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Abstract

In this paper, we present four distinct narrative poses – the ‘DIY’er’, the ‘Professional’, the ‘Naïve’, and the ‘Denier who knows’ – adopted by incarcerated men involved in organized crime-related murders in the Netherlands. Drawing on life story interviews conducted in five Dutch prisons between 2020 and 2022, this study offers a unique emic perspective on how these individuals construct meaning around their involvement in lethal violence. It reveals how they position themselves within the specific moral and cultural framework of organized crime. While the narrative poses of the ‘DIY’er’ and the ‘Professional’ closely align with established criminological understandings of violent crime dynamics, the ‘Naïve’ and the ‘Denier who knows’ offer more nuanced and layered forms of meaning-making, challenging dominant interpretations. As the first study to explore organized crime-murders using first-hand Dutch prison data, this research demonstrates the plural, often contradictory self-representations, advancing academic understanding on the diverse narrative stances adopted by incarcerated men involved in organized crime-related murder.

Keywords

Hitmen interviews liquidation murder narrative criminology narrative pose organized crime

Introduction

In recent years, the Netherlands has seen a surge of violent incidents linked to organized crime groups. A double homicide in the city of Amsterdam in late 2012, following a conflict over the disappearance of a shipment of cocaine from the Port of Antwerp, set a vicious cycle of so-called ‘liquidaties’ in motion in the Dutch criminal underworld (Van Gestel, 2023: 137). The term ‘liquidatie’ is used in the Netherlands to refer to murder of ‘one or multiple person(s) according to a preconceived plan, because of their involvement or knowledge about criminal offenses, in order to create, maintain or strengthen one's own position in the criminal milieu’ (Slot, 2009: 18). Thus, this type of offence may encompass murders commissioned by others (such as hitmen) as well as those committed independently by individuals themselves. In the high-profile Dutch criminal cases Marengo and Eris, multiple individuals have been convicted for their involvement in targeted killings like ‘liquidaties’. Although the annual number of ‘liquidaties’ in the Netherlands is on the decline since 2017 the impact is rather big and therefore gains significant public concern (Adjiembaks et al., 2024; Van Gestel, 2023).

In general, both popular culture and the media have shown a keen interest in the lives and activities of violent perpetrators, particularly regarding the role of hitmen. This fascination, however, is not mirrored by scientific attention. More than a decade ago Cameron already emphasized the topic of contract killings ‘surprisingly is neglected not only by economists but also by social scientists in general’ (Cameron, 2014: 28). Most of the research that has been published on this topic is centred on the analysis of newspaper articles or statistical data (MacIntyre et al., 2014; Mouzos and Venditto, 2003; Schlesinger, 2001; Van de Port, 2001; Van Gestel, 2023; Warburton, 2025). Notwithstanding the value of this research, Young (2004) stated that statistical registrations entail the risk of being selectively employed by policymakers and presented as objective indicators, inadequately reflect the underlying social realities. A more qualitative, narrative approach offers deeper insight into the personal experiences and socio-cultural context enabling a more nuanced understanding of the lived experiences that instigate crime (Presser and Sandberg, 2015; Sandberg, 2016; Young, 2004). Wilson and Rahman (2015: 250) argued in their research on violent enforcers such as hitmen, that further research is needed, preferably ‘through interviews with hitmen themselves’. Except for Rahman et al. (2020), few studies were able to draw on first-hand accounts of people involved in organized crime violence such as murder.

This article pursues two primary objectives. First, following Rahman et al. (2020), this article aims to add to a better understanding of a topic that remains understudied, specifically rooted in first-hand accounts of incarcerated men convicted for murder in organized crime. This underrepresentation is partly due to limited or restricted access of researchers to this population in certain countries. This study is the first to offer first-hand empirical data from the Netherlands, advancing scientific knowledge based on first-hand stories from incarcerated men. In doing so, it simultaneously sheds light on a broad(er) range of individuals involved in organized crime-murder, extending beyond the shooter or hitmen alone.

Second, this paper contributes to the burgeoning field of narrative criminology by highlighting the performative role of narratives and their connection to power and collective experience (Cayli Messina, 2024; Presser and Sandberg, 2015). Building on Youngs and Canter's (2012) framework of ‘narrative roles’, this study introduces the notion of ‘narrative poses’, referring to an individual's self-positioning in relation to adjudicated offences. Drawing on Goffman's (1959) foundational work on impression management, we emphasize the performative and situated nature of storytelling. Without engaging in an extensive semantic debate, we propose that a ‘pose’ more effectively captures the fluid context in which a story emerges. Employing the analytical lens of ‘narrative pose’ (Adjiembaks et al., 2024; Presser and Sandberg, 2015: 290; Van Gemert, 2012), this study examines how narrators present themselves when recounting their criminal involvement in organized crime-related murder in the Netherlands whilst in prison. This focus leads to the delineation of four narrative poses that offer a unique emic perspective on how cultural, moral, and identity dimensions shape narratives of violence in this context.

We first expand on the theoretical lens with an overview of relevant scientific research regarding narratives on violent (organized) crime. Subsequently, we outline the methodological design of our research. In the results, we discuss four narrative poses that we unravelled in Dutch prison settings: the so-called ‘DIY’er’, the ‘Professional’, the ‘Naïve’ and the ‘Denier who knows’. Finally, we reflect on the implications of the findings in a concluding discussion.

