The Sage Handbook of Applied Social Research Methods 2nd Edition Ebook PDF

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Research Methods 2nd Edition, (Ebook

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Acknowledgments
T he editors are grateful for the assistance of Peggy Westlake in managing the
complex process of developing and producing this Handbook.
Publisher’s Acknowledgments
SAGE Publications gratefully acknowledges the contributions of the following
reviewers:
Neil Boyd, Pennsylvania State University, Capital College

Julie Fleury, Arizona State University
Steven Rogelberg, University of North Carolina, Charlotte
vii
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Introduction
Why a Handbook of Applied
Social Research Methods?
Leonard Bickman
Debra J. Rog
T his second edition of the Handbook of Applied Social Research Methods

includes 14 chapters revised and updated from the first edition as well as
4 new chapters. We selected the combination of chapters in this second edi-
tion to represent the cutting edge of applied social research methods and impor-
tant changes that have occurred in the field in the decade since the first edition was
published.
One area that continues to gain prominence is the focus on qualitative research.
In the first edition, 4 of the 18 chapters were focused on the qualitative approach;
in this edition, a third of the Handbook now focuses on that approach. Moreover,
research that combines quantitative and qualitative research methods, called mixed
methods, has become a much more common requirement for studies. In Chapter 9,
Abbas Tashakorri and Charles Teddlie present an approach to integrating qualitative
and quantitative methods with an underlying belief that qualitative and quantitative
methods are not dichotomous or discrete but are on a continuum of approaches.
Another change that is reflected in many of the revised chapters as well as in two
of the new chapters is the increasing use of technology in research. The use of the
Internet and computer-assisted methods is discussed in several of the chapters and
is the focus of Samuel Best and Chase Harrison’s chapter (Chapter 13) on Internet
survey methods. In addition, Mary Kane and Bill Trochim’s contribution on con-
cept mapping in Chapter 14 offers a cutting-edge technique involving both quali-
tative and quantitative methods in designing research.
Finally, Michael Harrison’s chapter on organizational diagnosis is a new contri-
bution to this Handbook edition. Harrison’s approach focuses on using methods
viii
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Introduction ix
and models from the behavioral and organization sciences to help identify what is
going on in an organization and to help guide decisions based on this information.
In addition to reflecting any new developments that have occurred (such as the
technological changes noted above), other changes that have been made in this edi-
tion respond to comments made about the first edition, with an emphasis on
increasing the pedagogical quality of each of the chapters and the book as a whole.
In particular, the text has been made more “classroom friendly” with the inclusion
of discussion questions and exercises. The chapters also are current with new
research cited and improved examples of those methods. Overall, however, research
methods are not an area that is subject to rapid changes.
This version of the Handbook, like the first edition, presents the major method-
ological approaches to conducting applied social research that we believe need to be
in a researcher’s repertoire. It serves as a “handy” reference guide, covering key yet
often diverse themes and developments in applied social research. Each chapter
summarizes and synthesizes major topics and issues of the method and is designed
with a broad perspective but provides information on additional resources for
more in-depth treatment of any one topic or issue.
Applied social research methods span several substantive arenas, and the bound-
aries of application are not well-defined. The methods can be applied in educa-
tional settings, environmental settings, health settings, business settings, and so
forth. In addition, researchers conducting applied social research come from several
disciplinary backgrounds and orientations, including sociology, psychology, busi-
ness, political science, education, geography, and social work, to name a few.
Consequently, a range of research philosophies, designs, data collection methods,
analysis techniques, and reporting methods can be considered to be “applied social
research.” Applied research, because it consists of a diverse set of research strategies,
is difficult to define precisely and inclusively. It is probably most easily defined by
what it is not, thus distinguishing it from basic research. Therefore, we begin by
highlighting several differences between applied and basic research; we then present
some specific principles relevant to most of the approaches to applied social
research discussed in this Handbook.
Distinguishing Applied From Basic Social Research

Social scientists are frequently involved in tackling real-world social problems. The
research topics are exceptionally varied. They include studying physicians’ efforts to
improve patients’ compliance with medical regimens, determining whether drug
use is decreasing at a local high school, providing up-to-date information on the
operations of new educational programs and policies, evaluating the impacts of
environmental disasters, and analyzing the likely effects of yet-to-be-tried
programs to reduce teenage pregnancy. Researchers are asked to estimate the costs
of everything from shopping center proposals to weapons systems and to speak to
the relative effectiveness of alternative programs and policies. Increasingly, applied
researchers are contributing to major public policy debates and decisions.
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x THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
Applied research uses scientific methodology to develop information to help

solve an immediate, yet usually persistent, societal problem. The applied research
environment is often complex, chaotic, and highly political, with pressures for
quick and conclusive answers yet little or no experimental control. Basic research,
in comparison, also is firmly grounded in the scientific method but has as its goal
the creation of new knowledge about how fundamental processes work. Control is
often provided through a laboratory environment.
These differences between applied and basic research contexts can sometimes
seem artificial to some observers, and highlighting them may create the impression
that researchers in the applied community are “willing to settle” for something less
than rigorous science. In practice, applied research and basic research have many
more commonalities than differences; however, it is critical that applied researchers
(and research consumers) understand the differences. Basic research and applied
research differ in purposes, context, and methods. For ease of presentation, we dis-
cuss the differences as dichotomies; in reality, however, they fall on continua.
Differences in Purpose
Knowledge Use Versus Knowledge Production. Applied research strives to improve
our understanding of a “problem,” with the intent of contributing to the solution
of that problem. The distinguishing feature of basic research, in contrast, is that it
is intended to expand knowledge (i.e., to identify universal principles that con-
tribute to our understanding of how the world operates). Thus, it is knowledge, as
an end in itself, that motivates basic research. Applied research also may result in
new knowledge, but often on a more limited basis defined by the nature of an
immediate problem. Although it may be hoped that basic research findings will
eventually be helpful in solving particular problems, such problem solving is not
the immediate or major goal of basic research.
Broad Versus Narrow Questions. The applied researcher is often faced with “fuzzy”
issues that have multiple, often broad research questions, and addresses them in a
“messy” or uncontrolled environment. For example, what is the effect of the provi-
sion of mental health services to people living with AIDS? What are the causes of
homelessness?
Even when the questions are well-defined, the applied environment is complex,
making it difficult for the researcher to eliminate competing explanations (e.g.,
events other than an intervention could be likely causes for changes in attitudes or
behavior). Obviously, in the example above, aspects of an individual’s life other than
mental health services received will affect that person’s well-being. The number and
complexity of measurement tasks and dynamic real-world research settings pose
major challenges for applied researchers. They also often require that researchers
make conscious choices (trade-offs) about the relative importance of answering var-
ious questions and the degree of confidence necessary for each answer.
In contrast, basic research investigations are usually narrow in scope. Typically,
the basic researcher is investigating a very specific topic and a very tightly focused
question. For example, what is the effect of white noise on the short-term recall of
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Introduction xi
nonsense syllables? Or what is the effect of cocaine use on fine motor coordination?
The limited focus enables the researcher to concentrate on a single measurement
task and to use rigorous design approaches that allow for maximum control of
potentially confounding variables. In an experiment on the effects of white noise,
the laboratory setting enables the researcher to eliminate all other noise variables
from the environment, so that the focus can be exclusively on the effects of the vari-
able of interest, the white noise.
Practical Versus Statistical Significance. There are differences also between the ana-
lytic goals of applied research and those of basic research. Basic researchers gener-
ally are most concerned with determining whether or not an effect or causal
relationship exists, whether or not it is in the direction predicted, and whether or
not it is statistically significant. In applied research, both practical significance and
statistical significance are essential. Besides determining whether or not a causal
relationship exists and is statistically significant, applied researchers are interested
in knowing if the effects are of sufficient size to be meaningful in a particular con-
text. It is critical, therefore, that the applied researcher understands the level of out-
come that will be considered “significant” by key audiences and interest groups. For
example, what level of reduced drug use is considered a practically significant out-
come of a drug program? Is a 2% drop meaningful? Thus, besides establishing
whether the intervention has produced statistically significant results, applied
research has the added task of determining whether the level of outcome attained
is important or trivial.
Theoretical “Opportunism” Versus Theoretical “Purity.” Applied researchers are more

