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The Challenge of Media Research Ethics

Kevin Healey

Who Cares About Research Ethics?

An undergraduate student is researching the prevalence of pornography in online bulletin board systems. If some of the user data for these bulletin boards is publicly available, is it okay for him or her to access it for research? If some of these users have taken measures to protect their privacy, is it fair for him or her to suggest that they may be hiding their interest in child pornography?

A team of professional researchers is investigating how community radio in Ghana can facilitate local initiatives to address climate change. Are they damaging the local broadcasting stations' image of political neutrality by involving them in research aimed at social change? How can they protect the anonymity of local community members, whose criticisms of local authorities may be aired on local broadcasts?

These real-world examples, both from published research articles, only hint at the range of ethical issues faced by media researchers. This chapter provides an overview of these issues as they arise in various methodological contexts – from online surveys to post-ethnographic field studies. In covering this wide range of approaches, this chapter has two main goals. The first is pragmatic: to provide an introduction to basic ethical concepts and research protocols, highlighting how they are complicated by the emergence of new media technologies. The second goal is critical: to question some of the underlying values and ideologies that guide media research projects and the institutional bureaucracies that govern them.

Does all media research involve ethical issues? At first glance it may appear that only research involving human subjects in an experimental setting would require institutional approval or adherence to professional codes of ethics. Scholars might assume that journalism, historical research, creative work, or database research are exempt from the purview of ethics review boards or established professional codes. In fact, while there are many professional media research organizations, not all have articulated formal codes of ethics. But as Jones (2004) notes, many areas in the humanities have come under increased scrutiny as the “mission creep” of ethics review boards has brought previously exempt lines of inquiry under the purview of institutional governance. Perhaps for this reason, some scholars suggest that a shift toward more formalization is underway – as indicated, for example, by the introduction of a code of ethics in 2008 by the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication in the United States (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 80).

Despite the lack of formalization across media research organizations, most scholars agree that there are several basic principles that are common to all research methodologies in all fields. At minimum, researchers should: insure that subjects are free to enter and exit the study; protect their subjects' privacy; provide benefit rather than harm; and treat all persons with respect (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 67).

However obvious they may seem, as Christians (2007) suggests, the articulation and formalization of such foundational principles is worthy of ongoing debate. The search for universal principles always takes the form of an unfinished conversation, especially as emerging media technologies and new theoretical paradigms arise to challenge established methodologies and institutional frameworks.

With a broad historical and philosophical understanding of ongoing debates in research ethics, scholars can conduct their own projects more effectively and responsibly, shaping the future of their fields as well as the institutional structures that simultaneously support, fund, and regulate them. Moreover, by developing a more sophisticated ethical sensibility, researchers can design and embark on projects that have a practical and lasting impact on the lived experiences of people at the local, national, and international level. Whether conducted in academic, commercial, or governmental contexts, media research should have as its goal the enhancement of human flourishing. The discussion that follows serves as an overview of – and an invitation to join in – this important conversation.

Three Types of Ethical Questions

In addressing the topic of ethics in media research, there are at least three different types of questions we can ask. These range from the narrow and pragmatic to the broad and philosophical. As the following sections demonstrate, they overlap in complex ways and – depending on the chosen line of research – media scholars will devote different amounts of energy to each. But responsible media scholarship requires familiarity and facility with all three.

Questions of Motivation and Intent

The first type of question addresses the research project as a whole, assessing its purpose, motivation, goals, funding sources, or its presentation to other scholars and the general public. Is it okay to conduct psychological research with children in order to increase the effectiveness of advertising campaigns? Is it okay to take money from the government or special interest groups to fund your research? As discussed below, even when motivated by a noble goal – such as reducing violence or improving working conditions – the pursuit of such goals may produce unintended consequences. Researchers or policymakers may be tempted to overstate research results to rally support for a particular social or political cause, to satisfy the demands of funding sources, or simply to bolster their own research arguments. Such problems are known as “citation bias” or “outcome reporting bias.” Engagement with these types of questions reminds us that our research is often a reflection of our cultural values and social location (e.g., our political affiliations, economic background, or gender). As Thomas (2004) suggests, such questions highlight our “conflicting allegiances to subjects” and keep us aware of “where our ethical loyalties lie” (p. 189). Beyond insuring accuracy, integrity, and credibility, an awareness of these questions can help to insure that research has a positive social impact.

Questions of Conduct and Procedure

The second type of question, which is more narrow and pragmatic, has to do with the conduct of research itself. When is informed consent necessary? How do I avoid influencing my research subjects? When can I use publicly available data? Under what conditions is it acceptable to withhold information from subjects about the research in which they are participating? Answering these types of questions requires familiarity with key ethical concepts such as deception, privacy, harm, and power. Even with such familiarity, there are significant differences of opinion on these types of questions. For example, deception has been used frequently in laboratory research. In fact, half of the published social psychology research articles from 1969 to 1979 used deception (Greenberg, Eastin, & Garramone, 2003, p. 306). But many scholars believe deception is never acceptable and set aside research questions that would require its use.

Failure to address these pragmatic questions effectively can have a range of consequences. On the most basic level, an ethical breach may corrupt the accuracy of one's research data. Beyond that immediate concern, ethical breaches can tarnish the research profession as a whole, making people less likely to participate in ongoing studies (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, pp. 65–66). Indeed, research indicates that subjects who are intentionally deceived during a research project tend to become more skeptical about future participation in other projects (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 72). As Thomas (2004, p. 188) notes, “a single egregious violation by one researcher poisons the credibility of others as well.” More importantly, ethical breaches can endanger subjects psychologically, physically, and even, in the case of online data aggregation, financially.

