longer leaves the field free for the blind action of passion, It contains it within certain limits; it is opposed to absurd violence, to unreasonable ravaging. More clarified, it expends less on chance. One no longer sees it turn against the innocent to satisfy itself. But it nevertheless remains the sou1 of penalty. (Durkheim, 1933, p. 90) Thus, for Durkheim, there is always an irrational or sacred dimension to punishment irrespective of social form. Inflicting social penalties can be considered an expressive mechanisrn by which the social group iterates moral outrage. Moreover, by denouncinq the criminal, moral boundaries are defined or emphasised, differentiating between the morally righteous and the unvirtuous. In doing the work of inflicting punishment, the community provides to its members a dramatic account of what is socially unacceptable and the potential consequences of such social transgressions. For Durkheim, punishment constitutes a symbolic process through which members' statuses within moral communities are either confirmed or denied. As Durkheim points out, "crime brings together upright consciences and concentrates themm (1933, p. 102). Symbolic boundaries, through such processes, are thus realized by societal members. 4.2.3.4 Cohen Punishment, as shown by Durkheim, provides a social mechanism through which the boundaries of moral communities are defined and made available to both members and non members. As Anthony Cohen (1985) describes, this is a symbolic process through which members, by virtue of their accounting practices, differentiate themselves from the rest of the world. Since the boundaries are inherently oppositional, ahost any matter of perceived difference between the community and the outside world can be rendered symbolically as a resource of its boundary. The community can make virtually anything grist to the symbolic mil1 of cultural distance, whether it be the effects upon it of some centrally formulated goverment policy, or a matter of dialect, dress, drinking or dying. The symbolic nature of the opposition means that people can "think themselves into difference". The boundaries are essentially in the contrivance of distinctive meanings within the community's social discourse. They provide people with a referent for their persona1 identities. Having done so, they are then themselves expressed and reinforced through the presentation of those identities in social life. (p.

Cohen accentuates here the essential dynarnics of boundary construction, We shall consider three points Cohen raises which are foundational to this process. Firs t, argues that these social conventions, although oppositional, reflect not an objective reality but rather the outcome social process of the group. Second, Cohen notes that as social constructions, there is an unlimited virtual toolbox of social markers and meanings which can be utilized by members in the boundary making process. Third, and most important for our purposes here, it is through this process of expressing these social boundaries, making such limits available to members in their social contexts, that "identities" are formed and realizede2 Hence, these social resources are accessible to both the individual and the group. This point is the nexus of particular persons and aggregates of rnembers; it is this site at which social structure is realized, the point at which the individual and the social group merge. This social location is significant in that it makes available to members and social scientists the processes by which the individual and the group coalesce. These social moments are inherently social situations. psychological states (i. e ., "feelings") and shared sentiments of the group (Durkheim' s "conscience collective") are not available as resources for making sense of a given social situation. On the other hand, accounts, whether individual or collective, provide a vehicle with which to make available to members such symbolic capital. These accounts may make reference to psychological and/or shared group states. That a social context appears organized and sensible is not because of the objective "reality" of orderliness and sensibility but is rather an attribute members of that setting confer on their context. Order (or chaos) exists because rnembers make order (or chaos) available in that context. As ethnomethodologists advocate, order in social setting is conferred as a practical activity by members in those contexts. Garfinkel considers al1 social settings as self-organizing with respect to the intelligible character of its own appearances as either representations of or as evidences-of-a-social-order. Any setting organizes its activities to make its properties as an organized environment of practical activities detectable, countable, recordable, reportable, tell-a-story-aboutable, analyzable - in short, accountable. (1967, p. 33, emphasis in original) Garfinkel's concern is with the practical rnethods used by members in their own contexts to make sense of their experience of social order. 4.2.4 VenalityN As a wTotal Social FactM David Garland (1990), in an ambitious atternpt to develop a general social theory of punishment, speaks of "penality" in tems of one aspect of the social processes for boundary construction and maintenance. For Garland, [a]t once an element of social organization, an aspect of social relations, and an ingredient of individual psychology, penalty runs like a connecting thread through al1 the layers of social structure, connecting the general with the particular, the centre with its boundaries. (1990, p. 287) Penality is for Garland what Marcel Mauss (1990) understands to be a "total social fact." In his study of reciprocity, Mauss concludes that certain social events such as gift exchange in some societies represent a special and al1 encompassing "social fact ." Notes Mauss, in certain cases they involve the totality of society and its institutions (potlatch, clans confronting one another, tribes visiting one another, etc.) , and in other cases only a very large number of institutions, particularly when these exchanges and contracts rather concern the individual. Ail these phenomena are at the same time juridical, economic, religious, and even aesthetic and morphological, etc. (1990, pp. 78-79) Mauss proposes the study of "total social facts" in context; moving frorn the general social relations to situated social action. Yt is by considering the whole entity that we could perceive what is essential, the way everything rnoves, the living aspect, the fleeting moment when society, or men, become sentimentally aware of themselves and of their situation in relation to others (1990, p. 80). Mauss correctly concludes that social structure is to be found in the dynamic activities of social relations rather than in individual institutions and that it is these aspects in which our investigation must be grounded. This does, however, present, a certain methodological problem given the ethnographeres desire to translate dynamic action-in-process to written words on a page. A problem ethnomethodologists attempt to resolve. An example will be provided in the following section to illustrate how inmates themselves go 120 about the problem of attempting to resolve these weighty issues philosophers explore. -4.3 Criminal-Talk: mWe're ALI Criminals" Here The following transcript was developed from notes taken subsequent to a conversation between myself and two imate library workers. The discussion took place in the "new" inmate library and opens with a request being made to me to obtain a radio for the inmate workers. These two inmates had raised the topic previously, suggesting to me that a radio would relieve them of the boredom associated with those periods they were expected to staff the library after they had fulfilled al1 of their other work requirements. The conversation shifted topic0 the interlocutors entering into a different discussion of what constitutes a criminal. Conversation Segment 4-1

Hey, how 'bout you get us a radio. 1 don't have a radio to give you guys. There was a radio in the old library. Why don't you give us that one? Yeah, but it was in the office. There's no office here to put it in. Wef11 just put it in here. Talk to [staff memberl He won*t give it to us. Sorry, 1 canrt give you a radio. He doesn' t trust us with a radio. Don' t you know, WeOre al1 criminals. We might do something bad with it. 1% not a criminal, Irm in here for drunk driving. Inmate 2 Still a criminal. Inrnate 1 Criminally negligent , yeah, but Irmnot a criminal. Well, I'm a drug dealer, 1 m a criminal. 1 have a drinking problem. Yourre still a criminal. 4.3.1 The Discussion: An Overview 1 was reluctant to Say outright that 1 was unprepared to provide them with a radio. Instead of directly saying "no" to th-, 1 attempted to avoid the issue (see lines 2, 5-6, & 8). In line 9 1 refer the inmates to a prison staff member. Inmate 2 recognizes that this staff member would not allow them to have a radio. 1 then Say in line 10 that 1 am not in a position to do so either. At this point a new topic was introduced. Inmate 2 accounts for my unwillingness to provide them with a radio, 1 do not trust him. 4.3.2 The Institutional Accamplishment of Trust In practical terms, these individuals are not "trustworthy" enough to be allowed access to a radio. This is not meant to be ironic. Prisoners are deprived of material goods and services unincarcerated persons generally take for granted. Indeed, Sykes identifies such deprivation as one of the fundamental "pains of imprisonment" (1958). Inmates are allowed access only to a limited number of specified rnaterial items and this is not infrequently done under controlled conditions. For example, inmates at this prison are permitted to use knives and scissors but only under the supervision of a staff member in the Hobby Room. These institutional rules are, of course, subject to negotiation. The first ten lines of the above conversation segment represent an attempt by these inmates to renegotiate such rules. Imate 2 demonstrates his awareness that it was within my means to provide him with a radio. 1 made it clear to the participants that 1 was unwilling to do so. It should be noted that a "successful" negotiation, which in this case would have occurred if the inmate had succeeded to convince me to provide him with a radio, does not necessarily mean that the negotiated consequence would be permanent. A radio would likely be considered ontr rab and^^ by other staff members, necessitating subsequent negotiations on the part of the inmates. A practical manner in which inmates deal which such dilemmas is to account for the possession of contraband by saying that "so and so said I could have it ." Of course, this practice does not always lead to success. 4.3.3 Becoming An Inmate: Stages in S"cio-legal Processing It is significant that Inmate 2 does not refer to himself and his peers as "inmates" but rather as cri min al^.^^ From a formal perspective, these social labels are assigned by the criminal justice establishment, but, as social resources, they are available to anyone wishing to make use of them. We shall consider first how the criminal justice systern officially assigns these labels. People are conferred the social status of "criminal" having successfully completed a number of stages of socio-legal processing. Two related points should be raised at this tirne. First, as Aaron Cicourel (1995) shows in his study of the identification and processing of "juvenile delinquents," the "official" account of criminal processing does not indicate that each stage reflects a number of practical decisions based on tacit knowledge made by mernbers in their settings. Cicourel urges researchers to consider not just official versions of criminal justice processing, but to view how police and probation officers corne to recognize juvenile activities...as relevant to their circumstances of work, how these officials become orientated to a course of action, and how they organize the behaviour in a way that is assumed to be consistent with an imagined appropriate course of action that others in law enforcement and the courts can recognize as meaningful. (p. xvii) Such an approach reveals that each stage of the criminal justice system involves a complicated interactional process by which members chose between different courses of action. This brings us to our second point. That is that as an outcome of membersr decisions, persons may leave the system at any point in the. For example, someone may be suspected by the police as of -having committed a criminal offense but not be formally charged. Similarly, the courts are granted considerable latitude. Consider Section 736 (1) of the Criminal Code (1992). Where an accused, other than a corporation, pleads guilty or is found guilty of an offence, other than an offence for which a minimum penalty is prescribed by law or an offence punishable, in the proceedings commenced against him, by imprisonment for fourteen years or for life, the court before which he appears may, if it considers it to be in the best interests of the accused and not contrary to the public interest, instead of convicting the accused, by order direct that the accused be discharged absolutely or on the conditions prescribed in a probation order. Although courts, as the law above demonstrates, are afforded considerable flexibility in administering 'justice," we shall consider how the criminal justice system works from a formal perspective. 4.3.3.1 Stages 1 & 2: Arrest and Detention The process begins with the po 1ice f irst identifying and later charging an individual with a criminal offense. The presumption is made that the individual has comaitted a certain act in violation of Canadian law. Although charged with such an offense, he or she is considered innocent of the crime until either (a) pleading or (b) proven guilty of the offense in a court of law. The judicial axiom of "innocent until proven guilty" has Little practical consequence for some persons charged with a criminal offense. The Criminal Code (1992, S 515) provides a mechanisrn whereby a person can be detained in custody pending trial. Although not having (a) plead or (b) been found guilty of a criminal offense, this personrs freedom is, nevertheless, denied. The Criminal Code defines such a person as simply "the accused." 4.3.3.2 Stages 3 and 4: Trial and Conviction The trial is the third stage of the criminal justice process. There are three possible outcomes. First, the suspect may be found innocent. The two other outcomes, the first of which is the fourth stage of the criminal procedure process, involves guilt being either proclaimed by the suspect or detedned by the court. It is at this point that the private citizen is assigned the social label of

"criminal. "3 4.3.3.3 Stages 5 & 6: Sentencinq and Going to Prison Some form of penalty is assessed by the court as the fifth stage.4 If a term of incarceration has been assigned, the sixth stage of processing involves a period of imprisonment. The seventh and final step involves the ultimate release of the offender into the c~mmunity.~We can represent this official process in the form of a flow chart as illustrated below. suspected offender 1 charged offender 1 tried offender 1 convicted offender 1 sentenced offender I detained offender I released offender

As noted above, the label "criminal" is assigned at the fourth stage, when the inductee has either pleaded or was found to be guilty and is convicted of the offense. If this person is subsequently given a prison or penitentiary sentence, he or she, upon admission to that institution, is socially designated an "inmate" or "prisoner. '' He or she will be addressed in the forrn, for example, as "Inmate Smith." The inmate retains his or her criminal status but within the institution is referred to as either an inmate or a prisoner. 4.3.4 Becoming a Prisoner and Time There is a temporal dimension to such processing. This procedure typically involves the inductee being transformed irom a citizen in good standing in the community to the social role of an incarcerated inmate. As pointed out above, although a person may leave the process at any point, this procedure, should it be carried out, imposes a unilinear temporal framework. We can represent this process as follows. free citizen +3 suspected of fender + convicted criminal I) inmate 4-3.5 Criminals, Inmates and Tims Sequence Returning now to Conversation Segment 4-1, it has been noted above that Inmate 2 defines himself and his peers as "crFminals" as opposed to "inmates." This is not to Say that he is rejecting the imposed designation of inmate. Bis status as inmate is obvious to al1 members within this context. He makes this demonstrability relevant by acknowledging that his status is different than mine. 1 have access to commodities outside his reach. In def ining himself a criminal, Inmate 2 accounts for his status as an inmate. By utilizing this label, he refers to the judicial processing system by which he was convicted and deemed to be a criminal. Rather than defining himself and his peers in terms of their present circumstance, however, he makes reference to a social event that occurred in the past. This reflects the tacit knowledge that al1 inmates have been processed in a similar manner. Convicted of some alleged event, their status as inmates is legitimized. Inmate 2, in line 14, then shifts the conversation to the immediate future. He accounts for why I refuse to provide him with a radio in tems of what future use he might make of it. In that he was deemed in the past to have committed a "bad" act, he makes the inference that 1 would ground rny projection of his future behaviour in tems of his previous "deviant" act. The moral axiom made available here is 'once a thief, always a thief." The other inmate involved in this exchange rejects the criminal designation. Although sentenced to prison, he clairns that operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated is insufficient grounds to designate him a criminal.

