Removing the knees from their necks: Mobilizing community practice and social action for racial justice

KEYWORDS:

• systemic racism
• Black Lives Matter
• racial justice

In the midst of a year of seemingly insurmountable struggles associated with the COVID-19 pandemic, the United States and other countries across the globe are grappling with another deadly pandemic responsible for taking untold lives and destroying the health, well-being and potential of millions of people and the communities in which they reside. This pandemic – systemic racism – is not new. For 400 years, systemic racism (also known as institutionalized or structural racism) has been used in the United States primarily against African Americans as an institutionalized mechanism of social control, economic exploitation, and white supremacy. Systemic racism manifests itself in a myriad of interconnected ways, including disparities in health, education, employment, and housing; voter suppression; and disproportionate exposure to state-sanctioned violence at the hands of law enforcement (Bonilla-Silva, 2018; Dettlaff, 2020; Edwards, Lee & Esposito, 2019; Lavalette & Penketh, 2014; National Association of Social Workers (NASW), 2020a; Schwartz, 2020). Further, systemic racism and the disregard for civil rights and equal protection it produces has underscored how little Black lives continue to matter to those in power (Abrams & Detlaff, 2020; Cobbina, 2019; Newman, 2015). Over time, the devaluation and dehumanization of certain segments of U.S. society extended to other minoritized groups, such as Latinx and Indigenous Peoples, who share similar experiences of over-criminalization, over-punishment, and exposure to discriminatory practices (Bonilla-Silva, 2018; Corral, 2020; Council on Social Work Education (CSWE), 2020; Jean, 2020; Rios et al., 2020; Schroedel & Chin, 2020). Systemic racism is both an invisible and visible knee on the necks of Black, Brown, and Indigenous people in this country.

Bonilla-Silva (2018) and others (for Fekete, 2014; Lavalette & Penketh, 2014; Newman, 2015; Singh, 2011, 2014) contend that not only has systemic racism permeated the values, attitudes and structures of society, it has worsened over the past 40 years. At the same time, however, racist actions and behaviors not only have become more pervasive, they also have become less overt, more subtle and hidden. According to Bonilla-Silva (2018), colorblind racism surfaced in the post-Civil Rights era with proponents attempting to explain away existing racial inequalities as artifacts of market dynamics and cultural limitations. Almost as troubling as the enduring presence of systemic racism, however, is the growth of social and political movements in the United States and beyond that seek to discredit its existence altogether (Trainin Blank, n.d.). New political contexts, evident in the nativist and Far Alt-Right movements emerging in the United States, countries throughout Europe, and Australia, add to the complexity of current dynamics on race wherein racial inequities are increasingly denied or couched using color-neutral terms. Denying the existence of racial inequalities is a knee on the necks of Black, Brown, and Indigenous people in this country.

Systemic racism in the U.S. context

Numerous observations have been made about systemic racism in the U.S. context (see for example, Allen-Meares & Burman, 1995; Bonilla-Silva, 2018; Carten, 2016; Cobbina, 2019; Cramer & Smith McElveen, 2003; Jean, 2020; Newman, 2015). Twenty-five years ago, Allen-Meares and Burman (1995) suggested that Americans resided in a “nation strained by racism, hostility and hatred” (p. 268). However, Cramer and Smith McElveen (2003) also noted that in the shift toward “multiculturalism, pluralism and diversity … matters of race were diluted or lost” (p. 43). Bonilla-Silva (2018) maintained that the transition to more subtle, implicit racism is linked to ideology casting U.S. social institutions as neutral, post-racial and colorblind. Likewise, embedded within U.S. political systems are elected officials and community leaders who have a penchant for gaslighting or discrediting the concerns of U.S. citizens about systemic racism and state-sanctioned violence toward African Americans and other minoritized communities.

Yet, these attempts at gaslighting fall flat in the face of evidence increasingly captured by social media (Cobbina, 2019). We have seen African Americans from all social class backgrounds and across different localities harassed or threatened while engaging in activities of daily living. Every day, numerous videos are posted on social media depicting acts of vigilantism perpetrated by neighbors or violence committed by law enforcement against African Americans. Rios et al. (2020) report similar patterns of harassment and threats by the police in working-class Latinx neighborhoods. During the past few years, overt acts of police violence against minoritized communities in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia have garnered global attention and notoriety (Fox et al., 2019; Krakouer, 2020; Long, 2018) as these images of brutality are transmitted worldwide via social media. Contemporary examples of vigilante beatings, police shootings, or chokeholds have become the modern-day equivalents to the lynchings that Ida B. Wells Barnett (1901) argued were used to strip African Americans of their civil rights and humanity while asserting power and terror (McDermott, 2018; Squire, 2020). Vigilantism and police brutality are the knees on the necks of Black, Brown and Indigenous people in this country.