likely than basic researchers to use theory instrumentally. Related to the earlier con-
cept of practical significance, the applied researcher is interested in applying and
using a theory only if it identifies variables and concepts that will likely produce
important, practical results. Purity of theory is not as much a driving force as is
utility. Does the theory help solve the problem? Moreover, if several theories appear
useful, then the applied researcher will combine them, it is hoped, in a creative and
useful way. For those involved in evaluation research, they are most often trying to
understand the “underlying theory” or logic of the program or policy they are
studying and using that to guide the research.
For the basic researcher, on the other hand, it is the underlying formal theory
that is of prime importance. Thus, the researcher will strive to have variables in the
study that are flawless representations of the underlying theoretical constructs. In a
study examining the relationships between frustration and aggression, for example,
the investigator would try to be certain that the study deals with aggression and not
another related construct, such as anger, and that frustration is actually manipu-
lated, and not boredom.
Differences in Context
Open Versus Controlled Environment. The context of the research is a major factor
in accounting for the differences between applied research and basic research. As
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xii THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
noted earlier, applied research can be conducted in many diverse contexts, includ-
ing business settings, hospitals, schools, prisons, and communities. These settings,
and their corresponding characteristics, can pose quite different demands on
applied researchers. The applied researcher is more concerned about generalizabil-
ity of findings. Since application is a goal, it is important to know how dependent
the results of the study are on the particular environment in which it was tested. In
addition, lengthy negotiations are sometimes necessary for a researcher even to
obtain permission to access the data.
Basic research, in contrast, is typically conducted in universities or similar aca-
demic environments and is relatively isolated from the government or business
worlds. The environment is within the researcher’s control and is subject to close
monitoring.
Client Initiated Versus Researcher Initiated. The applied researcher often receives
research questions from a client or research sponsor, and sometimes these ques-
tions are poorly framed and incompletely understood. Clients of applied social
research can include federal government agencies, state governments and legisla-
tures, local governments, government oversight agencies, professional or advo-
cacy groups, private research institutions, foundations, business corporations and
organizations, and service delivery agencies, among others. The client is often in
control, whether through a contractual relationship or by virtue of holding a
higher position within the researcher’s place of employment (if the research is
being conducted internally). Typically, the applied researcher needs to negotiate
with the client about the project scope, cost, and deadlines. Based on these param-
eters, the researcher may need to make conscious trade-offs in selecting a research
approach that affects what questions will be addressed and how conclusively they
will be addressed.
University basic research, in contrast, is usually self-initiated, even when fund-
ing is obtained from sources outside the university environment, such as through
government grants. The idea for the study, the approach to executing it, and even
the timeline are generally determined by the researcher. The reality is that the basic
researcher, in comparison with the applied researcher, operates in an environment
with a great deal more flexibility, less need to let the research agenda be shaped by
project costs, and less time pressure to deliver results by a specified deadline. Basic
researchers sometimes can undertake multiyear incremental programs of research
intended to build theory systematically, often with supplemental funding and sup-
port from their universities.
Research Team Versus Solo Scientist. Applied research is typically conducted by

research teams. These teams are likely to be multidisciplinary, sometimes as a result
of competitive positioning to win grants or contracts. Moreover, the substance of
applied research often demands multidisciplinary teams, particularly for studies
that address multiple questions involving different areas of inquiry (e.g., economic,
political, sociological). These teams must often comprise individuals who are famil-
iar with the substantive issue (e.g., health care) and others who have expertise in
specific methodological or statistical areas (e.g., economic forecasting).
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Introduction xiii
Basic research is typically conducted by an individual researcher who behaves

autonomously, setting the study scope and approach. If there is a research team, it
generally comprises the researcher’s students or other persons that the researcher
chooses from the same or similar disciplines.
Differences in Methods
External Versus Internal Validity. A key difference between applied research and
basic research is the relative emphasis on internal and external validity. Whereas
internal validity is essential to both types of research, external validity is much more
important to applied research. Indeed, the likelihood that applied research findings
will be used often depends on the researchers’ ability to convince policymakers that
the results are applicable to their particular setting or problem. For example, the
results from a laboratory study of aggression using a bogus shock generator are not
as likely to be as convincing or as useful to policymakers who are confronting the
problem of violent crime as are the results of a well-designed survey describing the
types and incidence of crime experienced by inner-city residents.
The Construct of Effect Versus the Construct of Cause. Applied research concen-
trates on the construct of effect. It is especially critical that the outcome mea-
sures are valid—that they accurately measure the variables of interest. Often, it
is important for researchers to measure multiple outcomes and to use multiple
measures to assess each construct fully. Mental health outcomes, for example,
may include measures of daily functioning, psychiatric status, and use of hospi-
talization. Moreover, measures of real-world outcomes often require more than
self-report and simple paper-and-pencil measures (e.g., self-report satisfaction
with participation in a program). If attempts are being made to address a social
problem, then real-world measures directly related to that problem are desirable.
For example, if one is studying the effects of a program designed to reduce inter-
group conflict and tension, then observations of the interactions among group
members will have more credibility than group members’ responses to questions
about their attitudes toward other groups. In fact, there is much research evi-
dence in social psychology that demonstrates that attitudes and behavior often
do not relate.
Basic research, on the other hand, concentrates on the construct of cause. In lab-
oratory studies, the independent variable (cause) must be clearly explicated and not
confounded with any other variables. It is rare in applied research settings that con-
trol over an independent variable is so clear-cut. For example, in a study of the
effects of a treatment program for drug abusers, it is unlikely that the researcher can
isolate the aspects of the program that are responsible for the outcomes that result.
This is due to both the complexity of many social programs and the researcher’s
inability in most circumstances to manipulate different program features to discern
different effects.
Multiple Versus Single Levels of Analysis. The applied researcher, in contrast to the
basic researcher, usually needs to examine a specific problem at more than one
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xiv THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
level of analysis, not only studying the individual, but often larger groups, such as
organizations or even societies. For example, in one evaluation of a community
crime prevention project, the researcher not only examined individual attitudes
and perspectives but also measured the reactions of groups of neighbors and
neighborhoods to problems of crime. These added levels of analysis may require
that the researcher be conversant with concepts and research approaches found in
several disciplines, such as psychology, sociology, and political science, and that
he or she develop a multidisciplinary research team that can conduct the multi-
level inquiry.
Similarly, because applied researchers are often given multiple questions to
answer, because they must work in real-world settings, and because they often use
multiple measures of effects, they are more likely to use multiple research methods,
often including both quantitative and qualitative approaches. Although using mul-
tiple methods may be necessary to address multiple questions, it may also be a strat-
egy used to triangulate on a difficult problem from several directions, thus lending
additional confidence to the study results. Although it is desirable for researchers to
use experimental designs whenever possible, often the applied researcher is called
in after a program or intervention is in place, and consequently is precluded from
building random assignment into the allocation of program resources. Thus,
applied researchers often use quasi-experimental studies. The obverse, however, is
rarer; quasi-experimental designs are generally not found in the studies published
in basic research journals.
The Orientation of This Handbook

