The challenge of recruiting and engaging reluctant non-expert representatives

Introduction

Methodological literature dealing with the challenges in sampling, recruiting and engaging research participants for qualitative interviews usually assumes that potential informants are informed. That is, it is assumed that they are in the position of offering knowledge and insights on the research topic, either because they belong to specific categories of interest for the study, or in their capacity as group representatives (see also Foley, 2012). The purpose of interviews may vary: depending on the analytical perspective, transcripts may be sources of information on facts, emotions and interpretations, or they can be used as data for critical research on discursive practices (Hammersley, 2014; Rapley, 2001). Regardless, informants are selected because they are assumed to have something to say on the topic.

But what happens when the potential informants make it clear that they have little to say because of under-informed, with little competence or expertise on the topic? On the one side, this offers an invaluable opportunity for the researchers to deconstruct their assumptions about the informants-topic relations, for example exploring the reasons for topic-related ignorance among the selected population, or for assessing the scope of the absence of knowledge, and to reflect upon the criteria that informed the selection of their interviewees. On the other side, though, this makes the fieldwork quite onerous: unfamiliarity with the topic impacts upon the willingness of potential interviewees to take part in the research process. This article explores the challenges in recruiting and engaging reluctant non-expert research participants by revisiting my fieldwork experience as a researcher for the GRASSROOTSMOBILISE project, Directions in Religious Pluralism in Europe: Examining Grassroots Mobilisations in the Shadow of European Court of Human Rights Religious Freedom Jurisprudence ¹ which, among other methods, included semi-structured interviews to potential informants selected because of their role in the field.

Quite early in the fieldwork, during the pilot interviews, two challenges emerged. First, some of the potential informants were puzzled to be interviewed on something on which they claim to have very little expertise – therefore the recruiting process proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Second, one of the questions elicited unexpected negative reactions, prompting the researchers to adopt creative management strategies to overcome potentially disruptive moments during the interviews. Following Gubrium and Holstein (2012) and adopting an approach anchored in symbolic interactionist analysis, I focus on the ‘hows’ rather than the ‘whats’ of the interview practice, unpacking the processes of recruiting and interviewing research participants to analyse the reluctance expressed by non-expert potential interviewees in being recruited and in engaging with the research questions.

In their seminal work on the reluctant respondent, Adler and Adler (2003) identified a ‘spectrum’ of reluctance displaying in two key moments of the research process: the recruiting, during which potential interviewees may refuse or hesitate, and the interview, during which respondents’ may show low levels of participation, as well as resistance. After presenting the research data in the section ‘Researching the indirect effects of the European Court of Human Rights’, I focus on the actors’ reluctance to take part in the research process. Although generally attuned to be interviewed, the research topic made the recruitment process more difficult than anticipated: our respondents were close-at-hand and generally available to be interviewed, yet the research topic made them hard-to-reach. I discuss the reasons for the potential interviewees’ reluctance and the strategies to overcome this reluctance. I then analyse the actors’ reluctance during the interview process in relation to one particular question of the interview guide. I explore the unexpected negative reactions, the reasons for reluctance and the researchers’ counter-strategies. In the section Discussion: Recruiting and engaging non-experts in the interview society, I discuss the relevance of interviewing non-expert informants and analyse the identity invoked by the interviewees (see Rapley, 2006, 2012; Silverman, 2017). I make the argument that in both the recruiting and the interview processes we faced, in fact, the same type of reluctance, related to the informants’ expectations about the interview process and type, and their self-perception of non-expertise.

The analysis contributes to the literature concerned with reluctance in taking part in the research process and, more specifically, non-ethnographic qualitative interview practice. More broadly, the analysis of this specific type of reluctance contributes to the methodological debate on the role of interview-based research in an ‘interview society’ (Silverman, 1993, 2017).

Researching the indirect effects of the European Court of Human Rights

The research programme studied the grassroots level mobilizations in the shadow of the European Court of Human Rights religious jurisprudence in four different countries: Italy, Romania, Greece and Turkey. Data are primarily based on the fieldwork carried out in Italy, although I discussed the topics of this article (and the article itself) with my colleagues: I use the first-person plural to signal shared experiences and strategies.

