But my favorite part?

When students totally blow me away with their commitment to social change, creativity in pursuit of justice, and all-around awesomeness.

In all fairness, this post is not about my students. But I feel like I can claim them just a little bit, because I worked with them in my capacity as an advocate, advising them on their project and connecting them to policymakers and allies.

And because, if I’m really, really lucky, they might end up in one of my classes one day.

I’m thrilled that this group received the national Influencing State Policy award. They completely deserve it. They absolutely did influence state policy, defusing the anti-immigrant argument that, somehow, attacking immigrant kids helps other college students. Their advocacy, including this video and the petition drive that garnered support from college students around the state, shored up Senate supporters of Kansas’ current instate tuition policy and injected a new theme into the media coverage of the repeal debate, both critical to the ultimate defeat of the attempted repeal.

What I love most, though, is that these students not only made an impact on state policy (in a truly beautiful way). They also demonstrated, for other students and would-be activists, that such influence is within reach and that it can be really fun, too.

I always cry at the end of the video, when this powerful collection of students says, essentially, “Hey, when you’re hating on hard-working immigrant students, you don’t speak for me.”

I am so glad that they found their voice.

And I can’t wait to hear what they say next.

In this second post during “Future Week”, here at Classroom to Capitol, I’m sharing an assignment that I created for my two policy classes this semester and how it fits with our critical challenge, as a nonprofit sector, to move beyond strategic plans that assume the world will stay mostly as it is (because it won’t), to instead prepare ourselves (and our future colleagues) to prepare to thrive in a nearly unimaginable (right now) future.

In both my first-year MSW and Advanced Policy courses, students are required to investigate, analyze, and then comment on at least one macro trend expected to influence their current and future organizations, the realm of public policy in which they work, and their own practices. It’s not a research project, as such, in that no one can definitively predict these impacts, and students’ interpretations of the likely meaning of these trends are taken as valid and worthy of consideration, provided that the are based on sound reasoning and a firm grasp of the current state of their respective fields. They have some leeway to identify the trend(s) they want to study, but some that are suggested include:

We don’t really have that many, truly, in part because of my parenting philosophy about letting the kids learn from natural consequences, and part, in truth, because I don’t know that I could be that vigilant in enforcing them all the time (things tend to slide a bit with the 4 kids competing for Mommy’s attention).

But the rules that we have are important, not just to Mom and Dad (because they are things like “no hitting” and “we only throw balls and beanbags”, without which things would get even wilder around here), but also to our kids. In fact, they are the first ones to invoke a broken rule (by their siblings), and they cling to those rules in comfort to provide some boundaries around their world. One of their most sacred is that they do NOT have to share their “nighttime stuff” (special blankets and animals), even if a sibling asks really nicely, even if it’s not being used right now. They’re just off-limits from the normal sharing framework, and they take that very, very seriously.

And so our rules around here have me thinking about rules in a policy context, too, and about just how important they are. I found a quote the other day (I’m sure the origin is appropriately cited on a sticky note somewhere around our house, but I know not where), something like “rules define our civilization.”

And, if you think about it, that’s very true. I mean, our policies are really more about setting our goals, charting our general direction, and expressing our preferences.

The rules, where everything from definitions to allocations to staffing qualifications to eligibility constraints (and on and on) are decided…that’s really where we set out how we intend to go about living together, and working towards those common (or not so common) purposes.

It’s how we make society work, within our families, or in our nation, or in the global community.

Rules are a big deal.

But they’re so hidden, and so opaque, and so seemingly complex, that we often throw up our hands, even as the most committed advocates, and abdicate this whole arena. It’s almost like at my house; I know that if we had many more rules, I’d have to relax on their enforcement, because there’s just only so much mental energy.

And, yet, in the realm of advocacy, just as in parenting, we can’t afford to let rules go unpoliced, or to allow rules to distort the intentions over which we so vigorously battled. We can’t ignore the trees, so to speak, if we want to keep the forest from burning down around us. The details matter.