This second edition is designed to be a resource for professionals and students alike.
It can be used in tandem with the Applied Social Research Methods Series that is
coedited by the present editors. The series has more than 50 volumes related to the
design of applied research, the collection of both quantitative and qualitative data,
and the management and presentation of these data. Almost all the authors in the
Handbook also authored a book in that series on the same topic.
Similar to our goal as editors of the book series, our goal in this Handbook is to
offer a hands-on, how-to approach to research that is sensitive to the constraints
and opportunities in the practical and policy environments, yet is rooted in rigor-
ous and sound research principles. Abundant examples and illustrations, often
based on the authors’ own experience and work, enhance the potential usefulness
of the material to students and others who may have limited experience in con-
ducting research in applied arenas. In addition, discussion questions and exercises
in each chapter are designed to increase the usefulness of the Handbook in the class-
room environment.
The contributors to the Handbook represent various disciplines (sociology,
business, psychology, political science, education, economics) and work in diverse
settings (academic departments, research institutes, government, the private sec-
tor). Through a concise collection of their work, we hope to provide in one place
a diversity of perspectives and methodologies that others can use in planning and
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Introduction xv
conducting applied social research. Despite this diversity of perspectives, methods,

and approaches, several central themes are stressed across the chapters. We describe
these themes in turn below.
The Iterative Nature of Applied Research. In most applied research endeavors, the
research question—the focus of the effort—is rarely static. Rather, to maintain
the credibility, responsiveness, and quality of the research project, the researcher
must typically make a series of iterations within the research design. The iteration
is necessary not because of methodological inadequacies, but because of succes-
sive redefinitions of the applied problem as the project is being planned and
implemented. New knowledge is gained, unanticipated obstacles are encountered,
and contextual shifts take place that change the overall research situation and in
turn have effects on the research. The first chapter in this Handbook, by Bickman
and Rog, describes an iterative approach to planning applied research that con-
tinually revisits the research question as trade-offs in the design are made. In
Chapter 7, Maxwell also discusses the iterative, interactive nature of qualitative
research design, highlighting the unique relationships that occur in qualitative
research among the purposes of the research, the conceptual context, the ques-
tions, the methods, and validity.
Multiple Stakeholders. As noted earlier, applied research involves the efforts and
interests of multiple parties. Those interested in how a study gets conducted and its
results can include the research sponsor, individuals involved in the intervention or
program under study, the potential beneficiaries of the research (e.g., those who
could be affected by the results of the research), and potential users of the research
results (such as policymakers and business leaders). In some situations, the cooper-
ation of these parties is critical to the successful implementation of the project.
Usually, the involvement of these stakeholders ensures that the results of the
research will be relevant, useful, and hopefully used to address the problem that the
research was intended to study.
Many of the contributors to this volume stress the importance of consulting and
involving stakeholders in various aspects of the research process. Bickman and Rog
describe the role of stakeholders throughout the planning of a study, from the spec-
ification of research questions to the choice of designs and design trade-offs.
Similarly, in Chapter 4, on planning ethically responsible research, Sieber empha-
sizes the importance of researchers’ attending to the interests and concerns of all
parties in the design stage of a study. Kane and Trochim, in Chapter 14, offer con-
cept mapping as a structured technique for engaging stakeholders in the decision
making and planning of research.
Ethical Concerns. Research ethics are important in all types of research, basic or
applied. When the research involves or affects human beings, the researcher must
attend to a set of ethical and legal principles and requirements that can ensure the
protection of the interests of all those involved. Ethical issues, as Boruch and col-
leagues note in Chapter 5, commonly arise in experimental studies when individu-
als are asked to be randomly assigned into either a treatment condition or a control
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xvi THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
condition. However, ethical concerns are also raised in most studies in the develop-
ment of strategies for obtaining informed consent, protecting privacy, guaranteeing
anonymity, and/or ensuring confidentiality, and in developing research procedures
that are sensitive to and respectful of the specific needs of the population involved
in the research (see Sieber, Chapter 4; Fetterman, Chapter 17). As Sieber notes,
although attention to ethics is important to the conduct of all studies, the need for
ethical problem solving is particularly heightened when the researcher is dealing
with highly political and controversial social problems, in research that involves
vulnerable populations (e.g., individuals with AIDS), and in situations where stake-
holders have high stakes in the outcomes of the research.
Enhancing Validity. Applied research faces challenges that threaten the validity of
studies’ results. Difficulties in mounting the most rigorous designs, in collecting
data from objective sources, and in designing studies that have universal generaliz-
ability require innovative strategies to ensure that the research continues to produce
valid results. Lipsey and Hurley, in Chapter 2, describe the link between internal
validity and statistical power and how good research practice can increase the sta-
tistical power of a study. In Chapter 6, Mark and Reichardt outline the threats to
validity that challenge experiments and quasi-experiments and various design
strategies for controlling these threats. Henry, in his discussion of sampling in
Chapter 3, focuses on external validity and the construction of samples that can
provide valid information about a broader population. Other contributors in Part
III (Fowler & Cosenza, Chapter 12; Lavrakas, Chapter 16; Mangione & Van Ness,
Chapter 15) focus on increasing construct validity through the improvement of the
design of individual questions and overall data collection tools, the training of data
collectors, and the review and analysis of data.
Triangulation of Methods and Measures. One method of enhancing validity is to

develop converging lines of evidence. As noted earlier, a clear hallmark of applied
research is the triangulation of methods and measures to compensate for the falli-
bility of any single method or measure. The validity of both qualitative and quan-
titative applied research is bolstered by triangulation in data collection. Yin
(Chapter 8), Maxwell (Chapter 7), and Fetterman (Chapter 17) stress the impor-
tance of triangulation in qualitative research design, ethnography, and case study
research. Similarly, Bickman and Rog support the use of multiple data collection
methods in all types of applied research.
Qualitative and Quantitative. Unlike traditional books on research methods, this

volume does not have separate sections for quantitative and qualitative methods.
Rather, both types of research are presented together as approaches to consider in
research design, data collection, analysis, and reporting. Our emphasis is to find the
tools that best fit the research question, context, and resources at hand. Often, mul-
tiple tools are needed, cutting across qualitative and quantitative boundaries, to
research a topic thoroughly and provide results that can be used. Chapter 9 by
Tashakkori and Teddlie specifically focuses on the use of mixed methods designs.
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Introduction xvii
Several tools are described in this Handbook. Experimental and quasi-

experimental approaches are discussed (Boruch et al., Chapter 5; Mark & Reichardt,
Chapter 6; Lipsey & Hurley, Chapter 2) alongside qualitative approaches to design
(Maxwell, Chapter 7), including case studies (Yin, Chapter 8) and ethnographies
(Fetterman, Chapter 17) and approaches that are influenced by their setting
(Harrison, Chapter 10). Data collection tools provided also include surveys (in
person, mail, Internet, and telephone), focus groups (Stewart, Shamdasani, &
Rook, Chapter 18), and newer approaches such as concept mapping (Kane &
Trochim, Chapter 14).
Technological Advances. Recent technological advances can help applied researchers

conduct their research more efficiently, with greater precision, and with greater
insight than in the past. Clearly, advancements in computers have improved the
quality, timeliness, and power of research. Analyses of large databases with multi-
ple levels of data would not be possible without high-speed computers. Statistical
syntheses of research studies, called meta-analyses (Cooper, Patall, & Lindsay,
Chapter 11), have become more common in a variety of areas, in part due to the
accessibility of computers. Computers are required if the Internet is going to be
used for data collection as described by Best and Harrison in Chapter 13.
Qualitative studies can now benefit from computer technology, with software
programs that allow for the identification and analysis of themes in narratives
(Tashakkori & Teddlie, Chapter 9), programs that simply allow the researcher to
organize and manage the voluminous amounts of qualitative data typically col-
lected in a study (Maxwell, Chapter 7; Yin, Chapter 8), and laptops that can be used
in the field to provide for efficient data collection (Fetterman, Chapter 17). In addi-
tion to computers, other new technology provides for innovative ways of collecting
data, such as through videoconferencing (Fetterman, Chapter 17) and the Internet.
However, the researcher has to be careful not to get caught up in using technol-
ogy that only gives the appearance of advancement. Lavrakas points out that the use
of computerized telephone interviews has not been shown to save time or money
over traditional paper-and-pencil surveys.
Research Management. The nature of the context in which applied researchers