the future. "Recovery," a future event, is possible for those desiring sobriety through the specialized social support offered by the AA program, Inmate 1 would seem to be making use of these Alcoholic Anonymous narratives. We can infer from his own account that he both (a) was and (b) is an alcoholic. This explains why he was found to be "criminally negligent." In his account, his medical "problemt' relieves him of culpability for the act. It is noteworthy, but consistent with AA member life stories, that Inmate 1 uses a present state (alcoholism) to account for previous action that resulted in his present condition (incarceration), What is demonstrated in this account is both the plasticity and utility of the in the prison context. In accounting for the present, these inmates shift to both the past and the future. Previous events are used to account for both their present status and potential interpretations of their future behaviour. Time is utilized as a resource with which to make sense of the present in tems of the past. Moreover, both the past and present can be used to account for future social relations. Another feature of this conversation segment is the attenpt by Inmate 2 to define al1 inmates as criminals. Inmate 1 rejects this proposition by countering that his condition is induced by his alcoholic condition. These inmate accounts also reveal a sophisticated understanding of the process of the criminal justice system and its unidirectional temporal framework. This system is assumed by al1 members of this context to be self-evident. As Inmate 2 argues, "wey re al1 criminals here." 4.3.7 Teenagers-With-Problems Talk Many of the same features of Conversation Segment 4-1 are found in a recording made by Harvey Sacks of four teenage males in a group counselling session. A transcript of this conversation was provided to Sackrs conversation analysis class as a handout during his Fa11 lectures of 1965 and has been subject to reanalysis . A new m&er (jb)bas jointed the group and is, as Schenkein (1978) puts it, "socialized" as a member of the teenager-males-with-troubles therapy group. We shall first refer to Schenkeinrs transcript. 97 Al: Now let's see what else we can decide about you. 98 Roger: HeY 99 donrt tear him dom 100 Al: Werre - Okay. 101 ( ): ( (sniff) ) 102 Ken: (hh) I've been torn dom for ( 1 - 103 Al: (Itrs time to throw him out) . 104 Roger: We got company hhh 105 Ai: (hh) Oh. Okay. 106 ( 1: (Hey wait) hhhh ( ( loud whisper ) ) 107 Al: ri. Tell us al1 about yourself so we can 108 find something bad about you. 109 Ken: Yes, hurry up. 110 Roger Well first of al1 yrmust be crazy or y' wouldn' t 111 be here. 112 Jim: Ehheh heh hh 113 Jim: (Yeah, that's how it goes), 114 Al: Secondly you must be an underachiever, 115 Jim: Yeah, 116 Roger: You hate cher mom anr dad huh. 117 Jim: Mh, oh sometimes. 118 Al: -Third of all, 119 Al: Fourth you like to drive cars fast, 120 Ken: See- 121 Jim: Yeah. 122 Al: Fifth you like to ta- you like uh wild times, 123 Jim: Mm hm 124 Ken: He smokes like me. See? Al: Sixth you like booze, Jim: Huh? Yeah, Al: Seven you like tuh smoke, (Jim): (m hm) Roger : And seven youf ve been arrested fprape and other things Al: Eight you- 1: Hhehh Jh: No not mat. Al: Ei:ght you- Jim: (Think thatps a little ta (hh)11) . Ken : Hehh h eh Aïr Eight you uhm give lip back tpeverybody. Jim: Yeah. AL: Ni: :ne, you uh: : cut classes, Jim: Yeah, Al: Ten, youpve been kicked outa school once, Jin: Yeah? IU: Eleven, uh: : mhhhhh hunhhh! hhh heh heh Roger : We8re doing better'n he is. Baha hh hehh Al: Hehh he Schenkein, 1978, pp. 279-280' This conversation segment is rich in discursive details. Our interest will be restricted to a discussion of how Jim is socialized as a group member and the temporal dimensions involved in this process. What is significant here is that Jim "does not proceed to tell al1 about himself (whatever that might consist of) but some of the others begin to construct a list of his circumstances for hirn" (Schenkein, 1978, p. 293) . We see in the transcript the members of the group involved in the practical and necessary matters of defining limits of and for membership. Taken-for-granted assumptions of what teenage-males-with-troubles do are made available as resources for the group members. Moreover, as this is a "therapyffgroup, the context necessitates that members articulate these concerns as "problems." The therapeutic process necessitates disclosure of such circumstance. As with the two inmates in conversation segment 4-1, these interlocutors are likewise engaged in the group process of defining themselves in conversation as specific types of people. In both conversation segments one of the participants rejects a definition. Inmate 1 in conversation segment 4-1 denies that he is a criminal whereas Jim does not agree when Roger accuses him of rape (line 129) . Whereas Inmate 1 extends an account as to why he should not be considered criminal, it would seem that it is not necessary for Jim to do the same. One of the other participants in the discussion, Jim, interjects "thatrs a little tall" (line 135), thereby establishing that within this moral community rape is outside of the boundaries of what "normal" teenagers-with-troubles do.' We can compare the two conversation segments in respect to temporal patterns. The time references made by the teenage males are generally in the present (or immediate past) . Jim "must be crazy. . .an underachiever. . .. [and] like to drive cars fast." Only twice is specific reference made to past events. However, both of these events (arrest and suspension from school) Fnvolve external agencies and can, therefore, be considered significant. While most of the talk involves identifying activities teenage-males-with- troubles "like" to do, Jimr s apparently involuntary presence in a therapeutic setting indicates that some action precipitated someone in an official capacity designating him as a teenage-male-with-troubles-in-need-of-therapy. At a later point in the conversation it is indicated that a perquisite for membership in this particular group is having been suspended from school. We return to the transcript. 173 Ken: Have you been kicked out of school? 174 Al: You wouldnrt be in this group if you didn' t . 175 Jim: Yeah . Schenkein, 1978, p. 281, emphasis in original The linear progression: suspension from school + therapy session is viewed by the members as a sensible event. Within the therapeutic conmiunity, it is expected that members conduct themselves in certain ways. The members are "on-stage" throughout the therapy session. Their audience, Dan, the therapist, is, presumably, authorized to determine at what point the participants effect a "cure." Collaboration during the two hour therapy session is necessary to achieve that future event, Le., to be able to move from being a teenage-male-with-troubles to simply being a teenage-male. What is revealing about this process is, as Schenkein indicates, the "organizational details of the encounter through its refection of an attitude patients collaborate to assume towards their cornmon condition." (1979, p. 296) By successfully projecting a particular attitude, these teenagers may at some point in the future be no longer considered teenagers-in-trouble. It is not ironic, however, that in order to secure that future state they must first demonstrate that they are in the present exactly that (teenagers-in-trouble) . 4.3.8 Rehabilitation Talk Shortly after the discussion transcribed in Conversation Segment 4-1, the inmate who had rejected the criminal label engaged in the following discussion with me. There was no one else present at the the. Conversation Segment 4-2 They donrt do anything in here to rehabilitate a guy. What'da ya mean? You know . Rehabilitate ya. 1 keep gettin' sent back for drunk driving . They donrt do anything to help me with my problems. Well (1 like they do have AA and stuff like that. It doesnrt help me. The shrink put me on Prozac a few months ago . Irm better with it. But they*re still not helping me deal with my drinking problem. 1 don' t know. 1 don't want to keep coming back. It's like I'm just out and then driving some car again pissed and then I'm back in. 1 havenrt seen you in here before. My last bit was in the Pen. [x] years for impaired driving causing bodily harm. That's a long stretch. No kidding . And like the person 1 hit wasn*t even hurt that bad. Only broke [her/his] [ 1 -bone . Were you in [name of federal penitentiaryIf? Yeah. For [x] years. They didn't help me with my drinking problem. Just like they're not helping me here. We can note several important features of this conversation. First is the inmate's assertion that the objective of prison should be to rehabilitate the offender. Prisons should, at least for "non-criminals," effect a change on inmates in order to allow them to reintegrate into their communities. Inmate 1 claims that prisons exist solely to temporarily expel people from their communities and offers persona1 evidence as to why this approach to crime control is illogical. Our second observation, which is related to the first point, is that as with Conversation Segment 4-1, this transcript too denotes the plasticity of the. Inmate 1's past and present medical condition (alcoholism) warrants a certain intervention strategy (treatment) in order to prevent future deviant behaviour . The third point is that although Inmate 1 does not reject the notion that incarceration is in itself an appropriate response to operating a motor vehicle while impaired and causing bodily injury, he indicates in lines 18-22 that in his perspective there should be a correlation between the suffering of the victim and the perpetrator of the offense. His point is that after his victim healed, he had to remain in a penitentiary. While in this case he acknowledges that punishment as retribution is sound social policy, he considers that the degree of suffering should be equal. In other words, he agrees with the Biblical principle of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." 4.3.9 Wust Desertsu Most inmates 1 interacted with, as with the teenagers- with-troubles, did not reject the sequence of events that resulted in them being subject to intervention (confinement in prison or mandatory attendance at counselling sessions). As seen in the following conversation segment, past delinquent action was used to account for present and future conditions. Conversation Segment 4-3

I Inmate 2 Hey, Steve, you must getting out pretty soon. 2 Inmate 3 Yeah. Couple of weeks. Inmate 2 Putting in for a pre-release? Inmate 3 Naw. No way would they grant it. Irve beat up too many cops. No pre-release for me. Inmate 2 At least you're getting out in two weeks . Two points are worth noting at this point. First, an everyday concern of inmates is who will be soon released. Inmediate future events such as persons leaving the space and tirne of the prison are a regular feature of inmate talk. Second, we can see one method how time enters into prisoner talk. Previous action is used to account for present conditions. Inmate 3% account demonstrates that under the circumstances (a history of "cop-beating"), it is reasonable and expected that he would be denied a pre-release. This makes sense to him given that he will not initiate the pre- release application process. 9 -4.4 summary A number of themes weave in and out of the text above. Foremost is that the is an integral feature of prison life. Persons who find themselves involuntary members of prison must find new ways of making sense of their situation. They must make accountable both their status as a member of the prison context and the doing of time. NOTES 1. "Culture" is very much a loaded term; accordingly, the word holds different meanings for different people. There is a tendency within the social sciences to reify culture. For example, John Hall, in The Blackwell Dictionary of Twentieth-Century Social Though t, deiines two roles for culture. According to Hall culture provides humans with (a) meaning (through a shared history of organized religion) and (b) rules for social action (1993, p. 129) . On a similar but somewhat expanded theme, Clifford Geertz considers that " [cl ulture is the fabric of meaning in tems of which hman beings interpret their experience and guide their actions" (1973, p. 145) . Culture has to do therefore, both for Hall and Geertz, with (a) individuals' apparatus for sense-making and (b) collective rules governing individual action. Berger and Luckmann, on the other hand, intentionally avoid the use of the word culture. They speak instead of the "objective social world" which for them is a reified world. rn fil]eification, rn Say Berger and Luckmann (1966, p. 89), Iris the apprehension of the products of human activity as if they were something else than human products - such as facts of nature, results of cosmic laws, or manifestations of divine will. Ir Whether we speak of "culture" or the "objective social world," we are in effect addressing phenomenon which, although presents itself as reality, is in £act an artifact of human processes. The problem with definitions of culture such as Hall's and Geertz' is that when we (whether social analysts or laypersons living our everyday lives) speak of "culture" we forget that what is under consideration is a human construct. Within the context of the prison a subject of longstanding debate has been whether or not there exist one or more distinct prison culture (s). 2. We do not wish to succumb to the error of psychological reductionism by using the expression "identities." The term is used here to denote features of interna1 states members make available to others within their context. 3. Notwithstanding, of course, application of the provision of Section 736(1) of the Criminal Code (1992).

4. In an important article on "status degradation ceremonies," Garfinkel (1956) outlines the conditions that must be satisfied to successfully accomplish public rituals such as courtroom dramas. Garfinkel's point is that these social activities involve a great deal of social work that must be properly managed to achieve the desired effect. 5. Most inmates do eventually gain their release from prison, even the so-called "lifersgfwho are under a life sentence. 6. It is an assumption on rny part that Irimate 2 refers in line 20 to his occupational pursuits prior to his incarceration. While it is possible that this utterance reflects that he was engaged in the sale of drugs in the present (within the institution), it is extremely unlikely that he would have made such a clah in my presence. 7. Schenkein (1979, p. 302) notes that Gai1 Jefferson transcribed this conversation from Sackfs tapes. Sacks provides another transcription of the same conversation material (1992a, pp. 137-138) . JeffersonFs version has been included because it provides greater transcriptional detail. 8. General population inmates exclude rapists ("skinners") from their moral comunity. Criminal activities such as assaulting males, theft, trafficking in narcotics, and robbery are the acceptable "troublesffthat may result in a arrest, conviction, and incarceration.

9. One might dispute rny interpretation by raising the plausible argument that Inrnate 3 dld not apply for a pre- release to avoid the psychological pain of his application being denied. 1 know of no way to determine if this was actually the case. Inmates seemed to be extremely realistic about the possibility of obtaining early release. CHAPTER FIVE: GETTING INTO THE FIELD -5.1 Doing Research: %etting Inw While the previous chapters of the thesis have been largely theoretical, this chapter's concesn is the pragmatic details of doing fieldwork. 1 outline here (a) how 1 obtained entry to the prison, (b) the method in which 1 investigated time-talk, and the process of using these data to develop a thesis. 1 take this opportunity to remark on two related topics, the notion of "trust" and my role as a CO-menber in the prison context. 5.1.1 Access to the Prison Context Except through the sequential process of trial, conviction, and sentence of imprisonment, it is difficult to obtain access to prisons. Entry in my case was accomplished by volunteering to assist the Recreation Department at the two provincial prisons where 1 conducted my fieldwork. To ensure both (a) the anonymity of those persons with whom 1 interacted over the duration of my fieldwork and (b) that this thesis does not reveal information which could compromise the safe operation of a penal institution, the names of individuals and the prisons where data were collected will not be specified. Pseudonyms have been substituted for the names of key informants and research sites.' hirther details are inconsequential to the central focus of this thesis. 1 am, however, prepared to discuss the nature of my interaction with members of the prison community. Fieldwork was conducted in two provincial institutions located in one western Canadian pr~vince.~ 5.1. 1.1 "Metro Prison" The majority of data presented in this thesis were gathered at one institution. As the prison is located in or near a major urban city, 1 will refer to this institution in the thesis as "Metro Prison." During the course of my study the prisoners incarcerated at Metro Prison were adult male offenders serving prison sentences. 5.1.1.2 "Coco Prison"

I have conducted fieldwork in both same-sex and CO- correctional prisons. Although the majority of data presented in this thesis emerged frorn my interaction with male inmates at Metro Prison, 1 have also spent approximately five hundred hours at a prison where both women and men are detained. I will cal1 this institution "Coco Prison." One of the six living units at Coco Prison was allocated for the detention of sentenced female offenders. 5.1.2 Prison as Exotica In many ways my situation was not dissimilar to that of those "traditionalrranthropologists who travel and live among peoples of "exotic cultures." The difference, however, is that while they travel to foreign lands, my research was conducted "at home," among members of my own society. Nevertheless, these is an "exotic" element to my fieldwork. Few people, rnuch less social researchers, have interacted with large groups of incarcerated criminals. This situation could of course change if in Canada we were to incarcerate persons with the same degree of enthusiasm evident in the United States (Christie, 1993) . Entering the prison was for me a most unusual experience. Aside from aspects of prison life gleaned from Hollywood movies (most of which misrepresent prisoners and their habitat), the only fact 1 held with certainty about inrnates was that they had to have been convicted of a crirninal offense. Whether al1 offenders are in fact guilty of the offense they allegedly codtted is another natter. While writing this thesis, 1 have followed with great interest the inquiry into Guy Paul Morin's conviction for the murder of his neighbour, Christine Jessop. Morin was acquitted of the charge in 1995 on the basis of evidence obtained by new Dm testing procedures. The inquiry has heard evidence that has raised doubts as to the impartiality of the Ontario Centre for Forensic Sciences as well as the verity of key testimony at Morin's 1992 trial. Guy Paul Morin was incarcerated for approximately eighteen months for a crime the courts now say that he did not commit. While incarcerated, Morin must have experienced great difficulty living in an environment in which he did not belong. 1 too found prison to be a difficult context to enter. Aithough my cornfort level increased over time, 1 never knew entirely what to expect £rom one day to the next. The same holds true, however, for al1 members of the prison. Most authors writing on the prison overstate the predictability and permanence of this context. 5.1.3 Police Checks and Prison Security Gaining access to the prison took an entirely different form for me than the techniques employed by the inmates with whom 1 interacted. Whereas an inmate has 'a record," it was necessary for me to "pass" a clearance check. After the police verified that 1 had no history of criminal activity, initial training was provided by staff members to familiarize me with security procedures. Security for the non-inmate members of the prison community is a constant concern. Multiple precautions are taken to ensure that inmates remain safely inside prisons. Security measures protect the (a) public, (b) prison staff (and other voluntary members of the prison community), and (c) inmates. While 1 am not at liberty to discuss specific details of the security arrangements at the prisons where I conducted research, 1 can address the issue of security from a universal standpoint as it would apply to any 'closeci" or "secure" correctional institutionm3 In that inrnates are detained in prisons against their willf4prisoners do pose certain hazards. Extensive rneasures are implemented to Mnimize such risks. Foremost to prison security is ensuring that nothing is taken inside a prison which could constitute a threat to the safety of persons within the prison. Accordingly, prior to entering the secure area of the prison that prisoners have access to, obj ects generally taken for granted (keys, wallets, pocket- knives, coins, and paper currency, as well as obvious items prohibited in the prison such as drugs) must be locked securely in lockers. Ail persons entering prisons are subject to inspection. A variety of techniques are employed to ensure prohibited items, "contraband8' in the prison vernacular, are not imported, whether by neglect or intent5. Measures taken to prevent the importation of contraband include: (a) frisk or strip searches6 (b) electronic detection devices7 (c) and smell-sensitive dogs. Ai1 persons entering a prison may be required to submit to inspection. A second method of contraband control is the use of inmate 'informantsM who provide intelligence to senior prison staff. Some inmates are willing to participate in such data collection, hoping that their cooperation with prison officiais may rnaterialize in tangible benefits. The "rewards" Vary but range from the most desired goal of early release to the less lucrative, but nevertheless coveted, objectives of a favourable housing or work assignment. It goes without saying that assuming the role of the "snitch" involves certain risks but it would seem that some inmates are able to reconcile these difficulties given that the people on whorn they inform are generally not members of the inmate p~pulation.~ The use of inmate informants is an effective strategy by which to minimize the importation of contraband. As, on the one hand, members of the prison community do not know who is specifically engaged in such foms of espionage but, on the other hand, it is widely known that snitches are employed by the prison to collect information, there is considerable risk in "passing" contraband to inmates. The effectiveness of such procedures is reflected by an assertion made to me by a senior staff member at one institution: 'if you pass stuff to the inmates, sooner or later we'll know, in which case you'll be getting a rnuch closer look at what prison life is like as an inmate." 5.1.4 Trust as a Social Achieveamnt Trust, or more precisely the lack of such, is part of the everyday experience of prison life. Inmates regard other inmates with suspicion. Not surprisingly, the prison staff do not trust inmates. 1 was told by prison staff in no uncertain terms that 1 should never take inmates at their word. Visitors to the prison were also viewed with suspicion. My status in both institutions was always ambiguous. While not myself a prisoner, 1 was not considered to be a staff member either. When asked if 1 would do something on behalf of the inrnates, 1 found myself continuously explaining to them that 1 would have to first obtain permission. "Pm only one step above you guys within the ranks here," 1 would remind them. Even staff mers viewed other prison employees with some trepidation. Anticipating that Correctional Officess would be highly supportive of their peers, I was most surprised to find that in some cases trust would seem to be lacking. Garfinkel argues persuasively that trust reflects not an attitude or disposition but rather the outcome of certain social practices that are constitutive of membersf understanding of their moral order. To Say that one person "trusts" another means that the person seeks to act in such a fashion as to produce through his action or to respect as conditions of play actual events that accord with normative orders of events depicted in the basic rules of play. Alternatively stated, the player takes for granted the basic rules of the game as a definition of his situation, and that means of course as a definition of his relationships to others. (1963, pp. 193-4) Trust, therefore, if it is to be established at all, is something that must be worked at. Trust is not to be taken for granted in any social context. If trust is to be accomplished, it must be achieved. 1 was told by prison staff that it took them long periods of time before they felt cornfortable interacting with new employees. As one staff member said to me, '1 wait five years before I talk to new staff when 1 don' t have t~."~Trust, for this prison staff member, must be accomplished, in some form it must be made recognizable. Irrespective of the capacity one enters this social context, considerable work must be done to establish oneself as a credible member of that community. 1 shall outline below the process in which 1 attempted to achieve that understanding. -5.2 Doing Research: mEeing Therem Having described how 1 obtained access to the prison, 1 now outline my research experience. In the remaining section of this chapter I discuss (a) my role as researcher in the prison setting, (b) the process of data collection, and (c) the process of data analysis and reporting. 5.2.1 The Rasearcher Role A variety of approaches to fieldwork were considered both prior to and during the research project. The discipline of Anthropology, particularly as practised at The University of Calgary, imposes certain requirements and limitations on graduate research, Thesis research here, even at the masters level, always involves a component of fieldwork. In conducting research, the ethnomethodological perspective exacts certain demands as well. Participant observation should be naturalistic, with an emphasis on collectiny and analysing naturally occurring soclal interaction. As ethnomethodologists, our concern is with how members of a context occasion the activity of producing and sustaining their own sense of social action within that setting. From this perspective, questions of the fom Why this .. . ?" - when asked by the researcher - are most inappropriate. Many approaches to qualitative research, such as is advocated by James Spradley (1979, 1980), shifts the research phenomena investigated from the practices of rnembers' everyday lives to the "reality" as defined by the research pro ject . To overcome this limitation I considered it necessary to integrate myself as fully as possible as a member of the prison community. As a volunteer of two prison Recreation Departments, 1 enjoyed close access to both prison inmates and correctional staff over the five years that I have had access to prisons. 1 first entered the field in the fa11 of 1992, 1 estimate that since that time 1 have spent the equivalent of one and one-half working years (based on a forty hour workweek) in prison. Fieldwork was normally done on weekends. As discussed in Chapter Six, Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays, can be differentiated in prison from weekdays in that inmates do have occasion during these periods to exercise choice over their schedule. Special recreational programming was provided to inmates on haliday weekends. During these periods my interaction with inmates took on a variety of forms, assisting with activities including inmate "BingoM games, "tournaments, " and "socials ." While "in the field" 1 had unrestricted access to inmates in the contexts in which they talk about time. Using Recreation Departments as prison "gatekeepers," 1 was able as a researcher to become a member of the prison community. My assignments varied depending upon staff demands and institutional needs. My primary duty was responsibility for the Inrnate Library. My tasks there included (a) supervising inmate assistants, (b) cataloguing, repairing, and collecting books, (c) and assisting inmates with their library needs. Other assignments included assisting and supervising inmates in recreational areas including the gymnasium and hobby roorn. Summer activities included taking part in "sportsfield." The prison sportsfield is a fenced exterior recreational area. Access to the prison provided an opportunity for me to interact with inmates within their own setting, including recreational areas and most other sections of the prison. For example, 1 was allowed entry to the inmate housing (living "units"). While engaged in the activity of collecting books, I was able to meet inmates in their

