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“I hear you,” she finally said aloud. “But, Dr. Santana, I’m not just young and attractive. I’m fluent in Spanish, as you know. But you don’t know that I’m also an expert shot with handguns and rifles, including semi-automatic assault weapons. And I have a black belt in taekwondo. I can handle myself.” When Dr. Santana started to challenge that, Gia put up her hand. “I’m not overestimating my abilities or underestimating the risk. I’m just telling you that I’m more capable of protecting myself than you might have thought. And I really do understand the risk.”
Now Gia raised a point she generally tried to bury, but it was deeply relevant to her research interests in general and her dissertation in particular. “I’ve told you about my family. I understand outlaws. I know I need to be careful—and I know how to be careful.”
“You’ve said before that your family are former outlaws, from many years ago,” Dr. Santana cut in.
Gia almost laughed—and then she said the real truth she usually kept underground—not out of shame, but out of weariness of the standard outsider assumptions and protectiveness of her family. “My father hasn’t committed a felony in almost twenty years, but trust me, he is still an outlaw in his heart and soul. Raised up in that culture, I don’t think you can see the world through any other lens.”
“Would that include you as well?” her professor asked as a smirk began to push at a corner of her mouth. “Raised up in that culture, I mean.”
And Gia did laugh. “I’ve never broken more than the speed limit, but I’m an outlaw in my heart and soul, too. There are professors in this building who would agree, I think.”
Now Dr. Santana laughed. Gia knew her reputation in the department was of both brilliance and arrogance. And not only among the faculty. She’d overheard fellow students complain about her tendency to wipe the floor with them in a class discussion and how she ‘always had to have the last word.’
When she knew she knew her shit, she didn’t let anybody tell her otherwise, neither classmate nor professor. Arrogance was what the timid called confidence. Her parents had taught her that.
Gia pushed forward with her argument now. “I get outlaws, is what I’m saying. But I’m not seeking to be embedded with a drug cartel and, like, do ride-alongs on murder sprees. I just want to be where they are and talk to whoever will talk to me. My interest is in their culture and the way their presence in a community changes the culture around them—same as I am with US outlaws. And I’m interested in how the cultural and commercial contact between US outlaws and, yeah, gangs like MS-13 shapes them both and shapes the world around them. I have to study the people and places where outlaws shape culture.”
Dr. Santana sat back in her chair and considered Gia. Gia sat straight up in her chair and considered her professor. They held eye contact as if it were a contest and the fate of Gia’s dissertation rested on the result. And maybe it honestly did.
Dr. Santana broke first. She blew out a defeated breath and sat forward, resting her elbows on Gia’s prospectus. “Here are my conditions: first, I want you to promise me you will seriously consider narrowing your scope so that your research won’t put you at risk.”
She paused there and gave Gia a weighty look.
Gia looked right back, while her mind scoured that condition, seeking a way to agree without conceding. Dr. Santana waited her out, refusing to budge.
Finally, speaking with careful purpose, Gia said, “I promise to consider it. But if my project needs that travel ...”
Dr. Santana cut her off. “Second, if you remain convinced that you need to engage groups bikers do business with, such as MS-13, I want you to promise to do everything possible to stay in the States to do it. We both know there are ample opportunities to do so.” Gia tried to cut in, ready to argue that truly understanding a culture meant observing it in situ, but Dr. Santana threw up an imperious hand and kept talking.
“Third condition: you cannot travel alone. And I know you, Gia. More than once you’ve agreed to a condition and then gone off and done what you wanted to do, relying on the excellent result of your work to serve as an apology. That’s worked for you until now, but we’re going to close that loophole. I am not going to sign off on this project today.”
Appalled and instantly furious, Gia almost came straight off her chair. “What? But—”
Another imperious flick of the professor’s hand. Her heart pounding, adrenaline filling her mouth with the taste of pennies, Gia sat.
Dr. Santana was on a roll. “I want you to proceed with your research, and I’ll sign off on the dissertation hours for your registration. But I will approve your work only in stages. I want to hear from you with every chapter, and every time you think you need to travel. I will need a complete itinerary for each trip, and a research agenda, and background prep notes. I will approve on a case-by-case basis. And if we both agree that you must make any trip, you will need a capable companion who will serve as security—and yes, Gia, I mean a man. I am just as uncomfortable as you making these gendered statements and conditions, but in this case they are necessary. At least one man who has the physical presence to convince very dangerous men that you are protected, and to protect you if you need it. Preferably more than one. When you provide me with that proof, I will sign off on the travel.
Leaning forward on her desk, Dr. Santana locked eyes with Gia. “And Gia, there will be no asking for forgiveness rather than permission. If you fail to follow this process and get my approval before any travel, I will not sign off on your dissertation, and you will not complete your doctorate. If you’re not comfortable with my terms, I understand, but you’ll have to find another dissertation director.”
There was no one else in this department who could or would serve as her director for a project like this. It was Dr. Santana or no one at all.
Gia was livid. She despised getting leveraged, she hated being the weaker position in any conflict—or hell, any situation, period, conflict or otherwise—and the professor held the whole deck of cards.
However, while her emotional mind stomped its feet and kicked over trash cans, her rational mind saw no real cause for worry. These terms were infuriating and hyper-controlling, yes, they made for multiple pains in her ass with all the busy work to jump through Santana’s hoops, also yes, but they were all doable (and maybe understandable; she’d need to calm down before she could accept that possibility).
As much as being treated like an untrustworthy adolescent sucked, the terms wouldn’t slow her down much. She’d need both her hands and both Dr. Santana’s to count all the big, strong, badass men she called family. Surely one or two would be willing to chaperone her on an outlaw field trip.
It would probably be months before she was ready for that work, anyway. The prospectus was as far as she’d gotten. There was a lot of research and prep work to do before she’d be ready for fieldwork, and her fieldwork would start right at home.
Deciding that the one little bit of satisfaction she could squeeze out of this conversation was to surprise her professor with her reaction, Gia said, “That’s reasonable. I’ll find some buddies to join me.”
Dr. Santana’s eyes narrowed; she was trying to decide if Gia was looking for a new loophole. Satisfaction unlocked.
“I’ll comply, Dr. Santana. I promise. I see it’s the right thing to do.”
Her dissertation director let out a long, relieved sigh and melted back into her chair. “Good. Thank you. I think this could be important, influential research, and I want you whole and safe to see its fruits. So now let’s talk about our timeline. You’re leaving Chicago soon, right? Going home?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow, actually.” With her coursework completed and her status officially ABD—All But Dissertation—there was no good reason for Gia to stay in Evanston and continue to pay three grand a month for her tiny studio apartment. Anyway, she meant to start her research with the (former) outlaws she knew best.