Rather than the implementation of the Court’s decisions, the research studied the ECtHR broader impact, considering its indirect effects: that is, the extent to which the Court’s decisions – and, more broadly, its mere existence – define the opportunity structure within which citizens act (Fokas, 2015, 2018; see also: Galanter, 1983; McCann, 2006; Vanhala, 2018). We were interested in understanding, first, grassroots actors’ awareness and knowledge of the ECtHR and its religious jurisprudence, and, second, whether or not awareness and knowledge influenced the actors’ strategies and discourse (Giorgi, 2018). The purpose of our interviews, then, was twofold: on the one side, we wanted to collect information about the level of awareness; on the other, we wanted to understand how the interviewees discursively represented the ECtHR, how they talked about it and, overall, their assessment of this institution. Therefore, unawareness, lack of expertise and limited knowledge were relevant data to us: focusing on the reasons for unawareness – disinterest, lack of communication and lack of cultural resources, to name only a few – allowed for a better understanding of the role of the judiciary and the judicial arena for grassroots actors, and it traced the path for a critical re-thinking of how grassroots actors conceive of their rights. Furthermore, exploring the scope of actors’ ignorance allowed nuancing the analysis of the ECtHR impact, by shedding light on the indirect – and often more subtle – forms of influence, such as the language used to name injustice, or the actors held responsible for changing the situation. Lack of information about the ECtHR was an expected result: as the literature on the court awareness discusses, the ECtHR has several features that hinder its popular authority (Fokas, 2017), including the limited media coverage (Giorgi, 2018).

The team included the Principal Investigator, two senior scholars, five fieldwork researchers (one for each country included in the study – except for Italy, for which there were two researchers in the fieldwork, each with different expertise), and an advisory board. Researchers’ and senior scholars’ backgrounds included sociology, political science, anthropology and law. Fieldwork research included three stages – interviews and media analysis in the four countries; analysis of the case law in the four countries and interviews at the European level. Although working individually, researchers regularly met at least twice a year, and during the first two stages of the fieldwork, we exchanged monthly reports via email. The selection of countries represented a spectrum of levels of democratization and Europeanization; in all the four countries, majority religions play an important role in the public and political spheres. Judicial and media systems and religious landscapes are instead quite different in the four countries. Although research design was not comparative, the interview protocol was constructed to be the same in all the countries, to provide some elements of comparison.

We adopted a triangulation of methods which included quantitative and qualitative methodologies, including a comparative analysis of media coverage of the ECtHR, content analysis of documents produced by the religious groups and semi-structured interviews, case law analysis at the ECtHR and the national levels. We combined the different methodologies to grasp a nuanced understanding of the topic from different perspectives – a triangulation 2.0, as Denzin defines it (2012). This article focuses specifically on the interviews, for which we selected the social actors that we assumed would be the most interested in (and affected by) the direct and indirect effects of the ECtHR religious jurisprudence: religious leaders and representatives; representatives of secular, religious and human rights groups; ‘cause lawyers’ representing religious freedom court cases and state representatives dealing with religious freedom issues. In Greece, Romania and Italy, we also included representatives of LGBT+ groups. We realized on average 50 interviews in each country, approximately half of them with religious leaders and representatives.

Informed by the theory and the researchers’ familiarity with the contexts (see Emmel, 2014), the selection criteria aimed at collecting rich informative cases. More specifically, we adopted a stratified purposeful sampling, combining different strategies – including intensity, variation and common pattern – to select the potential interviewees (Patton, 2002a, 2002b). In each country, we contacted the representatives of ‘minority religions’ – given that we focused on countries characterized by one majoritarian religion, this meant the other religious groups. In addition, we selected two religion-related court cases discussed at the ECtHR and we contacted the lawyers and plaintiffs involved, and we mapped human rights groups and religion-related associations active in the field of religious freedom, and we contacted the representatives of these groups. Also, we contacted ‘key-witnesses’: state officials dealing with the regulation of religious rights and journalists covering this news field.

The interview protocol was specifically tailored for the research and adopted in all the four countries, inquiring about the interviewees’ and/or the group’s activities in the field of religious and human rights, and their assessment of – and involvement which – the ECtHR. To assess the actors’ knowledge and awareness of the ECtHR religious jurisprudence, the interview guide included the administration of what we familiarly called the ‘awareness non-test-test’ (a list of potentially relevant Court cases).

In Italy, I initially contacted the potential interviewees through email and follow-up calls. Following the funding body ethical requirements of transparency and full disclosure when contacting the potential interviewees, in the email I explained in detail the framework of the project (including the funding body, the project website URL and contact information of the project coordinator) and the purpose of the study (including the ethical statement and the informed consent to be signed, which also clarified the possibility of withdrawing consent throughout all the research stages). Also, I clarified the selection criteria and the reasons for contacting them (in their capacity of representatives of religious minorities, for example), and the topics covered by the interview (religious rights, secularism and the ECtHR). In the follow-up calls, I clearly explained that non-expertise was not an issue and that we were interested in understanding their specific awareness, assessment and perception. The email and phone-call contact method proved to be partially ineffective. Therefore, after the pilot interviews, I heavily relied on the role of sponsors and mediators. In the Italian fieldwork, the interviews ranged approximately from 30 min to 2 h.

