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C. Fred Alford Whistle-Blower Narratives: The Experience of Choiceless Choice ONE MIGHT ARGUE THAT THE VERY CONCEPT OF A CHOICELESS CHOICE disqualifies the action undertaken as ethical.' Ethical choices are by their very nature the result of willful choice, even if they are not always the result of rational reflection—as when, for example, someone runs into a burning building to save a child’s life. By the end of this essay, I hope you will be convinced that dividing the world in this way is not useful. Not only because the way one lives so as to find oneself in a position of choiceless choice is itself an ethical act, but also because the person one is so as to be placed in a position of choiceless choice is already an ethical fact. More im portant than judging these ethical actors, however, is understanding the people they became. Listening to their stories is the best way to do this. I have sought to understand the whistle-blower, one who speaks out against illegal or unethical practices in the organization where he or she works. Most whistle-blowers are fired (though it is adm ittedly difficult to m easure these things).1 Theirs is an act of considerable consequence, especially w hen one considers that am ong fired whistle­ blowers, m ost will lose their homes and ultimately, their marriages. A m ajority will turn to alcohol or drugs for some period during their long journey (Miethe, 1999: 58, 78-79; Rothschild and Miethe, 1996: 15-16; Glazer and Glazer, 1989: 206-207; Alford, 2001:19-21).2 W hile I devoted considerable time to interviewing whistle-blow­ ers, a majority was spent attending a whistle-blowers support group, social research Vol 74 : No 1 : Spring 2007 223 listening to whistle-blowers tell their tales. In addition, I stayed several days and nights at a retreat on a farm for stressed-out whistle-blowers. The farm had been purchased by a retired psychologist w ith a large clientele of whistle-blowers (not the best way to get rich in the m ental health field) who had graciously opened his farmhouse door to almost any whistle-blower who needed a place to get away for a few days (or even longer in several cases). Stories heard there for the third or fourth tim e at three in the m orning took on a whole new dimension as some of the defensive walls came tum bling down—not just for the teller of the tale, but for the listener as well. There is something terrifying about the experience ofwhistle-blowing; Daniel Ellsberg, the Vietnam-era whistle­ blower, compares the em otional experience to that of a space-walking astronaut who has cut his lifeline to the m other ship (Alford, 2001: 5). Because I spent m ost o f my tim e listening to whistle-blowers talk w ith each other, mine is a narrative analysis: an account of the struc­ ture of whistle-blowers’ stories. To be sure, some of these stories they told to me, but m ost I first heard whistle-blowers tell to each other. The structure of the whistle-blower support group, or perhaps I should say its ethos, was for the m embers to go around the table telling their stories. Since I attended the support group for over six m onths, and since many of the attendees were regulars, this m eant I heard m any of the same stories again and again. That turned out to be a boon, as it was only after the third or fourth hearing that I began to get the point. There is another reason I em ploy narrative analysis. Much of my previous research has involved bringing psychoanalysis to bear on social theory. I originally thought I would do this w ith the whistle-blow­ ers, uncovering the depth psychological sources of their acts. Soon, however, I came to recognize that asking these m en and wom en about their childhoods, or interpreting their stories about being crushed by organized power in psychoanalytic term s, would be embarrassing to me, and an insult to them . Instead, I...

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