Questions of Epistemology and Ideology

Professional codes of conduct and the protocols of ethics review boards are designed primarily to address the first two types of questions. However, a third type of question, broader in scope than the others, problematizes the epistemological and ideological orientations that form the backdrop of any research project as well as the institutional structures that govern them. What exactly is research? Is knowledge something that can be “produced”? How do our definitions of research, and our structures for governing it, reflect particular cultural and ideological values? Is ethics simply a matter of following agreed-upon rules, as the protocols of ethics review boards seem to suggest? Can a fixation on rule making undermine rather than insure ethical conduct? Does “positivist” research continue the patriarchal and imperialist legacy of the Enlightenment? Such questions suggest that all research projects, and all institutional structures that intend to insure their ethical soundness, are implicated in ethical and philosophical debates that are far from settled.

All research has an ethical orientation, as do the organizations that provide guidelines and restrictions for its conduct (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011). Such orientations draw from a broad range of ethical theories. Deontological theories, epitomized by the work of Immanuel Kant, outline a rule-based approach to ethics. They provide precepts or codes of behavior for researchers to follow. This approach is typified by ethics review boards. As discussed below, while the provision of clear guidelines has its benefits, this approach can lead to situations where researchers follow rules even when they seem “irrational,” on the presumption that “an ethical outcome will follow” (Thomas, 2004, p. 193). By contrast, teleological theories – which draw from the utilitarian philosophy of John Stuart Mill – focus on the end result of behaviors. Such approaches assume that hard and fast rules do not work well in all situations, and are therefore often in conflict with rule-based approaches. These two approaches inform the bulk of traditional academic research in the “natural” and social sciences, including much research in media studies and communications.

Other theoretical approaches question these Enlightenment-style theories on the grounds that they perpetuate cultural biases. Relativistic, pragmatic, postcolonial, and feminist communitarian approaches provide alternate approaches to ethical and scientific inquiry by explicitly addressing issues of social and cultural difference. As discussed below, theorists like Norman Denzin and Clifford Christians suggest that the epistemological and ethical frameworks that inform ethics review boards are ideologically at odds with those of many emerging scholarly paradigms, especially those that highlight the political dimension of academic research and frame scholarship in terms of a “social ethics of resistance” (Christians, 2007, p. 56). From such perspectives institutional committees embody the very ideologies that critical scholarship seeks to question. Perspectives on how best to address this tension are addressed in this chapter's concluding sections.

A Brief History of Ethics Review Boards

While a distinct area of inquiry in its own right, media research is situated within the broader history of research in the natural and social sciences. The ethical issues emerging from research in these other areas – especially medical science – have had a lasting impact on all areas of academic research. The widespread presence of ethics review boards in academic and governmental institutions around the world is among the most important impacts of this history. Since many forms of media research – historical, experimental, ethnographic, or otherwise – fall under the purview of ethics review boards, and since their influence is felt even among humanistic scholars, it is important to understand the historical impetus for their formation as well as the problems caused by their institutional presence. In this section, the development of institutional review boards (IRBs) in the United States will serve as an illustrative case study that highlights the general impetus behind the development of similar structures around the world.

The prehistory of IRBs in the United States is marked by some of the most egregious ethical breaches in the history of modern science. Some of these breaches occurred under the auspices of Nazi rule in Germany, while others were perpetrated by the federal government of the United States. While the US government had conducted experiments on children and the mentally ill during World War II, Nazi researchers went much further by shooting, poisoning, torturing, and infecting patients with disease. After criminal proceedings were instituted and Nazi physicians sentenced to prison or death, American doctors developed a set of guidelines for medical research known as the Nuremberg Code. Though not legally binding, this code clarified the principle of informed consent.

In addition to these Nazi atrocities, the exposure in the early 1970s of the US Public Health Service's notorious Tuskegee syphilis study – in which researchers studied the progression of the disease in black men without informing them of their condition or providing treatment – prompted the formalization of regulations for government-funded research. In the mid-1960s, the US Public Health Service had already begun to require independent review of research grants as a condition for funding. Soon after that, the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare outlined formal rules and procedures for informed consent. Prompted by public outcry over the Tuskegee experiments, the National Research Act of 1974 outlined specific provisions for the establishment and formal regulation of IRBs. A newly formed federal commission issued the so-called Belmont Report, which stipulates that the protection of human subjects hinges on three principles: respect for persons, also known as informed consent; beneficence, which requires that researchers “do no harm”; and justice, which entails a fair distribution of the benefits and burdens of research. In the early 1980s these regulations, which mainly targeted biomedical and behavioral research, were “softened” to accommodate common types of social science research (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 76). Later regulations focused on problems such as plagiarism and the falsification of data (Christians, 2007, p. 54).

Today, there are hundreds of IRBs at research and educational institutions around the United States whose primary task is to insure adherence to federal regulations outlined by the US Department of Health and Human Services (DHHS). Technically, these regulations apply only to research conducted with or funded by the DHHS. Most nonexperimental research projects are exempt from these rules. The federal government offers decision charts to help researchers understand whether their research requires IRB approval (DHHS, 2004). IRBs differ among institutions, however, and many have more stringent rules than those outlined in the federal standards (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 315), including rules that impact nonexperimental, qualitative, historical, and participatory forms of research. Therefore, regardless of the nature of one's research, it is important for scholars at US institutions to know the specific protocols that apply to their work.