work highlights the need for extensive expertise in research planning. Applied
researchers must take deadlines seriously, and then design research that can deliver
useful information within the constraints of budget, time, and staff available. The
key to quality work is to use the most rigorous methods possible, making intelli-
gent and conscious trade-offs in scope and conclusiveness. This does not mean
that any information is better than none, but that decisions about what informa-
tion to pursue must be made very deliberately with realistic assessments of the fea-
sibility of executing the proposed research within the required time frame.
Bickman and Rog (Chapter 1), and Boruch et al. (Chapter 5) describe the impor-
tance of research management from the early planning stages through the com-
munication and reporting of results.
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xviii THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
Conclusion
We hope that the contributions to this Handbook will help guide readers in select-
ing appropriate questions and procedures to use in applied research. Consistent
with a handbook approach, the chapters are not intended to provide the details
necessary for readers to use each method or to design comprehensive research;
rather, they are intended to provide the general guidance readers will need to
address each topic more fully. This Handbook should serve as an intelligent guide,
helping readers select the approaches, specific designs, and data collection proce-
dures that they can best use in applied social research.
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PART I
Approaches to
Applied Research
T he four chapters in this section describe the key elements and approaches
to designing and planning applied social research. The first chapter by
Bickman and Rog presents an overview of the design process. It stresses the
iterative nature of planning research as well as the multimethod approach.
Planning an applied research project usually requires a great deal of learning about
the context in which the study will take place as well as different stakeholder per-
spectives. It took one of the authors (L.B.) almost 2 years of a 6-year study to decide
on the final design. The authors stress the trade-offs that are involved in the design
phase as the investigator balances the needs for the research to be timely, credible,
within budget, and of high quality. The authors note that as researchers make trade-
offs in their research designs, they must continue to revisit the original research
questions to ensure either that they can still be answered given the changes in the
design or that they are revised to reflect what can be answered.
One of the aspects of planning applied research covered in Chapter 1, often over-
looked in teaching and in practice, is the need for researchers to make certain that the
resources necessary for implementing the research design are in place. These include
both human and material resources as well as other elements that can make or break
a study, such as site cooperation. Many applied research studies fail because the
assumed community resources never materialize. This chapter describes how to
develop both financial and time budgets and modify the study design as needed based
on what resources can be made available.
The next three chapters outline the principles of three major areas of design:
experimental designs, descriptive designs, and making sure that the design meets
ethical standards. In Chapter 2, Lipsey and Hurley highlight the importance of plan-
ning experiments with design sensitivity in mind. Design sensitivity, also referred to
as statistical power, is the ability to detect a difference between the treatment and
1
2 THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS
control conditions on an outcome if that difference is really there. In a review of

previous studies, they report that almost half were underpowered and, thus, lacked
the ability to detect reasonable-sized effects even if they were present. The low sta-
tistical power of many projects has been recognized by editors and grant reviewers
to the extent that a power analysis has increasingly become a required component of
a research design. The major contribution of this chapter is that the authors illus-
trate how statistical power is affected by many components of a study, and they offer
several approaches for increasing power other than just increasing sample size. In
highlighting the components that affect statistical power, the authors illustrate sev-
eral ways in which the sensitivity of the research design can be strengthened to
increase the design’s overall statistical power. Most important, they demonstrate how
the researcher does not have to rely only on increasing the sample size to increase the
power but how good research practice (e.g., the use of valid and reliable measure-
ment, maintaining the integrity and completeness of both the treatment and control
groups) can increase the effect size and, in turn, increase the statistical power of the
study. The addition of the new section of multilevel designs is especially appropriate
for an increasing number of studies where the unit of analysis is not an individual,
such as a student, but a group such as a class or a school.
As Henry points out in Chapter 3, sampling is a critical component of almost
every applied research study, but it is most critical to the conduct of descriptive
studies involving surveys of particular populations (e.g., surveys of homeless indi-
viduals). Henry describes both probability and nonprobability sampling, also
sometimes referred to as convenience sampling. When a random or representative
sample cannot be drawn, knowing how to select the most appropriate nonproba-
bility sample is critical. Henry provides a practical sampling design framework to
help researchers structure their thinking about making sampling decisions in the
context of how those decisions affect total error. Total error, defined as the differ-
ence between the true population value and the estimate based on the sample data,
involves three types of error: error due to differences in the population definition,
error due to the sampling approach used, and error involved in the random selec-
tion process. Henry’s framework outlines the decisions that effect total error in the
presampling, sampling, and postsampling phases of the research. In his chapter,
however, he focuses on the implications of the researcher’s answers to the questions
on sampling choices. In particular, Henry illustrates the challenges in making trade-
offs to reduce total error, keeping the study goals and resources in mind.
Planning applied social research is not just application of methods; it also
involves attention to ethics and the rights of research participants. In Chapter 4,
Sieber discusses three major areas of ethics that need to be considered in the design
of research: strategies for obtaining informed consent; issues related to, and tech-
niques for ensuring privacy and confidentiality; and strategies for investigators to
recognize research risk and, in turn, maximize the benefits of research. Sieber places
special emphasis on these areas in the conduct of research with vulnerable popula-
tions (e.g., individuals with AIDS) and with children. We know that getting research
approved by an institutional review board can sometimes be a long and tortuous
process. This chapter, through its many examples and vignettes, will be of great help
in obtaining that approval.
CHAPTER 1
Applied Research Design

A Practical Approach
Leonard Bickman
Debra J. Rog
Planning Applied Social Research

The chapters in this Handbook describe several approaches to conducting applied
social research, including experimental studies (Boruch, Weisburd, Turner, Karpyn,
& Littell, Chapter 5), qualitative research (Maxwell, Chapter 7; Fetterman, Chapter 17),
and mixed methods studies (Tashakkori & Teddlie, Chapter 9). Regardless of the
approach, all forms of applied research have two major phases—planning and
execution—and four stages embedded within them (see Figure 1.1). In the plan-
ning phase, the researcher defines the scope of the research and develops a com-
prehensive research plan. During the second phase the researcher implements and
monitors the plan (design, data collection and analysis, and management proce-
dures), followed by reporting and follow-up activities.
In this chapter, we focus on the first phase of applied research, the planning
phase. Figure 1.2 summarizes the research planning approach advocated here, high-
lighting the iterative nature of the design process. Although our chapter applies
to many different types of applied social research (e.g., epidemiological, survey
research, and ethnographies), our examples are largely program evaluation
examples, the area in which we have the most research experience. Focusing on
program evaluation also permits us to cover many different planning issues, espe-
cially the interactions with the sponsor of the research and other stakeholders.
3
4 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH
Planning Execution
Stage I Stage II Stage III Stage IV

