Social work nationally and internationally presents itself as a human rights and social justice profession, and a commitment to equality and to anti-discriminatory and anti-oppressive practice (ADP/AOP) has been a key professional tenet in the UK since the late 1980s. However, as chapter 2 has shown, what constitutes justice and equality are contested political questions. What is just from one ideological perspective is unjust from another. Solas (2008) argues that social workers have a professional responsibility to promote social justice by challenging discrimination, recognizing diversity, promoting equitable distribution of resources and collaborative working. But some understanding of important underlying philosophical and political debates is necessary in order to translate these principles into practice and deal with the complex issues that they engender.
Many social workers interpret ADP or AOP only at a micro interpersonal level and very literally, understanding it to mean they must act in accordance with the law and not personally discriminate against service users on the basis of ‘race’/ethnicity, sexual orientation, sex, age, religion or disability, or alternatively that they have a duty to challenge service users’ discriminatory attitudes. Few envisage social work practice as including resistance to laws and organizational policies that may be oppressive, or as involving policy advocacy or wider political campaigning (Cocker and Hafford-Letchfield 2014). Nevertheless, a more critical approach is necessary to help social workers with the real difficulties they face in putting the ideals of the profession into practice. This can help them to deal with the fear of being accused of religious discrimination, racism or homophobia. It can also facilitate an understanding that cultural sensitivity is not the same as an uncritical acceptance of all difference, or that a safeguarding authority role does not automatically entail being oppressive to marginalized groups. Fears of this kind have sometimes resulted in high-risk situations – for example, those involving vulnerable children – being ignored or misinterpreted, with tragic consequences. At the same time, social workers have arguably been complicit in oppressing some children through their legally mandated role – for example, in conducting age assessments on unaccompanied asylum-seeking children (e.g. Humphries 2004). Many social workers understandably find it difficult to articulate what the ethical commitment to social justice means in practice. As Reisch comments: ‘The marginalization of macro practice within social work … has produced a corruption of the profession’s vocabulary. Terms such as social justice, oppression and empowerment are freely used but have been largely drained of their broader political and ideological implications’ (2013: 718).
This chapter examines the inter-related concepts of social justice, equality and citizenship in order to give practitioners a deeper understanding of them and illuminate their positive possibilities for social work. Social justice is a broad and political concept, loosely pivoting around ‘fairness’, but is an issue on which there are many different views. Questions about how to promote social justice involve thinking about what is meant by equality, how to deal with difference, who is entitled to what kinds of provision in a socially just society and whether some rights transcend particular societies and apply to all human beings. When the abstract concepts of social justice and equality are applied in practice, this often occurs within the particular context of nation states where only citizens qualify for many of the rights that give them access to justice and equality. This then raises questions about the basis of citizenship, and the nature of the rights associated with it. It is difficult, if not impossible, to disentangle these different but often interlinked concepts from one another fully and discuss them individually. The oldest foundational concept of citizenship is examined first, leading to a discussion of rights, equality and diversity. Wider visions of social justice which often incorporate one or more of these subsidiary concepts are covered towards the end of the theoretical part of the chapter. Their direct relationship to social work is then analysed through an examination of debates about ADP and AOP, which are currently the most obvious manifestations of the profession’s practical commitment to social justice and equality. The final section of the chapter discusses case examples which illustrate the difficulties and dilemmas that are raised in implementing the principles examined in this chapter.
Citizenship is a concept dating back to the Ancient Greek city states of Athens and Sparta, denoting a particular kind of relationship between an individual and a community, involving both obligations and rights. In Ancient Greek society, all free adult males had citizenship status, which brought with it the duty to defend the state and the duty (and the right) to participate in both ruling, and being ruled by, the body of fellow citizens (Dwyer 2010: 18–19). Women, children, strangers and slaves were accorded few rights or opportunities, their servitude releasing time for free males to perform their citizenship duties. From its inception to the present day, citizenship has denoted inclusion and rights for some, but exclusion for others, traditionally depending upon a formal, legal relationship between the individual and the state and an associated ‘national’ identity (Lister 2010).
T. H. Marshall’s book Citizenship and Social Class, published in 1950, offers a historical and theoretical analysis of citizenship which is still a key point of reference for contemporary discussion. Marshall subdivided the rights conferred by citizenship into civil (legal), political and social rights. Civil rights brought equality under the law, freedom of speech, thought and religion, the right to own property and to enter into contracts. These became significant political issues in the UK from the mid eighteenth century. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, political rights, such as the right to vote and stand for election, were gradually extended in most European countries, although women and working-class men gained the vote much later than White upper-class Protestant males (Van Ewijk 2010). Social rights, by which Marshall meant ‘the whole range from the right to a modicum of economic welfare and security to the right to share to the full in the social heritage and to live the civilised life according to the standards prevailing in society’ ([1950] 1992: 8), were not established to any significant extent in the UK until the second half of the twentieth century.
The post-war welfare settlement in the UK (discussed in chapter 1) incorporated the state’s acceptance of the rights of all citizens to a certain minimum level of income security, public housing, education, social services and healthcare provision. Marshall’s conception of social citizenship, however, was never fully realized (Lockwood 1996). The unemployment benefit rate set by Beveridge in the 1940s fell short of the subsistence rate advocated by Rowntree, and entitlement was conditional on looking for work. From the 1980s onwards, benefits have increasingly been means-tested, with the stigma that brings, and subject to tighter job search requirements. Arguably, the failure to accord adequate social rights to all citizens undermines their civil and political rights (Turner 1997) because exercising those rights becomes difficult or meaningless to someone who is homeless, hungry or economically trapped in a violent crime-ridden area.
Marshall and the pioneers of the welfare state were principally concerned with social rights as a way of addressing class inequalities, and showed little understanding of other sources of inequality such as gender, disability, sexual orientation, ‘race’ and ethnicity. Access to financial security in the post-war welfare state was premised on a heterosexual male breadwinner, with married women’s and children’s access to social rights based on their dependence on the husband/father. Citizenship rights were also based on nationality and therefore excluded many immigrants.
In parallel with the development of social rights associated with national citizenship in the UK and many other European countries in the post-war period, the revelations of the atrocities committed by the Nazis during the Second World War resulted in the formalization of a new conception of universal human rights that transcended national boundaries. These were set out in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in 1948, underlining the ‘basic rights and fundamental freedoms [which] are inherent to all human beings, inalienable and equally applicable to everyone’ (UN website). These rights were hugely important but were aspirational rather than being legally binding on all nation states (Martell 2009). The European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR), drawn up in 1950, set out a series of civil rights that apply to all citizens of the signatory nations. These can be enforced by the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR), to which individuals from any of the signatory nations can apply if they believe that their rights have been violated by the state in which they live. The rights covered by the ECHR include the right to privacy; the right to family life; the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; the right to freedom of expression; and the right to freedom from inhumane and degrading treatment. The UDHR and the ECHR therefore introduced a conception of rights which transcended citizenship of a particular nation and was based on ideas about universal human attributes. ‘Human rights’ involve an identification between the individual and the human species, without any intermediary source of collective identity (such as gender, social class or ethnicity), and in this way are ultimately individualistic, unlike citizenship rights which are based on common nationality.
Although human rights law has in some limited respects equalized the position of citizens and non-citizens within and between nation states, individuals are dependent on a complex mix of human and citizenship rights applied across different groups and in different countries very unevenly (Nash 2009). There are increasing numbers of people living in the UK who do not have full citizenship rights – for example migrants from inside and outside the EU, whose residence may give them some but not all of the rights of citizens, and asylum seekers, who have no citizenship rights or rights deriving from residence, but have human rights which may provide them with some protection (Calhoun 2003).
Early analysis of social citizenship focused on social class inequalities and poverty as obstacles to full citizenship, but more recent discussion has shown how other important and often interlocking inequalities were overlooked. Social citizenship rights were defined on the basis of needs (what was needed ‘to live the civilised life according to the standards prevailing in society’ in Marshall’s words), which were based on professionals’ expert assessments of people’s needs rather than on ordinary people’s own understanding of them (Lund 2006) (see chapter 6 for further discussion on needs). The language of rights carries more power and has greater potential for exposing structural inequalities than the language of needs (Dickens 2010). The social movements in the 1960s and 1970s which fought for equal treatment for women and Black, disabled and gay people were rights-based and drew attention to the failure of needs-based citizenship entitlements to treat all citizens fairly. In the 1980s and 1990s both social policy and social work therefore became more sensitive to a range of social divisions and inequalities in addition to social class.
