The Routledge Handbook of Postcolonial Social Work 1138604070, 9781138604070

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The Routledge Handbook of Postcolonial Social Work

The Routledge Handbook of Postcolonial Social Work reflects on and dissects the challenging issues confronting social work practice and education globally in the postcolonial era. By analysing how countries in the so-​called developing and developed world have navigated some of the inherited systems from the colonial era, it shows how they have used them to provide relevant social work methods which are also responsive to the needs of a postcolonial setting. This is an analytical and reflexive handbook that brings together different scholars from various parts of the world –​both North and South –​so as to distil ideas from scholars relating to ways that can advance social work of the South and critique social work of the North in so far as it is used as a template for social work approaches in postcolonial settings. It determines whether and how approaches, knowledge-​bases, and methods of social work have been indigenised and localised in the Global South in the postcolonial era. This handbook provides the reader with multiple new theoretical approaches and empirical experiences and creates a space of action for the most marginalised communities worldwide. It will be of interest to researchers and practitioners, as well as those in social work education. Tanja Kleibl is Professor of Social Work, Migration and Diversity at the University of Applied Sciences Würzburg-​Schweinfurt (FHWS). Her research interest is in the area of political sociology, in particular postcolonial civil society, social movements, mobility, and international development. She has worked for various local and international NGOs and government agencies in Africa and beyond. She brings together 15 years of extensive practice and research experience in development cooperation and migration. Ronald Lutz, Sociologist and Anthropologist, is Professor at the Faculty of Applied Social Sciences at the Erfurt University of Applied Sciences since 1993. His fields of interest are in poverty, social politics, social development, and international relations. Ndangwa Noyoo is an Associate Professor and Head of the Department of Social Development at the University of Cape Town. His research interests are in social policy, comparative social policy in Africa, social development, public policy, and Indigenous knowledge systems. He has



published widely in the areas of social policy, social development, and related fields, especially, in the context of Africa and Southern Africa. Benjamin Bunk holds a PhD in educational science (Jena). After extensive field research in Brazil (PUCRS), conducted as Junior Fellow at the Max Weber Centre for Advanced Cultural and Social Studies (Erfurt), he recently shifted to a postdoctoral position in pedagogical youth studies (University of Gießen). Besides social movements and social theory, he is dedicated to the philosophy of education and concepts of global citizenship education. Annika Dittmann holds a Bachelor’s degree in Pedagogy from the University of Bamberg and a Master’s degree in International Social Work from the University of Applied Sciences Erfurt. Currently she is working with female underage refugees. Boitumelo Seepamore is a lecturer in the discipline of social work at the University of KwaZulu-​Natal. She teaches community work and draws her experience from the community work projects she has undertaken in her work with the communities of Soweto in Johannesburg, and KwaZulu-​Natal.

The Routledge Handbook of Postcolonial Social Work

Edited by Tanja Kleibl, Ronald Lutz, Ndangwa Noyoo, Benjamin Bunk, Annika Dittmann and Boitumelo Seepamore

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Tanja Kleibl, Ronald Lutz, Ndangwa Noyoo, Benjamin Bunk, Annika Dittmann and Boitumelo Seepamore; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Tanja Kleibl, Ronald Lutz, Ndangwa Noyoo, Benjamin Bunk, Annika Dittmann and Boitumelo Seepamore to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-​1-​138-​60407-​0  (hbk) ISBN: 978-​0-​429-​46872-​8  (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Newgen Publishing UK

Contents

Contributors  Introduction: setting the scene for critical new social work approaches in the neoliberal postcolonial era  Ndangwa Noyoo and Tanja Kleibl

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PART I

Postcolonial social work: perspectives and approaches  Introduction Tanja Kleibl 

9  9

1 Colonisation as collective trauma: fundamental perspectives for social work  13 Francine Masson and Linda Harms Smith 2 The relevance of Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire for a postcolonial education politics  Peter Mayo

27

3 Colonialism and the colonisation of childhoods in the light of postcolonial theory  Manfred Liebel

40

4 Social work co-​option and colonial borders  Linda Briskman

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5 Development. A postcolonial approach  Ronald Lutz

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6 Towards a decolonial feminist approach to social work education and practice  Roxane Caron and Edward Ou Jin Lee

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Contents

PART II

Postcolonial social work and social movements  Introduction Benjamin Bunk  7 Conceptualising postcolonial social work and social movements: subaltern answers from within exclusion and the theoretical ambivalence between postcolonial critique and social work practice  Benjamin Bunk

89   89

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8 Orientations from social movements: a postcolonial feminist social work perspective on human trafficking  Anne C. Deepak

101

9 Epistemic decoloniality as a pedagogical movement: a turn to anticolonial theorists such as Fanon, Biko and Freire  Linda Harms Smith

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10 Heterogeneity of social movements addressing the intersections of gender and race: a reflection on feminisms and womanisms emerging from African women  Shahana Rasool 11 Collective learning in and from social movements: the Bhopal Disaster survivors  Eurig Scandrett 12 Social movements as pedagogical spaces: ‘só lixo –​just waste’, or: about the transformation of normative orientations under conditions of change between biographical plausibility and social evidence in Brazilian recycling cooperatives  Benjamin Bunk

127

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PART III

Indigenisation  Introduction Ronald Lutz  13 Latin American social work and the struggles against professional imperialism  Gianinna Muñoz Arce vi

161   161 163

Contents

14 We are beauty and we walk in it: Native American women in leadership roles  Hilary Weaver

174

15 Liberation from mental colonisation: a case study of the indigenous people of Palestine  Mazin B. Qumsiyeh and Amani Amro

185

16 Border thinking and social work –​is it possible? A decolonial perspective of a case example  Jacques Zannou and Anna Pfaffenstaller

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17 Whose society, whose work? Seeking decolonised social work in Nepal  207 Raj Kumar Yadav and Mel Gray 18 The relevance and purpose of social work in Aboriginal Australia –​post-​or decolonisation  Dawn Bessarab and Michael Wright

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19 Women’s empowerment: unravelling the cultural incompatibility myth in Zimbabwe  Rose Jaji and Tanja Kleibl

233

20 Pushing for autonomous African development  Ndangwa Noyoo

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PART IV

Case studies and innovation from Africa  Introduction Ndangwa Noyoo 

259   259

21 Decolonising social work practice and social work education in postcolonial Africa  Ndangwa Noyoo

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22 Social work with communities in Uganda: indigenous and innovative approaches  Janestic Mwende Twikirize

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23 Social work in Southern Africa in the postcolonial era: rekindling debate on the quest for relevance  Rodreck Mupedziswa

276

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24 Postcolonial dimensions of social work in the Central African Republic and its impact on the life of hunter-​gatherer children and youth –​a critical perspective  Urszula Markowska-​Manista 25 A collaborative partnership as an effective model of social work –​a case from Alexandra township in South Africa  Boitumelo Seepamore and Nthabiseng Seepamore 26 Decolonisation and indigenisation of social work: an imperative for holistic social work services to vulnerable communities in South Africa  Yasmin Turton 27 Decolonisation of community development in South Africa  Kefilwe Johanna Ditlhake 28 The search for relevance: social work supervision in a social development approach in South Africa  Mpumelelo Ncube and Ndangwa Noyoo Conclusion: problems, challenges and the way forward within social work systems  Tanja Kleibl, Ronald Lutz, Ndangwa Noyoo, Boitumelo Seepamore, Annika Dittmann and Benjamin Bunk Index 

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Contributors

Amani Amro, has a Master’s degree in Science and is public relations officer with Palestine Museum of Natural History, Bethlehem University. Dawn Bessarab is a senior Indigenous researcher and social worker with considerable expertise in Aboriginal community development, Aboriginal health research and Indigenous critical methodologies. She is an advocate for change to improve Aboriginal health outcomes and in educating researchers, medical practitioners, and professionals on how to communicate and work in culturally safe and effective ways with Aboriginal people and their communities to improve health and life outcomes. Linda Briskman is an academic activist. She holds the Margaret Whitlam Chair of Social Work at Western Sydney University in Australia. Previous positions include Professor of Human Rights at Swinburne University of Technology and the Dr Haruhisa Handa Chair of Human Rights Education at Curtin University. She conducts research and publishes widely on the topics of Indigenous rights, asylum seeker rights, and challenging Islamophobia. She is a regular media commentator and presenter within and outside Australia and works collaboratively with a range of organisations towards human rights and social justice ideals. Recent books include the co-​edited Social Work in the Shadow of the Law (with Simon Rice and Andrew Day, Federation Press, 2018), and Social Work with Indigenous Communities: A Human Rights Approach (Federation Press, 2014). Roxane Caron is an Associate Professor at the School of Social Work at the Université de Montréal. She is interested in refugee experiences, especially the realities of women. She is currently the principal investigator of two founded projects aimed at better understanding the migratory journey of Syrian refugees from Syria to Canada through a transnational perspective. Anne C. Deepak is an Associate Professor at Monmouth University School of Social Work where she teaches Global and Community Practice. She holds a Master’s degree and PhD in Social Work from Columbia University. Part of her scholarly work is focused on developing and applying a postcolonial feminist social work perspective to global social issues. Her other scholarly work examines globalisation and international partnerships through research on the experiences and impact of international volunteers. She is appointed as an International Federation of Social Workers representative to the United Nations New York. Kefilwe Johanna Ditlhake is a social worker and lecturer at the University of Johannesburg. She holds Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Social Work from the University of Witwatersrand and RAU University, respectively, and is a PhD candidate at Witwatersrand University’s School

Contributors

of Governance. She has extensive experience in teaching, the medical field, working with children, and community development. She worked at the Charlotte Maxeke Johannesburg hospital, various NGOs, and universities. Her vast expertise includes ICU, neonatal wards, and various clinics in neurology, cystic fibrosis, virology, child abuse, play therapy and forensic assessment, learning and assessment, social policy, and community work and development. Mel Gray, PhD, is Professor Emeritus at the University of Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. She has published widely on social work and social development, including edited works on Indigenous Social Work around the World (Routledge, 2008), Decolonising Social Work (Routledge, 2013), Theories and Methods of Social Work I and II (Sage, 2008, 2013), The Politics of Social Work (Palgrave, 2013), and the Handbook of Social Work and Social Development in Africa (Routledge, 2017). She has an enduring interest in postcolonial social work, particularly in the development of decolonised, locally relevant social work practice. Linda Harms Smith, PhD, lectures at Robert Gordon University, Scotland and is Research Associate of the University of Johannesburg. She was previously at Witwatersrand University, South Africa. She researches and writes on decoloniality, ideology, collective trauma, and oppressive and radical social work histories. Her critical social work commitment developed during the oppressive, apartheid South Africa. She is on the Editorial Boards of Critical and Radical Social Work (African section editor) and International Social Work. Rose Jaji is a senior lecturer in the Department of Sociology, University of Zimbabwe. Her research areas of interest are migration/​refugees, gender, and kinship structure. She has published on migrant/​refugee masculinities and femininities, refugees and social technology, identity and refugee hosting, as well as asylum seekers and border-​crossing. Edward Ou Jin Lee is an Assistant Professor at the School of Social Work at the Université de Montréal. His research interests include highlighting the realities of Queer and Trans Black, Indigenous and Other People of Color (QTBIPOC) communities as well as fostering decolonial and anti-​oppressive social work education and practice. Manfred Liebel is Professor Emeritus of Sociology at the Technical University Berlin, and co-​ founder and patron of MA Childhood Studies and Children’s Rights (MACR) at Free University Berlin and University of Applied Sciences Potsdam. Vice-​chair of the council of the National Coalition Germany for the Implementation of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. Editorial board member of scientific journals in Germany, Spain, Nicaragua, Ecuador, and Peru. Consultant of the Movements of Working Children and Adolescents in Latin America and Africa. His research areas include international and intercultural studies on childhood and youth, children’s rights, child work, social movements, and postcolonial studies. Book publications are in German, Spanish, English, French, and Polish. Urszula Markowska-​Manista is Assistant Professor at the University of Warsaw, Faculty of Education; co-​director of MA Childhood Studies and Children’s Rights at the University of Applied Sciences Potsdam. Her main academic activities include field research in Central Africa, the Horn of Africa, South Caucasus, and Europe on the everyday life and education of children and youth from minority and migrant groups, childhood, children’s rights, and education in fragile contexts.

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Francine Masson completed her BA Social Work and MA in Occupational Social Work from the University of the Witwatersrand. She worked as an employee wellness coordinator for local government for ten years before she joined the academic staff of the University of the Witwatersrand as a lecturer and coordinator of the occupational social work programme. She completed her PhD in 2016 and a Post Graduate Diploma in Teaching and Learning in Higher Education (cum laude) in 2018. She has presented papers at both international and local conferences and has published in the fields of occupational social work and trauma. She currently lectures and supervises both undergraduate and postgraduate social work students. Her areas of research include workplace development, employee health and wellness, trauma, and substance abuse. Peter Mayo is Professor at the University of Malta where he teaches in education (Adult Education and Sociology of Education, Museums Education) and Sociology in general. His many books include Higher Education in a Globalising Context: Community Engagement and Lifelong Learning, Europe and Beyond (Manchester University Press, 2019) Gianinna Muñoz Arce holds a PhD in Social Work. She is an academic in the Department of Social Work, University of Chile, and coordinates the research group ‘Interdisciplinary Studies in Social Work’. Her research interests are critical social work theories and methods, social intervention, and practices of resistance from the frontline. Rodreck Mupedziswa, PhD, is a Professor of Social Work at the University of Botswana where until recently he served as head of Department for six years. He was educated at the London School of Economics (University of London) and the University of Zimbabwe. Previous positions include Director of the Forced Migration Studies Programme at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and Deputy Director at the School of Social Work, University of Zimbabwe. He has authored or co-​authored/​co-​edited nine books, and has published numerous journal articles, book chapters, monographs and occasional papers, mostly on social development issues. He served as editor-​in-​chief of the accredited Journal of Social Development in Africa for ten years. He has served as consultant with various international agencies, in the UN system. His area of particular interest is social development. Mpumelelo Ncube is a PhD candidate and lecturer of social work supervision and community development at the University of Johannesburg. He further supervises postgraduate research. His areas of academic interest include supervision in social work, developmental social welfare and social policy. He has worked in the public, private, and NGO sectors. Anna Pfaffenstaller is a social worker and works as a freelance systemic consultant and therapist with young peoples, families, and organisations. She works as a lecturer for various organisations and educational institutions. Together with her husband she runs a dairy farm. Mazin B.  Qumsiyeh is founder and director of the Palestine Museum of Natural History and Palestine Institute for Biodiversity and Sustainability at Bethlehem University in occupied Palestine. He is author of Sharing the Land of Canaan (Pluto Press, 2004) and Popular Resistance in Palestine (Pluto Press, 2011). Shahana Rasool is a Rhodes Scholar with a Master’s degree and Doctorate from the University of Oxford, Department of Social Policy. She is Associate Professor and Head of the Social Work

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department at the University of Johannesburg. She has been an activist, researcher, trainer, and academic in the field of gender for many years, with a particular focus on gender-​based violence. She also works in the fields of leadership and transformation. Her current research is focused on the relationship between adolescent gender attitudes and exposure to gender-​based violence. Eurig Scandrett is a Senior Lecturer in Public Sociology at Queen Margaret University, Edinburgh. He worked as an environmental scientist before moving into community education, and was Head of Community Action at Friends of the Earth Scotland. He has published on environmental justice in Scotland, India, and Palestine. Nthabiseng Seepamore is a social worker with over 35 years’ experience in various fields of service, particularly child and family welfare. At the time of developing the Alexandra Model she was employed by the Department of Social Development in Gauteng. Her area of specialization is working with both parents and children in foster care. Yasmin Turton completed her PhD in 2018. Her study focused on the use of complementary and Indigenous practices to advance social work with vulnerable communities. She is a lecturer at the University of Johannesburg, and teaches at both the undergraduate and postgraduate level. She has presented papers on complementary and Indigenous practices at a national social work conference and at a Restitution conference which sought to find redress for the generational ills caused by colonialism and apartheid. Janestic Mwende Twikirize, PhD, is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Social Work and Social Administration, Makerere University, Uganda. She holds a PhD in Social Work and Social Development. She served as the Vice President of the Association of Schools of Social Work in Africa (ASSWA) and as a board member of the International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW) from 2012 to 2018. For the last six years she has served as the regional and national coordinator for PROSOWO –​a six-​member institutional academic partnership project to strengthen professional social work in East Africa. Her research areas and published works focus on social work in Africa, and the indigenisation of social work, gender, and children’s rights. Hilary N. Weaver, DSW (Lakota) is a Professor and Associate Dean for Academic Affairs in the School of Social Work, University at Buffalo (State University of New York). She received her BS from Antioch College in social work with a cross-​cultural studies focus and her MSW and DSW from Columbia University. Her teaching, research, and service focus on cultural issues in the helping process with an emphasis on Indigenous populations. She received funding from the National Cancer Institute to develop and test a culturally grounded wellness curriculum for urban Native American youth, the Healthy Living in Two Worlds programme. She is a member of NASW, CSWE, and currently serves as President of the Indigenous and Tribal Social Work Educators’ Association (formerly American Indian Alaska Native Social Work Educators’ Association). She has presented her work regionally, nationally, and internationally including presenting at the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues at the United Nations in 2005–​2008 and 2013–​2018. She has numerous publications including the text, Explorations in Cultural Competence:  Journeys to the Four Directions (Brooks-​Cole, 2005), the edited book, Social Issues in Contemporary Native America:  Reflections from Turtle Island (Ashgate, 2014)  and

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Trauma and Resilience in the Lives of Contemporary Native Americans:  Reclaiming our Wellbeing (Routledge, 2019). Michael Wright, B.SW (University of WA), M.App.Epi (ANU, Canberra), PhD (Curtin University) is a Yuat Nyoongar (Aboriginal) man, whose ancestral lands are located just north of Perth in WA. He is employed at Curtin University as a Research Fellow and is currently the lead investigator on the Looking Forward, Moving Forward Project, funded by the NHMRC until 2021. The project works with Aboriginal Elders as co-​researchers to improve the mental health and well-​being of Aboriginal people living in the Perth area. Raj Kumar Yadav obtained a PhD in 2017 from the University of Newcastle, Australia. He has worked as a lecturer, as well as contributed to social work curriculum development in Australia and Nepal. Jacques Zannou holds a Master’s degree in Intercultural, Media and Adult Education from the Bundeswehr University Munich and predominantly deals with the decolonisation of African thought. His work focuses on decolonial theory and practice. He is also a Global Learning facilitator for the association Commit e.V. in Munich.

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Introduction Setting the scene for critical new social work approaches in the neoliberal postcolonial era Ndangwa Noyoo and Tanja Kleibl

This is a book that advances perspectives from the South concerning social work and indigenous development perspectives. It is written at a time when the world seems to have become more polarised than ever before, since the end of the Second World War, 73 years ago. During this period the world has experienced and witnessed social upheavals and human suffering of epic proportions. Despite this, it can be said that a good number of these global discords seem to have been responded to multilaterally through channels of the United Nations, for instance, which had been at the forefront in responding to global crises. Nevertheless, it seems that since the end of the Cold War and the crumbling and eventual falling of the Iron Curtain in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the world is at a crossroads, with Europe and North America shrinking into a space of narrow nationalism and populism. This state of affairs has also seen the rise of neo-​fascist groups and ultra-​r ight-​wing political formations in Europe, and an increase in radical groups, including religious and other movements in the Global South. For the first time since 1945, Germany has a right-​wing party in its Parliament, the Bundestag.This development comes on the back of, and parallel to, the rise to power and assuming of political power by right-​wing parties in Hungary, Italy, and Austria, or such parties taking major seats in their Parliaments or political spaces. This situation is quite alarming and should be cause for concern to the progressive formations across the globe that are in pursuit of social justice. Perhaps one of the main triggers for this situation is increasing social and economic inequality linked to the ongoing postcolonial question of spatial justice as well as the increased and unprecedented migration of peoples from countries of the South to those of the North. These migration flows constitute populations such as refugees, asylum seekers and economic migrants who are not only vulnerable but are not individuals who are easily welcomed into host countries because of their marginal statuses. In these new countries, the refugees or migrant populations are regarded as ‘problems’ instead of ‘assets’ or ‘social capital’, and therefore they are easily used as scapegoats for various countries’ social, economic, and political problems. In this context, we observe social work programmes in the West struggling between a service-​provision approach, strictly defined within national boundaries and the welfare state, and more radical approaches to political and human rights orientated to transnational and international work that has the potential to question exclusionary practices of the West beyond its boundaries.

Ndangwa Noyoo and Tanja Kleibl

The foregoing scenario has indeed brought into sharp focus the role of social work in supporting global social justice and preserving the human rights of minority groups. As migrants make their way from Africa, Asia, and the Middle East to Europe, or from Latin America to North America, due to civil war, poverty, or other challenges, the scale of human suffering is amplified by horrendous acts of human trafficking, modern-​day slavery and other vices perpetrated by criminal gangs that prey on hapless and vulnerable groups. In the South, from whence these populations come, the push factors or local conditions that gave birth to such movements seem to remain intact, whether they be political –​as epitomised by the repression and oppression of citizens by brutal dictatorships or poverty  –​or due to failing or collapsed economic systems. Other push factors can be environmental degradation resulting from climate change. Given this backdrop, it is important to take into critical consideration the role of social work in mitigating the harsh living conditions of such population groups through locally informed and defined methods of interventions that are underpinned by relevant or indigenous knowledge systems. This social work, which is consonant with the prevailing conditions in the Global South, should be able to offer solutions that are viable, whether it be in dealing with the human catastrophes wrought by the ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya people in Myanmar or Burma, or the dehumanising of Syrian refugees in Europe, or the selling of Sub-​Saharan Africans in the slave markets of Libya –​social work from the South should be able to respond effectively to such global challenges. Hence, this book is about social work from the South and proffers certain perspectives about the profession from this sphere of the globe that has its own unique set of sociopolitical, economic, and cultural challenges. Handbook on Postcolonial Social Work therefore casts light on a historical period that can be segmented into different eras when examining the trajectory of different countries in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East. This period is aptly referred to as the postcolonial era. The countries that the authors discuss in the light of social work practice all have a historical past that was not tainted by European colonisation but, by the same token, they were also at one stage or another colonised by these forces. When it comes to the profession of social work, the common denominator for these societies is the importation of social work practice from Europe by European imperial powers or their proxies.

Social work and decolonisation When examining social work and decolonisation, the exercise is undertaken within a historical and sociocultural milieu and not in a vacuum. Hence, the postcolonial era and the postcolonial state emerge as two constructs for critical examination. When dissecting the postcolonial era, the most important issue to bear in mind is that each country, region, or continent has its own postcolonial experiences. They are not the same and cannot be taken as a monolithic whole. According to Amin-​Khan (2012), the term ‘postcolonial’ is used here to periodise from the colonial era to the decolonisation of the former colonies into supposedly sovereign states. The term is used to represent both continuity with, and distinction from, the colonial state form in the period since decolonisation. Another term that is essential to this discussion is the ‘postcolonial state’. For Amin-​Khan (2012) there is a distinction when it comes to Latin American states in comparison to African and Asian states. He confines the postcolonial state to the states within Africa and Asia that emerged during the post-​1945 era of decolonisation. In making this distinction, Amin-​Khan elaborates: The term ‘post-​colonial’ also helps to distinguish African and Asian states that emerged after the formal demise of colonial rule at the end of the Second World War from the ‘normal’ 2

Introduction: setting the scene

(European) nation-​states. With respect to Latin American states, however, this distinction creates a dilemma: should Latin American states be considered post-​colonial? If the broad description of post-​colonial states mentioned previously –​in the sense of the re-​inscription of subordination and dependency on the US and Western States, Western transnational corporations, and international financial institutions –​then Latin American states share a similar reality. At the same time, these states have a different colonial and contemporary history than states of Africa and Asia (especially in relation to the emergence of nationalism and the presence of the Aboriginal population that still largely lives at the margins. Indeed, Latin American states were decolonised between 50 and 100 years before the African and Asian states. (Amin-​Khan, 2012: 2) Notwithstanding Amin-​ Khan’s characterisations of the postcolonial state, when examining Africa it can be seen that this continent has variegated colonial experiences which also directly link to the profession of social work in both the colonial and postcolonial eras. For authors like Noyoo (2013), the colonial experience varied according to the traditions of the imperial European powers that carved up Africa for their own exploitation and other designs. Thus, African precolonial nation-​states were not only parcelled out to the European powers, but they were reconfigured as European spheres of influence. Effectively, precolonial African nations were dismantled after the infamous Scramble for Africa which came on the back of the Berlin Conference of 1884–​1885. This conference was convened by European nations with the German prince, Otto von Bismarck, playing host. In effect, the Europeans had come to partition Africa for themselves without any African in attendance. Austria-​Hungary, Belgium, Britain, Denmark, Germany, Holland, France, Portugal, Russia, and Sweden were in attendance. At this conference there were two observers –​the United States of America and the Belgian king’s private company, The International Association of the Congo. As can be seen from the ‘diversity’ of the attendees of the Berlin Conference in terms of, among others, heritage, language, political, and administrative orientations, the colonisation of Africa also took this varied form, which coloured Africa’s different welfare systems and the profession of social work. Noyoo (2013) refers to different colonial regimes in Africa and their social welfare agendas. He then categorises these as Belgian, British, French, German and, to a lesser extent, Italian, as well as Portuguese and the South African colonial-​apartheid regime. Colonial regimes in Southern Africa are associated with a peculiarity that is referred to as Settler Colonialism.Veracini (2010: 6) explains that ‘settler colonialism constitutes a circumstance where the colonising effort is exercised from within the bounds of a settler colonising political entity’ while colonialism is ‘driven by the expanding metropole that remains permanently from it’.Thus, settlers, by definition, stay and in specific contradiction, colonial sojourners  –​administrators, missionaries, military personnel, entrepreneurs, and adventurers –​return. It is due to settler colonialism that Southern African countries had, and continue to have, larger European populations than the rest of Africa. These populations placed certain demands on the settler colonial regimes which responded to their unique needs in particular ways that significantly excluded indigenous populations from life chances, as was the case in colonial-​apartheid South Africa. Noyoo (2017: 5) describes this situation accordingly: Thus, unlike other African countries where the colonisers externalised the colonies’ profits to Europe, the settlers in South Africa used such profits to create similar conditions as those in Europe for themselves. Thus, the settlers invested heavily in the white ‘enclaves’ where they resided and neglected the areas where the blacks lived which were referred to 3

Ndangwa Noyoo and Tanja Kleibl

as ‘Homelands’ or ‘Bantustans’. In the apartheid era, there was a clear link between social policy, welfare programmes and employment as well as access to other life chances such as housing, education and health. The system of institutionalised racism and its overt forms of exclusion, regarding blacks, was constructed in such a way that it influenced employment … Accordingly, the colonial-​apartheid welfare regime was characterised by exclusionary patterns of state, market and household forms of social provision, whereby access was defined by the criterion of race. Even so, the development of social work in Africa is closely linked to the creation of social welfare systems in the colonies by different colonial administrations.The welfare systems’ primary objective was to respond to and secure the needs of the European populations or settlers. Hence, indigenous populations in the colonial territories did not have any choice in the matter and had to either fend for themselves or be exploited as cheap labour.The former free precolonial states were simply incorporated into the colonial enterprise for the sole purpose of making the colonisers rich and powerful.The formalised social welfare systems, which were imposed on the colonies, arose out of this context. Since colonialism was premised on compromising the local people’s ways of life, social welfare systems and social work mirrored this intent. It is important to stress that during this time, Britain was a colonial power that had expansive territorial claims to many parts of the world. Many countries that today make up the developing world, especially in the present-​day Commonwealth fraternity, were part of the British Colonial Empire. Due to this, Britain bequeathed its social and political mores to many parts of the world. This situation continues to reinforce the dominance of Western and pre-​eminently British models of social work (Noyoo, 2013).

The Global South, Marxist–​Leninist and neoliberal agendas in the postcolonial era It is important to note Amin-​ Khan’s assertions regarding the postcolonial state, where he mentions two critical issues, continuity and distinction. Arguably, the countries in the Global South seem to have more interconnectedness with the colonial order. One vehicle that seems to entrench this status quo is economic globalisation, which has been underpinned by a strong neoliberal agenda since the end of the Cold War. Konings (2011:  1–​2) rightly observes that neoliberal globalisation has swept unevenly but steadily across the world, including Africa, for a while. Indeed, the neoliberal agenda in Africa has deepened and broadened over the years. In the early years, neoliberalism primarily had an economic agenda that included a negative view of the state and the public sector. ‘More market and less state’ was the prime objective of the macroeconomic stabilisation programmes that started in the late 1970s, and the structural adjustment programmes (SAPs) that were vigorously enhanced and extended in the 1980s. In the 1990s, however, the neoliberal agenda became more openly political (Konings, 2011). Many of the so-​ called Western ‘donor countries’ included support for independent civil society development into their aid programmes delivered to countries in the Global South. These programmes were part of a Western Democratic Governance agenda that supported market extension and the privatisation of state services (Ilal, Kleibl & Munck, 2019). These developments were clearly pronounced in the Global South where the global power dynamics still favoured the West and former colonial powers and multilateral organisations associated with them. What is crucial here is that social work was operating in this environment that placed prime value on market forces at the expense of human well-​being. In this regard, social work responses were not radical enough to challenge the prevailing sociopolitical and economic environment or the exclusionary status quo that was being shaped and entrenched by the 4

Introduction: setting the scene

Washington Consensus as exemplified by the Bretton Woods institutions of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). Indeed, a good number of schools of social work that were initiated through Catholic Church initiatives during colonial times, such as the Instituto de Educação e Serviços Social Pio XII in Angola, were closed down soon after decolonisation. Internal school lecturers’ ideological debates and/​or African governments’ comprehensive politicisation of the ‘social question’ might have been the reason for that. In particular, some Marxist–​Leninist orientated governments preferred handing over the responsibility of social services delivery to their respective mass-​based organisations, such as socialist women’s and youth groups (cf. Amor, 2016:  176–​181). In fact, neither externally funded civil society programmes nor a weakened social work system could prevent the humanitarian crises that resulted as a response to the SAPs and the weakened nation-​states in the Global South. It can be noted that the Bretton Woods institutions were driving an agenda that was almost akin to the recolonisation of developing nations as the sovereignty of countries in this sphere was effectively challenged and undermined. These countries had to toe the line of the Bretton Woods institutions, so to speak. SAPs were effected through the mechanism of economic conditionality and credit was only forthcoming if governments implemented ‘correct’ policies … Although SAPs varied to some extent between countries, all were based on a desire to liberalise economies. Their initial goals were to remove price subsidies within internal markets, abolish quotas and allow exchange rates to flow freely. Beyond these core components, SAPs would also involve policy commitments to privatisation, tariff reduction, the removal of state marketing boards, a reduction in the money supply with a view to curbing inflation, the encouragement of foreign investment, a reduction in the government payroll, and the introduction of user charges for public services. (Konings, 2011: 2) All the above-​mentioned austerity measures led to the haemorrhaging of postcolonial societies, especially in Africa. Jobs were lost, families were torn apart, and education and health levels plummeted. The socio-​economic conditions in the Global South were dire due to the implementation of these austerity measures inspired by the World Bank and the IMF. Curiously, social work professionals trained in the social work schools that (re-​)opened in the late 1990s were expected to ‘pick up the pieces’ and ‘mop up’ the ravaged social fabric initially destroyed by failed neoliberal policies and economies. However, the response from the still predominantly Western-​ focused social work was not effective. It is, therefore, not surprising that most individuals, families and communities in the developing world, especially in Africa, resorted to their indigenous social security systems (ISSS) at the height of the implementation of SAPs. Noyoo and Boon (2018) argue that, despite the predominance of the Eurocentric version of social security, and while African governments seem to prefer this form of social security that is propagated by so-​called donors and international non-​governmental organisations (INGOs), ISSS are playing a crucial role in staving off abject poverty on the continent. These indigenous mechanisms helped to lessen the harsh effects of SAPs. This situation speaks to social work’s foreign orientation in the Global South and is an indictment of its Western heritage.

Social work’s foreign origins The profession of social work is thus placed in the crucible of decolonisation in this book. Scholars such as Gray, Coates, Yellow Bird, and Hetherington (2016a) refer to the 5

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‘decolonisation of social work’ as a point of departure in global social work endeavours. This work follows on from earlier works and notes that they have helped to advance social work discourses from other parts of the globe by not solely concentrating on the Western or European conceptualisations of social work. We concur in this text with Gray et al. and see decolonisation ‘as a continuation of social work’s advocacy on social justice and of the progressive elements within the profession that challenge hegemonic forms of practice’ (Gray et al., 2016a: 1). In the foregoing description, the operative word here is hegemony. In this regard, it can be argued that the ‘hegemonic forms of practice’ globally are still from the West and they seem to reinforce themselves in different parts of the world. Therefore, Western theories, constructs, methodologies, and knowledge systems, among others, are still being applied in the developing world, at times without much adaptation. Why is this anomalous situation almost self-​reinforcing? The explanation proffered by Gray, Coates, and Yellow Bird (2016b: 2) is plausible in this regard: In social work’s international discourse, the supremacy of the English language, the rigid expectation of formal academic training, dominant North American and European expertise, and the privilege of Western academics allowing them to travel and transport their ideas across the world, contributed to the dominance of Western Social work values, theories, concepts, and methods in diverse contexts. When taking the foregoing into critical account, and also when discussing the decolonisation of social work, another theme emerges –​indigenous social work or indigenisation of social work practice. For Gray et al. (2016b: 8) ‘indigenisation’ and ‘indigenous’ social work are separate discourses. They point out that there is literature on ‘indigenisation’ in social work, which is essentially about importing social work from the ‘West to the rest’. This literature spans just over 40  years and is influenced by the United Nations’ involvement in the developing nations. Gray et al. (2016b: 8) further argue that there is separate literature on Indigenous social work that is essentially about the development of culturally relevant social work for, with, and by Indigenous peoples. This slant of social work, according to these authors, is particularly strong in North America and Australia where the term ‘indigenisation’ is seen as a misappropriation of the term ‘indigenous’ and is regarded as deeply offensive and outmoded  –​a euphemism for culturally irrelevant social work. Therefore, in this case, ‘indigenisation’ is being used to refer to reconceptualisation, localization, and contextualisation. In summing up, we can safely assert that social work’s foreign orientation is closely associated with the notion of decolonisation. However, a binary approach to this issue can be self-​defeating, if not outright dangerous, in the sense that there are other pieces to this puzzle that do not neatly fit. For this reason, we take a leaf from the work of Healy (2001: 20) who duly notes that social work services emerged in Europe and the United States and she goes further by pointing to three different patterns. According to Healy, social work evolving in the United States and much of Europe is an indigenous response to the conditions of late nineteenth century life, and social work being introduced into countries in Asia and Africa by European experts to address the problems of ‘underdevelopment’. Healy poignantly observes that there is another pattern to social work’s emergence around the globe and this can be seen in the introduction or reintroduction of modern social work in the countries of the former Soviet Union, including Russia, the nations of Eastern Europe, China, and Vietnam. She surmises that this process involved substantial influence. Indeed, the points raised by Healy (2001) are crucial in allowing those who are interested in the origins of social work or 6

Introduction: setting the scene

its evolution in the postcolonial era to appreciate the diverse metamorphosis of social work practice around the world.

Scope and nature of the book Handbook on Postcolonial Social Work seeks to bring forth the nexus between social work and development by focusing on perspectives from the South. It endeavours to reflect on and dissect some of the challenging issues confronting applied social work practice, education, and development thought in the postcolonial era globally. Also, it attempts to look at how countries in the so-​called developing world have navigated some of the inherited systems of power from the colonial era and how they have used them to provide relevant social work programmes and methods which are responsive to the needs of a postcolonial setting. In the same breath, Northern perspectives of social work and development are examined to enrich the book’s discussions.This approach is followed to provide examples of best practices in different contexts. This text is an analytical and reflexive work that brings together different authors from various parts of the world –​both North and South –​who particularly focus on social work of the South. It attempts to distil ideas from scholars that are active in designing and creating ways that can advance social work and social development of the South and critique social work and development patterns of the North. The book seeks to determine whether (and how) approaches, knowledge-​bases and methods of social work have been indigenised and localised in the Global South in the postcolonial era. It also casts light on global discourses on development, applied social research, and how they interface with social work practice and education. In its discussions, efforts are made to ascertain whether development thought has also been indigenised and authenticated in the Global South, among other issues. In addition, this book seeks to advance and deepen critical perspectives on international social work and social welfare. Hence, it sheds light on how South-​to-​South academic engagements can also enrich South-​to-​North learning and collaborations, and it provides interdisciplinary and intercultural views on complex postcolonial social developments. Furthermore, the book aims to bridge the gap between postcolonial theory and decolonising social work practice by bringing together epistemological positions, innovative critical social work perspectives and applied social science research, and practical experiences from social work practice and education. The objectives of this book are, among others, • to advance postcolonial perspectives on social work and development thought • to proffer insights from different scholars and practitioners of both the Global North and South as they relate to applied social sciences and social work practice in a postcolonial social order • to cast light on innovations that lead to indigenised and relevant approaches and interventions with potential for enhancing social change and transformation • to discuss the search for deconstructed and reformulated theoretical and practice perspectives • to interrogate and question social work approaches from the Global North as the main reference points for internationally recognised social work research and practice and to critically reflect on the dominant academic discourses and practices, and • to provide space for contesting hegemonic discourses and practices that consolidate the unequal, polarised, and divided current state. The book is divided into four parts: Part I looks at postcolonial social work: perspectives and approaches; Part II examines postcolonial social work and social movements; Part III focuses on indigenisation of social work and Part IV encompasses case studies and innovations from Africa. 7

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References Amin-​Khan, T. (2012). The Post-​colonial State in the Era of Capitalist Globalisation:  Historical, Political, and Theoretical Approaches to State Formation. New York: Routledge. Amor, A.M. (2016). Natureza do Serviço Social em Angola. São Paulo: Cortez. Gray, M., Coates, J.,Yellow Bird, M. & Hetherington,T. (2016a). Introduction: Scoping the terrain of decolonisation. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M. Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonising Social Work (pp. 1–​24). Abingdon: Routledge. Gray, M., Coates, J. & Yellow Bird, M. (2016b). Introduction. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous Social Work Around the World: Towards Culturally Relevant Education and Practice (pp. 1–​13). Abingdon: Routledge. Healy, L.M. (2001). International Social Work: Professional Action in an Interdependent World. New York: Oxford University Press. Ilal, A., Kleibl, T. & Munck, R. (2019). Postcolonial perspectives on civil society in Mozambique: Towards an alternative approach for research and action. In P. Kamruzzaman (Ed.), Civil Society in the Global South, (pp. 215–​234). London: Routledge. Konings, P. (2011). The Politics of Neoliberal Reforms in Africa: State and Civil Society in Cameroon. Bamenda: Langaa Research and Publishing. Noyoo, N. (2013). Social Welfare in Zambia: The Search for a Transformative Agenda (3rd ed.). London: Adonis & Abbey. Noyoo, N. (2017). Social policy and welfare regimes typologies: Any relevance to South Africa? Sozialpolitik. ch, 2(2), 1–​16. Noyoo, N. & Boon, E. (2018). Introduction and background. In N. Noyoo & E. Boon (Eds.), Indigenous Social Security Systems in Southern and West Africa, (pp. 1–​12). Stellenbosch: African Sun Media. Veracini, L. (2010). Settler Colonialism: A Theoretical Overview. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

8

Part I

Postcolonial social work Perspectives and approaches Tanja Kleibl

Introduction The language of decolonisation is nowadays used by many indigenous, Afro-​diasporan and other social activists and scholars. It is driven by a profound critique in relation to the process and structural discrimination that emerged out of colonialism and the impact colonialism has until today. Many of the scholars and activists involved in the discourse of, and actions aimed at, decolonisation demand deep changes within postcolonial national, transnational, and international state–​society relationships, the transformation of the global capitalist economy, and a revaluing of cultural and collective rights as well as feminisms within the international debates about sustainable development. Postcolonial and decolonial feminist social work relates to those demands; it is a movement from within the social work profession, aiming at critically looking at social work education, research, and practice with the objective to decolonise the system of social work. It includes, for example, concepts linked to critical whiteness,1 anti-​racism, indigenisation, ‘learning to un-​learn’ Euro-​American logic (imposed over centuries on non-​Western cultures) as well as more recently intersecionality.2 The following section explores various phases and moments of cultural–​political influences that Euro-​American social work has undergone: from its expansion into the Global South following the spread of capitalism during colonialism, to inconsistently playing a dual role of supporting and questioning the ‘helping imperative’, an adhesive professional appendix linked to the profession’s entanglement with the colonial ‘civilisation mission’. Indeed nowadays, most social workers are either engaged in supporting the consolidation of diverse Euro-​ American welfare regimes or assisting the implementation of so-​called poverty reduction programmes3 which are mainly targeting countries and people living in the Global South. Apart from this very broad trend and the natural (re-​)internationalisation of social work alongside continued migration in the global era (and the management of social problems and migration, hence managerial social work that has little to do with social change), there are patterns of reflectivity, interrogations, and resistances to the functionalisation and the managerial role of social work. The need to decolonise social work at all levels is slowly being recognised.

Tanja Kleibl

However, modernity and Euro-​American development discourses still allocate to social work the function of a ‘helping profession’, as Caron and Lee outline in their chapter ‘Towards a decolonial feminist approach to social work education and practice’. Normatively orientated towards holistic human rights standards, the profession practically carries out a ‘repair function’, mainly engaged in individual social problem-​solving that seems to be deeply interwoven with the difficulties of disembedded societies and/​or so-​called failed states, that no longer have sufficient care capacity on their own. Contextualising those standards into the historically and culturally shaped life worlds of marginalised and economically deprived communities (many of those communities that are based in, or have migrated from, the Global South still uphold communal and collective value systems) the Euro-​American social work system runs the danger of imposing individual problem-​solving approaches linked to ‘selected’ human rights, while structural problems at the macro-​level are not addressed. Hence it is not suprising that the common message of articles under this section suggest that postcolonial social work often acts as a ‘civilisation mission’ that is based neither on local demands nor on perceived needs; it might rather be perceived as a continuation of coloniality. Lutz outlines in his chapter ‘Development: A postcolonial approach’ how negotiations and in-​depth communication should be a central essence of Development, enabling the human being to achieve a harmonic compliance between its subjective or collective life and the external pressures and tensions of the natural, social, spatial, and technical environments. Chapters in this book further provide narratives and describe realities from South Africa to the Occupied Palestinian Territories, from Brazil to Cambodia, from Germany to Nepal, outlining the structural imposition and restrictions for social workers that do not seek to actively recognise the contradictory role enlightenment, which paved the way towards the UN Declaration of Human Rights in 1948, has played during the darkest side of colonialism and oppression. G.W.F. Hegel, a well-​known enlightenment thinker, for example, expresses the ‘underdevelopment’ and ‘savagery’ of people of any age in the colonies through his dictum of Africa as a ‘children’s land’. Liebel in his chapter ‘Colonialism and the colonisation of childhoods in the light of postcolonial theory’ reveals educational colonialism through the guise of ‘freeing’ the colonised from tyranny and spiritual darkness: ‘The equating of the colonized with children provided an opportunity to gloss over this fact (paternalistic actions of the colonial enterprise) and was even seen as a moral duty and “the white man’s burden” ’ (Rudyard Kipling). In his chapter ‘The relevance of Antonio Gramsci and Paolo Freire for a postcolonial education politics’ Mayo further analyses the hegemonial role of language and religion and the recurrence of the conquistador mentality, fear of freedom, ‘divide and rule’ and the internalisation of the oppressor’s image. Alongside the normative devaluation of many indigenous people’s life experiences and societies, came physical and psychological violence that resulted in collective trauma. Masson and Harms Smith, in their chapter ‘Colonisation as collective trauma: fundamental perspectives for social work’, describe different types of trauma, that need to be known and understood within the social work system, as they are fundamental to any process of decolonisation. They continue underlining that culturally specific responses to trauma need to be tailored to take into account the respective spiritual and cultural world views of communities. Briskman provides in-​depth views of the Australian offshore detention system in her chapter ‘Social work co-​option and colonial borders’, reminding us that the question of neocolonialism remains largely unexplored. She calls for social work to embrace a global agenda, however, with the fight against colonialism at its core, as this is the root of many problems past and present with which social work has to deal –​racism, indigenous rights, asylum seeker interdiction, and containment. Finally there is hope. Spivac (2002) and other postcolonial writers see potential for social transformation in the Global South if the strategy for transformation is based on a revolutionary 10

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theory that builds on the learning of contemporary political struggles rather than on Western consensual conceptions: The post-​colonial academy must learn to use the Enlightenment from below; strictly speaking, abuse it. If there is one academic lesson to learn from the revolutionary political experiment in South Africa, it is this one.

Notes 1 Critical Whiteness refers to the social construction of ‘whiteness’ as an ideology tied to social status. Pioneers in the field include W.E.B. Du Bois and James Baldwin. 2 Wallaschek (2015) describes a close relationship between postcolonial and intersectional theory. 3 Poverty reducation programmes emerged as a response to the so-​ called ‘structural adjustment programmes’ (SAPs) that consisted of loans provided by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank (WB) to countries in economic crises mainly based in the Global South. As part of SAPs, indebted countries of the Global South were forced to implement certain policies in order to obtain new loans (or to lower the interest rates on existing ones). SAPs and their conditionality, in particular the privatisation of basic central state services (that was part of conditionality included into WB and IMF policies, resulted in an increase in poverty to the point of humanitarian crises (Shah, 2013).

References Shah, A. (2013). Structural Adjustment  –​A  Major Cause of Poverty. IN:  Global Issues  –​Social, Political, Economic and Environmental Issues that Affect Us All. Available from www.globalissues.org/​article/​3/​ structural-​adjustment-​a-​major-​cause-​of-​poverty (12.02.2019) Spivac, G.C. (2002). Thinking Academic Freedom in Gendered Post-​Coloniality. In Vincent, J. (ed.), The Anthropology of Politics:  A Reader in Ethnography, Theory and Critique. Hoboken, NJ:  Wiley-​Blackwell, pp. 458–​459. Wallaschek, S. (2015). In Dialogue: Postcolonial Theory and Intersectionality. Momentum Quarterly, Zeitschrift für Sozialen Fortschritt,Vol. 4, No. 4, pp. 218–​232.

11

1 Colonisation as collective trauma Fundamental perspectives for social work Francine Masson and Linda Harms Smith

Introduction Understanding the collective trauma that colonisation wrought is fundamental to any liberatory or transformative engagement in such contexts. Fanon (1986) impresses on us that ‘the colonial encounter is unprecedented: the epistemic, cultural, psychic and physical violence of colonialism makes for a unique type of historical trauma’ (Hook, 2012: 17).Violent, traumatic and oppressive foundations laid down through colonialism became further entrenched structurally in various historical and current contexts and in imperialist global relationships of coloniality (Escobar, 2004; Mignolo, 2007; Grosfoguel, 2011). Examples of such historical and current contexts include colonisation of nations, genocides and ethnic cleansing, repressive racist apartheid political systems, displacement of peoples through war, and globally, disastrous consequences of extreme capitalist resource inequality (Moses, 2012; Crook et al., 2018; Dominelli, 2018). However, it is not only these structural consequences of colonialism that are of concern, but the ongoing intra-​psychic and social impact in the context of the postcolonial (Fanon, 1986; Mkhize, 2004). Western conceptualisations of trauma and post-​traumatic stress disorder are increasingly recognised as unhelpful, acknowledged to be limited and in keeping with Eurocentric hegemony (Bracken, 2002; Edwards, 2009; Stevens et al., 2013). In order to acknowledge the pervasive and far-​reaching effects of trauma, it is important to challenge Eurocentric, ‘micro’ or individualist narratives of trauma and incorporate structural perspectives which challenge coloniality. Such a broader understanding of trauma may be found in conceptualisations of collective trauma, regarded as a unique form of traumatisation experienced by groups of people or even an entire society (Volkan, 2001; Somasundaram, 2014) and deemed to be transmitted intergenerationally. The traumatic past of previously colonised societies and contexts of ongoing coloniality cannot be understood without exploring such concepts of collective and transgenerational trauma. This chapter begins by exploring the ongoing coloniality and understandings of the traumatic psycho-​social impacts of colonialism. In the postcolonial context the psycho-​political consequences and ideologies are still inextricably intertwined and framed by events of the past. It then goes on to explore conceptualisations of collective trauma and how this differs from traditional understandings of trauma. Trauma develops at the level of collectivity when a social crisis becomes a cultural or societal crisis and the collectivity’s sense of its own identity is compromised or altered (Alexander,

Francine Masson and Linda Harms Smith

2004; Hirschberger, 2018). The intergenerational transmission of collective trauma is then explained, as well as how the subsequent meaning of events can alter from one generation to the next. Social work as an instrument of coloniality is then examined, describing how it was used to domesticate and reinforce the existing status quo, exerting social control and supporting belief systems of domination and discrimination. The chapter concludes by framing what the appropriate social work response should be to decoloniality in a traumatogenic society.

Ongoing coloniality It is argued that colonialism ended when European powers retreated from their geographical colonial territories and handed back political power. However, it is an error to confine the colonial project to specific geographical areas or historical eras or even to deny its ongoing operation in Africa and the world (Bulhan, 2015). Beyond the decimation of populations and expropriation of land and resources, colonialism also entrenched Eurocentrism and Western knowledges through denigration, subjugation, and the forceful destruction of people’s histories, traditional ways, and culture (Patel, 2005; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2013). The internalisation of oppression and inferiorisation (Fanon, 1967; Césaire, 2000[1955]; Mkhize, 2004) resulting from these dynamics continues to have an impact in the postcolonial context and these structures of coloniality remain after the end of the era of colonisation (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2013). It is important, therefore, that the difference between the historical period of colonisation and the later relationships and structures of coloniality, is understood. New global forces of coloniality further exacerbate the impact of colonialism. Global power is exercised through imperialist plundering and neoliberal ideologies ‘through the system of closed frontiers and open markets’ (Terreblanche, 2012:  29). In the case of South Africa, the liberation struggle to end apartheid became an ‘elite transition’ to neoliberal capitalism (Bond, 2006) when the post-​apartheid state adopted neoliberal economic policies dictated by the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. This dramatically impacted on the proposed Redistribution and Development Programme (RDP), shifting priorities and resulting in deepening poverty and the highest levels of inequality in the world (Bond, 2006; Sewpaul, 2006). Neoliberal global capitalism therefore compounds the damage wrought by colonialism and apartheid, resulting in even ‘worsening class division and social segregation’ (Bond, 2006: 17) in a society still racially stratified. In 2015, 64 per cent of Black people and only 1 per cent of white people were found to be living under the absolute poverty line (Stats South Africa, 2017). New forms of coloniality depend on neoliberal and often racist ideologies that blame the poor, and instead of acknowledging the social and economic consequences of years of colonialism and apartheid, represent the poor as morally corrupt and behaviourally undisciplined (Gibson, 2011: 120). It is therefore through ongoing class and race stratification, asymmetrical relationships of power, racist and class stratification, inferiorisation of all that is non-​European, internalised oppression, and intergenerational transmission of collective trauma, that damage continues to be perpetuated.

Psycho-​political impact of colonisation To engage with those affected by the collective trauma of colonisation requires both a psychological and a political analysis. Colonialism should not only be understood as ‘a means of annexing land and territory, but of appropriating culture and history themselves, that is, as a way of usurping the means and resources of identity’ (Hook, 2012: 20). It is this dialectic of 14

Colonisation as collective trauma

the psychological and the structural that produces the particularly destructive configuration of consequences. This is evident in Césaire’s Discourse on Colonialism (cited by Fanon, 1986: 9): ‘I am talking of millions of men who have been skilfully infected with fear, inferiority complexes, trepidation, servility, despair, debasement’. Although many (Europeans) regard colonialism as a benevolent project of ‘bringing civilisation’ to those deemed to be barbaric and uncivilised, Césaire (2000) begins his treatise against colonialism by exposing colonialism as a project of mercantile capitalism, for which Europe was indefensible. He states: To agree on what it is not:  neither evangelisation, nor a philanthropic enterprise, nor a desire to push back the frontiers of ignorance, disease, and tyranny, nor a project undertaken for the greater glory of God, nor an attempt to extend the rule of law. To admit once and for all, without flinching at the consequences, that the decisive actors here are … appetite and force, and behind them, the baleful projected shadow of a form of civilisation which, at a certain point in its history, finds itself obliged, for internal reasons, to extend to a world scale the competition of its antagonistic economies. (Césaire, 2000: 2) At the root of colonialism as a racist exploitative project was a philosophy which claimed that ‘Christianity = civilisation, paganism = savagery, from which there could not but ensue abominable colonialist and racist consequences, whose victims were to be the Indians, the yellow peoples, and the Negroes’ (Césaire, 2000: 2). Together with the violence, brutality, and oppression that it inflicted is the deeply psycho-​political trauma which continues, as coloniality maintains complex entanglements of structural power relationships. This destructive psycho-​political impact of colonisation and Eurocentrism is far more than only political but extends to the coloniality of power, knowledge, and being (Mignolo, 2007). Eurocentrism, integral in the colonial project, is described as a ‘superstructure that seeks to impose European consciousness onto other people’s consciousness’ (Asante 2012:  38). What made colonisation even more damaging was that exploitative violence was combined with ‘racism, cultural domination and European self-​aggrandisement’ (Bulhan, 2015: 243) which led to the erosion of meaning and collective identity (Said, 2000; Attar, 2010). The idea of ‘race’ is said to have been constructed during the colonisation of the Americas to categorise groups according to supposed differences in biological structure, producing new social hierarchies and dominations that served the colonial project. Race, therefore, served as a means of naturalising oppressive colonial classifications for exploitation and inferiorisation (Qijano, 2000). These hierarchical and oppressive classifications become part of the intra-​psychic trauma of the colonial relationship of power. Even in contexts where liberation struggles and revolutions have brought about real change, racism and racist power relationships still prevail through ongoing coloniality as well as through the intergenerational transmission of trauma (Hoosain, 2018). Colonial violence, dehumanisation, alienation, and loss of meaning arising from the systemic violence of the suppression of language, culture, and dignity, become internalised through a process described as the colonisation of the mind (Fanon, 1967; wa Thiong’o, 1986; Hook, 2004). In this way, racism and sociopolitical inequalities of the oppressive colonial environment are ‘at the bottom of such intra-​psychic difficulties and psychological neuroses’ (Hook, 2004: 120). It is therefore imperative that colonialism is understood to produce a complex set of psycho-​social dynamics both at individual, collective, and intergenerational levels. The impact on structural dynamics as well as on the psyche of the individual and the collective should therefore be framed as collective trauma. 15

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Understanding collective trauma Definitions of trauma have through the years been constructed, debated, and reconstructed. What is apparent, however, is that, historically, understandings of trauma are shaped by hegemonic ideologies and discourses that prevail in various societal contexts. In the last few decades, understandings of trauma have moved from adopting a predominantly psychological perspective to incorporating a more cultural and collective understanding. The study of collective trauma gained impetus after the Second World War when societies wanted to understand how events of such a tragic nature could occur and how these traumatic events would impact on the memory of societies (Jara, 2016). Although Western understandings of trauma have predominantly focused on the individual, it is only in the last few years that the concept of collective trauma has been incorporated into modern mental health diagnostic classifications (Somasundaram, 2014). The 11th revision guidelines for PTSD of the World Health Organization’s International Classification of Diseases (ICD) now include cultural considerations which acknowledge the collective impact of trauma. Collective trauma occurs when a calamitous or earth-​shattering event or process destroys the basic fabric of society. Collective trauma often involves horrendous and large-​scale loss of life and constitutes a crisis of meaning for an entire society (Hirshenberger, 2018). The traumatic event is embodied in the collective memory of a group and constitutes a crisis of meaning for a group, which is often transmitted to generations that follow (Hirshenberger, 2018, Karendian et al., 2010). Trauma that is experienced on a collective level has the potential not only to transform the manner in which survivors understand the world but also how groups view their relationships with other groups (Canetti et  al., 2018). Collective trauma surpasses individual reactions to a traumatic event and acknowledges how the collective psyche exists and can be traumatised (Bloom, 1997)  through events such as wars, genocides, famines, and colonialism. Mohatt et  al. (2014) explain how different scholars use different terms to describe collective trauma, including ‘soul wound’ (Duran, 2006) and post traumatic slave syndrome (Leary, 2005). The importance of ‘the social’ and community in relation to the concept of collective trauma was advanced by sociologist Kia Erikson in the 1970s as he emphasised the social dimensions of trauma. Erikson (1976: 153) explained that collective trauma is ‘a blow to the basic tissues of social life that damages the bonds attaching people together and impairs the prevailing sense of communality’. The traumatic wounds experienced on an individual level can be combined and create a group culture which is more than the sum of all the private wounds added together (Riedel, 2014; Hirschberger, 2018). A  common response to trauma is a sense of isolation as victims of trauma often feel distant or estranged from friends and family. However, Erikson (1994) argues that trauma can also create a sense of community as survivors who have endured similar traumatic experiences can unify and draw comfort and identity from others who have undergone a similar experience. Collective trauma can develop a sense of communality, in the same ways as common languages or backgrounds can (Onwuachi-​Willig, 2016). For communities that have a more collectivistic and traditional orientation, the effects can be far more significant and pervasive than individualistic societies. Somasundaram (2014) explains how in collectivist societies, family and community are embedded in the identity and consciousness of the individual. The consequences of a traumatic event will be felt by the extended family and community, who will in turn and in solidarity, respond to the traumatic event as a collective. Collective identity markers are what seem to distinguish collective trauma from other forms of trauma. Researchers have often used terms such as interpersonal, intergroup, intergenerational, transgenerational, historic, chosen, or collective trauma interchangeably. However, Reimann and Konig (2017) advocate that the term collective trauma should be used if the traumatisation 16

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of large groups creates a ‘collective identity marker’ (2017: 5). These authors identify four collective identity markers which influence the sociopolitical context of trauma, namely, a collective narrative and memory of loss and despair –​the traumatic past is constantly referred to and presented through particular discourses, where a selective narrative is presented. In South Africa, the singing of struggle songs at protests and events unifies people and reminds them of the brutality of the apartheid system; collective victimhood –​narratives of collective victimhood are used to explain communities’ responses to the perpetrators of the trauma, including acts of revenge and retaliatory violence such as the murder of informants and normalisation of violence; collective angst –​mistrust of other groups becomes normative and negative outlooks of the future are assimilated; and lastly, exclusive values, norms, and mental models are apparent, in particular schemata of stereotyping, scapegoating, and limited interpretations of situations which all feed into the narrative of how one cannot trust anyone who belongs to another group (Reimann & Konig, 2017: 5–​6). Collective memory of trauma is notably different from individual memory of trauma. Collective trauma can extend beyond the survivors to generations that follow, to the extent that the trauma can become part of the national psyche and national narrative, which shapes and influences how any current affairs are perceived and understood (Canetti et al., 2018). Hirschberger (2018) delineates the difference between the individual memory of trauma and the collective memory of trauma and she explains that collective memory can be remembered by group members who never witnessed the actual events and may remember events differently from the actual survivors of the event. Consequently, from generation to generation, the construction of the traumatic events and their meanings can change. The reconstruction of the past is a complex process, requiring one to recall the events of the past, while not compromising the present or minimising the trauma that had been experienced (Long, 2013). The hegemony of Western discourse has impacted how trauma is conceived and researched (Ratele et  al., 2018). Herman (1997) postulates that the study of trauma depended on the support of political movements. Although history records responses to trauma as far back as the ancient Greeks, political and theoretical influences have played a significant role in the history of understanding trauma and the impact on society (Wilson, 1989; Bracken, 2002). Discourse and knowledge about trauma have been determined by hegemonic ideological positions and so trauma has predominantly been focused around narrow Western psychiatric classifications of post-​traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Psychobiological, cross-​cultural, and historical studies have shown how current classifications of PTSD are dependent upon prevailing cultural conceptualisations of psychopathology (Herbert & Forman, 2006; Kaminer & Eagle, 2010). Traditionally, understandings of psychological trauma have included five aspects: experiencing a life-​threatening event; having difficulty coping with the event; presentation of various symptoms, namely re-​experiencing the event; physical and psychological arousal; and behavioural withdrawal (Karenian et  al., 2010). In the past, there has been a tendency to discredit the victim rather than acknowledge the fragility of humanity and the evil nature of humans (Herman, 1997, ­chapter 1, pp. 7–​32; Matsakis,  1998). However, various anticolonial theorists such as Frantz Fanon (Bulhan, 1985; Bhabha, 1986; Said, 2000; Hook, 2012; Zeilig, 2016) have challenged such discourses and developed theories around psycho-​political trauma which take into account the trauma of the colonial, social, and political context (Fanon, 1986). These link the collective trauma of colonialism to dehumanisation, abjection and loss of culture, history, and identity. As concepts of secondary and vicarious trauma developed, there were parallel changes in the criteria for PTSD in the different versions of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) (Masson, 2016). Consequently, a traumatised individual does not necessarily have to have experienced a traumatic 17

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event personally but may have witnessed or heard about a traumatic event. What these changes do suggest is that trauma transmission is far more complex than initially conceptualised and that aspects such as intergenerational and collective trauma transmission have not been given sufficient acknowledgement. Sociocultural trauma is seen as the connection of collective (national) identity, with collective trauma and collective memory (Smelser, 2004). Plotkin-​Amrami and Brunner (2015) explain how collective identity can also be understood to incorporate a collective vulnerability as various beliefs and understandings can be assimilated. Smelser (2004: 44) advances the concept of cultural trauma and explains how a particular group acknowledges an event or situation weighed down with unforgettable negative experiences where a society’s existence was threatened or violated. Events, whether real or imagined, can create narratives of cultural trauma when they are disorientating, and can create a ‘permanent stain on life for the traumatised group’ (Eyerman, 2015: 6). The lens of psychological and sociocultural theory has provided understanding about the impact of collective trauma on the national identity and collective consciousness of societies. Lerner (2018) argues how research into collective trauma has failed to adequately consider the economic and material circumstances that can reproduce and reinforce collective trauma. Somasundaram (2014) studied collective trauma in Cambodia after the genocide, and records how a whole generation missed out on schooling as the Khmer Rouge regime had deliberately destroyed social and educational structures in order to rebuild the society they wanted. Children were encouraged to report parents to authorities, damaging basic family structure, as trust and security within families was threatened. The investigation of the collective trauma of material dispossession, expropriation of land, and loss of power is critical for the Global South where colonisation has, for centuries, dominated the way that power and resources have been distributed. The dispossession of land under colonial rule not only impacted economic resources and heritage but contributed considerably to the weakening of the existing family structures and support systems of black South Africans (Patel, 2005; Ratele & Shefer, 2013). Furthermore, the migrant labour system introduced under colonial rule shattered families, breaking cultural and social structures as men left their families in rural areas to work in distant urban areas. It is only in recent years that the question of land repossession has received sufficient focus and credence. The importance of memory, history, and territory is similarly referred to by Said (2000), writing about the dispossession of the people of Palestine of their land and the systematic eradication of their presence and history, stating that ‘A similar battle has been fought by all colonised peoples whose past and present were dominated by outside powers who had first conquered the land and rewrote history so as to appear in that history as the true owners of the land’ (2000: 184). A cyclical lens of understanding collective trauma is helpful. The Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities suffered in numerous ways through colonisation. Children were forcibly removed from their families and communities and placed in religious mission schools. This system of child removal had numerous social and psychological effects, as traumatised parents often turned to alcohol and drugs in order to cope, creating substance abuse problems in these communities (Reimann & Konig, 2017). The traumatic wounding has been passed from generation to generation, as Hamber and Wilson (2002) explain communities do not have collective psyches that can simply be healed. In South Africa some of the atrocities that were committed during apartheid are only now being investigated. Victims of apartheid have for decades been requesting that the truth about atrocities is exposed, so that the perpetrators of crimes can be brought to justice. 18

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Intergenerational transmission of trauma Intergenerational trauma provides an understanding for how collective trauma, as a unique form of traumatisation experienced by groups of people or even an entire society, may be transmitted intergenerationally (Volkan, 2001; Somasundaram, 2014). Research with survivors of the Holocaust, the Second World War, natural disasters, and the colonisation of indigenous peoples has helped to shape the understanding of how collective trauma is transmitted from one generation to the next (Mohatt et al., 2014; Bezo & Maggi, 2015). Traumatologists have increasingly realised that trauma transmission should not be limited to an individual experience and the convoluted nature of transmission requires much deeper investigation. Many terms have been used to try to explain intergenerational transmission such as trauma transmission, and indirect, unconscious, secondary, or empathic traumatisation (Karenian et  al., 2010). Reimann and Konig (2017) explain that, while not all collective trauma may lead to transgenerational trauma, transgenerational trauma should be conceptualised as a particular form of collective trauma. The ‘collective unconscious’ is described by Carl Jung as an inherited transpersonal concept. He explained that the collective unconscious is transmitted from generation to generation and shapes who an individual is, as beliefs and values, although never clearly articulated or verbalised, can be assimilated (Schutzenberger, 1998).As traumatic emotions can be passed onto the following generation, the subsequent generation often assimilates the traumatic emotion, although there is not always a cognitive framework to help children understand what they are feeling so that they can place the traumatic emotion in its proper context (Bloom, 1997). Young (2007) refers to this as lamarckian memory where collective knowledge is transmitted through genetic inheritance. Unconscious trauma that is repressed in one generation often becomes conscious trauma in the generations that follow and is often only understood retrospectively. Suppression of trauma also occurs in certain contexts. Trauma can be transmitted transgenerationally in a conscious way, but it can also be suppressed to the unconscious through lack of verbalisation and secrecy (Mkhize, 2004). Throughout history, nations or cultural groups have experienced unbearable trauma and pain which have not been given sufficient collective acknowledgement or credence. Despite large-​scale shared suffering and injustice, individuals have often mourned privately and in isolation. As Alexander et  al. (2004) explain, although widespread suffering and injustice may occur, this is not always apparent or acknowledged at the level of collectivity at the time it occurs. A clear example of this phenomenon was the trauma of the Holocaust, which was only truly acknowledged almost two decades after it had occurred. While knowledge of the death camps was circulated in 1942, commemorative activities were only conducted after 1960 (Young, 2007). The biological transmission of trauma has been receiving more attention in recent years. Although psychodynamic social learning and biological perspectives have predominantly identified the family as the vehicle for intergenerational trauma (Bezo & Maggi, 2015), there is considerable contestation about the transgenerational transmission of trauma. Recent research in the area of epigenetics has helped to scientifically show the intergenerational effects of trauma. There is an accumulated amount of evidence that shows how trauma exposure can be transmitted intergenerationally through the epigenetic mechanism of DNA methylation in humans (Youssef Lockwood, Su, Hao & Rutten, 2018). Epigenetics incorporates both social and biological experiences and explains how an individual’s cellular memory is changed and can shape neurodevelopment and health for future generations (Bezo & Maggi, 2015). Future scientific research in transgenerational trauma may help to identify the biomarkers of trauma and consequently contribute to prevention and intervention programmes. 19

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One cannot understand the traumatic past of postcolonial societies without understanding the concept of transgenerational trauma, and acknowledging how transgenerational trauma still affects them today. In South Africa, for example, the atrocities and trauma of apartheid have invariably passed on from one generation to the next. In the establishment of democracy, post-​ traumatic factors can have a significant impact on the social dynamics of a society (Kaminer, Eagle & Crawford-​Brown, 2018). After centuries of daily occurrences of racial repression, human rights abuses, conflict, and violence, it is not surprising that collective trauma is entrenched in the fabric of South African society.

Social work as an instrument of coloniality Social work itself, with other disciplines of social sciences and psychology, is seen as not only colonial in origin but also as an instrument of coloniality (Askeland and Payne, 2006; Harms Smith, 2014). Social workers must therefore develop a deeper understanding of the mechanisms of collective and transgenerational trauma linked to colonisation and ongoing coloniality. Failing this, social work merely entrenches coloniality and serves the purpose of social control, domestication, and status quo maintenance. In spite of sophisticated local helping practices in such colonial contexts (Midgely, 1998; Patel, 2005), social work claims its formal discourse and history in Europe and America and is deemed to be a Western discipline. Bhabha (1967), in his introduction to Fanon’s Black Skin,White Masks, argues that colonial racism established by Western civilisation is perpetuated by its discourse and knowledge, and that social and human science disciplines work to ensure that structural dominance is maintained. He states: All these disciplines and discourses are the products of a culture which sees itself hierarchically at the top of the ladder of civilization; they postulate all that the world contains and all that the world has produced and produces, is by and for the white [generic for European civilisation and its representatives] man. (Bhabha, 1967[1986]: xvi) Although there is a rich history of commitment to social justice, radical transformation, and social action (Bailey and Brake, 1975; Ferguson and Woodward, 2009), social work generally colludes with, and performs, the dominant state policies and ideologies of any given time (Harms Smith, 2014; Reisch and Andrews, 2014; Abramovitz, 2018; Ferguson et  al., 2018). The discourse, knowledge, and practice of social work as an oppressive and domesticating instrument, has ensured status quo maintenance and social control for all means of oppressive regimes and practices. There are numerous examples worthy of interrogation such as histories of social work within the eugenics movement (Jones, 1998; Kennedy, 2008); social workers’ complicity with the Nazi Germany project of the creation of the perfect ‘Aryan’ race; and the role of social workers in Britain’s forced migration of children (Ferguson et al., 2018). However, there is a particular problematic in social work with regards to colonialism and coloniality. Social work as a discipline has been seen to be an extension of colonialism in many contexts. These are to be found, for example, in relation to the harm caused to First Nations People families (Sinclair, 2004; Baskin, 2016), remaining silent in the face of genocides (Baskin, 2016), and participating in apartheid policy implementation (Sewpaul, 2014).With regards to the colonial project specifically, Midgely (1998) argues that, previously, gains in social development in colonised countries led to distorted development and that colonial social welfare was inequitable, inappropriate, excessively bureaucratised, and marginalised. 20

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Through the exclusion of the sociopolitical, social work has been complicit in ignoring struggles faced by individuals, families, and groups and has easily adopted a clinical, therapeutic, and individualist approach. Such an approach pathologises the individual and merely exacerbates the power of the structural by not interrogating its impact (Dominelli, 2018). Eurocentricism and denigration of local knowledge and practice has been perpetuated through prioritising Westernised knowledge systems in social work education (Briskman, 2009; Harms Smith & Nathane, 2018; Mathebane & Sekudu, 2018; Mogorosi & Thabede, 2018). These knowledges and discourses are frequently underpinned by conservative ideologies, contributing to the ongoing status quo maintenance of coloniality. A critical reflection of how social work has carried out coloniality through remaining silent about destructive power relationships within its own field of practice and in society generally –​ through maintaining the status quo of structural dominance –​and allowing the collective trauma of colonised peoples to persist, reveals a number of areas that require interrogation and response. Appropriate social work responses are discussed in the following section.

Conclusion: social work response to the collective trauma of colonisation Reflexivity, critical consciousness and emancipatory practice A more politically engaged, emancipatory social work practice is required to facilitate liberation and restoration from oppressive relationships of coloniality and collective trauma. This means engaging with people in a way that emphasises dignity, humanisation, and respect for persons. Through processes of conscientisation (Freire, 1970), approaches such as anti-​ oppressive social work (Dominelli, 2002), structural social work, and more radical social work (Ferguson, 2008) may facilitate the rejection of oppressive structures and relationships and thus facilitate healing of both individual and collective trauma. However, without specific action to invert structural power dynamics, practice falls short of emancipatory and transformative encounters and opportunities. ‘What is necessary for fullness in human society is the constant value of resisting domination while asserting common humanity’ (Asante, 2007: 158). Awareness without legitimate action is a cognitive ploy that risks passing for anti-​oppressive and anti-​racist pedagogy and practice in social work. It contributes to silence and inactivity about tangible issues of racism and oppression in the field of social work and in society. Engaging in social action and promoting an equitable society is therefore imperative for any social worker. Critical conscientisation should result in action. As Asante (2007) argues, we should move beyond the individual, the political, and the social ideology of aggressive individualism which is characterised by the promotion of self-​reliance and personal independence. Instead, we should encourage a collective liberty and help to acknowledge the trauma that societies have felt on the collective level. Interventions on a macro level should be prioritised and promoted, and should be guided by empirical research.

Response to collective trauma Collective trauma needs to be understood as a national mental health concern (Riedel, 2014), particularly in a postcolonial context. Social workers have a fundamental role to fulfil in addressing psycho-​political collective pain and trauma. Rime, Paez, Basabe and Martinez (2010) emphasise the importance of the emotional and cognitive effects of sharing emotions and experiences. Advantages of sharing extend far beyond individual cathartic effects and include the enhancement of interpersonal relationships, collective feelings of solidarity and hope, and 21

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social integration. Interventions addressing collective trauma should not negate the importance of community resilience and coping mechanisms (Reimann & Konig, 2017). Moreover, interventions should take into account culturally specific responses to trauma and be tailored to the respective spiritual and cultural world views of communities. These may, for example, include culturally specific approaches, such as cleansing rituals and healing processes, which create meaning for those affected by such collective traumatisation (Honwana, 1999). As Stevens, Eagle, Kaminer and Higson-​Smith (2013) stress, it is essential that psychosocial approaches are developed that attend to the impact of, and responses to, ongoing and continuous psycho-​ political threat and danger. It is also important to seek and facilitate the existing strengths and resilience present in collective cultural responses in these contexts. Communities, in spite of centuries of intergenerational trauma, also find extraordinary resources of inner strength in their dealing with their collective struggles and pain.

Decoloniality in social work In order to work in the postcolonial context where the experience of collective trauma is ubiquitous, it must be acknowledged that ongoing coloniality reinscribes the psycho-​social consequences of struggle for meaning, loss of identity and history, and internalised inferiority. It is critical, therefore, that social work embraces an attitude of decoloniality which addresses areas of being, power, and knowledge (Mignolo, 2007). These areas speak to the importance of meaning, identity, humanisation, and dignity (being); critical conscientisation and empowerment (power); and language, culture, and history (knowledge). By intervening across these areas, essential principles emerge.These include rejecting Eurocentric approaches that are not useful in local contexts, celebrating and centring local cultural values and practices, adopting a specifically anti-​racist approach, constantly reflecting on and challenging asymmetrical power relationships, and reclaiming individual and collective narratives and histories. Embracing an attitude of decoloniality is therefore also a direct engagement with, and intervention for, dealing with collective psycho-​political trauma.

Decolonising social work research At the moment, there is insufficient South African research about the collective trauma of colonialism, particularly from a social work perspective. Research in this area has predominantly been the domain of psychologists and sociologists, yet social workers with their structural and exosystemic understanding are ideally positioned to contribute to the discourses of collective trauma. This is an area of trauma that urgently needs to be further researched, the paucity of which continues to contribute to the selective trauma discourse in postcolonial contexts. In the quest for achieving decoloniality in social work research, we need to embrace the importance of reclaiming histories, producing counter histories, and accessing hidden or forgotten experiences and memories (Hoosain, 2013).

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Cultural Production of the Luso-​Hispanic World, 1(1). Retrieved from https://​escholarship.org/​uc/​item/​ 21k6t3fq. Hamber, B. & Wilson, R.A. (2002). Symbolic closure through memory, reparation and revenge in post-​ conflict societies. Research Papers. http://​digitalcoomons.uconn.edu/​hri_​papers/​5. Harms Smith, L. (2014). Historiography of South African social work: Challenging dominant discourses. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 50(3), 305–​331. Harms Smith, L. & Nathane, M. (2018). #NotDomestication #NotIndigenisation: decoloniality in social work education. Southern African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1), 1–​18. Herbert, J.D. & Forman, E.M. (2006). Posttraumatic stress disorder. In J.E. Fisher & W. O’Donohue (Eds.), Practice guidelines for evidence based psychotherapy. New York: Springer. Herman, J.L. (1997).  Trauma and recovery:  The aftermath of violence  –​from domestic abuse to political terror. New York: Basic Books. Hirschberger, G. (2018). Collective trauma and the social construction of meaning. Frontiers in Psychology, 9, 1441. DOI: 10.3389/​fpsyg.2018.01441. Honwana, A. (1999). The collective body:  Challenging Western concepts of trauma and healing. The Collective Body, 8(1), 1–​8. Hook, D. (2004). Frantz Fanon, Steve Biko,‘psychopolitics’, and critical psychology. In D. Hook,A. Collins, E. Burman, I. Parker, P. Kiguwa & N. Mkhize (Eds.), Critical psychology (pp. 84–​114). Lansdowne: UCT Press. Hook, D. (2012). A critical psychology of the postcolonial: The mind of apartheid. London: Routledge. Hoosain, S. (2013).The transmission of intergenerational trauma in displaced families. PhD thesis. University of the Western Cape, Cape Town. Hoosain, S. (2018). Decolonising social work research with families experiencing intergenerational trauma. South African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1), 1–​18. Jara, D. (2016). Children and the afterlife of state violence: Memories of dictatorship. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Jones, C. (1998). Social work and society. In R. Adams, L. Dominelli, M. Payne & J. Campling (Eds.), Social work. London: Palgrave. Kaminer, D. & Eagle, G. (2010). Traumatic stress in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Kaminer, D., Eagle, G. & Crawford-​Brown, S. (2018). Continuous traumatic stress as a mental and physical health challenge: Case studies from South Africa. Journal of Health Psychology, 23(8), 1038–​1049. Karenian, H., Livaditis, M., Karenian, S., Zafiriadis, K., Botchtsou, V. & Xenitidis, K. (2010). Collective trauma transmission and traumatic reactions among descendants of Armenian refugees, International Journal of Social Psychiatry, 57(4), 237–​333. Kennedy, A. (2008). Eugenics,‘degenerate girls’, and social workers during the progressive era. Affilia, 23(22), 22–​37. DOI: 10.1177/​0886109907310473. Leary, J.D. (2005). Post traumatic slave syndrome:  America’s legacy of enduring injury and healing. Milwaukee, OR: Uptone Press. Lerner, A.B. (2018). Theorizing collective trauma in international political economy. International Studies Review. DOI: 10.1093/​isr/​viy044. Long, C. (2013). Transitioning racialised spaces. In G. Stevens, N. Duncan & D. Hook (Eds.), Race, memory and the apartheid archive: Towards a psychosocial praxis (pp. 61–​82). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Masson, F.J. (2016). Secondary trauma and coping: A case study of the social workers employed at the South African Police Service. PhD thesis. University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Mathebane, M. & Sekudu, J. (2018). Decolonising the curriculum that underpins social work education in South Africa. Southern African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1),1–​18. Matsakis, A. (1998). Trust after trauma: A guide to relationships for survivors and those who love them. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger Publications. Midgley, J. (1998). Colonialism and welfare:  A post-​colonial commentary. Journal of Progressive Human Services, 9(2), 31–​50. Mignolo, W.D. (2007). Introduction. Cultural Studies, 21(2–​3), 155–​167. https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​ 09502380601162498. Mkhize, N. (2004). Sociocultural approaches to psychology: Dialogism and African conceptions of the self. In D. Hook, N. Mkhize, P. Kiguwa & A. Collins (Eds.), Critical psychology. Cape Town: UCT Press. Mogorosi, L.D. & Thabede, D. (2018). Social work and indigenisation: A South African perspective. Southern African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1), 17. Mohatt, N.V., Thompson, A.B., Thai, N.D. & Kramemer Tebes, J. (2014). Historical narratives as public narrative: A conceptual review of how history impacts present-​day health. Social Sciences and Medicines, 106, 128–​136. 24

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Moses, A. (2012). Genocide and settler society: Frontier violence and stolen indigenous children in Australian history. New York; Oxford: Berghahn Books. Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, S. (2013). Why decolonisation in the 21st century? The Thinker: For Thought Leaders, 48, 10–​15. www.thethinker.co.za/​resources/​48%20Thinker%20full%20mag.pdf. Onwuachi-​Willig, A. (2016). The trauma of the routine: Lessons on cultural trauma from the Emmett Till verdict. Sociological Theory, 34(4), 335–​357. Patel, L. (2005). Social welfare and social development in South Africa. London: Oxford University Press. Plotkin-​Amrami, G. & Brunner, J. (2015). Making up ‘national trauma’ in Israel: From collective identity to collective vulnerability. Social Studies of Science, 45(4), 525–​545. Qijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of power, Eurocentrism and Latin America. Nepantla: Views from South, 1(3), 533–​580. www.decolonialtranslation.com/​english/​quijano-​coloniality-​of-​power.pdf. Ratele, K. & Shefer, T. (2013). Desire, fear and entitlement:  Sexualising race and racialising sexuality in (re)membering apartheid. In G. Stevens, N. Duncan & D. Hook (Eds.), Race, memory and the apartheid archive: Towards a psychosocial praxis (pp. 25–​44). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Ratele, K., Cornell, J., Dlamini, S., Helman, R., Malherbe, N. & Titi, N. (2018). Some basic questions about (a) decolonizing Africa(n)-​centred psychology considered. South African Journal of Psychology, 48(3), 331–​ 342. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​0081246318790444. Reimann, C. & Konig, U. (2017). Collective trauma and resilience:  Key concepts in transforming war-​ related identities. In B. Austin & M. Fischer (Eds.), Berghof Handbook Dialogue Series. Berlin: Berghof Foundation. Reisch, M. & Andrews, J. (2014). The road not taken: A history of radical social work in the United States. London; New York: Routledge. Riedel, E. (2014). A depth psychological approach to collective trauma in Eastern Congo. Psychological Perspectives, 57(3), 249–​277. Rime, B., Paez, D., Basabe., N. & Martinez, P. (2010). Social sharing of emotion, post-​traumatic growth, and emotional climate: Follow-​up of Spanish citizen’s response to the collective trauma of March 11th terrorist attacks in Madrid. European Journal of Social Psychology, 40, 1029–​1045. Said, E.W. (2000). Invention, memory, and place. Critical Inquiry, 26(2), 175–​192. www.jstor.org/​stable/​ 1344120. Schutzenberger, A.A. (1998). The ancestor syndrome: Transgenerational psychotherapy and the hidden links in the family tree. East Sussex: Routledge. Sewpaul, V. (2006). The global-​local dialectic: Challenges for African scholarship and social work in a post-​colonial world. The British Journal of Social Work, 36(3), 419–​434. https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​bjsw/​ bcl003. Sewpaul,V. (2014). Social work and human rights: An African perspective. In S. Hessle (Ed.), Human rights and social equality: Challenges for social work. London: Routledge. Sinclair, R. (2004). Aboriginal social work education in Canada: Decolonizing pedagogy for the seventh generation. First Peoples Child & Family Review, 1(1), 49–​61. Smelser, N.J. (2004). Psychological trauma. In J.C. Alexander, R. Eyerman, R. Giesen, N.J. Smelser & P. Sztompka (Eds.), Cultural trauma and collective identity (pp. 31–​59). Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press. Somasundaram, D. (2014). Addressing collective trauma: conceptualisations and interventions. Intervention, 12(1),  43–​60. Statistics South Africa. (2017). Poverty trends in South Africa: Report on absolute poverty in South Africa from 2006–​2015. Pretoria. www.statssa.gov.za/​publications/​Report-​03-​10-​06/​Report-​03-​10-​062015. pdf. Stevens, G., Duncan, N. & Sonn, C. (2013). Memory, narrative and voice as liberatory praxis inn the apartheid archive. In G. Stevens, N. Duncan & D. Hook (Eds.), Race, memory and the apartheid archive: Towards a psychosocial praxis (pp. 25–​44). Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Terreblanche, S. (2012). Lost in transformation: South Africa’s search for a new future since 1986. Sandton: KMM Review Publishing. Volkan,V.D. (2001). Transgenerational transmissions and chosen traumas: An aspect of large-​group identity. Group Analysis, 34(1), 79–​97. wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonising the mind: The politics of language in African literature. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Wilson, J.P. (1989). Trauma, transformation and healing: An integrative approach to theory, research, and post-​traumatic therapy. New York: Brunner/​Mazel. 25

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Young, A. (2007). Bruno and the holy fool: Myth, mimesis, and the transmission of traumatic memories. In L.J. Kirmayer, R. Lemelson & M. Barad (Eds.), Understanding trauma: Integrating biological, clinical and cultural perspectives (pp. 339–​362). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Youssef, N.A., Lockwood, L., Su, S., Hao, G. & Rutten, B.P.F. (2018).The effects of trauma, with or without PTSD, on the transgenerational DNA methylation alterations in human offsprings, Brain Sciences, 8(5),  83–​94. Zeilig, L. (2016). Franz Fanon: The militant philosopher of third world revolution. London: I.B. Taurus.

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2 The relevance of Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire for a postcolonial education politics1 Peter Mayo

Introduction2 Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire are two of the most cited figures in different areas of a reflection on social action centring on the notion of praxis –​that is to say, reflection on action for transformation. Gramsci’s body of work, written in prison and focusing on the ‘philosophy of praxis’, a concept scattered throughout his Prison Notebooks, serves as a wellspring of ideas for strategic political action in a variety of fields, including education and social work. The ‘philosophy of praxis’ is therefore not simply a code word to circumvent the prison censor but lies at the heart of Gramsci’s thinking and exploration of areas of enquiry to understand the historical and geographical conditions that led to Italy’s situation in his time and to contemplate the future directions the country can take. Each situation is viewed by Gramsci from a glocal perspective, where the particular is seen and ruminated upon in a wider global context and vice-​versa. In the words of Stuart Hall, one of the major Gramsci-​inspired scholars who did much to reinvent some of the Sardinian’s concepts for an analysis of more recent concerns regarding UK politics, race, and the debate upon postcolonialism: ‘His concepts are “epochal” in their range and reference. However, Gramsci understood that as soon as these concepts have to be applied to specific historical social formations, to particular societies as specific stages in the development of capitalism, the theorist is required to move from the level of “mode of production” to a lower, more concrete, level of application’ (Hall, 1996: 414). Hence, we find in Gramsci a very specific and detailed focus on particular ‘local’ situations from which a larger conceptualisation of societal tendencies can be formulated by him or directly inferred or gleaned by the reader. This will become more relevant in later discussions within this chapter, specifically in relation to Italy’s Southern Question,3 the tract by Gramsci which was not concluded because of his arrest. This tract and corresponding notes in the Prison Notebooks offer most insights for the question of colonialism –​insights which are still relevant today. Paulo Freire, along with others, is one of the leading thinkers in educational studies.4 His impact on pedagogy is well known but his influence is also felt in such areas as health work, social work, community development, cultural studies, communications, theology (Elias, 1994; Leopando, 2017), philosophy, and sociology. Like Gramsci and others, he provides a lens through which to analyse social situations, but, in his case, we are provided with a perspective or set of

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perspectives that extend beyond the usual Eurocentric frameworks that dominated most of these areas. In this regard he complements the lens which Gramsci provides us. As with Gramsci, praxis lies at the heart of his pedagogical politics, encapsulated in the notion of the ‘pedagogy of praxis’ (Gadotti, 1996). Most recently, his work has been adopted with regard to analyses of literary classics (Roberts, 2010). Gramsci himself has written about literary classics and the important political role of popular fiction (see Mayo, 2015).5 Enough has been written and continues to be written about Gramsci and Freire regarding their basic political pedagogical philosophy that I need not elaborate on certain points. The chapter is predicated on the view that colonialism and neocolonialism take many forms and comprise issues concerning a ‘heterogeneous set’ of subaltern ‘subject positions’ (Slemon, 1995: 45). Drawing on my own work (Mayo, 1995, 2004, 2015), I shall restrict myself, in this contribution, to the following: (a) the Gramscian concepts of hegemony and ‘misplaced alliances’ (Mayo, 2016) as well as the Freirean concepts of the ‘oppressor consciousness’, ‘cultural invasion’, the ‘conquistador mentality’, ‘divide and rule’ and the ‘fear of freedom’ described in Carlos Alberto Torres’s (2014) book on the ‘Early Freire’; and (b) the very complex issue of language in a post-​independence, postcolonial situation, gleaning ideas from both. These themes (a and b) feature prominently in both Gramsci’s and Freire’s body of work and are discussed against contextual backgrounds where direct colonialism, in Edward Said’s terms (Said, 1993: 8), neocolonialism and, to adopt Gramsci’s perspective, ‘internal-​colonialism’6 (Gramsci, 1997), make their presence felt, often in crude and exceedingly violent ways (Piedmontese brutal use of force against southern peasants who rebelled against their lack of redistribution of land, among other things, during and soon after the Risorgimento, as indicated by Aprile, 2010). Gramsci and especially Freire have also been invoked in an analysis of community action in a specific situation of ‘settler-​colonialism’7 (Silwadi and Mayo, 2014; Sperlinger, 2015), the condition in which Palestinians find themselves in their homeland.

Beyond the economic: cultural and religious aspects of power One variant of colonialism or neocolonialism is what was articulated as ‘dependency’.This needs to be analysed in the context that gave rise to Freire’s ideas: Latin American countries’ dependency on the international capitalism of the multinationals, as propounded by Fernando Henrique Cardoso, later to become Brazil’s President, and Enzo Faletto (Cardoso and Faletto, 1979). This term made an impact, with Gramscian undertones, in Latin America and beyond. The impact was felt and analysed beyond the economic. Especially with regard to Paulo Freire and liberation theology, Elisabeth Lange (1996) discussed, in the context of dependency, the roles of the colonial traditional/​neocolonial modernising churches, as opposed to the ‘Prophetic Church’. The Prophetic Church entails a decidedly decolonising theology, a theology of liberation, born out of the most overtly colonised contexts which have moved from being directly colonised to being informally colonised by the aforementioned powers. In the latter case, the contrast lies between what Cornel West calls the ‘Constantinian Church’ (the Church of Empire) and the grass-​roots-​ oriented Prophetic Church with its basis in liberation theology. The traditional and modernising churches were presented by Freire as being steeped in a colonial and dependent model of development. Put simply, religion lends itself to different interpretations and modes of action that reflect different viewpoints of social development that cannot be extricated from models of economic development –​hence the turn to a discussion on the Church, in Freire’s case the Roman Catholic Church, although this also applies to Protestantism in former colonies, within the context of dependency.

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Two key texts, one by Gramsci and the other by Freire, as used by a variety of authors in discussions of colonisation and dependency, are, respectively:  (a) the interrupted essay on the Southern Question in Gramsci, and (b)  the chapter on the three different types of churches in Freire’s The Politics of Education, translated by and strongly featuring Donaldo Macedo (Freire, 1985). Gramsci connects with this discussion on religion and religious movements through his ruminations on the role of the early Christian movement as a historically contingent progressive movement that challenged the status quo and, I  would add, eventually helped transform relations of hegemony within the Roman Empire. The early underground Christian movement represented part of the underbelly of the Roman Empire in the same way that the Prophetic Church represents the underbelly of the hegemonic sense of Empire in more recent times, both being revolutionary, subaltern movements in their respective times and contexts. Given the all-​ pervasive colonial and neocolonial nature of the different contextual backgrounds to Freire’s work, it is hardly surprising that the Brazilian’s ideas are frequently presented as being immersed in a postcolonial politics, as propounded by Henry Giroux in a specific essay (Giroux, 2009). Freire offers a brand of pedagogical politics for ‘decolonising the mind’, the first step towards which is verstehen (understanding): comprehending the nature of oppression and the way ideology operates to render human beings complicit in their own oppression and the oppression of others. The image of the oppressor is internalised by the oppressed (Freire, 1970: 30), which prevents the latter from contributing to resolving the oppressor–​oppressed dialectical relation. This situation echoes Hegel’s master–​slave dialectic, projected on stage by Irish playwright Samuel Beckett through the characters of Pozzo and Lucky (see Williams, 1968: 346) in the Theatre of the Absurd play, En attendant Godot (Waiting for Godot, in its English version –​Beckett, 1956). One can relate this to the notion of hegemony itself where a given state of affairs is cemented and conditioned by ideas and behaviours supporting different dominant groups. These groups set the bar for people to aspire to reach. There are those who offer their consent to this state of affairs despite lacking in any belief in the hegemonic idea; people can support hegemony even if they do not believe in it. They might have no belief in religion but support religious hegemony since it provides a measure of social order and moral regulation that favours their own interests or political credo. Closeted gays can support heteronormativity by not ‘coming out’ or by acting macho for the simple fact that this outward behaviour gives them a purchase on current heterosexual hegemonic structures. As far as Gramsci’s thinking goes with respect to the Mezzogiorno in Italy, peasants in the South develop a cynical attitude towards priests whom they do not regard as paragons of virtue (unlike the situation in the Northern parts of Italy, Gramsci states). We are told that the popular saying among peasants in the South is that priests are priests only on the altar, outside they are men like others (Gramsci, 1995: 38 (original); Gramsci, 1997: 196), owning and negotiating private property and often living with a concubine. We are left with the feeling that many of the southern peasants would aspire to such a role for their sons, as priesthood constitutes a path to social mobility. They would not be interested in disrupting the social order, that is, reconciling the related opposites in the dialectical relation of oppressor and oppressed, a relation that operates at different and contradictory levels (one can be an oppressed person in one context but an oppressor in another). They thus refrain from challenging the relationship of hegemony and the social bloc that supports it. According to Gramsci, always attentive to the particular, priests historically featured among the subaltern intellectuals of the South of Italy who kept this bloc in place –​ the Southern agrarian bloc, presented by Gramsci as being subservient to Northern capital.

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Divide et impera and the conquistador mentality Furthermore, those who are oppressed in one context can be oppressors in others. In a colonial context this manifests itself in instances of ‘divide and rule’, a theme broached by Freire in the additional chapter to his original draft of Pedagogy of the Oppressed.8 Segmentation on racial/​ ethnic lines constitutes a key contemporary strategy of divide and rule predicated on the process of internalising the oppressor’s image. This becomes more important in a period of hegemonic globalisation where producers are segregated on ethnic and national lines.This is connected with the notion of the ‘oppressor within’, a situation evident, for instance, in the perpetration of acts of violence against people constructed as different and whose characteristics do not fall within Eurocentric terms of reference. This situation applies to Western countries developing their economy on immigrant labour and at the same time being places where fear of, and ‘competition’ against, the ‘other’ prevail. It also applies to countries such as Paulo Freire’s native Brazil with its complex set of racial politics involving whites, positioning themselves as being of European stock, Southeast Asians to a limited extent, Blacks and Indigenous people. The last mentioned are still among the greatest victims of rapacious capitalist speculation in areas such as the Amazon. They are victims of the sort of contemporary atrocities which Eduardo Galeano saw as a continuation of the old ‘conquistador’ mindset (Galeano, 2009). Freire’s chilling account of, and reflection on, the wanton killing (immolation) of a Pataxo Indian, Galdino Jesus dos Santos, in a piece included in the posthumous collection of essays grouped together under the title Pedagogia da indignação (Pedagogy of Indignation) (Freire, 2000), highlights the continuation of barbarous racist acts in Brazil. This particular crime is an example of the oppressor consciousness residing within people who use white supremacy as a means of positioning themselves against alterity. It gives them that sense of ‘positional superiority’, to use Edward Said’s pervasive term (Said, 1978), that would allow a few of them to kill fellow humans for their sport, like ‘flies to wanton boys’ in the blinded Gloucester’s famous line from Shakespeare’s King Lear. People regard others, of different ethnic and social positions, as ‘lesser beings’ –​disposable beings –​who can be killed with impunity.This marks a colonial attitude that takes us back to the time when Aborigines were hunted as game with impunity in Tasmania, or slaves from Africa were bought, sold or hanged, if not thrown to sharks during transport, in the thick of the slave trade.9 Violent racist, sexist, cross-​Indigenous, anthropocentric,10 and homophobic acts are examples of the kinds of behaviour that indicate the presence of the ‘oppressor’s image’ inside the oppressed. Again, this behaviour can be encouraged by a colonial strategy of ‘divide and rule’ (Freire, 1970: 137). One can point, as a relatively recent example, from among the many similar examples throughout history, to the inter-​Indigenous carnage in the 1990s resulting from the Belgian colonial pitting of Tutsis and Hutus against each other in Rwanda. In colonial India, we have different forms of social differences, including caste differences, availed of by the ‘British Raj’ for the same purpose. These differences were not overcome once the postcolonial independent Indian state was established, but persisted (Guha, 2009). Gramsci’s Italy was a far cry from the very multi-​ethnic country (immigration from Eastern Europe and Southern countries has risen exponentially in recent years) it has since become. We have witnessed the emergence of reaction from far-​r ight groups and political movements such as the Lega Lombarda and such figures as Umberto Bossi and more recent populists such as Matteo Salvini, Italy’s current deputy prime minister. The ‘divide and rule’ theme, however, addressed with respect to Freire’s writings, connects with the notion of ‘misplaced alliances’. I  identify this as a major theme in Gramsci’s discussion of the Southern Question in both the Quaderni, especially his notes on Italian history, and the earlier manuscript on the Southern Question, the 30

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latter, incidentally, having inspired Edward Said (Said, 1996). Gramsci refers to how people with different class interests are induced to join what I call ‘misplaced alliances’ (Mayo, 2016) with their exploiters through the populist arousal of national or regional sentiment, centring around territorial identity. The reference here is to the formation of the Giovane Sardegna (Young Sardinia) bringing peasants and landowners together on the Italian mainland –​‘il continente’ as the Sardinians call it. He praises those of genuine socialist persuasion who identified the key flaw in such an alliance that served to paper over or mystify the class differences involved. He also refers, in the same manuscript, to soldiers from the Brigata Sassari, with its prestige and signature band marches, such as the renowned Forza Paris, being swayed not to dispel and open fire on striking workers in Turin, part of the old Kingdom of Sardinia ruled by the House of Savoy in Piedmont. What persuaded the troops from Sassari in Sardinia to retreat to their barracks was the consideration that the protesters, working in the Turin factories, were of southern peasant, including Sardinian peasant, origin, as were the soldiers themselves. The ‘forces of law and order’ were represented by police and soldiers who were recruited from the working and peasant classes.The Gramsci-​inspired Pier Paolo Pasolini11 underlined this in 1968 when he referred to clashes in Valle Giulia, Rome between university students (outside the architecture faculty) –​whose faces were, according to the Friulian writer, those of ‘figli di papà’12 –​and police, recruited from the labouring classes. This represents a plea for solidarity among subalterns, in this case people of peasant and working-​class origins. The recognition of industrial workers in the North having their origins in peasant communities in the South of Italy was an important aspect of what Gramsci saw as the potential for a new historical bloc –​more than simply an alliance –​something deep seated, rooted in common interest. These episodes from Gramsci’s discussion on the Southern Question call into question the way racism and populism, so pertinent a theme today, obscure common and related subaltern interests to render fear of those constructed as ‘other’ a stumbling block to national and international subaltern solidarity. This solidarity would be based on the premise that social classes are international and not national in scope, as capitalism has, from its inception, been globalising. The situation is exacerbated by the process of what Freire calls ‘cultural invasion’ –​the colonisation of ‘the mental universe’ of the colonised, in Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s (1981: 16) words. This is ‘banking education’ on a large scale. It was historically characterised by the direct imposition of the ‘cultural arbitrary’ (Bourdieu’s term signifying the cultural interests and choices) of the colonisers in most sites where ‘official knowledge’ (Apple, 1993) was imparted, schools in particular. The process of ‘Anglicisation’ in the British colonies is an obvious example. Nowadays, cultural invasion is manifest primarily by that all-​pervasive type of Western Eurocentric neocolonialism Boaventura de Sousa Santos calls ‘hegemonic globalisation’, in recognition of the presence of an alternative type of globalisation: ‘globalisation from below’.13 It is also present in the concomitant consumer culture ideology. ‘Cultural invasion’ was the process by which certain Africans saw themselves as ‘Black Europeans’ or, in Frantz Fanon’s terms, ‘Black skins in white masks’. It refers to the situation which has led people from my native country, Malta, to downplay the strong Arab, if not Islamic, element that is part of the country’s history, and all this to emphasise the country’s purportedly uninterrupted ‘Christian lineage’ and ‘European vocation’. All this can be read as part of a process in which certain formerly directly colonised subjects desire to be identified with, and assimilated within, the centres of Eurocentric colonial power. Few better explanations of global hegemony than the above can be provided. Gramsci’s notion of hegemony as implying force and consent, the two inextricably intertwined, is predicated on the idea of colonisation, not only through military control and subjugation (in the words of Ranajit Guha, ‘dominance without hegemony’, Guha, 1997, 2009) but 31

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also through the colonisation of the mental universe of the colonised. This mental colonisation leaves its imprint and legacy well after ‘direct’ colonisation has ended. It helps inculcate among many an ongoing susceptibility to cultural and political influences deriving from what remains, within the popular imagery, the colonial metropole. After all, as Thomas Babington Macaulay once famously wrote concerning India, a colonial education is intended to create ‘a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect’.14 The legacy of this is of a ruling elite, in the post-​direct colonisation period, connecting with the international bourgeoisie and creating a situation which Mohandas Gandhi called ‘English rule without the English’ (Kapoor, 2003: 77), a situation he felt would happen if the people did not develop Swaraj (self-​government not through hierarchical rule but through community building and self-​transformation).15 Of course, as I indicate further on, things are often more complex than that. It is this very same metropole that sets the bar and becomes the ‘Eldorado’ for many of the colonised, albeit leading to complex situations within the former colonial power itself –​‘the Empire strikes back’ in a manner very different from the meaning Stuart Hall attributed to this catchy title when he coined it in 1982. This is the title of a famous essay of his concerning Britain’s invocation of a glorious imperial past when sending out a taskforce to the South Atlantic, on an ‘act of principle’, to reclaim the Falklands-​Malvinas from Argentinian occupation (Hall, 2017: 200–​206). The colonised from the former Empire also ‘strike back’, in a different way, by entering the gates of the former colonising power and gradually changing the nature of its society, though not necessarily, at least for the time being, its power structure. This situation has led, and continues to lead, to cries for ‘law and order’, different forms of racism and calls for stringent immigration policies, including Powellism. Both themes were tackled by Hall16 (2017: 107, 150).The situation continues to lead to modern forms of populism or Trumpism. Immigration from the former colonies, however gradually, begins to have effects on policies in certain former colonising powers. ‘Multiculturalism’, albeit in a formal sense, often results as official policy in the receiving countries, and is celebrated whenever national sporting or other triumphs occur. These celebratory references to, say, ‘Multicultural France’ occur without any consideration of the stereotypical reinforcement involved  –​France celebrating its two soccer World Cup successes as triumphs for multiculturalism without any consideration of how many people from a former colony or Département ‘make it’ outside the usual stereotypical roles of athletes, footballers, or showbiz stars. Discussions in each of these contexts become more complex when one recognises hybridisation as a feature of postcolonial life, including resistances, assimilation and appropriation. The French term metissage is an intriguing concept in this regard (see Tarozzi and Torres, 2016: 48).

Fear of freedom For the formerly directly colonised who remain in their country of origin, other issues abound. Echoing Erich Fromm, Paulo Freire maintains that under colonial conditions of prescription and cultural invasion/​dependency, freedom can become a fearful thing for the oppressed. People can be so domesticated that any activity entailing creativity can appear to them to constitute a journey into the unknown.This also affects people, especially first-​generation migrants, in countries of settlement where retrenchment and ghettoisation constitute survival options (Borg and Mayo, 1994). As Freire has argued, creativity involves risk-​taking (Freire and Macedo, 1987: 57), with the immediate connotations here being different from those attached to Ulrich Beck’s concept of a contemporary ‘risk’ society. Risk-​taking is something in which many formerly oppressed persons are reluctant to indulge having been immersed in the ‘culture of silence’. ‘Can the country 32

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survive as an independent nation?’ was the frequently asked question I came across in the build-​ up to the withdrawal of the UK armed forces from Malta in 1979. I often hear the same thought among Scots in light of Brexit and the possibility of another referendum on whether Scotland should remain within the Union (this in a country which has much more natural resources than Malta, the latter currently enjoying a buoyant economy and good standard of living). The fear of ‘liberation’ and the unknown is very much part of the colonial form of ‘banking education’, one of Freire’s most famous concepts, echoing Dewey’s ‘pouring in’, where prescription is the order of the day and where the cultures and creative spirits of the colonised are denigrated and constructed as inferior to those of the colonisers and their comprador elites. It is for this reason, to give one example, that the New Jewel Movement Government in revolutionary Grenada insisted on a policy intended to ‘Grenadise Grenadians’. This was intended to not develop an insular nationalism but instil worth and pride among the formerly directly colonised people (Hickling-​Hudson, 1997). It was intended to help people gain the confidence necessary to partake of the development process, and do so in a conscious manner, asking the question: development for whom? This echoes the kind of reflection at the heart of Freire’s central pedagogical and philosophical notion of praxis, discussed earlier (Allman, 1999). From a Gramscian perspective, this entails prefigurative work through which a subaltern group or people are organised to contest current rule with a view to becoming the ruling body. In Gramsci’s case, it was the industrial working class in Turin: ‘Every revolution has been preceded by an intense labour of criticism and the spread of ideas among masses …’ (Gramsci, 1967: 19; Gramsci, 1977: 12). This point, however, can be extended to discussions concerning the situation of a colonised people and the way they can acquire the confidence, attitude, and skills to govern. This point emerges in a variety of places in Gramsci’s body of work, not least in his early and later writings on the factory council’s intentions to change the set of relations of production, complemented by a change of legitimised relations in the larger social sphere, to bring about a transformation in the nature of the state. The envisaged alternative state is prefigured by relations being incubated and nurtured in current areas of action, such as action on the part of those working inside the Turin factories: ‘The Socialist State already exists potentially in the institutions of social life characteristic of the exploited working class’ (Gramsci, 1967: 206–​207; Gramsci, 1977: 66). These relations are intended to enable workers and their representatives to transcend the capitalist-​wage relation, hence transcending the given framework which, he observed, trade unions were loath to do. We come across several examples of this, including the trade unions not supporting the occupation of the factories in the biennio rosso (the two red years) during Gramsci’s time in Turin or, much later, the role the trade union played in stemming the tide of the protests in the Renault and other factories, and initially protests by university students in Paris, France in 1968, allowing the Right to regroup and thus saving the De Gaulle Government (Sherry, 2010: 107). This, too, represents a syndicalist fear of the unknown. Prefigurative work at industrial and cultural levels, with praxis at the core, was key for Gramsci with regard to subaltern groups learning to transcend the given political framework. This has implications for colonised groups who need to cultivate the skills and attitudes necessary to take on the task of government following a period of colonisation –​tasks and skills often being prefigured in liberated zones of countries such as Guinea Bissau (Freire, 1978) engaged in protracted wars of independence. Of course, an important caveat needs to be in place here. We have seen how, in the Indian situation, as described by Ranajit Guha (2009) and the Gramsci-​ inspired Subaltern Studies Group, of which he is a major figure, popular organisation and support in the quest for the conquest of the state does not necessarily translate into rule by hegemony 33

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(force and consent) afterwards, that is, in the postcolonial situation.The dialectic of oppressor and oppressed is not terminated by the change in power but continues to be reproduced, through a simple changing of the personnel, as with Guha’s account of the Indian situation. No attempt is made to ‘reinvent power’ as Freire would put it.