"dormitories" and prison "cells ." 1 presented myself to the inmates in a dual capacity, as both a University Researcher with an interest in prisonersB talk about time and a volunteer member of the Recreation Department. It should be noted, however, that this dual status placed me in what was at times an ambiguous situation. It was clearly evident to al1 members of the prison (both inmates and staff) that 1 was not an inmate. However, in that 1 was not an employee of the prison, my intentions were always subject to question. Many inmates and prison staff members assumed that my involvement in the prison community was intended so that 1 could obtain employment at the prison. Although 1 took great effort to explicitly state that I was not seeking a position within a corrections department, many members of this context indicated in no uncertain terms that they doubted that anyone would engage in such a project as an academic exercise. While I am confident that 1 was able to explain to these people the methods and aims of applied social research, 1 was far less successful in convincing informants that these goals are more important to the graduate student than obtaining full-the empl~yment.'~ Another social scientist might conclude £rom this that the orientation of both prison inmates and staff is far more instrumental that idealistic. Rather than defining what these expressions mean using the jargon of social scientist, I will report as an ethnomethodologist that within the natural attitude of both inmates and prison staff, it is expected for one to enter prison either as an (a) inmate, (b) paid employee, or (c) religious volunteer. As I did not fit into any one of these common-sense schemata, I was placed in a fourth, ambiguous category." In other words, although my informants were aware of my intentions, it was evident to me that they did not place the same value on social research that does a student of the human sciences. This is not, however, very surprising. The people with whom 1 interacted in prison were fully engaged in the business of being "inmates" or "guards ." And it was, of course, this phenomenon that 1 was interested in observing. But it must be ernphasized that while 1 was engaged in the academic exercise of attempting to discover the methods members of this context use ta make sense of the phenomenon of the in their everyday lives, they, concurrently, attempted to use the practical categories mentioned above to make sense of me. 5.2.2 Data Collection Having been (a) granted access to the prison context and (b) provided the opportunity to assume a role as both a member and researcher within that setting, I was able to observe prisoners engaging in time-talk using naturalistic research techniques. By this I mean that the conversations in which 1 took part were available to anyone who was in that context. 1 was recognized by members of the prison community as both a CO-member a researcher and frequently participated in their discussions. 1 did not conduct interviews, surveys, or otherwise "coach" my informants. Although 1 considered the possibility, 1 did not initiate with inmates time-talk in order to enhance the data collection process. My participation was instead informed by the sensitivity of being a member of the context and generally in response to interaction initiated by one or more inmates. While 1 was in a position to have led these discussions (indeed, the people 1 interacted with knew that inmates' talk about time was the subject of my research interest), 1 elected instead to allow these conversations to flow spontaneously. Incorporating a data collection technique recommended by my supervisor, as soon as possible after a conversation involving inmate the-talk, 1 transcribed the conversation from memory ont0 paper. 1 found with practice I became highly accomplished at memorizing specific details of these conversations. This method of data collection was less awkward than one might anticipate given that (a) my field of interest was narrowly defined as inmate time-talk, (b) 1 had access to "quiet" locations in which to write notes, and (c) the conversations 1 listened to were brief. A limitation to the data collection process was that there were contexts which would have proven significant that 1 either lacked access to or deliberately avoided. Two examples are given to illustrate this point. Consider first the talk among inmates in a shared domitory space at night. Although 1 was told by inmates that the-talk was an important component of such conversations, 1 did not have access to such discussions. This talk took place only among inmates. These discussions could only be reconstructed after the fact by one or more inmates. A second instance in which the-talk is occasioned are the discussions between inmates and their prison caseworkers. Given that these discussions involve an exploration of the inmatefs past, planning for the present (while in prison), and future .plans (post-release), these sessions are grounded in the. Although these interviews would have provided a wealth of information, 1 excluded them from research for three reasons. Foremost is the ethical issue of confidentially. In these sessions the participants discuss very intimate details of their families, crimes, and persona1 lives. Although sociologically interesting, listening to and transcribing such data would represent an intrusion into very private domains of an inmate' s life . My second reason for not considering these sessions is that they are not representative of spontaneous tirne-talk. Temporality is the topic of these discussions rather than an outcorne. Finally, and related to this second point, is that 1 found in both discussion with inmates and my literature review (i.e,, Ivanoff, Blythe, and Tripodi, 1994, Chapter 5) that there is an established and taken-for-granted structure for these inmate-caseworker discussions. During these talks the inmate is expected to (a) express remorse for the crime committed and (b) agree to participate in "programming" within the institution to deal with what are "agreed" to be the "root causes" of the inmate's crime(s). For example, if drugs or alcohol were involved in the commission of the offense, plans would likely be established for the inmate to enroll in a substance abuse program. A similar approach is taken to plan for the imatefs future after prison. Once the factors considered to have contributed to the offense are identified, a strategy is developed so that the inmate may minimize the likelihood of a reoccurrence of such events . While al1 of this is extremely interesting and would provide a fascinating examination of inmate-caseworker interaction, the point remains that the temporal components of these discussions reflect the basic strategy of what many social scientists would cal1 (a) "confession" and (bl 'risk- reduction." Caseworker recommendations carry considerable weight for the assessrnent of inmates' suitability for early release. Accordinglyf inmates are responsive ta what is expected of them in talking with their caseworkers. The temporal frameworks of these interviews reflect more what the caseworker is supposed to hear. As such, it is an important organizing temporal component of the prison but one that will have to remain unexamined at this tirne. 5.2.3 Limitations of Reaearch Methodology "Anthropologists are their own worst critics of the ethnographic methodO' (Sanjek, 1990, p. 393) . Not surprisingly, 'goodn social science recognizes and makes explicit its limitations. In this section 1 address two general areas in which my research may be rightly criticized. 1 outline first the problem of transcribing natural occurring laquage £rom memory. A discussion of the selective use of data follows. Most conversation analysts transcribe conversational materials from tape recordings. Using a tape recorder in the prisons where 1 conducted my research was not possible. Segments of conversations were instead transcribed from memory. This presents two problems. First, beyond any question, useful data was lost. This is a widespread problem in doing fieldwork that we can reduce through technology. On the other hand, the use of tape and/or video recorders is not always possible nor appropriate. In these circumstances, if the research is to proceed, less precise methods must be utilized. This brings us to the second problern, the verisirnilitude of my transcripts. Their accuracy is dependent upon my ability to recall talk verbatirn, a competency that can be developed. Researchers "can train themselves to improve recall" (Hammersley and Atkinson, 1995, p. 176) . The conversations that I was particularly interested in were those involving the topic of time. With practice, 1 found my proficiency to both identify these discussions and memorize that portion of the conversation involving tirne-talk improved. A second general area of criticism involves rny selection of conversational materials to be presented in the thesis. Inevitably, there were in the prisons 1 studied many settings in which the-talk occurred that I was not able to observe. It would be worthwhile to investigate if tirne-talk varies in different contexts within the prison. However, as Sanjek notes, "fieldwork involves a series of choicesn (1990, p. 395) . 1 made a choice early in the research process to limit data collection to interaction of inmates in specific areas of the prison. A criticism may be raised as well that my use of specific conversational materials was self-serving. The-talk is pervasive in the prison. More conversational materials were collected than could be included in the thesis. This leaves me open to the charge of omitting data contradictory to the thesis. Al1 social scientists stand accused of this charge. Would the excluded conversational materials have weakened rny argument? No. While these materials would have augmented the ways demonstrated by inmates in the doing of time, the ethnomethodologist recognizes these practices to be mere fragments of a series of "endless, ongoing, contingent accomplishment [s]" by rnembers (Garfinkel, 1967, p. 1) . The point is that al1 of these practices are "observable-and- reportable" and therefore available for analysis by members and social scientists. This thesis does not daim to be a definitive "guide0' of doing the (in or out of prison) . The intent is rather to bring to investigation some of these practices. -5.3 After Fieldwork: Analyeicl and Repoxting Writing a thesis for the graduate student is undoubtedly the most difficult component of the research process. Having conducted an extensive literature review, the student by this point is familiar with the shortcomings of the work in both the chosen substantive and theoretical areas. Nevertheless, these problems can have negative effect on the studentrs work. While, on the one hand, one does not want to fumble in the same or similax ways, on the other hand, academic protocol necessitates one to link one's research with the recognized research within ones' field. Considerable compromise is necessary ta integrate one's own work with the established literature. Not only does one have to make sense of this corpus of research but it is also necessaxy to demonstrate the similarities and differences between oners own work and that of others. As mentioned above, I collected through the method of participant observation transcripts of inmates engaged in time-talk. In Chapter Six, the fieldwork section of this thesis, selected conversation segments are presented within the framework of an ethnographie account of these utterances taking place. I attempt through ethnography to provide a context for the conversation for two reasons. First, assuming that my reader is unfamiliar with what can loosely be defined as "prison culture," through ethnography I attempt to ground the chosen conversation segments within the interpretive schema used by rnernbexs of the prison. Second, 1 endeavour at this stage in rny work to couple rny observations with the research in the prison literature. While 1 acknowledge that the text of this thesis is not by any means a mirror representation of the prison, 1 argue that my reports of the making sense of tirne by imates in the prison at the very least approximates the way involuntary members of this context make sense of the themselves. Ethnomethodology enables me to demonstrate the methods these people use to accomplish the. It is my daim that if shed of the social science jargon, inmates will recognize not themselves in my work but rather the ways in which they as members of the prison do time.I2 It is this "reality" that I report in my conclusion. 1 add these prisoners' accomplishments in doing the to those calling for a reworking of temporal theory. NOTES 1. "Key informantsffwere those individuals whose talk has been included in this thesis. Although (a) my access to these data was no different than anyone in the setting, (b) al1 talk was naturally occurring, and (c) 1 did not tape- record conversations, 1 did make use of the procedure of verbally obtaining "informed consent. " Inf ormants were apprised of both the topic and purpose of my research project, advised that they were under no obligation to talk with me, could discontinue their participation at anytime, and assured that anonymity would be provided through the use of pseudonyms. As to the question of confidentially, 1 advised infamants that 1 was interested only in naturally occurring conversation that they did not consider to include information they considered confidential. Although inmates did engage in "private conversations," 1 made no attempt to participate in such talks. The conversations reported in this these were public and open to anyone in that context.

2. I mean by "western" the three provinces of British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan. 3. The distinction between (a) "secure" or "closedffand (b) "openffcorrectional institutions is significant . Architectural controls (typically block or concrete walls and steel bars) are used to keep inmates captive in the former. The latter, on the other hand, utilize administrative constraints to keep prisoners within the institution. The difference is that an inmate could likely "walk awayfffrom an open institution but would face in a closed prison substantial barriers to his or her freedom. Most of the social science literature on the prison focuses on 'closed" institutions, 4. Members of the general public have accepted a rather curious notion that some, if not all, inrnates choose crime because life in prison is "better than on the street." They argue that providing inmates three meals a day, sleeping space, and access to recreational, medical, and educational programs affords inrnates a higher quality of life than they would othemise enjoy. The problem with making such claims is that there are many different ways with which to measure "quality" of life. During many thousands of hours of fieldwork, not a single inmate was heard by me to Say anything which would substantiate the idea that inmates 'like" prison. On the contrary, inmates' talk reflects that they value their freedom over the rudimentary provisions furnished by the prison. On the other hand, it is true that if we were to evaluate the quality of life in terms of a healthy lifestyle as would be defined by a member of the medical community, there is no doubt that sorne inmates inside prisons live healthier than they do in their am neighbourhoods. Given the opportunity, many members of the inmate population do engage in the abuse of drugs and alcohol and do not eat a healthy diet. In that access to addictive substances is limited in prison and that the menu served is nutritionally sound, it was noticeable that many of my informants lived healthier "inside" than they would otherwise "on the street." The point remains, however, is that if they were given the choice, these very same individuals would choose autonomy over any 'benefit' provided by the prison.

5. Inmates employ a variety of techniques to "con" persons with access to the prison to import prohibited substances. Much is said in prison, by both inmates and staff members, of "prison romances. " Inrnatefs "sweethearts" are as ked to prove their 'love" by passing contraband to the inmate during open visiting periods . 6. Whereas frisk searches involve inspecting the clothed body, strip searches entai1 the removal of al1 apparel so that both the naked body and al1 vestments can be thoroughly examined. 7. Two types of electronic detection equipment are used in various institutions to control prison contraband. The most common are metal detectors similar to those used in airports. A recent developrnent has seen the installation of "sniffing" devices that analyse odours to detect drugs and explosives. 8. 1 was told by a group of inmates that there is a natural progression for "snitches" to progress from informing on staff members to "snitching" on other inmates. They said that in time it would be expected for the "snitch" to "rat" on other inmates. The expression, "once a snitch, always a snitch," conveys the difficulty these inmates have in "shaking" the label of informant. 9. Apparently, 1 was able to develop a good rapport with this particular staff member. An exception was made in my case when this individual began interacting with me after only six months.