The research team extensively discussed the interviewees’ reluctance both via email and in the meeting focused on the pilot interviews, mainly dissecting the negative reactions to the ‘awareness non-test-test’. After careful consideration, we decided not to change the interview guide, to secure elements for some comparison among the four countries. We decided, however, to be more flexible in the other sections of the interview guide and to broaden the scope of our interviews.

Close-at-hand but hard-to-reach: the challenges of recruiting reluctant representatives

The literature on survey non-response is well-developed (for a recent overview, see Bach et al., 2020), and many studies have analysed the processes of selection and recruitment, and reluctance, in ethnographic research, especially focusing on the complex issue of access (Bengry-Howell and Griffin, 2012; Riese, 2019). With some relevant exception, instead, methodological literature often overlooks the problems arising in the process of recruiting participants for interview-based research (Adler and Adler, 2003; Anthony and Danaher, 2016; Clark, 2010; Emmel, 2014; Kristensen and Ravn, 2015; Levine, 2017; McCormack et al., 2012; Reybold et al., 2012). However, the interest is increasing in recent years, especially in case of vulnerable or hard-to-reach populations, even though both ‘vulnerable’ (Aldridge, 2004) and ‘hard-to-reach’ (Marpsat and Razafindratsima, 2010) statuses are complex to define ² .

First of all, reluctance to take part in the research process can derive from sampling specifics: some populations are more challenging to recruit than others. They can be hard-to-reach, as in the case of wealthy and powerful, or disadvantaged, people (Adler and Adler, 2003). Or, they can be extremely busy and bounded by strict schedules (Anthony and Danaher, 2016). ‘Hidden’ populations, stigmatized groups that are hard-to-trace, also present many difficulties (Barratt and Maddox, 2016). Personal characteristics – such as shyness (Scott, 2004), strong opinions or willingness to tell a story can be influential too (Kristensen and Ravn, 2015). Also, some specific groups and organizations may refuse to take part in social research, because of previous experiences (Clark, 2010), contextual reasons (Adler and Adler, 2003) or political considerations (Giorgi and Piazza, 2010; Riese, 2019). Gender can play a role too, especially with specific topics (Butera, 2006).

In our research, participants were selected in relation to their role in the field of religious freedom. I expected some reluctance from the representatives of religious minorities, which in fact can be considered as marginalized actors in Italy: they have little political recognition and their actions are regulated by a complex state-religions regime. Only in the last 20 years, religious minorities have become a topic of public debate, and mainly in relation to migration and multiculturalism – that is, as something to regulate. Non-migrant religious minorities, such as the Waldensian and Methodist Churches or the Jewish community, are instead overlooked (Giorgi, 2018). Therefore, religious minorities are discursively represented as composed of migrants. Furthermore, the current political climate is hostile to some religious minority – Islam in particular – which, as a consequence, may be wary and reluctant to be interviewed. Moreover, even though the Italian Constitution guarantees religious freedom, the juridical framework makes it difficult for some group to practically enforce their religious rights – as it happens for example in the cases of worship places and burials (Giorgi, 2018; Ferrari, 2012). Like many other countries, Italy has a ‘pyramidal’ system regulating the relationships between religions and the state, with different religions in different positions in terms of juridical, political and public recognition. At the top of the pyramid sits the Catholic Church: its relationships with the Italian state are regulated by a Concordat, and it is traditionally considered the majoritarian religion. A second group includes the religions that signed with the Italian state an agreement ³ , regulating specific issues (such as religious marriage) and granting them political recognition. In order to stipulate an agreement, religious groups should be first recognized as ‘cults’: allowed cults count today 34 religious communities, including one Islamic association, the Baha’i religion, and many Christian groups. At the lowest step are those who are not recognized as cults, such as Muslim groups and Scientology (Giorgi and Annicchino, 2017).

In our case, recruitment did not present a challenge: we focused on experts (lawyers and journalists) and groups’ representatives – public figures easy to select and accustomed to being interviewed. Despite the busy schedule, the overwhelming majority of our potential respondents was interested in being recruited. However, religious representatives and leaders expressed reluctance: although generally available, they underlined their non-expertise and, more broadly, unfamiliarity with the topic. Hence, they tried to divert my request to their legal experts.