The language question There is, of course, another aspect of Freire’s writings that would be of particular concern to activists/​adult educators engaging in postcolonial politics. This is the language issue. Freire argues that not all that pertains to the colonial experience is irrelevant to the new postcolonial context. Tackling the issue of colonialism in terms of a North–​South colonial context in the same peninsula, Gramsci was critical of the hegemonic imposition of the then contemporary ‘bourgeois’ Florentine idiom as the national language, given that it was an imposed ‘normative grammar’ without any national popular basis. Although he saw value in the spontaneous grammars of different regions throughout the Italian peninsula, he encouraged study of the standard national language, without letting go of the first language, as it could help the subaltern to not remain at the margins of political and economic life. He also strongly criticised the idea of an artificially constructed lingua franca in the form of Esperanto, since it was not embedded in authentic, living, social relations and did not emerge ‘from the bottom upwards’ (Gramsci, 1985: 30). This point concerning the learning of the standard language (imposed from above as a kind of ‘passive revolution’, not rooted in popular consciousness) becomes all the more valid when one considers that, as indicated, hybridisation remains a feature of the colonial power-​resistance experience. A Gramscian ‘war of position’, characterised by advances and retreats involving critical appropriation, occurs on different fronts. Freire refers to the knowledge of the coloniser’s language as beneficial in the postcolonial situation of such former Portuguese colonies as Cape Verde, Guinea Bissau, São Tome e Principe and Mozambique. For instance, where and when different languages are used by different indigenous groups, the colonial language can serve as a ‘lingua franca’, as is the case with Ghana where English remains the official language. Of course, the language issue in former direct colonies remains complex, as the colonising standard language becomes a source of social differentiation between groups and classes, even though in small states, it serves as a language of international currency, therefore being an economic asset. I would submit, however, that the language needs to be taught differently from the way it was taught under conditions of direct colonialism. In former British colonies, the emphasis would be placed no longer on anglicisation and English language teaching as a ‘civilising mission’ with its connotation of that which is Indigenous as ‘uncivilised’, but on language learning as a liberating experience –​there is even talk of ‘World Englishes’ today. Language education policies would, in a postcolonial context, include teaching/​learning the national-​popular or Indigenous languages and literacies which, in countries like mine, were once referred to as the volgare (vulgar language). Learning the Indigenous alongside the colonising language can well form part of a bicultural education, as advocated by a leading critical pedagogue of Freirean inspiration, Antonia Darder, with regard to Latino and Latina education in the US (Darder, 2011; see also Ives, 2006 and Carlucci, 2015 on this). The colonising language would, from a Freirean perspective, need to be taught in a problematising manner, in which its historical and sociopolitical roles are addressed. Problematising entails learning together how ideology, including colonial ideology, resides in languages –​a far cry from the colonial and neocolonial way of teaching languages till this very day (see discussions around TESOL among immigrants). 34

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It also entails learning the role which, in the case of English, the colonising language plays as a hegemonic force (Macedo, Dendrinos, and Gounari, 2003). An education predicated on praxis entails this approach. Freire (1978) paraphrases Amilcar Cabral when stating ‘language is one of culture’s most immediate, authentic and concrete expressions’ (1978: 184).There are echoes here of Marx and Engels’s statement in The German Ideology to the effect that language is ‘practical consciousness’ which is as old as consciousness itself (Marx and Engels, 1970: 51). A Gramscian notion of understanding through praxis would lead to an underlining of the need to understand the political hegemonic role of the standard language that one must learn to become effective, as this also dovetails beautifully with his discussions on the rigour and political strength imparted through learning ‘powerful knowledge’ on a par with those subjects embedded in the curriculum of the classical school, a point he makes in the notes (essays) in Quaderno IV and Quaderno XII. What constitutes ‘powerful knowledge’, a term having Gramscian parallels which I borrow from Michael Young, varies from context to context, historical and geographical. The old classical school will have to be transformed, in his view, as the society it served has changed. He provides an epitaph for a school that was but cannot be any longer as times have changed (Manacorda, 1972: xxix). As for language, he might well argue that the same can apply but not in his lifetime or in the foreseeable future as, to my mind, his solution appears more theoretical than practical. He argues for the emergence of a national popular language or normative grammar from a synthesis of the various spontaneous grammars (dialects, regional languages, or literacies) in existence throughout Italy –​a national popular language that would be democratic in that it would reflect the ‘collective will’ (see Ives, 2004: 100) –​a mere pipe dream? Giving importance, in the process of praxis, to indigenous languages and especially national-​ popular languages, when they exist, becomes key in light of the strong relationship between language and consciousness and between language and one’s view of the world, as Gramsci argued in the latter case. Freire insisted that the ‘so-​called failure’ of his work in Guinea Bissau was the result of the use of Portuguese ‘as the only vehicle of instruction’ throughout the campaign (Freire, in Freire and Macedo, 1987: 114). Echoing Pierre Bourdieu, he stated that this use renders the coloniser’s language a form of rewarding ‘cultural capital’, the vehicle for reproducing the kind of class (and I would add: Indigenous group) stratification associated with the previous colonial order (Freire, in Freire and Macedo, 1987: 110–​111). This explains his advocacy of bilingual/​cultural language involving Creole in Guinea Bissau’s case (not all sectors of the population have access to this hybrid language) and the colonisers’ language. These are to be learnt in a problematising manner and for the purpose of not constraining people to remain at the margins of political life.

Conclusion Religious issues, directly colonial and neocolonial issues, and dependency, such as those of language, remain complex, especially, but not only, with respect to former direct colonies. Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire help us steer a route through this complexity. This is why their ideas continue to inspire writers, social activists, and countless other cultural workers today. With respect to Gramsci, Stuart Hall indicated that he wrote little that directly focuses on race and ethnicity, but there is much in the body of work bequeathed to posterity that is of use for activists and scholars tackling these related areas of public inquiry (Hall, 1996: 115). Freire, for his part, was often called upon to address issues concerning race and ethnicity in several conversational pieces with scholars ensconced in the US. His body of work, especially that of his early period (Torres, 2014), is embedded in the history of colonisation of his native Brazil and Latin America in general, as is the work that emerged from his engagement with newly 35

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independent countries, especially the former Portuguese colonies. We also have the fourth and final chapter of Pedagogia do Oprimido (Pedagogy of the Oppressed), which draws on several themes concerning processes of oppression through colonisation, some of which I have addressed in this chapter. Irrespective of the amount of writing they have devoted to colonialism and their specific social locations as both emerging from countries or territories with a history of colonisation (Brazil and Sardinia, the latter historically having been in a colonial relationship with Northern mainland Italy), Gramsci and Freire offer sufficient conceptual tools and frameworks that can help guide different analyses of colonialism, ethnicity, and the postcolonial condition. Their work has often been paired because of their converging and also complementary nature, and not only by me but by several others (Paula Allman, Marjorie Mayo, Giovanni Semerario, Raymond Morrow and Carlos A. Torres). Some have also paired them for their divergence (Diana C. Coben). I have attempted throughout the chapter to show their relevance to one particular theme, that of colonialism and the current struggle of a decolonisation process. I hope to have shown that, taken together, there is much grist for the mill of a decolonising process of social thinking and action which takes account of historical legacies and present-​day struggles.

Notes 1 I am indebted to Peter Ives, Professor at University of Winnipeg and acclaimed Gramscian scholar, for his comments on an earlier draft of the chapter. The same applies to one of the volume’s co-​editors, Benjamin Bunk, for his suggestions. Any remaining shortcomings are my responsibility. 2 The chapter builds on my earlier published work on Gramsci and Freire (Mayo, 1999, 2015) highlighting one aspect of recurring importance, colonialism and a decolonising politics of education one easily associates with Freire, as I and others had occasion to reveal (Mayo, 2017), but which is not immediately associated with Gramsci, often said to operate from a Eurocentric paradigm which sees Western civilisation as the dynamic core of social life.This chapter is intended to show that despite these limitations, his work in confrontation with that of the Latin American Freire, offers insights for decolonising struggles –​ or in other words: postcolonial education politics. Both much-​cited figures in the radical debate on education can offer complementary insights for an understanding of colonialism in its complex forms when viewed together. 3 Alcuni temi sulla Quistione Meridionale (some themes from the Southern Question  –​quistione is the archaic word in Italian for the present day questione). It refers to the situation of uneven capitalist development in Italy. An industrialised North coexists with an industrially underdeveloped Southern part and the islands, a situation which persists until the present day. A ‘first world’ northern part of Italy colonises a ‘third world’ southern part, the latter consisting of the Mezzogiorno (the South) involving the peninsula from Rome downward and the islands, both the small and the large ones –​Sicily and Sardinia, in the latter case. 4 To name but a few, I  would include Jean Jacques Rousseau, Jan Amos Komensky (John Amos Comenius), Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi, John Dewey, W.E.B Dubois, Francesc Ferrer i Guàrdia, Maria Montessori, Rosa Sensat i Vilà, Ada Gobetti, Celestine Freinet, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, don Lorenzo Milani, and Maxine Greene. Of course, the list can never be exhaustive, and we need to acknowledge the works of people from the Global South, of which Paulo Freire, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and W.E.B Dubois form part. Here I  sought to provide names from both the conventional French, Italian and Spanish body of thought to highlight the work of some who are normally obscured in the English language literature. For, as far as Eurocentrism goes, the literature is not inclusive; often a case of Euro-​Northism. We also need to acknowledge the work of people such as fourteenth century Tunisian all-​embracing thinker Ibn Khaldun (de Sousa Santos, 2017) and proponents of Indigenous knowledge from the Global South (often expressed collectively and not through the thought of one figure) to provide a different, contextually conditioned viewpoint of thinking about education. This viewpoint is often echoed by later much-​revered Europeans without acknowledgement of the Southern sources of origin (de Sousa Santos, 2017: 294). Boaventura de Sousa Santos terms this a case of cognitive injustice that needs to be put right (de Sousa Santos, 2017: 300). 36

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5 Freire’s influence in postcolonial studies is evidenced by articles published in such outlets as the journal Postcolonial Directions in Education and Palgrave-​Macmillan’s book series ‘Postcolonial Studies in Education’. 6 The Southern Question. 7 This involves a land declared as terra nullius [nobody’s land], that is, not falling under a sovereign European state, which can be occupied by an exogenous force, usually backed by an imperial power. This occurs despite the presence of Indigenous people, considered ‘racially/​ethnically inferior’. The Indigenous people are to be either displaced or assimilated within a colonial setup in a subordinate position with regard to the occupying settlers (see Masalha, 2018: 307). 8 Freire’s original intention was to develop a book of three chapters which hold together, with a dialectical streak running through them. This plan changed as a result of the publishers’ insistence that Freire should write and add a fourth chapter, in light of Frantz Fanon and Albert Memmi’s insights on colonialism and the work of other thinkers (see Schugurensky, 2011 on this). I have always reckoned that the dialectical streak stops at the end of the third chapter as the fourth comes across as an ‘add on’ where themes like divide et impera, cultural invasion itself and Unity for Liberation, are thrown in as if ‘hanging on a line’. However, some of the themes suit the colonial context of the discussion and can, with some imaginative ‘piecing together’, connect with the earlier ones developed in the first three profound chapters. Relating ‘divide and rule’ to the ‘oppressor within’ concept constitutes one example of tracing relations between different themes in the book. 9 The reference to Edward Said and then William Shakespeare, an important figure from the Western Canon, indicates that material from different sources can serve to constitute the critical ground in which a decolonising perspective on colonial themes, such as the politics of disposability, can be developed. The Western Canon can be read against the grain to serve a decolonising purpose, something which Said and C.L.R. James, both southern intellectuals, did and which echoes Gramsci’s notion of critical appropriation of established works of art for emancipatory ends. 10 This includes wanton killing of animals, insects (as in the line from Shakespeare), and birds –​a contradiction in the illustrations in Freire’s early work (Freire 1973) with their machista images of hunting –​ the conquest of nature. 11 See www.scomunicando.it/​notizie/​storia-​cultura-​01-​marzo-​del-​1968-​gli-​scontri-​alla-​facolta-​architettura​valle-​g iulia-​roma-​pasolini-​scriveva/​. 12 This is a popular phrase in Italian, literally translated as ‘daddy’s children’ meaning ‘bourgeois’. 13 One must be wary of providing binaries here as the two often intersect, for example, using the tools of hegemonic globalisation such as the internet to get different activists interacting in the build-​up to such events as a street protest or world social forum. 14 Minute by the Hon. T.B. Macaulay dated 2 February 1835. www.mssu.edu/​projectsouthasia/​history/​ primarydocs/​education/​Macaulay001.htm. 15 The warning Gandhi sounded in this regard, as Guha (2009: 38) indicated, was not heeded since the nationalist elite, which rallied popular support in its quest for independence, did not manage to maintain this support after conquering the State, remaining as aloof from the rest of the population as the colonial Raj had been. The new governing elite in India, therefore, failed to achieve hegemonic rule. 16 ‘Powellism’ has different meanings, primarily views associated with Enoch Powell’s Tory ideas. It has often been used with regard to his views on immigration, and therefore the legacy and shadows of this 1968 ‘rivers of blood’ speech, so called because of a verse he quoted from Virgil’s Aeneid. The word ‘shadows’ features in the title of a very absorbing contemporary play on the subject by Chris Hannan –​ What Shadows –​which played to great acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic, winning Tony and Olivier Awards. 17 Terroni –​a derogatory term used with regard to Southerners in Italy. Meridionali derives from Meridione, that is to say the Southern region of Italy with connotations of ‘industrial underdevelopment’. Meridionali therefore means people from Southern Italy who would include those from the mainland’s southern part and the islands.

References Allman, P. (1999). Revolutionary social transformation: Democratic hopes, political possibilities and critical education. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey. Apple, M.W. (1993). Official knowledge: Democratic education in a conservative age. New York: Routledge. 37

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Aprile, P. (2010). Terroni.Tutto quello che è stato fatto perché gli italiani del Sud diventassero meridionali [People who work the land. All that was done so that Italians from the South become ‘Meridionali’]. Milan: Piemme.17 Beckett, S. (1956). Waiting for Godot. London: Faber and Faber. Borg, C. & Mayo, P. (1994). Invisible identity/​ies.The Maltese community in Metro Toronto. In RG. Sultana & G. Baldacchino (Eds.), Maltese society. A sociological inquiry. Malta: Mireva. Cardoso, F.H. & Faletto, E. (1979). Dependency and development in Latin America, M. Mattingly Urquid (trans.). Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Carlucci, A. (2015). Gramsci and languages: Unification, diversity, hegemony. Chicago: Haymarket Books. Darder, A. (2011). Culture and power in the classroom: A critical foundation for bicultural education. 2nd edition. London: Routledge. de Sousa Santos, B. (2017). Decolonising the university.The challenge of deep cognitive justice. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Elias, J. (1994). Paulo Freire: Pedagogue of liberation. Malabar, FL: Krieger. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. (1973). Education for critical consciousness. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. (1978). Pedagogy in process.The letters to Guinea Bissau. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. (1985). Politics of education. Culture, power and liberation (D. Macedo trans.). South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey. Freire, P. (2000). Pedagogia da indignação: cartas pedagógicas e outros escritos [Pedagogy of Indignation. Pedagogical letters and other writings]. São Paulo: Editora UNESP. Freire, P. & Macedo, D. (1987). Literacy. Reading the word and the world. Westport CT: Bergin & Garvey. Gadotti, M. (1996). Pedagogy of praxis: A dialectical philosophy of education. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Galeano, E. (2009). Open veins of Latin America. Five centuries of the pillage of a continent. London: Serpent’s Tail. Giroux, H.A. (2009). Paulo Freire and the politics of postcolonialism. In A. Kempf (Ed.), Breaching the colonial contract. Anti-​colonialism in the US and Canada. Dordrecht: Springer. Gramsci, A. (1967). Scritti Politici. Rome: Editore Riuniti. Gramsci, A. (1977). Antonio Gramsci. Selections from the political writings (1910–​1920), Q. Hoare & J. Matthews (Eds. and trans.). New York: International Publishers. Gramsci, A. (1985). Selections from cultural writings. D. Forgacs & G. Nowell Smith (Eds.) & W. Boelhower (trans.). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gramsci, A. (1995). The southern question. P.Verdicchio (Ed. and trans.). Lafayette: Bordighera. Gramsci, A. (1997). Le Opere. La Prima Antologia di tutti gli scritti [The works. The first anthology of all the writings], A. Santucci (cur.) Roma: Editore Riuniti. Guha, R. (1997). Dominance without hegemony. History and power in colonial India. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Guha, R. (2009). Omaggio a un Maestro [Homage to a teacher]. In G. Schirru (Ed.), Gramsci le culture e il mondo [Gramsci, cultures and the world]. Rome: Viella. Hall, S. (1996). Gramsci’s relevance for the study of race and ethnicity. In D. Morley and K.H. Chen (Eds.), Stuart Hall. Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies. New York: Comedia. Hall, S. (2017). Selected political writings.The great moving right show and other essays. S. Davison, D. Featherstone & B. Schwarz (Eds.). London: Lawrence & Wishart. Hickling-​Hudson, A. (1997). A Caribbean experiment in education for social justice. In T. Scrase (Ed.), Social justice and third world education. New York: Garland Publishing. Ives, P. (2004). Language and hegemony in Gramsci. London: Pluto Press. Ives, P. (2006). Gramsci’s politics of language. Engaging the Bakhtin Circle and the Frankfurt School. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Kapoor, D. (2003). Postcolonial developments: Gandhian social thoughts and popular education in Adivasi contexts in India. Journal of Postcolonial Education, 2(1), 69–​83. Lange, E. (1996). Freire and liberation theology. In H. Reno & M. Witte (Eds.), 17th Annual Adult Education Research Conference Proceedings 1996. Tampa, FL: University of South Florida. Leopando, I. (2017). A pedagogy of faith.The theological vision of Paulo Freire. New York and London: Bloomsbury Academic. Macedo, D., Dendrinos, B. & Gounari, P. (2003). The hegemony of English. London: Routledge. Manacorda, M.A. (1972). Introduzione [Introduction]. In A. Gramsci (Ed.), L’alternativa pedagogica [The pedagogical alternative], MA Manacorda (cur.). Firenze: La Nuova Italia. Marx, K. & Engels, F. (1970). The German ideology, C.J. Arthur (Ed.). London: Lawrence and Wishart. Masalha, N. (2018). Palestine. A four-​thousand-​year history. London and New York: Zed Books. 38

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Mayo, P. (1995). Critical literacy and emancipatory politics.The Work of Paulo Freire. International Journal of Educational Development, 15, 363–​379. Mayo, P (1999). Gramsci, Freire and adult education. Possibilities for transformative action. London and New York: Zed Books. Mayo, P. (2004). Liberating praxis. Paulo Freire’s legacy for radical education and politics. Westport, CT: Praeger. Mayo, P. (2015). Hegemony and education under neoliberalism. Insights from Gramsci. New York: Routledge. Mayo, P. (2016). Hegemony, migration and misplaced alliances: Lessons from Gramsci. In O. García Agustín & M. Bak Jørgensen (Eds.), Solidarity without borders: Gramscian perspectives on migration and civil society alliances. New York: Pluto Press. Mayo, P. (2017). Twentieth anniversary of Paulo Freire’s Death (1921–​ 1997)  –​Freire’s relevance for understanding colonialism. Postcolonial Directions in Education, 6(2), 183–​201. Roberts, P. (2010). Paulo Freire in the 21st century. Education, dialogue and transformation. London: Routledge. Said, E. (1978). Orientalism. New York: Random House Said, E. (1993). Culture and imperialism. London: Vintage Said, E. (1996). Representations of the intellectual.The 1993 Reith Lectures. New York: Vintage Books. Schugurensky, D. (2011). Paulo Freire. London: Continuum. Sherry, D. (2010). Occupy. A short history of workers’ occupations. London: Bookmarks Publications. Silwadi, N. & Mayo, P. (2014). Pedagogy under siege in Palestine: Freirean approaches. Holy Land Studies, 13(2),  71–​87. Slemon, S. (1995). The scramble for postcolonialism. In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths and H. Tifflin (Eds.), The postcolonial studies reader. London: Routledge. Sperlinger, T. (2015). Romeo and Juliet in Palestine.Teaching under occupation. Winchester: Zero  Books. Tarozzi, M. & Torres, C.A. (2016). Global citizenship education and the crises of multiculturalism, New  York: Bloomsbury Academic. Torres, C.A. (2014). The first Freire. Early writings in social justice education. New York: Teachers College Press. wa Thiong’o, N. (1981). Decolonizing the mind. The politics of language in African literature. Oxford:  James Currey & Heinemann. Williams, R. (1968). Drama from Ibsen to Brecht. Harmondsworth: Pelican. Young, M. & Muller, J. (2010). Three educational scenarios for the future: Lessons from the sociology of knowledge. European Journal of Education, 45(1), 11–​27.

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3 Colonialism and the colonisation of childhoods in the light of postcolonial theory Manfred Liebel

Introduction Although generalisations are of course dangerous, colonialism and colonialisation basically mean organisation, arrangement.The two words derive from the Latin word colĕre, meaning to cultivate or to design. Indeed, the historical colonial experience does not, and obviously cannot, reflect the peaceful connotations of these words. But it can be admitted that the colonists (those settling a region), and the colonialists (those exploiting a territory by dominating a local majority) have all tended to organise and transform non-​European areas into fundamentally European constructs (Mudimbe, 1988: 1). Childhood is understood here as both a form of being children and a discourse about this form of being (Alderson, 2013). The two dimensions should not be confused but should also not be separated. The history of childhood is closely intertwined with changes in the modes of production and reproduction of societies, especially in the modern European era with the development of the capitalist mode of production and the rise of the bourgeoisie to the ruling class. They have led to a separation, spatially, of the production and reproduction sphere and the private space to which women and children are restricted within the nuclear family. In this context, new normative concepts of childhood have emerged, which were conceived of beyond the production sphere as a ‘pedagogical province’ (Goethe), ‘family childhood’, and finally also as ‘school childhood’ (see Hendricks, 2009). To this extent, the history of childhood is always a history of the ideas and concepts of childhood.They gain lives of their own and influence the way in which children are treated. They also influence how children perceive themselves, what opportunities are available to them, and how they are made use of. Here, I argue that childhood, as well as the ideas and understandings of childhood, which have been developing in Europe since the late Middle Ages, are, in many ways, closely linked to the colonialisation of other continents. The concept of a childhood separate from adult life –​‘liberated’ from productive tasks but also relegated to the fringes of society –​arose almost simultaneously with the ‘discovery’ and colonialisation of the world outside of Europe. The subjugation and exploitation of the colonies, first in America, then in Africa and Asia, formed their material prerequisites by creating in the ‘mother countries’ a class living in material prosperity that could privatise their children and give them over to institutions responsible for their rearing and care. On the other hand,

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the subjugation of the colonies created a model for the subjugation and ‘education’ of domestic children, whether of the ruling classes, or the subaltern classes. The colonisation of childhood, or the modern childhood, can therefore be spoken of as a kind of colony. This perspective also served as a model for early childhood science, which was aimed at the controlling and perfecting of childhood. Conversely, the construction of childhood as an immature pre-​stage of adulthood constituted the matrix for the degradation of people of any age in the colonies as immature beings, which were still to be developed and civilised, as expressed in Hegel’s famous dictum of Africa as a ‘children’s land’ (Hegel, [1822]1986). Looking at the postcolonial constellation, the question then arises of how childhood research can learn from history, how to account for their own entanglement, and how to use critical postcolonial theories to understand and analyse today’s childhood. First, I shall discuss the mental connections between the emergence of the European bourgeois childhood pattern and the colonialisation of foreign continents. In a separate section, I will trace the dialectic of education or literacy and power within colonial and postcolonial relations. Next, I will trace how, in the 1960s and 1970s, the discourse on the ‘colonisation of childhood’ arose and finally was linked to postcolonial theories. Finally, I will shed light on some ambivalences of the European-​bourgeois childhood construction with regard to colonialisation and decolonisation.

Colonialisation as a childhood project An essential feature of the modern European concept of childhood is the idea of imagining the child as inhabiting an imperfect and developing stage before adulthood. This not only justified the need for strict control and education of children but also justified the subjugation of the people in the colonies beyond Europe. Already in the ‘discovery’ and conquest of the ‘new’ continent called America, beginning at the end of the fifteenth century, when the new concept of childhood was still emerging in Europe, the child metaphor was used to describe the ‘primitive peoples’ who were perceived as ‘wild’ and ‘uncivilised’. We can therefore assume that the ideas and mentalities that shape conquest and new experiences have also influenced the development of the new childhood concept. The study of the British cultural scientist Bill Ashcroft, On Postcolonial Futures, is one of the few contributions of postcolonial theory that has drawn attention to these connections. According to Ashcroft, ‘it was the cross-​fertilisation between the concepts of childhood and primitivism that enabled these terms to emerge as mutually important concepts in imperial discourse’ (Ashcroft, 2001: 37). He also points to the important fact that, at the time when the child emerged as a philosophical concept, ‘race’ as a category of physical and biological distinction was also produced. ‘Whereas “race” could not exist without racism, that is, the need to establish a hierarchy of difference, the idea of the child dilutes the hostility inherent in that taxonomy and offers a “natural” justification for imperial dominance over subject peoples’ (ibid.). The connection between the child and the savage fits neatly into the general assumption that ‘races’ represent different stages of development in the nineteenth century. The moral conflict that results from colonial conquest and occupation by the ‘enlightened’ Europe is subdued by its naturalisation as a parent–​child relationship, equated with the contradictory impulses of parents between exploitation and care. The child, simultaneously the other and the same, according to Ashcroft, holds in balance the contradictory tendencies of imperial rhetoric:  authority is held in balance with nurture; domination with enlightenment; debasement with idealisation; 41

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negation with affirmation; exploitation with education; filiation with affiliation. This ability to absorb contradiction gives the binary parent/​child an inordinately hegemonic potency. (Ashcroft, 2001: 36–​7) The interrelation between the new concept of childhood and the colonialisation of foreigners and continents was already conveyed in the ideas of the liberal English philosopher, John Locke (1632–​ 1704) and the French enlightenment protagonist, Jean-​ Jacques Rousseau (1712–​1778), both of whom influenced childhood history, albeit in different ways. In his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, first published in 1690, Locke conceived of the child as a ‘tabula rasa’ or ‘blank slate’ (Locke, [1690]1995).1 In doing so, he bestowed parents and schoolmasters with great responsibility for what is written on this white paper. At the same time, the concept was of great importance to the imperial enterprise, as the idea of an empty space was an important prerequisite for colonisation understood as civilisation.2 While Locke imagined the newborn child as a blank page, which had to be filled, Rousseau, just a hundred years later, in his novel-​essay Emile, or On Education ([1762]1979), conceived of the child as ‘pure nature’ which possesses an inherent worth and is ultimately digested by civilisation. For Rousseau, the parallel to colonisation was comprised by the idea of the ‘good savage’. According to Ashcroft (2001: 41), Locke’s metaphor of the child as a blank page, an unwritten book, makes the explicit connection between adulthood and print, for civilization and maturity are printed on the tablet of the child’s mind. For him the child is an unformed person who, through literacy, education, reason, self-​control and shame, may be made into a civilized adult. For Rousseau, the unformed child possesses capacities for candour, understanding, curiosity and spontaneity which must be preserved or rediscovered. In the tension between these two views we find encapsulated the inherent contradiction on imperial representations of the colonial subject. Both perspectives justify the paternalistic actions of the colonial enterprise, since the innocence of nature, like the blank slate of the unformed child, is equivalent to absence. Neither the child nor the colonial subject has access to meaning outside the processes of colonisation and education. A similar development was the prevailing idea that literacy, in the sense of acquiring the ability to read and write, was necessary even if it was imposed on an already alphabetised society.3 It is based on the distinction between civilised and barbarian peoples and nations and creates between them a hierarchy of more developed and less developed beings. Thus, the discrepancy between childhood and adulthood, caused by the emergence of the need to learn reading and writing, in the late Middle Ages, can be seen in direct connection to the discrepancy between the imperial centre and the reading and writing of unintelligible people in the colonies. In this sense, colonialism has always been ‘educational colonialism’ (Osterhammel, 2005: 110), which masqueraded under the guise of ‘freeing’ the colonised from tyranny and spiritual darkness. The equating of the colonised with children provided an opportunity to gloss over this fact and was even seen as a moral duty and ‘the white man’s burden’ (Rudyard Kipling).4 ‘Colonial rule was glorified as a gift and act of grace of civilisation, and was respected as humanitarian intervention’ (Osterhammel, 2005: 110). Schools in particular, run by either missionaries or the state, were used to this end. They have always aimed to convey a certain kind of thought and morality that goes beyond formal reading and writing, a kind of ‘moral technology’ (Wells, 2009), ‘epistemic violence’ (Spivak, 1988; Cannella & Viruru, 2004; de Sousa Santos, 2008) or ‘colonisation 42

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of consciousness’ (Comaroff & Comaroff, 2008). In an early essay, the Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o called for ‘decolonising the mind’ (wa Thiong’o, 1986). One of the most influential consequences of childhood and colonial conquest was the concept of ‘development’ that emerged in the late nineteenth century and regarded non-​European countries as permanently backward. The meaning of this term results from ‘the link between primitivism and infantility and the need for “maturation” and “growth” in both’ (Ashcroft, 2001: 38). The question of literacy and education has played a central role in the history of colonialism and remains relevant today in the postcolonial constellation. Colonialism used the reference to a lack of education and the idea of childhood as a primitive stage of development in order ‘to confirm a binarism between coloniser and colonised; a relationship which induced compliance to the cultural dominance of Europe. Coloniser and colonised were separated by literacy and education’ (Ashcroft, 2001: 52). This separation was confirmed by geographic distances, sometimes also by the distinction of nationalities.

Colonisation of childhoods The instrumentalisation of the bourgeois concept of childhood for the justification of colonial conquest bears a remarkable resemblance to the consideration of childhood as a colony or a colonised object. Since the 1960s, the concept of colonialisation, or colonisation in a broader sense, has been referring not only to geographic areas outside of Europe and their populations but also to the internal structure of societies and their people. In the early 1980s, for example, the philosopher Jürgen Habermas introduced the concept of the ‘internal colonialisation’ of the lifeworld (Habermas, [1981]1985: 356). He assumed that, in the late capitalism phase, the central sub-​systems, economy, and the state, interpenetrate the ‘lifeworld’, understood as the independent existence of the members of a society, as ‘colonial masters coming into a tribal society’ ([1981]1985: 355) and seize this life. Thus, he considered the socialising and identity-​building functions of the lifeworld to be in danger. What interests me is to show that, in a certain historical period, the use of the term ‘colonisation’ has also been extended to other social phenomena. This is also true of the feminist debate on women as a ‘last colony’, which comes a bit later. In a publication first released in 1983 and republished five years later, Claudia von Werlhof, Maria Mies, and Veronika Bennholdt-​Thomsen (1988) compared women with colonised people of the ‘Third World’ and identified them as the final resources to be exploited. They were concerned, […] to demonstrate that the subordination and exploitation of women is the foundation and the keystone of all further exploitation conditions, and that the colonization of the world, the plundering of nature, territories and people, as above all capitalism needs as a prerequisite, happens according to this model. (von Werlhof, Mies & Bennholdt-​Thomsen, 1988: ix) Similar thoughts were already formulated by the American feminist, Shulamith Firestone in the early 1970s and were transferred from women to children (Firestone, 1970). In this text, the author points to a parallel between the ‘myth of childhood’ and the ‘myth of femininity’ (op. cit.: 88–​89): Both women and children were considered asexual and ‘purer’ than man. Their inferior status was ill-​concealed under an elaborate ‘respect’. One didn’t discuss serious matters nor did one curse in front of women and children; one didn’t openly degrade them, one did it 43

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behind their backs. […] Both were set apart by fancy and non-​functional clothing and were given special tasks (housework and homework respectively); both were considered mentally deficient (‘What can one expect from a woman?’ –​‘He’s too little to understand.’). The pedestal of adoration on which both were set made it hard for them to breath. Every interaction with the adult world became for children a tap dance. They learned how to use their childhood to get what they wanted indirectly (‘He’s throwing another tantrum!’), just as women learned how to use their femininity (‘There she goes, crying again!’). All excursions into the adult world became terrifying survival expeditions. The difference between the natural behavior of children in their peer group as opposed to their stilted and/​or coy behavior with adults bears this out –​just as women act differently among themselves than when they are around men. In each case a physical difference had been enlarged culturally with the help of special dress, education, manners, and activity until this cultural reinforcement itself began to appear ‘natural’, even instinctive, an exaggeration process that enables easy stereotyping: The individual eventually appears to be a different kind of human animal with its own peculiar set of laws and behavior (‘I’ll never understand women!’ … ‘You don’t know a thing about child psychology!’). Firestone speaks in the past in order to highlight the historical genesis of the ‘class oppression of women and children’ (op. cit.: 89). The text leaves no doubt that she was convinced that it applied to the time in which she wrote it (readers may judge for themselves whether it has changed significantly to this day). Some of the writing from this period understands the suppression of children as a form of colonisation and relate it to colonialism. In an essay, Swiss anthropologist and psychoanalyst, Gérard Mendel claimed, All forms of human exploitation, whether religious or economic in nature –​exploitation of colonial peoples, of women, of children –​have taken advantage of the phenomenon rooted in the dependent, biological and psychological relationship of infant child to adult. Hence, the destruction of our society, which occurs before our eyes, day by day in a chain of cultural Hiroshimas, goes much deeper than it appears and incorporates various aspects of all societies worldwide. (Mendel, 1971: 7) Particularly worth mentioning (to German-​speakers) are the writings of the Austrian education scientist, Peter Gstettner, Die Eroberung des Kindes durch die Wissenschaft:  Aus der Geschichte der Disziplinierung [The conquest of the child by science: From the history of discipline (Gstettner, 1981)]. In this text, Gstettner makes reference to the history of colonialism, and exemplified in the newly emerging pedagogical and psychological sciences on childhood, he demonstrates a close connection between the ethnology and anthropology arising from colonisation. The thesis of his work claims that ‘the academic conquest of unknown territories precedes the conquest of the childish soul’ (op. cit.: 15). He demonstrates this especially by referring to the history of developmental psychology, but also in the conceptualisation of childhood (and youth) in the corresponding scholarship as a whole (op. cit.: 8 and 85): All dominant models of human ‘development’ today include territorial associations: populations and individual people alike are thought of in terms of political regions, as territories to be conquered, occupied, researched and proselytized. Thus, having a look at anthropology, called previously [in German] ‘Völkerkunde’, can inform us as to why 44

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academics consider ‘savages’ to be primitive, ‘primitives’ to be naïve, the ‘naïve’ to be childish, and children, to be naïve, primitive and savage. […] From the outset, childhood and youth studies have focused their research interest on the idea that it must be possible to analytically grasp lost ‘naturalness’ and, in a scholarly manor, to reconstruct it as the ‘natural state’ of the child (as well as the ‘savage’). That’s why educational child and youth psychology is connected in a causal relationship with anthropological fields of research, which, despite their different ‘research subjects’, exhibit the same analytical interests –​namely to separate the influences of civilisation and culture from inherited predispositions; to separate ‘developed’ from ‘undeveloped’. At the time that Gérard Mendel and Peter Gstettner were formulating their scholarly ideas about the colonisation and conquest of children, they could not yet refer to postcolonial theories, as these first came into being in the following years. They therefore deserve even more credit for drawing parallels between, and bringing attention to, the relationship between colonisation and the ideologies stemming from the emerging sciences on childhood. Meanwhile, the so-​called childhood studies submitted these ideologies to a critical ‘deconstruction’, making visible their legitimating function of dominion or empire (see James & Prout, [1990]1997; James, Jenks & Prout, 1998; Prout, 2005). Despite all this, even today, the entanglement with colonial history and its postcolonial consequences does not receive the attention it deserves.5 Arguments similar to those of Mendel and Gstettner were reflected some years later in a study by the two US American scientists (both experts in early childhood pedagogy) Laura Cannella and Radhika Viruru (2004). The authors do not limit themselves to challenging childhood studies; they also make an effort to borrow fundamental ideas from postcolonial studies and apply them to the investigation of children and childhoods. The starting point of Cannella and Viruru’s line of thinking is that from a postcolonial perspective, Western-​dominated models of childhood reproduce hierarchies and separations, for which European enlightenment, modernisation, and the accompanying demand for universality can be blamed. These models of childhood, they claim, are of the very same ideologies that have served as justification for colonial expansion and conquest. This is especially apparent in the identical application of the notion that development occurs from a lower to a higher grade of perfection. Childhood, like non-​European geographical regions and populations, is classified at the lowest rung of the scale, and colonised people are equated with children, both of whom have yet to develop. Colonisation, they go so far as to say, was even executed in the name of children, whose souls were seen in need of saving and whose parents had the obligation to raise them ‘correctly’, in terms of a modern conception of childhood (Cannella & Viruru, 2004: 4). Similar to the relationship between colonial rulers and the colonised, according to Cannella and Viruru, a strict separation between adults and children is established, and the relationship between the two groups becomes institutionalised as a power structure, built upon the force and privilege of the stronger party. This is already expressed, in that the term ‘child’ is associated with a state of incompletion, dependence and subordination, which amounts to ‘a kind of epistemic violence that limits human possibilities’ (op. cit.:  2). This power structure can also be understood, in that the ability to speak (in the widely recognised form of ‘speech’) and read written texts, is the only form of communication recognised in which important ideas can be expressed. Based on their experiences with very young, ‘speechless’ children, Cannella and Viruru at least attempt to uncover ‘a glimpse of the possibilities that the unspoken might offer, that the previously unthought might generate’ (op. cit.:  8). Their (and others’) interest is quintessentially contained in the question: ‘What gives some people the right to determine who other people 45

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are (determinations like the fundamental nature of childhood) and to decide what is right for others?’ (op. cit.: 7; italics original). Modern childhood, seen as separate and opposite from adulthood, which in its institutionalised form isolates children into special reserves, is referred to by the authors as a ‘colonising construct’ (op. cit.: 85).Thereby, ‘binary thinking’, a pioneering concept of modernity, is reproduced, which can only distinguish between good and evil, superior and inferior, right and wrong, or civilised and savage. This division puts adults in a privileged position, since their knowledge is considered superior to that of the child; children may even be denied knowledge under the pretence of protection. This child–​adult dichotomy prolongs colonial power, as it is transferred to an entire population group, who is, in turn, labelled as deficient, needy, slow, lazy, or underdeveloped. The categories of progress and development, the authors argue, have served the purpose of devaluing certain population groups, and securing one’s own superiority over people from other cultures. The idea of ‘childish development’ is transferred to adults of other cultures, thereby arguably ‘infantilising’ them. Like colonised people across the world, children are made to see themselves through the eyes of those who exert control over them, and they are not allowed to reject the hierarchies of surveillance, of judgement, or of intervention in their lives. Even at a time when discussions about children’s rights are becoming more commonplace, this hierarchical relationship is rarely questioned. Cannella and Viruru argue that the subordination of children remains so steadfast because it is substantiated and objectified by ‘the scientific construction of the adult/​child dichotomy’ (op. cit.: 109).6

Starting points in the decolonisation of childhoods The thesis of the colonisation of childhood has occasionally been called into question by pointing out that it was precisely in the bourgeois concept of childhood that accompanied the Enlightenment that not only was the mastery of children achieved through the use of disciplinary techniques but that their autonomy had also been sought. For instance, the educationalist Gerold Scholz (1994) argues against the view expressed by Gstettner that the discipline of children has been unstoppable since the beginnings of childhood science, with the thesis that ‘with the emergence of developmental psychology, also the thought of the child’s autonomy arose’ (op. cit.: 206). It could not have been a coincidence that at the beginning of the twentieth century, the ‘century of the child’7 was proclaimed.There must be a relationship between the child’s conquest of science and the child’s autonomy. This presumptuous relation compels Scholz to posit, […] that the childhood constructions are destined from the attempt to remove the contradictions, which the distinction between ‘child’ and ‘adult’ has brought with. On the basis of this distinction, the adult and the child share a space, and since then the child has called the adult to behave in a manner that takes into account the ambivalence of the child’s difference and similarity. (1994: 203) The autonomy that Scholz refers to has always been imagined in bourgeois childhood construction as a form of education, which is to be generated by education, that is, it was conceived as a task and obligation of adults. It was based not only on the idea that bourgeois society and the labour relations between capitalists and ‘free’ wage workers had required a certain degree of individual self-​responsibility but that it should also be granted to children

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because, in this way, the desired norm-​adequate behaviour could be produced more effectively and more sustainably. The autonomy granted was always related to this purpose, aiming to obtain self-​control and self-​discipline (see Elias, 2000; Foucault, [1969]2002). It is true that reform pedagogy, which was conceived as enlightened and directed against the superficial discipline of children, especially in schools, was created to respect the ‘nature of the child’. But this nature was always regarded only as a starting point to be worked on and developed. In addition, it is important to keep in mind that children of dominated classes have long been excluded from the bourgeois childhood ideals and left to the mere drill of ‘black pedagogy’ (Rutschky, [1970]1997).8 That this trend was gradually loosened was itself due to the fact that the new prosperity, which also spread to the subalterns, was largely based on the persistent exploitation of the colonies and is now based on the continuing inequality within the world order. With the exception of children of privileged classes, in the education institutions of the Global South, children still have little autonomy. The construction of a childhood that is strictly differentiated and separated from the adult is necessarily connected with ambivalence. Even though it is intended to provide children with their ‘own space’ and to temporarily relieve them of the ‘seriousness of life’ or to provide them with special protection, it inevitably goes hand in hand with the devaluation of their competencies and their social status. Under these circumstances, the ‘privilege’ of being spared and protected comes at the expense of independence, and the recognition of the peculiarity or difference takes place in inequality. This is shown by the fact that children may sometimes be happy to be overwhelmed by commitments, and they, sooner or later, perceive childhood as a form of contempt and do not want to be considered ‘children’ anymore.9 Certainly, it is an anthropological fact that human life (as well as animal and plant life) has a beginning and an end, and that every society has to find a way to structure the life course and organise the relationship between people of different ages. Nevertheless, the form that has been ‘invented’ in Western-​bourgeois society, and that has produced what is now called ‘childhood’, is not the only possible one. It is also conceivable, and examples can be found in many non-​ Western cultures, that the relationship between different age groups is not institutionalised and legally regulated as a strict distinction or even as a separation, but as a shared coexistence, which includes different kinds of (co)responsibility. This also means that people do not have to be distinguished, as is customary in Western societies, primarily according to chronological age, but to tasks of varying levels of importance. The abilities required for tasks can be distributed very differently and tasks requiring less skill do not necessarily need to be assigned to younger people. Furthermore, it is to be remembered that –​according to the saying that each one grows with his tasks –​abilities that are required for such tasks are not given, but rather develop as these tasks are entrusted to a person. The strict separation of childhood from adulthood in bourgeois society has to do with the fact that the production and reproduction of life in this society is carried out in forms, which make the continuous unfolding of one’s own abilities almost impossible. The notion of the ‘seriousness of life’ is characterised by the fact that it is localised in the ‘world of work’, which in turn is separated from the rest of life and follows rules that are not based on human needs, but on the exploitation of human labour power and the maximisation of profits. This circumstance makes it difficult to imagine the world of work as a place where children can also have their place and test their abilities. It suggests that childhood should be nailed in places where no important activities are to be done and where it is only important to ‘prepare for the future’. Thus, children are condemned to a life characterised by a lack of independence and passivity or, at best, by a predetermined, limited autonomy or participation. However, these separations

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are also questioned in bourgeois-​capitalist societies, and there is an increasing search for possible ways of combining abstract learning in educational institutions with life-​related or life-​relevant tasks. Here an opportunity is provided to learn from the way children’s lives are shaped in some non-​Western cultures, rather than to continue setting the childhood pattern as an absolute must and to impose it on the cultures and societies of the Global South. At the same time, we must not lose sight of the fact that life in such cultures and societies is itself affected by the postcolonial power constellation. This constellation leads not only to these childhoods being underestimated and made invisible (see Liebel, 2017), but they are also damaged and impaired in a very tangible way. To put an end to the colonisation of childhood, which can also be described as postcolonial paternalism, further decolonisation of postcolonial societies must be pushed ahead with great urgency.

Notes 1 In Book 2, c­ hapters 1 and 2 of this essay, Locke says: ‘Let us then suppose the mind to have no ideas in it, to be like white paper with nothing written on it. How then does it come to be written on?’ 2 The doctrine of the ‘terra nullius’ or ‘no man’s land’, spread for the first time in the year 1096 by Pope Urban II in a papal bull to justify the crusades towards territories inhabited by non-​Christians of the world known at that time and authorise its occupation, had a similar importance for the legitimation of the colonial conquests. The doctrines of law of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries resorted to the concept of ‘terra nullius’ to recognise property rights over territories that were not under the control of any entity –​recognised by a European power. 3 The concept of literacy also includes the ability to communicate as well as the appropriation of ways of thinking and value beyond its written form. To emphasise this is particularly important in the age of digital media. 4 ‘The White Man’s Burden’ is the title of a poem that Rudyard Kipling (1865–​1936) published in the late nineteenth century under the impression of the US American conquest of the Philippines and other former Spanish colonies. Kipling describes the indigenous population of the colonies as ‘your new-​caught, sullen peoples, half devil and half child’, urging the reader to assume the burden of the white man to free them from their savage and childlike state. The poem is considered one of the most important testimonies of imperialism. On Kipling’s literature for children and its concept of childhood, see Walsh (2010). In 1907, Kipling was the first British writer to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. 5 Some of the Anglo-​Saxon researchers on children and childhoods also refer to the relationship between globalisation and postcolonial power constellations (e.g. Burman, 1994, 1996, 2012; Katz, 2004; Burr, 2006; Wells, 2009). Likewise, in Latin America there are several publications explicitly dedicated to postcolonial influences on ‘indigenous children’ or ‘Latin American childhoods’; some of them also refer to postcolonial theories (e.g. Schibotto, 2015). Finally, an international journal that deals mainly with issues of working children and adolescents has devoted a whole issue to this topic (NATs, 2015). 6 Likewise, the so-​called adultism studies deal with the subject of hierarchical relations between adults and children. Generally, adultism is defined as the abuse of the power that adults usually have over children (Flasher, 1978). Adultism includes ‘behaviors and attitudes based on the assumptions that adults are better than young people and entitled to act upon young people without agreement’ (Bell, 1995: 1). These behaviours and attitudes are justified only and exclusively by the young age and the characteristics attributed to it. Therefore, one might well speak of age discrimination –​in the same way that there is talk of gender or race discrimination, which is justified by characteristics supposedly ‘typical’ of men and women or of different ‘races’ (see Liebel, 2014). 7 Here, Scholz refers to the work of the Swedish women and children’s rights activist Ellen Key, which was first published in 1900 and later translated into many languages (English edition: Key, 1909). 8 The uncritical notion of the ‘evil black man’, which has been reproduced in many popular texts, such as the song of the Ten Little Negroes, resonates with this critically intended designation. 9 This is also reflected in the refusal of many young people, who, according to the legal definition of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, are still regarded as children until the age of 18, to consider the ‘children’s rights’ anchored there relevant for themselves. 48

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References Alderson, P. (2013). Childhoods real and imagined. London: Routledge. Ashcroft, B. (2001). On post-​colonial futures: Transformations of colonial cultures. New York: Continuum. Bell, J. (1995). Understanding adultism: A major obstacle to developing positive youth-​adult relationships. Somerville, TX: Youth Build USA. Burman, E. (1994). Innocents abroad: Western fantasies of childhood and the iconography of emergencies. Disasters, 18(3), 238–​253. Burman, E. (1996). Local, global or globalized: Child development and international education. Childhood, 3(1),  45–​66. Burman, E. (2012). Deconstructing neoliberal childhood: Towards a feminist anti-​psychological approach. Childhood, 19(4), 423–​438. Burr, R. (2006). Vietnam’s children in a changing world. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Cannella, G.S. & Viruru, R. (2004). Childhood and postcolonization: Power, education, and contemporary practice. London: Routledge-​Falmer. Comaroff, J. & Comaroff, J. (2008). The colonization of consciousness. In M. Lambek (Ed.), A reader in the anthropology of religion (pp. 464–​78). Malden, MA: Blackwell. de Sousa Santos, B. (Ed.) (2008). Another knowledge is possible:  Beyond northern epistemologies. London & New York: Verso. Elias, N. (2000). The civilizing process. Sociogenetic and psychogenetic investigations. Revised edition. Oxford: Blackwell. Firestone, S. (1970). The dialectic of sex. New York: William Morrow & Co. Flasher, J. (1978). Adultism. Adolescence, 13(51), 517–​523. Foucault, M. ([1969]2002). Archaeology of knowledge. London: Routledge. Gstettner, P. (1981). Die Eroberung des Kindes durch die Wissenschaft. Aus der Geschichte der Disziplinierung. Reinbek: Rowohlt. Habermas, J. ([1981]1985). The theory of communicative action, Vol. 2. Lifeworld and system: The critique of functionalist reason. Boston, MA: Beacon. Hegel, G.W.F. ([1822]1986). Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Geschichte.Werke, vol. 12. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Hendricks, H. (2009). The evolution of childhood in Western Europe c. 1400–​c. 1750. In J. Qvortrup, W.A. Corsaro & M.S. Honig (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of childhoodsStudies (pp. 114–​26). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. James, A. & Prout, A. (Eds.) ([1990]1997). Constructing and reconstructing childhood. London: Falmer Press. James, A., Jenks, C. & Prout, A. (1998). Theorizing childhood. Cambridge: Polity Press. Katz, C. (2004). Growing up global:  Economic restructuring and children’s everyday lives. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Key, E. (1909). The century of the child. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons. Liebel, M. (2014). Adultism and age-​based discrimination against children. In D. Kutsar & H. Warming (Eds.), Children and non-​discrimination. Interdisciplinary textbook (pp. 119–​143). Tartu: University Press of Estonia. Liebel, M. (2017). Children without childhood? Against the postcolonial capture of childhoods in the Global South. In A. Invernizzi, M. Liebel, B. Milne & R. Budde (Eds.), ‘Children out of Place’ and human rights. In memory of Judith Ennew (pp. 79–​97). New York: Springer. Locke, J. ([1690]1995). An essay concerning human understanding. New York: Prometheus Books Mendel, G. (1971). Pour Décoloniser l’Enfant. Sociopsychanalyse de l’Autorité. Paris: Payot. Mudimbe, V.Y. (1988). The invention of Africa:  Gnosis, philosophy and the order of knowledge. Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. NATs (2015). Colonialidad en los saberes y prácticas antagónicas desde y con los NATs. NATs –​Revista Internacional desde los Niños/​as y Adolescentes Trabajadores, XIX(25). Lima: IFEJANT. Osterhammel, J. (2005). Colonialism: A theoretical overview. Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener. Prout, A. (2005) The Future of Childhood. London: Routledge Falmer. Rousseau, J. ([1762]1979). Emile, or on education. New York: Basic Books. Rutschky, K. (Ed.) ([1970]1997). Schwarze Pädagogik. Quellen zur Naturgeschichte der bürgerlichen Erziehung. Berlin: Ullstein. Schibotto, G. (2015). Saber Colonial, Giro Decolonial e Infancias Múltiples de América Latina. NATs –​ Revista Internacional desde los Niños/​as y Adolescentes Trabajadores, XIX(25), 51–​68. Scholz, G. (1994). Die Konstruktion des Kindes. Über Kinder und Kindheit. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. 49

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Spivak, G.C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson & L. Grossberg (Eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp. 66–​111). Urbana, lL: University of Illinois Press. Von Werlhof, C., Mies, M. & Bennholdt-​Thomsen,V. (1988). Frauen –​die letzte Kolonie. Zur Hausfrauisierung der Arbeit. Reinbek: Rowohlt. wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonising the mind:  The politics of language in African literature. London:  James Currey. Walsh, S. (2010) Kipling’s children’s literature: Language, identity and constructions of childhood. Farnham: Ashgate. Wells, K. (2009). Childhood in a global perspective. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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4 Social work co-​option and colonial borders Linda Briskman

Introduction This chapter discusses social work collusion in government-​sponsored cruelty with asylum seekers. The reference point is offshore detention that is part of the armoury of Australia’s deterrence of people endeavouring to arrive directly on Australian shores to seek asylum. Although there have been a number of frameworks for examining offshore policies and practices, including legal-​, health-​, and human rights-​focused, the question of neocolonialism is largely unexplored. To set the context for a neocolonial paradigm, the chapter first provides an overview of Australia’s asylum seeker detention regime and critiques that have followed. Then two offshore detention sites are examined  –​Nauru and Manus Island (Papua New Guinea), arguing that through inducement of nations rendered impoverished by colonial processes, a new form of colonialism has been enacted. Despite the dismantling of many formal arrangements of ‘empire’, I argue in this chapter that the principles that sustained empire-​thinking continue through new means of domination and racism that are underpinned by notions of Western superiority. This plays out in two ways for asylum seekers: first, through measures imposed on people from non-​Western backgrounds that would not be accepted if applied to those from the ‘civilised’ west, and second and more specifically on the topic of this chapter, the establishment of structures in nations deemed to be ‘developing’, underpinned by an obsession with British and enlightenment ‘values’, propped up by a clash of values approach (Huntingdon, 1996). This is exacerbated by the audacity of Australia in endeavouring to export its mode of ongoing colonialism. The colonial inheritance of a belief in white superiority remains entrenched in the Australian psyche and within its institutions (Briskman and Fiske, 2009). The unwitting and uncritical collusion in ongoing colonial structures and processes through contractual employment relationships, should be an area of concern to social workers globally.

Asylum seeking in Australia Australia as a settlement country for refugees largely meets its obligations under the Refugee Convention of 1951.Those who have been accepted as refugees, most frequently from designated refugee camps abroad and through the United Nations processing system, are immediately

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entitled to permanent residency and a range of settlement support services such as income support, housing assistance, education, and assistance in seeking employment (Marlowe and Briskman, 2018). This policy is generally without controversy. It is the arrival of asylum seekers directly to Australia that has been the subject of harsh responses, mainly focused on people arriving by boat, often referred to as ‘boat people’. In deterrence endeavours since 1992, mandatory detention of ‘unauthorised’ asylum seekers has been enshrined in Australian legislation, policy, and practice. The implementation of mandatory detention results in an array of increasingly harsh policy measures including the development of immigration detention facilities in metropolitan, rural, and remote locations. This combines with other severe provisions such as boat turn-​backs at sea, temporary protection visas for those determined to be refugees and, more recently, community detention whereby asylum seekers are located in community settings with few rights and are frequently living in impoverished circumstances. Social workers have been among those advocating for fair and just policies. The Australian Council of Heads of Schools of Social Work conducted a People’s Inquiry into Detention (Briskman, Latham, and Goddard, 2008), a project which won a human rights award. The Geneva-​based research centre, the Global Detention Project (2017–​2018) states: Australia arguably has the most restrictive immigration control regime in the world, making widespread use of offshore detention facilities, imposing mandatory detention measures, and working closely with other countries in the region to boost their detention capacities. All of the country’s detention facilities are operated by private contractors, including offshore facilities, which have been the subject of growing criticism because of the abuses suffered by detainees at some of these facilities. Others express concerns about inconsistency between detention practices and Australia’s human rights obligations including the prohibition of arbitrary detention enshrined in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the imposition of practices that violate the Convention Against Torture and the Convention on the Rights of the Child (Penovic, 2014), universal norms to which social work subscribes. Breaching provisions on the Convention on the Rights of the Child is of particular concern to social work, as children have been and remain among those mandatorily detained, with severe consequences on their health, mental health, and overall well-​being. A  robust advocacy movement that includes professional groups, faith organisations, lawyers, and human rights bodies, has not been able to significantly influence change. Hostility towards asylum seekers by governments has increased over time. One of the most condemned deterrence measures is what is known as offshore detention, where men, women, and children, who have been rendered ‘illegal’ asylum seekers are transported to detention sites in the countries of Nauru and Papua New Guinea (Manus Island location) and where social workers have been employed. Offshore detention is at the core of Australia’s colonialism reinvention.

Colonial borderlands Offshore detention, sometimes called The Pacific Solution, began in 2001 in response to what is known as the Tampa event, when the Australian government, under conservative Prime Minister John Howard, refused to allow a floundering boat carrying more than 430 asylum seekers to land at the Australian territory of Christmas Island (Marr and Wilkinson, 2003), invoking a military response to a humanitarian crisis. The Norwegian captain of the cargo vessel, MV Tampa, in keeping with provisions of the Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) Convention, refused to return the boat to Indonesian waters from where the asylum seekers, mainly Afghan, had begun their 52

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boat journey to Australia. From this standoff, Australia set up the first component of the Pacific Solution on Nauru, followed later by offshore camps in Manus Island in Papua New Guinea. Initially, Australia wanted to send back the boat and its rescued passengers to Indonesia; the Indonesians were insulted that the plans had been made public in Canberra with no consultation with them (Mares, 2001). In a spirit of neighbourly generosity, New Zealand became home for 131 Tampa refugees, later to begin a programme of family reunion. Offshore detention was abolished by a Labor government in 2008. Following a spike in boat arrivals, Labor reinstated the camps in 2012, adopting an unconvincing rhetorical device of preventing deaths at sea (Rothfield, 2014). Under the elected conservative coalition, which now holds power, offshore detention continues. Now men only are held on Manus Island and men, women and until recently children in Nauru, all referred to as ‘transferees’ and without the prospect of being resettled in Australia.Two social workers described the practice of transporting children to Nauru as trafficking, in violation of the UN Trafficking Convention (Briskman and Goddard, 2014). The practice of detaining asylum seekers entering Australian waters on boats and subsequent imprisonment in offshore encampments represents a feature of colonialism that attempts to control who moves across waters and to where, reminiscent of the slave trade from West Africa to the Americas in the seventeenth century (Cooper, 2017). Justification of the ‘slave trade’ to Nauru and Manus Island is further advanced by unjustified amplification of the terrorist threat, which creates opportunities to subvert the rule of law and to expand state powers (Robertson, 2018).This combines with the groundless conflation of asylum seeking with Muslims that has perpetuated a politics of fear in Australian society and beyond. To provide an even wider context to the colonisation position, Australia endeavoured (secretly) to offload Tampa refugees to wherever it could and had its sights on French Polynesia, East Timor, Kiribati, Fiji, Palau,Tuvalu, and Tonga, exercising its economic power to secure a deal (Grewcock, 2009). The deal struck with Nauru in 2001 coincided with the country’s financial problems, with the Australian government funding various aspects of ‘development’ (Grewcock, 2009:  171). What characterised arrangements with both Nauru and Papua New Guinea was that it ‘locked in economically vulnerable regional states to Australia’s border policing strategy’, entrenching neocolonial relationships (Grewcock, 2009: 171). Nauru is a country of around 10 000 inhabitants, economically disadvantaged through the denuding of its landscape following international exploitation of phosphate reserves. Papua New Guinea became independent from Australia in 1975 but remains ripe for further colonial exploitation through ongoing poverty (Briskman and Doe, 2016). Although offshore detention may be seen as providing mutual benefit –​a dumping ground for Australia and an economic windfall for Nauru and Papua New Guinea –​the dominance of Australia’s economic might did not create a level playing field. For asylum seekers it represented a turn from being perceived as people fleeing oppression to human cargo, commodities for political and economic advantage. Exploitation of both Pacific nations and of asylum seekers is a mechanism by which a government exercises border control. In entering neocolonial spaces, those deemed illegal are transferred to territories outside. Yet inside the coloniser’s legal framework, a state of legal limbo is a phenomenon that Weber and Pickering (2011: 4), describe as the ‘shadow of the law’. The uncertainty this creates for people who have been rendered ‘illegal’, while exercising a right to seek asylum, compounds the hardship and suffering through a further entrenchment of indefinite detention, which also applies within Australia’s domestic law and policy. Border policing has been an important mechanism for the exertion of Australia’s influence in the Asia Pacific, including through the presence of Australian state agencies in Indonesia and through coercing the Indonesian government to criminalise people-​smuggling (Grewcock, 2014). 53

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Although Australia has a record of lecturing its neighbours on ‘good governance’ with its aid programme stressing accountability and sustainability, the Nauru deal defied even these principles (Mares, 2001: 127). Stepping back from the issue of detention, Mares’ assertion that Australia lectures nearby Pacific islands, reinforces a statement from the government of Nauru on Australia’s attempts to exert influence on its legal system:  that Nauru rejects colonialism as ideology and practice and as a sovereign nation will make decisions based on what is best for Nauruans, ‘not what ill-​informed racist, colonial-​minded Australian lawyers, journalists and activists try and demand’ (cited in McKenzie-​Murray, 2018).

The impact of colonial practices There have been robust calls for closure of offshore camps by human rights organisations, in Australia and abroad, and by health and welfare professionals. The impact of ongoing detention on mental health and well-​being is well documented and some people have been in offshore detention sites for many years. Even though there is ‘incontrovertible evidence that the human rights outcomes of Australia’s offshore detention centres are devastating’ (Netherey and Holman, 2016), policy toughening occurs and there is no end in sight. There have been overwhelmingly tragic incidents including preventable health-​related events, a murder, and suicides (Doherty and Vasefi, 2018). The Australian Association of Social Workers (AASW) is among the groups that have raised concerns about offshore detention, particularly regarding children (AASW, 2015). The release by The Guardian of what is known as the Nauru Files, which contain damning welfare reports, should be a wake-​up call to Australian social work. The Nauru Files comprised a cache of 2 000 leaked reports that highlighted the scale of abuse of children.These leaked files set out confirmation from staff working in Nauru detention facilities including caseworkers, guards, teachers, and medical personnel who had been tasked with caring for asylum seekers in this island nation (Farrell et al., 2016). The accounts revealed disturbing incidents of self-​harm, child abuse, and sexual assault against women. Like other neocolonial techniques, The Guardian points out that Australia supplies aid to the world’s smallest island state and buys services from the Nauru government and companies, leading to accusations that Nauru is a ‘client state’ (Farrell et al., 2016). Following the revelations, 26 former employees, including case managers, social workers, child protection experts and teachers jointly called for the detention centre to close (Davidson, 2016). Prominent Queens Counsel Julian Burnside (2007:  87) in condemning Australia for having ‘suborned two of its poverty-​stricken neighbours in doing whatever suits Australia’s policy’, notes that ‘to protect our national sovereignty we have compromised theirs’. And in doing so he adds, we have ‘destroyed the lives of pathetic, vulnerable, powerless people’. Grewcock (2014: 75) reflects that agreements with weaker and poorer states –​Papua New Guinea and Nauru –​constitute a direct neocolonial relationship. He points to the historical connections of both states to Australia’s influence and the continuing dependence on Australian aid. Social workers Briskman and Fiske (2009) argue that offshore detention on Nauru and in Papua New Guinea is evidence of colonial entrenchment in dictating ‘development’. As pointed out by Osuri and Banerjee (2004), colonial nationalisms, despite histories of multicultural coexistence, are discursively entrenched. An early warning signal came from the Pacific Islands National Association of Non-​Government Organisations in 2001, which appealed to Pacific Island governments to contemplate the impact and consequences of entering into aid arrangements with Australia that ‘will have adverse impacts on our communal life as Pacific communities, as well as our sovereignty’ (cited in Oxfam, 2007: 43). 54

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In practice, colonialism takes on a range of guises. One of the unfortunate consequences of offshore detention has been excessive criticism of the recolonised countries, including depiction of Manus Islander residents as violent and racist. Although this serves the interests of advocacy to push for refugee resettlement in Australia, it reproduces the colonial clash of civilisations discourse where islanders are depicted as savages. This further condemns these countries to colonial notions of civilisation, superiority, and inferiority. One journalist reflected on journalistic practices, including his own (McKenzie Murray, 2018), stating that for most Australians Nauru has become shorthand for our policy of offshore detention. He adds: My own reporting is guilty of it. This is, largely, a collateral result of journalistic necessity –​ the policy has been injurious, and our unquestioning patronage of the Nauruan government dubious. From an insider perspective, Nauruan opposition Member of Parliament, Mathew Batsiua, a former justice minister, comments: We’re known outside for two things, refugees and corruption. But it’s a beautiful country. We’re friendly people. We’re very hospitable. We accept people for who they are. (Cited in McKenzie Murray, 2018) The reinforcement of negativity on Papua New Guinea towards the ‘colonised’ can also be understood through leaked comments from the Manus Island camp manager, Broadspectrum and the security contractor, Wilson. Comments published by The Guardian in May 2017 outline that camp managers and security staff waged a campaign to make Australia’s detention of refugees and asylum seekers on Manus Island as inhospitable as possible so they would accept resettlement in Papua New Guinea, while at the same time stating that violence could occur if they were released into the community (cited in Robertson, 2018). In further commodification of those ‘othered’ in dominant discourses and political processes, a deal was struck with the United States to trade refugees from Central America for refugees held on Nauru and Manus Island. Although there would be few elements of Trumpism that social workers applaud, a statement by US President Trump to Australian Prime Minister Turnbull that the deal negotiated by former President Obama was a ‘dumb deal’ (McKeith, 2017) is one about which it is difficult to disagree. After this dumb deal is progressing slowly: and the US has advised that it will not meet its original intake quota.

Export of neocolonial detention Unashamedly, Australia proclaims its approaches internationally at the same time that international criticism abounds, including from the United Nations and Amnesty International. On the world stage, Australia is far-​flung and insignificant, yet it attempts to wield influence over other states. For example, immediately preceding the United Nations 2016 summit on refugees in New York, then Australian Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull, proclaimed that Australia’s protection policy was the best in the world (Karp, 2016). In another attempt at exporting Australia’s policies, in April 2018 on a visit to Germany, Prime Minister Turnbull told a Berlin audience that the public needed to trust the government in determining who comes into a country, praising Australia’s ‘very very disciplined’ approach to border protection (cited in Shanahan, 2018). Outspoken former conservative Prime Minister Tony Abbott is known for giving unsolicited advice. In delivering the Margaret Thatcher lecture in London, he urged Europe to emulate 55

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Australia’s border security policies, asserting that Western nations ought to ‘stand up for ourselves’ (Chan, 2015). Provocatively, Abbott, a professed Christian, told the gathering that the Christian tenet of ‘love thy neighbour’ did not apply to asylum seekers.

Entry of social work I have previously written about my concerns regarding Australian social workers in offshore detention, including not only their collusion but also co-​option of reputable NGOs such as Save the Children and the Salvation Army, at different times their contracted employing bodies (Briskman and Doe, 2016). I remain concerned that the Australian social work association, unlike some medical bodies, has not called upon social workers to exit offshore detention sites. What is missing in most analyses to date is the connection of social workers to colonialism. At its most basic level, enactment of social work practice in colonial settings constitutes collusion with the state. There are a number of ways in which social work has been betrayed. Members of the profession have been expected to work within unacceptable levels of secrecy, despite bearing witness to both the harms to asylum seekers and the impact on local communities. In 2015, the Border Force Act made it a crime, with punishment of up to two years’ imprisonment, for the disclosure of information gained in the course of employment. Although now repealed for social workers, the legacy of this legislative provision remains, with little scope for advocacy, a key part of the social work mission. At the risk of losing their jobs, some courageous social workers did speak out through public statements with other NGO employees about conditions facing asylum seekers detained offshore. And despite government attempts to suppress information, a series of horror accounts have been leaked to the media and to advocates from medical personnel and by detained asylum seekers. However, with increased employment of health practitioners from other impoverished countries, including the Philippines, advocacy by medical employees is likely to diminish as there does not exist the same understanding of the rapacious politics that maintain detention and the practices within. Such staff will be unlikely to be able to testify in Australia about the conditions they observe (NSW Nurses and Midwives Association, 2016). In these Pacific sites, social workers are removed from the scrutiny of practice tenets that are usually upheld by employing organisations. The notion of empowerment is one that is impossible to uphold when the ‘client group’ is rendered both rightsless and powerless, and where often the only means to exercise agency is through protest or self-​harm. Anti-​racist practice is a theoretical construct that social workers understand but it is more commonly applied at the direct practice level rather than being concerned with wider structures. Institutional racism can be seen at organisational levels and can influence the way social workers practice. On Nauru this was evident in a narrative by social worker ‘Jane Doe’ (Briskman and Doe, 2016) who talked about how she had to operate in a climate of excessive control. Social workers were not only unable to work within a trauma-​based practice framework, but also worked in a trauma-​ producing setting. The wider question of colonialist practices in the Pacific is something new to social workers and, as in other endeavours, needs to be reflected and acted upon. In these settings, health and welfare practices can be so ingrained that they become normalised and unchallenged. The holistic question of social work collusion in offshore detention can no longer be confined to critiques of direct practices, without incorporating critical analyses of the subjugation of one country’s national interests by another’s. This raises questions of moral responsibility as part of the wider social justice project in social work (Williams and Briskman, 2015). If social work is to embrace a global agenda, then colonialism needs to be at its core as it is at the root of many 56

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problems past and present with which social work has to deal –​racism, Indigenous rights, and asylum seeker interdiction and containment. There appears to be little scope for social workers in Pacific detention settings to express moral outrage, an emotional stance that is antithetical to dominant ideas of impartiality, rationality and objectivity (Williams and Briskman, 2015). Stopping the boats, preventing drownings at sea, and determining who can enter Australia are presented as obvious and logical by policy architects, rather than as conceptually flawed and antithetical to human rights and anti-​colonial tenets.

Social work and anti-​colonial practices Nadia Razack (2009: 11) speaks of decolonising pedagogy including theories and understandings from postcolonial studies, and spatial and critical race theory. She states: Social work is not innocent of historical abuses associated with colonial practices, especially and foremost among Aboriginal peoples. It therefore follows that we incorporate a dominant ideology that is tinged with the stain of colonialism and imperialism. Knowledge of our history allows us to make concerted efforts to avoid its repetition in our work with others, whether on a local or a global terrain. (Razack, 2009: 11–​12) From this, in relation to the topic under study, social work needs to rethink its ongoing complicity with dominant state-​engineered practices. It needs to develop its advocacy role to challenge colonialism, using its knowledge base to condemn and try to influence dominant practices and ideologies. Razack’s position is a reminder to social workers to be cognisant of historical practices of nation building. Although this has thankfully occurred in the indigenous sphere, there are few overt statements by social workers that locate Australia’s immigration policies in historical/​political contexts. To do so mandates social work to remember that modern-​day Australia was built on the deportation of unwanted felons from Britain who were detained in the open prison of Australia and subject to brutalities that would defy today’s international conventions. It also demands recognition of how the White Australia Policy, in place until the 1970s, continues to influence ‘whiteness thinking’ of current-​day Australia. Social worker Jacques Boulet (2003:  229–​230) shows how our pasts, presents and futures are bound together, also, when we are refusing entry to those who flee their countries because of Western imposition such as those sheltering from US missiles in Afghanistan, and then label them as ‘illegals’ and send them to poverty-​stricken Pacific Islands where governments need the cash to do our work. Social work has prescribed international and national ethics which, despite the fact that they are not enshrined in enforceable legislation, present clear moral direction for social workers. Does the participation of social workers in continuing neocolonialism that creates harm to the sending nation, the receiving nation and, most importantly, to detained asylum seekers, breach this moral stance? Maylea and Hirsch (2017) ask whether social workers are breaching the Australian Association of Social Workers Code of Ethics if they work in ways which uphold and maintain the asylum system. Gray and Webb (2014:  336) highlight the challenges faced by social workers in pursuing emancipatory politics centred on freedom, justice, and equality. They point to the tension in the practice of social work that refutes the dominant order, while being ‘contaminated by and maintaining this order’. Through education, they posit, social work can become a politics of refusal, with social workers standing together in solidarity and with students asked to 57

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consider how social work might take part in a fresh demand for equality, justice, and universal emancipation. Pawar et al. (2017: 194–​195), in writing on virtue ethics and social work, speak of the pursuit of social justice. They note the ways in which virtuous social workers challenge systemic and structural injustices. Unfortunately, the modernising project of professionalisation of social work has been privileged over the quest for social justice, with a decline in the quest for moral responsibility (Williams and Briskman, 2015).

Conclusion There is further work needed on where social work in closed environments intersects with human rights violations, which includes questions of colonialism. As a profession with internationalist leanings and sensitivity to cultures, it so far has not extended criticality and analysis to embrace international relations themes that grapple with questions of power, dominance, and control. For social work to locate itself in postcolonial ideals, it will need to more robustly engage with a wider range of theoretical and interdisciplinary constructs and apply those to settings where colonialism is maintained and reinvented and where it harms vulnerable people and societies.

References Australian Association of Social Workers (2015). Letter to Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, 9 October. www.aasw.asn.au/​document/​item/​8043. Boulet, J. (2003). Globalising practice in the international context. In J. Allan, B. Pease & L. Briskman (Eds.), Critical social work: An introduction to theories and practices (pp. 228–​245). Sydney: Allen and Unwin,. Briskman, L. & Doe, J. (2016). Social work in dark places. Social Alternatives, 35(4), 73–​79. Briskman, L., Latham, S. & Goddard, C. (2008). Human rights overboard:  Seeking asylum in Australia. Melbourne: Scribe. Briskman, L. & Goddard, C. (2014). Australia trafficks the asylum seeker children. The Age, 25 February, p. 20. Burnside, J. (2007). Watching brief: Reflections on human rights, law and justice. Melbourne: Scribe. Chan, G. (2015). Tony Abbott urges Europe to adopt Australian policies in refugee crisis. The Guardian, 28 October. www.theguardian.com/​world/​2015/​oct/​28/​tony-​abbott-​urges-​europe-​to-​adopt-​australian​border-​policies. Cooper, G. (2017). The inhumane treatment of refugees on Manus Island is a continuation of Australia’s colonial past. Stuff. www.stuff.co.nz/​world/​australia/​99449730/​the-​inhumane-​treatment-​of-​refugees​on-​manus-​island-​is-​a-​continuation-​of-​australias-​colonial-​past. Davidson, H. (2016). Former Save the Children workers say Nauru files just the tip of the iceberg. The Guardian, 10 August. www.theguardian.com/​news/​2016/​aug/​10/​former-​save-​the-​children​workers-​say-​nauru-​files-​just-​the-​tip-​of-​the-​iceberg. Doherty, B. & Vasefi, S. (2018). ‘Iranian asylum seeker dies by suicide on Nauru’, The Guardian, 15 June. www.theguardian.com/​world/​2018/​jun/​15/​iranian-​asylum-​seeker-​dies-​by-​suicide-​on-​nauru. Farrell, P., Evershed, N. & Davidson, H. (2016). The Nauru files: Cache of 2,000 leaked reports reveal scale of the abuse of children in Australian offshore detention. The Guardian, 10 August. www.theguardian. com/​australia-​news/​2016/​aug/​10/​the-​nauru-​files-​2000-​leaked-​reports-​reveal-​scale-​of-​abuse-​of-​ children-​in-​australian-​offshore-​detention. Fiske, L. & Briskman, L. (2009). The empire strikes back –​refugees, race and the reinvention of empire. In D. Bennett, J. Earnest & M.Tanji (Eds.), People, place and power: Australia and the Asia Pacific (pp. 217–​238). Perth: Black Swan Press. Global Detention Project (2017–​ 2018). Australia mmigration detention, Country Profiles. www. globaldetentionproject.org/​countries/​asia-​pacific/​australia. Gray, M. & Webb, S. (2014). No issue, no politics: Towards a New Left in social work education. In C. Noble, H. Strauss and B. Littlechild (Eds.), Global social work: Crossing borders, blurring boundaries, (pp. 327–​338). Sydney: Sydney University Press. 58

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Grewcock, M. (2014). Australian border policing: Regional ‘solutions’ and neolcolonialism, Race and Class, 55(3),  71–​78. Grewcock, M. (2009). Border crimes: Australia’s war on illicit migrants. Sydney: The Institute of Criminology. Huntingdon, S. (1996). The clash of civilizations and the remaking of world order. New York: Simon and Schuster. Karp, P. (2016). Turnbull claims Australian border policies ‘best in world’ despite widespread criticism. The Guardian, 18 September, www.theguardian.com/​australia-​news/​2016/​sep/​18/​malcolm-​turnbull​australias-​border-​protection-​policy-​the-​best-​in-​the-​world. Mares, P. (2001). Borderline: Australia’s response to refugees and asylum seekers in the wake of the Tampa. Sydney: UNSW Press. Marlowe, J. & Briskman, L. (2018). Working with refugees and asylum seekers. In M. Connolly, J.  Maidment  & L. Harms Smith (Eds.), Social work:  Contexts and practices, 4th edition, Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Marr, D. & Wilkinson, M. (2003). Dark victory. Sydney: Allen and Unwin. Maylea, C. & Hirsch, A. (2017). Social workers as collaborators? The ethics of working within Australia’s asylum system. Ethics and Social Welfare, http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1080/​17496535.2017.1310918. McKeith, S. (2017). Australia’s refugee swap deal with US in jeopardy. Huffington Post, 16 July. www. huffingtonpost.com.au/​2017/​07/​15/​australian-​refugee-​swap-​deal-​with-​us-​in-​jeopardy_​a_​23031863/​. McKenzie-​Murray, M. (2018). Australia props up Nauru’s ‘out of control’ president. Saturday Paper, 7–​13 April. www.thesaturdaypaper.com.au/​news/​law-​crime/​2018/​04/​07/​australia-​props-​naurus-​out-​ control-​president/​15230232006056. Netherey, A. & Holman, R. (2016). Secrecy and human rights abuse in Australia’s offshore immigration detention centres, The International Journal of Human Rights, 20(7), 1018–​1038. New South Wales Nurses and Midwives Association. (2016). Brave stand leads to backdown on border force act. 5 December. www.nswnma.asn.au/​brave-​stand-​leads-​to-​back-​down-​on-​border-​force-​act/​. Osuri, G. & Banerjee, S.B. (2004).White diasporas: Media representations of September 11 and the unbearable whiteness of being in Australia. Social Sciences, 14(2), 151–​171. Oxfam. (2007). A Price too high: The cost of Australia’s approach to asylum seekers. Melbourne: Oxfam. http://​ resources.oxfam.org.au/​filestore/​originals/​OAus-​PriceTooHighAsylumSeekers-​0807.pdf. Pawar, M., Hugman, R., Alexandra, A. & Anscombe, A.W. (2017). Virtue-​led social work practice. In M. Pawar, R. Hugman, A. Alexandra & and A.W. Anscombe (Eds.), Empowering social workers: Virtuous practitioners. Singapore: Springer. Penovic,T. (2014). Privatised immigration detention services: Challenges and opportunities for implementing human rights. In B. Naylor, J. Debeljak & A. Mackay (Eds.), Human rights in closedeEnvironments (pp. 10–​ 47). Sydney: The Federation Press. Razack, N. (2009). Decolonizing the pedagogy and practice of international social work. International Social Work, 52(1), 9–​21. Robertson, T. (2018). Australia’s torture camps. Arena, No. 153, Melbourne. Rothfield, R. (2014). The drownings argument  –​Australia’s inhumanity:  Offshore processing of asylum seekers. Australia: Palmer Higgs. Shanahan, D. (2018). PM tells Germany: you must control borders. The Australian, 28 April, p. 2. Weber, L. & Pickering, S. (2011). Globalization and borders: Death at the global frontier. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Williams, C. & Briskman, L. (2015). Reviving social work through moral outrage. Critical and Radical Social Work, 39(1), 133–​43.

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5 Development. A postcolonial approach Ronald Lutz

Development: knowledge of ethnology The concept of development must be set up in those circumstances where it should change and improve conditions. The commitment to sustainability and autonomy is thereby indispensable. The fundamental question raised is: what is the meaning of development? Furthermore, how does one depict it in practice? Development, and especially social development, needs to be discussed as ‘reflexive development’. Only then can the connection with the social work of the Global South and with the discourses of indigenisation be disentangled. However we define development, it always finds itself in the constant dialectic of nature and culture, and in the structure of relationships that are emerging and growing within it. According to contemporary ethnology, there is no durability or generality of patterns, concepts, meanings, and reasoning in this dialectical context. Even nature itself reflects an interpretation of humans and may not claim stability or clarification. The perception and effect of nature is culturally created. The definition of nature and culture and the borderline between both terms, the significance of that borderline, and how everything is presented along the continuum, is always a human-​ made product and attitude. However, in this dialectical continuum of being and becoming, regularities and structures are necessary. They get invented and secured with sanctions. Therein they are always the result of a specific confrontation of humans with their environment and traditions, with challenges and with themselves. In spite of the human characteristics of persistence and normative rigidity, qualities such as the potential for appropriation and cultural cognition inhere in humans as well. As a result, humans can strive for change –​especially if the change is necessary for ensuring the security of life. This includes the accessible world as well as the dimensions beyond the earthly world. Structures and regularities always integrate with ‘utopic elements’. People can imagine that the contemporary world is not the best and the last of its kind. Behind this world lie alternatives. Under the conditions that the conscious human being has created for himself he can strive for those alternatives and accomplish them, even though they are located in the metaphysical realm.

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Conceptions of transformation and change are immanent to human beings and condense into the ‘principle of development’. The wider the cultural horizon is broadened, the sooner ideas, imaginations, and practices of ‘development as adjustment’ become possible. Concepts and practices of ‘development as change’ become possible through encounters and relationships with ‘the other’, through experiences of transformation, the detachment of the ‘bonds of tradition’. Those images of development as change get condensed into the ‘declared intention’ to make change happen. In its numerous facets it finds its complete expression in the dialectic of nature and culture, as well as in the structures of relationships. It can be understood as an essential component of the concept of conditio humana. The Global North, with its colonial and imperial heritage, intends to dominate and govern according to a specific understanding of development. It is in this light that its image of development must be understood and presented. As part of the necessary delamination of this hegemonic term of the Global North, development will here be discussed as reflexive development, using knowledge of ethnology. The content and goals of this term –​reflexive development –​ occur as a result of the particular context. It is invented and realised for reflecting one’s own culture and unique background. In the face of new challenges, it gets continuously redefined with the aim of formulating adjusted practices.With reflexive development, development can be understood from inside itself. Changes that are initiated by the concerned humans themselves, and that lead to the improvement of their livelihood, can be created. This also identifies the vision of sustainability:  reflexive development finds its basis in the living conditions of human beings and endures and is preserved through them. Consequently, it is also reflexive in the sense of not strongly changing or destroying its own foundations, with the consequence of its utopias and hopes being set aside.The idea of sustainability refers, in a double sense, to the context of reflexive development. Those ideas get integrated into the concept of reflexive development and are aspects of a broader context. In its realisation, reflexive development means an attempt to implement into reality how people are imagining their life and how they face new challenges. It implicates the vision of how life could be, through human, or, also, divine influences –​it becoming a good, or at least a better, life. In the inevitable dialectic of utopia (vision), hope (objective), and action (practice) reflexive development can only evolve through the daily and practical life of the human concerned. Development as a dialectic subsists on the active or remaining potential of human beings to use their ability to create and to act. Equally, reflexive development fosters these abilities in humans. As a vision, an objective, and a practice it is dependent on the project’s concepts, structures, and beliefs, which are constantly being transformed. In its realisation, development always owns its specific characteristics of time, space, and culture. It implicates a dynamic that is not possible to plan or to foresee. Within the conversion, which is immanent to all cultures, there is always a confrontation with contexts that are initially foreign. All cultures are familiar with ‘the other’ (transcendence). The everyday life is determined through ‘cultural contacts’ (reality). No culture can be seen as being isolated in time and space for eternity. Cultures want to distance themselves from what is initially foreign. However, events occur that could be worth learning from, and adapting in response to. In light of this, cultures are influenced by each other. These actions of reception and ‘translation’ are the engines of all change. They indicate the dialectic of reflexive development, which constantly is created anew through the influence of cultures. Reflexive development grows through the processes of negotiation between tradition and utopia, old and new experiences, passed-​on rituals, and rituals that are modified between existing and expanded knowledge. This radical consequence means that reflexive development, as a

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vision, an objective, and a practice, can only become effective within the human design of the action and in the action itself. Anything else would reflect the improper influence of external oppressors, which patronise and deprive other cultures of their own tradition and values, and that sometimes destroy them completely.

Development from the outside: the fall of the colonial modernity The history of imperial colonialism and its accompanying development aid shows the consequences of change that is almost only promoted from the outside. In this case, change is understood through the perception of the conquerors who later became development partners. All the underlying concepts of development were initially characterised by imperial rule, which gradually focused on the ideas regarding the underdevelopment of the Global South. The aim was to reduce this underdevelopment through modernity and to gain progress, based on a specific vision and a specific model. After the end of colonial domination, this concept was carried forward in a modified form through the concepts and practices of development cooperation. Imperial rule was converted into economic hegemony. Development as a utopian model assumes that countries from outside of the ‘Euro-​American periphery’ are backwards. Euro-​American countries are putting the label ‘underdeveloped’ on the other countries, teaching them that they need to adjust to the economic, social, and cultural contexts of the ‘developed’ countries. Progress was seen as a ‘catching-​up process’ that needed to be controlled from the outside. Based on the design of this process, objectives and practices of change were propagated and implemented. Generalised models, which were created within their own contexts, were meant to find an application in all contexts. Intended processes of transformation defined the ‘levels of development’ of the Global North. This construct showed a hierarchy from developed to underdeveloped and was classified as being extremely knowledge-​based, guided by common sense, and as being progressive in its objectives and practices. This model could be turned into a guiding principle for policy because the Euro-​American Global North obtained all the necessary economic and political instruments of power, and because institutions such as the World Bank, the UN, and UNESCO adopted its model of development. Even to this day, this model is based on specific ideas about the economy, predominantly with respect to social structures, and images of human beings as autonomous subjects with deeply anchored norms and values, and a specific understanding of human rights. This dialectical model was invented through a long historical process of differentiation, and it should serve as a model for all processes of change. Therefore it is still understood, in very generalised terms, as the promotion of the modernisation of traditional societies. This model is inseparably intertwined with colonialism and its economic root in the expansion of the European empires and the resulting exploitation. This economic plundering benefited only the rich Global North and a very small elite in the colonies. In terms of development, colonisation was seen as the ‘means’ of modernising backward societies. Colonies were a ‘laboratory of modernity’, where the ideas and institutions of Euro-​American modernity were able to spread. Modernisation occurred through the implementation of the administrative and bureaucratic machinery of the Euro-​American model –​through Christianisation, the establishment of modern communication and transport, the enforcement of state schooling, and of the single application of rules and legislation. It is indisputable that those changes also had a beneficial effect. But they meant the ‘Europeanisation’ of non-​European societies that were seen needing civilisation and modernity. This ‘practice’ became condensed into the theories of modernisation that saw cultural peculiarities and the beliefs of traditional societies as obstacles to development.These theories assumed

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that a reasonable model of development could only be achieved through the European and North American point of view –​a model that was immensely efficient in Europe and North America, from their perspective of economic and social development. It was the belief that all other societies and cultures should be measured based on those experiences and be developed in the same manner. Max Weber presented his vision:  ‘Modernisation is a reversible process of transformation of traditional societies through technological and scientific innovation. Embodied in this process lies a force with the power to change everything, which might definitely be attractive’. Imperialism and colonialism were understood as being concomitant to the ‘normally positive’ path towards the modernisation of backward societies. The critical and analytical view of the negative impact of this transformation remained mostly concealed, such as the chronic crisis, dependence and exploitation, violence and war, the spread of diseases, and the destruction of indigenous cultures. Dependency theories are showing these impacts: factors rooted in European colonial rule forced developing countries to stand in a long-​term and lasting backward position of the world economy, which is still the case nowadays. Radical discourses of opposition can be found in independence movements. After the end of colonialism, the internal economic structure of a dependency on Europe and America remained, yet it is hidden behind the entitlements of development cooperation. The political influence continued after the former colonies had gained independence. Concepts and measures of development cooperation continued to be used with the aim of modernising underdeveloped societies.Traditional structures were transformed in even deeper ways, destroyed and rearranged in the spirit of Euro-​American modernity. There is an attempt to demolish fundamentalist countermovements with efforts of democratisation, some of them in the form of warfare such as in Afghanistan and now in Syria and Iraq. Those processes were based on the concepts of development, modernity, and the modernisation of the Global South. They provided the countries of the Global South with the accumulation of Western wealth and Western power, as a solution to their –​defined from a Western view –​underdevelopment. The Euro-​American effort to impose their model on anyone and everything is nothing other than an ongoing form of colonialism.They are using their economic power, their political influence, their money, and sometimes also violence, for their mechanisms of brutal colonialism. Such patterns of development are ‘directive’ and far from being reflexive. They are creating hopelessness and subjection. They are interrupting the dialectic of change and are establishing a practice that remains as a totally alien environment for the people affected –​which causes a countermovement. These approaches are necessarily leading to criticism, which shows up in the form of a confrontation with hegemonic modernity and its perception of the other. In those discussions, the colonialising modernity is further recognised as Eurocentric, due to the fact that it is based on three essential and almost apodictic assumptions: • an abrupt break with traditional systems that are labelled as being underdeveloped and behind the times • an obviously defined difference between Europe, the US, and the rest of the world; those differences are clearly demonstrated in the economic structures of the World community, which gives obvious advantages to European and American companies • a hegemonically established superiority and rule of the North, which is, among other things, demonstrated in military strength and presence.

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Colonies should adjust to Northern concepts and become integrated in their own contexts.The objective of the Global North to gain economic profit is still continuing today and is dominating the relationships of global capitalism. The transfer of Euro-​American modernity is continuing to be something that is addressed in discussions about postcolonialism and radical criticism, with its hegemonic contexts being analysed. This criticism of the colonialising modernisation process and its impact was one starting point for a reflexive discussion. But it was not the only fact that led towards thoughts and conceptual models regarding the Philosophy of Liberation as well as the provoked theories of sustainable social development, which also becomes visible in the timorous new approaches of an independent social work of the (Global) South. Furthermore, it became clear that modernity as a term and as a process cannot only, or in a privileged manner, refer to the North. Modernity as a process of change and as a process of reception and translation can proceed in multiple ways. The negotiation processes between tradition and utopia, between the experience of the other and the transformation of the self, are not bound by time or space. Postcolonial discourse defines the process of modernisation as an economic, social, and cultural change, with remarkable changes in existing structures and with the adjustment to numerous challenges that would happen with or without the colonial presence. The associated thesis of ‘indigenous modernisation’ demonstrates that modernisation, as a social change, does not necessarily need to follow a common path. Non-​colonial forms of cultural contact, the independent adaption of the sciences, and other ideas and patterns of state rule can equally be impulses for modernisation. The growth of a heritage through the inclusion of elements of European and other examples of modernity are the result. In this process the Euro-​American model is rather marginal. Currently, multiple forms of modernity can be found, as well as modernisation without colonialism. Indigenous cultural traditions hold points of reference and models that are responding to cultural contacts (accidental, forced, voluntary). Modernisation as development is a force that possesses a high level of attraction.The details of its realisation remain open. Such a development can only be understood as reflexive if it finds complete expression through utopia (vision), hope (objective), and action (practice), and if it is originating from the concerned actors and simultaneously includes those actors.

The utopia of reflexive development: a philosophy of hope and the good life A necessary criticism of the postulate and the practice of directive-​driven development in colonialism and policy, which are given absolute importance in the Euro-​American contexts of modernisation, and of the empires of multiple and indigenous modernity, is that the core nature of human beings and the possible degrees of freedom cannot be ignored. In the philosophy of the enlightenment, this core has been reflected as a ‘philosophy of hope’ and presented in social utopias, in liberation movements, in the philosophy of liberation, and in theoretical concepts of indigenous generation, and was, furthermore, a factor influencing those trends. These movements are dealing with concepts of justice that all humans, in the same manner, would be entitled to. They are dealing with notions of a good life, of how human beings are imagining their own lives from a good and reasonable background. They are broaching the issue of rejection of illegitimate power and rule in favour of self-​determination. Furthermore, it is about permanently unfolding hope and sense, which are providing human beings with the necessary support in times of transition. The heart of humanity postulates that the change that is 64

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launched by humans should always be in the service of the humans concerned. The philosophy of Euro-​American modernity, which is seen as an ‘unfinished project’, has already embraced this idea and has adapted it many times over. This unfinished project is committed to strong humanistic ideals, which were regularly stressed and spread throughout the project’s intellectual history and became further developed in works of the Enlightenment. It remains the basis for all utopias and practices of the good life. Keeping these ideals continuously in mind leads to the utopia and to the core of reflexive development: • the idea that all human beings are equal • justice being the basis of all moral reasoning • a positive and holistic view of the human being • human rights and human dignity being central to the content of social relationships, as well as the relationships between nations • the recognition of the other on the basis of legal and human solidarity • the indivisibility of freedom: the freedom of one must not become the oppression of the other. Since the Enlightenment, modernity is more than just an economic project; it is also a cultural project that aims to foster the autonomy and the self-​determination of the human being. This project can only be understood as an open process without any beginning or ending. It is a dynamic movement whose practice always stays connected to the action of the human being. Thereby, the change of society involves the same basic element, and turns into a process of negotiation about how to actively create a good life. Against this background, values, patterns, and structures can unfold and mature. At the same time, traditions can be carried forward while gradually changing through the actions of the human being: rationality, freedom, criticism, education, authenticity, individualisation, history, understanding of nature, democracy, constitutional state, respect for everyone’s rights, recognition of the other, respect, and dignity. Despite the presence of exploitation, imperialism, and warfare, this understanding of modernity, with its visions and its character of being a project, is still far from having destroyed itself or of having failed entirely. Its aspects and values retain their importance. But inside some power structures, modernity seems to be too much trouble. Or rather, the global North believes that Euro-​American modernity has already arrived at its final aim. The ‘end of the story’ is a never-​ ending paradise in which the global North understands and celebrates itself as the final winner. It is important to underline that the core of modernity and the power of its vision, as a yet unfinished project, still has great significance for concepts of the good life. These concepts highlight basic perceptions on life –​usually ideas about the principles of freedom and autonomy generated from the European Enlightenment.These principles include justice, equality of all, the autonomy of the human being, and the necessary recognition and respect for people, but also the principles of the open society and of development, which remain products of human action as they are formulated in the Movement of Liberation. As a guiding principle, these ideas have obtained general significance. In this context, modernity can simply be understood as a project of reflexive development. Its aim is to achieve individual and collective self-​determination respectively, through the democratisation of claims to validity. Although the European Enlightenment led to capitalistic, hegemonic structures, the described contexts can nonetheless be effective in a cross-​cultural manner, and consequently on the side of Euro-​American modernity. In particular, these include the adoption of social ideas and models, which promised human beings that they would be liberated from unquestionable sources of might (God, emperor, nature). Their objective was thus the autonomy of the subject in the context of community. 65

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Values and models of human lives that are connected to this cultural project gain a dynamic power that is able to transform a culture.They are, for instance, consolidating into the declaration of human rights. Hereby, their formulation remains broad so that they can achieve their specific relevance in different contexts. Their meaning always stays contemporary and is changing with the social and cultural transformation of society. The autonomously acting human being is constantly renewing those concepts. Education as the objective and basis of society, for instance, does not state anything about the form and content of the education.

Human development: dialogue and negotiation The background presented provides a huge opportunity for reflexive development in terms of human freedom and good life. These opportunities must be further unpacked and developed. Criticism of colonialism and modernity do not only open the platform for pointing out the destructive impact of modernity, it also evolves the basis of this project into an effective strength. This basic idea had been disregarded for a long time in the economic and social implementation processes of Euro-​American modernisation; it had even been destroyed and dismantled. The disrespect for human rights is not only identifiable in Auschwitz and Hiroshima but also in happenings such as the current refugee crisis, which is often disrespectful of the people’s demands and is consequently suppressing their freedom. In these cases it becomes obvious that politics is captured by the dictates of the economy. This threatened core of the ‘project of modernity’, especially, holds great potential to advance reflexive development. In the reading portrayed, this basic principle gains general importance for ‘human development’, for a symbolic and a real dynamic of designed change. Reflexive development is simultaneously always a human development. Therefore the operative model, formulated by the UN with respect to postcolonial criticism, should be understood as forming the basis for action.Taking this into consideration, four conditions become conducive to the possible reflexive development of the human being, without restricting the opportunities for others to develop: • Productivity: human beings must have the opportunity to increase their productivity, to gain income, and to be engaged in paid employment. • Equality: human beings must have equal access to opportunities. Apparent obstacles to political and economic opportunities must therefore be overcome. • Sustainability: the access to opportunities must not only be available to the present generation. It must be secured for the following generations as well. • Authorisation: finally, development cannot be realised for the human being. It can only be realised through them.The human being has to implement the process, being completely self-​ determined and making all necessary decisions by him-​or herself. Under these conditions, when human development is always based on the free unfolding of human cultural cognition, its path and destination are open. At the same time, this implies the unfolding of human skills, such as the feeling of belonging to a community, the acknowledgement of others, and the transmission of identity. The growth of life opportunities and chances for deciding and acting autonomously have to be supplied to all people, with the involvement of everyone. Reflexive development as a utopia (vision), a hope (objective), and an action (practice) triggers a process of life development, which is based upon a vision of a good life, processes of reflections, open dialogue, and the realisation of opportunities. Especially due to its presented core, in becoming a practice, the philosophy of modernity, understood as a philosophy of liberation, possesses a liberating and future-​orientated strength. 66

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This becomes visible through the countermovement to modernisation, among other things, and through other fundamental subcultures, which are focused on the preservation or the re-​ establishment of structures that are inevitably being condemned and sometimes disassembled by the processes of modernisation. These are constructs, such as patriarchal gender relations, legal relationships, concepts of justice, expectations of autonomy, or the democratic decision-​making processes beyond the traditional and religiously justified forms. Resistance shows not only fear of losing power, but also a fear of transformation and change. Furthermore, it illustrates how attractive concepts can be against which people try to resist. The strength of those ideas can be the basis for processes of modernisation and change that are not following the hegemonic model, and which are not appearing as a radical break with traditions and with religion. Movements of liberation are proof of this possibility. They can even be a significant source of reflexive development. However, processes of negotiation, reception, and translation that have an open outcome are necessary: within a dialogic negotiation, the recognition of traditional concepts might lead to a gradual transformation. In this case, the transformation comes from the inside and is carried out by the affected people themselves. Tradition and persistence can also apparently bring ‘innovation’ to the human and their actions. Progress and development does not necessarily mean that everything is changing. Cultural hybridisation can just as well be the outcome: hybridisation appears in situations where there is an intersection of different cultural, social, or religious patterns. In this case, the differences can be transformed into new patterns of behaviour and ways of thinking. The ethnology taught us that cultures are always absorbing new concerns and techniques from the outside. They are examining those new patterns of its functioning, and if they could make a profit from it, they would integrate it in their own behaviour. As a result, they might fundamentally change themselves.This is exactly the central idea of indigenous modernisation. Ideas and practices of negotiation are the central essence of all reflexive development. In order to function properly, this core needs intense communication. The process of communication is a guiding principle of the social. It is a directed search movement, with the aim of understanding, through dialogue, the questions involved. The process is driven by addressing and dealing with claims of validity, which are continually leading towards solutions (rules, laws, norms, structures). The process is, in principle, open because it aims to achieve one goal: a consensus and an agreement, which can always be dissolved and discussed anew if the circumstances change. We are recognising a reflexive development if this ‘collective movement’ is fulfilling the relevant prerequisites for active participation, responding to its vision of life. So, to that extent, this movement means the ‘engine’ of the ‘policy of life’.

Practice of reflexive development: postcolonial social work of the South Social work, as a scientific theory and practice, as it developed especially within the societies of the North, is a product of differentiation and specialisation, of the ‘scientification’ and secularisation of modern societies.The ‘process of helping’ professionalised itself under the name of ‘social work’. It is based on ideas of a constant modernisation of society and the professional social welfare system. It is applying profound scientific theories and methods. This implicitness also includes the generalised transfer of the theories that were generated in the North to the ‘whole world’. In postcolonial diction it might be expressed in other words: social work, as such, became an aspect of colonial and hegemonic paternalism. By now globalised issues and questions regarding social work have gained importance in national as well as in international contexts –​in the work of NGOs, in development cooperation, 67

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or in processes of peace building. This can range from challenges in the national context, which are necessarily occupied with inter-​and transnational questions, to international social work becoming increasingly in demand through growing international contexts. A variety of social problems, in national as well as international contexts, are progressively attributable to the structure and dynamic of the world community. The circumstances of modernisation and globalisation and migration movements are being revealed. Growing pluralisation, the development of transnational relations, as well as the increasing number of crises and conflicts are changing human life.Taking this fact into consideration, social work finds itself in the middle of a growing focus on social interdependences and must take a stance towards the policy of development, and towards development paradigms, respectively. The working area of social work has positioned itself internationally. It is taking up the mentioned issues at the same time that it has to take a critical position towards those issues. It has been acknowledged that social work has to hold binding standards and have clear and convincing theories and methods. For example, this becomes visible in the attempt to find a generally applicable definition of social work. It is still a struggle to agree on a common definition; this is a recurring topic for discussion. However, this newly created body has to reflect independence of the countries of the Global South. Social work within the countries of the Global South has to be understood as social work of the (Global) South, as a specific form of social work, reflecting the reasoning and practices of the Global South. In this context, different questions and problems are continually faced, other than those in the Global North. Therefore, it is the Global South that vehemently raises the issue that social work, in its origins, is a product of Euro-​American modernity, with its welfare regimes. It is an institution that was transferred into the Global South through manipulation and hegemonic rule of law. Therefore, the postcolonial criticism of development paradigms is focused and social work in the Global South is reflected as a colonial import. In the context of the theology and pedagogy of liberation, especially in Latin America, an independent discourse emerged that called for an independent concept of social work as well as the development of it. Over the last few years, comparable discourses have been emerging in Africa and in Asia. These discourses on the social work of the (Global) South can become unified under the term of ‘indigenisation’, introduced by some authors from Southern Africa. The fundamental thesis is that the cultures of social work in these countries should be detached from colonial captivity. They are unfolding and positioning themselves independently from the background of different historical, cultural, and social contexts. Questions also arise regarding to what extent the theories and methods of social work can be applied universally and be sustainable for all cultures. Such an engagement cannot exclude the topic of religiosity, which plays a significant role in many social-​worker cultures. The contexts of social work and social development, which show remarkable similarities, should be discussed. When it comes to the development-​orientated paradigms of the social work of the Global South, which shape theories of social development, challenges arise. These thoughts are generating two complex questions, in which social work is integrated into the practice of reflexive development: • Which goods are truly necessary for human well-​being, for a successful life in accordance with its own vision of the good life? • What needs to be done to enable this vision and to empower such forms of living? The theses and theories of social development and development-​related social work imply considerations of the good life, justice, recognition, and of dialogue. Images are also arising from 68

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contexts of liberation, ability, and empowerment, which are leading towards a progression of applied discourses. From a pedagogical and political point of view, the context of social development as a mission of the social work of the Global South is about the promotion or restoration of the empowerment of the human ability to shape its environment and to act autonomously.This ability should enable the human being to achieve a harmonic compliance between its subjective or collective life and the external pressures and tensions of the natural, social, spatial, and technical environment. If the social work of the (Global) South can be designed to be dynamic, dialectic, and proactive, it strives to be a form of reflexive social work.

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Osei-​Hwedie, K. & Jacques, G. (2007). Indigenising Social Work in Afrika. Accra: Ghana Universities Press. Osterhammel, J. (2009). Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. München: C.H. Beck. Patel, L. (2009). Developmental social work in South Africa: Lessons from the South, In HG. Homfeldt & C. Reutlinger (Eds.), Soziale Arbeit und Soziale Entwicklung (pp. 47–​67). Baltmannsweiler: Schneider Verlag. Randeria, S. (1999). Geteilte geschichte und verwobene moderne. In J. Rüsen, H. Leitgeb & N. Jegelka (Eds.), Zukunftsentwürfe. Ideen für eine Kultur der Veränderung (pp. 87–​96). Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag. Randeria, S. & Eckert, A. (2009). Vom Imperialismus zum Empire. Nicht-​westliche Perspektiven auf Globalisierung. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Rehklau, C. & Lutz, R. (2009). Sozialarbeit des Südens. Entwicklung und Befreiung. In HG. Homfeldt & C. Reutlinger (Eds.), Soziale Arbeit und Soziale Entwicklung (pp. 237–​253). Baltmannsweiler: Schneider Verlag. Reuter, J. & Villa, P. (Eds.) (2009). Postkoloniale Soziologie. Empirische Befunde, theoretische Anschlüsse, politische Intervention. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag. Schmidt, V.H. (2013). Globale Moderne. Skizze eines Konzeptualisierungsversuchs. In U. Willems, D. Pollack, H. Basu, T. Gutmann & U. Spohn (Eds.), Moderne und Religion. Kontroversen um Modernität und Säkularisierung (pp. 27–​74). Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Sen, A. (2000). Ökonomie für den Menschen. Wege zu Gerechtigkeit und Solidarität in der Marktwirtschaft. München: Carl Hansa Verlag. Wagner, P. (2009). Moderne als Erfahrung und Interpretation. Eine neue Soziologie zur Moderne. Konstanz: UVK Verlagsgesellschaft mbH. Wagner, P. (2013). Sukzessive modernen und die idee des fortschritts. In: U. Willems, D. Pollack, H. Basu, T. Gutmann & U. Spohn (Eds.), Moderne und Religion. Kontroversen um Modernität und Säkularisierung (pp. 143–​182). Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Weber, M. (1921). Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Willems, U., Pollack, D., Basu, H., Gutmann,T. & Spohn, U. (Eds.) (2013). Moderne und Religion. Kontroversen um Modernität und Säkularisierung. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Ziai, A. (2006). Zwischen Global Governance und Post-​Development. Entwicklungspolitik aus diskursanalytischer Perspektive. Münster: Verlag Westfälisches Dampfboot. Ziai, A. (2010). Postkoloniale perspektiven auf ‘entwicklung’. Peripherie, 30, 399–​42.

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6 Towards a decolonial feminist approach to social work education and practice Roxane Caron and Edward Ou Jin Lee

Introduction As a globally practised profession, social work continues to articulate itself as an academic and practice-​based discipline that is anchored by ‘social justice, human rights, collective responsibility and respect for diversities’ (IFSW, 2014, para. 1). However, the historical emergence of the social work profession in the Global North is intrinsically tied to global legacies of colonialism and imperialism. Indeed, there continue to be internal debates and tensions within the profession of social work about the degree to which social work continues to be informed by, and contribute to, colonial and imperial logics and projects rather than resist them (Razack, 2009; Singh, Gumz & Crawley, 2011; Fortier & Hon-​Sing Wong, 2018). As such, a growing number of scholars and practitioners are confronting the profession of social work by proposing cogent anti-​colonial critiques as well as fostering Indigenous ways of knowing (Ugiagbe, 2014). Some of these critiques also articulate how gender and sexuality inform colonial logics (Lee & Ferrer, 2014). Yet, there remains a need to further elaborate on how to mobilise these critiques and epistemologies into actual social work education and practice. Certainly, social work scholars and practitioners in the Global North have proposed various strategies to decolonise social work education and practice (Fast & Collin-Vézina 2010; Gray, Coates, Yellow Bird & Hetherington, 2016). There has also been a growing amount of scholarship produced in the Global North, including Canada, focused on Indigenising social work education and decolonising practice with Indigenous communities (First Nations, Inuit, Métis, etc.) (Sinclair, 2004; Richardson, Carriere & Boldo, 2017). Indigenous social work scholars have especially made key contributions on how to ensure social work education and practice attends to colonialism, such as intergenerational colonial trauma shaped by Indian residential schools (Sinclair, 2004; Richardson et al., 2017). There have also been calls for the Indigenisation of social work (Canavera, Akesson, Landis, Armstrong & Meyer, 2019), particularly within the African context, in order to attend to colonial legacies and ‘professional imperialism’ (Midgley, 1981). However, there is less scholarship about the ways in which colonial logics shape social work education and practice with migrants from the Global South who are compelled to migrate to the Global North or the Global South. Thus, the first part of this chapter will discuss how the critique of coloniality (Quijano, 2000; Wynter, 2003; Mignolo, 2007) can be mobilised as a useful analytical tool for social work

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education and practice. More specifically, we explore the ways in which coloniality operates as a global phenomenon that advances colonial logics that are simultaneously raced, gendered, sexualised, etc. As social work professors within a Francophone university in a Francophone-​ dominant province (Quebec), within an Anglophone-​dominant country (Canada), we critically interrogate the historical emergence of social work within the Canadian colonial context. We also explore how coloniality can be mobilised as a useful analytical framework to shift towards a feminist decolonial approach to social work education and practice. Indeed, the second part of this chapter explores how we may concretely apply a decolonial feminist approach to social work education and practice. Thus, we situate our respective social locations and roles as social work scholars, educators, and (former) practitioners. Subsequently, we draw from our research, education, and practice experiences to explore the ways in which we have access to a decolonial feminist approach.1 This approach is informed by our experiences of working at the school of social work at the Université de Montréal, as well as our particular research and practice experiences with migrants.We conclude by presenting an emergent decolonial feminist practice framework for social worker scholars, educators, and practitioners.

The coloniality of power and its racialised, gendered and sexualised normative processes In this section, we unpack the ways in which coloniality may provide a useful analytical framework for social work. Coloniality, as initially described by Quijano, suggests alternative ways to frame the contemporary narratives of modernity as marked by the linear progress of civilisation and development in the past hundred years, notably through a ‘natural’ market-​based democracy (Quijano, 2000; Mignolo, 2007). These narratives of modernity obscure a global matrix of power driven by Europe and its desire for empire building through colonial and imperial exploits (Brisson, 2018). The progress of ‘Western civilisation’ was built upon African enslavement and Asian indentured labour as well as the conquest and genocide of Indigenous peoples across the Global South (Wynter, 2003). Today’s global governance structure of the nation-​state was established over time by colonial regimes, naturalising white/​European settler colonies as ‘liberal democracies’ (such as Canada) and continuing to exercise various forms of political, economic, and military power across the Global South (Wynter, 2003;Thobani, 2007). Moreover, the coloniality of power has obscured the ways in which the highest form of modernity’s ‘civilised’ human subject is racialised as white in relation to blackness and black people as the ‘template of abjection by which the Human was produced’ (Walcott, 2014: 99). Lowe (2015) suggests that the ‘residual intimacies’ of European empire building through conquest, slavery, and indentured labour have persisted into the present era of global capitalism and nation-​statehood. The coloniality of power is also profoundly shaped by the ‘colonial/​ modern gender system’ (Lugones, 2008), which is inherently patriarchal, cisnormative, and heteronormative. Cisnormativity describes the ways in which social institutions and practices reproduce the gender binary as a societal norm, along with the erasure of transgendered people (Serano, 2007; Bauer et al., 2009). Heteronormativity is described as ‘the practices and institutions that legitimise and privilege heterosexuality and heterosexual relationships as fundamental and “natural” within society’ (Cohen, 1997: 40). Indeed, European-​driven empires were obsessed with controlling all aspects of the intimate spheres of both the colonised and colonisers across the metropoles and the colonies (McClintock, 1995; Stoler, 2002; Lowe, 2015). The colonial management of intimacy included laws that regulated domestic arrangements (such as inter-​racial mixing), access to citizenship, health, education, etc. (Lowe, 2015). For example, during the early twentieth century, the emerging US empire and established British Empire, including the white settler colony of 72

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Canada, propagated eugenics ideology through the discourse of scientific racism and racial classification (McClintock, 1995;Valverde, 2008). This ‘scientific knowledge’ led medical professionals to hierarchically classify phenotypical differences between the ‘superior’ white (especially Anglo-​ Saxon) versus ‘inferior’ racialised bodies with racial difference located differently between men and women (Somerville, 2000). This classification included identifying heterosexuality and a rigid two-​sex system  –​male and female  –​as normal, marking those who transgressed these sexual and gender norms as deviant (Kinsman, 1996; Fausto-​Sterling, 2000). Notions of racial purity and sexual morality, as promoted by eugenics discourse and Christianity, were shaped by laws and social practices that consolidated the normative power of respectable white middle-​class domesticity through the labelling of racialised and gendered bodies as degenerate (Lee & Ferrer, 2014). The colonial management of intimacy and ‘heterocispatriarchy through the creation of white respectability versus racialised degeneracy was integral to colonial and imperial exploits, not only globally, but also in the making of a white settler society in Canada’ (Lee, 2018: 63). This racialised and gendered normative power continues to shape how the coloniality of power operates on both national and global scales and thus informs the historical colonial and imperial roots of the Canadian social work profession.

The coloniality of social work within the Canadian context The coloniality of power and, in particular, the colonial management of intimacy, was certainly present during the formative stages of the social work profession in Canada. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the emerging social work profession in Canada was significantly influenced by the charity and settlement house movements from the UK and the US (Carniol, 2005; Lee & Ferrer, 2014). Although both types of movements had distinct histories and characteristics ‘whether the approach was charity-​based (i.e. focus on individual defects of poor people) or settlement house based (i.e. focus on community organising and solidarity building), both … served an integral role in the colonial nation-​building project’ (Lee & Ferrer, 2014:  4). The emergent social work profession was especially focused on the promotion of ‘moral and social reform and hygiene’, informed by eugenics discourse (McLaren, 1990;Valverde, 2008; Lee & Ferrer, 2014). Thus, racial, moral, and sexual purity was achieved by consolidating the white patriarchal heterosexual and cissexual nuclear family structure, while at the same time promoting the partial exclusion of ‘feebleminded’ white, European settlers, the rigid exclusion of entire communities of colour, and the elimination of Indigenous peoples through genocidal policies (such as Indian residential schools) (Lee & Ferrer, 2014). This promotion of ‘moral and social hygiene’ by social workers was not only informed by the eugenics discourse but also Christian-​based discourse, especially in Quebec. Certainly, the Canadian social work profession has shifted and changed over time, inspired by the social justice principles from the settlement house movements as well as the increased inclusion of Black, Indigenous, and other People of Colour (BIPOC).The Canadian Association of Social Work Education (CASWE, 2014:  2) declares its mission to ‘promote excellence in social work education, scholarship, and practice with a human rights … and social justice focus’. However, the infiltration of neoliberal logics into the social welfare system in Canada has resulted in its increased dismantling, restrictions, and/​or privatisation of services and greater emphasis on individual responsibility (Lee & Ferrer, 2014). As social welfare programmes are retrenched, there is a continuity in how social workers and the profession serve as well-​intentioned gatekeepers whose primary purpose is to Canadianize deserving newcomers into middle-​class social, cultural, moral and political norms … [the] neoliberal 73

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racialised line continues to determine those deserving versus undeserving of entry into the colonial nation building project. (Lee & Ferrer, 2014: 13) Moreover, the social work profession in Canada and elsewhere has been critiqued for being driven by the ‘helping imperative’ (Heron, 2007), in which social workers are framed as benevolent, obscuring the ways in which this ‘helping’ is so often invested in managing the morality of those being ‘helped’, thus reinforcing a set of racialised, gendered, and sexualised norms. These social processes are particularly accentuated in international development work, whereby Canadian social workers engage in practice in various regions in the Global South (Heron, 2007). The investments in the ‘desire for development’ of Canadian social workers are shaped by what Heron (2007: 7) describes as the ‘colonial continuities’ –​the ongoing making of a white colonial (mostly feminine) subjectivity that is entitled and obligated to ‘help’ for the betterment of the ‘other’/​colonised. This dominant subjectivity imposes ‘modernity’s enduring idea of progress as universally valued and the purview of the West/​North … produc(ing) a sense of entitlement and obligation to intervene globally on the part of bourgeois subjects’ (Heron, 2007: 36). Canadian international social work practice, along with its prevailing discourses, is part and parcel of the operation of the coloniality of power. Rather than claiming that the Canadian social work profession can be conducted from a place of innocent benevolence, we suggest that the coloniality of its ‘helping imperative’ must be unpacked and challenged. Without this type of critical analysis and reflection, Canadian social workers risk continuing to reinforce and impose colonial ways of thinking, doing, and being. By acknowledging these historical roots and their ongoing consequences, Canadian social workers can develop and mobilise anti-​oppressive and decolonising strategies. This chapter is an attempt to suggest the possibilities of mobilising a feminist decolonial approach to social work education and practice.

Introducing a feminist decolonial approach to social work education and practice Our proposed analytical framework affirms and extends Maria Lugones’s (2008) assertion of the ‘colonial/​modern gender system’ to also highlight the ways in which cisnormative and heteronormative processes are imbricated into coloniality as a global matrix of power. What are possible pathways for social work to confront and reframe dominant narratives of coloniality? To address this question, we draw from scholars who engage with feminist, queer and transgendered transnational, diasporic, of colour, and indigenous critiques, highlighting how multiple colonial logics operate across white settler colonial, post/​neocolonial, and mestiza-​colonial geographies. As such, decoloniality signifies paying attention to the ways in which colonial historical legacies have both continued and shifted over time, embedded within political and economic structures, as well as institutional structures on both micro and macro levels (Mignolo, 2007; McLaren, 2017). The mobilisation of decoloniality also requires ‘a commitment to liberatory practices and values; and an awareness of the effects of colonisation not only as political, historical and economic forces but also as effects on consciousness, theories, research practices, epistemological frameworks and ways of knowing’ (McLaren, 2017: 4). Moreover, we suggest that social work could benefit from an approach that is simultaneously decolonial and feminist in orientation. We engage in a pluralistic view of ‘feminism’, since 74

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issues of intersectionality, global feminisms, and Indigenous women’s voices have further complicated feminism. Feminism has become feminisms, and universal or essentialist notions of woman have given way to the necessity of attending to the particular material, historical, cultural, and geographical situations of different groups of women. (Oliver, 2017: 177) Although social work is often considered a women-​dominant profession, we suggest that not all social work feminist approaches have recognised the ways in which colonial legacies and contemporary coloniality produces hierarchies between women (Lee & Ferrer, 2014). Indeed, social work has actually produced dominant narratives and practices that served to obscure and silence the oppressed and colonised. In order to decolonise feminism, Alcoff (2017:  23–​24) suggests enacting a paradigm shift of a different order in which founding categories and concepts, of ‘women’ and ‘oppression’ are more radically contested.We must be prepared to understand that when gender is mediated by these varied forms of identity –​such as sexual, ethnic, racial, national, and religious –​there may be varied political effects and meanings … It is a piece of colonial hubris to assume without investigation that any gender-​based division of labor will be oppressive: this is to assume that gender will always operationalise in the same way … If gender cannot stand alone because it’s always the product of mediated processes, then we should reconsider whether we can theorise universal response to gender, or resistance to gender, or a solution to gender, while ignoring the hybrid nature of gender. Taking intersectionality seriously means that we cannot separate gender off from other social identities having its own unique identitarian logic. Taking up the decolonial challenge means a willingness to acknowledge coloniality within the framing assumptions used in feminist theory itself. Furthermore, we suggest the possible ways in which a decolonial feminist approach may benefit from queer and trans, of colour, and diasporic critique to highlight how cisnormativity and heteronormativity are imbricated into coloniality and the global political and economic order (Puar, 2007; Bhanji, 2012). This critique extends analysis of recent shifts in right-​wing populism across Europe, the US, and Brazil beyond the issue of women’s and/​or LGBTQI identity, violence, and rights, in order to further examine whether these shifts are indicative of a turn to the vestiges of coloniality. On theoretical and political levels, a decolonising of genders and sexualities encourages us to invest in generative practices that not only critique the current global climate and its historical continuities, but also present alternative, anti-​normative futures, where cis and trans women and queer and trans people of colour and migrants are at the centre of building sustainable and egalitarian life-​worlds for all (Bacchetta, 2016; Lee, 2018). A decolonial feminist approach to social work opens pathways to a politics invested in creativity, sex positivity, bodily health, ecologic sustainability, and collective well-​being –​starting with those who are the most marginalised (Mohanty, 2003; Bacchetta, 2016).

Applying a feminist decolonial approach within social work education In this section, we discuss the ways in which we have attempted to apply a feminist decolonial approach when teaching social work within our educational institution. However, before we critically reflect upon these teaching experiences, we share our respective social locations and previous work as social work scholar, educator, and practitioner. Indeed, situating ourselves is a 75

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key feature of applying a feminist decolonial approach to embody and honour reflexive ways of knowing. Reflexive ways of knowing critically interrogate the notion of ‘objectivity’ to not only pay attention to who is being researched but also the social location and interests of the researchers; as ‘knowers’ interests’ are obscured, the separation of knowledge-​making from the knowledge makers conceals the relations of power that socially organise what and how knowledge is determined to be valid (Smith, 2005; Lee, 2015: 24, citing Naples, 1996). Thus, as social work researchers, educators, practitioners and activists, we need to first situate ourselves within the knowledge-​building process and broader social relations (Smith, 1990) and be explicit about our relationship to directly impacted communities (Collins, 2000) –​in this case, Palestinian and Syrian women living in refugee camps in Lebanon, and queer and trans migrants with precarious status (from the Global South) living in Montreal, Quebec.

Situating ourselves and our knowledge-​building process Moving through frameworks –​Roxane Caron I draw from my research and practice experience of social work within an international context, especially in engaging in research with Palestinian and Syrian women in refugee camps in Lebanon. The first time I was introduced to transnational feminist thought was during my doctoral studies. I had previously completed my master’s thesis, which focused on the realities of Palestinian women living in refugee camps in Lebanon (Caron, 2007). But I returned with more questions than answers about their realities, about how to understand their viewpoints to more fully understand their possibilities. I asked myself: did I really understand them? I realised that I needed to continue to build my relationship with this community to better understand their perspectives. And so I looked for analytical frameworks to allow me to ‘discover the other’ and gain insight into what it meant to be ‘colonised’ (Memmi, 1957; Said, 2000) and listen more deeply to the voices of ‘subaltern’ women (Mohanty, 1984; Spivak, 1988; Abu Lughod, 2008).2 Using a postcolonial feminist framework led me to what I  called ‘the binary trap’ (Caron and Damant, 2014). Certainly, the work of intersectional feminists (Collins, 2000; Bilge, 2010) allowed me, to a certain extent, to analyse and eventually try to avoid this trap. But again I found myself in another trap  –​one of complexity. Indeed, I  found myself attempting to unpack a complex ‘matrix of domination’ (Collins, 2000).3 So, how could I operationalise it? In fact, as a social worker, my role is not only to ‘try to understand’ but also ‘to try to help and move towards change and action’. But as we mentioned previously, ‘helping’ could easily fall into the colonial continuity of the helping imperative (Heron, 2007). Transnational feminist thought helped me to answer these questions. Transnational feminism is positioned as a multicultural feminism but is neither a universalist project nor a relativistic project (Shohat, 2002). On the contrary, it is a situated analysis in which stories of people and communities are intrinsically linked to one another and open to the possibility of enlightening one another (Shohat, 2002; Bacchetta, 2006). For Shohat (2002), transnational feminism makes it possible to understand different societies of the world, not in terms of a ‘narrative of progress’ but in their temporal simultaneity; the fact that situations are coexisting in the same historical moment but in different conditions of subordination. This temporal conception of Shohat (2002) echoes the critique of coloniality as well as postcolonial theories that denounce the Western narrative of progress (Mohanty, 1984, 2003; Quijano, 2000; Wynter, 2003). Thus, work like Shohat’s (2002) helped me to attempt to deepen my understanding of the viewpoints of Palestinian and Syrian women and to situate their realities in Lebanon but at the same time think about how it is related to other sites on a global scale. I also deepened my 76

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critique of the conditions in which each person or group I was working with are living and the power relations involved (Collins, 2000), including my own participation within a global matrix of power. Furthermore, this way of seeing and trying to understand what brings the conditions, the realities, etc. closer to, and further from, one another allows me to move away from the idea of ‘global sisterhood’ found in many Western feminist texts, as it can reflect the positionality and (maybe exclusivity of the) concerns of white female subjects.

Confronting the liberationist narrative –​Edward Lee Although I  had engaged in community building and organising with queer and trans black, Indigenous, and other people of colour (QTBIPOC) prior to moving to Tiohtia:ke/​ Montreal,4 it was after I migrated that I began to link my graduate research activities with community organising with QTBIPOC, especially queer and trans migrants with precarious status (visitor, student temporary worker, refugee claimant, undocumented, etc.). This included being immersed in graduate studies at an anglophone university and working as a research coordinator on a project that focused on the realities of LGBTQ refugees (Lee & Brotman, 2013). As someone who was part of the directly impacted community and an emerging researcher, I realised the degree to which university-​based knowledge-​making remained racialised, gendered, sexualised, and inherently colonial (Monture, 2010). Being part of a social justice-​oriented social work programme within a seemingly benevolent institution did not protect me and other BIPOC people from the exclusion and violence informed by the university’s colonial and capitalist logics. At the same time, I was engaging in community-​based and participatory forms of research with queer and trans migrants with precarious status. Over time, I was continually being confronted with what Luibhéid and Cantú (2005) have articulated as ‘liberationist narratives and revisions’, whereby the dominant narrative of queer and trans migrations becomes reduced to the simple movement from the overwhelming homophobic and transphobic violence in the Global South to liberation in Canada, the land free from any form of discrimination and where queer and trans rights have already been fully achieved (Lee, 2017a, 2017b). This ‘queer migration to liberation nation narrative’ (Murray, 2016: 3) reproduces a homonational discourse that positions Canada as a global LGBTQI human rights leader, obscuring the homophobic and transphobic violence that continues to occur through ‘a global border regime driven by white/​Western nation-​states, including Canada, that actively blocks queer and trans people from the Global South from accessing the refugee claim process through visa ineligibility’ (Lee, 2018:  68). Moreover, this narrative also erases the realities of the Canadian immigration-​colonisation regime and ways in which practices of ‘settlement’ and ‘labour sites’ result in the further displacement of Indigenous Peoples (Lee, 2018). This led me to scholars who engaged in queer and trans diasporic, of colour, and indigenous critiques in which notions of belonging and colonial nation building are informed by patriarchal, cisnormative, and heteronormative processes (Bhanji, 2012; Haritaworn, 2012). The decolonising of sexualities and genders led me to critically interrogate the politics of queer and trans knowledge production. Indeed, decolonising trans knowledge production includes critiquing Western notions of gender and medical pathologising of trans categories, as well as situating these categories within the complexities of global capitalism and competing nationalisms (Boellstorff et  al., 2014:  421). These deep critical reflections led me to question the ways in which the realities and political struggles of queer and trans people living in the Global South were being framed in Canada from a white/​Western sexual and gender identity (LGBTQI) human rights framework. 77

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Critique and ambivalent engagement with the human rights framework In this section, we critique the human rights framework and suggest the usefulness of its engagement from an ambivalent posture (McLaren, 2017), in order to view this framework as one of many strategies towards collective empowerment and liberation of oppressed and colonised peoples. The term ‘human rights’ appears often in social work literature. It is often identified as the ‘flagship’ value of the profession, as the International Federation of Social Workers (IFSW) and the International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW) describe social work as ‘underpinned by principles of human rights and social justice’ (Banks, 2012: 129). Ife (2008) even adds that the social work profession is in itself a profession of human rights. Yet, how are human rights principles applied or operationalised within social work contexts? The social work literature suggests that the term ‘human rights’ is often used in a broad sense to refer to many kinds of rights attributable to human beings. According to Banks (2012: 129), the IFSW/​IASSW anchor human rights within ‘various declarations and conventions of the UN, which refer to universal rights that are applicable to all people by virtue of their being human … human rights are universal, applying to everyone in all places’. However, it is important to recall the context in which this term surfaced. Emerging from a European liberalist framework, this term emphasised individual legal and political rights, obscuring the ways in which global material inequalities continued to be shaped by colonial and imperial legacies (McLaren, 2017: 83). McLaren’s (2017) assertions resonate with the critique of coloniality, since human rights discourse emerged through Eurocentric notions of individualism, private property, universal freedom through a market democracy that simultaneously organised genocide, slavery and indentured labour across Asia, Africa and the Americas. Indeed, is human rights discourse the only way for the social work profession to achieve social justice and liberation, especially when social work –​in and of itself –​has its roots in being a vehicle for colonial exploits? Moreover, this critique of the applicability and usefulness of the human rights discourse has particular implications for women and queer and trans people from the Global South. What are the challenges of mobilising human rights discourse with Palestinian women living in refugee camps in Lebanon and queer and trans migrants living in Canada and whose origins are in the Global South? The critique of human rights discourse has repeatedly come to the fore in Roxane Caron’s work and research with Palestinian women refugees (see Caron, 2012; Caron & Damant, 2014a, 2014b; Caron, Damant & Flynn, 2017, 2018). Indeed, Roxane recalls a Palestinian woman forcefully informing her: ‘It’s you Western women who speak of human rights! Mine are constantly ignored and I no longer believe in your rights speech.’ This comment was from a young second-​ generation refugee woman who was born and still lives in a refugee camp in Lebanon. This dialogue raised profound doubt in Roxane about the capacity for Palestinian women in refugee camps to be able to be the ‘subject’ of rights. This doubt and continued dialogue have led to other questions: what additional ‘vehicles’, other than human rights, can be mobilised in social work? In fact, the women that Roxane spoke with did offer other ‘vehicles’ and strategies for liberation. For some women, religion and spirituality gave meaning to their life in the refugee camp. Others spoke of ‘taking up arms’, declaring that they were simply ‘taking up the means of the oppressor’ in order to survive and defend themselves.These reflections raise crucial questions for the social work profession relating to the limits of human rights discourse and the relevance of imagining alternative ways to envision liberation. The critique of human rights discourse has also surfaced in Edward’s work and research, especially when considering the ways in which political violence, dictatorship, Western-​driven

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economic restructuring programmes and development work and resource extraction overlap and inform the ways in which patriarchal, cisnormative and heteronormative violence are exerted on queer and trans people living in the Global South. Indeed, African scholars have critiqued LGBTQI human rights agendas driven by the West (such as Canada and Western Europe) that focus on a notion of ‘shared gayness’ (Massad, 2007; Ekine, 2013) while simultaneously ‘spectacularising African homophobia as [a]‌unique geographical phenomenon, unconnected to local and global histories, and essentially inherent’ (Ekine, 2013: 85). The sole focus of sexual and gender identity as the vehicle to advance human rights for queer and trans people in the Global South has actually led to devastating impacts on the very people who were supposed to benefit.5 Moreover, the overemphasis on Canada as an LGBTQI human rights leader has also served to obscure the ways in which Canada’s immigration-​colonisation regime continues to oppress various groups, especially Indigenous and black communities (Lee, 2018). Instead, Abu-​Assab, Nasser-​Eddin and Greatrick (2017) suggest a focus on non-​normative sexualities and genders that render certain people more vulnerable to cisnormative and heteronormative violence. This framework shifts away from identity categories, such as those presented in LGBTQI rights frameworks … (that) sometimes fail to fully reflect local contexts, nor grasp the intersections of gender, race, sexuality, ethnicity and religion that inform the everyday lives of non-​normative peoples in the (MENA) region. (Abu-​Assab et al., 2017: 6) Recent activisms by Hijra and trans communities in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Nepal have resulted in state recognition of a third gender (Atluri, 2012; Dutta & Roy, 2014). These communities collectively mobilised and reconfigured the colonial construct of ‘eunuch’, which had previously erased multiple sexual and gender categories to assert their collective presence as Indigenous to their particular geographic region (Atluri, 2012). The political strategy to reassert their historical presence within the social organisation of indigenous societies, while also taking up a colonial construct and refashioning it into ‘third gender’ status, point to alternative strategies for collective empowerment of queer and trans people living in the Global South. Although it is difficult to argue that any region in the world is untouched by white/​Western driven LGBTQI human rights discourses, this kind of politics does suggest alternative strategies which aim to not only improve the living conditions of queer and trans people, but also all peoples located in the Global South and burdened by colonial legacies and contemporary economic inequalities. In going back to Palestinian refugee women, although some may heavily critique human rights, are they entirely against human rights? Most likely not. Instead, our role as social workers may be to engage in deep listening and dialogue in order to understand ‘human rights’ from non or even anti-​Western frameworks. What does it look like for social workers to work with cis and trans women as well as queer and trans people from the Global South but starting from their local contexts, collective viewpoints and frameworks? Our examples in this section gesture not only to the limits of human rights discourse, but also the complexities of decolonising of rights. As McLaren (2017: 84) suggests, rights discourse functions ambivalently. On the one hand, it can be a useful strategy within a broader social justice framework. On the other hand, rights discourse often occluded structural justice framework, power asymmetries, and the operations of colonialism and imperialism … in order to decolonize rights, we need to broaden our understandings of rights to include emphasis on economic, social and cultural rights, as well as question the theoretical

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origins of rights and their contemporary applications. Challenging these aspects of universal human rights need not entail an element of liberatory political struggles. It is not, however, the only element. I suggest that feminists ambivalently embrace human rights as one transnational strategy within a broader social justice framework.

Teaching social work from a feminist decolonial approach We suggest that a feminist decolonial approach should ambivalently engage with human rights, in order to listen for alternative social justice frameworks that are already, or could be, mobilised with directly impacted communities.This requires social work educators to discuss with students the tensions between an emphasis on legal and political rights, especially identity-​based rights (i.e. women, LGBTQI), versus collective mobilisations for social and economic justice. Thus, our pedagogical approaches aim to foster ways of thinking and being that push students to envision a plurality of liberatory practices and strategies that engage with, but also extend beyond, individual and identity-​based human rights. As a discipline that also seeks action and change (IFSW, 2014), it is often in our actions that power relations can surface or that rights can be prioritised in actions undertaken. It is not just what we do but also how we do it that matters. Therefore, our pedagogical approaches and research methods must allow the participation of those who are directly impacted. By focusing on ambivalence –​and thus complexity –​we also move away from binary analyses. In the following section, we each present in-​depth examples of how we attempt to teach social work from a feminist decolonial approach.

Roxane Caron I teach a preparatory class for students who want to do an international field placement with a specific group or population. During the first class, I raise this question with students: What if you use analytical frameworks and approaches that do not necessarily make sense for the people you are trying to help? Many students ask me in return: How do you choose and know what makes sense? My response is often received as a surprise to many students: I ask them, ‘In light of what you just told me, here’s what I understand. Could you help me understand better?’ I discuss with students about how I share my ‘doubt’ about my analysis with directly impacted people. I am often surprised by the reactions of students: We can share our doubts and our questions? My response is: Why not?! Thus, I push back this notion that researchers and practitioners need to ‘know’ all the answers themselves and suggest that doubting our analysis is necessary in order to shift towards a more egalitarian relationship with directly impacted communities. My reflections here resonate with a decolonial feminist approach that challenges us to shift our level of consciousness and epistemologies (McLaren, 2017: 4). Concretely, I engage in what I refer to as ‘warm confrontation’, in the sense that I gently confront students through a process of questions related to different readings or conceptions. For example, ‘self-​determination’ is often cited as an important value by students themselves, as it is also a dominant value within social work approaches. I  then ask them to do an individual exercise where they answer the following questions: How do you define this value/​concept? What place does this value/​concept have in your life? What place does it have in social work (explore some approaches/​theories that uses this value/​ concept)? What place does this value/​concept have in the life of the person or group you are trying to help? I often anchor this last question in a project or concrete situation for the students.We explore various ways of articulating ‘self-​determination’. This exercise is done individually and then we come back in a large group, as it allows for ‘consciousness-​raising’ about what each of us carry as key values in our lives and how they inform the approaches that we use. I draw from my 80

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own experiences with refugee women and the importance of collective self-​determination (as stateless women, the importance of their national identity to be recognised) as well as the tension with individual self-​determination due to being refugee and Muslim women. Although students have not yet entered the field, I still ask them this question: does what you just named and explored make sense for the person you are working with? This question often elicits ‘doubt’ or ambivalence. I welcome this doubt and I invite students to continue their exploration. In order to critique the dominant values and discourses within the social work profession I also challenge students to evaluate the ‘helping imperative’ (Heron, 2007) and the legitimacy to intervene. I often start our exploration from the definition of social work (IFSW, 2014) that speaks of ‘social change’ that often leads my students to reveal their ‘desire to foster change’ … I then raise these questions: Is it legitimate for you to go ‘help’ and ‘foster change’? Who told you they needed you? And we talk about ‘change’ but change according to whom? How does one analyse what it is ‘to change’? Can you be involved in this change? If yes, how so and under which conditions? I encourage students to critically deconstruct the international definition of social work in order to highlight the complexity of concepts, world views, contexts, etc. Once again, a reflective exercise leads students to define, for example, human rights as a core value based on the international definition of social work. I thus engage students in dialogue about the ‘ambivalence of rights’ (McLaren, 2017) and draw from vignettes (inspired by Healy, 2008) that help to elucidate the ethical debate that arises when human rights are understood and framed differently by the social worker than by the directly impacted person or community.

Edward Lee In classes and/​or general presentations about the realities of LGBTQI migrants living in Canada and their living conditions in the Global South prior to their arrival, I often engage students in a series of reflections about the roots of homophobia in Uganda. In 2009, a Christian politician proposed in Ugandan parliament an anti-​homosexuality bill that included the death penalty (Kaoma, 2012; Mwikya, 2013). Although the role of religious fundamentalism in shaping the anti-​homosexuality bill was widely acknowledged, the religious and political ties between the US and Uganda remained largely unknown. However, there has been growing consciousness of the role of key US Christian conservatives –​within religious and political spheres –​in strengthening the criminalisation of sexual and gender transgressions, along with the severe limiting of reproductive rights (Kaoma, 2012). Kaoma (2012) situates the recent involvement of the US Christian Right movement in Sub-​Saharan Africa within a historical trajectory of the same US Christian Right religious and political support for the apartheid government in South Africa, along with the longer history of Christian missionary work since the colonial era. Through the discourse of promoting ‘family values’, there has been an expansion of ‘the U.S. Christian Right infrastructure on the African continent with new institutions and campaigns that are reshaping national political dynamics and even laws based on an American template’ (Kaoma, 2012: vi). With students, I first show a five-​minute clip from a documentary titled The worst place in the world to be gay, which showcases a gay cis white man going to Uganda soon after the anti-​ homosexuality bill was presented in the Ugandan parliament. I  ask students to write down their reflections to the following question: What does this clip tell you about homophobia in Uganda versus in the UK? When students share their reflections, they often state that the documentary suggests that there is a wave of Ugandan religious leaders and politicians who are promoting homophobic violence in the country. They also state that the filmmaker suggests that while there was homophobia in the UK, it is entirely or mostly gone, with all LGBTQI people now 81

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able to live free from violence. I then show a clip from a different documentary titled Gospel of intolerance, in which scholar Kapya Kaoma (2012) is interviewed and US Christian religious leaders are shown doing missionary work in Uganda and openly supporting the imposition of the anti-​homosexuality bill, which included the death penalty. I then ask students to answer the same questions. This time, the answers are evidently very different as, collectively, students realise that homophobia in Uganda is heavily influenced by US Christian leaders and politicians. I then engage in a discussion with students about the ways in which homophobic violence is a global phenomenon, instead of one that simply originates in Africa. As a final step, I  show students a news article from 2013 titled Anti-​gay religious group gets funding from Ottawa to work in Uganda (Dib & Olivier, 2013). This article highlights a Canadian religious organisation that received federal funds to do development work in Uganda.Their website stated that homosexuality, lesbianism, and transvestism, along with bestiality, were deemed sexual sins of which sinners must repent (Dib & Olivier, 2013). This information is often the most shocking for students, as they come to realise that even Canada is not ‘innocent’ in promoting homophobia in Uganda and elsewhere. Of the over 400 students who have completed this exercise since 2013, only one student was aware of how Canadian organisations and people were complicit in promoting homophobia and anti-​LGBTQI discourse in the Global South.

Conclusion: an emergent decolonial feminist practice framework for social work In this chapter, we map out an emergent decolonial feminist approach to social work education and practice. To summarise, the core features of this approach include:  situating oneself and one’s relationship to social work; critical analysis of how gender and sexuality is mediated by colonial and imperial logics; challenging the singular focus on individual and identity-​based human rights; a deep understanding of the perspectives of directly impacted people; and co-​ constructing knowledge and mobilising strategies with directly impacted people through dialogue and ongoing, often long-​term, relationship building. In order to decolonise feminism, we suggest a paradigm shift and radical contestation (Alcoff, 2017) of key gender and sexuality categories such as ‘women’ and ‘LGBTQI’. Indeed, when gender is mediated by these varied forms of identity –​such as sexual, ethnic, racial, national, and religious –​there may be varied political effects and meanings. As social work educators, we encourage students to critique generalising and essentialising groups of people. When Roxane hears students talk about ‘that group of women, they are all like this or like that’, she asks them to clarify: Who are the ‘they’ that is being referred to? Are ALL women from this group like this or like that? Both of us encourage students to pay attention to various gendered and sexualised terminology being used. Under what social, political and geographic context did this term or concept emerge? How did conceptualisations of these terms shift and change over time? How did they continue into the present? In what way did colonial logics shape the use of these terms? This decolonial feminist framework also requires continuing the use of strategies to clearly understand directly impacted communities through dialogue and time. By ‘time’, we suggest a person’s knowledge about a particular reality can deepen when building long-​term and ongoing relationships with directly impacted people within a specific geographical region. Over time, we gain deeper insight into the complexities of how people experience their day-​to-​day reality, how people talk about and enact agency in their daily lives. Roxane draws from her experiences of living in a refugee camp in Lebanon for almost two years, and returning to this same camp, allowing her to gain insight on ‘varied political effects and meanings’ and a complex understanding of the Palestinian people that only the time spent  –​not in a position of intervention, but 82

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that of observation, listening and understanding –​can allow. Edward draws from over a decade of community building with QTBIPOC and migrant communities in Montreal. Over time, Edward draws from conversations with queer and trans migrants many years after they have gone through the refugee process. In these conversations, Edward observes how many queer and trans migrants, who initially spoke about their gratitude to Canada after being accepted as a refugee, are frustrated about having their mobility restricted due to Canadian immigration and refugee laws, with some stating they felt like they were living in an open air prison. As described earlier in this chapter, this long-​term engagement with directly impacted people further disrupts the prevailing discourse of Canada simply being a ‘safe haven’ for LGBTQI refugees. Instead, a decolonial feminist critique highlights the ways in which Canada continues to reproduce white settler colonial logics that differentially impact all people, but especially BIPOC communities. Finally, we encourage students to critically interrogate the ‘helping imperative’ and any possible sense of entitlement or obligation to ‘help’ the ‘other’/​colonised for their ‘betterment’ (Heron, 2007). As researchers and educators, we invite students (and ourselves) to continuously question themselves (ourselves) and their (our) positionality: What is my legitimacy to intervene in this country and/​or with this group of people? Roxane draws from Wehbi (2009) to assist students to explore in detail their motivations for doing an international field placement. As part of challenging the ‘helping imperative’, we offer students another option –​to not do that international field placement or to not do that research project about a certain oppressed community. We ask students to reconsider what may be the best way to begin building relationships with directly impacted communities. This option, after careful consideration, allows students to engage in a process of critical self-​reflection that may be useful in future situations. We suggest that decolonial feminist social work, either in Canada or internationally, can occur under certain conditions. A core reference point for analysis of these conditions is informed by the notion of time. Only with time can we build our understanding of the people we work with and foster ongoing dialogue and relationship building. How might we encourage students to engage in research and practice with oppressed/​colonised communities in ways that can both directly benefit these communities and that students can envision continuing their research and/​or practice with? Ongoing dialogue and relationship building are essential to eventually being able to co-​construct knowledge with directly impacted people. As researchers, we position ourselves in a place of humility by recognising that our knowledge is limited and is open to challenge by directly impacted people. At the same time, we navigate this humility with the pressure of being in positions of power and authority within a university and thus being able to advocate for policy and social change in ways that directly impacted people, such as Palestinian refugee women and queer and trans migrants with precarious status, can not.This shift towards a decolonial feminist social work framework is not simply a recognition of diversity but an attempt to shift social work paradigms, research methodologies and practice strategies to allow us to transform how we understand issues and how we take action.

Notes 1 Roxane Caron draws from her research and practice experiences of social work within an international context, especially in engaging in research with Palestinian and Syrian women in refugee camps in Lebanon. Edward Lee draws mostly from research with queer and trans migrants, mostly in Montreal. In this chapter, the terms ‘queer’ and ‘trans’ are used as umbrella identity categories but are also mobilised in theoretical and political registers. As a sexual orientation, queer includes a diversity of categories such as lesbian, gay and bisexual. As a gender identity, trans includes those who are not cisgendered.The term ‘cis’ is used for people whose gender identity has always been concordant with their gender assigned at birth (Serano, 2007; Bauer et al., 2009). 83

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2 I recall being confronted by Mohanty’s (1984:  352) words which poignantly described dominant discourses that I could not deny: The ‘Third World difference’ includes a paternalistic attitude towards women in the Third World. (…) Third World women as a group or category are automatically and necessarily defined as: religious (read ‘not progressive’), family-​oriented (read ‘traditional’), legal minors (read ‘they-​are-​ still-​not-​conscious-​of-​their-​r ights’), illiterate (read ‘ignorant’), domestic (read ‘backward’) and sometimes revolutionary (read ‘their-​country-​is-​in-​a-​state-​of-​war-​they-​must-​fight!’). This is how the ‘Third World difference’ is produced. 3 I remember thinking: as a social worker, I can’t ‘just’ stay in the realm of thinking and analysis; I need a framework –​ or a combination of frameworks –​that helps me question the limits of hegemonic thinking by exposing the power relations involved, a framework that brings me to be inclusive of different views but also convergent through some concrete actions and towards change. 4 My knowledge-​building process rests on my own history and social location as a queer and gender non-​ conforming person of colour who was born in Seoul, Corea and grew up in the 1980s as a migrant-​ turned-​citizen in Bearspaw, Chiniki, Blood, Piikani, Siksika,Tsuu T’ina and Wesley First Nations (Treaty 7) Territories, otherwise known as Calgary, Alberta. I now live in Tiohtia:ke, which is also known as Montréal, Québec, and is on the retained territories of the Kanien’keha:ka (Mohawk) as well as a site of meeting and exchange between various First Nations, including the Haudenosaunee and Anishinabeg nations. 5 In 2011, in response to the British government’s threat to cut aid to African countries that violated the human rights of LGBTI people, a group of African activists and organisations released a public statement, declaring an effective response to the violations of the rights of LGBTI people has to be more nuanced than the mere imposition of donor sanctions. The history of colonialism and sexuality cannot be overlooked when seeking solutions to this issue. The colonial legacy of the British Empire in the form of laws that criminalise same-​sex continues to serve as the legal foundation for the persecution of LGBTI people through the Commonwealth. In seeking solutions to the multifaceted violations facing LGBTI people across Africa, old approaches and ways of engaging our continent have to be stopped. New ways of engaging that have the protection of human rights at their core have to recognise the importance of consulting the affected … aid cuts also affect LGBTI people.

(Ekine, 2013: 93)

References Abu-​ Assab, N., Nasser Eddin, N. & Greatrick, P. (2017). Conceptualising Sexualities in the MENA Region: Undoing LGBTQI Categories. London: Centre for Transnational Development and Collaboration. Abu Lughod, L. (2008). Writing women’s worlds. Bedouin stories (2nd edition). Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Alcoff Martin, L. (2017). Decolonizing feminist philosophy. In M.A. McLaren (Ed.), Decolonizing feminism. Transnational feminism and globalization (pp. 21–​36). New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Atluri, T. (2012). The prerogative of the brave: Hijras and sexual citizenship after orientalism. Citizenship Studies, 16(5–​6), 721–​736. Bacchetta, P. (2006). Quand des mouvements lesbiens à Delhi questionnent les “Théories féministes transnationales”é Les cahiers du CEDREF [En ligne]. Retrieved on 3 May 2018 from http://​journals. openedition.org/​cedref/​425. Bacchetta, P. (2016). QTPOC critiques of ‘post-​raciality’, segregationality, coloniality and capitalism in France. In S. Bakshi, S. Jivrai & S. Posocco (Eds.), Decolonizing sexualities: Transnational perspectives critical interventions. Oxford: Counterpress. Banks, A. (2012). Ethics and values in social work (2nd edition). London: Palgrave. Bauer, G.R., Hammond, R., Travers, R., Kaay, M., Hohenadel, K.M. & Boyce, M. (2009). ‘I don't think this is theoretical; this is our lives’: how erasure impacts health care for transgender people. Journal of the Association of Nurses in AIDS Care, 20(5), 348–​361. Bhanji, N. (2012). Trans/​ scriptions:  Homing desires, (trans)sexual citizenship and racialized bodies. In T.T. Cotton (Ed.), Transgender migrations:  The bodies, borders, and politics of transition. (pp. 157–​175). New York: Routledge. 84

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Bilge, S. (2010). Beyond subordination and resistance. An intersectional approach to agency of veiled Muslim women. Journal of Intercultural Studies, 3(1), 10–​28. Boellstorff, T., Cabral, M., Cardenas, M., Cotten, T., Stanley, E.A., Young, K. & Aizura, AZ. (2014). Decolonizing transgender: A roundtable discussion. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 1(3), 419–​439. Brisson, T. (2018). Décentrer l’occident. Les intellectuels postcoloniaux, chinois, arabes et indiens, et la critique de la modernité. Paris: La Découverte. Canavera, M., Akesson, B., Landis, D., Armstrong, M. & Meyer, E. (2019). Mapping social work education in the West African region: Movements towards indigenization in 12 countries’ training programs. International Journal of Social Welfare,  1–​13. Carniol, B. (2005). Case critical: Social services and social justice in Canada. Toronto: Between the Lines. Caron, R. (2007). Les stratégies de survie des Palestiniennes du camp de Bourj El Barajneh au Liban. Mémoire de maîtrise, Université Laval, Québec. Caron, R. (2012). Entre refuge et exil. L’expérience de femmes palestiniennes du camp de Bourj El Barajneh, thèse de doctorat, Université de Montréal, Montréal. Caron, R. & Damant, D. (2014). Le féminisme postcolonial à l’épreuve: Comment échapper au « piège binaire ». Nouvelles pratiques sociales, 26(2), 128–​142. Caron, R. & Damant, D. (2014b). Entre réel et symbolique: survivre dans un camp de réfugiés. Anthropologie et Sociétés, 38(2), 265–​284. Caron, R., Damant, D. and Flynn, C. (2017). Ajnabiyyé bi Bourj el Barajneh ou une étrangère parmi des exilées palestiniennes. Retour réflexif sur une expérience de recherche. Recherches Qualitatives, 36(1),  1–​23. Caron, R., Damant, D. & Flynn, C. (2018). Refuser d’être désignées. Des identités imposées, négociées et revendiquées. Refuge: Revue Canadienne pour les réfugiés, 34(2), 124–​134. CASWE (2014). Standards for Accreditation. Retrieved from: https://​caswe-​acfts.ca/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ 2013/​03/​CASWE-​ACFTS.Standards-​11-​2014-​1.pdf. Cohen, C.J. (1997). Punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queens: The radical potential of queer politics? GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 3(4), 437–​465. Collins, P.H. (2000). Black feminist thought:  Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment (2nd edition). New York: Routledge Editions. Dib, L. & Olivier, F. (2012). Anti-​gay religious group gets funding from Ottawa to work in Uganda. The Star. Retrieved from www.thestar.com/​news/​canada/​2013/​02/​10/​antigay_​religious_​group_​gets_​funding_​ from_​ottawa_​to_​work_​in_​uganda.html. Dutta, A. & Roy, R. (2014). Decolonizing transgender in India: Some reflections. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 1(3), 320–​335. Ekine, S. (2013). Contesting narratives of queer Africa. In S. Ekine & H. Abbas (Eds.), Queer African reader (pp. 78–​91). Dakar: Pambazuka Press. Fast, E. & Collin-​Vézina, D. (2010). Historical trauma, race-​based trauma, and resilience of indigenous peoples: A literature review. First Peoples Child & Family Review, 14(1), 166–​181. Fausto-​Sterling,A. (2000). Sexing the body: Gender politics and the construction of sexuality. New York: Basic  Books. Fortier, C. & Hon-​Sing Wong, E. (2018).The settler colonialism of social work and the social work of settler colonialism. Settler Colonial Studies,  1–​20. Gray, M., Coates, J.,Yellow Bird, M. & Hetherington,T. (2016). Decolonizing social work. New York: Routledge. Haritaworn, J. (2012). Colorful bodies in the multikulti metropolis: Vitality, victimology and transgressive citizenship in Berlin. In T.T. Cotton (Ed.), Transgender migrations: The bodies, borders, and politics of transition. (pp. 11–​31). New York: Routledge. Healy, L.M. (2008). International social work. Professional action in an interdependent world. New York: Oxford University Press. Heron, B. (2007). Desire for development:  Whiteness, gender, and the helping imperative. Waterloo, Ontario: WLU Press. Ife, J. (2008). Human rights and school of social work:  Towards rights-​based practice. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. IFSW (2014). Global definition of social work. Retrieved from:  www.ifsw.org/​what-​is-​social-​work/​ global-​definition-​of-​social-​work/.​ Kaoma, K. (2012).  Colonizing African values:  How the US Christian right is transforming sexual politics in Africa. Political Research Associates. Retrieved from www.politicalresearch.org/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ downloads/​2012/​10/​Colonizing-​African-​Values.pdf. Kinsman, G. (1996). The regulation of desire: Homo and hetero sexualities. Montréal: Black Rose Books ltd. 85

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Lee, E.O. (2015). The social organisation of queer: The everyday experiences of queer and trans migrants with precarious status. Doctoral dissertation: McGill University Libraries. Lee, E.O. (2017a). Resituating ‘sexual and gender diversity’ within the frame of anti-​racism and anti-​ colonialism. In L. Lorenzetti, D. Este & C. Sato (Eds.), Canada without racism: Envisioning the end of racism. (p. 201–​230). Winnipeg: Fernwood Publishing. Lee, E.O. (2017b). Une autoréflexion critique sur les savoirs expérientielle et la recherche participative. Dans MN. Mensah (dir.). Le témoignage sexuel et intime, un levier du changement social? (pp. 31–​44). Québec: Presses de l’Université du Québec. Lee, E.O. (2018). Tracing the coloniality of queer and trans migrations:  Resituating heterocisnormative violence in the Global South and encounters with migrant visa ineligibility to Canada. Refuge: Canada’s Journal on Refugees, 34(1), 60–​74. Lee, E.O. & Brotman, S. (2013). Speak out! Structural intersectionality and anti-​oppressive practice with sexual minority refugees in Canada. Canadian Social Work Review, 30(2), 157–​183. Lee, E.O. & Ferrer, I. (2014). Examining social work as a Canadian settler colonial project: Colonial continuities of circles of reform, civilization, and in/​visibility. Journal of Critical Anti-​Oppressive Social Inquiry, 1(1),  1–​20. Lowe, L. (2015). The intimacies of four continents. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lugones, M. (2008). Coloniality and gender. Tabula rasa, (9), 73–​102. Luibhéid, E. & Cantú, L. (2005). Queer migrations: Sexuality, US citizenship & border crossings. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Massad, J.A. (2007). Desiring Arabs. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. McClintock, A. (1995). Imperial leather: Race, gender and sexuality in the colonial context. New York: Routledge. McLaren,A. (1990). Our own master race: Eugenics in Canada, 1885–​1945.Toronto: University of Toronto  Press. McLaren, M.A. (2017). Decolonizing rights: Transnational feminism and ‘women’s rights as human rights’. In M.A. McLaren (Ed.), Decolonizing feminism. Transnational feminism and globalization (pp. 83–​116). New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Memmi, A. (1957). Portrait du colonisé précédé de portrait du colonisateur. Paris: Gallimard. Midgley, J. (1981). Professional imperialism:  Social work in the third world. Portsmouth:  Heinemann Educational books. Mignolo, W.D. (2007). Introduction: Coloniality of power and de-​colonial thinking. Cultural Studies, 21(2–​ 3), 155–​167. Mohanty, C.T. (1984). Under Western eyes: Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. Boundary 2, 12(3), 333–​358. Mohanty, C.T. (2003). Feminism without borders. Decolonizing theory, practicing solidarity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Monture, P. (2010). Race, gender, and the university:  Strategies for survival. States of Race:  Critical Race Feminism for the 21st Century,  23–​35. Murray, D.A.B. (2016). Real queer? Sexual orientation and gender identity refugees in the Canadian refugee apparatus. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Mwikya, K. (2013). The media, the tabloid, and the Uganda homophobia spectacle. Queer African Reader, 141–​154. Naples, N. (1996). A feminist revisiting of the insider/​outsider debate: The ‘outsider phenomenon’ in rural Iowa. Qualitative Sociology, 19(1), 83–​106. DOI: 10.1007/​BF02393249. Oliver, K. (2017). The special plight of women refugees. In M.A. McLaren (Ed.), Decolonizing feminism. Transnational feminism and globalization (pp. 177–​200). New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Puar, J.K. 2007. Terrorist assemblages: Homonationalism in queer times. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Quijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of power and Eurocentrism in Latin America. International Sociology, 15(2), 215–​232. Razack, N. (2009). Decolonizing the pedagogy and practice of international social work. International Social Work, 1, 9–​21. Richardson, C., Carriere, J. & Boldo,V. (2017). Invitation to dignity and well-​being: Cultural safety through indigenous pedagogy, witnessing and giving back! AlterNative,  1–​6. Said, E.W. (2000). Culture et impérialisme. Paris: Fayard. Serano, J. (2007). Whipping girl: A transsexual woman on sexism and the scapegoating of femininity. Emeryville, CA: Seal. Shohat, E. (2002). Area studies, gender studies, and the cartographies of knowledge. Social Text, 20(3),  67–​78.

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Sinclair, R. (2004). Aboriginal social work education in Canada: Decolonizing pedagogy for the seventh generation. First Peoples Child & Family Review, 1(1), 49–​62. Singh, S., Gumz, E.J. & Crawley, B.C. (2011). Predicting India’s future: Does it justify the exportation of US social work education? Social Work Education, 30(7), 861–​873. Smith, D.E. (1990). The conceptual practices of power: A feminist sociology of knowledge. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Smith, D.E. (2005). Institutional ethnography: A sociology for people. Lanham, MD: Altamira Press. Somerville, S.B. (2000). Queering the color line:  Race and the invention of homosexuality in American culture. Durham, NC & London: Duke University Press. Spivak, G.C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? In L. Grossberg & C. Nelson (Eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp. 271–​313). Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press. Stoler, L.A. (2002). Carnal knowledge and imperial power: Race and the intimate in colonial rule. London: University of California Press. Thobani, S. (2007). Exalted subjects: Studies in the making of race and nation in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Ugiagbe, E.O. (2014). Social work is context-​bound: The need for indigenization of social work practice in Nigeria. International Social Work, 58(6), 790–​801. Valverde, M. (2008). The age of light, soap & water:  Moral reform in English Canada, 1995–​1925. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Walcott, R. (2014). The problem of the human:  Black ontologies and ‘the coloniality of our being’. Postcoloniality–​Decoloniality–​Black Critique. Joints and Fissures (pp. 93–​108). Frankfurt am Main: Campus. Wehbi, S. (2009). Deconstructing motivations. Challenging international social work placements. International Social Work, 52(1), 48–​59. Wynter, S. (2003). Unsettling the coloniality of being/​power/​truth/​freedom:  Towards the human, after man, its overrepresentation –​An argument. CR: The new centennial review, 3(3), 257–​337.

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Part II

Postcolonial social work and social movements Benjamin Bunk Introduction The relation between postcolonial thought, social work (both in the South and North) and social movements is not clear. This section can neither rely on a common understanding of the terms, nor a certain and common kind of practice, nor can it refer to an established discourse with distinctive conceptual positions or defined theoretical problems to be solved. Rather, research on postcolonialism, social work and social movements are quite distinct discourses, with contradictory presumptions, relying on incompatible ‘dispositifs’ and following contrary epistemic strategies or ways of acting, even though ‘we’ all claim to be critical. Still, hardly anyone would doubt that there is a relation (at least I guess so) between miscellaneous local, critical, and social practices–​at least in the South. Thus, this section proposes a new series of discussions to establish a common ground. The differences, distinctiveness, contradictions (seeming) incompatibilities and unsolved problems should, rather than be a hindrance, prove stimulating (I believe). But this common ground cannot be presupposed from one point of view by ‘systematically’ presenting the current ‘state of the art’ as handbooks usually do (at least not, when dealing with postcolonial thought and social movements). Rather, a common ground to depart from is that all these debates and practices would refuse any hegemonic normalisations, standardisations or impositions, usually imposed by claims of common grounds. Postcolonial and social movements critique on the ‘limits’ of the ‘not-​not-​state-​of-​the-​art’ departs from different experiences, locally bound practices or decolonial political imaginaries. However, not only local critical practices, but also particular academic papers refer to terms, concepts or norms usually located in different perspectives, without the aspiration of thoroughly delving into their transcending theoretical relationship (or simply limited space conceded by the editor). On the contrary, unfortunately from a postcolonial position, also the intersections–​or the critical consciousness of their existence, are often being neglected in academia due to traditional disciplinary boundaries. (There are also valid reasons for keeping within these disciplinary confines, but it should be left for another discussion). And then again, if interdisciplinary and even interhemispheric endeavours are being featured as necessary, innovative, and unique, they tend to be overlooked by the discourses they originate (due to the explicit or sublime power relations within)–​which might be worse. At the same time, these academic boundaries might

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not mean much to those involved in practice, thus accusing academia of being incapable of giving appropriate answers to postcolonial social work and social movements. Therefore, this section on postcolonial social work and social movements comprises contributions from diverse academic disciplines and unequal local contexts establishing a provisional field of relations. Each of the chapters pointing to a different dimension of the relation between postcolonial thought, social work and social movements. At the same time, the chapters do not claim to exhaustively explore these dimensions. Rather, they are meant as impulses, or examples out of the necessity to set this field, and inviting others to criticise, amend or present contradictory points of view, and even add other dimensions. As a cautious first step, I suggest to reflect on six dimensions of this field of relations: (1) conceptual problems posed by combining postcolonial thought, social work and social movements; (2)  decolonial orientations from social movements for the analysis of social work practices; (3)  postcolonial thought as an epistemic movement in social work education; (4)  critical reflections on the heterogeneity and power relations within the postcolonial movement itself; (5) collective learning processes in social movements; (6) and social movements as pedagogical spaces for individual formation processes. Moreover, understood as a specific point of view within this Handbook of Postcolonial Social Work, ‘postcolonial social work and social movements’ Part II regards that the first ‘theoretical’ part of this book highlights different understandings of how social work is being perceived as part of a post-​or decolonial social movement (Part I). And at least some of the chapters in the section on indigenisation (Part III) and focusing on Africa (Part IV), can be seen as pedagogies inspired by postcolonial thought as well as social movements.

Dimensions of the relation between postcolonial social work and social movements Intended as an amplified introduction to this new field, Benjamin Bunk theoretically reflects in the first chapter the ambivalence between postcolonial thought and social work in order to locate social movements in between, as combining fundamental postcolonial critique with actively engaged social work leads to some contradictions (apart from quite distinct meanings in the North and South). Being pedagogically engaged in unequal circumstances always tends to reproduce hegemonic structures, whereas critical consciousness alone might not lead to any change at all. Thus, the chapter argues that a common consent between postcolonial and social work debates would be the question of how to move from critique to action.Therefore social movements lead the way as actively working on subaltern answers from within an ongoing coloniality. Orientations from social movements inspired by postcolonial thought serve as an analytical perspective on social problems addressed by social work, highlighting the insufficiency of established approaches and thus leading to new answers –​also in the North. In that sense, Anne Deepak applies a postcolonial feminist social work perspective on human trafficking in the US. Pointing out the limitations in grasping the current problem of human trafficking by traditional focuses on sexual slavery or informal work conditions, she suggests a broader approach based on core social work values like social justice and self-​determination in a postcolonial feminist sense. The potential of new partnerships in addressing the realities of human trafficking, characterised by migrant abuse and exploitative labour practices, leads from a criminal justice perspective to prevention. The knowledge of postcolonial criticisms of colonial structures and mechanisms turns social work education into a postcolonial movement of epistemic decoloniality. According to Linda Harms Smith, a turn to anticolonial theorists such as Fanon, Biko and Freire, inspired by vibrant movements (e.g. #RhodesMustFall), is crucial for existent social work education, contesting 90

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hegemonic knowledge in the core institutions of its reproduction  –​and thus opening new ways for individual and collective self-​reflection. The practical relevance of this endeavour for a critical consciousness becomes visible in the pedagogical need to offer theoretical concepts for social workers related to their own experiences  –​instead of fostering an alienation between theory and practice. Critique of hegemonic tendencies also needs to be applied to the postcolonial movement itself by addressing the heterogeneity within social movements along with common claims against the others. Depicting the variety of feminisms and womanisms emerging from African women, Shahana Rasool gives voice to the hidden and obscured areas of African women’s self-​assertion and resilience arising from local struggles, reflecting on the intersections of gender and race. Local practices and knowledge production thus become a source of reflecting and contesting inclusive tendencies within postcolonialism, while also being faithful to its conceptual roots and fostering the postcolonial movement as a collective learning process of critical consciousness. Then again, collective learning in and from social movements through contesting power relations turn them into social work practice. Drawing from the practical example of the Bhopal Disaster survivors in India, Eurig Scandrett analyses how new norms, new ways of action and new meanings arise from within the community: they collectively learn to challenge local injustices and connect to wider issues in the struggle against multinational corporations. From a subaltern position, the local and global hegemonic policies and meanings are being contested and eventually changed. As social movements develop their self-​understanding and their demands through collective learning based on practice, supportive social work services, too, need to be close to social movements, linking their services to the movements demands. Their collective practices and learning processes, while connecting to wider issues or contestations of hegemonic policies, turn social movements into pedagogical spaces, creating conditions of change for processes of self-​formation and shaping individual biographies. Drawing on qualitative research of the Brazilian waste-​workers movement, Benjamin Bunk focuses on the individual transformation of normative orientations between biographical plausibility, social evidence and local politicisation  –​regarding transitions from particular to solidary orientations as a contestation of an ongoing coloniality. Retracing these transitions, he shows that even in subaltern movements, such learning processes do not follow a simple causality. They cannot be explained through movement practices alone, and the emancipation against oppression does not necessarily go hand in hand with solidary orientations.

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7 Conceptualising postcolonial social work and social movements Subaltern answers from within exclusion and the theoretical ambivalence between postcolonial critique and social work practice Benjamin Bunk

Introduction What on earth is postcolonial social work and what does it have to do with social movements? I confess, I do not know. Or, better: I do not dare to give an answer that pretends to be comprehensive or defines common claims it would always express a hegemonic attitude, overruling local situations and undermine the right to give diverse answers and, primarily, develop own meanings (that is what I learned in the South). But, my perception is also that the different approaches to this issue are not merely diverse, but rather disconnected and even contradictory.Thus, I believe, we should start to work on a more general understanding of the relationship between postcolonial thought,1 social work, and social movements. And even though we might never reach a common ground, a common process is important (as, for example, expressed by the World Social Forum).There is a dire need for dialogue. To provide an example of this contradiction that scholars and practitioners of social work in the North (referring to themselves as postcolonial) might not be aware of: from a postcolonial perspective, or for people in social movements, they represent the distorted path of ‘NGOisation’ supporting a hegemonic system (Choudry & Kapoor, 2013). But first, how can we enter into a dialogue with each other? While subaltern claims against the reproduction of power relations (and therefore against theoretical generalisations, common terms, or hegemonising ‘good’ practices) might subdue my own possibilities for action and expression. But at the same time, this critique establishes a forum for the others to speak and develop their own way. Engaging and fostering such an inclusive process will, one day, hopefully, lead to ‘an-​other’ understanding. One that is based on heterogenic but less powerful and more equal grounds (even this view is not uncontested). One option for such an asynchronous and diverse path is to pose problems as a matter of common interpretation, in order to perceive, talk to each other and give voice to differences –​ instead of canonising an allegedly universal systematisation of institutions, concepts or practices. Also, there is a need to be sensitive as a writer and expect a critical reader –​as Paulo Freire had asked for, introducing his idea of political literacy (Freire, 1974b: 19).

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These are some difficulties I perceive2 when organising a section about social movements, and composing a handbook on postcolonial social work that follows an approach of combining contributions from different experiences, various methodological schools, local discourses, and different perspectives. This might not feel problematic while reading each chapter in itself,3 but on a conceptual level, I felt so uneasy as an editor that I will address this ambivalence between postcolonial thought, social work and social movements in this introductory chapter.

Ambiguities of postcolonial social work in the South and North Only a few would probably disagree that subaltern movements in the Global South are both decolonial and social work practices.Yet, to locate social movements within these quite different traditions of postcolonial thought and social work is more complicated.4 Moreover, in order to understand social movements as a response in the North and South to an ongoing ‘coloniality of power’ (Quijano, 2000) in between postcolonial thought and social work, it is methodologically necessary to address their ambivalence by dwelling on a common problem that appears in both discourses and diverse contexts (as tertium comparationis). I will start by addressing social work (having academic discussions in Germany in mind). Aside from the widely accepted threefold approach of social work  –​caring for individual life courses, fostering social work groups, and designing and implementing social policies –​ there is a lack of theoretical groundwork in social work discourses, overly relying on the premises of existent institutions and thus missing a standpoint, beyond the established system, from where to voice critique (e.g. Kessl, 2011:  135). Ironically, this is a consequence of the former critical ambition to be ‘practice-​oriented’ and not merely concerned with academic thought. Unfortunately, this led to the well-​known, predominant systematisations in the North, placed within state-​and-​civil-​society d​ riven policy frameworks –​and thus being implicitly nationalistic (Mecheril, 2013: 7) or reproducing Northern theory (Connell, 2006). Even the few attempts to develop a general theoretical basis of the social in the North, in order to critically transcend existent practices and gain a distinct standpoint (as ‘critical pedagogy’ or ‘social pedagogy’ tried; e.g. Evers & Nowotny, 1987; Winkler, 1988;5 see also Webb, 2019), implicitly reproduces Northern theory by presupposing modern welfare states and their institutions.6 Thus, referring to postcolonial thought in the North is a new approach to transcend existent practices –​and poses new problems. In a similar (alas, very rare) fashion, ‘traditional’ Northern social work sometimes refers to its social movement traditions (e.g. the US settlement movement, the German youth movement, or feminist and workers movements around 1900). But even in the exceptional cases of references to social movements in social work (e.g. Hornstein, 1984; Franke-​Meyer & Kuhlmann, 2017; both in Germany), social movements are considered as theoretical roots, but hardly ever as social work in themselves. In other words, such (Northern) references do not correspond with the decolonial ambitions of social movements nor the (un)social or (in)existent role of the institutional framework of the state or civil society in the Global South, nor the existential importance of social movements as a particular way, actor, or carrier of social work in such precarious contexts (apart from social movements also cultivate other organisational forms in the Global South, constituting very different practices). Postcolonialism, too, is not a concise concept, but is understood as ‘thinking at the limits’ (Hall, 1995: 242). In fact, it was a practice of critique that does not even aspire to present practice-​ oriented answers.Today it is an umbrella term for any critical diagnosis of cultural and economic power relations with some kind of global orientation. Despite the inevitable asynchronicity of regional and disciplinary discourses, its wild mixture of ‘critical’ arguments makes sense in 94

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a systematic way:  colonial relations are persistent throughout history, while capitalism is also penetrating even the back of beyond (e.g. Bahba, 1994; contra Chibber, 2013). Together with traditions of anti-​neoliberal globalisation discourses, we gain a broader understanding of how the colonial stain reproduces itself everywhere and within everyone up to this day (e.g. Spivak, 1999; Chakrabarty, 2000) –​in the North and the South, in urban and rural spaces, in discourse and practice, in structures and culture. However, whereas migrants in Europe and indigenous communities in the US increasingly become protagonists in debates about (de)constructing hegemonies and racism(s) in the North, and ‘not-​not-​white’ (Spivak, 1999) Western academics increasingly reflect their own position within a centre-​periphery dimension (e.g. Mecheril et al., 2013), paradoxically, this rather theoretical process still fosters the subalternity of Southern voices and disregards the existential difference of the inequalities and lifeworlds of those marginalised ‘down there’ in the Global South. Yet, these contradictions have ‘disclosed’ a fruitful global discursive field (Santos, Nunes & Menezes, 2007) which enables me to engage with subaltern movements and marginal lifeworlds in the South –​in order to learn from their struggles and give them a voice. Moreover, as an epistemic strategy of the subaltern, it has opened up opportunities of being heard in other surroundings and of developing own meanings and practices for quite diverse ‘others’ within an ongoing coloniality. Therefore, (references to) social movements as agents of sociocultural change are becoming increasingly common in both postcolonial thought and social work practice. Thus, methodologically speaking, social movements are regarded in this chapter primarily as a starting point for the necessary dialogue between North and South and to redefine what the social or postcolonial social work as a concept actually could be –​and what it is not. Still, even though I regard myself as an academic coming from ‘social movement research’ (and educational science) I  will not involve traditional social movement research here as a third factor besides postcolonial thought and social work. I regard this chapter as an introduction into a Part on postcolonial social work where every chapter develops its own understanding of how postcolonial social work means being entangled with social movements in different ways. Following this, I will just briefly open a path to address the sociocultural role of social movements from a subaltern position within social movement research. How do we perceive social movements? The dominant approaches in movement research analyse the ideological aims of movements, the societal conflicts underneath, the available resources, frames or political contexts for activism and the motives of rational actors in political arenas in order to ‘educate’ the ‘others’.7 All these approaches draw on ‘outer’ or ‘preconditions’ to explain why social movements exist and what defines their development or their success, often leading to the assumption of a collective identity. All these approaches hardly ever address the issue of (collective and individual) subjectivities being shaped or transformed by and within social movements. Thus, the constitutive dimension and socialisatory role of social movements can easily be overlooked, but is a crucial factor in cultural change –​either in postcolonial or social work terms –​even more so as Northern theories of ‘new social movements’ regard movements as expressions of conflicts at the boundaries of society. But also movements of the Global South were also associated with the marginalised, the excluded or oppressed, working at the ‘boundaries’ of society. But already Alain Touraine changed this perspective, as he claimed a movement perspective from a subaltern position in which ‘social movements are not exceptional and dramatic events: they lie permanently at the heart of social life’ for those that take part, being crucial for ‘the production of society by itself ’8 and ‘not a marginal rejection of order’ (Touraine 1981: 29).9 This perspective becomes even more plausible from an individual and biographical standpoint –​from ‘within’ such movements. Methodologically, the apparent diversity of movements (or plurality of life-​worlds) therefore implies to regard movements as specific and distinct socialisatory spaces. They constitute 95

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borders of meanings and importance, cultivate their own practices and narratives and are driven by their own dynamic in contention with other actors, contexts or incidents (Bunk 2018: 205f.). Moreover, such a ‘movement perspective’ leads to reject ‘society’ as a ‘given principle’, as ‘a common, a unity within social life, which, at the same time stays transcendent towards social action’ (Fuchs 1999: 91). Therefore, Martin Fuchs regards movements as ‘active interventions within variable contexts and aims which constitute themselves through the capacity of interpretation and the reflection of political experiences of the participating actors’ (Fuchs 1999: 403). Such an understanding of movements contradicts ‘mainstream movement research’ (even running the risk of overgeneralising), where the term ‘social movement’ only refers to a network of groups and organisations based on a collective identity, securing a continuity of protest aiming at social change that is more than just a negation of the present’ (Roth & Rucht 2008:  13), thus not at all interested in the changing subjectivities within a social movement. In contrast, and translated to a pedagogical language, social movements are special kinds of ‘spaces of experiences’, which enable ‘relations of experiences’ for the ‘reflexive entanglement of natural development and the appropriation of matters, meanings and normative conditions through which people regard themselves special, but still embedded in their social and cultural circumstances’ (Winkler 2012: 14).

The dilemma of (postcolonial) critique and (social work) practice Combining the quite different traditions of postcolonial thought and social work evokes an ‘old’ dilemma which I consider pivotal to locate social movements: how to move from critique to ‘good’ action? ‘Good’, as understood in the formal sense that it can be regarded as a practically relevant response to a specific critique. Postcolonial concepts do not necessarily intend to overcome colonialism. They might regard themselves as merely questioning existent structures, mechanisms, and practices as a colonial legacy. Along that line, awaking a critical consciousness or providing conceptual tools for critique would already qualify as a response for these (academic) approaches. However, in my view, social work would reject this as an oversimplified approach. New knowledge bases or critical perspectives are not necessarily sufficient to actually induce a different behaviour. Therefore, social work –​with a more holistic view and condemned to ‘act’ –​does not hesitate to apply a set of ‘good’ normative principles or ‘identities’ to judge the ‘effectiveness’ of educational practices or policy measures. This explicit normativity –​regarded necessary to guide actions and interventions –​is, of course, highly problematic from a postcolonial perspective (e.g. Said, 1978). Under unequal and heterogeneous conditions, every attempt to conduct such processes (implicitly) reproduces the normalising, hierarchical, hegemonic and exclusive effects of culture. There are major debates in critical postcolonial discourse in which this deep uneasiness about normativity, identity, aims, and practice (as being usual in social work debates) becomes visible. For example, Gayatri Spivak’s concept of ‘strategic essentialism’ caused a major controversy as she claimed that ‘identity’ as a temporal movement strategy is feasible in order to create a sense of belonging and therefore an ability to act collectively (e.g. Ashcroft, 1998:  159). And whereas Frantz Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks (1952) was highly regarded for depicting cultural oppression, his second book The Wretched of the Earth (1961/​1963), explicitly written for activists, was dismissed by theorists as he turned towards nationalism and identity (pp. 32–​33). To a certain extent, one could also argue that the basic difference between post-​ and decolonial theory (for the latter: Quijano, 2000; Mignolo, 2007) also runs along this line of mere deconstruction versus self-​determined constitution. Or:  With a more pragmatic stance, the (UN) Human Rights approach is questioned by postcolonialism as a renewal of Western coloniality, 96

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universalising a Eurocentric concept in order to homogenise ‘original’ cultural expressions (e.g. Benhabib, 2011; Dunne, 2017: 35–​36) –​despite their good intentions. A similar fundamental scepticism towards normativity and the (unintended) oppression through intervention lead to a different way of answer in pedagogy/​social work (as ‘not acting’ is not an option). Already Rousseau rebelled against alienation by the ‘chains’ of society (Rousseau, 1762/​ 1998: 1), drawing a utopian concept of education that (allegedly) follows ‘only’ the pupils’ subjectivity. One answer to the question that was troubling him:10 any kind of development would always infringe the possibilities of the autonomous (self-​)being (Rousseau, 1755/​2012). Later, Friedrich Schleiermacher led the way to renounce ‘aims’ and ‘educators’ as basic categories of pedagogy (Schleiermacher, 1826/​2000). Thus, from early on, social work turned away from ‘individual case work’ towards fostering peoples and communities in their self-​determination (Natorp, 1899/​1974). Later, other noninterventionist or decentralised concepts took over. For example, the lifeworld orientation in social work reduced public policies to providing public structures for ‘chances and possibilities’ (Thiersch, 1992), whereas Paulo Freire, coming from the same scepticism but in a different context, set out to rethink the reciprocity of the ‘learner–​ teacher’ relationship (Freire, 1974a). Still, as one of the precursors of Latin American decolonial theory, his main concern was to get into action and overcome indifference by claiming it impossible to not take an active position in an unjust world, either by changing or stabilizing this injustice (Freire, 1974b).11

Answers from within and the hope for subaltern social movements Therefore, it is no wonder that both postcolonial theory and social work pin their hopes on subaltern movements to find an answer to the ongoing coloniality. These movements represent a specific form of social practice, solving the critique–​action dilemma within an unequal and diverse context, avoiding the hegemonic normativity of universal aims with their open, process-​ oriented form. They voice, symbolise, allow, produce, dynamise, or stabilise answers to an ongoing coloniality by being actively engaged for change as a (more or less) self-​determined, cooperative, and participatory process. Their engagement and their struggles are not in the same way suspicious of hegemonic tendencies due to their marginalised, excluded, and –​to a certain extent –​powerless position. Thus, the kind of normativity adopted through this particular practice can be regarded as a ‘good’ answer to the persisting coloniality of power. This does not mean that movements are sanctuaries. There are multiple positions within movements, processes of frame alignment, and severe power relations –​especially in force under precarious conditions and when being subject to intertwined struggles of race, class and gender, among others. At the same time, there is also a tension or even contradiction between social work and social movements. On the one side, on a systematic level, social work –​be it state-​or civil-​society-​ driven –​is always (and can only be) compatible, induced and adjusted to hegemonies and therefore reproducing and sustaining them (Gramsci, 2012: 1335; Choudry & Kapoor, 2013; Mayo, 2015: 154–​155). And on the other side, on a pedagogical level, a social movement can always be regarded as an active and open-​ended intervention, what means to be self-​constituted by the interpretations and practical experiences of their participants (Fuchs, 1999:  403; Bunk, 2017 & 2018). There is also a tension or contradiction between social movements and postcolonial thought, the latter understood as a critical practice to dissolve and question existent structures, whereas being in a movement always means to actively engage with something and to build something new –​and therefore inevitably constitute new potentially exclusive structures. But these theoretical considerations get blurred by the complexity of being applied to local contexts and dynamic processes, where different layers of meanings, expectations, and necessities 97

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are to be met. Moreover, while I might reflect on the insufficiency of social work from a social movement perspective, existential struggles still need concrete answers to neoliberal tendencies and cultural hegemony.Therefore, regarding postcolonialism as a construct, decoloniality as an epistemic strategy and the ongoing coloniality as asynchronous and a diverse process in the making, I need to recognise engaged answers to a variety of problems which might tackle some unsocial power relations while still reproducing other exclusive power relations –​what makes it even more crucial for social work practices, to have a critical and sceptical stance to itself, and being very reluctant and sceptical about normative claims of ‘being on the good side’ within the ongoing coloniality.

Notes 1 I use ‘postcolonial’ as an umbrella term or construct, including decolonial tradition. If there is need for differentiation, I will refer to specific authors. 2 I come from a background of philosophy and history of education in Germany as well as international (sociological) movement research dealing with progressive social movements in the Global South  –​ which are crucial to understand social work in Latin America. 3 Which, by the way, I regard as a neoliberalised way of conducting research –​comparing those applicable articles offered by reputable journals within very particular debates. And no review can prevent this, be it unbiased, or not. But, to be self-​critical, this is also a problem arising from some understandings of diversity and heterogeneity. 4 On the one hand, these reflections stem from personal feelings of uneasiness or irritation in postcolonial, anti-​capitalist, or climate-​change discussions where social movements are praised as answers to all these pathologies –​without any precise knowledge about what is actually happening in movements. On the other hand, I sometimes despair in socialwork debates while trying to explain that social movements are not just a source of normative orientations, but a kind of social work where pedagogical processes happen. 5 In Germany, for a long time, the dispute about the adequate fundament for social work, whether theory (of education, emancipation, society, inequality, youth) or concrete practice (and later empirical research, framed by existent institutions), was marked by the terms ‘social pedagogy’ and ‘social work’ –​which do not correspond to the English use of terms, and today you will find different schools under the common heading ‘social work’. 6 Yet, truth be told, the predominant Southern depiction of Western or Northern social work as a homogeneous, hegemonic and neoliberal attempt of psychic resocialisation of individuals tells more about the Southern need for scapegoating the North and neglects the diversity of discourse, history and approaches of social work in the North. However, discussing the hegemonisation and generalisation of Southern pedagogical traditions would lead to a different introduction. 7 Due to space limitations, I refrain from citing and expanding on the major concepts beyond those terms (e.g. Della Porta & Diani, 2015); for an in-​depth analysis see Bunk 2018: 36ff.Yet, I consider it necessary to make this link to social movement theory, as postcolonialism and social work have neglected this discipline and its intense discussions for over 40 years. 8 The regard of social movements as pedagogical spaces for the reproduction of society just recently became more obvious to a wider public. With the (unexpected) rise of nationalistic movements, the underlying frictions and irreconcilable bubbles in which we live and grow up became strongly visible –​ in Brazil, the US, Turkey, Germany and elsewhere. 9 Contentious politics, one of the major concepts in social movement research, developed this idea further, declaring ‘conflict’ as a normal condition of society. 10 The other answer would be On the Social Contract, published in the same year (1762). 11 Of course, other discourses, like critical theory, are centred around the problem of alienation and face the difficulty to define ‘the opposite’ and thus give a ‘normative’ answer to critique (e.g. Rosa, 2016: 300). Although without the urgency to give practical orientations, this theoretical tradition has been highly influential for social work. Whereas Habermas tries to solve the problem by developing a set of egalitarian rules for communicative situations as a frame for a more just development process (Habermas, 1981) and recently Rosa elaborated the concept of ‘resonance’ in (collective) social interaction as an answer to the same problem (Rosa, 2016), Honneth especially dwelled on cooperative practices of ‘social freedom’ (Honneth, 2011: 350ff), where principles of solidarity can be internalised within an ongoing alienating capitalist imperative to egocentrism. 98

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References Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G. & Tiffin, H. (1998). Post-​colonial studies.The key concepts. London: Routledge. Bahba, H.K. (1994). The location of culture. London: Routledge. Benhabib, S. (2011). Dignity in adversity: Human rights in troubled times. Oxford: Polity. Bunk, B. (2017). Zur Differenz von Sozialer Arbeit und sozialer Bewegung. In D. Franke-​Meyer & C. Kuhlmann (Eds.), Soziale Arbeit und Soziale Bewegung (pp. 265–​280). Wiesbaden: VS. Bunk, B. (2018). Bildung und Soziale Bewegung. Die Movimento dos Sem Terra und das World Social Forum als Räume für Bildungsprozesse. Paderborn: Schöningh. Chakrabarty, D. (2000). Provincializing Europe:  Postcolonial thought and historical difference. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Chibber,V. (2013). Postcolonial theory and the specter of capital. A provocative intellectual assault on the Subalternists’ foundational work. New York: Verso Books. Choudry, A. & Kapoor, D. (2013). NGOization: Complicity, contradictions and Prospects. London: Zed Books. Connell, R. (2006). Northern theory. The political geography of general social theory. Theory and Society, 35, 237–​264. de Sousa Santos, B., Nunes, J.A. & Meneses, M.P. (2007). Opening up the canon of knowledge and recognition of difference. In B. de Souza Santos (Ed.), Another knowledge is possible. Beyond northern epistemologies. London: Verso. Della Porta, D. & Diani, M. (2015). The Oxford handbook of social movements. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dunne, M., Durrani, N., Fincham, K. & Crossouard, B. (2017). Troubling Muslim youth identities. nation, religion, gender. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Evers, A. & Nowotny, H. (1987). Über den Umgang mit Unsicherheit. Die Entdeckung der Gestaltbarkeit von Gesellschaft. Frankfurt a. Main: Suhrkamp. Fanon, F. (1952/​1967). Black skin, white masks. New York: Grove Press. Fanon, F. (1961/​1963). The wretched of the earth. New York: Grove Weidenfeld. Franke-​Meyer, D. & Kuhlmann, C. (Eds.) (2017). Soziale Arbeit und Soziale Bewegung. Wiesbaden: VS. Freire, P. (1974a/​1987). Pedagogia do Oprimido. Rio de Janeiro: Paz e Terra. Freire, P. (1974b). O processo de uma alphabetização política. In P. Freire (Ed.), Uma educação para a Liberdade (pp. 41–​59). Porto: Dinalivro. Fuchs, M. (1999). Kampf um Differenz. Repräsentation, Subjektivität und soziale Bewegungen; das Beispiel Indien. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Gramsci, A. (1950/​2012). Gefängnishefte. Kritische Gesamtausgabe (ed. by K. Bochmann, W.-​F. Haug & P. Jehle). Hamburg: Argument. Habermas, J. (1981). Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Hall, S. (1995). When was the ‘post-​colonial’? Thinking at the limit. In I. Chambers & L. Curti (Eds.), Post-​ colonial question: Common skies, divided horizons (pp. 242–​260). London: Routledge. Honneth,A. (2011). Das Recht der Freiheit: Grundriss einer demokratischen Sittlichkeit. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Hornstein, W. (1984). Neue soziale Bewegungen und Pädagogik. Zur Ortsbestimmung der Erziehungs-​ und Bildungsproblematik in der Gegenwart. Zeitschrift für Pädagogik, 30, 147–​167. Kessl, F. (2011). Demokratietheoretische Vergewisserung in der Sozialen Arbeit. In B. Lösch & A. Thimmel (Eds.), Kritische politische Bildung (pp. 129–​141). Bonn: Bundeszentrale für Politische Bildung. Mayo, P. (2015). Hegemony and education under neoliberalism. Insights from Gramsci. New York: Routledge. Mecheril, P., Thomas-​Olalde, O., Melter, C., Arens, S. & Romaner, E. (Eds.) (2013). Migrationsforschung als Kritik? Spielräume kritischer Migrationsforschung. Heidelberg: Springer VS. Mignolo,W.D. (2007). Introduction: Coloniality of power and de-​colonial thinking. Cultural Studies, 21, 155–​167. Natorp, P. (1899/​1974). Sozialpädagogik. Paderborn: Schöningh. Quijano, A. (2000). Colonialidad del poder, eurocentrismo y América Latina. In E. Lander (Ed.), La colonialidad del saber:  eurocentrismo y ciencias sociales. Perspectivas latino americanas (pp. 201–​246). Buenos Aires: CLACSO. Rosa, H. (2016). Resonanz. Zu einer Soziologie der Weltbeziehung. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Roth, R. & Rucht, D. (2008). Die sozialen Bewegungen in Deutschland seit 1945. Ein Handbuch. Frankfurt a. M.: Campus. Rousseau, J. (1762/​1998). Emil oder über die Erziehung (ed. by L. Schmidts). Paderborn: Schöningh. Rousseau, J. (1755/​2012). Discours sur les sciences et les arts. Abhandlung über die Wissenschaften und die Künste (Discourse on the origin and basis of inequality among men). (Deutsch.-​frz. Ausgabe). (ed. by D. Butz-​Striebel & B. Durand). Stuttgart. 99

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Said, E. (1978). Orientalism. New York: Pantheon. Schleiermacher, F. (1826/​2000). Grundzüge der Erziehungskunst (Vorlesungen 1826). In F. Schleiermacher, Texte zur Pädagogik. Kommentierte Studienausgabe, vol. 2 (ed. by M. Winkler & J. Brachmann). Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Spivak, G.C. (1999). A critique of postcolonial reason:  Toward a history of the vanishing present. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thiersch, H. (1992). Lebensweltorientierte soziale Arbeit.Aufgaben der Praxis im sozialenWandel.Weinheim: Juventa. Touraine, A. (1981). The voice and the eye. An analysis of social movements. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Webb, S.A. (Ed.) (2019). The Routledge handbook of critical social work. London: Routledge. Winkler, M. (1988). Eine Theorie der Sozialpädagogik. Stuttgart: Klett-​Cotta. Winkler, M. (2012). Bildung als Entmündigung? Die Negation des neuzeitlichen Freiheitsversprechens in den aktuellen Bildungsdiskursen. In K. Vieweg & M. Winkler (Ed.), Bildung und Freiheit. Ein vergessener Zusammenhang (pp. 11–​28). Paderborn: Schöningh.

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8 Orientations from social movements A postcolonial feminist social work perspective on human trafficking Anne C. Deepak

Introduction Social work in the US has been on the frontline in combatting trafficking since the historical period referred to as the Progressive Era (1890–​1920). During that time, social workers in the US and Great Britain played key roles in campaigns to eradicate the sex trade, understood to be central in the fight against ‘white slavery’, the term used for sexual slavery during that time, purposely reflecting the inclusion of white women only (Bromfield, 2016). Since 2000, with the passage of the Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA), social workers in the US have increasingly focused on work against human trafficking, especially sex trafficking (Alvarez & Alessi, 2012) and the provision of services to female survivors and their children. Crucial contributions have been made through research, practice and advocacy on best practices with trafficking victims and interdisciplinary collaborations. Busch-​ Armendariz, Nsonwu and Heffron (2014: 7) found that social workers and the use of social work perspectives within human trafficking work provide ‘a strong and effective framework for service delivery and effective interdisciplinary collaboration’. Social work research has also examined the service needs of survivors (Postmus, Kynn, Steiner & Negin, n.d.) and their children, finding that these clients benefit from individual counselling, housing assistance, medical care and law enforcement advocacy (Busch-​Armendariz, Nsonwu & Heffron, 2011). While the profession has already made important contributions, more attention is needed to rethink the dominant narrative of trafficking, the criminal justice response, and the causes of human trafficking (Alvarez & Alessi, 2012). Bromfield (2016: 136) recommends that ‘social work scholars … interrogate the dominant narratives on trafficking including those of the federal government, media, and anti-​trafficking NGOs’, rather than unquestioningly reproducing them in social work literature, in order to ‘move our profession forward in identifying best practices for work with trafficking victims or consensual sex workers at the micro, mezzo, and macro levels’. Bergquist (2015: 323) argues that social workers need to advocate for a shift from the primary focus of anti-​trafficking work –​‘from crime reduction and prosecution to client and

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community-​centred initiatives that would include making space for better-​informed and inclusive interventions’. These recommendations suggest that there are limitations in current approaches to anti-​ trafficking work. This is supported by the reality that there has not been progress in reducing the number or severity of abuses in global human trafficking in the past almost 20 years (Nishimoto, 2018). Therefore, it is time for a new approach that builds, and expands, on the important contributions made by social work in addressing human trafficking to include a structural analysis that foregrounds the plight of women of the Global South and currently and formerly trafficked persons throughout the world. Postcolonial feminist social work offers such a theoretical perspective and framework for action that can lead to the use of this new approach. This chapter integrates theories inspired by the postcolonial and Third World feminist movements with core social work values of social justice and self-​determination through the postcolonial feminist social work perspective. This approach will be used to analyse the anti-​ trafficking movement, its subsequent policy and programme responses and the potential of new partnerships in addressing the problem of human trafficking, drawn from the collective experiences and leadership of women in the Global South. Intertwining these orientations from different movements in order to address human trafficking from a postcolonial feminist social work perspective necessitates the involvement of sex workers, labour unions, and survivors of trafficking as partners in a common approach based in labour rights and social protection rather than one based in criminal justice. Prevention will require social protection and accountability mechanisms enforced by governments that will, in turn, enforce workers’ rights and safety (Nishimoto, 2018).

Human trafficking and modern slavery Human trafficking, forced labour and modern slavery have a variety of definitions and are often used interchangeably because the conditions associated with these terms are overlapping. In their most recent report of global estimates of modern slavery, the International Labour Organization (ILO) and the Walk Free Foundation (2017) selected the term ‘modern slavery’ and defined it as consisting of two components: forced labour and forced marriage. They note that modern slavery is not defined in law but is used as an all-​encompassing term that refers to ‘situations of exploitation that a person cannot refuse or leave because of threats, violence, coercion, deception and/​or abuse of power’ (ILO & Walk Free Foundation, 2017: 9). Within human trafficking discourse in the US, there is an assumption that the vast majority of human trafficking occurs through the sexual exploitation of women and children. This assumption is not reflected in the estimates gathered by the ILO and the Walk Free Foundation. In 2016, there were 24.9 million people in forced labour globally; 4.8 million were in forced sexual exploitation, 16  million were in the private economy, and 4.1  million were in forced labour imposed by state authorities (ILO & Walk Free Foundation, 2017). A focus on women and children is warranted, as two-​thirds of persons in forced labour are women and girls (14 million), but twice as many women and girls are in situations other than sexual exploitation (9.2 million versus 4.8 million). Where the private-​sector industry was reported, in 65 per cent of the total cases, forced labour was in domestic work (24 per cent), construction (18 per cent), manufacturing (15 per cent), or agriculture and fishing (11 per cent). Within the separate category of sexual exploitation, women and girls are disproportionately represented at 99 per cent of all reported cases (ILO & Walk Free Foundation, 2017).

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The anti-​trafficking movement in the US The anti-​trafficking movement in the US was sparked by the awareness of a visible increase in the human trafficking of men, women and children in the mid-​1990s and several other historical factors. These other factors included the ascendance of the women’s human rights movement, increased international labour migration and the feminisation of poverty as consequences of the economic dimensions of globalisation, and the recognition of the role of organised crime in these movements of people (Chuang, 2010). The shared concern for the human rights of women and children in sexual exploitation united student activists, feminists, evangelicals, human rights activists and business leaders (Campbell & Zimmerman, 2014). This concern overshadowed forced labour beyond sexual exploitation. Within the movement, two contradictory positions regarding prostitution are articulated. First, the neo-​abolitionists who are an alliance of abolition feminists, neoconservatives and evangelical Christians who believe that prostitution is a form of violence against women and should be abolished.While differing on various social and political issues, these neo-​abolitionists are united in embracing the term ‘abolitionist’ to refer to campaigns to abolish transatlantic slavery and efforts to eradicate white slavery (Chuang, 2010). The second position is articulated by non-​abolitionists whose perspective is overshadowed by neo-​abolitionists who dominate the movement. Non-​abolitionists include autonomy feminists and allies of sex workers who believe in the right to engage in sex work for anything from survival to freely chosen employment. These groups advocate for the decriminalisation of sex work to ensure the safety and well-​being of sex workers and argue that through decriminalisation there will be a decrease in harm, abuse, and sex trafficking (Schwarz, Kennedy & Britton, 2017). This group agrees that trafficking should be punished but argues that adult sex workers’ agency, however constrained, should be acknowledged and accepted (Chuang, 2010). Despite these internal contradictions, the movement has been successful in shaping international agreement on addressing the crime of trafficking in persons, especially women and children, on a transnational level. The movement has also been successful in getting national legislation passed.

The global impact of anti-​trafficking initiatives In 2000, the UN Protocol to Prevent, Suppress, and Punish Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children (referred to as the Palermo Protocol) and the US Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA) (Campbell & Zimmerman, 2014) were adopted after negotiations that included the input of neo-​abolitionist and non-​abolitionist voices of the anti-​trafficking movement (Chuang, 2010). The Palermo Protocol and the TVPA represent an international approach to ending human trafficking through a strategy of three Ps: prosecution of traffickers, protection of victims, and prevention of trafficking. An additional P for partnerships was added to the strategy by former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to highlight the importance of partnerships between governments, multilateral organisations, intergovernmental organisations, non-​ governmental organisations (NGOs) and the private sector as a means to seek an end to human trafficking (Lagon, 2015: 21). The TVPA is a domestic policy with global ramifications; since it was passed in 2000, the US State Department has been ‘ranking’ countries in an annual Trafficking in Persons (TIP) report based on the minimum standards for the elimination of trafficking found in the TVPA. The US government uses the report as a diplomatic tool to ‘engage foreign governments in dialogues to

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advance anti-​trafficking reforms and to combat trafficking, and to target resources on prevention, protection and prosecution programs’ (US Department of State, n.d.). Countries that fail to comply with the minimum standards and fail to make an effort to do so are subject to humanitarian and trade-​related sanctions from the US and international financial institutions, although the president has the power to waive these sanctions. In addition to the TIP report, the US State Department manages foreign aid for anti-​ trafficking programmes implemented by a range of US and foreign governmental, for-​profit, and international organisations; more than USD 300 million was allocated between 2001 and 2018 (CRS, 2019).

Critiques of the anti-​trafficking movement Scholars and activists have been vocal in their critiques of the movement and the subsequent policy and programme responses. A major critique is the negative implications of using a criminal justice approach to addressing trafficking rather than one based in labour rights and migration (Alvarez & Alessi, 2012; Marks & Olsen, 2015). The criminal justice response to human trafficking is rooted in the underlying narrative of the anti-​trafficking movement, which has been dominated by neo-​abolitionists, and is best described by Warren (2012: 106–​107): Innocent young women and children … are captured and sexually exploited by sociopaths and predators, gendered male, who force them into prostitution far from home. Suicide, escape to safe haven, or rescue and redemption are portrayed as the only exits from this terrifying situation. This narrative has been expanded to include forced labour outside of sex trafficking due to internal and external pressures, but the same individualist narrative of the problem of slavery as a problem of evil villains and perfect victims requiring the same types of response and using the same tools of moral outrage is employed to garner public support (Warren, 2012). This narrative is problematic for a number of reasons. First, it prevents a critical analysis of the unintentional consequences of partnering with criminal justice systems and immigration enforcement that can lead to more risk and vulnerability for those being ‘helped’. Second, it conceals the roles of governments, businesses and corporations in generating work and immigration policies that create the conditions for forced labour, diverting attention from key structural inequities that make migrant workers especially exposed to abuses (Marks & Olsen, 2015: 2–​3). Most importantly, constructing trafficking survivors and sex workers as traumatised victims that need to be saved erases the agency of survivors and sex workers (Chuang, 2010; Marks & Olsen, 2015).

Towards a postcolonial feminist social work perspective Postcolonial feminist social work centres on the gendered dynamics of globalisation, power and resistance and the social work values of self-​determination and social justice (Deepak, 2014).The gendered impact of global inequality is foregrounded, as it has been produced and maintained through colonialism, nationalism and the economic dimensions of globalisation that contribute to and sustain interlocking forms of global and local oppression (Deepak, 2018). Tools for resistance to these forms of oppression are embedded in the social and technological dimensions of globalisation that facilitate collective agency and the creation of partnerships with allies to mobilise the fight against these inequalities (Deepak, 2018). 104

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Postcolonial feminist theory rejects colonial and development discourses that construct women from the Global South as passive victims of timeless, oppressive cultural and religious traditions, and who are in need of being rescued by white men, and sometimes women, on a civilising mission (Mohanty, 1991; Chatterjee, 1993; Spivak, 1995; Syed & Ali, 2011, as cited in Deepak 2014). The theoretical position also rejects the nationalist narrative of women in the Global South with unfettered agency who are willing participants in oppressive patriarchal practices (Spivak, 1995) that are often defended as cultural in origin (Deepak, 2018). Instead, multiple sites of oppression are recognised including, but not limited to, colonialism, nationalism, fundamentalism, racism, patriarchies and global economic structures. These sites of oppression are recognised while still affirming the partial and constrained agency of women of the Global South, just as is the case of women in the Global North (Deepak, 2018). In applying the perspective to the issue of human trafficking and its policy and programme responses, four questions are used for analysis:  (1) How do globalisation, global inequality, and interlocking forms of oppression play a role? (2) How does discourse on women from the Global South shape responses? (3) How do women (and men) collectively resist these forms of oppression and create new methods of fighting against trafficking and ensuring the safety and well-​being of workers? (4) How are social workers implicated in these systems of oppression and how can we act as allies in eliminating human trafficking and meeting the needs of survivors?

Globalisation, global inequality and interlocking forms of oppression The landscape of human trafficking, the anti-​trafficking movement and policy and programme responses are shaped by globalisation, global inequality and their gendered consequences. Globalisation refers to the complex mix of social, cultural, political and economic processes of these times in which there is a heightened exchange of information and ideas, increased mobility of people and money, and the transnational integration of production, investment and trade (LeBaron, Howard, Thebos & Kyritsis, 2018). The economic dimensions of globalisation are manifested in neoliberal economic policies adopted and enforced through international financial institutions (IFIs), namely, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund in the form of conditions on loans and also for the purpose of development (Deepak, 2018). Governments around the world have adopted a range of similar policies that are organised around the idea that all barriers to a free market must be removed. These barriers include unions, worker rights, public employment services, and welfare, social protections, anti-​ poverty redistribution, regulations, subsidies and tariffs (Lebaron et al., 2018). These policies, created and enforced for the past four decades, have increased inequality within and between countries and have contributed to the feminisation of poverty and heightened vulnerability of women and men to trafficking.

Globalisation and work Neoliberal policies in the past 40  years have placed more women in poverty and precarious employment (Chen & Moussie, 2017). Precarious employment is a common feature of the informal economy and the majority of workers in the Global South are employed within it.This type of work is poorly paid, insecure, and lacks access to work-​related social protection (Chen & Moussie, 2017). Cuts to social services and social protections exacerbate these vulnerabilities and have a gendered impact as women are expected to step in to provide caregiving for the disabled, elderly and ill, in addition to their daily unpaid care responsibilities (Butt et al., 2018). 105

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The dismantling of worker protections and rights continues to proceed at a dizzying speed. The International Trade Union Confederation (ITUC, 2018a) reports that an increasing number of workers are excluded from any protection under labour laws. For instance, there has been a 60 per cent increase since 2017 in the number of countries that exclude workers from the right to establish or join a trade union. Eighty-​one per cent of countries have violated the right to collective bargaining (ITUC, 2018).

Global supply chains A consequence of globalisation is the ubiquitous use of global supply chains in which different stages of the production process are located across different countries to take advantage of lower labour costs and weaker labour protections (LeBaron, et al., 2018). Forced and bonded labour and trafficking ‘are the forms of modern slavery most likely to be present within company value chains’ (Boyle & Shields, 2018: 7).The production of goods by trafficking survivors in the Global South, produced for Western consumption in the global North, could be understood as part of a global value chain.

Globalisation, NGOs, workers and markets In faith-​ based and secular NGOs working in Thailand, Cambodia, Nepal, India, Mexico, Moldova, Uganda and the US, survivors are trained and employed to make wares with the dual purpose of providing an alternative income to sex work and to raise funds and awareness about human trafficking. The products of this cottage industry of ‘victim repair’ through vocational training as a form of rehabilitation (Shih, 2014)  are then sold at anti-​trafficking conferences and fairs in the US to generate income for the NGOs. Shih found that many women identified working conditions at the NGOs oppressive, earned similar wages as any low-​wage employment within their countries, and much less than sex work, and faced the same exploitative labour relations. Shih calls this the anti-​trafficking rehabilitation complex.

Anti-​immigration  racism There are many forms of interlocking oppression that impact human trafficking and policy responses including racism, ableism, heterosexism, sexism, casteism (LeBaron et al., 2018), but for the purpose of this discussion anti-​immigration racism will be highlighted. Anti-​immigration racism is related to the economic dimensions of globalisation, because the disruptions caused by neoliberal economic policies have deepened poverty and exacerbated precarious situations that lead people to migrate in search of work and to be coerced or duped into trafficking across borders. Xenophobia and anti-​immigration racism are used by politicians to scapegoat immigrants and refugees as the causes for deepened economic insecurity and displacement in the host countries, rather than the result of neoliberal economic policies. Sharma argues that anti-​trafficking legislation is used to target ‘illegal immigration’ and strengthen border policing by criminalising people who facilitate migrants’ entry into national states, thus heightening the vulnerability and exploitation that many women migrants face (Maynard, 2013). In the US anti-​trafficking policy, there are two visas available to undocumented immigrants who have survived trafficking, want to stay in the US, and are willing to cooperate with law enforcement prosecution: the U-​visa and the T-​visa. For the T-​visa, adult victims of trafficking must prove that the crime involved at least one element from each of the three categories prescribed by the Palermo Protocol and prove that their presence in the US is the result of 106

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human trafficking. In the 18 years that T-​visas have been available, fewer than 10 000 T visas have been issued, even though the TVPA allows for 5 000 to be issued annually (Brennan & Plambech, 2018). These low numbers could be attributed to the stringent application requirements. The U-​visa is open to undocumented immigrants who have been the victims of violent crimes including trafficking. Applicants must show substantial physical or mental abuse as a result of the qualifying crime and are required to cooperate with law enforcement. There is a cap of 10 000 U-​visas granted each year, and there is currently a backlog of more than 128 000 applications. Due to the lack of sufficient staff to review cases, it takes more than four years from the time the petition is received until a person is placed on the waiting list, ironically leaving applicants vulnerable to trafficking (Human Rights Watch, 2018). Prior to November 2018, undocumented victims who were denied a U-​or T-​visa could stay in the US to appeal the decision, as they were not considered to be priorities for deportation. Currently, applicants for a U- or T-visa who are denied may receive an order to appear before an immigration judge, which is the first step towards deportation. Advocates are already seeing a chilling effect on applications due to these policies (Boghani, 2018).These recent policy changes bolster Sharma’s argument that anti-​trafficking policies stand in as a form of border control. It also highlights the point made by numerous scholars and activists of the dangers of using a criminal justice approach to the problem of human trafficking.

Discourse on women of the Global South Anti-​trafficking work in the Global South draws from ‘the image of the victimized Southern prostitute, incapable of choice, [and] has been central to Northern ‘abolitionists’ proposals since the nineteenth century’ (Doezema, 2001, as cited in Vijayakumar & Chacko, 2015: 80–​81). The perfect victim requires rescue, not collaboration or partnership. This rescue mission is described by Kotiswaran (2014) as a site for sexual humanitarianism for Northern anti-​trafficking initiatives. These initiatives are typically initiated by American Christian groups like the International Justice Mission (IJM), which undertake raids in red-​ light areas to rescue and rehabilitate sex workers (Kotiswaran, 2014) without their prior knowledge or consent. Sex workers ‘rescued’ during these operations are put at much greater risk for forced labour due to the costs and debts associated with being arrested, including lawyer’s fees, bail, bribes to officials, and income lost due to incarceration. These debts can lead women to getting trapped in a cycle of debt bondage, a form of human trafficking (Pai, Seshu & Murthy, 2018). Due to the raids, some women do leave sex work and, presumably, some of these women have been coerced into sex work. However, there is a high rate of returnees to sex work. In one study, 152 of 193 (79 per cent) of women returned to sex work after ‘rehabilitation’, providing evidence that rescue-​and-​restore missions have been ineffective in reaching minors and adults who have been trafficked. What has been effective is the development of collectives of sex workers who organise and empower themselves to protect themselves from violence and to identify and assist minors and trafficked women (Pai, Seshu & Murthy, 2018).

Collective resistance to human trafficking Sex workers resist characterisations of themselves as passive victims who are unable to distinguish coercion from consent. They are primarily concerned about protecting their own rights and safety and that of minors and women who have been trafficked. Sex-​worker organisations and unions are active throughout the world. 107

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In India, sex-​worker organisations have been instrumental in education and prevention of HIV/​AIDS. One organisation, the Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee (DMSC), is comprised of 60,000 sex workers in West Bengal. DMSC operates 51 clinics and 32 educational activities including homes and schools for children of sex workers. They also have a credit cooperative to reduce dependence on sex work and to create security for those who choose to practise the profession (Smarajit, Dey, Reza-​Paul & Steen, 2014). DMSC decided to address the problem of minors and coerced women in sex work settings in 1997. To tackle this problem, they created self-​regulatory boards (SRBs) with a strategy of community vigilance to regulate entry into sex work, identify abuses and respond comprehensively when coercion or underage sex work was suspected. SRBs now exist in 33 localities within the red-​light district of Sonagachi. The board is composed of ten members with six of these being from the sex-​worker community, as well as a local ward counsellor and representatives from the health, social welfare and labour sectors. Peer educators are given responsibility for 60 sex workers and visit the houses where newcomers are easily identified. Newcomers are then brought to the SRB for counselling and assessment. Within the span of a few hours an SRB meeting is held to review the case and develop a plan of action to allow the girl or woman to choose from several options (Smarajit, Dey, Reza-​Paul & Steen, 2014).These options can include family reintegration, vocational training, or, if found that they were not coerced, counselling about what to expect in sex work, typical rules of brothels, the health hazards involved in sex work, the need to practise safer sex, and the harassment that a sex worker might expect from the police, local hooligans and customers (Kotiswaran, 2014). Long-​term outcomes have been impressive. Since 1992, within the Sonagachi area, there has been a decline of over 90 per cent in the proportion of minors and an increase in the median age of sex workers from 22 to 28 (Smarajit, Dey, Reza-​Paul & Steen, 2014). This model has been very effective as it combines primary prevention of trafficking by increasing education, with economic options for sex workers and their children.

New strategies and partnerships The formation of new strategies and partnerships should start from a labour rights perspective and should be modelled after the SRB –​a model that includes community vigilance and self-​ regulatory boards in communities of organised informal workers or trade unions. Boards should include a majority of workers and partners from social work, labour and health. Within these organised communities, educational and sustainable economic options should be developed. Variations of this model could be replicated in different settings  –​in communities in which some part of the global value chain is housed, to factories, farms and communities that rely on domestic workers. These vigilant communities can be connected via technology, applying the social and technological dimensions of globalisation to share resources and best practices. In any modification of the model, knowledge of worker rights and accountability mechanisms to ensure employer compliance will be essential. This will require the active involvement of governments in regulating and enforcing labour laws and of trade unions and informal workers in organising to hold employers and governments accountable.

Trade unions as partners In a global effort, domestic workers in the informal economy and trade unions have worked together to make progress in the elimination of the exploitation, abuse and modern-​day slavery of domestic workers. The International Domestic Workers Federation partnered with the 108

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International Trade Union Confederation to successfully campaign for rights and protections including the right to a minimum wage, access to social protection and a minimum weekly rest. This was accomplished through 22 ratifications of ILO Convention 189 on decent work for domestic workers (C189) and labour law reforms in a total of 48 countries (ITUC, IDWF & ILO-​GAP, 2016). This is an example of the type of work needed to prevent trafficking. These global networks of organised domestic workers within the informal economy and their union allies, educated on their labour rights and social protections, utilising technology and social media, are spaces in which the SRB model could be applied.

Survivors as partners The National Survivor Network is a coalition of more than 200 survivors in the US with members with origins from all over the world. This coalition has organised a network for local, state and national advocacy efforts led by survivors in order to transform the national anti-​ trafficking movement to one that puts survivors at the forefront and honours them as leaders in making change. On their website, a member is quoted: Too often, survivors of human trafficking are either excluded from the anti-​trafficking movement or are only included to share their individual traumatic stories. The community created in the National Survivor Network (NSN) allows us to go beyond our own background to advocate for a broader, more inclusive range of survivor experiences. As we advocate for policy change at the federal, state and local level, we are able to represent not just our own individual history, but the experiences of countless survivors. (National Survivor Network, n.d.) Clearly, the perspectives and leadership of survivors must be integral to the anti-​trafficking movement and policies and programmes created to meet their needs. This community is active within the US but could be expanded into a global coalition in which new ideas can be generated in addition to community vigilance and SRBs. The best way social workers can support these existing and potential partnerships is to become stronger allies to survivors and trafficked persons.This necessitates a commitment to honouring the agency, self-​determination and leadership of survivors, sex workers, workers in the informal economy and workers who may be trafficked or vulnerable to being trafficked.

Conclusion: social workers as stronger allies Social workers become a part of the systems of oppression that lead to human trafficking when the larger historical, political and economic contexts that create those conditions are ignored. In the rush to provide services for compelling social problems, social workers can lose sight of the structural conditions that shape those problems.When social workers do not question stereotypical trafficking representation, they become culpable for the distraction of attention from the systematic erosion of labour rights globally. By doing so, social workers are complicit ‘in the perpetuation of the very social inequalities, hierarchies and conflicts that allow exploitation and trafficking to occur’ (Andrijasevic & Mai, 2016: 9). As Bergquist (2015: 315) asserts, much of the work social workers do in trafficking is ‘controlled by law enforcement and judicial processes that prioritise prosecution over victim needs, a practice that is antithetical to the social work ethic of self-​determination’. The roots of human trafficking can be traced to global and national neoliberal economic policies that have eroded labour rights, social protections, and the rights of migrants. In order 109

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to reduce vulnerability to trafficking, a host of issues must be addressed, but at the core of these must be a recognition of vulnerable populations as partners and leaders in finding solutions. Discriminatory treatment, particularly for women and migrant workers, must be tackled along with a guaranteed social protection floor. Enforcement of labour laws, access to complaint mechanisms through outreach and legal assistance, and guaranteeing freedom of association for workers to organise and bargain collectively (Nishimoto, 2018) are all essential components in addressing the problem of trafficking. The model of community vigilance and self-​regulatory boards is a promising one to explore and modify to address these issues. Social workers can become stronger allies by recognising the systemic nature of the problem and by working in partnership with community-​based organisations and collective movements that challenge the harmful policies, practices and discourse that create the conditions for trafficking. This solidarity will require working in multiple arenas where we can take advantage of our privilege to influence global, national and local policies that compromise social protections and the rights of workers and migrants. Postcolonial feminist social work is key to unpacking and rethinking partnerships and initiatives to incorporate the agency of women and men in the Global South expressed through their collective resistance and creative responses. It provides a dual focus on multiple sites of oppression and the affirmation of individual and collective agency. It is clear that in the Global North and Global South it is an ethical imperative that we move away from a singular narrative about women’s agency, because it impedes the crucial work of addressing human trafficking and silences complicated narratives. Most importantly, a singular narrative about helpless traumatised women erases the powerful contributions marginalised women and men of the Global South and North can make in preventing and eliminating human trafficking. Understanding the historical and macroeconomic backdrop to human trafficking and prioritising partnerships with survivors and those at risk of trafficking is essential to eradicating it.

References Alvarez, M.B. & Alessi, E.J. (2012). Human trafficking is more than sex trafficking and prostitution: Implications for social work. Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work, 27(2), 142–​152. Andrijasevic, R. & Mai, M. (2016). Editorial:  Trafficking (in) representations:  Understanding the recurring appeal of victimhood and slavery in neoliberal times. Anti-​trafficking Review, 7, 1–​ 10, www.antiftraffickingreview.org. Bergquist, K.J.S. (2015). Criminal, victim, or ally? Examining the role of sex workers in addressing minor sex trafficking. Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work, 30(3), 314–​327. Boghani, P. (2018). Undocumented crime victims face heightened risk of deportation. www.pbs.org/​ wgbh/​frontline/​article/​undocumented-​crime-​victims-​face-​heightened-​r isk-​of-​deportation/​. Boyle, G. & Shields, L. (2018). Modern slavery and women’s economic empowerment. DFID Work and Opportunities Program. Retrieved from https://​assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/​.../​modern-​slavery​womens-​economic-​empow. Brennan, D. & Plambech, S. (2018). Editorial: Moving forward –​life after trafficking. Anti-​Trafficking Review, 10, 1–​12, www.antitraffickingreview.org. Bromfield, N.F. (2016). Sex slavery and the sex trafficking of women in the United States: Historical and contemporary parallels, policies and perspectives in social work. Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work, 31(1), 129–​139. Busch-​Armendariz, N., Nsonwu, M.B., & Heffron, L.C. (2011). Human trafficking victims and their children:  Assessing needs, vulnerabilities, strengths and survivorship.  Journal of Applied Research on Children: Informing Policy for Children at Risk, 2(1), Article 3. Retrieved from http://​digitalcommons. library.tmc.edu/​childrenatrisk/​vol2/​iss1/​3. Busch-​Armendariz, N., Nsonwu, M.B. & Heffron, L.C. (2014). A kaleidoscope: The role of the social work practitioner and the strength of social work theories and practice in meeting the complex needs of people trafficked and the professionals that work with them. International Social Work, 57(1), 7–​18. 110

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Butt, A.P., Remme, J., Rost, L. & Koissy-​Kpein, S.A. (2018). Exploring the need for gender-​equitable fiscal policies for a human economy:  Evidence form Uganda and Zimbabwe. Oxfam Research Reports. Retreived from https://​policy-​practice.oxfam.org.uk/​publications/​exploring-​the-​need-​for​gender-​equitable-​fiscal-​policies-​for-​a-​human-​economy-​evi-​620417. Campbell, L.M. & Zimmerman, Y.C. (2014). Christian ethics and human trafficking activism: Progressive Christianity and social critique. Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics, 34(1), 145–​172. Chatterjee, P. (1993). The Nation and its Fragments. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Chen, M.A. & Moussie, R. (2017). The IMF, gender equality and labour: turning a blind eye to women in the informal economy. London: Bretton Woods Project. Chuang, J. (2010). Rescuing trafficking from ideological capture: Prostitution reform and anti-​trafficking law and policy. University of Pennsylvania Law Review, 158, 1655–​1727. Congressional Research Service. (2019). Human trafficking and foreign policy: An introduction. https://​ fas.org/​sgp/​crs/​row/​IF10587.pdf. Deepak,A.C. (2014).A postcolonial feminist social work perspective on global food insecurity. Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work, 29(2), 153–​164. Deepak, A.C. (2018). Postcolonial feminist social work perspective: Additional considerations for immigrant and refugee populations. In A. Hillado & M. Lundy (Eds.), Models for practice with immigrants and refugees: Collaboration, cultural awareness, and integrative theory. London: Sage. Human Rights Watch. (2018). Immigrant crime fighters:  How the U visa program makes US communities safer. www.hrw.org/​report/​2018/​07/​03/​immigrant-​crime-​fighters/​how-​u-​visa-​ program​makes-​us-​communities-​safer. International Labour Organization & Walk Free Foundation (2017). Global estimates of modern slavery: forced labour and forced marriage. ILO: Geneva. International Trade Union Confederation (ITUC), International Domestic Workers Federation (IDWF), ILO’s Global Action Programme on Migrant Domestic Workers and Their Families (ILO-​GAP) (2016). Domestic workers unite: A guide for building collective power to achieve rights and protections for domestic workers. Retrieved from www.ituc-​csi.org/​unite. International Trade Union Confederation (ITUC) (2018). ITUC global rights index:  the world’s worst countries for workers. www.ituc-​csi.org/​ituc-​global-​r ights-​index-​2018. Kotiswaran, P. (2014). Beyond sexual humanitarianism: A postcolonial approach to anti-​trafficking law. UC Irvine Law Review, 4, 353–​405. Lagon, M. (2015). Traits of transformative anti-​ trafficking partnerships. Journal of Human Trafficking, 1,  21–​38. Lebaron, G., Howard, N., Thibos, C. & Kyritsis, P. (2018). Confronting the root causes of forced labour: globalization and the rise of supply chains. www.opendemocracy.net/​beyondslavery/​genevieve-​lebaron-​neil-​ howard-​cameron-​thibos-​penelope-​kyritsis/​confronting-​root-​caus-​1. Marks, E. & Olsen, A. (2015). The role of trade unions in reducing migrant workers’ vulnerability to forced labour and human trafficking in the Greater Mekong Subregion. Anti-​trafficking Review, 5, 111–​128. Maynard, R. (2013). Sex work, migration and anti-​ trafficking:  an interview with Nandita Sharma. www. solidarityacrossborders.org/​en/​solidarity-​city/​solidarity-​city-​journal/​sex-​work-​migration-​and​anti-​trafficking-​an-​interview-​with-​nandita-​sharma. Mohanty, C. (1991). Under Western eyes:  Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. In C. Mohanty, A. Russo & T. Lourdes (Eds.), Third world women and the politics of feminism, (pp. 51–​79). Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. National Survivor Network (n.d.). nationalsurvivornetwork.org. Nishimoto, T. (2018). Op-​ ed:  Labour rights:  The means to tackle human trafficking. www.ilo.org/​asia/​mediacentre/​news/​WCMS_​635351/​lang-​-​en/​index.htm. Pai, A., Seshu, M.S. & Murthy, L. (2018). In its haste to rescue sex workers,‘anti-​trafficking’ is increasing their vulnerability. Economic & Political Weekly, 53(28). Postmus, J., Kynn, J., Steiner, J. & Negin, L. (n.d.). Providing services to trafficking victims: Understanding practices across the globe. Rutgers School of Social Work Center on Violence Against Women and Children. https://​socialwork.rutgers.edu/​centers/​center-​violence-​against-​women-​and-​children/​research-​and-​ evaluation/​providing-​services-​trafficking-​victims-​understanding-​practices-​across-​globe. Schwarz, C., Kennedy, E.J. & Britton, H. (2017). Aligned across difference: Structural injustice, sex work, and human trafficking. Feminist Formations, 29(2), 1–​25. Shih, E. (2014). The anti-​trafficking rehabilitation complex. Contexts:  Selling people. https://​contexts.org/​articles/​selling-​people/​. 111

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Smarajit, J., Dey, B., Reza-​Paul, S. & Steen, R. (2014). Combatting human trafficking in the sex trade: Can sex workers do it better? Journal of Public Health, 36(4), 622–​628. Spivak, G. (1995) ‘Can the subaltern speak?’ In B. Ashcroft, G. Griffins & H. Tiffin (Eds.), The postcolonial studies reader, (pp. 24–​28). London: Routledge. Vijayakumar, G., Chacko, S. & Panchanadeswaran, S. (2015). As human beings and as workers: Sex worker unionization in Karnataka, India. Global Labour Journal, 6(1). https://​mulpress.mcmaster.ca/​globallabour/​ article/​view/​2297. Warren, K.B. (2012).Troubling the victim/​trafficker dichotomy in efforts to combat human trafficking: The unintended consequences of moralizing labor migration. Indiana Journal of Global Legal Studies, 19(1), 105–​120.

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9 Epistemic Decoloniality as a pedagogical movement A turn to anticolonial theorists such as Fanon, Biko and Freire Linda Harms Smith

Introduction The failure of decolonisation as a process to rid postcolonial contexts of ongoing complexities and structural dynamics of coloniality has led to the emergence of a vibrant movement for epistemic Decoloniality. Tolerating inherent contradictions of a mainstream social work education in postcolonial contexts, being grounded in Western Eurocentric hegemony, without serious contemplation of coloniality and contextually relevant knowledge paradigms, is in itself an oppressive act. Unless the ideological process of professional subjectification (Therborn, 1980) includes appropriate theory for understanding the world, this contradiction leaves social workers unable to engage with, or account for, psycho-​political realities of the postcolonial context in which they find themselves and to which they will respond as social workers. In the South African context, the ‘#RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall’ movements arising in 2015 among university students were the results of deep discontent and anger about ongoing collective subjection to race-​based inequality, exclusion and colonisation. The removal of the statue of Cecil Rhodes1 as a symbolic destruction of colonial iconography and one of ‘demythologising whiteness’, became the rallying call of this student movement (Mbembe, 2015). It had been acknowledged that institutions of higher learning were still failing to transform and provide evidence-​appropriate African-​centred education (Heleta, 2016; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018). Within social work education a similar rallying call for a pedagogical movement of epistemic Decoloniality developed from universities, academics as well as students, collective social work educational groupings and in textual discourses –​decolonisation of social work education was an imperative (Harms Smith & Nathane, 2018; Mathebane & Sekudu, 2018; Qalinge & Van Breda, 2018). Dominant social work discourses based on Western, Eurocentric theorists and philosophers therefore pose a problem of contradictory intellectual and professional identities for social workers in postcolonial contexts (Harms Smith, 2014). While some of these theories may be relevant and appropriate, they are often presented as universal truths with the presumption that African knowledge is peripheral and ‘only indigenous’2 (Comaroff & Comaroff, 2012;

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Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018). Most importantly, they are silent on issues of ongoing colonial, or in the South African case, apartheid power constellations both at structural and intrapsychic levels. Writing about the alienating experience of the colonial student when encountering the intellectual history of philosophers providing accounts of the universe, Krumah (1964: 3) argues that the student omits to draw from his [sic] education and from the concern displayed by the great philosophers for human problems, anything which he might relate to the very real problem of colonial domination, which, as it happens, conditions the immediate life of every colonized African. Therefore this chapter proposes the selection (among many) of a number of anti-​colonial theorists to enable the development of paradigms and world views for social work, as well as theoretical perspectives for understanding individual and social change in such contexts. These theoretical perspectives should form the basis of knowledge and practice at all levels with individuals and communities. They inform understanding of intra-​psychic and psycho-​social3 dynamics but also of psycho-​political processes of change (Hook, 2004; Harms Smith, 2013). The theorists include Frantz Fanon (1925–​1961);4 Stephen Bantu Biko (1946–​1977);5 and Paulo Freire (1921–​1997).6 Reference is also made to the work of Aimé Césaire (1913–​2008), as an anticolonial theorist who preceded and stimulated the work of Fanon and later, Biko. However, the absence of black female theorists in anticolonial discourse is of great concern. This absence of women’s voices in postcolonial theory has been problematised frequently (Mama, 2005;Tyagi, 2014). It is argued that the postcolonial feminist ‘suffers from “double colonisation” as she simultaneously experiences the oppression of colonialism and patriarchy’ (Tyagi, 2014). Mama argues that ‘Africa’s universities remain steeped in patriarchal institutional cultures in which women are generally vastly outnumbered, and their intellectual contribution relegated to the fringes or steadfastly ignored’ (2011: e4). In this regard, the work of African writers that may offer important theory for Decoloniality in social work are the South African writer, Bessie Head and the Nigerian-​British writer, Amina Mama. Head’s (1974) political involvement and writing has been recognised for its contribution as an anti-​colonial struggle for social change in the Southern African context. She is said to have used an ‘insurrectional’ and challenging approach in her writing that challenged modes of communication and meaning-​making that upheld the oppressive dynamics of power in apartheid South Africa … Head’s work should be situated alongside anticolonialism’s rejection of racialism and an emphasis on imagination as a challenge to dehumanising practices. (el-​Malik, 2014: 494) With regards to Mama (2005), Ahikire (2014) argues that she makes important theoretical contributions to the international fields of both feminist and African studies, with robust knowledge production in and on Africa. She states that Mama (2005) ‘alerts us to the fact that the world of development is a complex one, in which gains and setbacks are the product of complex negotiations within and across the hierarchies of power that constitute and drive the development industry’ (Ahikire, 2014: 10). Achieving Decoloniality in social work knowledge is an ongoing process that demands interrogation, experimentation and contestation. This chapter proposes the consideration of a number of theoretical concepts, mainly derived from three theorists, namely Fanon (2008), Biko 114

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(1987) and Freire (1970), which cohere with one another and offer specific concepts, methodologies and arguments for Decoloniality. Fanon (1963) and Biko (1987) write from contexts of oppressive coloniality in Africa while Freire (1970) writes from Brazil in the Global South.They are by no means exhaustive for the process of epistemic Decoloniality but contribute to emerging, transformative discourse.

Social work education: origins and ideologies Social work history must be interrogated in terms of its ideological origins. Such historiography will account for the sociopolitical context of the time and provide a deeper critical understanding of the developing profession. For example, in the South African context, the origins of social work as a profession are grounded in early British ideological foundations of charity, personal culpability and the well-​being of society through social hygiene (Ferguson, 2008; Harms Smith, 2014; Nayak, 2015) and later political ideologies of white nationalism and supremacy. Nayak argues that the apparently benign origins as well as the contemporary nature of social work ‘must be scrutinised in terms of power dynamics, colonisation, and mechanisms of regulation’ (2015: 241).This is certainly true for the European context, and significant in the South African context of racist apartheid and colonisation, where social work as a discipline is a product and instrument of colonial and apartheid history (Harms Smith, 2013). In this context of legislated racist ‘separate development’ (engineered race-​based stratification and hierarchies of severe inequality at all levels), social workers delivered different services to different ‘racial’ categories.The foundational ideologies of social work reside in the same European project of expansion of colonial power, racist capitalism and coloniality and its history grounded in social engineering and white supremacism.This continued through policies of neoliberalisation of social work with emphases on individual responsibility, the importance of the free-​market as a template for solving social problems, and minimal state intervention or protection of the vulnerable (Sewpaul and Holscher, 2004; Sewpaul, 2006). Formal South African social work knowledge and discourse (as was the case for many of the helping professions) grew from a conservative ideological base, serving the ‘white’ group during the earlier part of the twentieth century (Duncan, Stevens & Bowman 2004; Harms Smith, 2014; Mathebane & Sekudu, 2018). Not only had social work itself arisen from the racist eugenics movement, but it also developed practice forms within oppressive and racist colonial and apartheid structures. Mostly Anglo-​Saxon and European knowledge and cultural systems formed the basis of social work education. As stated by Mathebane and Sekudu (2018: 13): The greatest epistemological (cognitive) injustice in social work has been its historical association with colonialism and imperialism and, by implication, the guileful insertion of a Eurocentric version of social work … side-​lining other epistemologies that would have reasonably accounted for the lived experiences of the Global South. In the current South African context of extreme levels of inequality, ongoing racist stratification of society and neoliberal economic structural arrangements, social work struggles to cope with the enormity of these problems (Sewpaul, 2006; Kang’ethe, 2014). It is accused of using domesticating and colonial approaches, especially in its narrow acceptance of Eurocentric and Western theorisations. To embrace Decoloniality and remain true to its commitment for social justice and transformative practice, social work education must turn to anti-​colonial theorists from which its knowledge and discourse can develop to counter such coloniality (Harms Smith & Nathane, 2018). 115

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Colonisation of power, knowledge and being Understanding the impact of colonisation and ongoing coloniality (Quijano, 2007)  is an important basis from which to seek a conceptual understanding of Decoloniality. However, it is difficult to critique Western or European knowledge by using European epistemology. Critiquing foundational knowledges of social work may even perpetuate coloniality if the same Eurocentric perspectives are used to do so. Advancing from a Eurocentric paradigm as the universal, relegates African knowledge to ‘indigenous knowledge’, maintaining European/​Western knowledge as the truth. An African-​centred position should be assumed, acknowledging all knowledge as indigenous to its own context (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018). Although Africa should not be generalised as if it is one unified whole,7 the impact of colonisation is ubiquitous across the continent.This extended to the general imposition of European hegemonic world views, the creation of dependency, the decimation of indigenous cultures and inferiorisation (Fanon, 1952; Said, 1993; Patel, 2005). However, Grosfoguel (2007: 212) argues that ‘This is not an essentialist, fundamentalist, anti-​European critique. It is a perspective that is critical of both Eurocentric and Third World fundamentalisms’ and about the belief that there is only one epistemic position from which to achieve truth and universality. When examining the idea of coloniality, current consensus exists that coloniality exerted its destructive impact on the levels of knowledge, power and being (Mignolo, 2007; Maldonado-​Torres, 2016; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018). It is a ‘peculiar construction of knowledge, power and being that divides the world into zones of being and not-​being human’ (Maldonado-​Torres 2016: 19).This threefold understanding of coloniality provides a useful framework for analysis because it offers an analytical device to explore various levels of existence. • Coloniality of being relates to existential, intra-​psychic and psycho-​social dimensions. This colonisation of the mind is expressed through racist dehumanisation, objectification and inferiorisation. Gordon (2007: 7) argues that Although not all people of African descent were enslaved in the modern world, the impact of modern slavery, its correlative racist rationalization, and global colonization by European nations led to the discourse of questioned legitimacy of such people as members of the human community. (Fanon, 1968; wa Thiong’o, 1986; Maldonado-​Torres, 2016) • Coloniality of power relates to structural dimensions of dominance where subjugation and exploitation were determined along racial lines. Quijano (2007) argues that even today, coloniality is still the most general form of domination in the world, even after colonialism as an explicit political order was destroyed. Quijano (2007: 171) argues that through ‘Eurocentrification’, racial criteria were imposed as a social classification throughout the world. Coloniality of power was conceived together with … the social category of ‘race’ as the key element of the social classification of colonized and colonizers … old ideas of superiority of the dominant, and the inferiority of [the] dominated under European colonialism were mutated in a relationship of biologically and structurally superior and inferior. • Coloniality of knowledge describes the epistemic subjugation of indigenous knowledge and culture. In addition to genocides, Africa suffered epistemicide, which ensured the destruction of history, languages and cultures. This was a ‘broader colonial process of desocialising African people out of their cultural and historical context’ (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018:  24). Ndlovu-​ Gatsheni (2018: 19) cites the Comaroffs (2012: 1) who argued that 116

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Western enlightenment thought has […] posited itself as the wellspring of universal learning, of Science and Philosophy, it has regarded the non-​West –​variously known as the ancient, the orient, the primitive world, the third world, the underdeveloped world, the developing world, and now the global south –​primarily as a place of parochial wisdom, of antiquarian traditions, of exotic ways and means. • Coloniality of knowledge is therefore a foundational concern in any process or attitude of Decoloniality.

Epistemic Decoloniality: towards basic concepts and categories Working to achieve Decoloniality in social work education is critical. According to Ndlovu-​ Gatsheni (2018), decolonising knowledge to achieve Decoloniality means ‘provincialisation of Europe’ and achieving that epistemic freedom, being ‘the right to think, theorise, interpret the world, develop own methodologies and write from where one is located and unencumbered by Eurocentrism’ (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018: 17). Africa then becomes the centre of understanding itself and while Western streams are not rejected, they are considered in terms of their relevance to the African situation. Similarly, Mignolo (2007: 160) describes how Romania should reflect on Europe from its own perspective rather than reflect on itself from the European perspective. Similarly, Africa should resist regarding itself from a European perspective but examine European paradigms from an African perspective. Grosfoguel (2007:  212) argues for a decolonial perspective to arise from critical dialogue that achieves a ‘pluriversal as opposed to a universal world’ and that such decolonisation of  knowledge must take seriously the work of thinkers from the Global South. In this way,  de Sousa Santos (2014) argues that the hegemonic Western cultural way of knowing is a cognitive injustice. Knowledges of the Global South should be embraced to counter this hegemonic Northern knowledge. However, Decoloniality should not only remain rhetoric, but should also be part of a ‘knowledge revolution’ in the African context (Maserumule, 2015). The problem of coloniality of knowledge may therefore be summarised as follows: 1. Western/​Non-​Western racist hierarchies are established and maintained through a Eurocentric definition of knowledge, internalised through hegemonic discourses. 2. There was a colonial era missionary zeal to ‘civilise’ so-​called ‘barbarians’. 3. Eurocentric paradigms of Western philosophy assume a universalistic, neutral, objective point of view. 4. There is a problem of ‘epistemic location’ where knowledges are seen to be situated either in the dominant or the ‘subaltern’ contexts. 5. It is a Western myth that knowledge can be ‘neutral’ and unlocated. 6. Western knowledge is presented as the only universal knowledge and non-​Western thought is seen as being particularistic. (Grosfoguel, 2007; Maldonado-​Torres, 2017; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018) Similarly, social work knowledge and discourse require interrogation and transformation, in order to achieve Decoloniality. Rich resources of theoretical approaches, concepts and discourses are available for engagement. The following section offers some of these conceptual understandings for the African postcolonial context where people and societies are subject to precarity, collective traumatisation and extreme socio-​economic deprivation. 117

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Understanding colonisation Understanding and disrupting the impact of colonisation beyond the geopolitical-​historical (which is most often the limit to which education about colonisation extends), requires an interrogation of its impact at these internal intra-​psychic as well as structural levels. Fanon (2008: 1) quotes Césaire (1972) in his book, Black skin, white masks: ‘I am talking of millions of men [sic] who have been skillfully injected with fear, inferiority complexes, trepidation, servility, despair, abasement.’ Referring to how colonisation is equal to ‘thingification’, or what Freire (1970) would refer to as dehumanisation, Césaire (1972: 6) writes: ‘I am talking about societies drained of their essence, cultures trampled underfoot, institutions undermined, lands confiscated, religions smashed, magnificent artistic creations destroyed, extraordinary possibilities wiped out.’ ‘Thingification’ is achieved through the disabling psycho-​social effects resulting from negation of being, culture and personality (Gibson, 2011). Fanon (2008:  210) describes the impact of colonialism: not simply content to impose its rule upon the present and the future of a dominated country … we realize that nothing has been left to chance and that the total result looked for by colonial domination was indeed to convince the natives that colonialism came to lighten their darkness. The effect consciously sought by colonialism was to drive into the natives’ heads the idea that if the settlers were to leave, they would at once fall back into barbarism, degradation and bestiality. The colonised are positioned into a paradox because this dehumanisation is presented as advantageous as a process of civilisation. According to Mbembe (2015), colonial violence and plunder are deemed benevolent, absolving perpetrators such as Rhodes. Colonisation may be seen as a historical trauma: ‘the colonial encounter is unprecedented; the epistemic, cultural, psychic and physical violence of colonialism makes for a unique type of historical trauma’ (Hook, 2004). This historical basis, together with ongoing coloniality of power, knowledge and being and consequences of global neoliberal capitalism (Sewpaul, 2006; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018), means that social work must engage with theorists that provide perspectives to resist and challenge these conditions at the individual and structural level. Fanon’s (1963) ‘cure’ for the colonised is the cultivation of a decolonial attitude, which is ‘profoundly epistemological as well as ethical, political, and aesthetic’ (Maldonado-​Torres, 2017: 439). This requires counter-​ knowledge, discourse and practices that will dismantle coloniality. However, this attitude of Decoloniality includes putting a working humanist programme into practice (Gibson, 2011). Fanon (2008:  5) argues that it is essential that there be a change of material conditions of living and quality of life, only to be achieved when ‘things, in the most materialistic meaning of the word, are restored to their proper places’. Maldonado-​Torres (2016: 5) cautions that a liberal approach and ideology is insufficient as it ‘facilitates a transition from vulgar discrimination to less vulgar but equally or more discriminatory practices and structures’. What is required for Decoloniality is the ‘dismantling of relations of power and conceptions of knowledge that reproduce race, gender, and geopolitical hierarchies in the modern/​colonial world’ (Maldonado-​Torres, 2016: 117). Fanon provides a solution to the schism between the study of ‘the individual or the ontogenic approach, and the study of structure, the phylogenic approach, by emphasising the importance of a third area namely the sociogenic’ (Gordon, 2005: 2). This sociogenic aspect emerges from the 118

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intersubjective social world which includes culture, history, language and economics. It brings an important understanding of mental distress and psychopathology arising from structural conditions of oppression (Hook, 2004). This is ‘an integrative etiological theory that superseded the nature versus nurture debate’ (Bulhan, 1985: 196). Fanon’s sociogenic approach argues that the ‘seemingly private individual pathology is actually a socially induced pathology of liberty’ (Bulhan, 1985: 196). Fanon’s view is a revolutionary view of psychopathology, as he recognises the profound transformation of social and economic inferiority into the internalised subjective inferiority, and calls it ‘epidermalisation’. He draws attention to the relationship between the psyche and the social order, mediated by institutions and relationships with others (Bulhan, 1985). He cites Fanon (2008): ‘If there is an inferiority complex, it is the outcome of a double process: primarily economic, secondarily, the internalisation –​or better, the epidermalisation –​of this inferiority.’ Oppressive social structures, therefore, cause the internalisation of negative identities (Bulhan, 1985: 169). The colonisation of the mind is described by both Fanon (1963) and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1986) as the process of colonial destruction of language, culture and history of colonised peoples. Fanon (1963: 210) states: Colonialism is not satisfied merely with hiding a people in its grip and emptying the native’s brain of all form and content. By a kind of perverted logic, it turns to the past of the oppressed people, and distorts, disfigures and destroys it. Enforcement of the language and culture of the coloniser led to aspiring towards a ‘white’, Western, Eurocentric male ideal, described as cultural dissonance (Hook, 2004). Fanon states (2008: 148) for example, ‘I read white books and little by little I take into myself the prejudices, the myths, the folklore that have come to me from Europe’. This inferiorisation of indigenous cultures and languages of black African colonised societies leads to ‘white’ being deemed to be superior and ‘black’ inferior. This harm done (Hook, 2004), through forcing African people to distance themselves from indigenous languages and ancestors, cannot be reversed unless they embark on the painstaking process of ‘unlearning in order to be able to relearn’ (Ndlovu-​ Gatsheni, 2018:  42). Social work, when intervening in people’s lives, must engage with and facilitate such processes of reclaiming narratives, languages and histories, and embracing and celebrating cultural practices and traditions. Fanon explored the way that colonialism and racism are ‘two integrated and coordinated assaults on people of colour. The violence that gives them birth and sustains them inevitably reverberates in all spheres of social existence’ (Bulhan, 1985: 81).The ‘blatant negation of the black man’s humanity’ and the racism expressed in science and biology around anatomical measurement, became a more subtle, cultural racism (Bulhan, 1985: 92). According to Hook (2004: 92), Fanon prioritises race in his analysis so strongly because it serves as the ‘essential and determining quality of identity in colonial contexts’. The objectification imposed on people by racism and racial stereotypes means that the essential quality of ‘blackness’ precedes and dominates all of life. Hook (2004: 92) cites Fanon (1963) who describes this as being ‘overdetermined from without’. Sardar (2008) maintains in the foreword to Black Skin,White Masks that it explores how colonialism is internalised by the colonised, inculcating an inferiority complex, and how, ‘through the mechanism of racism, black people end up emulating their oppressors’. In postcolonial contexts, still stratified by race and class, Fanon’s analysis is of critical importance. Bulhan (1985:  193) proposes that implicit in Fanon’s writing is a model of response and reaction to the dominant oppressive culture through personal and systemic violence. During prolonged oppression (although related to colonialism, this argument would also apply in other 119

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contexts of oppression), psychological mechanisms of defence occur:  compromise, flight and then fight. Each of these phases or states imply various struggles and experiences in terms of identity, self-​realisation, psychopathology and relationships with others. These are ‘modes of existence and of action in a world in which a hostile other elicits organic reactions and responses’ (Bulhan, 1985: 193). The first of these so-​called stages, compromise, implies assimilation into the oppressive culture and identification with the aggressor.The second stage, known as revitalisation, is what Bulhan describes as ‘characterised by reactive repudiation of the dominant culture and a romanticising of the indigenous’ (1985: 193). The third stage, radicalisation, occurs when there is an active search for transformation and radical structural change. Taking into account collective historical colonial trauma, when intervening with people for change, the importance of the internalised struggle of people who suffer oppression in various forms, must be acknowledged. Fanon proposes the importance of work with the self:  ‘It is through the effort to recapture the self and to scrutinise the self, it is through the lasting tension of their freedom that men will be able to create the ideal conditions of existence for a human world’ (Bhabha, 2008: xxxv). In the context of white racist apartheid and colonialism in South Africa, Biko emphasised Black consciousness as a means of psychological liberation for the Black African from oppression of the mind, as a precursor to physical liberation, arguing for the realisation that ‘the most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed’ (Biko, 1987: 68). In this sense, the oppression of the mind is similar to Fanon’s (2008) description of the ‘colonisation of the mind’. Such Black consciousness was to be achieved through conscientisation, a political strategy of resistance (also proposed by Freire, 1970) ‘in which an attempt is made to develop a heightened awareness of oppressive political conditions of existence’ (Hook, 2004: 105). This was to occur through solidarity and collective action among ‘brothers’ operating ‘as a group in order to rid themselves of the shackles that bind them to perpetual servitude’ (Biko, 1987: 96). Biko (1987: 29) argues that the first step is to infuse him with pride and dignity, to remind him of his complicity in the crime of allowing himself to be misused and therefore letting evil reign supreme in the country of his birth.This is what we mean by an inward-​looking process.This is the definition of Black consciousness. However, this is not a process of ‘self-​enlightenment’, ‘self-​help’ or ‘self-​esteem development’ (Cooper & Ratele, 2018)  but rather that Black consciousness was a phase in the process to true liberation, an antidote to the white supremist racist of the South African context. Biko (1987:  90) argued that rather than artificial attempts at integration between white and black South Africans (similar to depictions of South Africa as a ‘Rainbow Nation’), a Hegelian synthesis should be sought. In the face of white racism, Black consciousness should be the response: the thesis is in fact a strong white racism, the antithesis to this must, ipso facto, be a strong solidarity amongst the blacks on whom this white racism seeks to prey. Out of these two situations we can therefore hope to reach some kind of balance –​a true humanity where power politics will have no place. Biko therefore argued that in order for complete freedom to be attained, liberation must occur at a psychological as well as a physical level. Liberation from socio-​economic-​political oppression was a process which included achieving Black consciousness, which through conscientisation would counter interiorisation. Cooper and Ratele (2018: 250) emphasise that ‘political liberation therefore entails both physical and psychological liberation from the imprisonment of the 120

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mind occasioned by internalising physical and socio-​economic oppression and subjugating oneself to sustained interiorisation’. The connection between Black consciousness and, ultimately, political liberation, or between the psychological and the political, is similar to Fanon’s (2008) sociogenic perspective, bringing together the intra-​psychic and the external, political world. On the other hand, liberation is constantly challenged by dehumanisation, which Biko (1987) addresses as inferiority enforced upon the black person through domination and oppressive subjugation. Colonisation and racist apartheid policies ensured that African culture, language and history were subjugated and inferiorised as barbaric and superstitious (Biko, 1987).Valorisation of ‘white’ and systematic impoverishment of those categorised as ‘non-​white’, was a dehumanising onslaught on the mind and the body. For Biko (1987: 28), dehumanisation included the deliberate preparation of the black person for a subservient role through apartheid education and to a large extent the evil-​doers have succeeded in producing at the output end of their machine a kind of black man [sic] who is man only in form. This is the extent to which the process of dehumanisation has advanced. Current dehumanisation in South Africa still exists through (race stratified) poverty and inequality. Many of these arguments therefore still hold true.

Excursus: on the role of white liberals In a context where people are oppressed and dehumanised through structural conditions such as racism, extreme poverty and inequality, the position of those wishing to intervene is particularly complex. In the case of Biko, the role of the white liberal in the liberation struggle and in terms of the problematic power relationships between white and black in South Africa, posed a contradiction. Similar to Freire’s (1972) views about the attempts of the oppressor to be involved in the liberation of the oppressed, Biko (1987: 66) states that it is not possible within a system of inequality, for the privileged to totally identify with an oppressed group and that the (white) liberal must fight on his own and for himself. If they are true liberals, they must realise that they themselves are oppressed, and that they must fight for their own freedom and not that of the nebulous ‘they’ with whom they can hardly claim identification. Achieving true freedom must of necessity arise and unfold among the very people who are experiencing oppression.Although those seeing something wrong with a system should oppose it, the issue is about who leads that struggle. It should not be the role of white liberals to ‘control the response of the blacks to the provocation’, and to ‘not only be determining the modus operandi of those blacks who oppose the system, but also leading it, in spite of their involvement in the system’ (Biko, 1998: 96). Biko had a profound influence on many South African social workers, also the SABSWA (South African Black Social Workers’ Association) during the apartheid era, providing a philosophical and theoretical foundation for hope, liberation and social change (Harms Smith, 2013).

Humanisation Freire argues that humanisation has been the central concern for humanity and that it is humanity’s ontological vocation (Freire, 1972). As people become aware of how contradictory their conditions are with being fully human, they become conscientised towards the need for liberation. Such liberation can only occur when those who are oppressed work towards their 121

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own liberation (Freire, 1972). The role of the person working with the oppressed for liberatory education must direct efforts to coincide with the oppressed to engage in critical thinking and the quest for mutual humanisation. His efforts must be imbued with a profound trust in people and their creative power. To achieve this, they must be partners of the students in their relations with them. (Freire, 1972: 75) Dehumanisation must be denounced to achieve humanisation and transformation whereby relationships and society are equal, mutual and reciprocal (Ledwith, 2016). Freire (1972) argues that no education is neutral and that its aim is radical transformation.The individual, the community, the environment and society can be transformed. He held a vision of a new just society where development and education are not separate. Learners should be challenged to change the world and not uncritically adapt to it. Liberatory education supports larger social struggles for liberation rather than adaptation. If education is not liberating, it is ‘domesticating’ and oppresses people to serve the interests of the oppressors (Ledwith, 2016).

Conscientisation Conscientisation is an ongoing process of uncovering relationships of domination and oppression and moving towards an awareness or critical consciousness. It breaks through structurally obfuscated or hidden ideologies of oppression to become a subject of history rather than a dominated object. According to Freire (1972: 160), there is a profound ‘effort at conscientisation [consientizacao] by means of which the people, through a true praxis, leave behind the status of objects to assume the status of historical subjects’. This is a demystification through which structures of oppression and domination are exposed and political engagement is able to follow. According to West (2004: xiii): This unique fusion of social theory, moral outrage and political praxis constitutes a kind of pedagogical politics of conversion in which objects of history constitute themselves as active subjects of history ready to make a fundamental difference in the quality of the lives they individually and collectively live. Freire argues that everyone is able to look at their circumstances or world critically during a dialogical encounter with others, regardless of how submerged in the ‘culture of silence’ they may be (Freire, 1972). It is not sufficient to examine conditions critically, these must also be acted upon. This cycle of critical reflection and action and reflection is known as praxis. Oppression is domesticating and to escape it, people must become conscious and turn on it –​which can only be achieved through praxis. Freire argues that the realisation of oppression must be achieved, thus making oppression even more oppressive and that this ‘corresponds to the dialectical relation between the subjective and the objective. Only in this interdependence is an authentic praxis possible, without which it is impossible to resolve the oppressor-​oppressed contradiction’ (1972: 51). This critical reflection on reality, therefore, and the acting upon it as an external reality, constitutes praxis.

Dialogue and problematisation Dialogue is a method of equalising power relationships between people and therefore leads to empowerment, which is ‘about exploring new ways of knowing a paradigmatic shift that allows 122

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us to see our identities and realities within this system of competing oppressions’ (Ledwith, 2016: 3). Dialogue is therefore crucial for the process of transformation; where relevant, generative themes are uncovered to lead to empowerment. Generative themes which link emotion and motivation provide natural energy for people to engage in praxis. The strategy of problem posing or problematisation rather than problem-​solving, leads to a new search for solutions to experiences charged with political significance.

Conclusion So-​called decolonisation, or the process of geopolitical retreat of European control of colonised states, has far from achieved Decoloniality –​of power, of being and of knowledge.The movement of Decoloniality of knowledge, power and being, propounded by Latin-​American theorists (Quijano, 2000; Maldonado-​Torres, 2007; Mignolo, 2007) and, more recently, among African theorists around epistemic Decoloniality (Mbembe, 2015; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018) situates well with the call for a pedagogical movement towards Decoloniality in social work knowledge and discourse. The birth and development of social work in colonial contexts had Eurocentric and Western foundations, with knowledge and discourse formalised in institutions perpetuating the colonial power matrix of racism, inferiorisation and destruction of indigenous cultures and structures of helping. This was even more deliberately enforced through legislation in the South African context of apartheid. Not only did social work education and its allied disciplines such as sociology and psychology foreground, promote and impose world view theories and approaches derived from contexts in many ways alien to the African or postcolonial reality, these theoretical frameworks lacked explanatory power for these contexts. The epistemic colonisation and what is termed ‘epistemicide’ (Grosfoguel, 2013), evident in the discourses and ideologies of the discipline, must be excavated and held to account so that a contextually relevant and appropriate African-​centred social work can flourish. This is what the movement for epistemic Decoloniality in social work and its education proposes –​that it is imperative that formal discourses and knowledge of social work be interrogated, renewed and transformed. Similarly, narratives, histories and theories with an African and anti-​colonial basis must be reclaimed. Any interventions defined as transformative and liberatory, directed towards holism, well-​being and social change in postcolonial contexts, would do well to embrace such processes of Decoloniality as their basis of knowledge and discourse. This movement, in order to remain congruent to its claims, must inevitably be broad and inclusive of all of those involved and immersed in social work, its knowledge development and its practice, namely, academics, students, social work practitioners and even those who, as partners, work collectively towards social change. It is in this way that the movement for epistemic Decoloniality, initiated and articulated by courageous students of the ‘fallist’ movement, and currently embraced in South African social work education contexts, will continue in strength. Exploration and engagement with anti-​colonial theorists as described above (as well as a rich resource pool of significant others such as Bessie Head, Amina Mama, Aimé Césaire, to name a few) provide social work with an opportunity to do just that.

Notes 1 Cecil John Rhodes, British businessman, mining magnate and politician in South Africa, and Prime Minister of the Cape Colony (1890–​1896) claimed the following: I contend that we are the first race in the world, and that the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race. Just fancy those parts that are at present inhabited by the most despicable specimen of human being, what an alteration there would be in them if they were 123

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brought under Anglo-​Saxon influence … if there be a God, I think that what he would like me to do is paint as much of the map of Africa British Red as possible.

(SA History-​online) 2 It is being argued here that, as a general statement, theories brought to colonial contexts by Europe were by definition situated in Europe. Epistemic decolonisation requires foregrounding of African (in its broadest sense) theories for Africa. Only after Africa is made the epistemic centre, those theories deemed valuable and appropriate to local contexts should be incorporated and embraced. This is not an argument about chronology so that they are discussed as ‘still’ being relevant –​it is being argued that they were imposed from the start. This is the essence of the current coloniality debate (see also Comaroff & Comaroff, 2012). 3 It is often regarded a problem that social work focuses on the internal world of the individual rather than the relationship between the inner world and the social (hence the psycho-​social –​that realm of relationships and interconnection between the two) as well as the connection between the psychological and political (that Fanon introduces). 4 Franz Fanon, an important critical anti-​colonial theorist, born in Martinique in 1925, was a psychiatrist and revolutionary in Algeria. His psycho-​political or sociogenic approach is critically important for social work. He provides theoretical perspectives around the interconnectedness of the psychological and political, the internalisation of inferiority, revolutionary social change, Decoloniality and he is a leading theorist around Black consciousness and existential subjectivities of blackness and racism. His works included Black Skin,White Masks (1952) and Wretched of the Earth (1961), regarded as essential texts for understanding the brutalisation, dehumanisation and enduring struggle of the colonial and postcolonial contexts (Pithouse, 2015). Although a great depth and breadth of theory is available for social work, only a small number of his significant ideas are discussed here. 5 Stephen Bantu Biko, born 1946 and assassinated in 1977, was a political leader, philosopher and theorist of the South African anti-​apartheid struggle, black nationalism and liberation from colonial and apartheid oppression. Biko contributed in the intellectual tradition, like Fanon, of African existentialist philosophy and Black consciousness, decolonising knowledge, restoring black identity and black affirmation (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018). He was the co-​founder of the Black Consciousness Movement (BCM) and of the South African Black Students’ Organization. His theories around psychological and political liberation, inferiority complexes, Black consciousness and freedom, are critically important for social work in the South African context. 6 Paulo Freire, born in 1921 in Recife, Brazil, was a Latin American liberation educator, philosopher and theorist of liberation theology, post-​Marxism and critical theory, and liberation through critical pedagogy, critical conscientisation and humanisation. He developed a philosophy known as the pedagogy of the oppressed (Freire, 1972) and described principles of radical transformation, empowerment, dialogue, reflection and action for transformational change. 7 Although ‘Africa’ should not be generalised, when addressing coloniality, the dynamics of oppression and subjugation extend to the broader ‘African’ context as a whole rather than the specificity of nation-​ states. Limiting discourse to the particularity of a nation-​state or culture would erase the generalisable value of Fanon and Biko to ‘African’ contexts.

References Ahikire, J. (2014). African feminism in context:  Reflections on the legitimation battles, victories and reversals. Feminist Africa, 19, 7–​ 23. www.agi.ac.za/​sites/​default/​files/​image_​tool/​images/​429/​feminist_​africa_​journals/​archive/​02/​features_​-​_​african_​feminism_​in_​the_​21st_​century-​_​a_​reflection_​on_​ ugandagcos_​victories_​battles_​and_​reversals.pdf. Bhabha, H. (2008). Forward to the 1986 edition. In F. Fanon (1952 [2008]). Black skin, white masks. New York: Grove Press. Biko, S. (1987[1978]). I write what I like. Johannesburg: Heinemann. Biko, S. (1998). Black consciousness and the quest for true humanity. In P.H. Coetzee and A.P.J. Roux (Eds.), The African philosophy reader. Cape Town: Oxford University Press. Bulhan, H.A. (1985). Frantz Fanon and the psychology of oppression. New York: Plenum Press. Césaire, A. (1972[1955]). Discourse on Colonialism. New  York:  Monthly Review Press. Including ‘Introduction: A poetics of anticolonialism’, by R. Kelley. 124

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Comaroff, J. and Comaroff, J. (2012). Theory from the South: The radical imagination. London: Routledge. Cooper, S. and Ratele, K. (2018). The black consciousness psychology of Steve Biko. In S. Fernando and R. Moodley (Eds.), Global psychologies. London: Palgrave Macmillan. de Sousa Santos, B. (2014). Epistemologies of the South: Justice against Epistemicide. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers. Duncan, N., Stevens, G. & Bowman, B. (2004). South African psychology and racism: Historical determinants and future prospects. In D. Hook (Ed.), Critical psychology. Landsdown: UCT Press. El-​Malik, S. (2014). Against epistemic totalitarianism: The insurrectionist politics of Bessie Head. Journal of Contemporary African Studies, 32(4), 493–​505. Fanon, F. (1952)[2008]. Black skin, white masks. London: Pluto Press. Fanon, F. (1961)[1963]. The wretched of the earth. New York: Grove Press. Freire, P. (1972). Pedagogy of the oppressed (trans. Myra Bergman Ramos). New York: The Seabury Press. Gibson, N. (2011). Fanonian practices in South Africa: From Biko to Abahlali Basemjondolo. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Gordon, L. (2005). Through the zone of nonbeing: A reading of Black Skin, White Masks in celebration of Fanon’s eightieth birthday. Worlds and Knowledges Otherwise (WKO) Duke, Trinity College of Arts and Sciences, 1(3), 1–​ 30. https://​globalstudies.trinity.duke.edu/​sites/​globalstudies.trinity.duke.edu/​files/​ file-​attachments/​v1d3_​LGordon.pdf. Gordon, L.R. (2007). Through the hellish zone of nonbeing:  Thinking through Fanon, disaster, and the damned of the earth. Human Architecture:  Journal of the Sociology of Self-​Knowledge, 5(3). http://​ scholarworks.umb.edu/​humanarchitecture/​vol5/​iss3/​3. Grosfoguel, R. (2007). The epistemic decolonial turn:  Beyond political-​economy paradigms. Journal of Cultural Studies, 21(2–​3), 211–​223. Grosfoguel, R. (2013). The structure of knowledge in Westernized universities: Epistemic racism/​sexism and the four genocides/​epistemicides of the long 16th century. Human Architecture:  Journal of the Sociology of Self-​ knowledge, 11(1), 73–​ 90. http://​scholarworks.umb.edu/​humanarchitecture/​vol11/​ iss1/​8/​. Harms Smith, L. (2013). Social work education:  Critical imperatives for social change. PhD Thesis. Johannesburg, University of the Witwatersrand. https://​core.ac.uk/​download/​pdf/​39671629.pdf. Harms Smith, L. (2014). Historiography of South African social work: Challenging dominant discourses. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 50(3), 305–​331. Harms Smith, L. & Nathane, M. (2018). #Notdomestication #Notindigenisation: Decoloniality in social work education. Southern African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1), 1–​18. Head, B. (1974). A question of power. London: Africa Writers Series. Heleta, S. (2016). Decolonisation of higher education: Dismantling epistemic violence and Eurocentrism in South Africa. Transformation in Higher Education, 1(1), 1–​ 8. http://​dx. doi.org/​10.4102/​the. v1i1.9. Hook, D. (2004). Frantz Fanon, Steve Biko, ‘psychopolitics’ and critical psychology. In D. Hook, N. Mkhize, P. Kiguwa & A. Collins (Eds.), Introduction to critical psychology. Cape Town: UCT Press. Kang’ethe, SM. (2014). Exploring social work gaps in Africa with examples from South Africa and Botswana. Journal of Social Science, 41(3), 423–​431. Ledwith, M. (2016). Community development in action: Putting Freire into practice. Bristol: Policy Press. Maldonado-​Torres, N. (2007). On the coloniality of being. Cultural Studies, 21, 2–​3, 240–​270. Maldonado-​Torres, M. (2016). Outline of Ten Theses on Coloniality and Decoloniality. Franz Fanon Foundation. http://​frantzfanonfoundation-​fondationfrantzfanon.com/​article2360.html. Maldonado-​Torres, N. (2017). Franz Fanon and the decolonial turn in psychology: From modern/​colonial methods to the decolonial attitude. South African Journal of Psychology, 47(4), 432–​441. Mama, A. (2005). Gender studies for Africa’s intellectual transformation. In T. Mkandawire (Ed.), African intellectuals: Rethinking politics, gender, language, development. London: Zed Press. Mama, A. (2011). What does it mean to do feminist research in African contexts? African review conference proceedings. http://​nigs.ufsc.br/​files/​2017/​07/​fr201122a-​AMINA-​MAMA-​Feminist-​Research-​in-​ Africa.pdf. Maserumule, M. (2015). Why Africa’s professors are afraid of colonial education being dismantled. The Conversation. https://​theconversation.com/​why-​africas-​professors-​are-​afraid-​of-​colonial-​education-​ being-​dismantled-​50930. Mathebane, M.S. & Sekudu, J. (2018). A contrapuntal epistemology for social work: An Afrocentric perspective. International Social Work, 61(6), 1154–​1168. 125

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Mbembe, A. (2015). Decolonising knowledge and the question of the archive. Unpublished Paper: Public Lecture, WISER, University of the Witwatersrand. http://​wiser.wits.ac.za/​system/​files/​Achille%20 Mbembe%20- ​ % 20Decolonizing%20Knowledge%20and%20the%20Question%20of%20the%20 Archive.pdf (Accessed 21 August 2017). Mignolo, W. (2007). Introduction: Coloniality of power and de-​colonial thinking. Cultural Studies, 21(2–​3), 155–​167. DOI: 10.1080/​09502380601162498. Nayak, S. (2015). Social work: Oppression and resistance. In Ian Parker (Ed.), Handbook of critical psychology (pp. 240–​249). London: Routledge. Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, S. (2018). Dynamics of epistemological decolonisation in the 21st century:  Towards epistemic freedom. Strategic Review for Southern Africa, 40(1), 16–​45. www.up.ac.za/​media/​shared/​85/​ Strategic%20Review/​vol%2040(1)/​Ndlovu-​Gatsheni.pdf (Accessed 2 December 2018). Nkrumah, N. (1964[2009]). Consciencism –​philosophy and ideology for decolonisation. New York: Monthly Review Press. https://​marxistnkrumaistforum.wordpress.com/​karl-​marx-​the-​poverty-​of-​philosophy/​ kwame-​nkrumah-​consciencism-​philosophy-​and-​ideology-​for-​decolonisation/​. Patel, L. (2005). Social welfare and social development. Cape Town: Oxford University Press. Pithouse, R. (2015). Why Fanon continues to resonate more than half a century after Algeria’s independence. The Conversation. http://​theconversation.com/​why-​fanon-​continues-​to-​resonate-​more-​than-​ half-​a-​century-​after-​algerias-​independence-​43508 (Accessed 19 July 2017). Qalinge, L. & Van Breda, A. (2018). Editorial: Decolonising social work education in South Africa. Southern African Journal of Social Work and Social Development, 30(1), 1–​4. Quijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of power, eurocentrism, and Latin America. Nepantla: Views from South, Duke University Press, 1(3), 533–​580. Quijano, A. (2007). Coloniality and modernity/​rationality. Cultural Studies, 21 (2–​3):168–​178. Said, E. (1993). Culture and imperialism. New York: Vintage Books. Sardar, Z. (2008). Forward to the 2008 edition. In F. Fanon (Ed.), Black skin, white masks. New York: Grove  Press. Sewpaul,V. (2006). The global-​local dialectic: Challenges for African scholarship and social work in a post-​ colonial world. British Journal of Social Work, 36, 419–​434. Sewpaul, V. & Holscher, D. (2004). Social work in times of neoliberalism:  A postmodern discourse. Pretoria: Van Schaik. Therborn, G. (1980). The ideology of power and the power of ideology. London: Verson Books Tyagi, R. (2014). Understanding postcolonial feminism in relation with postcolonial and feminist theories. International Journal of Language and Linguistics, 1(2), 45–​50. http://​ijllnet.com/​journals/​Vol_​1_​No_​2_​ December_​2014/​7.pdf. wa Thiong’o, N. (1986). Decolonizing the mind:  The politics of language in African literature. Oxford:  James Currey. West, C. (2004). Preface. In P. McLaren & P. Leonard, Paulo Freire: A critical encounter. London: Routledge.

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10 Heterogeneity of social movements addressing the intersections of gender and race A reflection on feminisms and womanisms emerging from African women Shahana Rasool Introduction African feminist and womanist movements emerged as a response to the ways in which the experiences of African women have been hidden and obscured and by the way in which particular notions of womanhood have been centred as universal and others have been muted, erased or ignored (Mohanty, 1991; Fennell & Arnot, 2008). Kolawole (2002: 97) argues that we need to revisit the history of women’s mobilisation in Africa to reveal ‘unchartered areas of African women’s self-​assertion and resilience’. This will contribute to knowledge on the precolonial resistance and activism of African women that remains unexplored. To accentuate the knowledge production and self-​definition of African women, this chapter will focus on Black feminisms, African feminisms, womanisms, Africana womanisms and nego-​feminism, as some examples of scholarship from African women.The use of the terms feminisms and womanisms (plural) where relevant, instead of feminism and womanism (singular) accentuates that even within each of these bodies of thought, there is heterogeneity. Across Africa, among African women in the diaspora and those in the continent, there is a divergence of thinking about how to deal with the varying needs and interests of African women, which have resulted in different types of movements. Gouws (2015:  1) stresses that ‘in Africa there was a lot of variation between regions in terms of timing, character, influence and effectiveness of women’s movements’. Thus, the movements to address gender issues are not homogeneous, as highlighted by Gouws’ (2015) distinction between women’s movements compared to feminist movements. Women’s movements, Gouws (2015) suggests, are not necessarily focused on promoting women’s rights and empowerment, but they may be concerned with some elements of women’s gendered experiences, for example a beading group. In addition, they may be more concerned with safeguarding, rather than challenging, women’s roles as primary caregivers in the household (Gouws, 2015). All women’s organisations, therefore, are not always concerned with challenging patriarchy or adopting feminist frameworks (Reddock, 2007; Gouws, 2015). Feminist movements, on the other hand, utilise ‘gendered power analysis’ and contest ‘political, social and other arrangements based on gender’ (Gouws, 2015: 2).

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The focus of this chapter is to use the distinction between feminist and women’s movements as a framework for considering a few feminisms and womanisms that have emerged from African women theorising about their realities. On the one hand, African women have conceptualised various forms of African feminisms and Black feminisms that are more aligned with feminist movements. On the other hand, more aligned with women’s movements, additional bodies of knowledge were generated by African women such as womanisms, Africana womanisms, nego-​ feminism and stiwanism. These varying movements and approaches to theorising the diverse needs and interests of various African women provide social workers with the option of selecting from a range of ways of working with women and gender issues at different levels in the ecological system, as appropriate. These approaches to dealing with gender and women’s issues in Africa highlight the complexities involved in dealing with the contestation between the primacy and intersections of gender and race, among other social divisions. First, in this chapter, Black feminisms, which are aligned with a feminist movement stance, are discussed. This type of feminism emerged from the concerns of African women in the diaspora about the intersections between gender and race, colonialism, imperialism and slavery. Second, African feminisms are discussed, which are aligned with Black feminisms, in that they both hail from a feminist movements approach. However, African feminists advocate for a distinctive approach that emerges from the views, needs, concerns and perspectives of women on the African continent. The third body of work discussed in this chapter is womanism, which is more aligned with a women’s movement perspective. It emerged from Black women in the West/​North as a critique of feminisms, while highlighting the importance of family and a cultural context, as well as the centrality of addressing varying types of oppression in an inclusive manner (Kolawole, 2002). African womanisms, which is the fourth body of thought considered in this chapter, concurs with the core of womanisms, but also asserts an African cultural framework.The last approach to theorising gender that this chapter considers is nego-​feminism, which emerged from the African continent and accentuates African cultural values that are more allied with a women’s movement perspective. The descriptions of the various types of feminisms and womanisms presented in this chapter are by no means comprehensive, and are unable to show subtle variations by scholars within each body of work. Rather, the discussions highlight some of the key elements of each theory to illustrate the difference in substance that makes the theory more or less aligned with Gouws’ (2015) description of either feminist or womanist movements. It is imperative to recognise that the work of African women in the diaspora and African women on the continent have informed and strengthened each other, despite some contestation. As Kolawole asserts (2002: 97), Africa transcends physical location and embraces people of African origin in the African diaspora, who have common targets of struggle but are also defined by the region of historical relocation, such as African people in parts of Europe, America and the Caribbean. The Black women in such places have an inalienable African heritage and identity, and their perception of gender is often close to the perception or gender by African women on the continent. However, this view is contested, as is highlighted by other forms of African-​centred feminisms and nego-​feminism which suggest that the needs, issues and solutions for women on the continent may be different to those in the diaspora. At the same time, it is necessary to be cognisant of the notion that although there is heterogeneity in feminist and women’s movements, in reality they may not be as distinct or separate as articulated theoretically. Sometimes their agendas overlap and various women may come 128

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together to work on common goals, despite aspects of difference. Understanding and engaging with the heterogeneity of knowledge systems and movements generated by African women is particularly essential for social workers when dealing with issues of oppression and discrimination in these communities. These movements provide important insights for social workers if they are to advocate and lobby effectively with African women for social, community, economic and other forms of transformation.

Schools of thought more aligned with feminist movements Black feminisms Black feminist thought hails from Black women living in the North, such as African American and Afro-​Caribbean women, who were excluded from some forms of theorising about women and gender in the early development of feminisms. Black feminisms are concerned with the interlocking nature of the various oppressions experienced by Black women. Some of these women felt that race needed to be dealt with prior to or simultaneously with gender. Black feminist thought stems from the work of Patricia Hill Collins (2000), Mirza (1997), Angela Davis (1989) and Reddock (2007), among others. These women are not necessarily located in Africa but in the diaspora. Maria Stewart is one example of the first generation of Black feminists in the US who championed for ‘the utility of Black women’s relationships with one another in providing a community for Black women’s activism and self-​determination’. She also advocated for education and access to educational institutions for Black women (Collins, 1984–​2002: 2). It has been suggested that Black women’s voices, such as Maria’s and others, have been muted, obscured or made invisible, even within second-​wave feminism, despite their activism and knowledge production (Collins, 1984; Davis, 1989; Mirza, 1997). Collins (1984–​2002:  3) argues that the shadow obscuring this complex Black women’s intellectual tradition is neither accidental nor benign. Suppressing the knowledge produced by any oppressed group makes it easier for dominant groups to rule because the seeming absence of dissent suggests that subordinate groups willingly collaborate in their own victimization. Maintaining the invisibility of Black women and our ideas not only in the United States, but in Africa, the Caribbean, South America, Europe, and other places where Black women now live, has been critical in maintaining social inequalities. Black women engaged in reclaiming and constructing Black women’s knowledge often point to the politics of suppression that affect their projects. Hence, Black feminists are central to highlighting the role of Black women in knowledge production and challenging patriarchy, as well as racialisation linked to slavery, colonialism, and imperialism both within and without the feminist movement. Black feminists have been criticised for privileging gender issues over race; that is sometimes seen as stemming from Western and colonial contexts (Coleman, 2013). Hence, it is important to recognise that there are tensions between gender and issues of race, which are embedded in histories of slavery, colonialism and imperialism.These tensions between feminism as a concept and the choices some Black women make to distance themselves from feminisms are embedded in the differences between feminist and women’s movements, although the two can and do overlap and work together at times. Discussing African feminisms or Black feminisms is complex since there is no homogeneous notion of African women. Nevertheless, some key aspects of African 129

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feminisms will be extracted to illustrate how African feminisms, like Black feminisms, align with feminist movements.

African feminisms African feminisms provides the space for raising the interests and concerns of African women and highlighting the lived experiences of African women as agents (Nnaemeka, 2004). African feminisms emerged from the contention by Black women that other types of feminisms did not account for the oppression they experienced as a result of not only their womanhood, but their blackness (Ridgeway, 2009). They are allied with ‘more critical feminist approaches that could better support feminist movements and sustain activism to challenge the contemporary manifestations of historically rooted patterns of subordination and oppression’ (Mama, 2011, e6). In addition, African feminists are concerned with ways in which some feminists have inappropriately depicted African women, and therefore they advocate for self-​representation. Decentring racist, colonial, imperialist and patriarchal discourses about African women is the focus of African feminisms. African feminisms address ‘the intersectional relationship between political economy as a critique of, and resistance to, capitalism and imperial domination of Africans, and the development of a radical discourse and stance that is embedded in the lives of African women’ (McFadden, 2011: 12).They are more affiliated with Gouws’ (2015) conception of feminist movements because African feminists are comfortable with assuming the feminist identity. African feminists engage with culture and African norms and values, in both complementary and adversarial ways (Nnaemeka, 1998). Sometimes African feminists accommodates African cultural norms and values that allow for authentic self-​expression while, at other times, challenging those that are oppressive to women. African feminisms are aligned with an approach that recognises the differential ways that women, depending on their class, spirituality, location, etc., may engage in cultural practices (Coleman, 2013). Hence, African culture and norms in their various forms play a central role in articulating the life circumstances, values and conditions that inform African feminists’ thinking and practice. For example, in African society, the home is considered to be a central domain for sustenance and maintenance of the family and as a result female gender roles are accentuated (Ntombovuyo, 2016).  Aspects of womanhood are considered to have different connotations and levels of prestige in some African cultures. It has been claimed that older women in African communities have significant status and that motherhood is also instilled with power (Mekgwe, 2003: 75). African feminists argue that, building strong and independent feminist movements is necessary for the liberation of our continent. Movement-​building demands the mobilisation of multiple energies that work to demystify, resist and overcome the sex-​and gender-​based oppressions at work in our lives and communities, and in the institutions we inhabit [… We need] to listen across boundaries, to hear and respect the multiple languages of gender and sexuality, marked by the striations of other dimensions of power and status. (Mama (2017: 1) At the same time they argue that ‘collective organising with coherent feminist consciousness informed by sound theories of gender oppression and change’ is necessary (Mama, 2017:  1). These thoughts clearly align with feminist movements as pointed out by Gouws (2015), since challenging power relations and oppressive structures are central to this approach. 130

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However, some African women are not comfortable with being connected to feminist movements and feminist knowledge production. They see African and Black feminisms as being contained within a feminist framework that has marginalised certain African women (Hudson-​ Weems, 1993). For some African women (Hudson-​Weems, 1989; Yaa Asantewaa Reed, 2001), these approaches are perceived as inadequate in reflecting the experiences of African women, since they are considered to fit into established White female paradigms that have emerged from the West. Although African feminisms have provided some African women with a lens through which to address patriarchy, oppression and subordination, other women African scholars have provided alternative ways of dealing with their struggles against male domination and racialisation, which are more aligned with Gouws’ (2015) description of women’s movements. These include womanisms, Africana womanisms, township feminism, stiwanism and nego-​feminism –​some of which will be discussed below.

Schools of thought more aligned with women’s movements Womanisms Womanisms emerged as an alternative for African women who were concerned with women’s interests but felt uncomfortable with feminisms. These African women considered feminisms to be too adversarial and unrepresentative of their experience and perspectives. Womanists prefer to have an amiable relationship with men, where they invest efforts in making men aware of women’s experiences of discrimination, which may be different to the discrimination experienced by African people in general (Mekgwe, 2008). Womanisms provide the space for Black women to deal with gender oppression, without marginalising and attacking Black men. This is true to Gouws’ (2015) depiction of women’s movements. There are varying conceptions of womanism. Walker’s (1984) concept of womanism was developed in the US in ‘contradistinction to the separatist trends within the white feminism of the time’ (Coleman, 2013: 3). It also acknowledged the leadership role played by Black women in African communities based on their personal experiences (Walker, 1984). Nigerian writer Ogunyemi (1985:  72) extends the concept of womanism to celebrate ‘black roots [and] the ideals of black life, while giving a balanced presentation of black womandom, [it] concerns itself as much with the black sexual power tussle as with the world power structure that subjugates blacks’. Ogunyemi’s understanding, while concerned with the issues of Black women, also accounts for issues of colonialism and race at a global level that was not originally articulated in Walker’s conceptualisation. Walker (1984:  318) also provides a critique for womanism when she states, ‘It was at the Radcliffe symposium that I saw that black women are more loyal to black men than they are to themselves; a dangerous state of affairs that has its logical end in self-​destructive behaviour’. Therefore, while womanism provides opportunities for negotiation and compromise that do not alienate men, the question remains: does this approach allow for a serious challenge to structural gender inequality, which is the approach purported by feminist movements? Womanists, including Africana womanists as discussed below, are more likely to be affiliated with women’s movements, as opposed to feminist movements.

Africana womanisms Africana womanism was introduced by Clenora Hudson-​Weems (1989) who argued that African women need to self-​name, self-​actualise and self-​identify. It distances itself from 131

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African and Black feminisms, as it articulates an ideology that is firmly rooted in African culture (Hudson-​Weems, 1989; 1993; Yaa Asantewaa Reed, 2001). Hudson-​Weems (1989) suggests that many types of feminisms alienate African women and are more aligned to the experiences and needs of White women. Africana womanisms suggest that African women need to espouse their own multilayered and unique histories, from their own perspectives. As a consequence, the issues that are specific to African women need to be prioritised and solved by African women themselves. Ogunyemi (1985) argues that African women experience different forms of oppression from other women due to their experiences of triple oppression –​not just sexism, but also racism and classism. Hudson-​Weems (1993) adds that African women have specific challenges because of their context, and that these specific forms of oppression may require localised responses. She states that the common goal for African women is to ‘create their own criteria for assessing their realities, both in thought and in action’ (Hudson-​Weems, 1993: 24), as well as identifying ways to solve socio-​economic and political issues that are aligned with their needs and values (Phillips, 2006). This view is endorsed by Yaa Asantewaa Reed (2001) who further suggests that the solutions to these issues can be found in African social systems. Hudson-​Weems (1993) contends that Western feminist thought gives little to no regard to African values and cultural beliefs which prioritise compatibility and unity, and places the family at the centre of society, with the woman being in charge of the family.The African concept of ubuntu, which translates to ‘I am because we are’ (Goduka, 2000), aligns with an Africana womanist perspective, since it is drawn from African culture and values that espouse a communal-​based view of humanity. This perspective gives precedence to the community over the individual (Oyĕwùmí, 1998) which is juxtaposed with some types of ‘Western’ feminisms that are argued to give precedence to the individual. Africana womanisms foreground a woman’s role within the family and the importance of the family within African communities, and would therefore more likely associate with women’s movements, rather than feminist movements. These notions of ubuntu and family orientation are important in guiding social work approaches to dealing with social issues at various levels in the ecological framework. The African perspective on interdependency should inform social work approaches to working with African women who align with this perspective. Although Africana womanisms are related to Black feminisms, in how they both highlight the lived experiences of Black people, Hudson-​Weems (1993: 35) suggests Black feminisms are an addendum to Western feminism. Her criticism of Black feminisms is captured accurately when she asserts, Black feminism is some Africana women’s futile attempt to fit into the constructs of an established White female paradigm. At best, Black feminism may relate to sexual discrimination outside the African community, but cannot claim to resolve the critical problems within it, which are influenced by racism or classism. Hence, what differentiates Africana womanisms from African feminisms is their assertion that sexism is a secondary problem; it is considered to be a consequence of racism and classism (Hudson-​Weems, 1993; Coleman, 2013). Africana womanists suggest that Black men and children, like Black women, are also subjugated to social structures (Ladner, 1981) and should not be seen as adversaries. In this sense, Africana womanists recognise that both Africana men and women have been subjected to, and have collaborated in, fighting racial segregation, and they are therefore seen as allies rather than oppressors. Africana womanists thus work in collaboration with men (Hudson-​Weems, 1989, 1993), which is an approach more affiliated with women’s movements. 132

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Like womanisms, Africana womanists consider feminisms and feminist movements to be alienating and estranging towards men. Africana womanists argue that feminism falls short of accurately capturing the realities and struggles of African women. They consider the term ‘feminism’ itself as being of Western origin and thus embedded with approaches that provide a Eurocentric paradigm to dealing with the challenges of African women (Ntiri, 2001). Hudson-​Weems (1993: 22) dismissed feminisms as being inadequate and incapable of satisfactorily summing up the experiences of African women and states that,‘Feminism, a term conceptualised and adopted by White women, involves an agenda that was designed to meet the needs and demands of that particular group’. As such, Africana womanists take the stance that while feminism may be adequate in challenging the gendered exclusion of White women, it does not adequately acknowledge the racial and class-​ based exclusion of Black women. It dismisses feminisms as providing ‘a separatist and non-​inclusive agenda for Africana women’ (Ntiri, 2001: 164). Hence, Africana womanists argue that there are many differences between the lived experiences and realities of Black and White women and that it is very difficult to understand the experiences of both Black and White women using one theory.

Nego-​feminism Nnaemeka (2004), a Nigerian woman, expounded the theory of Nego-​feminism (NF) which advocates for a detachment from egotism in dealing with issues of gender. She suggests that women are constantly negotiating with patriarchy, and that this is necessary as part of compromise and balance to maintain stability in the system, which is contrary to a feminist movements approach that advocates for overthrowing patriarchal systems (Nnaemeka, 2004). Nego-​feminism asserts that African women find ways to sidestep patriarchy, as a way of accommodating local and cultural imperatives (Nnaemeka, 2004). In this regard Nnaemeka suggests that central to African notions of life, are shared values and conceptions of ubuntu (2004). Nego-​feminists indicate that the lived reality of African women requires them to negotiate with systems of power, like patriarchy, rather than be in contestation and dissention with these systems. Nnaemeka (2004) provides the example of Burkina Faso, where some women do not necessarily relinquish their roles within the households to enter the productive sphere. Rather, they use whatever money they can save from their household financial allocation, to save until they are able to open small shops or kiosks in or near their house. In this manner, they are able to contribute to the household income, as well as continue to preserve their household and care roles. This approach allows them to sidestep patriarchy to acquire capital and thereby negotiate private/​public domains in non-​confrontational ways. As a consequence, these women engage in production while maintaining their reproductive roles in the same way as before. Nego-​feminism also asserts that in interactions between the Global South and the West, mutual learning is enabled (Nnaemeka, 2004). Nnaemeka contends that values such as connectedness, community and family can be learnt from African people in the same way that Africans learn individualism from the West (2004). Hence, she argues that culture is dynamic and mutually influenced through globalisation, which enables the transfer of knowledge and information (Nnaemeka, 2004). In summary, Nego-​feminism contends that ‘Western’ feminisms (see Rasool, 2019 for a summary of these), and I would add social workers, too, should learn from African feminisms and womanisms to be able to be impactful in working with women of, or from, Africa. It essentially articulates how African women negotiate and work around patriarchal structures, rather than actively confronting them, which points towards a women’s movement, rather than a feminist movement, approach, despite the use of the term ‘feminism’. 133

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African feminisms and/​or Africana womanisms? African feminisms have received criticism primarily for its name which is often taken to be a derivative of Western feminisms. Hudson-​Weems (1993) and Steady (1987) criticised African feminists for lacking ideological originality. Steady (1987: 19) asserts that anyone who ‘buys the white terminology … also buys its agenda’. Nevertheless, both African feminisms and Africana womanisms are closely related in their analysis of the relationship between race and gender oppression, as well as in their focus on the lived experiences of African women. Both emphasise the importance of race, class, colonisation and imperialism in understanding the condition of African women. However, the fight against racism is considered primary by Africana womanists when challenging their exclusion from the mainstream. Meanwhile, African feminists argue that gender should be primary or equal in addressing black women’s exclusion from the mainstream, and in creating equal opportunities. Further criticism of African feminisms has been centred around womanists’ rejection of the term ‘feminist’ as a Western import. Chukukere (1998) labelled feminism as un-​African and du Toit (2008) has explored how feminism has been regarded as an unsuitable framework for Africa. These bodies of work show how the challenge of balancing the dual concerns with addressing both gender and racial oppression is complex and reflective of the heterogeneous needs and interests of African women. While facing rejection from within Africa, African feminists also have to negotiate their precarious relationship with Western feminisms. Historically, African feminists have been very critical of Western feminisms and how they neglect to include race in their analysis of women’s exclusion (Oyĕwùmí, 1998; Nzegwu, 2012). As a result, while African feminisms and Western feminisms share the common ideology of challenging patriarchy in the interests of women, they often disagree on praxis and focus.Thus, as du Toit (2008) argues, African feminists almost always end up between Western feminisms which rarely incorporate African thinking, and African male-​dominated intellectual spaces which refuse to recognise the legitimacy of feminisms as an African way of thinking. The bodies of work aligned with the women’s movement try to incorporate men as allies. However, this presents challenges for feminist organising and for seriously toppling patriarchy as a social institution, as highlighted by feminist movements. Can these dualities ever be overcome, or do we need to leave space for heterogeneity? Finally, a critique levelled against all theories that purport a collective ‘African identity’ or shared values or experiences among all women of African descent, is questionable. These values may not be as universal as articulated, even among African women. Therefore, Africanist theories are criticised for failing to incorporate the diversity of African women. Hence, the issue of heterogeneity is a challenge for both women’s and feminist movements and organising overall.

Conclusion The various approaches to African feminisms and womanisms, as described in this chapter, are concerned with embracing knowledge production of African women, especially to generate self-​defined understandings and solutions for African women based on their lived realities.These discourses articulate a need to challenge imperialist, colonial, racist and patriarchal discourses about African women. This body of work calls for a decentralisation of gender philosophies to include the cultures, points of reference and experiences of Black women and/​or African women with all their diversity. In some instances, there is to some extent an embracing of a pan-​ African feminist agenda; other perspectives emphasise the need to recognise the distinctive needs and experiences of women located in Africa, with all its diversity and uniqueness. 134

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In different parts of the world there has been a range of responses to patriarchy from African women.These include African feminisms, Africana womanisms and Nego-​feminism, which were discussed in this chapter. Other types of local responses that are emerging from African women, which have not been covered here, such as township feminism and stiwanism (Ogundipe-​Leslie, 1994) are exciting developments in Africa from African women. These various perspectives provide alternative and contextualised approaches for social workers to consider regarding the realities faced by diverse groups of African women and the solutions they generate for themselves that align with their specific contexts with all its heterogeneity. African women have highlighted the need to incorporate African social systems and values as the basis for understanding the ways in which they engage the world –​at times challenging cultures and values that are oppressive, and embracing those that are not. Some African women see their relationship with patriarchy in less adversarial ways towards men, thereby suggesting that negotiating and sidestepping the issue of patriarchy is more realistic and achievable in the lives of African women. In doing so, they do not align with many forms of feminisms and feminist movements. Simultaneously, some African women assert that gender has to be foregrounded and align themselves with feminist movements, while still emphasising the importance of addressing issues of race, colonisation, slavery and imperialism. These bodies of knowledge highlight the importance of centering the knowledge and perspectives of African women themselves. Social workers engaging with African women need to account for the cultures, points of reference and experiences of varying groups of African women. The distinctions among different groups of women within the domain of African feminist and womanist movements is important to recognise, particularly for social workers working with diverse groups of women, to understand how these various social divisions intersect. It is also important for social workers to realise that some groups may focus on gender over race and vice versa.

References Chukukere, G. (1998). An appraisal of feminism in the socio-​ political development of Nigeria. In O. Nnaemeka (Ed.), Sisterhood, feminism and power:  From Africa to the diaspora (1st ed., pp. 133–​148). Trenton: African World  Press. Coleman, R.M. (2013). Roll up your sleeves!: Black women, black feminism in feminist media studies. In L. McLaughlin and C. Carter (Eds.), Current perspectives in feminist media studies (1st ed., pp. 31–​37). London and New York: Routledge. Collins, P.H. (1984, 2002). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment. 2nd edition. Routledge: New York. Collins, P.H. (2000). Gender, black feminism, and black political economy. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 568(1), 41–​53. Davis, A.Y. (1989). Women, culture & politics. Random House: New York. Du Toit, L. (2008). Old wives’ tales and philosophical delusions: On the problem of women and African philosophy. South African Journal of Philosophy, 27(4), 413–​428. Fennell, S. & Arnot, M. (2008). Decentring hegemonic gender theory: The implications for educational research. Compare, 38(5), 525–​538. Goduka, I.N. (2000). African or indigenous philosophies: Legitimizing spiritually centered wisdoms within the academy. In P. Higgs, N.C.G.Vakalisa, T.V. Mda & N.T. Assie-​Lumumba (Eds.), African voices in education (1st ed., pp. 63–​83). Lansdowne: Juta. Gouws, A. (2015). Unpacking the difference between feminist and women’s movements in Africa. The Conversation. http://​theconversation.com/​unpacking-​the-​difference-​between-​feminist-​and-​womens-​ movements-​in-​africa-​45258 (Accessed 15 January 2019). Hudson-​Weems, C. (1989). Cultural and agenda conflicts in academia: Critical issues for Africana women’s studies. The Western Journal of Black Studies, 13(4), 185–​189. Hudson-​Weems, C. (1993). From Malcolm Little to El Hajj Malik El Shabazz: Malcolm’s evolving attitude toward the Africana woman. The Western Journal of Black Studies, 17(1), 26–​30. 135

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Kolawole, M.M. (2002).Transcending incongruities: Rethinking feminisms and the dynamics of identity in Africa. AGENDA: African Feminisms, 54(2), 92–​105. Ladner, J.A. (1981). Racism and tradition: Black womanhood in historical perspective. In A.C. Berenice (Ed.), Liberating women’s history: Theoretical and critical essays (1st ed., pp. 179–​93). Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press. Mama, A. (2011). The challenges of feminism: Gender, ethics and responsible academic freedom in African Universities. Journal of Higher Education in Africa, 9(1&2),  1–​23. Mama, A. (2017). The power of feminist pan-​African intellect.  Feminist Africa 22 Feminists Organising—​ Strategy,Voice, Power, 1. McFadden, P. (2011). Re-​crafting citizenship in the postcolonial moment:  A focus on Southern Africa. Works and Days, 29, 57–​58. Mekgwe, P. (2003). Theorizing African feminisms:  The colonial question. Department of English Seminar Series. Gaborone: University of Botswana. Mekgwe, P. (2008).Theorizing African feminism(s): The ‘Colonial’ question. An African Journal of Philosophy/​ Revue Africaine de Philosophie, 20, 11–​22. Mirza, H.S. (Ed.) (1997). Black British Feminism: A Reader. London: Routledge. Mohanty, C. (1991). Under Western eyes: Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. In C. Mohanty, A. Russo & L. Torres (Eds.), Third world women and the politics of feminism (1st ed., pp. 51–​80). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Nnaemeka, O. (1998). Sisterhood, feminisms, and power:  From Africa to the diaspora. Trenton, NJ:  Africa World Press. Nnaemeka, O. (2004). Nego-​Feminism: Theorizing, practicing, and pruning Africa’s way. In F. Lionnet, O. Nnaemeka, S.H. Perry & C. Schenck (Eds.), Signs 29, Special issues –​Development cultures: New environments, new realities, new strategies (pp. 357–​385). www.jstor.org/​stable/​10.1086/​378553 (Accessed 10 December 2018). Ntiri, D.W. (2001). Reassessing Africana womanism: Continuity and change. Western Journal of Black Studies, 25(3), 163–​167. Ntombovuyo, L. (2016). Gender equality and women empowerment for Africa’s renewal: Existing influences and future considerations. www.mbeki.org/​2018/​06/​01/​gender-​equality-​and-​women-​empowerment-​for-​ africas-​renewal-​existing-​influences-​and-​future-​considerations​ (Accessed 10 December 2018). Nzegwu, N. (2012). Family Matters: Feminist concepts in African philosophy of culture. New York: State University of New York Press. Ogundipe-​Leslie, M. (1994) Re-​Creating ourselves: African women and critical transformations. Trenton: Africa World Press. Ogunyemi, C.O. (1985). Womanism: The dynamics of the contemporary black female novel in English. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 11(1), 63–​80. Oyĕwùmí, O. (1998). De-​confounding gender: Feminist theorizing and Western culture, a comment on Hawkesworth’s ‘confounding gender’. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 23(4), 1049–​1062. Phillips, R. (2006). Undoing an activist response: Feminism and the Australian government’s domestic violence policy. Critical Social Policy, 26(1), 192–​219. Rasool, S. (2019). Chapter 9: Feminisms. In Van Breda, J. Sekudu (Eds.), Theories for decolonial social work practice in South Africa. Oxford University Press: South Africa. Reddock, R. (2007). Diversity, difference and Caribbean feminism: The challenge of anti-​racism. Caribbean Review of Gender Studies, 1, 1–​27. Ridgeway, C.L. (2009). Framed before we know it: How gender shapes social relations. Gender & Society, 23(2), 145–​160. Steady, F.C. (1987). African feminism:  A worldwide perspective. In R. Terborg-​ Penn, S. Harley & A.B. Rushing (Eds.), Africa and the African Diaspora (1st ed., pp. 3–​24). Washington, DC:  Howard University Press. Walker, A. (1984). In search of our mothers’ gardens: Womanist prose. San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Yaa Asantewaa Reed, P.Y. (2001). African womanism and African feminism: A philosophical, literacy, and cosmological dialect on family? Western Journal of Black Studies, 25, 168–​176.

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11 Collective learning in and from social movements The Bhopal Disaster survivors Eurig Scandrett

Introduction Drawing on the analytical framework of Cox and Nilsen (Nilsen, 2010; Cox, 2018), this chapter argues that social work practice needs to be rooted in the learning which occurs in the praxis of social movements. It is social movements from below that demand services from the state and other agents, and ultimately challenge the social relations which limit the capacity of such agents to provide adequate services. Social movements, therefore, constitute ‘the fundamental animating forces in the making and unmaking of social structures of human needs and capacities’ (Nilsen, 2010: 13). As such, postcolonial social work practice must consider the role that social movements have played in constructing the predicaments we currently face, and therefore might play in moving us to a future in which human needs are met and capacities are harnessed in more socially just ways. Moreover, as Cox and Nilsen argue, within any specific social context, the ways in which we articulate our understanding of our needs and organise our attempts to meet them are determined … in a … process of … collective learning and praxis. (Cox & Nilsen, 2014: 36, italics added) The argument of this chapter is that an understanding of that process of collective learning and praxis of social movements in postcolonial contexts provides insights for social work globally. The chapter explores the learning process of a significant, long-​running social movement from below, largely comprising of activists with minimal levels of formal education: the survivors of the Bhopal gas disaster and its aftermath. By the activists’ own accounts, the primary source of learning (indeed the only source for many), is their engagement with the survivors’ movement for justice. It is important to locate the author in this discussion. A  British citizen, based in Scotland (which has devolved powers over social work, communities and health, but not social security), I initiated the Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study with Indian co-​researchers in 2005 and am dependent on the activists in this movement and their allies for the content of this c­ hapter –​ although I am responsible for the analysis and argument.

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An important strand in social work literature and practice has emphasised that the issues confronting social workers today have been raised by social movements converting, in C. Wright Mills’ (1959) phrase, private troubles into public issues (Ferguson, 2008; Annetts et  al., 2009; Lavalette, 2011): poverty, disability, mental health, gender-​based violence, crime and rehabilitation, child protection, sectarianism, racism and migration. As Annetts et al. (2009) argue, welfare states were constructed by movements from below –​of poor people, workers, women, migrants, disabled people –​making demands on the state and decision makers and creating pressure that had to be resolved by concessions and provision of services.

Social work and social movements in a neoliberal era To understand the social production of welfare through conflict and struggle requires an understanding of history. Social problems are historically constituted and produced; they are regarded as social problems because collective movements have turned grievances into public policy. And these social movements learn their own role in historical change, their historicity, through reflecting on their political practice (Touraine, 1977) –​their praxis. Historical processes allow us to understand that investment decisions lead to environmentally damaging externalities, which are resisted by environmental justice movements; that development produces poverty and thus anti-​poverty movements; that family structures exploit women which feminists constantly expose; that processes of colonisation lead to racism and neocolonialism –​and that these social processes are challenged by decolonising movements. It is through the movements of the exploited and oppressed that society has learned something of its own contradictions, and has demanded a response through social work. Understood historically, the users of social work services are not unfortunate but exploited. However, neoliberal ideology is increasingly framing the users of social work services as in moral deficit, and divides them into deserving or undeserving of social services. This model portrays the deserving service user as an individual consumer who makes rational choices, similar to consumers of commodities, who is encouraged to ‘shop around’ for the best deal. Meanwhile, the undeserving service user is portrayed as reprehensible, a cause of social problems, which the state is expected to sanction or humiliate. By contrast, social welfare movements have historically reframed users as both subject to injustice and agents of resistance (Ferguson, 2008). The increasing use of coercive mechanisms in social welfare, such as benefit sanctions and denial of citizenship rights, are the most significant causes of destitution in twenty-​first-​century Britain, while across the world neoliberal austerity has been resisted by a resurgence of social movements (Flesher Fominaya & Cox, 2013; Flesher Fominaya & Hayes, 2017; Karyokis & Rüdig, 2018). Neoliberalism itself must be historically situated. As Harvey (2006) points out, neoliberalism is a project of class realignment, of shifting resources towards a growingly international capitalist class and away from everyone else –​workers, the poor, the middle classes. Its emergence from the peak of welfarism in the 1970s was the result of the deliberate policy mobilisation of a social movement ‘from above’. In India, the location of the Bhopal case study, neoliberal economic policies were officially adopted in 1991 with the New Economic Programme, but the pressures were building for more than a decade before that. As Vanaik (2018: 52) argues: The decade of the eighties proved critical … Indira Gandhi –​and even more so her son Rajiv, after her assassination in 1984 –​turned from dirigisme to deregulation (for domestic and international capital) and repression (for labour). In successive moves, Congress lifted capital restrictions, pushed through the ‘de-​licensing’ of the public sector to enable penetration by 138

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private capital, introduced tax concessions for business and higher-​income brackets, freed up imports of machinery and consumer goods, cut subsidies for public-​distribution schemes and brought in laws to crack down on strikes, go-​slows and work-​to-​rule protests. Even in the early postcolonial period, international capital had been attempting to find inroads into India’s official policy of import substitution. The transition to independence is regarded as a ‘passive revolution’, in which the shift in the balance of power was limited by the interests of capital (see discussion in Scandrett and Sharma, 2019). The Green Revolution, a development programme in the 1960s aimed at increasing the production of food through selective breeding of High Yield Varieties of crops, led to increasing dependence on corporate producers of agricultural chemicals on which these crops depend. This also served to strengthen the land-​owning class within a ruling alliance with urban intelligentsia and industrial capitalists, and dispossess sections of the peasantry, who contributed to the formation resistance movements that were subsequently repressed during the Emergency of 1975 to 1977. However, economic liberalisation increased considerably through the last decades of the twentieth century and into the twenty-​first, with Narendra Modi’s alliance of repressive Hindu nationalism with capitalist class interests in the facilitation of large-​scale inward investment. Social movements from below have been constantly engaged, at times resisting and at other times in retreat from the repression and dispossession that has accompanied these historical processes.

Social movement learning In Cox and Nilsen’s (2014) theory of social movement process, social movements ‘from above’ act to defend and extend the interests of groups that already enjoy privileged access to benefits provided by social structures. Social groups that benefit from the exploitation of land, resources and labour, organise to defend these privileges and extend them through dispossession and exploitation. Social movements from below, moreover, seek access to these social benefits from which they are excluded by exploitation, oppression, disenfranchisation or discrimination. At times this takes the form of hidden resistance, the ‘weapons of the weak’ (Scott, 1985); sometimes it emerges into overt protest at a local level or on a single issue; and then at other times multiple issues and protests coalesce around common interests and demands for systemic or revolutionary change. Today’s neoliberal economic reforms have privileged a small fraction of the transnational capitalist class that has benefitted from alliances with different class fractions –​local capitalists, middle-​class consumers –​and caused divisions among those exploited through depressed wage labour and dispossession, through a very effective hegemonic movement from above. Understood historically in this way it enables movements to learn strategies of resistance. Collective learning, both within social movements themselves and as social movements interact with wider society, constitutes a fundamental component of social movement praxis (Scandrett, Crowther, Hemmi, Mukherjee, Shah and Sen, 2010). For Eyerman and Jamison (1991), what is distinctive about social movements is their capacity to make changes to the knowledge, culture and world view of a society. This is achieved through a ‘cognitive praxis’ in which the practice of political engagement, strategy development, confrontation with adversaries and organisation of alternative forms of social organisation, are all intimately connected to the cognitive tasks of reflection, imagination and theorisation –​a learning process experienced through engaging in social movement. New culture and new knowledge is generated from this unique and dialectical combination of theory and practice in trying to change the world. Eyerman and Jamison build 139

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on Gramsci’s conception of the organic intellectual and emphasise the role of activists in learning new ways of knowing through struggle. The literature on learning in social movements has been developed by education scholars such as Griff Foley’s (1999) seminal work. Foley was particularly interested in how this learning occurs, the changes in knowledge, skills, attitudes and analysis which emerge from engaging in social movement activity –​learning through struggle. He emphasises the role of reflection in this learning, so that learning is not incidental but contains a discipline of criticality. He concludes: Learning is a dimension of human life and manifests itself in many forms; Education and learning are shaped by economic and political forces beyond participants’ immediate influence; Emancipatory learning and education are possible, but are also complex, ambiguous and continually contested; It is both possible and necessary to develop an analysis of this complexity and to act strategically. (Foley 1999: 130–​131) However, movements from above also engage in processes of cultural praxis in their interests, whether in the form of ‘common sense’ which serves to reify existing unequal relationships, or through creating division.

The Bhopal Survivors’ Movement The Bhopal Survivors’ Movement is a broad alliance of those affected by the leak of toxic gas and the associated contamination from the Union Carbide insecticide factory in December 1984, with some solidarity activists. The Union Carbide Corporation, a US-​based multinational corporation, established a subsidiary company in India in the 1960s and built a factory in Bhopal to capitalise on the growing market for insecticides generated by the Green Revolution. On 3 December 1984, a tank in the factory ruptured and 40 tonnes of methyl isocyanate gas dispersed into the surrounding area, killing thousands (Hannah, Sarangi & Morehouse, 2005). The dominant, ruling class narrative of Bhopal in India is around ‘moving on’ (Sharma, 2014). There is a discourse of catharsis for the Indian new middle class which tells a story that Bhopal 1984 was a tragic accident, unforeseen, or the result of sabotage by a disgruntled employee. Compensation has been paid to the victims; the factory site constitutes a monument to the dead and is under the protection of the Madhya Pradesh state administration. The city has become an administrative centre and an Indian tourist destination for its lakes and shopping. Union Carbide has been wound up. There have been legislative changes which mean that it would not happen again and India is open for business and inward investment. This narrative, of course, colludes with the interests of the corporation (indeed much of it originates with Union Carbide Public Relations) and with the Indian neoliberal ideology of attracting corporate capital. This is contested by a counter-​narrative, backed up by significant evidence generated by the survivors and their allies, and sustained by the survivors’ movement with solidarity movements in India and internationally. The ‘accident’ was the result of negligence driven by an agenda of corporate productivity –​from decisions made in the boardroom in the US and warnings of risks resulting from their implementation in India being ignored (Chouhan, 1994; Hannah, Sarangi & Morehouse, 2005). In the early 1990s, a payment to (some) survivors was made on the basis of dubious criteria and crude designations, following a settlement agreed between Union Carbide and the Indian government without consulting the survivors’ organisations. Many survivors received nothing, and most payments were inadequate for the survivors’ needs. In 2001, Union 140

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Carbide was absorbed into Dow Chemicals (now Dow Dupont) in an asset-​stripping exercise, and disappeared behind the corporate veil. The survivors’ movement emerged shortly after the disaster from among those who were exposed to the gas and the bereaved, along with outsiders who contributed their organising and campaigning experience (Sarangi, 1998). In the days following the disaster, mobilisation was focused on providing basic needs, uncontaminated food and water, health and social care, plus recording deaths, illnesses, missing people, losses of livestock, etc. This was organised through neighbourhood committees throughout the most directly affected areas. Over time, organisations started to form and demands were made on the government.The earliest organisation was Zahreeli Gas Kand Sangharsh Morcha (Poisoned Gas Event Battle Front, or ‘the Morcha’) which sought to establish organisation among the local neighbourhood committees and the educated incomers. The movement’s demands included punitive criminal sanctions against the company, compensation, provision of health care, health research, economic rehabilitation, access to employment and decent wages and conditions, adequate welfare benefits, decontaminating the factory site and access to uncontaminated water. Since its initial emergence, the movement has been through several organisation phases (Sarangi, 1998). The Morcha collapsed under the pressure of state repression and internal ideological differences. The next phase emerged in the form of trade union organisation of survivors working in economic rehabilitation workshops, of which the two most significant are Bhopal Gas Peedit Mahila Udyog Sangathan (Bhopal Gas Affected Women’s Industrial Workers’ Union or BGPMUS) and Bhopal Gas Peedit Mahila Stationery Karmchari Sangh (Bhopal Gas Affected Women’s Stationery Production Union, or the Stationery Union). Some time later, the movement was joined by the children of the survivors, many of them inheriting congenital illnesses and impairments, as well as others affected by contaminated groundwater from the factory site. The movement has evolved through amalgamation and division, with groups focusing on different priorities, framing of issues, modes of organisation and external alliances. While all groups emphasise anti-​communalism, the supporter base of the different groups reflect some differences in religious, caste and demographic composition (see Scandrett & Mukherjee, 2011). In addition to putting demands on state providers and raising petitions through the courts, the movement organised its own cooperative, survivor-​led services. The People’s Health Centre administered drugs and kept detailed records of illnesses and treatments. (The centre was shut down and records were confiscated by the state police.) Later, the Sambhavna Trust was established, a clinic which takes a holistic approach to individual care, combining Western medicine with Ayurveda, panchkarma, yoga and other indigenous health systems. The clinic serves survivors of both gas and water contamination, employs survivors and is governed by survivors. The Chingari Trust runs a rehabilitation centre for children of survivors with a range of physical and intellectual impairments. There are economic development programmes established by survivors or with strong links to the movement and, 30  years later, a memorial museum, co-​curated by survivors, researchers and a museum curator, was established. In an effort to document elements of this social movement process, and in particular the learning which had occurred through praxis, the Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study conducted participatory research with the movement between 2005 and 2009 (Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study, 2009; Mukherjee, Scandrett, Sen & Shah, 2011; Scandrett & Sharma, 2019).

Social movement process: from hidden resistance to militancy At the time of the gas disaster, literacy levels were low. The 1981 census records 34 per cent literacy for Madhya Pradesh, with female literacy at 19 per cent. Even among those women who 141

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had attended school, social conservatism restricted their level of education. Bhopal was a rapidly expanding city with migration from rural areas of Madhya Pradesh and beyond, and the Union Carbide factory was situated in the poorer north of the city. The population affected by the gas disaster was overwhelmingly poor, casually employed, with very low levels of formal education, and Hindu and Muslim in equal numbers. Many of the survivor activists tell of the low level of education and wider social awareness at the time of the disaster. Rehana Begum, one of the founder activists with the trade union BGPMUS, had completed school before the disaster, yet echoes many of the views expressed by many survivors when she said: ‘We were mostly homely Muslim women who had no experience of negotiating or campaigning and frankly did not have a clue about anything’ (BSMS 2009: 94).Yet women with little or no formal education were able to develop an analysis of how to take on the state and multinational corporations. In Cox and Nilsen’s (2014) social movement process, communities develop ‘local rationalities’, strategies to live within oppressive social contexts albeit without overtly confronting the source of the oppression. As they describe it, local rationalities are ‘a repertoire of skills, practices and perceptions typically forged in conflictual dialogue with the hegemonic projects of social movements from above’ (Cox and Nilsen, 2014: 75). The first, and perhaps most basic, forms of praxis in the context of struggle was what Scott (1985) has called the ‘weapons of the weak’, the everyday forms of hidden resistance in the face of oppression: small acts of sabotage, petty pilfering, ‘hidden transcripts’ which undermine the authority of the ruling groups at times when direct confrontation is impossible. Furthermore, At times, a local rationality may give rise to or serve as the basis for overt acts of confrontation with and defiance of social movements from above … We propose the term ‘militant particularism’ for those forms of struggle that can emerge if such a process of extraction and development takes place: when local rationalities are transformed from tacit potentialities to explicitly oppositional practices deployed in conflictual encounters with dominant groups. (Cox & Nilsen 2014: 76) In Bhopal, following the first wave of protests against state negligence and collusion with the corporation, there was a period in which workshops for economic rehabilitation were established by the state or civil society organisations. These workshops provided training and production facilities in tailoring, embroidery and stationery production and were particularly targeted at women, who had traditionally worked in the home, combining domestic labour with piece-​work. With the workshops, the influx of moderate levels of largely unaccountable capital to a poor area led to corruption, as managers and bureaucrats found ways to stream benefits from their positions. In the following extended extract, Rabiya Bee, another of the founding activists of the BGPMUS, describes how she first learnt and then taught her co-​workers how to benefit from the corrupt working practices in the Swalamban dressmaking centres established for economic rehabilitation, and then how these weapons of the weak developed into militant particularism as the limitations of such hidden transcripts became evident and militancy developed through industrial and political confrontation. Quotations from survivor-​activists are all taken from interview excerpts published in the Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study, 2009 (cited as BSMS, 2009). The whole system at the centre was corrupt. People at the top made money everywhere, they got commissions at every level. There was chaos when tenders for goods were opened; people would find ways to get commission on the smallest things like buttons. So I devised a strategy for the women to make some extra money as well. I taught them techniques to 142

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save cloth scrap in a way that they could use it to make some extra money. There were a lot of scams: big spools of cloth for centres would be stolen in transit. When everybody at the top was making money why couldn’t we make some money? When the manager interfered, I threatened him because everyone in the system was making money and he had no right to stop us; it was our right. I made sure that I took only as much as the other ladies; I did not take privilege of my position. When I started working I did not know what a chief minister was. I was poor, looking for a job … I was 28 years old at that time and I had five daughters. We did not know what a union could do or what it was. When [the owner of the sewing centres] began exploiting us it would make me very angry but I somehow continued to work despite the exploitation because I had a small baby to feed. Soon I raised objections and then they pointed me out to the other women who did not object to this, just to isolate me. So I began talking to these women to motivate them to join me. The women slowly began to get my point and we spoke about this more regularly at break time. Then ideas to make this group stronger were proposed in order to build pressure on [the owner]. A proposal to stop the cutting for a day was presented in one of the conversations and it was accepted because that way the centre would come to a standstill and work to all 300 women would stop. When women began to raise questions, the supervisor of the shed brought this to the notice of [the owner]. She complained that I had organised all the ladies in the cutting unit. … Then we began getting ideas; the first one was to go to the chief minister, but we had no idea how to approach him; we had no petition, no banner, nothing. We still went ahead with the plans, we reached the CM’s residence and met the security guards who did not permit us to enter the premises. We insisted, so he [the security guard] asked what we were there for and he explained the whole concept of a CM to us. He also explained to us the concept of the union and advised us to form a union. We took all this information back, [elected the leadership and registered the union].Then we stopped all work … and there was a lock-​out … Then we took our first rally to the CM’s residence. We were underestimated at that time by the government but they were yet to taste the real power of women. (BSMS 2009: 63–​65) Tactics of surviving exploitative conditions in a corrupt system were developed and shared as ‘weapons of the weak’, but then gave way to collective action to challenge the corruption and the exploitation. The skills and tactics of political protest were learnt from good sense, trial and error, friendly advice, the guidance of trusted sympathisers and a good bit of critical intelligence.

Education through making connections: building a counter-​hegemony Learning the tactics of the immediate struggle is an important part of the learning process. Cox and Nilsen (2014) describe how, in a social movement process, the limitations of the narrow focus of militant particularism starts to be transcended as interconnected issues are added to the demands. Through ‘generalisation they can transcend the particular locale in which they emerged and potentially be applied across a spectrum of specific situations and singular struggles’ (Cox & Nilsen 2014: 79). Within the BGPMUS, Mohini Devi describes how the immediate concerns became connected to a process of wider learning: 143

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To start with it was just workplace issues, and then other things started coming up. For instance, the lack of healthcare came up because people were missing work due to visits to the hospital and we recognised that you need to be healthy to do anything else. With time we understood things better and then people like [Abdul] Jabbar and other educated people joined in who could guide us better and give us suggestions … Issues picked up by the women were never restricted to workplace issues, they were open to the problems that people face overall. For every problem, if you look at it on a larger level, there is a problem that relates all other humans not just the ones suffering in that place and time. This is why our solidarity went out to other campaigns also and likewise got the same back from them. (BSMS, 2009: 71–​2) The issue of solidarity with other struggles as both an outcome of a learning process and a means of learning more about the world came up regularly –​joining hands to join the dots. The process of learning through struggle leading to a wider engagement in interconnected issues is not inevitable, however. Some activists describe how their increasingly critical understanding led to the opposing view, that a greater focus on bread-​and-​butter issues is necessary. Rehana Begum explains: The main mistakes [were] to move away from our core demands of employment … Employment is fundamental and the union should have concentrated on this alone. I have seen extreme poverty and I know how much difference employment can make to a person’s life. Without employment a person cannot have access to medical care, food, housing, clothes; it is an important issue. So rather than campaigning for healthcare or environment, we should just focus on employment. (BSMS 2009: 95–​6) The debates on tactics and strategy within the movement were therefore increasingly based on more sophisticated understandings of wider issues, even if they did not lead to greater agreement. The social movement process is not linear, and informal education is not simplistic propaganda. Two issues that were controversial within the movement are the value of international solidarity and the role of the educated incomers. In the political context of India at the time, international intervention was regarded with suspicion by authorities, and often also by social movement activists. BGPMUS avoids international links but forges alliances with other Indian movements of the poor. However, for other groups, tactical and strategic alliances with international environmental, anti-​toxics and human rights groups have been significant. Some of these groups came together in 2003 to form the International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal (ICJB) and for these groups, contact with international movements generates new learning opportunities. Rasheeda Bee, a leader of the Stationery Workers’ Union, explains the impact of her contact with international groups such as Greenpeace, and the key educational role of Satinath Sarangi (Sathyu), an educated solidarity activist. Rasheeda Bee tells the story: There were many people who were falling sick beside the Union Carbide walls and all around it. Why were they falling sick? Most of the women who I knew were from these areas where people were facing new problems. I met up with Sathyu and he told me about the contamination of the water. And after the [Greenpeace] reports in 1999 it was found that the water was indeed toxic. After hearing about the contaminated water, and from what I had learned over the years, I started to realise that this is about saving the world. I also came 144

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to know about the law that says the polluter must pay, which strengthened us all the more because we now knew that we had the law on our side. We found out about lots of things that were happening throughout the world from working with Sathyu. (BSMS, 2009: 113) In our interview with Rasheeda Bee she goes on to describe how the international connections led to visits to Japan to meet the victims of mercury poisoning from the Minamata pollution incident, and her interventions in the 2002 World Summit on Sustainable Development in Johannesburg, critiquing the presence of multinational corporations at the summit and the incorporation of their interests into sustainable development. The ways in which activists gain informal education through engagement with political struggle is an important lesson. There are opportunities for traditional intellectuals to engage with social movements in order to bring academic knowledge to support their struggle. Sathyu abandoned doctoral research in 1984 in response to the gas disaster, moved to Bhopal and has worked in solidarity with the survivors since. Critical of the vanguardist role of outside intellectuals who provided leadership in the early days of the movement, he established a group specifically to engage with the survivors. When a few of us later formed the Bhopal Group for Information and Action we decided we would not be part of any survivors’ organisation but would support all organisations from outside. Our role, though limited to gathering and sharing information and advising on strategic matters, became critical for the several survivor-​led organisations that sprung up following the demise of Morcha as a mass based organisation. In our relationship with these organisations, which were even less democratic than the Morcha, we did our best to empower the rank and file members and increase their participation in decision-​making within their organisations. (BSMS, 2009: 117) The Bhopal Group for Information and Action went on to be a key part of the ICJB, connecting local struggles to international movements. However, Rabiya Bee cautions, I learnt that an illiterate person becomes a bigger threat [to the enemy] than an educated person. The educated think that they can use their intellect to fool someone but if that person gets an ego about it then he will be brought down by a small person … People who they claim to work for can do without them, they do not need their help nor do they insist on getting help from social activists. People can survive with what they have. People who are not assisted by social activists also survive and people who know how to fight for their rights will do so without any assistance. (BSMS, 2009: 68) For the leader of BGPMUS, Abdul Jabbar, learning from those with formal education carries a great risk. For the first 10 years of the movement it seemed like a good idea to involve intellectuals just as they were active in the NBA [anti-​dams movement]. Now such people think very lowly of the Bhopal Gas movement, they think it’s a nuisance. They never have it in them to struggle. I feel that they could not connect to the problems of the common man because their experience was all book-​based … 145

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During the British rule most of the intellectuals were in important positions in the system and they were the main hindrance to the freedom movement. It has been the same with the French revolution and the Russian revolution.The intellectuals are always with the rulers. So I would say that the uneducated people who do not possess ‘literary’ knowledge are the ones who can bring justice, much more than the educated. I learnt this important thing from my guru Shankar Guha Niyogi (the assassinated leader of the Bhilai miner’s union movement in Chhattisgarh). I strongly believe that all the major problems of the world have been created by the educated class. (BSMS, 2009: 78–​9, 85) Jabbar draws attention here to political superiority of learning through struggle because knowledge is borne of experience. The formally educated, as traditional intellectuals, are in a contradictory position; their commitment is to the poor who lack formal education, but their experience cannot be the same as the poor’s, and their material interests are different. Ultimately there is likely to be a point where interests diverge, the educated will abandon the struggle, and hopefully the movement will be led by the organic intellectuals (Scandrett & Sharma 2019).

Reflections for social work from informal collective learning in the survivors’ movement Jabbar’s challenge about the role of educated intellectuals can be understood dialectically. His comments were given to educated interviewers working on a university-​based research project. Jabbar himself has the function of an intellectual in the Gramscian sense: he runs Swabhimaan Kendra, an employment skills training project in Bhopal. Sathyu, a university-​educated ‘traditional’ intellectual, has spent his life in Bhopal working with the survivors’ movement and establishing the Bhopal Group for Information and Action. These are two of the direct services provided to individuals, generated by the survivors’ movement and retaining accountability to it, while building on alliances with specialists. These initiatives are under fire from Indian neoliberalism, which attempts to drive a wedge between social movements and the services that are organic to them. With funding denied to campaigning groups, this tends to leave the practice of social work to the corporate sector through Corporate Social Responsibility, or the Hindutva civil society organisations of the Sangh Parivar. The movement from above of neoliberalism is mobilising against progressive and inclusive movements from below. While the movement has been creative and productive in terms of providing a wide range of services to Bhopal survivors, through a relationship between intellectuals accountable to the survivors’ movement, Jabbar’s challenge illustrates the tension in that relationship for the possibilities for radical social change which may threaten the interests of these intellectuals. The advanced stages of the social movement process includes the potential for revolutionary change, as the realisation of the limits of the campaigns within neoliberal capitalism leads ultimately to constructions of alternative hegemony. This possibility exists in dialectical tension with the need to provide services and remain accountable to the movement. This is the nature of social work, operating in the interface of service provision and movement building, seeking to make the services accountable to the movements that have demanded them in the face of neoliberal attempts to isolate need from the social forces which generate them. This is also, therefore, a challenge for social workers to be educated by the movements as they themselves learn collectively from their praxis. 146

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Acknowledgements The Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study was funded by the Barry Amiel and Norman Melburn Trust, the British Academy, the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland, the Lipman-​ Miliband Trust, and the Nuffield Foundation.

References Annetts, J., Law, A., McNeish W. & Mooney, G. (2009). Understanding social welfare movements. Bristol: Policy Press. Bhopal Survivors’ Movement Study. (2009). Bhopal survivors speak: Emergent voices from a people’s movement. Edinburgh: Word Power Press. Chouhan, T.R. et al. (1994). Bhopal: The inside story. Goa: Other India Press. Cox, L. (2018). Why social movements matter. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Cox, L. & Nilsen, A.G. (2014). We make our own history: Marxism and social movements in the twilight of neoliberalism. London: Pluto Press. Eyerman, R. & Jamison, A. (1991). Social movements: A cognitive approach. Cambridge: Polity Press. Ferguson, I. (2008). Reclaiming social world: Challenging neo-​liberalism and promoting social justice. London: SAGE. Flesher Fominaya, C. & Cox, L. (Eds.) (2013). Understanding European movements: New social movements, global justice, anti-​austerity protest. London: Routledge. Flesher Fominaya, C. & Hayes, G. (Eds.) (2017). Resisting austerity: Collective action in Europe in the wake of the global financial crisis. Special Issue, Social Movement Studies, 16(1). Foley, G. (1999). Learning in social action: A contribution to informal learning. London: Zed Books. Hannah, B., Sarangi, S. & Morehouse, W. (2005). The Bhopal reader: Twenty years of the world’s worst industrial disaster. Goa: Other India Press. Harvey, D. (2006). Neo-​liberalism and the restoration of class power. In D. Harvey (Ed.), Spaces of global capitalism: Towards a theory of uneven geographical development (pp. 9–​68). London: Verso. Karyokis, G. & Rüdig, W. (2018). The three waves of anti-​austerity protest in Greece 2010–​2015, Political Studies Review, 16(2), 158–​169. Lavalette, M. (Ed.) (2011). Radical social work today: Social work at the crossroads. Bristol: Policy Press. Mills, C.W. (1959). The sociological imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mukherjee, S., Scandrett, E., Sen, T. & Shah, D. (2011). Generating theory in the Bhopal Survivors’ Movement. In S.C. Motta & A.G. Nilsen (Eds.), Social Movements in the Global South:  Dispossession, Development and Resistance. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Nilsen, A.G. (2010) Dispossession and resistance in India: The river and the rage. London: Routledge. Sarangi, S. (1998). The movement in Bhopal and its lessons. In C. Williams (Ed.), Environmental victims (pp. 88–​96). London: Earthscan. Scandrett, E. & Mukherjee, S. (2011). Globalisation and abstraction in the Bhopal survivors’ movement. Interface: A Journal For and About Social Movements, 3(1), 195–​209. Scandrett, E. & Sharma, S. (2019). The Bhopal struggle and neoliberal restructuring:  Research, political engagement and the urban poor. In D. Kapoor & S. Jordan (Eds.), Research, political engagement and dispossession: Indigenous, peasant and urban poor activisms in the Americas and Asia. London: Zed Books. Scandrett, E., Crowther, J., Hemmi, A., Mukherjee, S., Shah, D. & Sen, T. (2010). Theorising education and learning in social movements:  Environmental justice campaigns in Scotland and India. Studies in the Education of Adults, 42(2). Scott, J.C. (1985). Weapons of the weak:  Everyday forms of peasant resistance. New Haven, CT:  Yale University Press. Sharma, S. (2014). Indian media and the struggle for justice in Bhopal. Social Justice, Special Issue: Bhopal and After: The Chemical Industry as Toxic Capital, 41(1–​2), 146–​168. Touraine, A. (1977). The self-​production of society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Vanaik, A. (2018). India’s two hegemonies. New Left Review, 112(July–​August).

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12 Social movements as pedagogical spaces ‘Só lixo –​just waste’, or: about the transformation of normative orientations under conditions of change between biographical plausibility and social evidence in Brazilian recycling cooperatives Benjamin Bunk

Introduction1 Lately, waste and recycling have gained some glory in the ‘North’, as plastics became a major topic in European sustainability debates and China ceased recycling the whole world’s garbage in 2018. Yet still, the dominant model in Europe is ‘energetic recycling’, a euphemism for burning instead of reusing garbage. However, considering its presence in most everyday actions, waste is a forgotten issue as concerns about this topic usually end at the rim of the rubbish bin. Nevertheless, the picture in the north is changing, since here and there you can see migrants picking scrap2 or elderly people collecting returnable bottles to make their living. In stark contrast, is the situation in the ‘south’ where piles of waste, and people picking, recycling, and reselling waste are an omnipresent phenomenon. Usually, the poorest of the poor try to make a living that way in the hostile structures of the informal waste economy. Therefore, the transition from informal to formal labour in the recycling sector became a topic within the United Nations, the International Labor Organization and international networks (ILO & WIEGO, 2017). Researchers from around the world and from different disciplines address topics like citizenship in the Dakar garbage economy (Fredricksen, 2018), or how children of Syrian migrants in Lebanon ‘play’ to gather metal scrap (Saleh, 2016). Of course, also in Brazil, the lives of waste pickers have been a topic, especially since the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) government introduced Law 12.305/​2010 to upgrade social recycling management and to get rid of the worst outgrowths of precariousness living on wastpiles at the same time.3 In other words, in the Global South, waste is a fundament of social work but not in a way that social workers would (try to) ‘rescue’ waste pickers from the streets or wherever public policies (fail to) support recycling cooperatives as a way of social assistance. Rather, recycling and reselling the vast amount of waste

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is an individual exit strategy and a social buffer in extremely unequal contexts and where public welfare fails –​there is enough waste for everyone.4 Moreover, as I will try to show, being a waste worker5 is nothing to overcome. Or, as Anton, an MNCR member said: ‘We are proud of what we do’. [Interview with Anton, 7.11.2017, 00:04:32]. Therefore, I  want to show that the political struggles moderated by social movements (against the governmentality of public waste management) intertwined with collective social practices (of local recycling cooperatives) constitute pedagogical spaces that create conditions of change (Bunk, 2017), thus enabling, dynamising and stabilising individual self-​formation processes (Bunk, 2018). Apart from giving them a voice, biographical narratives of waste workers and recycling cooperatives are exemplary research objects for addressing the specific question:  when and how do individuals change their particular normative orientations to solidary normative orientations (within a crassly exclusive system)? It is easy to show some solidarity when you are well off, but it is something else to let the idea of solidarity change and restructure the very core of your life while struggling for your particular existential needs. In that sense, we need to look at and learn from ‘other’ ways of living where particular normative orientations are contested: in subaltern social movements in the South. This will help to understand –​in postcolonial terms –​when and how the ongoing coloniality of power is not reproduced (Quijano, 2000). Or, expressed in a rather anti-​capitalistic fashion and social work tradition, when and how to transcend the atomic egoism of the bankers’ mentality (Freire, 1970; Honneth, 2014) induced within us. Or, already progressive education, too –​influential for social work in the North more than a century ago –​has asked: when and how is reformation possible from within an unsocial culture? On a more general level, this chapter seeks to develop further an understanding of social movements as extraordinary  –​yet quite diverse  –​pedagogical spaces (or a specific field of socialisation). Taking into account, that feelings of personal belonging towards the movement change over time, the question arises when and how the biographical relation between different socialisatory spaces are reshaped (e.g. family, work, movement) –​thus enabling a transition in normative orientations. Because individual and collective learning processes cannot be understood comprehensively just out of the specific practice itself (regardless being a social movement or a social work practice). In a first step, I will briefly depict the economic, social, and cultural dimensions of waste and their pedagogical implications, before turning to the case study in Porto Alegre. The core of this chapter are two biographical narratives and their interpretation. Drawing on these interpretations, the conclusion reflects generally on the pedagogy of social movements.

The outer constitution of pedagogical spaces –​the economic, social, and cultural dimensions of the waste realm and the Movimento Nacional de Catadores de Materiais Recicláveis (MNCR) The ever-​g rowing waste realm is highly ambiguous and currently undergoing major changes. In Brazil, catadores, pickers of recycling materials, are responsible for an estimated 90 per cent of the recycling quota (Silva, Goes & Alvarez, 2013), but public funds for collecting waste usually go to the big waste-​dumping companies (the so-​called ‘waste mafia’). Waste workers gain their income only by reselling recycling material that they picked individually or that was given to the recycling cooperatives. Therefore, in multiple ways, waste workers constitute a very poor, vulnerable, and stigmatised social group (Hoefel, 2013; Coelho, Beck & Silva, 2018), competing ‘vertically’ with small and big resellers within the recycling value chain as well as ‘horizontally’ with waste-​collecting companies (Lima, 2011). But still for many traditional waste workers on 149

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the streets, the transition from informality to cooperatives means an income loss as well as their adaption to a dull occupation and forced solidarity,6 being also intertwined with gender issues as cooperatives are mainly constituted by women (Dagnino & Johansen, 2017: 18). Some aspects are crucial for the making of political subjectivities in this realm. As pointed out before, the practice of recycling was developed mainly in the 1950s and 1960s for economic reasons (in the light of the massive rural exodus), as an individual exit strategy accessible for everyone at any time. Up to this day, the decision to become a waste worker often stems from a situation of homelessness, after imprisonment, or long-​term unemployment (e.g. Magni & Günther, 2014). But recent ethnographic studies show how waste picking becomes a part-​time or additional occupation in vulnerable situations or times of crises (Gonçalves, 2017). This is relevant for the formation processes in movements, because in their self-​perception, becoming a recycling worker is an autonomous achievement. Therefore, the image of the lonely wolf roaming the streets captures the waste workers self-​realisation, and it contradicts the criminalising mendingo (scum/​robber) image applied by ‘the others’ as well as the stigma (dirty waste) and the ‘rescue attitude’ by NGOs and social workers.7 In the late 1970s, the Catholic street ministry and the Lutheran Church started to campaign for people living on the streets, introducing the social dimension as a reaction to the rural exodus and opposing the military regime. The basic idea was to create cooperatives to support individuals in their life course through a resocialisation process by community building, thereby fostering the idea of solidarity while at the same time being accessible for policy measures (Freitas, 2014). Lately, the federal government has supported the founding of new cooperatives through a funding programme for a ‘solidary economy’. Not surprisingly, from early on these cooperatives became the breeding ground for the MNCR, finally constituting themselves on a national level in 2001 in the course of a participatory NGO-​politics dialogue  –​as a collective emancipation against the ‘rescue’ posture of NGOs and an expression of their autonomy.8 Anyhow, the MNCR also inherits the idea of having been part of a greater struggle against the military regime then, and for a more democratic Brazil and global climate justice today –​therefore aligning their particular interest with wider, egalitarian issues. Thus, the MNCR celebrates not just their success in prohibiting ‘energetic recycling’ (2010) and being officially recognised as a profession (CBO, 2002). Their core argument for social-​ ecological waste management is simple: if public policies would start to spend money on recycling, a quota of 80 per cent would be feasible instead of the current 7 per cent –​creating more than 20 million jobs at the same time. In the mean time, their struggle for recognition added a cultural dimension to waste (Benitez, 2010), by collectively contesting prejudices and exclusion, and uniting them in a joint learning process.9 For the focus of this chapter, it is important to acknowledge how the MNCR is engaged ‘against’ non-​egalitarian orientations (as forms of sociocultural exclusion) on the one hand, while claiming high ethics (in contrast to other people on the street) and regarding themselves in the tradition of overarching egalitarian claims on the other hand. Moreover, its inclusive heterogeneity is constitutive in itself, as it is constantly struggling for a common ground between the lonely wolves and the cooperatives. Thus, shaping and moderating the self-​perception and world-​relations of those who partake and are bound to particular interests for a specific group or milieu is constitutive for the MNCR.

A case from Porto Alegre –​I: from the governmentality of inclusion to the local politicisation of pedagogical spaces Already in 2008, the Porto Alegre municipal council passed the law 10.531/​2008, known as lei das caroças (law of the carriages), prohibiting carts, carriages and all forms of informal waste-​picking 150

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within the city centre, which came into force in 2016. This instrument of segregating urban development led to major political struggles in 2015, until a memorandum extended the transition period for ‘hand-​cart waste pickers’ for another two years –​leading to even fiercer political struggles in 2017, when the memorandum was extended for another two years. In line with the federal law adopted in 2010, the municipality launched the We are all Porto Alegre (TSPOA) Program for Inclusion in the Recycling Sector from 2012 to 2016 to manage the transition period (Voigt, 2016). On the first page, the TSPOA documentary promotes itself with the usual key words like ‘enhancing participation’, the intention to ‘create access to alternative jobs and income possibilities’, ‘qualifying them and organising activities that are oriented towards the environmental education of the society’ (Voigt, 2016: 5). This four-​million Euro project was a ‘great success’ (ibid.: 156–​157) and won many prizes (ibid.: 181) –​of course it did. Unfortunately, the factual situation did not really change, as for every waste worker that accepted to move from informal and individual waste picking to a formal recycling job in a licensed cooperative (many of them failing in the meantime), even more people occupied the vacancies in the informal waste economy (that still successfully functions as a social buffer). But in order to understand waste-​picker cooperatives as pedagogical spaces, another aspect seems even more relevant. In a comment, the first coordinator of this programme (a trained pedagogue and chief of the NGO, Green Hands), explains the ‘challenges and paradoxes of the productive inclusion of waste pickers’ (Voigt, 2016: 95–​96): The Todos Somos Porto Alegre seeks for the recycling-​economy chain the extermination of all informal activities of street waste pickers (with their carts, horse-​carriages, and even buses, transporters and trucks) as well as the extermination of all private recycling depots and recycling at home, for ecological reasons and based on the simple fact that these irregular activities systematically undermine the exclusive recycling in official recycling units. To a certain extent, we regard the diminution, or as-​quickly-​as-​possible-​extinction, of all irregular waste picking as a crucial factor for the success of the associations and cooperatives. Recently organised as association and/​or cooperation, we will break the vicious and precarious circle outside of this equation.Therefore, the best scenario for the urban waste management is the collection of segregated waste under contract with public authorities as well as an organised and adequately equipped recycling process in order to guarantee productivity and a sufficient income for about 900 associates. On the other side, on the level below this value chain, there are potentially 900 workers and at least another 2,000 registered families outside of this system. We could problematise how this law and programme seeks to ‘exterminate’ the social buffer and exit-​strategy function of waste or how it consequently denies waste picking as an official occupation. Or how a programme for inclusion fosters exclusion when applied under conditions of extreme social injustice, not caring for those ‘outside of this system’ who are contesting its economic dimension and the ‘value chain’. Applying a governmentally oriented perspective, the municipal administration tries to regain control over an uncontrolled sector: only the contracted collection companies should profit from the municipal expenditures; licences for the waste-​ worker cooperatives are only issued outside the city centres so that these cooperatives would generate their income only by recycling and reselling what is left for them.Yet, for the issue of shaping pedagogical spaces, the important aspect of this public policy is to establish a divide, even rivalry, between individual waste pickers, between informal recycling cooperatives and ‘organised’ (licensed) associations. In Porto Alegre, this restructuring became explicitly visible 151

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with the emergence of two networks or movements:  the Forum dos Catadores de Porto Alegre (hereafter called the Forum) and the Rede das Catadoras e Catadores de Porto Alegre (hereafter called the Rede). The Forum was constituted by those cooperatives supportive to and under contract by the authorities. The Rede is strongly allied to the MNCR, also representing the unorganised, informal, ‘traditional’ waste pickers (the lonely wolves) and spearheading the protests against the extermination and for the memorandum. Thus enabling an activation or intensification of the personal feeling of belonging and actualisation of the normative orientations and the self-​and world-​interpretations this movement facilitates and moderates. In order to understand the meaning of this difference for the constitution of pedagogical spaces and the transformation of normative orientations, I want to compare two life stories from two cooperatives, each linked to one of the networks. The key question is: when and how do individuals within (and in defiance of) a crassly exclusive system change their particular normative orientations to solidary normative orientations –​ or not?

A case from Porto Alegre –​II: intertwining biographical plausibility and social evidence10 Anna Anna plays a key role in the Rede network. At the moment, she is responsible for bargaining the ‘prices’ with recycling resellers. Before, she was involved in the protests against the city council. The cooperative in which she is based is studded with MNCR flags and everyone wears the same corporate-​designed shirt.When she is not busy in the office, she is recycling materials with the others. She starts her narrative with growing up in a small rural village, being one of ten children of a very poor family. However, within three sentences, she moves on to the moment where she has a six-​month-​old baby. She realised that she would not be able to care for him as they were all starving –​and the whole family decided to move to the city [Interview with Anna, 13.12.2017, 00:01:08]: We arrived in Porto Alegre and then I found a job. I started to work as a domestic employee. (…) My son got ill. I had to stay in the hospital with him, about 12 days. When we left, I needed to find another job. I mean, I had to sustain the family on my own. In various following episodes, she repeats the same narrative pattern: she found a job, lost it again she struggled and recovered, as she had to. But even though it was a hassle, she never gave up and tried again and yet again. Finally, she got employed as a cook in a restaurant far away. (She emphasises how she was starving and nearly fainting, because she had to wait all day for the job interview. But for the first time she adds [ibid., 00:07:40]: ‘That has changed my life.’) Soon she became the chef of the restaurant and met her husband, a waiter. She made it a success story, an ascent from nothing to chef. Notably: so far, she has not mentioned waste picking at all, while living in a slum village of mainly waste pickers. Implicitly, this is also a story of distinction. Now, her village is dispossessed (officially, because it was in a flood area; today, there is a shopping centre). Further away from the city centre, a new location was offered to the dwellers. But the previous, individual form of collecting became impossible. Through local politicisation, the idea of a recycling cooperative was born, political struggles began, and they bargained with 152

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the city until it was built (from here on, Anna sometimes says ‘we’ [ibid., 00:11:20], but it could also refer to her family). But not all dwellers from the shack community followed, some decided to continue as lonely wolves. Of her participation, Anna says [ibid., 00:11:48]: Our first month earned us a salary of R$13, because we did not know how to work with the material they had left for us.The waste pickers just knew to work with paper. And if you go to the streets, then you just take one kind, you just take the best material, the good one. (…) In the second month, it was R$39. (…) And then I remember a moment, when I was coordinator, one of the coordinators [she explains in great detail where, when, and from whom she got the decisive phone call]: it was about R$800.That was when I thought: bah! If we can make 800 something in the first half [of the month], how much can we make till the end of the year?! So far, the narrative follows a struggling-​hard-​for-​success frame –​albeit I was replaced by we. During the sequence analysis, you try to imagine how the story could go on –​maybe applying the success frame to the cooperative? Instead Anna goes on: And this was something like, you understand? [Anna introduces a turn and declares unexpectedly]: I started working in the cooperative, and the association changed my life with my children.Very close to home. Whenever something happened, I could go and look after them. Because it is the mother’s right to take care of her children. I did not have to worry about anyone. I could bring the kids to the doctor (…). Anna modifies the structure of the narrative –​changing the social order of reference. And she takes up a thread she had already voiced in the beginning:  taking care of her children. This motive led her to the city in the first place, but she had to reduce it to the economic responsibility to support her family, as she declared: ‘I mean, I had to sustain the family on my own’. Suddenly (and this is important), taking care of her children becomes plausible again –​a new experience: ‘bah! (…) And this was something like, you understand?’. It is important to notice that before, she was not consciously suffering from a conflict between ‘success, distinction, responsibility’, or ‘care’. Only under the conditions of change, in a novel situation facilitated by the movement, she was able to gain new experiences that can be reflexively acknowledged afterwards, opening the possibility to rearrange the narrative as an expression of a self-​formation process. But still there is a biographical match, here: a previous path of caring for her children to relate to. Still, she would need to accept being a waste picker, without distinction. And yes, only a few sentences later she declares: I don’t want to work as that anymore [as a five-​star chef], because I was working the whole week. (…) And my children are in a situation where they need their mother more. I need to participate in their lives. Now, in my life, I will take care. I am a waste picker, I changed, I don’t want to be a chef anymore, but I want to be a waste picker. (…) Then I went out, and today I’m here. (…) I managed to give them [her children] education. They did not go to the university, but they had the normal education, all properly. While I didn’t. There was no way. I had to start working with nine years. Afterwards she goes on to talk about her children, and she expresses that being in a cooperative makes her autonomous [ibid., 00:17:24]: 153

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I think now, the rest of my life, it will stay that way. I do not want a boss, someone who tells me what to do. I think that’s good in the cooperative. No one tells anyone what to do. Everyone is responsible. For everything that happens in here. Although I do not have so much [money]. Now I’m just a co-​operative of the cooperative. I  do not command anything. And for the rest of the interview, she dwells again on the difficulty to raise children and how she likes to be part of a cooperative: ‘having no boss’ and how she ‘doesn’t tell anybody what to do’ and ‘what it means to be in a cooperative (…) being a leader in the movement. Together with my comrades. I’m always together with them’. And how difficult it is to teach responsibility and solidarity to the younger generation. Now, the cooperative is referred to as ‘family’. This suggests that the order of the orientating frame of care and responsibility, which she formerly just applied on the socialisatory space ‘family’, is now widened or transferred to the cooperative and her labour –​since the moment when the tension between these distinct socialisatory spaces was dissolved and both were brought together. And it is the (quite) unique social practice ‘solidary cooperative’ which allows such an amalgamation. At the end, not surprisingly, she returns to a memory from her childhood with no need to distance herself from it anymore [ibid., 00:36:20]: When I was small, we always went out to pick material. I recall, till today, how we picked paper and bones. (…) So, I was working to give the money to my mother. From that money we could buy wood for the stove. So, I took on responsibility already with nine years and helped at home. But it was still very ‘light’ (…). Yet, to fully understand the transition of the orientating frame, I need to add some information. Is a new situation alone, the dilution of a conflict, a new perspective for the future, the biographical and social plausibility of orienting frames (enabled by the cooperative or movement), enough to change normative orientations under conditions of crass exclusion and despite the stigma of collecting waste? Anna wouldn’t tell it on her own, but when I asked her about her firstborn son –​the child with whom she moved to Porto Alegre  –​she admits that he got killed in a drug-​gang conflict.11 Only with this additional information, it becomes clear why she voiced: ‘I need to participate in their lives. Now, in my life, I will take care,’ as she is still concerned about the future of her other children. This hints that such a difficult self-​transformation like changing normative orientations cannot be explained solely through a specific social practice and the resonance or recognition found there (like the usual argument of ‘learning in social movements’). We need to take into account a biographical perspective and the reshaping of interspaces between different socialisatory spaces. Only because Anna is in ruins in the family space, she is able to widen and translate the solidary normative reference from the family realm to her work environment –​where it becomes plausible again, because it is a cooperative and she can bring her family life and work life into balance. Moreover, the transition from a particular to an egalitarian orientation is enabled through a biographically induced reframing of her ‘particular interests’  –​here towards successful social relations and no longer a distinctive success –​again, because it gains plausibility through the social practice of the cooperative. This transition, enabled through conditions of change, is, first, only possible because a new self-​realisation (or narrative) can connect to forgotten or suppressed orientations in a biographically plausible way. And second, because her transition to the specific social practice of the movement goes hand in hand with a reinterpretation that solidarity (or care) is perceived as particular interests to be reached and thus her formerly family-​bound idea of ‘care’ becomes evident as a normative orientation also for her work relations in the cooperative. 154

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That means, a solidary orientation is appropriated as particular interests under conditions of change, when it is compatible (and not in conflict; see Alexandra’s story, below) with surrounding everyday practices (such as cooperative and collective forms of acting and living together), biographically plausible and actively supported by overarching, egalitarian movement goals (therefore supra-​individual and more than just a common group-​interest, e.g. the fight for justice or democracy). Apart from other aspects of the special pedagogical significance of social movements, like constituting an alternative frame of reference and interpretation that contributes to the stabilisation of new norms, roles and forms of action –​topics that cannot be addressed here.

Alexandra In a next step, and briefer (due to limited space), I want to share the story of Alexandra. At first, it might appear to be an (exaggerated) black-​and-​white counter story to Anna. Towards the end, I will slightly shift the angle to do justice to Alexandra’s life story. Some 20 years ago, Alexandra founded, with other women, a recycling centre (with development aid/​NGO funds). This was the basis for a marvellous achievement. Over time, different other cultural, educational, and environmental projects were developed, conducting social work programmes in the slum village. Alexandra and the recycling centre are key players in the Forum, and they were awarded best-​practice lighthouse project in the TSPOA programme. Today, her recycling association and NGO is the biggest employer in the slum –​besides an infamous drug trader gang. She also begins her story with her growing up as a poor child in a rural village. And the basic structure of her life story is also a success story: she started as a dog walker of landowners, became a waitress, worked in a bank, and so on. In similar episodes, she climbed the ladder. However, in her case, there was always somebody above her (with money or influence) who would do her a favour –​but because she was diligent, servile, and very clever in reading social situations, it is her achievement. This pattern of cleverly gaining privileges from the ones above12 continued after she realised her dream of moving to the big city. Coming from exclusion, she experienced the world as a hierarchical one and cleverly learnt to play the game of reproducing the power schemes of an ‘ongoing coloniality’. Today, the recycling centre is her ‘baby’. Alexandra is the ‘queen of the hill’ –​granting favours through her benevolence.13 (While we were walking through the centre, she gave orders –​and people jumped.) Now, people serve coffee to her in her office (and she wasn’t offering me coffee during the interview). She explicitly points out that her family was laughing at her when she moved to the city. However, by now, ‘they all’ have moved to the city and built houses on her ground –​they hail her, and she is a distinctly successful entrepreneur (her WhatsApp image shows her drinking wine; she boasts about her connections and that she has the telephone numbers of VIP city council members). Formidably, she uses the image of the poor, honest, black, female waste-​ picker underdog, claiming her egalitarian right to ascend in an unsocial society, in order to assert the particular interests of herself and her kin. Networking is a tool to promote her interests and not to cultivate a solidary consciousness. And she teaches her experiences of successful adaptation by reproducing her perception of a hierarchical society in her own NGO. In addition, she (as well as the other associated women) has never worked as a traditional waste picker on the streets –​why should she identify with those lonely wolves or care about the ‘law of the carriages?’ Those people do not share any particular interests with her, her recycling association, or her village. It is understandable: she had nothing, her life was definitely not easy, she had made it, and now, as she is ‘at the top’, she is benevolent. She uses her power to patronise her kin and those loyal to her. Many people in the village make a living from that 155

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recycling centre and the NGO. And she demands recognition, as there is no doubt that all this is due to her individual efforts.14 Why should she care about egalitarian orientations or overarching struggles against structural causes that are not in line with her particular interests?15 But, is this postcolonial interpretation of Alexandra’s story correct, or were there other conditions of change and socialisatory interspaces reshaped? One episode in Alexandra’s narrative does not follow the basic ascent-​through-​cleverness-​ and-​favours story. Just briefly, she mentions how she was politicised by chance in a feminist workshop (and even travelled to international meetings for some time). I realised the importance of that episode only later, during a group interview with three women working in the recycling centre. After they reiterated the heroic image that Alexandra has drawn of herself, they quickly find a common ground for their different stories: they all express (in variations) that they found a ‘collective’, a ‘family’ of ‘women’ in the centre. In their common tale, one episode especially gains importance [Interview with N, N & C, 12.08.2017, 00:22:34]: one of them collapsed during a drug-​gang shooting and was rescued by the others and dragged behind the walls of the recycling centre. In various episodes, these social bonds between women empower them to resist and endure the hardships of their lives with men (be it violent husbands, wayward children, or simply to live well in a slum village). So, I took a second look at Alexandra’s interview, and there it was [Interview with Alexandra, 11.08.2017, 00:49:50]: (…) the first thing that I achieved in … My husband, my ex-​husband, was harassing me a lot, because he was a loser and so he used to say: ‘Ah! You are in all those meetings with these women, and I went down to the bar to buy, don’t know, something, and they were saying look, your wife will die, listen, your wife will, don’t know what and then aratatatatam! And then, who will take care of the children?’  You know, he wasn’t worried that I would die, you know? Or if I would be paralysed or something, he was worried about who would take care of our children! Who would wash the clothes, who would cook. (…) So, I separated, and being divorced I found the time that I needed. You know, this load of guilt which I was carrying because … I was late, I was late for a reunion in the city council, the bus would be late, my daughters would come late to school … I knew that I would be criticised, so this me … You know? It caused in me such an enormous guilt that I would accept when he was saying ‘look!’ But he was at home! Would it cost him anything to get the children ready? Why wouldn’t he give them something to eat? (…) So, getting divorced, I was able to organise my life, with the help of others, yes? And the people were my family foremost, they were very solidary with me. Without getting in too deep as it would lead the focus away from the waste workers, I  will try to point out how here, movement-​made conditions of change are intertwined with the moulding of biographical interspaces in another way (compared to Anna). Alexandra’s struggle is not a waste picker’s struggle and not bound to collective (protest) actions. She phrases it as a ‘feminist’ struggle against oppressive chauvinism reproduced in a local, sophisticated ‘slagging culture’ and in her personal family life.16 She also feels guilty for not being on time, but in her experience of transition the option was not to set herself free from job bondages, but from oppressive conventions embodied in her husband –​a transition induced by getting politicised in the feminist movement. Her way of contesting subordination was to become a political and entrepreneurial woman –​and still able to care for her daughters and kin (she didn’t need to revive the biographical care narrative). The recycling centre was her economic tool to foster her conditions of change in order to stabilise that transition, also by offering new social bonds.These bonds, however, were not constituted by the collective feeling of ‘being a waste-​picker’ but 156

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being ‘among women’ within a local neighbourhood. Moreover, on a second level of reorganising interspaces, the family-​care social order was not simply translated, but first of all needed to be broken up to give rise to a particular normative orientation to contest the oppressive patriarchal chauvinism. She reorganised her social bonds, not her job bonds. The cooperative of women became her family, giving evidence and support to her biographical path –​not the cooperative or movement of waste workers. For Alexandra, there is no conflict between a particular normative orientation and being head of a cooperative and showing benevolence.

Conclusion: self-​formation processes under conditions of change and the transformation of normative orientations in socialisatory interspaces International social movement research, but also public perceptions, usually start from external (pre) conditions in order to understand social movements. Being concerned with political aims, societal causes, and legal effects –​and therefore assuming a ‘collective identity’ –​all these approaches hardly ever address the issue of changing subjectivities by and within social movements.Thus, the constitutive dimension and socialisatory role of social movements –​a crucial question for cultural change, either in postcolonial or social work terms –​can easily be overlooked. Regarding the role of movements as pedagogical spaces, different aspects need to be considered, for example, the creation of new norms and ways of acting (Pettenkofer, 2010; Engeström & Sannino, 2016), the cultivation of subaltern knowledge (Choudry, 2015), the diversity of organisational cultures (Ferree & Roth, 1998). Focusing on individual learning processes, the tradition of analysing movement biographies (e.g. Miethe & Roth, 2000; Andrews, 2007; Fillieule, 2016) is usually interested in motives to partake in movements or impacts on the collective development of movements. Only a few authors turned the question upside down and regarded movements as social conditions for individual (self-​)formation processes (thus, for example, being interested in conflicts within the movement; Maurer, 2016). However, learning in social movements should not be oversimplified –​transitions in and by movements cannot be taken for granted, and a new critical perspective alone will not automatically lead to new forms of actions. Interested mainly in how, why, and when individual subjectivities are being shaped, a self-​ formation-​oriented approach towards social movements explicitly addresses the transformation or constitution of relating to oneself, to others, or to the world, enabled or moderated by movements as pedagogical spaces (Bunk, 2016, 2017, 2018).17 This implies shifting perspectives and focus on the specifically situated (reflexive and interpreting) individual in order to approach these specific, fluid, and fragile social practices and thereby their (political) circumstances. From a biographical point of view, these practices involve ruptures, passages or transitions, and conflicts between social orders and meanings. Moreover, under conditions of change (or in moments of crisis), people gain the chance –​or are forced –​to perceive, reflect, or access their self-​and world-​relation, to remodel or contradict it, for example, by reconstructing narratives and perspectives on the future, shifting frames of social (self-​)reference and overcoming stigmas, by trying new ways of acting and thus being able to redefine their meaning in contention. However, it is a fragile and risky chance, not always leading to the ‘better’. But social movements may moderate such processes as a project of a transition ‘for the better’ through providing new social bonds and practices moulded by egalitarian orientations. Typically, from a biographical perspective, social movement practices only represent one area of everyday life among others (depending on the type of movement); and the personal relation to these socialisatory areas may shift in the course of a lifetime (conflicting social orders or areas might also lead one to ‘abandon’ the movement). Therefore, the way those conditions of change are intertwined with biographical plausibility, social evidence, and local politicisation is constitutive for 157

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the ‘difficult’ transition to solidary orientations (compared to, for example, new knowledge or skills) and usually involves the reshaping of the interspaces between these socialisatory areas and feelings of belonging. In addition, such a transition often implies transferring the care orientation from family life to the new collective (one feels belonging to) –​a ‘decision’ or ‘emancipation’ which is enabled by conditions of change, not (solely) by reflections of a ‘critical consciousness’. Such conditions of change are being induced or actualised in intense situations of local politicisation, and are even more evident within a ‘movement’ –​as a social practice of cooperatively working together and relating to each other as a heterogeneous (and less exclusive) identity shaped by common, overarching egalitarian goals or a wider historical purpose –​but still in need of being biographically plausible. While the specific socialisatory significance of movements derives from facilitating such changes, at the same time, they are crucial for collectively stabilising these transitions and the alternative orientations of reference and interpretation. However, under manifold conditions of exclusion and oppression, biographical plausibility and local evidence might lead to not reshaping, but just moulding socialisatory interspaces –​and even strengthening particular orientations as a means of emancipation and to unveil hidden solidary senses of belonging.

Notes 1 This chapter deepens an aspect of a one-​year field research on recycling workers and the landless movement in Brazil (ethnography, biographical narratives), funded by the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation in 2017/​2018. I am very grateful for the discussions in the ‘Bildung and social movements‘ research network (Germany), the ‘local politicization of global norms’ working group (Max Weber Center, University of Erfurt), the ‘Waste-​pickers Research Group’ (Federal University of Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte) and the ‘Center for Studies in Democracy’ (Catholic University of Rio Grande do Sul, Porto Alegre). Above all, I thank Anna, Alexandra, Anton (all alias) and many others for their trust and willingness to share their lives and oral histories with me. 2 For example, the recent documentary Waiting for Barcelona (Karhu & Tanskanen, 2018). 3 The (official) closure of the waste dump of the capital Brasilia in March 2018, the second biggest in the world and sustaining the –​so-​called –​cidade estrutural with an estimated 70 000 people, became a symbol for this Sisyphean task within a crassly unequal society. 4 The Movimento Nacional de Catadores de Materiais Recicláveis (MNCR) estimates there are two million waste workers today, arguing that the number has more than doubled since the last census due to the ongoing economic crisis. The last demographic census counts around 400 000 waste pickers (IBGE, 2011: 118), yet declares that these figures probably need to be doubled due to errors in the collection of the data and difficulties to categorise the different forms of waste picking. 5 Calling them ‘waste workers’ (instead of waste pickers) has different reasons:  the Brazilian National Movement of Recycling-​Material ‘Pickers’ (MNCR) claims the official recognition of their work as a profession as one of their greatest achievements. Especially when talking about those people related to the MNCR, the term ‘workers’ also tries to express the historical identity that is ‘in the making’ by the movement (e.g. Thompson, 1968). Then again, ‘picker’ does not correspond to the literal meaning of the Portuguese catador. And the transition from ‘picker’ to ‘worker’ also tries to represent the paradigm shift from the simple mechanisation and management of waste –​towards a socially and ecologically oriented waste management as proposed by the MNCR. I do acknowledge that international networks (like WIEGO) or the English speaking North American Waste-​Pickers Association still refer to themselves as ‘waste pickers’. In compliance with the MNCR, I will use the term ‘waste workers’ when writing in English about Brazilian catadores, emphasising the quite exceptional achievement of the MNCR to be recognised as a ‘profession’ and acknowledging their constitution as a historical subject. 6 See the debates at the annual congress and meeting of the MNCR, the Expocatadores, 2017, in Brazil. 7 In my interviews and conversations with waste workers, two distinct subject areas stood out: on the one hand, common issues, for example, that it needs discipline, an independent or self-​organised working attitude, and cleverness (collecting is a complex and interacting task) to be a waste worker. On the other hand, being a waste worker represents a categorical distinction from all those other loucos (crazy people) on the streets –​and often even from one’s own past. 8 Anton explains [Interview with Anton, 7.11.2017, 00:30:38]: 158

Social movements as pedagogical spaces

It wasn’t about what they could do for us, but what we would do for ourselves.The point was that we wanted to learn like all others have to learn (…). And it was clear that we wouldn’t create a national institution but a national movement to struggle. 9 Still, the ritualised ‘catwalk beauty contest’ during the Movements National Congress or slogans like ‘a beautiful woman is a woman who struggles’ indicate that these power struggles go on to persist also within the movement. 10 This case study is taken from a total of 70 narrative interviews with waste workers related to the Brazilian Landless Movement and the MNCR conducted during a one-​year field research in Brazil in 2017/​2018. The methodological approach follows a tradition in German educational science to analyse biographies and formation processes through narrative interviews (Marotzki, 1990; Koller, 2011); the method follows a tradition of sequential analysis (Przyborski & Wohlrab-​Saar, 2008; Erhard & Sammet, 2018). The field research followed ethnographic approaches (Fuchs & Berg, 1993) but they are not in the foreground of this chapter. 11 The city council dispossessed several slum villages and resettled them in the same area, which unleashed a violent conflict about the control over the drug trade for two or three years. 12 This reminds strongly of the concept of mimicry explored by Homi K. Bhabha (1994). 13 One example given by her: if somebody from the village gains a university scholarship, it is due to her facilitation. 14 When she learns that I am in contact with the people from the Rede, she seems deeply offended. She spends more than half an hour complaining that they do not honour her outstanding achievements and denying that they can be called a movement. 15 Still, who am I (with the academic arrogance of someone who does not need to struggle for existence in the same way) to demand from people like her to oppose meritocracy, colonial power relations and atomic egocentrism and (following a postcolonial or capitalist critique) change her normative orientations from within the exclusion? 16 An insightful ethnographical analysis of the sophisticated gender and race orders in Brazilian slums is available by Claudia Fonseca (2000). 17 Drawing on the (German) theoretical tradition of Bildung and its core motive or problem to ‘overcome’ natural and sociocultural (pre)conditions (Stojanov, 2014: 211). There is no space to deepen and differentiate this theoretical perspective here.

References Andrews, M. (2007). Shaping History. Narratives of Political Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Benitez, C. (2010). A questão social da reciclagem: um estudo sobre reflexividade, desigualdade e articulação de redes sociopolíticas no Rio Grande do Sul. (Master Thesis). Porto Alegre, Pontifical Catholic University of Rio Grande do Sul. Bhabha, H.K. (1994). The Location of Culture. London: Routledge. Bunk, B. (2016). Soziale Bewegungen und Bildungstheorie. Überlegungen zu Bildungsprozessen in sozialen Bewegung(en). Forschungsjournal Soziale Bewegungen, 29, 30–​38. Bunk, B. (2017). Zur Differenz von Sozialer Arbeit und sozialer Bewegung. In D. Franke-​Meyer & C. Kuhlmann (Eds.), Soziale Arbeit und Soziale Bewegung (pp. 265–​280). Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Bunk, B. (2018). Bildung und Soziale Bewegung. Die Movimento dos Sem Terra und das World Social Forum als Räume für Bildungsprozesse. Paderborn: Schöningh. CBO (Classificação Brasileira de Ocupações/​Brazilian Classification of Ocupations) (2002). no 5192–​05 (since 2002). Descrição sumaria da ocupação de catador de materiais recicláveis. Brasil. www.mtecbo. gov.br/​cbosite/​pages/​pesquisas/​BuscaPorTituloResultado.jsf (Accessed 1 December 2018). Choudry,A. (2015). Learning Activism.The Intellectual Life of Contemporary Social Movements.Toronto: University of Toronto  Press. Coelho, A.P.F., Beck, C.L.C. & da Silva, R.M. (2018). Condições de saúde e risco de adoecimento dos catadores de materiais recicláveis: Revisão Integrativa. Ciência, Cuidado e Saúde, 17. Dagnino, R.  de Sampaio & Johansen, IC. (2017). Os catadores no brasil:  Características demográficas e socioeconômicas dos coletores de material reciclável, classificadores de resíduos e varredores a partir do censo demográfico de 2010. Mercado de Trabalho, 62, 115–​125. Engeström, Y. & Sannino, A. (2016). Expansive learning on the move: insights from ongoing research/​El aprendizaje expansivo en movimiento: aportaciones de la investigación en curso, Infancia y Aprendizaje. Journal for the Study of Education and Development, 39(3), 401–​435. DOI: 10.1080/​02103702.2016.1189119. 159

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Erhard, F. & Sammet, K. (Eds.) (2018). Sequenzanalyse praktisch. Weinheim: Beltz Juventa Ferree, M.M. & Roth, S. (1998). Kollektive Identität und Organisationskulturen –​Theorien Neuer Sozialer Bewegungen in amerikanischer Perspektive. Neue Soziale Bewegungen, 11, 80–​91. Fillieule, O. (2016). Demobilization and Disengagement in a Life Course Perspective. In D. Porta & M. Diani (Eds.), Oxford Handbook of Social Movements. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fonseca, C. (2000). Família, Fofoca E Honra. Etnografia De Relações De Gênero E Violência Em Grupos Populares. Porto Alegre: Editora UFRGS. Fredricks, R. (2018). Garbage Citizenship: Vital Infrastructures of Labor in Dakar, Senegal. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Freire, P. (1970/​2006). Pedagogy of the Oppressed (30th anniversary ed.). New York: Bloomsbury. Freitas, M.V.O. (2005). Entre ruas, lembranças e palavras:  a trajetória dos catadores de papel em Belo Horizonte. Belo Horizonte: Editora PUC Minas. Fuchs, M. & Berg, E. (1993). Kultur, soziale Praxis, Text. Die Krise der ethnographischen Repräsentation. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Gonçalves, J.T. (2017). Reciclagem de RuaOs catadores de rua e a coleta seletiva informal. (Master Thesis). Brazil, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais. Hoefel, M.D.G. (2013). Accidents at Work and Living Conditions Among Solid Waste Segregators in the Open Dump of Distrito Federal. Revista Brasileira de Epidemiologia, 16, 774–​785. Honneth, A. (2014). Freedom’s Right:  The Social Foundations of Democratic Life. New  York:  Columbia University Press. IBGE (2011). Censo Demográfico 2010:  resultados preliminares do universo  –​conceitos e definições  –​tabelas adicionais. Rio de Janeiro. ILO & WIEGO (2017). Cooperation among workers in the informal economy: A focus on home-​based workers and waste pickers (A joint ILO and WIEGO initiative). www.ilo.org/​wcmsp5/​groups/​public/​-​-​-​ed_​emp/​-​-​-​ emp_​ent/​-​-​-​coop/​documents/​publication/​wcms_​567507.pdf (Accessed 30 January 2019). Karhu, I. (Producer) & Tanskanen, J.-​ P. (Director) (2018). Waiting for Barcelona [Documentary film]. Finland: Danish Bear Productions. Koller, H.-​C. (2011). Bildung anders denken. Einführung in die Theorie transformatorischer Bildungsprozesse. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Lima, F.  de Paula Antunes, Varella, C.C.V.S., Oliveira, F.G., Parreiras, G. & Rutkowski, J. (2011). Social Technologies of Recycling:  Applying Policies of Selective Collection with the Waste Pickers. Interinstitucional de Psicologia, 4, 131–​146. Magni, A.A.C. & Günther, W.M.R. (2014). Cooperatives of Waste Pickers as an Alternative to Social Exclusion and its Relationship with the Homeless Population. Saúde e Sociedade, 23, 146–​156. Marotzki, W. (1990). Entwurf einer Strukturalen Bildungstheorie. Biographietheoretische Auslegung von Bildungsprozessen in hochkomplexen Gesellschaften. Weinheim: Deutscher Studienverlag. Maurer, S. (2016). Bildung im Dissens –​Individualität, Kollektivität und Erkenntnis im Kontext der Neuen Frauenbewegung. Forschungsjournal Soziale Bewegungen, 29, 86–​98. Miethe, I. & Roth, S. (Eds.) (2000). Politische Biographien und Sozialer Wandel. Gießen: Psychosozial Verlag. Pettenkofer, A. (2010). Radikaler Protest. Zur soziologischen Theorie politischer Bewegungen. Frankfurt a. M.: Campus. Przyborski A. and ​Wohlrab-​Sahr M.(20103).Qualitative Sozialforschung.Ein Arbeitsbuch.München: Oldenbourg. Quijano, A. (2000). Colonialidad del poder, eurocentrismo y América Latina. In E. Lander (Ed.), La colonialidad del saber:  eurocentrismo y ciencias sociales. Perspectivas latinoamericanas (pp. 201–​246). Buenos Aires: Clasco. Saleh, E. (2016). The Master Cockroach: Scrap Metal and Syrian Labour in Beirut’s Informal Economy. Contemporary Levant, 2, 93–​107. Silva, S.P., Goes, F.L. & Alvarez, A.R. (2013). Situação Social das Catadoras e dos Catadores de Material Reciclável e Reutilizável. Brasilia: Instituto Brasileiro de Pesquisa Econômica Aplicada –​ IPEA. Stojanov, K. (2014). Bildung. Zur Bestimmung und Abgrenzung eines Grundbegriffs der Humanwissenschaften. Erwägen –​ Wissen –​ Ethik, 25, 203–​212. Thompson, E.P. (1968/​1991). The Making of the English Working Class. Toronto: Penguin  Books. Voigt, L. (2016). Todos Somos Porto Alegre. Programa de Inclusao na Reciclagem. Porto Alegre: Editora da cidade.

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Part III

Indigenisation Ronald Lutz

Introduction The term Indigenisation is connected to a variety of initiatives, academic debates and theoretical concepts in Latin American, Asia and Africa to adopt postcolonial social work to their own problems and needs. The underlying ideas are also rooted in Paulo Freire’s approach of Conscientisation and the pedagogy of liberation of Latin America. Essential narratives are mainly found in the literature of social work in Africa and Asia, in particular in India. We can also find extended discussions in Australia. The tribal studies in the US and Canada also focused the need for an indigenised Social Work. In Africa, for example, social work has a rather young and particularly colonial history, which was, with some exceptions like South Africa, imported from the West in the 1950s and 1960s. In the beginning, persons who wanted to be educated as social workers had to study abroad, especially in the Global North. Despite the establishment of study courses for social work in African countries, many social workers were educated by Euro-​American countries, university teachers completed their education mainly in Europe and North America. Theories and practices of a Euro-​American origin, which reflected their academic analyses and methods mainly on the culture of individualism and only propagated case work, were at first completely adopted. Differentiations and reflections with regard to postcolonial influences, specific cultural and local experiences and living environments of people, were barely visible. In many practices, the Euro-​American lifestyle became characterising as basis and vision. But imported theoretical and methodological social work with its Euro-​American orientation was considered inappropriate, generally for the Global South. In the academic discussion, a modification of the theories and methods was heavily required as it obligatorily results in the specific traditions and experiences. In the thinking of critical African, Asian and Australian theorists, Indigenisation meant adjustment, reformulation or a process, which modified imported ideas and practices in order to bring them in accordance with the local cultural context and the respective, specific colonial experiences. Reflections on Indigenisation presented a new and different take on the already existing local and indigenous knowledge. In the current definition of the IFSW, also as a reaction to the debates of the Global South, the term ‘indigenous knowledge’ was introduced1 in 2014. Social

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work at the international level became aware of how important the local, the traditional and indigenous knowledge and the specific cultural memory are for drafts of theory and especially for practical methods. In a simple and obvious manner, indigenous knowledge can give deep insights into interrelations of all lives and convey different backgrounds. Without them, it would be impossible to work and understand people with a different cultural background. Indigenous resources, traditions, experiences, rituals, relations, support networks, cultural memory and the ideas behind, reasons, philosophies or values must be understood, articulated and included in a postcolonial social work in order to integrate ways for solutions accentuating local and indigenous practice. All this emphasises the political involvement of social work practice in postcolonial and developmental contexts, that focus on exclusion, marginalisation and oppression.Thereby, social work is explicitly put in the context of politics and well-​placed in the development-​related changes of the society. It is both indigenised and political. The aim of all debates was and is ‘Postcolonial and Development-​Related Social Work’, which results in specific conditions and is active within them. However, the ways of achieving this aim are manifold and differentiated, obviously there exists no consensus about how to move forward with this process. But in all concepts and debates exists a core:  local conditions and indigenous resources should be adequately regarded and considered. In order to advance those developments, social workers must have a profound knowledge about the local conditions that allow them to explore and understand the culture in local communities. Social work must be globally aware and locally relevant, it must be simultaneously international and indigenised. Based on these thoughts, the demand for postcolonial social work with a stronger focus on indigenisation has grown. Since the 1980s, academic and reflexive circles speak about an indigenisation of social work. But almost 30 years after the initial debate this aim is yet to be achieved. African colleagues still state that the need for indigenisation of African social work still appears, and is, highly relevant.The chapters in this section deliberate on questions and conditions around these discourses.

Note 1 The following definition was approved by the IFSW General Meeting and the IASSW General Assembly in July 2014: Social work is a practice-​based profession and an academic discipline that promotes social change and development, social cohesion, and the empowerment and liberation of people. Principles of social justice, human rights, collective responsibility and respect for diversities are central to social work. Underpinned by theories of social work, social sciences, humanities and indigenous knowledge, social work engages people and structures to address life challenges and enhance wellbeing.

(See http://​ifsw.org/​policies/​definition-​of-​social-​work/​)

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13 Latin American social work and the struggles against professional imperialism Gianinna Muñoz Arce

Introduction While observing the spread of European and Anglo-​American social work theoretical approaches throughout the Global South in the early 1980s, James Midgley coined the notion of ‘professional imperialism’ to denounce the positivistic, rational, neoliberal and technocratic social work approaches that were being rapidly transferred from developed countries to undeveloped nations (Midgley, 1981). Already in the 1940s, social work theories and methods proposed by social work scholars, particularly from Europe and the United States, constituted the foundations of the many new schools of social work that were established in the Global South. Particularly with regard to Latin American social work, the Good Neighbour policy –​the foreign policy of the administration of United States President Franklin Roosevelt towards Latin America –​encouraged a number of initiatives providing training for social workers who were invited in the late 1930s and 1940s to the United States ‘to know the society of the future’ (González, 2016: 125). The influence of Anglo-​American social work increased during the 1950s and 1960s, and, in the context of the Cold War, Latin American social work became a strategic axe of capitalist economic, cultural and intellectual expansion (González, 2013). Social work training curricula delivered by Latin American schools were carefully examined by external social work scholars aiming to make them consistent with the approaches the United States wanted to promote, and creating a schedule of transference of knowledge endorsed by mainly the United Nations (Midgley, 2010). As part of such a scheme, many social workers took part in academic exchange programmes, undertaking postgraduate courses offered by diverse universities in the United States and returning to Latin American countries equipped with new perspectives and models to promote development and progress. Certainly, these initiatives were highly valued by national universities that saw in the foreign formation the possibility of giving a scientific character to the incipient development of the social work profession (González, 2013; Morales, 2015). Fifty years after Midgley’s (1981) seminal work on professional imperialism, frameworks of supranational organisations continue to colonise Latin American social work. The World Bank’s discourses on poverty and social policy currently operate as a neocolonial way of expansion of neoliberal hegemony, affecting social workers’ daily practices and restricting their possibilities of bringing up situated knowledges. However, I assert that social workers still have opportunities to

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exert resistance against these hegemonic approaches.This chapter aims to discuss the possibilities that decolonial thought offers to social workers to counteract the neoliberal precepts pervading their interventions in Latin American countries, and in other countries from the Global South. Drawing upon the contributions of Latin American decolonial thought, including the proposals of the Philosophy of Liberation produced in the 1960s and the Collective Project Modernity/​ Coloniality/​Decoloniality1 that emerged in the 1990s, this chapter theoretically examines the ways in which decolonial praxis may be developed by social workers even within those institutional contexts deeply co-​opted by the neocolonial rationality. The chapter is organised into four sections. The first section describes the intellectual colonisation produced by Anglo-​ American schools throughout the historical development of social work in Latin America, followed by an analysis of the current World Bank’s neocolonial discourses on poverty and social policy. The second section addresses the possibilities to resist such a hegemonic approach. The notion of decolonial praxis is examined and the experiences of Ecuadorian and Chilean social workers who have developed a professional approach underpinned by Sumak Kawsay and Mapuche philosophies respectively, are presented as examples of decolonial initiatives driven by social workers. To conclude, some reflections on the possibilities to decolonise social work approaches are discussed, promoting a dialogue of knowledges between research, practice and perspectives held by communities and social movements involved in social workers’ intervention processes.

Professional imperialism in the development of Latin American social work The transference of social work theories and methods from Europe and the United States to Latin American schools of social work was not an accident but the result of a broader process of intellectual colonisation that has not affected social work exclusively. Denouncing how colonial thought has ‘captured’ universities in Latin America since their inception in the sixteenth century, Castro-​Gómez (2010: 79) suggests that the university has to be seen as not just another colonial apparatus that entailed ‘colonial inheritance’ in terms of disseminated paradigms and methods. Moreover, it has mutually contributed to reinforce the cultural, economic and political hegemony of the West. Thus, the university appears not as a guardian of knowledge, but as a guardian of the ‘right’ knowledge. In the field of social work, two processes have been closely related to professional imperialism as described by Midgley in the 1980s: ‘epistemicide’, understood as the annihilation of aboriginal ways to understand and construct knowledge related to development and prosperity (de Sousa Santos, 2010:  8); and ‘epistemic racism’, as privilege of European and Anglo-​American intellectual contributions and disdain regarding knowledge produced by non-​Western groups or individuals (Grosfoguel, 2013: 341). Both phenomena are embedded in a broad culture of what the Peruvian sociologist Aníbal Quijano (2000) called ‘the colonial matrix’, which is based upon four intertwined domains: (i) control of economy, involving land appropriation, exploitation of labour and control of natural resources; (ii) control of authority, institutions of government and army to impose an idea of order; (iii) control of gender and sexuality, promoting sexual division of labour and conservative ideas of family, and (iv) control of subjectivity and knowledge, involving epistemic racism and cognitive privilege of Eurocentric approaches. Colonial power reproduces itself within each domain which, in turn, overlap and intersect each other. According to Quijano (2000: 534), insofar as social relations based upon the idea of race were connected to domination, ‘such identities were considered constitutive of the hierarchies, places, and corresponding social roles, and consequently of the model of colonial domination that was being imposed’. 164

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The latter domain  –​the coloniality of knowledge  –​is particularly relevant to understand the inception of social work as a profession in Latin America. It draws upon the affirmation of a modern idea of reason (Mignolo, 2011) and provides the primitive foundations of authority which were the cornerstones for the formation of Spanish colonies in the sixteenth century, for the constitution of the independent republics in the nineteenth century, and for our current understandings of power, knowing and being. According to historiographic research (Illanes, 2007), the inception of the first school of social work in Latin America in 1925 was produced in the context of the ‘reinvention of the colonial matrix’ (Walsh, 2008), because once independence from Spain was formally achieved by Latin American countries, the national ruling classes (formed by a growing bourgeoisie, the Catholic church and the military sector) developed diverse strategies to dispossess and domesticate poor populations –​most of them Indigenous and Afro descendants (Grosfoguel, 2013). Under the principles of booming capitalism, the national ruling classes imposed their ideas of order, power and progress on the nascent nations.The establishment of the first schools of social work has been commonly understood as a consequence of such a process, as they were created in a moment of increasing workers’ uprisings, strikes and general crises related to the exploitation and accumulation of burgeoning capitalism. In such a context, the creation of social work schools has been interpreted as a strategy conducted by the states to address popular discontent by ‘bringing the kind face of power to dangerous and miserable slums’ (Illanes, 2007: 184). Of course, such a process was facilitated or dynamised by other aspects. Most of the social work literature claims that the Catholic religion played a relevant role in the foundations of the first schools of social work in Latin America, as well as the belief in positivistic approaches of science and progress (Saracostti et al., 2012; González, 2013). However, the fact that schools of social work were born under the principles of domestication and dispossession guiding the consolidation of Latin American nation-​states, does not necessarily mean that the approach adopted to train social workers at the beginnings of the profession has been underpinned by the colonial matrix and its principles, or at least not in an explicit way. For example, a study conducted in Chile found that criticism against moralist, paternalist and colonial approaches of social intervention was clearly depicted in the dissertations of students of social work between 1925 and 1965 (Aylwin et al., 2004). In addition, during the 1960s and 1970s the critical reflection on professional imperialism became stronger thanks to the development of the so-​called ‘reconceptualisation movement’ (Rozas, 2007), which, influenced by the contributions of the philosophy of liberation and Freire’s proposals on anti-​oppressive education, enabled social workers to deliver numerous conferences and publications aiming to disarticulate the intellectual colonisation that the Anglo-​American school had exerted over Latin American social work. The anti-​imperialistic search and progress was suddenly interrupted by the wave of right-​wing dictatorships that hit most of the Latin American countries between the 1970s and 1980s. The imposition of the neoliberal model in such a period reinforced the colonial matrix, as authoritarian and conservative rule accompanied the implementation of an individualistic, privatised and market-​oriented approach that affected all the domains of social life.The profession of social work was radically attacked by the dictatorships due to the development of a Marxist theoretical tradition that had underpinned the discussion of the reconceptualisation movement (Rozas, 2007). Many social work academics and students were expelled, exiled and some of them are still registered as ‘arrested/​disappeared’ (Vera, 2016). Social work was dispossessed of its professional status in many Latin American countries, and training courses were redesigned to remove theoretical and political discussion from the curricula. All these changes resulted in the annihilation of the intellectual dimension of social work, leaving little room for critical reflection in times of fear, censorship and persecution. 165

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Since the end of the 1980s and the early 1990s, when democratic regimes were re-​established, Latin American social work aimed to reconstruct its intellectual voice from a critical perspective. These efforts have resulted in the discussion of the ethical and political foundations guiding the profession, the so-​called ‘ethical-​political project of social work’ (Rozas, 2007) and the revision of the reconceptualisation process from a critical perspective (Repetti, 2011). Many PhD-​in-​social-​ work programmes have been created in diverse Brazilian universities which certainly are the most important referent of social work education in Latin America. Recently, more postgraduate courses in social work were launched in Argentina, Costa Rica, Uruguay and Chile; this has contributed to promote research and to recover the intellectual role of social workers (Saracostti et al., 2012). Related to this, research conducted by social workers has also increased since the 2000s, as well as publications and academic exchange.The discussion on the purposes of social work in the contemporary context has been marked by the challenges of democracy consolidation, the critiques to the neoliberal model, along with the recognition of diversity and local initiatives attempting to counteract such hegemonic precepts. Critical appraisals of social work and the development of feminist and decolonial social work practices, education and research have characterised academic production during the last decade in a specific sector of social work (Hermida and Meschini, 2012; Álvarez Santana, 2013; Patiño, 2014; Muñoz, 2015a, 2015b; Gómez-​Hernández, 2018; among others), configuring a relevant network of exchange and discussion on the possibilities of exerting resistance against traditional Anglo-​American approaches to social work. To sum this up, all these developments indicate that social workers in Latin America are making considerable intellectual efforts to make social work count as a discipline that is able to examine itself by drawing upon research and academic exchange. It is therefore also able to deconstruct its historical foundations and colonial inheritance to examine current practices leading to new answers. This may provide a favourable position to rethink what type of social work we want to construct, exploring possibilities to integrate diverse sources of knowledges as plural foundations of the profession. However, we must be aware that recovering the social work intellectual dimension and discussing decolonial approaches for practice is a challenge not exempt from obstacles. Since 2000, a new hegemonic discourse on poverty has spread throughout the region, as most Latin American states have adopted the World Bank’s orientations on social policy. This is a new expression of colonial power affecting social work in Latin America as in many other countries in the Global South, which has configured a mono-​cultural scenario functional to neoliberal precepts (Sewpaul, 2013). As most social workers work on implementing poverty programmes in Latin American countries, this neoliberal turn in social policy directly affects the configuration and chances of the profession to subvert traditional approaches in practice. The adoption of the World Bank’s guidelines has produced a new scenario where social workers’ interventions are guided by neoliberal principles –​individualism, competition, privatisation and commodification of all domains of life –​which are completely inconsistent with indigenous world views. Indigenous world views are subsumed into policy orientations that seek to acculturate and condition people’s understandings, beliefs and practices. Culture is assumed as an attribute of service users, as another form of data or information. The World Bank guidelines cannot recognise the cultural differences of the poor, especially those poor who belong to indigenous communities (Álvarez Leguizamón, 2010). Such a thing would imply promoting values and perspectives that are opposite to its very ideology:  community bonds, collective rights, redistribution of power, a contemplative notion of time –​in summary, a decommodification of all dimensions of social life (Vergara-​Camus, 2014). In contrast, what the World Bank guidelines seek is to equip the poor with the skills and resources they need to prevent, mitigate and overcome the risks they are exposed to, and in the best-​case scenario, to compete in the market in a 166

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more advantaged way (Campana, 2015). The focus is put on the individual, the potential entrepreneur  –​the antithesis of the collectivist perspectives and solidarity values underlying Latin American indigenous philosophies. But the neoliberal rationale underpinning the World Bank orientations of social policy has also co-​ opted social workers’ understandings and practices. Previous research (Muñoz Arce, 2015a, 2015b; Muñoz and Pantazis, 2018) suggests that the World Bank guidelines have (neo)colonised the profession by promoting individual explanations of poverty and rewarding professionals’ individual efforts, empowerment and entrepreneurial abilities. This has diverted social workers’ attention away from concrete reflections on their work and reduced the possibilities for professional creativity and critical reflection (Álvarez Leguizamón, 2010; Campana, 2015; Gómez-​Hernández,  2018).

Decolonial thought as resistance against neocolonial approaches Given the dominance of neocolonial approaches of social work intervention nowadays, it is worth asking ourselves whether social work is driven and determined to reproduce the neoliberal precepts guiding interventions to address poverty, that is, policies targeting mainly migrant and Indigenous-​and/​or Afro-​descendant populations. Can social workers subvert these hegemonic approaches in practice? During the last ten years, thanks to the production of diverse collectives and academic bodies interested in decolonial theories for social work, an interesting –​ although incipient  –​corpus of research has been developed by Latin American social work scholars from Colombia, Ecuador, Brazil, Argentina and Chile.2 Drawing upon these studies, ‘alternative’ perspectives in social work practice have been identified. Such perspectives have emerged silently and are found in areas of professional discretion, re-​editing Latin America’s critical tradition of social work, returning to Aboriginal traditions as a source of useful knowledge and defending the struggles of social movements and subaltern groups. The question woven through these works is whether it is possible for social workers to decolonise discourse and interventions, even under the most constricted guidelines of supranational organisations such as the World Bank. Proposals coming from decolonial thought offer relevant insight to this thinking in social work. A  ‘decolonial turn’ in social work demands not only a ‘decolonial attitude’  –​that is, feeling horrified about ‘the colonial wound’ and its victims –​but also the development of a ‘decolonial reason’, which refers to the production of new foundations for knowledge (Maldonado-​Torres, 2008). The decolonial reason may draw upon diverse methods, such as deconstruction, decentration and de-​essentialisation, among others (Zárate, 2014); however, what all these methods seek is to change models and structures of thought, revealing other rationalities and new understandings in order to construct ‘worlds and knowledges otherwise’ (Escobar, 2007). To translate this approach into social workers’ practices, the acknowledgement of cultural domains where social work interventions are conducted, is crucial. The pathway to decolonising social work approaches and fostering a decolonial praxis implies denaturalising the acquired thought patterns, ‘learning to unlearn’ the Eurocentric logic printed in the individual and collective unconscious in order to ‘relearn’ from the interactions with the ‘other’ (Mignolo and Escobar, 2013).

Learning from Sumak Kawsay and Mapuche philosophies in social work Such decolonial principles  –​a decolonial attitude and the promotion of decolonial reason  –​ have guided the initiatives and reflections of Ecuadorian and Chilean social workers who have developed a decolonial praxis in a context dominated by neoliberal rhetoric. I  bring these 167

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initiatives to this chapter to illustrate how decolonial thought can operate not only as a distinctive perspective or alternative approach of practice, but also as a possibility to exert resistance against the hegemonic order. Sumak Kawsay is a philosophy underpinning Andean indigenous communities’ way of living. It is an expression of a number of ontological values, such as connectedness, commonality and balancing between eternal energies and poles existent in every living being (Waldmüller, 2014). It proposes a conscious life and a conscious coexistence based upon community love and wisdom that enables people to enjoy buen vivir (good living). Sumak Kawsay is an expression derived from the Kichwa translated as a ‘system of knowledge and living based on the communion of humans and nature and on the spatial-​temporal-​harmonious totality of existence’ (Walsh, 2010: 18). In 2008, thanks to the strong action of social organisations and indigenous movements, the Ecuadorian Constitution Act was amended and Sumak Kawsay was included as a cornerstone for the new legislation (Álvarez Santana, 2013). This aimed to reconstruct a new model of governance based upon a harmonious relation between State, market, society and nature. The new Constitution Act positions Sumak Kawsay, or ‘good living’ at the centre of the idea of development, rather than mere economic growth. There have been numerous attempts by supranational organisations to co-​opt Sumak Kawsay perspectives (Bretón and Martínez, 2015). Social workers, as professionals directly involved in social services provision in Ecuador, have attested to the contradictions between the national interest in promoting Sumak Kawsay and the co-​optation of this perspective by the World Bank (Álvarez Santana, 2013). However, some social workers who have constructed a critical reflection about both the dispossession and epistemicide of indigenous people’s knowledge, have also envisaged alternative routes to decolonising practices. The Struggle and Resistance of Indigenous Women in Ecuador initiative (Soto-​López, 2018), conducted by social workers, depicts how social work has been able to contest traditional theoretical perspectives through the development of approaches that are based upon the Sumak Kawsay philosophy as interpreted and practised by communities. In this sense, this initiative attempts to challenge those absolutist and unidimensional strategies to promote development. By ‘traditional theoretical perspectives’ we mean positivistic approaches that are based upon blind faith in the scientific method, political neutrality and instrumental rationality but also structural Marxist approaches. The apparent inappropriateness of structural Marxism, which has been one of the dominant approaches in Latin American social work, especially draws attention. Despite its contribution to the strengthening of critical approaches of practice, it has also concealed modern, colonial and authoritarian discourses that have subsumed subaltern perspectives (Gómez-​Hernández,  2018). The intervention process carried out in the context of the Struggle and Resistance of Indigenous Women in Ecuador initiative consisted of the collaborative development of a political agenda with women participating in the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities in Ecuador. Most of the women who took part in the initiative were leaders of community organisations from Costa, Sierra and Ecuadorian Amazonia. Social workers aimed at making the violation of these women’s constitutional rights visible and denouncing the State violence exerted against their bodies, communities and territories. Our exercise of decolonial social work involves indigenous communities and specifically indigenous women, and that implies the recognition of their own epistemologies, methodologies, ways of naming, knowledge, economic models, spiritual belief systems and political standpoints from which they inhabit and construct their territories, giving sense to their existence. Running over these elements becomes a colonial, violent and despicable act. To 168

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recognise their modes of life, their languages, feelings and aims, it is vital to immerse yourself in their struggle, feeling it, listening to it, seeing it, making it your own struggle, recalling the collective being, and supporting, standing by, questioning, learning, deconstructing, celebrating and expressing your gratitude. (Soto-​López, 2018: 401) Such an approach to social work demands, as Maldonado-​Torres (2008) suggests, assuming, first, our personal limitations: prejudices and preconceptions that come from a hegemonic education –​reinforced by culture, mass media, national policy and laws, and so forth –​and decolonial attitudes that enable deconstructing traditional approaches of professional intervention. In this vein, a female social worker interviewed in previous research (Muñoz Arce, 2015b: 274) illustrates: I had to decolonise myself first. I never had education in my training as a social worker that helped me understand that my approach of practice was culturally inappropriate when working with indigenous women […] If I had not had the experience of working with women movements that demand their collective rights, I would be unable to understand this other way to do social work. Social workers’ initiatives of support of indigenous movements and social organisations point to the political role of the profession, in other words, the power relationships underlying and framing social workers’ practices, which is crucial to understanding the role of social work as a profession committed to decolonial praxis. The development of a decolonial praxis implies, as Jaramillo and Carreon (2014) highlight, challenging neoliberal subjectivity through the creation of conceptual frameworks that uphold collective well-​being (as opposed to individual rationality) as the centrepiece to transcending capitalist relations. In contrast with the initiative of Ecuadorian social workers, the experience of Chilean social workers attempting to counteract the hegemonic designs of social intervention is placed in a context where the epistemicide of indigenous knowledge was and still is deep and brutal (Correa and Mella, 2010). The Constitution Act does not recognise indigenous ethnic groups, and states that Chile is a unitary country in cultural terms, which means that philosophical and linguistic differences of ethnic communities are not recognised. What is more, an anti-​terrorist law has been applied in the Araucanía region since 2001 as a measure to control Mapuche communities claiming their lands, which has resulted in criminalisation of the Mapuche movements and organisations. It is in this context that social workers from the Tierra de Esperanza Foundation have started a process of questioning and analysing their role and approach to intervention with Mapuche young people who have committed offences and/​or present a problematic consumption of drugs. The intervention of Tierra de Esperanza is mainly funded by the Chilean state which, in turn, is funded by the World Bank. Until 2009, Tierra de Esperanza implemented its intervention in the Araucanía region following the guidelines provided by the Chilean State, which are underpinned by behaviourist, evidence-​based and social risk approaches. Some social workers noticed the inappropriate nature of these approaches when working with Mapuche young people and started to look for clues to understand the users’ situations from a Mapuche philosophical perspective. These social workers identified the need for culturally relevant professional training, forming the Intercultural Team, a self-​managed and voluntary initiative. A female social worker interviewed in previous research (Muñoz, 2015b: 280) recalls the first motivations to create this initiative: If we work with Mapuche young people we need to know not only about Mapuche culture, what they believe or celebrate. It cannot be reduced to that. We need a comprehension of Mapuche people as historical subjects, to understand Mapuche people demands not only 169

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knowledge of their culture but recognition of their historical struggles against colonial power […] We need to understand that Mapuche people have been oppressed since beginning, as a Nation. When I work with a young person who committed a crime, and he or she is Mapuche, I must understand the suffering, violence and discrimination he or she has experienced, so the criminal offence he or she committed has a different meaning. The Intercultural Team designed training sessions with other professionals interested in developing culturally relevant interventions and included a senior Mapuche social worker and several community leaders (healers and wise women and men from Mapuche communities) to act as advisors of the intervention process. Thanks to their advice, the Intercultural Team was able to produce three strategies aiming to decolonise their practices: first, the development of an assessment instrument based upon the Mapuche philosophy, Meli Folil Kupalme (four roots of my family). This instrument operates as a guideline for professionals who conduct home visits and highlights the role of the ancestors and lineage as a means of strengthening the Mapuche identity. Second, the Intercultural Team designed and implemented a workshop structured in sessions that aimed to reflect on Mapuche philosophy and values, and also to reinforce Mapuche identity on certain values such as respect, joint working, knowledge and honour. From this Mapuche standpoint, criminal offences and consumption of drugs were deconstructed with young people, enabling them to analyse the roots of criminal behaviour in alienation produced by neoliberal precepts. The third strategy consisted of the inclusion of a Machi (Mapuche healer) as a complementary therapist in psychiatric treatments (Galindo, 2010).

Conclusion All these actions and examples that were presented illustrate how it is possible to foster decolonial praxis, such as the last example showing that knowledge is not located in sophisticated education training systems but in kimche –​ wise women and men from indigenous communities. When a kimche is included as an advisor of the professional team, a detachment from the traditional ways of intervention is produced, enabling social workers to contest the power of the colonial matrix (Walsh, 2008; de Sousa Santos, 2010; Mignolo, 2011). Still, on a general level, and in a context such as the Chilean example, where the indigenous population is not fully recognised in cultural and political terms, the development of decolonial initiatives in social work is not an easy task. There is still considerable discrimination against Mapuche people; even more worrying, some research has found that stigmatisation of Mapuche people by social work students is significant in the Araucanía Region (Sanhueza et  al., 2014). However, even in this context, the initiative undertaken by these social workers in Chile shows how decolonial praxis can occur, even when social work operates underpinned by constricted institutions and hegemonic theoretical frameworks. Both Sumak Kawsay and Mapuche philosophies establish collective well-​being as the cornerstone to social transformation. As Jaramillo and Carreón (2014) assert, in recognising the relationship between the economic structure of society and all other forms of human sociability, indigenous epistemologies disrupt conventional theoretical dichotomies (class struggle versus ethnic, gendered, sexual, racial or environmental struggle) and advance a holistic rendering of social life.These approaches can contribute to rethinking social work in contemporary scenarios, supporting more complex views of social phenomena and inspiring the ensemble of knowledges for the development of culturally relevant and creative practices. What is more, these approaches can bring us hope regarding the possibilities of social workers to counteract hegemonic 170

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perspectives to create spaces for dialogue of knowledges and decolonisation of institutions that produce and administrate knowledge (Castro-​Gómez, 2010). This chapter aimed to explore the possibilities that decolonial thought offers to social workers to exert resistance against the neocolonial approach of social policy interventions. The way in which professional imperialism has colonised Latin American social work was discussed, and some strategies that social workers from Ecuador and Chile have developed to counteract such hegemonic approaches were analysed. These initiatives inspired in Sumak Kawsay and Mapuche philosophies illustrate the ways in which social workers can put into practice the values and perspectives of decolonial thought. They show us that although Latin American social work has a colonial inheritance, such an inheritance is not the determining factor. Social workers can exert resistance against the hegemonic discourses of neoliberalism and the neocolonial approaches of supranational organisations and national governments by listening to and learning from the communities, by permitting themselves to be creative and by recognising the partial and limited nature of professional knowledge. This demands of social workers to assume the relevance of constructing a dialogue of knowledges and promoting cognitive diversity in a context where knowledge is dominated by intellectual elites. This also demands dealing with the risk of adopting ethno-​ centred, atomised or ‘caricaturised’ interventions when attempting to decolonise social work practices. In other words, this chapter proposes a non-​essentialist decolonisation of social work that involves the constant examination of purposes and ideals of transformation sought by the profession. The dialogue between academic research, practitioners’ views, and communities and social movements involved in intervention processes is crucial in that sense. This can result in a fruitful ‘dialogue of knowledges’ that enables us to reinforce disciplinary reflection and to develop renewed practices of resistance against neocolonial ways of domination.

Notes 1 Supported by the works of Aníbal Quijano, Edgardo Lander, Agustín Lao-​Montes, Ramón Grosfoguel, Walter Mignolo, Zulma Palermo, Catherine Walsh, Arturo Escobar, Fernando Coronil, Javier Sanjinés, Enrique Dussel, Santiago Castro-​Gómez, María Lugones and Nelson Maldonado-​Torres, among other Latin American intellectuals. 2 See, for example, the works of the Argentinian Hermida and Meschini, 2012; Ecuadorian Álvarez Santana, 2013; Costa Rican Patiño, 2014; Chilean Muñoz, 2015a, 2015b; Colombian Gómez-​Hernández, 2018, among others.

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14 We are beauty and we walk in it Native American women in leadership roles Hilary Weaver

Introduction Historically, Native American women played key roles in leading and sustaining their communities (Noel, 2010; Schmidt, 2012). Although colonisation devalued and undermined women’s leadership, contemporary Native American women are reclaiming key roles. Once again communities are looking to the strengths of Indigenous women to guide positive and lasting transformations. This chapter examines the roles that Native American women traditionally played in their communities and how these were impacted by colonisation, a force that institutionalised previously unknown patriarchal values and structures. The persistence and resurgence of strong roles for Native women are highlighted, including specific examples of Indigenous social workers in leadership roles. The chapter examines how Native American women are transforming their communities and shaping surrounding societies to enhance the well-​being of Indigenous peoples. The chapter concludes with reflections on how decolonisation and reclaiming traditional leadership roles for women can help lead the way forward.

Traditional roles of Native American women: precolonial times through the American revolution Traditionally, Native American women held a variety of powerful roles. Specific roles varied by tribal community (Lajimodiere, 2011). In some instances, women’s power and status were based on their relative control over land, horticultural production, and nomination of chiefs, as well as on their participation in village and tribal decision-​making. Women’s political power was the ability to influence who held office, not the more direct ability to hold office. (Lajimodiere, 2011: 58) While Indigenous accounts describe balanced gender roles where both men and women were valued and held power, the Europeans who recorded settler-​Indigenous interactions filtered

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what they observed and documented their observations through their own frames of reference. ‘Male, European explorers and missionaries were unable, or unwilling, to grasp and acknowledge that many tribal cultures are gynocratic, with the women at the center. As a result, records of women’s tribal roles have been abbreviated’ (Lajimodiere, 2013:  105). While the history of Indigenous women as leaders is largely missing from written records, oral histories reveal women played key roles in counselling Navajo male leaders about which concessions were acceptable and which lands and rights must be retained (Denetdale, 2015). When accurate representations of Indigenous peoples, cultures and roles are omitted or erased from history this perpetuates dominant colonial narratives. This ultimately hurts both Indigenous and non-​ Indigenous people who are primarily exposed to half-​truths and inaccuracies rather than diverse and nuanced realities. It is common for Native American societies to have traditions with women as spiritual figures. These include White Buffalo Calf Woman of the Lakota, Changing Woman of the Navajo, and Sky Woman of the Ojibwe (Lajimodiere, 2013). Healing and the powers associated with it were often the traditional purview of women (Lajimodiere, 2013). Women also played roles in governance and defending their communities (Lajimodiere, 2013; Denetdale, 2015). Women served as chiefs for tribes such as the Shawnee, Cherokee, Winnebago, Natchez, and Gros Ventre. Many Native American nations valued women in a variety of leadership roles beyond the spheres of leadership typically recognised by Europeans. For instance, clan mothers played, and continue to play, key roles in many tribes. Among the Haudenosaunee, a matrilineal and matriarchal confederacy, clan mothers have the power to select and depose chiefs (Noel, 2010). This role continues today, although most non-​Indigenous people are not aware of this. Although recorded history typically contains a Eurocentric bias that minimises the importance of women’s roles, there is documentation of some Native American women in visible leadership roles. For example, Cockacoeske, a Pamunkey woman, was a leader and diplomat who brokered peace with the colonists. As little has been published on Native American women’s roles during this early period of colonisation or within this tribal context, an extensive example is offered here: The particular combination of gender and spirituality that underlay Powhatan leadership offers a very powerful explanation for why it was that only a woman such as Cockacoeske could fill the leadership void created by the chiefdom’s defeat in 1646 … Cockacoeske’s success in bridging the gap between her people and the Virginians … saved her people from annihilation and formed the legal backbone of the present-​day relationship between the Pamunkey and Mattaponi tribes and the Virginia government. (Schmidt, 2012: 289) The Powhatan, like many Native American tribes, had a matrilineal society. In such societies, alliances were formed through the power and status of women. Traditional roles often carried over into interactions with colonists. This Indigenous perspective presents a different lens for examining history. For example, Pocahontas’s supposed rescue of and marriage to an Englishman fits with the Indigenous practice of the time of forming and solidifying alliances through kinship relationships (Schmidt, 2012). Sexual alliances between Indigenous women and colonial men have been typically viewed as evidence of unequal power relations and dominance, but from an Indigenous perspective these may have been part of a diplomatic strategy. For example, Cockacoeske’s relationship with a prominent Virginian and grandson of the former governor,

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constituted a culturally based diplomatic strategy on her part that was aimed to provide her with a kinship connection to a powerful Virginia figure, but one that would not require her to surrender any of her personal autonomy, as Pocahontas had done by marrying Rolfe on Anglo-​Christian  terms. (Schmidt, 2012: 306) At this time, it was within Pamunkey cultural norms for women to engage in sexual relationships outside marriage, often with their husbands’ awareness and consent. Cockacoeske had a son with an American colonel; possibly while her husband was still living. This liaison may have furthered her political and diplomatic goals. After her husband died in battle, Cockacoeske rose to leadership of the Pamunkeys. Subsequently, she became a powerful political figure, both among her own people and the Virginians. Likewise, during the American Revolution, Mohawk clan mother Konwatsi’tsiaenni (aka Molly Brant) was a powerful leader with more influence than the male chiefs. In tribes with clan structures, chiefs and clan mothers often represent extended family networks within a governance council. She wielded influence through a combination of political power within her clan and a strategic marriage (Noel, 2010). In another example, Nanye’hi or Nancy Ward assisted colonists during the American Revolution but also upheld traditional values and roles as a Beloved Woman of the Cherokee (Pesantubbee, 2014). Beloved Woman is a title bestowed by the Cherokee based on leadership skills. Nanye’hi demonstrated leadership in times of both war and peace. As a Beloved Woman she was able to exercise power internally by speaking in council and pardoning condemned prisoners as well as externally through negotiating with foreign governments (Metoyer, 2010; Pesantubbee, 2014). Her spiritual leadership roles were associated with being an elder and Beloved Woman. She demonstrated a strategic ability to adapt in a volatile time as the Americans gained power.

Colonisation and the undermining of Native American women Most Native American societies had balanced, non-​hierarchical roles that were subsequently undermined by US policies such as the Dawes Act of 1887. This policy allocated land to male heads of households based on a presumption of male leadership of nuclear families (Lajimodiere, 2011). Likewise, Canadian policies undermined traditional gender roles in Indigenous societies. Those policies have lasting implications. In place of culturally authentic roles for Indigenous men, which were often (though not uniformly) constituted within matriarchal societies, the colonial government in Canada introduced patriarchal systems of government for Indigenous tribes, inscribing men’s exclusive entitlement to leadership roles in Indigenous community administration and representation. (Ball, 2010: 126) Settler colonialism is a gendered process, both historically and in contemporary times (Arvin, Tuck & Morrill, 2013). Indigenous society’s traditional forms of governance have often been undermined or supplanted by colonial entities. In Canada, the Indian Act banned women from elected leadership roles on their reserves until 1951 and dictated that Indigenous status could only be passed through the male line. Additionally, a Native woman who married a non-​Native man forfeited her Indigenous status (Voyageur, 2011). The Indian Act brought stark changes for Indigenous women in Canada including the loss of much of the status, power, and authority 176

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they possessed prior to colonisation. They no longer held positions of respect and high status in their communities and became chattels of their husbands or fathers under Canadian law (Voyageur, 2011). In the United States, colonial forces deliberately and strategically undermined Native American women’s roles as part of cultural destruction and colonisation processes (Smith, 2005; Amnesty International, 2007; Lee, 2012). Traditional ways of selecting leaders were destroyed by imposition of a tribal council format resulting from the allotment policy and subsequently the Indian Reorganization Act.These policies furthered the decline in the status of Native American women (Lajimodiere, 2013). In spite of the imposition of federal policies, Native American women resisted their marginalisation. Sally Ladiga, a Creek mother and grandmother, owned a cabin and cultivated fields in the 1840s prior to the Treaty of New Echota. When her status as the head of a household was not recognised under US law for the purpose of land distribution, she initiated a legal suit. Her case went through the Alabama court system and eventually to the US Supreme Court. During this time, a white man took over her cabin and fields and she and her family were displaced. She was repeatedly denied head of household status which would have entitled her to a 320-​acre allotment. Eventually, armed troops forced her to emigrate to Arkansas. She never arrived and probably died along the Trail of Tears (Leeds & Gunsaulis, 2012). Undermining Indigenous women’s standing continued in the twentieth century as Native American men and women were socialised into Western gender roles. Many contemporary Navajo people have acculturated to Western patriarchal gender roles, thus creating resistance to women leaders (Lee, 2012). Erosion of complimentary Navajo gender roles is reflected in the creation of structures like the Navajo Business Council in 1922 (Lee, 2012). Patriarchal roles became so pervasive that when a woman ran for President of the Navajo Nation in 2010, many people said women’s leadership was antithetical to their culture. Indeed, the Navajo had not had a woman leader since they adopted a Western style government in 1923. In spite of this, the Medicine Men’s Association noted that traditional cultural teachings always depicted Navajo women in vital roles (Lee, 2012). Adaptation to patriarchal structures and values has had a lasting and insidious impact on families and communities.Violence against women in Native American communities is inextricably linked with genocide and colonisation (Smith, 2005). In some tribal contexts, colonisation has led to an internalisation of patriarchal attitudes that allows violence against women to flourish (Weaver, 2009a). This is a phenomenon that Jaimes-​Guerrero (2003) labels a ‘trickle down patriarchy’.

The persistence of strong roles for Native American women While there is now a visible influx of Native American women in positions of power, it is important to remember that Native women have always held integral roles in their communities, although these were often not visible to outsiders. As one Lakota woman stated, We are the backbone of our family and we are considered sacred and powerful and we are revered by our family as being the light of the Earth and Grandmother Moon.When we die, the light of the Moon, the Stars, and the Earth stops shining.We are beauty and we walk in it. (Roberts et al., 2003: 15) The Conley sisters,Wyandotte women, provide an example of the persistent strength and leadership of Native American women. These sisters fought against the federal government’s decision 177

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to sell tribal land that included a burial ground to local developers in Kansas City. They posted ‘no trespassing’ signs and stood with guns to protect the land. Subsequently, their case went through the municipal court system, the women were jailed, and the case went to the US Supreme Court. Lyda and Helena stood together with the help of other tribal women, including some of their cousins. They absolutely refused to allow their ancestors’ graves to be destroyed and their lands to be relinquished from Wyandotte control –​it was a battle that went on for at least forty years. (Leeds & Gunsaulis, 2012: 308) Theirs is a remarkable story of civil disobedience. They were prepared to wrap themselves in American flags and dare any law enforcement officials who confronted them to shoot. As their activism continued, one sister went to law school and was admitted to the Missouri bar in 1902. She became the first Native American woman to argue before the US Supreme Court, appearing pro se. While she lost the court case, the women have always stood by the cemetery and it is protected to this day.The Conley sisters’ advocacy is often cast in an individualistic light, yet they were the visible faces in a collective struggle (Leeds & Gunsaulis, 2012). Laura Cornelius Kellogg provides another example of a woman demonstrating leadership on behalf of Native American people. Kellogg was an Oneida woman and grounded her activism in strong Haudenosaunee roles that bestow women with political and social power (Stanciu, 2013). Laura Cornelius Kellogg was a founding member of the SAI [Society of American Indians] (serving as the first secretary of the executive committee), an activist, orator, linguist, performer, and reformer of Indian policy, as well as an author of fiction, poetry, speeches, and essays … At a time when women’s rights and citizenship were prominent issues of debate … [she was a] … fervent and acerbic advocate for Native rights, and was often at odds with the Office of Indian Affairs; … she was controversial, exoticized, and misinterpreted in the popular press; … [she] strictly opposed the off reservation boarding school model … [and demonstrated] ambition and determination to change the lives of native people for the better. (Stanciu, 2013: 88) Kellogg became a strong voice for the Oneida and other Haudenosaunee people. She was known for her charismatic speeches but was often portrayed as an ‘Indian princess’ by the media. She fought for economic self-​determination, education, and land recovery. She stepped out of the expected mould of a Native American woman. Her public advocacy came at a large personal cost (Stanciu, 2013). In spite of colonisation, strong roles persisted for Native American women, although often covertly. By the 1960s, more Native American women had become grass-​roots activists or assumed leadership roles in tribal governments and urban communities (Faith et  al., 1990; LaFromboise, Heyle & Ozer, 1990; Kuhlmann, 1992; Prindeville, 2002). For example, the Dann sisters, Shoshone women, became internationally known for their years of resistance to federal control over tribal grazing lands.They modelled non-​violent resistance in the face of armed federal raids and confiscation of livestock (Leeds and Gunsaulis, 2012). There are numerous contemporary examples of Native American women blending traditional values with strength and leadership in their communities. For example, Evelyn Blanchard, 178

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a Native American social worker, testified in support of the Indian Child Welfare Act and ultimately shaped United States federal policy (Weaver and White, 1999). The persistent activism needed to pass this unique legislation on behalf of Native American children, families, and communities provides an example of how Native women like Blanchard have worked to improve the way state child welfare systems interact with Native Americans. After the federal termination policy legally ended the existence of many sovereign tribal nations, Ada Deer, a Menominee social worker, was instrumental in mobilising internal supports and external allies. This led to overturning the termination of the Menominee nation. Deer later served as her nation’s tribal chair, and also served as Assistant Secretary of the Interior, and head of the Bureau of Indian Affairs (Weaver, 2009b). Deer worked to promote good governance internally as the elected leader of her tribe. She also worked on behalf of all Native American people through her appointment to a key leadership position within the US federal government. In Canada, another social worker, Cindy Blackstock, serves as the Executive Director of First Nations Child and Family Caring Society. She continues to lead the fight for First Nations children on reserves to access the same services as other children in Canada (Blackstock, 2014). In striving for good governance, her efforts have pushed the Canadian government to live up to its responsibilities to Indigenous peoples. As in the past, colonial governments continue to undermine Indigenous women in leadership roles. Dr Blackstock has continuously been under surveillance by the Canadian government for her advocacy efforts (Narine, 2011).

A resurgence of political power In spite of resistance, both internally and externally, Native American women have reclaimed roles they held prior to colonisation and continue to advocate for positive change (LaFromboise et al., 1990; Leeds and Gunsaulis, 2012). Native women occupy leadership roles in both tribal governments and urban communities (Faith et al., 1990; LaFromboise et al., 1990; Kuhlmann, 1992), and they serve as both political officials and grass-​roots activists (Prindeville, 2002). In 1951, the Canadian Indian Act was amended so First Nations women could vote and run for political office on their reserves. In 1952, Elsie Marie Knott became the first officially elected female chief. By 1960, there were ten female First Nations chiefs across Canada (Voyageur, 2011). Lajimodiere (2011) conducted a qualitative study of nine Northern Plains Native American women leaders. All were born in the 1930s and 1940s, a time of tremendous pressure for assimilation, and none spoke their Native languages. All went to off-​reservation colleges in the 1970s and attained graduate degrees. Six themes emerged from this research: early poverty, strong survival skills contributing to academic and career success, support networks, the importance of culture and spirituality, experiences with male gender bias/​female sabotaging, and off-​reservation education and career experiences. Voyageur (2011) conducted a similar study examining elected female leadership among Canadian First Nations. She studied 64 chiefs and 105 band councillors elected under the provisions of the Indian Act. Hereditary leaders were not included in the study. Most of these women were well-​educated, from politically active families, and became leaders in the communities where they were born. These women leaders often struggled with bias from First Nations men who have internalised colonial ideas of patriarchal male dominance. Idle No More emerged as a large-​scale, grass-​roots protest movement in 2012, largely led by Aboriginal Canadian women. A teach-​in organised by Sylvia McAdam (Cree), Jessica Gordon (Cree/​Anishinaabe), Nina Wilson (Nakota/​Cree) and Sheelah McLean (non-​Indigenous ally) is typically identified as the place where the phrase ‘Idle No More’ originated as a rallying 179

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cry against federal actions, both past and proposed (Barker, 2015; Weir, 2016). This movement included renewed assertions of sovereignty using online methods to organise and inform about injustices against Indigenous peoples. Social media became a tool to convene direct action: flash mobs leaving crowds of people surprised by Indigenous drummers and dancers at malls or traffic intersections (Barker, 2015). In a parallel movement, Chief Theresa Spence of the Attawapiskat Nation drew significant media attention with her protest and hunger strike. Her intention was to draw attention to how unfulfilled treaties were slowly starving her nation (Weir, 2016). Many reservations experienced long-​standing housing shortages, unsafe drinking water, ongoing environmental degradation and pollution from corporate natural resource extraction, and extreme poverty, yet these concerns drew little to no media attention or public awareness. After several years of bureaucratic and legal frustration, on 11 December 2012, Chief Spence and a small group of supporters set up a tent and fire on an island behind the House of Commons in Ottawa and began a hunger strike. Subsisting on only medicinal tea and fish broth, Spence demanded to speak directly with the Prime Minister. (Barker, 2015: 48) The combined momentum of Chief Spence’s hunger strike and Idle No More’s ongoing protest actions drew considerable attention in Canada and beyond. Social media facilitated sharing information about Indigenous grievances and activism in Canada around the world (Gilio-​Whitaker, 2015). Women stepped forward to lead various protests, demonstrations and occupations, asserting the rights of Indigenous peoples. Indeed, the flash mob round dances that characterised many Idle No More actions have been described as open, inclusive demonstrations of collective love and feminist dancing resistance (Weir, 2016), forms of activism that likely would have manifested quite differently under male leadership. Although these actions have not always resulted in the desired social changes, they demonstrate how Indigenous women have mobilised and mobilised others. Likewise, Indigenous women combined leadership and activism against the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL), generating support and solidarity events across the country. DAPL carries oil underneath Lake Oahe, a major water source next to the Standing Rock Reservation. Originally proposed for construction near Bismark, North Dakota, a city with a primarily non-​ Native population, the pipeline was rerouted to run next to the reservation. In the NoDAPL movement, Indigenous people of all ages and walks of life, along with their allies, came together to protect the water. ‘It helps that this new crop of leaders can speak the language of the dominant culture and work social media like maestros. They know how to bypass the firewall of corporate-​controlled media that is generally blind to their stories’ (Johnson, Mitra & Lafleur-​ Vetter, 2017: 23). Women are central to the leadership of the Indigenous Environmental Network and similar organisations. The Sacred Stone Camp, a base for many of the Water Protectors, was founded by Standing Rock tribal member LaDonna Bravebull Allard (Gistaro, 2016; Underhill, 2017). Honor The Earth, a woman-​led organisation, has also become involved in the pipeline protests (Johnson et  al., 2017). In Western New  York State, much of the support for the NoDAPL movement is funnelled through the Indigenous Women’s Initiatives. Prayerful, peaceful protests are central to this intersectional movement where veterans, environmentalists and many others have followed the lead of Standing Rock tribal members and members of hundreds of tribal nations.

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Moving forward with decolonised gender roles and models of leadership Native American models of leadership may differ significantly from those of the mainstream (Metoyer, 2010). An understanding of Native American conceptualisations of leadership is important in understanding traditional and emerging leadership roles for Native women. Historically, non-​Indigenous people have often depicted Native American leadership in terms of a single, male chief. The term ‘chief ’ has been misunderstood by non-​Indigenous people to mean a single powerful leader. This perspective contains little understanding of the relationship between Indigenous leaders and their communities. Indeed, leadership was and is often grounded in a multifaceted set of shared responsibilities (Metoyer, 2010). Before colonisation, Native Americans had various complex and dynamic ways of cultivating and implementing community leadership. Given the significant difference between European and Indigenous world views, members of settler societies likely did not recognise or appreciate the types of leadership they encountered in Native American societies. They likely interpreted what they saw in ways that aligned with their own beliefs about the hierarchical, patriarchal nature of leadership. Spirituality is the core of traditional Native leadership and finds expression in the concept of leading the community through service. Unlike mainstream concepts of leadership, which stress the characteristics of the individual leader, traditional Native leadership has an individual and a collective form depending on the community’s needs at any given time … Native leadership is tied to the oratory, and fluency in the spoken word is recognised as one way of defining traditional leaders. (Metoyer, 2010: 4). Leadership in Native American communities is based on a collaborative model grounded in a shared sense of responsibility held by tribal leaders and community members (Metoyer, 2010). In particular, leadership styles of Native women can be characterised by an effective ability to bring people together. ‘This leadership style, exemplified by sharing, building, collaborating, and mentoring is in contrast to a leadership style in which the use of power and control is promoted’ (Metoyer, 2010:  4). Today’s Native women leaders apply traditional values to contemporary circumstances in participatory ways to facilitate good governance. This sort of leadership is not structured as a pyramid or hierarchy. Native women typically employ collaborative efforts that emphasise the contributions of others, more so than their own leadership roles. Native American communities continue to face daunting legal and political realities, yet tribal communities exhibit growing optimism as Native women once again assume empowered and prominent roles. As the number of Native women professionals grow, they move into a variety of mainstream positions of power, including holding leadership positions in national professional associations, serving as superdelegates for national elections, political appointees, presidential advisors, and taking on key roles in the federal government. They also serve as judges and attorneys, both within their own tribes and within states and the federal government (Leeds and Gunsaulis, 2012). They continue to be prominent in advocacy efforts such as the movement confronting the Dakota Access Pipeline and other threats to the environment. A similar sense of hope and renewal can be found in Canada.There is visible change in Native communities’ political and social structures as women re-​establish their leadership roles. Once again, Native women reclaim

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the authority, power, and prestige they had before European contact. They no longer have to influence men’s decisions behind closed doors as they did when the Indian Act excluded them from overt participation. Women are now leading out in the open and their decisions are now part of the historical record. (Voyageur, 2011: 82, italics in original) This is a time of both challenges and opportunities. In order to rise to the challenges, we must decolonise. Decolonising involves dismantling patriarchal gender systems as part of asserting sovereignty (Lee, 2012). The health and well-​being of women is inseparable from the health and well-​being of Indigenous nations (Smith, 2005). We must also change the selective, stereotypical and damaging portrayal of Native American women in movies and literature (Lajimodiere, 2013). Stereotypical images promote racism and undermine the aspirations of the next generation of leaders. Even today, Native American women are often portrayed in terms of their relationship to men, either as pure, often tragic figures (such as Indian princesses) or as wanton whores and drudges (squaws). While social scientists are devoting growing attention to Native American women in leadership roles, these analyses still primarily examine domestic spheres. A more balanced perspective of Native American women is needed, including attention to their leadership roles in multiple domains. Decolonisation, unlike colonisation, need not be a zero-​sum game where some people are winners and others are losers.While some fear decolonisation will mean the returning of land to Native Americans and eviction of settlers, it need not be that way. It is striking that a much more inclusive vision of sovereignty is articulated by Native women activists. Sovereignty can be based on freedom for all peoples. If it doesn’t work for one of us, it doesn’t work for any of us. (Smith, 2005: 130) We must recognise [t]‌he unique role that Native American women can play in a community  –​as mother, grandmother, sister, a legal warrior, a gun-​toting revolutionary, and sometimes just as the person who cooks the food, passes out candy, or hugs a child. We can be all of those things and in our communities, all of these roles can be equally valued, equally necessary, never minimized. (Leeds & Gunsaulis, 2012: 316) As we move towards the future, we can draw on examples from the past. The Conley sisters and the allies who stood with them exemplify how persistence, even when faced with the power of the federal government, can ultimately prevail (Leeds & Gunsaulis, 2012). Colonisation has disrupted Indigenous values and traditional systems of leadership, yet these have never fully been eradicated. In recent decades, reclamation efforts have grown. McCarthy (2010) refers to this aspect of reclaiming and decolonising as repatriating our people to their traditions. Native American leaders typically embrace collaborative rather than hierarchical leadership styles (Simms, 2000). Land and survival are primary issues for Native American women activists (Smith, 2005). This is visible in the ongoing efforts to protect the waters from the Dakota Access Pipeline and other pipelines that traverse Indigenous territories. The Lakota phrase, Mni Wiconi has become one of the prominent sayings of this movement reminding us that ‘water is life’. Women form the heart of Indigenous resistance movements and human rights causes (Castle, 2003; Jaimes-​Guerrero, 2003). Among the Lakota, a typical woman is ‘educated, 182

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culturally embedded in Lakota values, less inhibited about sharing her opinions on a topic, and more comfortable with her renewed role as leader and role model in the community’ (Roberts et al., 2003: 19).

Conclusion Indigenous communities have experienced significant losses with colonisation. In spite of many challenges, some communities are undergoing revitalisation and positive transformations. In many Native American societies, women historically played key roles in leading and sustaining their communities. Once again, these communities are looking to the strengths of Indigenous women to transform their communities in positive and lasting ways, as they seek to balance being Indigenous within a global context. This chapter describes the roles that Native American women play in their communities and beyond, including how these roles have been affected by colonisation. The examples presented here illustrate how roles traditionally held by Native American women can be important in cultivating the next generation of Indigenous leaders to transform communities and assert rights to a clean environment, sustainable development, community well-​being, and traditional practices and lands. The collaborative and relational styles typical of Native American women leaders are based on power sharing.These models can be instructive beyond Indigenous contexts.

References Amnesty International (2007). United States of America:  Maze of Injustice:  The Failure to Protect Indigenous Women from Sexual Violence in the USA. www.amnesty.org/​en/​library/​info/​AMR51/​035/​2007. Arvin, M., Tuck, E. & Morril, A. (2013). Decolonizing feminism: Challenging connections between settler colonialism and heteropatriarchy. Project Muse, 25(1), 8–​34. Ball, J. (2010). Indigenous fathers’ involvement in reconstituting ‘Circles of Care’. American Journal of Community Psychology, 45, 124–​138. Barker, A.J. (2015). ‘A direct act of resurgence, a direct act of sovereignty’: Reflections on Idle No More, Indigenous activism, and Canadian settler colonialism. Globalizations, 12(1), 43–​65. Blackstock, C. (2014). Mosquito advocacy: Change promotion strategies for small groups with big ideas. In H.N.Weaver (Ed.), Social Issues in Contemporary Native America: Reflections from Turtle Island (pp. 219–​232). Farnham: Ashgate. Castle, E.A. (2003). ‘Keeping one foot in the community’: Intergenerational Indigenous women’s activism from the local to the global (and back again). American Indian Quarterly, 27(3/​4), 840–​861. Denetdale, J.N. (2015). Historical Trauma. Presentation at Gathering of Good Minds:  Native American Health Summit. Buffalo, NY, 27 March 2015. Faith, K., Gottfriedson, M., Joe, C., Leonard, W. & McIvor, S. (1990). Native women in Canada: A quest for justice. Social Justice, 17(3), 167–​188. Gilio-​Whitaker, D. (2015). Idle No More and fourth world social movements in the new millennium. South Atlantic Quarterly, 114(4), 43–​65. Gistaro, E. (2016). Where water means life. Ms., 26(4), 11. Jaimes-​Guerrero, M.A. (2003). ‘Patriarchal colonialism’ and indigenism:  Implications for Native feminist spirituality and Native Womanism. Hypatia, 18(2), 58–​69. Johnson, R., Mitra, M.N. & Lafleur-​Vetter, S. (2017). Nations rising. Earth Island Journal, 32(4), 18–​26. Kuhlmann, A. (1992). American Indian women of the plains and northern woodlands. Mid-​American Review of Sociology, 16(1), 1–​28. LaFromboise, T.D., Heyle, A.M. & Ozer, E.J. (1990). Changing and diverse roles of women in American Indian cultures. Sex Roles, 22(7/​8), 455–​476. Lajimodiere, D.K. (2011). Ogimah Ikwe: Native women and their path to leadership. Wicazo Sa Review, 26(2),  57–​82. 183

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Lajimodiere, DK. (2013). American Indian females and stereotypes: Warriors, leaders, healers, feminists; Not drudges, princesses, prostitutes. Multicultural Perspectives, 15(2), 104–​109. Lee, L. (2012). Gender, Navajo leadership and ‘retrospective falsification’. AlterNative, 8(3), 277–​289. Leeds, S.L. & Gunsaulis, E.M. (2012). Resistance, resilience, and reconciliation:  Reflections on Native American women and the law. Thomas Jefferson Law Review, 34(2), 303–​324. McCarthy, T. (2010). De ni:s nisa’sgao’de?:  Haudenosaunee clans and the reconstruction of traditional Haudenosaunee identity, citizenship, and nationhood. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 34(2), 81–​101. Metoyer, C.A. (2010). Leadership in American Indian communities. American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 34(4), 1–​12. Narine, S. (2011). Did Canada cross the line with Blackstock? Windspeaker, 29(9), 10. Noel, J. (2010). ‘Fertile with fine talk:’ Ungoverned tongues among Haudenosaunee women and their neighbors. Ethnohistory, 57(2), 201–​223. Pesantubbee, M.E. (2014). Nancy Ward: American patriot or Cherokee nationalist. American Indian Quarterly, 38(2), 177–​206. Prindeville, D. (2002). A comparative study of Native American and Hispanic women in grassroots and electoral politics. Frontiers, 23(1), 67–​89. Roberts, R.L., Harper, R., Caldwell, R. & Decora, M. (2003). Adlerian lifestyle analysis of Lakota women: Implications for counseling. The Journal of Individual Psychology, 59(1), 15–​29. Schmidt, E.A. (2012). Cockacoeske,Weroansqua of the Pamunkeys, and the Indian resistance in seventeenth-​ century Virginia. American Indian Quarterly, 36(3), 288–​317. Simms, M. (2000). Impressions of leadership through a Native woman’s eyes. Urban Education, 35(5), 637–​644. Smith, A. (2005). Native American feminism, sovereignty, and social change. Feminist Studies, 31(1), 116–​132. Stanciu, C. (2013). An Indian woman of many hats:  Laura Cornelius Kellogg’s embattled search for an Indigenous voice. The American Indian Quarterly, 37(3), 87–​115. Underhill, V. (2017). Three things leaders at Standing Rock want you to know. Bitch Magazine: Feminist Response to Pop Culture, 73, 4. Voyageur, C. (2011). Out in the open:  Elected female leadership in Canada’s First Nations community. Canadian Review of Sociology, 48(1), 67–​85. Weaver, H.N. (2009a). The colonial context of violence:  Reflections on violence in the lives of Native American women. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 24(9), 1552–​1563. Weaver, H.N. (2009b).Ada Deer: From a one room cabin to the highest levels of government. In A. Lieberman (Ed.), Women in Social Work Who Have Changed the World (pp. 53–​70). Chicago, IL: Lyceum Books. Weaver, H.N. & White, B.J. (1999). Protecting the future of indigenous children and nations: An examination of the Indian Child Welfare Act. Journal of Health and Social Policy, 10(4), 35–​50. Weir, A. (2016). Collective love as public freedom: Dancing resistance, Ehrenreich, Arendt, Kristeva, and Idle No More. Hypatia: A Journal of Feminist Philosophy, 32(1), 19–​34.

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15 Liberation from mental colonisation A case study of the Indigenous people of Palestine Mazin B. Qumsiyeh and Amani Amro

Introduction The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed. Steve Biko Free your mind and your ass will follow. Saying from the 1950s Civil Rights Movement Fanon argues in his book The Wretched of the Earth that during the period of colonisation, subtle and constant mental pathology develops within the colonial psyche and attempts to infect the colonised (Fanon, 1968). Colonisers want to build a new culture that excludes the natives and their associated ancient cultures while, at the same time, natives want to maintain what they have or rebuild a life that was destroyed by colonisers (Morris et al., 2015).The task of mental colonisation begins with the language, which shapes the minds of the colonisers and the colonised.Tsuda (2013) called this ‘colonisation of the consciousness’. This is a common colonial technique to avoid psychological or physical assimilation, and leads to almost psychological dissonance (Stoler, 2010). Our task is monumental both during and after colonisation and it is no less than what is described as ‘decolonising the mind’ (wa Thiong’o, 1992, 1998). Stoler (2010) and Sternhell (1997) show that colonisers have always been obsessed with gathering information, shaping ideas, and in general having ‘control’ of the natives in such a way as to assert the colonisers’ hegemony and notions of superiority. Colonial mental occupation is defined as the perception of ethnic and cultural inferiority and is a form of internalised racial oppression (Dascal, 2009; Decena, 2014). It is what explains black children preferring to play with white dolls during the era of the Jim Crow laws (Clark and Clark, 1950; see also Gopaul-​McNicol, 1988). It is also why we find Palestinians working in Israeli markets as indentured labour (Farsakh, 2002) and those saying Israeli products and systems are better than anything they could come up with: it is a form of internalising defeat (Ganim, 2001).

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Post colonisation, there is always a psychologically traumatic relationship between the colonised and colonisers that results in ‘deeply affecting their views of the world, of the other peoples, and of themselves’ (Licata, 2012: 159), causing significant damage (Tunteng, 1974). In Africa, for example, even after colonisation ended, the residual effects remained as ‘euphoria and rising expectation soon gave way to disappointment and despair because colonialism left behind enduring legacies –​including not only political and economic, but also cultural, intellectual, and social legacies –​that keep alive European domination’ (Bulhan, 2015: 240). All these variables are now well understood in other colonial contexts. However, Palestine is in the grip of the last long-​term unresolved colonial struggle and yet little work has been done on issues of mental colonisation. This is partly because Palestine is omitted from most of the scholarship of postcolonial literature (Said, 1985, 1989, 2012a; Mignolo, 1993; Loshitzky, 2013). In this assay, we cannot address many of the aspects of mental colonisation due to a lack of space, so we will focus on issues of resistance to mental colonisation and project the future of postcolonial social transformations. We will explore the tactics, strategies and interactions of these colonisers as well as the variety of reactions of the colonised natives.

The context of Palestine Palestine is in a strategic position, connecting the continents of Africa and Eurasia, and thus provided the route of human expansion out of Africa. It is also part of the Fertile Crescent where humans first developed agriculture and had first settled into city-​states. Various invaders came and went in Palestine but there has been large-​scale ethnic cleansing by colonisers only in the twentieth century (the myths of the ‘Bible’ notwithstanding). This process was needed to create a Jewish state (see Pappe, 2006). However, while 7.5 million Palestinians are refugees or displaced, over 6  million remain in historical Palestine. To continue to subjugate those Palestinians, a meticulous programme of mental occupation was structured which would ensure long-​term hegemony over the remaining Palestinians who are increasingly isolated in shrinking ghettos (Said, 2012b). Alongside this was a unique attempt to create mythological histories and connections that allowed the colonisers to view themselves to be somehow different from other colonisers (Kimmerling, 2001; Sand, 2009, 2012). A unique situation has thus developed in the past two decades which is characterised by: 1) Palestinian bureaucrats running (almost) self-​ruled areas but whose primary function is to secure the status quo of occupation (Said, 1995) 2) a world community which is forced to believe in endless ‘bilateral negotiations’ between the colonised and the colonisers and being wedded to a mythical ‘solution’ of ‘two states’ (see Qumsiyeh, 2004) 3) further theft of land and natural resources from the natives 4) entrenchment of notions of Jewish-​Israeli supremacy, with Israeli impunity (from international law) paralleled by internalisation of defeat and helplessness among many Palestinians. After significant but incomplete ethnic cleansing (Masalha, 1992; Pappe, 2006), the situation today is sobering. About 7.5  million of the 13  million Palestinians are refugees or displaced people. Today, in historic (Mandatory) Palestine there are 12.4 million people, 51 per cent who are the remaining Palestinians (Christian and Muslim) and 49 per cent who are Jewish Israelis. The latter population (mostly immigrants) uses 91.7 per cent of the land, leaving the former with only 8.3 per cent of the land.Yet, such a situation cannot be sustainable as it offers no resolution to a colonial situation. Colonial situations end in one of three possible scenarios: 186

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(1) the Algerian model where colonisers and their descendants leave (2) the Australian model of genocide of the natives (3) the coexistence model that is found in most other countries (Latin America, Central America, Canada, Southeast Asia, South Africa, etc.). Our task, while pushing for Scenario 3, is truth telling and resistance to physical as well as mental colonisation. In particular, we must understand the spectrum of myth and propaganda and power structures which surround us to ensure we do not lose faith in a better future and succumb to the attempts to force us to accept an inferior status (Ganim, 2001; Dabbagh, 2005; Abdelnour, 2010; Meari, 2015). But this also entails liberating Israelis from the mental occupation of being colonisers who are conditioned to believe in mythology, including mythologies of superiority and invented histories that justify repression of the native Palestinians (Weizman, 2007; Peled-​Elhanan, 2008, 2012; Sand, 2009, 2012; Ra’ad, 2010; Whitelam, 2013; Halper, 2016). While over 100 countries have lived through colonisation and moved to a postcolonial period, Palestine remains the exception. Part of the problem is also that postcolonial studies subsequently ignored Palestine, and this is detrimental to the field (Moore-​Gilbert, 2018). Since the first Zionist colony was established in 1880 via the Jewish Colonization Association, the conflict has remained a major issue, not just locally in Western Asia but also globally, because the Zionist project relied heavily on Western support.Yet intellectual inquiry into this was dominated by the Zionists themselves and few natives have ventured into researching this conflict’s issue of mental colonisation (Said, 2012c). Many works have shown that Palestinians are just as resilient as South Africans have been under colonial apartheid or as any other people (Andoni, 2001; King, 2007; Qumsiyeh, 2011, 2017b). The South African situation might be interesting as it is still undergoing a process of decolonising to this day (Ramantswana, 2016). Palestine faces significantly bigger challenges than South Africa including a world-​wide Zionist lobby, huge financial resources available to colonisers and the length of time that colonialism persists. It is worth reflecting briefly on the history of resistance but from the angle of mental resistance.

Colonisation before 1948 The Zionist movement tried to cooperate with the Ottoman Empire in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century but failed to succeed. It had to wait for the arrangements of Sykes-​Picot in 1916 and the promises of Balfour (UK) and Cambon (France) in 1917 and their implementation beginning in 1921 at the San Remo conference and the consecration of the British Mandate in Palestine (Qumsiyeh, 2004). A key effort to change educational systems and create apartheid laws ensued right after the British occupiers appointed Herbert Samuel as the first British High Commissioner of Palestine. Just before that he was representative of the World Zionist Organization (WZO) at the 1919 Paris Conference. Moreover, he is the one who segregated public schools and empowered the local Zionist communities to take over the natural resources of the country including the minerals of the Dead Sea. From 1921 to 1948, the British worked both with the WZO and collaborative quisling Arab governments to execute the Balfour Declaration which precipitated three uprisings in those years (1921, 1929, and 1936; see Qumsiyeh, 2011). Between 1917 and the end of the 1936 to 1939 Great Revolt, the British government had instituted programmes of ‘surrogate colonisation’ by cooperation with the WZO and the Jordanian monarch (Atran, 1989). The British policy of developing a surrogate population but 187

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delaying sovereignty was well articulated by Winston Churchill in 1921: ‘Step by step we shall develop representative institutions leading up to full self-​government … [but] our children’s children will have passed away before that is accomplished’ (Klieman, 1970: 272). The British policies in this period were summarised by Atran (1989: 737): To preserve bureaucratically the peasant’s agrarian regime required altering it just enough to make it susceptible to administrative and fiscal control. The change wrought was enormous. By imposing land settlement, the British encouraged fragmentation and dispossession of landholdings as well as social dislocation and disaffection. Increasingly, this ‘residual peasantry’ would be compelled to work in towns yet continue to live in villages because they could not afford to live in towns. Before the British occupation from 1918 to 1948, Palestinian resistance succeeded with the Ottoman Empire to change its discourse on Zionism. However, we had limited success with the British occupation despite three uprisings (1921, 1929 and 1936) (Qumsiyeh, 2011). Part of it can be attributed to psychological demoralisation due to Arab leadership collusion with Zionism that dates back to Weisman-​Faisal and extends to the Abdullah-​Meir agreements (see Shlaim, 1988). Much more psycho-​social work needs to be done on that period to determine to what extent mental occupation and internalisation of notions of power-​politics was important in reducing physical resistance.

Colonisation after 1948 Israel evolved after 1948 because the Nakba and ethnic cleansing resulted in the destruction of 530 Palestinian villages and towns. Only 150 000 Palestinians remained against all odds and they now number some 1.6 million that the Israeli system likes to refer to as ‘Israeli Arabs’ (Qumsiyeh, 2004). The way Israel dealt with the artificially created remaining ‘minority’ was to marginalise them and create laws that discriminate against them in every sphere of life. The Zionist society continues to treat them as ‘the other’, which is related to what is called ‘frontier society’ in colonial structures (Peled & Shafir, 1996).The notion that Israel is the state of the ‘Jewish people’ and Jewish people are the only ones entitled to self-​determination in the state of Israel, is effectively enshrined in the latest Knesset law. Racism in Israel exists in institutional policies, personal attitudes, the media, education, immigration rights, housing, social life and legal policies. Some elements within the Ashkenazi Israeli Jewish population have also been described as holding discriminatory attitudes towards fellow Jews of other backgrounds, including against Ethiopian Jews, Indian Jews, Mizrahi Jews and Sephardi Jews. Pressures on the remaining Palestinians were a form of internal colonisation (Zureik, 1979) and gave little space for self-​expression, although there were amazing stories of hope and empowerment among that community (Qumsiyeh, 2011). The educational system implemented in Israel ensures erasure and distortions of Palestinian history and even geography (Ben-​Ze’ev, 2015). Israeli schoolbooks teach the children to think of ‘Jews’ as superior to ‘Arabs’ and dehumanise the native Palestinians in many ways (Peled-​ Elhanan, 2008, 2012). Palestinians sometimes use terms and expressions that indicate the mental effect of the occupier, such as when they say that ‘Israelis deserve the land more than us because they are keeping the place cleaner, more modern and developed’. Palestinians start using words in Hebrew language, such as Ramzon and Mahsoom and use expressions like ‘the Israeli Arabs’ or ‘48 Arabs’ to indicate the Palestinians who still live inside the Green Line as if Palestine did not exist. 188

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Palestinians who remained in the areas occupied in 1948 as well as Palestinians of the areas occupied in 1967 had to rely on themselves in the face of global and Arab complicity. Grass r​ oots community organisations like women unions, trade unions and resistance committees evolved soon after the shock of the Nakba. These organisations provided the needed social and psychological support for the victims of Israeli colonial oppression (Hiltermann, 1991; Qumsiyeh, 2011). In particular, we note with pride how organised grass-​roots women’s movements were important in maintaining social cohesion and social resilience during the difficult uprising years from 1987 to 1991 (Sosebee, 1990). When the Palestinian cause seemed to have faded from the Arab and global agenda by 1986/​ 1987, Palestinian civil society put it squarely back on the agenda via a largely unarmed uprising that began in October 1987. This was not the first intifada, but there were a dozen others that preceded it (Qumsiyeh, 2011). However, somehow this one felt different and for the masses that joined, it was looked at as perhaps the last shake-​up that would shed, once and for all, colonial rule. For the purpose of our discussion, it also provided a good example of success in challenging mental colonisation. The organisations, groups and associations created during 1967 and 1987 were now mobilised and the whole society was buzzing with activities. These included programmes ranging from self-​sufficiency to direct action, for example, civil disobedience. (For a good summary of civil society work in this period, see King, 2007).The cost to Israel in terms of international support and the impact on Israel’s economy was high (e.g. Rosen, 1991). Israel was only saved via its lobbies which pushed new wars in the Middle East that served as a distraction from its own problems (Mearsheimer & Walt, 2006). The conflict with Iraq was manufactured when Saddam Hussein fell into the trap set for him in Kuwait. Immediately after, it was clear that no face-​saving outcome was possible, and the US pushed for war followed by sanctions that devastated Iraq and, as a side benefit to Israel, drew much of the media attention away from the Israeli repression of the uprising. In 1991 and 1992, the US government, with the support of the international community, convened the Madrid ‘peace’ meetings that almost succeeded in harvesting the full fruits of the uprising. But Israel moved to secret negotiations with a marginalised Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) that was content to harvest very few ‘low’ fruits and in return gave Israel many (for a discussion see Said, 1995). Few Palestinians in the occupied territories bothered to read the agreements (Declaration of Principles, Oslo I, and especially Oslo II). Instead, many were willing to give Arafat and those around him the benefit of the doubt.The dreams of a ‘two-​state solution’, a propaganda ploy started by Ben Gurion in the 1920s, would soon evaporate as the Israeli plan was clearly visible (Qumsiyeh, 2011). Under the Palestinian Authority post-​Oslo 1993, many grass-​roots organisations dissolved and were replaced by an era of non-​governmental organisations (NGOs) and proliferation of bureaucratic ‘governmental’ systems. When the uprising of 2000 happened, the young activists were basically orphaned and had no web of support from grass-​roots organisations, as was the case in the intifada of 1987 to 1991 (Makkawi, 2009). The Oslo era also saw a proliferation of what can be described as a ‘diagnosis-​centric’ approach to gathering data on the effect of occupation; yet many of these studies suffer from bias and a disconnection between scholarship and practice (see Haj- Yahia 2007; Makkawi, 2009). Since 1993, the Oslo period returned us to a worse mental colonisation than before 1967 but this is not to say that lessons were not learnt (see Qumsiyeh, 2017a, 2017b). Today, most Palestinians still remember with longing and with admiration the 1987 to 1991 Generation of the Stones, a generation that defied and succeeded to challenge not only physical occupation but mental occupation. Many aspire to recreate such conditions to reproduce this unique experiment in Palestinian resistance (Andoni, 2001; King, 2007; Qumsiyeh, 2011). A big impediment to that is mental colonisation, especially after the Oslo process. 189

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Our major problem in doing this was the contribution of the Oslo process. As Meari articulated (2015: 77): The object of the Oslo Accords has been the transformation of colonial relations of antagonism while preserving colonial conditions of domination. The Oslo Accords intended to be a framework for future ‘coexistence’ between Palestinians and Israelis amidst the continuation and intensification of colonial domination and dispossession. This dealt a devastating blow to the culture of resistance (sumud). Security coordination with Israel (Weizman, 2007; Umbreti, 2016), cronyism and corruption (Abdelnour, 2010; Nakhleh, 2012), and the division between Hamas and Fatah (Qumsiyeh 2011) further debilitated efforts, including popular resistance (Qumsiyeh, 2015) and the nascent Boycott, Divestments, and Sanctions (BDS) movement (Qumsiyeh, 2017a).

How to get over mental colonisation The Palestinian encounter with Zionism was one in which the natives faced well-​organised colonisation with significant extraterritorial support from the World Zionist Organization and other powers. The local Palestinians were largely peasants who knew little of the machinations of power. The few intellectuals who tried to educate fellow citizens or directly challenge colonisation faced incredible odds (see Qumsiyeh, 2011, 2015). The range of atrocities committed against the Palestinians encompassed massacres, ethnic cleansing, home demolitions, restrictions of movement, economic deprivation and much more. Dealing with such atrocities is not easy and the society struggled with mechanisms of coping. The incidence of suicide was high (Dabbagh, 2005). This is directly related to the effect of colonisation (mental and physical).Yet many continue to resist; we saw amazing bravery, as, for example, in the recent Great March of Return beginning on 30 March 2018 when tens of thousands of Gaza Palestinians tried to go to the border and were met with live ammunition that killed 140 peaceful demonstrators and injured thousands. Many Palestinians view resistance in many ways as sumud (persistence and resilience) and in the context of the genocidal effort to remove us from our lands via ethnic cleansing, merely staying and reproducing becomes a form of resistance which helps physically and mentally (Kanaaneh, 2002). In response to colonialism, group identities evolve, and stronger nationalism ensues (Khalidi, 1997). But hegemonic power is also associated with a kind of violence that scars the soul and psyche of the colonised in ways that entrench power (see Avelar, 2004). In the case of Palestine, how quickly freedom will come is directly related to how quickly we dismantle not only the physical matrix of control (Halper, 2016) but the mental matrix of control. Colonisation affects social structuring, both in negative and positive ways. For example, in the patriarchal societies of the Bedouins in the Negev, one finds norms of society that both challenge and are challenged by resistance to colonialism (Rabia, 2011). Koensler (2015) noted that some Bedouins told him that more Jews care about home demolitions than Arabs. His explanation is centred on methodologies and anthropological social structuring instead of thinking about phenomena such as defeatism and mental colonisation, which are part and parcel of structured colonial programmes. We find this perspective of colonisers who instil defeatism and destroy social connectedness in natives and then observe this happening and blame the natives for being socially weak and without good leadership. In his work on orientalism, Said (1978) notes that the persistent use of dehumanising language can be internalised in both the coloniser and colonised societies. 190

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Oren, Bar-​Tal and David (2004) argued that a prolonged conflict  –​perhaps wishfully calling it ‘intractable’ –​can create an ethos and social constructs among both the colonised and colonisers that can actually contribute to extending the duration of the conflict. While we agree that in some cases colonisers succeed in prolonging the conflict, there are many elements that affect the length of colonial enterprises including actions like international involvement (e.g. with a global campaign of boycotts, divestment, and sanctions being important in the case of South Africa). Thinking of effective strategies to challenging mental occupation/​colonisation thus becomes an important factor, not only in determining the outcome of colonisation but also in the speed of decolonisation. Belizaire (2008) argues that the way for colonised peoples to transcend mental colonisation is to stop blaming all problems on the colonisers and to take responsibility for mental self-​liberation. That is precisely what late nineteenth and early twentieth century Palestinian intellectuals asserted –​people like Yusef Diaddin Al-​Khalidi, Najib Azouri, Ruhi Al-​Khalidi and Awni Abdelhadi (Qumsiyeh, 2011). The value of this mental liberation and the power of speech are so strong that such freedoms of expression were suppressed from the beginning. For example, under Zionist pressure the newspaper Filastin (founded in Jaffa in 1911 by Issa Alaisa) was closed on numerous occasions, including in January 1914, following a series of articles warning of the dangers of Zionism (Qumsiyeh, 2011: 45). According to Hirsh and Kang (2016), the conflicted personality that can be produced by colonialism can cause significant psychological stress. They posited that there are strategies to deal with this: (1) Suppress the conflicted non-​dominant identity and information; however, this can also cause a decrease in self-​esteem and is particularly problematic in situations of lack of social support. (2) Enhance a dominant identity, which is usually associated with stronger personalities. (3) Avoid and deny conflicted ideas present in one’s own mind, which can work to some extent, but the conflict arises frequently in situations, which bring one’s own dominant feature and important identity (e.g. being Palestinian) into contact with the non-​dominant idea (e.g. mental colonisation). (4) Modify or reinterpret the norms so that they are compatible with one another. (Adapted from Hirsh & Kang, 2016) In our opinion, the most important aspect is not these four diagnostic areas but the therapeutic aspects of mental colonisation. In other words, what are the mechanisms for ‘decolonising the mind’, as discussed by wa Thiong’o (1992, 1998)? Much more work is needed in this regard beyond what is discussed below. But this also requires dealing with variables in different colonial settings. In South Africa and Palestine, attempts by the colonisers to place people in areas like bantustans and ‘people warehouses’, and ensuring that there is a compliant authority for ‘autonomy’ that is significantly short of sovereignty, was an important tactic. The creation of a ‘Palestinian Authority’ acts to help the Israeli occupation and suppress resistance (Qumsiyeh, 2017a, 2017b). It is one thing to go on a demonstration and face colonisers and it is quite another to face fellow countrymen in arms, clubbing demonstrators. Transcending the psychological injury caused by such a system is difficult, but it is doable. We believe that it is possible to challenge both the occupiers and any other people who help the occupiers. Another strategy used by colonisers is ‘divide and conquer’ (in the case of Palestine pitting Palestinians against each other). Hence, Palestinian unity is becoming a significant issue in the fight against mental colonisation. We do try to reframe the language used during colonisation 191

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(Halper, 2016) here in Palestine, including notions that this is an Arab–​Jewish conflict or that the issue is somehow related to the main religion of the natives (Islam). In July 2005, more than 170 Palestinian civil society organisations issued a historic document. It articulated Israel’s persistent violations of international and humanitarian laws and conventions and called upon ‘international civil society organisations and people of conscience all over the world to impose broad boycotts and implement divestment initiatives against Israel similar to those applied to South Africa in the apartheid era’ (see bdsmovement.net). This was a significant and positive sign of Palestinian unity and defiance of mental occupation. In Palestine, there is a need to address mental health issues under current colonisation practices (Rabaia et al., 2010).This becomes a form of therapy from mental colonisation. But even after the end of colonisation, indigenous people face many mental health challenges (Lavallee & Poole, 2010). People try to understand and give significance to diverse social phenomena, including their own past, present and future, in a post-​colonisation era that may sometimes be traumatic. Yet, humans are highly adaptable and can move past their trauma in a post-​colonising world (Ashcroft, 2013). Bobowik,Valentim and Licata (2017) argue that colonial historical experiences, post colonialism, share these five characteristics: (1) they shape social identities (both of formerly colonising, and of formerly colonised, nations) (2) they foster social change for the groups involved (3) they are emotion-​laden because they evoke, for instance, group-​based guilt and shame among the formerly colonising peoples, and group-​based anger but also feelings of shame and inferiority among the formerly colonised (4) they are transmitted, for instance, through anniversaries and other historical notations (5) their collective remembrance would still serve needs and goals of social groups. The process of ‘decolonisation’ should not place emphasis on colonisation as the central point of our culture, let  alone life, nor should it romanticise our indigenous past. A  person with a decolonised mind accepts their past, loves their present and creates their future, regardless of what stands in their way (wa Thiong’o, 1992, 1998).

Looking forward We reject the notion that this is an ‘intractable’ interethnic conflict as portrayed by Zionist intellectuals (see e.g. Kriesberg, 1998; Salomon & Nevo, 2001; Coleman, 2003; Oren et al., 2004). In the same way, white elites in South Africa described their struggle as intractable interethnic conflict (Smith, 1979; Rothchild, 1986). History says otherwise because all settler colonial systems are resolved or stabilised, be it with an Algerian scenario, a US/​Australian scenario (genocide) or a rest of the world scenario (integration into one country). We draw inspiration from the end of formal apartheid in South Africa (though economic apartheid remains) and from the integration of Spanish and Portuguese colonisers in the fabric of South American societies after colonisation ended. One of the essential components of resistance is to free our minds from the different poisonous ideas that are being spread around us; we need to know our rights and our values to be able to defend and gain them (Leone, 2018). The other important part is to understand the coloniser’s mind and be aware that we are not only occupied physically but also mentally, which helps the occupier achieve and maintain the physical occupation. We are interested in the ways oppressed people deal with their oppression and challenge a hegemonic power that tries to subjugate them (see, for example, Freire, 1970). Meari (2015) 192

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argues that one can look at this as two separate discourses: (1) trauma and human rights –​this discourse disempowers people and encourages them to highlight the victimhood aspect of their experiences; and (2)  the sumud model (for resilience/​resistance) which emphasises individual proactive agency of positive change. We would argue that it is possible to recognise and deal with the trauma of injustice precisely by being proactively engaged in resistance. Furthermore, we must not underestimate the value of intellectuals who must be involved in framing history, culture and politics in ways that challenge physical and mental occupation (Yacoubi, 2005). In this chapter, we did not discuss the psychological ramifications of the neocolonial models of control of economy and politics and its derivative forms masqueraded under the guise of globalisation (Bulhan, 2015). Bulhan (2015) argues that we need a psychological field that is itself free from colonial structures; one that promotes collective well-​being, promotes human needs, empowers (beyond mere adjustment) and moves us from passive victims to self-​determining actors. We also did not delve deeper into how the colonisers themselves are ‘mentally colonised’, a subject much debated since the interesting Stanford Prison experiment (Montuori, 2013).This chapter does highlight the value of further detailed studies. There is much to be learnt from the Latin American models of social/​community psychology, while avoiding the reductionist and individualistic approach of US psychologists (Makkawi, 2009). Essentially, this approach recognises that the root of the problem lies in oppression, that we must challenge oppression, and move on to build better lives free from this mental occupation (Hernandez, 2002). Much needs to be done to build local democracy during colonisation and to not put it off until a postcolonial era. Democracy helps create participation and this in itself is resistance to mental colonisation (see also Williamson et al., 2003).

Acknowledgements We thank Aeve Ribbons and Sherin Idais for their feedback and for editing the manuscript.

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16 Border thinking and social work –​is it possible? A decolonial perspective of a case example Jacques Zannou and Anna Pfaffenstaller

Border thinking and social work: a theoretical approach Meaning and fundamentals of Mignolo’s border thinking Our purpose in this chapter is to outline the core concept of a decolonial theory: border thinking. It is based on the concept of ‘borderlands’ by Gloria Anzaldúa (1999), on which she elaborates in her book Borderlands/​La Frontera: The New Mestiza. It has been further developed by Mignolo (2000) and Mignolo and Tlostanova (2006). According to Mignolo, the understanding of the concept of border thinking is based on the definition of the term ‘border’. He distinguishes between external and internal borders (Mignolo, 2000:  7). The former refers to the border outside the coloniality/​modernity, where the perspectives of the subaltern have been taken into account and brought into focus. The latter examines the borders from the perspectives of coloniality/​modernity, that is, the Eurocentric perspectives. Therefore, borders can be understood as an epistemic difference and a geographical distance. Mignolo uses the terms ‘border gnosis’, ‘gnoseology’ and ‘border thinking’ interchangeably (Mignolo, 2000: 12). Border gnosis as knowledge from a subaltern perspective is knowledge conceived from the exterior borders of the modern/​colonial world system, and border gnoseology as a discourse about colonial knowledge is conceived at the conflictive intersection of the knowledge produced from the perspective of modern colonialism (rhetoric, philosophy, science) and knowledge produced from the perspective of colonial modernities in Asia, Africa, and the Americas/​Caribbean. Border gnoseology is a critical reflection on knowledge production from both the interior borders of the modern/​colonial world system (imperial conflicts, hegemonic languages, directionality of translations, etc.) and its exterior borders (imperial conflicts with cultures being colonized, as well as the subsequent stages of independence or decolonization). (Mignolo, 2000: 11) Mignolo underlines that border thinking is ‘a discourse about colonial knowledge’ (Mignolo, 2000: 11). This means that a communicative analysis of prevailing colonial knowledge, in which

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at least two people are involved with the aim of producing new knowledge, can conciliate the ‘conflictive’ meeting of two perspectives:  the one constructed to dominate the other. These degrading perspectives are those of the subaltern, who thinks and lives more or less reluctantly in the ‘knowledge of colonial/​modern system’. If these subaltern perspectives have survived despite the power of modernity/​coloniality, they should be taken seriously. When this critical reflection of border thinking is taking place between or in the situation of meeting of both borders, border thinking enables a new epistemology that will be more integrating and global. Moreover, border thinking is epistemic and academic thinking. It is drafted in the powerful colonial languages and has been brought to the forefront mainly in the universities of the Western world. Mignolo writes: ‘when we, the anthropoi,1 write in modern, Western imperial languages …, we write with our bodies on the border’ (Mignolo, 2013: 136).Therefore, we argue that the active use of border thinking by the subalterns, particularly in their mother tongues, is a promising approach. Unfortunately, there are anthropoi, speaking non-​European languages as their mother tongue, who write about border thinking or decolonial thinking in colonial languages (French, English, Spanish and German). However, it seems to us that Mignolo himself plays down this importance of using mother tongues of subalterns regarding border thinking. It is true that a thinker in border thinking (an anthropos) needs ‘to think within the borders they were inhabiting –​not borders of nation-​states, but borders of the modern/​colonial world, epistemic and ontological borders’ (Mignolo, 2013: 136f.). But the (inter)national policies have to upvalue each language of the earth. As self-​criticism, one of the authors of this article is a non-​European and he does his intellectual activities in colonial languages. Why must he and others write in these languages? One reason is surely colonial/​postcolonial wheeling and dealing like the Commonwealth and the Francophonie. But this can be changed if we are aware of the following from Mignolo: So once you realize that your inferiority is a fiction created to dominate you, and you do not want to either assimilate or accept in resignation the bad luck of having been born equal to all human beings, but having lost your equality shortly after being born, because of the place you were born, then you delink. Delinking means that you do not accept the options that are available to you. (Mignolo, 2013: 135)

Link between border thinking and social work The new global definition of social work by the International Federation of Social Workers (2014) says ‘that social work is informed not only by specific practice environments and Western theories, but also by indigenous knowledge’. Studying social work often means a socialisation of students at modern mainstream universities by Western experts involving Western norms, values and ways of thinking (Gray, Coate,Yellow Bird, Hetherington, 2016: 8). Social workers are faced with many challenges in their daily work and they act in situations which require comprehensive knowledge, such as decolonial and intercultural knowledge. Simultaneously, they have to meet the local legal, political and psychosocial requirements on the basis of a professional education. Border thinking is a useful method to overcome the scientific colonialism and hegemony in social work approaches, and an important resource for critical reflective thinking and acting in social work. Border thinking in social work means listening objectively to clients and their concerns and not classifying them from the dominant perspective based on learnt categories and existing 198

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dominant Eurocentric systems (internal borders). Just the use of the terms ‘indigenous’ and ‘client’ for the definition of social work is enough to apply border thinking, since the purpose of border thinking is to produce ‘a redefinition/​subsumption of citizenship, democracy, human rights, humanity, economic relations beyond the narrow definitions imposed by European modernity’ (Grosfoguel, 2009: 26). The use of ‘indigenous’ versus ‘European’ knowledge already points to an asymmetric classification. The use of ‘client’ in social work establishes a hierarchic link between those who need help and the others who give help. But for the time being we use both of these terms to conform with the conventional definition of social work and also to have scope to apply the border thinking of Mignolo. However, it would be impossible to get rid of these Westernised terms because the whole world is Westernised. We just have to ‘think and argue from the exteriority of modern Westernization itself. Exteriority is not an outside of capitalism and of Western civilization, but the outside created in the processes of creating the inside’ (Mignolo, 2013: 146). We argue that this is particularly important in the context of social work. The Euro-​American way of thinking and life are today worldwide an absolute must for non-​Western societies. Closely connected to border thinking is delinking and epistemic disobedience, which are the necessary conditions for thinking decolonially. Mignolo writes:  ‘There is no other way of knowing, doing and being decolonially than simultaneously engaging in border thinking, delinking and epistemic disobedience’ (Mignolo, 2013: 141). Epistemic disobedience deconstructs the idea of a universal rationality by restitution and valorisation of local knowledge and possible actions. He defies epistemic hegemonic structures and constructs new knowledge. For epistemic disobedience, a comprehensive critique of forms of identity and subjectivity is required (Waibel, 2014: 101–​102.). And if we have understood practicable epistemic disobedience in this way, it means we have to share one of the central thoughts of Mignolo. He stipulates that ‘one thinks from where one is’.2 With that Mignolo calls on people to consider historical and current forms of thoughts as local, even if this has an international dimension.

Border thinking –​an epistemic thread/​clue in the social work Border thinking –​a decolonial procedure The aim of this article to perceive border thinking as a procedure is based on the conviction that border thinking should not be understood only as a thought or an intellectual discourse but rather as an action or lifestyle. So we use border thinking not as an established scientific method, but as ‘the epistemology of the exteriority; that is, of the outside created from the inside; and as such, it is always a decolonial project’ (Mignolo & Tlostanova, 2006: 206). Thus, if one indulges in border thinking, then ‘decoloniality and border thinking/​sensing/​ doing are strictly interconnected’ (Mignolo, 2013: 132). From that point of view, we shall understand the meaning of a decolonial project or epistemic. A comprehensive definition is given by Ramón Grosfoguel. He argues, (1) that a decolonial epistemic perspective requires a broader canon of thought than simply the Western canon (including the Left Western canon) (2) that a truly universal decolonial perspective cannot be based on an abstract universal (one particular that raises itself as universal global design), but would have to be the result of the critical dialogue between diverse critical epistemic/​ ethical/​ political projects towards a pluriversal as opposed to a universal world 199

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(3) that decolonisation of knowledge would require taking seriously the epistemic perspective/​cosmologies/​insights/​critical thinkers from the Global South, thinking from and with subalternised racial/​ethnic/​spiritual/​sexual spaces and bodies. (Grosfoguel 2009: 11) In this sense, border thinking is a discursive intellectual procedure based on multi-​perspective views or discussions, whereby the perspective of the subalterns is taken into account. We consider the term ‘subaltern’ in its widest sense and link ‘subaltern’ with all victims of Western domination. Spivak writes: ‘Subalternity cannot be generalized according to hegemonic logic’ (Spivak, 2005: 475).This means that ‘Subalternity is a position without identity. […] Subalternity is where social lines of mobility, being elsewhere, do not permit the formation of a recognizable basis of action’ (Spivak, 2005: 476). These subalterns work in the sector of ‘no-​work’; work is not paid and takes place without set working conditions.Victims are on the periphery –​women, underprivileged workers, illiterates, homosexuals, branded subjects and many more (Spivak, 1987:  84). These people live in both the Global South and in the Global North and can be clients of social work. Viewed in this light (border thinking as a special consideration of thinking, sensing and knowledge of subalterns wherever they are), it is primarily (not universally) located and at the same time confronted with global design (not with Westernised design) (Mignolo, 2013: 137). This double understanding explains how one can proceed with border thinking. Mignolo properly formulated the clue of border thinking’s procedure as this: ‘ “I am where I think” is one basic epistemic principle that legitimizes all ways of thinking and de-​legitimizes the pretense of a singular and particular epistemology, geo-​historical and bio-​graphically located, to be universal’ (Mignolo, 2011: 81). ‘One thinks where one is’ will lead our purpose to use border thinking as a procedure, so that border thinking becomes ‘a way of being, thinking and doing of the global political society. The global political society defines itself in its processes of thinking and doing decolonially’ (Mignolo, 2013: 148). Obviously, this way to act with border thinking can be useful in social work and seems to be a fruitful field for a fair global political society.

Border thinking as a procedure of consultation in social work To achieve this goal of feeling, sensing and doing, following Mignolo’s border thinking, we have to assess the place of enunciation –​and not the enunciated –​because the latter has lost their uniqueness on account of Western domination. The enunciated are divided into the ‘others’ and ‘us’. ‘Who invented “the other” if not the same in the process of constructing the same? Such an invention is the outcome of an enunciation.The enunciation doesn’t name an existing entity, but invents it’ (Mignolo, 2013: 134). For this reason, we shall put in focus the locus of enunciation that needs to be revealed and changed. And agreeing with Grosfoguel, we emphasise that the ‘main point here is the locus of enunciation, that is, the geo-​political and body-​political location of the subject that speaks’ (Grosfoguel, 2009: 14). How can we best make the locus of enunciation visible in social work? How can the uniquely located geopolitics and body-​politics of knowledge be mobilised through border thinking? Mignolo gives us a practical tool by questioning ‘[w]‌ho and when, why and where is knowledge generated (rather than produced, like cars or cell phones)?’ (Mignolo, 2009: 2). He goes on to explain how he proceeds with border thinking: By setting the scenario in terms of geo-​and body-​politics I am starting and departing from already familiar notions of ‘situated knowledges’. Sure, all knowledges are situated and every 200

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knowledge is constructed. But that is just the beginning. The question is: who, when, why is constructing knowledges […]? Why [sic] eurocentered epistemology carefully hidden (in the social sciences, in the humanities, in the natural sciences and professional schools, in think tanks of the financial sector and the G8 or G20), its own geo-​historical and bio-​graphical locations? … It is the beginning of any epistemic de-​colonial de-​linking with all its historical, political and ethical consequences … And in order to call into question the modern/​colonial foundation of the control of knowledge, it is necessary to focus on the knower rather than on the known. It means to go to the very assumptions that sustain locus enunciations. (Mignolo, 2009: 2–​4) Shifting the attention to the locus of enunciation of a subject means to ask in what way knowledge is constructed to the advantage of the Western academic, political, economic and cultural goals. After all, by asking the locus of enunciation (who, when, why, where, what for, etc.) we want to achieve the goal that knowledge of subalterns will be taken into account for the building of a sound global political society.

Presentation and analysis of a case example in social work In the following we present a case example that relies on different experiences in our social work practice and in systemic counselling, supervision and therapy. The analysis of this case example demonstrates how social workers can use border thinking.

Substance of the case example Two years ago, Ali, 16 years old, fled from Iraq to Germany and has lived in a youth welfare institution since then. For a year Ali has attended an integration course at a secondary school. However, for the last three months his school performance has dropped, and he has missed classes unexcused several times per week. His class teacher tried speaking earnestly to Ali about his lack of discipline and motivation, but nothing has helped so far. Not even the warning of having to repeat the class. On the one hand, the team leader of the youth welfare institution understands the difficult situation of Ali’s family in Iraq, but on the other hand she is bound to the youth welfare office’s expectation that Ali should meet the requirements of compulsory education. If he doesn’t, he will be dismissed from secondary school and won’t be able to graduate from school. Ali also shows up infrequently to the voluntary tutoring lessons. His tutor considers Ali’s behaviour ungrateful and insulting.

Attempt at an interpretation This social work case example has been written by the authors of this chapter. Thus, they can be considered as the first subjects (S1), as passive knowers (correctly referred to here as observers), who have generated knowledge, in so far as they do not exactly live in the interactions and incidents in this case example but have often treated similar cases in social work. Other social workers or involved persons who are confronted with the same case could construe and interpret it from different perspectives. Nonetheless, the authors of this chapter have to be taken into account by applying border thinking on the case, since they (intentionally) formulate a case in the light of epistemological modernity/​coloniality. Apart from their objective to apply border thinking to this typical case of social work, one should not lose sight of the fact that both authors have been brought up and educated to think, speak and act instinctively in the epistemological, economic, cultural and political canons of the dominant societies. From here begins border thinking, as Mignolo and Tlostanova (2006) and Mignolo (2009, 2011, 2013) dealt with in detail, as de-​Westernisation, decolonial thinking, disobedience, subversion and delinking. 201

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Interpreting the case, we furthermore find three groups of subjects (S2, S3 and S4), who can be seen as active knowers: first we have Ali, an Iraqi, who immigrated from Iraq to Germany, and his family who live in Iraq (S2) and then there are the German professional staff who are active in the social work sector and are responsible for Ali (S3). Finally, there is the voluntary tutor who supports the social work and is engaged in connecting sectors (S4). For a better overview there are now four groups of subjects: S1: passive knowers –​authors, social workers S2: active knowers –​Ali, who now lives in Germany, and his family in Iraq S3: active knowers –​professional staff and social worker S4: active knower –​voluntary tutor The S2 group is kept silent by S1, which corresponds with the colonial matrix of powers: the dominating group (here S3) have the final say concerning the dominated groups like the S2, particularly since these interactions between both groups of subjects (S2 and S3) happen in Germany, the native locus of the S3, a locus which is envied by the non-​European like Ali. Ali, who has the chance to be accepted in Germany and to participate in an integration course, is like an alien as well as a protégé who has to be educated and integrated into German society. Thus, we have two compulsions that Ali has to comply with if he wants to live in Germany, as long as the armed and terrorist struggle in Iraq does not end or as long as Ali voluntarily denies his Iraqi origin. These two compulsions are the guardianship and the alien being. Living under these compulsions means Ali constantly has to live up to the demands and expectations of German society and especially of the youth welfare institution. Of course, this can be difficult for Ali, since he comes from a society in which the situation and standard of living in all domains is far worse than in Germany. But Ali is still in-​between. He is dwelling in the borders and not crossing borders. For example, his first language is not German, and he has non-​European memories, which are disregarded by the modernity/​coloniality. But he also has European experiences, language and memories. As we can see, he is not on one side of the border –​he is dwelling on the borderline. The S1 (the authors) do not give the reasons for Ali’s lack of discipline and motivation in the integration course. Thus, we suppose that this links with the above-​mentioned compulsions. The S3 probably only understands the psychological situation of Ali, who must carry on without his family in Germany. But they cannot do anything for him if he’s not following the rules of the integration process. His fate is determined by the constraints of the youth welfare office. We can see here a rigid dependency on the rules by the social workers (S3) who accompany Ali, although they become aware of the fact that the rules are not flexible enough to treat all the cases they are confronted with.The dependency on the established laws can be seen as another compulsion that the subjects have internalised through education and socialisation. Sometimes we meet subjects in the social work sphere who agree with these inflexible rules and laws imposed on clients by Western (world) political leaders; the main thing is that these social workers are disadvantaged through these rules. In our case, the voluntary tutor (S4) of Ali can be considered as one of those. He sees ‘Ali’s behaviour as ungrateful and insulting’. Regarding the volunteer or social worker, the main question is the understanding of help. The voluntary tutor in our case does not reflect himself and has a paternalistic understanding. His dissatisfaction can be connected to his sense of humanism that is established by Western society and imposed on the rest.The prevailing Euro-​American humanism, which ignores the hard facts of life in favour of worth and supports, through powerful mechanisms, global social injustice and inequality, can be seen as another’s compulsions that we have to deal with. 202

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In all these interpretations of the case, we can see that the place where people interact influences the generation of the enunciation. In particular, with regard to nations or national borders, we are confronted with mainstream knowledge. In this light, it is normal that Germany, as the locus of the enunciation in which Ali and the German social worker are involved, imposes its laws and rules on all persons and institutions. It is a matter of geopolitics and body-​politics, as long as the nation-​politics are available. Thus, we can argue that Ali has to comply with the norms and laws of Germany. If his behaviour has a connection with his expectation of living in Germany like he would live in Iraq, then he is wrong. This can only be a dream, a utopia, as long as the nation politics have priority over the body politics, the human-​being politics. With this in mind, it is not rare to meet immigrants to Euro-​American countries who expect to be able to live as they did in their own country. And they often show the same behaviour as Ali if they are confronted with the nation-​political reality. Many of them remain in their utopia or dream of living in a former colonising power, world political and economic leader country, with their own expectations or traditions. As a consequence, they cannot be integrated and are finally turned back to their country of origin. This situation for the non-​Euro-​American in Europe or the US is also a compulsion caused by the modern/​colonial/​national matrix of power. To summarise our interpretation, which operates with border thinking through decolonial thinking, we have worked out some compulsions about the Western domination; these are the guardianship and the alien being, the dependency on the established laws, the global social injustice and inequality, the utopia or dream living in Europe and America like in the country of origin. Thus, seeing border thinking as a critical analysis of Eurocentric compulsions and as a way to (re)frame them in the light of body-​and human-​being politics, is already epistemic delinking. How can one use this productively in social work?

Results of our case ­example –​significance of border thinking in social work Now we shall look at the possibilities of epistemic and political delinking, which, in particular, can be applied in social work, since the task of decolonial thinking and the enactment of the decolonial option in the twenty-​ first century starts from epistemic delinking: from acts of epistemic disobedience. […] Once you delink there is no longer modernity and tradition, humanitas and anthropos, but only people who believe in modernity and tradition and in humanitas and anthropos. (Mignolo, 2011: 139, 180) In our example, there are many opportunities for social workers to start professional psycho-​ social perception and intervention. At this point, however, begins the practice of border thinking. Instead of relying on the apparent information available, social workers should become aware of their lack of knowledge about many aspects.To continue with our case example, all professionals and volunteers have an ideal of what Ali needs to know and do, so that he can successfully satisfy the rules. This ideal can exist with the best intentions for Ali’s support, but it can also lead to more difficulty. Mignolo argues that the terms of the conversation have to be changed and not just the content. ‘In order to call into question the modern/​colonial foundation of the control of knowledge, it is necessary to focus on the knower, rather than on the known. It means going to the very assumptions that sustain locus enunciations’ (Mignolo, 2011: 123). In Ali’s case this means to not only make linguistic interventions or change the content of conversations but also to permit 203

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another perspective and generation of knowledge. This means changing the terms of conversation and delinking the compulsions. For this, the following four questions are helpful: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Who is the knowing subject, and what is his/​her material apparatus of enunciation? What kind of knowledge/​understanding is he/​she engaged in generating, and why? Who is benefiting or taking advantage of such-​and-​such knowledge or understanding? What institutions (universities, media, foundations, corporations) are supporting and encouraging such-​and-​such knowledge and understanding? (Mignolo, 2011: 189)

These questions have to follow epistemic disobedience, to change the terms of conversations and avoid the collecting of information and interpretations that Western disciplines do (Mignolo, 2011: 189). Now, thinking decolonially, the formal apparatus is hardly sufficient if we are to change the terms of the conversation and ask the questions I listed above. It is not enough to say that ‘knowledge is situated’ or that ‘experience is the source of knowledge’ if the options and possibilities in which knowledge is situated and experiences experienced are not spelled out. Otherwise, it has to be accepted that there is a universal organization of the world, a universal ontological dimension of ‘human beings’ in which knowledge is situated and experiences are experienced, no matter what they might be. (Mignolo, 2011: 191) In our case, Ali’s perception and his body and geo-​historical position is not perceived by the social worker, the teacher or the volunteer. Ali is in a hierarchical order that was built from a different location and is implemented through social work approaches from the Global North. Professionals and volunteers claim to know how Ali has to fit into the existing apparatus to be integrated into the existing Eurocentric system. However, we have to focus on the knower, Ali, and not on the known to sustain locus pronunciations. As the knower, Ali is implicated geo-​ and body-​politically, in the known. But his problems and the attempt to ‘help’ are interpreted from the supporters with a Eurocentric view. The knowledge and social work action are kept territorial and imperial, which is perceived as universal, which again solidifies modernity/​ coloniality. At this point it makes sense to link border thinking with epistemic disobedience, which turns against Western thinking as a formation of relationships of power and knowledge in which the arrangements of power are strategically linked. It involves the questioning of existing modern/​ colonial systems and their contexts of reason and power-​based validity. Disobedience to hierarchical relationships thus opposes the division of ‘knowers’ and the ‘ignorant’. Instead, it is about sharing knowledge, which according to Mignolo is an act of liberation (Waibel, 2014: 101–​103). Changing the terms of conversation in the social work practice, which admits border thinking, means a changed attitude. It is about creating new spaces to uncover disregarded perspectives. Rather than gathering more information about the clients, supposedly to be able to understand, it is necessary to unlearn the privileges of speaking and being heard and practising a subversion of listening.This also means that it needs a confident subject, who is able to be silent when other perspectives emerge, particularly in the moments of risk of losing privileges (Castro Varela & Dhawan, 2003: 279–​280). With regards to one of Mignolo’s main theses, ‘one thinks from where one is’, historical and current forms of thinking are no longer classified as universal. They are locally based and 204

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constantly have to revolve the validity and legitimacy in concrete contexts (Waibel, 2014: 102). In Ali’s case this means the awareness of knowledge of all persons within their own (national) borders and roles. Linking border thinking and social work means to also critically question one’s own understanding of ‘help’ and develop a reflexive understanding of one’s involvement in power structures. The result of the subversion of listening is a shift in power dynamics and the relationship between social workers and the clients. The reappropriation and reinterpretation of subaltern knowledge from repressed traditions requires exchange and negotiation processes, which create a new transnational social work practice. The compulsions are therefore also processed, but not solved. The implementation of border thinking and epistemic disobedience is an unfinished practice and reality, but this is not a defect, so that the knowledge of the unfinished shows an understanding of the changeability of the world (Waibel, 2014: 105). Social work carried out with border thinking means a critical reflection and learning from the Global South about the production of social work.

Conclusion and perspectives We have made a first attempt to connect border thinking and social work. Based on a case study from our social work practice, we have used border thinking as a procedure and worked out various modern/​colonial/​national compulsions. In a next step we worked out the perspectives in connection to social work. In conclusion, it can be stated that a combination of border thinking and social work is possible and must be further developed. Border thinking in social work means the reworking of subaltern knowledge and learning from the Global South, whereby pluriversality and an altered transnational knowledge formation of social work is pursued.

Notes 1 Mignolo means with anthropoi (singular anthropos), people who are called ‘the others’ (Mignolo 2013: 134). According to him the ‘anthropos’ (the ‘other’) impinges on the lives of men and women of colour, gays and lesbians, people and languages of the non-​European/​US world. In a narrower sense the anthropos is a subaltern. 2 Our translation from German of the citation ‘Man denkt von wo aus man ist’ (Waibel, 2014: 102).

References Anzaldúa, G. (1999). Borderlands/​La frontera: The new mestiza. San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books. Castro Varela, M. & Dhawan, N. (2003). Postkolonialer Feminismus und die Kunst der Selbstkritik. In H. Steyerl & EG. Rodriguez (Eds.), Spricht die Subalterne deutsch? Migration und postkoloniale Kritik (pp. 270–​ 290). Münster: Unrast-​Verlag. Gray, M., Coate, J., Yellow Bird, M. & Hetherington, T. (2016). Decolonizing social work (contemporary social work studies). London: Routledge. Grosfoguel, R. (2009). Decolonial approach to political-​economy:  Transmodernity, border thinking and global coloniality. KULT 6: Special Issue –​Latin America, 10–​38. www.postkolonial.dk/​artikler/​kult_​6/​ GROSFOGUEL.pdf International Federation of Social Workers. (2014). Global definition of social work. http://​ifsw.org/​get-​ involved/​global-​definition-​of-​social-​work/​ Mignolo, W.D. (2000). Local histories/​ global designs:  Coloniality, subaltern knowledges, and border thinking. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mignolo, W.D. (2009). Epistemic disobedience, independent thought and de-​colonial freedom. Theory, Culture & Society, 26(7–​8),  1–​23. Mignolo, W.D. (2011). The darker side of Western modernity: Global futures, decolonial options. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. 205

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Mignolo, W.D. (2013). Geopolitics of sensing and knowing: On (de)coloniality, border thinking, and epistemic disobedience. Confero, 1, 129–​150. Mignolo, W.D. & Tlostanova, M.V. (2006). Theorizing from the borders: Shifting to geo-​and body-​politics of knowledge. European Journal of Social Theory, 9(2), 205–​221. Spivak, G.C. (1987). In other worlds: essays in cultural politics. New York: Methuen. Spivak, G.C. (2005). Scattered speculations on the subaltern and the popular. Postcolonial Studies, 8(4), 475–​486 Waibel, T. (2014). Praktiken des Ungehorsams. ZfK –​Zeitschrift für Kulturwissenschaften, 1, 101–​105.

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17 Whose society, whose work? Seeking decolonised social work in Nepal Raj Kumar Yadav and Mel Gray

Introduction There are many and various postcolonial critiques highlighting problems with the global spread of social work, and Nepal provides evidence of this. According to its international definition, social work aims to promote ‘social change and development, social cohesion, and the empowerment and liberation of people’ (International Federation of Social Workers & International Association of Schools of Social Work, 2014). It implies that social work has a recognised status in all countries that enables it to fulfil its transformative, emancipatory aims, and belies the contingent realities of the society in which it is being practised and taught. In Nepal, social work was the brainchild of US Jesuit missionaries, who introduced social work training in the late 1980s. From just one training centre in 1996, over 50 colleges are now engaged in teaching social work, colonising young Nepali’s minds (Nandy, 1983) with Western ways of ‘thinking’ and ‘doing’ and neglecting the long history of benevolence within Nepali cultures (Yadav, 2017). Participants in the study discussed below equated Nepali traditional norms and values with volunteerism and doing service, with traditional practices promoting community well-​being: ‘Nepal has a long tradition of doing service’ (Niharika). Yadav (2017: xxviii–​xxix) questioned the importation of social work into Nepal: These missionaries introduced social work into Nepal as a modernised, scientific project based mainly on a psychological model … [teaching] Western texts, concepts, reasoning, and, above all, the idea of cultural production … [overlooking] Nepal’s multilinguistic, multicultural, and multi-​ethnic populations … [raising] the driving question … ‘are Nepali social workers happy with this’? Yadav’s (2017) concerns aside, some Nepali social worker educators promoted a sanitised view of social work on international platforms and through academic publications (for example, Nikku, Udas & Adhikari, 2014). This has left outsiders ignorant about the on-​the-​g round realities of social work in Nepal. More accurately, social work education –​situated mainly in the capital city of Kathmandu  –​has evolved into an urban, elitist discipline (Mikkonen, 2017). It produces a vast reserve of ambitious, highly educated social change agents, an ‘unattached

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intelligentsia’ (Mannheim, 2013: xivi), living ‘on the balcony’ (Bakhtin, 1968, in Apple, Ball & Gandin, 2010: 6), waiting to migrate to the West in search of a better quality of life.There is little solidarity with Nepal’s poor and disadvantaged populations, social work’s international definition notwithstanding (Yadav, 2017). Despite their professional training, most employed social work graduates are working in non-​related sectors as schoolteachers, bankers, and media professionals. Given the absence of a social service infrastructure, those fortunate enough to find social work-​ related employment are doing so in limited places in NGOs and INGOs and are finding that their education had not equipped them adequately for Nepali sociopolitical realities. Hence, they feel ill-​equipped for work in these non-​government, development-​oriented organisations (Yadav, 2017). Despite this, the West-​centric model of social work education rooted in ‘capitalism, Social Darwinism, the Protestant ethic and individualism’ (Nagpaul, 1993: 214) is flourishing. In the absence of critical scrutiny, social work education and practice has yet to situate itself in the Nepali context and respond to pre-​existing social inequalities (Yadav, 2017). As long as social work submits to the long-​standing oppressive Nepali regime (Lawoti, 2012), it distances itself from its emancipatory, transformative aims. Nepali social work is unlikely to achieve legitimacy as long as it clings to its imperialist roots in imported Western models. Nepali social work necessitates a critical postcolonial focus. Gray (2005) captured the dilemmas and paradoxes for Nepali social work, arising from its colonial origins, and the need to invest in bottom-​up, culturally embedded social work education and practice. Nepali social work would do well to consider and discuss the tensions arising from the paradoxical processes of globalisation, universalisation, internationalisation, indigenisation, and localisation (Gray, 2005). Such discussion might be invigorated by the discourse on post-​development (Escobar, 1995; Fujikura, 2001), cultural studies (Bhabha, 1994; Giroux & McLaren, 2014), and international social work (Ranta-​Tyrkkö, 2011; Ioakimidis, 2015). In seeking decolonised social work, we have drawn on empirical research examining social workers’ experience and understanding of Nepali society.

Framing the subject matter: a grounded theory approach In decolonising discourse, knowledge production should flow from the synergy between indigenous research and a critical pedagogy. Wahab, Anderson-​Nathe, and Gringeri (2015:  278) highlighted the need for a disruptive research paradigm incorporating ‘reflexivity, ethics, praxis, an examination of power dynamics, and insider/​outsider binaries, and question who is involved in knowledge production and whose knowledge counts’, to counter the hegemonic methodological assumptions of post-​positivist social work research. Such a decolonising methodology made research a political process with emancipatory aims. Decolonising research in Nepal, then, meant exploring issues of context, power dynamics, and Nepali social workers’ subjective views of their impact in day-​to-​day practice (Spivak, 1988; Dei, 2005; Sullivan & Tuana, 2007; Smith, 2012; Staller, 2012). Charmaz’s (2006, 2009, 2011: 362) constructivist-​g rounded theory offered a methodology suited to this task given its ‘critical stance of social justice inquiry combined with its structural focus … to locate subjective and collective experience in larger structures and increase understanding of how these structures work’. Using availability sampling,Yadav (2017) recruited ten Nepali social workers working in well-​ established INGOs, as shown in Table 17.1. There were six female and four male participants with a mean age of 30.2 years. Most participants worked in the community development sector, while four were employed in children’s rights’ organisations and one was involved in peace building and conflict management. 208

Whose society, whose work? Table 17.1  Characteristics of participants Name*

Age

Gender

Qualification

Area of work

Kiran Namita Niharika Niti Ranjan Ritesh Samikshya Sujit Tulshi Urmila

26 28 24 30 32 33 31 32 34 32

Male Female Female Female Male Male Female Male Female Female

BSW MSW BSW BSW BSW BSW BSW, MSW BSW MSW BSW, MSW

Children Community development Children Community development Children Peace building and conflict management Community development Community development Children Community development

*Not their given names

These organisations were registered with the Social Welfare Council, the government body monitoring INGOs in Nepal. They were engaged in multisectoral development and covered more than one district to ensure the reach of their activities. In in-​depth interviews, the social workers were asked to talk about the work they were doing and, among other things, to reflect on how their educational training had equipped them for this. The interviewing process continued until no new information emerged.The data was analysed using NVivo, a computer-​assisted data analysis package, to aid in coding the interview transcripts and generating concepts, themes, and categories. Intrinsic to the data coding process was the use of theoretical sampling, saturation and sorting (Charmaz, 2006).

Findings and discussion Several themes emerged from the study relating to the participants’ understanding of Nepali society and how this could be used to develop principles and strategies for decolonising social work. As Al-​Natour and Mears (2016) observed, use of decolonisation must be rooted in history and the challenges arising from colonising influences. It must also be rooted in local social realities, hence the important lessons to be gained from the participants’ critical understanding of the unique features of Nepali society and their impact on social work practice. Working in INGOs, the participants had experienced, first hand, the colonising influence of international development discourses.

Understanding of Nepali society Participants described Nepali society as ‘completely different from Western society’ (Urmila). As shown in Table 17.2, Nepal has strongly embedded collectivist values within a rigid hierarchical social structure and impermeable regional, cultural, ethnic, class, and caste boundaries. In discussing the contra-​distinction between Nepali and Western societies, participants highlighted the unique features shaping their daily lives. Kiran referred to differing constructions of the ‘individual’, which, in Nepal, was a collective construct rather than a ‘single unit’ as in Western countries. In Nepal, ‘an individual is not an individual… [s/​]he is a collective construct … shaped by the broader interaction of family, society, [and] peer groups’ (Kiran). Due to its collectivist values, people in ‘Nepali society are always eager to help each other. If an individual is facing problems, then the entire family and [sometimes even the] community come together to help her’ (Urmila). 209

Raj Kumar Yadav and Mel Gray Table 17.2  Dimensions of Nepali society Unit of Nepali society

Associated patterning of societal relations

Contra-​distinction between Nepal and Western societies Nepali identity based on collective values Complex, hierarchical social structure

Collectivist values, hierarchical social structure, and deeply embedded sociocultural divisions Collective rather than individualistic identity Divisions based on class, caste, geographical region, religion and ethnicity Culturally based social expectations impact heavily on people’s daily lives Geographic, ethnic and cultural ties construct social connectivity

Social fabric regulating interpersonal and social interaction Social cohesion amid strong ethnic and caste divisions

Despite its collectivistic ethos, Nepal’s social fabric was contingent on hierarchical social structures that cemented cultural, ethnic, caste, religious, gender, and geographical divisions. The social fabric comprised sociocultural and legal practices based on a collectivist understanding, and socially negotiated nature, of human rights. For example, Ranjan explained that, until recently, divorce was not common in Nepali society, as parents lacked the right to decide on child custody. Despite existing divorce laws, the family and community decided on custody issues rather than the parents who were divorcing. Thus, families collectively negotiated a child’s rights. Other components of the social fabric shaping individual behaviour and social interaction related to concepts of time, cultural boundaries, and a sense of unity and shared identity in times of crisis. As Ranjan explained: There is [a]‌communal feeling. At [the] time of [the] earthquake, people helped each other. They gathered with whatever was left after [the] earthquake … collectively lived for several days in post-​earthquake … This shows Nepali people’s resilience as well as their cohesive nature. Nepal is not a fast-​paced modern society. As Niti explained, ‘we do it gradually’; everything takes time. Being a rigidly stratified society, there are strong cultural boundaries that create ‘social, personal, and family limitations’ (Samikshya). Nepal’s cultural diversity leads to strong ethnic and cultural cleavages compounded by a social hierarchy based on class and caste. As Niharika explained: Low castes groups are historically marginalised in the country. When the issue of caste intersects other categories … [such as gender, geography, religion, and language], it produces double marginalisation and restricts their participation in the mainstream politics … [and hinders their] developmental needs. In my opinion, caste … is the subject matter of power in our country. Thus, collectivist communal values apply within close-​knit communities. Regional variations play an important role in Nepali people’s identity and lifestyles:  ‘Nepali people’s identity … varied on from which regional part of Nepal they belonged to’ (Ritesh); ‘you will see the differences among [people living in] Western, Far-​Western, and Eastern regions. People’s lifestyle is different to each other. Geography has significant impact on their lifestyle’ (Niti). Here, as well as geographical location, class and caste have a major influence on people’s social status, as Nepali 210

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society was highly stratified making upward mobility extremely difficult. Yet, in the face of national disasters, communities came together and demonstrated ‘Nepali resilience [to] … cope with devastations either man-​made or natural’ (Ranjan). This rigid ‘social fabric’ created strong sociocultural expectations. As Samikshya explained: ‘family, social groups, social institutions … broader society … [and] life experiences enrich my work. It is like seeing-​learning-​doing. Our culture, tradition, socialisation, and norms and values have great impact on our work’. Nepal has a complex hierarchical social structure with strongly cemented scalar divisions based on class, caste, and ethnicity; its multicultural, multi-​ethnic, and multilingual nature adds to this complexity. Participants attributed Nepal’s social problems to these structural cleavages. Hence, they talk about ‘outside-​inside divisions’ and ‘sites of cooperation and conflict’. As Kiran explained: While affiliation to particular caste and class is often beneficial … this might sometimes lead to alienation [and] might become the means for dominance and oppression. In resource access, caste, class, and gender play a significant role. Those who are in upper caste and upper class can easily influence state and not-​state mechanism, and thus equip them with the available resources. Yet, there is strong social cohesion with social connectivity based on familial, regional, religious or sociocultural ties. As Ritesh explained: ‘Despite the differences, there is a feeling of a mutual interdependence among Nepali peoples’. These are maintained through ‘social gatherings, cultural practices, and festivals [where people] … exchange … ideas and stories’ (Sujit). These traditional sociocultural practices provide a sense of unity enabling ‘communities to live together’ (Sujit) and ‘help each other’ (Niti). As Niharika explained: We believe in communal feelings rather than individualisation. So, Nepali society means togetherness, mutual sentiments and ‘we-​feelings’. We are sensitive to our neighbours in the sense [that] we care about how [well] they are doing. Unity in diversity defines Nepali society. There are several ethnic groups, several linguistic groups; but, there is [some degree of] togetherness among them. This collective ethic of care drew on the strength of families and communities, as ‘in Nepal there is no practice of personal caregiver even in the case of disability … [Hence] families [and] relatives, including sometimes [the] neighbourhood, take great care of people in those situations’ (Kiran). However, Nepal is changing with the influence of ‘modern concepts … in the name of development and progress. Now people are opting [for a] nuclear family [rather] than [a]‌joint family’ (Sujit). Niharika disagreed; despite the ‘influence of Westernisation, we haven’t forgotten our traditional values. I think people are not following [a] modern lifestyle’. Samikshya, likewise, believed traditional norms and values continue to dominate Nepali society. How then, with this understanding of Nepali society, were the participants responding to the social problems they had identified, including poverty-​related discrimination and oppression of minorities, landlessness, child exploitation and abuse, and gender-​related violence? We identified several core features of the work in which they were engaged, as discussed below.

Developmental focus: putting people first The need for swadeshi abdharna or locally relevant social work practice was a theme to which participants often returned. Agreeing that social work was required in Nepal, Ritesh suggested 211

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it must accord with Nepali local realities and, for Niharika, it must embrace the values rooted in Nepali society: Our social work must be also guided by ‘we’ and not ‘I’ … We are not using casework and groupwork in our organisation. Mostly, it is community organisation, because we emphasise capacity development of community. Also, we use [a]‌rights-​based approach and need-​based approach. For Kiran, social work must ignite ‘social movement’ and, for Namita, ‘social change’. It must ‘connect community with government’s policies and programs’ (Namita). For Sujit, social workers have to emphasise building and strengthening ‘self-​reliance’ –​an approach that encourages self-​ sufficiency and self-​empowerment. It was equally important, however, that the process include Nepal’s diverse peoples, respecting differences of gender, caste, class and region, which is why it must be ‘flexible to update its core as society develops’ (Sujit) and ‘its boundary must remain open’ (Ritesh). In addition, participants believed that Nepali social workers should have knowledge of, and adhere to, the development process involving collaboration with multiple stakeholders, including government organisations, NGOs, and local formal and informal agencies. Within its developmental ambit, social work should embrace ‘culturally sensitive’ (Niharika), ‘community focused’ (Niti), and ‘socially responsive’ (Niharika) approaches to ‘make [the] community independent’ (Niti), ‘emphasise capacity development of community’ (Niharika), and ‘focus on welfare and economic benefits’ (Sujit). It should ‘contribute to community development, economic benefit, and upliftment of marginalised populations’ (Sujit). It is this developmental focus that adds a new dimension to what decolonised social work in Nepal might entail.

Community development focus: promoting self-​reliance There was a strong emphasis on self-​reliance within community development strategies. Urmila observed that whenever she had to implement projects with the local women’s groups, she actively taught and prepared ‘them to address their problems by themselves’. Part of this included the provision of ‘knowledge and skills to women so that they can access government and other resources’. Sujit referred to livelihood strategies when talking about ‘customising’ social work’s borrowed theories: Simply saying I have [a]‌bachelor or master degree in social work and critically applying them in the field are two different things.We need to develop our understanding from those theories.We should develop our social work in a way that matches people’s day-​to-​day capacity and livelihood strategies … We need to customise Western social work according to our people’s capacity. Whatever we study, we cannot directly practice in our communities. In the process the principle of Western social work could be kept alive but the procedures to implement social work interventions must change. I think, customising those theories, [should] work in my organisation.

Safety focus: building peace and security Safety was a major issue for participants that led them to talk about the importance of peace and security. People in Nepal valued social harmony and it was unlikely that aligning itself with 212

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the liberation movement –​or any other social movement − would give social work traction in Nepali society. Participants referred to the need to promote a ‘philosophy of [a]‌safer life’ (Ritesh) by ‘maximising … participation in development and governance, and considering issues of social justice’ (Ranjan). This was an important focus for Ritesh who worked in an INGO involved in peace and conflict management: The main focus of social work must be community security … we must also envision a safe society, then a safe nation. In other words, I can say social work must intend to create [a]‌safer community, safer society, and safer nation … guided by [a] philosophy of [a] safer life. People’s fundamental need is about feeling safe. This should be our common future … Security is related with human rights. Everyone must enjoy his or her rights. Everyone has [a] right to live safe … It is also people’s responsibility to take initiative towards creating [a] safer community and safe life. Niharika is convinced that the right to peace was ‘directly associated with political actions such as empowerment, capacity building, and sensitisation … the matters of political and civil rights are required to enable people’s safety. This would ensure people’s well-​being and improve social justice’ (Niharika). Feeling safe involved not only the notion of rights and justice but also imperatives of ‘social capital’ (Kiran) and ‘empowerment’ (Namita); ‘education and awareness’ (Namita); ‘freedom and upliftment of oppressed peoples’ (Namita); ‘economic reforms by engaging poor in income-​ generation programs’ (Urmila); ‘policy enhancement emphasising people-​centred social policies’ (Namita); and ‘building civil society through greater participation of people in governance’ (Ranjan). All of this signalled a strong focus on rights-​based and development-​oriented social work practice in which people’s safety was the supreme goal.

Structural focus: engaging in macro-​level development The participants understood the structural nature of Nepal’s problems and the need to engage in macro-​level development. This suggests that social work in Nepal should have a strong focus on political and developmental issues (Niharika), community (Namita), society (Samikshya), and nation building (Sujit) as zones or layers of macro practice rather than only targeting individuals. However, the challenge, as Sujit acknowledged, was that mushrooming social work education institutions and government agencies had failed to shape social work in such a way as to position it to deal with broader development goals. Social work centred mainly in education institutions, isolated and disconnected from Nepali realities and with little interaction with the government, fails to firmly embed the profession within the welfare and development portfolios. The problems notwithstanding, Niharika envisioned a political role for social work: ‘becoming the voice for the voiceless’. She continued: [It is] important to enable people to tap resources and [resist a] violation of their rights. Being social workers, we cannot avoid political debates. Nepali society [especially] is so much related to politics … [social work] should focus on well-​being, improved social justice, empowerment, [and] cultural awareness. (Niharika) However, she observed that Nepali social work had yet to espouse political, economic, and developmental sentiments within its discourse: 213

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Social workers are not much familiar with political issues. We must know about social, economic, and political aspects of society. Social workers require in-​depth knowledge of these aspects but I think we only know basic … we were never taught about economics and development theories.These are essential phenomena while rendering social work in the country. (Niharika)

Political focus: advocating for the voiceless The participants envisioned that rights-​based social work would go beyond sociocultural and economic concerns to strong political goals aimed at advocating for the voiceless by:

1. translating rights-​aligned discourses into practice 2. developing political, anti-​oppressive approaches 3. engaging in transformative action 4. focusing on policy and development.

Translating rights-​aligned discourse into practice The protection of human rights and promotion of social justice and equality − samajik nyay (Ranjan) and samanta (Niti) –​was seen to include ‘advocacy’ (Niharika) and ‘activism’ (Niti). As Niti explained: Gradually, the demand for social work is increasing in NGOs and INGOs of the country. If social workers can engage them[selves] in activism, certainly they will be recognised in the country. We have a lot to contribute … Now, as I see [it], the main role of social workers is activism, because all issues are structural and connected with rights, justice, and fair treatment. [A]‌rights-​based approach should inform the ideal of social work.

Developing political, anti-​oppressive approaches Samikshya believed that social work ‘must help those who are dominated and oppressed in the societies. Social work should uplift the bottom section of society’ and Sujit suggested that, to benefit people, ‘social work should be able to uplift the status of [the] Nepali marginalised and vulnerable’. However, Namita asked: What is social action? How [should we] deal with people’s [political issues] [if we] were not taught? [Also] we’re not [informed] of petitions, protests, and other activities that are frequently occurring in the country. Let’s ask any social work student to file a petition. [Perhaps] nobody will be able to do that. How protests are organised nobody knows … There should be more focus on political issues [and] government rules. Political education should be emphasised.

Engaging in transformative action Transformative action means engaging in systematic programmes of change for socio-​economic ‘empowerment … [and] awareness’ (Namita), ‘income-​ generation activities’ (Urmila), and ‘labour-​retention programs’ (Sujit). From her perspective in a women’s organisation, Namita observed that women were: suffering from violence, [mainly] domestic violence. First, we need to [inform] them … Usually, women do not know about [the] rules and laws of our country.We can provide information about rules and laws to those women. Our roles could be [as] a mediator, an advocate, 214

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[and] a facilitator. There are many issues that need to go through legal procedures where we can assist them.We can be representatives for them, become a voice for them at time[s]‌when they are not able to do so ….The main aim of social work is empowerment.Then [to] counsel vulnerable groups. We should make them aware about rules and laws and make them aware about [the] Nepali scenario. [To do that] … social work must uplift communities and address community issues. Also, we need to [inform] people about the importance of our profession (Namita) Social work should target the population who are underdeveloped. Rather than just distributing services, it must empower and make them independent people … Since most people are poor in the country, social workers should also be engaged in income-​generating programmes. (Urmila) Urmila mentioned this in the context of labour migration and the need for social workers to engage in fostering innovation and entrepreneurship so that Nepal’s labour force could be retained at home. Likewise, Sujit said: ‘Social workers should be able to create opportunities that our human power can be retained at home and not migrate to foreign land[s]‌for work’.

Focusing on policy and development There is (so far) an undeveloped role for social workers in policy development and implementation: Even government is not concerned to execute its policies properly. There are no proper supervisions and monitoring of government’s policies. This shows that there is greater need of social workers in our context so that people can be connected with the policies of the government … Government-​related issues should be integrated. We studied about the United Nations’ declarations, which is required, but where is Nepal-​related laws and policies? What are government’s policy measures and development frameworks that should be reflected in our educational contents and practice interventions? (Namita) Referring to grey areas in Nepali policies, Samikshya explained why social work must concentrate on social policy: Most of our problems have linkage to the macro level. For instance, domestic violence is not the problem of only one female. It is [a]‌societal problem arising from culture, patriarchal beliefs, and ineffective implementation of current laws and policies. It won’t be effective if we [aim] to solve domestic violence through micro-​level intervention. Using the example of child rights, Ranjan illustrated how social work’s engagement with policymakers might result in favourable social change: We address mainly child-​related violence. Most child-​related violence are traditionally accepted. Our organisation mainly works to address five thematic areas: child marriage, corporal punishment, sexual abuse and exploitation, child trafficking, and child labour. We seek to address these problems at macro level. Therefore our main agenda is to help government formulate necessary programmes and policies to address child-​related issues. (Ranjan) 215

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Alongside social work’s engagement with policy, there was also a need to connect people to resources. Mainly ‘it should be able to help rural population who are not able to access resources’ (Samikshya).

Conclusion: decolonised, developmental Nepali social work In seeking decolonisation, participants suggested a new world view that includes: (i) framing social work within Nepali society (contextualisation); (ii) seeking developmental goals (community development); and (iii) focusing on advocacy and praxis (political focus). Contextualisation meant grappling with cultural understandings of ‘identity’, ‘social structure’, and ‘social fabric’ (discussed above) and developing context-​specific models of practice (Hurdle, 2002; Osei-​ Hwedie, 2002; Gray & Allegritti, 2003; Baltra-​Ulloa, 2013).The findings indicate that decolonised Nepali social work must have a macro-​level developmental and political focus given the widespread poverty and social inequalities in Nepali society. The very notion of doing social work in Nepal demands a direct engagement with Nepal’s ethnically diverse populations through local community development and political advocacy. Participants advocated bottom-​up, participatory, and rights-​based interventions aimed at building peace and security and combatting the oppression and deprivation of ethnic minorities. Drawing on an empirical study, the chapter discussed the decolonisation of social work in Nepal as an emerging, ground-​up idea, arguing that it requires an understanding of Nepali society and a focus on developmental and political goals to address the structural issues that Nepali societies face on a daily basis. The notion of decolonising social work in Nepal is at its very initial stages and discussion needs to extend beyond social workers employed in INGOs to broad-​based voices, including those of social workers working with local grass-​roots organisations and in the field of social work education.

References Al-​Natour, R. & Mears, J. (2016). Practice what you preach: Creating partnerships and decolonising the social work curriculum. Advances in Social Work and Welfare Education, 18(2), 52–​65. Apple, M.W., Ball, S.J. & Gandin, L.A. (2010). Mapping the sociology of education: Social context, power and knowledge. In M.W. Apple, S.J. Ball & L.A. Gandin (Eds.), The Routledge international handbook of the sociology of education (pp. 1–​11). New York: Routledge. Bakhtin, M.M. (1968). Rabelais and His World. Translated by H. Iswolsky. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Baltra-​Ulloa, A.J. (2013).Why decolonized social work is more than cross-​culturalism. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M.Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonizing social work (pp. 87–​104). Aldershot: Ashgate. Bhabha, H.K. (1994). The location of culture. New York: Routledge. Charmaz, K. (2006). Constructing grounded theory: A practical guide through qualitative analysis. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Charmaz, K. (2009). Shifting the grounds: Constructivist grounded theory methods for the twenty-​first century. In J.M. Morse, P.N. Stern, J. Corbin, B. Bowers, K. Charmaz & E. Clark (Eds.), Developing grounded theory: The second generation (pp. 127–​154). Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Charmaz, K. (2011). Grounded theory methods in social justice research. In N.K. Denzin & Y.S. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (4th ed., pp. 359–​380). London: Sage. Dei, G.J.S. (2005). Critical issues in anti-​racist research methodology: An introduction. In G.J.S. Dei & G.S. Johal (Eds.), Critical issues in anti-​racist research methodologies (pp. 1–​27). New York: Peter Lang. Escobar, A. (1995). Encountering development:  The making and unmaking of the Third World. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Fujikura, T. (2001). Discourse of awareness: Notes for a criticism of development in Nepal. Studies in Nepali History & Society, 6(2), 271–​313. Giroux, H.A. & McLaren, P. (Eds.) (2014). Between borders: Pedagogy and the politics of cultural studies. New York: Routledge. 216

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Gray, M. (2005). Dilemmas of international social work: Paradoxical processes in indigenisation, universalism and imperialism. International Journal of Social Welfare, 14(3), 231–​238. Gray, M. & Allegritti, I. (2003). Towards culturally sensitive social work practice:  Re-​examining cross-​ cultural social work. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 38(4), 324–​336. Hurdle, D.E. (2002). Native Hawaiian traditional healing: Culturally based interventions for social work practice. Social Work, 47(2), 183–​192. International Federation of Social Workers & International Association of Schools of Social Work (2014). Global definition of social work. www.ifsw.org/​global-​definition-​of-​social-​work​. Ioakimidis,V. (2015). Neocolonialism and social work. In J.D. Wright (Ed.), International encyclopedia of social and behavioral sciences (pp. 456–​461). Oxford, UK: Elsevier. Lawoti, M. (2012). Ethnic politics and the building of an inclusive state. In S. von Einsiedel, D.M. Malone & S. Pradhan (Eds.), Nepal in transition:  From people’s war to fragile peace (pp. 129–​152). New Delhi, India: Cambridge University Press. Mannheim, K. (2013). Ideology and utopia: Collected works (Vol. 1). New York: Routledge. Mikkonen, E. (2017). Bridges over the mountain ranges: Ethnography on the complexities of transition in women’s social position in Nepalese rural communities. University of Lapland, Rovaniemi, Finland. Nagpaul, H. (1993). Analysis of social work teaching material in India: The need for indigenous foundations. International Social Work, 36, 207–​220. Nandy, A. (1983). The intimate enemy:  Loss and recovery of self under colonialism. New  York: Oxford University Press. Nikku, B.R., Udas, P.B. & Adhikari, D.R. (2014). Grassroots innovations in social work teaching and learning: Case of Nepal School of Social Work. In B.R. Nikku & Z.A. Hatta (Eds.), Social work education and practice: Scholarship and innovation in the Asia Pacific (pp. 35–​53). Brisbane, Australia: Primrose Hall Publishing Group. Osei-​Hwedie, K. (2002). Indigenous practice  –​some informed guesses:  Self-​evident and possible. Social Work –​ Stellenbosch, 38(4), 311–​323. Ranta-​Tyrkkö, S. (2011). High time for postcolonial analysis in social work. Nordic Social Work Research, 1(1),  25–​41. Smith, L.T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples (2nd ed.). London: Zed Books. Spivak, G.C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson & L. Grossberg (Eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp. 271–​314). Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Staller, K. (2012). Epistemological boot camp: The politics of science and what every qualitative researcher needs to know to survive in the academy. Qualitative Social Work, 12(4), 395–​413. Sullivan, S. & Tuana, N. (Eds.) (2007). Race and epistemologies of ignorance. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Wahab, S., Anderson-​Nathe, B. & Gringeri, C. (2015). Conclusion. In S. Wahab, B. Andderson-​Nathe & C. Gringeri (Eds.), Feminism in social work research: Promise and possibilities for justice-​based knowledge (pp. 276–​281). London: Routledge. Yadav, R.K. (2017). Decolonised, developmental Nepali social work:  Making it matter. Doctoral thesis, The University of Newcastle, NSW, Australia.

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18 The relevance and purpose of social work in Aboriginal Australia –​post-​or decolonisation Dawn Bessarab and Michael Wright

Ngaala kaaditj Nyoongar Wadjuk moort keyen kaadak nidja boodja In the spirit of deepening relationship, we acknowledge the Nyoongar Wadjuk people as the original custodians of the land in which this chapter is written.

Introduction A postcolonial Australia is both questionable and hugely contested (Heiss & Minter, 2008) because unlike most colonised countries, in Australia the colonisers did not leave. Australia was never handed back to Aboriginal people as the original inhabitants and a treaty was never formed or signed. Since 1788, the officially recognised year of colonisation, the colonisers and subsequent Australian governments have struggled in their relationships with Aboriginal Australians as the First Nation peoples of this country. All calls and requests by Aboriginal people for improvements and changes to the rights of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have been met with resistance; responses have become highly politicised and polarised or simply ignored and weakened. From the moment Captain Cook claimed Australia for the British under the policy of terra nullius, the rights of Aboriginal Australians as First Nation peoples were made invisible and non-​existent. Saunders challenging the notion of Australia as ‘postcolonial’ posits that while there has been ‘some substantive progress in the social and political reclamation of Indigenous rights, [there] still maintains a powerful sense of colonisation’ (2018:  2017). The meaning of ‘postcolonial’ according to Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin (2007) has been widely argued and debated; however, referring to the prefix ‘post’ he states that in simple terms it means ‘after’ colonialism. In relation to Australia and the political period in which colonialism has taken place, there is no ‘post’ because the colonial presence is still felt and experienced. Hence, to argue that Australia is postcolonial is redundant in a country where the imposition of colonial rules and values continue to influence the dominant discourse, paradigm and agenda for how business is carried out in relation to and with Aboriginal people. Self-​determination and equality, both long-​held aspirations, are still yet to be fully realised within a contested space where Aboriginal Australians continue to struggle for their rights as sovereign peoples. To have Aboriginal voices heard, and the legitimacy of Aboriginal knowledge

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systems and ownership as First Nations people to be recognised and accepted by the leadership in this country, is an ongoing struggle across all levels of government, policy development and service delivery and specifically within the profession of social work. Historically, social work as a discipline has been a tool of colonisation contributing to the removal and displacement of Aboriginal children and families under the guise of protection and assimilation (Australian Association of Social Workers, 2004; Briskman, 2007). And although the Australian Association of Social Work, at the policy level, have apologised to Aboriginal people and begun to engage in the pursuit of human rights and advocacy, at the practice level not much has changed. To shift from its role as a tool of the colonisers and to truly become a voice of change that speaks up for Aboriginal people who are continually displaced and disempowered within the borders of colonial Australia, more needs to be done by the discipline of social work. The voice of advocacy in the context of social work should be about mitigating and transforming the impact of colonisation on Aboriginal people. Social workers need to engage and become active agents of social change in disrupting the colonial narrative of racism, exclusion, removal and continued placement of Aboriginal children into non-​Aboriginal homes and settings. Hearing, responding to and privileging the voices of the disenfranchised, in particular the voices of Aboriginal people and their experience of colonisation, can interrupt and impact the negative experiences of colonisation (Wright 2011). Social work has the potential to transform and create an inclusive praxis that works for and with Aboriginal people by changing and challenging the continuing colonial discourse that maintains how social work is practised within a colonised space. In order to become part of the change in shifting to a decolonised space that embraces, respects, and accepts the sovereign rights of Aboriginal people, social work practitioners need to speak out and challenge the systemic structures that deny the basic human rights of Aboriginal Australians as First Nations people. This chapter will interrogate the place and role of social work in the Australian context. Through a case example provided by the Going Forward Project, Wright describes the decolonising work that needs to happen before the profession can truly transform and move beyond the borders of modernity to advocate and play a key role in shaping Australia into a more inclusive and accepting society for Aboriginal First Nations people.

Australia as a colonial space To understand the context in which social work is practised, it is necessary to understand the current political regime in which this takes place. Since 1788, Aboriginal Australians have struggled to have their sovereign rights recognised. A  plethora of legislation, both nationally at the Commonwealth and at state level, controlled what Aboriginal people could and could not do. Under white settlement the genocide of Aboriginal people was carried out through massacres that took place across Australia –​now known as the frontier wars. Aboriginal people were massacred by soldiers, settlers who were armed, and mounted police, which also included Aboriginal people employed as trackers. Massacres took place both at night and/​or during the day, involving shooting and, in some cases, the administering of strychnine poison. A  digital map depicting massacre sites across Australia can be found at https://​c21ch.newcastle.edu.au/​ colonialmassacres/​introduction.php. Under colonial legislation Aboriginal people were removed from their ancestral lands onto missions and eventually reserves. Families were separated and split up, people were jailed for anything that was considered a felony or misdemeanour. They were prevented from voting, 219

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living within town boundaries, accessing services and buildings that were considered to be white spaces, and children were banned from attending white schools. In Western Australia under the Aborigines Act 1905 (1906–​1964) Aboriginal people were divided by a caste system which separated ‘full bloods or natives’ from ‘fair skinned or half-​caste’ people (Rosser, 2011). This act was used to separate families and place fair-​skinned children into missions and homes to be raised as white under the policy of assimilation (Wilson & Australian Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 1997). In 1944 the Natives Citizenship Rights Act (AIATSIS Library, 2006) allowed fair-​skinned Aboriginal people, who were not classified as natives due to their skin colour, to apply to become citizens of Australia (see Figure 18.1). Successful applicants were able to work and live in town and send their children to white schools. To qualify for citizenship, people had to stop mixing and fraternising with their darker-​skinned relatives and community members, they had to stop behaving like natives, practising their culture and speaking their own language. Thus, to qualify for citizenship they were required to live like a ‘white’ person. If people were seen to break the rules, they lost their citizenship immediately. This act created a huge rift in the community where people who applied for citizenship status were seen to be de-​identifying as Aboriginal and taking on white status. According to Bessarab’s paternal grandmother, many Aboriginal people who were granted citizenship status ignored the rules and, at night when their movements were hidden under the cover of darkness, continued to mix and visit with family who were considered natives. Today there are still families who suffer the consequences of their elder’s decisions to apply for citizenship.

Social work and Indigenous peoples In 2002, the Australian Association of Social Workers committed to working differently with Aboriginal people by inserting into its Code of Ethics an agreed set of principles which provided direction on how to work more effectively. An updated Code of Ethics was later endorsed at the AASW’s annual general meeting in Brisbane on 12 November 2010 (Australian Association of Social Workers, 2010). In the preamble of the code the following acknowledgements were made: acknowledgement of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as the First Australians; a commitment to acknowledge and understand the historical and contemporary disadvantages experienced by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and the implication for social work practice; and a statement that social workers are responsible for ensuring that their practice is culturally competent, safe and sensitive. The Code of Ethics goes on to define social work, identify its commitments and aims, and to discuss the practice and meaning of social work as a profession. Throughout the code the language engages with human rights, fairness, advocacy, valuing of diversity and difference, respect, compassion, fairness, social and systemic change, raising awareness of structural and systemic inequities, and the list goes on. While this is all good and meaningful and a good start for social work, the words do not go far enough in extending to the practice level of social workers throughout Australia in relation to Aboriginal people and their families. Within the child protection system, which predominantly employs social workers, the number of Aboriginal children being removed from their families is incredibly high and still increasing. While Australian-​trained social workers tend to have some training in Aboriginal culture, overseas-​trained social workers have none and many are sent to regional and remote areas to work where there are large populations of Aboriginal people who are still resident on their traditional homelands. The social work which is practised is often very statutory based, 220

Figure  18.1  My grandmother, Ivy Coffin’s, Certificate of Citizenship. Courtesy of Laurel Houghton (2018).

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with little application of community development principles, support to families or awareness of Aboriginal culture. ‘The National framework for Protecting Australia’s Children 2009–​2020 advocates for a public health model to child protection with a greater emphasis on assisting families early enough to prevent abuse and neglect occurring’ (Council of Australian Governments, 2009). Statutory child protection is indicative of the high number of Aboriginal children being placed into state care. According to the Australian Institute of Family Studies, Aboriginal children continue to be removed at increasingly high rates. As of 30 June 2016, there were 16 846 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children in out-​of-​home care in Australia –​a placement rate of 56.6 per 1 000 children. In contrast, the rate for non-​Indigenous children was 5.8 per 1 000. In other words, the national rate of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children in out-​of-​home care was almost 10 times the rate for non-​Indigenous children. (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2017) Aboriginal families struggle in isolation and often without support to have children returned and kept within the family and community (Price-​Robertson & McDonald, in partnership with Peter Lewis & Muriel Bamblett, 2011). Mothers of newborns who are within the child protection system are subject to snatch and grab approaches after birthing, with their babies being removed from them while in hospital by social workers who are doing their job. While we are not arguing that no child should be removed –​because in some cases it is necessary to remove children –​what we are disagreeing with is the way it is done and the trauma that this causes for the mother, the family and the baby that has been removed. With the inclusion and acknowledgement of Aboriginal history and ways of knowing in the code of ethics, schools of social work, when being accredited, are now expected to demonstrate how they have included Aboriginal history and knowledge into their curriculum (Bennett, Redfern & Zubrzycki, 2018).To assist this process, in 2014 Bessarab, Green and colleagues (non-​ Indigenous social workers) published a teaching and learning framework (Zubrzycki, Green, Jones, Stratton, Young & Bessarab, 2014) which demonstrated how Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledge can be integrated into the social work curriculum. This framework was the result of a research project conducted across 26 schools of social work in Australia, with an Aboriginal reference group of social workers and community members guiding and informing the project. The heads of each social work school were kept informed of the progress of the research and engaged in conversations around how they might use and implement the framework in their respective schools. The conceptual framework, illustrated in Figure 18.2, shows the key areas that need to be considered when designing the curriculum to implement Aboriginal ways of knowing, being and doing into the social work syllabus: The purpose of this conceptual map is to centre Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people’s knowledge in the doing of social work, thus embedding a different world view and epistemology. Social work theories and practices have traditionally been predicated on Western epistemologies (Young et al., 2013). The four main principles inherent in the framework emphasise the importance of structuring the social work curriculum around the concepts of epistemological equality (Young et al., 2013), the 3rd cultural space (Rutherford, 1990; Bhabha, 1994), cultural responsiveness (The Institute for Community Ethnicity and Policy Alternatives (ICEPA) & Victoria University, 2009; Bennett 222

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Social justice

Human rights Epistemological equality Racism

History

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander pedagogies

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander-centred social work

3rd cultural space

Collective

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander ontologies Cultural responsiveness

Gender

Colonisation

White privilege

Identity

Figure 18.2  Conceptual framework: Getting It Right report (Zubrzycki et al., 2014: 16).

et al., 2018) and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander pedagogies.The concept of epistemological equality posits that it is no longer acceptable to marginalise or separate Aboriginal knowledges. Instead, Aboriginal ways of knowing, being and doing need to be accepted and recognised as not only different to Western ways of knowing, being and doing, but also as equal and having the same status and value. The third cultural space is based on Homi Babha’s (Rutherford, 1990; Bhabha, 1994) work and puts forward the premise that social work in Australia operates in a third space which constitutes a meeting place between Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal people. In this space Aboriginal people bring their ontologies –​ways of knowing, doing and being –​as do the social work practitioners. It’s therefore important to recognise and acknowledge that within this space there are different knowledge and belief systems at play which can influence the outcome of any social work intervention. At times this space can be extremely polarised, challenging and highly contested, leading to misunderstandings and conflict. However, the potential for change is enormous if both parties are prepared to move beyond the polarisation to listen, understand and accept that they bring with them their different world views and belief systems and to find ways of working together. Introducing this concept into social work is essential to changing how social work is practised. 223

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Cultural responsiveness (The Institute for Community Ethnicity and Policy Alternatives (ICEPA) & Victoria University, 2009) complements both cultural security and safety in requiring social workers to understand Aboriginal culture in a way that enables them to be culturally responsive to the diverse Aboriginal groups living in Australia. Aboriginal people in Australia are not homogeneous and come from different geographical locations, speak different languages and have different experiences of the colonial phenomena. Consequently, what may work for one Aboriginal community may not necessarily work for another community. Knowing how to respond to difference is essential to working differently. Recognising that Aboriginal people have their own pedagogies and ways of working aligns with epistemological equality and can inform social work from a perspective that is grounded in Aboriginal ways of knowing, being and doing. By incorporating these four pillars into curriculum design and ways of operating, social work schools have the potential to change the future face of how social work is practised in and across Australia. However, although many schools showed an interest in the framework, with individual academics taking up the resource, only a few schools have actually made changes to implement Aboriginal ways of knowing, being and doing into their curriculum. The number of Aboriginal staff within schools of social work is still way below equitable numbers with the majority of schools having no Aboriginal employees engaged in developing and delivering Aboriginal content in the curriculum. Aboriginal content is not vertically and horizontally integrated throughout the curriculum but tends to be taught in silos and one-​off lectures. Social work, therefore, still tends to be a predominantly white profession grounded in Western ways of practice.

Doing things differently: The Looking Forward Project In 2010, with Wright (co-​author) as the chief investigator (CI), the Looking Forward Project commenced. There was no initial funding, but an earnest desire was present to change and improve, through a disruptive process, the delivery of mental health and drug and alcohol services to the Aboriginal people living with serious mental illness in the Perth metropolitan area of Western Australia. Using the Looking Forward Project as a case example, Wright discusses how, by working in a culturally responsive way, social work practitioners can make a difference and change the way in which services and organisations can work more effectively with Aboriginal people. The Looking Forward Project took place on Whadjuk Nyoongar boodja in Perth, Western Australia. Whadjuk refers to the Aboriginal people of this area and boodja is the Nyoongar word for country. Based in urban Perth, the project provides a case example of the importance of service leaders in mainstream mental health and drug and alcohol services engaging with local Nyoongar (Aboriginal) elders as cultural advisors, mentors and teachers in improving ways of working with the local Aboriginal community. Applying the principles of Aboriginal cultural protocols where elders are seen as the holders of cultural wisdom and knowledge, the project recruited 18 elders to work as mentors and teachers of Aboriginal culture with senior executives in mainstream mental health and drug and alcohol services. Through a deeply, and at times intense, relationship process the elders and senior executives came to understand that regardless of their differences there were many similarities and shared aspirations in working together to effect systems change in the mental health and drug and alcohol service sector.This work was predicated on the principles of decolonisation (Tuck, 2009; Wright, 2011) where senior management participated in workshops and meetings with elders and heard from the elders their personal experiences of colonisation. The project methodology 224

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was underpinned by the elders working with senior executives in both disrupting and reforming work practices and policies in their respective organisations: The methodology initially was not comfortable for most of [the service’s] executive; however, as relationships built and sharing occurred, so understandings and connections grew. The executive team in particular gained an appreciation of the experiences of racism in the elder’s life stories and their current concerns for their community, particularly their young people. Laughter and warmth also built in the group. (Wright, O’Connell, Jones,Walley & Roarty, 2015: 47) The experiences by service providers were transformative, notwithstanding those involved in the project experiencing difficulties in comprehending the Aboriginal world view, as noted in the comment above.

Disrupting and reforming paradigms Those of us who work in the Indigenous health sector will have experienced the disillusionment and frustration of a health system that keeps shifting responsibility for the enormous inequities in Indigenous health. Indigenous health remains critical as there is still a far higher burden of disease and injury in the Indigenous population than for non-​Indigenous Australians (Vos, Barker, Begg, Stanley & Lopez, 2009). Ongoing mental health issues are a significant concern. Community surveys show that psychological distress is three times higher for Indigenous people than for non-​Indigenous people (Jorm, Bourchier, Cvetkovski & Stewart, 2012). The process of decolonisation involves inner reflection that can be both challenging and uncomfortable. It has been our experience that it is both personally and professionally liberating for service providers (Wright, Davison & Petch, 2017). It is, therefore, both necessary and fulfilling when the work of decolonisation is undertaken (Hopper, 2013). Central to the work of decolonisation is an understanding of different world views. For Nyoongar people their world view has a more encompassing framework; it is about relationships. Relationships occur between both sentient (people) and non-​sentient beings (land, water and air spirits) (Wright et al., 2015). In the last census held in Australia in 2016, the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population size was 75 978, representing 3.1 per cent of the total population. In the Perth region, the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population was 1 735, which represented 1.1 per cent of the population of the Perth region (ABS, 2016). There is no census identifier for people to identify as Whadjuk, but our work revealed that a sizable majority of Aboriginal participants involved in the Looking Forward Project identified as Nyoongar. Indeed, a key finding from the project was that Aboriginal participants involved in the project identified themselves as being Nyoongar, rather than the more generalist descriptive term of ‘Aboriginal’. We heard from them that the more generalist descriptive term did not express fully their identity, in particular their connection to their boodja, the southwest corner of Western Australia. At the time of the Looking Forward Project there were other significant groundswell events that had begun since the mid-​2000s. September 2006 was both a disruptive and an instructive point of time for Australia and its relationship with Aboriginal people, because for the first time Aboriginal people were able to lodge native title claims to the Federal government for their land. A native title recognises a set of rights and interests over land or water where Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander groups have practised, and continue to practise, traditional laws and customs prior to British occupation (The Aurora Project, 2018). 225

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For the Nyoongar people, a landmark decision occurred on Nyoongar boodja, with a native title being granted to the Whadjuk Nyoongar people over the Perth metropolitan area. It was a momentous occasion and it gave Nyoongar people hope that justice would at last be served. The occasion, unfortunately, was brief, for it was overturned on appeal from the Commonwealth and Western Australian governments in 2008. However, for a two-​year period it was a successful Native Title decision for Aboriginal people living in a capital city in Australia.The efforts of many Nyoongar people involved in the legal process was phenomenal, in particular the Nyoongar elders who gave long and detailed evidence, over many hours, to Justice Wilcox. In the initial judgment, Justice Wilcox recognised the evidence provide by the thirty Nyoongar witnesses, indicating that ‘their identity as a Noongar person was “critically important” to the issue of continuity of a single Noongar society’ (2006: 11). Justice Wilcox went on to say that he was impressed: [b]‌y the extent to which witnesses were able to trace their line of descent back for many generations and identify their contemporary relatives, despite the paucity of written records, and to the extent they were able to speak about Aboriginal customs, beliefs and codes of conduct. (Host & Owen, 2009: 12) The impact of the Native Title decision cannot be overstressed. It impacted positively on the health and well-​being of the Nyoongar people, for the Nyoongar boodja is central to the spiritual world view of Nyoongar people.The comment below by a Nyoongar elder underscores the significant relationship of Nyoongar people to their boodja. The land is a healing place, when you place your feet in the sand or the water you are connecting to land, when you walk through the trees you can hear our ancestors talking, you are never alone, our ancestors are always with us, if we just sit and listen, they will guide us. Mother Nature can help us to heal and it costs nothing, only time. (Wright et al., 2015: 55) The native title decision, although overturned, provided an important milestone and historical moment for Nyoongar people who have continually fought for their recognition as the rightful cultural custodians of Whadjuk boodja. Since colonisation, strained relationships between Nyoongar and non-​Aboriginal people have at times been troubled and fractious. Nyoongar people have had to endure the falsehoods that they, as people living today, have no culture because of the impact of colonisation. The native title decision proved this to be untrue, and the decision demonstrated that Nyoongar laws and customs have thrived regardless of the pressures of colonisation and modernity. It is ongoing, present and intact, as Host and Owen state, ‘Kinship bonds, custodial responsibilities, principles and protocols are enforced as rigidly as they were in the past’ (2009: 226). Like all cultures, Nyoongar culture is continually adapting to changing situations and circumstances.

Creating an inclusive work practice that works for Nyoongar people The Looking Forward Project designed an engagement framework with Nyoongar elders, predicated on cultural protocols that provide for more meaningful and sustained relationships with mental health and drug and alcohol services and Nyoongar community members. Debakarn, Debakarn, Debakarn (the Nyoongar word meaning steady, steady, steady), informs the theoretical 226

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framework that has guided the work between the senior executive and elders. The elders continually highlighted both in their language and actions that steady, steady, steady is absolutely necessary to allow senior executives to be more reflective and reflexive in their work. Service providers are constantly focused on outputs and less on process; working with the elders required that they be more attentive to the processes to ensure their relationship with the elders was respectful and enduring. Importantly, the work with senior executives and elders has seen a notable improvement in the access and responsiveness of mental health and drug and alcohol services for Aboriginal (Nyoongar) people living in the Perth area.Working with the elders, senior executives have been introduced to the Nyoongar world view. It is a world view where there is a shared geographical and sensory space but where perceptions are different on a physical, spiritual and intellectual level. Both world views are different; each is very unique.Yet, strangely, aspects of both are similar. Working with these different world views can invoke tension, for robust communication can often cause strain, but working to understand different world views is important for the authenticity of the work (Wright, Culbong, Jones, O’Connell & Ford, 2013). The Debarkarn Koorliny Wangkiny engagement framework provides for a culturally safe communicative space that allows elders and service managers to develop relationships for them to work constructively. By exploring the uniqueness of a Nyoongar world view, elders and managers have been able to build a foundation necessary for systems change, underpinned by the attributes of trustworthiness, reciprocity, adaptability and inclusiveness (Wright et al., 2015). Our findings have shown that where there is a shift in both perception and intention, change will happen, as the Nyoongar community is open to working with non-​Aboriginal people, but only if their needs and aspirations are understood and accepted. Managers have been prepared to be open to the elders’ aspirations and they have been prepared to critically evaluate their failings and where necessary make adjustments. This has resulted in the beginnings of the foundations for meaningful and sustainable relationships. As cited by a service manager: We wanted to ‘fix’ everything quickly and looked for the most streamlined and efficient means of getting the outcomes we were looking for. There were many instances where Michael [co-​author] or the elders had to remind us to slow down and look at the process of change, the relationships we needed to build with the elders and their community and to let things evolve naturally and organically. … it isn’t possible or wise to put strict timelines or time pressures on ourselves, instead we need to trust in the process, be patient and be held by the elders and let the process evolve naturally. This has certainly shown to be the best in the long run and has delivered results far beyond what we ever thought imaginable. (Wright et al., 2015: 47)

Moving beyond borders: understanding reciprocity Moving beyond borders requires being prepared to enter another learning space. The concept of reciprocity in Aboriginal society is neither fully understood or indeed appreciated (Guerin & Guerin, 2008). With trust, reciprocity is an essential attribute in establishing and sustaining relationships. In their paper, Guerin and Guerin (2008) state that, rather than a static notion of relationships as experienced in non-​Aboriginal society, there is a greater sense of fluidity in relationships in Aboriginal society. Reciprocity is the reason offered for this fluidity. Societies whose world view is based on kin-​based relationships operate within a system of reciprocity. As stated by Guerin and Guerin (2008: 75): ‘What you can get done depends upon the family social relationships’. Reciprocity is a dynamic force in kinship society; it is the swirling energy 227

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that holds and nurtures these societies. The Maori researcher, Bishop provides a perfect illustration of reciprocity: Reciprocity in indigenous research, however, is not just a political understanding, an individual act, or a matter of refining and/​or challenging the paradigms within which researchers work. Instead, every world view within which the researcher becomes immersed holds the key to knowing. (Bishop, 2005: 124) Reciprocity and relationships are interchangeable in Indigenous society; one cannot exist without the other (Wright, 2011). Reciprocity is the energy that moves seamlessly through the lives of Aboriginal people (Guerin & Guerin, 2008), and is the essential element for the bonding process in community life (Wright, 2011). Without reciprocity, there can be no sustaining relationships and any future work will be limited. Little is understood of the importance of reciprocity in holding and sustaining relationships, but those practitioners who have worked with Aboriginal people do have an understanding, as is made evident by the following statement: Just being paid to do some work for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in remote communities does not guarantee that a relationship of any other sort will develop. The way in which westerners can switch relationships and obligations on and off in such a controlled manner with strangers can be confusing for someone from a kin-​based community. (Guerin & Guerin, 2008: 77)

What is the role for social work in this new paradigm? Misguided and unfortunate past practices by practitioners have resulted in serious mistrust for Aboriginal people (Dudgeon, Wright, Paradies, Garvey & Walker, 2014; Wright et  al., 2017). History can show how social work as a profession has been integrally linked to tearing apart the strands that bind Aboriginal culture (Host & Owen, 2009). Forced removal of children from Aboriginal families by government officers (social workers) is continuing to have a huge impact on the survival and continuation of their culture. The Department of Communities, Child Protection and Family Support states that from 2016 to 2017, 54 percent (2 603) of all children in care were Aboriginal (Department for Child Protection and Family Support, 2017). There is, we believe, a crisis of identity within the social work profession at large, and for those working in the profession. Serious questions need to be asked about whose interests and concerns should be prioritised  –​the Aboriginal community or the system? The lack of understanding and respect of an Aboriginal world view by social workers and the profession is having serious consequences on the lives of Aboriginal people, families and communities. ‘You fellas know so much about us, but we know nothing about you’ (Wright et al., 2015: 59) was a comment made by an elder at a meeting with senior management. It was a pivotal point in the project as the project embarked on a deepening relationship process of hearing elders and service managers telling their story. This was a major shift, as this comment from one of the elders suggests: They’ve been talking to us and we’ve been talking to them, and the process we’ve used, everybody’s been telling their own story.You hear a wadjella (white person) story and then you hear a Nyoongar story. They’ve gained a better understanding of us and we’ve gained 228

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a clearer picture of where these wadjellas are at, and it’s led to a place where … they are very prepared to step out of their comfort zones in order to find out how to work with Aboriginal people. (Wright et al., 2015: 59) We believe it is now time for the profession to be more proactive and change its current service delivery practices so practitioners will better interface with an Aboriginal world view (Wright et  al., 2013, 2014, 2015). Practitioners will need to be fearless and more authentic in their working relationships with Aboriginal clients. They will need to be prepared to share personal aspects of their lives with Aboriginal clients; authenticity is the key. What began as a theory of whether the intervention by Aboriginal elders at the senior levels of organisations would work has now been vindicated and validated. The work of the elders at the most senior levels in organisations has led to a significant improvement in service delivery (Wright et al., 2013, 2014, 2015).This comment from a senior executive gives some indication of the shift in understanding: I’ll be honest; there have been times when it’s been incredibly uncomfortable just because I’ve never sat around the table with Aboriginal elders before. My sense is that, or my feeling is that, if you put me in a room leading a meeting amongst service providers or with other staff, I  know the unwritten ground rules and I  know how things work and how things operate, but if you put me in a group, and [that’s been] around this very table, any meeting with Aboriginal elders, I don’t know what the unwritten ground rules are and I’m learning very slowly.They’ve been very welcoming and very approachable but just from myself, I just think having a complete lack of confidence in myself to know what is appropriate … (Wright et al., 2015: 45) Studies conducted in New Zealand mirror our results, where serious collaboration between Maori people, elders and non-​Maori have had positive outcomes (Durie, 2004).The elders in the Looking Forward Project have adapted and grown in their roles as cultural consultants, mentors and teachers.The comment below from one of the elders encapsulates these sentiments, and how they understand the impact of their role/​s: To come together and to hear the ideas that challenge systems to work with Aboriginal people has been really, really interesting, because it’s the systems that need to change in order to make a difference for our people, and this process will take a while. It’s not going to happen overnight. They have to go through these processes to get to the place where they can come back and say well, your world view is the only view that can help your own people and they’re prepared to step into our world view. (Wright et al., 2015: 47) The subtle, and not so subtle, differences between modernity and an Indigenous world view are not easily understood or recognisable. Too often, because of a lack of understanding of cultural knowledge and practice/​s, culture can be misunderstood and on occasions devalued. Like researchers, social workers are also not upfront and honest with their intentions, and often in their haste do not always provide the necessary information that informs personal decision-​ making (Weseen & Wong, 2000). There is always a tension that exists with both Indigenous researchers and social work practitioners for they have this intuitive and experiential knowing of the importance of maintaining relationships that hold and nurture communities. Tension exists because the rights of the individual, family and community clash with the responsibility 229

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of the role and expectations of institutions. These institutions often place little importance and value on relationships that coexist. Personal relationships are not created or sustained by artificial boundaries; relationships are the glue that holds the community together and being neglectful and disrespectful of these relationships would be detrimental to ourselves and to the community we serve.

Conclusion As Indigenous academics the challenge is to not, in the pursuit of academic recognition, inadvertently reinforce the principles of colonisation (Wright, 2011). As Indigenous researchers, the intent of both authors is to use research as a tool that will disrupt the pillars of colonisation. Social work practice in Australia can and should be a mechanism for positive change striving to ensure that the lives of Aboriginal people are not further disenfranchised. By challenging the system, social work can play a major role in actively disrupting and working against the maintenance of the status quo. As agents of social change, social work’s focus needs to shift towards investing in outcomes that work towards changing the old outdated narratives of colonisation. In so doing, the capacity of First Nations people is built by disrupting and rewriting the colonial narratives that continue to hold Aboriginal people captive. The Getting it Right Framework (Zubrzycki et al., 2014) is a body of work that, if taken up by schools of social work, can commence the process of decolonisation by graduating culturally responsive and ethical social workers with a strong sense of social justice and human rights. Embedding Aboriginal knowledges and ways of doing into social work practice recognises and validates the important role of Aboriginal epistemologies in social work theory. The Looking Forward Project and the Getting it Right Framework are good examples that have wider relevance for social work practice in international contexts. The process in both projects demonstrates what can happen when Western knowledges and ways of doing encounter Aboriginal knowledges and pedagogies. The potential to change is enormous and can happen when wadjellas (non-​Aboriginal) are prepared to listen and learn from Aboriginal elders about Aboriginal world views and ways of doing. As Homi Bhabha (Rutherford, 1990; Bhabha, 1994) argues, the potential of the third space to move from a closed, binary and contested space to a dialogic and transformational space is unlimited if people are prepared to listen, acknowledge, accept and work with the different world views present. If social work practitioners and academics are willing to be challenged and to learn from Aboriginal people and to change the way in which they do business, the potential for decolonising and transformation becomes a different future for Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal people where all things are possible.

References AIATSIS Library. (2006). Natives (Citizenship Rights). https://​aiatsis.gov.au/​sites/​default/​files/​catalogue_​ resources/​52766.pdf Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G., & Tiffin, H. (2007). Post-​Colonial Studies, The Key Concepts (2nd ed.). Madison Avenue, NY: Routledge. Australian Association of Social Workers. (2004). Acknowledgement Statement to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People. National Bulletin, 14(1). Australian Association of Social Workers. (2010). Code of Ethics. www.aasw.asn.au/​document/​item/​1201 Australian Bureau of Statistics. (2016). http://​quickstats.censusdata.abs.gov.au/​census_​services/​getproduct/​ census/​2016/​quickstat/​CED513 (Accessed: 05 July 2018) Australian Institute of Health and Welfare. (2017) Child Protection Australia 2015–​2016. In Child Welfare Series No. 66,Vol. CWS 60. Canberra: AIHW. 230

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Bennett, B., Redfern, H. & Zubrzycki, J. (2018). Cultural responsiveness in action: Co-​constructing social work curriculum resources with Aboriginal communities. The British Journal of Social Work, 48(3), 808–​ 825. DOI: https://​doi.org/​10.1093/​bjsw/​bcx053. Bhabha, H.K. (1994). The Location of Culture. London; New York: Routledge. Bishop, R. (2005). Freeing ourselves from neocolonial domination in research: A Kaupapa Maori approach to creating knowledge in. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of Qualitative Research (pp. 109–​ 138). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications Inc. Briskman, L. (2007). Social Work with Indigenous Communities. Annandale, NSW: The Federation Press. Council of Australian Governments. (2009). Protecting children is everyone’s business:  National framework for protecting Australia’s children 2009–​2020. Canberra, ACT: Commonwealth of Australia Retrieved from www.dss.gov.au/​sites/​default/​files/​documents/​child_​protection_​framework.pdf Department for Child Protection and Family Support (2017). 2016–​2017 Final Report. www.dcp.wa.gov. au/​Search/​Pages/​results.aspx?k=2017%20annual%20report Dudgeon, P., Wright, M., Paradies,Y., Garvey, D. & Walker, I. (2014). Aboriginal social, cultural and historical contexts. In P. Dudgeon, H. Milroy & R. Walker (Eds.), Working Together: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Mental Health and Wellbeing Principles and Practice (pp. 3–​24). Canberra, ACT: Commonwealth of Australia. Durie, M. (2004). Understanding health and illness: Research at the interface between science and Indigenous knowledge. International Journal of Epidemiology, 33(5), 1138–​1143. DOI: 10.1093/​ije/​dyh250. Guerin, B. & Guerin, P. (2008). Relationships in remote communities: Implications for living in remote Australia. The Australian Community Psychologist, 20(2), 74–​86. Heiss, A. & Minter, P. (2008). Macquarie Pen Anthology of Aboriginal Literature. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin. Hopper, K. (2013).The murky middle ground: When ethnographers engage public health. Social Science and Medicine, 99, 20–​204. DOI: 10.1016/​j.10cscimed.2013.10.025. Host, J. & Owen, C. (2009). ‘It’s still in my heart, this is my country’: The single Noongar claim history, South West Aboriginal Land and Sea Council. Crawley, Western Australia: UWA Publishing. Laurel Houghton (2018, 01/​10/​18). [Certificate of Citizenship, Ivy Coffin]. Jorm, A.F., Bourchier, S.J., Cvetkovski, S. & Stewart, G. (2012). Systematic review:  Mental health of Indigenous Australians: A review of findings from community surveys. Medical Journal of Australia, 196(2), 118–​121. DOI: 10.5694/​mja11.10041. Price-​Robertson, R., McDonald, M. & in partnership with Peter Lewis and Muriel Bamblett. (2011). Working with Indigenous children, families and communities. https://​aifs.gov.au/​cfca/​sites/​default/​files/​ publication-​documents/​ps6.pdf Rosser, D. (2011).Western Australian Legislation –​Aborigines Act 1905 (1906–​1964). www.findandconnect. gov.au/​ref/​wa/​biogs/​WE00406b.htm. Rutherford, J. (1990). The Third Space, Interview with Homi Bhabha. In J. Rutherford (Ed.), Identity: Community, culture, difference (pp. 207–​221). London: Lawrence and Wishart Project MUSE. Saunders, I. (2018). Post-​ colonial Australia:  Fact or fabrication? NEW:  Emerging scholars in Australian Indigenous Studies, 2–​3(1), p. 2016–​2017. DOI: http://​dx.doi.org/​10.5130/​nesais.v2i1.1474. The Aurora Project. (2018). What is Native Title? https://​auroraproject.com.au/​what-​native-​title. The Institute for Community Ethnicity and Policy Alternatives (ICEPA) & Victoria University. (2009). Cultural responsiveness framework; Guidelines for Victorian health services. Melbourne, Victoria:  Rural and Regional Health and Aged Care Services,Victorian Government, Department of Health, Tuck, E. (2009). Suspending damage: A letter to communities. Harvard Educational Review, 79(3), 409–​427. Vos, T., Barker, B., Begg, S., Stanley, L. & Lopez, A.D. (2009). Burden of disease and injury in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples: The Indigenous health gap. International Journal of Epidemiology, 38(2), 470–​477. DOI: 10.1093/​ije/​dyn240. Weseen, S. & Wong, M. (2000). Qualitative research, representations, and social responsibilities. In L. Weis & M. Fine (Eds.), Speed bumps: A student friendly guide to qualitative research (pp. 32–​66). New York: Teachers College Press. Wilson, R.D. & Australian Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission. (1997). National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families. Sydney, Australia. https://​www.humanrights.gov.au/​our-​work/​bringing-​them-​home-​report-​1997 Wright, M. (2011). Research as intervention:  Engaging silenced voices. Action Learning. Action Research Association, 17(2), 25–​46. Wright, M., Culbong, M., Jones, T., O’Connell, M. & Ford, D. (2013). Making a difference: Engaging both hearts and minds in research practice. Action Learning. Action Research Journal, 19(1), 36–​61. 231

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Wright, M., Culbong, M., O’Connell, M., Jones, T., & Ford, D. (2014). Weaving the narratives of relationship in community participatory research. New Community Quarterly Borderlands Cooperative, Hawthorn, Vic, 11(43), 8–​14. Wright, M., Davison, S. & Petch, E. (2017). Making visible the invisible: Aboriginal forensic mental health. Lancet Psychiatry, 4(12), 895–​896. DOI: http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1016/​S2215-​0366(17)30234-​1. Wright, M., O’Connell, M., Jones, T., Walley, R. & Roarty, L. (2015). Looking Forward Aboriginal Mental Health Project: Final Report. December 2015. Subiaco: Western Australia. Young, S., Zubrzycki, J., Green, S., Jones, V., Stratton, K. & Bessarab, D. (2013). Getting it right: Creating partnerships for change. Developing a framework for integrating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledges in Australian social work education. Journal of Ethnic & Cultural Diversity in Social Work, 22, 179–​197. DOI: 10.1080/​15313204.2013.843120. Zubrzycki, J., Green, S., Jones, V., Stratton, K., Young, S. & Bessarab, D. (2014). Getting it right: Creating partnerships for change. Integrating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander knowledges in social work education and practice. Teaching and learning framework 2014. www.acu.edu.au/​_​_​data/​assets/​pdf_​file/​ 0010/​655804/​Getting_​It_​Right_​June_​2014.pdf.

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19 Women’s empowerment Unravelling the cultural incompatibility myth in Zimbabwe Rose Jaji and Tanja Kleibl

Conceptualising empowerment Different scholars have highlighted various aspects as integral to empowerment. Rappaport (1987: 122) captures the fundamental goal of empowerment in his succinct definition of the concept as ‘a mechanism by which people, organizations, and communities gain mastery over their affairs’. Other scholars have provided broader definitions highlighting various elements that constitute empowerment. Mechanic (1991: 641) views empowerment as ‘a process where individuals learn to see a closer correspondence between their goals and a sense of how to achieve them, and a relationship between their efforts and life outcomes’. Implicit in these definitions is individuals’ control over their own circumstances and the ability to pursue and achieve goals that improve people’s lives. For Cornell Empowerment Group (1989), empowerment has a broader meaning which transcends the individual and is ‘an intentional, ongoing process centered in the local community, involving mutual respect, critical reflection, caring, and group participation, through which people lacking an equal share of valued resources gain greater access to and control over those resources’. An interesting aspect of this definition is its acknowledgement of the relationship between the individual and the group and the latter’s relevance to the individual’s empowerment. Cornell Empowerment Group’s (1989) definition also alludes to another interesting aspect of empowerment, namely access to resources, which is enmeshed in relations of power. If empowerment is about greater access to resources by people who lack such access, do those who already have this access have any role to play, and if so, what is this role and are they willing to play it? What role does culture play in this interface? In terms of women’s empowerment, it is important to understand whether men who have greater access to resources than women in Zimbabwe have a role to play and their reactions to exclusion. Empowerment requires acknowledgement of local relationships between women and men and their implications for its initiatives as well as a strategy to build consciousness about unjust resource distribution between men and women. In this light, a broader conception of empowerment that emphasises negotiation among multiple factors is offered by Martinez et al. (2017: 409) who portray empowerment processes as outcomes of an interaction, negotiated to a greater or lesser degree, between the capability or capabilities of a person, group or community and the options provided by the physical and sociocultural contexts in which they manage their

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lives. A person, group or community’s level of empowerment at any given moment in any given sociocultural context is the result of this negotiation. This definition captures one of the central arguments in this chapter that instead of extracting women from their sociocultural milieu, there is a need for empowerment to engage traditional cultures (which were hitherto eschewed under the assumption that they lack the capacity to empower women or were antithetical to the empowerment enterprise itself). This assumption needs to be replaced by a review of the possibilities embedded in these cultures and a harnessing of the platform and space that they offer women. Martinez et al.’s (2017) definition also points to challenges where specific members of the community are identified for empowerment to the exclusion of others, as is the case with women’s empowerment in cultural contexts where women’s lives are intertwined with those of men. The absence of men from women’s empowerment and lack of negotiation creates fertile ground for contestation between them, with men resisting and dismissing these interventions as disempowering men and ‘anti-​culture’. Empowerment does not take place in a sociocultural and political vacuum but in a context where structures exist to perpetuate the status quo and give advantages to some over others (Cattaneo and Chapman, 2010). Access to resources, even those coming from a foreign ‘empowering’ agent, are mediated by local culture and inter-​and intra-​gender dynamics. Approaches to empowerment that focus on the individual assume that she or he is autonomous and overlook interconnectedness with her or his sociocultural environment. Yet, many women are unable to choose self over others, especially in cultural contexts where marriage, motherhood and family are deemed quintessential aspects of womanhood and femininity. Implicit in the empowerment process’s goal to capacitate people so that they gain power and control over their lives is the assumption that those to be empowered inherently lack power. ‘Empower’ is a transitive verb with a subject and an object. This raises the question of who empowers who, in what context and under what circumstances. Empowerment also suggests progression in levels of power acquired and eventually wielded by targets of its interventions, which gives it a transformative agenda (Martínez et al., 2017). Against this conceptual backdrop, this chapter situates empowerment initiatives in Zimbabwe within the broader discourse of social development and women’s rights and African feminist critique thereof.

Linking empowerment and social development The concept of empowerment draws inspiration from various disciplines as well as the dynamics and claims of social movements linked to Black Power, Women’s Liberation and Gandhism (Simon, 1994; Cornwall and Brock, 2005). But it was not until the 1970s, especially with the 1976 publication of Black Empowerment:  Social Work in Oppressed Communities by Barbara Solomon, that the term ‘empowerment’ formally came into usage by social service providers and researchers in the Global North (Calvés, 2009). The vast majority of works on political empowerment approaches in a development context refer to Paulo Freire (2005), a Brazilian whose most influential book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, was first translated from Portuguese into English in 1970 and subsequently distributed widely. According to Freire (2005), in every society, a small number of people dominates the masses, resulting in ‘dominated consciousness’. Freire’s concept and educational approach is in many ways close to Antonio Gramsci’s critical educational ideas; both writers were inspired by Marxism.Their focus lies on educational systems and culturally relevant strategies that can facilitate the ‘development of critical consciousness’, which makes it possible for the oppressed and subaltern to move from understanding their subordinated position in society to acting for change. The Black Power, Women’s Liberation and Gandhism movements draw attention to the need for justice-​orientated social work to focus on 234

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the marginalised and power consciousness which are prerequisites for social development and change. Empowerment is not for its own sake; rather, it has a transformational and developmental agenda for the poor and marginalised. It did not take long for this idea to appeal to development researchers, aid workers, activists and non-​governmental organisations (NGOs) involved in international development (Calvés, 2009). Since then, NGO-​led and empowerment-​focused community mobilisation, organising, and building have taken new routes in relation to development in many parts of the world (Weil, 1996; Weil and Gamble, 2005; Andharia, 2009; Gamble and Weil, 2010). From the 1990s, the empowerment approach began to be strongly linked to the international gender and development agenda supported by major Western donors, NGOs such as Oxfam and Save the Children, as well as many faith-​based organisations. This shift of ‘empowerment’ from a social movement approach to a recognised development cooperation ‘tool’ (often associated with external goal definition and related indicators formulated in top-​down processes of Western non-​governmental, governmental and multilateral organisations’ headquarters) led to the establishment of new sets of norms and values, which included the preferential appreciation of liberal, democratic rights discourses underpinned by processes of individualisation, self-​responsibility and the sharp division between the private and the public political spheres. By the end of the last decade, the term ‘empowerment’ had definitively joined the array of trendy development-​related terms such as ‘community’, ‘civil society’, ‘participation’, ‘good governance’ and many other socially or politically constructed terms affiliated to the new credo of NGOs engaged in poverty reduction. As a result, empowerment is now central to the rhetoric of the ‘participation of the poor’ in development (Ranehma, 1992; Cook & Kothari, 2001; Ziai, 2004; Calvés, 2009; Ilal, Kleibl & Munck, 2014). It is still underpinned by its original social pedagogical ideas of creating critical consciousness which refers to the oppressed’s capacity to process knowledge and intervene in their everyday reality with the goal to change the social order that marginalises them (Freire, 2005). Freire (2005) would have understood the development of critical consciousness as education for freedom and practice of liberation, cultural emancipation and social-​political change. However, many NGOs and development agencies use the term ‘empowerment’ increasingly in an economic sense, hence ‘filling the gap’ left by the neoliberal retreating state while distancing their empowerment work from social movements activities at the grass roots. Local cultures remain conspicuous by their absence from this new empowerment thrust. In view of this, approaches that aim to integrate marginalised groups in economic development without reworking the guiding paradigm of development and the forces that produce social, economic, cultural and gender-​based inequalities continue to receive severe criticism from social movements in the Global South. Southern feminists’ movements, for example, formed a platform for expressing their perspective, called DAWN (Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era). DAWN presented a comprehensive critique of the extant development model at the 1985 UN Third World Conference on Women in Nairobi. The DAWN document ‘Development, Crisis and Alternative Visions: Third World Women’s Perspectives’ (Sen and Grown, 1989) focused on how growth-​oriented macroeconomics, neocolonial international relations and militarism connect and perpetuate the marginalisation of women in the developing world. DAWN took the experience lived by poor women throughout the Global South as the clearest lens for an understanding of development processes, and their aspirations for ‘a future free of multiple oppressions of gender, race and nation’ (Watkins, 2018: 39). Looking at the different ways empowerment was conceptualised in the Global North compared to Southern social movement alliances’ claims, it is pertinent to ask if most of the Western approaches to empowerment reflect or capture the postcolonial power differences that affect women and men globally, if they consider cultural differences and spaces, and most 235

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importantly, if they can confront the mutually reinforcing systems of economic exploitation and sexism. As Mohanty (2002) suggests, recognising difference and diversity is essential to building a politics and development practice that is not totalising but, instead, sensitive to specificities in this era of globalisation.

Women’s rights and empowerment It was the idealisation of the ‘human’ as able-​bodied, adult male, white, European, of above-​ average intelligence and with a high level of education that got promoted and still appears implicit in the idea of development as something to be aspired to. Nevertheless, an increasing number of critical scholars (Said, 1978, 1993;Young, 2001; Ziai, 2004; Kleibl and Munck, 2018) deconstruct the idealisation of the Western concept of development, interpreting it as a colonialist or selective agenda of development and human rights.This critique also affects the discourse of women’s rights and empowerment (Ife, 2009). As Western women thought of themselves as more ‘enlightened’ and ‘emancipated’, they started to compare themselves with others who were, by their definition, less ‘enlightened’. This naturally strengthened ideas of Western superiority. In this regard, the old interconnectedness between racism and sexism becomes obvious (de Beauvoir, 1968). Consequently, non-​Western cultural traditions are devalued and deemed ‘primitive’ and somewhat behind the inevitable march of women’s progress. A corollary of this is the assumption that Western women have an obligation to ‘enlighten’ other women by helping them to replace their ‘inferior’ and ‘uncivil’ cultural and patriarchal traditions with the presumably more developed ones from the West. This Eurocentric approach is compounded by the narrow definition of ‘human rights’ linked to many of the political empowerment programmes that were supported and implemented by NGOs in the last decade. These programmes show how civil and political rights were promoted to the exclusion of social, cultural and economic rights, which are arguably equally central to self-​empowerment of the peoples of the Global South (Kleibl and Munck, 2018). Indeed, the West’s brutal colonialist project claims to have had moral justification, legitimised by the claim that colonisation had a civilising agenda. This assumption continues to affect current development perspectives, ideas of charity and justice as well as the work of both academics and NGOs. No longer was, and is, colonialism simply about resources, power and greed. It could, and can now, be justified by more ‘noble’ aims of enlightenment in the form of education (in Western knowledge), religious values and imposition of Western traditions of law and economic governance (Gamble and Weil, 2010). Specifically, women’s rights became a central point of reference in the formal justification of Western countries’ involvement in the war in Afghanistan, thus implying that joining a war is obviously ‘for women’s own good’. It was during this time that international NGOs were frequently required to formally sign up to donor policies,1 thus subordinating themselves to an external agenda. This then led to the first bigger fragmentation of the civil society-​NGO model: some NGOs unanimously supported the external donor agenda, others2 were against mixing women’s rights with imperialist interests; these articulated a clear anti-​war agenda (Watkins, 2018). It therefore seems necessary to put the Western women empowerment framework in the context of the market and the Western capitalistic cultural hegemony surrounding it. Consequently, perspectives from the Global South have criticised the development and feminist agenda for being an imposition of Western economic and cultural values on the rest of the world, even if this was done apparently with noble intentions. However, as part of the dominant development discourse, the Global South remains an oversimplified representation of a vast and heterogeneous geographical, economic, sociocultural and political space, presumably in need of Western-​type 236

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development. As far as the empowerment approach is concerned, there is a tendency in Western scholarship and development practice to depict traditional cultures in the Global South as a uniform labyrinth underpinned by an inexorable patriarchal structure in which an equally undifferentiated mass of women is trapped.There is very little effort to dissect cultures in this region and understand the differential positioning of women in, for instance, cultures that practise female circumcision and those that do not. Traditional cultures in the Global South are thus construed as bereft of space for women to determine the trajectories that their lives take and to realise their full potential.This creates a problem for human rights, particularly women’s rights: how are ideas of women’s rights to be liberated from the Western colonial project so that women from other cultural backgrounds can develop a sense of ownership of their own ‘world sense’ and the resistance needed to overcome the postcolonial situation?

Women in Africa: a cultural overview Prevailing views on women in the Global South are generally oblivious to nuances in culture and the location of women in power matrices in varying sociocultural and political configurations across the Global South. Western classical anthropological writings and films often depict women’s freedoms and rights in African traditional cultures as a coincidental and curious novelty to be marvelled at without interrogating the intricate and deliberate nature of the relationship between gender and culture and the logic embedded therein. For example, Boesen (2010) observes how it is the task of men to attract women among the Wodaabe subgroup of the Fulfulde found in Niger and other West African countries. She contrasts this to the West where it is women who attract men. She also notes that married Wodaabe women are free to have sex with handsome men in order to have handsome children (Boesen, 2010). But what does this say about women’s positioning in Wodaabe social organisation and culture? Ironically, it is cultures that have survived colonialism such as the Wodaabe that are depicted as ill-​disposed to modernity and development. A growing body of feminist literature critical of the Eurocentric view on gender in non-​ Western societies shows diversity in women’s experiences and cultural complexities that challenge the indiscriminate depiction of non-​Western cultures as oppressive to women. This literature critiques the Eurocentric portrayal of women in these cultures as an undifferentiated mass of victims who need to be extricated from the tentacles of patriarchy. The African branch of this literature underscores women’s occupation of leadership positions in many parts of the continent as queens (Andersen, 2000), chiefs (Hoffer, 1972), kings (Achebe, 2003) and queen mothers (Lebeuf, 1971; Bádéjo, 1998). Historically, African women exercised power through platforms entrenched in traditional cultures which raises the question of how they lost this power and the various opportunities to realise their full potential and goals in life. African feminist critique of Western scholarship on gender in Africa also emphasises that in some precolonial African societies, gender was fluid and not an arbitrary and binary concept in which one was either male or female (Amadiume, 1987). The verb ‘empower’ suggests a priori lack of power among its intended beneficiaries. Colonisation and Christianity enabled women to escape unfavourable cultural practices such as arranged marriages and witchcraft accusations and provided them with opportunities for education so that women who were trained as nurses and teachers, among other feminised professions, were able to earn incomes independent of men. However, their homogenising approach concurrently restricted the space, power and privilege women in some cultures had enjoyed prior to their advent. Colonisation and Christianity espoused a rigid gender ideology that was antagonistic to, and sought to eliminate, local practices that it denounced as pagan. 237

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These practices included those relating to gender roles and relations as well as women and men’s respective social positions in society. Against this background, empowerment requires transition from the Eurocentric view, which eschews traditional cultures in non-​Western societies and portrays them as oppressive to women. Anthropological and African feminist scholarship shows how African cultures accommodated women’s rights, interests and agency. Amadiume (1987) discusses the existence of a fluid gender ideology among the Igbo of Nigeria in which women played flexible gender roles through the phenomenon of male daughters and female husbands by which industrious and wealthy women could enjoy the social status of men. Achebe (2003) similarly shows an ambitious Igbo woman, Ahebi Ugbabe, who collaborated with British colonial authority and became a king, whose downfall was triggered not by her quest for power as such but by her transgression of a social gender norm regarding ownership of a masked spirit which separated initiated biological men from both women and uninitiated men.

Women’s empowerment in Zimbabwe: a cultural perspective Flexibility in construction of gender and intra-​gender hierarchies are observable in kinship structures that bestowed varying statuses on women among the Shona people of Zimbabwe. In Shona culture, the first wife in a polygynous marriage has a higher social status than her co-​wife/​ wives. Daughters-​in-​law occupy a lower social status than their mothers-​in-​law. Similarly, lineage daughters enjoy a higher social status than lineage wives upon whom they exercise patriarchal authority. In other words, women exercise power over their sons’ and brothers’ wives and the latter are expected to defer to their husbands’ mothers and sisters. For example, daughters-​in-​law are expected to kneel before their mothers-​in-​law and older sisters-​in-​law as they do before men as a sign of deference and respect. This hierarchy is captured in the relationship between a tete (sister-​in-​law in the sense of husband’s sister or paternal aunt) and her brothers’ wives in which the former is exempted from domestic chores while the latter are expected to perform them with diligence. Women play the role of a proxy father to their brothers’ children which enables them to receive the same respect their brothers receive from their children. Stewart (1998: 223) highlights the tete’s position in the patrilineage thus: The role of vatete (senior women in the family –​aunts) in Shona societies was critical at all stages of inheritance decisions. Such women were often the source of family genealogies, and had the last word if not the final decision when it came to how estates should be divided and allocated. Lineage wives are expected to consult their tete in case of marital disputes (Stewart, 2000). A tete also plays a central role in her brother’s children’s marriages; the children are required to introduce their boyfriends and girlfriends to her and she, in turn, introduces them to her brother and sister-​in-​law (see also Bourdillon, 1987). She has a ‘joking relationship’ with her nieces and nephews which is ‘a relationship between two persons in which one is by custom permitted, and in some instances required, to tease or make fun of the other, who in turn is required to take no offence’ (Radcliffe-​Brown, 1940: 195). A tete plays the role of mediator between her nieces and nephews and their parents. She also provides sex-​and social education to her nieces and guides them through their marriages (Aschwanden, 1982). Weinrich (1967: 29) succinctly captures a tete’s authority: ‘The father’s sister has the final word to say, and if she is against the proposed marriage it is unlikely that negotiations will be initiated.’ In some cases, the tete and/​or her mother could (they still can) instigate divorce of a lineage wife who failed to respect either or both. In line with the ideology that underpins patrilineal descent systems characteristic of the 238

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Shona and Ndebele people who constitute the majority in Zimbabwe, the mother is a stranger to her children. Men are expected to respect their mothers and the Shona people enforce this through the belief that if a man insults or beats his mother, he will be haunted by her avenging spirit. The respect that a man accords his mother is extended to women from her lineage. Traditional Shona beliefs also provided women with a platform to exercise power, not only over other women but also over men, notably male chiefs and heads of families or clans, through the phenomenon of spirit mediums who were either women or men believed to be possessed by the spirits of departed ancestors. Spirit mediums were believed to be the bridge between the living and the dead and this earned them prominent positions in their families, clans and chieftaincies as they presumably communed with the departed who also spoke through them and were appealed to for advice. In Zimbabwean history, one of the prominent spirit mediums was a woman named Mbuya Nehanda, who inspired the 1896 First Chimurenga (war of liberation) and became its heroine. She also posthumously inspired the Second Chimurenga in the 1960s–​1970s and her memory is still cherished in Zimbabwean politics. Women spirit mediums were addressed as mbuya (grandmother) but if they were possessed by a male ancestor, they would morph into sekuru (grandfather) when they went into a trance and spoke in a male voice believed to be that of the departed male ancestor. Here, what is important is not whether dead people could visit this life through a medium. Rather, the material point is that this belief facilitated women’s exercise of power and influence in the social and political arenas in their families and in the society. Cultures in which women could transcend the male/​female binary, or fluctuate between it and occupy liminal spaces, accommodated women’s exercise of authority and control not only over their own lives but also those of their families, clans and societies. These beliefs waned with Western education and conversion to Christianity although the essence of this flexibility in gender and women’s statuses has survived through its transfer to contemporary economic and social relationships in which wealthy women still play important roles in decision-​making and are able to use their resources to influence economically dependent male family members. Postcolonial empowerment interventions, like Western neoliberal modernisation development discourses, face a crisis of attribution regarding the source of Zimbabwean women’s current position. They fail to appraise women’s sociocultural positioning in precolonial Zimbabwe and overlook how colonisation and Christianisation transformed traditional gender roles and relations in ways reflected in the current rigid repositioning of women and their unwavering subordination to men. For example, efforts to eliminate spirit mediums and ancestral veneration, which were deemed pagan customs, and the conversion to Christianity that accompanied them, meant that women no longer had the channel through which they had traditionally played an influential role in society. This contradicts the goal of empowerment which is to change a person’s social influence in a positive way (Cattaneo and Chapman, 2010). Similarly, colonial Western education which dismissed these practices as superstition at variance with reason failed to provide women with alternative ways of exercising authority because, in its early days, this education confined women to ‘home economics’ whose goal was to domesticate and mould them into good wives and mothers rather than make them thinkers and professionals. While Western education and conversion to Christianity created opportunities for women to choose marriage partners outside the influence of their families, erosion of this influence homogenised women by weakening structures that had traditionally provided fluidity to their social statuses. The subservience that a woman exhibited as a daughter-​in-​ law was counterbalanced by the power that she exercised as a lineage daughter, a mother or, for some, a spirit medium. Against this historical trajectory, the paradox of contemporary empowerment interventions is that the oppression and marginalisation of women which they 239

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attribute to traditional or precolonial cultures and seek to rectify are, in fact, attributable to processes of the ‘civilisation’ agenda –​a euphemism for the harsh realities of the sociocultural and economic dislocation that were the hallmarks of colonialism. The ‘either/​or’ gender binary which displaced the ‘both/​and’ flexible gender configuration eliminated platforms traditionally available for women’s participation in the sociocultural, economic and political affairs of their societies and eroded the power they had previously wielded and exercised at both family and societal levels.

Empowering women among disempowered men The term ‘empowerment’, as used in many NGO programmes, has political undertones that suggest women’s intrinsic lack of power and separate them from their communities. Capacity-​ building for women is curiously referred to as empowerment, yet the same concept is not used for capacity-​building for men. This gender asymmetry ironically creates the impression that capacity-​building is natural when it focuses on men and that it becomes empowerment when it involves women. The suggestion implicit in women’s empowerment that men wield power and women lack power has fed into male resistance to women’s empowerment initiatives under the view that women cannot be empowered without disempowering men. Interventions often extract women from their broader sociocultural context and community. They fail to recognise that factors deeply embedded in this context cannot be filtered out of their lives. Women’s empowerment needs to consider cultural power dynamics and incorporate rather than exclude them as these play an essential role in the very sociocultural, economic and political positioning of women. It is important to note that women’s lives are inextricably linked to those of men as fathers, brothers and husbands with whom they have culturally defined relationships. Isolating women from local cultural frameworks often leads to contrary outcomes in which empowerment interventions face resistance not only from men but also from women who benefit from the status quo and perceive these interventions as having the agenda to create a cultural vacuum. One of the contentious points regarding women’s empowerment in Zimbabwe is the fear that it seeks to disempower and emasculate men. This view has gained traction as more men lose reliable sources of income due to the protracted economic crisis in the country and its debilitating effect on their capacity to fulfil culturally sanctioned obligations such as providing for the family. Public discourse within conservative sections of the Zimbabwean population demonstrates the tendency to blame gender equality and women’s rights for social ills such as domestic violence, infidelity by both women and men as well as the high divorce rate in the country. Many men disapprove of and deter their wives from participation in advocacy for women’s rights which they associate with vocal single women who are then labelled prostitutes and home-​breakers. This suspicion is bolstered by empowerment interventions’ marginalisation of local cultures under the view that they are an obstacle to the empowerment agenda. The latter could draw legitimacy by adopting traditional structures, exemplified by the roles of tete and spirit mediums, that enable women to exercise power without eliciting male resistance. It is therefore not unusual for cultural conservatives to refer to women’s empowerment as a Western concept detrimental to ‘our culture’ without a hint of irony, as what currently passes for ‘our culture’ in Zimbabwe is a conflation of traditional cultures that survived the onslaught of colonialism and colonial gender ideologies. The crisis of attribution in terms of the source of women’s current disempowered position suggests the need for an alternative approach that integrates local cultures and social dynamics into empowerment programmes if they are to acquire the cultural legitimacy that is necessary for their success. 240

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Although men in Zimbabwe generally still enjoy disproportionate control over resources in relation to women, their exclusion from women’s empowerment interventions has led to a misunderstanding of the goal of empowerment. For example, advocacy for women’s rights is often misconstrued as anti-​men and anti-​culture. Empowerment has been misinterpreted as a zero-​sum game in which women cannot be empowered without disempowering men.Women’s empowerment in Zimbabwe also faces challenges emanating from its implicit assumption that men are already empowered. The apprehension observable among powerful men is even more pronounced among disempowered men so that empowering women without simultaneously empowering these men leads to a backlash. Zimbabwe has gone through a protracted economic crisis spanning close to two decades that has affected both women and men but in gender-​ specific ways.The privileges that patriarchy bestows on men are not inherent in manhood, which is a biological trait, but it is a corollary of socially constructed masculinity, which is an achieved status. Biology and age is not enough for a man to be labelled as one in patriarchal Zimbabwean cultures; an adult male is expected to earn his masculinity through socially approved male behaviour. Zimbabwean languages contain terminology which derides and ‘demotes’ incompetent men to women. There are also idioms that congruently extol and ‘elevate’ industrious women to the status of men (see Jaji, 2016). In this cultural framework, men are in as much need of empowerment as women. Considering this, empowerment needs to target contemporary community structures and spaces as opposed to a specific gender.

Conclusion: empowerment as a negotiated cultural outcome In Zimbabwean cultures, flexibility in gender, facilitated by kinship structures and sociopolitical institutions such as traditional religion, enabled women to alternate between male and female roles depending on requirements in specific contexts governed by social organisation. The impact of colonisation and Christianisation that sought to dismantle structures upon which women’s power rested needs to be considered so that the source of Zimbabwean women’s current position is identified and addressed. Women’s empowerment needs to consider women’s relationships with men and how the latter react to empowerment as this reaction influences outcomes of the process. Separation of empowerment from traditional cultures in Zimbabwe and elsewhere has enabled men to represent it as anti-​men and anti-​culture and use this label to delegitimise and resist women’s empowerment. In view of this, it is important for empowerment initiatives to review traditional structures available to women and build on them. Incorporating traditional cultures into such initiatives would give them legitimacy and improve their chances of success. Women’s empowerment interventions also need to include men and promote negotiation between the two genders because perceived reversal in positions along gender lines is unlikely to yield sustainable transformation in women’s current position. Empowerment in contemporary development discourse and practice can still be part of the postcolonial system of oppression if it does not acknowledge the contradictions that were generated through colonialism in the first instance. The case example from Zimbabwe clearly points to the need for Western development researchers, social work practitioners, and the organisations they represent, to reflect on the theories and frameworks used so far. Sense should be made of situations of oppression in the Global South and how they impact on women in this region. It is therefore necessary for social justice-​oriented development actors, NGOs and social workers alike to go back to the roots of empowerment; they should support the critical consciousness of both men and women through facilitating poor people’s self-​organisation and social-​movement building in ways that are cognisant of local cultures, rather than merely mainstreaming women’s empowerment into development programmes. 241

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Notes 1 An example is the Ford foundation’s policy statement on terrorism. 2 For example, more independent social movements such as Code Pink and Women in Black.

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Mechanic, D. (1991). Adolescents at risk: New directions. Journal of Adolescent Health, 12, 638–​643. Mohanty, C.T. (2002). ‘Under Western eyes’ revisited: Feminist solidarity through anticapitalist struggles. Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 28(2), 499–​535. Radcliffe-​Brown, A.R. (1940). On joking relationships. Africa:  Journal of the International African Institute, 13(3), 195–​210. Rappaport, J. (1987). Terms of empowerment/​exemplars of prevention: Toward a theory for community psychology. American Journal of Community Psychology, 15, 121–​148. Said, E.W. (1978). Orientalism. New York: Pantheon. Said, E.W. (1993). Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books. Sen, G. & Grown, C. (1989). Development, crises, and alternative visions: Third World women’s perspectives. Gender and Society, 3(1), 140–​143. Simon, B.L. (1994). The empowerment tradition in American social work:  A history. New  York:  Columbia University Press. Stewart, J. (1998). Why I can’t teach customary law. In J. Eekelaar & N. Thandabantu (Eds.), The changing family. International perspectives on the family and family law (pp. 217–​229). Oxford: Hart Publishing. Stewart, J. et al. (2000). In the shadow of the law. Women and justice delivery in Zimbabwe. Harare: Women and Law in Southern Africa Research Trust (WLSA). Watkins, S. (2018). Which feminisms? New Left Review, 109, pp. 5–​76. Weil, M. (1996). Community building: Building community practice. Social Work, 41(5), 481–​499. Weil, M. & Gamble, D. (2005). Evolution, models and the changing context of community practice. In M. Weil (Ed.), The handbook of community practice (pp. 117–​150). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Weinrich, A.K.H. (1967). The Group Aspect of Karanga Marriage. NADA 9(4), 28–​38. Young, R.J.C. (2001). Postcolonialism: An historical introduction. Oxford: Blackwell. Ziai, A. (2004). The ambivalence of post-​development: Between reactionary populism and radical democracy. Third World Quarterly, 25(6), 1045–​1060.

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20 Pushing for autonomous African development Ndangwa Noyoo

Introduction In the last five decades, African governments endeavoured to advance their countries through a multiplicity of interventions which were underwritten by, among other things, development theory. In this period, it can be argued that development pursuits were (and continue to be) informed by Western thought and paradigms. This situation usually emanated from African governments’ over-​reliance on external actors, such as ‘development experts’, economic advisors and scholars. Due to this lopsided approach and the inability of African governments to critically interrogate the obtaining material conditions in Africa and arrive at endogenous development strategies, development continues to be not only a muddled affair but also an alienating process to the vast majority of Africans. From the calls for ‘rapid industrialisation’ in the late 1950s and early 1960s, to statist approaches such as import substitution industrialisation, and then to the Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) and Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers (PRSPs), African development interventions have primarily relied on foreign theories and knowledge, not on local knowledge, and more importantly, on Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS). This chapter notes that on the African continent, scholars, practitioners, and governmental and non-​governmental actors seem to still eschew IKS in matters of development and would rather continue applying the same old formulae from predominantly the West that originally cast the mould for Africa’s development pursuits. Also, African development actors seem to regard IKS as peripheral to Africa’s quest for development pursuits and would rather rely on the West or Africa’s so-​called former colonial masters. This discussion further argues that there is a need for concerted efforts to mainstream IKS in the context of African development theory and practice. It then advances a position which would help to rectify the former deficits and also augment already existing IKS innovations on the continent. Its key thrust lies in bridging the divide between theory and practice in regard to development endeavours and IKS in Africa. It concludes with some suggestions and recommendations. The objectives of this chapter are to: (a) examine Africa’s development trajectory in the postcolonial era (b) locate Africa’s development pursuits in IKS

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(c) conceptualise autonomous development (d) anchor the foregoing in an indigenist African development praxis.

Background Most people are probably now accustomed to the adage that notes that ‘knowledge is power’ and this understanding has almost become something of a cliché around the world. Indeed, knowledge and its acquisition have almost become commonplace as societies have advanced over the ages. But this knowledge, which seems so easily accessible and that is disseminated effortlessly nowadays, is underwritten by certain value systems and is couched in the different histories, experiences, cultures and traditions of particular peoples. Before knowledge became widely disseminated at certain points of history, it was localised and served the needs of only specific communities. In a way, knowledge represents a people’s aspirations and their desires to have some kind of mastery over the locales where they reside. This will mostly refer to the physical environment which will also supply people with the food they eat, the water they drink and other natural resources which they harness to sustain themselves. This would also be an environment which had hosted their forerunners, who had lived in such places in previous epochs. In short, knowledge is something that is intrinsic to a people and it is also organic (Noyoo, 1999). But what is this ‘knowledge’? And what is our understanding about this phenomenon? Any profitable discussion of knowledge does well to begin by recognising some basic linguistic facts about the verb to know and how its cognates actually function in the usual range of relevant discourse. For if one neglects these facts one is well en route to changing the subject  –​to talk about something different from that very conception that must remain at the centre of our concern (Rescher, 2003). According to Aristotle, all men (as in all humans and not gender) by nature desire to know, and this seemed to mean for him that the mere possession of intellectual and other related faculties automatically triggers cognitive activity, although this is not always the case (Gasset, 2002). Thus, the concept of knowledge occurs in a variety of locutions –​knowing how, knowing who (which, where, etc.), knowing one thing from another –​and, due to a condition of adequacy, an account of knowledge must display the unity in this family or locutions. For the word ‘know’ is surely not ambiguous, and it is reasonable to expect that there is some discernible common theme upon which the different types of knowledge can be exhibited as variations (McGinn, 1999). Goldman (1986) points out that to know a proposition, ‘p’, is to know that it is true. But you cannot know that ‘p’ is true unless it is true. So, a necessary condition for knowledge is truth. Equally, you cannot know that ‘p’ is true, unless you are of the opinion that ‘p’ is true –​unless you believe ‘p’. So, belief, like truth, is necessary. But true belief is not sufficient for knowledge, at least not in the strict sense of ‘know’. Therefore, knowledge is directly linked to the search for truth, and if we go one step further, we can suppose that knowledge is also akin to something that is good, as Plato articulated in his work Republic, as cited in Ross (1997: 13): But as for knowledge and truth, even as in our illustration it is right to deem light and vision sunlike, but never to think that they are the sun, so here it is right to consider these two their counterparts, as being like the good or boniform, but to think that either of them is the good is not right. Still higher honour belongs to the possession and habit of the good. In the modern era, knowledge can be regarded as a public good in that it is non-​r ivalrous and non-​excludable due to its low marginal cost of reproduction and dissemination/​distribution. 245

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It can also be said that it has heterogeneous sources and is increasingly codified but also ever more tacit in nature. Knowledge is also increasingly driven by the new information and communications technology or ICT. It is also increasingly convergent and is intrinsically linked to formal and informal education (Oyelaran-​Oyeyinka & Sampath, 2010). When we concern ourselves with the notion of knowledge, we are also traversing the path of epistemology. In this case, epistemology is the philosophical study of knowing and other desirable ways of believing and attempting to find the truth. Most of the central questions of epistemology pertain to knowledge: what is knowledge? Is knowledge possible? How do we get it? In fact, these three questions are intertwined, and it is not obvious which question comes first (Zagzebski, 2009). Thus, epistemology concerns itself with knowledge:  its nature, its requirements, and its limitations. Indeed, epistemology has often been regarded as the most central area of philosophy in the period since the Renaissance (Bonjour, 2010). But epistemology is not only linked to philosophy as it can be conceived as the theory of knowledge and justification. It constitutes concepts, theories, and problems central in understanding knowledge and justification. Historically, justification –​sometimes under such names as ‘reason to believe’, ‘evidence’, and ‘warrant’ –​has been as important in epistemology as knowledge itself (Audi, 1998). Prior to colonial rule, African societies had relied on their own forms of epistemology to interpret reality and seek solutions to the challenges that confronted them. However, colonial domination was also driven by the quest to obliterate African epistemology, and where the foreign occupying power could not manage to achieve this, it sought to dilute and vilify African epistemology. The ultimate aim of such actions was to replace African epistemology with European epistemology. Hence, the devastating effects of colonial rule were not only manifest in physical oppression but also in the colonising of the Africans’ minds.

The link between knowledge and development Human beings have always sought ways and means to improve their living circumstances from time immemorial. In the quest to do this, they have, over the centuries, tapped into their local environs in the search for better ways of exploiting natural resources for the collective good. It is human beings’ capacity in dealing with the environment or the forces of nature that is cardinal in the evolution of societies and which has provided the impetus for social change –​that, in this case, has moved societies from one stage of development to another. This process is dependent on the extent to which human beings understand the laws of nature (science), on the extent to which they put that understanding into practice by devising tools (technology), and on the manner in which work is organised (Rodney, 1973). Again, how they understand the laws of nature is reliant on their natural habitats and environments. These are the ingredients which shape their paradigms or world views and epistemological systems. Driouchi (2014: 314) makes quite an interesting point in regard to the link between knowledge and development in that many examinations have shown this link to be obvious. However, is this link really that obvious? This discussion takes the view that things in this area are not clear-​cut, especially if those who are in charge of national development processes do not have the tools of critical analysis, that is, the ability to be critical thinkers. In short, such people must have completed some form of higher education. It can be argued that Africa seems to be unable to extricate itself from the knowledge straightjacket which its societies were forced into by the colonialists, especially in relation to the area of development. In this regard, it can be reasoned that knowledge, which is crucial to the holistic development of any society –​through theories, modes of practice and strategies –​should be informed by local and indigenous knowledge. That is why IKS must underpin all development 246

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efforts in Africa by national governments, civil society organisations (CSOs) and grass-​roots formations, if the continent has to unshackle itself from its current underdeveloped status. This is because the history of IKS in Africa evolves within the social change and practice of development nexus in this postcolonial era. However, this is still within Western thought (Swai, 2010). According to Swai, Western thought about development has largely been influenced by the modernisation theory. This theory was shaped by the 19th century conception of progress and managed change prominent in the works of early social theorists including Karl Marx, Emile Durkheim and Max Weber. (Swai, 2010: 117) Furthermore, Swai makes some poignant observations on the same matter: Influenced by the ideas, emboldened by the notions of civilising mission and concerned with accumulation in the impending post-​colonial period, colonial governments, in concert with international development agencies, especially the World Bank, sought to manage accumulation in Africa and other post-​colonial regions. International experts partly drawn from Western universities drew Africa’s ‘development plans’. Couched in the language of (and sometimes backed up by statistics on) what Africa lacked and needed, the plans contained prescriptions and strategies for modernising Africa. Development and modernisation were largely seen as one and the same thing –​being like the West, and it entailed travelling along the route that the West supposedly travelled. Changes at the economic, social, cultural and psychological levels, which mirrored the dominant values of the West, were recommended for the development of Africa and other underdeveloped regions. (Swai, 2010: 117–​118) Unfortunately, Africa’s development has been anchored in Western knowledge bases during almost the whole postcolonial era despite African countries attaining political independence. What is defined as ‘development’ in Africa is still not a local affair but something that is outlined for Africans by, usually, the West or other regions of the world. In light of what has been presented above, it is now pertinent to define development.

What is development? In trying to define the term ‘development’, it is imperative that people first scrutinise the quality of self-​evidence surrounding this concept which is supposed to command universal acceptance but which –​as many have doubtless forgotten –​was constructed within a particular history and culture (Rist, 2009). There is a need to unpack the term, because in the last five decades Africa has been at the receiving end of what other peoples and continents, especially Europe, have defined as ‘development’. Unfortunately, in most cases, African countries have been the consummate consumers of whatever development recipes have been handed out by other continents and without much scrutiny and questioning on their part. What is noteworthy in regard to the strength of development discourse is that it comes from its power to seduce, in every sense of the term: to charm, to please, to fascinate, to set dreaming, but also to abuse, to turn away from the truth, to deceive. How could one possibly resist the idea that there is a way of eliminating the poverty by which one is so troubled? (Rist, 2009). According to Rapley (2007: 1): 247

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Development has come a long way in the past six decades. As both an enterprise and a scholarly discipline, development became significant in the period immediately following World War II. The Western world confronted the new challenge of rebuilding countries –​ and in Europe, a continent –​that had been shattered by war.The institutions that would help manage this process, such as the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (which soon came to be known as the World Bank), were created for the task. Alongside them arose a tradition of theorising about the special challenges facing backward regions and countries, and the means by which these challenges could be met in such a way as to put these areas on sustainable paths to industrialisation. From the description above, it can be inferred that ‘backward’ regions and countries refer to Africa. In this regard, ‘development’ was something that the West needed to export to Africa. It can be argued that the primary objective was to entrench Western hegemony globally through development thought. After casting light on a multiplicity of definitions, this discussion adopted the definition of development that was proffered by Walter Rodney. According to Rodney (1973), development cannot be seen purely as an economic affair but rather as an overall social process which is dependent upon the outcome of human beings’ efforts to deal with the natural environment. In this sense, development is holistic and encompassing as it deals with all the facets of human endeavour and not just one aspect. This definition clearly departs from other definitions that have been offered over the decades by mostly Western scholars and development agencies, which overemphasise economic aspects over social issues. These other factors also lead to the raising of the quality of life of the people and entire societies. This perspective of development, among other progressive definitions, provides a counterweight to the neoliberal definitions that overemphasise the economic aspects and also frown upon social investment. Social investment allowed for the growth of works that culminated in the ascendancy of the Human Development Approach, for instance. Nevertheless, even in the progressive movements, development was rarely defined from an African IKS perspective, but again, from a dominant mainstream perspective that was Western in content and outlook. It is the contention of this chapter that even in global agendas such as the United Nations’ Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), for example, the African IKS voice remained silent and continues to be silenced.

From Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) to Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) In 2000, the world’s nations agreed to eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) with a target date of 2015. They formed guidelines which these nations adhered to or had sought to adhere to. Once again, since the inception of the United Nations in 1945, national governments were called upon by the organisation to be engaged in actions and activities that would result in raising the quality of life of their citizens. The MDGs aimed to: • reduce by half the proportion of people who lived on less than a dollar a day • reduce by half the proportion of people who suffered from hunger • ensure that all boys and girls completed a full course of primary schooling • eliminate gender disparity in primary and secondary education, preferably by 2005, and at all levels by 2015 • reduce by two-​thirds the mortality rate among children under five • reduce by three-​quarters the maternal mortality ratio 248

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• halt and begin to reverse the spread of HIV/​AIDS • halt and begin to reverse the incidence of malaria and other major diseases. (United Nations, 2015a) The MDGs were heralded as ground-​breaking in regard to poverty reduction and the elimination of life-​threatening social conditions in developing countries. Governments were asked to prepare MDG reports and show how they were meeting the MDGs’ targets. With much fanfare, African governments reported ‘progress’ being made in meeting the various MDGs. However, as the years went by, many African governments had not met many of the MDGs. By 2015, it was clear that African governments had once more failed to fulfil their promises to their people. In this regard, due to abysmal performances on the development front by certain countries, especially in Africa, the United Nations in conjunction with various role players and stakeholders in 2015, arrived at a global consensus to shift the development agenda to Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The SDGs, also known as the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, seek to stimulate action over the next fifteen years in several important areas, including the planet, and build on the MDGs. This new agenda, according to the United Nations (2015b), also seeks to strengthen universal peace in the larger freedom. It recognises that eradicating poverty in all its forms and dimensions, including extreme poverty, is the greatest global challenge and an indispensable requirement for sustainable development. There are 17 SDGs which were arrived at, including among others, ending poverty in all its forms everywhere and ending hunger, achieving food security and improving nutrition, and promoting sustainable agriculture. Curiously, the SDGs seem to resonate with the earlier MDGs and look like they are a mere rehashing or expansion of them.What is clear, though, is that the MDGs and SDGs, with all their noble intentions, do not seem to be predicated on IKS. One of the major criticisms of the MDGs by development activists, scholars and civil society actors is that they were more of a top-​down type of global agenda with little input from local actors and that is why they failed in most cases to be rooted in particular contexts (Bond, 2006). In all probability, that is why the SDGs were conceived and why some United Nations officials refer to the process of arriving at the SDGs as a ‘collective journey’ and that the SDGs are ‘deliberately ambitious’ and ‘transformational’ with a promise to ‘leave no one behind’ (United Nations, 2017). Nevertheless, for this discussion the issue still remains the non-​inclusion of IKS in the conceptualisation of SDGs or their forerunner, the MDGs. For instance, sustainable development is a key focus of SDGs, but what have we heard about local communities’ interpretation of sustainable development? What and how do their IKS deal with the forces of nature, harness natural resources or preserve their environs for future generations? Arguably, Western paradigms are still at the centre of the SDGs, just like the MDGs. That is why there is a general disconnect between such high-​level, and arguably convoluted, ideals and people’s aspirations in various African countries –​notwithstanding most African governments’ incompetence.

What about Indigenous Knowledge Systems? Several African scholars have argued that the Western world view of ‘knowledge’ has, since its introduction in Africa and other non-​Western societies, lacked an understanding of the holistic nature and approach of non-​Western ways of knowing and knowledge production (Kaya & Seleti, 2013). Because of the Eurocentric dismissal of African-​centred knowledge systems,  African scholars have been confronted with the task of arguing for their acceptability in the academy, on terms established by hegemonic forces (Emeagwali & Dei, 2014). According to Semali and Kincheloe (2002), the term ‘indigenous’, and thus the concept of indigenous knowledge, has 249

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often been associated in the Western context with the ‘primitive’, the ‘wild’, and the ‘natural’. Such representations have evoked condescension from Western observers and elicited little appreciation for the insight and understanding that indigeneity might provide. By way of definition, the word indigenous refers to the root, something natural or innate (to). It is an integral part of culture. Furthermore, Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) refer to the combination of knowledge systems encompassing technology, social, economic and philosophical learning, or educational, legal and governance systems. It is knowledge relating to the technological, social, institutional, scientific and developmental, including those used in liberation struggles (Odora-​ Hoppers, 2002: 8). Hence, The idea of indigenous knowledge as espoused within this framework, for instance, is not just about woven baskets, handicraft for tourists or traditional dances, per se. Rather, it is about excavating the technologies behind those practices and artefacts: the looms, textiles, jewellery and brass-​work manufacture; exploring indigenous technological knowledge in agriculture, fishing, forest resource exploitation, atmospheric and climatological knowledge and management techniques, indigenous learning and knowledge transmission systems, architecture, medicine and pharmacology, and recasting the potentialities they represent in a context of democratic, equitable participation for community, national and global development in real time. (Odora-​Hoppers, 2002: 8) Taking into account what has been mentioned above, whenever we examine IKS, we should not be oblivious to the power relations at play in the local, national, regional and global contexts. While taking full cognisance of this fact, some questions need to be posed. For example, who or what systems gain from the prevailing skewed utility of Western Knowledge Systems (WKS) in Africa? How easy will it be for African nations to begin exploring or, for that matter, encode other forms of knowledge in their policy processes? Who or what systems gain from the constant vilification of IKS? (Noyoo, 2007). Indigenous knowledge is associated with the terms ‘local knowledge’ or ‘ethnoscience’, indicating knowledge systems that are specific to cultures or groups in a particular social or historical context. The ascription of ‘indigenous’ as a prefix to this kind of knowledge is an attempt to separate what is considered to be universal, value-​free, static truth, from the situated, value-​laden, changing cultural beliefs of indigenous knowledge (Seleti, 2013). Arguably, in Africa, the empiricism of the social science paradigm became the handmaid of Europe’s imperial motives on the continent, especially as it devalued African models of knowing. The unfortunate result for indigenous African cultural institutions and knowledge systems was that a greater part of the Africans’ lived experience, embedded in unwritten sites of memory, subterranean selfhoods and new intellectual spaces of liberation, was suppressed (Zegeye & Vambe, 2011).

Development theory and practice and IKS nexus Before ideas about development can be put into concrete actions, there must be efforts aimed at conceptualising and theorising about what development actually is. This is usually at an abstract level or what is referred to as the cognitive stage. Hence, theory and practice, cognition and action are often mentioned as two ways of behaviour in relation to the world. The ancients distinguished between them, defining them as passive and active behaviour respectively. Cognition was then understood as the reflection of reality. In this sense, the mind submits to the influence of reality (Czeżowski, 2000: 197). Nevertheless, theory in our case can be taken 250

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as the critique, revision and summing up of past knowledge in the form of general propositions, the fusion of diverse views and partial knowledge in general frameworks of explanation. What is referred to as ‘development theory’ largely belongs to the level of grand theories and broad explanatory frameworks. However, there is a lot that development theory does not talk about. Many actual development problems are addressed by mid-​range or micro theories –​questions of rural development, industrialisation, urbanisation, trade policy, etc. Development theory, as such, concerns the larger explanatory frames (Pieterse, 2001: 2). In fact, We cannot indeed talk about theory without relating it to practice and in this case, development theory in relation to development practice. Theory can also be regarded as a distillation of reflections on practice into conceptual language so as to connect with past knowledge. However, the relationship between theory and practice is uneven: theory tends to lag behind practice, behind innovations on the ground and practice tends to lag behind theory (since policy makers and activists lack time for reflection). A careful look at practice can generate new theory, and theory or theoretical praxis can inspire new practice. Theories are contextual. (Pieterse, 2001: 2, emphasis added) When we talk of the former processes, we must be mindful of the context in which they unfold. This is the context of social, environmental and community values (Stimson, Stough & Roberts, 2006). Development theories and practice, therefore, must be placed in the environments and value bases of African communities if they are to liberate the mass of the people from chronic poverty and human deprivation, illiteracy and ill-​health, among other debilitating conditions. Development is indeed about people’s value systems and anything that is introduced from outside in the name of ‘development’ which clashes with people’s values must surely be found wanting. Throughout time, societies have been motivated by widely different social and philosophical value systems for determining benefits and costs and so have had different answers to the question of a good way to allocate things. In this regard, a value system is a consistent set of values that guide individual or social choices. A well-​defined value system can serve as a moral code (Hacket, 2011: 18). Therefore, development is about choices and what people choose over other issues. It is not something that should be imposed and dictated from other lands, as has been the case of Africa. In the same breath, Africa has not been given the luxury or even the freedom to follow its own development path but has always been bogged down in other continents’ ‘development paths’, especially Europe’s. Moreover, Africa has not been able to propel an autonomous development process. Autonomous development is the key that will unlock Africa’s potential. Interestingly enough, other parts of the world that had some semblance of autonomous development were able to accelerate their development in a short space of time, unlike Africa. When highlighting the notion of autonomous development, it is important to mention that Africa has never followed an autonomous development path since the first decade of independence in the late 1950s and 1960s.This anomalous situation still persists in the twenty-​first century. What is at stake in regard to Africa’s development is the idea of autonomy; most, if not all, African countries are somewhat neo-​colonies. Even at an individual level, autonomy is crucial for one to embark on something, or do anything, for that matter. Autonomy is important as it enables a person to have a developed identity.With autonomy, one must be able to manifest, ideally, rational and reflective free choice. Actually, the ideals implicit in this concept of autonomy include independence and self-​determination, the ability to make rational and free decisions, and an ability to accurately assess what constitutes the individual’s own interests (Agich, 2003). Therefore, at national or continental levels, development efforts in Africa must be navigated by autonomous 251

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action. Autonomous action is based on intrinsic motivation. Any action that is based on externally supplied motivation is heterogeneous and any attempt to engineer autonomous action with an external ‘carrot and stick’ would be self-​defeating (Ellerman, 2002). Development has been elusive in Africa in most cases, because it is not something that is conceptualised and driven by Africans themselves, but it is always defined by outsiders, and particularly the West. Presently, China is also dictating the pace of Africa’s development through its many projects on the continent. As can be seen from the foregoing issues pertaining to autonomy, Africa must develop its own identity and make rational and reflective free choice in the light of its development pursuits. African countries, and especially their leaders, must be able to know what is in the interests of their ordinary people and therefore any development project or programme must be informed by this understanding. Once this stance is taken by African countries, it will be easy to rely on their IKS and not the knowledge of outsiders. Autonomous development is best exemplified by what has been referred to as the ‘East Asian miracle’. Campos and Root (1996: 1) rightly observe that among the few countries that have overcome underdevelopment, eight East Asian economies –​Japan, the Republic of Korea, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia –​stand out because of their usually rapid growth. Their dramatic success is frequently attributed to the adoption of appropriate economic policies. But their policies would not have worked unless each country’s populace believed that the policies could be sustained and, by implication, that some of the benefits would be available to all. Arguably, many of the strategies that some of these countries had employed to foster development were actually unorthodox and did not ape those of the West. Development initiatives were strongly linked to the value systems and environments of these countries. In this part of the world, even where the West had, and continues to have, some influence, it can be argued that the countries managed to maintain some form of autonomy in their development choices. Even in the case of China, it can further be argued that this country followed its own autonomous development path. There is so much that has been said about the rise of China as an ‘economic power house’ and many theories have been advanced by different scholars and commentators as to why China accelerated its development at the pace that it did. Whatever the reasons (and they are many, and it is not for this chapter’s purpose to delve into them), upon scrutiny, it can be discerned that China had developed quite rapidly because of the autonomous development process that it followed. This refers to the fact that China has been able to move at the pace and direction that it chose for itself and not by the standards of other peoples in matters of its own development. It can also be speculated that China had chosen which development theories to employ. Arguably, China utilises and incorporates a lot of its IKS in development pursuits as opposed to, for instance, African countries that have not been able to break away from the path that was carved out for them by the West.

Solutions and recommendations In order for Africa to have meaningful development outcomes and impacts, development efforts must be in sync with the continent’s environment and African people’s aspirations, on the one hand, and values, mores and cultures on the other. In this regard, development efforts must be informed by IKS. However, IKS must be elevated to macro-​policy levels in African countries. In this regard, IKS must be embedded in public policy frameworks and move from the peripheries, as has been the case in all these past decades. Furthermore, IKS need to be strengthened –​particularly with regard to their links with education, rural development, improvement of existing skills and grass-​roots’ innovations, job creation, primary health care, and human resource development (Odora-​Hoppers, 2014). In addition, social work and social development practice should be 252

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underpinned by IKS if they have to resonate with the people’s aspirations. IKS and social development would proffer solutions to the many challenges enfeebling individuals, families, groups and communities in Africa. It is also argued in this chapter that the only way Africa can develop holistically and profoundly will be on its own terms in regard to the conceptualisation, content, pace and implementation of development initiatives on the continent. For this to transpire, it is proposed that African countries must locate their development endeavours in indigenist development praxis, buttressed by IKS. This is the surest way for ordinary people to reap maximum dividends from myriad development initiatives that are being pursued all over Africa, but which seem not to be making any qualitative changes in the lives of millions of impoverished and marginalised Africans. In short, African countries must proffer their own development narrative and should not always be copying the efforts of other continents. Echoing Asabere-​Ameyaw, Anamuah-​Mensah, Dei and Raheem (2014: 3), two issues need to be considered if Africa is to develop: What is an indigenist perspective to development as far as Africa is concerned? What knowledge and paradigms do we employ in such undertakings? These issues need to be interrogated by African researchers and scholars in order for the African continent to foster its own development process. Furthermore, these questions should be robustly responded to, especially by African governments and leaders:  how do we address distorted Eurocentric views of Africa? How do we interrogate ‘endogenous development’ from an African-​centred perspective? What are contentious issues and contestations over tradition, modernity and knowledge production in postcolonial Africa? What are the politics of development, and the roles of science, culture, gender and local knowledge in such politics of education? How do we locate a discussion of Africa in a global/​transnational context, particularly, in looking at themes common to many Southern people contending with, and resisting the effects of, [neo] colonial and imperial knowledge (Asabere-​Ameyaw et al., 2014)? Indeed, development which is viewed from an ‘indigenist lens’ would define and conceptualise development as a process and practice that is informed by home-​grown, locally informed and locally driven human initiatives to satisfy local needs and aspirations through self-​reliance, resource autonomy and ecological sustainability, while respecting the fundamental freedoms and rights of all peoples and including collectivities (Asabere-​Ameyaw et al., 2014). In addition, indigenist development works with a theory of the ‘anticolonial’.This refers to an understanding of colonial and decolonial relations and their aftermath as well as the implications of imperial power on knowledge processes, interrogation and validation, the power of indigenous people, indigenousness and identity and the recourse to power, subjective agency and resistance. Indigenist development sees a link between local knowledge and development (Asabere-​ Ameyaw et al., 2014). From this it can be discerned that indigenist development approaches are in sync with IKS. It is therefore proposed in this chapter that efforts must be made by African intellectuals, policymakers, politicians, practitioners, governmental and non-​governmental actors to see to it that indigenist development and IKS thrusts are reinforced across Africa.The first significant effort should be to institutionalise indigenist development approaches and IKS in Africa. This is where the African Union (AU) can play a critical role.The AU has the ability to filter this type of development thought and praxis across Africa by coordinating with all of Africa’s regional economic blocs. Furthermore, the AU can also facilitate the transmission of this knowledge by working closely with such bodies as the New Partnership for Africa’s Development (NEPAD), the African Development Bank (AfDB) and the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA). However, such an agenda would remain hollow if there is no intellectual rigour, research and evidence-​informed policymaking that augments its thrust across Africa. Therefore, think tanks and innovation hubs must be created on the continent and they must be led by outstanding African intellectuals and scholars who research, innovate, and robustly arrive 253

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at evidence-​informed theories and methods of practice that mirror the objectives of indigenist development and IKS.

Future research directions Future research is definitely needed in the areas of IKS and development, and specifically the notion of autonomous African development. Crucially, the divide between development theory and practice has to be removed altogether from African development discourses. For this to transpire, African researchers and scholars should take an anti-​imperialist and anti-​neocolonialist stance.This means that African researchers and scholars need to advance and then employ African paradigms, perspectives, analytical tools and research approaches in their quest to proffer solutions to Africa’s development deficits. Furthermore, to clearly explain the social, economic and political conditions in Africa, there is a need for organic research initiatives and endogenous research processes to unfold on the continent. Hence it is recommended that future research directions in this arena should be able to dovetail indigenist development and IKS endeavours in Africa.To this end, more theoretical constructs are needed in the areas of indigenist development and African IKS. Such an approach has the potential to unleash profound sociopolitical and economic changes across Africa and enable African countries to liberate themselves from more than half a century of ‘distorted development’ as Midgley (1995) opines. For Africa, this ‘distorted development’ has its antecedents in the mercantile era, slavery, colonialism, imperialism and neocolonialism. Research that is predicated on indigenist African development praxis would also be informed by the transformative power of indigenous knowledge, and the ways that such knowledge can be used to foster empowerment and justice in a variety of cultural contexts. A key aspect of this transformative power involves the exploration of human consciousness, the nature of its production, and the process of its engagement with cultural differences (Semali & Kincheloe, 2002). Research emanating from the foregoing perspectives can ill afford to value neutrality but must, first and foremost, be avowed Africanist.This understanding is informed by the reality that, to this day, the term ‘research’, is inextricably linked to European imperialism and colonialism. The word itself, ‘research’, is probably one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary.When mentioned in many indigenous contexts, it stirs up silence, it conjures up bad memories, it raises a smile that is knowing and distrustful. It is so powerful that indigenous people even write poetry about research. The ways in which scientific research is implicated in the worst excesses of colonialism remains a powerful remembered history for many of the world’s colonised peoples. It is a history that still offends the deepest sense of our humanity. Just knowing that someone measured our ‘faculties’ by filling the skulls of our ancestors with millet seeds and compared the amount of millet seeds to the capacity for mental thought offends our sense of who and what we are. It galls us that Western researchers and intellectuals can assume to know all that it is possible to know of us, on the basis of their brief encounters with some of us. (Smith, 2006: 1) It is important to also point out that power relations will creep into research matters, especially when it comes to issues pertaining to development. Those who control the development discourse will ultimately dictate who will own a country’s or continent’s natural resources. That is why it can be speculated here that in this day and age, Africa still has to rely on foreign theories and analytical tools in its development pursuits because of vested Western interests. It can be argued that this situation suits those who control ‘knowledge’ as it relates to Africa’s development 254

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and in this regard, Africa’s weak and disadvantaged position in the global development equation. Future research directions in this area should focus on how African researchers and scholars can arrive at local approaches and theoretical frameworks for Africa’s emancipated and autonomous development endeavours. This research should be able to provide step-​by-​step ways of harnessing local knowledge for indigenous development efforts. In addition, this type of research should also result in the actual physical emancipation of the millions of Africa’s poor, disadvantaged, disenfranchised and marginalised communities from all forms of exploitation, injustice and exclusion. Also, taking into account the high levels of inequality on the African continent, research must be informed by the canon of social justice. Socially just research requires reflexivity –​an approach to reflection that focuses primarily on the policies and ideologies embedded within the research processes and within the self of the researcher. It requires that we intentionally, consciously and repeatedly bring our awareness to the question of what influences our perceptions, conceptions, and responses (internal and external) throughout the research process, from inception to dissemination. The intention is twofold: to uncover and challenge the power relations embedded in research, and to uncover and challenge hegemonic assumptions about the nature of the world, the self and research. Hegemonic assumptions flow from the defining ideologies of our time (Strega & Brown, 2015).

Conclusion African development initiatives cannot be treated in isolation but must be linked to the total emancipation of Africa’s people from the vestiges of colonial domination, neocolonialism, postcolonial dictatorships, ethnicity, ethnic-​based politics and single party rule. In this way, Africa can begin to propel an autonomous development process that is free of the trappings of borrowed development formulae as has continuously been the case since most African countries gained independence in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Africans need to develop their own development theories that reflect their realities so as to inform better practice. Africa cannot continue to blindly imbibe Western theories and practices in development matters in this twenty-​first century. The late revolutionary leader of Burkina Faso, Thomas Sankara, rightly pointed out that in order to have fundamental change in Africa, we must be non-​conformists and have the courage to turn our backs on the old formulae and also have the courage to invent the future (Sankara, 1988). This is what is needed in Africa when we begin to advance indigenist development and IKS theoretical frameworks of development. In all such endeavours, the linkages between indigenist development and IKS must be clearly established. As Kwame Nkrumah famously pronounced: ‘Practice without thought is blind; thought without practice is empty’ (Biney, 2011).

References Agich, G.J. (2003). Dependence and autonomy in old age:  An ethical framework for long-​term care (2nd edn). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Asabere-​Ameyaw, A., Anamuah-​Mensah, J., Dei, G.J.S. & Raheem, K. (2014). Indigenist African development and related issues from a transdisciplinary perspective: An Introduction. In A. Asabere-​Ameyaw, J. Anamuah-​Mensah, G.J.S. Dei & K. Rheem (Eds.), Indigenist African development and related Issues (pp. 1–​14). Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Audi, R. (1998). Epistemology: A contemporary introduction to the theory of knowledge. New York: Routledge. Biney, A. (2011). The political and social thought of Kwame Nkrumah. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bond, P. (2006). Global Governance Campaigning and MDGs: From top-​down to bottom-​up anti-​poverty work. Third World Quarterly, 27(2), 339–​354.

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Bonjour, L. (2010). Epistemology: Classic problems and contemporary responses (2nd ed.). Plymouth: Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. Campos, J.E. & Root, H.L. (1996). The key to the Asian miracle: Making shared growth credible. Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution. Czeżowski, T. (2000). Knowledge, science, and values:  A programme for scientific philosophy. Amsterdam: Rodopi B.V. Driouchi, A. (2014). Rents from natural resources and relations to knowledge economy in Arab Countries. In A. Driouchi (Ed.), Knowledge-​based economic policy development in the Arab World (pp. 313–​334). Hershey, PA: Business Science Reference. Ellerman, D. (2002). Autonomy-​respecting assistance:  Towards new strategies for capacity building and development assistance. In S. Fakuda-​Parr, C. Lopes & K. Malik (Eds.), Capacity for development: New solutions to old problems (pp. 43–​60). New York: United Nations Development Programme. Emeagwali, G. & Dei, G.J.S. (2014). Introduction. In G. Emeagwali & G.J.S. Dei (Eds.), African indigenous knowledge and the disciplines (pp. ix–​xiii). Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Gasset, J.O.Y. (2002). What is knowledge? New York: University of New York Press. Goldman, A.I. (1986). Epistemology and cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hacket, S.C. (2011). Environmental and natural resources economics: Theory, policy, and the Sustainable Society (4th ed.). New York: M.E. Sharpe, Inc. Kaya, H.O. & Seleti,Y.N. (2013). African indigenous knowledge systems and relevance of higher education in South Africa. The International Education Journal: Comparative Perspectives, 12(1), 30–​44. McGinn, C. (1999). Knowledge and reality: Selected essays. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Midgley, J. (1995). Social Development:  The Developmental Perspective in Social Welfare. London:  SAGE Publications Ltd. Noyoo, N. (1999). Good governance and national social development:  A Zambian experience. Social Development Issues, 21(1), 70–​74. Noyoo, N. (2007). Indigenous knowledge systems and their relevance for sustainable Development: A Case of Southern Africa. In E.K. Boon & L. Hens (Eds.), Indigenous knowledge systems and sustainable development: Relevance for Africa (pp. 167–​172). Delhi: Kamla-​Raj Enterprises. Odora-​Hoppers, CA. (2002). Indigenous knowledge and the integration of knowledge systems: Towards a conceptual and methodological framework. In C.A. Odora-​Hoppers (Ed.), Indigenous knowledge and the integration of knowledge systems: Towards a philosophy of articulation (pp. 1–​21). Claremont, NH: New Africa Books (Pty) Ltd. Odora-​Hoppers, C.A. (2014). Indigenous knowledge systems. In F. Omaswa & N. Crisp (Eds.), African health leaders: Making change and claiming the future (pp. 219–​230). New York: Oxford University Press. Oyelaran-​Oyeyinka, B. & Sampath, P. (2010). Latecomer development:  Innovation and knowledge for economic growth. Abingdon: Routledge. Pieterse, J.N. (2001). Development theory: Deconstruction/​Reconstructions. London: SAGE Publications. Rapley, J. (2007). Understanding Development:  Theory and practice in the Third World (3rd ed.). Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Rescher, N. (2003). Epistemology: An introduction to the theory of knowledge. New York: State University of New York Press. Rist, G. (2009). The history of development: From Western origins to global faith (3rd ed.). New Delhi: Academic Foundation. Rodney, W. (1973). How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Dar es Salaam: Tanzania Publishing House. Ross, S.D.R. (1997). The gift of truth: Gathering the good. New York: State University of New York Press. Sankara, T. (1988). Thomas Sankara speaks: The Burkina Faso Revolution 1983–​87. New York: Pathfinder. Seleti, Y. (2013). The value of Indigenous knowledge systems in the 21st century. In J.K. Gilbert & S.  Stocklmayer (Eds.), Communication and engagement with science and technology:  Issues and dilemmas (pp. 261–​272). New York: Routledge. Semali, L.M. & Kincheloe, J.L. (2002). Introduction: What is indigenous knowledge and why should we study it? In L.M. Semali & J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), What is Indigenous knowledge? Voices from the Academy (pp. 3–​58). Abingdon: Routledge. Smith, L.T. (2006). Decolonising Methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. London: Zed Books Ltd. Stimson, R.J., Stough, R.R. & Roberts, B.H. (2006). Regional economic development: Analysis and planning strategy (2nd ed.). Berlin: Springer. Strega, S. & Brown, L. (2015). Introduction: From resistance to resurgence. In S. Strega & L. Brown (Eds.), Research as resistance:  Revisiting critical, indigenous and anti-​oppressive approaches (2nd edn) (pp. 1–​17). Toronto: Canadian Scholars’ Press. 256

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Swai, E.V. (2010). Beyond women’s empowerment in Africa: Exploring dislocation and Agency. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. United Nations (2015a). End poverty: Millennium Development Goals and beyond 2015. Retrieved from www. un.org/​millenniumgoals/​bkgd.shtml. United Nations (2015b). Transforming our world: The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. Retrieved from https://​sustainabledevelopment.un.org/​post2015/​transformingourworld. United Nations (2017). The Sustainable Development Goals Report 2017. Retrieved from file://​/​C:/​Users/​ 01458109/​Documents/​The%20Sustainable%20Development%20Goals%20Report%202017.pdf. Zagzebski, L. (2009). On epistemology. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Zegeye, A. & Vambe, M. (2011). Close to the sources: Essays on contemporary African culture, politics and academy. Abingdon: Routledge.

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Case studies and innovation from Africa Ndangwa Noyoo Introduction This section of the book particularly focuses on contextual issues and presents cases from Africa. All the chapters discuss in one form or another the decolonisation of social work in postcolonial Africa. Obviously, the postcolonial era cannot be discussed in its entirety without delving into the past and in this regard, some chapters touch on the pre-​colonial and colonial era.The authors examine wide-​ranging and diverse issues such as decolonising social work practice and social work education in postcolonial Africa; searching for relevance in South Africa in regard to social work supervision in the social development approach; advancing a local perspective in the light of an effective foster care model; colonisation as collective trauma and social work responses to the former; decolonisation and indigenisation of social work; and social work in Southern Africa in the postcolonial era. One of the key themes that discussed in all chapters is the issue of relevance. Indeed, many African countries in the postcolonial era have sought to make sense of many systems and institutions they had inherited from their so-​called colonial masters, to adequately respond to the needs of their citizens. Social work falls within this purview of relevance and to a larger extent, legitimisation. As all chapters show, social work was exported to Africa by colonial powers that had come to colonise this continent. In this respect, all countries across Africa had social work being superimposed on indigenous caring systems by either missionaries or colonial authorities. These indigenous caring systems had evolved in Africa for thousands of years and yet were almost obliterated during the colonial era. While social work was foreign, the former systems emerged out of local realities and centuries of human actions aimed at making the lives of indigenous people better. However, it seems that after almost five decades of independence in many parts of Africa, postcolonial states are still grappling with the question of relevance in the light of social work practice and education. The authors proffer some insights which not only shed light on the complexities surrounding social work practice and education in postcolonial Africa, but also suggest ways in which the profession of social work could resonate with local conditions and the values and aspirations of the citizenry of all African countries. In this regard, it is important to underscore the fact that the search for social work’s relevance in Africa is an ongoing process and should be taken as something that is not time-​bound. It has evolved and continues to evolve while being impacted and

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shaped by endogenous and exogenous forces. Some of the former are epitomised in such trends like rural–​urban migrations, modernity and the attenuation of the traditional sector. Examples of the latter forces are globalisation, regionalisation and the rise of new information technologies, among others, which drive home the reality that African countries are part of a global system that connects different parts of the world. These realities should serve as a warning to academics, researchers, and practitioners that as they search for relevant social work approaches or as they endeavour to de-​colonise social work practice and education, they should not fall into the trap of being reductionists or easily arriving at simplistic solutions to complex realities. Therefore, there is need for both rigour and innovation in this area. New paths have to be carved out indeed. But in the process, there must be a sober analysis of the existing conditions, while searching for better alternatives for Africa’s social work practice and education.

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21 Decolonising social work practice and social work education in postcolonial Africa Ndangwa Noyoo

Introduction Despite most African countries being independent for half a century or more, the vestiges of colonial rule still define many aspects of their human endeavours. It can also be noted that although some of these countries have strived, since independence, to have their inherited social service professions, such as social work, become more relevant to the contextual realities of Africa, a good number of them continue to be informed by colonial and Western social work approaches. This is a situation which still reinforces itself in the postcolonial era, even though it can be directly linked to the colonial order. In addition, social work education seems to be sterile because of its heavy usage of Western texts that were written by European or North American scholars and equally for Western audiences, and not for Africans. In this regard, social work graduates who practice across Africa after completing their studies, still rely on the same Eurocentric methods. It can be noted that social work, on both the practice and education fronts, continues to rely on borrowed tools and recipes for intervention (Nyirenda, 1977). It is due to this dilemma that this chapter argues for a recasting of African social work in a postcolonial mould that will make it more culturally relevant to Africans. The central argument of this chapter is that social work must be underwritten by Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) in Africa. For this task to bear fruit, there must be innovative and relevant strategies advanced by African scholars and practitioners. It is the contention of this chapter that African academics and practitioners should be preoccupied with the deconstruction of the inherited Eurocentric approaches to education and training on the one hand, and social work practice on the other.To begin with, it is important to highlight the fact that problem-​solving serves as the main rationale for social work’s existence in society. Therefore, the first part of the chapter provides definitions of a social problem, which again are mainly Western in content and outlook.

Defining a social problem: what is it? In order for us to come to grips with social work’s mission in Africa, we must first and foremost define the term ‘social problem’. We cannot purport to know how to tackle social problems when we do not even know what they are or how they are conceptualised. This issue is also

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extremely important when it comes to social work, because the profession seeks at all times to proffer solutions to societal problems. Indeed, authors such as Michailakis and Schirmer (2014) are right when they observe that the academic discipline of social work builds its identity on the study of social problems. The goal is to generate knowledge about causes, consequences and potential solutions for social problems. This knowledge is expected to be useful to practitioners working with individuals, groups or communities affected by different adverse conditions. For Brueggemann (2014), solving problems and making social change by means of macro social work practice is the heritage, the present responsibility, and the future promise of the social work profession. It is social work’s commitment to social betterment at all levels that ensures its continued impact in our society. When one examines the author’s assertion, where he refers to ‘our society’ we would be deluded if we thought that he was referring to Africa. In this way, we can also be certain that definitions of social problems in social work or any other social science discipline are gleaned from Western societies and not from the Global South. It is noteworthy that the context in which a social problem derived its meaning should be at the heart of any endeavour or process that seeks to provide a solution to it. According to Glicken (2011: 6), A social problem is an issue within the society that makes it difficult for people to achieve their full potential. Poverty, unemployment, unequal opportunity, racism, and malnutrition are examples of social problems. So are substandard housing, employment, discrimination, and child abuse and neglect. Crime and substance abuse are also examples of social problems. Not only do social problems affect many people directly, but they also affect all of us indirectly. The drug-​abusing driver becomes the potential traffic accident that does not choose its victims by race, colour or creed but does so randomly. The child of abusive parents all too often becomes the victim or perpetrator of family violence as an adult. Social problems tend to develop when we become neglectful and fail to see that serious problems are developing. Social problems are also intellectually conceptualised in different ways. A  social problem can thus be examined from different theoretical lenses. Therefore, there are various theories that explain what a social problem is and what it does in society. For instance, the functionalist theory involves developing a grand theory of social organisation and process that encompasses a ‘middle-​range’ theory of social problems. Furthermore, structural functional theory is intended to produce knowledge that may be used to predict, if not control, behaviour (Miller & Holstein, 2007: 537). It is not the scope of this chapter to delve deeper into different theories that analyse and attempt to provide answers pertaining to the origins and occurrence of social problems in society. Suffice it to say, it is important to bear in mind that an essential part of the definition of a social problem is that it must be considered capable of a solution through collective action. Logically, any form of collective action that strives to solve a social problem must be based on a comprehensive understanding of the definition process, the extent and nature of the problem, and, most importantly, the causes of the problem (Rwomire, 2001). Also, the need to understand the social condition that may be defined as a social problem is critical.Therefore, social problems can be defined in two ways: objectively and subjectively. With the objective definition, there is recognition that a problem exists when a significant number of individuals are adversely affected by it, even if they may not recognise it. This distinction is a particularly important one to make in the African context where social conditions that have historically been perceived as normative are now being redefined as problematic in the context of the post-​independence modernisation process (Rwomire, 2001: 18). In reality, a problem may be differently understood in various 262

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parts of the Global South even though the Western notion of a problem predominates on the continent. In the same way that social problems are central to social work practice globally, the notion of human needs is equally important. Again, the way needs are defined will vary from context to context.

Human needs and social work It can be argued that human needs are those resources people require to survive as individuals and to function appropriately in their society. Needs depend on the specific individual and their situation and include the following:  sufficient food, clothing and shelter for physical survival; a safe environment and adequate health care for treatment, protection from illness and accidents; and relationships with other people that provide a sense of being cared for or being loved and belonging also play an important role in this regard (Johnson, Schwartz & Tate, 1997). Opportunities for emotional, intellectual, and spiritual growth and development, including opportunities for individuals to make use of their innate talents and interests, are also critical. Lastly, opportunities for participation in making decisions about the common life of one’s own society, including the ability to make appropriate contributions to the maintenance of life, are important factors in the meeting of needs (Johnson et al., 1997: 4). Social workers can be regarded as professional need definers as they are constantly in the process of identifying, and then trying to meet human needs. In this respect it can be asserted that ‘need’ is one of the most commonly used words in the social work vocabulary (Ife, 2001). The National Association of Social Workers (NASW) in its Code of Ethics, which was approved in 1996 and revised in 2008 by the NASW Delegate Assembly, and cited in Segal, Gerdes and Steiner (2016: 473) sees the role of the social work profession as enhancing human well-​being and helps meet the basic needs of all people, with particular attention to the needs and empowerment of people who are vulnerable, oppressed and living in poverty. After discussing human needs, it is important to look closely at the idea of decolonisation.

Decolonisation When attempting to define the term ‘decolonisation’, it can be seen as taking on varying meanings and does not seem to fit a single definition. Keeping in mind the student protests that engulfed the whole of South Africa in 2015 –​where students demanded for a ‘decolonised’ curriculum and ‘free and high quality’ education –​the idea of decolonisation has become even more confusing than ever. Nonetheless, it is important to note that this process refers to the period when former imperial nations were busy unbundling their colonies in Africa or Asia, either after being forced by nationalist movements through liberation wars, or after such formations had negotiated with them for a peaceful transfer of power. Therefore, this period was marked by the transfer of power from the colonial overlords to the local political actors. But a neat severance with the colonial past, for most, if not all, African countries seems to be a tall order. Africa’s inability to cut ties with the colonial past after independence resulted in a new phase, referred to as neocolonialism. Neocolonialism –​a situation of infringed national sovereignty and intrusive influence by external elements (Lagan, 2018) –​would encumber African development in the postcolonial era because countries on the continent were still beholden to the whims of their former colonial masters. Smith and Jeppesen (2017: 12) note that the transfer of sovereignty to successor governments may have marked the end of formal control, but widespread entanglement remained at both the level of the state and below. Hence, European non-​governmental 263

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organisations (NGOs), businesses, charities, mercenaries and many others stepped into the spaces left by the retreating colonial state, often replicating previous inequalities of power in new forms. Therefore, social work in Africa and the Global South needs to be examined against this backdrop.

What is social work? Social work is a normative profession, perhaps the most normative of the helping professions. In contrast to professions such as psychiatry, psychology and counselling, social work’s historical roots are firmly grounded in concepts such as justice and fairness. Throughout its history, social work’s mission has been anchored primarily, although not exclusively, in conceptions of what is just and unjust, and in a collective belief about what individuals in society have a right to and owe to one another (Reamer, 1999).The evolution of social work over the last two centuries involved the formulation of distinct methods of social work intervention. These methods are all based on the use of personal skills and the application of scientific knowledge by trained professionals who work directly with clients (Midgley, 1996).Therefore, social workers find themselves preoccupied with planning, estimating, applying, evaluating and modifying preventative social policies and services to individuals, groups, and communities. They intervene in numerous functional sectors, using various methodological approaches, working within a broad organisational framework and providing social services to various sectors of the population at micro, mezzo and macro levels (United Nations, 1994). For practitioners to emerge with the requisite skills and knowledge, they should have been trained and this is the role of social work education. Social work education is closely linked to social work practice. Social work education is preoccupied with preparing social workers for practice after undergoing several years of training. In this regard, it can be seen that social work education seeks to provide information, knowledge and skills to people who wish to work in the field of social work. However, social work education is so diverse because social work itself is a multifaceted field from country to country (Watts, 1995). According to Watts, a social work student is learning about social welfare and social work, while learning about the ‘how’ of working with people (and organisations) towards human betterment. Social work education is thus ‘how’ focused, or methods focused. This presents a particular challenge to social work educators, for the imparting of skills about the helping process is no easy matter (Watts, 1995). Social work education, just like social work practice, emerged in Africa after institutions of higher learning, or academic centres, were set up to train Africans in social work, especially towards the end of colonial rule and after independence. Mwansa and Kreitzer (2012) observe that in the early beginning of social work in Africa, many workers were trained on the job by mainly European or British-​trained social workers. This trend continued until schools of social work were established in various parts of Africa. At this stage, it is important to just take a glance at the history of social work in Africa.

The beginning of social work in Africa It is safe to say that social work was exported to Africa in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century as part of the European ‘civilising mission’. Later, it was formalised by different colonial authorities with varying forms of embeddedness. The missionary experience is closely related to the rise of social welfare systems and social work on the African continent. According to Péclard (1988) the missionary enterprise was ambiguous and diverse in the way it proceeded into the African continent, sometimes before, sometimes alongside, and sometimes after colonial powers. At the same time, as it was a product of the Enlightenment period, it developed in a 264

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context which led many missionaries to be very critical of their own societies, Interestingly, in the case of Angola, Péclard points out that Protestant churches were generally deemed to have had utterly opposed attitudes towards the Portuguese state. The Catholic church, however, was considered as no less than the agent of Portuguese colonialism, while its Protestant counterpart is principally acknowledged for its purported dissent and, hence, its emancipatory or liberating potential (Péclard, 1988: 65). Mwansa and Kreitzer (2012: 398) assert that missionaries were the forerunners of colonialism. Nevertheless, alongside their preaching, missionaries began to introduce some social welfare services such as schools and clinics, and later social work. Colonialism provided the sociopolitical context and general environment in which social work in Africa was initiated. The introduction of social work in Africa was characterised by case work and community mobilisation, especially through rural development projects. In Africa, colonialism supplanted, and at times erased, the indigenous forms of social care which had responded to and met the needs of indigenous populations in precolonial times. For Noyoo (2015), the extended family system was the fulcrum of this type of social care. He notes that families were organised as clans and were held together by the mutual aid system which was also underpinned by bonds of reciprocity and solidarity. Notwithstanding, precolonial African polities were not homogeneous and had exhibited different levels of social and political organisation. Twikirize (2014: 76) underscores the foregoing points and opines that colonialism eroded the ways of helping and solving problems practiced in precolonial Africa, which were largely informal, micro-​level operations carried through the family, kinship, and local chiefdoms and based on mutual-​aid and collective action facilitated by the traditional customs and culture. For this reason, there is a need to re-​establish Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) as a way of reifying some of the erased African values and then recodify them in an indigenised type of social work practice.

Indigenous Knowledge Systems for relevant social work practice In this section of the chapter, proposals are made on how social work practice and education can effectively respond to the needs of Africans in this millennium. Before doing this, it is better to understand the term ‘Indigenous Knowledge Systems’. According to Mawere (2012: 6) IKS refers to a form of knowledge that is intergenerational, that is passed on to future generations by those who hold it. Also, it is important to note that IKS have originated naturally and locally. In Africa, there is a need to recognise the role of IKS in modern times. It can be argued that, in the same vein, Africans should not be mistaken about IKS not working in tandem with scientific knowledge. For instance, in the area of climate change, Ipyana (2011) is of the view that indigenous knowledge and scientific knowledge should learn from each other to produce best practices for mitigation and adaptation. This could be beneficial to both the local communities and those having the technical expertise when engaging with complex issues like climate change. For example, in research in southern Zambia, it was discovered that agricultural practices, which embedded both scientific know-​how and indigenous knowledge practices, were far superior in providing resilience to drought and floods. Such successes have been achieved because indigenous knowledge is generated and acquired through the coexistence and evolution of both human beings and the environment of a given locality (Kasali, 2011). It is in this way that social work can be conjoined with IKS so that there are better responses to the challenges that vulnerable Africans face. 265

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In seeking and creating linkages between social work and IKS in Africa, a facile approach is not being entertained as Africa is a continent that is one of the most diversified places in the world and it is equally full of contradictions. This is compounded by the colonial heritage which continues to reinforce itself in most African countries several decades after independence. It can therefore be argued that this situation is not only found in the human or social service professions but seems to cut across the landscape of all of modern Africa. Indeed, wherever one goes on the continent, the colonial imprints are discernible. Whether it is in the type of governance or economic and political institutions being adhered to by Africans, or the education, health, transport and political systems, the colonial agenda keeps on resurfacing in fundamental ways. Since colonial trappings are quite ubiquitous on the continent, it is important that a call is made for social work that severs its colonial ties. This, however, should not be done in a simplistic manner, but it must be informed by intellectual rigour. Therefore, one of the functions of social work practice and professional education in an African context would be to reconsider the mandate of the profession and then begin to suggest behaviour that directly addresses the conditions of Africa and not those prevailing elsewhere. This intent may be embodied in the conceptualisation of social work’s mandate. Notably, social work needs to actively repudiate as its primary domain of operation the dysfunctioning elements of African populations in this new era. Its mandate should dictate a future and a change orientation, rather than one that constrains it to maintaining systems (Ankrah, 1987). Such a mandate, in essence, would reverse a long-​standing order of priority in social work functioning: from remedial, preventative and developmental functions to development, prevention and remedy (Ankrah, 1987: 9–​10). Hence, the proper basis of social work practice must be knowledge about a society and its needs. This knowledge should form the basis of social theory. At the same time, the issue is not simply to wholly reject whatever had been learnt elsewhere. Increasing social work’s effectiveness in Africa means constantly improving professional expertise in relation to local needs, establishing greater legitimacy, and improving social work’s contributions to society (Osei-​Hwedie, 2002). It is the contention of this chapter that the decolonisation of social work should be undergirded by IKS. In this way the local knowledge systems would inform social work practice and social work education. Thus, the helping process which social work is renowned for would be infused with indigenous values and mores. Brooks (1980: 11), in her doctoral study that searched for relevance of social work interventions in the Zambian context, could not be more apt when she pointed out that what makes the indigenous helping system ideal is not just that it is traditional and that a nostalgic feeling for the past makes it desirable. Nor is it that in the midst of a fast-​moving and ever-​changing society it provides the one enduring security blanket. Rather, its appeal lies in the nature of its origins, the history of its growth and the results of its activity. The indigenous helping system arose spontaneously within a particular society. It was not imposed from outside but rather developed from within, exposed to and answering to the positives and negatives of that society. It did not appear on the scene in full blown maturity but rather developed step-​by-​step, moulding and being moulded by the community it was serving. The foregoing assertions are not only crucial but instructive in that social work arose out of a need to deal with the social problems emanating from Victorian England and nineteenth century American social contexts. As these issues were either ameliorated or eradicated, social work practice also evolved. It took a cue from the prevailing sociopolitical and economic conditions in these Western societies. Thus, due to this historical reality, social work has a strong Anglo-​Saxon leaning which endures to this day. Furthermore, social work was coloured and influenced by the 266

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local knowledge systems in these areas. It was the local people who took up the work to provide help to those in need.When juxtaposing this scenario with precolonial Africa, it can be seen that the helper and helpee were both from the same community and thus their viewpoint, values and life experiences were essentially the same.Thus, the help given in the indigenous helping system is relevant to needs.The system, by virtue of its informality and proximity to the problem situation, is flexible enough to adapt to the relatively minor changes necessary at the level of needs and resources. (Brooks, 1980: 12) Echoing the foregoing author, this discussion takes critical cognisance of the idea of adaptability. This means that social work practice needs to adapt to the local African terrain with all its complexity and diversity. For Noyoo (2003) it is important to recognise that different social contexts require different approaches as some problems are context-​specific. Hence, the social work practitioner needs to be as flexible and creative as possible given the fluid nature of African communities. It is due to this that Noyoo calls for an eclectic approach in Africa. In the same vein, social work educators should not lose sight of the aforementioned issues when they are training social workers across the African continent. Hence, they should be preoccupied with coming up with theories, models and intervention methods that are underpinned by African value systems, among other things. Indeed, without revisiting the contextual and historical realities of Africa and its sociopolitical and economic aspects which make it unique, the decolonisation of social work practice and education might not bear fruit. It is important to approach this issue from an innovative, strategic and intellectually sound position. Thus, African social work practitioners and educators need to be involved in research and other activities that generate the evidence to take the decolonisation of social work further.

Conclusion This chapter discussed social work practice and social work education in the context of Africa. In the main, it argued that the relevance of social work practice must be in sync with the objective of searching for relevant practice in Africa.  Arguably, this is one way to begin, in earnest, the decolonisation process. In the same breath, the discussion contended that the first premise of relevant practice should be how it is embedded with Indigenous Knowledge Systems. The chapter argued that there was a need to imbue social work practice with IKS for it to be more relevant and effectively respond to Africa’s challenges.

References Ankrah, M.E. (1987). Radicalising roles for Africa’s development: Some evolving practice issues. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 2(2), 5–​25. Brooks, A. (1980). Social work intervention: A search for relevance in the Zambian context (doctoral dissertation). University of Zambia, Lusaka, Zambia. Brueggemann, W.G. (2014). The practice of macro social work (4th edn). Belmont, CA: Brooks/​Cole. Glicken, M.D. (2011). Social work in the 21st century: An introduction to social welfare, social issues and the profession. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, Inc. Ife, J. (2001). Human rights and social work: Towards rights-​based practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University  Press. Ipyana, G. (2011). Climate change and the efforts of indigenous people in adaptation and mitigation in Tukuyu, Mbeya-​Rungwe District Tanzania. Norderstedt: GRIN Verlag. 267

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Johnson, L.C., Schwartz, C.L. & Tate, D.S. (1997). Social Welfare: A response to human need (4th edn). Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon. Kasali, G. (2011). Integrating indigenous and scientific knowledge systems for climate change adaptation in Zambia. In W.L. Filho (Ed.), Experiences of climate change adaptation in Africa (pp. 281–​296). Heidelberg: Springer. Lagan, M. (2018). Neo-​colonialism and the poverty of ‘development’ in Africa. Cham: Springer. Mawere, M. (2012). The struggle of African Indigenous knowledge systems in an age of globalisation:  A case for children’s traditional games in South-​Eastern Zimbabwe. Bamenda: Langaa Research & Publishing CIG. Michailakis, D. & Schirmer,W. (2014). Social work and social problems: A contribution from systems theory and constructionism. International Social Welfare, 23(4), 431–​442. Midgley, J. (1996). Involving social work in economic development. International Social Work, 26(96),  13–​25. Miller, G. & Holstein, J.A. (2007). Social constructionism and its critics: Assessing recent challenges. In J.A. Holstein & G. Miller (Eds.), Reconsidering social constructionism: Debates in social problems theory (pp. 524–​ 534). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Mwansa, L.K. & Kreitzer, L. (2012). Social work in Africa. In K. Lyons,T. Hokenstad, M. Pawar, N. Huegler & N. Hall (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of international social work (pp. 389–​393). London: SAGE Publications. Noyoo, N. (2003). Social welfare policy, social work practice and professional education in a transforming society: South Africa (doctoral dissertation). University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, South Africa. Noyoo, N. (2015). Social development in Southern Africa. In L. Calvelo, R. Lutz & F. Ross (Eds.), Development and Social Work: Social Work of the South,Volume VI (pp. 167–​185). Oldenburg: Paulo Freire Verlag. Nyirenda, V.G. (1977). Towards a humanist approach to planning and social service provision. ZANGO, 3,  8–​6. Osei-​Hwedie, K. (2002). Indigenous practice:  Some informed guesses. Self-​evident and possible. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 33(4), 311–​323. Péclard, D. (1988). Religion and politics in Angola: The church, the colonial state and the emergence of Angolan nationalism, 1940–​1961. Journal of Religion in Africa, 28(2), 160–​186. Reamer, F. (1999). Social work values and ethics. New York: Columbia University Press. Rwomire, A. (2001). Social problems in Africa: New Visions. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers. Seagal, E.A., Gerdes, K.E. & Steiner, S. (2016). An introduction to the profession of social work: Becoming a change agent. Boston, MA: Cengage Learning. Smith, A.W.M. & Jeppesen, C. (2017). Introduction: Development, contingency and entanglement: decolonisation in the conditional. In A.W.M. Smit & C. Jeppesen (Eds.), Britain, France and the decolonisation of Africa: Future imperfect? ( pp. 1–​15). London: UCL Press. Twikirize, J.M. (2014). Indigenisation of social work in Africa:  Debates, prospects and challenges. In H. Spitzer, J.M. Twikirize & G.G. Warire (Eds.), Professional social work in East Africa: Towards development, poverty reduction and gender equality (pp. 75–​90). Kampala: Fountain Publishers. United Nations. (1994). Human rights and social work. Geneva: Centre for Human Rights. Watts, T. (1995). An introduction to the world of social work education. In T.D. Watts, D. Elliot & N.S. Mayadas (Eds.), International Handbook on Social Work Education (pp. 1–​6).Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Weaver, H.N. (2016). Indigenous social work in the United States:  Reflections in Indian tacos, Trojan horses and causes filled with Indigenous revolutionaries. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 71–​82). Abingdon: Routledge.

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22 Social work with communities in Uganda Indigenous and innovative approaches Janestic Mwende Twikirize

Introduction: the colonial legacy of social work in Africa and the need for indigenisation Social work as a profession and discipline was imported in Africa from the West by colonial governments such as the British in the case of Uganda. The approaches and models adopted tended to mimic practice in the imperial countries with social work predominantly individually based and remedial, focusing mostly on case work. Prior to colonisation, most societies in Africa had traditional ways of helping and solving problems through the family and kinship system as well as neighbourhood associations. Some authors (see, for example, Gray, Coates and Yellow Bird, 2008; Kreitzer, 2012) have argued that social work was introduced as a superior form of helping and problem-​solving without giving much attention to the previous ways of solving such problems. This importation was based on the belief that social work was an international or universal profession and was a new social technology for dealing with social problems in all societies (Walton and Abo El Nasr, 1988 cited in Twikirize, 2014: 78). Although the African-​ oriented, traditional structures of helping tended to weaken with the onset of colonisation, commodification and monetisation of services and goods as well as urbanisation and globalisation forces, the need for the social work profession to be culturally appropriate and well-​integrated to the specific ways of living has remained on the agenda for social work in Africa, with the concept of indigenisation most commonly used to describe such processes. Many definitions of indigenisation have been provided by different authors, with some preferring the use of related concepts such as authentication, contextualisation and culturally appropriate social work. Al-​Krenawi and Graham (2004) and Barise (2005, cited in Gray, Coates and Yellow Bird, 2008) relate indigenisation to localisation, a process through which traditional, indigenous and local helping interventions are integrated into mainstream social work practices, and elements of mainstream approaches are adjusted to fit local contexts. On the contrary, authentication, which has also been used in association with indigenisation, is based on a philosophical approach that urges social workers in non-​Western contexts to move away from simply adapting and modifying Western social work theory and practice and to instead generate knowledge and practice models from the ground up, drawing on the values, beliefs, customs and cultural norms of local and indigenous helping practices (Gray, Coates and Yellow Bird, 2008). According

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to Mupedziswa (2001), authentication connotes a complete overhaul of Western theories and models. For Africa, indigenisation would thus be strongly associated with a shift away from a largely individualised and remedial model of social work, to one that is developmentally focused, and which takes into account the respective cultural values, knowledge systems and practices of the local communities (Al-​Krenawi and Graham, 2004; Rankopo and Osei-​Hwedie, 2011; Twikirize, 2014). Such a developmental focus requires that social work lays emphasis on providing service users with tangible social investments that enhance their capabilities and facilitate their participation in community life and the productive economy (Midgley and Conley, 2010). Some authors have argued that social work’s reluctance to accept non-​Western and indigenous world views, local knowledge and traditional forms of healing affects its ability to develop and deliver services in an effective, acceptable and culturally appropriate manner (Gray, Coates and Yellow Bird, 2008). The indigenisation discourse and the need for adoption of culturally relevant social work education and practice was initiated in Africa as early as the 1970s by the Association for Social Work Education in Africa, a forerunner to the current Association of Schools of Social Work in Africa (ASSWA) (see also Yimani, 1976; Kreitzer, 2012). This discourse has been kept on Africa’s social work agenda by contemporary scholars such as Rankopa and Osei-​Hwedie (2011), Mupedziswa (2001), Gray, Coates and Yellow Bird (2008) Gray and Coates (2010) and Kreitzer (2012). With these ongoing debates, there has been a re-​emergence of interest in the more traditional ways of problem-​solving that require critical analysis and documentation in order for social work to be more responsive to the needs and aspirations of community members and their ways of living and doing. This chapter draws, in part, on a recent empirical study of indigenous and innovative models of social work in East Africa1 to present some concrete examples of the indigenous approaches to helping, which are tending to resurface as important models of problem-​solving. The chapter proceeds by providing an overview of common issues that communities in contemporary Uganda are faced with, then gives a description of Bataka groups as an indigenous approach to problem-​solving and community development. The chapter concludes with a discussion of such indigenous approaches’ links to contemporary social work and argues for integration of such approaches and knowledge systems in the mainstream social work practice.

Common social problems confronting communities in Uganda Uganda is one of the least developed countries in the world, with a low human development index of 0.493 (cf. UNDP, 2016) and subsequently scoring poorly on most indices that measure human welfare including life expectancy, education, health, and income levels. An average Ugandan household is faced with a number of issues that compromise their welfare. These are often interwoven and include, among others, poverty, hunger and disease, lack of access to basic education, health care, housing, safe water and sanitation services. A high disease prevalence, particularly malaria and HIV/​AIDS, coupled with a lack of effective access to health care has resulted in high mortality rates and a low life expectancy of 59 years, with a resultant high number of orphaned children. Poverty is the major overarching challenge that individuals and households struggle with in Ugandan communities; 19 per cent of the population live on less than one US dollar per day, while the UNDP (2016) puts the total population in multidimensional poverty at 70.3 per cent, an equivalent of over 24 million people. This is coupled with perverse armed conflict,2 asset loss due to wars and other disasters, violence against children and women, HIV/​AIDS, food insecurity, and general vulnerability among the population. Among all these challenges are severe gaps in public social services. There is extremely low coverage of formal social protection mechanisms:  the government-​run pension schemes for 270

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public employees cover approximately 5.1 per cent of the population while the private social security systems for a few people employed in the formal sector similarly cover less than 2 per cent of the total population (Barya, 2011). This leaves almost a whole population, especially the rural residents, without any form of social security.