10. 1 found myself at times questioning the sincerity of my own commitment to the scholarly process. In 1990 1 left what most people would consider to be an excellent position to engage in full-thne studies as a university student. 11. Members of the prison community did consider the religious volunteers "odd." Indeed, these people were in fact the subject of considerable joking behaviour ( I was told 1 too was the object of similar jokes) . The difference, however, between members of religious organizations and universities is that whereas the former are expected to be in prisons, the presence of the latter is most unusual and therefore stands out. 12. In order to ensuxe the complete anonymity of my informants, descriptive information in this thesis which could be used to identify individuals has been intentionally withheld or altered. The omission or modification of these data does not in any way detract from the practices of time- talk as reported in this thesis. CHAPTER SIX: DOING TIME Language is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way about. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigationsr 5 203. Prison the must be hard time, a metaphorical death, a sustained, twilight condition of death-in-life. The prisoner's life is oiolently interrupted, enclosed within a parenthesis. The point is to create the fiction that he doesnrt exist. Prison is an experience of death by inches, minutes, hours, days. Yet the little death of a prison sentence doesnrt quite kill the prisoner, because prisons, in spite of their ability to make the inmate's life unbearable, canrt kill time...In spite of al1 the measures Western society employs to secularize the, the transcends the social order. Prisoners can be snatched from that order but not from tirne. John Wideman, Brothers and Keepers, pp. 35-36. -6 Introduction This chapter examines how prisoners rnake time accountable, the ethnomethodological concern of "examining how [time is] brought to adequate description" (Heritage, 1984, p. 136, emphasis in original) . It will be demonstrated through members' accounts that within the context of the prison time does not pass but must rather be done. To do the, inmates must make temporal phenomena available to members of the prison context. -6.1 ûverview of the Chapter This is the primary fieldwork chapter of the thesis. It has two main components. The first section, "The Doing of Time," is provided to facilitate the transition from social theory to analysis. The practical activity of making time accountable is analysed in the second section of the chapter. 1 analyse here a number of conversation segments transcribed from naturally occurring interactional sequences that took place in the prison. These conversation segments are grouped into five sub-categories. As this investigation is exploratory, different analytic techniques are used. However, the analytic goal of examining how talk makes time accountable is consistent throughout the material analysed. The length of the segments and the analysis varies. Each conversation segment concerns practical everyday matters for prisoners. The mundane task of doing time in prison through talk is discussed. For the benefit of those readers who may not be familiar with the social context of the prison, 1 situate each conversation segment within an ethnographie frame. The chapter concludes with a sumrnary. We consider now the problem of doing time in extreme contexts. 6.2 The Doing of Time: Aecamaodation Practices in Extreme - Environments The everyday activity of doing the in prison might appear unproblematic to the casual observer. As discussed in previous chapters, the prison is a highly structured social context. One might assume that because the inmate has no choice but to be there, he or she can simply sit back, "follow the rules," and allow time to pass. Those with the prison recognize that doing time in this context is not a simple matter. Cohen and Taylor discovered over the course of their fieldwork that for the prisoner, the whole business of actually getting through each day, let alone each month, or year, or decade of their sentence, was a far more precarious and problematic journey than we had ever taken it to be. The central question was about how to accommodate to prison life. In what ways should one resist or yield to its demands in order to make life bearable, in order to preserve some sense of identity? (1992, p. 34) The accommodating practices involved in doing the are not unique to prison inmates. "Clicking machiner' workers must cope with what Donald Roy (1959-60) depicts as a repetitive, long, and highly monotonous routine. Roy, himself working for two months in the "clicking room," wanted to find "how one group of machine operators kept from 'going nutsV (p. 158) . In his persona1 "search for some meaning" in an O therwise lethargic workplace, Roy invented 'a 'a game of work" (p. 160). Roy found that minor variation to his work routine relieved some of the boredom from his long and tedious twelve hour shifts. Observing the three other main "clicking machine" operators, it became apparent to Roy that these individuals used social interaction as a device by which to cope with a du11 and dismal work environment. The workersp long shifts were disrupted by brief but regular breaks, providing members an opportunity to pause, momentarily, from their work routine. "Most of the breaks, " notes Roy, "were designated as 'tirnesr in the parlance of the clacker operators, and they featured the consumption of food or drink of one sort or another" (p. 162) . The clacker operators referred to these intervals as "coffee tirne," "peach time," "banana tirne,'' Yish time,"

"lunch time, " "window tirne, " "pickup tirne" and "quitting time." Roy describes the importance of these moments for the workers. If the daily series of interruptions be likened to a clock, then the comparison rnight best be made with a special kind of cuckoo clock, one with a cuckoo which can provide variation in its announcements and can create such an interest in them that the intervening minutes becorne filled with intellectual content. The major significance of the interactional interruptions lay in such a carryover of interest. The physical interplay which momentarily halted work activity would initiate verbal exchanges and thought processes to occupy group members until the next interruption. The group interactions thus not only marked off the time; they gave it content and hurried it along. (p. 162, emphasis added) "Banana The" was one of several daily rituals that the members of the "clicking roomtrused to confer meaning to their work life. Ike would pilfer a banana from Sammyrs lunch box. Before devouring the fruit, Ike announced to his CO-workers, "Banana time!" Sammy and George would briefly castigate Ike for stealing Sammyfs banana. Roy initially considered banana time puzzling, "this daily theft startled and arnazed me. Then 1 grew to look forward to the daily seizure and the verbal interaction which followed" (p. 162). Banana time ended abruptly the day Sammy went on leave for holiday, "Black Fridayftmarked the first of 'a succession of dismal workdays devoid of times" (p. 165). The social order of the clicking room was disrupted. "George would not speak to Ike" and, "in desperation," Roy 'fell back on [his] game of work" (p. 165). Almost two weeks after Black Friday, a new social equilibrium was established, albeit one without banana tirne. Banana the, for these clacking machine operators, is a way of making time accountable, When Ike uttered "Banana tirne!", he and his CO-workers made sense of their context in terrns of the interaction among Ike, Sammy, and George rather than through the continuous clacking of the machines. They were making time accountable. 6.2.1 Making Time Accountable It is argued in this thesis that time-talk is a device prisoners use to "accommodate to prison life." Time-talk makes time accountable. Graham Watson correctly asserts that "al1 phenomena are accountable," (1997, p. 120) - In bringing time to the level of adequate description, prisoners make available to themselves and other members of the prison context the temporal experience of incarceration. In this sense, these descriptions of thne are "indexical." Prisoners' accounts of tinte are also 'reflexive." Prisoners, through their accounting practices, engage in the process of "rnaintaining or altering the sense of the activities and unfolding circumstances in which they occur" (Heritage, 1984, p. 140). C. Wright Mills recognized the social significance of accounting practices. In his classic article, "Situated Actions and the Vocabularies of Motivew, Mills argues that motives should be considered not in terms of interna1 dispositions but, rather, in a constitutive sense. For Mills, accounts are the "tenus with which interpretation of conduct by social actors proceeds" (1940, p. 904) . Prisoners must make sense of time. The for th- is not an abstract phenornenon independent of the context. Rather, the is continuously in the process of being (re)constituted through social practice. Doing time is therefore an active, necessary, practical accomplishment on the part of the members of prison society. 6.2.2 Ethnomethodological Approaches to the Doing of Time As described in the methods chapter, an ethnomethodological approach is the cornerstone of this investigation. "Ethnomethodology," states Leiter, Ys simply the study of the methods people use to generate and maintain their experience of the social world as a factual object" (1980, p. 25) . The emphasis enthnomethodologists place on the description of the practical methods members use to create, sustain, and understand their social world goes beyond traditional ethnography. "Rather than giving accounts and explanations of members' conduct, values, belief s and judgements, Ethnomethodology, according to

analytically examines the ways that conduct, belief and judgement are organised, produced and made intelligible in membersr own accounts and descriptions, and how these are embedded in other practices. The accounts are treated as features of those practices, the descriptions as constituents of conduct. (1991, p. 234) The ethnomethodological standpoint enables the author of this thesis to examine how prisoners' talk about time is constitutive of the ordering of the temporal experience of their social world. ft will be demonstrated that in talking about time prisoners define, manage, and control - in other words, make available - the temporality of their social world. 6.2.3 Ti- and Subjective Experience It is argued in this thesis that prisoners' talk of time makes available to members of this context the temporal experience of imprisonment. There can be strategic purpose to such accounts. In her linguistic study of the Washington State Penitentiary, Cardozo-Freeman found that [llife in prison is made up of a series of little games, al1 of which are part of the larger game of slipping and sliding. Learning al1 the games is challenging, often filled with tension and excitement, and all-consuming - a way of doing time. The aim of the game is survival, easy time, and a fast play for the gate. In other words, the aim of the game is to win. (1984, p. 167, emphasis in original) In other words, for Cardozo-Freeman, it is through language- games that prisoners do tirne. 1 am using the expression "language-games" in the Wittgensteinian sense. Wittgenstein's game analogy (1968) is invaluable in that it emphasizes the situational dynamics of the application of rules in their everyday use. Although subject to a strictly routinized and highly regimented environment, the playing of these games enables prisoners to effect control over their social world. Depending on the strategies by which

prisoners "play the game, " they account for the subj ective experience of imprisonment in tems of hard or easy time. Such work - the constitutive doing of time - is not solely the domain of prisoners. As Cohen and Taylor point out, [elvery morning when we wake we confront a familiar world. Considering the day ahead we mark off that which might be pleasurable from that which will produce anxiety, irritation, boredom or depression. Every day's living constitutes a series of projects in which we either accept the arrangements that await us, or attempt to manipulate th-, so that they will be more amenable, more compatible with the view we hold of ourselves. (1992, p. 31) Psychological reductionism, as evidenced in Cohen and text, understates the importance the social. Each of us is embedded within a social context and our interna1 psychological states are detedned largely in reference to that social situation (Bruner, 1986; Harré and Gillet, 1994). As phenomenologist Alfred SchLitz elucidates, the world is from the outset not the private world of the single individual, but an intersubjective world, common to al1 of us, in which we have not a theoretical but an eminently practical interest. (1970, p. 73) Accordingly, these projects must be viewed not as individual efforts but rather as social activities. It is for this reason, "when we try to explain the emotional lives of particular people," Say Harré and ill let, "[that w]e need to take account of local values and local moral orders" (1994, p. 152, emphasis in original) . 6.2.4 Talk and the Social Order Moerman considers that through talk that values and moral orders are brought into being . For Moerman, conversation enables us to "put Our minds together by building a world to CO-inhabit: a hostile world we jointly hold at bay, or a lovely world of lupins that we need one another to enjoy" (1988, p. 119). This is not to Say that people have leave to "constructtf a social world. We are al1 subject to external constraints. Both environmental and social factors present formidable limits to the range of freedom of human action. How we talk about that context is a different matter. Sueh practical action will be illustrated with an example from my fieldwork. -6.3 Escape Attempts: A Report from the Field Prisons use formidable architectural features and procedural controls to keep prisoners inside. Such devices are often apparent: bars, locked doors, fences, and razor wire are clearly visible in prisons and are intended for the express purpose of restricting the freedom of the inmate. If a prisoner somehow managed to breach these security features, the law enforcernent authorities have at their disposa1 a multitude of techniques to deal with the situation. The ultimate sanction is, of course, the use of deadly force. Prison inmates are aware of most security measures; such matters are a focus of their talk. They discuss ways to breach prison security. On several occasions, 1 was the direct object of such conversation. For exarnple, one day while shelving books in the inmate library, a prisoner engaged in the following discussion with me. The only other person in the library, also an inmate, entered into the conversation as well. Conversation Segment 6-1 :