A lingering concern is the growing disconnect between the vivid images capturing the use of deadly force by the police and official reports of such events. Indeed, a major critique of law enforcement has been the lack of transparency and record-keeping (Newman, 2015). The U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation and other federal law enforcement bodies lack nationwide tracking systems to document police-involved shootings. To compensate, there are several public databases, such as the Fatal Encounters database and Mapping Police Violence, that have been compiled by researchers or journalists to document these shootings. According to Mapping Police Violence, a total of 7,641 fatal police shootings were documented during the period between 2013 and 2019 (Mapping Police Violence, n.d.). Of the 12,300 police departments in the country (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2019), more than 2,500 police departments – one out of five – employed officers who shot and killed at least one person during the past five years (Fox et al., 2019).

Nearly 26% of the victims of fatal police shootings were African American, 18% were Latinx, and 3% were Indigenous (Mapping Police Violence, n.d.). The percentage of fatal police shootings of Latinos was slightly higher than the percentage of Latinos in the overall population; however, these percentages were approximately twice at high for African Americans and Indigenous people. Likewise, police shootings were identified as a leading cause of death for African American men. In a recent study of violent encounters with police, Edwards, Lee and Esposito, (2019) found that African American men were 2.5 times more likely to be shot and killed by police than White men. Surprisingly, African American women were 1.4 times more likely to killed by police than White men. Compared to White men, Indigenous men were 1.2–1.7 times and Latinx men were 1.4 times more likely to be killed by police (Edwards et al., 2019). These heightened risks of being killed by police remained over the life course. Moreover, unarmed African Americans were more likely to be killed by police using aggressive approaches or excessive use of force; indeed, one-third of unarmed victims of police shootings involved Black citizens (Fox et al., 2019; Schwartz, 2020). As Newman (2015, p. 124) notes, the police and the institutions that support them, have normalized the killing of Black unarmed men. Although the number of fatal police shootings has been trending downward for Whites since 2013, it continues trending upward for people of color (Mapping Police Violence, n.d.). The sheer number of police shootings and the lack of accountability for them are knees on the necks of Black, Brown and Indigenous people in this country.

Witnessing shootings of African American men and women by the police firsthand or by social media, provide frequent and concrete illustrations of deeply embedded patterns of racial hostility within police departments (Cobbina, 2019). At the same time citizens, particularly those of color, view the legal system in the United States with great skepticism since it allows police to operate with impunity and limited accountability (Newman, 2015). It is no wonder that minority men and women express frequent concerns for themselves and their children about the potential of being victims of police violence. Many minority parents engage in “the talk” about interactions with police with their adolescent children in the hopes of minimizing the risk of any life-threatening encounters. Unlike White adults, African American and Latinx adults from all social class backgrounds are vigilant in terms of protecting themselves and their families from police brutality. In a recent national study of African American, Latinx and White adults, Graham et al. (2020) found that 70% of African American and 64% of Latino respondents were concerned about experiencing police brutality. In contrast, 75% of Whites respondents indicated that they were not worried about police brutality at all. When controlling for factors that might affect these concerns, African Americans were 5.3 times more likely to worry about police brutality and Latinos 4 times more likely as compared to White study participants (Graham et al., 2020).

Unfortunately, their worries are not unfounded. Racialized notions of criminal propensity and suspicion – guilty until proven innocent – are attached to members of minority groups by the larger society. Additionally, these are further applied to criminalize poor communities of color (Rios et al., 2020). These stereotypes provide common justifications for the deaths of African Americans, Latinx and Indigenous people in police custody (Cobbina, 2019; Long, 2018). As Long (2018) notes, widespread racial tropes cast Black people, and, we argue by extension, other minorities as perpetual suspects even when they are victims of crime. Common public recriminations reverberate in commentaries such as “S/he would not have been shot if they were not doing anything wrong” or “S/he should have followed what the police officers were telling them to do.” Yet, videos of events ranging from harassment during everyday activities to those capturing George Floyd’s arrest and death underscore the deleterious effects that these racialized responses have on the health and well-being of individuals, their families, and their communities. The inability to live everyday lives without fear of police brutality is a knee on the neck of Black, Brown and Indigenous people in this country.

