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worn when out with a large group of male friends. It also indicated on occasion that men had been out drinking all day in local pubs that would allow them to get away with such clothes—all bad signs for the finely attuned senses of a good bouncer. They’d also on occasion turn away skinheads, men with large visible tattoos, black eyes, scar tissue and so on. To the bouncers they were signs that violence might well be a focal concern of the man trying to gain admittance to the bar. As our researcher became more conversant with the environment, acting like a bouncer became almost second nature and the covert role relatively easy to sustain. He was after all not just pretending to be one of them, he actually was. He was being paid to be a bouncer, and with the job came involvement in virtually every violent incident that occurred in his place of employment during the research period. It was simply impossible to negotiate a peripheral role and still remain ‘one of the boys’. Being one of the boys, however, involved a good deal more than simply breaking up fights and throwing out drunks. Much of the work of bouncers is mundane and involves standing around, bored, for long periods. During these times it was possible to slowly ascertain details about the lives and beliefs of colleagues. Some worked in factories during their daylight incarnations, others worked in the service sector, others did nothing, often devoting themselves to a lifestyle of working out, working on the doors, and getting money from a variety of sources (see Winlow et al., forthcoming). The head doorman at Jimmy’z, the bar which became the focus of our ethnographic research, was a chef. Some of the bouncers were married with children; others divorced with girlfriends; others single and promiscuous. Our researcher found that some aspects of being ‘one of the boys’ were easier than others, and as with most aspects of the ethnography this related closely to his cultural knowledge and background. For him it was easy to endure conversations about violence and gangsters, and this did not disturb him too much or provoke any serious moral outrage. It was also easy to join in group discussions, which usually involved a great deal of piss-taking. It was easy to laugh and joke around with them and discuss aspects of everyday life. They would offer immediate judgments of everything that moved into their field of vision. Opinions about other men were often polarized: they were a ‘prick’, or a ‘wanker’, or a good bloke, rarely somewhere in between. Most importantly, involvement in some violent incidents was simply unavoidable. As expressed in the quote at the start of this paper, saying ‘no’ to violence in this environment was simply not an option, and being on the receiving end of violence was distinctly possible, which tended to place ethical considerations into perspective. As with most research, there were both highs and lows. The highs could be a particularly easy night where nothing went wrong and no major problems occurred. Colleagues weren’t always the ignorant thugs they are often portrayed as, and their company could on occasion be exceptionally entertaining. Just as time dragged on occasion, sometimes it passed quickly, and at the end of the night you would be paid regardless of whether you’d actually done any work or not. The bad times could be the occasional crippling boredom and dread of another night at work. There would be phone calls late at night, colleagues wouldn’t show up, requests upon time and a succession of impositions which of course were really expressions of friendship and closeness. Things had a way of swinging from one extreme to another. The worst research experiences usually involved some form of violence. Some violent incidents were easily dealt with and quickly forgotten, while others remained etched upon the brain for some time. There was blood, 544 GET READY TO DUCK broken bones, threats and curses and kicks and punches thrown. Perhaps the most disturbing is recounted in the section below, and yet it relates more to the effects of engaging in this kind of research into violence than to the violent engagement of bouncers. Just as bouncers had to engage in violence, they also had to witness it with alarming regularity, and what the bouncers saw and did, so did our researcher. Why this incident was considered the most disturbing is also clearly related to our researcher’s cultural knowledge, which allowed us to conduct the research in the first place. He could grudgingly put up with brawling groups of men who occasionally directed violence at him as he conducted his job, and yet it was the following incident that involved only peripheral engagement that was particularly disturbing. Ethnography: bad times So far the evening has progressed without incident. We walk inside the bar on occasion to make sure that everything is going all right and then back outside to the doorway. I watch a group of six women arguing close to the doorway of Gregory’s Bar. There is already some pushing and it seems as though I may have to do something after all tonight, even if it is just to ask the group of young women to continue their argument a little further away from the door. They look like many of the other groups of young women that pass by this way. They seem aged between late teens and mid-twenties, although it’s hard to tell. They’re dressed in reasonably fashionable clothes, and range from slightly to very drunk. They’re talking loudly to make themselves heard, and passing groups of men are looking on amused by the group’s heated discussions. More and more people are beginning to stop and watch. The group are pushing and swearing and there is a hint that violence may result, which is precisely why so many spectators have gathered. A group of middle aged women exit the bar and I move to hold the door open for them. They have to go around the group of arguing young women and I use this opportunity to ask them to move away from the door. They ignore me totally but appear to have got the hint, and slowly begin to move away while continuing to argue. Men are now laughing and some are offering encouragement such as ‘Go on, hit her!’ They are now around 20 metres away from where I am standing, and it is hard to make out who are the main combatants in this melee, but now one young woman has shouted an insult at another, the recipient of which has turned on her heal and begun to walk away. The first young woman continues to throw insults her way until the retreating young woman seemingly has a change of heart, turns, picks up an empty lager bottle from the street and hits the first young woman in the face with it. A hush descends on the busy street. It isn’t funny anymore. Nobody is laughing; in fact there was a palpable ‘Oh!’ sound emitted from the spectators mixed with the sound of thick glass crashing into tender flesh and bone. Almost in slow motion the young woman who has been struck in the face falls to the floor. Her attacker has now dropped the bottle, which smashes when it hits the street, and is walking quickly away. The injured young woman’s friends are now helping her up, and look shocked, remaining eerily silent. The injured young woman has her hand pressed to her mouth. She isn’t screaming or crying, but instantly it was possible to tell that the young woman was badly injured. The bottle made a sickening thud as it contacted with the young woman’s face, and despite the fact that it didn’t break on impact, it seems impossible that such a blow could result in anything less than a serious injury. The young woman is now on her feet and making her way towards me. I snap out of my shocked state when I see Paul [bouncer; colleague] heading over towards the group of young women, putting his arm around the injured young woman’s back to support her unsteady steps. Paul has had some first aid training and is now trying to convince the injured young woman that she should take her hand away from the wound so he can see what damage has been done, and after some gentle coaxing, the young 545 WINLOW ET AL. woman is persuaded to release her grip on the wound. Grudgingly she removes her hand and blood spurts all over Paul’s shirt. One of the injured young woman’s friends has begun to cry as I look at the gory horror. The young woman’s upper lip is split entirely, right up to her right nostril. It’s a wide gash and through the resulting hole it becomes apparent that the woman has also lost at least three teeth. There is blood everywhere. Paul’s shirt now appears tie-dyed red with blood. It’s on the carpet and on the mug that recently held my coffee. The young woman’s bottom lip also appears to be bleeding, and the overall impression is nothing short of horrific. I grab a stool for the young woman to sit on while the manager phones an ambulance . . . Suddenly everyone has become a doctor as the young woman’s friends and other bar customers come forward to offer opinions on what we should do with the young woman, whose arrival and injuries have provoked an incident inside the bar as people attempt to see what is going on . . . Within minutes an ambulance has arrived, accompanied by the police. The young woman is quickly out of the bar and into the ambulance as the police set about finding out what happened . . . Later when a policeman called to take a statement, he informs me that I may be called as a witness in any resulting court case. When I ask how the young woman is, he informs me that, ‘She lost four teeth, 28 stitches to the upper lip, the usual bruising and swelling . . . Shame really. Pretty girl. Turns out she’s only 15.’ While this incident was perhaps the most disturbing, there were many others. It quickly became apparent that violence was indeed a major part of the bouncer’s culture, selfidentity and working environment. Just as it was necessary to take a covert role while researching violence in the night time economy, it was necessary to be reflexive and to take a flexible approach to ethics and the textbook approach to ethnography. Researching violent groups in this way is a matter of continuous adaptation, involving changing roles, and constantly negotiating and renegotiating interaction with the researched group on their own terms. It is impossible to predict what the researched culture and the chaos of circumstance may throw at you over the course of a day’s or night’s research, and while the ability to think on one’s feet is essential, it is simply not feasible to side-step forms of behaviour that one would normally avoid at all cost. And violence does occur with alarming regularity in the night time economy (Hutchinson et al. 1998). In the immediacy of the moment, and especially when the threat of violence looms menacingly over social interaction, it can be entirely forgotten that the reason you are there is to conduct research. Research is what is happening to someone else in some other time. The here and now dictates that you act in a certain way in order that you pass safely through the current crisis, and in all probability into the next one. While conducting much of the ethnography into bouncers and the night time economy, research interests were rarely at the forefront of our minds. Indeed there was so much going on, and the threat of violence in a staggering array of guises was so consistently a consideration, that our researcher was rarely able to consider the minutiae of what was happening until the next day. The fact that being a bouncer involves dealing with violence means that our ethnographer was not able to lurk on the periphery and observe (Whyte 1943). The covert nature of our research did not offer such luxury, for by not engaging fully with his enacted environment, by not being hit and hitting, by not having drunks puking on his shoes, by not putting his body in the way of whatever violence occurred, he would have become the kind of ‘empty shirt’ that is despised by his peers and is ultimately excluded from the profession.4 From the moment our researcher put on his uniform and 546 GET READY TO DUCK 4 We are referring here to the bouncing and not academic profession. identification badge, making it safely through the night and maintaining the persona and access he had worked so hard to cultivate was foremost in his mind. One wrong move, one wrong word even, and it would all come crashing down. Our researcher only had to utter ‘milieu’, ‘sub-culture’ or ‘interaction’ and it would be time to go home or indeed directly to the emergency ward. As an offshoot of this concern, all publications that have arisen from this research have been significantly modified in order to prevent identifying places, individuals and incidents. Complying with formal academic ethical codes when we seek to understand the complex interaction of social worlds that do not acknowledge such bourgeois conceits is an unrealistic tactic, in particular for ethnographers. This is not to say that ethnography is inherently unethical, but rather that if the ethnographer can comply with the normative behaviour and moral code of the researched culture, and if these forms of behaviour do not contrast too sharply with one’s own ethical considerations, then so be it (Hobbs 1988; Tunnell 1998). Indeed our researcher was recruited precisely because of his familiarity with the night time milieu. Further, given the currency that is afforded to violence in the night time economy, it would be naïve, contradictory and outright deceitful to suggest that anyone could ply their trade as a bouncer without being involved in violence themselves. The willingness of our researcher to use (legal) force of varying degrees to escort drunks and recalcitrant customers from the premises, and to defend himself and his colleagues from attack was crucial in gaining the respect of other denizens of the night, and reflexively rendered the sociologist vulnerable to the ravages of the field. R