1 Inmate 1 If 1 took your clothes and ID from Yar 2 1 could walk right out of here. 3 BF Yom first problem would be getting the stuff from me. 4 Inmate I No problem. 5 Ir11 just hit you over head with a [book] shelf . 6 BF Ok. 7 But your next problem would be getting past control. 8 Three sets of gates to get through. They'll know yourre not me. 9 Inmate 2 Yeah and they'd corne dom hard on you . 10 You get seven days in the hole for whacking a con 11 and youf d get a street-charge for hitting a blue-shirt. 12 He's a volunteer. 13 He doesnrt have to be here. 14 They'd come dom hard on you. 15 Nobody hurts a volunteer, they'd throw the book at you. 16 Pen-time for sure . This conversation segment reveals much about the social context of the prison. One analytic technique would be to consider, post facto, the meanings assigned to the utterances by the three rnembers. Such an approach has utility. To accomplish this conversation it is necessary for the rnembers to either have access to those meanings or to ignore certain gaps and inconsistencies so that the conversation may proceed. 6.3.1 Practical Reeoutces: Clothing and ID Cards Consider first the references made to institutional security. Inmate 1 indicates in line 1 that my apparel and identification card could be put to strategic use by him. Dress and ID cards make visible to al1 mernbers of the prison context the distinction between inmates and non-inmates. The clothing 1, and al1 other non-inmates, wore in prison differentiated me from the prisoners. Second, 1 was required at al1 times while in prison to Wear a photo- identification card. I allude in lines 7-8 to the fact that possession of these items would not be sufficient for the prisoner to make good his clah to "walk right out of [t]here." As both he and I were aware, al1 people entering and exiting the security area must proceed past the prison Control Room, a secure area where people are positively identified before they are allowed egress. My point (line 7) was that the staff members there would notice the discrepancy. While 1 did not specify how the prison staff would recognize an attempt by a prisoner to impersonate an non-inmate, the fact that my utterance was uncontested indicates that it was recognizable to members of this context as sensible. 6.3.2 Pragmatic Thinking: Ulterior Motives The second inmate participating in this conversation reinforced my assertion by immediately moving on to address the consequences of a personal assault and failed escape attempt. An alternative interpretation of his engagement in the conversation is that it was his desire to "play up" to me; in other words, that Inmate 2 is attempting, through his conversation, to gain my support for some (unspecified) ulterior motive. There are two problems with this analysis. First, Inmate 2 has nothing to gain by CO-operating with me specifically. This is not always the case. As 1 mentioned in Chapter Four, inmate-caseworker interaction is characterized by a certain pattern of inmate interaction in which the inmate attempts to obtain his release from prison. Geoffrey Skoll observed a similar interfactional process in a drug treatment facility. Residents "walk the walk and talk the talk" by playing the treatment game. Playing this game is manifest in various performances, both those that are framed relatively formally, such as groups, and those everyday interactions that make up the stuff of life. How each resident plays this game is a matter or individual style conditioned by idiosyncratic life histories, motivations and goals; but play it they must if they are to survive in the program. (1992, pp. 57-8) Whereas the residents Skoll refers to are aware that their release from the treatment facility is detemined by their willingness and ability to play the "treatment game," Inmate 2 is well aware that 1 am not in a position to effect an early release for him. The second problem with the assumption that Inmate 2 is attempting to win my favour is that the participants' intentions - aside from what is socially occasioned and as such made publicly available during the conversation - are unavailable to us. This is not to Say that prison language can not be used to express motives. When Smith and Batiuk interviewed prisoners in an American maximum-security institution, one informant described how language can be used strategically to accomplish certain goals. 1 use a lot of prison slang that shows that I've been bitten and that 1 know the games. If you don't use the right language itrs a sign of weakness. You gotta use real hard language. Like sorneone says, "Joe had a little trouble." You Say something like "what he should have done was stick a fucking shank up the mother fucker's asson Language can show therers a lot of violence in you. (1989, p. 34) It is unfortunate that this conversation segment is stripped from the social context in which the utterance was made. Except to Say that they conducted open-ended, in-depth interviews to probe "what it took to survive within the social setting of the prison," Smith and Batiuk (1989, p. 31) do not define the interactive context in which the above speech act was accomplished. Despite such methodological shortcomings, the inmate's comments are informative in that they reveal how language can be used strategically in place of physical violence. 6.3.3 Pragmatic Thinking: Tims, Status Distinctions, and the Forma1 Consequenees of A Botchai Escape Attempt Returning to Conversation Segment 6-1, Inmate 2 outlines in lines 10-16 what he considers would be appropriate responses to persona1 assault relevant to the statuses people hold within the institution. Not al1 members of the prison are equal. Violence directed toward another inmate, although a violation of institutional rules, would, in his opinion, be dealt with as an interna1 manner. The transgresser would spend seven days in disciplinary segregation ("the hole"). Inmate 2 goes on to say that a similar assault, if directed toward either a security officer ("blue-shirt") or me, would, on the other hand, result in a "street-charge." Street-charges are understood as a formal criminal charge being laid against the alleged offender. A potential consequence of a guilty finding is recognized as additional prison time. Lines 12-16 reveal that 1, a volunteer, am afforded a unique status within the institution. Unlike inmates who are sentenced to prison by the courts and staff members who receive compensation for their labour, 1, as Inmate 2 points out (line 13), enter prison of my volition. From his perspective, this factor would be taken into consideration by the sentencing judge and the outcome would be a substantial additional sentence to be served in a federal penitentiary ("pen-the") . A second analytic approach is to consider the temporal markers in this conversation segment, the most obvious being the direct reference to pen-time. The Criminal Code of Canada (1992) stipulates that offenders receiving individual or accumulative sentences of two years or more generally serve their the in federal penitentiaries as opposed to provincial prisons. Accordingly, pen-the refers to both a spatial location and a temporal duration. As Inmate 2 states (Une 16), if Inmate 1 were to actually carry out his threat, his situation, both in space and time, would change. 'Pen-time for sure," would be the outcorne. There are other temporal distinctions within Conversation Segment 6-1. Whereas inmates are compelled to remain in prison al1 of the time, staff members are obliged to follow a regular shift schedule. 1, however, fit into neither of these categories. Unlike both inmates and staff members, 1 was pemitted to enter and leave the institution at tintes suitable to me. This was known by the Inmates 1 and 2 and demonstrably relevant to the conversation. Although unstated, it is this level of access which make my clothes and ID tag items of interest to Inmate 1. 6.3.4 Status as Volunteer/Researcher My role in the prison is stated by Inmate 2 in Conversation Segment 6-1 to be a matter of my own persona1 choice. Sensitive to my unique position, 1 attempted to normalize my visits to the institution by following the same schedule as the recreation department staff members. At the prison at the time of my involvement, recreation staff generally worked afternoon shifts, from one ordock in the afternoon until nine ofclock in the evening. Although my presence was expected it was not understood. Both staff and inmates would frequently comment "why would anyone want to be here on a Friday [or Saturday] night if they didnrt have to be?" 6.3.5 Doing Time: The Me&enrf Analysis At another level, this conversation segment can be regarded as a positive way to do the. Whereas lines 1 and 5 could be construed as threats against my persona1 well- being - indeed, this conversation segment could be viewed as an escape attempt - 1 did not at the time interpret the utterances as such. Instead, 1 saw myself as a co- participant in a playful, colourful round of turn-taking . We will examine the conversation sequence in more detail. Line 2 is fundamental to the dialogue. The inmate states his desire to "walk right out of here." In line 1 he reveals his strategy for doing so. 1 make clear in line 3 that I would take measures to resist such an attempt. The inmate responds (line 5) that he is prepared to assault me in order to a-chievehis objective. While 1 acknowledge the possibility of violence to render me incapable of resisting, I go on, in lines 7 and 8, to state that there are other obstacles the inmate would also have to overcome to carry out his plan. Inmate 2 talks about the consequences of what ill-fated escape attempt. In reviewing the conversation segment in terms of the sequence of dialogue, the conversation can be read in tems other that an escape attempt for prison. "Escape" can be achieved alternatively by temporarily denying the immediate situation. Inmate 1, at least for a moment, rejects the temporal structure imposed by being a prisoner and situates himself instead within my temporal frame. As the transcript demonstrates, his alternative context is not plausible and as such is eventually discarded. Nevertheless, an attempt was made to manipulate the inmate's world. At least for a few moments, the escape attempt did succeed. Through conversation, Inmate 1 denied the temporal structure imposed on him by the institution. 6.4 Volunteering, Research, Doing "A Job," and - Understanding The following conversation segment is a transcript of a discussion that took place among two inmate library 'volunteers" and myself. Perhaps not immediately apparent, rnembers of the prison recognize this conversation grounded in time. After contextualizing the conversation segment using ethnography, it is the temporal features of this talk that will be analyzed. Conversation Segment 6-2 Inmate 3 1 donft have to do this. I'm entitled to my association. They canft make me work both associations. Inmate 2 We volunteered for this. They expect us to work both associations. BF 1 volunteer to corne in here, they donOt even feed me anymore. Inmate 2 How can you stand it, coming in hem al1 the time, being with us? BF Itfs the only way 1 can do my university research. I've said before, 1 want to understand how you guys talk about time. 1 canft get it out of a book. Inmate 2 Then you should do a job and get a six month stretch. That' s the only way you could understand what it8s really like being in here. BF Thanks, but listening to you guys is close enough for me. 6.4.1 Ethnographie Details : Associations Prior to considering what is accomplished in this conversation segment, it is first necessary to situate certain expressions within a lexical context. We shall first consider the term association. Associations are held each evening so that inmates may leave their living unit to engage in other activities. Associations are considered as a privilege in prison. One form of disciplining inmates is to require them to remain on their units for their associations. At Metro Prison there were two associations with two of the four general population living units participating in each. Association affords the inmate a choice of activities; depending on the availability of staff, the following areas may be open: (a) gym (weight training, basketball, volleyball, racket sports, and guitar playing) ; (b) hobby room (purchase of hobby supplies, use of restricted items including tools (i.e. , for leather crafting), dyes, and glues) ; (c) central activity room (shuff leboard, ping-pong, and music (listening to prerecorded audio cassettes and local FM radio stations)); (d) library; (e) chapell; and (f) outside yard. While inmates go frorn one area to another, they are cautioned by staff rnembers not to linger in the hallways. Irrespective of the nature of the activities, association for inmates is foremost social tirne.* Association periods are utilized by inmates to socialize with other inmates, particularly those inmates considered to be friends who are housed on different living units. While any area may serve as a meeting place, the central activity room and the library were the most common areas for inmate discussion. Unlike most inmates, inmates working in the central activity area, gym, hobby, and library were normally allowed "off their units" for both associations. This provided theni the opportunity to "pass" contraband or information to their friends in the other association period. 6.4.2 Inmate Volunteers Although al1 inmates are expected to hold some form of prison job (indeed, refusal to work was sufficient grounds for disciplinary action), inmates often volunteer to do additional work. When asked why they would do so, they account for accepting a second job because it "gets me off the unit." For example, library workers on weekends, if they were not expecting a visitor, volunteered to work outside of their normal work periods during associations to spend the afternoon in the library sorting and shelving books . 6.4.3 Analysi s Returning now to Conversation Segment 6-2, 1 will point out two features of the transcript. While the topic initially discussed is whether inmates can be required to work both associations, there is a pronounced change in the subject. The focus shifts from the responsibilities of a volunteer to my research methods. Conversation Segment 6-2 demonstrates a lack of consensus arnong the inmates as to what can be legitimately expected from a working inmate. There is a perception that institutional rules unilaterally bind both staff and inmates but, as Wieder (1988) points out in his study of the convict code, 'it is much more appropriate to think of the code or any other moral order as a continuous ongoing process, rather than as a set of stable elernents of culture which endure through time" (p. 221). As Wieder demonstrates, it is the occasioned telling of the code which is important rather than the code itself. Wiederrs argument holds true in the prison context. While the Metro Prison "Inmate Handbook" clearly specifies that "an inmace must follow the orders of a staff member, " 174 the application of this rule necessitates that the staff rnember communicate successfully his or her expectations to the inmate. In response to my assertion that 1 too am a volunteer (line 6), the conversation shifts to a discussion of my research rnethodology. Inmates often told me that 1 would better understand the world of the inmate if 1 was fully immersed in that role.' My informants had differing opinions as to the extent to which 1 should immerse myself in the prison context. Whereas most said that it would be worthwhile for me ta "spend one night locked in a ce11 or on a prison dom, " other inmates, such as Inmate 2, recommended that 1 engage in illegal activity to experience the judicial process in the fullest. There are in Conversation 6-2 at least three ways in which the is made available. 1 wi11 discuss each method in

The first observation as to how time reveals itself in Conversation Segment 6-2 is the discussion concerning whether the association is the inmate's tirne. Inmate 3 states '1 don't have to do this, 1% entitled to my association" (lines 1 & 2) . From Inmate 3's perspective, the one and one-half hours of his association period are for his use as opposed to the demands made by prison staff. Inmate 2 offers an account as to why they are expected to work: if they want to do the off the unit by volunteering for additional work assignments, they must give up their association period. This raises an interesting point - 'whose the is it?m - the inmaters or the prison'. The issue is not resolved. Volunteering to get off the unit is one way by which inmate do time. On the other hand, inmates do time during association periods. But a third way of doing time, as demonstrated in Conversation Segment 6-2 is in talking about doing the, These conversations are pedagogical, Aithough unresolved here in Conversation Segment 6-2, the issue of whose time is it is fundamental to the doing of time. 1 make reference in line 7 to how changes in the prison personally effected me. 1 was previously able to purchase an inexpensive prison meal. The food was prepared by inmates and was the same food they ate. This "perk" was eliminated for prison staff members (and researcher/volunteers). Changes like this were common over the duration of my research. The notion that the prison context is unchanging is erroneous. My third point is that two different conceptions of time are revealed in the conversation segment. The inmates who had recommended that 1 experience sleeping (or trying to sleep) in prison for one night recognized that my time reference was external to the prison. Inmate 2, on the other hand, indicates in Conversation Segment 6-2 that the only way to understand doing time is to actually do it for "six months ." Although he recognizes 1 was "coming in here al1 the time," as with the other inrnates, my time reference was on the street. To discover "what it's really like" in the joint, 1 should do a "stretch." 1, of course, declined (line 14). -6.5 Conning a Con Not al1 volunteer work is voluntary in the literal sense. In the following conversation segment 1 assign three inmates to what would otherwise be a voluntary work assignment. A staff mernber had told me this technique for "soliciting" volunteers and 1 was curious to determine if the strategy would work. Conversation Segment 6-3 1% looking for volunteers. How many of you guys have a driver' s license? Inmates (Show ofhands) 3 BF Okay, you, you, and you (painting to inmates who had raised their hands). 4 Follow me.

When 1 was told about this approach, the staff member noted that there is certain sense of irony in its application. "Inmates," he said, "donrt have much need for a driver's license in here. Itrs not as if we're going to give them the keys to a truck and tell them to go dom to the store to pick something up for us." "But," he continued, "given the chance to use their license, they al1 have one ." Inmates refer to this type of activity as the game of "coning the con." Prison staff members are not expected to possess the cornpetence necessary to play this game. On the other hand, within the taken-for-granted world of the prison, inmates are al1 assumed to be masters of deception. Inmates recognize the game but are disorientated when the players are not other inmates but rather staff members. Although they recognize very quickly that they have been "conned," when 1 played and won the game, the three inmates complied with my request. My analysis is infomed directly by the inmates talk about the event. "1 thought you were serious," an inmate said to me later. After offering an account to justify my use of deception, he replied, "that's okay, we know the work has to be done and you got us to do it fair and square." There is a moral element to the use of deception. However by conforming to the common-sense notion of what is "fair and square" held by inmates, 1 was, well within the boundaries of appropriate behavior. Time is revealed in Conversation Segment 6-3 in an ironic sense. A driver's license held by an inmate is of no use in the time-present of the prison. The "trick" here was to bring momentarily the inmate out of their natural attitude. A number of inniates were to succumb to my manoeuvre. I found this natural experiment interesting it that it reveals that the time-space orientation of the prisoner cm be easily disrupted. -6.6 Sam and Temporal Demands of Evesyday Life in Prison I refer to two of rny key informats in this thesis using the pseudonyms Sam and Jim. Both worked in the inmate library. Sam and Jim engaged with me and inmates in everyday talk in the library and at other locations in the prison. Sam was close to his release date when these discussion took place. A recurrent feature of Sam's talk was his future life once release from prison. The conversations reveal also much about prison life. 1 include below a number of transcribed conversations in which Sam and Jim are speakers. 6.6.1 Thirty-Seven Days and I'm ûutta He~e.~~ The following conversation was occasioned while Sam and 1 were moving equipment from one section of the prison to another. Manual trolleys are available for this purpose. While inmates generally provide the labour, they are usually accompanied by a non-inmate who has access to locked areas. Sam initiated the following conversation while 1 was pushing the trolley. Conversation Segment 6-4

1 Sam 37 days and I'rn outta here. 2 ItOs been a long haul. (hops on the cart ) BF Get off the cart Sam. If they see you riding on it when we go past control, your ll be doing the last of your stretch in the hole. Sam Thatfs okay. Irve been dom there twice. 1tr s no big deal. (gets off cart) BF That's what you get for muscling old guys Sam O Will they be giving you a 15 day TA? Sam 1 haven't put in for one. Doesn't matter - they wodt give me an ything . First the in j ail ( they havenf t given me any breaks. BF Yourve never been to [young offender centre] Sam Nope . BF How about [remand centre] ? Sam Never stayed there. They took me up there when 1 got busted but they let me go until my court date. Then they brought me here. Been in ever since. ( ) 37 days and 1% outta here. BF Yourll miss the food. Sam No fucking way. The food' s shit. Irve been living off canteen stuff. I can't wait to get out of here and eat sorne real food. Although this conversation (a) lasted no more than one minute and (b) the topics discussed are mundane prison topics, the segment reveals much about prison life and the dynamics of time-talk. Sam emphasis in Conversation Segment 6-4 that his release date is upcoming (stated initially in line 1 and again repeated verbatim in line 18). ~hrou~hout my fieldwork, 1 observed that approximately one month prior to an inmate's release date they would begin to speak of their pending release in tems of days - absolute measures of time as opposed to abstract units. 6.6.1.1 Deviance by "Deviants" With apparent elation, Sam jumped on the trolley while 1 was pushing it dom the hallway. Riding these carts would be considered by most correctional staff members as a form of "horseplay," a violation of the institutional rules. In line 3 1 gave Sam what amounts to a direct order for him to get off the cart. 1 recognized that his actions would be interpreted as misbehaviour and as 1 was the pseudo-staff member accompanying him, 1 did not want to be personally associated with a rule violation, It is important, however, to note that I accounted for my action in terms of what other people might do. 1 pointed out that as Our route would take us past the control room, the correctional officers there might observe and object to his behavior, the consequence for him could be disciplinary action ("hole-thegf). It was unstated that my primary concern was not how the prison staff would interpret the Sam's behavior but rather how they would view my participation in his boisterous activity . It was understood by both inmates and staff - although never formally stated - that 1 was expected to be aware of and enforce institutional regulations, Irrespective of how Sam interpreted my motives, he complied with my request and stepped off the trolley. While doing so he indicated that he could tolerate hole-time in that he had been in disciplinary segregation on two previous occasions. 1 had seen Sam in "the hole" once before and knew why he was sent there. 1 allude to this in line 6. The verb "muscling" is often used by both prison inmates and staff to refer to those situations in which an inmate attempts to acquire goods and/or services from another inmate by the threat or use of physical force. 6.6.1.2 Accounting for a Pre-Release 1 changed the topic of conversation in line 7 and ask Sam if he expects to receive a fifteen day pre-release. The shift is significant. Sam accounts for not applying for a pre-release because, from his perspective, the effort would be futile: "they won't give me anything" says Sam. Many other inmates gave sixnilar accounts concerning early release. One inmate explained to me, "they haven8t given me anything in here so now that 1% short, I'm not about to start to ask th- for anything." There are three ways of interpreting this account. First, this can be understood as a way for the inmate to maintain his sense of "self." By not making application for pre-release, the inmate denies the correctional authorities the opportunity to Say "no". In this way, a sense of autonomy is asserted by the inmate. The second interpretation is related to the first. Whereas the application for pre-release may be rejected and, consequently, the pending release date is therefore uncertain, the inmate can eliminate such ambiguity by not rnaking application for early release. This sense of deteminacy is noted when Sam twice declares that in 37 days he will be released. Inmates having applied for pre-release but still waiting for approval talk about their pending release in less determinate terms. For example, one inmate told me "18m out of here in less than month." Pending the outcorne of his application for pre-release, this inmate could rernain incarcerated for anywhere between two and four weeks. The likelihood of receiving a pre-release is largely detemined by his Caseworkerts assessrnent of the "official version" of the inmate's behavior both prior to and in prison. Many inmates indicated to me that (a) the nature of the criminal conviction and (b) documented institutional disciplinary infractions are taken into account in processing pre-release applications. The third possibility is that those inmates with a history of institutional infractions and/or serious criminal records avoid what they consider to be a certain rejection by not applying for early release. Likely al1 three factors play a role in this decision rnaking process. 6.6.1.3 In Jail? Which One? 1 made it a point not to discuss criminal offenses and prior institutional history with inmates unless they themselves initiated conversation on these topics. Sam infoms me in line 10 that his current sentence was his first time "in jail". Given that being "in jail" could refer to (a) any form of imprisonment or (b) confinement in a specific institution, Sam's utterance was considered by me to be ambiguous. 1 sought clarification of what he meant. Because Sam was a young man, I asked him if he previously served time at the local Young Offenders Centre. Alternatively, adults charged with serious offenses could be held on "remand" pending trial or release on bail at the local Remand Centre. Sam indicates that he never been an inmate at the Young Offenders Centre and that while he had been inside the Remand Centre, because he had been released, he had not done time there.