Theoretical frame

Human behaviour is invariably structured by narratives: we depend on narrative to interpret the world and to comprehend our actions, which are inherently performative. Meaning is constructed through stories, as our understanding of ourselves and the world rests not solely on facts but on narratives that articulate how things could be, should be, or might have been (Bruner, 1986; Goffman, 1959; Ricoeur, 1991, 2002).

Attention to the role of narrative in shaping understandings of crime finds its most explicit expression in narrative criminology (Presser and Sandberg, 2015). Studies to date have explored how narratives of crime and masculinity are shaped by, and respond to, experiences of marginalization, structural inequality, and cultural expectations (Presser and Sandberg, 2019; Sandberg, 2009; Ugelvik and Dullum, 2012). Moreover, narrative criminology draws attention to the ways offenders construct their actions and identities in ways that justify, excuse, or reframe their involvement in crime, following the seminal work on neutralization techniques by Sykes and Matza (1957) such as the denial of the victim (‘he had it coming’), condemning the system (‘the system is corrupt’) and denial of responsibility (‘it wasn’t my fault’). Stories of offenders provide insights into why, for instance, an event occurred, what it meant, and how it fits into the lived – wanted or unwanted – narrative identity (Maruna, 2001; Maruna and Liem, 2021; McAdams, 2013). In this way, narratives function as both scripts and frames: they prescribe how to behave in certain situations (e.g., when disrespected), providing interpretive structures through which offenders interpret who they are, legitimizing and making sense of their behaviour (Presser, 2009).

Existing literature reveals a polyphony of narratives surrounding violence. Offenders, victims, media and practitioners and researchers all deal with the phenomenon of violence and are, in different ways, storytellers of violence (Brookman, 2015; Brookman and Hochstedler, 2011; Hallsworth and Young, 2008; Sandberg et al., 2015). Research indicates that stories of violence can be used as a communication tool showing one's strength, deterrent to victimization and/or be embedded in performances of masculinity maintaining and restoring (lost) status (Archer, 2022; Katz, 1988; Miller, 1993). More specifically, these stories can be embedded in the (re)telling of (street) codes, emphasizing unwritten rules of engagement that necessitate and justify the use of violence in marginalized urban contexts (Anderson, 1999; Lauger, 2014).

Following Winlow and Hall (2010), several studies highlight that violence is not a random act, but often a strategic form of retaliation, restoring or defending one's honour in the context of perceived disrespect and marginalization. Studies by Presser (2009) and Sandberg and Ugelvik (2016), for instance, reveal how prison inmates share violent stories to gain status and shape masculinity, demonstrating storytelling is not merely retrospective but also constitutive of action. Violent offenders, moreover, tend to embed their actions within coherent storylines providing moral justifications or excuses or minimize personal responsibility (Pogrebin et al., 2006; Sykes and Matza, 1957, 1964). Seminal studies (Sandberg, 2016; Youngs and Canter, 2012) illustrate how narratives often function as ‘identity work’ – enabling individuals to maintain a positive self-concept, highlighting how stories of retaliation serve as powerful frameworks through which individuals make sense of their violent behaviour and reflect broader discourses and power structures.

Although considerable attention has been given to narrative research on violent offenders in general, relatively little (narrative) research has focused specifically on individuals involved in organized crime murder. When we narrow the academic lens to this particular type of violence, we observe that most international studies concentrate primarily on so-called ‘hitmen’ from the United States (Black and Cravens, 2001), Australia (Mouzos and Venditto, 2003), and the United Kingdom (Cameron, 2014; MacIntyre et al., 2014; Niezink and Campana, 2023), often through the development of typologies. For instance, Yaneva et al. (2018) present a model that builds on the earlier typologies of Schlesinger (2001), Youngs and Canter (2012) and MacIntyre et al. (2014) focussing on the psychological interpretation and profiling of the murder. The authors distinguish between four modus operandi: the ‘professional’, the ‘revengeful missionary’, the ‘(tragic) hero’, and the ‘victim’. While ‘professionals’ and ‘(tragic) heroes’ typically lack a prior connection to the victim, ‘revengeful missionaries’ and ‘victims’ are personally acquainted with them.

While these studies offer valuable insights, they are predominantly based on secondary sources such as police records and media reports, rather than on first-hand accounts from the people actually involved in the violence activities themselves (see also e.g., Young, 2004). A notable exception is the work of Rahman et al. (2020). Based on ethnographic research, Rahman et al. (2020, 126) conclude that their findings suggest ‘a spectrum of enforcement roles and activities that contradict popular mythology and indicate that many criminal transactions may run relatively smoothly, without retort to violence’. Moreover, the findings of Rahman et al. (2020) suggest that enforcement roles are more complex and nuanced than those depicted in earlier typologies of hitmen (Schlesinger, 2001; MacIntyre et al., 2014). Following the methodological approach of Rahman et al. (2020), we draw on first-hand accounts of individuals involved in violent crime. However, rather than examining the broader category of violent enforcers (Rahman et al., 2020), this study specifically focuses on the broad range of individuals involved (also beyond the shooter), narrowed down to those convicted because of involvement in an organized-crime-related murder.

Methodology

This article centres on life story interviews with 14 incarcerated men convicted of their involvement in murder in organized crime (in Dutch a ‘liquidatie’, as defined by Slot, 2009). We draw on data from an extensive study (Adjiembaks et al., 2024), which includes in-depth interviews with incarcerated men in Dutch prisons. This paper offers a deeper exploration of that data from a narrative criminological perspective.

After being granted permission from the Dutch Custodial Agency in 2020, we were provided with the opportunity to hand out an information letter in five prisons about our research project containing a personal, face-to-face conversation with men, prior to potential participation. This recruitment method yielded in-depth interviews with 21 men convicted of murder or manslaughter (including attempts and preparatory acts) in the Netherlands between September 2020 and September 2022. In total, 17 out of the 21 individuals were actually convicted regarding their involvement in organized crime-related murder. ¹ Stories shared by participants are always co-constructed in interaction with researchers, shaped by time and context (Maruna and Liem, 2021). This calls for an interview setting that encourages openness and gives participants a sense of trust and agency. Three research participants did tell us about their lives but did not provide further insights into their stance regarding motivations and mode of involvement of the murder they were convicted for, resulting in a total of 14 participants whose data we draw upon in this paper.

The interviews with these research participants ranged from 90 min to two-and-a-half hours and were conducted in quiet rooms in prison. Most of the participants gave permission to record the interview. Three participants, however, did not want to be recorded but gave permission to take notes. Drawing on insights from narrative psychology and narrative criminology (e.g., McAdams, 2013; Presser, 2016; Sandberg et al., 2015; Sandberg and Ugelvik, 2016), we asked research participants to tell their story as if we were writing a book about their lives. To that end, we handed research participants a pen and paper and asked them to draw a timeline of their life, starting at birth and ending in the present (Adjiembaks, 2018, 2019; Bohlmeijer et al., 2007: 353). For some participants however, drawing a timeline was too distracting or difficult for them and they preferred to tell the story without a timeline. In total, 10 timelines were drawn. When participants did not draw a timeline, we started the interview with some open questions about their early years. As we moved from the past to the present, we asked about different aspects of their lives, including their family, neighbourhood, school, friends, leisure activities, relationships, and of course their criminal involvement with a special focus on their stance regarding the adjudicated offenses to unravel their narrative pose.

Participants ranged in age from their early 20s to mid-50s at the time of the interview. The majority of the adjudicated offences involved the use of a weapon, but not all men were the actual shooter or ‘hitter’. Some were convicted as a ‘driver’ or having another facilitating role before or during the murder.² Some were sentenced to serving life in prison, whereas others were eligible for parole in a few years. Although most participants came from backgrounds marked by childhood adversity – such as neglect, sexual abuse, and out-of-home placements – they often described their upbringing as a ‘happy childhood’. On average, their criminal careers began around the age of 13, shaped by experiences of poverty and life in marginalized neighbourhoods characterized by close-knit social ties and locally embedded criminal structures. Prior to their conviction, the majority of participants had police contacts and experience in the prison system.

We analyzed the narrative pose of these participants centring on (1) the personal motivations put forward in the story (why) and (2) the mode of involvement in the murder (how). We are aware that reducing the complexity of life stories to a single narrative pose runs the risk of losing its complexity, ambiguity and contradictions that may be at play (Brookman et al., 2011; McAdams, 2012; Poppi and Sandberg, 2021; Sandberg et al., 2015). We do not aim to downplay the collected narratives to a single ‘narrative pose’ but explored the narratives identifying dominant and rather distinct narrative poses – each of which we examine in greater detail: the ‘DIY’er’, the ‘Professional’, the ‘Naïve’, and the ‘Denier who knows’.

Results

The ‘DIY'er’

The first narrative pose called the ‘Do-It-Yourselver’ (‘DIY'er’) was central to three men ranging from early 20s to early 30s³ when the murder was executed (Jerome, Jack, and Hakeem).⁴ Their criminal careers typically began in early adolescence with drug dealing, violent offenses, and property crimes. Criminal involvement started through (in)direct interactions within their own social circles, including family, friends, and peers from their neighbourhood or school.

The DIY’er carries out the murder himself, being the actual shooter in the murder. Personal motivation is rooted in interpersonal conflict with the murder victim who also is (was) active in organized crime. The DIY’er emphasizes his involvement as a means of securing, preserving, or reinforcing status himself. Hakeem, for instance, explains:

Look, if someone were to ever rob me, because I have become hardened, then you would really have to kill me. I would never let go of anything in my life. (…) I live alone. I sell my drugs alone. I do everything alone. And if you challenge me, I will come and get you too. ALONE [emphasis]. I don't need anyone for that.

Q: And now? How do you look back on that [the murder]?

R: Stupid, right?!? I am, uhm… I see things clearly now, right? So, I’m not a gangster or that nonsense. I absolutely do not feel that way anymore. But it is ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’. (Hakeem)

Although this excerpt clearly contains reflexive elements after the violent act (‘stupid’ and ‘I’m not a gangster or that nonsense’), the participant also emphasizes that street code is still valid, reframing the victim as the true aggressor, redistributing moral power (‘if you challenge me’ and ‘it's an eye for an eye’). Similar to how violence is legitimized in street or gang settings (Presser, 2009), reframing moral power to the victim was also raised by Jerome:

This is how I justify it: if you want to play a ‘gangster’ and you want to have that ‘gangster life’, then you also know: violating the code of the streets means your life is at stake. And then it's not an innocent victim. It's not someone who did not deserve it. (Jerome)

This narrative pose indicates that the DIY’er had no other choice than to engage in violence (‘It's not someone who did not deserve it.’). Concurrent with Luckenbill (1977: 176), the victim issued what the offender deemed an offensive move. As a consequence, we notice that the DIY’er justifies he is involved in violence through the denial of the victim that can be interpreted as a moral coping mechanism that can instigate crime (Katz, 1988; Maruna and Copes, 2005; Sykes and Matza, 1957). More specifically, this justification is rooted in the idea that the victim broke the central rules of the game underlying the code of the street (Anderson, 1999; Brookman et al., 2011; Holligan, 2015; Lauger, 2014). The victim who actually is in charge can be interpreted as a narrative of maintaining status and reputation, all central to street identities emphasizing that violence is often not just instrumental but expressive, rooted in (perceived) acts of disrespect (Collins, 2008; Sandberg, 2009). This is often used by men to assert, protect, or reclaim a masculine identity—particularly in contexts where that identity is threatened or undermined (Anderson, 1999; Archer, 2022; Gadd, 2003; Lauger, 2014; Maruna and Copes, 2005).

Although violence is presented as a logical consequence of breaking the unwritten rules of the street, the narrative pose of the DIY’er indicates that this was by no means easy, dependent on social interactions and situational dynamics. Moreover, Sandberg (2009) and Collins (2008) showed how narratives of violence often depict sudden escalations rooted in emotional tension, perceived disrespect, or shifting alliances, highlighting the unstable nature of street identities and the volatility of interpersonal dynamics within criminal milieus. This occasionally gives rise to dealing with a dilemma in cases where the DIY’er has longstanding personal ties to friends or acquaintances involved as Jerome illustrates:

The days after his [the victims] violation came out and the moment that I saw the actual proof of him violating the rules of engagement and our agreements, the one thing that goes through your mind: “It's either him or me.” I no longer have anything to do with who he is, where he came from, how long we’ve known each other. The reason why you came here [to the reason of the conflict] is no longer interesting. The only thing is: It's either him or me. (Jerome)

Although the DIY’er feelings of having no choice (‘it's either him or me’) borders on a denial of responsibility (Sykes and Matza, 1957), claiming accountability can be seen as part of the performance that saves ‘face’ (Goffman, 1959). The ‘DIY’er’ presents himself as a protagonist: someone who has a personal task in holding the victim accountable for breaking the rules of the game.

This is rooted in the fact that restoring position, status and reputation in organized crime requires a swift, severe response. Hakeem highlights this moral motivation that overrides financial incentives during the interview:

Look, boys who kill for money, I would never do that in my life. I almost want to say that there is no punishment too harsh for such people. (…) You get me? You are an ass! You're not a human being if you're going to ‘hit’ someone for money!! That's impossible!! You don't know who those people's families are, that – how many children he [the victim] has, how many he leaves behind… (Hakeem)

This excerpt illustrates that humiliation demands a violent response positioning the use of violence as ‘status-restorative’ (Miller, 1993). However, the application of this rule is not without limits: hitmen, who kill on behalf of others for money, are viewed as morally reprehensible, legitimizing or downplaying the DIY’er's own attribution of violence by contrasting it with that of ‘real’ hitman.

The ‘Professional’

The second narrative pose is the ‘Professional’, which is dominant in four life stories (Aziz, Steven, Peter, and Max) all men in their late 30s⁵ when involved in the murder, mostly as shooters. These men grew up in criminogenic environments experiencing trauma, loss of relatives, neglect and engaged in violent crimes as rebellious, often thrill-seeking youngsters. They encountered multiple detention periods in their early adolescent years as a result of emotional and economic hardship, often depicting themselves as already having a fearless street reputation in young adolescence.

Whereas the DIY’er morally rejects killing for financial gain, the Professional explicitly identifies it as the primary motivation – typically lacking any personal connection to the victim, often unaware of the murder's underlying motive, the Professional approaches his task as a ‘serious job’ (Yaneva et al., 2018; Youngs and Canter, 2012), as Aziz reveals:

As long as he (victim) is not dead, you don’t get your money either, because the intention is that you kill him. You know. It's not like they say, “Oh yeah, he's seriously injured, you get half.” Do you understand? [laughs]. The assignment was ‘dead’, so this means; dead’. (Aziz)

The Professional clearly gains a financial incentive when the job is done properly (‘As long as he (victim) is not dead, you don’t get your money either, because the intention is that you kill him’) and sees his involvement purely as a business transaction: a ‘service’ he provides for the client (‘The assignment was ‘dead’, so this means; dead’). This is in line with a ‘business narrative’ in which violence is used in a calculated, rational way for practical problems (Copes, 2016; Fondevila et al., 2025; Sandberg, 2016). The Professional therefore aligns closely with the stereotypical concept of ‘hitmen’.

Involvement in the murder occurs in commission of others, typically through (in)direct contacts within their social network, and is – as Steven demonstrates – based on a lived reputation for violence:

Q: You went from mugging to ripping drugs … and how did you get involved in this murder?

R: Well, look at ripping, you get to know people and rippers, you know they have a kind of nose for these things. How can I explain it? (…) This is how you meet bigger people, who are also a bit higher up the chain (…) For example, those you meet, might rip not three or four blocks of cocaine, but 500 or 600 blocks! Then, we’re talking about millions, you know?! Now, I was known as one of the perpetrators of violence: quick and swift. And now I got offered something which, is more than ALL [emphasis] the work you have done before. (Steven)

This excerpt shows that the ‘Professional’ portrays himself as a protagonist with lived experience in attributing violence, fostering the credibility of the idea that he can get ‘the job’ done by highlighting his extensive history in (violent) crimes. Here we clearly see that narrating acts of violence (‘Now, I was known as one of the perpetrators of violence: quick and swift.’) can be a way to accumulate or display ‘street capital’ (Sandberg, 2009). In line with what Presser (2009) and Lauger (2014) stated before; when violence is narrated convincingly it signals competence, fearlessness, and control, thereby elevating one's power and position within a hierarchy (‘This is how you meet bigger people, who are also a bit higher up the chain.’). Furthermore, the Professional also portrays himself as ‘a smart player’ (Sandberg, 2009). Peter, for instance, highlights the importance of reinforcing the construction of a violent identity and reputation within the context of organized crime:

Yes, then they asked me to kill him and then I got to figure out how I could do it. Because they also know I’m a smart player. You know? Just like those debit collections, they have seen how I operate. Collecting money of almost impossible levy. Otherwise, they would do it themselves…(…) I’m known for my badass reputation. (Peter)

Another key dynamic in this narrative pose was emphasized by Peter during the interview, referring to the sudden shift from friendly to hostile interactions, highlighting the volatility of relationships within criminal environments:

I was with him [a friend of a friend in the criminal milieu] that evening. We went out, we were there [location] and we had a very nice evening, partying, drinking together etcetera. And I thought everything is all right, you know? And then I got – it was a few days later – I got the message: ‘would you like to do it [murder the ‘friend’ of his friend]?’

Q: Because the man you had met that evening, you were asked to kill him?!?

R: Yes, yes.

Q: And how did that make you feel?

R: Well, I think it's a rather strange world we live in. Yes. A weird and strange world. Looking back, things must have been agreed or something that evening… Things were agreed that evening… maybe he [the intended victim] did not fulfil this agreement, his obligation or whatever. Maybe it was about a lot of money… (Peter)

Similar to the narrative pose of the DIY’er, we also see the reframing of the victim (‘he [the intended victim] did not fulfil this agreement, his obligation or whatever’), clearly highlighting the dynamics of friendly interactions that can suddenly turn into hostility as described by Sandberg (2009) and Collins (2008). Through interaction with the researcher, the participant constructs a more reflective narrative stance as the story unfolds (‘I think it's a rather strange world we live in… yes, a weird and strange world.’). This finding is in alignment with the ‘code of the street’ (Anderson, 1999) where interactions are governed by informal systems of respect and reputation and friendly relationships may quickly devolve into hostility when reputation or status is at risk.

The ‘Naïve’

The third narrative pose can be summarized as the ‘Naïve’ and is central to the life stories of two relatively young men (Gerald and Tarik), both in their early 20s when the murder happened.⁶ They, however, were not the actual perpetrator in the murder but were convicted of primarily facilitative tasks such as being on the look-out, monitoring movements of victims or providing transportation following orders from others. Their involvement emerged from (via via) interactions within close-knit social circles, including family and peers from their neighbourhood or school. The Naïve has a history engaging in crime from young adolescence on, through seemingly minor, paid ‘chores’ in commission of others.

Similar to the narrative pose of the Professional, the Naïve is often unaware of the actual motive behind the murder. However, unlike both the DIY'er and the Professional, the Naïve becomes involved in a more indirect, gradual, and insidious manner. Gerald's account for instance is marked by an initial lack of clarity regarding the nature of the offence he is participating in:

Q: What was your task?

R: To drive around with someone, keeping an eye on someone. (…) That's it. Simple. Not why, I didn't need to know why… I didn’t need to know why.

Q: But you knew, the one you were going to observe was on a death list?

R: No, I didn't know that either.

Q: What did you think: ‘I'm just going to observe someone’?

R: Look, that could have been the case. I have also observed people before… like going to a stash house or to someone else's stash house. Where ‘John’ or ‘Joe’ [fake names] goes.. observing where ‘John’ or ‘Joe’ lives now, you know?

Q: Yes. So, you actually observe someone's daily patterns without knowing why?

R: I participated in this without knowing the details. And only later, when things got clearer, you know, in the final stage basically, that's when I knew what was actually going on. (…) But once you're already there… you know, you can’t go back anymore. Look, of course you, you have some people consciously doing something, you know. But I deliberately followed someone at the beginning, honestly without knowing why, you know. And then, once I saw that the time was there for the execution, I thought, this sucks… but hey, I'm here now. Can’t go back now, you know?

Q: Why not?

R: Just, because you know… It's not exactly a situation where you feel free to ask these questions. (Gerald)

This excerpt not only illustrates the perception on involvement as a seemingly minor chore (‘That's it. Simple’), it also illustrates a self-imposed sense of no return (‘I thought, this sucks… but hey, I'm here now. Can’t go back now, you know?’) created by deliberately avoiding questions (‘I didn't need to know why… I didn’t need to know why.’ and ‘honestly without knowing why’). The following excerpt of Tarik also illustrates the importance of ‘avoiding questions’ that might expose the true nature of the participant's involvement:

Q: Do you consciously do that: not asking questions?

R: Consciously, consciously! Definitely! Sure, sure, sure. Some things you know, so to speak, you actually already know what the answer is, because you see certain things happening, certain movements, changes in the situation. (…) Look – you know, when you deal with certain things, friends or with certain guys you consider to be your brother: yes, you just don’t talk about certain things. They do their thing, and you know, questions are not to be asked. I don't have to ask, because I trust them. (Tarik)

Refraining from asking questions seems to be rooted in the fact that initial commitments have been made for a (seemingly) harmless ‘paid chore’ that can be related to a variety of offences (and not a murder per se). Moreover, the form of this (deliberate) ignorance (‘questions are not to be asked. I don't have to ask, because I trust them’) can also be a deliberate part of the modus operandi of a criminal collaboration (Gambetta, 2009). After all, in organized crime, different individuals may handle separate parts of a crime script without knowing the ultimate outcome (De Korte and Kleemans, 2022). The Naïve shows that ignorance sometimes lies in the grey area between ‘knowing’ and ‘not knowing’, making it difficult to maintain that they are actually not aware (Roks et al., 2024; Van de Bunt and Kleemans, 2007). After all, the Naïve positions himself as someone who does not deny involvement in the contract killing but stresses that he was unable to foresee (the consequences of) his engagement in certain seemingly ‘innocent chores’. This can also be interpreted as a neutralization technique denying responsibility (Sykes and Matza, 1957) or, as explained by Pogrebin et al. (2006), drawing on excuses of defeasibility, highlighting external powers that led to the actual offence.

The Naïve articulates financial gain related to a ‘paid chore’ when zooming in on his personal motivation. This, however, seems intertwined with the glamourization of crime (Ferrell and Hayward, 2017; Hayward, 2016; Katz, 1988; Katz et al., 2013) a sense of trusting brotherhood and being loyal (also see Anderson, 1999; Decker and Van Winkle, 1996). Tarik, for instance, emphasized an appeal to higher loyalties and a perceived moral justification (Maruna and Copes, 2005; Sykes and Matza, 1957):

I made the choice to go and help them. I saw it more as if I was doing something good, because I am doing something for ‘the family’ [friends in crime]. (…) At a certain point, you end up in organized crime. Without realising it. At least that's how it went with me: you hang out with boys. Start with little things, petty thefts. You are friends. You start to build a bond with each other, you see each other as brothers at a certain point, you know. (…) So, if you feel a certain brotherhood bond, then it can be quite dangerous. If you're also a little easy to impress, and I was vulnerable, quite easy to impress. So, uh- yeah, if I really liked someone and at some point, we were like brothers, then I'm willing to go through fire for you. But, uh, yeah, some people take advantage of that. (Tarik)

This excerpt illustrates that the Naïve's narrative is characterized by a complex and gradual ‘slippery slope’ into serious crime (‘At a certain point, you end up in organized crime. Without realising it.’), rooted in loyalty and a sense of belonging and brotherhood (‘I saw it more as if I was doing something good, because I am doing something for ‘the family’.'). However, in contrast to the previous narrative poses, the Naïve highlights a learning curve, acknowledging that the brotherhood bond ‘can be quite dangerous,’ particularly when he was younger, ‘vulnerable and quite easy to impress’. Others appeared to exploit his loyalty, eventually leading to his lengthy prison sentence. This portrayal of vulnerability surprisingly contrasts with typical violent, masculine narratives which are often associated with inviolable ‘street identities’ that reclaim strength, status, and respect (Anderson, 1999; Katz, 1988; Lauger, 2014; Presser, 2009; Sandberg, 2009).

Unlike the DIY'er and the Professional, the Naïve expresses remorse about their involvement in the killing, stating he was too naïve in retrospective. This remorse is twofold: directed both towards the grief of the victim's family – reflected in a desire to make amends – and also towards the act itself, which is retrospectively seen as too violent. This last form of regret is linked to the perceived disproportionality of lengthy sentences, given their minor, facilitating role. From a neutralization perspective (Sykes and Matza, 1957), such accounts can be read as attempts to reduce personal culpability constructing a morally coherent self, offering a post-hoc moral reflection reconciling serious offending with a continued sense of self-worth (Brookman, 2005; Presser, 2009; Presser and Sandberg, 2015).

The ‘Denier who knows’

Finally, we identified a fourth narrative pose – present in five accounts – that we refer to as the Denier who knows (Kayan, Joe, Rick, Mourad and Melvin). At the time of the murder, their ages ranged from their mid-20s to mid-30s.⁷ Most men predominantly came from disadvantaged neighbourhoods, where crime emerged through close-knit social ties that escalated to organized criminal involvement. While these participants acknowledged involvement in the murder, they firmly contested the specific roles ascribed to them by law enforcement, as Joe illustrates:

Look I am not a sweetheart, but what I am being accused of now, is absolutely not true (Joe)

In general, the Denier who knows portrays himself as a victim of incompetent policing and a failing justice system. Kayan offers the following insights on this:

They [authorities] follow a certain line during the investigation and that is aimed at actually substantiating the initial suspicion and verdict. Legal and convincing evidence. That is no longer aimed at the truth. It is simply about you [police and the public prosecutor] having enough evidence to bring to court in order to prosecute the defendant successfully. Yes. It is no longer about finding out the truth. And with that, there is so much injustice regarding the relatives, the victim and suspects. Because all three, especially relatives and victims they want - and they deserve - the truth, but they don’t get it. I am disgusted by the system…. (Kayan)

From the perspective of the Denier who knows he operates in a failing criminal justice system – one that, in his view, is no longer concerned with unravelling the truth but with strengthening initial suspicion (‘that is no longer about finding the truth’). Consequently, not only does he consider himself a victim of this system: he also sees the victim's relatives as such. This perception reinforces his moral rejection of the system, which he deems deeply unjust (‘relatives and victims they want, and they deserve, the truth but they don’t get it. I am disgusted by the system…’).

Moreover, the Denier who knows believes that the criminal justice system is no match for the rules of engagement in organized crime. This belief results in a profound lack of confidence in the protective capacity of law enforcement. In several life stories, this distrust was illustrated through critical reflections on the use of crown witnesses (see also Natapoff, 2022), as Melvin explains:

But at a certain point, I got really angry about it. (…). You know: Are you completely crazy or something? You’re playing with people's lives! Just because he [crown witness] wants a deal. That man did kill someone, and you [Public Prosecutor] have actual proof of that. How can you protect someone for what he did?! Protect or give a much lower sentence, while he killed someone and blaming other people. (…) The legal system teaches you this: Just be a criminal, do whatever you have to do, you can just kill people, it doesn't matter as long as you can make a deal. (Melvin)

According to the Denier who knows, the crown witness system⁸ conveys the wrong message – both to the relatives of the victim and to other perpetrators (‘it doesn't matter as long as you can make a deal.’). The Denier who knows emphasizes that conflicts in the criminal underworld call for what Black (1983) referred to as ‘self-help’. The system of the crown witness in this respect is seen as the epitome of snitching (Rosenfeld et al., 2003) and, thereby, breaking the rules of the street code (Anderson, 1999; Holligan, 2015).

In contrast to the Professional and the Naïve, the Denier who knows not only denies his attributed role in court, but he also states more knowledge surrounding the murder like insight into the murder motive or knowing the ‘true circumstances’. That also involves preventing one or more serious conflicts in the past by using mediating skills and strategically leveraging their network within the criminal milieu, neutralizing or justifying their involvement (Pogrebin et al., 2006; Sykes and Matza, 1957). The Denier in the know thus, downplays or denies his attributed role by the system, being victimized by it. At the same time, he interestingly, portrays himself as a man with status and influence in organized crime elevating him to a heroic position looking beyond the individual murder, taking a more ‘helicopter’ viewpoint as Rick mentioned during the interview:

I have never committed a murder. In fact, and there is evidence of this, I have prevented several contract killings. I can, however, tell you about how a person gets to be the target of a murder in the realms of organized crime in a general sense. (…) I have mediated, and there is proof of that I prevented several contract killings for the organization I worked for. (Rick)

Here we clearly see empirical findings that contradicts popular mythology, indicating that ‘many criminal transactions may run relatively smoothly, without retort to violence’ (Rahman et al., 2020, 126).

Although possessing detailed and intimate knowledge of both the broader dynamics in organized crime and specific violent events serves as an argument that strengthens a rather heroic stance, this also creates an important dilemma. While some participants emphasize that they did not commit the act for which they were convicted, asserting that they and the victim's relatives deserve to know the truth, they also express an inability to share this knowledge about the ‘truth’. The following excerpt from Kayan shows how exposing information conflicts with the rules of engagement in crime, dictating a strict code against ‘snitching’, making disclosure of his knowledge morally and socially unacceptable:

Everyone is snitching these days. (…) I had to choose. Before I actually reported myself, I thought about it and it was: either I'm going to go to prison for something I didn't do, but I can live with myself. Or I have to do something to him [the actual shooter] and then also end up in prison. Because if I snitch on him, then it's just a matter of waiting - then I'm a walking target when I get out. So, I had to choose; staying silent, doing time accepting the prison sentence for some role I did not actually play… or do something to the actual perpetrator [in order for him not to be able to take revenge] and then go to jail. (Kayan)

The Denier who knows portrays himself as a loyal individual who, in contrast to others, adheres to the ‘no-snitching’ code (‘Everyone is snitching these days’). Moreover, he feels unable to share his knowledge regarding the roles of various actors involved in the actual execution of the contract killing, primarily out of fear of reprisals from the criminal milieu this is deeply entangled with a moral dilemma (‘I had to choose—staying silent, doing time, accepting the prison sentence for a role I didn’t actually play…’). This narrative stance draws heavily on the street code of not snitching, emphasizing the instrumental and moral pressures to remain silent – even when one may have had a chance on a lower sentence, not having fulfilled the attributed role by the criminal justice system (Rosenfeld et al., 2003).

Concluding discussion

This paper offers emic insights into narratives surrounding organized crime-related murders based on in-depth interviews with 14 incarcerated men in the Netherlands. Drawing on first-hand data collected in Dutch prisons, it contributes to the relatively underexplored study of organized crime-murder revealing the moral frameworks in which convicted men operate. The four narrative poses presented in this paper illustrate how cultural, moral and identity dimensions shape narratives of violence in organized crime, thereby revealing, in line with Rahman et al.'s (2020) central findings, that violent roles are more complex and ambiguous than those portrayed in earlier typologies of hitmen. While the narrative pose of the DIY’er and the Professional closely align with established criminological understandings of violent crime dynamics, the two other narrative poses – the Naïve and Denier who knows – offer more nuanced and layered forms of meaning-making, challenging dominant interpretations.

The narrative pose of the DIY’er and the Professional can be read as structured responses to ontological insecurity and moral expectations within the criminal underworld, where friendly interactions may abruptly shift to hostility when reputation or status is threatened (Collins, 2008; Sandberg, 2009). Murder in organized crime is embedded in a broader moral economy in which reputation, honour, and identity are continually negotiated through action and narrative, with street identities requiring preservation (Anderson, 1999; Brookman et al., 2011; Holligan, 2015; Lauger, 2014; MacIntyre et al., 2014; Sandberg, 2016; Schlessinger, 2001; Winlow et al., 2008). Moreover, both narrative poses frame the victim as aggressor, redistributing moral power and legitimizing violence (Presser, 2009).

The narrative pose of the Naïve enriches academic knowledge by expanding the spectrum of actors in organized crime-murder. Unlike the DIY’er and the Professional, the Naïve offers insight into the lived world of relatively young individuals performing minor tasks in the preparation and execution of murder, thereby broadening the interpretive palette of violent engagement. The Naïve presents himself through contradictory, ambiguous interpretations and the notion of ‘deliberately not asking questions’, emphasizing an inability to foresee the consequences of his involvement. This narrative pose functions as a neutralization technique denying responsibility (Pogrebin et al., 2006; Sykes and Matza, 1957), invoking excuses of defeasibility and external forces leading to the offence. Notably, the Naïve expresses remorse – something largely absent in the other narrative poses – which contrasts with masculine street identities where toughness, rather than vulnerability, is central.

Finally, the Denier who knows adds to the spectrum of individuals convicted in organized crime-murder, embodying the complexity of denying adjudicated involvement while simultaneously claiming insider knowledge. This narrative pose oscillates between ‘gangster’ and ‘victim’ discourse (Sandberg, 2009), stressing control and influence as a heroic gangster, sometimes even preventing retaliation, while also portraying himself as a victim of a failing justice system. The account of the Denier who knows reflects elements of the ‘tragic hero’ (Youngs and Canter, 2012) and employs techniques of justification or neutralization (Sykes and Matza, 1957). It further highlights a moral dilemma, where distrust in police and fear of retaliation reinforces the ‘right to remain silent’ (Goffman, 2014). Drawing on the street code against snitching (Anderson, 1999; Holligan, 2015; Rosenfeld et al., 2003), this narrative pose underscores the instrumental and moral pressures to remain silent, even when such silence may preclude reduced sentencing.

Taken together, the four narrative poses demonstrate the performative and situated nature of storytelling in prison, offering an emic perspective on how power, morality, and identity are negotiated through narratives of organized crime murder. Moreover, this paper supplements narrative criminology's toolkit by using the concept of narrative poses as self-positionings in relation to adjudicated offences with an emphasis on how the construction of these poses is rather fluid and dependent on context building on Youngs and Canter's (2012) notion of narrative roles and Goffman's (1959) insights into impression management (Presser and Sandberg, 2015; Van Gemert, 2012). The life story interviews with individuals involved in organized-crime murders offered us a rich, personal insight into how they perceive themselves. However, not all invited participants were willing to engage in this research. Some remained guarded as they are embedded in the institutional context of prison and a personal introduction and explanation of the research was not always possible in prison setting. This highlights the importance of the interactional context in the willingness to participate in scientific research. This willingness depends on the presence of trust that can be fuelled by previous familiarity with a researcher which in this case, often increased openness during the interviews. The authors suggest that future research in institutional settings like prison demand (more) time for rapport-building and explore more deeply why individuals choose (not) to participate. On the other hand, some participants engaged rather deeply, submitting handwritten life stories (and one even performed a spoken word about his life), revealing how meaningful these interviews can be when rapport is present. Not to mention how the act of telling their story to us as researchers may have influenced their narrative identity – either reinforcing or challenging it – and potentially shaped their (desistance) process.

Building on this, and concordant with Maruna and Copes (2005), we demonstrated that neutralizations are not only excuses or justifications to minimize guilt before or after offending but are also crucial components in the construction and maintenance of the offender's self-identity in the context of murder in organized crime. Against this background it remains important to note that these interviews are not just tools for gathering facts for policy makers or science. Stories reflect internal tensions, shifting moral codes, or strategic self-positioning. They need to be taken seriously and deserve a more humanizing view as they are spaces where individuals construct and perform identities, engage in meaning-making acts, often navigating between justification, guilt, victimhood, remorse and moral reasoning (Presser, 2009, 2016; Presser and Sandberg, 2015; Sandberg, 2009).

Finally, we acknowledge that additional narrative poses may exist beyond the four we identified looking at other focus points than motivation and mode of involvement. After all, narratives change during time, influenced by aspects like the duration of the sentence and age or life phase of participants. From this perspective the four poses by no means need to be seen as exhaustive but rather as a first (Dutch) exploration of first hand, emic perspectives regarding the phenomenon of murder in the realms of organized crime. We, therefore, emphasize the importance of ongoing scientific validation, positioning this paper as an invitation for future research based on first-hand data from individuals involved in organized crime-related murders.

Footnotes

Author's note

Sheila Adjiembaks is currently affiliated with ‘ESSA Research, Utrecht, the Netherlands' and Robby A. Roks is affiliated with the ‘Erasmus School of Law, Erasmus University Rotterdam, the Netherlands’.

ORCID iDs

Sheila Adjiembaks

Robert A. Roks

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by Police and Science (‘Politie and Wetenschap’ and was funded in the Strategic Research Agenda of the Police (SOAP call 2021).

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

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‘Stories from the shadows’ narrative poses of incarcerated men convicted of murder related to organized crime in the Netherlands

Abstract

Keywords

Introduction

Theoretical frame

Methodology

Results

The ‘DIY'er’

The ‘Professional’

The ‘Naïve’

The ‘Denier who knows’

Concluding discussion

Footnotes

Author's note

ORCID iDs

Funding

Declaration of conflicting interests

Notes

References