The historical development and ongoing debates about IRBs in the United States are echoed internationally. For example, counterparts to the Belmont Report, which is a foundational document in the US context, can be found in reports from Norway's National Committee for Research Ethics in the Social Sciences and the Humanities (NESH) and the Swedish Council for Research in the Humanities and Social Sciences (HSFR). The Swedish Research Council articulates guidelines for informed consent in much the same manner as the DHHS in the United States (Sveningsson Elm, 2009, p. 71). Ethics review boards at non-US institutions operate in similar ways to IRBs, and in some cases incorporate standards from US federal agencies. For example, researchers at Canadian universities must seek approval from research ethics boards (REBs), which comply with criteria articulated by a Tri-Council Policy Statement authored by Canadian federal health agencies. Researchers in the United Kingdom seek approval from research ethics committees (RECs), which are governed by the Central Office for Research Ethics Committees. Australia's human research ethics Committees (HRECs) and New Zealand's institutional ethics committees (IECs) are likewise answerable to federal agencies.

Common Critiques of Ethics Review Boards

Despite their laudable intent, ethics review boards have faced scrutiny on institutional, logistical, and philosophical grounds. At the institutional level, critics suggest that such boards may act as filters that favor certain types of research. One study indicates that “politically sensitive” proposals are more likely to be rejected because of the potential impact of research findings (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 316). By the same token, research that appears to support ongoing policy initiatives at the federal level – such as the Rimm pornography study described below – might secure approval more easily. Either way, it is clear that federal regulations can exert undue influence on research agendas.

More broadly, scholars from fields like media studies, sociology, and anthropology argue that social science research is fundamentally different than the biomedical and behavioral research that prompted the development of review boards. Subjection to scrutiny by such boards imposes undue burdens on their work through procedures that even many medical researchers consider confusing, contradictory, and prohibitive. For example, a report from the American Association of University Professors (2006) enumerates incidents of egregious oversight, including one in which an IRB “attempted to deny an MA student her diploma because she did not obtain IRB approval for calling newspaper executives to ask for copies of printed material generally available to the public” and another in which “a linguist seeking to study language development in a preliterate tribe was instructed by the IRB to have the subjects read and sign a consent form before the study could proceed.” Since such debates are likely to continue for the foreseeable future, all researchers are well advised to maintain familiarity with the protocols articulated by their home institutions and to understand how these protocols are situated within larger federal and international frameworks.

Media Research: A History of Competing Motives

While avoiding many of the specific biomedical issues that served as an impetus for the formation of ethics review boards, the history of media research is nevertheless punctuated by its own set of ethical problems. As media research is conducted by commercial and governmental institutions, transnational organizations, communities, and individuals, it is not surprising that questions of motivation and intent have persisted even as methodologies and theoretical paradigms have shifted.

Some of the earliest media research programs were spearheaded by government agencies seeking to manipulate public opinion in support of official policies. In the United States, George Creel's Committee on Public Information launched research programs that aimed at boosting public support for World War I. Working in tandem with the British Propaganda Ministry, these war marketing efforts used fabricated stories to stir the American public from initial pacifism to an aggressive resentment of Germans at home and abroad (Hammer & Kellner, 2009, p. xvi). During World War II, the US War Department conducted experiments to assess the effects of American propaganda films on soldiers. Similar programs continued at major research institutions such as Columbia University, MIT, and Yale (Mody, 2006). Programs such as Yale's Program of Research on Communication and Attitude Change (1946–1961) attempted to understand how opinions and attitudes could be manipulated. Of course, Creel and others defended such efforts as historically justified and appropriately executed. Today, however, many scholars take a dim view of these programs, positioning them as antithetical to the goals of critical media research. Much of today's media scholarship is aimed not at bolstering governmental control of public opinion, but at insuring that emerging technologies and new forms of journalism strengthen the public's influence over governments and corporations.

Ethical issues arise even in projects that aim to empower rather than to manipulate, and where researchers and subjects share mutual goals. Through the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), for example, media scholars attempted to leverage research on behalf of political and economic development in Africa, the Middle East, and India. Beginning in the 1970s, the Kheda Communication Project in India attempted to use mass media to draw attention to unfair agricultural labor practices. While the prize-winning project garnered praise from some scholars, it often yielded troubling results. The program emboldened workers to strike by publicizing their plight. However, their appearance on local media also revealed their identity to farm owners, who then hired paramilitary gangs to burn down the homes of striking workers (Mody, 2006, p. 882). As discussed below with regard to recent participatory research on community radio in Ghana, the possibility that well-intentioned research may put communities in harm's way persists even when such projects are well executed.

Ironically, even media research specifically aimed at understanding and curbing social problems like violence may produce unintended results. Media effects research traces its history to the Payne Fund Studies (1929–1932), which used experiments and questionnaires to study the effects of movies on children's attitudes and behavior. The studies played a key role in justifying the so-called Hays Code in American filmmaking, which were intended to elevate moral discourse by prohibiting inappropriate content. Having led the charge to impose such codes, many religious groups came to regret their efforts when, for example, the prize-winning 1948 Italian film The Bicycle Thief was denied a Production Code Seal because it contained a scene involving urination and another in a bordello (Moore, 1994, p. 230). Ironically, the codes had only succeeded in limiting viewers' exposure to edifying works of art.

Though widely criticized in popular newspapers, the Payne Fund Studies established a “legacy of fear” about the effects of mass media that has had a lasting impact. The Power Rangers study (Boyatzis, Mattillo, & Nesbitt. 1995), which assessed the influence of the popular children's show on aggressive behavior in children, appeared to support the Payne Fund Study results. Other research suggests that media violence can increase fear in children, desensitize children and adults to real-world violence, and lead to a distorted perception of the amount of violence in the world at large (MediaSmarts, n.d.).