6.6.1.4 "In Jail" as the Temporal Present - Having clarified that he had never been in jail before, Sam returns to his immediate present which began at the time of his sentencinq. Since then, he had been confined in Metro Prison. My reference to prison food in line 19 is a recognition that in 37 days life will be very different for Sam. Talk of prison food emerges frequently in prison conversation. Inmates raise cornplaints about the food quality, quantity, and selection. Although the prison menu is developed by a dietician and considered nutritionally complete, many inmates told me that the prison food was inadequate for their needs and, accordingly, they found it necessary to either supplement or replace the cafeteria food with goods purchased from the inmate canteen. Sam refers to food outside the prison as 'real food" (line 21), ixnplying that the institutional food is less than authentic and mentions that he soon, in thirty-seven days, will have an opportunity to eat "normal food." 6.6.2 Twenty Days Left: 1 Feel Short 1 discussed in Chapter 1 how time in prison could accounted for both metaphoric terms and in relation to the time sequence of the inmate's sentence. Sam makes demonstrates both of these features of prison time-talk in the Conversation Segment 6-5. 6.6.2.1 Short-The in the Literature In his classic study of a western state penitentiary, Stanton Wheeler (1958, 1961) observed that during what he refers to as the "late phase" of incarceration, approximately the last third of the prison sentence, the attention of inmates typically shifts from the interna1 routine of the prison to anticipation of life outside the institution. As defined by Bentley and Corbett (1992), inmates nearing the end of their sentence are referred to as being 'short" and labelled "shorttimers" by other inmates. 6.6.2.2 Sam's Accountinq for Short-Time Conversation Segment 6-5 took place between two inmates and myself one evening while shelving books in the inmate library. One other inmate was present and, although he did not enter into this particular discussion, he was presumably 183 listening to the conversation. Inmate 1, Sam, is the same person who in Segment 6-4 above discussed his upcoming release. As 1 had not had opportunity to talk with Sam since that time, 1 opened the conversation by making reference to the fact that he was "short". Conversation Segment 6-5

BF You must be getting pretty short Sam. Sam About 20 days left. 1 feel short. BF Yeah, last the we talked you said you were dom to 37 days. The gate's a lot closer now. Sam 1 can' t wait to get outta of here. Itfs tough being short. People dontt know how hard it is being a criminal. BF What do you mean? Sam It's -not an easy life. Being chased for three hours, having to jmp fences and ruand al1 that stuff. Jim Doesn't happen al1 the time. Itrs not like youl re being chased every day , Sam It does when you get caught. Then you end up here. I'm giving it up. This is my first time in the joint and itrs going to be rny last. acknowledging that he is indeed "short" (line 2). It is noteworthy that whereas in Segment 6-4 Sam is precise about his release ("37 days and I'm outta here"), approximately two weeks later, at the tinte of Segment 6-5, he is far more arnbiguous about the significant upcoming event. 6.6.2.3 The andMetaphor: Accounting for Subjective States Rather than emphasizing his actual release date, Sam instead draws attention to his subjective state. Sam uses temporal phenomena, more specifically short-time, to account for the way he feels. athough in prison a "gate" can be used to refer to any device intended to either (a) contain prisoners inside the prison or (b) restrict inmate movement within the prison, Sam uses the expression in line 4 metaphorically to refer to the prison exit/entrance. Inmates frequently talk about prison gates, often comenting upon their real or perceived impenetrability. In conversation, inmates place symbolic weight on those gates in which they enter and/or leave prison. One of Cardozo-

Therers three gates that you drive through before they get you inside the prison. They drive you in and they open this great big iron gate that rolls up into its own area. It's supposed to be unbreakable, a super tough gate, anyway, made of steel slats or some damn thing, they wrap up like venetian blinds. The Chain drives on inside with you. You Say, "Man, this fucking joint is ügly!" (1984, pp. 59-60) Sam, unlike the inmate interviewed by Cardozo-Freeman, was at the the of conversation approaching that point in which he would be going through the gate to leave the prison. In line 5 he reiterates a point he raised approximately two weeks previously, that he awaits eagerly his release date. However, Sam also points out in line 6 that being "short" is for him a stressful time. 6.6 .S. 4 "People Don' t Know How Hard it is Being a Criminal. " During the conversation, when at line 7 Sam problematizes the criminal lifestyle, 1 was uncertain whether he was talking of (a) criminal activity in general terms or (b) the hardships associated with being in prison. 1 probed further. Sam initially grounds his response in the past, noting the difficulties associated with evading the police. When Jim notes that this is not a day-to-day occurrence (Une 12), Sam draws attention to the fact that such occasions are indeed significant when they do occur; the consequence being that one may be incarcerated (lines 13-14). Sam provides in line 15 an account of his anticipated future behavior by declaring that he is "giving it up." Although he is vague as to the specific behaviours he intends not to practice, it can be inferred by line 16 that they are the type of demeanor that could lead to his reincarceration. 6.6.2.5 Summary of The-Talk in Short-The This conversation segment has three important features. First, we see exemplified in conversation the relationship between the as objective phenornena and a person's subjective state. Second, we note that although Sam is at the time of the conversation very much situated in the temporal present, his focus shifts intermittently to both the historic past and the anticipated future. Finally, although Sam is willing to define himself as a criminal, he is vague as to what the application of this label actually means. We will return to each of the observations at later point in this discussion. 6.6.3 Short-Time and Anxiety Aithough their release is imminent and the stress of incarceration is nearing its end, being "short" not infrequently results in great anxiety for the inmate. "For some," notes Wheeler, "it is a period of worry and fear. "Short-timitis" sets in" (1958, p. 182) . The following conversation segment does more than simply illustrate an inmate experiencing "short-timitis". The transcript demonstrates how this condition is (a) locally occasioned and (b) managed so that the inmate cari move past this stage and go on with the business of being an inmate. The conversation transcribed in Segment 6-6 occurred approximately one hour after Segment 6-5 and involves the interaction of the same three parties. Sam stopped work abruptly and initiated the conversation. Conversation Segment 6-6

Sam Fuck -this! (sits dom on box) 1' ve had enough of this shit. They can do with me what they want. Jrm It's just because yourre short Sam. Settle dom. Sam I mean it. They can only keep me for another 20 days . 1 could do the rest of my bit doing the [province] tour. Maybe 1'11 just go dom to the hole and bug-out until my release. Yeah, and yout 11 know what you' 11 be like after a week down there. Chi11 out. Itrs always like this when you*re short. IFve been through it. Just donBtdo anything stupid. Sam Itts so fucked up in here, everything ' s fucked. First tirne in and they treat me like shit. Jim Don't expect them to give you any breaks. Sam 1 know. They think 1% -bad. Thatts why they got me on the blocks with al1 the other bad criminals. But Irm outta here in 20 days. BF: Are you gonna stay in [location of prison] ? Sam Nope . 1' ve had enough of [province] . They donf t care about ya. They lock you up in here and forget about you. Fuck them, When this conversation was occasioned, Sam came very close to "losing itn.6 As with his riding the trolley, Samrs refusa1 to do "this shit" could have resulted in the application of a prison disciplinary measure. Sam acknowledges this possibility when he describes two methods in which serious rule infractions are dealt with. 6.6.3.1 Dispersion as a Means of Social Control First, in line 8, Sam makes reference to the "doing the [provincial] tour." Disruptive inmates may be transferred about from one provincial institution to another. As McDemott and King note in their study of the English prisonsr disruptive inmates may find themselves "ghosted" or "Shanghaigdr'from a dispersal prison, to "cool off" for 28 days in a local prison. They may, or may not, return to their original location. Ultimately they may find themselves on the magic roundabout or the two month run around ...When prisoners do talk about their situation it is hardly surprising they are regarded as subversive, because indeed what they are now looking for is the system itself to change. (1988, p. 373, emphasis in original) As when inmates reach the point at which they have been labelled disruptive, "the sy~tem'~exhibits a high degree of inertia and is itself not likely to change. Accordingly, inmates doing either the " [province] tourr' or the "magic roundabout" find that their situation deteriorates rather than improves . 6.6.3.2 "Bugging Out" in the Bole The second disciplinary measure Sam mentions is "the hole". It is important to note the construction Sam uses in line 9: here he assumes an active voice, taking charge of the situation; as it would seem, voluntarily "go[ing] dom to the hole" as opposed to being sent there by prison staff. 'Bugging outU is a fom of withdrawal. In solitary. the inmate is isolated from the routines, demands, and pressures of the day-to-day prison life. Sam considers the 'bugging out" as a viable option in which to escape the pains of being short. 6.6.3.3 Making Sense of Short-Time Stress Jirn responds to Samf s situation from a considerably different perspective. First, he makes sense of (and for) Sam's psychological state in terms of his impending release (line 4) . Speaking from the standpoint of experience (line 12-13), Jirn urges Sam not to "do anything stupidfMaction that could compound Sam's suffering rather than reducing his pain. 6.6.3.4 Another Way of Making Sense of Temporal Stress: Being "Badff The conversation then shifts. After a general discussion of the perceived unfairness of the prison system (lines 15-18), Sam accounts for the way he has been treated in terrns of how he considers himself viewed by the prison authorities. He says he is perceived to be "bad," which accounts, according to him, for why he was housed at that tirne on the ce11 blocks with the "other bad criminals.'" 6.6.3.5 The Future Through the Fast Irrespective of his behavior, Sam's situation will, in his own words, change significantly in 20 days (lines 7 and 21). In this conversation (as opposed to Segment 6-3), Sara once again speaks of his release date in absolute terms. Following up on Samf s future focus, 1 inquire (line 21) as to where he intends to reside after his release. His response is grounded in both the past and present; he accounts for his future plans in tem of his conviction and the experience of his prison sentence. 6.6.3.6 Summary of Time-Talk While "Chilling Outf' Conversation Segment 6-6 includes four interesting features. First, it is important to note that in this sequence we see evidence of a change in psychological state as a result of one inmate talking to another. In accounting for Sam's stress in tems of his being short, Jim successfully alters Sam's mood. Indirectly, he talks Sam out of doing something ''stupid" and, having done so, pemits Sam to continue on with the task of completing his 20 (or so) days as a prisoner. The second feature of this time- talk, as with Conversation Segment 6-5, is how the temporal focus is shifted £rom the immediate reality of the present to the anticipation of an immediate future and the recollection of the historie past. Third, we see evidence of how Sam attempts to both (a) take control of and (b) alter his situation. The point made here is not to question whether his endeavour is logical but rather than to note that it does displays a desire on Sam's part to effect self- control. Finally, whereas Sam was defining himself in Conversation Segment 6-5 as a "criminal," he is here saying he is considered by prison officials a "bad criminal." The labels used by prison administrators to characterize past behavior are taken-for-granted to be significance for the inmate' s present and future. 6.6.4 "No One Cares About Us Here" and mDo Your Own Tinte" A common feature of prison talk is the expression of the perceived hopelessness of the prisoner's situation. The same evening that transcripts 6-5 and 6-6 were collected, the same parties engaged in a conversation concerning compassion within the prison. Conversation Segment 6-7

1 Jim Therers no compassion in here. 2 BF 1 see it. 1 see it al1 the time. Jim Yeah? Give me three examples. Sam Jim's right. No one cares about us here. Okay . What about an hou ago when Sam almost lost it? YOU talked him dom Jhm You knew what he was going through and you stopped him from going off the deep end . Thatf s compassion. Jim But 1 wouldn' t do it for just anyone. You canft trust most of the guys in here . BF It's still compassion. Jim The screws donft care 'bout us. BF Some do. Sam Smith's okay. He just let's you do your own the. Jim Okay. Like maybe theref s three guards in here who are okay. The rest are just power trippin al1 the t ime , Getting off on telling us when to do everything. BF 1 think therets a few more than three.

1 challenge JimFs general clairn that no compassion is displayed within this prison. We discuss both relations between inmates and interaction between staff and inmates. Considering first relations among inrnates, although Jim does accept my example that he did indeed display compassion in his response to Samfs distress earlier that same evening, he qualified his response by saying that he would not do such for "just anyone." He then goes on to account for this in terms of a lack of trust for other inrnates. 6.6.4.1 Trust as Accomplished Order Inmates daim that it can be difficult to trust other inmates. As has been demonstrated above, most inmates do designate themselves as 'kriminals." The details of their own criminal activity arer however, seldom made publicly available in talk. Instead, the court news section of the daily newspapers and rumours circulating through the 'inmate grapevine" are used to partially offset this knowledge deficiency. Levels of trust are impacted also by the constant influx and exodus of inmates. Members of the inmate population are constantly changing as inmates are released and their fornter space is assigned to new arrivals. As an informant told Hans Toch, [i]n a place like this you donft know who to trust. The main thing is you don't know who to trust, and with the small population you know everybody, you get to know everybody, and you know who to stay away £rom but every day 1 see faces that 1 never seen before, and 1 have been here for two months. (1992a, p. 56) A third problem of trust is that inmates might be less than honest about their intentions. As one prisoner told Diaz- Cotto her study prison culture, you always going to burnp into somebody thatvs going to show you the ropes, you know, .. .But then you also got to be careful because some people will take advantage,. ,You think they're showing the ropes and in the long run they might trap you off where you will be in debt, you know.. . .if they give you a carton, they might want two cartons, right? (1996, p. 132) Despite these shortcomings in developing trust, other researchers have found that inrnates are able to form effective social networks. 6.6.4.2 Ethnicity as an Organizing Mechanism Ethnicity, in particular, functions to unite prisoners. Whether among Puerto Ricans in East Harlem (Bourgois, 1995) or Chicanos in Los Angeles (Moore, 1978), people both in and outside prisons establish formal social networks on the basis of ethnicity, thereby establishing social boundaries of trust.' In rny own research, the largest ethnic group was Native Americans. That these people were formally organized was a frequent topic of discussion. 6.6-4.3 Staff-Inmate Relations Relations between staff members and inmates is also a topic of conversation in Segment 6-7. Whereas in both conversation and the classical literature on the prison, the perspective of the prisoner and the guard are generally viewed as two completely different and oppositional spheres, in reality a much different situation exists. It has been my observation that staff members are concerned about the well-being of inmates. Aithough they are delegated certain responsibilities which at times would seem to intrude on the autonomy of the inmate, most display great concern for the prisoner. Harold Restsky, a guard at Stateville Penitentiary, says : 1 often put myself in the inmate's position. If 1 was locked up and the door was locked up and my only contact with authorities would be the officer walking by, it would be frustrating if 1 couldn't get him to listen to the problems 1 have. There is nothing worse than being in need of something and not being able to supply it yourçelf and having the man who can supply it ignore you. This almost makes me explode inside. (Jacobs and Retsky, 1975, pp. 23-24) Indeed, in one of my first conversations with a prison guard, 1 was told that his greatest fear was being in situation in which an inmate commits suicide. This guard described to me in detail the steps he takes to protect distressed inmates from causing harm to themselves. Staff members emphasize that protecting inmates from self injury or assault from another inmate is as important to them personally as their task of keeping inmates confined inside the institution. 6.6.4.4 "Doing Your Own The" Sam identifies Guard Smith (line 16) as an "okay" staff derin that he allows inmates to "do their own time." The expression 'do you own time" is considered a key component of the inmate code. This axiom is often misinterpreted to prescribe a "hands-off" policy. Toch and Johnson write that [tloo often.. .the prisoner is confronted by a hostile or indifferent prison environment in which denial of persona1 problems and manipulation of others are prirnary ingredients of interpersonal life. The result is that the prison's survivors become tougher, more pugnacious, and less able to feel for themselves or others, while its nonsu~ivorsbecome weaker, more susceptible, and less able to control their lives. Tragically, this destructive process sometimes occurs in the presence of peers and authorities who choose to "do Meir own timew and ignore the suffering and inhumanity that surround them. (1982, pp. 19-20, emphasis added) The expression does not indicate a sense of complete detachment as Toch and Johnson would suggest. Rather, as Bentley and Corbett define in their dictionary of prison slang, it has to do with avoidance of the manipulative aspects of prison life. For Bentley and Corbett, to do your own time, one should [ml ind your own business and do not get involved in al1 the "cons" or "games" that are constantly being played. Many men corne to prison unaware of what to expect and end up getting involved in other people's business or "games." This will ultimately lead them into a great of trouble. (1992, p. 25) 6.6.5 "Two Weeks and a Coffee": Approaching the Gate Conversation Segments 6-8 and 6-9 involve me discussing with Sam his impending release. Conversation Segment 6-8

