Do Not Call Me a Social Worker
2020 has been a dumpster fire surrounded by gasoline.
The same year Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and so many others were brutally murdered by the police. The same year a respiratory and vascular disease instigated a pandemic that ravished through communities of color with little to no disregard. And the same year we ended a presidency won on the foundation of racism, misogyny, and xenophobia. 2020 has forced me to think critically about who I am and the role I play in uprooting entrenched patterns of oppression and discrimination. I know I cannot do it all, and I cannot do it alone. That is why I am a social worker, at least why I thought I wanted to be a social worker.
This year also revealed social work is not special enough to be immune from the ills of society. As a profession, we are just a microcosm of everything else happening in the world. Homophobia, check. Racism, check. Yes, social workers. I recall being in class recently, where a white classmate expressed how class discussions focused on BIPOC issues was not what he was paying for. And then less than a week later, we see the emergence of Texas’ decision to allow social workers to turn away vulnerable LGBTQ and disabled clients. Sure class went on and the Texas rule was overturned, but the words had been spoken and the damage had been done. It all made sense.
We all had only been living up to the aspirations outlined in our beginnings. In unraveling the history of social work, you see countless examples of how the “founding mother” toted her own privilege and perpetuated white supremacy. In 1901, Jane Addams wrote a piece on antilynching and suggested it was the criminal act of Black men that prompted lynching as an acceptable punishment. The response was necessary as “Respect for Law”. I want to lift the voice of Ida B. Wells for responding and disproving Jane’s racist presumptions. But you see from the beginning we have poisoned the well.
This idea of privilege and more specifically white privilege continues to come across as a novel concept. Have we not moved beyond 1988 when Peggy McIntosh told white people they had an invisible proximity card for benefits and access? No, as I still see white tears flow the moment their alleged privilege is questioned or threatened. The first semester in my doctoral program a white woman cried after I told her I did not appreciate her microaggressions toward me after continuously mistaking me with the other Black male student in the classroom. I did more than I should, informing her how white privilege is the legacy and the cause of racism. (Though she went on to tell others I called her a racist)
I am tired of expressing the necessity for everyone to understand their privilege and for my white peers to accept their white privilege. We go through our asynchronous without seeing Black and Brown faces. During the most recent wave of murders by police, I had a peer who said, “well I have a positive relationship with the police.” And to think of the discourse of social workers becoming the police but that is for another discussion.
When all the Black students were feeling the weight of the world around us, many of my colleagues activated their ability to live ignorantly and insulated from the daily toll of racism. During a forced check-in, I heard “well James, I do not see color.” This alleged colorblindness is a veiled attempt of altruism and a coping mechanism for those that cannot reconcile their own bias and prejudice. Additionally, this tells me you do not see me. And again, this is social work.
It is this this intersection of privilege, colorblindness, and the profession that frightens me most. I see how I respond in the classroom. But what happens in practice? Is this how we treat clients or patients? Selfishly these are my people and people who look like me. And by failing to see us, you fail to see your own whiteness. It is time for critical reflection of the field — from the academy to the office (or wherever you sit). We should be equipping practitioners with the tools to dismantle both externally and internally. We are not impervious to the pervasiveness of racism and until we understand oppression and privilege are two faces of the same coin, this sense of entitlement will continue to permeate.
I have a Master of Social Work and will soon have a Doctor of Social Work degree also. By title, I will always be a social worker but until we acknowledge our racists roots and dismantle the whiteness and the white privilege associated with the profession, do not call me a social worker. I will just keep doing social work.