Definition Design/plan Implementation Reporting/
follow-up
Figure 1.1 The Conduct of Applied Research
Other types of applied research need to consider the interests and needs of the
research sponsor, but no other area has the variety of participants (e.g., program
staff, beneficiaries, and community stakeholders) involved in the planning stage like
program evaluation.
Stage I of the research process starts with the researcher’s development of an
understanding of the relevant problem or societal issue. This process involves work-
ing with stakeholders to refine and revise study questions to make sure that
the questions can be addressed given the research conditions (e.g., time frame,
resources, and context) and can provide useful information. After developing poten-
tially researchable questions, the investigator then moves to Stage II—developing the
research design and plan. This phase involves several decisions and assessments,
including selecting a design and proposed data collection strategies.
As noted, the researcher needs to determine the resources necessary to conduct
the study, both in the consideration of which questions are researchable as well as
in making design and data collection decisions. This is an area where social science
academic education and experience is most often deficient and is one reason why
academically oriented researchers may at times fail to deliver research products on
time and on budget.
Assessing the feasibility of conducting the study within the requisite time frame
and with available resources involves analyzing a series of trade-offs in the type of
design that can be employed, the data collection methods that can be implemented,
the size and nature of the sample that can be considered, and other planning deci-
sions. The researcher should discuss the full plan and analysis of any necessary
trade-offs with the research client or sponsor, and agreement should be reached on
its appropriateness.
As Figure 1.2 illustrates, the planning activities in Stage II often occur simulta-
neously, until a final research plan is developed. At any point in the Stage II process,
the researcher may find it necessary to revisit and revise earlier decisions, perhaps
even finding it necessary to return to Stage I and renegotiate the study questions or
timeline with the research client or funder. In fact, the researcher may find that the
design that has been developed does not, or cannot, answer the original questions.
The researcher needs to review and correct this discrepancy before moving on to
Stage III, either revising the questions to bring them in line with what can be done
Applied Research Design 5
Stage I Understand the problem

Research
Definition
Identify questions
Refine/revise questions
Stage II Choose design/data

Research collection approaches
Design/plan
Determine Inventory
trade-offs resources
Assess feasibility
To execution
Figure 1.2 Applied Research Planning
with the design that has been developed or reconsidering the design trade-offs that
were made and whether they can be revised to be in line with the questions of inter-
est. At times, this may mean increasing the resources available, changing the sam-
ple being considered, and other decisions that can increase the plausibility of the
design to address the questions of interest.
Depending on the type of applied research effort, these decisions can either
be made in tandem with a client or by the research investigator alone. Clearly,
involving stakeholders in the process can lengthen the planning process and at
some point, may not yield the optimal design from a research perspective. There
typically needs to be a balance in determining who needs to be consulted, for
what decisions, and when in the process. As described later in the chapter, the
researcher needs to have a clear plan and rationale for involving stakeholders in
various decisions. Strategies such as concept mapping (Kane & Trochim, Chapter 14)
provide a structured mechanism for obtaining input that can help in designing a
study. For some research efforts, such as program evaluation, collaboration, and
consultation with key stakeholders can help improve the feasibility of a study and
may be important to improving the usefulness of the information (Rog, 1985).
For other research situations, however, there may be need for minimal involve-
ment of others to conduct an appropriate study. For example, if access or “buy in”
is highly dependent on some of the stakeholders, then including them in all major
decisions may be wise. However, technical issues, such as which statistical tech-
niques to use, generally do not benefit from, or need stakeholder involvement. In
addition, there may be situations in which the science collides with the prefer-
ences of a stakeholder. For example, a stakeholder may want to do the research
quicker or with fewer participants. In cases such as these, it is critical for the
researcher to provide persuasive information about the possible trade-offs of fol-
lowing the stakeholder advice, such as reducing the ability to find an effect if one
is actually present—that is, lowering statistical power. Applied researchers often
find themselves educating stakeholders about the possible trade-offs that could
be made. The researcher will sometimes need to persuade stakeholders to think
about the problem in a new way or demonstrate the difficulties in implementing
the original design.
The culmination of Stage II is a comprehensively planned applied research proj-
ect, ready for full-scale implementation. With sufficient planning completed at this
point, the odds of a successful study are significantly improved, but far from guar-
anteed. As discussed later in this chapter, conducting pilot and feasibility studies
continues to increase the odds that a study can be successfully mounted.
In the sections to follow, we outline the key activities that need to be conducted
in Stage I of the planning process, followed by highlighting the key features that
need to be considered in choosing a design (Stage II), and the variety of designs
available for different applied research situations. We then go into greater depth
on various aspects of the design process, including selecting the data collection
methods and approach, determining the resources needed, and assessing the
research focus.
Developing a Consensus on
the Nature of the Research Problem
Before an applied research study can even begin to be designed, there has to be
a clear and comprehensive understanding of the nature of the problem being
addressed. For example, if the study is focused on evaluating a program for home-
less families being conducted in Georgia, the researcher should know what research
and other available information has been developed about the needs and charac-
teristics of homeless families in general and specifically in Georgia; what evidence
base exists, if any for the type of program being tested in this study; and so forth.
In addition, if the study is being requested by an outside sponsor, it is important to
have an understanding of the impetus of the study and what information is desired
to inform decision making.
Strategies that can be used in gathering the needed information include the
following:
• review relevant literature (research articles and reports, transcripts of legisla-

tive hearings, program descriptions, administrative reports, agency statistics,
media articles, and policy/position papers by all major interested parties);
• gather current information from experts on the issue (all sides and perspec-
tives) and major interested parties;
• conduct information-gathering visits and observations to obtain a real-world
sense of the context and to talk with persons actively involved in the issue;
• initiate discussions with the research clients or sponsors (legislative members;
foundation, business, organization, or agency personnel; and so on) to obtain
the clearest possible picture of their concerns; and
• if it is a program evaluation, informally visit the program and talk with the
staff, clients, and others who may be able to provide information on the
program and/or overall research context.
Developing the Conceptual Framework

Every study, whether explicitly or implicitly, is based on a conceptual framework
or model that specifies the variables of interest and the expected relationships
between them. In some studies, social and behavioral science theory may serve as
the basis for the conceptual framework. For example, social psychological theories
such as cognitive dissonance may guide investigations of behavior change. Other
studies, such as program and policy evaluations, may be based not on formal aca-
demic theory but on statements of expectations of how policies or programs are
purported to work. Bickman (1987, 1990) and others (e.g., Chen, 1990) have writ-
ten extensively about the need for and usefulness of program theory to guide eval-
uations. The framework may be relatively straightforward or it may be complex, as
in the case of evaluations of comprehensive community reforms, for example, that
are concerned with multiple effects and have a variety of competing explanations
for the effects (e.g., Rog & Knickman, 2004).
In evaluation research, logic models have increased in popularity as a mecha-
nism for outlining and refining the focus of a study (Frechtling, 2007; McLaughlin
& Jordan, 2004; Rog, 1994; Rog & Huebner, 1992; Yin, Chapter 8, this volume). A
logic model, as the name implies, displays the underlying logic of the program (i.e.,
how the program goals, resources, activities, and outcomes link together). In sev-
eral instances, a program is designed without explicit attention to the evidence base
available on the topic and/or without explicit attention to what immediate and
intermediate outcomes each program component and activity needs to accomplish
to ultimately reach the desired longer-term outcomes. The model helps display
these gaps in logic and provides a guide for either refining the program and/or out-
lining more of the expectations for the program. For example, community coali-
tions funded to prevent community violence need to have an explicit logic that
details the activities they are intended to conduct that should lead to a set of out-
comes that chain logically to the prevention of violence.
The use of logic modeling in program evaluation is an outgrowth of the evalu-