1 BF How much longer Sara? 2 Sam 14 days and a coffee. I can't wait to get out of here. Itr11 be [XI days that I've been in here. A year is a lot of the to take out of a guyrs life. As noted in my discussion of Conversation Segment 6-5, Sam was at that time ambiguous about his release date. In the segment above, in response to my question, Sam is once again precise. Using prison argot ("coffee" indicating morning), Sam informs me that he will be released in the morning, fifteen days hence. It is also significant that he states the actually number of days he will have spend in prison (line 4) . Segment 6-9 occurred shortly after. Here Sam discusses his plans for after his release. Conversation Segment 6-9 Sam 2 weeks more. BE' What will you do when you first hit the street? Have a decent meal at a restaurant? Sam Better . Everythingrs planned. My girlfriendts gonna pick me up here when 1 get out and werre gonna spend a few days in a good hotel. Shers gonna take me shopping for clothes . BF Not a bad time for that, therers lots of sales out there right now. Sam Yeah, back-to-school . Then 1% gonna get my stuf f out of storage . Itfs al1 there, just waiting for me to pick it up. BF You must have known youfd likely be going dom when you went for sentencing, having your stuff already put away just in case. Sam No way. 1 had to get my father to pick it up and put it away for me. I didnrt know 1 was going down. 1 couldnrt believe it when the judge said "guilty; 1'11 be back in five minutes for sentencing. " 14 Then he came back and said '[x] days ." 15 My lawyer said hefd get me off. 16 Then there he is, talking to the Judge, saying he agrees with the prosecutor that [XI days is a fair sentence. 17 1 said to him, 'what are you doing, nian?" 18 BF Yeah, itfs easy for them. 19 You8re hauled out the back while they get to walk out the front. In this segment Sam details his plans for the immediate future. He indicates that he would like to do many of things he has been unable to in the present of the prison. Although Sam doeç not speak of "pain," we can consider Samfs future plans as ways to alleviate some of the suffering he has endured as an inmate, 6.6.5-1 The Pains of Imprisonment Gresham Sykes (1958), in his classic ethnography of the New Jersey State Maximum Security Prison, notes that prisoners must endure five "pains of imprisonment ." Inmates are deprived of (a) their liberty, (b) goods and services, (c) heterosexual relationships, (dl persona1 autonomy, and (e) security. For Sykes, these are basic human needs. While the "pains of imprisonment" are the terms of the analyst, in Segment 6-9 Sam makes evident how he anticipates he will fulfil some of these needs. Sam looks forward to resuming his relationship with his girlfriend, enjoying the cornforts af forded by a "good" hotel, and savouring the freedom of being able to select his own clothes. 6.6.5.2 The Surprise of Imprisonment The second part of the conversation (beginning with line 11) involves a shift from the anticipation of pleasant future events to the somewhat distance and dismal past. When Sam told me that his possessions were in storage, 1 had assumed that he had anticipated that he would be sentenced to a prison term. Many of the inmates I met, expecting to be incarcerated, told me they had arranged in advance of their sentencing to put their possessions in storage, thereby easing the transition from citizen to prisoner. As Sam makes clear in this conversation segment, he did not expect to be found guilty and certainly did not anticipate being incarcerated. Note that in this conversation Sam does not deny his guilt but makes reference instead to the legal process. Whereas this process is said to defend the rights of the accused, Sam's account demonstrates that upon determination of guilt, the system, including his own lawyer, conspired to work against him. Sam's account here is not unusual. Of the thousands 1 inmates 1 have met, not one told me that he or she was innocent, On the other hand, 1 have heard many accounts similar to Sam's. These inmates daim their conviction was not fair and/or their sentence too severe.g 6.6.5.3 Lawyer Accounts Sam's criticism of his legal counsel is also typical of other inmate accounts. Inmates would frequently comment that prior ta trialr their lawyerrs assured them that they stood a good, if not excellent, "chance" of not being convicted. On conviction, however, the confidence of the lawyer changed significantly. He or she would then Say to their client that "we did our best; but donrt worry, you can get out after serving as little as one-sixth of your sentence." My response (line 19) is reflective of a statement one inmate said to me: "they get paid while we go to jail." Whereas after losing a case the defence lawyer moves on to a new client, his or her former client assumes bath a new social role and new temporal framework.1° 6.6.6 Future Strategies : "I'm Not Cdng Back. In the following conversation Sam told me that he would not be returning to the prison. Conversation Segment 6-10

1 Sam Ipm not gonna hang around with any of my old friends when 1 get out. Theyr re always telling me on the phone what they' se up to, partying and stuff . They were always worse than me but it's me who got sent dom. BF Well just don' t hang around many of the guys you met in here. Sam DonPt worry. Irm not coming back. Irve met too many guys who live for this place. Theypre out one week and back the next. Not me.

There are at least two ways of interpreting Sam's discussion of his friends. As both are critical, 1 did not, at the time of this conversation, probe further to establish more precisely what he rneant. On the one hand, Sam may be expressing his discontentment. While his friends are outside of prison, not only having a "good time" but telling Sam about their experience (line 2), he must remain inside prison. Sam might, on the other hand, have meant that his friends exerted in the past a bad influence on him and that to avoid future problems, he intends to change his network of associates. Both explanations are plausible. 6.6.6.1 "Losing:" Social Networks and the Return to Prison Social networks inside the prison are another matter. As indicated above, most prisoners have few close friends that they trust. As one of John IrwinPs informants told him at Soledad Prison, inmates emphasize that there is a

14 BF You' 11 sleep better on the street. 15 Sam Thatrs al1 1'11 be doing for the first couple of weeks . 16 Doing nothing in here you get used to sleepin' al1 the the. There are many interesting temporal details to this conversation sequence. First, Sam accounts for why he should be granted a pre-release in tems of both the benefits it would have for the prison staff and himself. Sam uses strategically the knowledge that the prison Admitting and Discharge unit is nomally closed on weekends. This organizational practice is made available by Sam in line 3. The second point to raise is SamFs pragmatic approach to the future. Whereas he was speaking weeks before of a girlfriend, hotel room, and new clothes, his concern now is the availability of public transit and social assistance programs. He recognizes that these public services operate on a temporal schedule that varies dependent upon the day of the week. Sam does not explain why his security level was changed. The effect, however, within the common-sense of the prisoners is that this could result in the denial of his pre-release. Sam' s comments about sleeping might appear contradictory. One might ask, "why, if Sam is doing nothing in prison, would he want to sleep for two weeks?" Within the natural attitude of the prison mernbers the explanation is that when released Sam will be able to decide for himself when he goes to and from bed. This is a very different way of "doing sleep." 6.6.8 "If Theytd Let Me Go, I'd Ualk but Buck Naked." This was one of the more "playful" moments 1 experienced during my fieldwork. Demonstrated here is the ability to create imaginary worlds out of the common-sense materials available at hand. Conversation Segment 6-12

Jim 1 When do you get out of here Sam? Sam Sunday . Jim ~omorrow? BI? Yeah, he wishes . Sam A week Sunday . BF T can just see him tellin' 'em: 'keep my personals, man. If you let me outta here now, 1'11 walk out of here in my coveralls." Sam Hey, if they let me outta here tomorrow they can keep their coveralls. Ifd walk out in my underwear . BF 1 could just see ya. Walking dom the road anr goinr in the first mens' store. "Sorry man, but this the 1 left home without my American Express card! Can you spot me some change for a couple of days?" If theyf d let me go, Ifd walk out buck naked. Get real. Like youf d go to the transit stop naked! No man. Ird flag a cab and tell the driver I just got rolled for my wallet and clothes and tell him to take me home. Ifd tell lem 1' ve money to pay him inside the house. Whatfs he gonna do? Me naked in his car. Not like Ird be goinr anywhere. Sam Youf re too much. Jim, unlike Sara, will be incarcerated for several more months at Metro Prison. 1 begin this playful dialogue by suggesting that perhaps Sam could leave the following day wearing his prison uniform. Al1 members of the prison context recognize that the scenario 1 present is only fantasy. As the previous conversation segments demonstrate, early release dates, although negotiable, are not obtained by surrendering onefs persona1 property or prison clothes. However, the ruse continues. Sam goes one step further than me. To have one week "knocked of fN his sentence, he would leave the prison wearing nothing but his underwear. Jim would go further, saying he would be prepared to walk out naked. He continues on to give a plausible account as to how he would accomplish this. Within the natural attitude of the criminal/prisoner, JimFs account is sensible. Interestingly, it is Sam who thwarts this escape attempt. Sam brings us back to the temporal present of the present. Sam will be released in seven days. Jim several months later. 6.6.9 Sum~ry:Sam and Doing Time In the opening discussion of this chapter 1 made reference to Donald Royrs paper on "Banana Time" (1959-60). Sam and Jim demonstrate in the eight conversation segments above that as for Roy and his fellow clacker operators, people in extreme settings need to find ways to make sense of their temporal context. This goes beyond chronological sequence and the use of metaphor to describe experience. AS with the members of the clicking room, inmates too must find ways of making time recognizably sensible, of doing time. They must make time accountable to the rnembers of their context . Sam and Jim utilize a number of techniques to make time observable and reportable. Ail of the methods reported in the conversation segments above involve social interaction. Doing time involves talk. The conversation segments also reveal that there are for prisoners many times. The temporal focus of the inmate oscillates between the present, past, and future. While the features 1 have reported in these conversations are available to al1 rnembers of the context, 1 have filled-in some conversation segments with details external to the conversation where such ethnugraphic description is demonstrably relevant to the participants. 1 may have unintentionally annoyed some of my readers by incorporating in my description the work of other researchers of the prison. As these data and theory are not available to the natural members of the prison context, they are not part of the analytic exercise. "Why then do you include them?" my reader may very well ask. My rationale is that these data and theories attempt to report the same phenomenon that 1 am interested in. Although they mistakenly attempt to construct their object through theory rather than through the practices of the people in the practical settings they attempt to study, they, nevertheless, share a similar interest. -6.7 -It Sure 1s a Beautiful DayM: Ileather and Prison Talk The following conversation took place while 1 was escorting a group of PC Inmates front the Hobby Roorn back to their living unit. 1 initiated a casual discussion with the inmate who was walking beside me, making an accurate but informai comment about the weather. In doing so, in the four short turns of the conversation çeguence, much about time in prison was revealed. We shall consider Eirst the conversation segment. Conversation Segment 6-13 (a) 1 Bi? It sure is beautiful outside today. 2 Inmate I wouldnft know. 3 BF Not enough people for yard? 4 Inmate 1 don't go to yard. 5 1 wonrt go outside until 1 get out of here . A remarkable amount of work is being accomplished here. On one level, while this conversation took place 1 ensured that those inmates assigned to me moved from one area of the centre to another. For our purposes here, however, we are concerned with an inquiry into the work accomplished in the conversation. As Heritage and Atkinson put it "[tlhe central goal of conversation analytic research is the description and explication of the cornpetencies that ordinary speakers use and rely on in participating in intelligible, socially organized interaction" (1984, p. 1) . In other words, our interest lies in the way interlocutors in a particular context accomplish a conversation so that it can proceed. An investigation into these matters and how they are drawn upon by mernbers as resources in their accounting practices will be the object of Our focus in this section. 6.7.1 Making Small Talk My initial utterance (line 1) may appear to the reader as highly transparent. A non-ironic observation about the weather is used as an invitation to open a conversation with the person 1 was walking beside. This talk was prefixed only on the basis of random possibility. Walking dom the corridor, 1 positioned myself in the middle of a group of about twelve inmates. Our conversation lasted at best no longer than three or four minutes. And of course, had not my interlocutor responded to my invitation to talk, it would not have technically constituted a conversation at all. The inmate did, however, respond to rny invitation; thereby transforming an utterance on the part of one individual into a conversation between two parties. A response to a remark involves a move into the realm of the social. 6.7.2 Moving Beyond Small Talk Most significant, in responding to rny utterance, the inmate effected a shift in the topic of the discussion, moving from a superficial discussion of the weather into an insightful (albeit brief) exploration of prison life . An aspect of the expressed and shared intersubjective understanding of his everyday world is revealed through conversation. 6.7.3 Making Sense of the Obvious le must first consider what this prisoner meant when he said he had no knowledge of it being beautiful outside that particular winter day. Even inside the prison, it was obvious to me that it was 'a beautiful day." The sun shone brightly through the windows. After a many days of frigid sub-zero weather, the temperature was on the "plus side" of the centigrade themorneter. One looking outside the windows could observe melting snow. To those inside the prison, this vista was obscured to a degree by metal bars. Effective both as (a) symbolic markers differentiating the inside from the outside and (b) physical barriers, isolating the prisoner inside, they could not, however, block the bright sunlight which shone through the thick glass. 6.7.4 Small Talk (Continued) An entirely adequate response to my comment in line 1 would have been something to the effect that "yes, it is a beautiful day outside today. '' The conversation, had it continued, could have progressed as the following exarnple 1 have reconstructed from other conversations with inmates: Conversation Segment 6-13 (b) 3 BF Hopefully wefve seen the last of the cold weather. 4 1mate It's been a cold winter. 5 I've had to use two blankets. 6 BF The dom can be cold when it' s forty below. 7 Inmate Thatrs for sure. For members of any context, conversations about the weather are an everyday occurrence. Aithough mudane, they reveal a shared understanding of the particular context in which they are occasioned. Talking about the weather is an effective topic for two parties to engage in conversation. But returning to Conversation Segment 6-13 (a), we observe that the discussion did not remain at the level of casual conversation. The inmate's utterance, '1 wouldn't know," might be taken as a rather odd response to a general comment about the weather (especially that it was evident that it really was 'a beautiful day") . 6.7.5 Malcinq Sense of What 1s Not So Obvious One possible interpretation of the inmateps turn in line 2 is that he could not discern what was for me seemed obvious. In other words, that for some reason his interpretation of the reality of the situation was at odds with mine. There are a number of different levels at which this occur. On the one hand, we might have been experiencing very different realities. On the other hand, the criteria we use to assess the weather may be dissimilar. It is possible that perhaps this individual enjoys cold and dreary winter days. Maybe this was the case, though 1 did at the time think this circumstance was highly unlikely. Çomething else, 1 thought, was responsible for this inmate contradicting what to me seemed blatantly obvious. Inside and Chteide: Spatial Metaphors in the Prison At this point I should specify my reason for placing emphasis on uttering the word "outside" in this sequence. I had discovered previously in talk with inmates that conversation openings in which a distinction was not made beside inside and outside were not clearly made tended to be unsuccessful in tems of invoking a conversation. For inmates, being inside the prison is always conceptualized in negative tenus. Days are regarded in reference to an interval scaled in tems of degrees of "bad" and "ugly." Absent from the vernacular of the prisoner is the phrase, '1 am having a good day.'''2 As we shall see, the only good day a prisoner realizes is that anticipated on the occasion of his or her release. 6.7.7 Repair as a Technique for Developing Understanding Returning again to Conversation Segment 6-13 (a), I attempt in line 3 to repair the conversation by suggesting that the inmate is unaware of the weather because his unit might not have been allowed to go to "yard" that day. 1 am drawing here on a familiarity of the prison context shared by members. 1 will elaborate. First, a prison "yard" is an outside recreation area. Although open to the outside, prison yards are secure areas, surrounded by fences, walls, buildings, and not infrequently covered overhead by fencing material. Although technically "outside" while on the yard, the prison inmate remains captive. In line 3 1 also draw upon the shared realization that yard periods in prison are subject to administrative constraints. Yard is held at certain times of the day. Yard periods are cancelled if insufficient staff are available to supervise the inmates in this area. Moreover, if yard is "called", a minimum number of PC inmates must elect to "go to yard" for it to be actually held. My point is that there was a shared understanding between me and this inmate that he might not have had the opportunity to go to yard that day. In line 3 1 extended this as a possible explanation as to why the inmate did not know that it was a beautiful day outside that particular day . 6.7.8 -1 Donrt Go To Yardm As evidenced however by lines 4 and 5, my attempt to repair the conversation failed. 1 was told forthright that this inmate does not go outside and, furthemore, that he intends not to go outside until his release. None of this has anything to do with my opening comment ahut the weather (line 1). In the doing of the conversation the topic shifted from the mundane talk of the reality of the weather to the mundane talk of the reality of imprisonment for this particular prisoner. Other inmates have expressed to me sirnilar (often identical) opinions about going "outside" to yard. As one inmate put it, "if Irm gonna be locked up, Ifm gonna stay inside." In Conversation Segment 6-13 (a) we gain insight into the temporal organization of their practical reasoning. 6.7.9 Suspending Time The coping mechanism used by this inmate is to suspend time while under incarceration. While in prison, he has isolated himself both temporally and spatially within the confines of the prison interior. Freedorn in tirne and space resumes for him at the exact moment his sentence ends. This might appear to some analysts as ironic and be interpreted as an existential dilemma for the prisoner. The chronological instruments of the clock and calender move slowly forward incrementally in terms of the prison sentence to the occasion of the inmate's pending release. Yet at the phenomenological level of the self, the prisoner is trapped in both time and space. On the one hand, these constraints can be viewed as imposed externally. It is by virtue of an order by the court that a person can be physically constrained within the locale of a prison for a period of time as specified by the court. Yet, on the other hand, the prisoner does have some effect over the conditions of sentence. As demonstrated throughout this thesis, the prisoner does effect some degree of choice as to what he does with his time and where these activities will take place. Conversation Segment 6-13 (a) ended abruptly with the inmaters comment in line 5. As a member of the prison setting, 1 understood what he was saying but was not able to advance the conversation further. My silence, 1 believe, communicated this understanding. Shared also was the knowledge that neither of us could do anything about his situation. We shared the realization that while 1 that night would be returning to my own residence, he would be sleeping in his dormitory. From the perspective of the social organization of tirne, what is interesting here is the ability to (a) suspend the passage of time and, as revealed by the conversation segment, (b) to communicate this understanding. If time really was suspended, however, the anticipated future would never be realized. As Heidegger (1962) has so convincingly shown us, Being is always a state of movement toward death. Ontologically, the suspension of the is possible only in the absence of Being. As this prisoner demonstrates, however, at a practical level it is possible to suspend time. How this works is by constructing a very different time at what rnight be understood as the structural and phenomenological level. Moreover, it is possible to communicate this understanding. What is less certain, however, is the utility of this coping mechanism. 1s this way of rnanaging the an effective strategy of passing time? Or does it, on the other hand, prolong the experiential passage of tirne?