The “powerful effects” model of the Payne Fund Studies was succeeded by a “minimal effects” model and, more recently, a “mixed effects” model indicating a highly complex relationship between media and specific behavior. Indeed, the ethical limitations inherent in media violence studies suggest that such research will tend to yield results requiring nuanced interpretation. Since it would clearly be unethical to manipulate research subjects into committing violent crimes, most media violence research is limited to correlational studies (e.g., comparing media use to self-reported violence or arrest records) or studies that focus on “aggression” rather than violence per se. The upshot of these limitations is that “if you are curious whether media violence contributes to violent crime, the simple answer to that is we really don't know” (Ferguson, 2010, p. 39).

But media violence research faces obstacles to nuanced interpretation from the often conflicting motivations of advocacy groups who may aim to support specific legislative initiatives and commercial news organizations, where the “legacy of fear” about media effects creates a potential draw for audiences. These competing motives introduce the possibility that politicians, activists, journalists, and researchers themselves may misrepresent research data. For example, Ferguson (2010) criticizes the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) for overstating the number of studies linking media violence and aggression and promoting research that suggests teens are prone to “Facebook depression.” In the latter case, critics suggest that the AAP has drawn conclusions that the researchers themselves do not support. By the same token, scholars who support certain legislative initiatives might knowingly craft statements to be issued by advocacy organizations (Ferguson, 2007), or feel compelled to over-simplify results in a way that conforms to the soundbite logic of commercial news. Well-meaning journalists face the problem of presenting complicated research results in a way that is accessible to nonacademic audiences. Meanwhile, content producers at advertising-driven websites – where click rates often override concerns about accuracy – are likely to convert nuanced findings into attention-grabbing headlines.

The financial motives that drive marketing and advertising research raise a related set of concerns. Much advertising research is intended to strengthen campaigns that target children (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 384). Marketers suggest that children as young as six months old can recognize corporate logos and can therefore form brand loyalties before they reach two years of age (Barber, 2007, p. 29). Is it ethical to target children before they have the cognitive capability to understand they are being marketed to? Some scholars have advocated against research intended to support such marketing campaigns. In 1999 one group of psychologists called upon the American Psychological Association to “restrict the use of psychological research designed to help sell toys, snack foods, video games, and other products to kids” (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 384). In the United States, concerns about online marketing to children have resulted in federal legislation such as the Children's Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA), enacted in 2000, which requires advertisers and marketers to secure parental consent before collecting data from children under 13.

Other critics suggest that, even when advertising research is aimed at adults, its financial motives are ideologically at odds with the goal of fostering a media environment that serves the public interest. For example, Jeff Chester (2007) argues that reports issued in the early 2000s by the United States Federal Communications Commission, which supported the deregulation of the telecommunications industry, were fundamentally biased by the researcher's background in professional advertising.

Given that researchers hold different ideological views about the nature and purpose of governments, markets, and other institutions, it is not surprising that they should hold conflicting views about what constitutes ethical media research. Furthermore, even when they hold motivations and goals in common with their subjects, researchers may fail to anticipate certain consequences of their work. Of course, these are the types of issues that ethics review boards are meant to adjudicate. They do so partly by exercising discretion over whether a project can begin in the first place – for example, by considering potential conflicts of interest – and partly by issuing protocols for how specific methods should be implemented. We turn to the latter concerns about conduct and procedures in the next section.

Basic Protocols in Media Research

Assume that you have considered the broad ethical issues outlined above, and have embarked on a media research project involving a conventional methodology such as a survey, questionnaire, experiment, or field observation. What are some of the basic protocols and principles you will need to observe to conduct your research ethically? As noted in the brief history of research ethics above, the concept of informed consent is central to most research projects across the natural and social sciences. Related concepts include debriefing, anonymity, and privacy. Surveys indicate that the majority of researchers employ basic measures to insure informed consent and privacy, although some procedures are used more consistently than others (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 303).

What does it mean for a research subject to grant his or her informed consent? At minimum, subjects must: be able to make a rational and “mature” decision; know what is going to happen; understand any potential effects; and be free from coercion or pressure (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 304). Given the first concern, research involving children presents unique challenges (Davies & Mosdell, 2006, pp. 114–115). Researchers should not directly initiate contact with children, but should consult parents first. Even when parents grant permission, children should always have the option to withdraw from a study. Parents are often more willing to allow their children to participate in research projects, while children are more hesitant. Parents should not be allowed to coerce or overrule a child's wishes. When studying children in a school setting, permission from school authorities and possibly local police may be necessary. Attention to local laws is crucial even if the research involves no direct contact with children, such as videotaping from a distance. One undergraduate student learned these rules the hard way: when he attempted to film children leaving their school for a class on visual anthropology, the local police arrived and stopped the project!

The issue of coercion is present even in more mundane situations. Many graduate students and faculty, for example, will conduct research where undergraduates serve as subjects. Students may feel pressured to participate in research projects for fear of getting a bad grade (Greenberg et al., 2003). When conducting such research, it is important that students know they are free to decline participation without negative consequences.