Representatives of religious groups can be interpreted as ‘liminal public figures’, following the definition suggested by Anthony and Danaher (2016): public figures with marginal positions in society. These public figures can be hesitant to be interviewed, they argue, out of concern for their public reputation. One of the religious minorities that we contacted clearly expressed concerns, indeed, and the need for obtaining their highest leaders’ permission. I dutifully submitted the research documentation, including the interview guide, and periodically checked – via emails and phone calls – the religious group’s availability. I pointed out that permission was granted to the same group in the other countries. When requested for a public statement on the persecution that this particular religious minority was undergoing in yet another country, the principal investigator agreed. However, all these strategies failed. Our contact in the religious minority kept stalling, politely, for 2 years and a half, and we were unable to obtain an interview – or an explicit refusal. In all the other cases, instead, the potential respondents expressed their interest in being interviewed precisely because of their public reputation: their liminal position offered few occasions to be heard, and religious minority representatives assessed that our research, funded by the European Research Council, could be a relevant tribune to tell their story and argue for their rights. Moreover, including the religious minority we were unable to interview, they all said that taking part in studies and researches was among their responsibilities. However, they expressed concerns about their non-expertise, making the recruitment a challenging process.

A second reason for which potential participants may be reluctant is related to the researchers’ characteristics – such as gender identity, age, race, class, sexual orientation, political preferences and the likes – that also influence the type of people that they are more likely to reach and recruit (Kristensen and Ravn, 2015). Scott et al. (2012) also point out how researchers’ shyness influences the process of recruiting and interviewing informants and explore the difficulties of facing a dismissal. Personal networks also influence recruiting: sharing group membership with potential interviewees usually facilitate the access to respondents, although in some case it may also be an obstacle (when researching opposing groups) and, according to some scholars, ‘one-off’ interviews may be more advantageous (for a discussion see Adler and Adler, 2003). In our case, one of the researchers for the Italian fieldwork was involved in a State-committee on Islam, gathering experts, politicians and representatives of Muslim groups (Consiglio per le relazioni con l’Islam Italiano). This membership was indeed relevant when contacting Muslim associations. In all the other cases, though, the researchers’ characteristics and memberships had no remarkable effects: potential respondents assumed that the researchers were part of the majority group, hence ‘difference’ and ‘unfamiliarity’ were taken for granted. However, the researchers’ profile did play a role, although in a different way: religion is a rather politicized topic in Italy, and religious minorities are often at the centre of polarized assumptions (Giorgi and Vitale, 2017; Castelli Gattinara and Morales, 2017). Therefore, we were aware that the political leaning could be a factor in facilitating or alienating potential respondents. In many occasions, we, as fieldwork researchers, discussed our public profiles, and the influence these had – or may have had – on the recruiting process. One of us decided not to write about LGBT issues before concluding the fieldwork not to upset the potential interviewees of religious traditionalist groups. However, in my case this was more difficult: although my Facebook profile is private, friends of friends may be able to see posts or pictures. Furthermore, I did sign petitions in favour of LGBT rights and other religion-related issues in the past. I realized the effects of the partial visibility of my non-neutral profile when a member of a traditional religious group refused to be interviewed.

The third reason that may complicate the recruiting can be related to mediators, who can intervene in the recruiting process with their considerations, modifying the initial recruitment criteria (Braye and McDonnell, 2012; Kristensen and Ravn, 2015) can be over-protective towards the population of potential interviewees (Adamson and Holloway, 2012) or can be an obstacle rather than a support, depending on their power position in the field (Anthony and Danaher, 2016). In our research, mediators were extremely relevant in sponsoring the researchers and securing the interviews. Even though our potential respondents were close-at-hand and they were available to be interviewed, they expressed reluctance in relation to the research topic, claiming they had nothing to say and becoming ‘hard-to-reach’. In the majority of the cases, the mobilization of mediators who reassured potential respondents about us, and called in favours, was pivotal to our access to the field.

The topic of the research is another type of reasons discussed in the literature explaining reluctance (Kristensen and Ravn, 2015; McCormack et al., 2012; Nilan et al., 2014). Sensitive topics can harden the process of involvement of potential participants. Potential interviewees can express reluctance to discuss topics that are emotionally charged (e.g. rape), potentially endangering for the respondents (e.g. denouncing unfair labour conditions), involving secret activities (e.g. participation to secret societies), or that are social (e.g. abortion) or religious taboos (e.g. blasphemy). Also, potential respondents can be uncomfortable in discussing personal and intimate issues (e.g. sexual preferences). Sensitivity can also stem from contextual circumstances, such as public debate and broadcasted news: people may refuse to discuss highly mediatized and polarized matters.

