Verified by 
I showed up for work on November 9, 2016, expecting that my job would never be the same. The months to come have shown this to be true. The undocumented population we serve lives in near-constant fear. Patients who receive food stamps have asked me when they will start to receive their food boxes and I have to explain that no one really expects them to do that, they just wanted to demonstrate how little they care for those who struggle to buy groceries. The rising tides of intolerance have further depressed many of them, whether they are Black, Latinx, gay, or a member of some other people group that Trump has managed to insult (the count should reach 650 by the end of his first term).
I, on the other hand, am doing fine. Of course I am; I’m a straight white Christian male. While I have often reacted in disgust to the President’s racist discourse, it has had a minimal impact upon my own life. One of the core ethical principles of social work is social justice; the NASW Code of Ethics states that “social workers pursue social change, particularly with and on behalf of vulnerable and oppressed individuals and groups of people. Social workers' social change efforts are focused primarily on issues of poverty, unemployment, discrimination, and other forms of social injustice.” What does it mean to be an agent of social change in an era of social injustice?
The history of social work offers two differing answers to this question. One of the antecedents of my profession were upper-class women known as “friendly visitors” who visited the poor in their homes and sought to help the poor “through moral persuasion and personal example.” Around the same time period, other groups were forming settlement houses to live among the poor and focused more upon the environmental factors that made them poor and kept them that way. The most famous settlement house, Jane Addams’ Hull House, is located just three miles away from where I practice, and Addams and other members of Hull House were instrumental in founding my alma mater, the School of Social Service Administration at the University of Chicago.
Elements of both models continue to the present. Some social workers do casework, visiting individuals in their homes to link them to necessary services. At times this involves working for or alongside the government such as with the Department of Children and Family Services. Others focus more on policy, whether they practice at the macro level and participate in policy formation or push for more fairness and equality in their communities. Both are “real” social work, and they’re also not discrete categories; it’s possible to take a little from this one and a little from that one to shape one’s approach (social workers are nothing if not flexible).
In an era of rising inequality, the temptation towards merely being a “friendly visitor” looms large. It is much easier to offer some kind words or material goods rather than really be present with those who are suffering and begin to ask the hard questions about what made them that way. A core tenet of therapeutic work is neutrality; my patients aren’t supposed to know my political opinions and biases. This remains vital in some cases; my progressive intern who is returning to her deeply red state in the South probably wouldn’t make much of an impact if she loudly aired her beliefs to her clients. In settings such as mine, however, neutrality is no longer an option. As Howard Zinn once said, “you can’t be neutral on a moving train.” Clients already assume they know my political beliefs; when someone I’ve worked with for awhile mentioned being concerned about Trump and I told her that I was too, she was visibly taken aback. “You mean you’re not a Republican?” she asked. I told her no and asked her what had given her that impression. She gestured at my clothing and smirked.
There are ways in which we can and should leave our work at work. It wouldn’t be healthy to think exhaustively about one’s patients while at home and could quickly cause burnout. At the same time, now more than ever social workers need to be politically active. This can take a variety of forms: attending marches, participating in political campaigns, calling one’s elected officials. As I tell my interns, being politically involved isn’t just another part of our commitment to social justice but also works as self-care. It’s easy to lose hope in the face of the profound injustices we confront daily. Trying to be a part of the solution, even in small ways, is one way to fight against that hopelessness. And, as we know, silence and inaction always favor the aggressor, never the victim.
I continue to think about what my commitment to social justice looks like in my practice. For me it has mostly taken the form of writing, whether it’s this blog or articles on the dangers of Jordan Peterson and the Midwest’s history of lynchings, among others. Of course the answer will be different to different people. In an era where many of our supposed leaders are profoundly unethical, it’s more important than ever to maintain the core values of our profession. Social justice isn’t just a thing social workers do; it’s who we are.