In order for consent to qualify as “informed,” subjects should be made aware of basic information about the research. Ideally, in addition to knowing that participation is voluntary subjects should also know: (1) who is funding or sponsoring the research; (2) what is being studied, and why; and (3) how long the questionnaire, interview, or experiment will be. Of course, providing too much information about a project can affect the validity of the findings. In some cases, if subjects are informed about what the project is studying, the effects being measured can disappear altogether. Also, if too many people opt out of a study, low participation can bias the sample. These concerns should, of course, be kept in mind. By providing sufficient information about the project without revealing too much, researchers can, however, fulfill the basic requirements for informed consent with relative ease. But if written consent is ideal, it is not always necessary or practical – especially in phone interviews or research requiring subject anonymity.

A controversial alternative to informed consent involves the use of deception followed by debriefing. While no data about how often deception is used in media research is available, deception is frequently used in other fields. In fact, one study found that half of the published social psychology research articles from 1969 to 1979 used deception (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 306). Though its use has declined in recent decades, deception is still common in much academic research – especially in social psychological studies where disclosure of the research question may impact the validity of results (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011, p. 74).

If a researcher determines that the potential benefits of deception outweigh the risks, the research procedure should be followed by a debriefing in which he or she relates important information that had initially been withheld for the sake of securing more accurate data. This practice is especially important in any situation where “subjects' perceptions or feelings about themselves or others may have been altered by participation in a study” (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 308). For example, in Zillman and Bryant's (1983) study on pornography, subjects who received “massive exposure” to pornography recommended lighter sentences for convicted rapists. In such cases, researchers have an obligation “to attempt to return their subjects to their pre-participation state” (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 308). Effective debriefing can do more than remove negative effects of the research, in some cases promoting more prosocial or antidiscriminatory behavior. Yet some scholars argue that such methods institutionalize deception, which not only increases cynicism about academic research but breaches basic ethical principles by treating subjects as a means to an end (Greenberg et al., 2003).

The Challenge of Online Environments

As Buchanan (2013) notes, Internet research exists on a continuum that includes studies posing no risks to human subjects and those posing serious danger for subjects whose identity is exposed. Hasinoff's (2012) research on adolescents' online sexual behavior, especially “sexting,” exemplifies the former category. The topic is clearly fraught with issues of privacy and consent. In the United States, police have arrested teens and adults for a range of sexting behaviors, including consensual exchanges between teens (Wolak, Finkelhor, & Mitchell, 2012). Research on sexting is limited by its very nature, as analyzing primary materials from private sexual exchanges between adolescents (whether images or text messages) would breach basic ethical standards and violate a range of local, state, and federal laws. In fact, one well-respected assistant high school principal was charged with possession of child pornography and other crimes after investigating rumors of sexting between students (Zetter, 2009). Hasinoff approaches these issues by analyzing public debates and legal discourse about sexting, concluding that such discourse largely overlooks the issue of consent between teens and fails to recognize what she calls a “right to sext” (Hasinoff, 2012, p. 159). While some scholars may disagree with her conclusions, her methodological approach is clearly sound since her analysis of court proceedings and news coverage poses no risk to subjects.

In contrast, one of the most egregious examples of privacy violation and deception in online research occurred in the mid-1990s, just as Internet use was becoming more common. The study is cited by Internet ethics experts as an exemplary case of ethical breaches in online research (Buchanan, 2013, p. 88). Originally published in the Georgetown Law Journal, the study was conducted by Marty Rimm (1995), then an undergraduate student at Carnegie Mellon University (CMU), with the help of a research team. In summary, Rimm and his team conducted an analysis of the text descriptions of pornographic files posted to various adult bulletin board systems (BBSs) in the United States, along with user data obtained from system operators (“sysops”) and private files on the CMU computer system (Thomas, 1996). The study received news coverage in ABC's Nightline television show, was featured in a Time magazine cover story, and was cited in Congressional hearings in support of the Communications Decency Act of 1996.

Yet the Rimm study contains serious ethical violations. It capitalizes on the simple fact that the Internet creates new opportunities for researchers to study marginalized or controversial groups: members of racist or other hate groups, victims or survivors of abuse or disease, or – in this case – consumers of legal and illegal pornographic materials. But the researchers used deceptive means to secure data that was not public, without any processes for securing consent. The research team essentially deceived BBS sysops into providing user data from nonpublic forums and then made broad inferences from these data, suggesting that some may be guilty of pedophilia (Thomas, 1996). In this way the authors engaged in a “public stigmatizing” of their own subjects – in violation of the basic principles of justice and “respect for persons” (Thomas, 1996, p. 193). Pitched with ongoing policy initiatives in mind, the project's grant proposal highlighted the research's potential usefulness in prosecuting producers and consumers of pornography – the very subjects of the study (Thomas, 1996). The fact that the study received high-level media and political attention before these issues were raised underscores the concerns outlined above with regard to how motivation and intent may cloud ethical reasoning.

At the time, the Rimm study was unique not only for its ethical lapses but also for its focus on unconventional sources of data. Much early Internet research consisted instead of the migration of conventional methods, like surveys, to digital environments. In the early 2000s, surveys conducted by email and web pages were the most common kind of online research (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 306). While these new platforms generate opportunities for researchers, they also present challenges with regard to the protection of anonymity. When complete anonymity is not possible in offline environments, such as in face-to-face or phone interviews, confidentiality is usually sufficient – researchers might know who the subjects are, but they can insure that personal information will not be disclosed to others. When data is obtained through digital networks and stored in digital form, however, disclosure is harder to prevent. Email presents serious problems, although researchers can use “anonymizer” software tools to hide personal information about research subjects (Greenberg et al., 2003, p. 313). Web pages are better than email, but information can still be compromised by hackers and the presence of data “cookies” stored by browser software. Data encryption techniques can help to alleviate these concerns. The use of deception with subsequent debriefing is complicated by the ease with which potential subjects can communicate and share information with each other. Deception is more easily exposed online, and more likely if an online community considers the project in question to be intrusive. The first person to take a survey could reveal the deception to all other potential subjects, and this could in turn lead to retaliation (Greenberg et al., 2003, pp. 310–311).

Research involving participant observation in newsgroups, chatrooms, and listservs presents more complex challenges. Even when research is limited to the observation and analysis of online conversations, issues of ownership, informed consent, privacy, and disclosure persist. Many scholars argue that it is unnecessary to secure informed consent from subjects whose messages are publicly available, since posting in a publicly accessible forum suggests implicit consent to having others access, analyze, and even publish messages elsewhere (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011). This assumption informs the basic protocols of some ethics review boards. In the United States, for example, the analysis of text from Internet blogs does not require IRB approval as long as the researcher does not interview the blog authors or conduct a survey among blog participants (Buchanan, 2013). At the most basic level, this assumption is complicated by the fact that many bloggers exercise some form of copyright, sometimes in the form of a Creative Commons (CC) license, which may prohibit the researcher's use of the data outright or place significant conditions on its use. For example, the blog author's CC license may indicate that others may use their posts only if they give credit to the author by name (Buchanan, 2013).

More often, however, the right to privacy in online interactions is assumed rather than asserted explicitly. As Waskul (1996, p. 129) argues, “private interactions” persist in spite of “public accessibility.” Though many chatroom or newsgroup posts are technically available to anyone with Internet access, many such forums have such specific target audiences that participants do not expect their messages to be read by anyone who does not share the basic interests, values, or political commitments of the group. Participants may be upset to learn that their conversations are being recorded and analyzed by a researcher (Sveningsson Elm, 2009). As Buchanan (2009, pp. 89–91) observes, “we would not think of walking into a classroom, for instance, without justification or consent, whereas online, we may walk into a newsgroup or online world without such consent, as our presence, our observation, and our research are less obvious.” In this sense while participants bear some responsibility for the public nature of their posts, researchers still have a responsibility to disclose their presence, their intentions, and the nature of their research. Despite the latitude granted by some ethics review boards, researchers should bear in mind that even in ostensibly public forums, it is still unethical to disclose information “in ways in which that person has not consented” (Sharf, 1999, p. 253).

These concerns are especially salient in research with online communities that focus on sensitive topics such as health issues, drug use, or gambling. As Krotoski (2010, p. 3) points out, many such virtual communities exhibit a delicate social ecology that may easily be damaged by any type of research, however well intentioned. Participants may leave in protest at any perceived violation of members' privacy or of the integrity of the social space itself. As Sharf (1999) notes in her account of her research on a breast cancer listserv, securing informed consent in such communities may be difficult but often yields additional benefits. Sharf spent several weeks contacting participants and securing consent for the use of their messages. Many were willing to provide additional information and clarifications, and a few even provided feedback on Sharf's manuscript drafts. More recent exemplary case studies of ethical conduct in online research – including examination of health-related online communities, personal blogs, online gaming spaces, and Internet gambling – are examined in detail in sources such as the International Journal of Internet Research Ethics (Krotoski, 2010).

As people spend more time interacting with social media, search engines, and mobile devices, online behavior also generates unprecedented opportunities for commercial organizations to conduct marketing and advertising research. Issues of privacy and informed consent are the subject of ongoing debate. As Vaidhyanathan (2011, p. 97) notes, “every incentive in a market economy pushes firms to collect more and better data on us.” Public comments from high-profile corporate leaders have done little to quell these concerns. Facebook's Mark Zuckerberg famously mused that the social norm of privacy has “evolved over time.” Sun Microsystems' Scott McNealy quipped bluntly, “You have zero privacy anyway. Get over it,” and Google's Eric Schmidt suggested that “If you have something that you don't want anyone to know, maybe you shouldn't be doing it in the first place” (Popkin, 2010).

Online data does raise difficult questions. Are IP addresses personal data? European Union laws suggest they are, but companies like Google and Yahoo object to these arguments (Buchanan, 2013). What kinds of data can be released? In 2006 AOL released a data set of users' searches, claiming they were anonymous, but the New York Times was able to cross-check with other public data and identify users (Buchanan, 2013). Facebook has faced user and consumer rights criticism for similar data releases. What inferences can we draw from users' online activities? Reports suggest that insurance companies have denied coverage, and banks have lowered credit limits, based on speculative inferences drawn from users' online behavior, including their searches (Andrews, 2012).

Many kinds of personal data such as legal records and credit information are available online and are technically “public,” but are generally untouched by search engines like Google (Werbin, 2012). Is it acceptable for data aggregation companies to use “robots” to find and compile this data with the intent of selling it to advertisers or employers? In 2012 the US Federal Trade Commission issued an $800,000 fine to the data collection company Spokeo for failing to comply with federal consumer protection regulations. In fact, US companies are not immune from governmental action from abroad. For example, the changes that Google has made to its privacy policies in recent years have mostly been prompted by European policy officials (Vaidhyanathan, 2011).

The related issue of informed consent is likewise complicated in online environments. While Internet browsers and search engines like Google allow users to opt out of personalization features that rely on data collection, such applications exhibit a “choice architecture” that can make it difficult to understand and change default settings, thereby nudging users toward greater disclosure (Vaidhyanathan, 2011, pp. 88–89). Even if user choices meet basic standards of informed consent, such decisions are made in changing circumstances – data that is currently private may become public in the future, as when Google purchased Usenet archives and enabled users to search them years after the posts had been submitted (Sveningsson Elm, 2009). In response to these concerns and others, the Internet Rights and Principles Dynamic Coalition (IRP), an international group composed mainly of scholars and activists, drafted a Charter of Human Rights and Principles for the Internet that includes specific language regarding privacy and data protection (IRP, 2011).

Research Ethics 2.0? Review Boards Confront the Challenge of Digital Media

While scholars welcome the efforts of groups like the IPR in translating established human rights principles to the digital environment, institutional review boards have faced challenges in applying such principles in the context of academic research. Formal codes of conduct may be problematic because they can become outdated very quickly. Critics suggest that review board members who are unfamiliar with new technologies may not be equipped to evaluate online research proposals. Often, reviewers attempt to fit Internet behavior and communication into the mold of offline communication, sometimes with results that seem irrational. Jones (2004) notes that in one case a student was asked to provide “a signed informed consent form for each subject in an online chat room,” despite the anonymity of the participants, and was further instructed that since the participants were using multiple identities, she would have to provide a separate consent form for each (p. 181).

The prospect of drafting new rules as new online environments emerge is daunting. The Internet is not a singular space but rather a conglomeration of multiple spaces and formats including email, chatrooms, Usenet groups, instant messages, and multi-user dimensions (MUDs). Even if rules could be established for each unique online space, the question remains as to whether rule-based approaches are always appropriate. Thomas (2004) argues that an emphasis on rules and precepts reduces our sensitivity to context. Ironically, overemphasis on rules can “subvert ethical awareness” (Thomas, 2004, p. 196) by relieving us of contextual ethical thinking and by pushing researchers into a position of wishing or needing to rebel against overly restrictive constraints. Ultimately, Thomas suggests, “no set of rules, formal or otherwise, can provide unambiguous answers to complex ethical questions that often arise” (1996, p. 197). Of course, this criticism applies to most research covered by institutional review. By their very nature, ethics review boards tend to take a legalistic, rule-based approach to research governance (Buchanan, 2013), and this aspect of institutional review is unlikely to change.

Rather than shoehorning offline rules into online environments or rejecting rule-based governance altogether, Buchanan (2013) suggests that the responsiveness and relevance of governing structures may be improved by incorporating some of the emergent dynamics of online environments. In contrast to the top-down nature of most institutional governance, Internet communication can often be more relationship-based, with social networks emerging “from the ground up” (Buchanan, 2013, pp. 102–103). By learning from the emergent dynamics of networked communication, review boards may envision an “open-source ethics” approach that is more participatory and pluralistic than traditional governance models. As Buchanan argues, “research itself cannot be transformative if the models that govern it remain static” (p. 103).

International groups such as the Association of Internet Researchers (AoIR) have enabled this type of open-source approach by establishing Internet research as a distinct domain and by articulating ethical frameworks for its conduct (Ess & Association of Internet Researchers, 2002; Markham & Buchanan, 2012). While researchers may still have trouble applying such well-informed guidelines in the complex and rapidly changing context of online environments (Sveningsson Elm, 2009), Buchanan (2009, p. 92) suggests that ongoing discussion and refinements are healthy and that over time, “alternative models of protections will evolve” to address the unique issues of privacy and consent in online spaces. In this sense, what Buchanan (2013, p. 83) calls “Research Ethics 2.0” is a welcome development, involving not simply changes in rules of conduct but also adjustments in the very structure of institutional governance for a wide range of fields.

The Challenge of Participatory and Activist Research

As Buchanan (2013) notes, in many ways the ground-up communication models afforded by digital environments resonate with feminist, communitarian, and activist-oriented research paradigms. Indeed, just as new media technologies complicate conventional ethics protocols, participatory and activist methods present similar challenges by re-envisioning research not as “the transmission of specialized data” but as “a catalyst for critical consciousness” (Christians, 2007, p. 59).

Ethnography has long positioned itself as distinct from the conventional methods that review board protocols are designed to address. While sometimes falling under the discretion of institutional review, much ethnographic and other qualitative research qualifies for expedited review or is exempt. Even if a project is exempt from review, however, professional codes in fields like anthropology stress that issues such as informed consent must not be overlooked by researchers.

Some scholars question whether concerns about informed consent, privacy, and deception always pertain in the context of methods like autoethnography, ethnodrama, and participatory action research, where the traditional researcher/subject distinction is replaced by a voluntary relationship of “reciprocity between two subjects” (Christians, 2007, p. 58). Echoing Denzin (2003, p. 60), Christians argues that qualitative research exhibiting this type of reciprocity “ought to be excluded from IRB oversight” in the same manner that the Oral History Association (OHA) secured exemption from IRB overview in 2003. Significant ethical issues persist, however, and OHA has implemented its own research guidelines despite its exemption from IRB review. Ethical risks persist in post-ethnographic work as well, and, in fact, the political nature of much critical qualitative work – especially its engagement with marginalized groups and its vision of a “social ethics of resistance” (Christians, 2007, p. 56) – suggest that such research may involve significant risks for researchers and their communities of affiliation.

The perception of mutual interest and reciprocity is fraught with political and cultural tensions. Which set of persons, organizations, or institutional structures are best qualified to assess the reciprocity of research–subject relationships, and which protocols should be observed to maintain it during the project? Even if the voluntary and reciprocal nature of a project can be insured, the vulnerable nature of many marginal communities surely means that issues of consent, privacy, and confidentiality cannot be overlooked.