This month in my Advanced Policy class, then, we focus on administrative advocacy, so that my students (I hope!) are prepared, first, to think about rule-making as an extension of their policy activities, and to bring their considerable skills and talents to this work. We go through the Federal Register and weigh in on rule changes. We identify the state and federal agencies charged with rulemaking and begin to build relationships with those bureaucrats. We explore whether the policy changes they seek alongside those they serve can be accomplished through regulations, and we brainstorm effective ways to engage clients as constituents in the rulemaking process.

Because that last piece is, I admit, more difficult in the administrative advocacy realm even than in legislative work. And yet it’s critical. Just like with my kids, where we have played a critical role in shaping the rules that govern our lives, we are more invested in upholding them (some might say zealous, if they saw my 3 oldest marking their territory).

So, as my students integrate this part of their advocacy repertoire into their work, what are your administrative advocacy tips to share? What lessons have you learned? What victories have you won? What has worked to make these efforts resonate with your organization and your constituency? What are your goals for rulemaking in your core issue areas in the months and years to come?

Because the answer to those questions, really, is the answer to “how do you seek to define our civilization?”

And I’m certain you have some ideas about that.

And, although it risks totally jinxing everything, I think I’m finally getting it.

This semester has been a sort of revelation to me–that the online and in-person learning do not need to happen in these discrete chunks, but can and, indeed, should truly blend throughout the course so that students become accustomed to learning in both venues simultaneously. I’ve also intentionally sought out materials that engage students in interactive learning online, so that they’re not just responding to my content in virtual platforms, but becoming part of a larger community of interest around policy concerns.

And, perhaps most significantly, it has dawned on me that, since most of my students will, as social workers, consume much of their policy-related information online (rather than in a class discussion format or a peer-reviewed journal), part of my task in these courses should be to help them develop skills to critically consume this material, so that they can analyze and filter and apply similar information throughout their careers.

Yes, another inspiration that should have occurred to me a long time ago, but, better late…right?

My favorite part of the blended classes is probably the discussion boards, because I get so much more participation from some of the quieter students than I do in class. This semester, I’m going to use a more detailed course evaluation that assesses student reactions to those individual components, so that I can get a better sense of which pieces they’re actually engaging with, and how those activities are contributing to their overall learning.

I am, as always, open to new ideas and critiques, but here’s what I’m doing differently this semester that (again, knock on everything!) seems to be working so far:

I love how their discussion board posts are punctuated with exclamation points, and how they’re nearly bubbling over with enthusiasm for our profession.

I love how they’re pretty wide open, in terms of where and how and with whom they’ll practice, and how they’re so eager to have contact with real people that they’ll embrace pretty much any exercise of social work skills.

I love how frequently they reference the strengths perspective, and the focus on person-in-environment, as something that drew them to social work over other helping professions.

I love how they ask questions, and not just about their assignments; they don’t yet know what they’ll need to know (do we ever?), so they want to know everything. I feel that way, too.

But, mainly, I love interfacing with (and hopefully impacting) students who most likely won’t become policy analysts or administrators, at least not right away. I love the opportunity to help those whose working lives will mostly be filled with helping clients meet their immediate needs figure out how to integrate macro practice into that direct work.

Because that’s really where my passions lay, and where I think the future of our profession rests: leveraging this huge “army” of direct practice social workers into a powerful force for social change.

This semester was a particularly rewarding one (and the grades are all posted now–it’s officially over!). I had two great sections of the same class: Community and Organizational Dynamics and Human Behavior (even though I can never remember the title without looking it up). Virtually without exception, I had students who were curious and compassionate and committed, and it made me feel really good about the future of our profession.

And, the most fun for me, they came to the course open to the idea of working with larger systems, and pretty quick to grasp how their clinical skills would help them with these bigger contexts. We could spend the semester, then, connecting their new theoretical understandings to these specific environments, and continually tying that work back to the heart of the matter: the impact on the clients we serve.

I tell my students at the beginning of the semester that my goal is not to turn them into macro social workers, but that I will work hard to help them become social workers who do macro practice (not necessarily the same thing). I believe that every social worker whose primary responsibilities are administration or community organizing or policy advocacy should be constantly focused on client well-being as the “bottom line” (otherwise, there’s too great a danger that we start acting like those job functions instead of like social workers, with our particular professional mandate and value base) and that every clinical social worker needs a complex understanding of how policy and other environmental constraints impact clients’ lives (and a commitment to remove barriers and make those environments more supportive).

That’s the mashup that our profession needs, and I really think these students will be part of bringing it to reality.

As part of the class, I ask students to share with me their evolving ideas about this integration, and what it might look like for their practice. I have their permission to share a few of these ideas, which are noteworthy not so much for their novelty as for their origin–these are the plans and hopes of our newest social work colleagues. And they bring a refreshing and pretty inspiring dedication to live them.

In this last post during this week of reflections about social media, I’m reflecting on a passage from The Facebook Effect where one of the founders shares his belief that Facebook creates a space for generosity by reducing the costs associated with sharing of oneself.

And that got me thinking about the ways in which I use social media, and about social work boundaries, and about transcending taboos about disclosing one’s beliefs.

And, if I can pull all of that together into anything coherent, I guess it’s this:

I share my beliefs about justice, and politics, and the world, not as much in an attempt to bring anyone ‘around’ to my way of thinking, but to be an integrated, whole person, and to rather transparently share that self with others.

I don’t think that I do my students, or my friends, or even my family members, any favors if I hide my beliefs, or tried, in pursuit of politeness, to present a bland caricature of who I really am. Nor, of course, would a single-minded pursuit of my own vision of righteous truth likely bring me closer to a generous sense of community.

But somewhere in between, in the realm of sharing how who I am (wife, mother, neighbor, friend, teacher) shapes what I believe (that we must welcome the stranger, that all children deserve a chance at their dreams, that health care is a right, that poverty is a global shame), I hope that I help others clarify their own beliefs, challenge their previously-held truths, and articulate a vision of “the good society.”

I did that before Facebook, obviously. Politics have never been off the table in my family, even though there’s considerable difference of opinion, and my friends have always known what I think.

But I will grant that social media have changed the nature of the conversation a bit, increased the number of occasions when there’s a chance for real dialogue, helped me to discover that some of my friends and even family share views of mine that I hadn’t known, and given me a chance to remind those with opposing views that there is a bond of love and respect between us nonetheless.

I’m still working on how to challenge statements without attacking that messenger, especially on issues (racial justice, equal rights for gays and lesbians) where I see things very clearly in “right” and “wrong”. I value the practice I get on Facebook, and the chance to weave humor and life and motherhood, in particular, into my activism as well.

I see it as a gift, too, when my students and others are willing to share their own beliefs with me, as a sort of extension of trust and demonstration that they’re engaged enough to invest a bit of themselves.

Have social media changed how you share your political perspectives with those in your social networks? If so, how? What’s your response to policy and political debates on Facebook and other social media? How do you live generously, as an advocate of social justice, in this connected age?

Of groups, and tipping points (photo credit Library of Congress)

I teach one non-policy course. It’s a human behavior class that I agreed to teach only because it focuses on groups, organizations, and communities, which are much more my areas of expertise than human behavior at the individual or family levels. I actually enjoyed the hundreds of hours of readings I did about systems theory and different schools of thought about how people work together (or not) and how those patterns of interactions shape outcomes in these collectives.

I’ve been thinking more about this idea of the role that groups, and group formation, play in social change, both because I can’t think of any single example where a significant, positive social change resulted solely from the actions of an individual (or even a family), and because humans naturally group together, so understanding how to harness the power of these collections for good is a fundamental piece of community organizing.

In The Tipping Point, Gladwell provides several examples of how people respond to new ideas, challenges, and threats differently within a supportive group context, and how building the right kind of group can impact how ideas take hold and, ultimately, plant the seeds of social change.

I’ve seen this in my own organizing work, vividly. People who would never march down the center of the street, or demand action from a member of Congress, will do so with the support of a strong group of peers.

And, in Cognitive Surplus, Shirky picks up on another aspect of groups–essentially, their potential to generate momentum for change but also their risk of falling into a pattern of meeting individuals’ needs while failing to affect their environments. In my class, we call this the tension between maintenance/affective and productive/generative functions.

I’ve seen this, too: Boards of Directors that amble aimlessly into their meetings every month, groups that expend unbelievable energy organizing the same tired events every year without result, and groups that descend into chaos and infighting.

Both authors illustrate the high stakes involved in getting this right, in creating the former outcome rather than the latter. Shirky sees creating groups that can challenge their members to higher purposes as critical in the quest to put our cognitive surplus to good use, while Gladwell focuses somewhat more on those affective functions, citing the creation of a strong support cushion as key to rooting a significant new idea in an individual’s consciousness.

And both reflect on the unique properties of groups, which are simultaneously collections of individuals and entities in their own right, a dynamic we discuss in class as part of the reason why I think social workers naturally make great community organizers: bringing together any group of people requires the ability to work with people as, well, people.

We know in community organizing, though, and I teach in class, that not every grouping of people really becomes a group. The best groups are often built intentionally, or at least consciously fostered. The size of the group matters, too–too big, and people can’t build meaningful relationships, but, too small, and they won’t be exposed to a diverse set of ideas. And groups that will result in social change need to also be connected to other groups, both so that they can diffuse the values/behaviors/attitudes (or issues/campaigns/causes) you want to spread, and so that they resist the temptation to fall into an unproductive echo chamber of sorts.

I’m sure that you’ve been a part of many groups, some which were powerful vehicles for social change, and some which failed to get off the ground, or even actively impeded progress. From your social worker’s perspective on human behavior and group dynamics, what can community organizers and social justice activists do to create groups that will serve our common interests, and to intervene in groups gone awry? How can we use groups in our own macro practice, and what kinds of groups must we create in order to sustain ourselves in our quest for a better tomorrow?

At the end of this first semester of “blended” (half online, half traditional classroom instruction) social policy teaching, I’m fairly conflicted. There were some aspects of the experience that I found very rewarding, especially the blurring of the lines between “learning time” and “regular life”–I tend to think about social policy a lot of the time, weaving my ruminations into my daily interactions, and I think that the more fluid nature of the blended course prompted that among my students, too. But it was a semester with considerably more angst than usual, which, for someone who teaches people who want to be social workers about the part of social work (social policy) that we tend not to think too much about, is really saying something. I would love to share this discussion with my own students, current and former, as well as other students and instructors who have engaged in online or blended learning. Here’s where I sit, with one semester down:

If only I could get him to come to my class. In Philanthrocapitalism, Bill Gates tells the story that what turned him into a large-scale philanthropist was a World Bank report on global health that exposed him to the global injustices to which he had been largely blind.

That’s the power of a stark social indicator, folks. Worth billions of dollars. Literally.

Okay, so even someone as pro-social indicator as I am can’t promise that you’ll see that kind of response to all of your data. But it’s important to remember that the 2010 Census, the results of which will start flowing soon, matter for more than just federal allocations of dollars.

U.S. Census data help us know our communities, plan our programs, justify our needs (and our very existence), and tell our stories. They provide the backdrop to the grassroots, participatory research that we’re doing, and they can help us to identify trends that demand our attention or signs that we’re making progress. They put new issues on the agenda, focus media and public attention on the status of our society, and (if we play it right) give voice to problems and populations that might otherwise be overlooked. You’ll turn to them dozens of times over the next 10 years, weaving them into grant applications and referencing them in your reports and citing them in policy briefs and projecting them in dramatic maps.

So they need to include the people with whom you work, those who populate your community, those whose lives need to count. Not just because it means more highway dollars for your MSA, but because, otherwise, all of the decisions and conclusions that flow from these data (do we need to translate government documents into Spanish?, should we invest more in services for young families or older adults?, which populations need the most attention in terms of educational attainment?, where have we made the biggest gains?) will be made without them, too.

We don’t know, yet, who might be watching those social indicators, looking for something to catch their eyes, needing the right piece of data to convince them that a problem deserves their attention. But we know that the U.S. Census continues to be the leading source of the indicators we’ll count on to guide our work on our most vexing challenges in the decade to come, so we know that we all need to count.