We have covered in this chapter a diverse range of conversational materials to examine how prisoners do time. It has been argued that prisoners, through their time-talk, make the multiple forms of time they encounter available through the process of adequate description. By accounting for time, they make the reportable-observable . 1 agree with Cohen and Taylor (1992) that the doing of our everyday lives, whether we are a prisoner or not, is problematic. E'urther, there is a distinct temporal dimension to social interaction. TaetabLes are not fixed but must rather be continuously negotiated. More importantly, temporal order must be made available using forms recognizable to members of that context . Even for inmates in prisons, as Nigel Rapport (1987) reminds us, 'in using institutions, individuals personalize them [andl must continue to give them meaning and grant them causality for them to maintain social significance" (p. 145) .

the ce11 blocks. 8. Not infrequently these social networks organize in the form of prison gangs. It is becoming increasingly difficult in the United States to identify members of opposing gangs yet such measures are necessary as to prevent dangerous situations such as inadvertently housing such people together. For more information on gangs in prisons see Knox and Tromanhauser, 1991. 9. Other inmates have said to me that "they busted me on the wrong rap man." Here the inmate is not claiming he is innocent of al1 wrongdoing but rather than he was convicted for the wrong offense. 10. Garfinkel's classical article (1956) demonstrates how this change in social position is practically accomplished. 11. The display of such optimisrn is not untypical for first-time of fenders. Repeat offenders, on the other hand, did not state with such assurance that they would not be back. In fact, one inmate 1 had seen in two provincial prisons over the research period told me prior to his release : 1 Inmate See ya. 2 BF: Not in here, 1 hope. 3 Inmate If not, then at [name of bar frequented by ex-prisoners 1 4 BF Yeah, as if I'm going to walk in there! 5 Inmate: Then If11 see ya next in here. 12. Interestingly, it was not considered at al1 problematic by the inmates for me to experience a "good" day. In walking the halls and living units, inmates would frequently inquire, 'how are you doing today (Bruce)?" 1 learned early that the typical response to this query one would use in the university context - 'Great, how are you doing?" is not appropriate when posed to inmates under sentence. Such a response norrnally brought an end to the conversation. More effective methods to continue the talk were to respond in the positive and then shift to a question about sornething that might be positive about their life at that particular time. For example, "Great, did you have a good visit today?" or 'Gïeat.. ..bet you're looking forward to Leafs killing the Flames tonight." Whereas 1 could be "having a good day," it would seem that it necessary to ground events interpreted positively in terms of very specific occurrences. Family visits and hockey garnes are generally safe foundations for such conversation work. CHAPTER SEVEN: CONCLUSION VLADIMIR: You're a hard man to get on with, Gogo. ESTRAGON: It would be better if we parted. VLADIMIR: You always Say that, and you always corne crawling back. ESTRAGON: The best thing would be to kill me like the other . VLADIMIR: What other? (Pause.) What other? ESTRAGON: Like the billions of others. VLADIMIR: (sententious.) To every man his little cross. (He sighs. ) Till he dies. (Afterthought.) And is forgotten. ESTRAGON: In the meantime let's try and converse calmly, since wefre incapable of keeping silent. VLADIMIR: Yourre right . Wevre inexhaustible. Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot, p. 62 Tell me 1 the only one Tell me there' s no other one Jesus was an only son Tell me 1% the chosen one Jesus was an only son for you Despite al1 my rage 1 am still just a rat in a cage And 1 still believe that 1 cannot be saved from "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins .

O7 Ovenriew of the Chapter There are two main sections to this conclusion, the final chapter of the thesis. I review the relevance of time for (a) people in their everyday lives (particularly those who happen to be in prison) and (b) the disciplinary field of ethnomethodology, 1 argue here that members of al1 contexts are embedded in time, whether they be prisoners or people on the street. Time is often, but not always, taken-for-granted as a "fact." This common-sense quality of time has the ef fect that both members and ethnornethodologists do not need, in many contexts, to subject the to analytic inquiry. In some contexts (for example, the prison), members must be especially attentive to making temporal phenornena available. As reflected in their language, time in these settings is not taken for granted but rather is a matter of practical concern that must be constantly made observable to mernbers of that context. I end the thesis by arguing that ethnomethodology would benefit by being more attentive to time. If we, as ethnomethodologists, are not sensitive to the practical action of people in making sense of the, a detemporalized ethnomethodology is not ethnomethodological at all. -7 .1 Introduction : Imprisoned in Time We al1 do tirne, whether we are in prison or on the street. Aithough the doing of everyday life varies greatly across these contexts, we are al1 embedded in time. The, therefore, is as much a prison house as is language or the iron cage of rationality in modern societies. As John Wideman aptly puts it, [i]n spite of the measures Western society employs to secularize tirne, time transcends the conventional moral social order. Prisoners can be snatched from that order but not from time. The imprisons us all. When the prisoner returns to society after serving his time, in an important sense hef s never been away. (1984, p. 36) Yet while in prison, the prisoner must make sense of time relative to a prison sentence, the day-to-day routine of prison life, and an eventual release. In doing time, the prisoner rnust make available these temporal phenornena to other rnembers of the prison. I have demonstrated in this thesis a variety of methods by which mernbers of the prison go about this mundane but necessary activity. 7.1.1 Time and nPower" The relationship between tirne and "power8' has received considerable scholarly attention. It is said that some people (W. F. Cottrell cites the case of "railroaders") lack the ability to confer meaning on tinte in their lives. Thus, '[als technology controls time for the railroader, it also determines the tempo and the interval of other social relationships and sets a pattern for the personality" (1939, p. 190).= This deterministic mode1 holds that for persons temporalized by technology, inactive moments have negative affect on those individuals. "The inability to fil1 oners time with a productive activity is frustrating. This is different from breaks, which are inherently satisfying" says Gary Fine (1996, p. 70). Cottrell and Fine's analysis conflicts with that of Roy (1959-60). Though technology does set the tempo for the "clacking machines," "clacker operators" are able to resist the artificial temporal standard imposed by the machines. Although they are engaged in a "productive activity, " the problem for Ike, George, and Smy is not that they are idle but rather that operating "clicking machines" is not meaningful to them. These men are able, however, to accomplish their own temporal order, to do time in a way that makes sense to them. Doing "banana time" is a device with which to make available to members of the "clicking room" a temporal order independent of that of the clicking machines. Doing banana time makes the workersr time recognizable. Contrary to Cottrell and Fine, there are many different ways of doing time. 7.1.2 Nihilistic Approaches: Not Doing Time One possible way of doing time is not to do it at all. Many prisoners speak of life as futile. They use terrns like those articulated by Vladimir and Estragon in Beckett's nihilistic play, Waiting for Godot. "Nothing to be done, " laments Estragon as the curtain opens to him Sitting beside a desolate country road. Vladimir' s responds, "I'm beginning to corne round to that opinion" (Beckett, 1956, p. 9) . As with Heideggerf s existential philosophy, Beckettr s play suggests that waiting for death underlies the human condition. Anxious for Godot' s impending arrival, yet weary of the constant waiting, Estragon declares near the end of the play, "1 can't go on like this" (p. 94). Yet the terror of death is more fearsome for Estragon and Vladimir than the tedium of enduring. On the one hand, boredom saps their life essence. As Corgan (1995) puts it in bis popular Song, "[tlhe world is a vampire, sent to drain." On the other hand, fear of the uncertainty of the abyss that follows life is even more horrifying. How does one do life under such seemingly hopeless circumstance? 7.1.3 Doing Time Jerome Washington (1994) shares with us the insight of the prisoner in providing practical advice for doing life. Upon his release after spending fifteen years as a prisoner at Attica, "1 decided to do life the same way 1 did prison. Nothing fancy. One step at a time, one day at time, and most of a11, don0t forget to breath" (p. 157) . Even Estragon and Vladimir recognize that doing life is a practical task we must al1 engage in. They too must not "forget to breath." They postpone their thoughts of suicide for the following day. And despite the dreariness of the waiting, there is always the possibility for salvation in the present. "Wef 11 hang ourselves tomorrow. Unless Godot cornes, " says Vladimir (Beckett, 1956, p. 94) . Prisoners' time-talk is pedagogical in that it demonstrates that even in the most structured contexts, people are able to effect control of their own temporal "reality." As 1 outlined in the introduction of this thesis, there are three ways in which time may be structured. 1 introduced first the idea of chronological sequence and its relationship to the individual in time. Second, 1 raised attention to the expression of time using metaphor as a practical way to make available subjective experience. Finally, this study has explored at length the doing of time. Ethnomethodology has been used to explore how prisoners make the accountable. Prisoners' the-talk makes use of a number of devices through which to demonstrate their past, present and future in ways that are sensible to them. 7.1.4 Ironicizing Time In accounting for time, it is essential that time is made available in ways that are relevant to members of that context. 1 will provide an example from the prison in which persons external to the prison setting attempted to define the temporal experience for inmates. Calenders were given by a community group ta each inmate as a Christmas present. This was a kind, charitable gesture on the part of those individuals. The inmates appreciated their gifts and most put the calenders to good use. On the other hand, several inmates pointed out to me that the text printed on the back of the calender, "How to Save Time and Money With This Calender," was, for the members of this context, nonsensical. 1 reproduce below two of the nine suggested uses for this calender. A Daily Planner- Meetings, luncheons, appointments and special invitations should be recorded on your calender imniediately so you can avoid embarrassing conflicts and know at a glance when you have open time.

A Nostalgie Memory- At the end of the year, don't throw your calender away. Like a fine wine it will grow in value as the years go by. A collection of fond maories that would otherwise slip away will be yours to enjoy over and over again years frorn now. (Perfect Pen & Stationary, 1992) These prisoners recognized the irony in having their time experience defined in a way that might be meaningful on the street but that is irrelevant in the prison. They laughed about the concept of "open the" and the metaphor of their mernories (in prison) as 'fine wine [that] will grow in value." None of these uses of the calender were consistent with the ways prisoners go about doing time in prison. The temporal experience of these inmates was far removed from the natural attitude held by the anonymous writer at the Perfect Pen & Stationary Company. 7.1.5 Time and the Prisonet: Mature Coping and the 1-te Code Doing tirne is considered by some as an adaptive response to prisonization. Robert Johnson (1996) recently coined the phrase "mature copingggto describe what he considers a sensible way for inmates to "do time." He recornrnends prisoners accommodate to incarceration by dealing with life's problems like a responsive and responsible being, one whose seeks autonomy without violating the rights of others, security without resort to deception or violence, and relatedness to others. (p. 98) Johnson offers good advice that resonates of cornponents of the "prisoner's code" as first described in the academic literature by Donald Clemmer (1958, p. 152) . The problem with such counsel, however, is that these suggestions are muddled when put into practice. Clemmer relates an amusing incident that was shared with him during his fieldwork in a large American penitentiary. One of the inmate's in the prison (Clemmer refers to him as WBen8')had a cat. As the story goes, 'two young inmates became aware of Ben's fondness for his pet and realizing that Ben had money, stole or kidnapped the cat and held it for ten dollars ransom!" (p. 158) . Ben would not violate the prisoner's code by reporting to the prison staff the theft of his pet and the identity of hostage-takers. He instead arranged with a commissary clerk to pay off the kidnappers. Unbeknownst to Ben, other inmates had already infomed the guards of the hostage taking and Ben's cat was eventually returned. The story of Ben's cat illustrates that normative expectations must be practically accomplished through social interaction. Similarly, in his study of a halfway house, Lawrence Wieder was told by inmates and staff of the existence of a convict code not unlike that described by Clemmer. The code consisted of eight axioms: do not snitch do not cop out do not take advantage of other residents share what you have help other residents do not mess with other resident's interests do not trust staff show your loyalty to the residents (adapted from Wieder, 1988, pp. 115-118) While not discounting the code as a practical moral ethic for inmates, Wieder considers that the doing of the convict code is something quite apart of the code itself. As with doing time, Yelling the coderr and any particular instance of formulating the code, exhibits, rather than describes or explains, the order that members achieve through their practices of showing and telling each other that particular encountered features are typical, regular, orderly, coherent, motivated out of considerations of normative constraint, and the like. (p. 224) Harvey Sacks emphasises that practical action is recognizably observable as a feature demonstrating order of the context in which it occurs. 'For Members, activities are observables. They see activities. They see persons doing intimacy, they see persons lying, etcff (1992a, p. 119). The recommendation given by Johnson (1996) is flawed in that the normative expectations he ascribes are not observable. They fail to exhibit for inmates how to do time. As has been argued in this thesis, inrnates do tirne by making their past, present, future accountable. 7.1.6 Looking Forward: The Future Thsough the Present The reader might very well ask, '1 understand your point but what practical significance does any of this have for prisoners?" My response to this question is that by recognizing that prisoners' do time by making tirne observable we can better understand their strategies for coping with imprisonment. Patricia O'Connor (1994a, 199433, 1995a, 1995b) is involved in innovative research exploring how prisoners' accounts of the past can be used for therapeutic purposes with which to facilitate behavioural change. Rather than stating axioms for behaviour as Johnson (1996) does, O'Connor is engaged in the process of assisting prisoners' in developing new ways of making sense of their lives. Locking people in prison is a costly proposition. O'Connor brings hope that, despite the scepticism of authors like Robert Martinson (19741, we ma y find methods that do work to effect positive change for the people in our prisons. A better understanding of how prisoners' do time is a small but nevertheless important contribution to making available methods so that people do not have to experience 220 the rage of being 'a rat in a cage." Much work remains to be done. -7.2 Ethnamethodology and Time 1 have argued in this thesis that ethnomethodology (inclusive of conversation analysis) has been largely unresponsive to temporal phenomena. Except analysing the sequential order of the "clacking of turns" in conversation, ethnomethodologists have ignored or argued against supplementing ethnomethodology with temporal phenomena. Michael Moerman (1988) was harshly criticized for proposing a 'culturally contexted conversation analysis," an approach calling for supplementing conversational materials with a contextual framework. Moerman proposes that temporal data, including biography and history, should be used to augment the "clacking of turns" of conversation.* The debate continues ten years after Moermanfs book. In a recent discussion regarding the issue of context, Dorothy Smith contends: "1 have never been an ethnomethodologist and differ sufficiently from ethnomethodology (as well as its often sectarian practice) to wish not be identified as such" (e-mail discussion list, July 2, 1997) . Smith8s rejection of ethnomethodology is unfortunate. Ethnomethodology is well suited for the study of the. Patrick Baert (1992) considers ethnomethodology's strength to be the careful attention placed on the practical action (Sackrs observables) of members as occasioned in everyday contexts. Thereby, the researcher can demonstrate empirically that social order is something which cannot be captured entirely with the help of a synchronie analysis. Instead of stressing merely the interrelatedness of different parts of a system, ethnomethodology has been innovative in revealing that, as a skilful accomplishment, order is produced in and through tirne. (p. 41) While Schegloff (1991) is absolutely correct that this action takes place in the immediate here-and-now of the unfolding conversation sequence, temporal features may very well be brought into the conversation and are thereby made accountable. Dorothy Smith (1979), writing at a time when she was not disassociating herself from ethnomethodologists, speaks of temporal order using the analogy of a building. People bring into being for one another a "structure" (1 use this term metaphorically here) which they inhabit temporarily and which drops away behind them into a past from which it can be recovered into the present only reconstituting it as part of a present structure. They move into the future as into a building, the walls and floors of which they put together for one another as they go into it. It is a structure of action. (p. 14) The walls and floors of this "structure" may very well be temporal phenomena, select fragments of membersf biographies, histories, anticipations of the future and so on. Time-talk is a method prisoners and non-prisoners use make this "struct~re'~observable. These are relevant conversational features that ethnomethodology must not dismiss. NOTES 1. Barry Schwartz (1974, 1978) has explored the relationship between the and power by considering queues.

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Woolgar, Steve and Dorothy Pawluch. 1985, "Ontological Gerrymandering: the Anatomy of Social Problems Explanations." Social Problems 32:214-27. APPENDIX A THE DEPARTMENT OF ANTHROPOLOGY

This is to ce- that the Department of Anthropology Conmittee on the Ethics of Human Shidies at The University of Calgary has examined and approved the research proposal by:

15 Octaber 1996 Date l MAGE EXALUATION TEST TARGET (QA-3)