In their account of a successful, grant-funded participatory action project in Ghana, researchers from the Institute of Development Studies (IDS) demonstrate how such issues can be addressed effectively in projects built on a firm foundation of trusting relationships and clarity of purpose (Harvey, Burns, & Oswald, 2012). Using the methods of participatory action research, IDS worked closely with the Ghana Community Radio Network (GCRN) in an initiative called Climate Airwaves, the purpose of which was to “create a space to share knowledge on the causes, impacts, and responses to climate change, and to advocate for social and political change in response to these issues” (Harvey et al., 2012, p. 103). GCRN had worked with IDS previously, and suggested action research as the preferred method for the project (Harvey et al., 2012).

In collaboration with the local community, the project leaders decided to focus on the issues of coastal erosion and falling crop yields. Project leaders incorporated station broadcasters, community members, and local authorities into the investigation and analysis of these ecological concerns, producing a “holistic analysis attentive to the role of power in shaping people's vulnerability or resilience to climactic impacts” (Harvey et al., 2012, p. 112). Without this holistic approach, the researchers argue, analysis of the erosion and crop yield problems would have focused on solutions (such as a sea wall defense) that would have neglected the needs of local communities.

During the process of investigation, however, the researchers note that GCRN faced sensitive decisions about how to protect the anonymity of community members in its broadcasts, especially when touching on “politically charged issues” (Harvey et al., 2012, p. 109). At the same time, since GCRN stations strive to remain neutral with regard to party politics, the researchers had to insure that their inquiry process did not make stations appear partisan. Ultimately, the project teams navigated these issues effectively, and they not only yielded proposals that highlighted the needs of local communities but sparked new dialogue between community members and traditional authorities where conflict and secrecy had previously prevailed (Harvey et al., 2012). The research yielded valuable insights for media scholars, demonstrating first that radio can bolster the aims of action research by generating new lines of inquiry based on community feedback, and second that action research can help broadcasters to envision new models for long-term investigative projects that more directly serve the needs of local communities.

IDS researchers devoted significant attention to ethical concerns before executing the Ghana project. While IDS has its own ethics panel, it is typically reserved for larger-scale projects. However, as a requirement for securing funding the researchers conducted extensive discussions regarding ethical issues with Carleton University, in conjunction with the International Development Research Centre (IDRC). Moreover, dialogue regarding ethical issues unfolded with GCRN and the World Association of International Radio Broadcasters (AMARC) during the development of the research proposal, including concerns about engagement with broadcasters and community entry (B. Harvey, personal communication, January 17, 2013).

The IDS community radio project suggests that the goal of “transformative social change” may, in fact, be pursued effectively within the context of grant-funded research that is typically subject to rigorous review (Harvey et al., 2012, p. 101). Furthermore, it demonstrates that issues of anonymity and potential harm to local activists and media organizations persist even when the relationship between researchers and local communities is one of mutual interest established over time. As with Internet research, the ethical issues in emergent research models are often unique and many institutional boards have yet to fully appreciate the ethical concerns raised by post-ethnographic studies. Rather than pursuing a “policy of strict territorialism” (Christians, 2007, p. 60), however, institutional boards may benefit from sustained dialogue with organizations that are well versed in their proper execution. As Buchanan (2009) indicates with regard to Internet research ethics, alternative models of protection may evolve over time.

Certain critical ethnographic projects may ultimately be exempt from review. Even in such cases, however, researchers are well advised to follow the guidelines provided in professional codes of ethics such as those articulated by the American Anthropological Association. Additional case studies and guidance for navigating the ethical terrain of critical ethnographic studies is available in sources such as D. Soyini Madison's Critical Ethnography: Methods, Ethics, and Performance (2011).

Accepting the Challenge of Media Research Ethics

As the cases in this chapter demonstrate, all forms of media research involve significant ethical considerations, from the mundane “Is my project exempt from institutional review?” to the philosophical “What is the social benefit of my research?” These questions are part of an ongoing debate that reaches beyond media research to the broad historical, cultural, and political contexts in which the field arose. While all scholars will encounter some portion of this spectrum of issues, many can proceed in their chosen line of inquiry without venturing too deeply into the thickets of institutional protocols, professional codes, emerging technologies, funding, or post-ethnographic critique. Yet it behooves all media scholars to achieve some level of literacy in all of these areas. Researchers are accountable for the social impact of their work and, as suggested at the outset of this chapter, questions of motivation and intent are among the first that researchers should consider. The persons and communities studied by researchers should never be a means to an end, whether personal or professional, but an end in themselves. The goal of research is the enhancement of human flourishing.

As such, the theoretical and philosophical frameworks that inform one's work should not be taken for granted as settled matters but as contested sites requiring self-reflection and continued engagement with a diverse community of scholars. For this reason it is beneficial for students and faculty to forge personal and professional relationships that cross disciplinary and ideological boundaries. At the same time, one should not assume that any particular line of research will remain untouched by the “mission creep” of ethics review boards and other institutional structures. It is important to at least remain aware of, if not become actively involved in, debates about the overall reach of, as well as the specific rules outlined by, professional organizations. Just as technological forms and protocols can become locked in over time, so too can the guiding philosophies and logistical protocols of academic organizations. Change becomes more difficult to enact once critical junctures have passed. As Buchanan (2013, p. 103) suggests, “researchers should not turn away from their ethics boards; instead, they should work in tandem to forge the next generation of research ethics, one that still embraces core principles while creating new opportunities for important research endeavors.” Doing so may indeed be difficult, as speaking truth is a matter of conviction, commitment, and often courage. To remain aware and engaged in this manner, and to encourage others to do so as well, is to accept the challenge of media research ethics.

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