In some cases, reluctance stems from a combination of topic and potential respondents’ profile. Gender, for example, may be an obstacle in recruiting men to talk about what they may perceive as female-topics, such as parenting (as described by Kristensen and Ravn, 2015), or even friendship (as discussed by Butera, 2006). Anthony and Danaher (2016) point out that liminal public figures often prefer to discuss familiar topics in order to stay in control of their public reputation. However, in cases in which public knowledge on the topic is widely available for the general public, liminal public figures might also question the researchers’ reasons.

More broadly, the potential interviewees’ expectations in relation to the interview process play a relevant role too. As Hammersley underlines, broadly speaking, potential interviewees approach the research process: ‘as occasions in which they provide information about events they have witnessed, about their own behaviour, and about their views.’ (Hammersley, 2014: 503; emphasis in original) ⁴ .

In our case, the reluctance expressed during the recruiting process by the representatives of religious minorities appeared to be a combination of the expectations and the profile of potential respondents, which made the topic ‘sensitive’ for them. The first contact with religious representatives often resulted in refusals, or the suggestion to interview their lawyers. The following excerpt, describing the reactions to my first request, is particularly telling:

It was you, but I remained puzzled because I said: “What should I answer?”. In fact our position – as we’ll explain in this interview – is different, I mean, basically, we should have said “Thanks, but no thanks, we never had contact with the European Court of Human Rights” and, above all, we never activated any form of litigation with the State. (#40, 14/06/2016)

Our contact request was rather broad in defining the interview scope, and I clarified that we wanted to explore awareness and opinions about the ECtHR and religious freedom, explicitly pointing out that the team already collected information about the case law. Nonetheless, it appears that the potential informants assumed that the interview would have been useless to us and a waste of time for them considering that they had no contact with the ECtHR, the main topic of the research. When I explained that the study wanted to know their particular perspective, reactions ranged from bewilderment to annoyance. Unawareness or lack of detailed information on the topic were in fact considered reasons enough to refuse the interview.

We selected religious minorities assuming that they would have been interested in the ECtHR religious jurisprudence because of their disadvantaged position. As minorities, they in fact may have difficulties in accessing traditional arenas in which to bring claims. According to many authors, the political role of judicial arenas is increasing, which can be seen as a form of democratization: powerless actors without proper voice channel can find support in courts – especially international courts that may help to overcome national veto players (Cichowski, 2006, 2007). From this perspective, that the actors claimed little knowledge and experience of the ECtHR was already a relevant result, and we were thrilled about these first answers: we wanted to know what the actors did not know, why they did not know and how they did not know about the ECtHR religious jurisprudence. Also, religious groups were our primary target: without them, our research would have lost its significance and purpose.

We had not foreseen, instead, their reluctance. However, representatives of religious minorities can be interpreted as presenting both characters of ‘liminal public figures’ and ‘politicians’: publicly marginal, but with a representative role. In this sense, their reluctance can be interpreted as specifically related to the need of staying in control of their public reputation. Being the ‘public face’ of their community, they might have felt the burden of appearing competent and trustworthy. A second element at play is related to the expectations they had about what we needed to know, and what the research process is about. Even though we live in the interview society, the larger public is generally unfamiliar with the nuances of the interview practice, such as the differences among the various interview types. Hence, the lack of expertise on the topic was particularly relevant in the case of religious representatives.

We adopted a variety of strategies to overcome initial reluctance. First and foremost, as already mentioned, we relied on our personal networks and enlisted sponsors, whose help was invaluable in securing the interviews. Also, we tried reassuring our potential interviewees: having realized, early into the fieldwork, that the European Court of Human Rights was an intimidating topic for the potential respondents, we decided to be even more explicit about the larger interview scope and purpose, and to underline that lack of expertise was not an issue – on the contrary, it was an important result of the research. Of course, we included all the relevant information and continue to abide by ethics. However, we understood the relevance of ‘selling’ the research to our potential interviewees (see Butera, 2006), selectively emphasizing the aspects of the study that might be of interest to our interviewees. More specifically, we highlighted the research broader interests in the actors’ take on religious pluralism, and in their activities in promoting religious freedom. This was particularly useful in the case of religious representatives, who felt more familiar with this topic. In the same vein, I also clarified that my specific research interest in the research included the understanding of the variety of religious groups’ activities at the local level.

In addition to broaden the description of the research scope, persistence in contact, reassurance and sponsorship, we also showed up in person in public initiatives and local offices, in order to introduce ourselves to the potential interviewees and build trust.

Contrary to Anthony’s and Danaher’s (2016) experience, in our case the researchers’ investment (driving long hours, making appointments in advance, etc.) contributed to the potential interviewees’ hesitancy: they felt more comfortable in knowing they could cancel the interview at any moment, downplaying the investment requested to them. Therefore, we accepted Skype or telephone interviews rather than face-to-face, as initially planned, and we adapted to interview respondents at any moment, such as in the case of side interviews during public events. In most cases, we were able to overcome the initial reluctance and secure an interview. However, engaging our interviewees in the conversation was another complex challenge.