ability assessment work of Wholey and others (e.g., Wholey, 2004), which advocates
describing and displaying the underlying theory of a program as it is designed and
implemented prior to conducting a study of its outcomes. Evaluators have since
discovered the usefulness of logic models in assisting program developers in the
program design phase, guiding the evaluation of a program’s effectiveness, and
communicating the nature of a program as well as changes in its structure over time
to a variety of audiences. A program logic model is dynamic and changes not only
as the program matures but also may change as the researcher learns more about
the program. In addition, a researcher may develop different levels of models for
different purposes; for example, a global model may be useful for communicating
to outside audiences about the nature and flow of a program, but a detailed model
may be needed to help guide the measurement phase of a study.
In the design phase of a study (Stage II), the logic model will become important
in guiding both the measurement and analysis of a study. For these tasks, the logic
model needs to not only display the main features of a program and its outcomes
but also the variables that are believed to mediate the outcomes as well as those that
could moderate an intervention’s impact (Baron & Kenny, 1986). Mediating vari-
ables, often referred to as intervening or process variables, are those variables
through which an independent variable (or program variable) influences an out-
come. For example, the underlying theory of a therapeutic program designed to
improve the overall well-being of families may indicate that the effect of the
program is mediated by the therapeutic alliance developed between the families
and the program staff. In other words, without the development of a therapeutic
alliance, it is not expected that the program can have an effect. Often, mediators are
short-term outcomes that are believed to be logically necessary for a program to
first accomplish in order to achieve the longer-term outcomes.
Moderators are those variables that explain differences in outcomes due to
preexisting conditions. For example, demographic variables, such as gender, age,
income, and others are often tested as moderators of a program’s effects. Contextual
variables also can act as moderators of the effects of a program; for example, a
housing program for homeless families is expected to have greater effect on hous-
ing stability in communities that have higher housing vacancy rates than those with
lower rates (i.e., less available housing).
Identifying the Research Questions

As noted in the introduction to this Handbook, one of the major differences
between basic research and applied research is that the basic researcher is more
autonomous than the applied researcher. Basic research, when externally funded, is
typically conducted through a relatively unrestricted grant mechanism; applied
research is more frequently funded through contracts and cooperative agreements.
Even when applied research is funded through grant mechanisms, such as with
foundations, there is usually a “client” or sponsor who specifies (or at least guides)
the research agenda and requests the research results. Most often, studies have mul-
tiple stakeholders: sponsors, interested beneficiaries, and potential users (Bickman
& Rog, 1986). The questions to be addressed by an applied study tend to be posed
by individuals other than the researcher, often by nontechnical persons in non-
technical language.
Therefore, one of the first activities in applied research is working with the study
clients to develop a common understanding of the research agenda—the research
questions. Phrasing study objectives as questions is desirable in that it leads to more
clearly focused discussion of the type of information needed. It also makes it more
likely that key terms (e.g., welfare dependency, drug use) will be operationalized
and clearly defined. Using the logic models also helps focus the questions on what
is expected from the program and to move to measurable variables to both study
the process of an intervention or program as well as its expected outcomes. Later,
after additional information has been gathered and reviewed, the parties will need
to reconsider whether these questions are the “right” questions and whether it is
possible, with a reasonable degree of confidence, to obtain answers for these ques-
tions within the available resource and time constraints.
Clarifying the Research Questions

In discussing the research agenda with clients, the researcher will usually iden-
tify several types of questions. For example, in a program evaluation, researchers
are frequently asked to produce comprehensive information on both the imple-
mentation (“what actually is taking or took place”) and the effects (“what caused
what”) of an intervention. When the research agendas are broad such as those in the
example, they pose significant challenges for planning in terms of allocating data
collection resources among the various study objectives. It is helpful to continue to
work with the sponsors to further refine the questions to both more realistically
plan the scope of the research and to also ensure that they are specific enough to be
answered in a meaningful way and one that is agreed on by the clients.
The researcher should guard against biasing the scope of the research. The ques-
tions left unaddressed by a study can be as or more important than the questions
answered. If the research addresses only questions likely to support only one posi-
tion in a controversy and fails to develop information relevant to the concerns
voiced by other interested parties, it will be seen as biased, even if the results pro-
duced are judged to be sound and conclusive. For example, an evaluation that is
limited to measuring just the stated goals of a program may be biased if any possi-
ble unintended negative side effects of the program are not considered. Thus, the
research agenda should be as comprehensive as is necessary to address the concerns
of all parties. Resource constraints will limit the number and scope of questions
that may be addressed, but at minimum the researcher should state explicitly what
would be necessary for a comprehensive study and how the research meets or does
not meet those requirements. Resources will also determine the degree of certainty
one can have in an answer. Thus, a representative survey is much more expensive to
conduct than sampling by convenience, but the generalizability of the results will
be much stronger in the representative sample.
Ideally, the development of the conceptual framework/logic model will
occur simultaneously with the identification of the research questions. Once the
conceptual framework has been agreed on, the researcher can further refine the
study questions—grouping questions and identifying which are primary and sec-
ondary questions. Areas that need clarification include the time frame of the data
collection (i.e., “Will it be a cross-sectional study or one that will track individuals
or cohorts over time; how long will the follow-up period be?”); how much the client
wants to generalize (e.g., “Is the study interested in providing outcome information
on all homeless families that could be served in the program or only those families
with disabilities?”); how certain the client wants the answers to be (i.e., “How pre-
cise and definitive should the data collected be to inform the decisions?”); and what
subgroups the client wants to know about (e.g., “Is the study to provide findings on
homeless families in general only or is there interest in outcomes for subgroups of
families, such as those who are homeless for the first time, those who are homeless
more than once but for short durations, and those who are ‘chronically home-
less’?”). The levels of specificity should be very high at this point, enabling a clear
agreement on what information will be produced. As the next section suggests,
these discussions between researcher and research clients oftentimes take on the flavor
of a negotiation.
Negotiating the Scope of a Study

Communication between the researcher and stakeholders (the sponsor and all
other interested parties) is important in all stages of the research process. To foster
maximum and accurate utilization of results, it is recommended that the researcher
regularly interact with the research clients—from the initial discussions of the
“problem” to recommendations and follow-up. In the planning phase, we suggest
several specific communication strategies. As soon as the study is sponsored, the
researcher should connect with the client to develop a common understanding of
the research questions, the client’s time frame for study results, and anticipated uses
for the information. The parties can also discuss preliminary ideas regarding a con-
ceptual model for the study. Even in this initial stage, it is important for the
researcher to begin the discussion of the contents and appearance of the final
report. This is an opportunity for the researcher to explore whether the client
expects only to be provided information on study results or whether the client
anticipates that the researcher will offer recommendations for action. It is also an
opportunity for the researcher to determine whether he or she will be expected to
provide interim findings to the client as the study progresses.
At this juncture, the researcher also needs to have an understanding of the amount
of funds or resources that will be available to support the research. Cost considera-
tions will determine the scope and nature of the project, and the investigator needs to
consider the resources while identifying and reviewing the research questions. In
some studies, the budget is set prior to any direct personal contact with the research
client. In others, researchers may help to shape the scope and the resources needed
simultaneously or there may be a pilot effort that helps design the larger study.
Based on a comprehensive review of the literature and other inputs (e.g., from
experts) and an initial assessment of resources, the researcher should decide if the
research questions need to be refined. The researcher and client then typically
discuss the research approaches under consideration to answer these questions as
well as the study limitations. This gives the researcher an opportunity to introduce
constraints into the discussion regarding available resources, time frames, and any
trade-offs contemplated regarding the likely precision and conclusiveness of
answers to the questions.
In most cases, clients want sound, well-executed research and are sympathetic to
researchers’ need to preserve the integrity of the research. Some clients, however,
have clear political, organizational, or personal agendas, and will push researchers
to provide results in unrealistically short time frames or to produce results sup-
porting particular positions. Other times, the subject of the study itself may gener-
ate controversy, a situation that requires the researcher to take extreme care to
preserve the neutrality and credibility of the study. Several of the strategies dis-
cussed later attempt to balance client and researcher needs in a responsible fashion;
others concentrate on opening research discussions up to other parties (e.g., advi-
sory groups). In the earliest stages of research planning, it is possible to initiate
many of these kinds of activities, thereby bolstering the study’s credibility, and often
its feasibility.
Stage II: The Research Design