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ethnographer’s specialist area, and much of what he took for granted we were blind to, especially the subtleties of the recruitment process. As he slowly but surely immersed himself within the local bouncing culture, he made important contacts that were eventually to see him receive regular work as a bouncer. Even the slightest mistake at this juncture would see our plans begin to crumble—ask the wrong question, laugh at the wrong joke or react in the wrong manner and it would be back to the drawing board. Getting in: part two In all honesty the vast majority, 95 per cent of people who will work as a doorman have been involved in fights and trouble, because really, they’re the sorts of people who will do the door . . . you can’t put someone on who is frightened to death of a fight . . . suppose a lad is beating a girl up . . . and you’ve never really seen a fight, or you’ve never been in one—what are you gonna do when that guy starts beating his girlfriend up . . . Are you going to go ‘ooh, oogh’; are you going to stand there? you can’t have them type of people on the door; that girl could get killed while you’re stood there. (Darren) Who wants to be, and who becomes, a bouncer is a crucial starting point for understanding the social and cultural context of what is an unusual and dangerous form of employment (Walker 1999). As one experienced bouncer explained, ‘I have had my arms slashed with a knife and I can’t straighten this finger. I’ve had stitches and somebody take a hammer out, have a go at my back and legs while I was held down on the pavement’ (Steve South). Over the course of an evening it may be necessary to ask a notorious criminal to leave the premises, to interrupt a fornicating couple in a toilet cubicle, or to intervene between two groups of brawling men. Virtually anything can fall under the remit of the bouncer, and much of what does would not be considered to constitute a satisfying working environment by much of society (Hughes 1963). Much of the recruitment process is subtle and vague. You are unlikely to see a ‘Bouncer required’ advertisement in the Job Centre or your evening paper.2 The vast majority of bouncers with whom we spoke were recruited by word of mouth, usually through extensive and powerful friendship networks. If you are actively seeking employment as a bouncer, as our researcher was doing, you are also communicating a genuine belief that you can do the job to the required standard. This is the first, and most crucial, phase in recruitment, and may be tested. Often a man seeking employment will ask a friend in or around the profession to help with introductions or directly with the procurement of a job. The friend provides a crucial link and will be used to substantiate credentials. If the potential employee is not known to the employer, be it a bar owner or manager, a head doorman or the head of a security company, informal references will be sought, as in the case of our researcher. Often this will involve recognition of a significant violent potential. They don’t have to be violent or have a reputation for violence, but they have to be able to deploy violence when necessary, and it is this qualification that will need to be clarified. Occasionally violent potential will be taken as read and no references will be sought. If the applicant is large and has a well-developed physique, occasionally this will be judged enough. Bouncers bring with them a crude bodily capital (Wacquant 1992); they are 539 WINLOW ET AL. 2 Several security industry personnel reported the poor response and generally low level standard of applicant emanating from recruitment drives linked to local Job Centres. offering themselves, their bodies, as marketable assets, yet this is not simply a process of use and exchange value (Baudrillard 1993). Almost as important as the physical ability to carry out one’s job is the sign value of one’s body, speech and body language, facial expression and demeanour; they signify the danger inherent in contravening the behavioural strictures imposed in various licensed premises. Customers understand the significance of the muscles, the tattoos and the shaved head, they learn to read the narratives of intimidation that provide order in a milieu that is grounded upon intoxication and the abandonment of day time protocols. If the applicant already has a reputation for the successful deployment of violence, no further evidence will be required. ‘Feats of vicious derring do pack the portfolios of local celebrity bouncers, their reputations for taking and giving punishment forming the cutting edge of their marketability’ (Hobbset al. forthcoming). However, if this is not the case, the potential employer will subtly conduct inquiries from people who know the applicant. Who is he and where does he come from? Have you ever seen him fight? And the ubiquitous, is he all right? Much of this process is conducted in vague inquiries made up of half sentences and knowing glances. A strong friendship with an established player in the night time milieu, or a noted hard man, qualifies the applicant: a kind of hardness by association, that is in fact a functional demonstration of form, as these men are bonded by violent potential which is in itself a culturally informed aspect of self. Occasionally recruitment crises arise where bouncers will be required in a hurry. This may be simply the result of one of the bouncers at a specific bar or club wanting a night off, creating the need for an ad hoc reliable replacement. Enter the friend with all the necessary qualities who needs extra money. Many teams of bouncers, either directly employed by the bar or club or through a security company, will have a group of back up contacts that can be called on in a situation such as this, but space can always be found for a bright young talent. Licensing is also an issue in the arrangement of employment. If you have already got a local authority licence to be employed as a bouncer, your entrance into that profession will of course be significantly quickened. Licensing permeates all aspects of entrance into the profession, and if you can’t get one, as a result for instance of convictions for violence, you may find your way into the occupation blocked. Trying to get a job without a licence, even with useful contacts, will usually result in the applicant being directed to get a licence and then they’ll see what can be done. Few exceptions are made, but again those with the necessary skills in abundance may find a way (Lister et al. forthcoming). However, the most crucial aspect of the recruitment process is that the applicant is conversant with violence. At its most basic this means that at the first sign of violence he is unlikely to run in the opposite direction. Ideally the applicant must be confident and cool in the face of such adversity, deploy violence only when necessary but deploy it accurately and effectively. I’ve had blokes that look as hard as nails but don’t turn up if the trouble starts, they’ll say they didn’t see it but you know they did and just stood there. All that counts is you’ve got to get stuck in there, go in and watch each other’s backs. The most experienced bouncers, the best bouncers, can tell when it’s about to kick off, and they always do things the right way. They talk to people when they need to and dig people when they need to. (Trevor) Most bouncers are thrown in at the deep end once the process of establishing credibility as a recruit was completed. Our researcher and those bouncers we interviewed received little 540 GET READY TO DUCK if any guidance beyond the immediate tactics employed by the door team. It is assumed that you simply know. That you wouldn’t be there doing what you are doing if you didn’t know. Further, this ‘probationary’ period is heavily if informally scrutinized. After sufficient experience was gained, our researcher was polled on what he thought of new recruits, and it is safe to assume that the same process had taken place to ascertain his abilities. As mentioned earlier, many teams of bouncers have a back-up group who can be contacted to cover for the absence of a regular. This system often provides recruits with their first taste of life on the door. You will be asked to fill in, often at short notice, and your willingness to do so combined with your perceived skills and on the job performance will help to determine if you will be invited back. For those with obvious skills (violent repute, large muscles, intimidating appearance, experience etc.) and powerful contacts, this phase will be skipped and regular work will be found quickly. However, our researcher had to go through the process of having to fill in for absent bouncers at a number of bars before regular work was found. A telephone call would be received and a request would be made to fill in, usually at very short notice. Our researcher’s willingness to cancel weekend plans in order to work the door was an appreciated characteristic, and this coupled with his on the job references and preemployment analysis of his potential by friends and acquaintances within the profession, enabled him to gain first, regular work, and then a regular spot at a venue. Given the turbulent working environment, the likelihood of violence, and the inroads made into the night time economy by organized crime (Hobbs 