These and other well-publicized acts of police violence have elicited widespread condemnation from governments, organizations and individuals worldwide, including social work professionals (Abrams & Detlaff, 2020; Cherry, 2020; Dettlaff, 2020) and professional organizations (CSWE, 2020; Grand Challenges for Social Work, 2020; NASW, 2007, 2020a, 2020b). Moreover, they have resulted in worldwide protests against the injustice experienced by Black men and women and the growing rejection of how police criminalize groups of people in society (Cobbina, 2019; Evans et al., 2020; Moore et al., 2016). Protesters may feel a sense of duty or responsibility to get involved in the fight against racism and wish to become part of the movement to address inequities in not only the criminal justice system but also in education, employment and housing (see Cobbina, 2019). Newman (2015, p. 127) argues that protests occur when “citizens believe the criminal justice system has failed and police officers were not held accountable for their actions”. Communities and their citizens are clamoring for our social institutions to remove the knee of racial injustice from the necks of Black, Brown and Indigenous people in this country.

Social work as a knee on the necks of Black, Brown and Indigenous peoples

At different points in the history of social work and social welfare in the United States, including the unprecedented times in which we are living, collective soul-searching within the profession has raised the question: Is social work and, by extension, the social work profession racist? Not surprisingly, the results of that soul-searching have produced a resounding yes (Abrams & Detlaff, 2020; Allen-Meares & Burman, 1995; McMahon & Allen-Meares, 1992; NASW, 2007; Trolander, 1997). In the early 1990s, McMahon and Allen-Meares offered a searing rebuke to the profession – identifying social workers as controlling, coercive, and racist while employed in organizations and systems that provided differential treatment to clients. Others have reminded us of the ways in which social work and social welfare have been complicit in maintaining systemic racism and the status quo (Allen-Meares & Burman, 1995; Carten, 2016; Cherry, 2020; Miller et al., 2004; Ring, 2012). Over the years, the social work profession has been coopted into racist and discriminatory practices and processes through a duty of surveillance (Lavalette & Penketh, 2014; Miller et al., 2004).

Allen-Meares and Burman (1995) referred to social workers as agents of social control who remained silent about the “inequities and social conditions affecting African American families” (see pp. 270–271). This denigration of and disrespect toward minority families by the profession was echoed further by Abrams and Detlaff (2020):

“As a profession, we have not yet reckoned with the racism and anti-Blackness that exists among ourselves and our key social welfare institutions, including public benefits and child welfare … Need to recognize social work’s historical role in perpetuating anti-Blackness” (para #1).

Recently, the National Association of Social Workers (NASW) acknowledged the longstanding influence of racism and white supremacy on social work practice and ideology (NASW, 2020b). In particular, NASW singles out the child welfare system that “more rigorously regulated and castigated Black, Brown, and Indigenous families” (para. #3) as well as the role that social workers played in perpetuating these harmful systems. Continued differential treatment of minority families, particularly African American families, prompted Holosko et al. (2017) to ask: Do Black lives matter to social work?

Policy documents disclose considerable vacillation over the years by social work professional associations regarding their responsibilities toward addressing racism in their organizations and activities as well as within accredited social work training programs. Although CSWE adopted its first policy banning racial discrimination within the organization in 1961, support for antidiscrimination waned by the mid-1970s as the organization became more conservative and racist (see discussion in Trolander, 1997). Responding to racism and white supremacy in the profession, the National Association of Black Social Workers (NABSW) disengaged from the National Conference on Social Welfare in 1968 in order to address issues of racism and poverty in America and advocate for systemic change (National Association of Black Social Workers, n.d.). In 2005, the NASW adopted its policy statement on racism which enjoined all social workers “to recognize and confront all forms of racism” (NASW, 2020a, p. 3). This was subsequently echoed in the NASW report, Institutional racism & the social work profession: A call to action (NASW, 2007) which challenged the “profession to have the courage to label racism as racism” (p. 23) and provided an extensive roadmap to address systemic racism within the profession and the larger society. Despite these directives, social workers tended to view racism as something located outside of the profession while continuing to ignore the extent to which aversive racism permeated social work training programs and organizations (Ring, 2012). Moreover, the country’s longstanding history of racism and discriminatory legislation reproduced a two-track, separate but unequal social service delivery system that social workers were instrumental in operating (Carten, 2016).