Having developed a preliminary study scope during Stage I, the researcher moves
to Stage II, developing a research design and plan. During this stage, the applied
researcher needs to perform five activities almost simultaneously: selecting a design,
choosing data collection approaches, inventorying resources, assessing the feasibil-
ity of executing the proposed approach, and determining trade-offs. These activi-
ties and decisions greatly influence one another. For example, a researcher may
revisit preliminary design selections after conducting a practical assessment of the
resources available to do the study, and may change data collection plans after dis-
covering weaknesses in the data sources during planning.
The design serves as the architectural blueprint of a research project, linking
design, data collection, and analysis activities to the research questions and ensur-
ing that the complete research agenda will be addressed. A research study’s credi-
bility, usefulness, and feasibility rest with the design that is implemented. Credibility
refers to the validity of a study and whether the design is sufficiently rigorous
to provide support for definitive conclusions and desired recommendations.
Credibility is also, in part, determined by who is making the judgment. To some
sponsors, a credible project need only use a pre-post design. Others may require a
randomized experimental design to consider the findings credible. Credibility is
also determined by the research question. A representative sample will make a
descriptive study more credible than a sample of convenience or one with known
biases. In contrast, representativeness is not as important in a study designed to
determine the causal link between a program and outcomes. The planner needs to
be sure that the design matches the types of information needed. For example,
under most circumstances, the simple pre-post design should not be used if the
purpose of the study is to draw causal conclusions.
Usefulness refers to whether the design is appropriately targeted to answer the
specific questions of interest. A sound study is of little use if it provides definitive
answers to the wrong questions. Feasibility refers to whether the research design can
be executed, given the requisite time and other resource constraints. All three
factors—credibility, usefulness, and feasibility—must be considered to conduct
high-quality applied research.
Design Dimensions
Maximizing Validity
In most instances, a credible research design is one that maximizes validity—it
provides a clear explanation of the phenomenon under study and controls all plau-
sible biases or confounds that could cloud or distort the research findings. Four
types of validity are typically considered in the design of applied research
(Bickman, 1989; Shadish, Cook, & Campbell, 2002).
• Internal validity: the extent to which causal conclusions can be drawn or the
degree of certainty that “A” caused “B,” where A is the independent variable
(or program) and B is the dependent variable (or outcome).
• External validity: the extent to which it is possible to generalize from the data
and context of the research study to other populations, times, and settings
(especially those specified in the statement of the original problem/issue).
• Construct validity: the extent to which the constructs in the conceptual
framework are successfully operationalized (e.g., measured or implemented)
in the research study. For example, does the program as actually implemented
accurately represent the program concept and do the outcome measures
accurately represent the outcome? Programs change over time, especially if
fidelity to the program model or theory is not monitored.
• Statistical conclusion validity: the extent to which the study has used appro-
priate sample size, measures, and statistical methods to enable it to detect the
effects if they are present. This is also related to the statistical power.
All types of validity are important in applied research, but the relative emphases
may vary, depending on the type of question under study. With questions dealing
with the effectiveness of an intervention or impact, for example, more emphasis
should be placed on internal and statistical conclusion validity than on external
validity. The researcher of such a study is primarily concerned with finding any evi-
dence that a causal relationship exists and is typically less concerned (at least ini-
tially) about the transferability of that effect to other locations or populations. For
descriptive questions, external and construct validity may receive greater emphasis.
Here, the researcher may consider the first priority to be developing a comprehen-
sive and rich picture of a phenomenon. The need to make cause-effect attributions
is not relevant. Construct validity, however, is almost always relevant.
Operationalizing the Key Variables and Concepts

The process of refining and revising the research questions undertaken in Stage I
should have yielded a clear understanding of the key research variables and con-
cepts. For example, if the researcher is charged with determining the extent of high
school drug use (a descriptive task), key outcome variables might include drug
type, frequency and duration of drug use, and drug sales behavior. Attention should
be given at this point to reassessing whether the researcher is studying the right
variables—that is, whether these are “useful” variables.
Outlining Comparisons
An integral part of design is identifying whether and what comparisons can be
made—that is, which variables must be measured and compared with other variables
or with themselves over time. In simple descriptive studies, there are decisions to be
made regarding the time frame of an observation and how many observations are
needed. Typically, there is no explicit comparison in simple descriptive studies.
Normative studies are an extension of descriptive studies in that the interest is in com-
paring the descriptive information to some appropriate “standard.” The decision for
the researcher is to determine where that standard will be drawn from or how it will
be developed. In correlative studies, the design is again an extension of simple descrip-
tive work, with the difference that two or more descriptive measures are arrayed
against each other to determine whether they covary. Impact or outcome studies, by
far, demand the most judgment and background work. To make causal attributions
(X causes Y), we must be able to compare the condition of Y when X occurred with
what the condition of Y would have been without X. For example, to know if a drug
treatment program reduced drug use, we need to compare drug use among those who
were in the program with those who did not participate in the program.
Level of Analysis
Knowing what level of analysis is necessary is also critical to answering the
“right” question. For example, if we are conducting a study of drug use among high
school students in Toledo, “Are we interested in drug use by individual students,
aggregate survey totals at the school level, aggregate totals at the school district, or
for the city as a whole?”
Correct identification of the proper level or unit of analysis has important impli-
cations for both data collection and analysis. The Stage I client discussions should
clarify the desired level of analysis. It is likely that the researcher will have to help
the client think through the implications of these decisions, providing information
about research options and the types of findings that would result. In addition, this
is an area that is likely to be revisited if initial plans to obtain data at one level (e.g.,
the individual student level) prove to be prohibitively expensive or unavailable. A
design fallback position may be to change to an aggregate analysis level (e.g., the
school), particularly if administrative data at this level are more readily available
and less costly to access.
In an experiment, the level of analysis is typically determined by the level that

the intervention is introduced. For example, if the intervention was targeted at indi-
vidual students, then that should usually be the level of analysis. Similarly, a class-
room intervention should use classroom as the level and a schoolwide intervention
should use the school. It is tempting to use the lowest level with the largest sample
size because that provides the most statistical power—that is, ability to find an
effect if one is there. For example, if an intervention is at the school level and there
is only a treatment and control school then the sample size is two, not the total
number of students. Statistical programs that take into account multilevel designs
are easily accessible (Graham, Singer, & Willett, 2008). However, the real challenge
with multilevel designs is finding enough units (e.g., schools) to cooperate as well
as enough resources to pay for the study.
Population, Geographic, and Time Boundaries

Population, geographic, and time boundaries are related to external validity issues.
Each can affect the generalizability of the research results—for instance, whether the
results will be representative of all high school students, all high school students grad-
uating within the past 3 years, all students in urban areas, and so on. Population gen-
eralizability and geographic generalizability are probably the most commonly
discussed types of generalizability, and researchers frequently have heated debates con-
cerning whether the persons or organizations that they have studied and the locations
where they conducted their studies will allow them to use their findings in different
locations and with different populations. In basic research, generalizability or external
validity is usually not considered but in applied research some may rate it more impor-
tant than internal validity (Cronbach et al., 1980).
Time boundaries also can be crucial to the generalizability of results, especially if
the study involves extant data that may be more than a few years old. With the fast
pace of change, questions can easily arise about whether survey data on teenagers
from even just 2 years prior are reflective of current teens’ attitudes and behaviors.
The researcher cannot study all people, all locations, or all time periods relevant
to the problem/program under scrutiny. One of the great “inventions” for applied
social research is sampling. Sampling allows the researcher to study only a subset of
the units of interest and then generalize to all these units with a specifiable degree
of error. It offers benefits in terms of reducing the resources necessary to do a study;
it also sometimes permits more intensive scrutiny by allowing a researcher to con-
centrate on fewer cases. More details on sampling can be found in Henry (1990; see
also Sieber, Chapter 4, this volume).
Level of Precision
Knowing how precise an answer must be is also crucial to design decisions. The
level of desired precision may affect the rigor of the design. When sampling is used,
the level of desired precision also has important ramifications for how the sample is
drawn and the size of the sample used. In initial discussions, the researcher and the
client should reach an understanding regarding the precision desired or necessary

