How are We Listening to Our Clients in Times of Crisis?
Remember the First Presidential Debate – Where Our Presidential Candidates Stand
Statement from the Texas Chapter of the National Association of Social Workers Regarding the Changes to the Social Work Code of Conduct
NASW Statement on the Passing of Former CEO Elizabeth “Betsy” J. Clark, PhD, MPH, ACSW
I can’t be a racist.
Some of my best friends are African American. I work with African Americans every day. As a social worker, I fight for social justice, and that includes racial justice, so I’m not a racist.
I certainly don’t want you to think I’m a racist. My family never owned slaves—they were coal miners, which was practically slavery. I believe in diversity, inclusivity, cultural humility, and cultural proficiency and whatever PC term-of-the-week we use for this stuff.
I want to prove to you I’m not a racist. I attend rallies and carry signs. I was there when they voted to remove the Confederate flag from the statehouse grounds. I don’t vote for racist candidates and express my horror at racist comments, especially from our leaders.
I thought I wasn’t a racist. The truth is, I view the world through blue eyes. The world interacts with me as a person with very pale skin. I may not want to be privileged (maybe I do) but damned if I’m not. I’m often treated differently than people of color. If police pull me over, I don’t fear for my life, I fear for points on my license. If I walk down the street in a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, people say good morning and comment on the cold weather. They don’t look at me like I’m about to rob them.
When I see rage on the faces of African Americans, I sometimes think—quietly, of course—they may be overreacting. After all, we need to love each other and put the past behind us. We are a rich tapestry of different people and that’s what makes our nation great. This is 2017—time to move forward!
And then Charlottesville happened.
And then I heard the President defend the Nazis and racist, alt-right rally participants.
And then I saw this video and watched white supremacists spew hatred against blacks and Jews while someone was doing CPR on a victim hit by the car.
And I saw this man:
And I saw how his pain, his rage, his desperation reached depths that I have never experienced. He is emotionally bleeding for us all to see, because he has tried EVERYTHING and he is standing in the middle of a frickin’ race war. (I don’t want to say frickin’).
And I heard that right after Charlottesville, a FAMILY MEMBER who teaches about the Holocaust, had received a death threat from someone because they thought he was Jewish.
And then my writing sister who is black, said of her white colleagues, “don’t come to me with your fake tears and your prayers and your hugs. I can’t do it this week. This sh*t is not new. Charlottesville … is all of us. It’s killing us.”
She’s right. She’s right, and we don’t want to see it.
I remember feeling so proud when the Confederate flag came down, and one of my social work mentors (African-American) said, “I don’t care where they flag that ole rag. Taking it down don’t change nothing.”
Yeah, maybe I’m starting to get that now.
After the slaughter of the Emmanuel nine in Charleston, I participated in a workshop about combatting hate. I hoped it would help some of us heal. But when a HBCU professor projected a photograph of a Klan rally, it offended me. “We’re not all like that,” I wanted to scream, but that wasn’t her message. We’re not all like that, but the specter of those white pointed hats is there, is always there, and, like my wise friend said, it’s killing us.
According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, America has 276 armed militia groups, extremists like the gun-wielding pretend-soldiers in Charlottesville. 276. Let that number sink in.
I don’t want to be a racist, but I can never truly understand the black experience, no matter how hard I try to be an ally. And if I don’t want to be a part of the problem—via action or inaction—then I must confront and accept the ways I have been complicit in this mess. I don’t get to close my eyes to the ugliness that is around me. I can vote for different leaders, march in rallies, carry signs, write blogs, and be a great social worker but none of that puts a dent in the crap storm we keep denying.
I’d love to end this with some hopeful message, something that makes you feel good about our potential (and about me).
But I got naddah.
So I’ll end with this. My eyes are open. I will fight to keep them open, even if what I see disturbs the hell out of me. And if you see me closing them, get in my face a remind me.
This is ALL OF US.
And we have to fix it.
Black Disabled Lives Matter and How Social Workers Need to Address Structural Ableism
Conversations about police violence are happening all over the world from the killing of Mr. George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Jacob...
How Health & Fitness Businesses Are Flexing Their Muscles For Customers Right Now
We’re all public health nerds now, and many of us have stepped up our games when it comes to washing...
Tourette Association of America marks National Tourette Awareness Month with Engaging Virtual Events and Activities
The Tourette Association of America (TAA), the premier national nonprofit organization serving the Tourette Syndrome (TS) and Tic Disorder community,...
Legislation Introduced to Honor Former Foster Youth Lost to Corona Virus
On May 15, 2020, Rep. Karen Bass, co-Chair of the Congressional Caucus on Foster Youth, and Rep. Gwen Moore will...
Connect With SWHELPER
Mental Health6 years ago
Children Who Experience Early Childhood Trauma Do Not ‘Just Get Over It’
Education4 years ago
5 Social Work Theories That Inform Practice
Social Work7 years ago
Ending the Therapeutic Relationship: Creative Termination Activities
Education7 years ago
Want to Work With Children: 5 Skills and Qualities You Should Be Working On