Additional concerns have been raised about the role that systemic racism plays in social work education and research. In addition to the documents developed by the national social work professional organizations, other scholars point to the lack of alignment between clinical social work training, practice, and the profession’s mission of racial justice in service to marginalized and oppressed groups (Sakamoto, 2007; Smith, 2019; Varghese, 2018). Despite the heavy emphasis on cultural competence and diversity training, faculty and practitioners suggest that “social work students are not challenged enough to think critically about race and ethnocentrism” (see for example, Krakouer, 2020, para #9). Further, Edmonds-Cady and Wingfield (2017) contend that social work educators reinforce systemic racism.

On the research side, McMahon and Allen-Meares (1992) were among the first social work educators to assess social work scholarship on race. In their review of top social work journals, they found few manuscripts that addressed racism experienced by minoritized groups. Also, missing from the published literature was research on institutional change to reduce structural inequalities. They note a general reluctance to promote social action using community or macro practice. Replicating the methods used by McMahon and Allen-Meares in their earlier study, Corley and Young (2018) found a lack of attention, involvement, and inaction on issues of racial injustice. They contend that “if social workers are failing to address systemic racial inequities, they are complicit in their maintenance” (p. 318). Both studies argue that social work discussions of racial oppression seem to pay lip service to structural issues that perpetuate systemic racism. They also suggest that social work research replicates the “apartheid of knowledge in academia” (p. 323). Yet, social work researchers can and have exacerbated distrust when they have approached minority communities as their own personal laboratories extracting knowledge with little or no reciprocity or regard for those affected (Edmonds-Cady & Wingfield, 2017). Finally, despite the call to identifying racism as one of the profession’s grand challenges (see Davis, 2016), it wasn’t until June 2020 that the Grand Challenges for Social Work (2020) added eradicating racism as the thirteenth area of concern for social work scholars and educators.

Removing the knees from their necks: Adopting anti-racist social work

Anti-racist social work appeared in the United Kingdom, Canada and Australia in the 1970s and 1980s (Lavalette & Penketh, 2014). In the United Kingdom, concerns about systemic racism led to the development of anti-racist social work practice in the 1980s and 1990s (Lavalette & Penketh, 2014). Instead of focusing exclusively on addressing individual prejudices, the purpose of anti-racist social work was to expose the structural and institutional nature of racism embedded in British society and challenge oppressive practices and structures in the workplace and in communities (Penketh & Lavalette, 2014). Anti-racist social workers recognized that racism also permeated social services, service delivery systems and social work education. Members of the movement focused on promoting municipal level social change and introducing anti-discrimination policies and practices within social work education and social care organizations. These activities produced promising effects on municipal level social change as well as changes in the profession (Lavalette & Penketh, 2014; Singh, 2014).

More recently, Fekete (2014), writing about Britain, describes another form of systemic racism that arose since the late 1990s – that of xeno-racism or fear of the other – supporting institutionalized actions and behaviors that devalue or target particular groups on the basis of attributes that are used to define their “otherness,” such as class, political affiliation, nationality, culture or religion. Xeno-racism can be applied to groups that are identified as racially White. For example, this leads to everyday aggression in public spaces toward people speaking a language other than English as well as terrorist activities such as the bombing of mosques. While it is clear that xeno-racism constitutes a form of oppression in the United States, eliminating systemic racism against Black, Brown and Indigenous bodies needs to be a priority for social work.

By the beginning of the 21^st century, the anti-racism movement within social work in Britain was replaced by an emphasis on diversity, equality and cultural competence – a move that Jeyasingham and Morton (2019) argues was utilized to provide superficial evidence of social equality. One of the unfinished tasks of the anti-racist social work movement in Britain was changing the culture and structure of organizations (Singh, 2011). Fekete (2014) suggests that despite movement toward greater equity, the social work profession remained uncomfortable with anti-racism strategies that sought to move more deeply into structural change of British social institutions.

Unlike the United Kingdom, a comparable anti-racist social work movement did not take root in the United States (see Reisch & Andrews, 2002). Instead, social work professional organizations in the United States avoided a critical analysis of institutional and structural discrimination and oppression to concentrate on individual development of cultural competence by social workers in order to facilitate their work with minority clients and communities. Lavalette and Penketh (2014) suggest that the profession’s focus on cultural competence and its most recent iteration, diversity, was less risky politically. Perhaps an unintended consequence, the use of “cultural competence otherizes non-whites without having to invoke racist language” (Pon, 2009, p. 62). More recently, social work has examined the potential of the anti-oppression approach to practice with individuals and communities (see for example, Morgaine & Capous-Desyllas, 2014). However, this approach, which has been applied to a wide array of underrepresented groups, may dilute efforts to address systemic racism precisely because it de-emphasizes the specific contexts underlying racial inequalities experienced by African Americans and others in the United States.