Changing social attitudes and the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s led to legislation to outlaw sex and race discrimination in employment and other areas. The feminist, anti-racist and disability movements raised awareness of the ways in which social welfare was affected by discriminatory ideas and problematic social constructions (Williams 1989, 1992: 6). As a result, social policy gradually became less concerned with the technical administration of welfare, adopting a more sociologically informed perspective which recognized diversity and the social construction of social divisions (Walker 2013; see also chapter 3).
People differ from each other in many ways. Some people are intellectual, others artistic, sporty or practical. Some people have blue eyes, others brown or green eyes. The colour of people’s skin and their age varies. Some are religious whilst others are agnostic or atheist. Differences are rendered important when one characteristic becomes the basis for attributing differential social or moral status and resources – for example, the good Christian versus the dangerous Muslim, or the normal heterosexual versus the deviant homosexual. Stereotyping is one way this is achieved, and stereotypes are social constructions often built onto a single characteristic that homogenizes a particular group (Blum 2004) and thereby can have a significant impact on that group’s life opportunities and outcomes. For example, homophobic peer bullying in schools is rarely effectively tackled because homosexuality is socially constructed as unnatural, deviant and undesirable, despite it being a protected characteristic under the 2010 Equality Act. Gay men, for example, have been traditionally stereotyped as effeminate and ineffectual pseudo-men, and lesbians as butch and aggressive man haters. Gay teenagers therefore, unsurprisingly, often suffer poorer mental health than their heterosexual peers, construing themselves in relation to society’s wider negative attitudes and their treatment by others. Social equality, which requires changes in prevailing social attitudes, may therefore lag significantly behind the formal legal equality provided by anti-discrimination legislation (Seidman 2005; Fish 2008).
A social division incorporates social constructions and stereotypes but also refers to the way in which certain groups of people are differentiated from others in a way that produces enduring inequalities of status and resources. You may have been teased as a child because you wore glasses, rebelled or had acne or red hair. That experience, however, differs fundamentally from being consistently oppressed or discriminated against in a variety of spheres because you are Black, gay, female, an older person, a looked-after child or disabled. Social divisions are relatively longlasting and extend from everyday small-scale interactions to wider societal norms, values and politics, influencing the way that institutions and organizations operate (Payne 2015). Through this process, people or groups with certain characteristics become homogenized and labelled as good or bad, natural or unnatural, desirable or undesirable persons. For example, old age is often constructed negatively as a time of decrepitude and passivity, and old people correspondingly are often stereotyped as unproductive, worthless and ‘past it’, many being abused in institutions or by their home carers and families (EHRC 2011). The negative perception of old age may help to explain why elder abuse, when exposed in the media, fails to elicit the kind of social outrage and action that child abuse does.
Social class, gender and ‘race’/ethnicity are generally accepted as the three most significant social divisions, with religion, age/generation, sexual orientation, mental health/illness and disability also identified as important (Spicker 2014; Payne 2015). Although there are varying definitions and understandings of oppression, including dictionary definitions which refer to the experience of being held or weighed down, it tends to occur socially when individuals are ‘systematically subjected to political, economic, cultural, or social degradation because they belong to a [particular] social group [and it] … results from structures of domination and subordination and, correspondingly, ideologies of superiority and inferiority’ (Charlton 1998: 8). Oppression generally involves systemic, widespread and repeated injustice, although this is not necessarily extreme or legally sanctioned (as in restricting certain groups from voting or imposing apartheid or slavery) and does not necessarily involve direct violence (Deutsch 2006). Oppression, therefore, is an enduring but dynamic multi-level process which restricts, dehumanizes and degrades certain groups of people and operates through a complex mesh of unequal power relations. It is often so effective that individuals in some groups internalize that oppression and come to believe in their own unfitness or unworthiness, whilst others may be unaware that they are oppressing others and benefiting from that situation.
Some theorists identify social class as the most important social division; others have prioritized gender or ‘race’/ethnicity (e.g. Anthias 2014). In social work, although multiple divisions and oppressions have been acknowledged (Carr 2014; Healy 2014), racism has often been represented, explicitly or implicitly, as the most important division or oppression (CCETSW paper 30, 1989; Williams 1989; Macey and Moxon 1996; Graham and Schiele 2010; Wagner and Yee 2011) despite low social class / poverty being the defining characteristic of most service users. The concept of intersectionality represents an attempt to move away from identifying a single hierarchy of oppression (is ‘race’ more important than gender, or social class more significant than either?) in favour of looking at the ways in which social divisions interact to position individuals differentially. Social divisions may operate in ways that are mutually reinforcing or contradictory (Walby et al. 2012). An individual’s characteristics may render them subordinate in one or more categories, for example, being female and/or Black, but privileged through being middle class; alternatively, they may be subordinate in all categories.
These intersections have important implications for how people construct their identities. Moustafa, a sixteen-year-old youth of Moroccan parentage attending a youth centre in Germany, when seeing he was listed in a register as male and foreign, pulled out his national identity card and stated: ‘Wrongly registered. I am proud to be German’ (Ploesser and Mecheril 2011: 796). He identified with the ‘privileged’ aspect of his identity (German), rather than his ethnic parentage (Moroccan). Under other circumstances – for example, an occasion bringing together wider family and friends to celebrate a significant family event – the same young man might have strongly identified with his ethnic parentage and dissociated himself from his nationality. Identity is inherently flexible and context-specific. However, groups competing for recognition and resources often put forward a static view of culture, in which flexible and multiple identity positions are denied (Van Zoonen 2013), and where the most powerful individuals within the community, generally men, effectively silence more marginalized members, often women or children (Harris 2001: 32). State practices also tend to manage identities through singularizing them – for example, some European countries advocate abolishing dual citizenship (Van Zoonen 2013); others make immigrants conform to mythical or exaggerated national rituals and values in order to gain citizenship or other valued statuses or resources (Byrne 2012).
Intersecting social divisions such as class, gender and ‘race’/ethnicity may compound disadvantage, sometimes referred to as double or triple jeopardy, and involve not only individual factors but linked cultural and structural ones. These might include ‘greater exposure to toxins, carcinogens and violence; fewer resources (parks, libraries, supermarkets); lack of access to healthcare; health-damaging behaviours such as use of cigarettes, excessive alcohol use, and lack of exercise and psychological states such as anger and a low sense of control, autonomy and trust’ (Adler 2013: 680). The recognition of intersectionality produces complex real-world dilemmas about how to campaign most effectively for policies to address problems where there may be different and competing interests and claims for resources (Walby et al. 2012). This is particularly apparent in relation to disputes around sexuality, religion and women’s and children’s rights. For example, forced marriage, sex trafficking, female genital mutilation (FGM) and honour-based killing all constitute genderbased violence but also intersect with religion, ethnicity, gender inequality, nation and childhood. It is unclear whether it is possible to draw up policies that can effectively address the complexities of intersectionality or whether they have to be dealt with singly – for example, through policies to prevent gendered violence, violence against children or violence based on claims about religious beliefs.
The preceding section showed how social constructions rely on stereotypes and are the basis for social divisions, which reproduce inequality and disadvantage. We turn now to examine different ideas about equality and their implications for countering discrimination and achieving social justice.
There are different forms of equality (social, political, moral, etc.) and also different ideas about what constitutes equality and how to achieve it. Four possible alternatives are: (i) giving everyone equal (but not necessarily identical) opportunities to compete for a given reward or position; (ii) treating everyone uniformly (regardless of need or outcome); (iii) conceiving equality as the differential meeting of need; or (iv) ensuring that, even if starting positions are different, outcomes are made equal (Spicker 2014). Those on both the right and left of the political spectrum often claim a commitment to individual equality of opportunity, the most commonly accepted orientation towards equality in the UK, but they have different ideas about what this means. Frequently, understandings of equality are reduced to economic equality (often expressed as sufficient income, shelter and food), but White (2007) identifies different but integrally linked forms of equality. These are mostly associated with the different kinds of citizenship rights (civil, political and social) identified by Marshall and discussed earlier. White’s final category, moral equality, however, seems to occupy a slightly different position and have more resonance with ideas about recognition and respect (identity) that will be examined later. White’s different equalities are briefly examined and illustrated below:
Equality legislation introduced in the UK from the 1960s onwards is concerned primarily with social and economic equality. The 2010 UK Equality Act harmonized and streamlined earlier anti-discrimination legislation and added some new ‘protected’ characteristics. The legislation now prohibits discrimination in relation to: age; disability; gender reassignment; marriage and civil partnership; pregnancy and maternity; race; religion and belief; sex and sexual orientation.