1995; Morris 1998; O’Mahoney 1997), the attractions of being a bouncer are not immediately apparent. Certainly the pay is not likely to bring about a huge lifestyle shift; generally ranging from £25–50 a night. Although the money paid to bouncers often comes cash-in-hand, and consequently is outside the reach of the taxman, the real benefits of the occupation are grounded deep within masculine working-class culture and self-identity (Willis 1977; Winlow 1999), with its powerful appreciation of bodily power, personal and group respect and violent engagement. Perceptions of honour and shame (Armstrong 1998: 233–61) are of course central to ideas of self, and these concerns are not lost on the robust masculinities of most bouncers. Friedrichs (1977: 284) has argued that honour provides a structure for a ‘system of symbols, values and definitions’ as well as ‘categories, rules, and process . . . which may be specific to the given culture’. The negotiation of a lifestyle that maintains honour and avoids cultural definitions of shame (see Winlow et al. forthcoming) are a central concern to the masculine identities of bouncers. As Bourdieu notes, perceptions of honour are strongest in those who see themselves through the eyes of others (1979: 115), and this is certainly true of bouncers, whose class and occupational culture so value a capacity and reputation for violence, and whose working life is spent in the public eye. Being a bouncer allows a demonstrative cultivation of a hyper-masculine persona: from body language to the cut of their clothes to the way they smoke their cigarettes, these men present their behaviour for display and their bodies become tools of ‘impression management’ (Goffman 1969). Their bodies, bearing, expressions and scar tissue are passing on easily decoded messages to bar and club patrons: do as we tell you and do it quickly. Once a job as a bouncer is secured, certain occupational perks are made apparent, particularly in terms of the status and prestige that is locally manifested in the job. Being a 541 WINLOW ET AL. bouncer made the individual someone to be respected, even when no overt violent skills had been submitted for examination. Not just anyone can be a bouncer, so there had to be something there, seemed to be the general impression. Jokes and witticisms offered by bouncers would become more funny, more personal space was provided while pushing to get served at a bar, people would give up seats, offer drinks and cigarettes and business opportunities (Winlow 1999). Many people wanted to bask in the reflected glow of bouncers, hoping some of their toughness and respect would rub off. Everyone wanted to be his friend. Bar customers would make efforts to be entertaining and try to cultivate the friendship of bouncers, sometimes with the hope that they’d be allowed into a night club for free, or that the friendship would pay off somewhere down the line, sometimes for protective reasons and sometimes out of virtual hero-worship. These men possessed cultural capital the potency of which is hard to grasp from outside its enacted environment. Bouncers would generally get into each other’s night clubs for free, and would certainly never bother to queue. A powerful sense of fraternity existed among many of the bouncers studied, and this provided both friendship and protection. To some, being a bouncer allowed them to maintain a lifestyle dedicated to the avoidance of the drudgery of the nine-to-five working day; to lie in bed until late morning, watch daytime TV, go to the gym and see friends, and wheel and deal in the black economy. Being a bouncer could also be fun, as the venues in which they worked often paralleled their own leisure choices. Many bouncers expressed the sentiment that it was occasionally like being paid to go out and socialize. On an evening such as this, time passes quickly, problems appear insignificant and easily dealt with and you can be happy in your work, like being paid to have a good time, and it can seem a shame when last orders is called and you have to leave. Music, flashing lights, sexual promise, and the possibility that just about anything could happen can make Jimmy’z Bar an attractive place to work as a bouncer. (Hobbs et al., forthcoming) Just as every prospective new recruit to the bouncing profession must go through a process similar to that mentioned above, so our researcher had to negotiate entry, coupled with a wider concern with covert access to the wider cultural milieu. Here we were able to exploit connections within the researched culture and the prior cultural knowledge and understanding of our covert researcher. Without these obvious advantages participant observation would not have been possible, and it was the initial understanding that this research strategy was viable and sustainable that helped to shape our first tentative encounters with the occupation and culture. (Hobbs 2000) When attempting to get a job as a bouncer it became absolutely essential to adopt a covert role,3 as not only did bouncers and security companies see no advantage in allowing an academic researcher access to their lives. To them it was imperative that they were employing and working with a bouncer, someone who could adequately conduct himself in a highly problematic occupation. Ethical considerations at this juncture were not ignored, but placed secondary to the pragmatics of getting a job as a bouncer and keeping it. It is impossible to conduct covert research and be entirely truthful with everyone you meet (Denzin 1968), and our choice of research strategy involved the first 542 GET READY TO DUCK 3 For a critique of covert methods, see Erikson (1967). For a discussion of formal ethical codes see Wax (1977) and Norris (1993). of many ethical decisions made during the course of the fieldwork, ‘some good, some not so good’ (Van Maanen 1983: 277). People lie, and bouncers are no exception. Lies were commonplace, especially when discussing one’s own violent experiences and skills, and were in fact taken as a facet of engaging with fragile egos in a world of looking-glass selves (Blumer 1969). Once a job was secured, there was of course no going back. Our covert researcher was now a bouncer and actively fulfilled the requirements of the job. Analytical insight is hard to sustain within the general tumult of a busy bar or night club, and this is especially true when you are required to deal with a succession of highly diverse ‘problems’ over the course of an evening’s work. Writing up material and the necessary academic analysis was left to the next morning when a clear head and the general absence of fear allowed our researcher to revert to being a sociologist doing the job of a bouncer rather than vice versa (Van Maanen 1983). It was impossible to avoid problematic interactions with bar customers, who might well be drunk or under the influence of drugs, and it was impossible to just stand and observe. Any bouncer who did not get fully involved in the job was merely ‘an empty shirt’, and their presence would not only restrict the combined efforts of the door team, but would in fact prove to be an encumbrance to getting the job done. Similarly, it was simply impractical to ‘keep [the researcher’s] mouth shut’ (Polsky 1971: 126–7), as this alone would have served to ‘chill the scene’ (p. 132). On the contrary, it was necessary to be open and communicative, to build relationships by affording respondents a chance to get to know him and form judgments about his abilities and trustworthiness. Our researcher may not have been entirely forthcoming with the absolute truth, but in an often secretive occupation this is far from uncommon (see Winlow 1999). Above all it was absolutely essential to be one of them. You had to talk like them, laugh at the same jokes, comment on the same things, and express similar opinions and sentiments. You had to make them believe that you possessed similar values and goals. Above all you had to do the job like them. On the job: tales from the dark side The stark realities of working as a bouncer became immediately apparent from day one. A powerful anxiety often gripped the stomach as the threat of violence was imbued in the most mundane social interaction: a slight bump, the tone of voice, a spilt drink, a mistaken glance, anything in fact, could trigger a violent confrontation. Aside from this, being within striking distance of large numbers of drunken young men and women can itself be intimidating. While some bouncers seemed to deflect the aggressive atmosphere back on to bar and club patrons, others adopted a more stoic, unflappable attitude. Whatever was about to occur, they gave the impression that they could deal with it. Slowly but surely close friendships were constructed and a complex understanding of the environment and culture quickly followed. Vague tactics and rules slowly began to reveal themselves as the bouncers negotiated a succession of highly diverse problems. The seemingly hectic and off-the-cuff work of bouncers did indeed have some underlying method. For instance, decisions regarding who got in and who got turned away from the door of a pub or club often had a good deal of rational foundation. Wearing your Sunday best informed the bouncers that you were less likely to get in a fight and so damage your attire. Jeans and trainers were fighting clothes and more likely to be