Mobilizing community practice and social action for racial justice

The social work profession must address systemic racism as part of our mandate to “promote change from within and among organizations and society” (NASW, 2007, p. 3). A first step is to recognize systemic racism and its various manifestations within the profession. Until social work is able critically analyze how the profession and social work curricula perpetuate racism, the profession will be limited in its ability to implement the change needed to eradicate it in our institutions. As Cherry (2020, p. 1) notes, the “failure to take explicit action to promote race equity is equivalent to maintaining and supporting oppressive and racist systems.” Identifying and acknowledging systemic racism is a critical first step but it is not enough. We need to take deliberate actions to confront all forms of racism, both overt and subtle, within all of the institutions that undergird our profession (NASW, 2007, p. 3). To do so, social work must disrupt established practices that continue to support and promote white privilege. This includes the need for all to examine how their attitudes and behaviors uphold racism.

Social workers can and must take actions to reverse the effect of racism on service delivery in Black, Brown and Indigenous communities. Social workers must challenge their organizations to become antiracist organizations and upend the status quo. Part of challenging the status quo involves developing systems and structures that are inclusive and equitable. However, inclusion alone is insufficient for addressing the deep-seated social ills associated with racism (Miller, 2020). In real world implementation, inclusion requires the membership cost of conformity. To achieve this, organizations and institutions must create mechanisms whereby diversity is inherently embodied, pragmatically instituted and consistently ensured. By doing so, diversity normalizes difference instead of “othering” it.

Moving forward the profession needs to get its own house in order before trying to insert itself into current discussions about dismantling systemic racism in the nation’s criminal justice system. As Abrams and Detlaff (2020) stated so eloquently, “ Social work cannot situate itself as the magic ingredient to eradicating racism in law enforcement if we cannot dismantle racism within our own systems of care” (para #2). Among potential remedies to address police brutality in minority communities that are currently under consideration is the addition of social workers to police crisis intervention teams – something that has been implemented on a small scale already. Also, mandatory training of police on the use of de-escalation techniques and trauma-informed responses during crises warrants further deliberation and action; this training can be performed by social workers or other mental health professionals (Evans et al., 2020). The development of diversion programs whereby individuals needing access to mental health services are referred to those services instead of incarceration deserves further consideration. Recent proposals suggesting the replacement of police by social workers seem less plausible than the scaffolding of mental health and social services and other alternatives to incarceration within communities to support individuals during crises thereby diminishing the need for law enforcement intervention.

Since the death of George Floyd at the hands of police in Minneapolis (MN), the Black Lives Matter movement has recommended the dismantling and disinvestment of the police – actions that have been endorsed by a small, but growing number of municipalities in the United States. Petitions to remove school resource officers from public schools are also gaining traction. Rampant police brutality clearly underscores that our criminal justice system is not serving the people whose hard-earned taxes keep it afloat. We support calls to end government-sanctioned excessive use of force and mass incarceration. We also urge lawmakers in the Senate to deliberate the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act of 2020 (HR 7120) and pursue meaningful police reform.

We also support efforts to develop community-driven alternatives for public safety – community members need to be shaping the policing occurring in their neighborhoods and prioritizing local safety needs. The composition of local police commissions and human relations commissions need to reflect the communities they serve and function independently from police unions or municipal leaders. Community practitioners can play important roles in working with community residents to amplify their voices. Activities promoting voter registration and getting out the vote as well as vigorously protecting voting rights are critical to removing the knee from the necks of Black, Brown, and Indigenous people.

Further, we support calls to reinvest in our communities in order to create opportunity structures and pathways for all, and especially our most vulnerable citizens, to realize their full potential. Practitioners can facilitate the use of asset-based community development (ABCD) approaches as they work with community members to design and implement community-led initiatives supporting residents across the life span.

Finally, we support the development and dissemination of scholarship focusing on racial justice in Black, Brown and Indigenous communities. We encourage scholars to engage in collaborative research with communities of color, conduct comparative analysis between the United States and other countries when possible, or apply critical race theory to the study of inequality. This also means supporting scholars of color who conduct this research. A special issue of the Journal of Community Practice is already under development. Look for Beyond Lip Service: Bringing Racial Justice to Black and Brown Communities in late 2021.

As we navigate these unchartered waters or social change, may we remind one another that Black lives will not truly matter until we act in tangible ways to ensure that they do.

Acknowledgement

This editorial benefited from helpful comments from JCP Co-Editor Richard J. Smith. He would like readers to know that he supports the recommendations for social work and community practice made in the editorial.