In this second post for Organizational Transformation week, here at Classroom to Capitol, I’m tackling an ugly reality of nonprofit social service work and, in the interest of full disclosure, my parenting, sometimes, too.
Because the truth is, sometimes the ways in which we interact with those we serve (or parent) serve to replicate the same power imbalances against which we rail, when we view them on the “outside”.
You’ve seen it, no doubt:
We fall into these patterns of power and oppression not because we’re bad people, of course, but because we’re people, and people tend to seek comfort in regularity and predictability and status, and those pursuits are not necessarily compatible with the promotion of maximum empowerment for those who have historically been marginalized and oppressed.
But I promised you that this wasn’t just a post about how you should change what you do in your organizations, right? I understand that changing the way we view those with whom we work, in every way from using language like “constituents” instead of “patients” to authentically making room on decision-making bodies for the full participation of those we serve, isn’t easy.
I understand not just because I’ve been there, as a nonprofit leader and as a consultant to the same.
I understand because I fight the same internal battles at home, too, where parenting offers opportunities every day to choose to live power imbalances that put me purportedly on top, versus a challenge to figure out how to make our family a sort of laboratory for empowered living.
On a daily basis, that means that I can’t change the rules without accountability, even though I’m the mom. It means that the kids’ preferences on little things matter just as much as mine, and that, even on the big stuff, I can’t disregard their views without an honest discussion and a full examination of my own rationale.
It’s not a democracy, exactly, any more than a nonprofit organization is. That’s what people often fear when we talk about transparency and participatory governance in nonprofit organizations, but it’s more like an excuse to duck our obligations to social justice than a valid concern.
We’re not a 1-person-1-vote family.
We’re something more, and better, just like our organizations need to be, too.
Because avoiding the temptation to fall into the same old bad patterns means starting from the premise that power is only as valid as the way in which we wield it, that we can’t decry the abuse of authority in others without being willing to own it in ourselves, and that our relationships will be stronger when they are based on a presumption of equity than when reinforced through hierarchy alone.
Ultimately, turning our organizations inside out like this should make us stronger advocates externally, too, because we’ll gain an empathy for those targets against whom we’re arrayed when we understand the universality of the temptation to oppress, at least in subtle ways. It also restores some of our moral authority and reduces our vulnerability to charges that “you do it, too.”
But, more immediately and much more importantly, it will turn our organizations into places where people learn how to relate fully and equally, as agents in their own rights.
And that’s what I remind myself every time I so want to say, “because I’m the Mom.”



Too vulnerable for empowerment?
*This is one of my all-time favorite stories, and favorite messages, too, so I’m republishing it in these final days of my maternity leave, as an inspiration to me and, I hope, to you, too.
Fairly often, when I talk with social workers about involving their clients in advocacy and organizing, encouraging them to find their own voices and to create social change for themselves, I hear some variation on “yes, but our clients are too poor/overwhelmed/scared/uneducated to play that role. We have to advocate for them.”
And that always prompts a discussion about how we are often the biggest barriers to our clients’ full empowerment, that we project our own fears and limitations onto their lives, or lack the relationship with them that would create a context for real risk taking. We need to get over ourselves, so to speak, and figure out ways, hand-in-hand with our clients, over, around, and through every obstacle that we might imagine (and many are, in fact, imagined) to their self-advocacy. But we have to figure out how to do that authentically and respectfully and honestly.
As I’m sure you’re not surprised, there was something in Half the Sky (have you read it yet? Go get it!) that spoke to this, too. Chapter Three was probably the most stunning part of the whole book for me, because it basically tells the story of a slum in India where women rose up against a violent criminal warlord who was raping, stealing, and murdering. Galvanized by his threats to a prominent woman from their own community, the women overcame their fears and, collectively, stabbed him to death, each one cutting him once.
No, I’m not saying that we start encouraging our clients to take this kind of direct action; we have a Code of Ethics, and I’ve written before about what that compels regarding appropriate means and ends.
But what got to me, and to the authors, was this: these were women who not only had generalized fears about taking action that is contrary to cultural and social ideas about women’s roles but was also in direct contradiction to the political powers in the area (all of whom also feared this guy)–they also had abundant evidence that their lives were directly at risk; he had, in fact, tortured and killed many of their neighbors.
And yet they did it anyway. And their lives, and their community, were transformed as a result. And the lessons that the authors take from this utterly dramatic tale are ones that carry tremendous significance for social workers and all who work with vulnerable people who must find their own voices and their own emancipation, too:
I used to answer those social workers who would give me excuses for why their clients couldn’t be their own advocates with something like, “if limited English proficient immigrants who aren’t even legally supposed to be in this country can be their own spokespeople, and can get out in the street and protest and testify in the legislature and organize unions, then so can [fill in the blank].” Now I’ve got a better answer: “if Indian women of the lowest caste, living in a slum ruled by a sadistic gangster, can rise up together and rid their community of his violent barbarism, then [fill in the blank]…”
If we can lose our hesitations, the possibilities are endless.
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Posted in Analysis and Commentary
Tagged advocacy, clients, empowerment, radical social work