Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden [1st ed.] 9783030458737, 9783030458744

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Linda Lane Michael Wallengren-Lynch  Editors

Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden

Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden

Linda Lane • Michael Wallengren-Lynch Editors

Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden

Editors Linda Lane Department of Social Work University of Gothenburg Gothenburg, Sweden

Michael Wallengren-Lynch Department of Social Work University of Malmö Malmoe, Sweden

ISBN 978-3-030-45873-7    ISBN 978-3-030-45874-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Foreword

I am delighted to have been asked to write a few words to introduce this timely and important book. The authors rightly identified a gap in my own book, Becoming a Social Worker: Global Narratives, 2013. The stories that appeared in this book (and in its predecessor, Becoming a Social Worker, 2003) were largely the stories of the people I had met over the course of my career in social work, as a practitioner and an academic. So this was definitely not a random sample! There were no Swedish stories in the books, which makes this new volume all the more welcome. What did emerge in both books, and (I have no doubt) will be found in this new book, were amazing stories of human beings who, against all the odds, made a decision to try to make a difference in their lives. People of all genders, sexualities and colours, young and old, disabled and non-disabled, from privileged and non-­ privileged backgrounds, all felt that they wanted to do something to help others and make society a fairer and better place for all. Social workers are not, of course, the only people who work in ‘helping professions’: doctors and nurses, teachers and youth workers, psychologists and therapists all choose to work for the greater benefit of all. What makes it harder for social workers, however, is that most people do not choose to have social work involvement in their lives. On the contrary, they accept it either because the state mandates that they do so, or because they have run out of all other alternatives. They are quite literally, at the end of their tether. We might see this as social work’s curse; it certainly explains why social work has been called an ‘unloved’ profession. And yet, looked at differently, perhaps it is, at the same time, what makes social work special  – specially demanding and specially rewarding at the same time. There is, without question, nothing more satisfying than walking alongside someone who is going through a process of personal transformation, whether this is a young person we are encouraging to move away from a life of crime or an older person who now has to accept that they can no longer live independently. Becoming and being a social worker is, at the end of the day, an enormous privilege; we are really lucky to be able to do what we do. Of all the books I have published over the years, Becoming a Social Worker remains the one that sold most copies. This matters little to me, because editors do not earn vast amounts of money for their hard work! What does matter to me is that v

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the stories touched readers, who could identify themselves in the very different accounts that people gave of their journeys in and through social work. Those who read the book were considering embarking on a career in social work, or who were at the start of their training, got courage from the stories of others. They began to give value to their own experience and appreciate a shared value-base alongside other social workers. This is not to suggest that there is only one way of being or doing social work; quite the opposite, it is about acknowledging the breadth and diversity of approaches and people within social work. So if you are at the beginning of your social work journey, I would like to wish you well, and hope that social work brings you the same joy (and of course, at times, despair) that it has brought to me over the years. I remain proud to be a social worker; I hope you will be too! Viviene Cree Emerita Professor of Social Work The University of Edinburgh Edinburgh, Scotland February 2020

Contents

1 Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1 Linda Lane and Michael Wallengren-Lynch 2 The Power of Narratives��������������������������������������������������������������������������   19 Linda Lane and Michael Wallengren-Lynch 3 World Making: Stories and the Power of Radical Imagination����������   27 Zulmir Bečević 4 Digging in the Present: A Day in the Life of a School Counsellor ������   37 Michael Wallengren-Lynch 5 Turning Points������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   47 Ing-Marie Johansson 6 We Live in a Political World: Between Needs and Money ������������������   59 Kristina Alstam 7 The Problematic Labour Market Situation of Immigrants to Sweden – Consequences and Causes������������������������   69 Björn Gustafsson 8 Gothenburg Was a City in Mourning����������������������������������������������������   83 Rehema Prick 9 Intercultural Perspectives in Social Work Practice, Education and Research��������������������������������������������������������������������������   91 Somita Sabeti 10 Tackling the Contradictory Nature of Social Work������������������������������  107 Tobias Davidsson

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11 Adopting an Anti-oppressive Approach to Inclusive Teaching������������  119 Linda Lane 12 The Relevance of Narratives in Future Social Work?��������������������������  131 Linda Lane and Michael Wallengren-Lynch Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  137

About the Contributors

Kristina Alstam  PhD in Social Work, is a researcher and lecturer at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Her research interest revolves around discourses of family and parenting, social class, and the redistribution of resources. Of special interest is the manner in which ideologically connoted discourses of welfare regimes and austerity are circulated, defended and contested within the domain of social work. Among her resent publications is her doctoral thesis, Parents, Power, Poverty: On choice and responsibility on two parental communities (2016). Zulmir  Bečević  PhD, is a researcher and lecturer at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. His research focus is children and young people’s living conditions with specific focus on welfare issues, vulnerability, power, participation and social exclusion/inclusion. He has conducted research on young people in institutional care and youth participation in European cities. He is also author of several works of fiction. Among his latest publications is Living with diagnoses: an interactionist analysis of a young person’s experience of ADHD and Asperger’s syndrome (2017). Tobias  Davidsson  PhD in Social Work, is a researcher and lecturer at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Originally, a social worker working with family treatment, his main research areas are social exclusion and control, the political management of poverty and labour market policies. Among his latest publications is a joint article with Frida Petersson titled Towards an actor-­ oriented approach to social exclusion: a critical review of contemporary exclusion research in a Swedish social work context (2018). Björn Gustafsson  PhD, is emeritus Professor of Economics at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden, and research fellow at the Institute of Labor (IZA), Bonn, Germany. His research focus is the distribution of income, poverty and the situation of international migrants in Sweden. Since the 1990s, he has taken part in the Chinese Household Income Project (CHIP) and studied ix

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e­ arnings, income, poverty and ethnic minorities in the People’s Republic of China. A recent publication with Torun Österberg is How are immigrant children in Sweden faring? Mean income, affluence and poverty since the 1980s (2018). Ing-Marie  Johansson  PhD in Social Work, is a researcher and lecturer at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. She has many years’ experience in International Social Work both in teaching and in developing academic courses in frameworks such as Nordplus, Erasmus, Linnaeus-Palme and the Swedish Institute. Among her latest publications is The unruly young men: Exploring some key constructions of masculinity within Swedish social services (2016) with Helena Johansson. Linda Lane  PhD in Economic History, is a Senior Lecturer and researcher at the Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Her research focuses international studies of work and family life, gender empowerment, disability in higher education and sexual harassment the work place. Since 2011, she has studied gender empowerment and poverty in India. Her latest publication with Birgitta Jordansson is Conceptualizing work in the Swedish gender equality debate (2019). Michael Wallengren-Lynch  DSW in Social Work, University of Sussex, United Kingdom. He practiced social work from 2004 to 2015 and is now a researcher and lecturer at the University of Malmö, Sweden. His current research interests focus on school-based social work, disaster social work, internationalisation and social work education. His latest publication with colleagues Anna R, Bengtsson and Katarina Hollertz is Applying a ‘signature pedagogy’ in the teaching of critical social work theory and practice (2019). Rehema Prick  BA in Social Work and Licensed Systemic Family Psychotherapist (Retired), worked as a social work professional from 1991 until her retirement in 2018. During her years in the field, her work focused on immigrants, refugee youth and their families. After many years of work in refugee centres and as a high school counsellor, she ended her career as a family therapist. She remains committed to gender empowerment for immigrant women through her engagement in voluntary organisations. Somita Sabeti  BA in Social Work, earned her MA in the Erasmus Mundus Joint Master's programme Crossing the Mediterranean – towards investment and integration (MIM), a programme that focused on European co-operation with North Africa and the MENA region within the migration and diversity field, jointly offered by four universities in Italy, Spain, Tunisia and France. Her research interests include migration studies, integration, inclusion and diversity practices as well as liminality and belonging. She published her master thesis Between Liminality and Belonging – mapping the experiences of Afghan young adults ‘in transit’ in Istanbul in 2019.

Chapter 1

Introduction Linda Lane

and Michael Wallengren-Lynch

Social work is a helping profession. With its focus on social justice, the profession attracts many people who have a burning desire to help others. While a desire to do good is often enough to help people get involved in social work, it is seldom enough to keep them in the profession. Working with societies’ most vulnerable populations is challenging and often fragmented work requiring formal education and skill to advocate for clients while remaining cognisant of legal frameworks and the scarcity of resources. Consequently, while their desire to do good survives, social workers are often filled with doubt. This usually arises during social work education, when students’ dreams of doing good are confronted by the structured pedagogy of social work education, and if not then, it most certainly does in those first years of being a newly qualified social worker trying to find a place in the profession. With time, most learn how to adapt and find ways to navigate the profession without giving up their dream. However, learning to live with limitations can be frustrating and painful, and it is in these situations that we need a hand to hold – someone we can turn to for support and inspiration. This book is inspired by our observations of a growing interest in social work as a profession during a period when the challenges facing social workers in the performance of their jobs has increased. Driven by new policy directions, cost-cutting and limited resources, these challenges have resulted in a need to explore and discuss how social work is performed and what the future holds for the profession. The book is focused on the challenges of performing social work as well as the responses that can be used to enhance and celebrate the value of commitment to the profession. L. Lane (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] M. Wallengren-Lynch Department of Social Work, University of Malmö, Malmoe, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_1

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When writing this book, we looked to Vivienne Cree for inspiration and guidance, first with curiosity and then with passion. Her book Becoming a Social Worker Global Narratives (2nd ed. 2013) tells the stories of people’s journeys from around the world living with and working in social work. Using personal narratives, Cree presents each author’s start, what they learned along the way, how working in the profession shaped their view of life and their motivations for staying in the profession. Cree’s book invited us to engage with their narratives and experience how the desire to help others can be tiring, frustrating and never-ending but also rewarding. Through these narratives, we learned that there is no exact formula for finding your place in social work and, importantly, we noticed that the Nordic region was underrepresented in the book. The welfare states of the Nordic countries, with their particular brand of welfare state provision based on principles of equity and inclusiveness, provide illustrative examples of the relationship between an ideology of universal welfare, the provision of welfare services and the role of social work. Sweden in particular has been seen as the model to emulate in terms of the provision of social welfare, but few have understood how its services are organised or the historical link between social work and social policy. Furthermore, while it has retained a degree of universalism, since the mid-1990s, the support of Swedish policymakers has shifted from traditional stateprovided universal services towards market-based ones. With economic efficiency a high priority, policymakers are concerned about satisfying demand at the lowest possible cost. Often referred to as new public management (NPM), the shift in focus has resulted in changes in the organisation and management of public services. In Sweden, these include the deregulation of state-controlled markets and the privatisation and decentralisation of public services, all of which are designed to increase competition, user choice, individual agency, customer satisfaction and economic efficiency. Trapped between the ideals of traditional welfare service provision and NPM-­ inspired market-based provision, Swedish social work practitioners and educators must adapt to the new national policy structure. In this process social work professionals are confronted by intertwined and conflicting problems, the complexity of which is creating major challenges and testing the ability of Swedish social work practice and education to cope. Thus, one aim of the book is to contextualise social work practice with regard to the current changes affecting Swedish society and by extension social work itself. The narratives in this book contribute new knowledge on social work practice and education in two important ways. First, with their focus on Sweden, they contribute to our understanding of the Nordic context and fill the gap left by Cree. Second, they provide insights from the perspective of social work practitioners and educators of social work in a welfare state under the pressure of NPM. In keeping with the spirit of Cree’s book, we present the many faces of Swedish social work education and social work practice, how it has evolved and how it affects the profes-

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sionals who practise it. The book is personal, reflective and purposive, and considers the journeys of its contributors to various ways of understanding, addressing and resolving social problems with a focus on the Swedish context. Adopting Cree’s narrative approach, our aim is to enrich social work literature by presenting authentic narratives of various pathways to social work and give insight into the complexity and rewards of engaging in professional social work practice and education. Sweden’s transition to a multicultural society with greater ethnic diversity is represented in this book by the narratives of first- and second-generation migrants alongside native citizens. Since the 1970s, migration to Sweden can be attributed to two major factors both of which are integral to the Swedish welfare state ideology. The first is a commitment to social justice and human rights, which has led Sweden to accept a large number of refugees from war-torn areas and the second, as a condition of its membership of the European Union. As a member since 1995, Sweden is committed to the free movement of people between member states, allowing citizens of other countries to migrate to Sweden. Together, the authors of the book show different ways of engaging in social work education and practice. Their collective experiences span global practice and education, some solely in their home countries and others across multiple cultural contexts. Each contributor’s journey is interwoven with a variety of theoretical perspectives and frameworks from different disciplinary fields. What the narratives have in common is that they address and explore social work from the perspective of professional practitioners and educators whose practical knowledge, experiences and reflections on professional development and social work are shared. This book is intended for novice and advanced students of social work, as well as those considering a career in the field. It can be used as part of graduate introductory courses or at the undergraduate level, as well as in practice- and policy-oriented courses. The book is also suitable for students in or preparing for work placements. Educators may read this book to prepare students and offer educational resources in the best way to help their students. We hope that the narratives presented here will provide insight into the settings and opportunities facing students and help guide them through the uncertainties and challenges of social change. We include social work practitioners in our presumed audience because they too are educators and serve as a link between education and practice. As we have already noted, social work education and practice take place within a particular historical, social, political and economic context. To set the stage for the narratives, this chapter will continue by providing an overview of the Swedish context. We trace the development of the Swedish welfare state from its historical and ideological beginnings to its current incarnation and set it in dialogue with the development of social work education and practice. The chapter concludes with an introduction to the book’s chapters.

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1.1  The Swedish Welfare State Sweden has an international reputation for being a specific kind of welfare state. Through its history of social democracy, it is associated with the ‘Scandinavian’ model of high taxation and high welfare standards (Esping-Anderson 1990). In this tradition, principles of equity and inclusiveness contribute to a culture of solidarity. Emerging as the result of agreements, coalitions and cooperation between the dominant Social Democratic Party (SAP) and other liberal political parties, trade unions and employer organisations, and grounded in liberal principles of equality and universalism, the Swedish welfare state was designed to eradicate poverty and unemployment through taxation, wealth redistribution and wage and labour market policies that secure the welfare of Swedish citizens (Esping-Andersen 1990, 1993; Lundberg and Åmark 2001). Characterised by values of social justice and solidarity, the term Folkhemmet, meaning ‘the people’s home’, became synonymous with efforts by the first Social Democratic Prime Minister, Per Albin Hansson, to illustrate that in the Swedish welfare state no citizen would be left out or made to feel unwelcome due to class or gender. Although its roots are in the 1920s, it was not until after World War II that the Swedish welfare state first took on the characteristics that we recognise today (Lindert 2004). The cornerstones of the Swedish model were implemented during this period. All employed citizens were insured against lack of income in case of sickness, old age or unemployment by means of tax-financed programmes, alongside which a universal means-tested social security net was provided for those who could not work including children, the elderly and persons with disabilities (Esping-­ Andersen and Korpi 1987). The focus on universal support for all citizens regardless of economic or social status is an important characteristic of the Swedish welfare state model, which unlike other models, for example those in the United States or the United Kingdom, tends to focus on low means-tested benefits for the most vulnerable citizens. The emergence, and much of the success, of the Swedish model, can be attributed to the Social Democratic Party (SAP) remaining in power either in a majority government or a coalition with centre liberal parties until the mid-1990s when it was replaced by a centre-right government (Lindert 2004; Esping-Anderssen 1993). The Social Democrats returned to power in 1995 but were replaced in 2006 by a new right-wing coalition. This party was re-elected in 2010 and formed a minority government. Not surprisingly therefore, social policy in Sweden can be seen as having experienced periods of stability, the first dominated by policies of social justice and equality and the latter, as we discuss in the following text, marked by increasing individualism and the introduction of market-oriented welfares services and organisational accountability. In the 1970s, insurance coverage was extended to include parental insurance. By removing the focus from women as primary caregivers and introducing caregiving as a right for men, Sweden earned the title of the ‘gender-equal, women-friendly welfare state’. Through these policy changes, designed to enable economic independence and combine family life and working life through paid parental leave and public care for children and the elderly, Sweden confirmed its intentions to achieve gender equality (Lane et al. 2011; Björnberg 2002; Hernes 1987).

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Several other reforms were constitutive of the Swedish desire to achieve gender equality and social justice. These included educational reforms introduced to provide free education for all children. The right to education was expanded in the 1960s and 1970s to include adult education, training and vocational education, and university-level education was expanded to include a greater number of students through the establishment of new universities and colleges together with an affordable student loan system that opened the door to higher education for previously excluded groups. To meet the need for more housing, driven by internal migration, extensive housing programmes were introduced in major cities such as Stockholm, Gothenburg and Malmoe. The infrastructural changes in housing, communications and education implemented in this period prepared Sweden to meet the demands of a growing industrial sector to produce goods and services for export markets (Blomqvist 2004). All the mentioned reforms contributed to supplying the country with healthy, well-educated citizens, whose contribution through taxes and engagement in the labour market remained the primary source of finance for the continued expansion of the Swedish welfare state and welfare services. Globalisation and dependence on trade and external markets have drawn Sweden into increasing interdependency with the rest of the world. The first major challenge to the Swedish welfare state arose during the 1970’s oil crisis. As a small export-­dependent country with strictly regulated capital and finance markets, the oil crisis was the first test of the country’s ability to maintain high levels of social insurance and social services. In addition, as noted previously, Sweden had generous migration policies in response to the demand for labour and human rights of refugees. From the 1970s and progressively in the 1980s, these external challenges increasingly underpinned shifts in government policy and rhetoric. Added to this, Swedish citizens had begun criticising the cost of administrating the large public sector economy and its myriad of welfare programmes and services. As economic problems mounted in the 1980s, discussions about political ideology started to challenge the traditional Swedish welfare model (Oscarsson 2000). Public debate raised questions as to whether citizens were receiving good value for their taxes. The task for the Swedish government was to design and implement the policies needed to adjust and transform the economy to meet the demands of globalisation while responding to criticisms of the inefficiency of the public sector by the citizens. Between 1986 and 1990, in an attempt to increase efficiency by moving decision-­ making on social services closer to citizens, the Social Democratic government increased the discretionary power of municipal governments by decentralising control of and deregulating Swedish social services. The decentralisation resulted in a system in which each municipality has the authority and responsibility to determine how welfare services are organised and resources distributed. The Social Democrats opened the door to limited privatisation within the public sector, a trend that continued with the election of a Conservative government in 1990. When the Social Democrats regained power in 1994, they continued the policy drift towards market-­ based social services initiated by the previous government in the belief that this would reduce costs and increase users’ satisfaction. These changes in direction and intensity are often loosely referred to as neoliberal or, specifically in terms of the organisation and governing of public services, NPM (Pollitt and Bouckaert 2004).

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However, it was not until the mid-1990s that NPM took hold, placing greater emphasis on performance management, efficiency, accountability and decentralisation (Christensen and Lægreid 2007). The privatisation and decentralisation of public services continued, with priority given to increasing competition, user choice, individual agency, customer satisfaction and cost-effectiveness (Nilsson 2000; LennqvistLindén 2010). In the workplace, NPM was associated with increased delegation of accountability, surveillance, work intensification and financial restrictions (Holmberg and Henning 2003). For welfare service users, the changes implemented under the guise of NPM represented a new relationship with welfare agencies (Åström 2000). The marketisation of welfare services provided private service alternatives to traditional public sector services. Service users had more choices, which now demanded that they viewed the delivery of social service as consumers, i.e. they needed information about the pros and cons of all deliverers of a specific service in order to make an informed decision. In this new order, citizens are expected to take responsibility for their own needs. Furthermore, the question of who will deliver welfares services also arises, as they may be delivered through either the public, private or voluntary sector, each of which includes large numbers of entrepreneurs providing a myriad of services of varying quality. The introduction of NPM and a marketoriented ideology with the focus on each individual citizen’s choices, irrespective of their dependency on the state, was a clear departure from the socially inclusive ideals of the traditional Swedish welfare state model that promised equality for every citizen regardless of economic status. The new concern was satisfying the demands for welfares services at the lowest possible cost. Since the 1990s, a number of developments and policy decisions have changed the Swedish welfare state from one with a universal approach towards a more residual welfare system. This is notable at all levels of the welfare system, such as transfer of benefits, social services and voluntary organisations. In many areas of the welfare state, boundaries between entitled and non-entitled, eligible and non-­eligible have been drawn, with consequences for all groups in society. These consequences intersect with class, sex, age, ethnic origin and regional differences, exacerbating the vulnerability of already vulnerable groups. Importantly, decentralisation and the implementation of NPM in public sector organisations can be seen as attempts to improve the quality of services and as answers to ­citizens’ criticisms of the lack of efficiency in the public sector (Nilsson 2000). However, it was not only organisations and welfare service users who were affected, the implementation of the changes also contributed to changing the role of social workers. Prior to these developments, the goal of social work was preventing social p­ roblems, and social workers were seen as professionals and visionaries. From the mid-1980s onwards, their role changed: social workers became administrators and managers responsible for facilitating the consumption of services (Svensson et al. 2008; Wahlberg 2001).

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1.2  Organised Social Work Social work varies in significance and importance for different countries and cultures. The national framework for social policy does of course have an appreciable influence on professional social work, and the organisation of social work education and social work practice are both linked to the type of welfare state in which they are performed. For example, in the United States and the United Kingdom, social work is organised based on government grants to specific agencies, whereas in Sweden, social work is linked to the emergence of the Social Democratic welfare state model with services provided by the public sector, so the state plays a more important role. In turn, the State’s role has been guided by the principle that society is responsible for ensuring that the basic needs of citizens are met through social services and that they should be financed through taxation. Swedish social work has tended to emphasise individual contact between social workers and service users, and to this end an important feature of the welfare state has been the provision of well-educated and trained professionals to carry out the practical work of meeting the needs of citizens with the resources available (Evertsson 2000). Sweden’s framework for social work is integral to social policy. Swedish politics has been characterised by a clear ambition to create structures that deal with social problems through the delivery of social services via the public sector. Thus, the state assumes a high degree of responsibility for citizens through broad-ranging institutional involvement in service provision carried out in the municipal social services by which the majority of professional social workers are employed. Social work has a long and diverse history with roots in the charity work of churches, philanthropy and socialism. The emergence of organised social work is closely related to the development of capitalism in the nineteenth century. Capitalism stimulated industrialisation, waged labour and urbanisation. People left their rural agricultural lives to become waged labourers in industrial production. Large groups of men, women and children were increasingly dependent on and vulnerable to the instability of capitalist production (Lundquist 1997). These conditions produced insecurity, poverty and social and political unrest. Chartist and other anti-capitalist social movements, as well as the rise of trade unionism, attest to workers’ growing awareness of their vulnerability (Åmark 2005). Capitalist classes often understood these changes in circumstances and ways of living in two ways: one, in terms of the decay of morality and virtue among the poor and disenfranchised who required enlightenment and supervision, which they were fit to provide by virtue of their high moral standards, and two, through their fear of revolution, which would disrupt the capitalist project. Both lines of reasoning supported the development and expansion of social services (Meeuwisse and Swärd 2006; Edebalk 2003; Qvarsell 1993). In Sweden, charitable organisations were instrumental in providing services to factory and industrial workers. The list is long of industrialists and their wives’

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efforts to improve the working classes (Norlander 2000; Jordansson 1992). Trade unions also established various services for their members, including sickness and accident insurance as well as death benefits. Trade unions were also the first to implement unemployment benefits and organise jobseeker exchanges for their members (Lane 2004; Delander et  al. 1991). Many social services performed by charitable organisations and trade unions were merged into the budding Swedish welfare state (Åmark 2005; Pettersson 2001). A notable exception was the old-age pension scheme. Although some employers had provided pensions to high-level employees, it was not until 1913 that the Swedish parliament introduced a means-­ tested pension for all citizens.

1.3  Social Work Education Social education in Sweden started in the 1910s with courses by the newly established Central Association for Social Work (CSA) (Aronsson 2009). The CSA, formed in 1903, consisted of a group of predominantly middle-class women and men with social pathos and an interest in working with the poor and less fortunate. Inspired by the Settlement House Movement, the organisation established a number of socio-educational programmes. This organisation formed in 1903 took initiatives that led to the emergence of several organisations important to the establishment of socio-educational programmes in Sweden. By 1906, the CSA also took the initiative to organise the Poverty Alleviation Congress to spread knowledge and draw attention to the situation of poverty-stricken people (Qvarsell 1993). Many women from the middle and upper classes were members of the CSA and it was on their initiative that formal education in social work began in 1921, organised under the auspices of the Institute for Social Policy and Municipal Education and Research in Stockholm. Thus, at its inception in Sweden, social work was conceptualised as a profession for women. The work was identified as requiring compassion for others and an ability to care and provide emotional support, attributes that made it suitable work for women according to the feminist ideals of the period (Register 1982; Crumbler 1980). In Sweden, as in many other countries, women continue to make up the majority of social workers. In 1944, Gothenburg also started a social work education programme, followed by Umeå and Lund. In 1964, social work education was re-organised into state-financed social work colleges, and in 1977 social work was fully integrated into the Swedish university system as a research topic within the faculty of Social Sciences (Sunesson 2003, p. 89). Today, social work education has a broad base with primary goals to provide social work students with knowledge of how social problems arise and how to solve them and strengthen the link between social work practice and research. To support these goals, social work academics engage in research and write research-based course literature, both of which facilitate and promote higher quality in social work education and preparation for professional practice. Social work education and practice are based to a great extent on scientific knowledge (Dellgran and Höjer 2013).

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1.4  Social Work Organisation and Practice As noted above, Sweden’s history of social work stems from the work of men and women in charities and philanthropic organisations such as the CSA. Despite the distance involved, many international links have been made. The Settlement Movement in the United Kingdom and the United States was a source of inspiration for early social work in Sweden. Impressed by the work of the movement in the United Kingdom, after a visit there in 1898, the Swedish theologian Natanael Beskow started the first and best-known settlement, Birkagården, in Stockholm in 1912 (Swärd and Edebalk 2017; Barton 2008; Barrdunge 2000). A key idea behind this movement was that community approaches could address social issues through collective action and promote community resilience. Although we live in a very different world today, we are still dealing with similar social issues. The approaches used in social work today, such as case management and discourses on personal responsibility, are far removed from the traditional community approaches and ideas. However, there is a growing realisation that interventions at the individual level do not have the desired effect, and social issues such as segregation and marginalisation in Sweden’s main cites are growing. Social workers deal with the consequence of these social realities but are seldom in a position to address the structural changes necessary to make long-lasting changes. Social work educators such as Stefan Sjöberg and Päivi Turunen (2018) believe that returning to the ideas of community approaches is relevant to contemporary issues such as global warming, globalisation and sustainability, and that alternative approaches are needed in the age of the retreating welfare state. Most social workers would agree with the sentiment, but putting this into action is challenging given social workers’ position in politically controlled work environments.

1.5  Social Work in Contemporary Sweden So, what is the reality for social work in contemporary Sweden? Compared with other countries, the status of social work is relatively high, and it has not suffered media scapegoating to the same extent as in countries such as the United Kingdom. Social workers’ wages have increased in the past few years, and working conditions have also improved. The ratio of social work to the general population is high compared with that in other countries, and there are currently about 30,000 social workers in Sweden, spread across the country’s 290 municipalities. These social workers are mainly employed in the following three areas: municipalities and regions, state agencies and private companies. In municipalities and regions, social workers work in the areas of child welfare and protection, social welfare assessments, counselling in schools and hospitals, treatment homes, and even in the streets meeting young people after hours. They can also work in addiction services, psychiatric services and family counselling and advice centres. The state also employs social workers in areas such as probation,

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secure accommodation for young people, state insurance agency and unemployment services. The growth of private actors in the care sector has also created employment opportunities for social workers. In these instances, municipalities hire in the services of temporary social workers for a period of time. The concept of decentralisation is key to understanding contemporary social work in Sweden. Today, Sweden has 290 municipalities, and policy devolution has given them responsibility for health care, education and most social welfare functions. The municipalities have the constitutional power to raise taxes to carry out these functions. While local authorities have financial autonomy, the national government sets service standards based on principles of equality and uniformity of service (Holosko et al. 2009). This local model of governance is also heavily involved in social work decision making. For instance, each of the country’s 290 municipalities has a social services organisation managed by a local Social Welfare Board of politically appointed laypersons who are mandated to ensure that children in need or at risk of harm receive the support and protection they need. This board determines whether or not children can be placed in out-of-home care (Gümüscü et al. 2018:2). The social worker’s involvement in families is mandated by the Social Services Act (2001), a law that covers support for children and families as well as persons in need of financial assistance or who have substance abuse problems. In this way, the child welfare system can be described as both controlling and supportive (ibid., p. 3; see also Wiklund 2006). Like all social workers in welfare states, the role of gatekeeper of resources and having the mandate to assess parenting and risk means that social workers are caught between seeking to control and empowering. On a practice level, more often than not, individual social workers have considerable discretionary power to make their own assessments of assistance adapted to the client’s needs (Johansson and Hvinden 2007). As a result, the concept of discretion is widely used when discussing the contemporary role of social work. Furthermore, service delivery can look different due to variations in the organisation and working conditions of individual social workers, such as high caseloads, work intensification and other obstacles that decrease or limit their discretionary powers (Dellgran and Höjer 2005). However, with the encroachment of NPM ideas, this discretion is becoming less of a reality for social workers in municipality practice (Liljegren et al. 2014). In recent times, the use of social media has helped social workers come together and celebrate a collective identity. Online forums are used to support fellow social workers, offer advice and ask questions, and have become an active part of social workers’ resource bank. On a more formal level, while there is no legal mandate for registering social workers in Sweden, the presence of trade unions is felt strongly. The unions encourage social workers to highlight issues that conflict with the ethics and values of the profession and advocate for the profession on policy levels. However, there is enormous pressure on social workers, given the retreat of the welfare state (Jönsson 2019). The dominance of NPM has played heavily on social workers’ daily lives, with frontline workers seeing the direct consequences of such economic approaches. The cutting of funding has had a significant impact on social workers’ ability to do a job they feel happy with, leading to stress, frustration and even apathy (Olsson and Sundh 2019). There are efforts to unite social workers to

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challenge structural issues and economic policies that define many of their clients’ life experiences. The landscape of contemporary social work is ultimately an exciting elective mix of roles, knowledge bases, theoretical approaches and diverse thinking. For all the daily struggles and difficult cases, social work remains a motivating and ambitious profession in Sweden, seeking, as all social workers do in the world, a better place for all.

1.6  Response to the Neoliberal Turn From this short review, it is clear that the corporativistic relationship between the Swedish welfare state represented by the Social Democratic party, capitalism and trade unionism has supported the emergence of Swedish social work. As Meeuwisse and Swärd (2006) argue, the emergence of Swedish social work may be seen not only in relation to capitalism but also as an effort to establish a politically progressive yet reformist welfare state with the aim of cushioning some of the atrocities of capitalism and simultaneously caring for and managing unwanted behaviour. Thus, it would be fair to say that Swedish social work developed and grew in dialogue with the Swedish welfare state, specifically through the expansion of municipal social work (Qvarsell 1993). Although the Swedish welfare state has undergone changes in recent years and private companies have entered the previously monopolised public sector, the production of welfare services continues. The cornerstones of the Swedish welfare state, unemployment, sickness, parental insurances and pension system, remain in place. The primary goal to provide equal access to care for all people regardless of need remains at the forefront of social policy rhetoric, as does the ideology of welfare service provision based on the principles of universality and equality. However, increased emphasis on standardisation, accountability and budget control reveal increasing inequality in access to welfare services, at the same time as the country is experiencing increasing income inequality. Furthermore, there is no indication that decentralisation and privatisation of Swedish welfare services will stop in the near future. Although there are concerns regarding inequality and distribution of resources within the existing system, the Social Democratic coalition government has continued policy implementation initiated by the previous centre-right government. Social work academics have conducted research on the effects of NPM in social work practice. While there has been little public resistance from social workers, research shows that social workers describe their work content and the conditions under which they work more negatively than their predecessors did a decade ago (Tham 2018). The implementation of NPM and privatisation has increased opportunities for profit and non-profit companies and third-sector organisations to play a part in the overall provision of welfare. While the majority of social workers still work in municipal social services, most of them in the statutory social welfare sector, privatisation has created alternative employment opportunities, and some social workers are setting up their own private practices or joining the private or voluntary sector.

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A general characteristic of social work under NPM, whether in the public or private sector, is that the discretionary power within the legal framework of the Social Security Act has been curtailed. Instead of direct work with clients to understand their needs and provide necessary services, Swedish social workers are more often employed as technical and managerial practitioners assessing needs and then coordinating the work of others.

1.7  The Book Plan It is crucial for us that the readers of this book understand the interrelated and inseparable nature of context and narrative. The narratives in this publication are intertwined with time and space, be it Sweden in the 1960s or as new immigrants to the country. As a result, each contributor offers a unique voice in a myriad of views from the social work landscape. In this introductory chapter, we have discussed the development of the Swedish welfare state, the emergence of social work education and professional practice as well as the shifts that have arisen in response to the implementation of NPM in the Swedish public sector. We asked our contributors to engage with the new conditions for Swedish social work through an intersectional lens asking questions such as: how do intersectional perspectives contribute to experiences of social work? How have these changes contributed to experiences of social work education? We also asked the contributors to reflect on how Sweden, as a relatively new multicultural society, has influenced their experiences of social work education and professional practice. The result is a book that is personal and reflective, and positions the contributors’ narratives as a window to understanding, addressing and seeking to resolve social problems. In Chap. 2, Lane and Wallengren-Lynch set the stage by engaging readers in a discussion on narratives as a method to elicit information and tell reflective stories. They use a fictional narrative as an illustrative frame to discuss how narratives are key resources in people’s ability to organise and talk about the world around them. The authors discuss how narratives allow for an understanding of how personal social and professional experiences are entwined and the myriad of ways that individual experiences are shaped by the greater social, cultural and institutional narratives within which they live. The authors argue that narratives can serve as a pedagogical tool for social work to assist in the processes of critical reflection and reflexivity in professional practice as part of professional education, supervision and development. Chapter 3 is a further illustration of the ideas outlined in Chap. 2. Starting from a broad, conceptual discussion on the meaning of narratives to human life and the applicability of narrative research within social sciences, the chapter is an exploration of Bečević’s pathway into academia and social work. Bečević discusses how his journey is closely intertwined with his discovery of language as a powerful tool for crafting social realities and how these realities have contributed to his research interest in youth participation in urban areas of Europe.

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Chapter 4 ‘Digging in the present’ is a reflection on the author’s experience of performing social work as a school counsellor. The chapter starts with WallengrenLynch’s reflections on his time at school and fast-forwards to the present in a new country and a new life. The chapter offers the reader an example of how reflection can be used to explore the author’s role as a school counsellor through the presentation of ‘artefacts’ from that time and locating them in the interplay between the role of a school counsellor and the profession of social work. The focus is also on discourses and exploring how these can influence the narrative. In Chap. 5, Johansson looks at the decisive times and places in her professional life as a social worker. She discusses how professional identity is constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed in relation to time and place. Focusing on the importance of the role of time and place in the construction of professional identity, Johansson reflects on the impact of identity, creating experiences for young social workers and social work students’ attitudes to international social work and international social work internships. In Chap. 6, Alstam considers a classical social work conflict: how to meet the needs of clients in a time when fiscal restraint and budgetary discipline limit the possibility of meeting them. Beginning with a personal memory of working with a vulnerable elderly client, Alstam illustrates this conflict through examples taken from social work with the elderly and secondary education. According to Alstam, the needs of both young and old are redefined, minimised and marginalised when budget discipline determines the delivery of social services. The chapter ends with an argument for social workers – practitioners and educators – to join forces to arm future social workers with the necessary skills to meet the challenges of neoliberalism and NPM in social work. Chapter 7 is a reflection by Gustafsson on the problematic labour market situation of immigrants to Sweden. Before World War II, Sweden was primarily an emigrant country when more than a million Swedes immigrated to the Americas. During World War II, Sweden accepted about 200,000 refugees, mostly from the other Nordic countries. However, it was not until after World War II, during the expansion of Swedish industry that ethnic diversity broadened, with Sweden actively recruiting industrial labourers from Southern Europe and Finland. From the 1970s onwards, the Swedish immigration policy focused on two groups: refugees and the reunification of refugee family members’ labour immigrants. Written from the vantage point of a professional economist, the chapter provides an insight into the consequences of globalisation and how the problems that ensue can be addressed through social policy and social work. From a pedagogical social work perspective, the chapter offers students an opportunity to engage with a non-social worker’s perspective on a social problem that is at the core of professional practice in a globalised world. Chapter 8 continues the book’s engagement with globalisation and immigration. Prick, reflects on her long career as a social worker in the field, first as a social worker in a refugee reception centre and then coming full circle, having recently retired but remaining involved in voluntary social work with international women’s organisations. The author in a very accessible way discusses how being an immigrant contributed insider knowledge and experiences that enriched and empowered her as a social worker working with immigrant families. Her story rests solely on

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her experiences and reflections as, she aims to encourage and serve as a source of strength and support for students with non-native ethnic backgrounds entering the field of social work. In Chap. 9, Sabeti tells the story that inspired her as a social worker and talks about the challenges of maintaining her identity as her work has become more global and macro-oriented. Sabeti takes the reader on an unconventional social work journey to engage him or her in new perspectives on our profession. Throughout the chapter, Sabeti provides insights, reflections and observations that have shaped and enriched her professional life. The focus is on professional social work practice and its power to effect change, whether at individual, community or societal level. In Chap. 10, the focus moves towards social work education. Davidsson highlights some paradoxes within social work and deals with the question of how social work research and teaching can address these. The point of departure is a personal account of the author’s gnawing feeling of unrest, stemming from clashes between his professional social work experiences and his personal ideas of how the social world functions and is organised. The writer examines how these conflicting feelings became manageable and even a starting point for serious reflection after he was introduced to critical social theory. The chapter ends with a reflection on how social work education can engage with these paradoxes, how they can be communicated to social work students and how education can help future social workers resolve dissonances between ideals and professional social work practice. Chapter 11 is a discussion by Lane on the importance of an anti-oppressive approach to social work education. Reflecting on her experiences of research in a European Union project focusing on the situation of students with a disability in higher education, Lane aims to contribute to ongoing discussions on social work education by examining the potential for anti-oppressive practice (AOP) to reduce stigma and increase inclusion in the classroom in order to enhance teaching in social work education. In Chap. 12, the Epilogue ‘The relevance of narratives in future social work?’ Lane and Wallengren-Lynch briefly summarise the preceding chapters and identify the various threads that have emerged in the texts, followed by a discussion of what theses narratives tell us about the state of social work and social work practice at present and the challenges facing the profession in the future.

References Åmark, K. (2005). Hundra år av välfärdspolitik. Välfärdsstatens framväxt i Norge och Sverige [A hundred years of welfare policy: Development of the welfare state in Norway and Sweden]. Umeå: Borea. Aronsson, P. (2009). Kvinnorna i socialt arbete [Women in social work]. In M.  A. Egerö, & H. Svärd (Eds.), Villkorandets misär. Fattigdomens premisser och samhällets åtgärder –då och nu [Misery’s conditions. The foundations of poverty and society’s actions – Then and now]. Stockholm: CSA, Egalité förlag.

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Åström, K. (2000). Förändringar och förskjutningar i välfärdens rättsliga reglering under 1990– talet. In Välfärd, vård och omsorg, SOU, 38: 247–264. Stockholm: Socialdepartementet. Barrdunge, M. (2000). Birkagården, andlig frihet i folkhemmet [Birkagården, spiritual freedom in the people’s home]. Stockholm: Birkagårdens Förlag. Barton, H. (2008). The conscience of the rich: Djursholm, Birkastaden, and Swedish liberalism. Scandinavian Studies, 80(2), 167–184. Björnberg, U. (2002). Ideology and choice between work and care: Swedish family policy for working parents. Critical Social Policy, 2(1), 33–52. Blomqvist, P. (2004). The choice revolution: Privatization of Swedish welfare services in the 1990s. Social Policy and Administration, 38(2), 139–155. Christensen, T., & Lægreid, P. (2007). The whole-of-government approach to public sector reform. Public Administration Review, 67(6), 1059–1066. Cree, V. (2013). Becoming a social worker global narratives (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. Cumbler, J. (1980). The politics of charity: Gender and class in late 19th century charity policy. Journal of Social History, 14(1), 99–111. Delander, L., Thoursie, R., & Wadensjö, E. (1991). Arbetsförmedlingens historia [A history of employment services]. Stockholm: Allmänna förlag. Dellgran, P., & Höjer, S. (2005). Mellan offentligt och privat, politik och profession – En introduction [Between public and private, politics and profession – An introduction]. Socialvetenskaplig tidskrift, 12(2–3), 98–107. Dellgran, P., & Höjer, S. (2013). Kunskap i socialt arbete: Om villkor, processer och användning [Knowledge in social work: About conditions, processes and use]. Stockholm: Natur & Kultur Akademisk. Edebalk, P. G. (2003). Bismarck och de första socialförsäkringarna [Bismarck and the first social insurances]. Socialvetenskaplig tidskrift, 10(4), 352–365. Esping Andersen, G. (1993). The making of a social democratic welfare state. In K.  Misgeld, K. Molin, & K. Åmark (Eds.), Creating social democracy. A century of the social democratic labor party in Sweden. Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press. Esping-Andersen, G. (1990). Three worlds of welfare capitalism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Esping-Andersen, G., & Korpi, W. (1987). From poor relief to institutional welfare states. In R.  Erikson, E.  J. Hansen, S.  Ring, & H.  Uusitalo (Eds.), The Scandinavian model: Welfare states and welfare research. New York: M.E. Sharpe. Evertsson, L. (2000). The Swedish welfare state and the emergence of female welfare state. Occupations, Gender, Work & Organization, 7(4), 230–241. Gümüscü, A., Nygren, L. & Khoo, E. (2018). Social work and the management of complexity in Swedish child welfare services, Nordic Social Work Research, https://doi.org/10.1080/21568 57X.2018.1542336 Hernes, H. M. (1987). Welfare state and woman power: Essays in state feminism. Oslo: Norwegian University Press. Holmberg, I., & Henning, R. (2003). Offentligt ledarskap  – om förändring, förnyelse och nya ledarideal [Public leadership  – On change, renewal and new leadership ideals]. Lund: Studentlitteratur AB. Holosko, M., Holosko, D. A., & Spenser, K. (2009). Social services in Sweden: An overview of policy issues, devolution, and collaboration. Social Work in Public Health, 24(3), 210–234. Johansson, H., & Hvinden, B. (2007). Re-activating the Nordic welfare states. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 27(7/8), 334–346. Jönsson, J. H. (2019). Servants of a ‘sinking titanic’ or actors of change? Contested identities of social workers in Sweden. European Journal of Social Work, 22(2), 212–224. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/13691457.2018.1529659. Jordansson, B. (1992). Hur filantropen blir en kvinna. Fattigvård och välgörenhet under 1800-talet [How philanthropy became a woman. Poverty and charity in the 1800s]. Historisk tidskrift, 112(4), 468–487.

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Lane, L. (2004). Trying to make a living  – Studies in the economic life of women in interwar Sweden. Doctoral thesis, Department of Economic-History, no. 90. University of Gothenburg. Download from http://hdl.handle.net/2077/54085 Lane, L., Spehar, A., & Johansson, H. (2011). Familje and Familjepolitik in Europa [Family and family politics in Europe]. In L. Berg, & A. Spehar (Eds.), EU och välfärdens Europa [EU and welfare in Europe]. Stockholm: Liber förlag. Lennqvist-Lindén, A. S. (2010). Att lägga politiken tillrätta. Kommunala chefers professionalisering [Putting politics in its place. The professionalisation of municipal management]. Doctoral thesis, Örebro Studies in Political Science, no 28. University of Örebro. Liljegren, A., Höjer, S., & Forkby, T. (2014). Laypersons, professions, and governance in the welfare state: The Swedish child protection system. Journal of Professions and Organization, 1(2), 161–175. Lindert, P. (2004). Growing public: Social spending and economic growth since the eighteenth century (Two volumes). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lundberg, U., & Åmark, K. (2001). Social rights and social security: The Swedish welfare state, 1900-2000. Scandinavian Journal of History, 26(3), 157–176. Lundquist, L. (1997). Fattigvårdsfolket. Ett nätverk i den sociala frågan 1900–1920 [The poor relief people: A network in social policy]. Lund: Studentlitteratur AB. Meeuwisse, A., & Swärd, H. (2006). Vad är socialt arbete? [What is social work?]. In A. Meeuwisse, S. Sunesson, & H. Swärd (Eds.), Socialt Arbete – en grundbok [Social work – A ground book]. Stockholm: Kultur och Natur. Nilsson, K.S. (2000). Marknadens decennium - gränsomdragande reformer i den offentliga sektorn under 1900-talet [The markets decade - (re)forming the public sector in the 1990s]. In Välfärd, vård och omsorg, SOU, 38: 225–246. Stockholm: Socialdepartementet. Norlander, K. (2000). Människor kring ett företag Liljeholmens Stearinfabriks AB 1872-1939 [Men, women and the company]. Doctoral thesis, Department of Economic-History no. 77. University of Gothenburg. Olsson, E., & Sundh, M. (2019). Perception of time in relation to work and private life among Swedish social workers  – The temporal clash between the organization and the individual. European Journal of Social Work, 22(4), 690–701. https://doi.org/10.1080/13691457.2018.1 423549. Oscarsson, H. (2000). Partiernas sympatikapital! [Political party’s sympathy capital!]. In S.  Holmberg, & L.  Weibull (Eds.), Det nya samhället [The new society] (Som-rapport 24). Göteborg: Gőteborgs Universitet/Som-institutet. Pettersson, U. (2001). Socialt arbete, politik och professionalisering. Den historiska utvecklingen i USA och Sverige [Social work, politics and professionalisation: The historical development in the US and Sweden]. Stockholm: Natur och Kultur. Pollitt, C., & Bouckaert, G. (2004). Public management reform: A comparative analysis. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Qvarsell, R. (1993). Välgörenhet, filantropi och frivilligt socialt arbete: en historisk översikt in Frivilligt socialt arbete [Charity, philanthropy and voluntary social work: A historical review in voluntary social work]. Socialtjänstkommittén, SOU, 1993, 82. Register, C. (1982). Motherhood at center: Ellen key’s social vision: Ellen Key’s social vision. Women’s Studies International Forum, 5(6), 599–610. Sjöberg, S., & Turunen, P. (2018). Samhällsarbete: aktörer, arenor och perspektiv [Community work: Actors, arena and perspectives]. Lund: Studentlitteratur AB. Sunesson, S. (2003). Socialt arbete – en bakgrund till ett forskningsämne. [Social work - a background to a research field]. Socialt arbete: en nationell genomlysning av ämnet. Stockholm: Högskoleverket. Svensson, K., Johnsson, E., & Laanemets, L. (2008). Handlingsutrymme. Utmaningar i socialt arbete [Discretionary power. Challenges in social work]. Stockholm: Natur & Kultur.

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Swärd, H., & Edebalk, P.  G. (2017). Socialt arbete och socialpolitik –om Centralförbundet för socialt arbete och dess betydelse [Social work and social policy – On CSA and is importance for social work]. Lund: Studentlitteratur AB. Tham, P. (2018). A professional role in transition: Swedish child welfare social workers’ descriptions of their work in 2003 and 2014. British Journal of Social Work, 8(2), 449–467. Wahlberg, S. (2001). Samhällsarbete – strategier för ett radikalt och humanistiskt socialt arbete [Community work – Strategies for a radical and humanistic social work]. Stockholm: Norstedts Juridik. Wiklund, S. (2006). Signs of child maltreatment. The extent and nature of referrals to Swedish child welfare agencies [Barnavårdsanmälningar i Sverige: Omfattning, källor och problembilder]. European Journal of Social Work, 9(1), 39–58. https://doi.org/10.1080/13691450500480615.

Chapter 2

The Power of Narratives Linda Lane

and Michael Wallengren-Lynch

2.1  Introduction Avril takes a seat and lets out a deep sigh; it feels like days since she has been able to take a breath. Since last week she has moved from hostel to hostel waiting for her social worker to find her a place in emergency accommodation. Avril lived in a destructive relationship for a long time. Given what happened last week, she is determined that this is the last time and she will not be going back.

Avril’s story1 will follow us through this chapter. Her journey from story to narrative will provide the reader with an example of how rewriting one’s story can be empowering and create opportunities for change. The focus on narratives presupposes deep respect for the human experience and the journeys people go through in order to make sense of things, to survive and to feel complete. Social workers meet people daily to hear stories of pain, sorrow and hope. Narratives and stories go to the core of social work values, and with this chapter, we hope to give the reader a sense of the relevance narratives hold for the profession.

 Avril’s story is fictitious and not based on any particular person.

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L. Lane Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] M. Wallengren-Lynch (*) Department of Social Work, University of Malmö, Malmoe, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_2

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2.2  What Are Narratives? Since the 1960s, narrative approaches stemming from the field of literary criticism (for example, Derrida in the book Of grammatology) have filtered into many disciplines. In essence, these approaches are interested not just in the story being told but also in how the story is told and constructed and in breaking things into small parts to explore the meaning behind a particular piece of writing. These approaches have enabled broader societal discourses to be linked to the text. This way of thinking has filtered into other areas and created what is called a ‘narrative turn’. History, anthropology and folklore, psychology, sociolinguistics and communication studies, sociology, and even professions such as social work, law, medicine, nursing, education and occupational therapy (Riessman and Quinney 2005) have all embraced narratives as a mode of analysis, form of treatment and even research. The term narrative is part of everyday parlance, and as a result, can have a diluted meaning. It is used in many contexts and often interchangeably with the word story. As a result, the term has come to mean anything and everything and is very difficult to pin down. However, using the phrase correctly means recognising the difference between story and narrative, between simply telling someone something and an actual analysis of the story being discussed. The latter embraces a narrative perspective. Asking questions of a story such as ‘what cultural resources does it draw on – take for granted? What does it accomplish? Are there gaps and inconsistencies that might suggest alternative counter-narratives?’ (Riessman and Quinney 2005, pp. 393) facilitates a narrative-based analysis. Typically, narrators structure their tales temporally and spatially both in the order of the words and by linking them to time and space (Laslett 1999:392). The projection of time as forward moving is most familiar to our Western minds, but narratives can also be organised around specific themes or particular events. In conversation, storytelling typically involves a ‘longer turn at talk than is the norm’ (Riessman and Quinney 2005:395), while narratives are expressed in ‘a multitude of ways’. Paul Ricoeur, a well-respected thinker in the field of narrative and philosophy, argues that ‘we are sense-making beings (homo narrans)’ and putting experiences into a narrative form helps us understand and construct the events in our lives. Narratives help frame the transition from everyday life to significant life events. Ricoeur was interested not just in the story within the narrative but also in how the narrative was constructed and delivered by the teller. Plummer (1995, p. 30) argued that a narrative could also enable people’s ‘resistance to oppression’. She sees people resist oppression ‘by identifying themselves as subjects, by defining their reality, shaping their new identity, naming their history, telling their story’. The act of telling a story can serve many purposes  – to remember, argue, justify, persuade, engage, entertain and even mislead an audience (Bamberg and McCabe 1998). The persuasive function of a narrative is especially relevant to social work. Narrative forms function as a vehicle for individuals to construct stories of experiences that go beyond mere storytelling.

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2.3  Social Work and Narratives In Weight of the World (1989), the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu uses an ethnographic methodology to highlight the everyday challenges for people living in situations of economic vulnerability. He uses life experiences of people to show us what it is like to eke out a living in overcrowded spaces of high-rise buildings. Furthermore, these stories show us the challenges of living with racism, violence and prejudice in everyday life. Harnessing an understanding of the life of others is crucial when developing a way of thinking for social work. Social work is a challenging profession: Bourdieu saw the social worker as ‘shot through with the contradictions of the state’ – so it can be a challenge to put a narrative perspective into practice in the many different areas of social work practice. But there is good reason to do so. The idea of focusing on narratives at this juncture in time is related to the encroachment of evidence-driven practice and New Public Management upon social work and social work education, themes which crop up in several chapters of this book. As examples of the impact of social policy on social work practice and education, narrative approaches prioritise a particular way of working and of knowledge, which often does not lend itself to taking time to foster a narrative perspective. These approaches offer many positive things to social work, such as accountability and transparency, but they can also restrict autonomy and creativity. Stories can represent an alternative way of doing social work that is closer to the values that social work cherishes through listening, giving voice and empowerment via a narrative. Their application can range from how to talk about clients to their use in supervision settings. This crucial aspect of social work practice requires the practitioner to be able to tell the client’s story coherently so that his or her colleagues and supervisor can offer insights and feedback. The telling of the client’s story is a skilled and challenging act: what does the social worker choose to include and exclude, what does he or she highlight, what angle does he or she take? In addition, narratives provide an alternative approach to understanding the complexity and uncertainty found in many social care settings (Riessman and Quinney 2005). Narratives play an essential role in social work as they can highlight individual, local and group experiences. The construction and telling of stories is an integral part of a social worker’s practice. Telling the story of a client in a vulnerable life situation, such as Avril, is a powerful act. It can take the form of writing case notes, reports, therapy or even community mobilisation. Social workers spend much of their time writing about people, so it is essential to be mindful of how this can contribute to empowering or disempowering the client. For social workers to be able to tell their clients’ stories, they need to be good at listening, reflecting on and translating information into the written word. To make this happen, social workers need their skills to develop relationships, gain trust and build rapport. Whatever the focus, the spoken and written word both require connections and relationships to encourage the client to open up and share his or her personal story.

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Riessman and Quinney (2005) believes that a narrative framework can honour social work values and ethics by valuing the time spent with people, time needed to enact a narrative perspective in a practice setting. In this vein, Furman et al. (2006) encourage us to move away from the idea of social workers as ‘scientists/practitioners’ towards social workers as ‘poets/practitioners’, arguing that such an approach can promote a more strength-based and collaborative approach to practice. This pays reference to seeing social work as an art form, given the skills required to form relationships with many different people. With a nod to shared power, McKenzieMohr and Lafrance (2017) argue that the use of narratives enables the professional to practise empowerment-informed social work by inviting the clients to co-construct their narrative. Social work has set its mission as helping society and individuals with the issues discussed by Bourdieu – no small task! And the educator’s job is to prepare social workers for this challenge – again, no small responsibility! Narratives have a deep resonance with people and, in particular, social workers and those interested in studying social work. With a narrative approach, we prioritise a type of knowledge and a way of seeing the experiences of individuals and ultimately take a position of seeking to understand, not pathologise or blame, individuals and communities for the issues they face.

2.4  Narrative Methods in Focus: An Example from Practice Avril has met many social workers during the last few years. She has made many efforts to leave her partner and has invariably come into contact with social workers. Every time Avril meets one, she has to recount the whole story regarding her partner and her experiences. She is tired of having to explain every detail because of what she feels is just a bureaucratic need. She is tired of being seen as a victim. She is tired of her voice, of her own story.

Good social work is a bit like good journalism: it involves going behind what is presented as fact to find deeper meaning. The story’s author, the narrator, can use the medium to highlight what he or she wants and considers relevant and essential. The narrator can also become detached from the power of his or her own story, just as Avril has. Narrative therapists refer to the idea of internalisation, a point at which an individual’s belief in his or her story can be a type of paralysis that stops the individual thinking that he or she has the power to change and that there can be multiple versions of his or her story. We can also see that Avril has become apathetic to her own story. The remainder of this chapter will focus on exploring Avril’s story to give the reader a sense of how a narrative approach can be used as a way to facilitate empowerment and self-awareness. By using the steps created by Roscoe and Madoc-Jones (2009) – Engagement, Deconstruction and Re-authoring – we can get a sense of how using this approach in social work practice can open possibilities for change in even the most complicated of situations.

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2.5  Engagement Avril’s first meeting with her caseworker after settling in at the emergency accommodation was positive. She was apprehensive about the meeting as she has met caseworkers before. Avril feels listened to, not judged about having returned to her partner numerous times. The caseworker did ask her to tell ‘her story’ but also pointed out strong sides to Avril’s personality, such as the times she left, when she rang someone when the violence became too much for her and the fact that she had managed to stay in college despite the violence at home. Hearing this relaxed Avril, hearing that she was resilient even though she did not feel it. Maybe there are parts to her story that she had not thought about?

Engagement is an idea and action that holds a central place in social work. But what does it mean and why is it important? Engagement is based on core humanist values such as authenticity, empathy and respect, and helps the client and the social worker establish a professional relationship. Power also comes into play in the relationship, given the caseworker’s job responsibility, so he or she must be aware of how this influences the complicated relationship (Banks 2012; Aronsson and Smith 2011). For a client to begin to feel comfortable enough to tell and reflect on his or her narrative, someone needs to be listening. The social worker needs to be able to read the emotional wellbeing signals, show empathy and, at the same time, navigate the ‘messy and complex’ world of social work and the client interactions. There are of course other mediums through which to engage a client’s narrative. The written word is also an opportunity to invite clients to participate in the telling and writing of their own story. To do so is a move from what is often confrontational relationships to one based on cooperation. In a therapeutic context, such as Avril’s example, a narrative approach supports people’s efforts to resist a dominant narrative about their lives with which they may not agree, such as being seen as a victim. All too often, a client’s narrative is created without his or her direct participation and becomes accepted as the accurate and unmovable representation of the client’s story and can result in a harmful (re)storytelling of his or her life. In narrative approaches to social work practice, the client is invited to see his or her life story as a text and given the power to rewrite it. Storying the case is how social workers create a narrative about their client. This is a crucial requirement given the time spent by social workers in the meeting setting, such as, for example, a case conference. If Avril had had children, there would probably have been such a meeting. A case conference is where professionals and families meet to address issues of concern regarding the wellbeing of a child. It is up to the professional to portray the client’s narrative in a respectful and representative manner. The way this message is delivered is also important, for instance, some clients narrate their experiences in ways that engage and convince social workers, while others may communicate in a way that leaves the social worker sceptical, inviting counter-narratives. Research shows that this can influence the decision-­ making of the social worker. It is also essential for Avril’s caseworker to be able to get help from her colleagues, so she needs to be able to story the case in a helpful and respectful way.

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2.6  Deconstruction Avril has now met her caseworker five times. They have discussed things that Avril had never considered nor reflected upon, such as women’s role in society, how power works, the exiting process that women go through before they are ready to leave their partners. It feels like something has shifted in Avril’s mind, as if she can see herself from a different standpoint. For the first time in a long while, she feels positive, empowered almost.

Thinking critically in the social work sense stems from specific perspectives held by the Frankfurt School and later developed in social work by people such as Jan Fook. One aim of a critical position is to help Avril recognise the broader factors that impact her reality, such as prevailing cultural norms, e.g. patriarchy. Deepening Avril’s awareness of these factors can help her externalise negative feelings such as blame and help her create a different perspective regarding her relationship. Many women internalise domestic violence so that they blame themselves and feel that they are somehow the cause of it. The conversation with her caseworker focuses on the strengths that Avril has and builds up her motivation for change and belief in sustaining it.

2.7  Re-authoring Avril has met with her caseworker more than ten times. She speaks about her experiences with her partner in different terms now. Sometimes, it can be hard to pin down precisely what is different, but she feels more positive about and in control of her future, and more in charge of her narrative. Avril is aware how acting on feelings is a weak foundation for her to change. This insight is new and vital to her as she begins to write the next chapter of her life.

This step is the primary outcome of a narrative approach: the act of rewriting the narrative. The conversations with the caseworker have motivated and encouraged Avril to see her life in terms of a text. Added to this is the view that we have many stories, and that our identifies are not single told versions of events. Roscoe et al. (2011, p. 11) remind us that ‘the anti-oppressive approach of externalising conversations encourages service users to gain control and reject notions of fixed truths and social truths which have more powers than others’. Once this makes sense to Avril, will she be able to begin to see her past, and therefore her future, differently? The new chapter in her story and her narrative analysis of her own story will help her to recognise the factors that are outside her control and provide a script that will help her live the future she wants.

2.8  Conclusion Stories and narratives are different. The former are free-flowing renditions of an event and the latter more deliberate acts that construct and help make sense of something. In contrast to the simple telling of a story, narrators take long turns and efforts to create plots from sometimes disordered experiences. These actions give reality to

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‘a unity that neither nature nor the past possesses so clearly’ (Cronon 1992:1349). What Cronon means is that the power of the narrator is immense in so far as he or she can design his or her own story and be the author of that text. A narrative approach is intertwined with reflection. This book challenges the contributors to reflect on themselves as professionals and as people, a challenge educators often ask of their students. It is fair to say that students, teachers and practitioners alike struggle from time to time to apply the concept of reflection to their own lives and how this can be used to further their personal and professional development. One way of connecting and building relationships in the social world is through the sharing of stories. Society has done this since the beginning of time. From sitting around campfires to putting children to bed at night, stories have enthralled, educated and soothed us  – ultimately bringing us together as humans. Stories become vehicles that transport us into the worlds of others. Listening with an open mind and desire to get to know another is a journey made possible by empathy. It is no coincidence that understanding plays a crucial part in good social work practice and education. Empathy enables us to reach outside our existence and feel what it is like to be in someone else’s shoes. As pointed out in the introduction chapter, this book is about connecting the personal story with the professional one. How this manifests itself in the individual sections is, as you would expect, individual. There is no formula for getting the balance right, as it is a subjective process. The aim, however, is to show the reader how the contributors chose to do it. The reader has the chance to take what he or she will from the information the author shares and the way he or she balances the telling of his or her own personal story and professional story. The authors in the following chapters share practical knowledge from their experiences and reflect on processes in professional development and social work. This book offers what recent research literature is lacking, namely illustrative narratives of the Swedish context written by individuals who work as social work educators and social work professionals. Narratives open up the process of inquiry and reflection and challenge the contradictions and ambiguities in practice teaching when theory and practice are confronted with the realities of the workplace and the limitations of human endeavour. Much of social work education aims to mirror the practice of social work. This means that a professional relationship between teachers and students is essential to help students recognise the importance of their own story. By not having a narrative approach, we can leave ourselves open to unreflective practice. Butler et al. (2007, p. 287) caution that ‘we are aware that currently, social workers have the power through statute, language and perspective to define the experiences of others’. However, it is also worth noting that when social workers automatically ‘frame’ problems in terms of sexism or racism, for example, the service user may not define his or her problems in the same way (Sakamoto and Pitner 2005). It is also relevant to point out that the popularisation of the narrative can have a devaluing effect on the concept. As Riessman and Quinney (2005, p. 393) point out, ‘in popular usage, a “story” seems to speak for itself, not requiring interpretation – an indefensible position for serious scholarship’. The goal is to go beyond

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contemporary understandings that everyone has to a ‘story’ that speaks for itself and does not require interpretation or contextualisation. Narratives aspire to more. They demand that we pay attention to ‘how the facts got assembled that way. For whom was this story constructed, how was it made, and for what purpose? What cultural resources does it draw on – take for granted? What does it accomplish? Are there gaps and inconsistencies that might suggest alternative counter-narratives?’ (Riessman and Quinney 2005:393). In practice, however, time tends to be limited for social work practitioners to build relationships with clients due to institutional and professional pressures. Often, the same demands prevail for teachers of social work. So, if this book is about anything, it is about creating a space to tell a story. The stories are from social workers, educators and practitioners who also believe in the importance of their own story and the influence this has on their professional practice.

References Aronson, J., & Smith, K. (2011). Identity work and critical social service management: Balancing on a tightrope? The British Journal of Social Work, 41(3), 432–448. https://doi.org/10.1093/ bjsw/bcq102. Bamberg, M. G. W., & McCabe, A. (1998). Editorial. Narrative Inquiry, 8(1), iii–v. Banks, S. (2012). Ethics and values in social work (4th ed.). Palgrave Macmillan: Basingstoke. Butler, A., Ford, D., & Tregaskis, C. (2007). ‘Who do we think we are? Self and reflexivity in social work practice’, Qualitative Social Work, 6(3), 281–299. Cronon, W. (1992). A place for stories: Nature, history, and narrative. Journal of American History, 78(4), 1347–1376. Furman, R., Langer, C., & Anderson, D. (2006). The poet/practitioner: A paradigm for the profession. Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare, 33(3), 29–50. Laslett, B. (1999). Personal narrative as sociology. Contemporary Sociology, 28(4), 391–401. McKenzie-Mohr, S., & LaFrance, M.  N. (2017). Narrative resistance in social work research and practice: Counter-storying in the pursuit of social justice. Qualitative Social Work, 16(2), 189–205. Plummer, K. (1995). Telling sexual stories: power, change and social worlds. London: Routledge. Riessman, C. K., & Quinney, L. (2005). Narrative in social work a critical review. Qualitative Social Work, 4(4), 391–412. Roscoe, K. D & Madoc-Jones, I. (2009). Critical social work practice: a narrative approach’. International Journal of Narrative Practice, 1, 9–18. Roscoe, K. D., Carson, A. M., & Madoc-Jones, I. (2011). Narrative Social Work: Conversations between theory and practice. Journal of Social Work Practice, 25(1), 47–61. Sakamoto, I., & Pitner, R. (2005). Use of critical consciousness in Anti-Oppressive Social work practice: Disentangling Power Dynamics at personal and structural levels. British Journal of Social Work, 35(4), 435–452.

Chapter 3

World Making: Stories and the Power of Radical Imagination Zulmir Bečević

3.1  Introduction Stories are everywhere, and we are all storytellers. Storytelling serves a fundamental function when it comes to how we understand, interpret and mediate our experiences of the world. It is hard to think about life as it is lived without at the same time thinking about its narrative. Life is nothing but a ‘biological phenomenon’, as Paul Ricoeur (1981) writes, as long as it has not become an object of interpretation. The exploration of life consists of a telling and retelling of it: what we call life has a pre-­ narrative capacity. According to the psychologist Jerome Bruner (1987), the narrative form is the most fundamental principle for organising human experience. When people narrate, they engage in, in Bruner’s words, ‘world making’, which is the most important function of the intellect, regardless of the creative activity in focus: scientific or artistic. Accordingly, when people tell stories about their lives, they are interpreting their experiences and social realities, giving these elusive phenomena a narrative form: they are engaging in, what Bruner calls, ‘life making’. Continuously putting experiences into words, telling and retelling each other who we are, where we come from, how we look at the world and why, what we think, feel and long for, is part of a universal and timeless human activity and a distinct feature of human nature. That is how we create moral judgements and ethical positions, norms, belongings and identities – by narrating we ascribe meaning to our very existence. Storytelling is thus an activity with profound existential meaning. Stories give structure to our experiences. Fragments are put together, chaos turned into order, and the elusiveness of life rendered somewhat more comprehensible. My journey into academia and social work is one through words. It is closely intertwined with my discovery of language as a powerful tool for crafting Z. Bečević (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_3

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experience and cannot be separated from it. In this paper, I set out to reconstruct my personal path into academia and the world of writing, teaching and research. I share my story with students and colleagues, finishing with an outline of what I, from a global perspective, perceive to be one of the critical issues and major challenges of current social work.

3.2  The Role of Language My relationship with and usage of language is two-dimensional. Besides working in academia, I am and have been a writer of fiction since the publication of my first novel 13 years ago. Since my debut, I have written and published three novels and a couple of short stories, and written other pieces of prose for different media. I must thus admit that on some occasions, when organisers outside the university invite me to give talks, it is not easy to decide in which persona I will appear: as an academic or writer of fiction. For the purpose of writing this particular text however, I realised when I thought about it that I do not have to choose persona, because both academic and fiction writing are fundamentally products of the imaginative mind and its capacity to narratively organise experience. Regardless of the obvious formal differences, scientific and fiction writing are both creative activities. As such they build on a similar set of premises: discipline and inspiration, knowledge production through language, curiosity, imagination and exploration, and a never-ending examination of phenomena we tend to take for granted. Writing formal academic prose and fiction are activities that define who I am as a person and professional, and who I have come to be since I came to Sweden as an 11-year-old refugee from a war-torn Bosnia and Herzegovina. As a writer of fiction, perhaps the most common question I am asked is ‘why do you write?’. I used to be asked that as a 24-year-old debutant and still am today – in Stockholm, Gothenburg, Copenhagen, Oslo, Sarajevo and Belgrade – by journalists and readers. And it is a good question, one which I cannot easily answer. Trying to be witty, I usually say that I am a writer who did not know I was one until I published my first book. As a child, growing up in former Yugoslavia and Bosnia, I never consciously cultivated a dream of becoming a writer, nor a researcher for that matter. I have never taken creative writing classes or gone to writing school. As a child, and later a teenager, I never strived for nor imagined that I would be doing what I am doing professionally. At the same time, neither did I simply wake up one day and decide to go to university and commit myself to serious writing. There are many different trajectories to academia and creative professions. Looking back and trying to understand why my life turned out the way it did, I need to imagine myself back in my childhood and narratively reconstruct some of the key experiences which I believe have been crucial to my choice of work.

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3.3  Early Background My pathway into academia and social work started with a personally grounded curiosity about the very nature of the human condition. Born in 1982, I grew up in Bosnia and Herzegovina, then a part of Yugoslavia. I have happy memories of my childhood. Looking back, I remember it as a warm and safe place, full of adventure and spontaneous play. The safe childhood as I knew it, however, was to change drastically. Due to rising ethno-nationalistic sentiments, chauvinistic political rhetoric and economic crises, in the early 1990s, Yugoslavia started to fall apart. As a 9-year-old boy, I remember watching caravans of refugees passing through my city, sensing that something was terribly wrong but lacking the analytical apparatus and the words to grasp exactly what. In April 1992, the war came to north-eastern Bosnia and Orašje, my home city. I was at school; we were having a math class. The teacher was restless, she seemed stressed. I remember there being a kind of inexplicable tension in the air. Suddenly, mothers began turning up in the classroom and taking their children home. The men  – I learned later  – had been assigned to the territorial defence of the city. Walking swiftly through the city streets, holding my hand tightly, my mum was unable to provide answers to the many questions I had. Later that afternoon, the shooting started. My mum and I spent the night in a neighbour’s cellar, hiding from the grenades. The following day, we packed and took the boat across the river Sava to a neighbouring city in Croatia where it was safer. I thought the shootings were going to end and that I would soon return home. Thinking all of this was temporary, the only things I had taken with me were a couple of comic books from my precious collection. Without realising it, at that moment I became a refugee, a condition of existence that would characterise my life for many years to come and, in many respects, still does. In narrative theory, this event would be called a ‘turning point’ or ‘key experience’. Looking at it retroactively, this event has a special place in my gallery of experiences because of the meaning I ascribe to it. My life changed overnight. Looking at it then, from a child’s perspective, the war erupted suddenly and out of nowhere, making me homeless. If I were to pinpoint a decisive moment in my biography, a key experience that opened up a path towards identification and solidarity with people in marginalised life situations, this would be it. The interest in issues concerning social justice that would later (consciously and probably unconsciously) guide me in many of my life choices and actions was most probably awakened by the outbreak of the war. The war in Bosnia was the bloodiest on European soil since World War II.  It raged for four  years, forcing millions of people to leave their homes and spread throughout the world. My childhood friends and other people I knew, today live in Germany, Austria, Norway, Denmark, England, the USA, Australia and, of course, Sweden. They have their experiences and their stories. More than 200,000 people were killed, many of them systematically in concentration camps due to the Serb-­ orchestrated ethnic cleansing of Bosnian Muslims. Many things I knew and took for

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granted were brutally taken away from me by the war: my home, my street, my friends and my childhood ontology, which had provided me with feelings of basic security in an endless world. The war launched me, and many others like me, into a world of existential vacuum, making me permanently rootless.

3.4  Coming to Sweden Coming to Sweden as an 11-year-old refugee was another turning point in my life. In many ways, it meant a new kind of existence. Being a refugee meant starting life all over again, not from zero but from minus ten. As a child, I had developed a kind of natural closeness to language, words and stories. I used to read a lot of comic books and fiction, in the Latin alphabet and Cyrillic script. One of the strangest experiences in the new Swedish context was the feeling of having been deprived of language as the tool with which I had started to discover and make sense of the world. However, early on I decided to turn Swedish into my language, to conquer it and use it as a key with which to unlock and decipher my new reality. I have never been afraid of language, and I truly think that the greatest respect one can have for a language is to not respect it too much, to use it and abuse it, to practise it and make it one’s own. So, while living in a refugee camp with my parents, waiting for news on our asylum application, I started learning Swedish together with the other children. After a year in the refugee camp, my family received a residence permit. By now I was proficient in Swedish and was placed in regular school. Even though I had always enjoyed reading and found it meaningful, in primary and upper secondary school this was to radically change. During my years in primary school, I did not do very well. I had no interest in schoolwork. Reading books suddenly became tedious. I only did so when I had to, to pass a particular subject. I was into music and football and, like any other teenager, I was struggling to find social acceptance and recognition. My dad, my mum and I were all immersed in personal struggles of different kinds and did not pay much attention to each other. My dad was still struggling to find his place in this new life, my mum worked dead-end jobs like cleaning to avoid the shame of being dependent on social welfare, and I graduated from upper secondary school with poor grades and no sense of future prospects. After upper secondary school, I moved to Gothenburg. I killed time at the unemployment office, periodically working as a cleaner or a waiter in a fast food restaurant. I did not like the work. The working conditions were poor and the salary low. On the plus side, there were all the people I got to know, many from similar backgrounds to mine. Luckily, my time as a cleaner and employee in the fast food industry lasted only a couple of months. When I became 20 – another turning point in my life – I asked myself: is this what life has to offer me? A working class youth with a refugee background, an immigrant with, in the words of Bourdieu, insignificant capital forms and no networks or contacts that could open doors to a meaningful career of any kind. I needed to change my path. Education seemed to be the answer,

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basically the only way forward. I improved my grades from upper secondary school and applied to university.

3.5  Entering Academia As a student of political science at Linnaeus University, I underwent a profound transformation, again connecting with my lustful approach to language, ideas and imagination, which had been a vital part of my childhood. I started reading again, seriously, academic literature as well as fiction, and pretty much everything else I could come across. In a way, I rediscovered words. Looking back at essays and theses from this period, it is clear that I put great effort into understanding conflict, war and the structural mechanisms behind human suffering. Given my background, the first major essay I wrote was on the war in Bosnia, my bachelor thesis was about the Russia-Chechnya conflict, and my master thesis was on the topic of terrorism. At the same time, I perceived the university as not always being an inviting place or, to be more precise, a place for someone like me. Due to my background, I sometimes felt estranged in my interactions with some of the teachers and fellow students. Just like in Cooley’s model of the looking glass self, I tried to conceptualise how they were conceptualising me, sometimes with discouraging results: an ‘immigrant’ (of course, what else) who instead of studying politics would be better off mopping the classroom floors. I should make it clear that nothing was ever said to me directly, but for some reason and on certain occasions my mind could not help but produce these vivid pictures of how I was imagined in the minds of a majority to which I did not belong. And, I am sure these pictures did not come out of nowhere. I recollect experiencing subtle gazes, gestures and non-responses to my comments, which I usually uttered in a heated, assertive mode. In many seminars I felt at unease, discouraged even. The pretendedly polite, well-mannered ways of the middle class felt fake and unnatural to me. I purposely did not want to go that way. I could not understand why I should ‘keep emotions in check’, ‘be neutral’ or ‘objective’ when the topics we were dealing with often tapped into matters of human suffering, and life and death. Then again, to negotiate, compromise and adapt to given circumstances is something we all have to do, to some extent at least. I knew academia was a place I had to learn how to navigate as a condition of my existence, because that is where social rewards such as prestige and recognition lie hidden. In Western societies, those perceived as ‘immigrants’ by the majority culture generally need to perform and achieve above average in order to access top positions. In addition, they need to continue performing, because the status they have acquired is only provisional. Given the political climate and the growing normalisation of anti-­ migrant and racist discourse in the West, it can easily be put into question and revoked. The subordinate must therefore learn how to ‘dance’, as the urban ethnographer Elijah Anderson (2015) writes when analysing experiences of African Americans when navigating what he calls ‘white spaces’. According to a recent study of Swedish academic elites (Behtoui and Høyer Leivestad 2018), a successful

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academic career is more dependent on variables such as the right social background, knowing and working together with the right people, and mastering the subtle complexities and social codes of interactions – then it is on intellectual vigour. In 2006, I left the university with a master’s degree in political science, and later that year my first novel, “The journey that began with an end”, was published. I wrote this book at the age of 23 while doing a six-month internship at the Swedish Embassy in Reykjavik, Iceland, looking back and trying to make sense of my life, just like I am doing now, writing this text. After my debut, I was granted a travel scholarship by the Swedish Writers’ Union. I decided to see the world. I travelled to South East Asia, through Thailand and Cambodia, while at the same time writing what would become my second book. Being on my own, again with books and words as natural companions, in contexts characterised by social misery, was an awakening. At the same time, I missed academia. I did not want to be merely cultural décor, a curiosity, an ‘immigrant voice’, which is probably why I initially applied for a PhD position at the Department of Child Studies at Linköping University, where I started working in 2009. The period as a doctoral student was challenging while at the same time tremendously rewarding in many ways. Being a PhD candidate entails great responsibility but also great scope for independence and creativity. The Department of Child Studies is an interdisciplinary research environment comprising researchers with disciplinary backgrounds in social work, sociology, psychology, history, political sciences, cultural studies and anthropology. What brings everyone together is a common research focus on children, childhood and family, and the attempt to analyse these complex phenomena from a multitude of theoretical and methodological perspectives in relation to institutional arrangements and individual and group practices of everyday life. The choice of topic for my PhD thesis was by no means accidental. When thinking about how to design the PhD project, what topic to choose and why, the choice to orient it towards young people in societal care  – a major field in social work research and practice – somehow felt natural. So, I wrote my PhD thesis, Voices of vulnerability (Bečević 2015), about young people living in out-of-home care and their life stories. The narrative approach focused on their experiences of growing up under difficult and chaotic life conditions, characterised by mental health problems, broken relationships and experiences of social exclusion in general. In the dissertation, I examined how young people in societal care use their experiences to create meaning and coherence with regard to their present life situation. When conducting life story interviews with young girls and boys in different institutions, my experience-­oriented approach focused on the interpretative, meaning-making, feeling and telling individual and her experience of social reality (see Bečević 2017). Just like many of us do, and I am doing now, the young people I interviewed used key experiences and narratives in order to create coherence and assign meaning to their lives. Perspectives, voices and experiences of children and youth continue to be one of the major themes in my research.

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3.6  The Personal, the Social and the Political Even though this ‘personal’ story is grounded in my lived experience, it is crucial to acknowledge that personal experiences are never decoupled from the historical, ideological, social and cultural frames of reference within which they were formed (Denzin 1989). This means that experience, the raw material that gives the individual her distinct character, is also social. It is an experience grounded in a social world which has been shaped by social interaction (Cooley 2009/1902; Mead 1967/1934; Blumer 1998/1969). Every story is a product of an individual’s inner life (experiences, reflections) and relationships with the social world, processes that are taking place simultaneously and that cannot be separated from each other. Individual biographies are intertwined with histories and experiences we share with other people (Bauman 1992). My story is thus part of a much bigger one to which I am now going to turn. Today, it is often argued that we live in ‘the age of migration’ (Castles et  al. 2013). The number of forcefully displaced people in the world has never been higher, and for many the decision to migrate is not voluntary. According to a report from UNHCR (2018), there are 70.8 million forcibly displaced people in the world due to war, conflict, persecution, violence and violations of human rights. From 2009 to 2018, the number of forcibly displaced people grew from 43.3 million to 70.8 million. Half of the refugee population are children. About 37,000 people are being displaced every day. The world is a messy place, to say the least. Migration flows are thus profoundly reshaping and contesting traditional boundaries of nation-­ state citizenship and belonging. In the European context, in the wake of the so-called ‘refugee crises’ in 2015 when more than one million refugees entered the European Union, mainly due to conflicts and wars in Syria and Iraq, we witnessed growing tension between human rights (universal principles formulated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights from 1948) and citizen rights (tied to nation-state citizenship). There is a clash of ideals: nations, by definition, give primacy to the citizen before the universal human being. Human rights are a set of ethical principles that are universal by nature. As such, they undermine the importance of borders (Halldenius 2017). As has been pointed out elsewhere, the global system of sovereign nation-states is not in line with the complex realities of a world increasingly shaped by migration (Fraser 2003), and the whole notion of state citizenship is outdated and misleadingly based on the notion of ‘the closed society’ (Benhabib 1999). Current public discourses on nationhood are directly connected to realities of inclusion and exclusion, and rights and no rights, in short, they have a polarising effect and give rise to different political projects of belonging (Yuval-Davis 2011). In the West, this development has led to the rise of politics fuelled by reactionary ethnonationalism and racism. Refugees, immigrants and so-called ‘second-’ or even ‘third-’ generation immigrants with formal citizenship status are often lumped together in a discriminatory way, and  – through the lens of nation-state politics  – defined and treated as being on the margins of citizenship and belonging. Narratives that equate this

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category of people with societal problems have an apocalyptic undertone, and today they dominate the agendas of most political parties. Contrary to the popular belief of the international community, Sweden can no longer be characterised as a ‘social-democratic paradise’, an equal, just and inclusive society ‘for all’. Nearly four decades of neoliberal governance has profoundly undermined the social state and reshaped European societies towards greater inequality, income gaps and ethnocultural polarisation – Sweden being no exception. Current political discourse as well as parts of the excessively bureaucratised social work practice (Lauri 2016) perfectly illustrate the plights of neoliberal rationality which transforms complex human experience into ‘forms’ and ‘cases’. Simultaneously, it successfully obscures and naturalises mechanisms that produce inequalities and divisions between different categories of people. Within this dominant frame of ‘how things are done’, living conditions, life choices and possibilities to take part in society vary dramatically between people. Access (or lack of it) to resources influences perspectives, ambitions and pathways to education and employment. The neoliberal rationality thus has political implications which are problematic and stand in direct contrast to social work policy and practice, which are conditioned by political and economic rules shaped within this dominant frame (Banks 2012). This grand narrative of the day cannot stand unchallenged. Critical social work needs to acknowledge the neoliberal order as highly problematic for its practice. One way of doing this is to create resistance, through words, interrogation, knowledge and argument. It is at the discursive level that problems are being defined, people categorised, opinions formed and policies put into place. The often-quoted IFSW/IASSW (2014) definition of the social work profession states that social work as a ‘practice-based profession and an academic discipline promotes social change and development’, and further, the ‘principles of social justice and human rights’ are ascribed central importance. In order to reinforce its commitment to guiding principles of social justice and human rights, social work can and should do more than just help marginalised people with their struggles to be included. I think that social work should engage to a greater extent in promoting new, radical forms of inclusive democracy and social justice. It just needs to take a distinct step towards the stage where stories are created and futures imagined.

3.7  Re-imagining the Future: Closing Remarks The current stream of reactionary ethnonationalism that is sweeping across Europe is part of an old story. It is by no means a marginal phenomenon, on the contrary: it is a central part of European history, a core product of modernism, a part of our legacy. Being born in a country that was ruined by this powerful narrative, I know from experience what ideas based on exclusion and de-humanisation of others can make people do, how they split families, turn citizens into stateless refugees without rights and worse.

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Language, words and stories are thus extremely important because they are weapons in the struggle over power to define reality and set its practical agenda. We have much knowledge about the mechanisms behind social problems, but we need to become better and sharper at addressing these issues in order to bring about not just provisional patchwork solutions but radical reforms with a lasting impact. Social problems with which social workers deal are in many cases caused directly by neoliberal politics whose hallmark is fast corrosion of social equality, justice and opportunity. Living in a world which has ceased to question itself, a world focused on merely patching up the holes caused by the latest (economic, political, environmental) crises, a world seemingly oblivious to where it is headed is a dangerous thing. Social work as both a profession and an academic discipline therefore needs to become sharper at critically interrogating and interacting with this force which is pushing us towards the abyss. This struggle is global, and it is a crucial one. The neoliberal hegemony can be challenged by counter-hegemonic narratives that acknowledge egalitarian politics of redistribution and politics of recognition as normative components in the construction of a more just world (Fraser 2019). The struggle to define social reality and change the course of the world is political, and it needs to happen in the sphere of language, words and stories, as well as concrete action. The way we view reality, which meanings we attach to it and what kinds of stories we tell about it is what will decide the direction of the future. Which narratives people choose to listen to and follow will ultimately define and determine the shaping of the world in which we will live. The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote about language games, an idea pointing to the fact that our use of language is presupposed by conventions and social norms that make up the framework for how it is to be used. The way words are used and combined in a certain time and context becomes ‘naturalised’, creating the categories with which we ‘think’ of the social reality. Words are thus never ‘just words’ – there is nothing neutral about them. As symbolic constructs, they give us mental conceptualisations and simplifications of the complex reality. All kinds of actions and logic, no matter how unjust or absurd they may seem, are legitimised through words. Ultimately, words and stories are tools of enormous power with which we can shape history, the present and the future, for better or worse, depending on the stories we tell, listen to and choose to live by.

References Anderson, E. (2015). The white space. Sociology of Race and Ethnicity, 1(1), 10–21. Banks, S. (2012). Ethics and values in social work. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bauman, Z. (1992). Att tänka sociologiskt [Thinking sociologically]. Gothenburg: Korpen. Bečević, Z. (2015). Utsatthetens röster [Voices of vulnerability]. Stockholm: Borea. Bečević, Z. (2017). Living with diagnoses: An interactionist analysis of a young person’s experience of ADHD and Asperger’s syndrome. Nordic Social Work Research, 7(3), 188–200.

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Behtoui, A., & Høyer Leivestad, H. (2018). “De andra” i den svenska akademiska eliten [“The others” in the Swedish academic elite]. In B.-E. Eriksson, M. Holmqvist & L. Sohl (Eds.), Eliter i Sverige [Elites in Sweden]. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Benhabib, S. (1999). Citizens, residents, and aliens in a changing world: Political membership in the global era. Social Research, 66(3), 709–744. Blumer, H. (1998/1969). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Bruner, J. (1987). Life as narrative. Social Research, 1, 11–32. Castles, S., De Haas, H., & Miller, M. J. (2013). The age of migration: International population movements in the modern world (5th ed.). New York: Guilford Publications. Cooley, H.  C. (2009/1902). Human nature and the social order. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Denzin, N. (1989). Interpretive interactionism. London: Sage. Fraser, N. (2003). Den radikala fantasin. Mellan omfördelning och erkännande [The radical imagination. Between redistribution and recognition]. Gothenburg: Daidalos. Fraser, N. (2019). The old is dying and the new cannot be born. From progressive neoliberalism to Trump and beyond. London: Verso. Halldenius, L. (2017). När nationen låter medborgaren gå före människan [When the nation gives primacy to the citizen before the human being]. Tidningen #FOFO, 1, 8–11. Lauri, M. (2016). Narratives of governing: Rationalization, responsibility and resistance in social work. Doctoral thesis, Department of Political Science, Umeå Center for Gender Studies, Umeå University. Mead, H. G. (1967/1934). Mind, self and society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ricoeur, P. (1981). Hermeneutics and the human sciences. Cambridge: University Press. The International Association of Schools of Social Work. (2014). Retrieved from https://www. iassw-aiets.org/global-definition-of-social-work-review-of-the-global-definition/ UNHCR. (2018). Global trends. Forced displacement in 2018. Retrieved from https://www.unhcr. org/5d08d7ee7.pdf Yuval-Davis, N. (2011). The politics of belonging. Intersectional contestations. London: Sage.

Chapter 4

Digging in the Present: A Day in the Life of a School Counsellor Michael Wallengren-Lynch

Let us say it as it is: social work is complex. When people ask you what you do as a social worker, there is always a few seconds’ pause when you wonder quite how you are going to explain it. From one moment to the next, a social worker can experience maddening bureaucracy and high-stacked paper piles to a deeply unsettling interview with a child to banter and jokes flung around the open landscape office. Finding coherence in this mix is a challenge, albeit a necessary one if the social worker is to sustain him- or herself in this complex profession. It rests on our shoulders, my shoulders, in my reality, in my world, to find a way forward. We are back in Cork, Ireland, in the early 1990s sporting Oasis- or Blur-like hairstyles, struggling to make sense of school life. Britpop put a beat in our step and gave a soundtrack to the complex hormones flowing inside us. The future extended only as far as tomorrow, and we were so full of the ‘here and now’ that it would have given today’s mindfulness gurus a run for their money. But these were also times of bullying, social isolation and Leonard Cohen, and the brooding introspection of a broody, introspective teenage boy and bad poetry, a lot of bad poetry. I never met a school counsellor growing up – we did have a guidance counsellor who had a ‘reputation’, if you catch my drift, so no one ever went near him. What would I have talked to a school counsellor about? I read books, read myself into The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole (1984) and such, and generally kept things in, reflective, introspective, sensitive, shy, searching for a voice – indeed material for a school counselling session! I am writing these words many miles from Cork. Instead, I am on a train rushing through the Swedish landscape, my home since 2009. The introspection has continued. I use words like ‘deconstruction’ and ‘post-structuralism’ but not out of any conscious need for pretension. I find these terms make sense, or at least help me make sense of the world I am in. Moving to a new country at the tender age of 32 M. Wallengren-Lynch (*) Department of Social Work, University of Malmö, Malmoe, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_4

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enforced more reflections and was an opportunity to renew my contract with myself. As a social worker since 2004, I have had the privilege of working in New Zealand, Pakistan, Ireland and Sweden. The last country on that list provides the setting for this chapter, more specifically time spent working as a school counsellor. To illustrate an example of linking theory to practice (the bane of all our lives, students and teachers), I am using an approach from post-structuralism. This was a philosophical movement from the 60s and 70s and, to wildly oversimplify, it argued that all aspects of society are constructs, including language. Reality is constructed and, as Rorty (1989) pointed out, ‘the world is out there, but descriptions of the world are not’. Post-structuralism is interested in looking at the systems of power which create and support meaning. Michel Foucault, one such post-structuralist, used concepts called genealogy and archaeology. Foucault offers a method which traces conditions of possibility (1970) or what he has termed history of the present, which reveals the myriad ways in which discourses overlap and reinforce one another to produce a particular kind of human subjects. I am borrowing from this line of thinking and henceforth use a term I am calling ‘artefacts of practice’; in other words, reminders/remnants of practice. For the school social worker, these can take the shape of reflective diary entries, case notes, classroom observation notes and letters to parents. In this chapter, I will try and understand these examples of ‘artefacts of practice’ by connecting them to discourse, in particular one on ‘being responsible’. I will explain what I mean by this discourse later in the chapter. Suffice to say, discourses ‘can enrich social work practices by demonstrating how the language practices through which organisations, theorists, practitioners and service users express their understanding of social work also shape the kinds of practices that occur…’ (Healy 2000). It is important to say that the artefacts themselves are fictitious1; however, they do reflect real-life examples from my experience. The intention of the artefacts is not to argue that there is a coherent narrative that linearly connects time and space; instead it offers a different perspective: that reality is made up of different pieces disjointed and yet connected through varying discourses. Complicated, right – let’s see if it makes sense later on! The analysis I carried out in this chapter will show the multi-layered and nuanced processes at work in the practice of school social work. It will also show how the self, that is I, can serve as a tool for analysis. This goes some way to illustrating the constructed nature of social work practice and the usefulness of self-reflection. Michel Foucault had a particular approach to historical analysis. He wrote about ‘ruptures and discontinuities’ in history and sought not to uncover a grand narrative or an all-encompassing view of history but to explore specific moments or events. In other words, digging into the experience of one phase of my career can help bring to light the various factors at play in that particular moment. Other disciplines have artefacts of their practice, such as medics and their medical equipment, engineering and their tools, and so forth. Social work tends not to have physical objects, given

 None of the names mentioned in this chapter are based on actual people.

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that much of what we do is done through speech and the written word. However, both of these can provide valuable insight into a personal and professional level and tell a story about how we conduct our practice, how we are complicit in the creation and reproduction of discourses. This also follows Eisenstein’s point that ‘the language is as real as the thing that it is trying to describe’. These language exercises all contribute to the formation of discourses. From a Foucauldian perspective, we eschew the notion of grand truths (Rabinow 1984) such as truth and history. We do not assume the linear, progressive development of general historical studies and avoid seeing reality in a binary mode (Walker 2002).

4.1  A  rtefacts as a Methodology, the Constructions of Discourses and the Reflective Self Clandinin and Connelly (1994) argue for the relevance of using one’s own experience as data. This approach requires people to ‘use their bodies and emotions as texts to be read…’ (Somekh and Lewin 2008, p. 319). Included in this is the idea of artefacts from practice, which can be used to share my day-to-day experiences. These artefacts reflect my ongoing practice of keeping a reflective journal as a tool to help me think about my work and create an opportunity to have a ‘post-­structuralist type dialogue’ with myself. This has forced me to articulate what usually goes unarticulated. This act helps me achieve a sense of coherence over my practice. Representations of the world are effects and artefacts of discourses produced in a particular time by the discursive practices that regulate what is said and written and pass for more or less orderly thought and exchange of ideas (Somekh and Lewin 2008). ‘Reflective’ methods also upend the traditional theory-practice hierarchy and encourage the identification of theory implicit in practice by practitioners themselves (Askeland and Fook 2009). Choosing a method of data collection and analysis that ‘upends’ has the effect of creating a different type of knowledge. An ongoing ‘critical ontology of ourselves’ (Yates and Hiles 2010) is a combination of other factors at play, such as mainstream discourses, in everyday social work practice. For this chapter, I take the understanding of discourses as taken-for-granted ways of doing social work and ‘central modes and components of the production, maintenance, and conversely, resistance to systems of power and inequality; no usage of language can ever be considered neutral, impartial, or apolitical acts’ (Park 2005). By reflecting on this interplay between discourse and the person, one can gain an insight into what makes up the identity of the social worker, such as how one should act and behave. In the final analysis, perhaps I will be able to see how my way of doing social work is constructed through and by discourses. The artefacts are presented for what they are, disjointed pieces of reality. They reflect examples of practice that can serve to help give the reader an insight into social work practice in schools. Imagine ­looking at them arranged in front of you on a table as pieces from an imagined past,

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right now. The next task is to see if any sense can be made of these separate artefacts. What do they have in common? Can we identify these commonalities and lift them to the level of discourse? What can I learn about my practice that I did not reflect on at that time? By applying a post-structural analysis to my practice to identify some prevailing discourses, I begin by asking: how do I practice social work, how is my bias impacting how I think, how do I talk about social work as a profession, and how do I see power operating in my practice?

4.1.1  Artefact One: Diary Entry Before 9 am Meeting I am a little nervous, slightly unsure about where to go with this student. I am worried that I may have missed something. Maybe Anna is feeling a lot worse than I imagine. Perhaps she is only showing me one side of her depression. Anna is 14 years old and has spoken about self-harming and ‘dark thoughts’ but has engaged well with talking about her future. However, perhaps my use of solution-focused approaches is closing down space for her expressions, closing down her communication, not allowing her to hear herself. Yet, something tells me that I am on the right track (what is that: instinct, experience, gut feeling?). I have looked up research to help me organise my questions to support this line of support, but is it right for her? I reflect on the eight steps used for the solution-focused session inspired by De Shazer and Kim Berg (1995). I also have to reflect on my responsibility in terms of referring her to outside agencies. How will this harm my relationship with her? When should I refer her on and how long should I try this solution-based approach? The evidence for using a solution-based method is pretty strong (for example, Gingerich and Peterson 2013, who reviewed all available controlled outcome studies of solution-focused brief therapy to evaluate evidence of its effectiveness). I also have to see the individual in front of me and factor in my own ‘clinical expertise’?

4.1.2  A  rtefact Number 2 – Classroom Observation Reflection Note I stand at the back of the classroom trying not to look directly at the child in question. It can feel a little unethical to be observing a child without directly telling him that I am doing so. However, in many cases, I get the feeling that the other students and the student himself know why I am there. The student sits in his chair, but it is clear to see that his mind is elsewhere. The student fidgets continuously and stares into space somewhere between the teacher and himself. I make some notes in my book and think about where to go next with this. One of my key roles is to coordinate strategies with classroom teachers by making recommendations on classroom layout, seating arrangements, concentration aids and self-management strategies, even helping the teachers reflect on their patterns of interaction with the student. It can also involve asking the teachers some challenging questions, such as: how does

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the class dynamic support the behavioural and concentration issues of the students? Perhaps a method known as Family Class (FC) could help? This a behavioural modification approach in a systemic form that works with students and their families in a school context. Students, a maximum of six in a group, together with their parents, meet for 4 h once a week for 12 weeks. In its original form, the FC students spend time doing homework with their parents, participate in group-building exercises and work on their communication and relationships with their parents. Each student is helped to articulate specific goals that he or she would like to work on in the programme, such a staying focused on his or her work for 10 min or raising his or her hand when he or she wants to ask a question. At the end of each day, the student and the teacher score the student’s goal from four to one. By the end of the 12 weeks, the hope is that the students can improve their behaviour and concentration in the classroom (Cederberg et al. 2011).

4.1.3  Artefact Number 3 – Letter to Parents Dear Parents of Paul, I am writing to request your attendance at a student welfare meeting regarding your son Paul. The school has concerns about his welfare, in particular the high number of absences during the last term. The conference is scheduled for 2 pm on Monday, 17 May. The head teacher, the nurse, your son’s mentor and I will be in attendance. Please let me know if you have any questions. I look forward to meeting you on the above date. Kind regards, Michael Lynch, school counsellor. Reflection note following the meeting: That meeting did not go as well as I had hoped. I felt that the parents were very defensive. I was not able to get them to understand the school’s concerns regarding attendance and Paul’s lack of clothing during the winter months. They accused the school of being over-­ sensitive and that we were overstepping our area of expertise and responsibility. Given our concerns about their son and their unwillingness to discuss it, we informed the parents that we would have to consult Social Services. They advised us that if we did, they would get legal advice. The day after our meeting, I made a referral on behalf of the head teacher to the local child protection office.

4.1.4  A  rtefact 4 – Preparation Note for Anti-bullying Team Meeting Today, I need to promote the idea to staff about involving the parents of students in the anti-bullying team programme at the school. The reading I have been doing suggests that by involving parents in such programmes, there is a better chance of the

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anti-bullying programme being successful. We must think creatively about how to engage parents and find a meaningful role for them in the school’s anti-bullying programme. Perhaps they could help organise something to mark World Anti-­ Bullying Day on 4 May? The idea that ‘all social work is local’ inspires me to reflect on Skolverket’s (2011) argument for a systematic and multi-varied approach to tackling bullying in schools. The organisation of a day’s activities cannot be expected to have dramatic results, but perhaps it can contribute to an overall school-­ wide plan to address bullying systematically.

4.2  Analysis of the Artefacts: Discourses A discourse holds and constructs our thoughts around a particular issue and is embedded with language and power. It also helps us understand how to think about things. Kress (1985) sees discourses as a set of possible statements about a given area and organises and gives structure to how a particular topic, object or the process is talked about. The process of making discourses becomes an inherently political act, as bringing visibility to silenced stories provides opportunities to challenge the normalised ‘truths’ circulating and privileged in society (Nicholson et al. 2015). To that end, discourse can be appropriated by powers that use it to shape political reality, for example ‘immigrants take all our jobs’, or practice reality such as discourse around ‘good enough parenting’. Discourses can impact how we think about our social work practice, how we talk about our practice and ultimately how we contribute to the construction of our practice. In this section, I take an example of a discourse that I feel played a big part in shaping my role as a school counsellor. This will help me shape how the artefacts listed above can be connected (the theory/ practice bit). Naturally, there are many discourses, with some becoming more popular over time and others merely disappearing. This speaks to the fluid nature of discourse and to the constructed nature of reality that fits a social work mindset well.

4.3  A ‘Being Responsible’ Discourse In social work, we are responsible for our clients and our actions, and we motivate and encourage clients to be responsible for their selves, but the pursuit of being ‘responsible’ did not simply spring out of thin air. Kelly argues that we can ­understand ‘being responsible’ as the ‘self-management of risk by the autonomous individual’ (Kelly 2001). The self-management process, however, is complex, as the self can be seen as a construct of laws, policies, values and experiences. Foucault argued that discourses could not be seen in isolation from each other because they are practices that systemically form the objects of which they speak and can only be detected by what they produce as utterances, concepts or effects.

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I can see how the discourse of ‘being responsible’ impacted my reactions and actions, such as shown in artefact one. In that artefact, I embraced the belief that the student could be the master of her destiny and learn to overcome her negative thoughts. I linked an approach, which has developed in the culture of valuing the individual’s self-mastery (Zimmerman 2000). I prioritised an individualised approach rather than, for example, a community-based or group-based one. The preference for an individual-based approach can be linked to the broader societal preference for a self-managed ‘being responsible’ discourse. Society at large is in a phase of hyper-individualism and micro surveillance of every action and movement of the human being. Some argue that this is a new phase of capitalism that trades on information about everything we do, situated in cynical neoliberalist usage of the enlightenment ideals of individualism. The point being that my reaction to the focus on the individual’s ability to ‘manage’ is related to a specific time and place. On a macro level, the ‘being responsible’ discourse manifests in the individual social worker through enacting and embodying the laws that impact their work. Swedish school law (2010) highlights the needs and rights of students to have access to a school counsellor. The law can impact what the social worker does from day to day, such as keeping clinical notes. For instance, the school social worker has a responsibility to document and record reasons, why and when he or she makes referrals to outside agencies but does not have the same level of documentation responsibility as, for example, the school nurse. The law which framed the response in Artefact 3 (Social Service law, Chap. 14, par. 1) puts the responsibility on the school to refer any student it may have for whom it has child protection concerns. As shown in Artefact 3, bringing up the issues with the parents was the first course of action, as the child was not in any immediate danger. However, as the parents did not acknowledge any issue, a referral was made to Social Services, which have a mandate to address the issue. In other words, from the perspective of the school, it did not take responsibility. The artefacts represent examples of how the ‘being responsible’ discourse is a critical consideration in the everyday practice of a school counsellor. For instance, to engage parents, as was done in Artefact 4, the planning of an anti-bullying day is not something one would readily have imagined 50 years ago, but nowadays it is widespread. This shows the changed and changing nature of schools and the sphere of responsibility for the child being widened to reflect a more systemic position. The adverse effect of the ‘being responsible’ discourse, however, can be felt by the individual social worker when he or she considers the immense responsibility placed on his or her shoulders, such as the life of children in Social Services investigations. The impact on the client can also be felt. Liebenberg et al. (2013, p. 1021) make the point that ‘because a neo-liberal discourse can negate the social context within which youth manage risk, focusing attention on an individual’s ability or, in the case of corrections, inability to manage his or her own risk, young people may not receive the ongoing support they need’. This is an essential point in the context of school social work, as many of the interventions tend to be individually orientated. For instance, ‘being responsible’ can also be used as an argument for cutting social programmes and structural responses.

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It also tends to negate the influence that societal pressure has on a young person’s environment and social situations. Following the ‘taken-for-granted’ approach can, without question, lead to unreflective practice and ultimately be oppressive.

4.4  Conclusion Discourses are human-made and therefore malleable. The process by which they interact with the social worker’s practice has hopefully been made a little clearer as a result of this chapter. I have also, by way of the artefacts, provided some insight into everyday situations that a school counsellor deals with. The chapter has also shown that each of us has experiences that, if reflected upon, can provide valuable empirical data. In this instance, I linked my experiences to one dominant discourse in social work. The final point is that by taking a personal reflection approach to academic writing, we can contribute to Fook’s aim of ‘upending’ traditional knowledge in social work. My identity is forever shifting, being moulded by discourses and the like, and yet, at the same time, I am shaping my way of ‘doing social work’. In the final analysis, I am left wondering if my teenage me had had the opportunity to meet me the school counsellor how it would have gone. Perhaps one thing is for sure; there would be much less bad poetry in the world, but maybe I wouldn’t be writing this chapter. The paths we take in and out of social work are varied and rich, helping to ensure the experiences we have in the profession are deep and meaningful.

References Aga-Askeland, G., & Fook, J. (2009). Critical reflection in social work. European Journal of Social Work, 12(3), 287–292. Cederberg, M., Ericsson, I., Hartsmar, N., & Ohlsson, L. (2011). Kunskapsstöd för socialt arbete i skolan  – en exemplifierande forskningsöverblick [Knowledge for social work in schools]. Malmö: Malmö Stad. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1994). Personal experience methods. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research. Thousand Oaks: SAGE. de Shazer, S., & Insoo, K. B. (1995). Solution-focused therapy. In The SAGE encyclopedia of theory in counseling and psychotherapy. Thousand Oaks: SAGE. Gingerich, W., & Peterson, L. (2013). Effectiveness of solution-focused brief therapy: A systematic qualitative review of controlled outcome studies. Research on Social Work Practice, 23(3), 35–47. Healy, K. (2000). Social work practices: Contemporary perspectives on change. London: SAGE. Kelly, P. (2001). Youth at risk: Processes of individualisation and responsibilisation in the risk society. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 22(1), 23–33. Kress, G. (1985). Linguistic processes in sociocultural practice. Waurn Ponds: Deakin University Press. Liebenberg, L., Ungar, M., & Ikeda, J. (2013). Neo-liberalism and responsibilisation. Discourse of Social Service Workers, 45(3), 1–16.

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Nicholson, J., Kurnik, J., Jevgjovikj, M., & Ufoegbune, V. (2015). Deconstructing adults’ and children’s discourse on children’s play: Listening to children’s voices to destabilise deficit narratives. Early Child Development and Care, 185(10), 1569–1586. Park, Y. (2005). Culture as deficit: A critical discourse analysis of the concept of culture in contemporary social work discourse. The Journal of Sociology & Social Welfare, 32(3), 11–33. Rabinow, P. (Ed.). (1984). The Foucault reader. New York: Vintage Books. Rorty, R. (1989). Contingency, irony and solidarity. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Skolverket. (2011). Retrieved from https://www.skolverket.se/undervisning/grundskolan/ laroplan-och-kursplaner-for-grundskolan/laroplan-lgr11-for-grundskolan-samt-for-forskol eklassen-och-fritidshemmet Somekh, B., & Lewin, C. (2008). Information and communication technologies and the culture of schooling: Understanding innovation and designing research for radical reform. Information Technology, Education and Society, 9(2), 49–64. Townsend, S. (1984). The growing pains of Adrian Mole. London: Puffin Books. Walker, H. (2002). A genealogy of equality: The curriculum for social work education and training. London: Woburn Press. Yates, S., & Hiles, D. (2010). Towards a “critical ontology of ourselves”?: Foucault, subjectivity and discourse analysis. Theory & Psychology, 20(1), 52–75. Zimmerman, M. A. (2000). Empowerment theory: Psychological, organizational and community levels of analysis. In J. Rappaport & E. Seidman (Eds.), Handbook of community psychology. New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers.

Chapter 5

Turning Points Ing-Marie Johansson

5.1  Introduction My parents had only 6 years of education, and I was the first member of my extended family to get more than 8 years of schooling. Having no brothers, I had to help out in both the house and the fields as there were no ‘boys’ or ‘girls’ jobs. In that way I was brought up in a context of equality by necessity, which was not unusual in the countryside – everybody in the family had to contribute to making it through the day. My childhood experience of being a competent and independent person who contributed to my family’s everyday existence made me feel valued and develop positive self-esteem from a very young age. These early experiences in combination with my curiosity formed my aspirations for a better life: a life with no manual labour. A negative consequence of my situation was that my parents were unable to guide me in my future career; they were caught in a time characterised by rapid change, and I was left to make major choices about my future on my own, which was very unsettling at times. However, my parents were confident that I would manage if I worked hard, with the help of government grants and beneficial loans for higher education (Rothstein 2005). With my background in mind, in this chapter, I discuss how identity, and more specifically professional identity, is constructed, deconstructed and reconstructed in relation to time and place. The construction of professional identity certainly depends on personality and personal experiences, however where a person was born, the country in which the person received his or her education (place) and the political situation at that moment in history (time) also have great significance. The role of ‘place’ in the construction of professional identity is especially important in relation to international social work and international social work internships. What

I.-M. Johansson (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_5

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is the impact of such experiences on young social workers/social work students? And, by extension, what bearing did these experiences have on me? My point of departure is the recollection of critical episodes in my career when I was working as a young professional social worker on foreign soil. Some of these episodes profoundly unsettled me and forced me to reconsider who I was as a person and as a professional social worker. My intention is to deconstruct these memories in order to discuss and problematise international social work both professionally and academically. I will also discuss how power dimensions such as class, gender and ethnicity are significant aspects of social work both on professional and personal levels. The examples from my personal and professional experience will serve as a sounding board in discussing these aspects. The time and country in which a person was born are of course of great importance. In my case, class and gender were equally important, imposing restrictions and giving direction to my personal life and future career. I was born shortly after the Second World War in a country that had stayed neutral and was largely unaffected by it. In 1946 the universal child allowance, paid directly to mothers, was introduced, and in the ’50s and ’60s Swedish industry was booming (Lundberg and Åmark 2001). After 1950 the Swedish welfare state developed rapidly and a robust social security system was introduced (ibid.). Sweden was also a vanguard of equality and human rights issues, and society was characterised by high levels of trust (Rothstein 2003; Rothstein and Uslander 2005; Rothstein et al. 2012). A universal system for financing higher education combining government grants and beneficial loans was launched in 1965. These reforms made it possible for gifted children, including those from lower-class backgrounds, to enter higher studies. However, merely making financial resources available is not sufficient to get working-class children interested in higher education. Many social and cultural obstacles must be overcome for these children to conquer the arena of higher education, and this is especially true for girls (Wennerström 2003). In her doctoral dissertation on female upward class mobility, the Swedish sociologist Ulla-Britt Wennerström emphasises the relationship between the individual, and structural and historical conditions of social mobility (Wennerström 2003, 2008). It is not only the ambitions, intelligence and family assets of the individual that enable mobility. Wennerström argues that apart from class and gender, preconditions such as social reforms and societal structures are decisive. Although the women in her data sample lacked social capital, such as family educational experiences, money, valuable family connections, participation in the cultural sphere, etc., they managed to attain higher education. The majority of her sample was born in the late ’40s and early ’50s and thus enjoyed the advantages of the social reforms mentioned above. Wennerström’s results show that these women struggled with feeling that they neither belonged to their original social class nor the class they had entered. On the other hand, their social backgrounds enabled them to develop unique analytical skills that were helpful both in their professional careers and personal lives. Nevertheless, their life trajectories did not follow a smooth linear development, as expressed by the following quote:

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Turning points have occurred where there were perceptions of difficulties and concrete barriers, and the process consisted of both stalemates and steps backwards. (Wennerström 2003, p. 318)

My own experience of upward class mobility has much in common with those of the participants of Wennerström’s sample. My journey through the Swedish school system was rather unproblematic as I did what I was supposed to do and did not experience any major obstacles or difficulties. However, despite working hard I was given very little reassurance or guidance on further studies until I contacted a student counsellor and was offered an extensive ability test that lasted 2  days. The outcome of the test was positive, and I was encouraged to pursue university studies. As I knew very little about these kinds of studies and thought the counsellor had an interesting job, I asked her about her education. After learning that she was a social worker I decided to go for that! In this chapter, I will elaborate on how my class background, being born and raised in the Swedish countryside in the ’50s and ’60s, has affected my life and career as a social worker and lecturer in social work, illustrating it with examples of my own ‘turning points’.

5.2  Doing International Social Work – Crusial Episodes The stage was set like this: After 5 weeks of studying American social work at Penn University, Philadelphia, USA, the academic part of the exchange programme for qualified social workers had come to an end, and it was time for the evaluation. After this Friday afternoon, 25 social workers from 18 countries were about to start the practical part of the programme. Most participants had signed up for four-month internships and a few of us for 13  months. At the evaluation, I remember being polite, although somewhat critical of the people in charge of the programme and of the learning outcomes to that point. I had signed up for a 13-month course and wanted to get everything I could out of that time – and I was not satisfied. There were quite a few things that had not worked out very well due to absent organisers and miscommunication. In my memory, the evaluation took a very drastic turn when a participant, a woman from Israel, accused me of bullying our group of international social workers by being bossy and speaking in a loud and angry voice. She went on to accuse me of not being sensitive to the feelings of the group and not being polite enough to the people in charge. More than half the group of qualified social workers from all over the world backed her up, one after the other they started criticising me for everything, from not being respectful to the people in charge to take a leading position despite not being asked to do so (such as taking command when an organiser did not turn up). They argued that a woman should not behave like I had, and that the only Western man in the group should have been offered the position of leader. Neither the other participants nor the leaders of the programme spoke up. After the session, some participants came up to me individually to offer their support. None of the people in charge did so.

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I was shocked by this turn of events. It had never entered my mind that I was seen as an authoritarian or insensitive person. I had worked for 5  years as a qualified social worker in Sweden and the UK and had experience meeting people from different backgrounds who were suffering hardship. As far as I knew, I was well regarded by my clients, colleagues and friends – a person they could trust. How was it possible that experienced social workers from all over the world, and most shockingly a woman of 30 from Israel, who had served as a social worker in the Israeli-­ Arabian war 1973, were scared of me? I was actually very impressed by her and her accomplishments as a social worker. Having been born and raised on a small farm in the Swedish countryside, part of me was still an insecure country girl, dealing with feelings of inferiority when left alone to manage life. Taking charge of situations such as these was a way for me to maintain a sense of control. Indeed in my view, I was doing me and my fellow programme participants a favour through my behaviour. The question that lingers in my mind is why I did not sense the hostility towards me before that moment of confrontation. This incident has affected my whole working life and been of seminal importance to my career. It fuels an ambition to fight my feelings of inferiority when facing difficulties by putting myself in challenging situations whilst avoiding working in positions of leadership. A few years later, I worked at a refugee camp in Thailand on the border to Cambodia with Khmer refugees who had fled from war, persecution and starvation. It was a complicated and dangerous political situation. The organisation of the programme was complex too, and far from transparent, as the social workers were employed by the Swedish Red Cross but worked in refugee camps run by the UNHCR. We were a very dedicated group of international social workers trying to fulfil the dual objectives of UNHCR and the Swedish Red Cross, objectives as I remember them, that were hardly ever spelt out and continually changing. After a few months, the coordinator of the group went on long-term sick leave, and the person replacing her was also about to leave. At this time, I was asked by the Red Cross to become a coordinator, but I declined the offer. I asked the Red Cross officer why I was considered for the position given that I had only quite recently joined the group. The answer was that I appeared to be a stable and professional person in this turmoil, someone trustworthy. This shocked me profoundly, as I had been keeping a low profile since I did not want to repeat my experience in Philadelphia. I am not sure why I turned the offer down. Perhaps it was convenience, becoming a coordinator meant more work and responsibilities. Perhaps it was because I was not sure that the person occupying the position at the time was willing to leave it. Either way, my impulse told me not to take the lead of an international group of social workers, even if the circumstances were very different from what they had been in Philadelphia. Something had changed since then. My gut told me that I, as a relatively young, non-native English-speaking European woman, would have difficulties balancing the interests of the Thai and American men at the UNHCR office in Bangkok, the Red Cross officers in Stockholm and the group of international social workers at the camp. I had learnt from my experience in the USA a couple of years earlier, without realising it, that ethnic background and gender were essential considerations in international social work and the international arena in general. At

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this time, 1979–1980, the terminology of postcolonialism, and even the concept of ‘postcolonialism’ (Payne 2014), was unheard of in social work, but the tense intersection of power dimensions: gender, ethnicity, class and age, was no less present.

5.3  My Process for Understanding Race and Racism Social work in a foreign context tends to highlight issues that may not be seen as problematic in a native context. In my case, racism turned out to be one such problem area. Although I was born in the deep forests of Sweden, the importance of ethnic background and the colour of the skin was not unknown to me. The Vietnam War and the Apartheid regime in South Africa were high on the agenda in Sweden in the ’60s and ’70s. I learned more about the oppression of people from a minority ethnic background as an exchange social worker in Philadelphia in the late ’70s. According to Ulla Pettersson (2001), social work in the USA in the ’70s was characterised by crises and confusion due to the political legacy of the ’60s, including the Black Power and Civil Rights movements. I worked at an agency with several African-American employees, and African-American children and families were part of my caseload. But, as I remember it, racism was very seldom discussed in relation to service users and not at all in reference to my colleagues. Once, I invited all my colleagues to my home, and they came regardless of the colour of their skin. I received reciprocal invitations from my white colleagues, but not from those who were black; I was never even invited for a coffee or an ice cream by one of my black colleagues. We all did the same kind of work, but outside work, I experienced that there was a clear distinction between and an active separation of ‘white’ and ‘black’.1 Even though Sweden was a country of immigration, with social workers meeting service users with diverse ethnic backgrounds, race and racism were seldom debated in this time period. The term ‘race’ was not and is still not used in Swedish social work practice. This is because it has connotations of the eugenics practices that were carried out within the Swedish welfare state before the Second World War. Actually, in Sweden after the Second World War, the term ‘race’ was a biological one belonging to the realm of animals and was not used in reference to human beings (Spectotowsky and Mizrachi 2004). Consequentially, it was difficult to discuss the phenomenon of racism. Instead, the Marxist terminology of social class dominated the debate, not least in social work. Pettersson (2001) writes in her book about social work and politics and professionalisation, that Sweden in the ’70s, the aim of social work was to ensure equal opportunities for all citizens and to fight inequality between social classes. Thus, racism was not on the agenda (Pettersson 2001). 1  In the late ’70s, the term African-American was not used in everyday life as a denomination for people with dark skin colour. Instead, the term ‘black’ was widely used, inspired by the ‘Black Power movements’ and their slogan ‘black is beautiful’. Since the late ’80s, the term AfricanAmerican has been favoured. The New World Encyclopedia http://www.newworldencyclopedia. org/entry/African-Americans; TW Smith – Public Opinion Quarterly, 1992 – academic.oup.com

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The USA has a very different historical context characterised by immigration, significant ethnic diversity and a history of slavery. The African-American population has suffered from exclusion and hardship for centuries. The Civil Rights Act was only passed in 1964, banning discrimination based on race, colour, religion and gender, while the Voting Act Rights was launched in 1965. The Black Power movement emerged at the same time and lasted until 1975. During this time, there were several riots in inner-city black communities which challenged American society in many ways (van Deburg 1992). While much of this was known in Sweden, I still had plenty to learn about this issue. I learned that merely not exhibiting racist attitudes is not enough to be regarded as a person who promotes human rights or to be welcomed by the African-American community. Regardless of my good intentions and open mind, acting in accordance with my home-grown did not work in the USA, even though the culture was superficially similar to that of Sweden. Time and place are, as has been demonstrated, essential concepts for understanding the complexity of racism and the oppression of minority groups. Besides the obvious importance of the colour of a person’s skin, there are other components that affect how people are perceived. The recent theory of postcolonialism gives us a more complex picture of the interaction between the individual and society. Postcolonialism provides an analysis of oppressive structures in society in terms of specific power structures, such as class, gender and ethnicity (Payne 2014; Wikström 2009). Payne and Askeland argue that postcolonialism ‘is an analysis of power relationships in which Western people claim cultural superiority over people from former colonies’ (2008, p.  17). From this perspective, it becomes possible to understand the very complicated situation of the African-American population in the USA, based on their background of slavery and systematic oppression and with respect to, e.g. the Black Power movement. Many researchers have contributed to this field (see, e.g. Crenshaw 1991; Collins 1998).

5.4  Class Mobility and Social Work in Sweden Women from lower-class backgrounds in Sweden who received higher education in the ’70s often ended up doing social work, teaching, nursing, etc., rather than in high-profile professions like medicine or law (Wennerström 2003). This is not surprising, considering that the former have well-defined areas of knowledge, relatively short educations and propel students into specific trades. This is important for women from non-academic backgrounds as they lack academic role models and instead focus on economic independence (Wennerström 2003). In those days, none of the subjects mentioned could be studied at the university level, and in Sweden social work only became a university subject in 1977. As in most countries, social work in Sweden is dominated by women, and I had never experienced being held back in my career because of my gender. Feminism was of course discussed, but similarly to the subjects of race and racism was often overshadowed by a Marxist class perspective. In Sweden, discussions about gender equality mainly concerned

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the right for women to work and the access to public childcare. These issues were also high on the political agenda. Indeed, social work in Sweden was, and still is, very closely connected to the government, and is to a large extent part of the public sector (Pettersson 2001). In 1982 a new piece of legislation was implemented in the area of social work, featuring a more modern and inclusive view of service users. Previously, social legislation was characterised by an authoritative and demeaning view of service users as people in need of control and discipline. Despite the new law, social work in Sweden was still characterised by the ‘poor relief’ views of the previous legislation and by oppressive ways of handling service users. Certain areas of social work, e.g. child protection, are still today influenced by the remains of paternalistic ideas, such as disciplining families with adverse backgrounds, even though human rights, and especially children’s rights, remain integral to Swedish values (Donzelot 1997; Lundström 2000; Höjer 2012). To me, finding a professional identity at the end of the twentieth century, in a profession characterised on the one hand by modernity, equality and inclusiveness, and on the other by paternalistic ideas and inflexible rules and regulations at the local level, was challenging.

5.5  Finding My Professional Identity Before my experience in Philadelphia, I had not reflected much on who I was individually or professionally. I had worked in the UK a couple of years earlier without being challenged professionally as the kind of work I was involved in was very similar to what I was doing in Sweden. On the contrary, I had quite happily accepted the role being offered to me as an exotic person with a heavy Swedish accent, who needed help to complete her tasks. I was happy with that because I was at the beginning of my career in social work and my professional self-esteem was low. Indeed, being a person with a humble class background I was used to this role. The Swedish school system had considered me in need of a proper upbringing and had not necessarily listened to my views. However, at a certain point, young people want to spread their wings and take off. At this stage a young person faces both fear and excitement and is often in need of support and guidance. You may meet a young person in this situation in your work as a school counsellor, as a social worker at a youth clinic or as a university lecturer. The kind of support and guidance needed depends on the young person’s self-esteem and personal network.

5.6  Self-esteem and Identity Wennerström (2003) argues that our personal identities develop through the reflexivity between intrapsychic processes and our social structures. She writes:

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In her analysis of upward female mobility, Wennerström is inspired by critical realism and the work of Archer (1995). Archer claims that the prerequisites cited above are essential to achieve a social identity. Consequently, the individual and his or her society develop through a dialectic process (Wennerström 2003). For many people, professional identity is an important facet of their social identity. In order to understand the concepts of professional identity and professionalism and to analyse the process of attaining a professional role I find it very helpful to use Bourdieu’s concepts of field, doxa and habitus (Houston 2002; Järvinen 2013). These concepts help us to analyse the patterns of thought that guide our professional actions. Houston (2002) writes that field is a domain where battles are fought to attain power and prestige. These battles are fought both within the field itself and against other fields. Social work, both as practice and profession, can be viewed as a specific field and an arena of social relationships that is made up by its actors and characterised by the claiming of power. According to Bourdieu, each field has a doxa attached to it, meaning specific concepts and preunderstandings about what is right and wrong (Houston 2002; Järvinen 2013). In social work as well as other fields, the doxa constitutes specific concepts and methods that will survive if they attain a recognised status as essential or self-evident (Järvinen 2013). This process is non-formal and invisible but becomes evident in transactions of power with other fields. The field and the doxa tend to become formally adopted through entrance qualifications, codes of ethics, etc. It may be noted that there are many components to the concepts of field and doxa that are unconsciously understood even by professionals in these fields. They are simply taken for granted. This partly unconscious understanding of a particular body of social work impresses itself on social workers and is reinforced through their everyday work. Bourdieu labels these processes the habitus. The concepts of doxa, field and habitus are useful for understanding how individuals act in a specific profession or field but also in their personal lives. An essential aspect of habitus is embodiment, which describes the retention of knowledge and experiences on a deeper and more unconscious level in the person (Bourdieu 1990): The habitus, a product of history, produces individual and collective practices – more history – by the schemes generated by history. It ensures the active presence of past experiences, which, deposited in each organism in the form of schemes of perception, thought and action, tend to guarantee the “correctness” of practices and their constancy over time, more reliably than all formal rules and explicit norms. (Bourdieu 1990, p. 54)

In this excerpt, Bourdieu claims that collective schemes of perception, thought and action embedded in each individual guarantee ‘the “correctness” of practices and their constancy over time’. According to Bourdieu, these schemes are ‘more reliable than all formal rules and explicit norms’. Thus, there is more to our professional understanding of social work than laws, theories, methods and organisational conditions. All these aspects, together with the class background, culture and experiences of the individual social worker, are present in meetings with service users and in discussions with colleagues.

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I think everyone involved in social work is aware of the more obvious national differences concerning legislation, economic conditions, language, etc. However, conducting social work in an international setting involves more than the transfer of a professional knowledge base and understanding from one country to another. As illustrated by the example of my experience as a social worker in the USA, it can be challenging to grasp how the field of social work differs from one country to the other according to the historical and ideological setting. The difficulty in understanding how the doxa and habitus of social work differ between countries mainly arises because there is usually no need to reveal the content of the doxa, as actors within a given country are presumed to have a shared understanding of it. Conducting social work and being a social worker in a foreign country should not only force us to investigate a new field with its specific doxa but also motivate us to critically analyse our own field of social work, which we think we know so well. This is because we need to make our original doxa and habitus explicit and adapt them in response to new challenges.

5.7  Implications for Social Work in a Globalised World Throughout this chapter, class, gender, ethnicity, time and place have been discussed as important aspects of social work. These concepts are constantly debated, especially in relation to Western social work education and international social work. While professional experiences from different countries may be very valuable and are often considered unproblematic in our globalised world, the arena of professional social work is more difficult because it deals with helping people in vulnerable situations. In entering the international or global field of social work, Western social work students, professional social workers and actors in social work education can be seen as part of an imperialistic tradition that promotes Western models of social work in non-Western countries. Indeed, it has been argued that such social work is a form of ‘modern colonialism’ (Nuttman-Shwartz and Berger 2011; Midgely 2001; Haug 2005). In social work academia, there is strong consensus that the dominance of Western social work in the non-Western world comes at the expense of indigenous theories and ways of working (Payne and Askeland 2008; Hugman et al. 2010; Lough 2014). Globally, Western dominance is contested, one example being the recent global definition of social work, that was approved by the general assemblies of IFSW and IASSW, in July 2014.,2 which stresses the value of indigenous theories and methods of social work (IFSW 2014). Sewpaul (2016) claims that the strong Western influence includes human rights legislation, which is contested by many researchers and 2  The International Federation of Social Workers, IFSW and the International Association of Schools of Social Work, and IASSW are organisations that represent social workers and schools of social work worldwide. https://www.ifsw.org/what-is-social-work/global-definition-of-soc ial-work/

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has been criticised for having a strong Western and individualistic bias (Sewpaul 2016). However, social work and human rights are tightly connected, and social work is often discussed as a ‘human rights profession’ (Wronka and Staub Bernasconi 2012, p. 70). Sewpaul (2016) argues that in order to influence policy changes and protect the rights and dignity of people, social work must become more conscious of human rights issues. Indeed, there is a need for reclaiming social work as a ‘human rights profession’ (Wronka and Staub Bernasconi 2012, p.  70). According to Sewpaul (2016), the key question in this context is: Is this to be done at the expense of pitting Asian/African values against Western values, presupposing an absence of Asian/African values in the West and vice-versa? (Sewpaul 2016:1, p. 30)

In the conclusion of her article, Sewpaul (2016) points out that there is a tendency to present African/Asian and Western social work as monolithic and dichotomous entities, in effect emphasising an essentialist view on social work as well as on culture. As social workers, we should overcome these positions as follows: Rather than dichotomise our worlds, and a defensive perpetuation of cultural aggrandisement across both the West and the Rest, as social workers we need to transcend our obscurantist positions and coalesce around a common agenda – defending the people whom we work with, … (Sewpaul 2016).

In line with these arguments, I argue that, Western social work students doing their internships in foreign countries should focus on people’s needs and rights by challenging the effects of inequality no matter which country they come from, instead of worrying about promoting Western views on social work.

5.8  Conclusion This chapter maps out the field of social work in an international context using an intersectional understanding of professional identity. My examples may seem irrelevant as they happened many years ago, however, I argue that they remain relevant because social work still struggles with the same ‘old’ issues of racism, class, gender and inequality. What has changed is the way these issues are discussed. Nowadays, social workers and social work students are more aware of power structures and inequality at all levels of society. Therefore, they address and analyse social problems differently, but they do not necessarily act accordingly. Power structures are firmly entrenched and difficult to change. Indeed, Payne (2014) writes that social work is tightly connected with the social and political situation in a country and that society and individual development is a dialectic process (Payne 2014; Wennerström 2003). The profession itself also depends on context. According to Bourdieu, parts of the professional content (doxa) and the praxis of social work (habitus) are embedded in the local history of the profession rather than being explicitly formulated.

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Thus, social work students undertaking international internships find themselves in a more complex and demanding situation than peers in their native countries. They must try to understand both politics and social issues in a new and unfamiliar country. To be able to unfold the social work doxa, they need to learn about the history and culture of the country and their implications for marginalised and vulnerable people. It is also very important that they reflect on their own cultural and political background and how that fits into the context of their internship. While I have used my own experiences as a “sounding board” for this chapter, it can be argued that social work today is so profoundly different from the ’70s that my examples are of limited value. For example, the contribution of social work research means that we know more today about social problems and situations facing marginalised people. Research has also provided the field of social work with a more comprehensive vocabulary, which makes it easier to conceptualise, understand and share experiences of complex situations. Another significant change in the field of social work is the impact of neoliberalism and new public management, which affect social work practice to a very large extent (Sewpaul 2016). This impact allows the Western world to continue to play a dominant role by exploiting low-­ income countries by establishing multinational nursing homes, institutions for children, etc. (Sewpaul 2016). However, in spite of this, social problems, such as poverty, child abuse, drug abuse and domestic violence, are similar all over the world. Superficially they may appear different, but substantively they are recognisable. The role of social workers may be slightly different, but the core objective of the profession is the same as it has been for a long time: to make sure that people in vulnerable situations have their needs met and rights articulated. Experiences of social work in a foreign context, in an unfamiliar country, are surely demanding, but they may serve as a crash course for personal and professional development. Related to my examples, we may come across people who will teach us lessons that are difficult to digest and we may receive help and protection from unexpected quarters. Last but not least, we will gain knowledge that contributes to a better understanding of social work in a global sense, helping unlock professional doxas and revealing power structures and different kinds of habitus.

References Archer, M. (1995). Realist social theory: The morphogenetic approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1990). The logic of practice. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Collins, P. H. (1998). It’s all in the family: Intersection of gender, race, and nation. Hypatia, 13(3), 62–82. Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of colour. Stanford Law Review, 43(6), 1241–1299. Donzelot, J. (1997). The policing of families. London: The John Hopkins University Press. Haug, E. (2005). Critical reflections on the emerging discourse of international social work. International Social Work, 48(2), 126–135.

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Höjer, I. (2012). Föräldrar möter social barnavård – att ha sitt barn i familjehem [Parents in child protection- to have your child placed in fosterhome]. In I.  Höjer, M.  Sallnäs & Y.  Sjöblom (Eds.), När samhället träder in – barn, föräldrar och social barnavård [When society enters – Children, parents and child protection]. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Houston, S. (2002). Reflecting on habitus field and capital: Towards a culturally sensitive social work. Journal of Social Work, 2(2), 149–167. Hugman, R., Moosa-Mitha, M., & Moyo, O. (2010). Towards a borderless social work: Reconsidering notions of international social work. International Social Work, 53(5), 629–643. IFSW (2014). Internatiuonal federation of social workers. Global definition of social work. https:// www.ifsw.org/what-is-social-work/global-definition-of-socialwork/ Järvinen, M. (2013). Ett maktperspektiv på mötet mellan klient och system [A perspective of power on the encounter between the client and the system]. In A.  Meeuwisse & H.  Swärd (Eds.), Perspektiv på sociala problem [Perspectives on social problems]. Stockholm: Natur och Kultur. Lough, B. (2014). Social work perspectives on international volunteer service. British Journal of Social Work, 44, 1340–1355. Lundberg, U., & Åmark, K. (2001). Social rights and social security: The Swedish welfare state, 1900-2000. Scandinavian Journal of History, 26(3), 157–176. Lundström, T. (2000). Om kommunens sociala barnavård [Child protection at the municipal level]. In M.  Szebehely (Ed.), Väfärd, vård och omsorg [Welfare, medical- and social care]. SOU 2000:30. Midgely, J. (2001). Issues in international social work: Resolving critical debates in the profession. Journal of Social Work, 1(1), 21–35. Nuttman-Shwartz, O., & Berger, R. (2011). Field education in international social work: Where we are and where we go. International Social Work, 55(2), 225–243. Payne, M. (2014). Modern social work theory (4th ed.). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Payne, M., & Aga-Askeland, G. (2008). Globalisation and international social work. Postmodern change and challenge. London: Routledge. Petterson, U. (2001). Socialt arbete, politik och professionalisering. Den historiska utvecklingen i USA och i Sverige [Social work, politics and professionalisation. Historical development in the US and in Sweden]. Stockholm: Natur och Kultur. Rothstein, B., & Stolle D. (2003) Introduction: Social Capital in Scandinavia. Scaninavian Political studies, 26(1) Rothstein, B. (2005). Social traps and the problem of trust. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rothstein, B., & Uslaner, E. M. (2005). All for all. Equality, corruption, and social trust. World Politics, 58(1), 41–47. Rothstein, B., Samanni, M., & Teorell, J. (2012). Explaining the welfare state: Power resources vs. the quality of government. European Political Science Review, 4(1), 1–28. Sewpaul, V. (2016). The west and the rest divide: Human rights, culture and social work. Journal of Human Rights and Social Work, 1(1), 30–39. Spectotowsky, A., & Mizrachi, E. (2004). Eugenics and the welfare state in Sweden: The politics of social margins and the idea of a productive society. Journal of Contemporary History, 39(3), 333–352. van Deburg, W. L. (1992). New day in Babylon : The black power movement and American culture, 1965–1975. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wennerström, U.-B. (2003). Den kvinnliga klassresan [The female experience of class mobility]. Doctoral thesis, Department of Sociology. University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Wennerström, U.-B. (2008). Den kvinnliga klassresan [The female experience of class mobility]. Tidskrift för genusvetenskap [Journal for Gender Studies], (3–4), 34–55. Wikström, H. (2009). Etnicitet. BeGreppbart [Etnicity]. Malmö: Liber. Wronka, J., & Bernasconi, S. (2012). Human rights. In K.  Lyons, T.  Hokenstad, & M.  Pawar (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of international social work (pp. 70–84). London: SAGE. https:// doi.org/10.4135/9781446247594.n4.

Chapter 6

We Live in a Political World: Between Needs and Money Kristina Alstam

6.1  Introduction The Free Dictionary defines the term stacked deck as ‘arrangements that result in an unfair advantage over someone or something’ (2017). In simple terms, someone is fooling you. Let’s keep this metaphor in mind when we now change the scene. ‘No, you cannot grant him a place at the residential home simply because he’s frail from drinking. We work in assistance assessment for the elderly, not for the addicts! We cannot waste our scarce resources on this!’ We have gone back to the year of 2006, and I am having a conversation with the manager of the assistance assessment centre for the elderly in a small municipality south of the city of Gothenburg. I am ambivalent about how I should assess the needs of an elderly man living in his summer cottage outside the small town in which I work. The conversation with my manager revolves around whether I should grant this man a place at the residential home situated close to his cottage, a wish he has articulated many times and lately more insistently. The matter at stake is how to evaluate his needs. Yes, he sometimes drinks heavily: a habit he has perhaps struggled with his whole life or, more likely, developed after the death of his wife a couple of years ago. The drinking has made him feeble and shaky, especially as he also suffers from diabetes. He has lost weight rapidly, and the ambitious care assistants from the home care service seemingly cannot help him eat and sleep better, or drink less. His diabetes is getting worse. The nurse looking after his diabetes starts calling me. Soon we have meetings in the old man’s cottage. Later, we have secret meetings in the nurse’s office to discuss the matter in a more frank manner. It does not take very long before we start calling each other each and every day, worried about the condition of this previously so vibrant, sociable and reflective old man.

K. Alstam (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_6

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When discussing his condition with him, he says that he is well aware of the fact that his drinking habits have become a problem, but he also assures us that it is the loneliness that makes him want to drink. ‘I want to have people in my life!’ he laments. When looking at his photo albums from the ‘good old days’, I come to realise that he is right. Every page is filled with photos of him interacting with people – trips with the sea scouts, graduation ceremonies from the police academy, family dinners in the garden, playing with his grandchildren on a beach somewhere or trips to Rumania in the 1980s to help and support orphanages there. As well as suffering from a severe type of diabetes and probably sliding into a drug problem, he suffers from loneliness. The municipality could actually solve precisely this latter problem for him. In the residential home, there is dancing in the dining room every Friday afternoon and a large garden in which the residents can do gardening or simply sit down and have a chat. The home has its own cat, called Gustaf, and the staff and residents celebrate every birthday and every name day, as well as Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Easter and Midsummer together. There is a solution to his loneliness just waiting around the corner. I turn the application down. He has to accept more help from the care assistants, and he needs to stop drinking before I can consider his application again. That is what the manager tells me is the only reasonable decision and, although my stomach feels funny, I do as he says. I am new in my job and I am new in the field of social work, so I do not dare to take my stomach into account. The problem is that I have just become a mother and, no matter how hard I try, I cannot help thinking that one day maybe my son will become just as frail as this man, and I cannot help thinking that this nice man, who only last month introduced me to the work of Thelonious Monk, was once a toddler like my son: just as helpless and just as lovely. I confuse them in my head, they become one and the same person, or one and the same person at different life stages. When I write these words, it is 2019, and the old man is most probably dead. I turned him down. Importantly though, it was not only my manager and I who turned the application down. The queue of applications for a place in a residential home had at the time been piling up, and the politicians in the small coastal town were telling us to look them over very carefully, bearing in mind that every concession equalled tax money. I had accidentally stumbled into quite a classic conflict area within the domain of social work: needs versus money.

6.2  Needs and Money When, several years later, I was accepted as a PhD student at the Department of Social Work at the University of Gothenburg, I did not look into the possibilities of doing research in the field of care for the elderly. Instead, I was heavily invested in a project on the discourse of ‘good parenting’, as it was manifested in two large Swedish parental web communities. When I finally sat in the viva defence of my dissertation (Alstam 2016) several years later, my main finding from the years of

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researching the texts in the parental communities was an ideologically connoted concealment of cutbacks in the welfare state. In the discourse on ‘good’ (and ‘bad’) parenting that was visible in the communities, very little of the welfare state seemed to be represented. Municipalities, political parties, boards, committees and taxes were absent as perceived prime movers of the subject. This discursive soil was the foundation of the prevailing community contempt for poor, long-term ill and unemployed people who were considered to manifest a kind of defective personhood. The need for a functioning welfare state had practically been eradicated from the web community conversations. The parents in the conversations I studied were well aware of the budget cuts in the public sector but did not blame politicians for these. Instead, they imagined society falling apart, not because of austerity regimes but because of the people depending on them. This result from my dissertation still haunts me. Today, we may see how the two spheres described above – the way we deal institutionally with the needs of the elderly and with those of parents/children – seem to conflate. I believe it is important to note that the spheres do not entirely conflate when looking at the discursive level. For example, it is very rare to see public statements urging the elderly to assume responsibility for themselves or their frailness, as was common in the parental web communities. It is; I believe, also rare to hear social workers employed in the domain of old age care stating that the way we become old – in terms of our health – is a consequence of choices made earlier in life (although the way we have started to regard health as a kind of investment indicates that this may be a discursive field that is changing). In the very same fashion, the blame for social problems is rarely placed on children but rather tends to be placed on their parents (see, for instance, Alstam 2016; Baez and Talburt 2008; Knudsen and Åkerström Andersen 2014). So in what sense are the needs of the elderly and children treated similarly? I argue that the main confusion in both arenas seems to arise when we address matters of ‘need versus money’, and I claim that social work in general does not argue sufficiently for the relationship between the two, in other words, the fact that money may solve needs. In what follows, we will take a quick look at the manner in which the needs and the material base (which goes by many names: taxes, redistribution of resources or, in short, money) are related. To do this, we will take a closer look at two fields in which people’s needs are dealt with institutionally: that of caring for the elderly and that of public education of children.

6.3  Material Base: Home Care As a result of financial restrictions in the last three decades, in this day and age, the distribution of care within the health and social services for the elderly has been replaced by a more restrained approach, which can be seen in many Western countries (see, for instance, Lagergren 2002; Brotman 2003; Folbre 2006; Burns et al. 2016). Even when needs factors are taken into account, there is clear evidence that

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the likelihood of an elderly person receiving public home care has fallen. Today, the recipients of home care have more severe problems (hence, a more profound need) when the application for home care is granted. The trend to delay the point in time at which a client may receive home care for the first time has the consequence of informal care increasing and, to some extent, substituting public care (Brotman 2003; Larsson 2006). From this increase in informal care, we may assume that these clients really do have a need: It simply has not been fulfilled. The overall trend, and Sweden is just one example, is for the welfare system to reduce its commitment to support for older people who require less intensive care (Larsson, 2006). The fact that family care has increased is especially salient amongst older people with a low level of education. In other words, what has taken place is a re-familiarisation of care, contrary to older people’s own preferences. We also see a trend of older people with higher education buying private services to a greater extent (Szebehely and Trydegård 2012), indicating that there is indeed a relationship between money and need; only in this case, money facilitates needs being fulfilled by purchasing services from the private sector. For this shift to occur, needs has to be regarded in a different light. The concept of need has a normative character, according to Åke Bergmark (1998), and it is the professional who defines what need is. The client has to be inserted or fitted into the organisation in which the assessor works. Thus, the first task of the assessor is to construct the client and the client’s needs. The assessor is often forced to make decisions based on the resources available rather than the needs that are made visible, and in Sweden, access to both regular homes for the elderly and inpatient care has been reduced since the 1990s (Johansson and Wanland 2011).

6.4  Material Base: Education and Education Markets For public schooling, the situation is perhaps best understood as a question of access to resources and where those resources eventually end up. Since the 1990s, Sweden has undergone a major ideological shift when it comes to the organisation of primary and upper secondary schools (Skolverket 2010, 2012). By allowing ‘free schools’ – schools started by non-profit organisations and entrepreneurs but funded by tax money – schools have become ‘marketised’, and a kind of school voucher system has transformed pupils into commodities (Lundahl et  al. 2010). Schools, whether so-called free schools or municipal schools, are now competing for pupils, i.e. resources/money (Bunar 2010). This chapter points to two trends with regard to resources and schools. The first is that tax resources are now being taken out of Sweden as profit for entrepreneurs and placed in tax havens (Allelin 2019). The second is a cut in resources for schools. To provide the reader with a few examples of the latter trend, I will list some of the latest cuts to have hit Swedish schools by the middle of the financial year of 2017. The schools in the small municipality of Staffanstorp in the south of Sweden were subject to a sudden budget cut in 2017 (Skånska Dagbladet, 2017: http://www.skd.

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se/2017/05/25/besparingar-i-skolan-oroar-rektorerna/); the schools in Luleå, a city in the north of Sweden, have been forced to set aside just over 36 million SEK (Norrländska Socialdemokraten, 2017: http://www.nsd.se/nyheter/lulea/darformaste-lulea-spara-nm4640763.aspx); and in another northern town in Sweden, Sundsvall, austerity was forced upon the schools starting in 2008 with a demand for the schools to save 27 million SEK, followed in 2015 by a freeze on recruitment and reduction in substitute teachers, and this continued in 2017 with a third austerity package being announced (SVT Västernorrland, 2017: https://www.svt.se/nyheter/ lokalt/vasternorrland/ekonomisk-kris-for-skolan). Lastly, in the district of Gothenburg in which I live, austerity packages have been advertised on a regular basis, resting on a particular market principle – to cover a loss in one sector with the surplus from another. In the district of Majorna-Linné, the schools were actually ordered by the District Council in 2014 to generate a surplus of 5 million SEK in order to cover the losses emerging in the sector of elderly care the very same year. Sweden could perhaps be labelled liberal extremist when it comes to deregulating the ‘school market’, but the trend of neoliberal entrepreneurship eating its way through the public sector is not just visible in Sweden. As noted by Stephen J. Ball (2012), education policy is being reworked globally. Schools are now treated as a commodity, and issues of educational quality are handled by applying ‘market solutions’. Other scholars have observed how the marketisation of schooling transforms students and parents, with the latter, especially, having come to think of themselves as ‘customers’ of their children’s education (Rosen 2003) or arguing that the marketisation as a whole has reduced the possibilities of learning (Slee 2007). The example above has obviously been picked for its rhetoric possibilities – the clash between two disparate institutional functions organised by one unifying logic, that of the market. In this context, need (of care or education) is placed in the shadow of financial matters and, what is more, is made less relevant than financial matters. By stating that it is at all possible to take money from one sector and place it in another, one could be claiming two things: (1) that people’s needs can be fulfilled regardless of the amount of money given to that need and (2) that needs can be relativised or diminished to better suit the municipal wallet. It is my strong belief that both of these arguments are wrong and furthermore that abiding by such postulates is highly detrimental.

6.5  The Academic Role and Hope for the Future The relationship between the field of research and the practitioner of social work is sometimes complicated. Research within academia is recurrently ambivalent when it comes to its task vis-à-vis the field of social work: Should research simply provide a base for practical action for social workers or should it occupy itself with other matters entirely? Professor Thomas Brante (1987) discussed precisely this matter in his in-depth interviews with the first four professors in the Swedish academic field of social work: Harald Swedner, Sune Sunesson, Hans Berglind and Bengt

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Börjesson. He asked them what tasks or social problems they considered particularly pressing and how these tasks and problems could best be addressed within academia. Brante found multifaceted images and visions amongst the professors and unresolved tensions concerning scientific theory embodied in, for example, the debate on reality: Does it exist or do we have to label and name it first, and when we have done that, what should we do about it, if anything at all? The answer to the research arena’s utility for social work seems evasive. How is the research arena of social work to be legitimised in this terrain of ambivalence? The aim of this chapter is not to provide answers to questions of that magnitude but simply to point to one possible solution. In the face of the conflict I have outlined above, academic life needs to turn somewhat more political. We cannot tacitly accept that needs are played out against each other as in the example taken from the district of Majorna-Linné where needs for education were put up against the needs of the elderly. The reality, no matter how we view it, is political: shaped by politics and defended by politicians. Apart from discourses, narratives and standpoints on it, I believe that reality also provides benefits and alleviation from pain and delivers valuable services or the opposite: makes suffering worse and ignores needs. While we are occupied bickering over the nature of reality, financial capitalism is eating up money we have brought together to pay for the education of our children, and far away from our clever argumentation, the old man who introduced me to Thelonious Monk stumbles and falls outside his bedroom and lies there in agony for several hours before being found. Consequently, my vision for the future is that social work practice and research join forces to combat the disregard for the relationship between money and needs and between the material basis of social work and its execution. The relationship between research and practice would be less estranged, and we would very probably achieve more effective resistance.

6.6  The Situation Today So what shape and form would resistance have to take in a contemporary context? Perhaps the most pressing issue of today, as I see it, is the matter of combatting a particular political shift. The shift can sweepingly be labelled neoliberalism, but when talking of needs and money, in particular, it may be fruitful to look at the working tool that is frequently applied by neoliberalism: New Public Management. In this chapter, New Public Management, or NPM, is defined first and foremost as an ideology. It comes to life through a doctrine stating that the public sector has historically been inefficient and not provided quality improvement, that it has consumed tax money without delivering service in accordance and that the public sector has often enabled undue influence by employees. According to the ideology, the solution is to turn to the private sector for advice and then to make the public function more like the private one. The practice emanating from the doctrine allows for quasi-markets to be established, with competition for temporary contracts that decide which agents will carry out the tasks in the public sector. As these agents

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have a need to generate profit for themselves, the state initiates institutions of control that inspect whether the tasks are carried out in the requested manner. As a consequence, NPM may be understood as an ideology brought to life through institutional practice (Dawson and Dargie 2005, 34 ff.). The problem is that NPM clouds the more fundamental problem addressed in this chapter: Do we set aside enough money for the welfare state to function properly? When debating the conflict of needs versus money, we have to make sure that we do not end up in discussions about technicalities. The matter at stake would be the same, regardless of managerial system: Money is either sufficient (capable of solving the need) or insufficient. With NPM, an element of managerial wizardry is always possible. The fact that care for the elderly is understaffed becomes a matter of a perceived shortage in state supervision of agents providing that particular service, and problems of children being given too little teaching in domestic science because the school did not budget for a classroom with enough stoves and refrigerators are turned into a glitch in the system of competition between agents providing the service of schooling. This is not good enough. We are lured into talking about money in the wrong way. The matter of tax money and the expectations of what it could and should achieve are obviously a complex question. My wish is not to argue that state supervision or managerial skills are of no relevance. However, applying the logic of first things first when talking about money would hopefully lead us to ask the most basic question first: Is it enough? We need to remember that NPM is not simply a managerial technicality – it is also a way of making a profit. This in itself makes it far from value neutral. NPM has come in handy as a tool in the ambitions of reducing the scope of the welfare state, ambitions sometimes labelled austerity politics (Jensen 2012), and in making us believe that these reductions were actually necessary. It has made us worry about those needing the welfare state instead of being concerned about the reductions within that very same arena (Alstam 2016; Jensen 2014). For the academic discipline of social work, the application of NPM will hopefully mean that a more robust introduction to the battle over money will be given to the students: the way it is executed at state as well as council level. This will require departments of social work to partly change the scope of their schedules. We will need to introduce the students to the ideology of NPM, the relationship between NPM and profits and how this relationship is turned into budget calculations in the domains of the municipal economy. We will have to teach the students what political economy is (in old-fashioned terms, making them comprehend its liaisons with the ideology of the ruling classes) and offer them the skills of budget negotiations; in other words, turn them into potent strategists. We will have to expand the courses on mobilisation and lobbying. Students will need to understand the manner in which a particular way of organising production and consumption in a society decides how a ‘soft’ concept such as need can be articulated and for what reasons it is articulated in that fashion. Needs talk is always political, as Nancy Fraser (1990) puts it. People controlling the stacked deck already possess the skills of downgrading people’s needs: How can we resist them if we lack the expertise? If no one has the capacity to check the deck, we will most certainly lose the game.

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References Allelin, M. (2019). Skola för Lönsamhet. Om elevers marknadsanpassade villkor och vardag [School for profit. On student’s market-adapted conditions and everyday life]. Lund: Arkiv. Alstam, K. (2016). Parents, power, poverty. On choice and responsibility in two parental communities. Doctoral thesis, Department of Social Work, Skriftserien 2016: 4. University of Gothenburg. Baez, B., & Talburt, S. (2008). Governing for responsibility and with love: Parents and children home and school. Educational Theory, 58(1), 25–43. Ball, S.  J. (2012). Global Education Inc. new policy networks and the neoliberal imaginary. Abingdon: Routledge. Bergmark, Å. (1998). Nyckelbegrepp i socialt arbete [Key concepts in social work]. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Brante, T. (1987). Om konstitueringen av nya vetenskapliga fält — Exemplet forskning om socialt arbete [On the constitution of new scientific fields  – Example, research on social work]. Sociologisk Forskning, 24(4), 30–60. Brotman, S. (2003). The primacy of family in elder care discourses. Home care services to older ethnic women in Canada. Journal of Gerontological Social Work, 38(3), 19–52. Bunar, N. (2010). Choosing for quality or inequality: Current perspectives on the implementation of school choice policy in Sweden. Journal of Education Policy, 25(1), 1–8. Burns, D. J., Hyde, P. J., & Killett, A. M. (2016). How financial cutbacks affect the quality of jobs and care for the elderly. IRL Review, 69(4), 991–1016. Dawson, S., & Dargie, C. (2005). New public management: A discussion with special reference to UK health. In K. Mclaughlin, S. P. Osborne & E. Ferlie (Eds.), New public management. Current trends and future prospects. London/New York: Routledge. Folbre, N. (2006). Measuring care: Gender, empowerment, and the care economy. Journal of Human Development, 7(2), 183–199. Fraser, N. (1990). Struggle over needs: Outline of a socialist-feminist critical theory of late-­ capitalist political culture. In L.  Gordon (Ed.), Women, the state, and welfare. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Free Dictionary. (2017, September 29). [Definition]. Retrieved from http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com Jensen, T. (2012). Tough love in tough times. Studies in the Maternal, 4(2), 1–23. Jensen, T. (2014). Welfare commonsense, poverty porn and doxosophy. Sociological Research Online, 19(3), 1–7. Johansson, M., & Wanland, S. (2011). Bättre vård i hemmet [Better care in the home], Rapport 2011:5. FoU-centrum Primärvård och Tandvård i Skaraborg. Knudsen, H., & Åkerström Andersen, N. (2014). Playful hyper-responsibility: Toward a dislocation of parents’ responsibility? Journal of Education Policy, 29(1), 105–121. Lagergren, M. (2002). The systems of care for frail elderly persons: The case of Sweden. Aging Clinical and Experimental Research, 14(4), 252–257. Larsson, K. (2006). Care needs and home-help services for older people in Sweden: Does improved functioning account for the reduction in public care? Aging & Society, 26(3), 413–429. Lundahl, L., Erixon Arreman, I., Lundström, U., & Rönnberg, L. (2010). Setting things right? Swedish upper secondary school reform in a 40-year perspective. European Journal of Education, 45(1), 49–62. Norrländska Socialdemokraten. (2017). Retrieved from http://www.nsd.se/nyheter/lulea/darformaste-lulea-spara-nm4640763.aspx Rosen, L. (2003). The politics of identity and the marketization of U.S. schools. How local meanings mediate global struggles. In K.M. Anderson-Levitt (Ed.), Local meanings, global schooling. Anthropology and world culture theory. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Skolverket. (2010). Konkurrensen om eleverna. Kommunernas hantering av minskande gymnasie-­ kullar och en växande skolmarknad [Competition on students. Municipalities handling of

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declining numbers of upper secondary schools students and a growing school market], Rapport 346. Stockholm: Skolverket. Skolverket. (2012). En bild av skolmarknaden. Syntes av Skolverkets skolmarknadsprojekt. Stockholm: Skolverket www.skolverket.se/publikationer Skånska Dagbladet. (2017). Retrieved from http://www.skd.se/2017/05/25/ besparingar-i-skolan-oroar-rektorerna/ Slee, R. (2007). Inclusive schooling as a means and end of education? In L.  Florian (Ed.), Handbook of special education. London: Sage Publications. SVT Västernorrland. (2017). Retrieved from https://www.svt.se/nyheter/lokalt/vasternorrland/ ekonomisk-kris-for-skolan Szebehely, M., & Trydegård, G.-B. (2012). Home care for older people in Sweden: A universal model in transition. Health and Social Care in the Community, 20(3), 300–309.

Chapter 7

The Problematic Labour Market Situation of Immigrants to Sweden – Consequences and Causes Björn Gustafsson

7.1  Introduction It was in the 1980s after having defended a PhD thesis in economics and with a research interest in the distribution of income and poverty that the economic situation of immigrants in Sweden became one of my research topics. Since then, I have worked together with colleagues on several research projects dealing with various aspects of how immigrants to Sweden are faring. My training in economics has made it easier for me to follow the international research literature on immigration and thereby formulate research questions, and the courses I have taken in econometrics have helped me greatly in conducting the statistical analyses that formed important parts of the research work. My early efforts resulted in books written with colleges and more recent ones in English language articles published in scientific journals. A selection of recent articles, most of which were written together with Torun Österberg, are listed at the end of this chapter. In the 1980s, few social scientists had a research interest in how immigrants in Sweden were faring. In the 1990s, I moved to the Department of Social Work at my university and found little coverage of immigrant issues in the courses included in the programme for social work students. Of the social work students, only a few had migrated to Sweden themselves or had parents who had. However, as Sweden received large inflows of migrants, an increasing number of students with a migrant background appeared among our students, and migrant issues attracted greater attention on the courses for social work students. As the relative situation of immigrants began to deteriorate, immigrant issues started to attract growing interest among scholars. Those researchers who use quantitative methods were then able to benefit from using register data at Statistics Sweden. I was one of the earliest.

B. Gustafsson (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_7

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The literature on immigrants in the Swedish labour market is now relatively extensive, and this chapter does not attempt to cover all relevant writings.1 In this  chapter, we discuss how immigrants are faring in the Swedish labour market and report that nowadays, as a category, they are not employed to the same extent as native-born persons. This is true, particularly for persons born in low- and middle-income countries – persons who are often easy to distinguish from natives by their physical appearance, name and language skills. A weak employment situation is not limited to the first generation of immigrants but also applies to children of immigrants who are native born. We discuss several consequences of the weak labour market position of immigrants to Sweden. These include greater use of social assistance and disability pensions than among natives and increased pressure on public sector budgets. Gaps in disposable income between natives and many immigrant groups are reported (though some categories of Western immigrants are as likely as native-born persons to be represented at the top of the income distribution). The weak employment situation of immigrants has also led many immigrants and their children to live in less advantaged neighbourhoods, aggravating problems of residential segregation, which has far-reaching social consequences. Furthermore, we discuss factors explaining the weak employment situation of immigrants to Sweden. The rest of the chapter  is structured as follows. In the next section, we provide a background describing the immigrant population by number of persons for each country of origin. Section 7.3 reports on the employment situation of immigrants to Sweden, and Sect. 7.4 discusses the consequences of this and Sect. 7.5 possible reasons. The paper ends with a summary and discussion.

7.2  Immigrant Population Sweden’s experience as an immigrant country is relatively recent. At the beginning of World War II, very few foreign-born persons lived in Sweden, but since then many waves of immigrants have crossed its borders. While the foreign-born population numbered no more than 1.8% in 1950, the proportion had grown to 7.5% in 1980. However, at the end of 2018, 1,956,000 foreign-born persons lived in Sweden, which constitutes 19% of the total population of 10.2 million persons. Information from Eurostat shows that in relation to other EU countries, Sweden’s foreign-born population is one of the highest. However, in the public debate, the term ‘immigrant’ is not restricted to people who are foreign born. Statistics Sweden reports that at the beginning of 2017, 23% of people in Sweden had a foreign background. This number includes not only those who were foreign born but also persons born in Sweden with two parents who were

1  References to other recent studies of efforts to integrate immigrants into the labour market can be found in OECD (2016).

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foreign born. There are also a number of persons born in Sweden with one foreign-­ born parent, and if they are included, then almost one in three of the Swedish population can be said to have an immigrant background. Many foreign-born persons and their children have been granted Swedish citizenship. At the beginning of 2018, there was a total of 932,000 foreign citizens, making up 9% of the population in Sweden. Using the information on the situation in January 2017, Table  7.1 lists the 20 biggest sending countries of foreign-born persons to Sweden by name and number. The countries are ranked by number of foreign-born persons. The table also includes the number of persons born in Sweden whose parents were both born in the country in question. There are some differences in the rankings between these two columns due to factors such as the extent to which the persons are co-parents with someone from the same country. A big heterogeneity in geographical distance to Sweden can be observed in the table. The closest neighbouring Nordic countries (for which a common labour market has been in place for half a century) are well-represented in Table 7.1. Finland was the biggest sending country of immigrants to Sweden for a long time, and most of these immigrants have a long period of residency in Sweden. What is not shown in the table is that an additional 180,000 persons born in Sweden have one Finnish-­ born and one Swedish-born parent, which means that as many as 330,000 persons living in Sweden have origins from Finland in the current or a preceding generation. Denmark and Norway, the two other large Nordic countries, rank number 11 and 12 as country of origin for foreign-born persons living in Sweden. Many of these immigrants have arrived for labour market or family reasons. They have often found a Swedish-born partner, and most of their offspring are therefore not shown in Table 7.1.

Table 7.1  Number of foreign-born persons living in Sweden from the 20 biggest sending countries on 1 January 2017 Country of birth Finland Syria Iraq Poland Iran Yugoslavia Somalia Bosnia-­ Herzegovina Germany Turkey

Of the person 153,620 149,418 135,129 88,704 70,637 66,539 63,853 58,181

Of both parents 62,9341 16,690 49,624 14,487 17,066 30,363 23,285 16,336

50,189

 6,186

47,060

28,455

Source: Statistics Sweden

Country of birth Norway Denmark Thailand Eritrea China Chile Rumania Lebanon

Of the person 42,066 41,212 39,877 35,142 29,640 27,919 27,974 26,906

Of both parents  3,530  6,686  1,185  5,409  3,549  8,378  3,859 15,861

United Kingdom India

26,442

   733

25,719

 3,166

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Another group of big sending countries is made up of the older members of the EU, to which Sweden has belonged since the mid-1990s and within which mobility now faces few restrictions. This group of sending countries includes Germany (ranked #9) and the United Kingdom (ranked #19). Like the Nordic migrants, these immigrants arrived for labour market or family reasons. There have also been large immigrant streams from Eastern and South-Eastern Europe. During the 1970s, many labour migrants came from Yugoslavia (ranked #6) as well as countries that joined the EU more recently than Sweden, such as Poland (ranked #4) and Rumania (ranked #17). Since very recently, Syria has been the second biggest sending country, and Iraq the third for immigrants to Sweden. These two populations have increased rapidly in recent years. Most have entered Sweden as refugees, for humanitarian reasons or as relatives of family members who were admitted for such reasons. This description also fits the immigration populations born in Iran (the majority of whom arrived during the 1980s), Somalia (most arrived after 2000) and Bosnia-Herzegovina (the majority arrived during the 1990s), the fifth, seventh and eighth biggest sending countries. The same description applies to the somewhat smaller migrant populations from Eritrea, Chile and Lebanon. Table 7.1 also informs us that Turkey ranks #10 and Thailand #13 as countries of birth for foreign-born persons who have immigrated to Sweden. The most populous countries in the world, China and India, are ranked #15 and #20, respectively, by number of foreign-born persons living in Sweden. It should be understood that a considerable proportion of Sweden’s newest immigrants have their origins in low- or middle-income countries and have not entered as labour migrants. In the most recent decades, few other rich countries have admitted as many asylum seekers and their relatives in relation to the country’s population as Sweden. A considerable proportion of recent immigrants are Muslims, and many are easy to distinguish by appearance and name from the majority population. The immigrant population is younger than the native category. Metropolitan areas and large cities have higher proportions of foreign-born persons than towns and rural areas.

7.3  L  abour Market Situation of Immigrants to Sweden – A Brief Picture How are immigrants faring in the Swedish labour market? It is well known that many foreign-born persons who arrived during the 1960s and 1970s were able to find a job relatively easily. The employment rates among foreign-born men were similar to those of native-born men. During this period, it was not uncommon for native-born women to be housewives, and employment rates among immigrant women were actually higher than for native-born women, but this is now history. Employment rates for native-born women in Sweden have increased, and since the

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beginning of the 1990s, they are almost as high as for men. Furthermore, employment rates among foreign-born men and women dropped rapidly during the employment crisis in the first half of the 1990s, a bigger fall than among natives. As a consequence, the gap in employment rates between foreign-born and native-born persons widened. Since then, the weak employment level among foreign-born persons has become a great challenge for policymakers in Sweden and has attracted much public attention. In 2016, 91% of Swedish-born men aged 25–54 were employed, as were 89% of Swedish-born women of the same ages. However, among foreign-born men, the corresponding number was 77%, and among foreign-born women, it was 68%. Much of this foreign-native gap in employment rates is due to the higher unemployment rates among foreign-born persons. The unemployment rate among native-born men and women is 3% compared with 15% for foreign-born men and 14% for foreign-born women. In addition, a greater proportion of foreign-­ born than native-born women are not in the labour force. That is they are not employed nor actively searching for a job. Although challenges of low employment among foreign-born persons can be found in many (but not all) other Western countries, the disparity in employment rates between native-born and foreign-born persons in Sweden is definitively one of the biggest. It has thus become difficult for many foreign-born persons to find and keep their first job in Sweden. Part of the picture is that employment and unemployment among foreign-born persons in Sweden are affected more by the business cycle than is the case for native-born persons. This is understandable, as recently arrived foreign-born persons compete with school leavers entering the labour market, and a weak labour market affects those looking for their first job most. In addition, when employers lay off workers, it is often those who were hired last – recent immigrants and young adults – who have to exit. Among foreign-born persons, there is a big variation in the probability of being employed. In general, the probability of being employed increases by year since immigration. This is due to many factors, which will be discussed in the next section. People who immigrate as young adults are more likely to gain a foothold in the Swedish labour market than those aged 40 or older when they migrate. The country of origin also has great bearing on the probability of being employed. Persons who were born in rich countries generally have higher employment rates than those born in low- or middle-income countries. People from low- or middle-income countries are easier to distinguish from the majority of population by appearance, name and often language ability. This means that the employment probability of a person from a rich country who has lived in Sweden for decades is similar to that observed for a native person of the same age and education. It also means that the employment probability of a person who was born in a low- or middle-income country, has recently arrived in Sweden and was over 40 when he or she arrived is low. One obvious reason why immigrants from low- and middle-income countries who recently arrived in Sweden have a low probability of being employed is that they are engaged in various integration programmes organised and funded by the public sector, for example, programmes for learning the Swedish language. An ability to communicate in Swedish is necessary to perform most jobs in Sweden, and it

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is very unusual for persons born and living outside Sweden to be able to speak and write the Swedish language. However, even after several years of residence in Sweden, the probability of persons born in a low- or middle-income country being employed is relatively low, particularly if the person has limited education.

7.4  C  onsequences of Immigrants’ Lack of Integration into the Swedish Labour Market The weak integration of immigrants from low- and middle-income countries into the Swedish labour market has many consequences, and this section will discuss the most important ones. First, without being gainfully employed, immigrants, more frequently than natives, turn to some of the income programmes provided by the public sector. Two of these are of particular relevance here: social assistance and disability pension. It is important to understand that a central characteristic of most of Sweden’s welfare programmes is that persons need to be employed to qualify and that benefit levels are linked to workers’ earning histories. It thus follows that recently arrived immigrants, as well as young adults, cannot count on receiving sickness benefits to the same degree as natives. For the same reason, income loss due to unemployment is not as well cushioned by unemployment compensation for recent immigrants as it is for middle-aged natives. Many recently arrived immigrants do not work and are thus not entitled to unemployment compensation. In addition, they do not own assets or financial capital. Many therefore apply for and receive social assistance, the last income safety net of the public sector. Take the city of Gothenburg with a population of 567,000 in June 30, 2018. Statistical information from the National Board of Health and Welfare shows that during this year, 20,000 adults lived in a household receiving social assistance. Of those, 68% were born abroad, while in the general population, persons born abroad made up 26%. Foreign-born persons are also overrepresented among receivers of disability pensions  – persons in work of active ages who the social insurance authorities have deemed unfit for work due to health reasons. Rates of disability pension are very low among recently arrived immigrants but increase rapidly on a yearly basis since immigration. They have been shown to be particularly high among immigrants from Greece, the former Yugoslavia, Turkey and Finland, countries from which many work migrants have arrived. The reasons for this are not very well understood but point to the employment problems of some groups of immigrants not being limited to the first years after entering the new country. A second consequence of the weak labour market situation of many immigrants is the negative effect it has on the Swedish public sector budget. Most immigrants arrive in the host country after finishing their education. Upon arrival, most have the capacity to perform market work for many years. While taking part in the formal economy, immigrants pay taxes and social security contributions, and as consumers,

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they induce payments of taxes on goods and services. Being wage earners, recent immigrants do not demand much in terms of social security benefits, and being of active working age, their use of social and medical services is limited. Thus, there is great potential for recent immigrants to enrich the native population via the public budget. However, if the immigrant does not find a job, the situation may become the opposite, as indicated by the results of empirical research. As a consequence, there are reasons for native persons not to view the situation in a positive light. There are also reasons for the immigrant population to be dissatisfied with the situation, at least if they compare their living conditions with those of native-born persons. Although some government transfers reduce the gap in income from work, differences remain in many cases. Table 7.2 reports information on average disposable income in 2010 for native-born persons and persons born in big sending

Table 7.2  Measures of household income in Sweden in 2010 for native-born persons and persons born in large sending countries

Native born United Kingdom USA (incl. Canada) Finland Germany Hungary Norway (incl. Iceland) Bosnia Denmark Chile Poland Rumania Yugoslavia India Iran Russia Turkey Thailand Lebanon China Syria Iraq Somalia

Mean income SEK/equivalent person 245,581 237,812

Per cent belonging to the 5% Per cent with an income less best off in the country than 40% of the median 5 3 7 16

228,331

8

18

221,279 210,770 208,525 202,308

4 5 4 5

5 15 12 17

184,644 182,479 180,926 178,516 174,809 173,898 168,949 165,794 165,126 147,372 147,299 140,379 133,760 127,947 124,188 107,787

1 5 1 3 3 1 3 2 2 1 1 1 3 0 0 0

6 27 9 19 22 10 27 19 19 19 24 21 41 26 21 30

Source: Statistics Sweden Microdata for all persons residing in Sweden

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countries in column two. The table uses register information on the entire Swedish population, not a sample. Disposable income is measured as the sum of wages, self-­ employment income and government transfers (pensions, unemployment benefits, sickness benefits, social assistance, etc.) after deduction of income taxes. Column three reports the number of persons belonging to the category of the wealthiest 5% of the country. Column four reports the proportion of the category with a disposable income below 40% of the median income in the population living in Sweden. This is an indication of deep poverty, and only 3% of native-born persons live in a household with such a low income. Several observations can be made based on Table 7.2. First, we find that out of all the reported countries of origin, the mean income is similar to native-born persons in only one case, that of the United Kingdom. In all other cases, the mean is lower, and in some cases much lower. The lowest is for persons born in Somalia for whom the mean income is just 43% of the mean income of native-born persons. At the bottom of the table, we also find persons born in Lebanon, Syria and Iraq. Immigrants from these four countries are characterised as having been admitted as refugees or relatives of refugees. Many are recent, or relatively recent, arrivals, and most are Muslims and are by name and physical appearance different from the majority population. The native-born-foreign-born disparity is most pronounced in the last column, which indicates the frequency of persons in deep poverty, as all categories of foreign born are reported to have higher frequencies. In contrast, the native-born-foreign-­ born disparity is not as great for those belonging to the wealthiest group, as some categories have a representation similar to that of native-born persons. One important consequence of the high proportion of immigrants from low- and middle-income countries not being successful in finding full-time jobs is low spending power, which leads to many of them and their dependent children residing in less-privileged neighbourhoods of large cities. Such a spatial concentration is often seen as carrying a risk of low human capital development and the acquisition of preferences that differ from those held by the majority. Residential segregation, particularly from an ethnic aspect, can and has fostered social tension and unrest. It thus comes as no surprise that for a few years now, the public discussion on how to counteract residential segregation has intensified and that Sweden has introduced policy measures aimed at improving living conditions and public services in less fortunate neighbourhoods. Today, many newly educated social workers find their first job in such neighbourhoods.

7.5  U  nderstanding the Lack of Integration of Many Immigrants into the Swedish Labour Market The reasons that many immigrants do not fare well in the Swedish labour market are varied and can be approached from several perspectives. One perspective is to focus on various characteristics of the immigrants. Numerous empirical studies from many countries indicate that the number of years since immigration is a determinant

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of how well immigrants fare in the labour market. It typically takes time for newly arrived immigrants to assimilate into the labour market of the host country, for several reasons, including time to accumulate specific knowledge about the host country and increased time to receive job offers. Knowledge of the host country’s language typically also increases with time in the country. Explanatory factors focusing on the immigrants’ characteristics include certain obvious ones such as the education level and health status of the immigrants. Some, but not all, immigrant flows to Sweden are characterised by low levels of education. In addition, the education a person has acquired in one country may not be easily transferable to another. A considerable number of refugees and other immigrants have a poor health status, making them less employable. There are also factors that relate to the social capital of the immigrant, such as many job offers being received through informal channels typically not accessed by immigrants to the same degree as natives. The perspective focusing on the immigrants’ characteristics suggests a number of measures to improve the situation of immigrant workers by increasing their employability. Many such programmes have been introduced and funded by the public sector in Sweden and, to some extent, organised by the public sector, such as classroom courses to increase skills in the Swedish language and on how, for example, Swedish society functions. There are also courses to increase the general schooling level of poorly educated immigrants. Results from empirical studies indicate that focusing on immigrant characteristics and access to networks can explain a relatively large proportion of the variation in the way different immigrant groups fare. However, such factors cannot provide the full story, and other approaches also need to be considered. Empirical research has therefore turned the spotlight on the other actor in the hiring process  – the employer. One empirical study shows that the person responsible for hiring workers is more likely to hire workers of the same ethnicity as him- or herself. In Sweden, the overwhelming proportion of all workers who hire staff are natives. By now, a substantial number of empirical studies have convincingly shown that employers discriminate against job applicants by name. Hypothetical job applicants with foreign-sounding names on their CVs are considerably less likely to be called in for a job interview than job applicants with native-sounding names. There is also empirical support that persons with foreign-sounding names who change to native-sounding names have much better income development. Why is a name so strategic in the hiring decision? Potential employers may just prefer not to have foreign workers, thereby exhibiting preference discrimination. However, it could also be due to statistical discrimination, with employers expecting persons with a particular background to be less productive on average than natives for various reasons. For example, they may expect foreign-born persons on average not to have the same knowledge of institutions and cultural norms specific to Sweden and to have less language competence. Focusing on the employer side of the hiring decision has led to various policy measures that aim to help more immigrants get jobs. Legislation has been

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introduced to make discrimination by nativity, race, gender and sexual orientation illegal. However, such legislation is not always easy to enforce. Employers can claim that each individual is unique and the fact that a job applicant was foreign born was not decisive to the hiring decision actually taken. There have also been suggestions of subsidising wage costs for immigrants by reducing social security contributions for employers hiring them. A third approach in understanding the weak labour market position of immigrants to Sweden is to focus on the wage-setting mechanism. Collective bargaining has resulted in relatively high minimum wages in Sweden, reducing the demand for people who, for example, have not mastered the Swedish language. It could be argued that in a hypothetical situation with more low-paid jobs, a higher proportion of immigrants would have been employed and earning wages. The problem with putting this forward as a policy proposal is that trade unions’ goals are rather the opposite, that is, to reduce wage differences. Sweden thus seems to be standing between two unsatisfactory choices: to increase employment among immigrants, thereby accepting bigger earning differences, or to accept low employment among immigrants while retaining goals of low-wage inequality. The relatively high minimum wages in Sweden provide one important reason why many foreign-born persons and their children have gone into self-employment in, for example, retail businesses, restaurants or taxi driving. Despite low hourly wages, immigrants can make a reasonably good living by working many hours. A fourth approach to understanding the low employment among many categories of immigrants to Sweden is to focus on welfare state arrangements and public policy. The focus is thus shifted to policymakers and their decisions. One classic issue is that progressive income taxes combined with benefits that decrease by income make it less rewarding for persons to take a job than would be the case if such programmes did not exist. Is this important? What can be said is that such disincentive effects can be a problem among parents, particularly if they have many children, as the policy goal is to support families with children. Consider the situation of a mother with four children calculating how her family’s disposable income would change if she were to go from living on social assistance to market work. In the new situation, she would lose social assistance payments as well as income-tested housing benefit and would have to pay income tax and (if applicable) fees for out-of-­ home childcare as well as transportation costs. The new situation may thus not entail a substantially different disposable income. Increasing the pay-off from work was the focus of the previous government that came into power after the election in 2006 and served until autumn 2014. There were massive changes in, for example, the income tax system. However, the reforms have meant that the gap in income between those who work and those who do not has increased. It can also be claimed that a number of other policies, or implementation thereof, are not as positive for immigrant employment as alternative policies could have been. For example, access to public labour market measures by immigrants does not appear to be as great as could be expected, and programmes introducing recently arrived immigrants into Swedish society could be more focused. Another example

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of an unsuccessful policy is that of placing recently arrived immigrants in locations all over Sweden, including areas with very weak labour markets. Programmes teaching immigrants Swedish are also often criticised for not being efficient enough. Finally, there is the issue of admission policy. At a basic level, it can be claimed that the admission policy, and thereby the politicians, is responsible for the situation of a wide gap in employment and income between many groups of immigrants and natives. It is the politicians who have decided on the guidelines for admitting persons from countries outside the EU and Norway. In autumn 2015, Sweden received a very large number of asylum seekers, making the admission policy a very hot political issue. Parliament decided to make radical changes to the admission policy, making it considerably less attractive to seek asylum and more difficult to receive a permanent residence permit. The admission policy as policies to integrate immigrant into the Swedish labour market has also continued to be among the biggest political issues.

7.6  Final Words This chapter has shown that several categories of foreign-born persons who have immigrated to Sweden are not well integrated into Swedish society in that they do not work for earnings to the same extent as natives. However, the employment problems are concentrated to persons from middle- and low-income countries who typically are distinguishable from the majority by physical appearance and name. The employment problems are not limited to the first generation of immigrants but also apply to their children. The reasons for this are numerous and interrelated. Drawing on empirical research, we have suggested that some explanations for the low employment rate among immigrants in Sweden are linked to characteristics of the immigrants: periods of residency, education, language skills and health. There are also possible explanations that relate to access to networks used in the job search. Supplementing this, there are explanations that focus on the demand for foreign-born labour. Empirical research indicates that employers use the name of the job applicant when screening applications. Yet another type of explanation is that minimum wages are relatively high in Sweden, and certain immigrants are therefore not attractive to employ. Finally, the weak situation on the labour market for many immigrants can be caused by bad policy or policy implementation. Different policies, general or such focused on immigrants, would have led to a better employment situation for some immigrants. We have discussed several consequences of the weak labour market situation. Immigrants are overrepresented among receivers of social assistance and disability pensions. As the average immigrants do not work for earnings to the same extent as natives, they do not pay as much in taxes while incurring relatively high expenditure for public transfers. Low employment among many immigrants is thus a concern for public sector budgets. A weak labour market situation also means that many

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immigrant groups have a lower disposable household income and are more likely to be deemed poor. Yet, we have also shown that some categories of Western immigrants are as likely as natives to be represented at the top of the income distribution. Finally, the relatively low income of several categories of immigrants has led to them being concentrated in less privileged residential neighbourhoods and to problems of residential segregation being linked to a great extent to ethnicity, a situation that has far-reaching negative consequences. Finally, coming back to my personal experience, I have seen that Swedish society has changed in many ways since I became a member of the staff of the Department of Social Work of our university in the 1990s. One of the biggest changes has been discussed in this chapter: that the immigrant issue has come to touch very many aspects of Swedish society. It can no longer be claimed that immigrants make up a small proportion of the clients that professional social workers meet. In fact, for a substantial number of social workers, immigrants make up a majority of those they interact with daily. Over the years, we as teachers have seen that a growing proportion of the social work students themselves have an immigrant background. As a consequence, the type of research I have summarised in this chapter should have become increasingly relevant to policymakers, social workers and the general public. However, in order for social workers to fully comprehend the type of research I have discussed here, education programmes in social work need to also include good training in a range of research methods.

References Organisation of Economic Development and Cooperation (OECD). (2016). Working together. Skills and labour market integration of immigrants and their children in Sweden, Paris. Retrieved from http://www.oecd.org/publications/working-together-skills-and-labour-marketintegration-of-immigrants-and-their-children-in-sweden-9789264257382-en.htm

A Selection of My Recent Articles on Immigrants to Sweden: Galloway, T.  A., Gustafsson, B., Pedersen, P.  J., & Österberg, T. (2015). Immigrant child poverty  – The Achilles heel of the Scandinavian welfare state. In T.  Garner & K.  Short (Eds.), Measurement of poverty, deprivation, and economic mobility (Research on economic inequality, 23). Bingley: Emerald. Gustafsson, B. (2013). Social assistance among immigrants and natives in Sweden. International Journal of Manpower, 34(2), 126–141. Gustafsson, B., & Österberg, T. (2018). How are immigrant children in Sweden faring: Mean income, affluence and poverty from the 1980s and during following decades. Child Indicators Research, 11(1), 329–353. Gustafsson, B., Katz, K., & Österberg, T. (2017a). Segregation from generation to generation? Intergenerational association in socio-spatial context among visible minorities and the major-

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ity population in metropolitan Sweden. Population Space and Place, 23(4), e2028. https://doi. org/10.1002/psp.2028. Gustafsson, B., Katz, K., & Österberg, T. (2017b). Why do some young adults not graduate from upper-secondary school? On the importance of signals of labour market failure. Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research, 61(6), 701–720. Gustafsson, B., Mac Innes, H., & Österberg, T. (2017). Age at immigration matters of labor market integration – The Swedish example. IZA Journal of Development and Migration, 7(1), 1–23. Gustafsson, B., Mac Innes, H., & Österberg, T. (2019). Older people in Sweden without means: On the importance of age at immigration for being ‘twice poor’. Ageing and Society, 39(6), 1172–1199.

Chapter 8

Gothenburg Was a City in Mourning Rehema Prick

8.1  Starting Over I came to Sweden in 1979 as a newly-wed. Before coming here, I had completed my education at a secretarial college in Tanzania and been employed doing secretarial work, mainly in accounting. Once I arrived in Sweden, it became clear how difficult it was to find a job. My certificates from Tanzania proved useless, and although I was proficient in several languages, I could not speak Swedish! Like many newcomers, I had to start over. After attending Swedish classes from primary to upper secondary school proficiency, I needed a new occupational identity. I knew I could not continue in my old occupation, but I did not know what choices were available to me. Then social work came to mind; it was a good way to learn to understand the Swedish system and people as well as gain an insider view of migrants’ experiences of Swedish social work. Were migrants and non-native citizens treated the same as other Swedish citizens when they needed help? I also wanted to understand migrants’ feelings about having to seek help. This was important because most migrants during this time came from countries that did not have such well-­developed social service systems as Sweden. Finally, a very good reason was that I needed to be able to support myself, and social work was a secure job. I began my social work education in 1997. It was hard with two small children and a family to care for. I am grateful to my husband, my in-laws and friends who provided the network and extra support I needed to get through the 3-year educational programme. Attending university was a cultural shock for me, and I suppose for the other students as well. The educational demands were high, and even though I had passed all of the Swedish courses, it was difficult to grasp a new academic vocabulary. Adjusting to new study routines, writing essays and participating in other academic tasks while raising a family were not easy, add to this the fact that I R. Prick (*) Social Worker and Licensed systemic and family psychotherapist (ret.), Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_8

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was the only black person in the class, which made me feel as if I represented all future social workers of colour who would be judged by how well I did. At the same time, I wanted to fit in, to be accepted as a student but also as a member of the community. It was stressful to say the least. Studying was also a revelation. I learned much about Swedish society. Coming from a society that could at best only provide a safety net for its poorest members, the Swedish welfare system appeared to have solved all problems with its cradle-to-­ grave social policies. It was as a social work student that I first realised that Sweden was not a paradise without social problems. For the majority of Swedish people, the system worked well. The welfare state was inclusive and universal, providing unemployment insurance, sickness benefits and childcare at a high replacement rate. At that time, if you fell sick or were on parental leave, you could be compensated with about 80 per cent of your wages from social insurances. However, it was never quite that simple. To be able to enjoy these benefits, you must first have worked long enough to have qualified for the right to use the insurance system; otherwise, only the very low universal rate was available to you. There were other benefits too, such as access to good medical care for a low fee, and there was a child allowance for every child as well as childcare facilities. What I learned during my social work education was that although the system was great, it tended to fail those who needed it most. If you were unemployed or only worked part-time; were a migrant, a single parent, or someone with a drug- or alcohol-related problem; were old; had a disability; or for whatever reason had not managed to earn the right to full benefits, you were on the margins of the system. It is people from these most vulnerable groups that we engage with in social work. I learned that social problems have many different faces and affect people in different ways. Coming from a society that could only provide a minimal safety net for the poorest, some issues defined as social problems in Sweden would not even have been considered in Tanzania. Of course, I cannot compare poverty and vulnerability in Sweden with that in Tanzania, but poor people were still poor and social problems, like those mentioned above, violence and abuse in families were very much a part of Swedish society, just as they were in Tanzania. The main differences were the scale of the problems and the comparative resources of the two countries to combat them. The lasting lesson was that the solution to social problems, whether in Sweden or Tanzania, depends on the ability to raise the issue at all levels of society, create awareness and make a compelling argument as to why they need to be addressed. Solving social problems demands that politicians, organisations and citizens agree that it is in the interest of society to solve them.

8.2  My First Job as a Social Worker I completed my social work practice at a municipal social service office and a refugee reception centre. After I completed my education, I was worried that I would have difficulty finding a job. Swedes were not used to seeing black people working as social workers, but I had no problems at all. I was offered a position at a refugee

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reception centre; I accepted it because I thought my background and experiences trying to navigate Swedish society, in combination with my social work education, would be put to good use there. Being a social worker in a refugee reception centre was stimulating but difficult. Working with people coming from war-torn areas was very stressful and demanding. Social work education had not properly prepared my colleagues and me for the demands of meeting refugees. It was a learning process for all of us. Our experienced colleagues supported those of us who were newly employed with good advice about the best ways of working with this group. It was especially difficult dealing with families waiting for a decision from the immigration department over whether they would be allowed to stay in Sweden or sent back to the place they had come from. Nothing really prepares you for this, but the support of colleagues and the social worker Code of Ethics were good guides. The most important thing was not making a situation worse for a family through a lack of professionalism. Thankfully, much has happened to improve refugee reception in Sweden since then. Nowadays, the reasons for immigration and the mental health issues and trauma that refugees face when they flee their homes, as well as in their receiving countries, are more widely integrated into social work education and practice, and there is a greater awareness of their situation even among regular Swedish people. During the large migration wave in 2015, when refugees actually walked through Europe trying to find a safe haven, it became clear that when governments’ hands were tied, ordinary people would engage with helping migrants. I think that the voluntary work that people did in organisations including churches and other groups showed what good social work was about and may have inspired some people to involve themselves more formally by studying and becoming professional social workers. It was while working in the reception centre that the problems that language barriers and an inability to communicate can create for people already under great stress became clear to me. Refugees who do not speak Swedish often rely on a third or even fourth language to communicate with officials who will make the most important decision in their lives. Of course, my Swedish colleagues spoke English and we had translators and interpreters to help during interviews, but I became more and more aware of how difficult refugees found it to express their deepest feelings and concerns in ways that were culturally understood. I found that it was difficult for many Swedes to comprehend fully how people from Somalia, Iran or Afghanistan talked about sorrow and loss and why they felt the need to flee their home countries. Maybe they expressed their feelings in ways that frightened Swedes or worse still lost control and became overly emotional! In Sweden where everything is measured, even sorrow and loss of family and loved ones, these situations created cultural challenges for both parties. Fortunately, much has changed since those days. Today, social workers are much better prepared for work in reception centres. Social work research has provided new knowledge and information about best practices in this field. Furthermore, up until the 2015 crisis, Sweden maintained a liberal policy towards accepting refugees. Laws and regulations governing who is required to be in possession of documentation have changed through the years. Nowadays, there are many reports, documents and even films to help social work students train through role-play and other activities before entering the field.

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It was also during this period that I became involved in an international women’s group. In Gothenburg, there is a college that only accepts women. Its philosophy is to empower women so that they can be and do whatever they want in life. At the women’s college, we were a group who shared common experiences of immigration. There were women from many places and organisations who came together to help and support each other under the auspices of the college. In these meetings, we could voice our concerns about coping with being an immigrant in Sweden and trying to be good parents but not understanding the rules and regulations about parenthood in Sweden. We talked about trying to save our children and about the discrimination and prejudice we faced in everyday life; we could talk about being homesick. Most of all, we talked about how immigrant men as fathers often feel discredited, lose their roles as family providers when they are unable to find jobs and feel humiliated having to go to social services for help. The international women’s organisation was a free space where we could be ourselves and share knowledge, whether it was about how the Swedish system worked, the role of social workers or simply discussing how to be a part of Swedish communities. For nearly 10 years, I continued my work with refugees, but I began to feel the need to expand my horizons. In many ways, my interest in migrant and refugee children and families has been a red thread throughout my career as a social worker. Therefore, when a job opportunity arose that would allow me to deepen my knowledge of this field by working directly with youths and their families, I took it. In my new job, I was employed as a social worker at a home for unaccompanied minors and youths, mostly young men from immigrant backgrounds placed in homes due to social problems and antisocial behaviour. I did not stay in this position for any length of time. I was still learning my way around when, on an autumn holiday in Denmark, my family and I heard on the news about a tragic fire at a disco. When we got back home, I saw an advert for a position as a youth counsellor at the upper secondary school where many of the victims had been students, to work with them and their families. The majority of them were first-generation immigrants, so my 10 years’ experience of working with immigrant and refugee families stood me in good stead and I was offered the position. Together, a psychologist, school nurse, school counsellor and I established the Gothenburg Fire Support Unit to support families through this difficult time. A number of other people were involved, including the police investigating the fire, the municipal fire department, parents and their support organisation, teachers at the upper secondary school, hospital and healthcare personnel and liaison officers to facilitate communication between these various groups and the city of Gothenburg municipal council.

8.3  Gothenburg, a City in Mourning It has been more than 20 years since that night of 29 October 1998 when a Halloween party at a local disco ended in tragedy. Four young men, angry because they were not allowed to enter without buying tickets, started a fire in a stairwell. Sixty-three

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young people died in the fire, mostly secondary school students between the ages of 12 and 20, and more than 200 others were seriously injured. The event had been advertised by distributing fliers at schools throughout the city and many were affected. The impact of the fire was felt particularly strongly at one school from which 15 students lost their lives. The following morning, Gothenburg was declared a city in mourning. Nothing like this had happened before, and neither the city nor the major welfare services were prepared for a catastrophe of this scale, especially one involving young people. The medical services quickly adapted to care for the injured, finding ways to use new medical technology to save lives and treat young people who had experienced extensive burns to their bodies. Psychologists and other mental health professionals were called in to deal with the immediate trauma and grief. Due to the young ages of the victims, all of the affected schools provided support for their students. Head teachers, teachers, school nurses, counsellors and other personnel committed time and effort to help students deal with the tragedy. The Gothenburg Fire Support Unit had another directive. Our goal was to provide service and support to the survivors and the families of the children who had died or been injured in the fire. Our focus was on the school students, most of whom were from the same part of the city and enrolled at the same school. It is impossible to prepare for every eventuality, but at the particular school where I was placed, there was much I could do for the students. The school became a special place for the students and filled an important role for them following the disaster. Those of us working with them wanted to create a space that felt safe and comforting, where the students could be themselves even when they were sad or angry. As a social worker, I had no specific experience in grief counselling, but my previous work with families and children helped me. Even some of the lessons from my education in social work proved useful, especially those that encouraged listening, problem solving and empathy. Our unit worked together for 3  years. We helped young people from the first traumatic days following the fire and tried to bring order to the confusion that arose as rumours spread. The work was made more difficult because the young people who started the fire did not confess. People were worried, the media was involved and families felt alone, misunderstood and powerless. The victims had roots in 15 or 16 countries; some had come to Sweden as small children and others, the younger ones, had been born here. There were also native Swedish children who had died in the fire. When no one took responsibility, rumours spread that racists had started the fire. These rumours fell on fertile ground as many immigrants distrusted the Swedish media. When the media only shows you and your experiences in terms of failure to integrate, find employment and be Swedish, there is no trust. Everyday experiences of discrimination are blown out of proportion when something like this happens. It may seem strange now, but in the 1990s, racist acts against people of colour were open and visible, and white skinheads were allowed to parade through the streets of major cities. The Laserman, who got his name because he used a rifle with a laser to target immigrants, had created terror among immigrants in Stockholm and Uppsala.

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In this context, it was not strange to see why these rumours started. Thankfully, they were untrue, but this type of distraction was just one of the problems we faced in our work. From the very beginning of our work, we followed parents and family members to funerals and to graveyards to bury their children. I think we went to every one of them. It was hard to see those families suffering, and their vocal expressions of grief were sometimes difficult for my colleagues to deal with. They had not experienced people shouting out their sorrow or crying aloud before. We followed the effects of the fire from the beginning to the end. Once the culprits had been identified and caught, we provided support to their families as well. The families of the victims were angry, sad and grieving the loss of their children; the families of the culprits were also grieving, ashamed and ostracised for their children’s alleged crimes. Our unit attended the trial, and when it was over, four youths were sentenced to prison for starting a fire that had cost so many lives. Afterwards, there was a sense of anticlimax. Everything was the same but different. When I think about those children who were created with such beauty, seeing them after the fire, how different they looked with burn scars on their faces and hands, it was frightening. Many suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, some developed depression, but none were untouched by their experiences – they were hard to cope with. When traumas happen and people become upset, it is my belief that they enter a highly emotional state of mind and you do too when you are working with them. You become respectful and humble. In your work, you so how become more creative, more open for alternative ways of thinking and learning. More importantly, you learn not to take life for granted. I can truly say that after working with the Fire Unit, I was not the same social worker. Working with the victims of the fire changed me. Fortunately, I had good leaders and received much support, including individual method and process counselling. Nowadays, I hear that many social workers negotiate to replace individual and process counselling with alternatives, like access to advanced courses or other programmes. My advice is do not do it. The Gothenburg fire was exceptional, but social work is a tough job, and in order to help people, we need to be able to care for ourselves, and individual method and process counselling can help us do that.

8.4  After the Fire Working in the Fire Unit for such a long period was tiring, frustrating and emotionally draining. If I were to give advice to anyone thinking of working in a highly charged project like this one, I would tell him or her to try and feel good as a social worker when meeting the people you are working with, to look at helping them and moving forward in their lives as a process also in your professional development as a social worker. Obtain good counselling and professional supervision – very important, particularly when you are just starting out. Find balance in your personal life, use methods that work for you as well as your clients and do not hesitate to stand up for what you believe is right if you think that the instructions you are given are wrong.

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My interest in migrant and refugee children and families has been a red thread throughout my career as a social worker. After the Fire Unit was disbanded, I continued to work as a counsellor at various upper secondary schools in the city. Even then, I felt the need for a deeper understanding of families and children. Working with victims of the fire and following the struggles of their families to be heard and to navigate Swedish society with inadequate language skills and sometimes finding themselves living on the margins of Swedish society made a deep impression on me. It was through trying to understand these people’s struggles that I decided to return to university and study psychotherapy. I wanted to learn how to help people understand and cope with the adjustments needed to survive a new culture. Through this process, I could help people to safely explore the stresses and challenges they were facing and confront past events and outdated beliefs, as necessary. I took my first steps by studying part-time while still working with the Fire Unit. This was followed by short courses, and in 2015, I completed my university degree and became a licensed Systemic Family Psychotherapist. In my opinion, family therapy in Sweden often ignores the importance of identities and needs when dealing with migrant families, and it often takes a white middle-­ class perspective. Families from migrant backgrounds have other ideas, values, norms, religions and experiences than the majority of Swedish families. They carry these ways of thinking and acting with them, even as they participate in the process of integrating with Swedish society. Therapy can help people investigate their false impressions and unnecessary fears that can lead to self-deprecation and contribute to feelings of isolation and exclusion. When I work with families, the initiative for the therapy process may come directly from a family or social services. My special interest in working with families from migrant backgrounds means that a number of my cases have focused on unaccompanied children. In these cases, I am usually part of a team or professional network consisting of social workers, teachers or other school staff and the children’s parents or someone appointed as their legal representative if they are unavailable. Although we work as a team, my role as a therapist is to put children’s interests at the centre of our work and to focus on their needs and problems. It is of central importance to meet them on their level, listen to them and try to understand and communicate their perspective to the other team members. Language is the key. In my experience, even after having lived in Sweden for a long time and having a grasp of the language, it can take a long time before it feels natural. For example, words that express strong feelings in a person’s mother tongue may be difficult to define in the new language or may not convey the same depth of meaning. No matter how fluent you become, you will never really feel capable of expressing yourself fully. Understanding the situation that many migrant families in therapy experience is very important for me professionally. Maybe in their daily lives, at work or school, they do not need so many words to communicate adequately, but expressing their deepest feelings and thoughts requires a knowledge and understanding of language that is unavailable to them. When someone moves to a new country and is forced to learn a new language, there is a long period during which communication remains on a primitive level.

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In my work as a family therapist, I use different therapeutic methods, such as narratives, to find common ground between me and the family that I am working with as quickly as possible. The goal is to try and help them depersonalise and create distance from their problems. This process makes it possible for the family to see their problems in a different light, opening up a space to discuss different solutions while making sure that each family member is heard in the discussions. From both an ethical and a practical perspective, it is important to present or map a problem in such a way that the family recognises it and can participate in discussing it free from guilt and shame. Through my studies and practice, mostly with youths and their families, I have combined psychodynamic theory and system theory perspectives. I believe that this combination has helped me gain a well-rounded picture that includes individuals’ intra- and interpersonal lives. I have tried to adapt my therapeutic methods to the needs of the families I am working with and their problems. It has also been important for me to continuously reflect on my own values and ethics and how they may influence me as a therapist; this includes my prejudicial behaviour, thoughts and acts concerning gender, ethnicity, religion, sexuality and disability. In my professional life, I have worked with youths and families, as an expert on psychosocial issues both in groups and as individuals, including casework, treatment and crisis therapy. Much of my time and energy have been spent working with youths from immigrant backgrounds. As a social worker, I have talked to families to help them find ways to reduce conflict and get along better with each other. In relation to my work with immigrant families, it has been especially important for me to help parents understand their children’s lives in Sweden, feel more secure as parents and develop better relations with their children. Now, my professional life as a social worker has ended. I am a pensioner, enjoying my retirement after many years serving the community. I still take consulting work occasionally and am very active in voluntary organisations. I am one of the leaders of the Tanzania Global Diaspora Council and am still engaged with the international women’s organisation. After all these years, my life has come full circle. Many of the problems we discussed at the women’s college all those years ago are still relevant today. A new generation of immigrant women, now with different backgrounds, are still suffering from depression, anxiety and psychological problems and are still trying to be good parents. Our goals have not changed; we still want to motivate them to believe and have confidence in themselves and to work hard and achieve their goals without needing to depend on the men in their lives. I still tell them that if you want to be a part of the Swedish society, learning the language is the key, but to get a good job, you need education. In Sweden, you need both. Don’t be afraid of starting over; it’s difficult but definitely worth the effort.

Chapter 9

Intercultural Perspectives in Social Work Practice, Education and Research Somita Sabeti

For more than 800 years, whether dealing with life’s highs or lows, the beauty and power of Rumi’s words still manage to touch our hearts and heal our souls. Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi, whose ancient Persian poetry inspired the young Hazara refugee and award-winning poet Shukria Rezaei’s own work, was a thirteenth-­ century Sufi poet born in Balkh, which is now Afghanistan, who died in Turkey. Just like Shukria Rezaei who migrated to the United Kingdom in 2011, Rumi spent part of his life from a young age as a migrant. Due to the continuing threats from Mongols in the Central Asian regions, his family migrated from what is now Afghanistan in 1216, passing through Nishapur, Baghdad, Mecca, Damascus and Aleppo to finally settle in the city of Konya in Turkey  – a journey which lasted nearly two decades and stretched over 2500 miles (Lewis 2000). It has been said that the experience of moving exposed Rumi to many different languages and religions, which is reflected in the way his poetry transcends ethnic, national and religious boundaries. Rumi’s poetry and its widespread appeal to audiences in both East and West shows that his message is ‘placeless’ and ‘timeless’. Today, he is one of the bestselling poets in the US (New York Times, 2017). Rumi and Rezaei’s life stories can offer us a valuable historical glimpse into two different cases of being a migrant, in the thirteenth versus the twenty-first century (Fig. 9.1). As such, they clearly show that while migration is a phenomenon that has spanned centuries, the way we address human mobility today is radically different from the way we did it then. The conception of nation states and borders did not exist in the thirteenth century. The Peace of Westphalia in 1648 serves as a starting point for the adoption and transmission of the Western political philosophy of sovereignty, nation states and borders, positioning citizens as legitimate right holders (Diener and Hagen 2010). Contrary to past times, the presence of migrants in a given territory without authorisation by the sovereign state is now termed as ‘illegal’ or ‘irregular’ migration. The notion can therefore be considered a by-product S. Sabeti (*) Migration Research Center at Koç University (MiReKoc), Istanbul, Turkey © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_9

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Fig. 9.1  An observational sketch illustrating Rumi’s and Shukria’s journeys Published with kind permission of © Somita Sabeti 2020. All Rights Reserved.

of migration policies, which opens up the possibility of ‘migrant deportability’ through detention or deportation (Üstübici 2018). However, scholars are widely critical of the term ‘illegal’ for the obvious reason that a person cannot be illegal (Van Meeteren 2014). ‘There can be no illegal immigration without immigration policy’ as affirmed by Samers (2004). In an effort to contain human mobility, the national border security nexus now appears to be the default setting in European policy thinking (Crush 2015). Accordingly, the externalisation of EU migration politics in the post-2000 period to which the countries on the periphery of the EU have been subjected, not least Turkey (the final destination of my two years of master’s studies), is a call to halt ‘irregular’ border crossings at the EU’s external borders, thus strengthening its capacity to manage migratory flows from Turkey to Europe. Arendt’s words, written 70 years ago, then echo in my mind: ‘Is there such a thing as a right to belong? And if so, should we have a choice of where we belong and to what?’ (Lang Jr. and Williams 2005: 111). And with due respect to these words, I would add: ‘In today’s post-modern world, who has the privilege of choice of where to belong and to what [myself included]?’ This is where the story begins and ends. It starts in Gothenburg, passes through Brussels, Barcelona, Venice, Sousse (Tunisia) and Montpellier and ends in Istanbul, and in between, there is a world of differences and similarities, a world of new perspectives and experiences. Dear Reader, congratulations for having chosen a profession that allows you to pursue many different paths and to practise on both a micro and a macro level (every so often simultaneously), and for making an impact on the lives of people and communities, as well as on society as a whole! My hope for you as a reader of this chapter, whether you are a social work student in your

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first or final year of studies (like me when I started the social work programme ten years ago) or a social work graduate working in the social sector or on your PhD, is to encourage reflection, creative exploration and self-awareness throughout your academic and professional social work career, as well as to broaden your horizons to go beyond nations and borders. I challenge you to allow yourself to grow both professionally and personally by experiencing new contexts, new cultures and new ways of living. In this chapter, I will take you on a rather unconventional social work journey with a number of stops which will open up new perspectives and challenges of our profession: from my interest in migration and intercultural relations from a young age to my undergraduate studies in social work at the University of Gothenburg; from my early work experiences of working with migrants using arts and storytelling as tools to the offices of the European Commission working with intercultural practices on a European level; and, lastly, my experience of studying in five countries in the Mediterranean, the Middle East and North Africa. The chapter is divided into three main parts: interculturalism on a national/local level, interculturalism on a European level and interculturalism on an EU-Mediterranean-MENA level.

9.1  Introduction – Life as a Social Work Student My childhood is a story full of contrasts between feelings of belonging and rootlessness: in-betweenness. When growing up, my parents raised my sister and I to believe in the value of bringing our two cultures, Swedish and Iranian, together and to pick the best parts of both, in terms of traditions and customs as well as language. My interest in intercultural relations and linguistics grew stronger as I became older, which was reflected in my study choices. After studying the specialist upper secondary school programme in French, I applied to law school, because in my world, to pursue a career in human rights issues, you should have a graduate diploma in law rather than in social work. Now, in hindsight, I am glad I was not admitted to law school and instead decided to start the social work programme at the University of Gothenburg. One thing is certain, I entered with the attitude of seeing the programme as a basic undergraduate foundation in social sciences which I intended to build on later. Whether you are a social work student or graduate, there is one main reflection that I would like to share with you, which goes beyond theoretical and practical knowledge. As our professional relationship with our clients or communities is of utmost importance to the outcome of our social work efforts, we should not undervalue the significance of good cultural competence. At first glance, the notion of cultural competence may suggest an implicit notion of learning about ‘the other(s)’. Yet the questions that intrigued me most in relation to this was whether learning about ‘the other’s’ culture could be considered sufficient as a tool when working with our target group. Does it not exonerate us students from the necessity of understanding the influence of our own ethnocentric and sociopolitical biases on our

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work with clients or communities that are culturally or ethnically different from us? These lingering thoughts led me to the conviction that we first need to reverse the reasoning of the notion of cultural competence: Namely, it could equally be argued that it is foremost a process of gaining cultural self-awareness – of first getting to know yourself. Indeed, the social work profession is one in which we are likely to face many complex dilemmas in the innumerable encounters we have with clients and in which one’s personal biases and values may creep into the decision-making process. So, with this idea in mind, my journey into self-awareness and self-discovery began. This meant stepping out of my comfort zone and starting to challenge myself. I decided that what I needed to do was to travel to a new place where I could experience new people, new norms and a new culture. My first stop was Brussels. During the last year of my social work studies, I was given the opportunity to put the theories that I had learned into practice at the socio-artistic non-governmental organisation Globe Aroma – a platform for migrants and locals committed to their growth and success in the field of art, music and culture to gather and give rise to art exhibitions, musical productions, food markets and film-making in the heart of Europe. Little did I know that this internship would become one of the highlights of my time at university and that I would come to learn about the important role and power of civil society. What I had read about Habermas’s theories (Habermas 1985); namely, how, through our encounters with clients, we could find ways of preserving the lifeworld from the corroding effect of the system, was soon grasped in practice when I started working at Globe Aroma, or as we later described our organisation: ce ma fami (c’est ma famille) – this is my family. In the next section, I will share my experiences of intercultural practices with you from a national perspective: from my work as an intern at Globe Aroma in Brussels on a grassroots level to my work with migrants and refugees in the local government in the city of Gothenburg on a more top-down level.

9.2  Interculturalism on a National Level One of my main work assignments at the NGO Globe Aroma was to work on a project based on the theatre play Le Mouton et La Baleine by the Moroccan-­ Canadian dramatist Ahmad Ghazali, a play about human rights abuses in the Strait of Gibraltar, the stretch of water between Morocco and Europe along which many migrants have died trying to reach the border of Spain. On stage, nine Belgian actors and seven newly arrived musicians from Guinea, Kurdistan, Angola, DR Congo and Mali met to fuel the debate on the question of exile, racism, migration and the Mediterranean Sea in a way that touched the Belgian audience deeply. Not only was this a way for theatre to become a tool to raise awareness of these burning issues in Belgian society, but it was also a way to promote opportunities for the participants to develop artistic skills and promote social inclusion through an intergroup contact approach.

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Here, I will share my experiences with you of working on two different theatre projects in which arts and storytelling were used as a strategy in two different national contexts – Belgium (grassroots NGO level) and Sweden (top-down local government level). Whereas in Brussels the activities were mainly managed by the theatre directing team, a more informal and participatory approach was applied in Gothenburg with the main aim of creating a play based on the group’s inputs and ideas. My hope is that you will gain an insight into the potential benefits of creativity in your social work practice and how the use of arts-based methods and storytelling techniques can empower the group of people you are working with, as well as the potential of this empowerment to change at all levels of society, including therapeutic functions of arts, feelings of belonging and group affiliation, increased social networks, improved employability and career prospects, prejudice reduction and awareness raising. While these are the desired impacts of our practice, we need to take into account the complexities that lie at the heart of social work practice and theory. In reality, when addressing such issues, we need to reject the project of ‘grand theory’ in line with Bourdieu’s approach that theories are ‘temporary constructs which take shape for and by empirical work’ (Jenkins 1992). It all started with Globe Aroma, which at the time was a rather small non-profit organisation in the heart of Brussels, an open maison d’art that gave space to newly arrived migrants, some of them refugees who had been forced to leave most of their belongings behind but who carried with them their dreams and aspirations. Globe Aroma offered these people a home away from home to continue on their path of artistic exploration and self-expression. Throughout this enriching internship experience that provided support to a number of artistic and cultural projects, the main question that puzzled me was what role civil society and citizens could play in the process of migrant inclusion and social cohesion. Could intercultural practices and intergroup contacts established through the various activities help the participants feel more included in their new country? Or could the categorisation of the group as such according to ethnic background or migration status reproduce stereotyped images of the participants and, thus, in the Foucauldian sense enforce power asymmetries not only between group participants (Belgians versus migrants) but also in relation to the organisers of the activities (Faubion and Hurley 2001)? While following the two first months of the theatre project Le Mouton et la Baleine, I paid attention to these two contrasting premises and the effects that were probably in play on multiple levels. Firstly, in the initial stage of the preparations, the theatre directing team, which mainly managed the project, along with the professional actors, project coordinators and musicians from Globe Aroma, gathered for the purpose of getting to know each other and build trust and team cohesion. Role confusion 1: What is my role as the social work intern here? After the group had established an atmosphere of friendship and trust through a series of anatomy, movement and theatre exercises, the next natural step was to share struggles and successes in life through storytelling. Role confusion 2: What does a social worker do? Should I join the actors in the exercises? In this step, the part of the group that had experience of forced migration was free to share their experiences. This was valuable as Ahmad Ghazali’s theatre play centred on the political and ethical issues

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of the people trying to enter ‘Fortress Europe’. Observation: How have the social hierarchy and group dynamics been established here? By the evening of the premiere, I had already ended my internship at Globe Aroma in Brussels, but I was informed at the time that it was a successful performance and that the audience response was such that the play went on tour to two other cities in Belgium (Tournai and Charleroi). From a social work perspective, however, success is not measured by how many theatre tickets are sold. Social work practice does, after all, focus on the well-being of the individual and society, in this case how the whole experience had affected the target beneficiaries. That is why the most valuable learning experience for me was to turn to the participants and listen and learn from their voices. This gave me a deeper understanding of the subjective lived experiences of the participants. Among other things, it came to my attention that one of the participant’s experiences was negative because he felt that the group from Globe Aroma was treated differently from the Belgian actors. However, another participant from Globe Aroma explained how the project first and foremost enhanced his understanding of the arduous situation of migrants who cross the Mediterranean Sea (he had himself migrated to Europe by air) and secondly that the project had helped him to increase his social network and to find new opportunities in the theatre industry. These two accounts give us an illustration of how the individual context can have different meanings to different people depending on their personal life experiences. On a theoretical level, the narratives given here illustrate the relationship between discourse, society and power and the effects it can have on an individual or a group (as analysed by Fairclough 1989). Although the intention of categorisation and labelling may be morally grounded, imposed labels which consider a person’s cultural background can contribute to tension and feelings of stigma and powerlessness (for instance, the discourse on refugees). After my internship at Globe Aroma, where I also carried out my bachelor’s thesis on the topic of social inclusion and empowerment of the target beneficiaries of Globe Aroma’s cultural projects, I was inspired to bring my experiences of grassroots-level mobilisation through art, culture, theatre and music to a different context: a local government in Sweden. After finishing my social work studies, I was given the opportunity to work with the Refugee Guide project in the local government of the city of Gothenburg, a voluntary meeting place where Swedes and migrants could meet and get to know each other. Refection: How could a project such as Le Mouton et La Baleine be carried out here in Sweden but in the hands of social workers by applying a participatory approach? This job offered me the perfect setting and chance, in collaboration with another social worker who was also a theatre creator and enthusiast, to create a theatre group using arts-based methods and an intergroup contact approach with Swedish participants, newly arrived migrants and professional guest actors. Above all, our aim was to socialise and have fun, create a theatre play and perform on stage together but still go with the flow. Another important objective was to create a social network for the participants within the theatre industry. Insight: One of the most critical components of your social work practice is indeed the quality of the rapport you build with your clients. The theatre meetings involved many fun

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moments, though serious themes were also discussed, such as the following: What does integration or inclusion mean to you? What does homesickness or loss mean to you? What does love mean to you? What events/places/people promote inclusion/ cohesion in a society? The four  months of teamwork resulted in a small theatre play performed in Gothenburg on the theme of integration and encounters between cultures, including a scene in which a poem by Rumi about peaceful coexistence and tolerance was recited. Three participants were interviewed. By listening to their voices, we learned that they found it a positive experience, not only thanks to the fact that the project helped them to make new friends, having newly arrived in Sweden, but also because it helped them to improve their Swedish language skills. One participant explained that the feeling of group affiliation grew stronger throughout the project and that no matter the level of language skills, everyone was included and treated equally (participatory approach). However, the participant also expressed a wish for continuity (such as through follow-up meetings). Some participants pointed out that the project allowed them to increase their social networks and that it helped them to find employment or academic opportunities. Four of the participants were given the opportunity through one of the visiting theatre directors to play the leading roles in the theatre play Himmel över Göteborg at Angered theatre, which in turn led to further job and study opportunities. Reflection: How could you as a social worker use empowerment in your work with clients and communities? What ripple effects could that generate and how could they be measured? One month prior to the premiere of the play As Sugar in Tea, I received a call from the European Commission and was offered the traineeship of my dreams, thus putting me in the most difficult position of my life: leaving my job in the middle of the exciting project that my colleague and I had embarked on or move back to Brussels. A decision was made, and although I was physically absent from the premiere, modern technology enabled me to be virtually present through Skype.

9.3  Interculturalism on a European Level To indulge yourself with a journey of self-discovery and gain a broader perspective, you need to embrace change and welcome new challenges. The year was 2015 and the Syrian war was at its peak. The term ‘European Refugee Crisis’ was quickly coined and became widely used in public and political debate as tensions rose between EU member states over how to handle irregular migration. These tensions were clearly visible in the capital of the European Union, with one EU leaders summit after another, making the atmosphere of Brussels even more dynamic and engaging. Reflection 1: Once again, there was a dilemma of labelling and its implications for public opinion and policy, in this case ‘European’, ‘Refugee’ and ‘Crisis’. This is the context I found myself in when I returned, except this time as a social worker living in the ‘EU bubble’ far from the NGO and grassroots life.

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In the following, I would like to share some of the insights with you that I gained during my time at the EC and what the competencies of a social worker could contribute at EU level. It was nearly two years after my social work graduation that I was selected to the traineeship programme at the European Commission: Directorate General (DG) for Education and Culture in the areas of multilingualism, school collaboration and intercultural dialogue. My main tasks involved assisting the unit with administrative support for school collaboration between the European member states and European neighbour countries as well as preparing events for experts and policymakers with cutting-edge knowledge related to multilingualism and integration of migrant pupils. Reflection 2: Could I still be considered a social worker despite this distance to micro-/meso-level social work practice (professional identity shift)? One of the first inspiring events I assisted in organising was the tenth anniversary of eTwinning, a platform on which teachers and staff in schools across Europe could communicate, collaborate and develop projects. We needed influential speakers, and the first person I was assigned to contact was none other than Malala (who unfortunately was not able to make it). When I heard that a project between a Turkish and a Spanish school had been awarded the European Mevlana Rumi Prize for Intercultural Understanding for its efforts to promote tolerance and understanding between cultures, I was more certain than ever that I had made a wise decision in accepting the EU traineeship. Reflection 3: Several times, professionals working in European school collaboration projects asked for my take on why there is so little interest from the Nordic countries in collaborating with other European schools to engage in intercultural dialogue. Throughout all the conferences and round tables on the issues of multilingualism and migrant pupils’ integration, I gained great experience that confirmed my personal conviction of the added value of diversity and plurilingualism and the profound enrichment that they can bring to our societies. Plurilingualism is the ability to effectively function in a multinational and multicultural community, thanks to a sensitivity to similarities and differences between languages and cultures (Otwinowska-Kasztelanic 2012). This passion for diversity and intercultural dialogue was shared by the participant researchers, practitioners and policymakers who had been invited from a number of European countries, including the Area Director of the Gothenburg Language Center, Sweden, through which my mother tongue education in Farsi was given. The main challenge at the centre of the discussion was how we could bring about change, concretely speaking: How can we bridge the gap between research and policymaking/policy implementation? Reflection 4: This is a relevant question for us as social work researchers to increase the ways that local authorities can use evidence-based decision-making and practices. However, upon further reflection, to bring about change in our work, the quality of the worker-client or worker-community relationship is of even greater importance. This is reflected in a quote by Florence Hollis (1968), an influential social work educator: ‘Casework is in essence an experience between two people – a totality that rests upon the feelings of both and upon delicate nuances of interaction that can only be described as art rather than science – the art comes largely by intuition – intuition called forth by concern’.

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All through our rich discussions during the round tables organised by the European Commission, the complexities often helped us gain a comprehensive and accurate understanding of our topic. In the field of research or in policymaking, we generally tended to be in search of one solution. However, when working with integration, diversity and intercultural practices, there is no one-size-fits-all approach, not even within a country or region. Instead, the round-table participants placed particular emphasis on the importance of fostering local solutions and empowering communities. Reflection 5: Taking into account that in Sweden, local government has a relatively significant role in the provision of services, how much room do we make for creativity and flexibility in our social work practice (Habermas 1985)? Though at first hesitant in my role as a social worker in the EU, this opportunity helped me to gain insights into the importance of macrosocial work as a necessary complement to micro (therapeutic) and meso (group) social work. By exchanging knowledge and experience with a large number of researchers and grassroots practitioners, I was first and foremost introduced to the far-reaching impact of effective social work research, programme development and policy advocacy. This is an important perspective on social work that I would have liked to have learned more about during my time as a social work student in Gothenburg: social work from a macro perspective (how to promote the general welfare of society and social justice from a social, economic, political and cultural perspective) and social work from a European as well as a global perspective (how to foster intercultural collaboration across nations and cultures). The most valuable thing to take away from this experience was that added value through synergy and collaboration can create far-­ reaching ripples of awareness and social change at local, regional, national and global levels. For this reason, I have come to believe that macrosocial work practice should not be undermined in academic and workplace settings. As a reader, my hope is that you will start your own journey to self-awareness, discover new perspectives and expand your horizon: Connect with other social workers on a global level, exchange knowledge and experience with fellow practitioners, consider a job shadowing experience abroad or host other social workers in your organisation.

9.4  I nterculturalism on an EU, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern and North African (MENA) Level Once back home from Brussels, as a part-time freelance researcher, I had time to engage in the grand-scale social mobilisation in my city during a period when Sweden saw the highest asylum levels in modern time. Shortly after that, I started working as a development manager supporting the provision and supervision of housing for unaccompanied migrant children in the city of Gothenburg. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I knew that it was high time to continue my studies, and with one and a half years of work during those turbulent times, I was ready for new out-of-my-comfort-zone challenges.

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In the summer of 2017, I received the news that I had been admitted to the Erasmus Mundus Master’s Programme  – Crossing the Mediterranean: Towards Investment and Integration (MIM). This was an interdisciplinary programme that provided in-depth knowledge of the social, political, legal, demographic and economic conditions in the EU and the Mediterranean as well as the Middle Eastern countries. The title ‘Crossing the Mediterranean’ also referred to the migration between these regions. The programme allowed us to gain a perspective that emphasised the importance of knowledge of history, religion, culture and languages (Arabic, French, Hebrew, Italian and Spanish) with the aim of enhancing the understanding of intercultural dialogue and cooperation between both regions. I thus found myself in a multinational group with 32 students with whom I shared the same interests in interculturalism and with whom I embarked on an academic journey starting in Barcelona (Spain) through Venice (Italy), Sousse (Tunisia), Montpellier (France) and lastly Istanbul (Turkey). Many lessons were learned during my time as a master’s student on MIM. First of all, in every place we lived, we not only gained knowledge from professors and visiting scholars in their respective field of study, but we also learned from the political, social and ecological challenges of the respective countries: living Puigdemont’s independence movement after the Catalan elections in Barcelona, the democratic transition of post-revolution Tunisia, high tide and flooding in Venice (apart from the Italian elections) and the Gilets Jaunes movement (yellow vests) in France. We could thus understand the studied theories more clearly by witnessing their implications ‘live’ in the different contexts. This experience thus helped me to further reach my purpose of cultural self-awareness and, more specifically, allowed me to gain insights into the differences between North European, South European and Middle Eastern countries with respect to both the citizens’ relations with the state and the relations between the citizens. As a citizen of a welfare nation such as Sweden, this was an issue that deeply intrigued me. Moreover, there were two areas of study that I found especially relevant and thought-provoking from a social work perspective: firstly, the lectures about radicalisation and extremism by Olivier Roy (EUI Florence) and Valérie Amiraux (Université de Montréal) and secondly, our meeting with a group of French Muslim mothers living in the deprived area of Petit Bard (Montpellier) who started a campaign calling for the promotion of ethnic and cultural diversity in French schools. Last but not least, the MIM master’s programme allowed for a shift in perspective: from a Eurocentric conceptualisation of political, social, historical and cultural order to one in which the voices of the people of North Africa and the Middle East became understood and legitimate. Notably, I gained an understanding of the repercussions of history on the lives of ordinary people. My understanding of the global inequalities between the EU and MENA deepened and made me realise the privileges we have as Europeans. On a slightly different note, having lived in countries with a higher level of grassroots mobilisation and activism than Sweden has helped me learn more about the implications of historical events and how they have shaped our societies.

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In the beginning of this chapter, I illustrated the differences in the conditions that affected human mobility in the thirteenth and the twenty-first century with the examples of Shukria Rezaei’s and Rumi’s migrations from Afghanistan to the United Kingdom versus to Turkey. Turkey turned out to be the most recent stop on my social work journey. To end this chapter, I will therefore share my experiences as a visiting research fellow at the Migration Research Center of Koç University in Istanbul with you, with special focus on my master’s dissertation, Between liminality, ‘ghorbathood’ (‫ )غربت‬and belonging – mapping the experiences of young Afghan migrants ‘in transit’ in Istanbul, a study based on the method of qualitative interviewing and observational sketching. Three years into the EU-Turkey deal (reached by the European Council and Turkey to stop the flow of irregular migration via Turkey to Europe), many migrants are either stranded in deplorable conditions or have been detained and deported back to their countries of origin. The aim of the study was therefore to explore how young Afghan migrants living in a district with a large Afghan population in Istanbul experienced and coped with their irregular status. As such, it intended to unravel how liminality and belonging were shaped in the process of being ‘in transit’. Fifteen interviews were carried out (with 13 young male participants and 2 young female participants). It was important for me to reach a balance between female and male informants in order to make the study as representative as possible, with both men’s and women’s voices being heard. However, in reality, it turned out to be more difficult than had initially been expected. It is also worth noting the use of the Persian word ‘ghorbat(−hood)’ above, which is probably unfamiliar to most of you. This word was mentioned by the informants of my study a number of times, and even though it is translatable into English, I decided to include the Persian word given that it has a slightly different connotation to the English translation. Namely, centuries of forced mobility from a country (in this case Afghanistan) leaves inevitable marks on the language of that country and can only be comprehended in terms of its discursive history: ‘Ghorbat’ describes the state or condition of feeling like a stranger and being far away from one’s homeland. The linguistic modes of signification used by the informants to give meaning to their experiences (the interviews were carried out in Farsi and Dari) were therefore highlighted from an emic perspective in this study. In the following, the focus will be on an account of my experiences as a researcher in the field. Admittedly, since the beginning of the  research journey, it was  a struggle to integrate being an individual and a researcher, not least due to the sensitive nature of this kind of research. The intention was to grasp the role that (my) subjectivity, reflexivity and positionality played in the process of researching – the interaction between the observer and the observed and between the observer and the data. In line with Breuer (1996), the following questions arose: Is there a trajectory from personal experiences via understanding ‘the other’ to creating scientific knowledge about a phenomenon? What does it mean to use subjectivity as an important tool to understanding and constructing knowledge? There was also a more ethical question: What are the benefits for the research participants of taking part in my research? Or as I later asked myself when I became more familiar with the field:

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What could be the harm? The reason behind this worry of ‘harm’ increased as I became familiar with the fieldwork environment. The fieldwork was conducted a couple of weeks before the Turkish local elections (31/03/2019), which was most probably the reason the police controls had increased in the district. The general atmosphere of suspicion that prevailed among the migrants was thus difficult to minimise. However, belonging to the neighbouring host nationality group (the interviews were conducted in my mother tongue Farsi and some sequences in Dari) in some ways neutralised the power imbalance between me as a university graduate and them as irregular migrants. Moreover, I believe that understanding the social and cultural norms and expectations of the target population was an advantage for me. While I was trying to understand my reflexivity in the research process, many ethical questions connected with my study disturbed my sleep. This is what I found disturbing: I was a migrant in Turkey, just as in the case of the target population of my study. Yet there was a stark difference between my privilege and their privilege. I reflected on this asymmetric relationship and then on the justification for my research: the aim of addressing a pertinent societal problem and my obligation to speak about the injustice that I saw playing out before me. As Denzin and Lincoln argue in the SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Research (2011): We want a social science committed up front to issues of social justice, equity, non-­ violence, peace and universal human rights. We do not want a social science that says it can address these issues if it wants to do so. For us, this is no longer an option. (p. 11)

Nor was it for me and that is why this study was a way to make the voices of the people in this study heard so that others could learn about their situation and lives. Being aware of the controversial nature of this topic, the moral inner dialogue guided and directed me to understand their past and their present, their thoughts, emotions and aspirations. At the same time, I strived to not have a ‘victimised’ presupposition in relation to my target group, thus taking into account the complex nexus between ‘vulnerability’ and ‘agency’ within which the experiences of many migrants are constructed. The use of observational sketching was neither planned nor a familiar method to me at the onset. Yet it was rather a result of all of my reflections on the sensitive nature of the ethnographic ‘terrain’. The drawings in my study take the form of a comic strip showing events during the fieldwork, some parts of the in-depth interviews, descriptions of theories and the researcher’s situated perspective (Fig.  9.2). The process of drawing my field experiences came to serve as a tool for me as a researcher to understand my own subjectivity and to provide an alternate form of knowledge to the reader. In addition, it seemed important to manifest through pictorial representations that ‘I have been there’ and ‘they have been there’. The drawings represented a mental conversation with the thing being draw or, as Berger (2007) puts it, ‘a search for meaning in the context of social relation’. Indeed, a crucial aspect of going into the field to draw was that I, as a researcher, was seen rather than just being someone who observed, thereby opening the paths to reflexivity (Kuschnir 2016: 16). As such, observational sketching became a method and a way for me to disguise and distort

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Fig. 9.2  Observational sketching as method to reveal the researcher’s self-reflexivity and positionality. Published with kind permission of © Somita Sabeti 2020. All Rights Reserved.

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the inherent subjectivity of the ethnographic approach (Taussig 2011). The purpose was also to open up a discussion about our responsibility as researchers in terms of ethical issues and how to use our creative abilities to reach the highest ethical standards in research. As the scope of qualitative migration research grows, the importance of ethical considerations and reflexivity becomes all the more pertinent. It seems as though this is a challenge that inevitably brings with it ‘difficult questions’ that many qualitative researchers face when they enter the field – questions that need to be reflected upon well in advance and resolved in the research process and practice. With these questions come ethical decisions that need to be made pertaining to the universal research principles of no harm, consent and anonymity as much as to our relation to our informants and our relation to our data. As researchers, we thus need to broaden our horizons and explore new creative tools to enhance our own understanding of the role that subjectivity, positionality and reflexivity play in the process of researching. This study has helped to map a very complex situation without looking for definitive answers. Rather, the aim was to contribute to the wider dialogue already unfolding around the issue of irregular migrants’ access to rights at the periphery of the EU. The research findings of the study indicated major challenges and obstacles that irregular migrants faced in relation to their everyday lives in Turkey. The ‘temporary nature of politics’ in the Turkish context coupled with the measures, as determined by the EU-Turkey deal of 2016 to halt ‘irregular’ border crossings at the EU’s external borders, has left many migrants stranded in deplorable conditions in terms of work, housing and health. The findings of this study contribute to a new understanding of irregular migration within the ‘Global South’ in relation to liminality, that is, through the informants’ sense of ‘ghorbat’ (the concept of ‘ghorbat’ has previously been covered and analysed in diaspora studies but not in connection with ‘migrant irregularity’). In addition, the findings showed how a new sense of belonging was created and to what (in relation to their migration status; to time, space and communication; to positive or destructive ‘communitas’; and as postmemory or as a life project of becoming). Finally, I would like to encourage a call for more qualitative research that utilises creative methods of dissemination both to unveil additional ways of knowing and seeing the research context and for the purpose of raising awareness. This study came as a modest contribution to this quest. As Florence Hollis (1968) would say, it came largely by intuition – intuition called forth by concern.

9.5  The Social Work Journey and Its Implications The journey of a social worker is exciting, challenging and emotionally charged and may shake you to the core. It is not straight and predictable. As such, it is not solely a professional experience; it has deeply personal implications. I challenge all of you readers, social work students and social workers in the work field or the

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research field alike to ‘go there’ – to begin this journey into the self: of genuinely thinking about ourselves and our place in society and in this world together. This is an opportunity for you to grow and gain new perspectives about yourself and your background along with your current world view that has been developed as a result of it. My hope is that by accepting this challenge, you will open the door to extensive personal growth and the development of new skills and abilities as future social workers.

References Berger, J. (2007). Berger on drawing. Ed. J. Savage. Aghabullogue: Occasional Press. Breuer, F. (1996). Theoretische und methodologische Grundlinien unseres Forschungsstils [Theoretical and methodological baselines of our research style]. In F. Breuer (Ed.), Qualitative psychologie. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Crush, J. (2015). The EU-ACP migration and development relationship. Migration and Development, 4(1), 39–54. Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. (Eds.). (2011). Handbook of qualitative research (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Diener, A. C., & Hagen, J. (2010). Borderlines and borderlands: Political oddities at the edge of the nation-state. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Fairclough, N. (1989). Language and power. London: Longman. Faubion, J. D., & Hurley, R. (2001). Power (The essential works of Foucault, 1954–1984) (Vol. 3). New York: The New Press. Habermas, J. (1985). The theory of communicative action, volume 2: Lifeworld and system: A critique of functionalist reason. Boston: Beacon Press. Hollis, F. (1968). A typology of casework treatment. New York: Family Service Association of America. Jenkins, R. (1992). Pierre Bourdieu (Key sociologists). Abington: Routledge. Kuschnir, K. (2016). Ethnographic drawing: Eleven benefits of using a sketchbook for fieldwork. Visual Ethnography, 5(1), 103–134. Lang Jr, A.F. & Williams, J. (2005: 111). Hannah Arendt and international relations. USA: Palgrave Macmillan. Lewis, F. (2000). Rumi: Past and present, east and west. Oxford: Oneworld. New York Times. (2017, January 20). How did Rumi become one of our best-selling poets? Azadeh Moaveni. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/20/books/review/rumi-bradgooch.html Otwinowska-Kasztelanic, A. (2012). Plurilingualism and polish teenage learners of English. Lingvarvm Arena, 3, 37–52. Samers, M. (2004). An emerging geopolitics of ‘illegal’ immigration in the European Union. European Journal of Migration and Law, 6(1), 27–45. Taussig, M. (2011). I swear I saw this: Drawings in fieldwork notebooks, namely my own. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. The UN Refugee Agency. (2018, May 30). Poetry helps Afghan girl find her path in England. UNHCR. https://www.unhcr.org/news/stories/2018/5/5b0ea9f94/poetry-helps-afghan-girlfind-her-path-in-england.html Üstübici, A. (2018). The governance of international migration: Irregular migrants’ access to right to stay in Turkey and Morocco. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press B.V. Van Meeteren, M. (2014). Irregular migrants in Belgium and the Netherlands: Aspirations and incorporation (IMISCOE research). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University.

Chapter 10

Tackling the Contradictory Nature of Social Work Tobias Davidsson

10.1  Introduction In my current role as a university lecturer in social work, I regularly meet students in their first semester of the Bachelor of Science programme. In most cases, the first-year students enter the world of academia straight from upper secondary school. On their very first day, I usually ask the students to express their reasons for wanting to become social workers. They usually say something vague about ‘working with people’ or ‘helping vulnerable people’. These types of statements always take me back and make me revisit my own personal history in academia. I was 22 years old when I entered the Bachelor of Science programme in social work at the University of Gothenburg in 2003. The forces which motivated me to apply for the programme were a bit muddled, but I did know that I wanted to work with something that could be considered meaningful in one way or another. I also knew that such a desire entailed a job in which positive outcomes could not easily be quantified into numbers or money. I also had a strong desire to enable change, but this aspiration was a bit befuddled, since I did not have a well-defined idea of what kind of change I wanted to be a part of. Now, I can see that I had rather narrow and moralising ideas of what constituted ‘a good life’, and as a social worker, I wanted to help individuals move closer to that ideal. Growing up in a working-class family, I was readily aware of social injustices and economic inequalities, but I had not yet fleshed out a more coherent analysis of the establishment and a reproduction of the dynamics of social forces. It would be easy to disregard my motives, as well as my overall ideas about how the world functioned, as hopelessly naïve. The thought of ‘helping people’ through social work is indeed easy to dismiss as idealistic or uninformed. However, I believe that it can be helpful to evoke memories like these, since it tells us that our T. Davidsson (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_10

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identities, belief systems and political outlooks are always malleable to an extent. Through our lives, we will encounter countless experiences that shape us in certain ways. One such experience is university studies. To devote several years in an academic setting has the potential to serve as a foundational rite of passage in forming one’s views on how the fabric of the social world is weaved. However, it is important to recognise the fact that this sort of cultivation does not happen in a direct or pure linear manner. Rather, a more complex and developed idea of how the world functions is often the result of what may be called a dialectical learning process in which certain theories, conceptions and ideas that one comes across during lectures and seminars clash or coincide with important personal experiences. Out of this process, something new or transformed may see the light of day. In this chapter, I will repeatedly come back to reflect upon the dialectical learning process. Dialectics is another word for thinking in contradictions. More precisely, a dialectical outlook helps us to focus on the process of contradictions clashing or interacting, something that could result in the emergence of new and sometimes unexpected phenomena. A thread through the chapter is the contradictions inherent in social work and how these have affected me, how I have tried to investigate them in my own research and how I try to communicate them to students. I will begin with an account of how I stumbled upon the contradictory nature of social work in my years as a social work student and as a social worker and how that shaped me and my way of perceiving the world. This is followed by a section in which I recount how I have examined contradictions in social work by studying the history of the practice and how the concept of social exclusion is used. Before I conclude with some remarks concerning the potential future of social work, I describe how the contradictions of social work could be touched upon in teaching.

10.2  Stumbling Over the Contradictions My own years as a student on the Bachelor’s programme in social work are a good example of a learning process that was not exactly straightforward. At that time, the programme was quite focused on psychosocial interventions, and I can remember how this created quite strong dissonance and alienation in relation to what may be termed a ‘political awakening’ for me, coinciding with historical events such as the war in Iraq and the continuous dismantling of the Swedish welfare state. The experience of dissonance was further emphasised when I started to work as a professional social worker, mainly as a treatment assistant, assessing parental ability. Although a truly meaningful experience in many ways, I often found myself thinking that I was ‘merely’ cleaning up the mess in a society deeply fraught by injustices and inequalities. Virtually all families I met in my role as a treatment assistant were losers in the economic race and struggled to make ends meet. It became apparent to me that the opportunities to uphold the standard of family life demanded by Swedish social legislation were not independent of class position. This was not a fact that our interventions as treatment assistants were expected to

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consider or strive to change. Our job, and maybe rightly so, was to isolate the social problem at hand, namely, children who were exposed to danger or suffered from neglect. Do not get me wrong, I do not intend to say that our interventions did not have a valuable impact on the children and families I met. I simply say that I sometimes felt that I was entering the stage too late, when the damage was already done. I started to feel weary and did not always agree with the narrow criteria that determined if a person was deemed to be a good enough parent. Consequently, this was a moment when my professional experience clashed with the way I perceived the social world, and this led to my decision to return to university. I entered the Master’s programme in social work and was immediately introduced to a bundle of critical social theories that conceptualised many of my frustrations. These theories did not treat social work and its practices as self-evident or given. Instead, the leap into critical theory made me recognise that social work was, and is, a historical practice. By historical, I refer to a socially produced practice bound up with economic, political and moral structures – a practice that is always subject to change. This was an extremely important insight for me, and I could suddenly start to put together my rather unsatisfying experiences from my professional career as a social worker with theories that seemed to illuminate and explain the forces at play. Put another way, theory made me understand my own feelings of incapacitation and start to reason more critically about why society and social work are organised in certain ways. It also helped me to consider what social work could be instead. On the Master’s programme, I was introduced to the French philosopher Michel Foucault. If we strive to cultivate a critical gaze on social work practices deemed as ‘empowering’, ‘liberating’ or ‘transformative’, Foucault’s ideas of power as productive are seminal. Foucault’s historical examinations of social control and the normalisation by the state of its citizens into ‘docile subjects’ made me aware of new methods to analyse the relationship between society and individuals. His writings on discipline and biopolitics (Foucault 1977/1995, 1990, 2008), in particular, helped me to examine hidden motives in seemingly benign social reforms. Consequently, this made me realise that the aim of social work, and state interventions in general, is as much about controlling people as it is to help. Complementing my then rather static Marxist understanding, this was also a period when I started to gain a deeper understanding of the political economy in which social work is embedded. From my studies of the first volume of Karl Marx’s Capital (1867/1976), I took a deep interest in the production of wage labourers. This allowed me to discover a whole field of literature that helped me to contextualise social work historically. From then on, I started to comprehend the contradictions in social work as, at least partly, stemming from contradictions within a dynamic economic system that on the one hand created goods, values and infrastructure of unprecedented value and on the other generated misery and deep inequality and treated people as commodities on the labour market. Filled with academic enthusiasm, I wrote a master’s thesis on how a discourse on ‘welfare dependency’ and ‘outsidership’ legitimised austerity measures in the Swedish welfare apparatus (Davidsson 2010). This was my first attempt to map how political discourse interacts with the material base in order to

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produce ‘docile subjects’, moulded in a specific fashion in order to meet their prescribed role as wage labourers. The experiences gained from being a student on the Bachelor’s programme, working as a social worker and being introduced to critical theory on the Master’s programme contributed equally to shaping my basic understanding of social work as a fundamentally ambiguous practice. On the one hand, I regard social work as a truly important, if not necessary, remedy in a world where misery is continuously produced. On the other hand, I think this remedy acts as a saviour of the very economic system that produces misery in the first place, namely, capitalism. Consequently, social work in a modern capitalist society is somewhat of a contradiction in itself. Aside from this, social work is characterised by a continual political debate that brings numerous conflicting aspects to the fore. One such question is whether social interventions ought to be guided by reason or emotions, in turn leading to the question of whether social work is a calling or merely a job like any other. This conflict has been a part of the discussion on the nature of social work since at least the end of the nineteenth century, when modern bureaucratic systems of social support gradually began to replace the poor relief previously administered by the church. Today, this debate is pushed to the agenda by the advent of technological advancements and the rise of evidence-based practice, manuals and evaluation devices that characterise what is sometimes called ‘the audit society’. One such example can be found in the Swedish municipality of Trelleborg, where a robot has been used to assess applications for social assistance, prompting us to ask the question of whether certain aspects of social work could be algorithmised and totally automatised. Another conflict pertaining to social work, and deeply tied to ideology, relates to the question of who the optimal mediator of social welfare is. If a person leans towards liberal policies, he or she may prefer the market to administer social welfare. A professed socialist is likely to favour the state, while a conservative may argue that the church, voluntary organisations or even the family constitute the ideal source of social support. Just as political is the issue of whether social interventions ought to aim to reform societal structures or individual traits. When discussing this question, two American social work pioneers are often used to personify the conflicting positions. Jane Addams (1860–1935) was a settlement activist who advocated structural reforms to alleviate poverty and class conflicts, while Mary Richmond (1861–1928) promoted the idea of case work methods to improve the situation for individuals in need. These two position have in turn spawned different traditions within social work. Other interrelated conflicts, such as the question of whether social welfare ought to be regarded as a human right or something one must make oneself worthy of and if social work should mainly occupy itself with supporting or controlling people in need, are built into social work and have to be addressed continuously. To conclude, the aim of including this long but far from complete enumeration of different conflicts that are more or less inherent in social work has been to demonstrate what I call the historical nature of social work and to emphasise that the forms and content of social work are always contestable and therefore, to a

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certain extent, plastic. I will now tell you a little about how I have attended to the paradoxes of social work in my own research and teaching.

10.3  Researching the Contradictions In my research, I have dived into the contradictory nature of social work time and again. In this pursuit, I am not really looking to resolve the contradictions at hand. Since I view the ambiguities as mere consequences of contradictions that capitalism cannot help to reproduce, they are after all imbued in the fabric of the modern world. Nonetheless, I cannot just leave them be. One reason for returning so persistently to the contradictions may be connected to a personal frustration pertaining to people either idealising or dismissing social work. If we consider the contradictions seriously and in detail, we will acknowledge that social work always contains aspects worthy of both admiration and criticism. If we are to transform the forms and content of social work in a direction we desire, it does not help our cause to dismiss social work as a whole. Likewise, it is not enough for us to invoke goodness or notions of justice and expect everyone to rally to our cause. These are, after all, contested concepts that signify different things to different people. Rather, an investigation of the contradictions and their historical roots can help us show that social work, at least in this economic system, cannot be either totally good or completely bad. Examining the contradictions then may help us to gain a deeper understanding of the processes bound up with certain aspects of social work. In other words, it can be a tool to contextualise certain practices and thereby illuminate the political economy of social work. Ultimately, these kinds of investigations have the potential to serve as a foundation when we think about the shape of social work to come.

10.3.1  Social Work and Capitalism Mark Twain is reputed to have said that history does not repeat itself but it often rhymes. Thus, if we want to understand what is happening in our present time, it is often rewarding to go back in history. I would like to claim that this endeavour is especially important when investigating the contradictions of social work. When I entered the PhD programme in social work in 2010, I wanted to understand how the practice we now know as social work came about and to investigate the interconnectedness between the emergent social work and nascent industrial capitalism. In my thesis, I examined a period in Swedish history (1847–1875) in which Sweden was becoming industrialised (Davidsson 2015). In the same period of time, a newly established public poor relief system was facing much criticism. A central point of departure in the thesis was the tension between the logic of two dominant distributive systems: on the one hand, ‘work-based’ distribution as in wage labour and on the other, ‘need-based’ distribution through the provision of public relief for those

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who are deemed as being ‘worthy poor’. Manoeuvring the tension between these two systems, by setting limits and boundaries, has been dubbed as ‘the distributive dilemma’ of principally every existing society in the history of mankind (Stone 1984). Through my analysis, I found that public poor relief in a time of capitalist expansion and liberal reforms had to be designed in a manner that answered the needs of the work-based distribution. Therefore, the function of poor relief was only rarely articulated as a means to materially relieving the situation of people in misery. Notwithstanding the fact that Sweden suffered from a crop failure and subsequent famine in the late 1860s, the alleviation of structurally inflicted despair was rejected as a component of the rationality of relief. However, the criticised relief apparatus was accused of causing scarcity and misery because it supported vulnerable individuals. The more the relief system expanded, the worse were the consequences. The dominating assumption regarding poor people was that they, more or less naturally, would have developed into industrious and frugal subjects, capable of abstaining pressing needs, if only they were not supported by poor relief. Relief was said to paralyse ‘the invisible driving forces’ that led to ‘forethought, industriousness and deprivation’ when the poor were provided for, when the woe did not constantly remind them of their endangered existence, their bodies ran the risk of enervating. Consequently, the main task was to create a new rationality for poor relief arranged in such a way as to promote industriousness. The most common assertion was that ‘correct poor relief’ could be designed if it could inculcate the link between labour and provision. A chief technique was identified: the demand for compensation in the shape of forced work as a condition of poor relief. This was assumed to have positive effects on the recipients, both morally and economically. So-called voluntary workhouses were established in Swedish parishes, wherein a distinct logic of quid pro quo should furnish the relationship between relievers and relieved. The ‘correct poor relief’ was also marked with a logic of self-help that would teach the poor that they bore the sole responsibility to provide for themselves and their families. This could mean that the poor boards chose to give access to the able-­ bodied poor who then gave up some of their rights and entered the subordinate position as paupers. The poor board gained a legitimate role as a master, something that was intended to enable a process of nurturing the pauper into industriousness. The main result I took away from my dissertation was the close interconnectedness between capitalism and social work. Harald Swedner, the first Swedish professor in social work, once wrote that social work is ‘work of change at an individual, institutional and societal level with the aim to limit, transcend and prevent the ills and social problems that have prevailed in conjunction with industrialisation and urbanisation’ (Swedner 1996, p. 38, my translation). To an extent, I agree with this assertion, but the definition is still only partial. Social work is indeed occupied with the prevention of social problems, and there might have been times when it was aimed at transcending the social order, but in general, the organisation and scope of social work have always been confined by capital logic. In a capitalist society, the assurance of accumulation of value needs to be the superior aim, and even if social work constitutes an exemption to the laws of competition, it cannot threaten the order on a systemic level. At times, as I showed in the dissertation, social work has

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even been used to feed the economic system with ‘employable’ subjects. Thus, if we are seriously determined to extend the values inherent in social work (i.e. equality, solidarity, emancipation, etc.), a prerequisite is to transcend the dominating economic system.

10.4  Theorising Social Exclusion Another way for me to assess the contradictions of social work has been to investigate the concept of social exclusion, either as a sole writer or together with others. From my point of view, social exclusion as a concept captures the contradictory nature of social work in interesting ways. It can be deployed in what has been termed a ‘weak version’, focusing on the excluded position and concentrating on the flaws of excluded individuals. Thereby, the weak version strengthens already established power relations and reinforces the current and dominant neoliberal ideology (Veit-Wilson 1998). A ‘strong version’, on the other hand, addresses the destructive elements inherent in the same ideology by directing the focus at the structural causes for exclusionary processes. A critical assessment of the political deployment of the weak version of social exclusion has been at the fore of my research on this subject. This body of work has been motivated by a personal political frustration with both the current state of affairs and the lack of meaningful and radical resistance. One of my desires has thus been to unpack the ideological superstructure of contemporary class composition and try to relate this to (the lack of) political resistance to neoliberal policies and rising social inequality. For example, I have studied how a certain political usage of the concept social exclusion has legitimised the establishment of a harsh workfare regime in Sweden (Davidsson 2010, 2016) and how the contemporary dominant weak conception of social exclusion discursively creates divisions, suspicion and separation within the working class and, as a consequence, undermines radical solidarity movements (Allelin and Davidsson 2017), and a theoretical review of influential usages of the concept in social sciences (Petersson and Davidsson 2016). In another study, my colleague and I explored how the concept of social exclusion has been deployed in Swedish social work research, and we specifically analysed how the usage corresponded to the weak version (Davidsson and Petersson 2017a). In the study, we found a frequent tendency within the retrieved studies to conflate exclusion with related concepts such as unemployment or marginalisation. Much of the work that we reviewed demonstrated a clear preference for denoting exclusion as a precarious position. Consequently, the proposed solutions often revolved around interventions at micro level aimed at transforming those supposedly ‘socially excluded’. In opposition to this, we proposed an alternative analytical framework in which social exclusion is conceptualised as dynamic processes located in given times and spaces, initiated and carried out by specific actors acting out of certain motives by means of specific techniques. In the article, we suggest an actor-oriented

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research strategy involving a detailed analysis of the following four dimensions of exclusion: 1. Identify who the involved actors are. Is the excluding actor an individual, a group, an organisation or a government? Who is being excluded? 2. Investigate what an individual or a group is excluded from: supported housing, a city centre district or a nation state? What kind of resources are at stake – social, material, political and/or cultural? 3. Examine how social exclusion is executed. Which techniques can be discerned –material (such as reducing welfare benefit levels) and/or discursive (for instance, negative representations of welfare recipients as idle exploiters of the system)? 4. Consider why exclusion occurs. What are the involved actors’ explicit motives and accounts justifying and/or excusing exclusionary acts? How do these explanations relate to the specific setting and discursive environment? This framework may sound banal, but judging from the existing body of studies on social exclusion within Swedish social work, it is necessary. Applying the framework enables studies that investigate the dynamic processes involved in social exclusion on multiple analytical levels. Who excludes? In what or whose interest is exclusion executed? Which methods, strategies or techniques are used to achieve exclusion? By which categorisations or discursive practices are exclusions legitimised? Answering these questions serves the purpose of shifting the analytical focus point from the supposedly ‘excluded’ to how, why and by whom borders are established and guarded.1 In a sense, one may say that we are proposing a similar inversion of perspective as sociologists such as John Kitsuse, and Howard Becker did with reference to deviation in the 1960s, i.e. instead of directing the focus on allegedly deviant individuals, they turned their attention to the normative conditions that make people deem others as abnormal. The research on the concept of social exclusion has helped me to further advance my understanding of social work as a contradictory practice and to problematise interventions expressed to aim for ‘inclusion’. Directing attention towards excluding actors and structures (rather than the excluded) is also a way of trying to imagine social work as something other, or rather more, than it is today.

10.5  Teaching the Contradictions As I mentioned in the introductory paragraphs of the chapter, the bulk of the students I meet in my role as a university lecturer express that they wish to become social workers in order to help people in need. This is of course admirable, and it would certainly be a problem if they did not have the intention of offering support. 1  We have also applied the analytical framework in one empirical study in which we investigated exclusionary processes and techniques deployed at the central train station in Gothenburg (Davidsson and Petersson 2017b).

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However, as I have tried to demonstrate in this text, social work contains parts characterised by discipline and control, and the aim of interventions may not always coincide with what a social worker deems helpful to the clients. On the contrary, the person may feel that he or she acts as a gatekeeper or even a villain. In my role as a university lecturer, I firmly believe in the idea of communicating the contradictory aspects of social work to the students. In the best-case scenario, this could help future social workers to incorporate the contradictions in order to work with them. If not, one may be baffled and suffer from a sense of cognitive dissonance and depression when entering professional social work. As I have recounted in this text, I was quite unprepared for the alienation I came to experience as a social worker, and this probably led to my exit from the profession, pursuing instead a career within academia. However, escaping from the realities of social work is not the solution on a larger scale. I do much of my teaching in the first semester of the Bachelor’s programme, and in a lecture called ‘The history of social work’ (the very first lecture in the programme), I always tell a tale from a book by American sociologist Stanley Cohen. The story deals succinctly with the contradictory nature of social work: A man is walking by the riverside when he notices a body floating downstream. A fisherman leaps into the river, pulls the body ashore, gives mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, saving the man’s life. A few minutes later the same thing happens, then again and again. Eventually yet another body floats by. This time the fisherman completely ignores the drowning man and starts running upstream along the bank. The observer asks the fisherman what on earth he is doing? Why is he not trying to rescue this drowning body? ‘This time’, replies the fisherman, ‘I’m going upstream to find out who the hell is pushing these poor folks into the water’. (Cohen 1985, p. 236)

The story illuminates the limitations of individual casework in a striking manner. It also raises the importance of theory and asking questions about the nature of the originating causes of social problems. Even if a social worker cannot be expected to always think hard about the structural causes of individual suffering when faced with an acute case that needs to be solved quickly, it is still important to be aware of how society operates in a greater sense. I also teach research methods and theory of science in the Bachelor’s as well as the Master’s programme. I see these courses as an opportunity to raise critical awareness of not only research but also in relation to what constitutes the social world in a more general sense. In the beginning of the courses at Bachelor level, the students quite often express a sceptical attitude towards studying the ‘theory of science’. They cannot really see the point of it; many of them just want to start working as social workers. ‘Why is it important for us to learn about how knowledge is produced? Just give us the knowledge necessary for us to do our job!’ This is a position I can sympathise with, but that does not mean that I can accept it. Everything a social worker is expected to do in his or her line of work is based on certain assumptions, often grounded in science. Being able to critically assess statements, causalities and scientific discourse is necessary in order to engage in the knowledge production that more or less determines the nature of certain practices. When teaching theory, I often think back to when I enrolled in the Master’s programme and was

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introduced to concepts that helped me to formulate and address my sense of alienation. In some sense, the process of absorbing theory reminds me of the movie The Matrix, in which humanity is trapped inside a simulated reality and therefore unable to critically engage with the real threats, power mechanisms and structures of control. When the protagonist finally sees reality for what it is, he detects the code structuring humanity. This is of course fiction, but the process of really engaging with theory can produce similar sensations. Suddenly, you start to see patterns in the social world that you had previously failed to recognise. A regular trip on the underground on a Wednesday morning can turn into a social drama, and when you observe your surroundings doing everyday activities, you may start noticing greater social forces at play.

10.6  The Future of the Contradictions Following the demise of the socialist countries in the early 1990s, liberal commentators (most famously political scientist Francis Fukuyama) proclaimed that history had ended. This was, of course, not true at the time, and today no one would even think of making such a statement. We are living in turbulent times and the future is indeed uncertain. With the election of Donald Trump as president of the United States, Great Britain exiting the EU, the rise of far-right political movements, the lockdowns and the literal halt of the global economy following the COVID-19 pandemic, the ongoing process of climate change and millions of people around the world fleeing tyrannical rule, it is clear that history is alive and kicking. The naïve idea of ‘the end of history’ has therefore come to an end in itself. However, if we truly are experiencing the end of the end of history, what are the implications for social work? First, we need to assess the nature of social problems in our present time and, most acutely, we need to address them as political. Even if we never bought into the theoretical foundation in the statement of the end of history, we acted as if the stipulation was true enough. Even if history did not take a rest, we did. At least in the Western part of the world, politics has changed from being an arena where different ideologies and visions are disputed to a situation in which we as voters are expected to elect the most qualified, whose aims and goals everybody agreed upon, to carry out a mission. The focus has changed from inherently political questions of class, inequality and housing to the politicians themselves. Who is most charismatic? Which one is the most skilled rhetorically? Who has the fanciest education? At the same time, material inequality flourishes and cities are becoming increasingly segregated. Second, in order to combat these trends, we have to start acting as historical agents and shape the world to come. As I have stated repeatedly, social work is a social phenomenon, and as such it is shaped by us human beings. We need to start imagining a different kind of world, and we need to act in a way that brings us closer

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to that. If we think dialectically about the current situation, we may find seeds of hope in the contemporary order. Neoliberal globalisation and the promotion of individualisation and competition have of course brought a plethora of social problems upon the world. At the same time, globalisation and technology have connected different geographical parts with each other in a way that is hard to reverse. The conditions for true global solidarity in which we see others as equals and dependent on each other may be closer than ever in human history. However, this is not an easy task; on the contrary, we are today witnessing how neoconservative forces try to pull us further apart. This is a situation that we have to analyse carefully, and most importantly we need to come together and be strong. For all of us, it is now imperative to intervene in the fabric of the social world, and as social workers, we do have a certain responsibility to stand up for justice and equality.

References Allelin, M., & Davidsson, T. (2017). Om klassolidaritet och samtida gränsdragningar [On class solidarity and contemporary demarcations]. Fronesis, 58–59, 195–209. Cohen, S. (1985). Visions of social control: Crime, punishment and classification. Cambridge: Polity Press. Davidsson, T. (2010). Utanförskapelsen: En diskursanalys av hur begreppet utanförskap artikulerades i den svenska riksdagsdebatten 2003–2006 [Constructing outsidership: A discourse analysis on the articulation of outsidership in Swedish parliamentary debate 2003–2006]. Socialvetenskaplig Tidskrift, 17(2), 149–169. Davidsson, T. (2015). Understödets rationalitet: En genealogisk studie av arbetslinjen under kapitalismen [The rationality of poor relief. A genealogy of the work strategy under capitalism]. Malmö: Égalité. Davidsson, T. (2016). Är arbete inkluderande? Ett kritiskt perspektiv på det tidiga 2000-talets arbetslinje [Is labour really including? A critical perspective on the work strategy of the early 21st century]. In F. Petersson & T. Davidsson (Eds.), Social exkludering: Perspektiv, process, problemkonstruktion [Social exclusion: Perspective, process, constructing a problem]. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Davidsson, T., & Petersson, F. (2017a). Towards an actor-oriented approach to social exclusion: A critical review of contemporary exclusion research in a Swedish social work context. European Journal of Social Work, 21(2), 167–180. Davidsson, T., & Petersson, F. (2017b). Göteborgs centralstation: En exklusiv mötesplats för vissa [Gothenburg Central Station: An exclusive meeting place for certain people]. In B. Andersson, F. Petersson & A. Skårner (Eds.), Den motspänstiga akademikern. Festskrift till Ingrid Sahlin [The recalcitrant academic. A commemorative publication dedicated to Ingrid Sahlin]. Malmö: Égalité. Foucault, M. (1977/1995). Discipline and punish: The birth of the prison (2nd Vintage Books ed.). New York: Vintage Books. Foucault, M. (1990). The history of sexuality. Vol. 1, The will to knowledge. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Foucault, M. (2008). The birth of biopolitics: Lectures at the Collége de France, 1978–1979. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Marx, K. (1867/1976). Capital. Volume 1: A critique of political economy. London: Penguin. Petersson, F., & Davidsson, T. (2016). Definitioner och diskussion om social exkludering som begrepp och perspektiv. In F. Petersson, & T. Davidsson (Eds.), Social exkludering: Perspektiv,

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process, problemkonstruktion [Social exclusion: Perspective, process, constructing a problem]. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Stone, D. A. (1984). The disabled state. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Swedner, H. (1996). Socialt välfärdsarbete, en tankeram [Social welfare work, a thought framework]. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Veit-Wilson, J. (1998). Setting adequacy standards: How governments define minimum incomes. Bristol: Policy Press.

Chapter 11

Adopting an Anti-oppressive Approach to Inclusive Teaching Linda Lane

“I am not a social worker.” I found myself saying that a lot as I explained to social work students what my role was in their educational programme. I had no social work experience, and as an economic historian teaching primarily courses related to social policy, I was under no illusions. Students did not expect me to be interested in “real social work”. Although grateful that my nearly 20  years as a municipal employee working in various social service-related departments provided me with experiences and examples useful in my teaching, I was satisfied with my role of standing on the sideline of social work – to teach, but not become involved. This changed when I became coordinator for a small European Union-financed project focusing on the needs of students with disabilities in higher education. European Action on Disability in Higher Education (EADHE), as the project was formally named, aimed to map the needs of students with disabilities studying at institutions of higher education, identify and evaluate their needs and experiences of teaching, learning and assessment, with a view to making recommendations to improve institutional practices. We were a consortium of five countries with very little money aiming to gain an understanding of these complex issues in just two years between 2012 and 2014. During the lifetime of the project, two other countries, India and Poland, joined us as associated members. I was a complete novice in the field of disability studies before the project began, but as a lecturer and project coordinator, my job description included the requirement to engage critically with the links between the project’s aims and goals and social work theory and practice. This included understanding my contribution and responses in the classroom. In preparation for the project, I began the process of trying to understand the situation for students with disability in higher education. But already from the start I met several challenges: What is a “disability,” where is it and how do we deal with it as pedagogues in our classrooms? These were just L. Lane (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_11

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some of the questions that arose as I and my colleagues began planning for the work we would do in the project. Based on the learning that took place in the project, the aim of this chapter is to reflect on what the process of learning about disability taught me and why I believe an anti-oppressive approach to inclusion in the classroom can contribute to social work education and practice for both teachers and students. Before delving into the work as outlined in the project documentation, the consortium worked on defining a few central concepts. This was important as teams from the various partner countries came from different academic backgrounds. Many like myself had little experience of working specifically with the needs of students with disability. The aim was to build a conceptual foundation that would be applicable in all partner countries. Three concepts emerged as central for the continued work. What did we mean with disability, how should we define oppression and finally, since we were interested in students’ interaction with teachers, how could we conceptualise pedagogy, specifically an inclusive teaching pedagogy? The project framework centred on the idea that however defined disability could be understood as a form of social oppression, which was not the same as impairment. As articulated by Oliver, “[…] it is society which disables physically impaired people. Disability is something imposed on top of our impairments by the way we are unnecessarily isolated and excluded from full participation in society. Disabled people are therefore an oppressed group in society” (Oliver 1996: 22). From this definition emerged the term “disabled student” which we used to indicate how students were disabled by their environment. Rather than emphasis exclusion, we wanted to position the project in alignment with activist definitions who saw disability as “the disadvantage or restriction of activity caused by a contemporary social organization which takes no or little account of people who have physical impairments and thus excludes them from the mainstream of social activities”, (UPIAS cited in Tinklin and Hall 1999: 185). The project’s adoption of an anti-oppression framework defined social inclusion not merely as the act of “integrating” people with disabilities into an already pre-­ built society but as a process of “changing” society so that it becomes more accessible for all. By advocating for inclusion, the adoption of a social model helped us see people with disabilities as more than a sum of their health or abilities. Rather than considering the barriers that face people with disabilities to be products of their individual condition, the social model of disability locates such barriers within a larger “disabling society” permeated by multiple oppressive power relations (see, e.g., Dossa 2006; Leslie et al. 2003; Race et al. 2005; Watson et al. 2004). With the social model of disability as the point of departure, a central concept to define was oppression. Oppression describes the systematic use of power – social, economic or political relationships to benefit some groups at the expense of others. Categories arising from perceived differences in race, ethnicity, age, disability, gender, sexuality or social class become mechanisms by which dominant groups can control, abuse and exploit the Other. Subsequent inequalities are maintained and reproduced through social institutions such universities and colleges but also in

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personal attitudes and behaviours that construct barriers which exclude or delimit the Other’s possibilities and life chances. Our aim was to investigate students with disabilities experiences of oppression in the classroom, but we realised that it was vital to also be inclusive of teachers and their experiences. At the time, we were cognizant that pedagogical strategies to bring about change must be situated in time and place and should recognise that teaching involves what Ellsworth calls “unknowability” and that learning involves multiple ways of reading. Following Ellsworth’s claims that teaching is not a representational act, nor is it an unproblematic transmission of knowledge about the world to the student, but rather it is a performative act, constituting reality as it names it. In the process, both teacher and students are participants in the construction of new knowledge while recognising that the teacher cannot control how the student “reads” what the teacher is trying to enact (Ellsworth 1997). Simply put, pedagogy is that which informs teaching and from which curriculum emerges (Ellsworth 2005 in Beckett 2015: 77). From the project’s perspective, this meant adopting an understanding of inclusive pedagogical strategies that could capture attitudes, emotions, frustrations as well as successes. The process of learning and teaching about the dynamics of oppression involved learning about ourselves. As such, we needed to understand that some of our identities and experiences privileged us in relation to others and that we all were, perhaps unknowingly, complicit and even contributed to oppression of others. The aim of anti-oppressive pedagogy is to challenge oppression through the use of pedagogical approaches to curriculum development, teaching and learning that present people with disabilities realistically and multidimensionally (Beckett 2015; Brandes and Kelly 2003; Kumashiro 2000; Cochran-Smith 1999; Hooks 1994). Armed with these insights, the project work began. Once underway, we started an inventory of the disability laws and regulations governing students’ rights to higher education in each partner country. What could students with disabilities expect after their admission, what were their rights to accommodations and support and how would that support be provided at the individual level? This was complemented with knowledge of how other forms of assistance supported students with disabilities. In the Swedish case, diversity in Swedish universities is slowly increasing and students with disability are but one group among many. In accordance with Swedish laws governing personal integrity, universities are not allowed to register students with disabilities unless they seek and receive support through university student services (Swedish Discrimination Law 2008); therefore, students who do not declare a disability are not included in statistics. Based on existing statistics, we found that approximately 2,5–3% of students at Swedish universities have declared a disability, allowing them to qualify for accommodations. With accommodations, we refer to those “supports and services provided at no cost to eligible students with disabilities to have equal access and opportunity to benefit from classes, programs, and activities” (ADA 1990). The majority of students had “invisible” disabilities of which learning disability such as dyslexia dyscalculia are also often mentioned. Because they must “come out” of the disability closet to qualify for support and accommodation, we found that students, afraid of stigma, discrimination and

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exclusion, often decided not to disclose a disability, or they wait until their difficulties become acute before seeking help, which in some cases could be too late (see, e.g., Connor 2008; Shakespeare 1996). Once we had gathered this information, the focus turned to understanding how we could improve opportunities for these students. What did students with disabilities need to be able to perform as well in higher education as their non-disabled peers? It was at this point that the study went from being just a project – interesting on an academic level rather than a personal one – to a project that demanded I re-­ evaluate myself as a teacher. As part of the project brief, we surveyed disabled and non-disabled students in our partner countries as well as in two associate partner countries and conducted interviews with teachers and other administrative staff. In general, students in all participating countries studied expressed a lack of support in everything from physical access to buildings to course materials, etc., but what caught my attention were the students’ claims that teachers were a large part of the difficulties they experienced in higher education. In all the countries studied, from India to Portugal, it emerged that students perceived teachers’ unwillingness to provide support/accommodation and their negative attitudes towards student as serious problems. To understand my own complicity in this state of affairs, I needed to take a step back and reflect on my own teaching. Before becoming involved in the EADHE project, accommodating the needs of students with disabilities was not a conscious part of my approach to teaching. Of course, like most teachers, I was occasionally asked to make accommodations for certain students – extra time for exams and the use of a telephone or other device to record lectures and sometimes to provide notes and PowerPoints in advance. Like most teachers, I did as I was asked, sometimes begrudgingly because this extra effort demanded time that I could ill afford due to tight teaching schedules. Admittedly, I was also one of those teachers who sometimes failed to use the standard equipment provided in lecture halls, such as microphones, or failed to choose the right coloured pens when writing on white boards, and sometimes my PowerPoint presentations were a blast of multicoloured texts and pictures that zoomed in and out, blinked occasionally and included text or diagrams that could only be read with a microscope. I did not for a moment reflect on the fact that there might have been, and probably were, sight-impaired or hearing-impaired students or students suffering from a variety of other chronic illnesses in the class. I was also guilty of asking students to skip regulated breaks on occasions when time was tight. In my mind, varying my lectures and seminars using the usual “mixing it up method,” i.e. using different ways of presenting material, visuals and other multimedia, short/long lectures, active dialogue when class size permitted it and bee-hiving or other ways of engaging students when the classes were large, was the way to hold students’ attention and support their learning. The importance of making small accommodations for students both those with and without disabilities did not cross my mind. Like most teachers, unless faced with a person with an obvious impairment in my class, I tended to think of everyone as being able-bodied and equipped to learn in just about the same way.

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This experience was not unique to me; my other project partners were also finding it difficult to come to terms with the probability that we were part of an oppressing teaching culture. Looking for answers and ideas on how to move forward, we made a literature search of teachers’ attitudes to inclusive education, with particular focus on students with disabilities. What we found was that teachers’ attitudes have been a part of ongoing discourses since the beginning of the disability movement. Parents, disability organisations, universities and governments have tried to tackle the problems by enacting anti-discrimination laws, but changing attitudes has proven difficult (Rao 2004; Rao and Gartin 2003). A colleague from a partner country and I decided to investigate this issue deeper. Aside from the obvious lack of awareness we displayed in our teaching, were there other motives and what, in that case, could we in EADHE contribute to improving the situation? Our findings showed that as the number of students with disability increased in higher education, teaching them in compliance with educational policy requirements raised anxieties on the part of teachers as they perceived accommodating students as lowering academic standards and compromising academic integrity. These deeply held fears by teachers, affected the way they chose to provide accommodations or if they provided them at all. While this type of response from teachers existed, what our interviews revealed was that like ourselves, most teachers in higher education did not hold discriminatory attitudes towards disabled students. Of course, there were those who thought universities were going too far with their diversity schemes, but we found no systemic discrimination of students. However, what teachers objected to and complained about was the increasing work demands with no changes or compensation for increased course loads and other administrative tasks. Another problem raised was the lack of knowledge and inadequate training that contributed to unintentional barriers. As one interviewee stated, ‘If you have a PhD, it is assumed that you can teach. Nobody asks if you know how. You just have to do it’. Furthermore, when offered, so-called professional learning and development programmes seldom addressed issues of inclusive pedagogy directly. Many of them tell us what to teach but tend not to deal with the major challenges that teacher and students face in the classroom. A conclusion of our study was that teachers’ attitudes and the lack of support for students with disabilities were primarily a result of two factors. The first was ignorance teachers had little or no knowledge or training in inclusive teaching pedagogies and second, they experienced legitimate anxiety and resistance to university administration’s attempts at work intensification. The problem was that students with disabilities were caught in the middle (Lane and Nagchoudhuri 2015). The EADHE project helped me realise that I needed to reassess my pedagogical approach and to ask myself some serious questions. In social work education, we rely on the ethical codes and standards of social work to guide the way we teach students about power, privilege, oppression and exclusion. The problem is that oppression is not always easy to recognise. Thus, as educators, we need an alternative way of engaging with concepts of oppression that includes our assumptions and expectations about the Other, especially those that influence how the Other is treated in our classrooms. We need to reflect on how our actions or lack thereof, both

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conscious and unconscious, plays out in the classroom and how they create, support and justify the oppression of the Other. What is needed is an anti-oppressive pedagogy that challenges our own perceptions and attitudes as teachers. Teachers alone cannot change society, but we can contribute by addressing oppression through reflection, theorising and examining our own practice (Cole and Knowles 2000; Cochran-Smith 1999; Schon 1983).

11.1  AOP and Inclusive Teaching and Learning Through engagement in EADHE project as individual, teachers and consortium partners began to understand that transforming the educational process necessitates changing our universities and institutions. That would take time, but we could start the process by challenging our own perceptions and attitudes as teachers in the place where we had a direct impact, i.e. in the classroom. It was only after I became aware of how or what I did as a teacher in the classroom or in seminars, etc. Even unconsciously, influenced relationships between students were possible to take small tentative steps towards building anti-oppressive relationships and creating conditions for an inclusive learning environment. A theoretical approach that helped me come to grips with my own pedagogical shortcomings is one often used in social work education, namely, anti-oppressive practice (AOP). An AOP approach claims that the context in which social work operates is multidimensional and that theoretical understandings should reflect this complexity. Within social work, AOP is understood as a perspective that embraces social justice initiatives. It can also be defined as an umbrella term for emancipatory frameworks such as structural, radical and critical social work practice as well as anti-racist and feminist practices, where the aim is to transform existing forms of social work knowledge into alternative ways of knowing and engaging in practice (Dominelli 2010; Dominelli 2002; Carniol 2005). With this in mind, the aim was to explore the potential of AOP to support an anti-oppressive inclusive pedagogy. AOP focuses on three primary themes: (1) a focus on multiple and intersecting aspects of identity beyond simply race, class or gender; (2) an explicit analysis of structural and political contexts that produce and reproduce oppression and privilege; and (3) an explicit call to action in which social workers are asked to challenge oppression in their everyday interactions both personally and professionally (Dominelli 2010; Dominelli 2002; Lee et  al. 2014; Dalrymple and Burke 1995; Mullaly 2010). In the following presentation, I will discuss how these three central themes can be used to support anti-oppressive inclusive teaching. The first theme argues that multiple analysis of identity goes beyond identified dynamics of race, gender and class to reveal many other aspects of identity including sexuality, ability, religion, age, education and occupation. Disability issues often intersect with other oppressive practices experienced by other non-dominant groups; however, when universities acknowledge and address oppressive practices, students with disability are

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placed in precarious positions as academe produces and reproduces disablism and ableism (Dolmage 2017). To exemplify, how this is enacted in the day-to-day lives of students. A simple intersectional analysis is used. Crenshaw’s (1993) articulation of race and gender is the starting point. A non-ethnic Swedish woman student may experience oppression not simply in two ways, i.e. as non-ethnic Swede and as a woman, but also in a third way as a non-ethnic Swedish woman. In this presentation, the combined position of non-ethnic and woman creates a third oppressive space. Although Crenshaw does not discuss disability directly, in an extension of the example, let us assume that in addition the same woman is labelled with a disability. Annamma et al. (2013), in their articulation of what they call dis/ability critical race studies (DisCrit), contend that the non-­ethnic Swedish woman labelled as disabled, like women of colour or gay and lesbian people of colour, must now choose where to stand in social conflicts with groups that do not fully share their identities (Watts and Erevelles 2004). The issue is complicated further as unlike ethnicity, individuals with a disability usually do not share this social status with other family members (Shakespeare 1996). Furthermore, ‘in terms of dis/ability identity, dis/abled students are often positioned such that they are likely (and even encouraged) to reject identifying as disabled as something that is inherently negative or shameful rather than a potentially politicized identity or critical consciousness. The consequences of simply being labelled as disabled, even if one does not claim that identity, can result in rejection from cultural, racial, ethnic and gender groups’ (Annamma et al. 2013:8). Using an AOP approach, the example reveals the complexity of identity as constantly shifting, a blend of both oppression and privilege that depends on interactions with others in a given social context. This understanding of oppression is a powerful tool that can be used to detect the subtle and shifting dynamics of oppression that exist in virtually every social context. The example helps us understand why students with disability may not disclose a disability, even when faced with need. The demand that students disclose a disability to receive accommodation is not simply a question of disability; it creates a situation where disclosure may leave them open to further stigma or exclusion. The second theme follows from the first as it becomes clear that AOP requires a structural and systemic analysis. AOP is closely related to and has emerged from structural approaches that explicitly focus attention on the structures of social contexts rather than the individual in order to understand and address injustice and inequality (Carniol 2005; Mullaly 2007). Structural approaches view social problems as being caused by unjust arrangements rather than individual abilities and ask the user to look beyond individualism to macro practices. The aim is to uncover how political and economic systems of inequality are taught, reinforced, communicated and enforced in multiple institutional contexts throughout society such as families, schools, politics and the labour market. Applying the anti-oppressive social model of disability reveals how the social environment determines the extent to which an impairment results in incapacity or exclusion from mainstream social processes. For example, students with disabilities were less likely to apply for higher education and if they did, were more likely to drop out or not complete their higher education

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programmes, not because they lacked ability but rather because they did not receive the support they needed (Lane 2017). Furthermore, for students with disabilities, graduation is no guarantee of employment, and if they do manage to find employment, it is often at lower wages and salaries. On the other hand, as pointed out previously, conditions affecting people are not static. With improvement in legal systems and laws regulating the needs of student, universities’ greater engagement in both physical and educational environments has contributed to improvements. But these were hard won only after many years of activism by individuals and the concerted efforts of disability movements and other activists (Barnes 2007; Oliver 1996; Hahn 1985; De Jong 1979), which brings us to the third theme of AOP that focuses practice and action. How do we carry out our day-to-day relationships with students and colleagues in a way that does not inadvertently mimic the patterns of oppression and privilege revealed in our multiple identities and societal structures? AOP is not just a perspective that helps us see injustices “out there” and seek to reduce them but also a way of working that reflexively focuses on how each of us is directly implicated in oppressive ways of working (Baines 2011). An AOP approach highlights the importance of raising one’s own consciousness about the realities of privilege and exposing the dynamics of oppression in one’s own life (Dominelli 2002). AOP is about practice and action; it is not just a tool that can be used to analyse and expose the realities of oppression and injustice. It is a set of practices that equips users to address oppression across the spectrum from micro to macro approaches (see, e.g., Lavalette 2011; Caldwell 2011).

11.2  Conclusion As in social work, an anti-oppressive pedagogical approach to inclusive learning is about recognising problems and finding ways of solving them. It also requires us as teachers to understand the limitations and possibilities of advocating for inclusion in the classroom  – we cannot do it all. Inclusion also needs to be a priority for departments, the university and higher education governing bodies. On the other hand, what we as teachers can do is to reflect on our pedagogical practices. Attention to and use of inclusive pedagogical practices in classrooms means not needing to address students according to their identity  – all students should feel welcomed, comfortable, respected and listened to regardless of disability, ethnic background, identity, etc. Otherwise, how can we expect students to practise anti-oppressive social work as professionals if we do not do everything in our power to use the same approach to create an anti-oppressive, inclusive environment in the classroom? Having said that, I do not want to imply that universities are doing nothing to support students with disabilities; they are just not doing enough. Most of their efforts seem to focus on student service offices, which are notoriously underfinanced. The fact that teachers and staff do not receive the training they need is meant to be addressed by pedagogical development units. Personally, I have taken most of the courses offered at our university, and while I have found them

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interesting and rewarding, they do not, at least in my experience, address the problems and needs of students with disabilities as identified in the EADHE project. After two years, the project ended, and we received good reviews from our funders. During the life of the project, we produced several documents including country reports of the student survey and interviews with teachers and student counsellors. Results from the EADHE project included an on-line database of best practices as well as recommendations to local, national and international policymakers, higher education institutions, NGOs and others on how to improve the situation for students with disability. Specifically, we documented the need for better teacher education and development to improve teaching, learning and assessment for all students (e.g. Hadodo and Lane 2014). The project’s website is still available as is the online toolbox with suggestions and recommendations for inclusive teaching. The partners keep in touch to the extent that their other duties allow. A couple of us carry out small research projects together, but without funding, these tend to be recreational activities. Most of us continue to teach and, remembering the lessons we learned over the course of the project, try to be inclusive teachers – or at least to do no harm.

References Americans with Disability Act (ADA). (1990). Pub. L. No. 101-336, § 2, 104 Stat. 328 (2000). Annamma, S.  A., Connor, D., & Ferri, B. (2013). Dis/ability critical race studies (DisCrit): Theorizing at the intersections of race and dis/ability. Race Ethnicity and Education, 16(1), 1–31. https://doi.org/10.1080/13613324.2012.730511. Baines, D. (Ed.). (2011). Doing anti-oppressive practice: Social justice social work (2nd ed.). Halifax: Fernwood. Barnes, C. (2007). Disability, higher education and the inclusive society. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 28(1), 135–145. Beckett, A.  E. (2015). Anti-oppressive pedagogy and disability: Possibilities and challenges. Scandinavian Journal of Disability Research, 17(1), 76–94. https://doi.org/10.1080/1501741 9.2013.835278. Brandes, G. M., & Kelly, D. M. (2003). Teaching for social justice: Teachers inquire into their practice. Educational Insights, 8(3), 1–7. Caldwell, J. (2011). Disability identity of leaders in the self-advocacy movement. Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities, 49(5), 315–326. Carniol, B. (2005). Case critical: Social services and social justice (5th ed.). Toronto: Between the Lines. Cochran-Smith, M. (1999). Learning to teach for social justice. In G. A. Griffin (Ed.), The education of teachers: Ninety-eighth yearbook of the National Society for the study of education (Vol. 1, pp. 114–144). Chicago: The National Society for the Study of Education. Cole, A.  L., & Knowles, J.  G. (2000). Researching teaching: Exploring teacher development through reflexive inquiry. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Connor, D. J. (2008). Urban narratives: Portraits-in-progress: Life at the intersections of learning disability, race, and social class. New York: Peter Lang. Crenshaw, K. (1993). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43, 1241–1299.

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Dalrymple, J., & Burke, B. (1995). Anti-oppressive practice: Social work care and law. Buckingham: Open University Press. De Jong, G. (1979). Independent living: From social movement to analytic paradigm. Archives of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, 60, 435–446. Dolmage, J. (2017). Academic ableism: Disability and higher education. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Dominelli, L. (2002). Anti-oppressive social work theory and practice. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Dominelli, L. (2010). Social work in a globalizing world. Malden: Polity Press. Dossa, P. (2006). Disability, marginality and the nation-state - negotiating social markers of difference: Fahimeh’s story. Disability & Society, 21(4), 345–358. Ellsworth, E. (1997). Teaching positions: Difference, pedagogy, and the power of address. New York: Teachers College Press. Hadodo, R. & Lane, L. (2014). One Small Step  – Using good practices to empower students with disability. Record Book of CIUD II International Congress of University and Disability, Madrid, Spain, 27-28 November 2014. Hahn, H. (1985). Disability and rehabilitation policy. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Hooks, B. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. New  York: Routledge. Kumashiro, K. K. (2000). Toward a theory of anti-oppressive education. Review of Educational Research, 70(1), 25–53. https://doi.org/10.3102/00346543070001025. Lane, L. (2017). ‘Am I being heard?’ Hearing the ‘voice of’ disabled students in higher education. PILs Skriftsserie: Göteborgs universitet. Lane, L., & Nagchoudhuri, M. (2015). Teachers’ attitudes toward students with disability in higher education. Quest in Education, 41(4), 12–22. Lavalette, M. (2011). Social work in crisis, during crisis: Whose side are we on? Canadian Social Work Review, 28, 7–24. Lee, B., Sammon, S., & Dumbrill, G. (Eds.). (2014). Glossary of terms for anti-oppressive perspectives on policy and practice (2nd ed.). Toronto: CommonAct Press. Leslie, D.  R., Leslie, K., & Murphy, M. (2003). Inclusion by design: The challenge for social work in workplace accommodation for people with disabilities. In W. Shera (Ed.), Emerging perspectives on anti-oppressive practice (pp. 157–170). Toronto: Canadian Scholars’ Press. Mullaly, R. P. (2007). The new structural social work (3rd ed.). Don Mills: Oxford University Press. Mullaly, R. P. (2010). Challenging oppression and confronting privilege: A critical social work approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Oliver, M. (1996). Understanding disability: From theory to practice. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Race, D., Boxall, K., & Carson, I. (2005). Towards a dialogue for practice: Reconciling social role valorization and the social model of disability. Disability and Society, 20(5), 507–521. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09687590500156196. Rao, S. (2004). Faculty attitudes and students with disabilities in higher education—A literature review. College Student Journal, 38(2), 191–198. Rao, S., & Gartin, C. (2003). Attitudes of university faculty toward accommodations to students with disabilities. Journal for Vocational Special Needs Education, 25(2), 47–54. Schon, D. (1983). The reflective practitioner: How professionals think in action. New  York: Basic Books. Shakespeare, T. (1996). Disability, identity, and difference. In C.  Barnes & G.  Mercer (Eds.), Exploring the divide. Leeds: The Disability Press. Swedish Discrimination Act. (2008). http://www.government.se/informationmaterial/2015/09/ discrimination-act-2008567/. Accessed 24 May, 2019. Tinklin, T., & Hall, J. (1999). Getting around obstacles: Disabled students’ experiences in higher education in Scotland. Studies in Higher Education, 24(2), 183–194.

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Watson, N., Mckie, L., Hughes, B., Hopkins, D., & Gregory, S. (2004). (Inter)Dependence, needs and care: The potential for disability and feminist theorists to develop an emancipatory model. Sociology, 38(2), 331–350. Watts, I. E., & Erevel1les, N. (2004). These deadly times: Reconceptualizing school violence by using critical Race theory and disability studies. American Educational Research Journal, 41(2), 271–299.

Chapter 12

The Relevance of Narratives in Future Social Work? Linda Lane

and Michael Wallengren-Lynch

So what lies in store for social work in the next 25 years? The irradiation of inequality in many spheres of society continues to rest at the centre of the social work mission for social justice. This is a never-ending battle. Yet, each year, a new cadre of social work students, practitioners and educators are motivated to engage in the struggle. Stories of how individuals self-motivate and go about their work are needed to sustain inspiration for the rest of us. Narratives, such as the ones in this book, are meant to create points of contact between the reader’s sense of self, the authors and with the profession’s broader mission. In between these levels, it is possible to experience many emotions and have many thoughts, but the umbilical cord holds steady, the professional identity is present and the purpose is clear. There are many pressing issues facing Sweden and the world. Global warming is a fact and is directly linked to coastal erosion in the south of Sweden; as a result, the area is at higher risk of flooding, and forest fires have wreaked havoc in northern Sweden. Sweden is not alone; other countries are facing equally pressing environmental issues. Forced migration due to natural hazards, such as earthquakes and droughts, forces millions to leave their homes across the world. Migration due to war and conflict, for example, from Syria and the African continent, has had an enormous effect on public opinion and welfare policy in Sweden. The question we ask is how social workers can contribute to finding sustainable solutions. What role can a narrative approach play in this effort? Across the western world, technology is becoming a dominant actor in welfare provision. Big data and digitalization are the new buzzwords, offering the promise of better services and cost-efficiency. The collection of data has always been the practice of social services and government agencies, but with the perceived L. Lane (*) Department of Social Work, University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] M. Wallengren-Lynch Department of Social Work, University of Malmö, Malmoe, Sweden © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4_12

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advancement of artificial intelligence, the anticipation of being able to control and predict risk presents both challenges and opportunities. Although often is presented as a more straightforward solution to existing issues, technology bears with it other forms of complexity. Virginia Eubank’s book Automating Inequality argues that modern technologies are not to be seen as revolutions but rather as evolutions (Eubank 2018). The technologies represent a form of control couched in the language of empowerment and efficiency. Digitalization aims to give power back on the citizen, but this can also lead to adverse outcomes when the system becomes a barrier to speaking with a fellow human being or as a user one is locked out or lack the necessary competence to use the system. Data ownership and biotechnologies related to birth and death will also provide challenges for social work ethics. Narrative approaches offer a way to understand and tease out ideas generated by these new circumstances. By taking the time to highlight the individual story behind the competing ideologies, we are encouraged to engage with narratives to better understand their potential to disrupt and to challenge ideologies. Narrative approaches are useful on several levels, not least the ideological. By engaging in narratives methodologies, we can create counter-narratives, by telling people’s stories as a way to create awareness and show resistance and to highlight the impact power has on societal inequalities. Having a critical voice is crucial to good social work practice and education, as evidenced by the contributors in this book. Narrative forms, either in the written or spoken form, are vehicles for the transporting critical voices into the arena. The true nature of the social worker is one of a fighter. Day in and day out, social workers all over the world advocate for their clients and try to address injustices on personal, family and structural levels. The multiple stories that exist out there as a result of their efforts provide a spring of infinite hope; these stories are the building blocks of narratives that are so vital in the ongoing struggle for social work to make suitable and real change for today’s world. While conditions for social workers are improving in Sweden, there are still too many who become disillusioned, burned out and overworked. The continued representation of social work at political levels is vital for addressing these issues. We began this project with two objectives in mind. Firstly, we wanted to carve out a place for representing narratives from social work practitioners and educators from a Swedish perspective. Secondly, we wanted to use narratives as a methodology to highlight the complexity of practising and teaching social work in a welfare system that has been heavily influenced by NPM and neoliberalist thinking. Sweden is not alone in this change, yet the image that the Swedish welfare system holds internationally is often not cognizant of this fact. The country’s provision of ‘cradle to grave’ social services is often listed at the top of international rankings. However, as several of the narratives in the book point out, the Swedish welfare state has experienced radical change in the last two decades – economic crises, increasing migration, conservative governance and introduction of NPM in public service organizations, all of which have contributed to implementation of austerity policies

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in social services as well as increased demands for measurable indicators for social service outcome. The shift towards individualization and privatization revealed how the welfare state is a site of struggle, with economic, cultural and other forms of power relations. These are formidable changes that have had long-going impact on Swedish social work that traditionally prioritized need rather than budget. Individualization and privatization went hand in hand. As public service provision was downsized, the manner in which the welfare state chose to deliver welfare to citizens was of central importance. Individualization and privatization meant that social risks once the remit of the state reverted to individuals. As we discuss in the Introductory Chapter, it is the poorest and most vulnerable who least able to bear such risk. They have neither sufficient resource to secure them against the uncertainties of the market nor adequate insurance to protect against risks to income. A change in direction of social policy affects service users, at all levels from the local social work agency, local regional to the national level. In Sweden, retrenchment and rolling back of the state set in motion a new contract between the Swedish welfare state and its citizens, in which the latter are now encouraged or forced to take a greater responsibility for their own welfare as well as that of their family members. In an all more globalized world, welfare states are questioning the universalism embedded in previous policy discourse and reappraising how, for whom and how much service the welfare state is willing or able to provide. Sweden, as is the rest of the world, is undergoing fundamental reassessments as the political, social and ideological conditions of the past have eroded and undermined the foundations on which the welfare states that emerged in the post-World War II period were built. By focusing on Sweden, the country, which has put itself forward as the welfare state to emulate our discussions, can serve as an ideal-typical image of what is crystallizing in other developed welfare states. Trends in globalization and the possibilities of multimedia communication to reach every corner of the world at increasing speed mean that what happens in Sweden is news everywhere. Therefore, when Sweden as one of the foremost advocates for social justice and equality, restructures its social policy direction towards models that favour individualization and privatization, the world takes note. The use of the narratives as a methodology helped us frame the contributions for this text. Through the chapters, we have been able to identify key points around the implication of neoliberalism and NPM within welfare states for welfare services and for the social workers who perform it to discuss the multiple dimensions of the process of reforms and the dilemmas for social work practitioners and educators. At issue was how should the relationship between social work, social policy and the welfare state be understood and conceptualized in the wake of the new institutional arrangements. Throughout the book, the narratives have focused on a variety of complex factors that are of relevance for social work practice and education. The narratives have engaged with gender, class and ethnicity in efforts to illustrate how changes in social policy and welfare service provision have affected social work but also how social work practitioners and educators have responded to these changes. Implementation

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of NPM and privatization has increased the possibilities for profit and non-profit companies and third sector organizations to play a part in the overall provision of welfare. While the majority of social workers still work in the municipal social services, most of them in the statutory social welfare sector privatization has created alternative employment opportunities, and some social workers develop their private practices or join the private or voluntary sector. These developments are perhaps a signal that retrenchment has revived interest in alternative ways of providing welfare. The question we need to engage with is: What is the role of social work professionals under these new conditions? In the Introductory Chapter, we argued that while there was a place for wealthier classes to address social problems through philanthropy. Given the complexity of social problems facing the world and their linkages to ongoing structural transformations such as globalization and technological and environmental change, the book’s narratives help us understand why a return to pre-­ twentieth-­century philanthropy is not the answer. On the other hand, the call for renewed interest in community social work and social mobilization at all levels of society offers hope. That is, instead of accepting the neoliberal NPM-inspired contract, that increases risk of social exclusion of the already most vulnerable in society, maybe the aim of the next 25 years should be to mobilize citizens and establish a new contract between them and social work educators and professionals to achieve social justice for all. We reflected on the benefits of asking contributors to use narratives to tell their social work journey, whether in research, teaching or practice. The narratives raise several insights concerning the relations between social work education, social work practice and the welfare state. Adopting this perspective provides insight into how the discretionary powers of social work practitioners become narrowly defined and delimited when the economic arena is put at the forefront. The result is a unique contribution to social work literature in that a succinct combination of professional, theoretical and personal style illuminates some of the challenges of social work in Sweden. Together, the narratives provide insight into the everyday engagement and activity of social work educators and practitioners. They invite us to reassess what social work is and what it should be. The message behind this book is that by listening and hearing stories from people, we continue to honour interactions between social work professional and users. We learn that individuals’ experience holds dignity and can serve as useful exemplars for progressing social work’s mission. The book offers a framework through which nine reflective narrative chapters written by contributors from a variety of backgrounds focus on the diversity of practices adopted by social work educators and practitioners and some of the underlying factors that explain their engagement. The diverse backgrounds of the contributors provide insight into the complexities of social work education and practice but are also illustrative of the greater ethnic diversity in Sweden. A common denominator is a belief in social justice and social rights for all and that social work educators and practitioner can play a role in achieving this goal. A red thread throughout the presentations is a call for social

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work professionals to use their collective power to engage with policy to shape welfare services to meet the needs of service users as well as the working conditions for those providing services.

References Eubank, V. (2018). Automating inequality: How high-tech tools profile, police, and punish the poor. New York: St Martin’s Press.

Index

A Academia cultural décor, 32 experience-oriented approach, 32 interdisciplinary research, 32 Anti-capitalist social movements, 7 Anti-oppressive approach, 24, 121 Anti-oppressive practice (AOP), 14, 124 oppression/injustice, 126 practice/action, 126 structural/systemic analysis, 125 teaching and learning, 124 themes, 124 Artefacts analysis, discourses, 42 bullying, 41–42 data collection and analysis, 39 day-to-day experiences, 39 FC, 41 reflective methods, 39 solution-based method, 40 Automating Inequality, book, 132 B ‘Being responsible’ discourse, 42–44 Big data, 131 Black Power and Civil Rights movements, 51 Bureaucracy, 37 C Capitalism, 110, 111 Central Association for Social Work (CSA), 8, 9

Charitable organisations, 7 Class mobility, 52, 53 Client’s narrative, 23 Collective bargaining, 78 Community mobilisation, 21 Contextualisation, 26 Contradictions dialectics, 108 dynamic economic system, 109 future, 116 investigations, 111 research, 111 teaching, 114–116 Counter-hegemonic narratives, 35 D Data ownership, 132 Decentralisation, 10 Deconstruction, 24, 37 De-humanisation, 34 Dialectical learning process, 108 Dis/ability critical race studies (DisCrit), 125 Disability EADHE project, 122 higher education, 122 inequalities, 120 invisible, 121 social model, 120, 125 statistics, 121 teachers attitude, 123 Disability pension, 74

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 L. Lane, M. Wallengren-Lynch (eds.), Narratives of Social Work Practice and Education in Sweden, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45874-4

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Index

138 Discourses ‘being responsible’ discourse, 42–44 language and power, 42 making process, 42 political reality, 42 Disposable income, 76 E EADHE project, 122–124, 127 Emotional wellbeing signals, 23 Education markets free schools, 62 policy, 63 principle, 63 tax money, 62 tax resources, 62 Engagement, 23 Ethnographic approach, 104 Eurocentric conceptualisation, 100 European Action on Disability in Higher Education (EADHE), 119 F Family Class (FC), 41 Family therapy, 89 Feminism, 52 Fiction, 31 Financial capitalism, 64 Fire Unit, 88, 89 Forcibly displaced people, 33 Foucault, Michel discourses, 42 historical examinations, 109 genealogy and archaeology, 38 G Gender equality, 52 Genealogy and archaeology, 38 Gilets Jaunes movement, 100 Globalisation, 5, 9, 13, 99 and dependence, trade and markets, 5 and immigration, 13 and technology, 117 Global warming, 131 Gothenburg Fire Support Unit, 86, 87 Governance local model, 10 Grassroots movement, 94, 96, 97, 99, 100 H Human rights legislation, 55 Human rights profession, 56

I Immigrants, 33, 69, 74, 78 employment situation, 70 humanitarian reasons, 72 labour market (see Swedish labour market) low/middle income countries, 72, 73 Muslims, 72 research interest, 69 Immigration, 13 Individualization, 133 Insurance system, 84 Interculturalism European level, 97–99 MENA level, 99–102, 104 National level, 94–97 national/local level, 93 Interdisciplinary research environment, 32 International social work deconstruction, 48 internships, 47 miscommunication, 49 political situation, 50 social work education, 55 UNHCR, 50 L Language academic and fiction, 28 crafting experience, 27–28 creative writing classes, 28 formal academic prose, 28 Laws of competition, 112 M Marketisation, 6, 63 Medical services, 87 Migrant deportability, 92 Migration flows, 33 Migration status, 104 Modern colonialism, 55 Multimedia communication, 132, 133 N Narrative approaches, 132 Narrative methods deconstruction, 24 engagement, 23 re-authoring, 24 storying, 23 Narratives, 134 definition, 20 demand, 26

Index literary criticism, 20 reflection and challenge, 25 social work, 21–22 theoretical perspectives, 20, 22 Narrative therapists, 22 Narrators structure, 20 National framework, social policy, 7 Needs and money austerity regimes, 61 education and education markets, 62–63 home care, 61, 62 investments, 60 parental communities, 61 parental web communities, 61 Neoliberal, 5 discourses, 43 governance, 34 hegemony, 35 politics, 35 rationality, 34 Neoliberalism, 57, 64 New public management (NPM), 21, 57 application, 65 dominance, 10 economy, 65 fundamental problem, 65 ideology, 64 implementation, 6, 12 managerial system, 65 market-oriented ideology, 6 neoliberal, 5, 13 policymakers, 2 and privatisation, 11, 134 Social Security Act, 12 social work academics, 2, 11 supervision/managerial skills, 65 welfare service users, 6 O Observational sketching, 103 Organised social work, 7, 8 P Paternalistic ideas, 53 Personal story, 33 Philosophical movement, 38 Political awakening, 108 Postcolonialism, 51, 52 Post-structural analysis, 40 Post-structuralism, 37, 38 Power structures, 56 Practice-and policy-oriented courses, 3

139 Practise empowerment-informed social work, 22 Privatization, 133 Professional identity construction, 47 international context, 56 self-esteem, 53–55 time and place, 47 Professional network, 89 Professional self-esteem, 53 Professionalisation, 51 Psychosocial issues, 90 Public debate, 70 Public discourses, 33 Q Qualitative migration, 104 R Race/racism African-American population, 52 Black Power and Civil Rights movements, 51 ethnic background and colour, 51 immigration, 51 inner-city black communities, 52 Marxist terminology, 51 postcolonialism, 52 time and place, 52 Reactionary ethnonationalism, 33, 34 Re-authoring, 24 Refugee Guide project, 96 Relief system, 112 S School counselling session, 37 School counsellor, 43, 44 School social work, 38, 43 Second-/third-generation immigrants, 33 Self-esteem and identity Bourdieu’s concepts, 54 collective schemes of perception, 54 dialectic process, 54 emotional reaction, 54 national differences, 55 Self-management process, 42 Social capital, 48 Social Democratic welfare state model, 7 Social exclusion, 108, 113, 114 Social legislation, 53 Social networks, 97 Social reality and change, 35

Index

140 Social reforms, 48 Social Security Act, 12 Social Services Act, 10 Social work, 83 approaches, 9, 21 contemporary Sweden, 9–11 cost-cutting and limited resources, 1 decision-making process, 94 education, 8, 85 education and practice, 3, 25 ethnographic methodology, 21 historical nature, 110 IFSW/IASSW, 34 journalism, 22 micro/macro level, 92 NPM, 21 organization and practice, 7–9 practice and education, 2 profession, 1, 21 professional life, 90 story construction and telling, 21 Swedish Welfare State, 4–6 welfare services, 2 Social work education, 25 international social work, 55 organisation, 7 practice, 3 preparation, 8 and social work practice, 2 Social work educators, 9 Social worker job opportunity, 86 parenthood, 86 professional, 85 research, 85 Social work practice academic role, 63, 64 bureaucratised, 34 narrative approaches, 23 possibilities, 22 social policy, 21 Storytelling, 23, 27 Swedish labour market empirical studies, 77 employment problems, 79 employment rates, 72 foreign-born persons, 73 household income, 75 human capital development, 76

lack of integration, 74 admission policy, 79 explanatory factors, 77 legislation, 78 low employment, 78 social assistance, 78 native-born-foreign-born disparity, 76 residential neighbourhoods, 80 social capital, 77 unemployment rates, 73 Swedish Red Cross, 50 Swedish school law, 43 Swedish school system, 49, 53 Swedish social work, 2, 7, 11 Swedish welfare state capitalist classes, 7 challenge, 5 charitable organisations, 7, 8 decentralisation, 5 development, 3 economic independence, 4 government grants and loans, 48 ideology, 3 internal migration, 5 marketisation, 6 national framework, 7 Nordic countries, 2 NPM, 12 philanthropy and socialism, 7 policy decisions, 6 privatisation, 6 robust social security system, 48 SAP, 11 social policy, 4 social workers pressure, 10 taxes and engagement, 5 Swedish welfare system, 84 Systemic Family Psychotherapist, 89 T Taken-for-granted approach, 44 Technological advancements, 110 Therapeutic methods, 90 Trauma, 85, 87, 88 U Universal child allowance, 48