The challenge of engaging reluctant representatives: a reputational issue

Unawareness, lack of detailed information and expectations about the research practice played a relevant role during the interview process too. Adler and Adler (2003) include setup issues, researchers’ conduct and relational disparities among the factors influencing the respondents’ resistance during the interview. The analysis of the interview interaction can be particularly useful to understand how the disparity of power works (Bengtsonn and Fynbo, 2018) and, more broadly, to improve the quality of data (Rapley, 2006; Silverman, 2017).

In our case, the main issue was once again related to the perceived sense of ignorance on the ECtHR topic. Once reassured about the research broader interests, and convinced by our sponsors, the potential interviewees turned into actual interviewees – but their reluctance remained, and it emerged in relation to one particular question of the interview guide, through which we intended to grasp the actors’ knowledge and awareness of the ECtHR religious jurisprudence.

The ‘awareness non-test-test’ included six religion-related Court cases that we deemed to be particularly relevant for the actors’ statuses in the four countries under observation ⁵ . We adopted a broad meaning of ‘religion-related’ cases, including litigations that either directly implicated religious topics, or mobilized religious or secular publics (Fokas, 2017). We were to ask about the interviewees’ awareness of these Court cases and inquire about their knowledge of what was at stake, the actors involved, the Court case outcome and effects, as well as to ask whether or not the Court case influenced the interviewees’ activities and practices. Inquiring about specific Court cases, rather than the ECtHR as such, allowed us assessing the scope of actors’ perceived unawareness, and, also, nuancing the actors’ claims of ignorance. In many cases, the actors did know about the Court cases. To continue with the example of section Close-at-hand but hard-to-reach: the challenges of recruiting reluctant representatives, the same interviewee candidly admitting their initial bewilderment, about the Lautsi ⁶ Court case explained:

Yes, of course we have studied that one, because we were interested, and we liked that judgment. . . well, the first judgment. [. . .] I remember having taken part in a street parade with those. . .the Atheists. . .and we were all excited about the Court judgment. [. . .] And then, the second judgment was a huge disappointment. (#40, 14/06/2016)

This excerpt fits exactly under the scope of our research: assessing the actors’ awareness and knowledge of the Court cases and understanding the effects of this awareness. Furthermore, the interviewee shows detailed knowledge about the Court case and its developments. It also happened that after maintaining to know nothing about the ECtHR (along the lines of ‘What’s that?!’ ⁷ ), the interviewees realized knowing something about the Court cases when they were described through their content (e.g. the case about the crucifix in the classrooms) rather than their official name (e.g. Lautsi vs Italy). Broadly speaking, though, across the four countries the vast majority of respondents with no legal expertise – and, more precisely, those related to religious groups – ‘showed little to no awareness of any particular ECtHR cases; at best they tended to recall themes addressed by the Court but without being able to name the cases directly’ (Fokas, 2017: 261). A case in point was one interviewee telling me they did not know about ‘S.A.S. vs France’. After my explanation, they answered: ‘I heard of a recent judgment – I do not know if it is the same, though. [. . .] I haven’t studied it in detail, so I apologize, I tell you what I understood from reading newspaper articles. . .’ (#44, 20/03/2017).

Even though it was a means to reach a deeper understanding of the grassroots level impact of the ECtHR and not an instrument for testing the interviewees’ personal knowledge of the case law as an end in itself, the administration of the ‘awareness non-test-test’ was an awkward moment during many interviews. As the previous excerpt showed, conveying that it was not a proper test proved to be difficult. One of the interviewees kept adopting a school-related vocabulary during the conversation, such as: ‘sorry for the blunt question, but there are many written documents, and you can also. . .I can send them, so that you have everything. It’s easier because I did not rehearse the lesson. . .’ (#19, 16/09/2015). In the end, the interviewee also asked me to grade their performance. These examples also illustrate the discursive construction of the ‘adequate interviewee’ (Rapley, 2006) and, at the same time, the ‘adequate interview’: in spite of my reassurance, respondents often apologised for their lack of detailed knowledge on the topic, assuming I would have preferred to meet with legal experts.