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This paper seeks to address some of the pragmatic and ethical issues encountered when researching violence. We seek through reference to our own work and to the work of others to highlight the inevitability of these problems and to suggest that dealing with them is instrinsic to the sociological enterprise. People don’t realise how fucking mean and nasty the world can get when it’s got a drink inside him. We stand there and the dregs of the universe are out on the piss, now we are on our own and there is no way that anyone understands because it’s a young peoples’ world. The nice people, the quiet people don’t notice we are there. And the older people are at home in front of the telly. If they realized how bad it can be and that we were the only ones there they would be shocked. (Steve South) Generations of scholars have found ethnographic work to be a staple method of investigating deviant cultures and institutions, and ethnographic strategies have often proved as varied and imaginative as the world they describe (Hobbs 2001). Violent action lies at the core of many of these worlds and ethnographers have tended to deal with this violence in an understandably cautious fashion. Usually this caution is manifested by a switch from a deep engagement with the culture to a sudden adoption of observational techniques, although violence can become the focus for ethnographers (Armstrong 1998; Norris 1993) as they attempt to tease out essential essences of cultures grounded in visceral action. Occasionally violence may be used against ethnographers as part of group initiation. For instance Sanchez-Jankowski (1990) in his ten-year study of gangs in Los Angeles, New York and Boston, was the subject of physical attack both as part of initiation rituals, and as a result of being falsely accused of being an informant, while Jacobs (1998) was robbed at gunpoint, and then suffered telephone harassment by a crack dealer who was one of his research informants. Indeed one of the most interesting aspects of deviant ethnographies is the lack of attention generally paid to the frequently chaotic relationships that are generated by the field, of which violence is often a by-product. Usually this issue is dealt with by a rendition of some situationally justified heroic operetta delivered in the all too familiar tones of the college boy as wanna be corner boy. However our research was all about personal violence as a commercial device, and neither macho posing,1 nor dismissive and frankly 536 * Simon Winlow, Teesside University; Dick Hobbs, University of Durham; Stuart Lister, University of Keele; Philip Hadfield, University of Durham. 1 Kraska’s (1998), discussion of masculinity, militarism and ethnography is an interesting preliminary investigation of some of these issues. BRIT. J. CRIMINOL. (2001) 41, 536–548 © the Centre for Crime and Justice Studies (ISTD) 2001 unconvincing denials of any behaviour deemed unacceptable to the denizens of the senior common room, were relevant. Rather than glorifying male violence or losing oneself in ‘edgework’ (Lyng 1990, 1997), we sought to uncover a culture of male expression heavily reliant on physicality and violence. While we became fascinated by this occupation and all that surrounds it, we were never in the business of thrill seeking. The communal experience of the research team produced an atmosphere of caution, stressing safety and the well being of the ethnographer. We detested the violence that we observed, and while there were adrenalizing moments, we would have gladly traded them for an early night in front of the TV and the prospect of analysing some questionnaires the next morning. Ethnographies of violence however, do not allow such luxuries, for the reflexivity that lies at the core of the process produces bruises that neither valorize nor ennoble the participants. Our task was to research bouncers, or doormen, those individuals who are employed as private security guards in pubs, bars and clubs. We wanted to explore a culture that from our previous work (Hobbs 1995) we felt was grounded in violence, and we wanted to be so conversant with that culture that we could understand it from the viewpoint. We chose to employ ethnography as one of our research tools as we wished to explore the culture of a group which was becoming increasingly demonized in both the media and common liberal discourse, and was therefore ‘topical’ in both common sense and academic terms (Lofland 1976). We decided against the approach of Morris (1998), whose enquiry utilized the police and the knowledge of bouncers that had been acquired by the police. Further we felt that merely to accompany bouncers while they work in an attempt to formulate data that are essentially observational would be inappropriate, potentially obtrusive, and unlikely to proffer data of sufficient depth and vibrancy. So we ‘went in deep’ (Liebow 1967: 236), utilizing ‘personal observation, interaction, and experience’ (Adler 1985: 11). One of our research team was selected to carry out this task, because as he had previously worked as a bouncer, he was intimately acquainted with those aspects of workingclass cultural forms that are dominant within the researched culture. Our assumptions regarding these dominant forms were essentially theoretical, in that they were central to the earliest formulations of the research project, and it is important to note that we were involved in an inherently theoretical enterprise. Our ethnographer also had the required physical attributes, and found that he could pass relatively easily in a profession that placed great store in bodily capital. We found a research site some distance away from our ethnographer’s home town where the research team had established contact with the night time economy, and quickly found that the enacted environment of bouncers was not one where violence was a mere segment of the occupational culture. Rather it was a culture created around violence and violent expectation, and did not afford the ethnographer the opportunity to create strategies of mere observation. In this field doing research was dealing with violence, and sometimes doing violence. Covert Research on Bouncers Gaining access and insight into partially or wholly deviant groups is fraught with difficulties (Hobbs 2000). While bouncers do not constitute a deviant group or subculture, they are a highly visible yet isolated social group within the wider night time economy. 537 WINLOW ET AL. Deviant cultures have little to gain by allowing researchers access to their daily lives and various illegal activities, and the working environment of bouncers features violence and a plethora of associated problems. The ambiguity, both legal and moral, of their enacted environment, has necessitated the creation of a range of occupationally discrete codes and practices that are above all culturally generated and fiercely protected (see Winlow et al. forthcoming). Consequently, any outsider seeking to infiltrate their habitat is likely to be regarded with apprehension and suspicion (Holdaway 1983; Van Maanen 1978). Theirs is a closed world with no easy passage for overt research. If your name’s not down, you’re not getting in. From the outset of our research it was apparent that if we were truly to understand the occupational culture of bouncers, it would be necessary to fashion some form of covert access. While it was appealing simply to hang around in bars and clubs and observe these men at work (and in our ethnography, but not the interviews, all the bouncers were male), we were left in no doubt that the most fruitful avenue for analysis was to place a researcher within the occupation. From this vantage point we could become conversant with aspects of changing masculinities and self identity, changing leisure and lifestyle opportunities, the development and mutation of the night time economy, and the regulation of a highly problematic occupational sphere. Getting in: part one We recruited a researcher with both the academic knowledge and the social and cultural skills that we considered necessary to carry out covert ethnography in such a potentially dangerous setting. Our researcher had in fact been employed as a bouncer in another part of the country while a student, and this, coupled with a firm grasp of working-class culture, crime and violence, became the foundation on which we were to build. Above all lay a commitment to investigating an inherently violent social world that would require our ethnographer to exhibit the same competencies as his colleagues working the door, as this was the only way to gain true empathy, to see the world as they saw it. Such was the background and knowledge of our researcher that this form of ethnography was far less problematic than conducting research into some other form of deviant behaviour that was unfamiliar. Before our covert research could begin we debated the safety and ethical issues that would no doubt arise. In the process of doing the job it was a certainty that at some point it would be necessary to actually ‘get physical’ with ‘troublemakers’, even if this meant simply grabbing bar patrons and ejecting them from the bar. There was also the possibility that punches may be thrown—was a researcher, albeit one working covertly, allowed to protect him or herself? The rights and wrongs of these issues were never fully resolved; indeed one of our findings was that the professionals who were the focus of our sociological gaze also debated the precise boundaries of legitimate violence. When you hit, who you hit, and in what circumstances, are central concerns of the bouncers’ enacted environment. They could never resolve it, and neither could we. The connection between our researcher’s cultural knowledge and actually getting into the occupation were palpable at every turn. He had already been a bouncer and knew what was required, be it a subtle inference in speech, a particular form of apparel or quirk of body language, the requisite body size and baring. While all of the research team had a considerable knowledge of working-class deviant culture, bouncing was our

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Bryan smoked da weed.

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Chapter Overview

Why do you call for Papa John's Pizza whenever you have a craving for extra cheese and pepperoni? Why does your roommate stock Jones soda in the fridge? Why does your best friend drive five miles out of the way for Caribou Coffee—when the local coffee shop is much closer? The answers to these questions aren't obvious, and they directly affect every aspect of marketing strategy, including the development of a product, the level at which it is priced, and the way it is promoted. Developing a marketing strategy requires an understanding of the process by which individual consumers buy goods and services for their own use and organizational buyers purchase business products for their organizations.

A variety of influences affect both individuals buying items for themselves and personnel purchasing products for their firms. This chapter focuses on individual purchasing behavior, which applies to all of us as consumers. Consumer behavior is the process through which the ultimate buyer makes purchase decisions from toothbrushes to autos to vacations. Chapter 7 will shift the focus to business buying decisions.

The study of consumer behavior builds on an understanding of human behavior in general. In their efforts to understand why and how consumers make buying decisions, marketers borrow extensively from the sciences of psychology and sociology. The work of psychologist Kurt Lewin, for example, provides a useful classification scheme for influences on buying behavior. Lewin's proposition is

This statement means that behavior (B) is a function (f) of the interactions of personal influences (P) and pressures exerted by outside environmental forces (E).

The statement usually is rewritten to apply to consumer behavior as follows:

Consumer behavior (B) is a function (f ) of the interactions of interpersonal influences (I)—such as culture, friends, classmates, coworkers, and relatives—and personal factors (P) such as attitudes, learning, and perception. In other words, inputs from others and an individual's psychological makeup affect his or her purchasing behavior. Before looking at how consumers make purchase decisions, we first consider how both interpersonal and personal factors affect consumers.

Assessment Check

Why is the study of consumer behavior important to marketers?

Answer

If marketers can understand the behavior of consumers, they can offer the right products to consumers who want them.

Describe Kurt Lewin's proposition.

Answer

Kurt Lewin proposed that behavior (6) is the function (f) of the interactions of personal influences (P) and pressures exerted by outside environmental forces (E). This research sheds light on how consumers make purchase decisions.

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Ilovebrydawg

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Traumatic Brain Injury

The significance of the TBI findings is particularly stark in the United States context. As of 2008, the number of TBIs in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan was estimated to be at least 320,000 [2]. At the same time, reports have revealed veterans charged with homicides committed after their return home[3]. Homicides by returning veterans have been linked to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and/or TBI, and this link to the combat-related conditions has led some forensic psychiatrists to propose the enactment of a categorical exclusion of the death penalty for such cases [4]. Other types of violent crime by returning veterans are also frequently reported by the American media [4]. The relative importance of PTSD, TBI, and substance use disorders in the pathway to these crimes is unclear, so the clear demonstration of the link between violent crime and TBI in non-combat cases presented by Fazel and colleagues is thus particularly important. In this context, it is also noteworthy that the authors have adjusted their final analysis for comorbid substance abuse; the result is a reduced, but still statistically significant, odds ratio for risk of violent crime in TBI patients.

One of the unique strengths of the study is that familial confounding was controlled by comparison with unaffected siblings. For TBI, the comparison with unaffected siblings (those without TBI) yielded an odds ratio that was smaller than that obtained with the general population as the comparison group, but still statistically significant.

Familial confounding, reflected by the difference between these two odds ratios, could have been due to genetic or early environmental influences. Both of these domains were explored in a paper by Pardini et al. [5] that can be seen as complementing the present Fazel et al. study. Pardini examined 155 patients with penetrating TBI and 42 controls. All patients were genotyped for the monoamine oxidase A (MAO-A) functional polymorphism yielding low or high transcriptional activity. Assessments of early childhood traumatic experiences as well as current PTSD and aggression were implemented. TBI patients were divided into two groups: those with lesions in the prefrontal cortex (PFC) and those with lesions elsewhere. Patients with PFC lesions were more likely to be aggressive. Lesion location and MAO-A polymorphism interacted in their effects on aggression. Early experiences and current PTSD also had effects on aggression.

The Swedish registers utilized by Fazel and colleagues did not contain usable data on comorbidity with personality disorders, depression, and other psychiatric disorders. This is a limitation; the relationship between antisocial personality disorder (or psychopathy) and violence is clearly important, and a link between depression and aggression in TBI patients has been documented [6]. Furthermore, it would have been useful to examine the data on violent convictions of TBI patients in the context of their violent victimization. Perhaps such data were not available, and future research may be more informative in this respect.

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7     The officer who swore the Information had no doubt in his mind that the Accused was under the influence of drugs, having regard to his observations of the Accused's mannerisms, his slow, deliberate and scattered thought and dilated pupils. He felt that these symptoms could not be explained by alcohol, certainly not in the quantity apparently consumed, having regard to the reading which called only for a 24 hour suspension. He was also of the view that the passenger, who exhibited the same symptoms was also under the influence of drugs. The officer who dealt directly and primarily with the Accused at the scene agreed with Defence counsel that the symptoms displayed by the Accused were equally consistent with alcohol consumption as with any other drug.

REASONING AND DECISION

8     Counsel for the Accused argues that there was insufficient information to permit issuance of a search warrant. He takes issue in particular with the conclusion in the Information which conveys to the justice of the peace that the Accused was under the influence of drugs and says that the officer should have stated that it was a belief and outlined the reasons for the belief.

9     Defence Counsel further argues that the Information does not present evidence of a "credibly- based probability" that evidence of the alleged offence was to be found in the Accused's vehicle. He argues that the Information presents mere suspicion and that this is not sufficient and what is more renders the seized evidence inadmissible. He says that the officers proceeded too quickly with insufficient grounds and that they could have taken the time to gather more information, perhaps relying on a record, if there was one, rather than an allegation in relation to a charge of possession for the purpose of trafficking, apparently contained in one of the warrants.

10     Crown Counsel argues that the search could have been conducted, incidental to the arrest and that a warrant was not necessary. In the alternative he argues that Defence Counsel would have me do a line by line analysis of the grounds in the Information and that I should look at the totality of the circumstances in support of obtaining the search warrant, including added evidence testified to on the voir dire, though not available to the justice of the peace.

11     I will now deal with the three main issues raised in argument by counsel.

Was the search and seizure legitimately done, incidental to arrest?

12     In assessing this issue I turned to R. v. Caslake (1998) 121 C.C.C. (3d) 97 (S.C.C.), and the discussion of Lamer, C.J.C. of "The Scope of Search Incident to Arrest", at pages 107 to 114, paragraphs, 17 to 25, repeated in part, as follows:

"[17] In my view, all of the limits on search incident to arrest are derived from the justification for the common law power itself: searches which derive their legal authority from the fact of arrest must be truly incidental to the arrest in question. The authority for the search does not arise as a result of a reduced expectation of privacy of the arrested individual. Rather, it arises out of a need for the law enforcement authorities to gain control of things or information which outweighs the individual's interest in privacy. . . This means simply put, that the search is only justifiable if the purpose of the search is related to the purpose of the arrest."

13     At paragraph 18 Chief Justice Lamer then considered with approval, the decisions of Doherty J.A. , in R. v. Lim (No. 2) (1990), 1 C.R.R. (2d) 136:

     "In considering whether a search is in fact an incident of arrest, one must consider the police motives for the timing and place of the arrest and the relationship in time and place between the arrest and the search."

and in R. v. Belnavis (1996), 107 C.C.C. (3d) 195 (Ont. C.A.), upheld by the Supreme Court of Canada (1997) 118 C.C.C.(3d) 405, regarding an arrest for outstanding traffic fines and the search of the trunk of a vehicle:

"the authority to search as an incident of the arrest does not extend to searches undertaken for purposes which have no connection to the reason for the arrest."

14     Lamer, C.J.C. continued at paragraph19, referring to Cloutier v. Langlois (1990), 53 C.C.C. (3d) 257, (S.C.C.) and the decision of Justice L'Hereux-Dube' and the three main purposes of search, incident to arrest; ensuring the safety of the police and public, protection of evidence from destruction at the hands of the arrestee or others, and the discovery of evidence which can be used at the arrestee's trial, stating:

"The restriction that the search must be "truly incidental" to the arrest means that the police must be attempting to achieve some valid purpose connected to the arrest. Whether such an objective exists will depend on what the police were looking for and why. There are both subjective and objective aspects tot his issue. In my view, the police must have one of the purposes for a valid search incident to arrest in mind when the search is conducted. Further, the officer's belief that this purpose will be served by the search must be a reasonable one."

15     At paragraphs 20 to 25 he continues:

"[20] To be clear, this is not a standard of reasonable and probable grounds, the normal threshold before a search can be conducted. Here, the only requirement is that there be some reasonable basis for doing what the police officer did. To give an example, a reasonable and probable grounds standard would require a police officer to demonstrate a reasonable belief that an arrested person was armed with a particular weapon before searching the person. By contrast, under the standard that applies here, the police would be entitled to search an arrested person for a weapon if under the circumstances it seemed reasonable to check whether the person might be armed. . . .

[22] Requiring that the search be truly incidental to the arrest means that if the justification for the search is to find evidence, there must be some reasonable prospect of securing evidence of the offence for which the accused is being arrested. . . .

[23] As explained above, these limits will be no different for automobiles than for any other place. The right to search a car incident to arrest and the scope of that search will depend on a number of factors, including the basis for the arrest, the location of the motor vehicle in relation to the place of the arrest, and other relevant circumstances.

[25] . . . Delay and distance do not automatically preclude a search from being incidental to arrest, but they may cause the Court to draw a negative inference. However that inference may be rebutted by a proper explanation."

16     The foregoing emphasizes the need to analyze the reason for the search in relation to the reason for the arrest. While the officers did obtain a search warrant, this analysis is important overall to the application to exclude the evidence obtained pursuant to that warrant. In this case, the Accused was arrested because the officers discovered two outstanding warrants. He was as a result taken into custody and it was while his person was being searched in detention that the officers obtained the additional information which taken together with the other information they had obtained earlier, caused them to seek the warrant. At that point the vehicle was impounded by virtue of an SGI notice and was under the control of a third party and the likelihood is that a warrant was necessary to obtain access to the premises of the third party. However, that aside I find that the reason for the search was unrelated to the reason for arrest and indeed would not have been conducted but for evidence found on the person of the Accused while in detention. At this point the officers were investigating an offence of possession for the purposes contrary to s 5(2) of the Controlled Drugs and Substances Act and this arose after the arrest. Accordingly, I find that the search was not lawfully done as an incidence of arrest.

17     In this regard, I have also reviewed R. v. Grant (1993), 84 C.C.C. (3d) 173 (S.C.C.) which quoted with approval a decision of Sherstobitoff, J.A. of our Court of Appeal in R. v. D.(I.D.) (1987), 38 C.C.C. (3d) 289.

Was there sufficient grounds for the issuance of the warrant?

18     Defence Counsel has argued that the information presented to the justice of the peace was evidence only of a suspicion that an offence had been committed and that a search would produce evidence of same. He argues that on review I should find that the information was insufficient because it does not contain evidence which indicates a "credibly-based probability" that an offence has been committed and that evidence of same may be found in the vehicle.

19     In Hunter v. Southam Inc. (1984), 14 C.C.C. (3d) 97, (S.C.C.) at pp. 114-5 Dickson J. stated:

"The State's interest in detecting and preventing crime begins to prevail over the individual's interest in being left alone at the point where credibly-based probability replaces suspicion. History has confirmed the appropriateness of this requirement as the threshold for subordinating the expectation of privacy to the needs of law enforcement. . . . In cases like the present, reasonable and probable grounds, established upon oath, to believe that an offence has been committed and that there is evidence to be found at the place of the search, constitutes the minimum standard, consistent with s. 8 of the Charter, for authorizing search and seizure."

20     Crown Counsel has referred me to a discussion of the approach to be taken in analyzing the grounds found in an information, in R. v. Arason (1992) 78 C.C.C. (3d) 1 (B.C.C.A.) at page 25:

     "In attacking the sufficiency of the information to obtain, the accused have engaged in a line by line, word by word dissection of the document in an effort to show that some of Constable Marshinew's grounds, standing alone, do not support the existence of "reasonable grounds". This, however, is not the correct approach. As discussed by Wilson J. In Debot, supra, at p. 215, the determination is to be made having regard to the "totality of the circumstances"."

21     In R. v. Grant, [1993] 3 S.C.R. 223 at page 251, Sopinka, J. stated in his majority judgment:

"The constitutional test for the sufficiency of information underlying a warrant was stated by the Court in R. v. Garofoli [1990] 2 S.C.R. 1421 at page 1452, as follows:

     The reviewing judge does not substitute his or her view for that of the authorizing judge. If, based on the record which was before the authorizing judge as amplified on the review, the reviewing judge concludes that the authorizing judge could have granted the authorization, then he or she should not interfere."

22     In this case there is additional evidence, referred to above, which is relevant to whether there were sufficient grounds to issue the warrant, including evidence regarding the significance of the money and the pager to drug trafficking and the fact that the two occupants in the vehicle had just come from a "pit party".

23     Defence Counsel makes valid complaints about the fact that the information contains a conclusion regarding the Accused and his passenger having been under the influence of drugs. I agree that it would have been more appropriate to state this in terms of a belief and the grounds for that belief. Having said that and having regard to the evidence that I have heard, which is that one officer believed the Accused and the passenger to be under the influence of drugs, not alcohol and that the other officer believed the Accused to be under the influence of drugs and alcohol, had this information been conveyed, I can't say that impact on the reasoning of the justice of the peace would have been any different.

24     Counsel has also questioned the relevance or weight to be given to that ground that the accused was arrested on a warrant for a charge of possession for the purposes. In R. v. Debot (1986) 30 C.C.C. (3d) 207, (Ont. C.A.), Martin, J. discussed the consideration of reputation in formulating grounds for a search, as did Wilson, J in the Supreme Court decision, upholding the Ontario Court of Appeal decision, (1989) 52 C.C.C. (3d) 193; Justice Wilson stated at page 216:

     " I am sensitive to the argument advanced by counsel for the appellant that the reputation of a suspect should not be used to buttress an otherwise insubstantial case for searching a suspect. At the same time, I find it difficult to accept the proposition that the past activities of a suspect are irrelevant. Indeed, as Martin J.A. points out at pp. 220-1 of his judgment:

     Evidence of bad character or prior criminal misconduct by an accused is excluded at his or her trial on a criminal charge, not on the ground that the evidence has no probative value, but on policy grounds, because the prejudicial effect of such evidence outweighs its probative value.

      These policy reasons are obviously not as cogent at the investigatory stage where the liberty of the subject is not directly at stake. Moreover, I think it is somewhat artificial to assume that any one factor, be it reputation or something else, is responsible for turning a previously "insubstantial" case into a sufficient one. Having said that, I add the following caveats to the use of reputation as germane to the issue of a reasonable search. First, the reputation of the suspect must be related to the ostensible reasons for the search. A background of driving offences, for example, has little relevance to drug trafficking. Secondly, if the reputation of the suspect is based on hearsay rather than police familiarity with the suspect, its veracity cannot be assumed. In the present case, it appears that the police relied on both direct experience and hearsay."

In Debot, the court was concerned with direct and hearsay information as to the accused's activities in relation to drug use and trafficking. Further he had a minor conviction for a narcotics offence. In the case before me we have the bare advice that there was an arrest warrant for an offence for possession for the purposes of trafficking, without more. In my view the police should have inquired further and provided further information, if available, concerning this kind of reputation information for it to be of any real weight in the grounds to obtain a search warrant.

25     Having regard to the standard for review and the circumstances outlined in the information to obtain the search warrant, as well as the added evidence presented to me on the voir dire, I find that while I while I may not have issued the warrant, I am not inclined to interfere with the finding of the justice of the peace. There was some evidence upon which, acting judicially, he may have come to the conclusion that there was a reasonable probability that the proposed search of the motor vehicle would yield evidence of an offence of possession for the purposes of trafficking having been committed.

26     The most persuasive of the evidence available is that; the two occupants of the vehicle were apparently under the influence of drugs, a search of the Accused yielded items typically used in the trafficking of drugs, ie., a pager and a number of small denominations of bills, the Accused had just been driving the motor vehicle registered to him and they had just come from a" pit party". Finally, and this was not argued by counsel, perhaps because it is an inference, that a search of the Accused's person, did not yield any drugs which might explain the physical state of he or his passenger who were apparently under the influence of drugs.

27     In reaching this conclusion I have considered the decisions of R. v. Turcotte, [1988] 2 W.W.R. 97, (Sask. C.A.), R. v. Pippin, (1994) 116 Sask. R. 275 (Sask. C.A.), R. v. Richter, [1994] 7 W.W.R. 753 (Sask. C.A.) and the three Supreme Court of Canada decisions of R. v Grant, (1993) 84 C.C.C. (3d) 173 (S.C.C.), R. v. Plant, (1993) 84 C.C.C. (3d) 203, (S.C.C.) and R. v. Wiley, (1993), 84 C.C.C. (3d) 161, (S.C.C.).

In any event should the evidence be excluded for breach of s. 8 of the Charter, having regard to s. 24(2) of the Charter?

28     If I am wrong in my conclusion regarding the sufficiency of the information, I nonetheless find that the Accused failed to meet the burden of persuading me that there has been a breach of his Charter rights pursuant to s. 8 and that pursuant to s. 24(2) of the Charter, that the evidence, if not excluded, could bring the administration of justice into disrepute.

29     In this regard I have considered R. v Grant, (1993) 84 C.C.C. (3d) 173 (S.C.C.), R. v. Keshane (1995) 134 Sask. R. 314, (C.A.) and R. v. Hitchings, (1997) 158 Sask. R. 254, (C.A.).The evidence which the Accused seeks to exclude is not conscriptive, but rather is real and I am unable to find that its admission would affect trial fairness. I have considered the two cases referred to by Defence Counsel, R. v. Mellenthin, (1992) 76 C.C.C. (3d) 481 (S.C.C.) and R. v. Aciavatti (1993) 80 C.C.C. (3d) 109, (Ont. C.A.) and I'm inclined to the view that as the Accused's participation was not involved in this search as it was in those two cases, that trial fairness is not affected.

30     There is no assertion, nor do I find that the officers acted in "bad faith". It is my view that the officers acted in good faith and endeavoured to follow the correct procedure.

31     Further, the evidence seized, having regard to the seriousness of any breach pursuant to s. 8 of the Charter, if one exists, is such that the administration of justice could be brought into disrepute should the evidence be excluded. Defence Counsel has urged me not to consider the fruits of the search in this assessment. With respect, one cannot do a s. 24(2) analysis without considering the nature of the evidence that was seized. Indeed it has been noted by our Court of Appeal in R. v. Keshane, supra, that the Crown would be unable to convict if the evidence were to be excluded. I don't believe that Re Liberal Party of Quebec and Merzwinski (1978), 46 C.C.C. (2d) 118, (Que. S.C.), referred to by Defence Counsel is of assistance to me as it does not involve a s. 24(2) analysis.

32     In conclusion, the Accused's application to exclude the evidence seized upon the execution of the warrant is denied.