The Act places a legal duty upon public and private employers, including social services, to refrain from discrimination, harassment and victimization. It also requires employers to make reasonable adjustments for disabled people. Discrimination is defined as treating an individual or group less favourably on the basis of actual or perceived protected characteristics. Employers in the public sector are required to foster equality of opportunity, promote good relations, set equality objectives, have ‘due regard’ (proactively plan) for the need to eliminate discrimination, and publish information on their performance. Inequality resulting from social class is, however, not recognized under this Act or wider EU legislation (Walby et al. 2012), yet class, or more broadly socio-economic status (SES), is an important form of inequality which intersects with other inequalities (Hills et al. 2010) and is a key issue in social work and social justice debates.
Despite some of the legislation having been in place for almost fifty years, it is apparent that certain groups continue to suffer significant inequality, although selecting one characteristic or group or assuming everyone in one specific group will have the same experiences, without considering interconnecting or contradictory characteristics, clearly simplifies the issues.
Evidence that at least some of these persistent inequalities are the result of direct discrimination is provided by a government study (Wood et al., 2009) in which three almost identical written applications were sent to public and private employers for just under 1,000 posts at different levels. The only difference between the three applications in each case was that the applicants’ names were associated with different ethnic groups – White, and a variety of different ethnic minorities. One in nine applications from White candidates received a positive response, compared with only one in sixteen for those with names associated with ethnic minorities, which is evidence of continuing racial discrimination. Continuing discrimination and inequality, despite equality legislation, are not unique to the UK. Taylor-Gooby (2011) found that, despite formal equal opportunities policies in many European countries, informal mechanisms and social networks privileged those in the higher social classes, particularly men. Education was the most important factor in class advantage, even in more social democratic societies, with gender inequality particularly high in the UK, Germany and Poland.
One common understanding of equality, touched upon at the beginning of the chapter, is treating everyone in the same manner, sometimes known as ‘formal or procedural equality’. However, the effect of treating everyone the same may be unfair if this produces divergent outcomes for different groups in the population. For example, a minimum height requirement of 5 ft 10 ins for joining the fire service excludes a much larger number of women than men. While historically the height requirement was justified, developments in technology (e.g. hydraulic ladders) have made this unnecessary, and it has been abolished. However, good eyesight remains a precondition for firefighters because it is necessary to perform the job competently. In terms of social work education, it might be considered fair only to accept applicants who have the same or equivalent qualifications. However, if it is accepted that those from privileged backgrounds are likely to have greater opportunities to gain such qualifications, then such a position may seem less fair. Therefore, as a way of widening participation to include those from traditionally under-represented groups, such as those who come from a deprived postcode area or an underperforming school, one could consider whether they might be offered a place with lower than expected or required entry qualifications in order to compensate partially for past disadvantage. This is known as positive discrimination or affirmative action and is an attempt to counter the historic discrimination and subsequent under-representation of certain groups in particular spheres. It was introduced in the USA in the 1960s to combat racial and then sexual discrimination in employment and later extended to education, but has been controversial. There have been numerous US court cases that challenge its constitutional legitimacy, alongside other claims that it is not effective because – amongst other reasons – it favours the most fortunate (but not necessarily the most able) in certain groups (such as upper- or middle-class, as opposed to working-class, Blacks) (Sowell 2005). These examples show that equality interpreted as uniformity is not always the most appropriate principle for achieving a fair outcome, but also that approaches such as positive discrimination have problems associated with them and do not always meet their aims.
All forms of feminism see women as oppressed in some way, but suggest different causes and solutions. The three principal perspectives are liberal, radical and socialist feminism. Liberal feminists seek to achieve gender equality by the reform of laws and policies that discriminate against women (or men) but do not fundamentally challenge the structure of society. However, the liberal approach, which focuses on equal treatment, risks simply trying to fit women into a male norm. For example, it is not enough to treat women and men equally in relation to employment, when employment and promotion opportunities are based on male patterns of work, and do not take into account women’s and men’s different socialization and education or the constraints on women because of their childcare and domestic responsibilities (Blackburn 1999). Radical feminists see the root cause of women’s oppression as patriarchy, which involves men ruling society for the benefit of men, using violence to control and subordinate women. This does not mean all men are violent or misogynists or that they all equally benefit from or welcome such a system, but they may nonetheless collude with patriarchy by failing to challenge others’ oppression or violence. Radical feminists advocate fundamental changes in society including breaking down gender roles and establishing new and completely different relationships between men, between women, and between men and women. Socialist feminists see women’s oppression as being caused by the interaction of capitalism with patriarchy. Patriarchy results in women’s subordination to men, servicing them through their domestic labour, which is often not recognized as a form of work at all. Women’s subordinate domestic position in turn makes women a particularly useful source of labour for capital, as they can be drawn into the labour market and used to undercut working-class men’s wages, or act as a ‘reserve’ to be drawn upon when there is a labour shortage. Even when in paid employment, women are often trapped in part-time caring or service jobs which are poorly paid and low status. Their poor pay and conditions are justified by reference to gender stereotypes which present women’s capabilities as an expression of their ‘natural’ capacities rather than as learned skills. For socialist feminists the solution lies in the overthrow of both capitalism and patriarchy.
Equality is clearly an important condition for social justice, although, as the previous section indicates, there are different and sometimes conflicting interpretations of what equality means. This section examines five different theoretical approaches to social justice in the context of their different interpretations of equality. Meritocratic approaches adopt a narrow interpretation of justice as concerned only with equality of opportunity. Rawls’ theory of justice is more concerned with equal treatment and/or outcomes, particularly in relation to resource allocation. The politics of recognition sees social justice as being achieved principally through respectful accommodation of diversity and difference The fourth perspective equates social justice with ‘parity of participation’ and addresses the distribution of cultural, political and economic resources so that all groups are equally able to participate in society. Finally, the capabilities approach is principally concerned with giving people the opportunities to live a life they value.
Meritocrats believe that in a just society the most talented and hardest-working will receive the greatest rewards in terms of their income and social status. This is viewed as being both fair and to the benefit of society as a whole, with rewards and status linked to the social value of the work performed. There is an acceptance that within a meritocratic system there will be inequality in outcomes – less talented or less diligent people will work in lower-status jobs and receive lower pay, but in a fully meritocratic society equality of opportunity will ensure social mobility – the ability to move up or down social hierarchies and change your social and economic status. The central issue for meritocrats is how to ensure real equality of opportunity for those from very different backgrounds, since there is clear evidence, for example, of the very early effects of poverty in childhood on health, development and educational achievement (Dannefer 2003; Johnson and Kossykh 2008). It may also be difficult to achieve consensus about the societal value of different occupations. Consider the difficulties involved in comparing the social value of the work of care workers, town planners, bankers and neurosurgeons.
Many Western liberal democracies adopt meritocratic principles because these seem to be both a fair and an efficient way of organizing society. Welfare states demonstrate different degrees of commitment to meritocracy. States with a weak commitment, such as the UK, typically have anti-discrimination legislation but, as shown earlier, without other measures to address social and economic inequalities, this has had limited effectiveness. The UK’s Commission on Social Mobility and the Child Poverty Commission examined the backgrounds of 4,000 leaders in business, law, politics, the media and other aspects of public life. They found that those from public/independent school and/or Oxbridge educational backgrounds were heavily over-represented and that diversity and talent were effectively being ‘locked out’ of the most socially and politically influential posts (Social Mobility and Child Poverty Commission 2014). A stronger commitment to meritocracy involves the recognition that, even without deliberate discrimination, wealthy and/or talented parents can negotiate or purchase better education for their children, cultivate their talents and access elite networks. More strongly meritocratic states therefore implement anti-discrimination legislation but also address the disadvantages that result from differential access to financial, social and cultural resources.
All forms of meritocracy are subject to the criticism that they are intrinsically unfair to the less talented. If, for example, a highly talented person can earn £500,000 per year working full-time but chooses to work one day a week and earns £100,000 a year, while another less able person receives £12,000 working full-time and often works overtime to pay essential bills – is this fair? Rawls (1999) and Dworkin (1985) therefore both argue meritocracy and equal opportunity are not a means to achieve social justice because people’s opportunities are either enhanced or constrained by ‘natural endowments’ that they have no control over.
The political philosopher John Rawls in A Theory of Justice (1971) proposed a set of principles for achieving a socially just society. His method for arriving at these principles is an interesting one, involving a ‘thought experiment’. The experiment was to think about what principles people would generally accept as the basis for distributing resources fairly if they had no knowledge of what their own position was in that society, e.g. whether they were male or female, able-bodied or disabled, young or old, Black or White – characteristics that are the result of what Rawls called brute luck. This method led him to three principles, which he believed balanced liberty with a fair distribution of resources:
These principles, Rawls believed, would ensure a distribution of rights and liberties, income and wealth, status and opportunities that was just, and so would produce a just society.
Luck egalitarianism (Cohen 2000; Dworkin 2000) originates from Rawls’ belief that people should not be disadvantaged by unpredictable factors – brute luck. It argues the state should prevent or compensate for factors that people have no control over, but luck egalitarianism does not endorse making allowances for, or penalizing, the outcomes emanating from poor or good choices – option luck. One problem with trying to balance liberty (the freedom to act as one chooses) with equality is how to deal with the outcomes of the different ways in which individuals use their liberty – in particular, where inequalities result from ‘bad’ or ‘good’ choices, such as a lucky win on the Grand National or a life-changing disability as a result of a drink-driving car accident. However, the distinction between brute luck (the effects of chance) and option luck (the effects of choices made) is not clear-cut. Someone of limited intelligence may make poor choices which lead to bad outcomes that might have been foreseen and avoided by others. Children may suffer from bad choices made by their parents about their upbringing and education. But those choices may be shaped by the parents’ own circumstances. Is this brute luck or option luck? Luck egalitarianism has therefore been criticized for these reasons, and leaves those destitute or desperate through poor choices unsupported and vulnerable (Anderson 1999).
The anti-racist, feminist, disability and gay social movements of the 1960s and 1970s demanded equal treatment and played a key role in initiating anti-discrimination legislation in the UK and the USA (Martin 2000). However, as we have seen, these measures have had limited effect. Some people have argued that disrespect and lack of recognition for disadvantaged groups such as women, gay couples, Travellers (established itinerant ethnic groups), asylum seekers or religious minorities are more damaging than unequal distribution of resources, and that the key to social justice is therefore about identity formation and validation: recognition (Young 1990).
Fraser (2008) conversely argued that the focus on identity, which equates social justice with recognition, jeopardized equality claims (see also Fraser and Honneth 2003). She argued that social justice involves integrally linked political, cultural and economic dimensions, none of which is reducible to or takes precedence over another. Fraser sees parity of participation as the ultimate goal of social justice, requiring ‘social arrangements that permit all to participate as peers in social life’. The obstacles to achieving this are: (i) distributive injustice or maldistribution, which involves people being denied material resources required to interact with others; (ii) status inequality or misrecognition – that is, cultural hierarchies which devalue and disrespect some groups and elevate others. Examples include the stereotyping of Muslims as religious fundamentalists and terrorists, women’s subordinate position in numerous cultures, and the criminalization and stigmatization of gay people in many countries (Green and Grant 2008). Fraser’s third dimension, misrepresentation, relates to decisions that exclude some people from participating as equals in political and other spheres. Misrepresentation is essentially the denial of an equal or valued voice in democratic decision making and public discussions. In this way, people may be nominally included – for example, having the formal right to vote or air their opinion in public debates – but may not feel sufficiently worthy or informed to contribute. Alternatively, they may be disregarded, manipulated or have their opinions discredited. This dimension of representation is similar to White’s conception of political equality. Fraser argues that to subdivide social injustice into separate spheres, and argue that one, such as identity misrecognition, is separate from or more important than another, is misguided.
The capabilities approach, developed by two political philosophers, Nussbaum (2011) and Sen (2009), is concerned with the multiple conditions that enable individuals to make informed choices about how to lead a worthwhile life and gain self-respect and the respect of others. ‘Capabilities’ refer to the material, social or psychological resources that enable each individual to ‘do’ or ‘be’ something they see as valuable. This will vary between cultures and individuals and the theory is therefore not predominantly concerned with equal resources or equivalent or identical outcomes but with the conditions that allow an individual to flourish. Good mental health might involve the freedom to go where one wants in public, or to associate freely with whomever one chooses. Achieving this requires social and moral equality which does not necessarily depend on material resources. The capabilities approach – like luck egalitarianism, but unlike Rawls’ theory of justice – incorporates a particular theory of responsibility. A person who has the capability to perform specific functions, but fails to do so, is deemed responsible for the consequences. This approach is concerned principally with human agency and processes, as opposed to outcomes. Both the capabilities approach and Fraser’s view of social justice as parity of participation adopt a multidimensional approach to achieving a just society.
The preceding discussion reveals equality and social justice as contested, multi-faceted and interlinked concepts that have developed from understandings of citizenship, human rights and social divisions. Some theories are predominantly focused on equal treatment, equal opportunities or equal outcomes; others stress the pre-eminent importance of respecting and accommodating difference, or making people responsible for freely chosen actions but not for unpredictable events. Some concentrate on one particular aspect, such as economic equality, whereas others are multi-dimensional. Social workers need to think through what their views and commitments are in relation to social justice, rights, equality and difference, both generally and in response to specific situations that they may encounter.
The next section examines social work’s understanding of social justice and equality, concepts which it has tended to interpret and then deploy in fairly narrow ways that focus on anti-discriminatory practice at the level of the individual. This obscures the wider structural causes of inequality and shifts attention away from a broader conception of social justice to the accommodation of individual diversity. However, even this narrow focus has proved problematic. An uncritical and simplistic acceptance of multiculturalism has sometimes resulted in social workers who are fearful of being labelled as discriminatory towards others’ cultures or religions, condoning oppressive behaviours. They have consequently failed to assess and intervene appropriately in complex safeguarding situations where vulnerable children, or perhaps adults too, are at significant risk. We therefore examine some complex practice scenarios and issues and outline some of the factors social workers may need to take into account when analysing and assessing such situations.
The social work profession promotes social change, problem solving in human relationships and the empowerment and liberation of people to enhance well-being. Utilising theories of human behaviour and social systems, social work intervenes at the points where people interact with their environments. Principles of human rights and social justice are fundamental. (BASW 2012a: 5)
This internationally accepted definition presents the social work profession as informed by social science and committed to social justice and human rights. Social work’s clientele is drawn from the most marginalized and multiply disadvantaged groups in society across the life course (from the neglected child, the juvenile offender, the mentally ill adult, to the older person requiring residential care) (Marmot 2010). Social workers need to be able to address intersecting injustices and inequalities competently at individual and structural levels and intergenerationally, and this involves ensuring that their practice is based on a thorough understanding of ADP/AOP principles. Some commentators view ADP as narrowly concerned with the legal context and individual discrimination whereas others link AOP with a wider commitment to combatting oppression, with a third group perceiving little difference (Healy 2014). Most writers on ADP/AOP would, however, underline the importance of social justice, encourage multidimensional analysis and support both a micro- and a macro-level approach (e.g. Dominelli 2002; Thompson 2003; Dalrymple and Burke 2006; Okitikpi and Aymer 2010). In the remainder of this chapter, we use the term ‘AOP’ rather than ‘ADP’ because it shifts the semantic focus away from a narrow concern with individual discrimination to a wider understanding of oppression as operating, and requiring responses, at different levels.
Social work’s commitment to AOP appeared in the late 1980s, although in the 1970s and 1980s there was a radical social work tradition influenced by Marxism which focused on state oppression and social class inequalities. In 1989, the Central Council for Education and Training in Social Work (CCETSW), the body with responsibility for social work training, published The Rules and Requirements for the Diploma in Social Work (referred to as ‘Paper 30’). This set out, for the first time, the need for social work training providers to show that their programmes included anti-discriminatory and anti-racist policies and that they had policies and procedures for implementing and monitoring these. A modified edition concerned predominantly with ‘race’ appeared in 1991. CCETSW’s requirements also need to be understood within the context of changing responses to ethnic diversity in the UK (discussed further in the section on ‘race’ and ethnicity), as well as different perspectives within feminism, briefly outlined earlier. It is therefore unsurprising that CCETSW Paper 30 did not specify that social workers should take action against social injustice, or itself clearly explain what it understood social justice to mean. It specified social work students should merely possess awareness of the inter-related processes of race, class and gender oppression, which, as this chapter has shown, is highly challenging, involving differing interpretations of what constitutes oppression and how it might successfully be addressed. Subsequent revisions to Paper 30 removed the explicit references to structural oppression and anti-racism (McLaughlin 2005: 295) but still required students to challenge their own prejudices, value diversity and counteract disadvantage, discrimination, injustice and inequality (CCETSW 1995: 18).
Social workers, whether employed by the state or by voluntary or for-profit organizations, have to comply with the provisions of the 2010 Equality Act. Professional codes and guidance from the late 1980s onwards also deal with social justice, diversity and equality, although the emphasis on inequality and social justice has lessened in recent years, with attention focused on diversity. The professional capabilities framework (PCF) guides pre- and post-qualifying social work education. The PCF was initially developed by the Social Work Reform Board and later adopted by the College of Social Work (TCSW). After the dissolution of TCSW in 2015 (see chapter 5), responsibility for the PCF was transferred to BASW (BASW 2015a). The PCF was still operational at the time of writing, but it is possible other professional codes and guidance may be developed later and it may be superseded. It specifies that social workers should understand and respect difference in self and others and challenge discrimination, oppression and cultural assumptions, although this in itself is confusing (as later examples evidence) because it may require understanding different cultural assumptions and showing respect for service users’ difference, while at the same time challenging their values or practices. Rights, justice and economic well-being are also key aspects of the PCF.
AOP in the UK was positively influenced by Marxism, anti-racism and feminism, hence the early focus on class, ‘race’ and gender. There were originally high hopes among some social work academics for the potential achievements of AOP. Dominelli (2002) saw it as offering social work the possibility of going beyond its control, maintenance or casework focus and influencing public policy by winning ideological debates. Beresford and Croft (2004) envisaged collaboration with service users leading to public policy advocacy and change, but neither occurred (Rush and Keenan 2014). AOP became more individualistic and apolitical from the late 1980s onwards as neoliberal ideology became dominant. Supporting a more individualistic expression of difference was more consistent with neoliberal ideology and it fractured equality claims and collective action by different groups, who increasingly saw themselves as competing for scarce resources and requiring different responses. McLaughlin (2005, 2008) is deeply pessimistic about the direction AOP has moved in and its current state. He argues that AOP has now degenerated into a micro-level impression management enterprise, with social work students being aware of how not to discriminate against individuals at a personal level but simultaneously complying with oppressive state- and organizational-level policies.
Some commentators question whether social workers can ever be genuinely anti-oppressive, given their power (Sakamoto and Pitner 2005), particularly in relation to safeguarding and resource allocation, and in the context of the popularity of individualistic, psychologically oriented methods (Reisch 2013; see also chapter 6) which ignore the structural causes of exclusion, discrimination and disadvantage. Reisch and Jani (2012: 1141) therefore recommend that social work education focuses on developing ‘critical consciousness’ about the pervasive effects of power differentials on institutional policies, practices and social relations.
The success of AOP education in terms of producing self-aware, critically conscious practitioners is, however, difficult to evaluate, as academics must successfully ‘challenge years of socialization and internalized ideologies of superiority that make hierarchies of privilege appear to be the natural order, with classic victim-blaming … aided by the ideology of equal opportunity’ (Lichtenwalter and Baker 2010: 305–6). This difficulty is compounded by the ‘personal–professional dialectic’ which produces ethical tensions when professional values conflict with students’ often long- and deeply held personal values. This may cause discomfort, anger, disorientation, guilt, defensiveness or students feeling they are being personally attacked (Bernard and Campbell 2014), all of which need to be worked through. An analysis of thirty second-year postgraduate students’ practice portfolios in Scotland showed that, although they had a basic understanding of power, empowerment and partnership working and some social divisions, their engagement with class, religion and sexuality was minimal and they tended to accept agency policies and wider structural oppression unquestioningly (Collins and Wilkie 2010).
A number of other studies across Western countries reinforce these findings, showing students’ understandings of various forms of oppression, particularly early on in their education, are uneven and often superficial. Some students negatively stereotyped certain groups, such as disabled, older and unemployed people and substance misusers (Weiss et al. 2002; Heenan 2005; Smith 2013; Theriot and Lodato 2012), and they rarely saw social work practice as extending further than the micro context. Studies of students at later points in their education tend to be contradictory and inconclusive. One small-scale-snapshot British study suggested social work education can lead to students competently practising in an anti-oppressive manner (Hughes 2011). However, a longitudinal Australian study found the reverse, with students, even towards the end of their training, resorting to stereotypes and victim-blaming in assessments and interventions (Ryan et al. 1995). Because these studies have been conducted with diverse methodologies, at different times, across countries with dissimilar cultures and political systems, and have often focused on different aspects of diversity, oppression, moral reasoning or ethical reflexivity, they are understandably difficult to compare. Nevertheless, even the most optimistic studies show that shifts in attitudes towards minority groups during social work education and training are not huge, and although a wide range of different educational techniques may support anti-oppressive education, students must be continually prepared to work on and challenge themselves as well.
Forcing social work students to adopt a ‘correct’ discourse, or them deciding to camouflage their true beliefs under politically correct terminology and language, is unlikely to lend itself to meaningful learning, critical reflection or attitude change (Macey and Moxon 1996: 310; Green and Featherstone 2014). Psychological research shows that individuals may hold inconsistent attitudes or be unaware of the attitudes they hold, and that their behaviour does not always reflect their attitudes (Pugh 1998; Sullivan 1998). Denying or suppressing internalized negative stereotypes in order to conform to professional requirements may result in these stereotypes resurfacing, particularly when under stress, resulting in victim-blaming or acting against the interests of certain groups (Macrae et al. 1994; Pugh 1998). These findings point to the need for critical reflection to help students resolve tensions between professional and personal values relating to AOP and to recognize how people are ‘othered’ and marginalized through subtle acts of normative violence (Green and Featherstone 2014). ‘Normative violence’ is a term taken from Judith Butler (see Boesten 2010). It refers to the often inadvertent misrecognition of people who diverge from cultural norms and become labelled as dangerous or perceived of as unintelligible because of this. Normative violence does not include direct physical violence but may precede it. For example, intersex people, such as hermaphrodites, are born with chromosomal configurations, reproductive organs and/or sexual anatomy that do not allow them to be easily categorized as either male or female. Others may therefore struggle to know how to define, treat and understand intersex people in the context of what they see as an abnormal, liminal, seemingly indeterminate state. Intersexuals have therefore traditionally been subjected to painful, unrequested and repeated genital and other surgery as children (if their situation is known then) so they can conform visually more easily to being male or female. This is seen to be for their benefit so they fit better into society, whilst at the same time no longer destabilizing our and society’s dependence on binary categories of biological sex.
Green and Featherstone (2014) exhort social workers to embrace the ‘stranger’ or ‘other’, recognizing our shared humanity, and to step away from binary hierarchies of victim or villain, ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’, deserving or undeserving. A focus on internalized attitudes is consequently important for anti-oppressive understanding and practice, both micro and macro. Challenging the dominance of normative or privileged categories such as able-bodiedness, whiteness or heterosexuality, and understanding their impact on those who diverge from them, requires critical analysis. This should lead to greater awareness of the extent to which privilege is unconscious and unacknowledged. This is not always easy and the following paragraphs therefore deal more fully with the potential impact of simplification, stereotyping and ignoring intersectionality.
‘Race’ and ethnicity
In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a colonialist belief (since disproven) prevailed: that biologically and intellectually different races existed, with the White European race being more evolved. This view has been discredited but the concept of ‘race’, as a socially constructed category (see chapter 3), has been retained to refer to a set of ideas that shape social institutions and practices. The concept of ethnicity, like ‘race’, is a social construction that is often used in preference to, or (inaccurately) interchangeably with, ‘race’. It refers to a group of people with shared ancestry, culture or nationality, and in this way is more narrowly defined than ‘race’. For example, ‘White’ as a racial category includes many different ethnic groups, who may be defined in terms of nationality, or religion or some combination thereof – Poles, Irish Catholics, Gypsies, English. The concepts of ‘race’ and ethnicity are both problematic and carry the danger of essentialism – the idea that there are certain fixed characteristics which are inherent to a particular ethnicity or ‘race’ (see Bloch et al. 2013: ch. 1).
As immigration to the UK from former colonies increased from the 1950s onwards, those from other mostly ‘Black’ cultures and countries were often marginalized for preserving some of their ‘inferior’ indigenous practices. Policies initially concentrated on integrating these immigrants into the culturally ‘superior’ host nation by assimilation. As Black activism in the USA and UK gained momentum in the 1960s and 1970s and encouraged ethnic minorities to be proud of their distinctiveness, assimilation was gradually replaced by a greater acceptance of the co-existence of different cultures: multiculturalism. From a social work perspective, this might mean that different dietary requirements, religious practices, clothing and belief systems should be catered for and celebrated. However, multiculturalism was criticized because it did not challenge racist beliefs that were deeply ingrained in the White population. This limitation was addressed in the 1980s by anti-racism which was concerned with challenging covert or overt racism, addressing racial discrimination and promoting race equality within society and its institutions. Anti-racism also had limited success and it has been argued it oversimplifies ‘race’ and racism, dividing Black and White people into oppressed and oppressors, elevating ‘race’ above all other social divisions, and ignoring the importance of intersectionality. A further shift in policy on race took place after 2001, precipitated by a series of violent outbreaks between South Asian young men, White racists (both groups from relatively impoverished and disadvantaged areas) and the police in several towns in northern England. A number of inquiries into these events drew attention to the segregation of different communities within these towns. They called for policies to promote community cohesion, which would combine respect for diversity with promoting inter-community relations, a common set of ‘British’ values and shared identity. The London bombings in July 2005 by young British-born Muslim men gave added impetus to policies to promote a common set of ‘British’ values in order to counter ‘extremism’ in some minority communities (for a fuller discussion of these issues, see Bloch et al. 2013: ch. 2).
Multicultural social work practice traditionally incorporated two components: (i) acquiring cultural information about the ‘other’ – their history, worldviews, communication styles and social and family norms, as well as understandings of health and illness and help-seeking behaviours; and (ii) a sensitivity to cultural differences which tries to guard against professionals inevitably evaluating service users’ cultural values negatively because they see them as inferior to their own. One example of this might involve investigating and perhaps challenging the assumption that arranged marriages are less desirable and successful than those associated more with romantic love and individual choice. More recently, the aim has been to develop social workers’ cultural competence, encompassing the first two elements but additionally aiming to equip practitioners with skills to work at three levels: direct practice (micro), agency/ service (meso) and policy (macro). Advocates argue cultural sensitivity and knowledge of the ‘other’ are insufficient in themselves and that a critical awareness of one’s own cultural attitudes, prejudices and understandings of cross-cultural encounters needs to be developed. Since the mid-1990s, cultural competence has become an important approach in social work but has sometimes been misinterpreted to mean uncritically embracing all cultural diversity and difference (Laird 2008), thereby contributing to some tragic errors in child protection practice. However, both traditional multicultural social work practice and its successor, cultural competence, have been criticized for reflecting conservative and liberal viewpoints which either covertly reintroduce an assimilationist view or ignore cultural dynamism, wider interconnected global justice issues and intersectionality (Nadan and Ben-Ari 2013).
Nadan and Ben-Ari (2013: 1091) therefore advocate an anti-oppressive critical multiculturalist perspective, emphasizing the conditions that disadvantage groups and the political and institutional forces that oppress, restrict and exclude them from social justice. In Australia, for example, although various forms of cultural competence have featured in healthcare for many years, there have been few robust studies of their effectiveness at a micro interpersonal level and no evidence that they have improved vast structural health disparities between indigenous Australians and the wider Australian population (Thackrah and Thompson 2013). Hollinsworth (2013), in comparison, advocates a less activist, more reflexive approach, challenging students to become self-critical about unacknowledged dominance and unearned privilege, and to build trust with and learn from service users rather than adopting a rigid view of how they think a particular culture operates. Both Nadan and Ben-Ari and Hollinsworth make important points, one suggesting understanding the operation and effects of wider structural oppression on minority groups is imperative and the other stressing the importance of not relying on static perceptions of how different cultures operate and urging social workers not to make assumptions but rigorously to investigate every situation anew.
Batson et al. (1997) argue that attitudes towards stigmatized groups can be improved by presenting information incompatible with negative stereotypes and compatible with multiculturalism, and improving knowledge of, contact with and empathy with these groups. However, much depends on the type and nature of the contact and the understandings drawn from it, as frequent contact in itself may not engender empathy or a lead to a deep understanding of the systemic and institutional injustices certain groups might experience. Cultural competence has also concentrated more on ‘race’ than other aspects of culture which may also be important (Thackrah and Thompson 2013). Group identity, furthermore, is not fixed, and early anti-racism strategies, whilst dismissing multiculturalist approaches, themselves depended on a fixed, essentialist notion of what it was to be Black (Rattansi 1992). Social work has traditionally concentrated on the ‘White on Black’ paradigm of structural racial oppression (Laird 2014). Little attention has been paid to ‘White on White’ racism, such as discrimination against Eastern European or Irish people (e.g. Garrett 1998; Mac an Ghaill 2002) or to ‘Black/Brown on Black’ racism (Washington 1990; Sautman 1996; Yancey 2005; Waters and Kasinitz 2010). This involves lighter-skinned individuals such as Asians, who sometimes experience less discrimination from the White population, discriminating against darker-skinned groups, such as Africans (Deliovsky and Kitossa 2013). One cannot, however, always assume that depth of skin colour determines the levels and extents of racism, and other factors such as culture, class and community are very important. Les Back’s ethnographic study (1996) of an urban mixed ethnic community in England found, for example, that although many White and African Caribbean youths socialized amicably together, both these groups harassed and excluded Vietnamese young people.
Mixed-heritage/parentage children may also confound or throw into confusion assumptions around racial identity or cultural belonging. Some of these children primarily identify as either Black or White, mixed heritage or mixed race, or by their country of origin. Alternatively, they may completely reject identity linked to nationality, skin colour or ethnicity, or may self-identify differently depending on the context, thereby manifesting a fluid and shifting sense of self (Tizard and Phoenix 1993; Alibhai-Brown 2001; Brunsma and Rockquemore 2002). The example given by Ploesser and Mecheril in the earlier section on intersectionality offers a good example of this potential fluidity. Debates about the fostering and adoption of mixed-heritage children appear almost to have gone full circle. Many mixed-heritage children in the 1960s–1980s were placed, in an unthinking way, with White families. Between the late 1980s and the 2000s, policy and academic views changed, stipulating that these were unequivocally Black children who were only to be placed with Black families (e.g. Small 1991; Robinson 2005). Little attention was accorded to other considerations such as nationality, social class, culture and religion, the children’s mixed parentage or their own choice or self-identity. In 2003, statistics showed mixed-heritage children were more likely to be in care or ‘looked after’ than any other ethnic group (Thoburn et al. 2005). Colour-blind exhortations to ignore ‘race’ and culture re-emerged in 2012–13 when it was found that mixed-heritage children were languishing in care for long periods of time because no suitable ‘racial’ matches could be found.
This brief examination of ‘race’/ethnicity initially outlined changing demographics, definitions, understandings and responses to different ‘races’ and ethnic minorities in the UK, whilst showing some common responses still involve resorting to stereotypes and simplification. Some early responses to immigrants in the 1950s/1960s were colonialist and superior; others uncritically celebrated all cultural diversity. Later responses focused on tackling racism throughout society, assuming a simple White/Black hierarchy of the oppressors and oppressed. The most recent approach attempts to counter ‘racial’ segregation and hostility by encouraging intercommunity interaction and shared values, but without an acknowledgement that other factors, some associated with poverty and deprivation, might also be important. Not all racism is linked to the Black/White binary or continuum, and ‘race’ may intersect in complex ways with other social divisions. Societal and historical contexts are very important, as are the self-identification of the service user and the social worker’s understanding of the service user’s perspective. Given the complexity of such issues, it is not surprising social workers have struggled to respond to them in a nuanced and sensitive way, often resorting to binaries or stereotypes. Heated debates therefore surround what constitutes good social work with ‘racial’ or ethnic minorities (for example, between multicultural, culturally competent and anti-oppressive critical multicultural approaches with some commentators advocating ignoring racial or cultural considerations completely). The most productive ways of working, however, seem to combine close interaction with an understanding of individual service users and their wider communities, with a more holistic understanding of oppression and an ability to take into consideration intersectionality and multiple oppressions and social divisions.
Sex, gender and sexual orientation
The term ‘gender’ refers to the social construction of femininity and masculinity in a particular society at a particular time. The biological difference between the sexes is the starting point for the development of a set of culturally specific norms about what it means to be a man or a woman (gender identity) and how this is expressed in behaviour (gender expression). Individuals are expected to conform on the basis of their biological sex, including expectations in contemporary Western societies that ‘normal’ men and women are physically and romantically attracted to the opposite sex – in other words, that their sexual orientation is heterosexual. The reality is somewhat different. Although it is often assumed that a clear and fixed binary exists for sex, gender and sexual orientation – you’re either biologically male or female, you’re either a man or a woman, you’re either ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ – there is great diversity and dynamism in people’s sexual preferences, behaviour and gender identity. Some people may always identify as heterosexual, gay, lesbian or bisexual; others change their sexual orientation during their life course or reject any definitive label. Some people may identify as heterosexual, and perhaps express homophobic attitudes, but will simultaneously engage in sporadic, casual same-sex sexual encounters. Table 4.1 provides a summary of the relationship between the concepts of biological sex, gender norm, gender expression, gender identity and sexual orientation. There are, however, strong social pressures against acknowledging the fluidity of gender identity and expression, and widespread discrimination against and oppression of individuals who do not conform to gender norms. Given the centrality of gender identity and sexual orientation to people’s identity, it is not surprising that these issues provoke very strong feelings and that, in relation to social work, there are examples of misunderstandings about anti-discriminatory practice in relation to gender and sexual orientation.
The Wakefield Inquiry into the sexual abuse of ‘looked-after’ boys by two male homosexual foster carers found that the social workers’ fear of being seen as homophobic clouded their professional judgement about the risks to these children (Parrott et al. 2007). In this case, the social workers were not acting in an anti-oppressive manner but seemed to assume they would be accused of being oppressive if they challenged the foster carers because they were members of an oppressed group. Assuming that all gay men are never or are always automatically a risk to children are equally problematic stances. Members of oppressed and privileged groups both have the potential either to oppress others in their own group or members of other groups or, alternatively, to act sensitively or fairly towards them. The social workers responsible for the ‘looked-after’ boys therefore should have subjected the gay couple to the same sort of professional assessment they would have subjected any heterosexual couple or single foster carer to and should have followed up on, rather than ignored, any potential concerns. Such action would not be discriminatory but would be a professional response to concerns about another minority and often-oppressed group, children. In another example some social workers who said they did not want to discriminate against lesbian and gay prospective adoptive or foster couples revealed their stereotyped views about gender roles in the heterosexual nuclear family through the questions they asked (Hicks 2011, 2014). They were bemused by the different and non-gender-stereotypical relational practices of some same-sex couples, asking male couples if they knew many women and how they would ensure any child placed with them was exposed to female role models: ‘The social worker did ask us a lot about role models, and female role models … It must have been difficult for her. I think she struggled with it … But we don’t define who does what … It was almost as if she wanted us to be these stereotypical roles’ (Hicks 2011: 120–4).
Table 4.1 Sex and gender: five dimensions of variation
| Biological sex | Physical characteristics: genitalia, hormones, body shape, voice pitch |
| Gender norm | Culturally and historically specific norms which specify the socially approved characteristics of men and women (masculinity/femininity) in a particular society (e.g. behaviour, demeanour, dress) |
| Gender expression | Presentation by an individual of gender based on gender norms (femininity/masculinity); degree of conformity, e.g. in relation to behaviour, demeanour, dress |
| Gender identity | Degree of identification with gender norms |
| Sexual orientation | Degree of sexual attraction to people of same and opposite sex |
Source: based on The Genderbread Person v.3 (http://itspronouncedmetrosexual.com).
Here may be another example of Butler’s concept of normative violence, whereby people who diverge from social norms are found unintelligible because they are difficult to fit into accepted categories (regarding gender and sexual orientation). Consequently they may be judged negatively, marginalized and potentially discriminated against. Hicks’ analysis shows not only the importance of an understanding of intersectionality in social work (in this case between gender expression and sexual orientation) but also how an understanding of all social divisions and the stereotypes that inform them is important, even when apparently considering just one. Learning about and developing empathy for stigmatized and often unfamiliar groups who may have fluid lifestyles and norms is complex. Students must be prepared to live with uncertainty and constantly revise their knowledge and challenge previously held assumptions and values. They must guard against the fear of being seen as discriminatory when safeguarding issues are the main concern, whilst simultaneously ensuring they do not inadvertently oppress certain groups through simplistic acceptance of problematic stereotypes.
Social class, ‘race’/ethnicity and childhood
The case of eight-year-old Victoria Climbié who was murdered in 1999 by her great-aunt and her aunt’s partner also raises questions about the role of stereotypes, but around ‘race’, ethnicity and working-class children, and demonstrates the complex issues and dilemmas both social work and healthcare professionals confront in some child protection scenarios. They were faced with a dirty withdrawn child who apparently had scabies, spoke a foreign language and came from a different culture, and they were unnerved by her hostile adult carers. Fears of aggression, of contamination and communication barriers, alongside concerns they would be seen as racially discriminatory if they challenged different cultural norms (they equated Victoria’s quietness with African cultural norms of deference to elders), effectively paralysed their judgement of the situation. The subsequent inquiry criticized social workers for being too trusting of the family and making uncritical assumptions about culture and extended family networks (Cocker and Hafford-Letchfield 2014). Seeing cultural norms as static and homogeneous, and adopting a position of cultural relativism also meant social workers made assumptions, rather than sensitively and rigorously investigating and assessing that specific situation and being prepared to make judgements. Arguably, the emphasis on ‘race’ and ethnicity in social work over the years has led social workers (and the subsequent inquiries) to over-privilege racial/cultural considerations and disregard other social divisions associated with intergenerational, social class and gender inequalities (Collins and Wilkie 2010). Attending to these other sources of inequality and to their intersection might have resulted in a more balanced analysis and possibly averted a tragedy of this kind. Ferguson (2007), for example, found the early philanthropists saw working-class children as ‘moral dirt’. Over 100 years later, Steckley (2012) argues, children in residential care are the ‘new untouchables’. A multi-professional failure to intervene with children, such as Victoria, who are later killed by their carers may therefore be partially attributable to professionals subconsciously viewing them as objects of contamination (Ferguson 2011), so clearly ethnicity or culture should not be the only considerations. In the case of Victoria Climbié, the intersection of childhood and social class, both social divisions and sources of oppression and subordination, needed to be considered alongside sensitive and nuanced understandings of ‘race’ and culture. These intersections seem to have produced not only misunderstandings about cultural issues, but also possibly subconscious perceptions about children as naturally subordinate because of their childhood status, and of working-class children as inevitably dirty and a potential pollutant and object of disgust.
Social workers frequently face complex and ambiguous situations in relation to justice, recognition, diversity, equality and safeguarding duties. Many are confused about how to respect difference and challenge oppression and discrimination, yet simultaneously question and perhaps ultimately judge the cultural norms of marginalized groups in the context of safeguarding – for example, in order to assess whether or not a child or adult is at risk. They often work with damaged and profoundly disadvantaged service users who have suffered substantial injustice. However, in a process of double suffering, some service users perpetuate that injustice by inflicting harm on themselves and others (Frost and Hoggett 2008), perhaps because oppression is their only role model (Freire 2000). Social workers are responsible for child and adult protection/safeguarding but must at the same time try to build trusting relationships with people from low-status marginalized groups. They often express stigmatizing attitudes towards such damaged clients and treat them in disrespectful ways (Pithouse 1987; Featherstone, White and Morris 2014), thus reinforcing a long history of professionals pathologizing poor working-class families (Fink and Lomax 2012: 5). Completing an assessment, which concludes a child is at significant risk of harm and needs to be removed from their carers, does not constitute discrimination simply because the family is Black and/or poor or the carers self-identify as gay, but treating them with a lack of respect in the process is unacceptable. However, any assessment should take into account whether poverty, oppression or injustice has further jeopardized a child’s or adult’s safety because this evidence could support broader social justice arguments.
The next section examines some examples of contentious or difficult issues social workers may engage with, and the complex debates they provoke. The discussion aims to demonstrate the importance of avoiding unthinking politically correct dogma and fixed binary categories. It encourages social workers to think through issues of diversity, equality and social justice carefully when they encounter them, and to challenge their own as well as others’ conceptions and values. The first example deals with the potential social work role in dealing with FGM. The second questions the extent to which social workers should respect cultural and religious difference. The third example engages with debates about the role of the service user in relation to services: the ‘expert through experience’ and the ‘informed consumer’.
What should social workers do when working with families with young daughters, originating from the twenty-eight countries where female genital mutilation (FGM) is known to be practised? FGM is defined by the World Health Organization (WHO) as ‘all procedures involving partial or total removal of the external female genitalia or other injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons’. FGM is often seen as a ritual which is imperative for the girl’s future marriage prospects and secures her sexual subordination. A study in 2007 estimated that there were 21,000 girls under fifteen in the UK at high risk of having FGM performed on them, either illegally in the UK or in their country of origin – ‘vacation cutting’ – with a further 11,000 likely to have already been subjected to it (Dorkenoo et al. 2007). Few social workers would condone such actions. Wade (2011a), however, analyses the debates surrounding a real-life case in which it was proposed that the cultural needs of immigrants from ethnic regions where FGM is the norm should be partially met by allowing doctors to make a superficial incision of 1 cm in the young girls’ clitoral foreskin. This was intended to prevent more damaging FGM being performed illicitly and improve community relations, whilst providing culturally sensitive healthcare. Physicians working with Somali families in the USA interviewed thirty-six mothers who were amenable to modified genital cutting. The mothers had all undergone FGM themselves and did not want to subject their daughters to the same suffering, but neither did they want to abandon this practice entirely, for cultural reasons. The doctors saw their proposed action as a purely medical issue and failed to consult other professionals or interest groups, likening it to the Jewish/Muslim ritual of circumcising boys (although some might argue this too constitutes genital mutilation and child abuse). However, when other interested parties found out, there was huge opposition and the proposal was eventually withdrawn.
Wade argues that the doctors had a dynamic view of cultural change, whereas the opponents adopted a static view of Somali culture, and perceived ‘the ritual nick’ as a barbaric patriarchal procedure. Wade seems sympathetic to the physicians’ empathic position but acknowledges important questions needed to be asked about whether social pressure and gender or generational inequalities might make their mothers’, or the adolescent girls’ (if they were asked), agreement with the practice relatively meaningless. A social worker involved with a family from a culture where FGM was practised would need to reflect on a number of interconnecting social divisions/oppressions and visions of justice and apply a nuanced understanding of ‘race’ and ethnicity, immigration, religion, culture, gender and age. This would involve taking into account the status of children and women, not only in relation to where they came from, but in their new context, and require social workers to be attuned to both safeguarding and support issues. For example, persecution and racism might make an immigrant family isolated and inclined to adhere to older cultural practices. Alternatively, positive experiences of a new country and culture with different laws and norms might make them willing to re-think, and discard or modify old customs and practices. Assumptions that such a family will automatically want FGM performed on female children may be misconceived. However, the ability to empathize with such a family and understand that cultural practices are dynamic might help the social worker to assess the situation. Even if a social worker assesses there to be a significant safeguarding risk, this does not mean they should label the parents as ‘evil’ or ‘backward religious fanatics’ or treat them with disdain. It may, however, mean that, with some families, statutory intervention to safeguard a child is necessary.
Religion and belief are protected characteristics in relation to discrimination, but so are other characteristics such as age, sex and sexual orientation. A number of recent European legal cases illustrate how respect for religious beliefs may conflict with upholding other people’s rights not to be discriminated against. The cases all centred on the refusal of services to gay couples because of a religious belief that homosexuality is wrong. The situations were diverse: a marriage registrar who refused to conduct a civil partnership ceremony for a gay couple; two heterosexual married hoteliers who refused a gay couple bed-and-breakfast accommodation; and a RELATE relationship counsellor who would not work with a gay couple. In all cases, the right to express religious belief in this way was rejected by the court because it discriminated against gay people. By contrast, the right of a BA check-in employee to wear a cross at work was upheld by the European Court of Human Rights on the basis it expressed her religious beliefs in the same way as a Sikh wearing a turban, and did not adversely affect other people’s rights: ‘The dividing line, it seems, is between indicating one’s faith and spelling out what it means in practice: devout Jews or Muslims, say, may wear kippahs or hijabs at work, but any manifestation of traditionalist religious views on morality would still be unacceptable – such as shunning colleagues of the opposite sex, or expressing disapproval of homosexuality’ (The Economist 2014).
These examples are interesting and provide social workers with food for thought, but many situations that they encounter may be more difficult to negotiate. What should a social worker do, for example, if assigned to work with a man who refuses to shake hands with a female (social worker) because his religion precludes it and positions women as having lower status? What would be an appropriate response to a mother or father who refuses to let a male social worker engage with their teenage daughter on the grounds the family’s religion precludes young females from being alone with unknown men from outside the family? Should service users’ religious beliefs allow them to dictate the sex of the social worker they or their daughter will work with, and how should the social worker and the local or health authority respond? Alternatively, should considerations about children’s rights and gender equality override religious demands? Serving culturally appropriate meals and accommodating worship in certain places or at certain times for people living in residential care are reasonable provisions that respect religious difference. Other adjustments that devalue, harm or deprive, for example, women, children or disabled or gay people are problematic in a society where certain characteristics or groups are protected under both UK and European legislation. Balancing rights and achieving justice is not easy. Social workers have to try to build relationships with the service user and fully understand their perspective, as well as challenge behaviour that is prejudiced, oppressive and contravenes others’ rights. In doing so, they need simultaneously to be aware of intersecting oppressions and to consider the rights of not only the service user, but also other family members and the wider community. They need to perform a delicate balancing act guided, but often not entirely decided, by legislation and wider social work values and be prepared to explain to service users why sometimes the rights of some people over-ride those of others, particularly where the behaviour of some groups devalues or dehumanizes others.
This section examines debates around service user involvement, autonomy and rights associated with the shift from seeing users as passive objects of expert intervention to perceiving them as people who are equal to professionals and are sometimes presented as even more knowledgeable because they are ‘experts through experience’. This transition was initially influenced mainly by the disability and mental health survivor movements which claimed services had misunderstood them and not met their needs. Their members also felt services had stigmatized, stereotyped and dehumanized them in the process, with some of their basic human rights, such as respect and dignity, being contravened (e.g. Charlton 1998). The requirement to listen more carefully to users was further strengthened, although in a more individualistic and apolitical sense, by the marketization agenda championed from the 1980s onwards (Carey 2010), which depicts users of health and welfare services as active, informed consumers who should have a voice and choice of services (for more detail, see chapter 6). In social work education, it has been suggested, and sometimes stipulated, that service users, as ‘experts through experience’, should be involved at all stages of planning and delivering social work services and education (DH 2002;
HCPC 2013). However, there are a number of problems with the way in which the concept of experts through experience has been applied.
While service users’ views clearly have an important contribution to make, despite these difficulties, they need to be put into a broader context and balanced with other appropriate expertise. The Social Care Institute for Excellence argues, for instance, in their guidance on creating a Knowledge Review, that there are five kinds of knowledge that need to be considered in social care, and these bring different ‘expertise’ to a subject – research, policy, organizational, service user and practitioner. But when conflicts occur, whose knowledge should take precedence? Some patients may be able to teach student doctors a lot about communication, respect and listening to people, but pharmacology, anatomy and physiology need to be taught by specialist practitioners and academics. In a similar vein, how many service users have the necessary skills to teach the kind of complex subject matter covered in this chapter? Similar questions could be asked about whether social workers from particular cultural or oppressed groups should be assigned to service users from those groups (as they sometimes are), or be able to claim that they are experts about all service users in that group and as such are immune from making problematic cultural assumptions about their own or others’ cultures (Singh and Cowden 2013; Laird 2014).
This chapter has provided an introduction to some of the literature on social justice, citizenship, human rights, equality and diversity. It has used these concepts to examine critically social work’s claims to be committed to social justice and anti-oppressive or anti-discriminatory practice. Deconstruction, self-awareness and reflexivity, which can acknowledge both individual experience and wider structural contexts, are important components of AOP/ADP. Social workers can use their understanding of citizenship and awareness of national, European and global human rights to challenge unjust and oppressive policies and practices. The human capabilities approach offers a useful way to understand the debates between social work, social justice and human rights (Spatscheck 2012), as do the other social justice theories examined. Having a critical understanding of the concepts of diversity, inequality, oppression and injustice should enable social work students to understand and challenge their own and others’ preconceptions and prejudices. A piecemeal understanding of ADP and AOP and a lack of awareness of the broader political canvas can lead to dangerous practice and an approach that focuses on processes at the individual level, excluding the importance of social divisions and their complex intersections. This chapter warns social workers against adopting a simplistic and apolitical attitude to social justice and AOP, by giving them an initial introduction to literature which will help them think through these difficult issues.
Social workers need to choose carefully how far their commitment to equality or diversity extends beyond the micro context, or whether it is even possible to promote social justice from within such a context. Challenging the powerful is not easy, and working with oppressed and relatively powerless people does not prepare social workers to make such challenges (Philp 1979). Although, clearly, categories of oppressor and oppressed are not mutually exclusive, people in positions of power have much greater knowledge and resources for preserving and perpetuating their privilege. By remaining silent or uninformed about issues such as the inadequacy of resources or the plight of specific minorities who are being oppressed or persecuted, social workers are never neutral. They are acquiescent and complicit by their very silence. Reisch (2013: 728) suggests:
A vision for social work might … include a reassertion of its historic commitment to social justice purposes and recognition that it is a value-based profession, not merely an agglomeration of sophisticated research and practice techniques … If our profession’s commitments to diversity, social justice and multiculturalism are to have more than rhetorical significance, we have to find ways of defining these terms clearly and carrying out our scholarly and practice activities in the context of this philosophical orientation.