Other interesting reactions were shame, embarrassment and annoyance. Other interviewees in fact, who expressed a general awareness about the ECtHR but were less familiar with the case law, reacted like it was a test to see whether they really knew about it – which it was, but we had not the aim of ‘expose’ them, and we did not expect negative reactions. One interviewee just stared at me blankly while I listed and explained the case law, until snapping: ‘look, I already told you I don’t know. . .’ (#2, 28/04/2015). We quickly realized that for some of the interviewees it was a reputational issue: if we, as academic researchers, selected them for our study, then it was a topic they should have known about, in their capacity as group representatives. The fact that they did not was in fact perceived as shameful, hence the resistance towards this line of questioning. A second reputational issue concerns the judiciary as an area of inquiry. Once broadened our scope of attention, we discovered that – in Italy – religious groups engaged with a wide range of activities related to religious freedom, at the same time expressing concern about the judicial strategy. As it happens in many countries, marginalized minorities are particularly attentive to control their public reputation: going to the court is conceived of as confrontational. One of our Muslim interviewees clearly stated ‘It’s already the ‘hard’ way. [. . .] Instead I must be more tolerant, more respectful, because I am in a position of disadvantage.’ (#14, 04/06/2015). Therefore, in addition to non-expertise, we discovered that in some cases the topic was perceived as sensitive.

Interviewing non-expert respondents was indeed fruitful and rewarding, as it contributed shedding light on unexpected aspects. Also, it allowed exploring the nuances of non-expertise, which included for example unawareness, vague or little knowledge, or even competence but disinterest. In this sense, our study was extremely successful. However, the interview practice required high attention and sensitivity in administering the ‘awareness non-test-test’ without hurting the sensibility of our respondents and thus ruining the interview.

In addition to pay attention to the setting, accepting to interview respondents at short notice and in different places, as described in the section Close-at-hand but hard-to-reach: the challenges of recruiting reluctant representatives, we also adopted specific strategies in relation to our conduct and the relationships with the interviewees, which included: add preliminary questions to ease the interviewees, change the order of the questions and creatively take advantage of our role as fieldwork researcher. In order to ‘get the job done’, we paid great attention to create a good interview climate, which included making the interviewee at ease by asking them broad questions about the group and its activities, especially in the field of human rights and religious rights, or the group take on the judicial strategy in general, slowly reaching the topic of ECtHR. In this perspective, we added some questions at the beginning of the interview. Also, we adapted the interview structure to the interviewee, not to upset him or her. Although generally following the correct order, we usually switched the ‘awareness non-test-test’ to the end of the interview, when familiarity was usually gained (see Dundon and Ryan, 2010). In many cases, at the beginning of the interview we let our respondents give us information we already had, playing dumb – not for flattering purposes, but to reinforce respondents’ role in the interview performance and to establish a relationship, as Scott et al. (2012) discuss.

Another strategy included anticipating the possible reluctance, explaining that other interviewees were uncomfortable with the ‘awareness non-test-test’ and that we completely understood their hesitancy but that we would need an answer to that question too. When this was not enough, we deemed it necessary not to contradict the respondent: if he or she lamented that the question was awkward, or redundant, we politely maintained that we would have reported back the criticisms. I decided not to be confrontational, even though I understand that in specific cases it may be rewarding (Thuesen, 2011; Vitus, 2008).

One of the most successful strategies was to point out our role of post-doctoral researcher: our junior role contributed to convincing the potential respondents, by triggering an alliance that created the space for discussing the ECtHR topic and case law in a non-intimidating way. As Scott et al. (2012) point out, it was a way of presenting ourselves as ‘relatively harmless’ to the respondents, emphasizing our role of fieldwork researchers. At the same time, it was an effective way of asking for the interviewees’ support in making the ‘interview performance’ effective and successful. Interpreting the interview process as an encounter, the accent on our junior role can be described as an opening on the research backstage to negotiate the respective dramaturgical persona.

Pointing out the junior role also was an attempt of equalizing our ‘status differential and power inequalities’ (Adler and Adler, 2003: 168). Although the equalizing strategy is usually discussed and activated with respect to other types of differences (especially class inequalities), we found it extremely beneficial as well. In dealing with resistant or annoyed respondents, I used to reveal that I was unfamiliar myself with the topic of the ECtHR before embarking in the research programme, adopting a self-disclosure strategy (Carpenter, 2005). Also, I underlined the absence of media coverage on the topic and, in some cases, I pointed out that ‘unfamiliarity’ and ‘non-expertise’ were a characteristic shared by the majority of the actors in the field (see also Roulston, 2011). This built a common ground between the interviewees and me and defused the feelings of shame and embarrassment (on the common ground strategy, see Dundon and Ryan, 2010).