overall and with respect to conclusions that can be drawn about the findings for
specific subgroups. The cost of a study is very heavily influenced by the degree of
precision or certainty required. In sampling, more certainty usually requires a big-
ger sample size, with diminishing returns when samples approach 1,000. However,
if the study is focused on subgroups, such as gender or ethnicity, then the sample at
those levels of analysis must also be larger.
Another example of precision is the breadth and depth of a construct that need
to be measured in a study. More breadth usually requires more questions, and
greater depth often requires the use of in-depth interviewing, both likely increasing
the costs of data collection especially if administered in person or with a telephone
interview. The level of precision is discussed later in the section dealing with trade-
offs as level of precision is often a trade-off decision that must be made within the
budget of a study.
Choosing a Design
There are three main categories of applied research designs: descriptive, exper-
imental, and quasi-experimental. In our experience, developing an applied
research design rarely allows for implementing a design straight from a textbook;
rather, the process more typically involves the development of a hybrid, reflecting
combinations of designs and other features that can respond to multiple study
questions, resource limitations, dynamics in the research context, and other con-
straints of the research situation (e.g., time deadlines). Thus, our intent here is to
provide the reader with the tools to shape the research approach to the unique
aspects of each situation. Those interested in more detailed discussion should
consult Mark and Reichardt’s work on quasi-experimentation (Chapter 6) and
Boruch and colleagues’ chapter on randomized experiments (Chapter 5). In addi-
tion, our emphasis here is on quantitative designs; for more on qualitative
designs, readers should consult Maxwell (Chapter 7), Yin (Chapter 8), and
Fetterman (Chapter 17).
Descriptive Research Designs

Description and Purpose. The overall purpose of descriptive research is to provide a
“picture” of a phenomenon as it naturally occurs, as opposed to studying the effects
of the phenomenon or intervention. Descriptive research can be designed to answer
questions of a univariate, normative, or correlative nature—that is, describing only
one variable, comparing the variable to a particular standard, or summarizing the
relationship between two or more variables.
Key Features. Because the category of descriptive research is broad and encompasses
several different types of designs, one of the easiest ways to distinguish this class of
research from others is to identify what it is not: It is not designed to provide infor-
mation on cause-effect relationships.
Variations. There are only a few features of descriptive research that vary. These are the
representativeness of the study data sources (e.g., the subjects/entities)—that is, the
manner in which the sources are selected (e.g., universe, random sample, stratified
sample, nonprobability sample); the time frame of measurement—that is, whether the
study is a one-shot, cross-sectional study, or a longitudinal study; whether the study
involves some basis for comparison (e.g., with a standard, another group or popula-
tion, data from a previous time period); and whether the design is focused on a simple
descriptive question, on a normative question, or on a correlative question.
When to Use. A descriptive approach is appropriate when the researcher is attempt-

ing to answer “what is,” or “what was,” or “how much” questions.
Strengths. Exploratory descriptive studies can be low cost, relatively easy to imple-
ment, and able to yield results in a fairly short period of time. Some efforts, however,
such as those involving major surveys, may sometimes require extensive resources
and intensive measurement efforts. The costs depend on factors such as the size of
the sample, the nature of the data sources, and the complexity of the data collection
methods employed. Several chapters in this volume outline approaches to surveys,
including mail surveys (Mangione & Van Ness, Chapter 15), internet surveys (Best
& Harrison, Chapter 13), and telephone surveys (Lavrakas, Chapter 16).
Limitations. Descriptive research is not intended to answer questions of a causal

nature. Major problems can arise when the results from descriptive studies are
inappropriately used to make causal inferences—a temptation for consumers of
correlational data.
Experimental Research Designs

Description and Purpose. The primary purpose in conducting an experimental
study is to test the existence of a causal relationship between two or more variables.
In an experimental study, one variable, the independent variable, is systematically
varied or manipulated so that its effects on another variable, the dependent vari-
able, can be measured. In applied research, such as in program evaluation, the
“independent variable” is typically a program or intervention (e.g., a drug educa-
tion program) and the “dependent variables” are the desired outcomes or effects of
the program on its participants (e.g., drug use, attitudes toward drug use).
Key Features. The distinguishing characteristic of an experimental study is the ran-

dom assignment of individuals or entities to the levels or conditions of the study.
Random assignment is used to control most biases at the time of assignment and
to help ensure that only one variable—the independent (experimental) variable—
differs between conditions. With well-implemented random assignment, all indi-
viduals have an equal likelihood of being assigned either to the treatment group or
to the control group. If the total number of individuals or entities assigned to the
treatment and control groups is sufficiently large, then any differences between the
groups should be small and due to chance.
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DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI
Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)
The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.
NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA
I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.
MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]
MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY
With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
“We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
BRAZIER
Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT
SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB
CUTTING THE EDGE

FINISHING THE BOTTOM
LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING
FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE
TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL
NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK
DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG
REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

BEATING THE BARK
WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT
MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN

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The SAGE Handbook of Applied Social

Research Methods 2nd Edition, (Ebook

Neil Boyd, Pennsylvania State University, Capital College

T his second edition of the Handbook of Applied Social Research Methods

Distinguishing Applied From Basic Social Research

x THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

Applied research uses scientific methodology to develop information to help

Theoretical “Opportunism” Versus Theoretical “Purity.” Applied researchers are more

xii THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

Research Team Versus Solo Scientist. Applied research is typically conducted by

Basic research is typically conducted by an individual researcher who behaves

xiv THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

The Orientation of This Handbook

conducting applied social research. Despite this diversity of perspectives, methods,

xvi THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

Triangulation of Methods and Measures. One method of enhancing validity is to

Qualitative and Quantitative. Unlike traditional books on research methods, this

Several tools are described in this Handbook. Experimental and quasi-

Technological Advances. Recent technological advances can help applied researchers

Research Management. The nature of the context in which applied researchers

xviii THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

2 THE SAGE HANDBOOK OF APPLIED SOCIAL RESEARCH METHODS

control conditions on an outcome if that difference is really there. In a review of

Applied Research Design

Planning Applied Social Research

4 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

Stage I Stage II Stage III Stage IV

Figure 1.1 The Conduct of Applied Research

Applied Research Design 5

Stage I Understand the problem

Stage II Choose design/data

Figure 1.2 Applied Research Planning

6 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

Applied Research Design 7

• review relevant literature (research articles and reports, transcripts of legisla-

Developing the Conceptual Framework

8 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

The use of logic modeling in program evaluation is an outgrowth of the evalu-

Identifying the Research Questions

Applied Research Design 9

Clarifying the Research Questions

10 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

Negotiating the Scope of a Study

Applied Research Design 11

Stage II: The Research Design

12 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

Applied Research Design 13

Operationalizing the Key Variables and Concepts

14 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

In an experiment, the level of analysis is typically determined by the level that

Population, Geographic, and Time Boundaries

Applied Research Design 15

client should reach an understanding regarding the precision desired or necessary

Descriptive Research Designs

16 APPROACHES TO APPLIED RESEARCH

When to Use. A descriptive approach is appropriate when the researcher is attempt-

Limitations. Descriptive research is not intended to answer questions of a causal

Experimental Research Designs

Key Features. The distinguishing characteristic of an experimental study is the ran-

Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO