How Social Workers are Failing the Populations We Have Sworn to Protect, by Amanda-Marie Mansfield, SSW, LMSW
“The fate of millions of people—indeed the future of the black community itself—may depend on the willingness of those who care about racial justice to re-examine their basic assumptions about the role of the criminal justice system in our society.”
― Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
I read the book The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander during my first year of graduate school at The University of Connecticut. This book largely influenced the way that I think, the way that I feel, and the way that I react to situations of injustice. Michelle Alexander is, for lack of a better description, a genius. The quote above begets questions we are all asking ourselves: how can I help? How can I understand? What is my role in all of this?
As a social worker, it is my role to combat structural, institutional, systemic racism, and injustice and in doing that, I challenge myself every day to be a better person and a better social worker. I know that It is easy to fall into
complacency— it is non-confrontational and stress-free. However, in light of the tragedies that have taken place within the last few months, I have begun to become more aware of situations in which I am the problem.
Since this realization, I have challenged myself every day to be the voice for those who are unable to fight for themselves. Unfortunately, I am not seeing the same type of drive from my fellow social workers.
I am here to discuss my experience as a white woman and a social worker.
To begin with some background on myself, I am a white, 26 year-old woman in Connecticut. My mother was the youngest of seven, and immigrated to the United States from Azores, Portugal when she was five. My father is the oldest of four brothers, and raised in an Irish Catholic household in Rhode Island.
Growing up in an affluent, predominantly white town in Connecticut, conversations regarding race were seldom had between friends and community members. However, I consider myself luckier than others I grew up with— my mother’s side of the family was diverse and conversations regarding race, religion, and politics were commonly held at our weekly get-togethers (yes, weekly). My father’s side of the family is very open-minded and although I wouldn’t identify them as activists, they definitely try their best to understand and acknowledge their white privilege and how it affects those around them.
Fast forward to the present. I am currently a Licensed Master of Social Work (LMSW) employed as a school social worker in a private special education outplacement facility. A mouthful, I know.
Here, I service students between the ages of 8 and 21. I service students who have been diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) and other health impairments (OHI) from Emotional Disturbance (ED), Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), and
even Schizophrenia. The students I service are enrolled at my placement because their public education settings are unable to provide services that meet the high level of needs our kiddos require for a proper education.
My students are oftentimes violent and they require restraints and
seclusions.
I can tell you that neither myself nor any of the staff members I work with have ever murdered a student. We have not murdered a student during a restraint. We have not murdered a student for suspicion of a weapon or a counterfeit bill (which has happened!) We have never knelt on a student’s neck while they are face down on the ground yelling “I can’t breathe.” I can tell you that all of our students resist restraint and we still have not murdered a student. I can tell you that restraints are messy, with spitting, biting, kicking, hitting, yelling, and cussing, and we still have not murdered a student. I can tell you that myself and my colleagues have suffered injuries such as concussions, broken ribs, broken noses, broken backs, scars from scratches and bites, twisted ankles, stab wounds from pencils, and scissors, and we still have not murdered a student. I can tell you that initiating a restraint with a student who is in crisis and aggressing is as scary for us as it is necessary for the student’s safety. We have still not murdered a student. I can tell you that our students have NOT grown men (most of the time), however, most of our students are taller and weigh more than me, and I still have not had to resort to kneeling on a student’s neck to restrain him or her.
If I, a social worker, have been able to properly diffuse these situations, why is this a challenge for our police officers, who should have equal if not MORE professional restraint/de-escalation training than that of myself and my colleagues?
Are the murders of innocent, unarmed black men an obvious abuse of power and the result of systemic and institutional racism? (Cough yes they are cough)
So again, I ask myself, what is my role as a white social worker to address these issues with the population I service?
Well, it all goes back to when I began graduate school at UCONN: School of Social Work in 2015. If you are not familiar with the practice of social work (or think that all social workers take children from their homes), please allow me to inform you.
Social work is a practice-based profession with two main modalities: micro-level social work and macro-level social work. Micro-level social work includes practice subsets such as group work and casework. These are intensive clinical approaches focused on treating mental health while fighting the effects of poverty/ discrimination/ oppression on an individual basis. Caseworkers and group workers practice with the knowledge of how the environment affects mental health.
The second modality is macro-level social work. You can find macro-level social workers in your state capitol, advising legislators and community leaders by creating policies that elicit social change. You can also find macro-level social workers in local community agencies, educating/
enlisting the public in social justice matters. Community organizers practice by forming rallies, running donation drives, and public protests.
Above all, social workers are agents of change and work tirelessly to fight injustices on behalf of the disenfranchised. Well, at least some of us.
I spent two years in the School of Social Work having an open dialogue with my peers regarding political and social issues within our community and throughout the United States.
The first lesson we were taught was to challenge every belief, every experience, every discriminatory thought that popped into our heads. Our professor told our class to bring awareness to our racism and privilege. Initially, the reactions around the room were indignant— Me? I do not think discriminatory thoughts. Did he seriously say the R-word? Not me! It was incredible and challenging, raw, inspiring, harrowing, and enlightening.
We learned about the history of the United States and the institutional and systemic racism that built our patriarchal, capitalist society. We learned about mass incarceration, the truth about the war on drugs, the history of people of color and their oppression, what the patriarchy means, and how capitalism affects us all. We were learning and growing, but I began to feel a heavy, hopeless weight in my heart. How could I, a white, privileged female graduate student change these horrific circumstances to improve the lives of the people I care about?
It was a pivotal time to be a social worker. Donald Trump was running for President and the election was a focal point of all of my courses. My peers and I discussed how different the world would be for our clients and communities if he were to be elected. We discussed all possible scenarios for our clients and most looked very grim. I thought “there is absolutely no way he will be elected. The United States is better than that, right? We are smarter than that, we have come further than that.” Today, we have found ourselves in the EXACT situation my peers and I feared back in 2016.
What also weighs heavy on my heart is thinking about how many social workers I graduated with/ worked with who are failing themselves, their clients, and the profession. I am seeing failure by silence in two different forms.
The first type of failure are the social workers who are posting #BLM and pro-movement information on their social media, but are absolutely silent with their co-workers, family, friends, and clients. They avoid racially charged conversations like the plague and continue working with their clients like
Coronavirus is the only threat to humanity right now. Hypocrisy— ew.
The second group of social workers is individuals who are silent online and in person. If you are a social worker and you are not posting support online and are actively avoiding conversations with friends/family/clients, what the hell are you doing as a social worker?
I am grateful to know of friends and family (social workers) that are silent online but are engaging in meaningful conversations in person with their clients, friends, and family. Posting support online is not everyone’s cup of tea, I get it, but what does being silent online look like to people of color?
My question to silent social workers: why is this such a big deal and why should you care?
As social workers, we have vowed to fight for the individuals and communities we serve. Not unlike the police, as a profession we have vowed to do no harm, to protect, and to honor human rights. We have vowed to always be the voice for the disenfranchised populations that do not have the opportunity to fight for themselves. We have vowed to protect the mental health and dignity of our clients.
Our clients are your family members, friends, neighbors, and community leaders. If social workers are ignoring this call to action, then you are right to assume that they are doing a great disservice to your loved ones.
If your loved one is receiving services from a social worker who remains silent, that social worker is an individual who does not care about black lives and the struggle that individuals of color face daily. A silent social worker is one who has forgotten their vow to uphold the Code of Ethics.
Silence proves that these social workers are more afraid of how they may be seen to friends and family members than they are to their clients. Silence shows that these social workers are choosing the seduction of blissful ignorance. Silence shows that these social workers are complicit to the terror that happens every day to the same individuals they see struggling and claim to care about. These social workers are adding to the trauma of their clients because you guessed it, racism equals trauma. Not addressing racism is traumatic, ignoring racism is traumatic. These social workers are causing and adding harm!
I’ve seen instances of social workers being silenced by their agencies and administrators to “not be political.” So should social workers allow higher-ups to silence them when they have a duty to educate and advocate?
Telling social workers to be silent to negate a political conflict is telling a social worker to choose the side of the oppressor. Social work is as political as it is clinical. Silence is a political statement. Silence is choosing the side of the oppressor.
I have had conversations about the protests with my students and their families this past week. I have listened and absorbed the anger and hurt from my students and their parents. It is emotionally exhausting and it is painful. But this is why we are social workers. It is our job to have those hard conversations when no one else will. Are we doing our job if we stay silent and pretend it is not happening? Are we doing our jobs if we assume it is not relevant to our clients? How are we educating our white clients and calling them on their ignorance? How does that affect the way our
clients see us?
Agents. Of. Change. Confront ignorance. Educate. Empower.
I am not preaching that I am better than any other social worker. I have stuck my foot in my mouth more times than I would care to admit. I am equally as guilty of being silent in times of adversity. I am guilty of hearing conversations that I should have debated. I am guilty of taking the easy way out. I am still learning. As a white woman who has black friends, who has loved black men, and who has black family members, I cannot settle for the comfortable silence any longer.
This is our call to action. I challenge all social workers to reflect on their values. I challenge social workers to consider their role as an agent of change and to remember their education. I challenge all
social workers to remember our Code of Ethics and to sit in solitude with the Code of Ethics, examine what it means to you as a human being, and as a social worker, and apply those ethics to the work you do. If you cannot find a way to make them relevant to your practice today, I suggest considering another line of work.
I encourage every single individual who reads this to engage in a discussion with their friends in the social work field. And I will leave you with encouragement to read The New Jim Crow ($8.99
on your Kindle).
babeswhoball.com 