At the end of the interview, the vast majority of our respondents from religious minorities, in Italy as well as elsewhere, asked us about the ECtHR and the potentially relevant case law. Although GRASSROOTSMOBILISE was not an action-research, we decided to oblige, as a form of reciprocity. Therefore, we were able to offer something in exchange during the research process, contributing to raising the same awareness we realized was missing – which is likely the inevitable outcome of interviewing non-expert respondents.

Discussion: Recruiting and engaging non-experts in the interview society

In this article, I revisited my fieldwork experience to discuss how to recruit and engage reluctant respondents that are at the same time close-at-hand and hard-to-reach, eager to be interviewed, but hesitant about the topic, with which they are unfamiliar.

Interviewing under-informed respondents may be highly informative, for different reasons. First, it allows articulating the different types of non-information: unawareness is different from non-expertise, for example, and this is relevant information for those actors interested in promoting awareness and knowledge about a specific topic. In the case of GRASSROOTSMOBILISE, different actors had different profiles of unawareness and non-expertise, which we tied to their specific position in terms of juridical, public and political recognition. Second, researchers may be interested in assessing the scope of the absence of information within a specific population: what is known and what is ignored instead? In our case, even though most actors were familiar with the Court case law, they lack detailed information about the process of filing a case, for example, which impacted upon their religious freedom. Even though surveys may explore these aspects, interviews allow for more flexibility in disentangling the reasons for the absence of information. In our research, the lack of media coverage and communication, the sense of powerlessness in relation to the judiciary or the preference given to different strategies of action proved to be relevant factors.

In the article, I make the argument that non-expertise of representatives of minority religion elicited a specific type of reluctance. As in the case of the liminal public figures interviewed by Anthony and Danaher (2016), our respondents were concerned about their public reputation. Rather than the control of information circulating about them, however, in our case reputation is strictly related to the credibility and authority that come with the role of representation. As in the case of expecting fathers described by Kristensen and Ravn (2015), our respondents tried to divert the interview to more suitable interviewees in relation to the specific topic of the study. Indeed, they expressed an expectation about the interview purpose and process as being about giving us information (Hammersley, 2014; Rapley, 2006). As a consequence, they felt not-expert enough to answer the questions they expected. In their capacity of representatives, however, they felt uncomfortable in answering questions around a topic they were unfamiliar with, feeling the responsibility towards their community. It may be the case that religion plays a specific role in the reluctance of the preachers: in fact, they embody truth, in their communities, and may be hesitant in expressing authoritative words in a condition of non-expertise. However, the specific reluctance they express may be found in other figures that represent a community and need to maintain their reputation of competence.

Along these lines, the analysis discussed in this article contributes to the broader methodological debate on the quality and the validity of the interview practice (Gubrium and Holstein, 2016; Patton, 2002b; Rapley, 2006; Silverman, 2017). In the interview society, everybody is familiar with the interview process: however, research may be approached in many different ways, and it may happen that the interviewees’ expectations do not match the interview process (Foley, 2012). Moreover, qualitative researchers compete with journalists in collecting personal worldviews: more than in the interview process itself, research quality is related to data analysis (Silverman, 2017). Interviews can be interpreted as encounters in which participants are involved in a focused discussion which produce narratives and identities. As Rapley underlines, ‘interview-talk speaks to and emerges from the contemporary ways of understanding, experiencing and talking about that specific interview topic’ (Rapley, 2006: 16). In the case of under-discussed topics, whose presence in the public sphere is rare, we may then expect that the actors involved in the interview encounter may feel at loss of ‘script’ or vocabulary to refer to: hence, potential interviewees may be hesitant, especially if they play public roles. Hesitancy and reluctance, then, may reveal the lack of public narratives, or the limited circulation of expert narratives around a specific topic. Furthermore, interview participants perform different identities, such as the student, the expert witness, the cautious informant or reluctant non-expert respondent (for a discussion, see Foley, 2012), as in the study discussed in this article in which emerged how public representatives are in fact tied to the responsibility of competence.

Broadening the perspective, the role of competence in eliciting reluctance or availability to interview-based research could be further analysed. In contemporary societies, more and more people express and share unsolicited opinions which may gain a public voice in the composite digital public sphere. In this scenario, we may expect a general availability to interview-based research, which make reluctance even more relevant. Also, scholars working on the mediatization of society point out the effects of this process on the conceptions of authority, including scientific expertise and political competence (for a recent discussion, see Giorgi, 2019). Hence, exploring the reluctance based on non-expertise may also shed light on how the conceptions of competence and expertise are changing. In addition, we may consider how academia and university research, especially in the social sciences, are increasingly the object of public and political discussion, which may affect the credibility of the research institutions and processes. The analysis of interview encounters and non-encounters, then, can offer relevant insights for the conditions of possibility of the interview-based research.