Community social work and indigenous models of problem-​solving in Uganda In response to the above social problems and needs, a number of governmental and non-​ governmental actors have designed services and programmes, including both remedial and non-​ remedial services, that aim to improve livelihoods and lift the population out of poverty. Social workers are employed in a diverse range of sectors including health, probation and social welfare services and community development programmes. In spite of social work’s historical focus on case work, in Uganda contemporary social work mostly takes place at community level and is intertwined with community development (Twikirize et al., 2013). Government social sectors that initially employed the majority of social workers were significantly reduced in the late 1980s as the social welfare services experienced severe cuts in funding due to anti-​statist structural adjustment programmes (Manji & O’Coill, 2002). Gradually, community-​based initiatives and NGO interventions sprang up to fill gaps left by the state-​sponsored social services. It is within this milieu that social work practice mostly takes place. Due to this context, the urgency to build on and integrate indigenous knowledge systems and culturally responsive practices has become more apparent. This links to the discourse on indigenisation that underscores the ability to integrate cultural knowledge and sensitivity with skills for a more effective and culturally appropriate helping process (Weaver, 1999). This certainly suggests an understanding of indigenous approaches to problem-​solving as well as the integration of the same in social work education and practice. In spite of the weakening structures of kinship and family, the communities in Uganda have continued to innovate and build on their indigenous knowledge and practices to address their needs, mostly through self-​help group approaches. Arrangements such as Muno mukabi, literary meaning ‘a friend in need’ and Bataka Tweziike (burial societies) defined people’s social relations and survival mechanisms. Most of these approaches are based on the ethic of community and collectivism, religious and cultural beliefs and values. An empirical study conducted on the nature and role of social work in Uganda (Twikirize et  al., 2013) revealed that the majority of social workers acknowledge the important role that culturally informed interventions play in social development and, increasingly, a number of social work agencies and government programmes are validating these indigenous models and integrating them in their interventions. For example, a community development project may choose to use cultural and religious leaders for the effective mobilisation of members, and make use of traditional dance, music and drama for behavioural change communication about critical issues such as HIV/​AIDS. Uganda was one the first countries in Africa and globally to have managed to bring down the prevalence of HIV/​AIDS from over 18 per cent in the 1990s down to 6.4 per cent by 2005 (Uganda AIDS Commission [UAC], 2015). This was achieved mostly through an aggressive mass sensitisation campaign, relying, among other mechanisms, on music, dance and drama with shows staged in communities, schools and other institutions. The success of music, dance, and drama is partly due to the fact that the culture is already engrained in the lifestyles of the community and ‘everyone will come for a musical play’ unlike village meetings which tend to favour men (Wamala, 2014: 867). The music, dance and drama are seldom only about entertainment. It is ‘imbued with succinct messages that are often camouflaged in idiomatic language that ensures 271

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that the message will be retained’ (Wamala, 2014: 868). The community-​initiated, indigenous social networking approaches are becoming increasingly instrumental in developing livelihoods and promoting community development as well as meeting the needs of the most vulnerable people within communities. The subsequent section presents an example of such an indigenous model, the Bataka groups, that social workers can harness to more effectively address social problems and promote social change.

The Bataka groups as an approach to community organisation and development Bataka literary means ‘people living within the same neighbourhood’.Thus, Bataka groups comprise of a group of 20 to 30 households who come together to pursue a common goal that addresses their immediate and long-​term socio-​economic and psychological needs. Whereas Ugandan communities (like in most other parts of Africa) had a long tradition of operating informal mutual help groups, Bataka groups gained more prominence in most communities in South Western Uganda in the late 1980s at the height of the HIV/​AIDS pandemic. They were initiated as burial societies commonly known as Bataka twezikye  –​(literally translated, ‘local people, let’s bury each other’) –​to assist families in meeting the costs of funerals for their loved ones. As funerals became too expensive to manage at an individual family level, groups of households would come together and make contributions into a pool from where assistance to families facing loss would be collected. Group members would save money to meet the costs of a coffin, constructing a grave, purchasing household items such as saucepans and water storage containers, and hiring tents and chairs for use during the funeral ceremony. Only members of the group would benefit. With time, and with the success of such burial societies, members realised they could use the same model to address other critical socio-​economic needs rather than wait for death to strike. With this paradigm shift, the labelling of the mutual aid groups also changed to more strengths-​based concepts such as Bataka Twebiseeho (self-​help for local people), Bataka Twimukye (local people, let’s rise up), Bataka Tukwatanise (local people, let’s cooperate) and lots of other labels. Currently, Bataka groups are probably the most dominant indigenous associations in Uganda. They are self-​initiated, self-​administered and self-​regulated. All the groups choose their leaders and set rules and regulations which members are expected to uphold. The rules relate to attendance of meetings, loan repayments and interest, keeping of records and use of group property such as furniture. In most of them, the leadership is rotational among the members, therefore enhancing the capacities of members in taking up leadership positions within the wider community structures. A defining characteristic of these groups is the principle of mutual trust and reciprocity. A range of activities is undertaken within the groups; these include reciprocal farm labour, savings and credit services, and support for home improvement. In most cases, the benefits go beyond monetary to psychosocial support in times of adversity such as the loss of a family member. The philosophical underpinning of these Bataka groups is that while an individual may be incapable of meeting all their basic needs, as a group they can build synergies to meet such needs. In an empirical study by Twikirize et al. (2019) members of these groups revealed that the historical and cultural basis of mutual aid groups were the experience of extreme hardships in the past, where individual capacities of households were inadequate to meet their needs; gaps in formal social protection modalities; and the influence of spiritual beliefs that usually incline people towards mutual assistance. As one considers the different labels attached to the groups, community sustainability comes out strongly as an underlying philosophy for these indigenous approaches to social welfare and community development. These social networking groups 272

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are contributing towards reviving a sense of community, in which personal resources, including labour, are regarded as sharable, an ethic that is under constant threat by neoliberal capitalism. Twikirize et  al. (2019) contend that Bataka groups and, generally, mutual aid associations, are playing crucial roles in promoting livelihood development and general social well-​being among community members. The groups exhibit a number of strengths including the promotion of synergy for increased productivity, flexibility in the provision of services and response to emergencies such as illness, mutual trust and democratic leadership, fostering a sense of identity and power among members, and the promotion of cohesion and sustainable communities. The groups also contribute significantly to the psychosocial well-​being of individuals and families facing adversity, helping to develop resilience. Whereas members and their families are often the primary beneficiaries, in some communities such groups also respond to the needs of non-​ members, especially child-​headed households and the elderly, by contributing school fees, food, health care, shelter and basic sanitation facilities (Twikirize & O’Brien, 2012).

Conclusion The foregoing sections have provided a practical example of indigenous helping approaches that exist in communities in an African country. Bataka groups are essentially mutual aid groups, which places them on a par with group work as one of the methods of social work. Steinberg (2010, cited in Hyde, 2013: 54) described mutual aid as ‘a process through which people develop collaborative, supportive, and trustworthy relationships; identify and use existing strengths and/​ or develop new ones; and work together toward individual and/​or collective psychosocial goals’. Hence, in communities where such local initiatives already exist, social work should find it easy to work with groups. These indigenous approaches are not delinked but rather associated with concepts and perspectives in contemporary social work such as resilience, asset building and empowerment. With regard to resilience, for example, the indigenous approaches that have been described in the example above are direct responses to stressors and risk factors such as poverty, inequality, discrimination, and illness and bereavement, all of which undermine the social functioning of individuals. Literature on resilience has identified such informal groups as one of the major protective factors in building resilience among vulnerable groups (Pillsbury & Lowicki, 2001; Gunnestad, 2006; Ochen, 2015). Coupled with this are their links to the strengths perspective in social work. According to Saleebey (2005:  12), ‘the assets of individuals almost always lie embedded in a community of interest and involvement. Thus, the ideas of community and membership are central to the strengths approach’. In view of this, indigenous approaches such as Bataka groups illuminate the strengths and resources –​material and non-​material –​that social work practitioners can work with to realise more practical outcomes for individuals, households and communities labelled as vulnerable. Similarly, the indigenous approach enhances asset building, which according to Kretzmann and McKnight (1993, cited in Page-​Adams and Sherraden, 1997) encompasses ‘all potential resources in a community –​not only financial resources but also the talents and skills of individuals, organisational capacity, political connections, buildings and facilities’. Finally, the empowering effect of these indigenous helping approaches is evident. Anderson et al. (1994) contend that empowerment entails a process of learning to move from only being reactive to life events to becoming proactive in shaping one’s vision for life. Saleebey (2005) notes that empowerment indicates the intent to, and the processes of, assisting individuals, groups, families and communities to discover and expend the resources and tools within and around them. But when people are already organised in mutual assistance groups, and they are doing everything possible within their means to meet their needs, it in essence reflects a level of empowerment that external facilitators such as social workers can 273

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harness to further address social problems and promote social change.These local approaches and knowledge need to be carefully integrated in mainstream social work practice and the training curriculum as part and parcel of the indigenisation of social work.

Notes 1 For a detailed account of the research findings, see Twikirize, J. & Spitzer, H. (Eds.) (2019). Indigenous and Innovative Models of Social Work in East Africa. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. 2 Uganda has suffered numerous armed conflicts since independence in 1962, with the Lord’s Resistance Army-​led conflict in northern Uganda spanning a period of 20 years from 1986 until recently, leaving a whole region totally disintegrated and still recovering from the effects of this devastating war. For more elaboration on the effects of this war, see Spitzer and Twikirize (2014).

References Al-​Krenawi, A. & Graham, JR. (2004). Principles of social work practice in the Muslim Arab world. Arab Studies Quarterly, 26(4), 75–​79. Anderson, S.C., Wilson, M.K., Mwansa, L.K. & Osei-​Hwedie, K. (1994). Empowerment and social work education and practice in Africa. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 9(2), 71–​86. Barya, J.-​J. (2011). Social security and social protection in the East African community. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. Gray, M. & Coates, J. (2010). ‘Indigenization’ and knowledge development:  Extending the debate. International Social Work, 53(5), 613–​627. Gray, M., Coates, J. & Yellow Bird, M. (2008). Introduction. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 1–​10). Aldershot: Ashgate. Gunnestad, A. (2006). Resilience in a cross-​cultural perspective: How resilience is generated in different cultures. Journal of Intercultural Communication, 11. www.immi.se/​intercultural/​nr11/​gunnestad.htm (Accessed 12 June 2017). Hyde, B. (2013). Mutual aid group work: Social work leading the way to recovery-​focused mental health practice. Social Work with Groups, 36(1), 43–​58. Kreitzer, L. (2012). Social work in Africa:  Exploring culturally relevant education and practice in Ghana. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. Manji, F. & O’Coill, C. (2002). The missionary position: NGOs and development in Africa. Royal Institute of International Affairs, 78(3), 567–​583. Midgley, J. & Conley, A. (Eds.) (2010). Social work and social development: Theories and skills for developmental social work. New York: Oxford University Press. Mupedziswa, R. (2001).The quest for relevance: Towards a conceptual model of developmental social work education and training in Africa. International Social Work, 44(3), 285–​300. Ochen, E.A. (2015). Children and young mothers’ agency in the context of conflict:  A review of the experiences of formerly abducted children in Northern Uganda. Child Abuse & Neglect, 42(2015), 183–​194. Page-​Adams, D. & Sherraden, M. (1997). Asset building as a community revitalization strategy. Social Work, 42(5), 423–​434. Pillsbury, A. & Lowicki, J. (2001). Against all odds: Surviving the war on adolescents: promoting the protection and capacity of Ugandan and Sudanese adolescents in Northern Uganda. New York: Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children. Rankopo, M.J. & Osei-​Hwedie, K. (2011). Globalization and culturally relevant social work:  African perspectives on indigenization. International Social Work, 54(1), 137–​147. Saleebey, D. (2005). The strengths perspective in social work practice, 4th edition. Cambridge: Pearson. Twikirize, J.M. (2014). Indigenisation of social work in Africa:  Debates, prospects and challenges. In H. Spitzer, J.M.Twikirize, and G.G.Wairire (Eds.), Professional social work in East Africa: Towards social development, poverty reduction and gender equality. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. Twikirize, J.M. & O’Brien, C. (2012).Why Ugandan rural households are opting to pay Community Health Insurance rather than use the free health care services. International Journal of Social Welfare, 21(1),  65–​78. Twikirize, J.M. & Spitzer, H. (2019). Social work practice in Africa:  Indigenous and innovative approaches. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. 274

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Twikirize, J.M., Asingwire, N., Omona, J., Lubanga, R. & Kafuko, A. (2013). The role of social work in poverty reduction and the realisation of millennium development goals in Uganda. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. Twikirize, J.M., Luwangula, R. & Twesigye, J. (2019). Indigenous and innovative models of social work in Uganda. Kampala: Fountain Publishers. UAC (2015). National HIV and AIDS Strategic Plan 2015/​2016–​2019/​2020, An AIDS free Uganda, My responsibility! Uganda AIDS Commission, Republic of Uganda. Kampala. UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) (2016). Human Development Report, 2016: Human development for everyone. New York: United Nations Development Programme. Wamala, C.V. (2014). Theater, gender, and development:  Merging traditional and new media to address communication challenges in Uganda. Signs, 39(4), 866–​874. Weaver, H.N. (1999). Indigenous people and the social work profession:  Defining culturally competent services. Social Work, 44(3), 217–​225. Yiman, A. (1976). Realities and aspirations of social work education in Africa. Document of the 3rd Conference of the Association for Social Work Education in Africa (ASWEA) held in Addis Ababa, April 5–​12, 1976. In ASWEA Documents Vol. 3, 1976–​1978. Addis Ababa: Association for Social Work Education in Africa.

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23 Social work in Southern Africa in the postcolonial era Rekindling debate on the quest for relevance Rodreck Mupedziswa

Introduction In Southern Africa, as in most of Africa in general, social work is a relatively young and emerging profession, having been imported from the Western world in the early to mid-​1900s (Mwansa, 2010, 2011). In the context of this colonial heritage, the interventions employed by the social work profession have largely promoted remedial or residual approaches that have emphasised social control rather than the more appropriate social change. Critics, who include Midgley (1983) and Walton and El Nasr (1988), have observed that social work, predicated on the remedial or residual approach as it has been, has, among other things, reflected the prevailing cultural values of individualism, humanitarianism, liberalism, work ethic and capitalism, whose tenets are not helpful to the profession in the region. Midgley (1983) has explained that promotion of this approach has been done through the use of American ‘psychodynamic’ theories of social casework, which have emphasised peripheral issues such as the ‘crises of urban destitution and maladjustment and … requests for urgent material assistance, securing [of] residential places and dealing with judicial child committal, probation and maintenance cases’ (Midgley, 1983: 154). Other commentators (e.g. Hall, 1990; Osei-​Hwedie, 1993) concurred and further opined that the lavish application of the remedial approach in Africa resulted in a lack of correlation between traditional African social norms and Western processes of social welfare, resulting in the profession’s dismal showing in terms of dealing with social problems in the region. The critics further posited that the remedial or residual approach to social work education and practice has sought to provide remedies to social problems once they have occurred, meaning the approach has essentially been reactive –​rather than proactive –​offering only temporary relief as opposed to dealing with long-​term solutions for clients in the face of social distress. Thus the broad consensus among the critics has apparently been that the remedial approach has largely lacked relevance and appropriateness, rendering the interventions proffered by the professionals using this approach patently ineffective, particularly when viewed in the context of the fight against mass poverty. However, the critics have been quick to point out that they are not calling for the approach to be thrown into the dustbin of history but rather that the remedial perspective should not be allowed to serve as the dominant intervention strategy, particularly in the context of the fight against poverty. This, in their view, is because poverty reduction is

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a dominant concern for most of the clientele of the social work profession in the subregion, requiring measures that go beyond promoting relief measures. They thus conclude that alternative strategies ought to be pursued if the profession is to provide valuable services to their clientele. Let us pause and consider the perceived source of the disgruntlement.

Perceived source of shortcomings of the remedial approach All over the world as a rule of thumb, the direction taken by social work practice has essentially tended to be guided by the philosophy of social work education and training prevailing among institutions charged with producing social work professionals (although in a few cases the opposite might be true). In other words, social work education and training has tended to direct practice in the field. This is only logical given that graduates in any field of endeavour can only dish out what they have been taught in the classroom. For this reason, it is important to pause briefly and consider what has been the nature and focus of social work education and practice in Africa over the years. Social work education and training in Sub-​Saharan Africa was inaugurated way back in the 1930s (e.g. Egypt, South Africa). Ever since, the profession has remained relatively ‘young’ since in several African countries (such as Ethiopia, Zambia and Zimbabwe) the discipline only took root in the 1950s and 1960s. The number of institutions that educate and train social workers have, however, increased exponentially over the years, with Uganda for instance, reportedly being home to some 21 institutions offering social work, and South Africa currently boasting no less than 17 social work education institutions (Hochfeld, Salipsky, Mupedziswa & Chitereka 2009, 2010). Zimbabwe currently has four institutions offering social work education and training, with the first one having been inaugurated in 1964, and the last having been opened only a couple of years ago. Botswana was among the last countries to introduce social work education and training on the continent, but the country boasts two institutions offering social work discipline. Be that as it may, it ought to be pointed out that in a number of Sub-​Saharan African (SSA) countries, however, the state of social work education has, to this day, remained rather amorphous. In the DR Congo, for instance, social work programmes apparently remain virtually non-​existent (Kangela, n.d.a). In a few other countries, such as Burundi, the social work profession is only beginning to take shape now. Thus, in some countries in the SSA region the profession has struggled to obtain meaningful traction and gain a foothold. A critical analysis of the goings-​on suggests that most institutions in the subregion continue to promote the remedial approach. Concerns have been expressed at the content of social work education and training programmes. One concern has been that most of the education programmes were first established by Westerners, hence the curricula have reflected a Western orientation (Midgley, 1983; Osei-​Hwedie, 1993; Mwansa, 2010; Mupedziswa and Sinkamba, 2014). The curricula have many features that are consistent with those of the Western world (Mupedziswa, 2005). The features in question have ranged from the structure of the curriculum to the textbooks in use and, indeed, the nature of the field placements which have been adjudged inappropriate. Midgley (1981) implored African institutions to do everything they could to reduce dependence on Western textbooks and other teaching materials. Commenting on the issue of over-​reliance on Western material, Ragab (1982: 11) called for a serious reorientation of local social work education in Africa towards respecting, carefully gathering (documenting), and utilising any shreds of locally generated practice experiences. By the same token, Jones (1987: 33), making a general observation, complained that too many social work textbooks in the Third World (Africa included) were translations or near-​translations of Western social work theory. 277

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A similar observation was also made by Walton and El Nasr (1988:  137) who noted that most schools of social work in developing countries, those of Africa included, were dependent on Western literature and students were trained to apply the aims of social work in the same way as students in Western countries –​that is, they studied the same textbooks, read the same journals, and were taught the same theories and methods.This, the two authors stated, obviously did not augur well for the future of the social work profession in these regions, particularly with regard to the pursuit of relevance. The sentiment was again echoed by Asamoah and Beverly (1988: 183) who equally saw the development of indigenous teaching materials as being pertinent for movement in the direction of what they considered a more appropriate blend of social work in Africa –​developmental social work. Torchbearers in the debate on the need for relevance and appropriateness of social work in Africa in the 1990s included Osei-​Hwedie (1993: 21), who implored social workers in Africa to begin to reassemble (and document) what is known about their own environment and take that which would drive their practice effectively. Dlamini (1995:  28), too, expressed similar sentiments when he argued that while social work literature from the European and other Western countries is vital, indigenous material seems to sensitise students about local problems and needs. Rwomire and Radithokwa (1996: 13) carried the debate to dizzy heights with their contention that ‘virtually all the available social work textbooks (in use in African social work education and training institutions well into the mid-​1990s) had been written by scholars who live and were educated in Western Europe and North America’, a situation which, the authors argued, did not bode well for locally promoting a more appropriate ‘blend’ of social work, namely a developmental approach. The above discussion has provided ample evidence to suggest that most of the social work education institutions have tended to heavily depend on Western social work literature, with hardly any evidence of availability of indigenous teaching materials (although this situation may be gradually changing). Not surprisingly, many students of social work have found it extremely difficult to use these textbooks, given that the material hardly takes cognisance of indigenous social, economic and political conditions (Mwansa, 2010). In respect of the fieldwork component of social work education, challenges faced have included lack of suitable placements, lack of resources and lack of qualified field supervisors. Above all, the field experiences have been devoid of an African touch. Concerns have also been expressed with regard to the nature of social work practice in the region. A key issue has been that there is a lack of fit between African (traditional) norms, and Western processes of social welfare (Osei Hwedie, 1993; Mupedziswa and Kubanga, 2016). The remedial approach is ‘accused’ of focusing too much on treating emotional and personal maladjustments of individuals, using American psychodynamic theories of case work. Many critics believe these approaches are inappropriate as they seem to emphasise issues they believe are peripheral in the African context. Midgley’s (1983) view, with which many other local commentators seem to concur, has been that lavishly using this approach is akin to giving an aspirin where major surgery was needed. Little wonder he used the term ‘professional imperialism’ to refer to the entire set-​up predicated on the remedial approach.There has also been concern expressed that certain provisions in the remedial approach were not consistent with African culture, for instance, the Western concept of confidentiality seems to run at cross-​purposes with the notion of ubuntu as understood in African tradition. The critics also note that there is also a lack of clarity on the role of the extended family in the context of social work with individuals (i.e. micro practice). And yet, as noted elsewhere, the remedial approach has been lavishly employed by the social work profession in most of the subregion, despite the perceived lack of relevance. 278

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Calls for a paradigm shift: towards a developmental approach It is against this backdrop of the shortcomings reviewed above that a clarion call has been made for the social work profession in Sub-​Saharan Africa to look for alternatives to the remedial approach. The former umbrella body for social work education and training in Africa, the Association of Social Work Education in Africa (ASWEA) (1982: 11) took a lead in calling for change when it observed that: African social work must proceed from remedial social work  –​foreign by nature and approach –​to a more dynamic and more widespread preventive and rehabilitative action which [identifies itself] with African culture in particular and with the socioeconomic policies of Africa in general. Several other commentators (such as Hall, 1990; and Osei-​Hwedie, 1993) concurred, and strongly argued that for appropriateness and relevance to be realised, professional social work in Africa needed to shed some of its traditional outlook, such as a remedial perspective, in the search for relevance and appropriateness. As Mwansa (2011: 10) explained, the discussion was about how to make social work more relevant to the African context. He further noted with regret that ‘the debate, however, lost momentum with the demise of ASWEA’ (Mwansa, 2010: 10). Thus, the debate, for all it was worth, kind of mellowed and fizzled out with time. The purpose of this chapter is therefore to attempt to rekindle the debate and take the issue a step further by making a case for the adoption of the developmental approach as an alternative to the residual approach, based on neoliberal traditions.

Beyond the rhetoric: reality on the ground There is some consensus that the alternative to the remedial orientation ought to be the social-​ development or developmental social work approach. Mwansa (2011: 10) has observed that, ‘In recent times, the discourse about developmental social work has been witnessed’. Hall (1990: 149) explained that social development by definition takes the broader needs of people into account; the approach is holistic in nature and encourages maximum participation of the ordinary people, in collaboration with various agencies, in the process of development.The social development approach is, by definition, preventive and proactive, and emphasises long-​term change.The approach focuses on addressing the more serious challenges faced by vulnerable groups in society, including issues around unemployment, underemployment, hunger, inadequate shelter, homelessness, illiteracy, disease and ignorance (Midgley, 1981:  54; Walton & El Nasr, 1988). Stated otherwise, the various commentators have been agitating for the promotion of a developmental perspective to social work, arguing that such an approach would best promote strategies for poverty reduction, given that, in their view, poverty is central to most of the woes faced by people on the subcontinent. Although a call has sounded from various quarters for social work in the region to change its approach, the social work profession in Southern Africa (both education and practice) has, by and large, not heeded the call to embrace a developmental approach and thus has apparently continued to emphasise the traditional (remedial) approach. In confirming this state of affairs, Mwansa (2011) has stated that, [w]‌hile there has generally been unanimity about the usefulness and suitability of this mode of practice [i.e. developmental social work], there is no evidence to suggest that it has been embraced by many schools of social work education in Africa. 279

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Thus, the reality is that there do not seem to be many institutions and agencies that have embraced the approach. Many social work educators and practitioners alike have thus not taken any steps to move in the direction of the social development perspective. Research by various scholars (Mupedziswa 2005, 2001; Hochfeld, Salipsky, Mupedziswa & Chitereka, 2009, 2010), has established six main reasons why most social work educators and professionals in the region have not enthusiastically embraced the social development approach. These are enumerated below: (a) There is lack of clarity over what exactly constitutes the social development approach, and furthermore, how to begin effectively promoting this approach (i.e. lack of expertise). (b) Some social workers consider social development to be a different discipline altogether, and not part of social work, and hence social workers feel they ought to stick to the remedial approach as, in their view, it represents authentic social work. (c) In other cases, many social work professionals appear oblivious of the potential benefits of promoting the social development perspective. (d) Many social work professionals have to operate within the confines of existing political environments which, in some cases, are oppressive or volatile, making it difficult for them to promote key professional principles synonymous with the human rights theme, such as self-​determination, popular participation, capacity building and empowerment, that are consistent with social development. In such countries, promotion of social justice is hardly observed by the powers that be. (e) In some cases, professionals have expressed concern about a lack of resources that can be tapped to use for promoting the developmental perspective (such as resources to develop indigenous resource materials). (f) Some indicated that they had never even thought about promoting this concept. (Adapted from Hochfeld, Salipsky, Mupedziswa & Chitereka, 2009). These findings suggest that only a limited number of social work professionals had heeded the call to promote developmental social work. In other words, there seems to be a general lack of appetite in respect of embracing and promoting this approach, both within education institutions and in the field of practice. The few social work professionals who claimed to have embraced the social development perspective, however, have still had to grapple with a number of challenges. It was stated earlier that in the field of social work the reality tended to be that social work practice (field) informs theory (classroom) and vice versa. However, in the context of the current debate, the broad consensus appears to be that the promotion of the social development perspective should begin in the classroom (that is, education and training) for headway to be realised (Mupedziswa, 2008).Yet very few social work educators seem to possess the requisite expertise to introduce this perspective in the classroom. Little wonder that Hampson and Willmore (1986: 7) lamented thus: ‘The question now facing social work education is how social workers can be trained as social development workers … who can recognise the problems of mass poverty and underdevelopment and contribute to the solutions of these problems’. Clearly, what has been missing are unambiguous guidelines to facilitate meaningful promotion of the developmental approach. In short, the key question has been: how can a social work education institution ‘tell’ whether it is moving in the direction of a social development approach; whether it is, in fact, promoting the developmental approach. Not much work has been done in this regard, and this seems a fair question to ask. Mupedziswa (2001), in a ground-​breaking piece, proposed a model which identifies a number of benchmarks that can be used to determine whether or not the curriculum of a social work education and training institution is deliberately steeped in the direction of the social development perspective. In the proposed model, a number of both curricular-​related and extra-​curricular activities that social 280

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work institutions can intentionally engage in, are suggested.The benchmarks for curriculum-related activities include: deliberate efforts of curriculum review; relevant student fieldwork placements; an appreciation and intentional use of applicable social developmental concepts (such as empowerment, social justice, etc.) in the classroom; innovative lecture delivery methods; and ensuring students embark on relevant projects/​assignments. In the same vein, extra-​curricular activities suggested in Mupedziswa’s (2001) model would include generation and use of indigenous teaching materials, generation and use of relevant local research, networking with like-​minded regional (sister) institutions, staff profiles which depicted realistic indigenous lecturer representation, (relevant) graduate job placement patterns, as well as positive staff contributions to policy formulation, implementation, monitoring and evaluation (Mupedziswa 2005, 2001). The author’s (Mupedziswa’s) argument is that if an institution uses these themes as benchmarks, it would help the institution to determine whether its programme is moving in the direction of the developmental perspective. Research analysis based on the above model conducted by staff at the University of Johannesburg’s Centre for Social Development in Africa, in collaboration with staff at the University of Botswana and the National University of Lesotho, suggested that only a small number of institutions in Sub-​Saharan Africa had begun to promote the social development approach (Hochfeld, Salipsky, Mupedziswa & Chitereka, 2009, 2010). Naturally, some institutions had made more headway than others. What was quite intriguing was that, even within a single institution, some staff members had made more headway than others. Many challenges had been reported. In some cases, there was discord within institutions, with some staff showing little appetite for the proposed approach while others showed absolute reluctance to move away from the traditional social work approach. Even more pronounced challenges emerged at the level of social work practice. A key problem noted was that because many social work professionals are ‘mere’ employees who have to ‘dance to the tune’ of their employer, they are not in a position to dictate policy, hence they cannot make the decision to take the developmental social work route. This suggests that even where education institutions may have grilled their cadres on the theme of developmental social work, the graduates may not necessarily adopt this thrust in the field, given that much will depend on agency policy (Mupedziswa, 2005). Some ‘conservative’ social work professionals have also argued that embracing the social development approach would be tantamount to straddling the turf of sister disciplines such as ‘development studies’ and perhaps ‘economics’. In April 1995, the present author presented a paper titled, The challenge of economic development in an African developing country:  the role of social work education in Zimbabwe at an international conference at Louisiana State University, US, which among other things, narrated how social work educators in Zimbabwe were preparing students to go into the field and empower vulnerable groups through the promotion of small-​scale income-​generating projects. After the presentation, a bemused local (US) participant inquired: ‘… and you still call that social work?’ In the view of that participant, social work has no business promoting small-​scale income-​generating projects; this should be left to economists and development studies graduates. There are many social work professionals out there who believe social work has no business promoting the social development approach. And yet there is clearly a strong case for the promotion of the developmental social work perspective. An analogy, in the form of what is termed the River Story, should drive this point home.

The case for the social development perspective: lessons from the River Story To appreciate the merits of promoting the social development perspective, social work professionals can take a leaf from (an adapted version of) the analogy of the River Story as narrated by the 281

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renowned American community organiser of the last century, Saul Alinsky (1909–​1972). Alinsky spoke of a man (Mr Smart for purposes of this chapter), who, while standing on the river bank, heard cries for help from someone drowning in the river. He (Mr Smart) jumped into the water and rescued the drowning person. While tending to the rescued individual, another urgent cry for help was heard from the same direction, and the rescuer was once again obliged to jump into the water on another rescue mission.The same scenario played out, repeating itself a couple more times, with more cries for help being heard and Mr Smart dutifully obliging by jumping into the river to rescue them. Meanwhile a crowd of onlookers, who themselves apparently could not swim, had gathered at the scene and were urging Mr Smart on. Following several rescue missions, Mr Smart suddenly abandoned the rescue mission and began to briskly walk away. Asked by the onlookers why he was abandoning the rescue mission  –​when incidentally yet another individual was frantically shouting for help –​Mr Smart’s curt response was that he had to go upstream to deal with whoever it was that was throwing the hapless individuals into the water. He thus took the decision to decisively go and deal with the root cause of the problem. Even as he walked away, a couple of individuals drowned. But then he had to sacrifice these two for the greater good. The story makes a compelling case for the wisdom of embracing the social development perspective as it explicitly depicts the need to make a choice between, on the one hand, embarking on approaches of fighting poverty that concentrate on ‘jumping into the water to rescue individuals who are drowning’ (i.e. giving handouts), and on the other, those approaches that focus more on ‘addressing the root causes’ of the drowning (in poverty) of vulnerable individuals.Traditional social work bequeathed to the region by the colonial powers would be consistent with missions that aimed at ‘rescuing drowning persons’ without bothering to establish how they ended up ‘drowning’ in the first place. Confronting the source of the problem, with the aim of nipping poverty in the bud –​going upstream, as Mr Smart did in the analogy –​would be consistent with promoting the social development perspective. An analysis of the gist of the message found in the River Story shows that a number of critical lessons can be discerned: (a) The rescuer (Mr Smart) was clearly a man of good will who was prepared to put his own life at risk to save the lives of the vulnerable members of society who could not swim. (b) Mr Smart would eventually have grown tired of jumping in and out of the water and it is likely that, at some point, he would either have abandoned the rescue mission, or even drowned himself, had he persisted. (c) The victims would have continued to fall into the river, while onlookers would probably have continued to urge the rescuer on but without taking measures to ensure no further drownings occurred. (d) The time it took Mr Smart (the rescuer) to walk upstream to deal with the culprit who was throwing the hapless individuals into the water meant that a couple of vulnerable people drowned as there was no one else to rescue them. It must have been a difficult decision for Mr Smart to ignore the drowning people as he made his way upstream to deal with the source of the problem. The lesson here is that difficult decisions have to be made sometimes in an effort to move people from ‘basket cases’ (receiving handouts) to ‘bread baskets’ (self-​reliance). In the context of the war on poverty in particular, employing the remedial perspective in social work could be viewed as being akin to rescuing drowning people through handouts, with the social worker serving as the rescuer. Most social workers in the Southern African region tend to 282

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focus on relief work characterised by dishing out handouts to the vulnerable and the marginalised, with resources being made available either by the government or NGOs. Government funding for welfare programmes often gets exhausted very quickly (Wyatt, Mupedziswa and Rayment, 2010). The NGOs may chip in, but they often end up suffering from donor fatigue, meaning ‘drowning people’ soon discover there is no one to turn to. Apart from the issue of limited resources, handouts are also known to trigger a dependency syndrome, with some beneficiaries eventually loathing the idea of fending for themselves, thereby derailing prospects for promoting self-​reliance. In Botswana, for example, the Destitute Persons Programme has been accused of creating a dependency syndrome among the recipients (Ntseane & Solo, 2007). Similar accusations have been levelled against some of the social grant programmes in South Africa, and elsewhere in the region.

Discussion From the discussion above, it is evident that the social development approach is clearly the way to go for the Southern African region. The approach emphasises the connection between social and economic goals, and stresses the idea of planned change (Hall, 1990). The concepts of participation, empowerment and capacity building, social inclusion, human rights, and development feature prominently in this perspective (Hall, 1990; Elliot, 2012). Issues such as social capital, assets and the promotion of social and economic justice are also deemed salient in the context of this approach. The perspective puts people at the centre of development, promoting the notion of ‘development with a human face’ in the process. Elliot (2012) posits that this perspective is essentially an asset-​based approach, and is consistent with strength and empowerment. Hence, the perspective gives social workers room for macro-​level analysis, so the profession can better fulfil its key mandate of promoting social justice and thus helping to uplift the standards of living of the downtrodden and the vulnerable in society. Hubert Mupedziswa (2014) has likened a remedial approach to mopping water from a leaking tap when what is actually needed is to fix the tap so that it stops leaking. Focusing on mopping water from the leaking tap will not stop the tap from leaking. It means those involved in mopping will never see peace, as they will be expected to continue mopping ad infinitum. However, should the source of the leak get fixed, those involved in the mopping can be released for more profitable assignments. The solution for poverty reduction should therefore not be about ‘continued mopping of water from the leaking tap’, but rather, efforts directed at ‘mending the tap’ (that is, embarking on developmental initiatives) to ensure the tap ceases to leak (attainment of self-​reliance). The River Story resonates with the famous Chinese adage: ‘If you give a man a fish, he will eat once, but if you teach a man how to fish, he will eat for the rest of his life.’ Dishing out fish (handouts) to underprivileged people provides them with only temporary relief. Naturally, as soon as the beneficiaries run out of fish, they will approach the supplier for more. Depending on the intensity of demand, the supplier may eventually run out of the commodity (fish), or may simply grow weary (fatigued), or even cease handing out fish (drown). However, if the marginalised in society are taught how to fish (empowered), then once they run out of the fish, they will likely know where to go to get more fish on their own (self-​reliance). Once a conducive environment has been created for the vulnerable individuals in society to participate in activities which promote empowerment and capacity building (social development), they will be enabled to move in the direction of self-​reliance. The social development approach facilitates the creation of an environment where the marginalised can ‘lift themselves up with their own bootstraps’. In his treatise titled Catching Fish or Liberating Man: Social Development 283

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in Zimbabwe, Martin de Graaf (1986) observed that social development points towards the capacity of people to control, utilise and increase their resources, further stressing that only if people have access to and control over existing resources, are they able to shape their lives according to their needs. The social work profession can play a meaningful role in this regard.

Conclusion This chapter considered the debate on the relevance and appropriateness of social work that was exported from the Western World to Africa, including to Southern Africa. It noted with concern that the debate had ceased to take centre stage in social work education and practice in the region. The purpose of the chapter is to rekindle the debate in question. The chapter makes a case for the adoption of the social development perspective. It noted with regret that in this region the social work professional has, for a variety of reasons, apparently continued to promote the remedial approach, despite calls to move in the direction of the social development perspective. The chapter has made an impassioned plea –​with the aid of the analogy of the River Story by Alinski, and the Leaking Tap i­llustration –​for the social work profession in Southern Africa to seriously consider taking bold steps towards promoting the social development perspective. It concludes by stating that the profession owes it to its clientele to urgently take this route, arguing that the consequences of failure to embrace the social development perspective (particularly in the context of the fight against poverty) would be too ghastly to contemplate.

Acknowledgement An abridged version of this chapter was presented as a keynote address at the International Social Work Conference held at Hotel Africana in Kampala, Uganda on 16 to 18 March 2014. The conference theme was ‘Professional social work in East Africa: towards social development and poverty reduction’.

References Asamoah, Y.W. & Beverly, C. (1988). Collaboration between Western and African schools of social work: Problems and possibilities. International Social Work, 31(3), 177–​195. ASWEA (Association of Social Work Education in Africa). (1982). Survey of curricula of social development training institutions in Africa. Addis Ababa: ASWEA. De Graaf, M. (1986). Catching fish or liberating man: Social development in Zimbabwe. Journal of social development in Africa, 1(1), 7–​26. Dlamini, P.M. (1995). Inequality and under-​development:  Issues for a social development curriculum. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 10(2), 23–​33. Elliott, D. (2012). Social development and social work. In L. Healy & R. Link (Eds.), International social work: Human rights, development, and the global profession (pp. 102–​108). New York: Oxford University Press. Hall, N. (1990). Social work training in Africa: A fieldwork manual. Harare: JSDA Publishers. Hampson, J. & Willmore, B. (1986). Social development and rural fieldwork. Edited workshop proceedings. School of Social Work, Harare, Zimbabwe, 10–​14 June. Harare: The Journal. Hochfeld, T., Mupedziswa, R., Chitereka, C. & Selipsky, L. (2009). Developmental social work education in Southern and East Africa: Research report. Centre for Social Development in Africa. University of Johannesburg. ISBN: 978 0-​86970-​669-​5. Hochfeld,T., Mupedziswa, R. & Selipsky, L. (2010). The social development approach in social work education in Southern and East Africa. The Social Work Practitioner-​Researcher. Special Issue, April, pp. 112–​131. Jones, J. (1987). Educating for uncertainty. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 2(2), 27–​33. Kangela, F. (n.d.a.) Social work in the Democratic Republic of Congo. (Hope Africa University). http://​ zalaczniki.ops.pl/​social work_​in_​democratic_​republic_​of_​congo.pdf. 284

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Midgley, J. (1981). Professional imperialism: Social work in the Third World. London: Heinemann. Midgley, J. (1983). Professional imperialism: Social work in the Third World. London: Wiley. Mupedziswa, H. (2014). Personal communication. 7 March. Mupedziswa, R. (2001).The quest for relevance: Towards a conceptual model of developmental social work education and training in Africa. International Social Work, 44(3), 285–​300. Mupedziswa, R. (2005). Challenges and prospects of social work services in Africa. In J.C. Okeibunor & E.E. Anugwom (Eds.), The social sciences and socioeconomic transformation in Africa (pp. 271–​317). Nsukka: Great AP Express Publishing. Mupedziswa, R. (2008). Twenty-​two years of teaching social work practitioners in Africa: Reflections on strategies and techniques. Journal of Teaching in Social Work, 28(3/​4), 343–​355. Mupedziswa, R. & Kubanga, K. (2016). Developing social work education in Africa: The case for a social development approach. In I. Taylor, M. Bogo et al. (Eds.), International handbook of social work education (pp. 119–​130). Taylor & Francis. Mupedziswa, R. & Sinkamba, R. (2014). Social work in Africa:  Yesterday, today and tomorrow. In C. Noble, H. Strauss & B. Littlechild (Eds.), Social work around the world (pp. 141–​154). Sydney:  Sydney University Press. Mwansa, L.-​K. (2010). Challenges facing social work in Africa. International Social Work, 53(1), 129–​136. Mwansa, L.-​K. (2011). Social work education in Africa:  Whence and whither? Social Work Education, 30(1),  4–​16. Ntseane, D. & Solo, K. (2007). Social security and social protection in Botswana. Gaborone: Bay Publishing. Osei-​Hwedie, K. (1993). Putting the ‘social’ back into ‘work’:  The case for the indigenisation of social work practice and education in Africa. Special Report. Cape Town: Institute of Indigenous Theory and Practice. Ragab, I.A. (1982). Authentization of Social Work in Developing Countries. Tanta: Integrated Social Services Project. Rwomire, A. & Raditlhokwa, L. (1996). Social work in Africa:  Issues and challenges. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 11(2), 5–​19. Walton, R. & El Nasr, M. (1988). Indigenisation and authentisation in terms of social work in Egypt. International Social Work, 31(2), 135–​144. Wyatt, A., Mupedziswa, R. & Rayment, C. (2010). Institutional Capacity Assessment, Department of Social Services, Ministry of Labour and Social Services, Zimbabwe and UNICEF.

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24 Postcolonial dimensions of social work in the Central African Republic and its impact on the life of hunter-​gatherer children and youth –​a critical perspective Urszula Markowska-​Manista

Introduction In this chapter, I will outline three dimensions of social work directed at the Ba’Aka inhabiting the region of Sangha Mbaéré in the Central African Republic, the former French colony of Ubangi-​Shari (Oubangui-​Chari). I will also attempt to define how they impact childhood and the life of children from the Ba’Aka hunter-​gatherer community. The text is based on my experience of research in CAR (field research between 2002 and 2012)  and analyses of literature on the subject referring to the situation of hunter-​gatherer populations in Central Africa in the recent two decades. For years, social work has encompassed humanitarian aid and international developmental initiatives (Healy, 2008; Healy & Link, 2011). It is a key element of both the pastoral work of missionaries in the so-​called first evangelisation territories as well as the developmental/​humanitarian aid projects oriented towards societies in the Global South and implemented by the countries of the Global North. As an important area of praxis implemented around the globe, it is often referred to as international social work or global praxis of social work (Mónico, Smith Rotabi, & Abu Sarhan, 2014). Social work praxis involves initiatives of national and international non-​governmental organisations (Sowers & Rowe, 2007), activities of churches and denominational groups and societies carrying out various missions, as well as institutional undertakings realised by states (both providers and recipients of aid). It is defined as interdisciplinary efforts aimed to provide support and aid to people in need, while its activities are usually oriented towards improving social, economic and environmental situations. Social work is focused on supporting individuals, groups or communities in enriching or rebuilding their potential of social functioning (e.g. through the fulfilment of adequate, socially desirable roles) and creating social conditions that facilitate the achievement of these aims. Social work is thus aimed at aspects concerning written and unwritten (customary) human rights. In other words, it is oriented towards helping individuals and groups with gaining access to particular services, such as providing counselling and access to psychological support (psychotherapy) to individuals,

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families and groups. It aims to aid communities and groups in gaining and improving access to social services, including housing, legal and medical services. Last but not least, it supports their participation in legal processes related to access to rights and human rights. The social work aspects I would like to outline in this text began with the increasing presence of missionaries and staff of aid organisations (including volunteering staff) in the contemporary Central African Republic. It has brought both protection and dependency, as well as support and oppression. Once CAR gained independence, it recolonised hunter-​gatherer communities in terms of foreign values, norms and rules of social functioning that were imposed on them. The Ba’Aka have been treated in a paternalistic way, with an assumption that to aid their successful adaptation in the new structures of the dominant society, they must be helped with eradicating their social norms and customs acquired in the process of traditional education.This way, hunter-​ gatherers were relieved of their nomadic lifestyle, while their traditions, customs, beliefs and collective activities were questioned. They were pressured into a sedentary lifestyle in villages and settlements, shifting into recipients of support and aid initiatives. Children and youth are one of the groups that particularly suffer the consequences of the above-​mentioned processes. On the other hand, this type of activity supported the local communities –​including hunter-​ gatherers –​in accessing health care, food resources and education. The question to what degree these activities respected their human rights, culture, and social structure, cannot be answered unambiguously.

The colonial and postcolonial contexts of social work in Central Africa Until today, indigenous people in Central Africa, as well as in Canada and Australia, frequently become clients of agencies and organisations that provide services in a number of fields (education and literacy, and health). They become clients –​recipients –​dependent on the infrastructural, food-​related and human external support and aid, which is often based on foreign values, unfamiliar world views and Eurocentric approaches. In the face of new dilemmas and challenges relating to ongoing sociocultural, economic and political transformation, developmental and humanitarian aid have come to a crossroads. As Ryszard Vorbich writes, in neocolonial relations colonial ideologies and structures were replaced with new entities; these were interstate and non-​governmental organisations which acted globally and institutionalised various dimensions of relations between the countries of the Global North and the Global South  –​as ‘the rich’ versus ‘the poor’ (Vorbich, 2013:  247). ‘In many African countries Social Work does not proactively address structural sources of poverty but only functions as a passive and unambitious distributor of meagre food handouts which effectively keep clients in the vicious cycle of poverty’ (Rwomire & Raditlhokwa, 1996: 13). It is, among other things, about paternalistic treatment of autochthonous communities. This approach stems from, inter alia, an assumption that in order to aid their successful adaptation to the dominant society, minority groups (including autochthonous communities, migrants and refugees) must be supported in a swift elimination of social norms and customs based upon their own traditions. Among the socio-​structural components that amplify this approach are state policies advantaging socially and politically privileged groups, reinforcement of national identity, coupled with the stigmatisation of indigenous societies, and institutional discrimination related to restrictions in accessing such resources as employment, education, health care and social benefits. Other components include: offering short-​term support without the participation of the population it is directed at, as well as sentencing autochthonous societies to coping with new structures created with the aim of improving their lives but unadapted to achieving this aim, or discriminatory towards them. 287

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As early as the first half of the twentieth century, George L. Warren, the author of the concept of international social work, advocated that social workers familiarise themselves with the culture of migrants’ countries of origin (Healy, 2004: 49–​52).This principle also relates to becoming familiar with the cultures of autochthonous communities and pertains to social work realised for social justice, human rights and peace. All the elements are based on respect for the dignity and value of human life. In this context, Reichert stresses that ‘Social Work originates from humanitarian and democratic ideals that prompted the profession to challenge discrimination and unequal distribution of resources’ (2001: 5). The difficult historical context of the colonial era, land-​g rabbing and resource conflict generate distrust towards major institutions and external social workers. What is more, ‘people who seek assistance from social services are usually victims of oppressive and unjust social, economic and political structures’ (Gil, 1998). In his book Decolonizing the Mind (1986), Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o puts forward a thesis that the effects of colonialism were much deeper than a simple imposition of control over land and human resources through military conquest and political dictatorship. Colonial violence also dominated the intellectual space of the colonised, even after gaining independence. In fact, its effects are still noticeable in many countries. When considering the colonial and postcolonial entanglement of hunter-​gatherers in the externally imposed social aid and practices realised under its guise, one must bear in mind that the European colonial undertakings in Africa, in particular mission civilisatrice from the neo-​imperial period (1880–​1914), were in keeping with the ideas of those times. As such, they were justified with the slogans of pursuing business interest, spreading Christianity and bringing civilisation to ‘savage’ and ‘backward’ peoples. It is undeniable that economic interest was the primary aim of colonisation. The notion of ‘bringing civilisation’, with the participation of Christianity, provided colonial powers with a moral justification of atrocious crimes perpetrated on, and with, the lands of indigenous populations. Imperialism built economic dependencies that contributed to an escalation of long-​lasting conflicts. It also led to the forming of postcolonial identities and dependency on the aid from so-​called donor states from the Global North. Trade played a key role in the colonial economy and the colonial slogan: ‘trade + Christianity = civilisation’ (Gilbert & Couillard, 2009:  29) gained millions of proponents. The predatory orientation of colonial processes towards export led to the underdevelopment of internal economies in Central Africa and to transformations in the daily life of autochthonous populations: hunter-​gatherers replaced their masters (Bantu) on plantations following the period of slave exportation. This transposition triggered a multilayered entanglement of the Pygmies1 in a new standard of feudal relations with their neighbours from sedentary groups. As a consequence, they were forced into social processes in which they were treated as insignificant in the eyes of dominant social groups (see Ahluwalia, 2000), perceived as vestiges of days gone by, looked down on as those lagging behind and unable to adapt to, much less develop their own strategies of managing, the modern reality. The imperial processes initiated in the colonial era were long-​term processes which translated into a cultural, linguistic and psychological abandonment of indigenous parameters. They took place through a succession of influence:  after a military conquest, there came a time for the destruction or purposeful degradation of the culture of a particular community. In the next stage, children and youth, as the youngest medium of non-​Western heritage, became the target and product of colonial education. Colonial knowledge in Sub-​Saharan Africa was based on the subjugation and silencing of the traditional voices and practices of local populations. Missionaries and colonial authorities perceived African approaches to knowledge, cosmology, spirituality and ontological existence as ‘barbaric’, ‘backward’, traditional and ‘unscientific’ (Shizha, 2013:  7). Africans were removed from the discourse about knowledge and were forced to assimilate with 288

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the culture of the oppressors; this was both hegemonic and foreign to them. The aim of education and resocialisation in the colonial era was to convert indigenous populations to European religions, thus eradicating their traditional beliefs and stifling their religions. They were also oriented towards economic exploitation and assimilation of African populations. Curricula in colonial schools were a voice of the dominant group.The coloniser defined the status, privileges, power and control within education in the context of racial differences and then provided social support. ‘Indigenous’ Africans were perceived as inferior to Europeans and as Edward Shizha (2013) writes, they were mistakenly believed to internalise racial stereotypes of the colonisers. Colonial education negated the voice of hunter-​gatherers, rejected their identity and heritage as well as their collective strategies and methods of grass-​roots efforts for survival and development in the face of transformation. Major consequences of colonialism which undermined the social value of grass-​ roots initiatives in, among others, hunter-​gatherer communities, include the loss of political power in a local dimension; the inhibition of the process of evolving national solidarity; the inhibition of African technological development; the destruction of internal trade and African culture; the imposition of new value systems; the introduction of cash-​crop production; the creation of social stratification and impoverishment of African societies through taxation systems; paid employment; and alienation from the land (Nwanosike & Onyije, 2011).

Missionary social work The first dimension I  would like to outline refers to the imposed missionary social work conducted by clergy, secular missionaries and volunteers in the Central African Republic among indigenous communities, primarily Ba’Aka hunter-​gatherers. This work is organised within the missionaries’ main task, that is, first evangelisation, or ‘spreading the Gospel to those who have not heard it before’.2 In the late 1970s, Catholic missionaries began pastoral work in the countries of Central Africa, in territories defined by the Church as the land of ‘first evangelisation’.This work related to projects oriented towards social support for hunter-​gatherers.The missionaries aimed to move the Pygmies from the space of temporary settlements in the rainforest to villages where they would have access to health care, education, farming and evangelisation. The Ba’Aka in the Sangha Mbaéré region of CAR (the oldest inhabitants of the rainforest region in the Central African Republic) were refused the right for self-​determination and were marginalised, discriminated against and exploited. The processes of marginalisation were based on functional relations between the Ba’Aka community and the political authorities that attempted to maintain colonialism and neocolonialism at any cost. Information about one of the congregations working with the Ba’Aka reads as follows: We establish (…) new Christian communities, educate teachers of religion, build churches and chapels, create the structures of parishes and pass them on to local priests, while we move on, to places where we start everything anew … The testimony of one’s life is the most effective form of spreading the Gospel. This is why in our daily work, in the most important tasks –​spreading the Gospel and administering the sacraments –​we try to give testimony to our faith.3 Missionary social work thus refers to external support directed at the Ba’Aka community; in other words, missionary work ‘that consists in adapting the Pygmies to the new living conditions imposed on them by the reality, mainly by the exploitation of their natural environment: the 289

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rainforest’.4 It is coupled with a range of infrastructural and non-​material aid projects directed at rural areas where the majority of the population in CAR live and where the Ba’Aka, displaced from the rainforest, attempt to settle. Social work conducted among the Ba’Aka community since the 1970s also refers to the lack of recognition of the Ba’Aka’s human rights by the neighbouring communities inhabiting this region. It also relates to counteracting the processes of discrimination, marginalisation and exploitation, shortages of resources, political influences and the Ba’Aka’s dependency on mission aid. Last but not least, it involves support for international agendas in the area of developmental aid as well as humanitarian aid in times of crisis and war. It is defined by missionaries as a ‘civilisational process’ based on supporting the development and adaptation in the new system of Ba’Aka hunter-​gatherers in the Sangha Mbaéré region. The project was launched by Catholic missionaries in 1973 with the establishment of the village of Bélemboké, then, two years later, the village of Monasao and finally the village of Mabondo (see PAAPYBA, 2016: 6). As the missionaries stressed in interviews, the villages ‘were created at the request of the Pygmies, who wanted to free themselves from their Bantu neighbours and disassociate themselves from feudal relations with them’. The Pygmies needed space for autonomous development and social adaptation in their new situation of a sedentary lifestyle, and at the same time preserving their cultural identity and bond with the rainforest. Since the beginning, missionary social work has thus been conducted in and around mission outposts through the organisation of structures and the establishment of permanent settlements and villages; adaptation of nomadic and semi-​nomadic populations to a life outside the forest, taking up farming, cattle breeding, building households and establishing schools based on the system of preschool education employing the ORA method; establishment of clinics or health centres, village shops, health and hygiene promotion as well as disease prevention programmes; and enabling the Ba’Aka’s participation in local government elections. As missionaries point out, the above-​mentioned activities are implemented ‘with a concern for the Pygmies’ human dignity, [and] their integration with other tribes’.5 Throughout the years, individuals realising evangelisation along with social work –​missionaries, nuns and volunteers –​have tried to search for solutions to the new challenges linked to living in the village and functioning within structures, that would also enable the Ba’Aka to preserve their cultural traditions. Among the activities realised within mission projects in the area of social work are initiatives related to the education of children, literacy programmes for adults, farming, health, workshops for carpenters, bakers and tailors. All the activities were directed at the Catholic community established by missionaries within evangelisation. The missionaries invested primarily in pastoral work, carrying out evangelisation in Pygmy villages located along the road to the town of Bayanga.6 Our work begins with learning the daily life of the local inhabitants, learning their language, sharing their joys and problems.Where possible, we provide the most urgent medical, moral and material help. We motivate people and try to facilitate their literacy lessons as well as education in the area of hygiene and health, farming and crafts. In our work, we enter into dialogue with the followers of traditional African religions and Islam, trying to understand and appreciate the value of their cultures and religions.7 The missionaries stress that for the initiatives in the area of the so-​called ‘first evangelisation’ to bear any effect, it was necessary to discover an adequate work method. It was vital to 290

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be, be among the Pygmies. We had to listen to them, accompany them in hunting, fishing and mushroom picking. We had to get to know them in their own environment, in the forest. It enabled us to find adequate comparisons that would not be foreign to them and facilitated catechisation.8 The missionaries argue that their work is an answer to the threat generated by the challenges of globalisation which push the Ba’Aka to the social margins. Among key threats they mention are: overexploitation of the rainforest, the logging industry, poaching, work in diamond mines, lack of civic rights and lack of adaptation of hunter-​gatherers to a life outside the forest. The latter means their lack of skill in cultivating plantations, animal breeding and establishing permanent villages as well as unfamiliarity with the rules of trade. At the same time, the missionaries refer to threats that directly endanger families, among them generational conflict and disrespect for the elders, alcoholism, prostitution, AIDS, the desire of the young generation to possess worthless material goods, gadget mania and the loss of their forefathers’ traditions. Their gospel is realised with a two-​track approach: in pastoral and social work on missions in the countries of the Global South, based on the values and ideology of the congregation they belong to, and after their return to the countries of the Global North (their country of origin, the headquarters of the congregation). After returning to the countries of the Global North, their reports from mission work (in the case of volunteers and NGO staff) are frequently used in educational-​mission practices in schools, churches and institutions organising lectures and meetings with missionaries and volunteers working in missions. However, this type of Western practice is increasingly questioned as it uses stereotypes –​presents the saddest, most dramatic and disturbing images, documents privation, poverty and suffering –​exclusively for the purpose of marketing, promotion or enhancement of profit, fundraising and exerting influence. This type of activity directly affects individuals who become the protagonists of widely available accounts. At times their ‘gospel truth’ is illustrated with images of children with bellies bloated from hunger, children without clothes, children who are sick and those hugged by priests or nuns. Showing a naked child with a bloated belly in a mission poster, or an emaciated, crying baby in a photograph of an NGO does not usually raise associations with sexual filth and child pornography. And yet, in the era of the brutalisation and sexualisation of images, should we not take a closer look at these types of postcolonial representations? Mission social aid and missionary voluntary work are still based (for example, in Poland) on such images aimed to evoke compassion in viewers.9 These representations appear not only in the reports from the work of missionaries but also generally in the news from this region of the world presented by volunteers, journalists and NGO staff. It must be added that it frequently focuses only on the negative aspects of life: poverty, violence, conflict and war. Starvation, illness, extreme poverty, massacres and war are best-​selling and most frequently bought images and information in the world of Western consumption (see Markowska-​Manista, 2012). For instance, a large section of media information is copied from other websites, shocking the viewers with graphic photographs that, in fact, have nothing to do with the situations described.These images of the victims, perpetrators and witnesses in the conflict and civil war in CAR, are stereotypes and are generated during aid initiatives. This information is culturally inadequate, Eurocentric and vulgar in its intent to shock with images and words referring to the problems of other people.This pessimistic vision is exacerbated when the inhabitants of Central Africa are ignored or inadequately presented in the media and educational discourse. For many years, the one-​sided, exaggerated images of poor, suffering, anonymous people used by the media, missionaries and humanitarian organisations have not 291

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only been used to enhance sensitivity and build an awareness of the scale of human suffering, but also for fundraising purposes. For many charity organisations, the photographs presenting naked, starving and orphaned African children have become instruments to obtain funds, gain power and realise additional interest. In Poland, these images hardly evoke any outrage.Yet, what reaction would there be if the same poster showed a naked Polish child? Unfortunately, such representations have built a fallacious image of the populations inhabiting Central African countries  –​an image based on stereotypes and power relations established during the colonisation of this continent. It is colonisation that still continues today in the guise of mission, developmental and humanitarian projects. Meanwhile, the aspect that ought to be central for missionary activities, as well as developmental and aid projects, is the question of ethics, the preservation of human dignity and respect for the human body in every situation in which it finds itself. This approach requires changes in the preparation of project documentation –​in ethical representations in text and other descriptive forms of photographic or documentary accounts.

Social work in developmental and humanitarian aid projects The second dimension refers to social work that is also imposed –​in the form of short-​and long-​ term developmental and humanitarian projects implemented by non-​ governmental organisations from the countries of the so-​called Global North in the countries of the Global South as well as within governmental programmes and projects. In the colonial period, European powers took control of indigenous communities’ land under the cover of civilising missions and international legal instruments. They justified these activities, claiming that they did not aim for personal profit but acted in the interests of indigenous communities who remained on low levels of social organisation. In practice, this meant that the land of indigenous communities was taken over by colonial administrative authorities. Examples of such practices can be found in colonial legislation adopted up to the 1950s. Jérémie Gilbert and Valérie Couillard point out that in 1952, a decree was passed in Congo that specified the principles of registering land rights of members of indigenous peoples. Anyone wishing to acquire land rights was obligated to prove their level of education and civilisation (Gilbert & Couillard, 2009: 30). Failing to do so meant that European countries not only had the right but also an obligation to ‘protect’ uncivilised and uneducated indigenous people by taking control over their land. The suggestive slogan of ‘bringing civilisation’ to Africa was also a humanitarian call to provide ‘aid’ to indigenous populations (defined as ‘natives’ or ‘primitive people’ in the discourse of those times) in joining the Enlightenment paradigm and abandoning their traditions.These were traditions based in local languages and engraved in memory through intergenerational transmission but defined as ‘barbaric’ by ‘civilised powers’. In 1975, the Cameroonian government established the Ministry of Social Affairs,10 whose main task was to improve the living conditions of marginalised groups. At that time, the Ba’Aka were the only identified marginalised group in Cameroon. However, the real aim behind the sedentarisation plan for hunter-​gatherers was tax collection and a systemic control over the local populations. As a result of the governmental civilising and developmental policy oriented towards ‘backward’ people, the Pygmies were assumed to accept a sedentary lifestyle and participate in the life of the modern state to the same degree as the already sedentary population (see Pemunta, 2013: 356). Some Pygmies voluntarily moved from the rainforest to the territory along the roads and the vicinity of settlements and villages inhabited by other ethnic groups. Practice shows that the programmes of social and economic integration of the Pygmies in the Central African Republic, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Cameroon and the Republic of the 292

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Congo fail to take the interests of these populations into consideration. They fail to show an understanding for their lifestyle and ways of looking at the world as well as their aspirations, such as to develop based on their cultural heritage. As a result, these aspirations fall into the category of unfulfilled dreams. The contemporary systems of independent Central African states encompassing administration and education penetrated sedentary Pygmy communities. However, as these systems are not adapted to their lifestyle and due to the absence of a fixed social system within their communities, the Pygmies find it difficult to navigate them. Lack of adaptation results in complicated relations with their neighbours –​farmers who managed to adapt to the modern state system and dominate the Pygmies (see Lewis, 2005: 56–​78). The Pygmies who settled in villages and settlements, thereby partially changing their lifestyle, point to a range of problems connected with functioning among their sedentary neighbours.11 They do not receive fair compensation for their work and fall victim to discrimination which restricts their access to health centres and schools and prevents them from voting in elections or travelling, due to a lack of personal identity documents and passports. Many Pygmies claim that their Bantu neighbours perceive them as ‘beings inferior to humans’. With regard to the idea of implementing Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), various countries of the Global North initiated aid interventions for the populations in the states of the Global South. A series of challenges were set for African countries defined by the UN as ‘the poorest’, that resulted in the implementation of millennium goals formulated by world leaders in a declaration adopted early in this century.12 A commitment to reduce poverty and hunger was recognised as the most important; the objective was specifically to reduce by half the number of people surviving on less than a dollar a day and suffering from hunger by 2015. However, rather than decrease, this number increased in 2015. The remaining millennium goals, including equal access to education for both sexes or cutting the number of women dying as a result of postpartum complications by 75 per cent, are still being implemented. These initiatives have their bright and dark sides. Today, the phenomenon of developmental and humanitarian aid is perceived by the public, and at times also by organisations providing such aid, in a simplified way. It is being reduced to a stereotypical image of passive recipients and active donors. Hardly anyone gives more thought to whether this image is consistent with the truth. Moreover, a stereotypical discourse of dependency and power in the dimension of neocolonial prosocial influences is frequently shaped and recreated through the activities within developmental and humanitarian aid. For instance, a constant recreation of only one image of recipients can lead to the formation of stereotypes that become a source of multiple discriminations and distort reality. Social work is one of many ‘faces’ of developmental and humanitarian aid projects realised in receiving countries in Central Africa. As theory and praxis show, aid has its good and bad sides; it may succeed or fail. One definition of developmental aid characterises it as a voluntary transfer of civil resources, preferential for the recipient, intended primarily to improve living conditions, facilitate social development and build prosperity (Stępień, 2010: 16). Developmental aid implies one-​way activities of donors oriented towards a change in the situation of beneficiaries. It is worth stressing that among them are both direct initiatives (donors–​beneficiaries), and indirect initiatives (donors–​ international organisations–​beneficiaries). In the latter case, the relation between donors and recipients is asymmetric. Social and economic development is a general aim of aid activities in relation to donor and recipient. Essentially, this aim is compatible with the UN Millennium Development Goals. Nevertheless, these aims hardly exhaust the issue of development, and their implementation will not eliminate poverty in the world. On the other hand, humanitarian aid is oriented towards 293

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civil populations in difficult life situations stemming from disasters caused by natural factors or human activity (Markowska-​Manista & Jarecka-​Stępień, 2014.). The overriding goal of providing humanitarian aid is to save and sustain life as well as ensure respect for human dignity. Humanitarian aid also encompasses initiatives intended to prevent crises and reduce their effects, as was the case during the conflict, and later Civil War in CAR between 2012 and 2014. This form of aid is also defined as one of the most important expressions of general interhuman solidarity and a moral obligation. The necessity to provide humanitarian aid seems increasingly greater with the growing level of global interdependencies. The local communities, the target beneficiaries of many aid and developmental projects realised in CAR, were frequently perceived only as passive recipients of aid, marked by their harsh reality, and as clients of services provided by experts and professionals from Western countries. At times, local populations are blamed for the obstacles and failures in the realisation of aid activities (particularly, for a lack of proactiveness after the completion of a project in which they did not participate, for example, volunteers from EU countries building a school). European societies sometimes face a distorted and incomplete image of a particular part of Africa (region, state, prefecture, city) as this image is stripped of context. It symbolises, in their eyes, the entire continent in a state of hopelessness and in need of feeding through the umbilical cord attached to Western states, thereby perpetuating the status quo of European superiority. The ‘colonial philanthropism’13 can also be harmful with its fragmentary transfer of information that generalises the schematic images of the inhabitants of developing countries. The representations in the media and project reports of Central Africans affected by war are examples: they are presented as nameless hybrids, distant poor, passive ‘others’ and exotic ‘foreigners’ (see Jarecka & Markowska-​ Manista, 2014). Colonial philanthropism is also equated to ‘boasting about’ aid activities and manipulating words and images at charity events. As the Polish historian and journalist Adam Leszczyński points out, charity organisations often construct their fundraising campaigns in a way that makes potential donors believe that a mere few zloty (basic monetary unit of Poland) or dollars they donate can save someone’s life and the world will become a better place. While it is true that even a small sum of money can make some difference, there is a disproportion between the scale of individual help (the small sum which is of no consequence to the donor) and the sense of an ‘exceptionally good deed’ performed.14 Since the importance of the promotion and marketing of NGOs and the international agenda is increasing, the symbiosis between these agencies and the media is taking on a new meaning: the presence of organisations and their campaigns in the media helps to build awareness and raise funds (Franks, 2010: 73). However, something more is at stake. An increasing number of humanitarian and developmental experts claim that aid funds drive the existing situation: they often sustain wars, support dictators, inhibit the process of political modernisation, hamper the fight against AIDS and stifle human rights (Wente, 2010).

Activities within the local hunter-​gatherer community The third dimension involves initiatives of local communities –​first of all, indigenous Ba’Aka communities. In the discussion of the third dimension, I  will refer to the social capital and traditions of hunter-​gatherers based on their cultural roots, social learning as well as views on freedom and sociopolitical participation within the group. Since the 1970s, hunter-​gatherers such as the Pygmies in Central Africa have tried to preserve their social cohesion and particular value systems based on traditional beliefs.This approach involves combating the authoritarian representations formed by the ethnocentric focal point of ‘the only true knowledge’ (the Western culture), which shaped the broader discourse and 294

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approach to autochthonous populations. The stereotypical images and narrations about indigenous populations found in public discourse –​both those European, linked with developmental aid, and Central African (created by the Bantu), presenting hunter-​gatherers as ‘backward’ and ‘primitive’, are still a source of many problems and contribute to the perpetuation of their negative image. Moreover, they question the Ba’Aka’s civic affiliation. Also, the cultural patterns of intergenerational transmission representing the Pygmies as slaves, servants or those inferior, contribute to discrimination in the environment of children and youth. Due to the long history of servile relations, the Pygmies are an ethnic group that is the most exposed to discrimination in the territory of Central Africa. As a collective community, in their daily life the Ba’Aka use the knowledge of their ancestors, referring to social and economic well-​being. In traditional communities, Ba’Aka children and youth acquire knowledge about ‘how to survive’ in a community and make an effort to preserve the traditions and values of their forefathers.This knowledge acquisition is based on the so-​called forest education (Markowska-​Manista, 2012) and social learning (Hewlett et al., 2011: 1168–​ 1178). At the same time, the communities try to develop strategies of adaptation for their new living conditions in the changing world. These efforts are made in dialogue with all community members, with respect for both written and unwritten rights. Until recently, in the late 1990s, the Ba’Aka  –​as traditional nomads  –​were hunters and gatherers in the rainforest of Central Africa (Turnbull, 1965, 1974). Unlike their farming neighbours, they have techniques and methods that are highly adapted to hunting and gathering in the jungle (Bahuchet, 1985), while their methods of working the land are poorly developed and sometimes practised experimentally, as a ‘hit and trial’ method.Thus, for dozens of years their sedentary neighbours were their mediators with the outside world. In order to outline the collective well-​being activities of the Ba’Aka community, I am referring to the Sustainable Livelihoods Framework (SLF),15 which is of key importance for the understanding of a sustainable approach to functioning. It also enables one to understand poverty in a broader context than a mere lack of income as it refers to livelihood, that is, possessions and access to resources –​other than income –​which hunter-​gatherers need to sustain an adequate level of life in the environment in which they function. One definition of livelihood indicates that it comprises the capabilities, assets (stores, resources, claims and access) and activities required for a means of living: a livelihood is sustainable which can cope with and recover from stress and shocks, maintain or enhance its capabilities and assets, and provide sustainable livelihood opportunities for the next generation; and which contributes net benefits to other livelihoods at the local and global levels and in the long and short term. (Chambers and Conway, 1992: 7–​8) Among the five assets, also referred to as forms of capital that build the Sustainable Livelihoods Framework, are human capital, social capital, physical capital, natural capital, and financial capital. The Ba’Aka’s human capital is composed of all skills and knowledge acquired in the course of forest education –​the process of socialisation preparing one to undertake work for the community. This capital is also linked with knowledge about good health and sustaining the collective distribution of resources (e.g. food). The Ba’Aka’s social capital encompasses vertical (external) and horizontal (internal) relations which create a network of collective safety based on trust and cooperation as well as identification with the group. Building a network of connections, reciprocity and exchange, which enhance their possibility to access structures and institutions 295

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and enable participation in formalised groups, is coupled with pursuing life goals. ‘Social capital has an intrinsic value; good social relationships are not simply a means, they are an end in themselves.’16 Good social relations facilitate a peaceful life in a community where every member fulfils a predefined role and is aware of the fact that he/​she can count on the support of the community. The third, physical capital encompasses the basic infrastructure (the topography of the camp and shelter –​huts traditionally built by women in the form of igloos, tools and equipment) used by the Ba’Aka necessary to acquire food and enhance productivity (rope, nets, crossbows, traps for small animals, baskets, axes to cut wood, etc.), systems of communication, cooperation and warning (polyphonic singing, imitating the sounds of birds and other animals), transport systems and orientation in the rainforest, water systems and reservoirs as well as energy. The fourth capital, the natural and environmental capital, primarily refers to the rainforest ecosystem comprising non-​material and material natural resources: the atmosphere, fauna and flora, land, the forest and its resources. Access to, and the quantity and quality of, natural resources used directly in daily life –​based on indigenous knowledge –​are important. The fifth capital is financial capital, defined in the literature on the subject as ‘savings and regular inflows of money’.17 In the case of hunter-​gatherers, financial capital refers to income from trade still frequently based on barter (forest products) and sales of products (manufactured within project activities: clothes, traditional jewellery, baskets). It also refers to compensation that some Ba’Aka receive for their temporary work (in projects, on missions, as forest guides in cooperation with concerns and during hunting expeditions, for polyphonic singing and accompanying tourists during trips organised for wealthy people from around the globe, for sharing their indigenous knowledge about nature). This capital also comprises food reserves (which is extremely difficult in the equatorial climate, in the conditions the Ba’Aka live in) as well as production reserves and attempts to access cash or its equivalent. As an autochthonous population, the Ba’Aka have a number of written and unwritten rights to forest resources. The problematic question is how these rights are recognised, respected or taken into consideration by the society of the region and country of which members of these populations are citizens (see Markowska-​Manista 2017). Wishing to protect their children against discrimination and threats related to a sedentary lifestyle, they try to pass on traditional knowledge and skills in the process of social learning, thus creating the social and cultural capital of the community in close relationship with the natural environment which, until recently (before it was made unavailable), guaranteed sustainable access to natural resources. The present transformations, to a large degree based on the projects of missions, non-​ governmental organisations and state institutions, set a goal of including hunter-​gatherers in the dominant society and supporting them in the process of participating in the society and protecting their rights. On the one hand, these initiatives bring hope for a better tomorrow (although it is worth remembering that a definition of tomorrow is absent in Ba’Aka tradition –​today is what matters). On the other hand, they dispose of the Ba’Aka’s traditions, colonise their education and collective strategies of living in a community with the ideologies of modern education and religion. These changes threaten their rights to territory and sovereignty as well as knowledge about the ecosystem. This is why today, the Ba’Aka –​for the sake of their children –​search for identity through traditions while being surrounded by the patterns of modernity and globalisation. However, due to the rapid pace of changes, they are unable to find their place in the new living conditions imposed by the outside world, and consequently become the poorest citizens of the country whose territory they inhabit. In interviews (from 2004 and 2012), adults frequently stressed: ‘The forest has drifted away …’, ‘we don’t have access to the forest any longer’, ‘we are not allowed to walk freely around the forest the way our forefathers used to’. 296

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Today, during trips to national parks, grandparents and parents tell their children about how they hunted elephants, buffaloes or other animals which are presently protected. The Ba’Aka leave the scene as nomads.The change in their lifestyle caused by transformation in their earlier living environment generates new problems within clans and families. These problems relate to their children’s identity, fractures in the system of norms and values approved by the majority, with the abandonment of the principles of collective co-​existence by the youth who increasingly focus on satisfying their individual needs.

Conclusion As a profession serving man and his living environment, social work needs to be constantly adapted to the changing world and new social issues. New social issues are thus a consequence of general economic trends or, as David Harvey writes (2012: 101), they reflect the supremacy of the capitalist class which controls not only state authorities but also entire populations, in the sense of their lifestyles, values and world views. The social work conducted in the recent decade within international projects implementing developmental and humanitarian aid, reflects key trends and the influence of international policy in the countries of the Global South. To a degree, they reflect the level of global dependencies and the influence of donors on the life of recipients. Despite many years’ attempts to develop the principles and mechanisms of a system of transparent, effective developmental aid based on cooperation, the activities of subjects engaged in this kind of aid frequently end in failure. Practice shows that they do not meet the goals associated with the protection of man’s inalienable right to development.18 Today, developmental and humanitarian aid also become a reservoir of successes and failures connected with the involvement of ‘rich’ countries in the functioning of ‘poor’ countries, with the Central African Republic classed as one of the latter groups. This involvement takes place not in the spirit of equality, but at the cost of disproportions in accessing resources and services by selected groups supported with aid activities and excluding other groups that fail to fit into the political priorities of grantmaking programmes. This is the case with hunter-​gatherers. The consequences of this situation are manifest in the dysfunctionality of local communities (cf. Wilkinson & Pickett, 2011). In the process of aid provision, the influence of transformations that are of key importance to the countries of the Global South and the Global North come to the surface. When analysing the problem of ‘the dark side’ of humanitarian and developmental aid, we expose the category of ‘aid’ as one that is imbued with stereotypes, that misunderstands the daily reality of local communities and is burdened with the ideas of Western philanthropists who are not familiar with the reality of living in this particular environment. It relates to the traps of ‘false’ humanitarianism which reduces aid to a transaction between the supplier and the acquirer, and to an ‘aid industry’ or the implementation of the postulates of ‘unsustainable’ development. Adam Leszczyński draws attention to these problems in a series of journalistic stories, Masters of the Seas and Other African Stories. In his examination of the activities of aid organisations and UN agendas, the author explains the chain of consequences and the reasons why Western ideas of fixing Africa have failed. He points to the unequal relations between the recipients and donors of support that are sometimes characterised by disregard, arrogance and a sense of superiority or leniency towards Africans (see Leszczyński, 2013b). Like Linda Poltman in her book The Crisis Caravan: What’s Wrong with Humanitarian Aid? (2011), Leszczyński discusses the thoughtless, short-​ term aid initiatives that are inadequate to the daily reality of local populations, drawing attention to the ambiguity of the term ‘rationalism’ and the differences in understanding and explaining behaviours in a reality that is socially and culturally distinct. A similar perspective is adapted by 297

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Peter Gill in his book Famine and Foreigners: Ethiopia since Live Aid. The author presents the history of the fight against hunger and poverty in Ethiopia and the country’s struggle with foreign subjects providing humanitarian aid. Gill questions the sense of Western aid directed at those in need that is dependent on the permission of governments of the receiving states. He poses a question whether any of the great promises made by the world have been fulfilled and whether aid experts are right. He ponders whether the countries receiving aid and support were allowed to implement their own visions (Gill, 2010). His questions become particularly valid now, in the context of the situation in the Central African Republic, a country with huge natural resources but ranking as one of the poorest in the world. Postcolonial transformation in Central Africa has led to a change in the environment and lifestyle of the Ba’Aka, and to attempts on their part to adapt to the reality of a sedentary life in villages among other ethnic groups. These new circumstances have caused them to remain on the margins. Despite mission, developmental, and governmental projects aiming to support them, the Ba’Aka are one of the most discriminated against and excluded communities in CAR. This existence on the margins of social, political and cultural life in their country of birth means that they remain on socially ‘peripheral’ positions (Markowska-​Manista, 2016). These positions entail more narrow opportunities, fewer rights and smaller chances for development while often involving more duties, limited decision-​making possibilities, worse economic situations as well as poorer educational, vocational and health care opportunities. (See Markowska-​Manista, 2017) As the heirs of centuries-​ long relations between their parents and grandparents and their neighbours from other ethnic groups, called ‘patrons’/​kumu, the Ba’Aka are frequently forced to work in conditions of subordination. Sometimes their work is not compensated for by their patron’s family. The nature of relations between hunter-​gatherers and the farmers they serve varies widely in particular countries of Central Africa, and even in particular regions. These relations can be highly complicated and pertain to economic, trade and social areas, as well as the rituals of barter and protection. These types of dependencies and the communal nature of the Ba’Aka’s life should be taken into consideration in the realisation of external social and developmental projects introducing new principles and aims that at times stand in conflict with the rules observed in collective hunter-​gatherer communities. Additionally, these types of activities should be designed after prior diagnosis of the difficulties the Ba’Aka face and an analysis of the conditioning and factors which exclude this group from participating in social life (such as transformation linked to the exploitation of the forest, that is, the construction of sawmills, foreign investments, overexploitation of resources and/​or the creation and expansion of protected areas). External social work oriented towards the Ba’Aka ought to consider the fact that the original inhabitants of the rainforest are confronted with the new concepts without warning and preparation. Their process of evolution and adaptation to global transformation was radically shortened to several decades. The Ba’Aka, who still try to live a traditional life in their settlements, use knowledge and skills that enable their survival in the rainforest (Sarno, 2013). However, they do not know how to live outside the forest in the environment of the dominant and stronger autochthonous and migrant ‘others’. In their daily life, they balance between their traditional world (based on a biennial hunting and gathering calendar) and the new world of the village (a sedentary lifestyle). Social and developmental projects which do not envisage the participation of recipients and do not take into consideration their complicated social and existential situation as well as 298

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cultural revolution, lull the recipients into a false sense of security. This also results in a process of the Ba’Aka’s social exclusion. Moreover, the temporary dependence on social support (food aid, protection provided by the staff of missions, and projects associated with rich and developed countries) and the penal treatment of social margins (Wacquant, 2009: 71), develop new adaptation mechanisms.These are connected with ridding themselves of responsibility for, for example, buildings built within project activities or food shortages when the resources provided within the projects of food aid have been depleted. It also involves adaptation to a life of extreme marginalisation (see Butmanowicz-​Dębicka, 1995: 211–​224).Treating the staff of missions and social projects as authoritative figures, agreeing to the status quo in which ‘the white kumu’ provides them with support, and designs activities to realise, transform and organise their daily life, the Ba’Aka gradually adapt to the newly imposed reality. And yet, losing their cultural heritage and connection to the forest, their primary ecosystem, they are not able to come to terms with their fate (cf. Markowska-​Manista, 2012). Living in a country torn with conflict, with a lower social status, in conditions that are partly foreign to them, they are unable to realise tasks connected with self-​governance in an independent way. Without the power and social support of the dominant society, they are also unable to participate in controlling local social services and orient them towards their own world view and values. Alain Touraine wrote that ‘societies are not defined by their functioning but by their ability to transform’19 (2010:  114). In the situation the Ba’Aka community find themselves in, their ability to transform seems to be controlled by various strategies of mission, social and developmental support based on the principles, values and assumptions arriving from the outside world (the Global North), which recolonise the traditional livelihood strategies of hunter-​gatherers.

Notes 1 Despite the pejorative connotations the term ‘Pygmies’ has, it is still the only term referring collectively to various hunter-​gatherer groups inhabiting Central Africa. I discuss the use of this term in greater detail in the texts: The life of Ba’Aka children and their rights. Between the processes of poverty and deprivation and Ba’Aka children at the crossroads of traditional indigenous and modern education –​reflections from field research in Central African Republic (manuscript for a conference, Uganda September 2018). 2 www.sma.pl/​sma-​16279/​sma-​w-​afryce-​19587. 3 www.sma.pl/​sma-​16279/​sma-​w-​afryce-​19587. 4 www.animatorka.home.pl/​strona/​kosciol-​afryka/​pigmeje1.html. 5 www.animatorka.home.pl/​strona/​kosciol-​afryka/​pigmeje1.html. 6 Rapport d’activité du 1er janvier au 30 juin 1997, Monasao CAR/​142 1091: 2. 7 www.sma.pl/​sma-​16279/​sma-​w-​afryce-​19587. 8 Interviews with the missionaries from Monasao, CAR, February 2012. 9 An illustration which appears on annual mission calendars. 10 The ministry prepared a concept of a sedentarisation programme for the Pygmies and employed Cameroonian anthropologists to conduct preliminary research on hunter-​gatherers. The research was conducted under the umbrella of the Pygmy Research Unit from the Institute of Humanistic Sciences. 11 Information based on interviews in Monasao, Belemboke and Mabondo in 2004 and 2012. 12 See UN Millennium Development Goals: www.un.org/​millenniumgoals/​. 13 This issue is addressed by Peter Buffett who accuses philanthropy of failing to solve the problem of inequality and social problems in societies. See http://​knowledge.ckgsb.edu.cn/​2014/​06/​17/​society/​ peter-​buffett-​and-​the-​curse-​of-​philanthropic-​colonialism/​ (accessed 22 July 2018). 14 A. Leszczyński (2013a), Na pomoc wydajemy niewielkie pieniądze, http://​magazynkontakt.pl/​na-​pomoc-​ wydajemy-​niewielkie-​pieniadze.html (accessed 22 July 2018). 15 See Scoones (1998) and Lasse Krantz (2001). 16 What is rural finance, and how does it fit into ‘development’? www.soas.ac.uk/​cedep-​demos/​000_​ P528_​RF_​K3736-​Demo/​unit1/​page_​22.htm. 17 Sustainable Livelihoods Framework, http://​atha.se/​content/​sustainable-​livelihoods-​framework. 299

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18 For more about development as an inalienable right of man, see the UN Declaration on the right to development, 1986, Article 1; and Sengupta, A. (2004). The human right to development, Oxford Development Studies,Vol.  32. 19 Own translation.

References Ahluwalia,P.(2000).Towards (re)conciliation: the post-​colonial economy of giving. Social identities, 6(1),  29–​48. Bahuchet, S. (1985). Les pygmées aka et la forêt centrafricaine. Paris: Selaf. Buffett, P. (2014). http://​knowledge.ckgsb.edu.cn/​2014/​06/​17/​society/​peter-​buffett-​and-​the-​curse-​of-​ philanthropic-​colonialism/​ (Accessed: 22 July 2018). Butmanowicz-​Dębicka, I. (1995). Marginalizacja społeczna jako strategia przystosowawcza. In Ludzie i instytucje. Stawanie się ładu społecznego. Pamiętnik IX Ogólnopolskiego Zjazdu Socjologicznego, Lublin, 27–​30 VI (1997). A. Sułek & J. Styk (Eds.), 1, Lublin, 211–​224. Chambers, R. & Conway, G. (1992). Sustainable rural livelihoods: Practical concepts for the 21st century. IDS Discussion Paper 296. Brighton: IDS. Franks, S. (2010).The neglect of Africa and the power of aid. International Communication Gazette, 72(1),  71–​84. Gil, D.G. (1998). Confronting injustice and oppression: Concepts and strategies for social workers. New York: Colombia University Press. Gilbert, J. & Couillard,V. (2009). Land Rights under international law: Historical and contemporary issues. In V. Couillard, J. Gilbert, J. Kenrick & C. Kidd (Eds.), Land rights and the forest peoples of Africa. Historical, legal and anthropological perspectives. Overview: analysis & context. Forest Peoples Programme, Part II, March 2009. www.forestpeoples.org/​sites/​fpp/​files/​publication/​2010/​05/​overviewlandrightsstudy09eng.pdf (Accessed 22 July 2018). Gill, P. (2010). Famine and foreigners: Ethiopia since Live Aid. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harvey D. (2012). Bunt miast. Prawo do miasta i miejska rewolucja (translation:Praktyka Teoretyczna), Fundacja Bęc Zmiana, Warsaw. Healy, L.M. (2004). Strengthening the link: Social work with immigrants and refugees and international social work. Journal of Immigrant and Refugee Services, 2(1/​2),  49–​67. Healy, L.M. (2008). International social work: Professional action in an interdependent world (2nd ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Healy, L.M. & Link, R.J. (2011). Handbook of international social work: Human rights, development, and the global profession. New York: Oxford University Press. Hewlett, B.S., Fouts, H.N., Boyette, A.H. & Hewlett, B.L. (2011). Social learning among Congo Basin hunter-​gatherers. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society Biological Sciences, 366(1567), 1168–​1178. http://​doi.org/​10.1098/​rstb.2010.0373. Interviews in Monasao, Belemboke and Mabondo 2004, 2012 CAR. Krantz, L. (2001). The sustainable livelihood approach to poverty reduction. SIDA. Division for Policy and Socio-​ economic Analysis. Leszczyński, A. (2013a). Na pomoc wydajemy niewielkie pieniądze: http://​magazynkontakt.pl/​na-​pomoc-​ wydajemy-​niewielkie-​pieniadze.html (Accessed 22 July 2018). Leszczyński, A. (2013b). Zbawcy mórz oraz inne afrykańskie historie. Warsaw: Wielka Litera. Lewis, J. (2005).Whose forest is it anyway? Mbendjele Yaka Pygmies, the Ndoki forest and the wider world. In T.Widlok & W.Tadesse (Eds.), Property and equality.Vol. II: Encapsulation, commercialization, discrimination (pp. 56–​78). Oxford: Berghahn Books. Markowska-​Manista, U. (2012). Pomoc dla Afryki, Zdanie, no. 3–​4. Markowska-​Manista, U. (2016). ‘Invisible’ and ‘unheard’ children in fragile contexts –​reflections from field research among the Ba’Aka in Central African Republic, Problemy Wczesnej Edukacji /​ Issues in Early Education, 4(35), 39–​50. Markowska-​Manista, U. (2017). The written and unwritten rights of indigenous children in Central Africa  –​between the freedom of ‘tradition’ and enslavement for ‘development’. In A. Odrowaz-​ Coates & S. Goswami (Eds.), Symbolic violence in socio-​ educational contexts. A  post-​ colonial critique. Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Akademii Pedagogiki Specjalnej. Markowska-​Manista, U. & Jarecka-​Stępień, K. (2014). Stereotypy w pomocy rozwojowej i humanitarnej dla krajów ‘globalnego południa’. In R. Kusek & J. Sanetra-​Szeliga. Spoglądając na stereotyp (pp. 78–​98). Kraków: Międzynarodowe Centrum Kultury.

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Monico, C., Smith Rotabi, K. and Abu Sarhan, T. (2014). International and global issues, social justice and human  rights, macro practice, policy and advocacy, poverty. Encyclopedia of Social Work. International Aid, Relief,  and Humanitarian Assistance Online Publication, April. DOI:  10.1093/​acrefore/​ 9780199975839.013.957. https://​oxfordre.com/​socialwork/​view/​10.1093/​acrefore/​9780199975839. 001.0001/​acrefore-​9780199975839-​e-​957?print=pdf accessed: 26 April 2019. Nwanosike, O. & Onyije, F. (2011). Colonialism and education.  Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences, 2(4),  41–​47. PAAPYBA –​Projet d’Appuiàl Autopromotion des Pygmées Bayaka, 2016. Mission Catholique Monasao. Promotion leaflet. Pemunta, N.V. (2013). The governance of nature as development and the erasure of the Pygmies of Cameroon. GeoJournal, 78(2), 353–​371. Pigmeje: www.animatorka.home.pl/​strona/​kosciol-​afryka/​pigmeje1.html (Accessed 22 July 2018). Poltman,L.(2011).Karawana kryzysu.Za kulisami przemysłu pomocy humanitarnej,Wołowiec: Wydawnictwo Czarne. Rapport d’activité du 1er janvier au 30 juin 1997, Monasao SMA, CAR/​142 1091, 2. Reichert, E. (2001). Move from social justice to human rights provides new perspectives: Professional development in social work. The International Journal of Continuing Social Work Education, 4(1), 5–​13. Rwomire, A. & Raditlhokwa, L. (1996). Social work in Africa:  Issues and challenges. Journal of Social Development in Africa, 11(2), 5–​19. Sarno, L. (2013). Der Gesang des Waldes: mein Leben bei den Pygmäen. Malik & National Geographic. Scoones, I. (1998). Sustainable Rural Livelihoods: A Framework for Analysis. IDS Working Paper 72, Institute of Development Studies. Sengupta, A. (2004). The human right to development. Oxford Development Studies, 32(2), 179–​203. Shizha, E. (2013). Reclaiming our indigenous voices: The problem with postcolonial Sub-​Saharan African school curriculum. Journal of Indigenous Social Development, 2(1), 1–​18:  www.hawaii.edu/​sswork/​jisd and: http://​scholarspace.manoa.hawaii.edu/​handle/​10125/​29811 (Accessed 22 July 2018). SMA: www.sma.pl/​sma-​16279/​sma-​w-​afryce-​19587 (Accessed 22 July 2018). SMA w Afryce: www.sma.pl/​sma-​16279/​sma-​w-​afryce-​19587. Sowers, K.M. & Rowe,W.S. (2007). Social work practice and social justice: From local to global perspective. Belmont, CA: Thomson Brooks/​Cole. Stępień, J. (2010). Problematyka terminologiczno-​ definicyjna. In Ł. Fyderek, K. Jarecka-​ Stępień, R. Kurpiewska-​Korbut and J. Stępień (Eds), Wprowadzenie do problematyki pomocy rozwojowej. Kraków: Księgarnia Akademicka. Sustainable Livelihoods Framework http://​atha.se/​content/​sustainable-​livelihoods-​framework (Accessed 22 July 2018). The 1986 UN Declaration on the Right to Development, Article 1: www.un.org/​documents/​ga/​res/​41/​ a41r128.htm (Accessed 20 July 2018). Touraine, A. (2010). Samotworzenie się społeczeństwa. Kraków: Zakład Wydawniczy" NOMOS". Turnbull, C.M. (1965). Wayward servants:  The two worlds of the African Pygmies. New  York:  The Natural History Press. Turnbull, C.M. (1974). The Forest People. London: Book Club Associates. United Nations. UN Millennium Development Goals:  www.un.org/​millenniumgoals/​. (Accessed 22 July 2018). Vorbich, R. (2013). Dyskurs rozwojowy –​między perspektywą kolonialną a neokolonialną. In M. Ząbek (Ed.), Antropologia stosowana (pp. 239–​ 256). Warsaw:  Instytut Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Wacquant, L. (2009). Punishing the poor:  The neoliberal government of social insecurity. Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Wente, M. (2010). Is humanitarian aid bad for Africa? The Globe and Mail www.theglobeandmail.com/​ opinion/​is-​humanitarian-​aid-​bad-​for-​africa/​article4346671/​ (Accessed 22 July 2018). What is rural finance, and how does it fit into ‘development’? www.soas.ac.uk/​cedep-​demos/​000_​P528_​ RF_​K3736-​Demo/​unit1/​page_​22.htm (Accessed 22 July 2018). Wilkinson, R.G. & Pickett, K. (2011). Duch równości. Warsaw: Czarna  Owca.

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25 A collaborative partnership as an effective model of social work –​a case from Alexandra township in South Africa Boitumelo Seepamore and Nthabiseng Seepamore

Introduction and background With almost 17 million social assistance beneficiaries, 12 million of whom are children (Delany & Jehoma, 2016), there is a need for a more family-​and community-​centred approach to social development. Developmental social welfare, with its emphasis on a collaboration between government, civil society and the private sector can enhance the lives of citizens and promote an active citizenship (Patel, 2008). This can lead to social and economic justice, human rights and social cohesion. It is imperative for community development to be both meaningful and sustainable, and for communities to drive their own development. Working with communities from a position of strength implies a belief in their capacity to drive their own development and growth (Kretzmann & McKnight, 1993; Mathie & Cunningham, 2003). Therefore, social work with its focus on empowerment and a belief in the self-​determination of people, can ensure that change truly occurs from ‘below’ (Ife & Tesoriero, 2006). By focusing on strengths, and not needs, communities can thrive and indeed be active citizens.

Asset-​based community development Asset-​based community development is an approach that builds on the strengths of people, and specifically fosters reciprocity and trust in communities, with a view to enhancing coalitions among individuals and groups (Mathie & Cunningham, 2003). In line with the aim of developmental social welfare, this approach emphasises meaningful collaboration between government, the community and non-​governmental organisations (NGOs). The participation of communities in their own development with minimal or no involvement of external change agents is imperative for sustainability. It also implies that community members will drive their own development by identifying and mobilising existing untapped available assets and resources. This model was used in the community of Alexandra to build on their strengths, with the belief that community members are the experts in their lives. Despite high levels of poverty and deprivation,

A case from Alexandra Township

communities are in a better position to initiate and run relevant and suitable programmes which will meet their needs and improve their lives. Much has been written on self-​development and sustainability in resource-​poor settings, and some of the challenges of development programmes include the failure to recognise local indigenous knowledge systems (Breidlid, 2009).The imposition of ready-​made programmes on local communities as well as the exclusion of locals from meaningful participation in programmes that are intended to stimulate their development and enhance their functioning, remains a challenge (Swanepoel & De Beer, 2006). This model was developed in collaboration with the people of Alexandra township and was replicated in two other townships with similar levels of poverty. In order to contextualise this chapter, I will begin with a profile of Alexandra township, followed by a description of the foster care model and how different stakeholders worked in partnership in such a way that all parties benefited from this collaboration. This chapter concludes with the lessons learnt from this experience.

Profile of Alexandra township Alexandra is located about 20 kilometres north of the Johannesburg central business district (CBD) and was declared a Native township in 1912 (Sarakinsky, 1984), following an application from Alexandra Township Company Limited. The significance of this was that Alexandra became exempt from the 1913 Land Act (Sarakinsky, 1984), thereby inadvertently allowing black people to own land in an urban area. The township was placed under the Department of Native Affairs when the National Party came into power in 1948. It was an area where local and foreign migrants sought employment and refuge. From about 30 000 people in 1912, the population has grown exponentially to about 500 000 people presently (Johannesburg Development Agency [JDA], 2014). This is a densely populated area overtaken by shacks in backyards and public open spaces, in addition to flats and hostels; see Table 25.1 below. There is a strong culture of political and social activism in this township (Sarakinsky, 1984; Sinwell, 2009). Although civic structures have always created a sense of community, political violence prior to the 1994-​elections destabilised this community. Over two hundred people died, with thousands injured and thousands more homeless as a result of being displaced from their homes (Mayekiso, 1996). When this model was conceptualised in 1992, the community of Alexandra was in turmoil, with many unsafe areas considered ‘no-​go zones’, and a reluctance by service providers to work in the area. Although some local non-​profit organisations (NPOs) and community-​based organisations (CBOs) offered social services, violence and crime rendered some areas inaccessible. In 1992, the Department of Social Development (DSD) placed a social worker in this community to offer generic and statutory social work services. Most of her work focused on domestic violence, substance abuse, applications for social grants, unemployment Table 25.1  Types of housing in Alexandra township Housing type

Number

Bonded houses New houses Backyard structures Hostel rooms Flats Public space shacks

6,000 500 52,000 1,800 1,490 19,000

Source: (JDA, 2014)

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and poverty relief. Due to the spread of HIV/​AIDS, the rising number of orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) became a crisis, necessitated social work intervention, and increased foster care placements. Foster care orders were formalised at the children’s court which was about 15 kilometres away in Randburg. Working alone in a decentralised office was not without challenges. There was no on-​site supervision as the supervisor was also stationed at the head office in the Johannesburg CBD some 20 kilometres away, with contact only on Fridays. The social worker had access to a government vehicle, shared an office and had access to some government-​issue office stationery. The poor working conditions of social workers countrywide are noted (Alpaslan & Schenck, 2012). Local community resources were also highly overstretched and projects were under-​funded with burnt-​out staff. Although another social worker was eventually allocated to the Alexandra satellite office, they continued to have high caseloads with limited resources, and were soon faced with ministerial enquiries resulting from complaints by community members regarding poor social work services. This resulted in burnout and stress; however, this led to the development of a community-​driven social work model which necessitated the need to move away from the traditional labour-​intensive clinical approach, towards a more collaborative way of working.

The Alex model of foster care The spread of HIV/​AIDS increased the number of OVC and unless a solution was found, there was a possibility that many children would be without care. The high number of abandoned babies also precipitated the need for a community safety net in the absence of government resources or institutions to place these children.The most immediate and realistic option was for the community members to step in and care for their own OVC. This model was founded on the principle of ubuntu, facilitated by working as ilima or letsema which, in isiZulu and in seSotho respectively, means voluntarily working together (Lebeloane & Quan-​Baffour, 2008; Ramagoshi, 2013). This has always been an important indigenous practice where communities combine their human power for maximum benefit for all. African communities are communal and have well-​developed mechanisms for working in a participatory way (Nussbaum, 2003). From the outset the community, together with the social worker and other service providers, worked to establish a working partnership, which for social work, was caring for their OVC. The working relationship was premised on social values which involved the community as active role players. In an era of globalisation, apartheid and neoliberalism threatening erosion of customs and traditional social values such as ubuntu (Eliastam, 2015), the community of Alexandra found a way to respond positively to a humanitarian crisis and found that ubuntu was still very much a living philosophy. This ‘humanity’ or African humanness, and humanism (Mkhize, 2008) galvanised the community of Alexandra into action. They had been living together since 1912 and knew one another very well. The social worker, as broker, identified local resources, skills and processes so that vulnerable children could be assisted. Ubuntu captures the interdependence between individuals and their community (Nussbaum, 2003), and because there was still a sense of community despite increased levels of crime, endemic poverty and rampant violence, this model could work. It was time to be innovative and to move away from the case-​based method of working towards a collaborative strategic way. Case work, which had dominated social work practice (Patel, 2008), was no longer adequate. It was time for the private to become public, and for communal ways of addressing personal issues to be put in place.The model was premised on the role of social worker as coordinator, guide and broker who facilitated the care of children by community members 304

A case from Alexandra Township

through the appropriate legal instruments. Initially, the role of the social worker was central, with the aim of eventually occupying a marginal position, which would ensure sustainability and minimal professional intervention. It was apparent from the beginning that there would be a need to amplify human resources due to a shortage of professionally trained staff. The solution was to engage volunteers from the client base, make the office a placement option for student social worker (SSW) practicals, and engage unemployed social work graduates in exchange for working experience and references. This was the task team which would implement the model, together with foster parents who were yet to be identified, trained and supported. It has to be clarified that there are two arms to this model of care; one social worker used it to work with children displaying behavioural problems, and the other to do foster care. In this chapter, only the foster care aspect of the model is discussed.

Project activities: screening and involvement All prospective foster parents were invited to an information session at an accessible common venue in the community. In this session, criteria for qualification to become foster parents were explained in line with the relevant legislation, which was the Child Care Act 74 (1983) and later the Children’s Act 38 (2005) (see Republic of South Africa, 2005a, 2005b). Some of the issues centred around the ages of children who qualified for care, suitability of prospective foster parents, handling of applications for related foster care where the whereabouts of parents were unknown, deceased parents, orphans, abandoned and other vulnerable children. Linked to foster care placements was the government foster care grant, today valued at R920 (approximately $65), which made the placement of foster children attractive to families, regardless of whether they were related or not. As with apartheid policies of the time, the social grant for black children was much lower than that of other population groups; however, this was regular income which was used by the entire household. At this screening meeting, the application process was discussed as well as the required supporting documents and timelines for the return of application forms.The purpose of a group information session was to attend to all potential foster parents’ queries in a single venue to save time and for those who did not meet the requirements to screen themselves out of the programme. This means social workers no longer opened and allocated files with incomplete documents or followed up those who did not meet the application requirements. Interested community members returned the application forms to the social workers, thereby reducing the number of home visits to follow up on applicants. Another practical benefit was a reduction in the number of clients in the social work ‘waiting room’, thereby shortening waiting times for other clients to be attended to. The screening of potential foster parents was done by a ‘selection committee’ comprising the social workers, students and volunteers from the community. By working as ilima, each person in the committee had a role, and all files were allocated before moving on to the next case; this implied not only good communication between staff but ensured that no file was left pending or unallocated. Student social workers ensured that all the required documents were in each file, and went with the social workers on home visits to assess suitability of applicants. Being familiar with the community, the volunteers were able to arrange appointments and offer some inputs into the home circumstances of each prospective foster parent. Selections were made in line with the Children’s Act (2005) with the aim of making the best possible match between foster parents and children. In addition to screening potential foster parents, foster children files were also screened by the committee. New files were opened only when the committee was satisfied that the children met the requirements, and in cases where children had reached 18 years of age, were 305

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deceased, or untraceable, the files were closed. The committee then allocated a social worker and made note of children with special circumstances such as those with disabilities, HIV/​AIDS and other chronic diseases, orphans or children in life-​threatening situations. Because Alexandra had already put yard committees in place (Lucas, 1995), the team used the existing infrastructure to divide clients by residential area. ‘Yards are the previously freehold stands which used to house landlords and their tenants. Many of these yards are today occupied by large numbers of households in formal and informal housing’ (Lucas, 1995: 2).

The involvement of foster parents and service providers Ife and Tesoriero (2006) emphasise the use of available local skills and resources. Foster parents were an invaluable local human resource, although a majority tended to be elderly, female-​ headed and depended on the social grant. Marginalised and labelled people were often excluded from participation (Raniga, 2014). In this case the unemployed, uneducated women became a valuable local resource, and this was before the 1997 White Paper for Social Welfare became policy.The advantage of keeping children in their families and communities of origin is that they remain within familiar surroundings. The team took a strengths-​based approach to build on the skills and strengths of foster parents and children. Foster parents were engaged as partners, not as beneficiaries (Kretzmann & McKnight, 1993; Moser, 1998). Following finalisation of the foster care placements, individual plans were drawn up according to the needs of each parent–​child placement. The DSD used the ‘circle of courage’ theoretical framework by Brendtro, Brokenleg & Van Bockern (1990), and all staff, students and volunteers were trained on this approach in line with the prescripts of the then Child Care Act (1983). Prospective foster parents were prepared for court, and their support groups were formed according to geographic location. Each foster parent received a ‘welcome pack’ containing all the relevant information on his/​her child.

Welcome packs The ‘welcome pack’ was usually a standard A4 government issue, brown envelope without which no foster parents could work. The envelope included copies of foster children’s birth certificates, parents’ death certificates (if applicable), clinic cards and a certified copy of the foster care placement court order, and any other relevant information. In consultation with the local service providers’ forum (discussed below), social workers prepared standard referral letters to local schools, the state psychologist, district surgeons and other formal service providers, including the departments of Home Affairs, Health and Housing. Foster parents were expected to make appointments to facilitate educational assessments, help their children with schoolwork, ensure that they received all vaccinations and kept all clinic visit appointments.The local psychologist undertook psychological assessments and further management as needed. All foster parents were assisted with applications for the state foster care grant and it was easier to work with them because of their motivation and genuine interest in the programme. With this model, none of the foster care orders lapsed; foster parents were encouraged to initiate the renewal process four months prior to the lapse date. Foster care court orders need to be renewed every 24 months, and it was the foster parents’ responsibility to ensure that they made contact with the social worker and attended the support groups.

‘I am because we are, and because we are, I am’ According to this model it was essential to work together. For practical reasons, the social workers grouped foster parents according to geographic location or ward using street addresses. Those 306

A case from Alexandra Township

who stayed in the same ward or yard formed a committee which was an important source of support. All foster parents attended foster parents’ meetings which took place as soon as the social worker had finalised the case in the children’s court.The frequency of meetings was based on the social worker case load, ranging from bi-​monthly to quarterly. These were open groups, varying in size as members joined or left. New foster parents were introduced to a foster parents’ group operating in their ward, and it was the group’s responsibility to welcome the new parent, introduce themselves, share group norms and allocate the new member a task. Groups provided foster parents the space to support one another, the idea being that each would be her ‘sister’s keeper’. All individual and group activities arranged by the social worker would be recorded as part of Section 16 of the Child Care Act (1983), or Section 159 of the Children’s Act (2005), also as evidence to support renewal of foster care grants. The groups were facilitated by social workers, and SSWs or volunteers worked as scribes. A register was kept, and minutes from these meetings enabled social workers to update each child’s file and intervene as needed. Foster parent meetings took place in clients’ homes, and they alternated so each parent would get a turn to host the group meeting. In the event that a venue was not available or suitable, such as a shack being too small, then alternative space would be used such as someone else’s home, or the local community hall. An added advantage for social workers was that these group meetings doubled up as home visits and the social worker also became a visible and familiar member of the community. Foster parents knew the community well and were important gatekeepers who made sure that the social worker was safe. The meeting agenda was normally set up by the members; it included issues such as income generation ideas, parenting challenges, or ideas for events and outings for the children. The social worker acted as advocate, advisor, catalyst, broker or enabler where relevant (Weyers, 2011). These groups hosted events, awareness programmes against child abuse and holiday programmes for the children. They also invited guest speakers from other local service providers such as DSD, the South African Police Services (SAPS), Departments of Health, Housing, Education, Home Affairs, the Social African Social Security Agency (SASSA), and traditional health practitioners, including local civic structures such as the street committee or community policing forum (CPF). Children from successful and unsuccessful foster placements were routinely invited to speak, and regular prayers and collections (ngqungquthela) were made. These sessions also became a source of support in times of bereavement and general parenting support. It was at these groups that the women formed ‘collective grief ’ groups, another programme which was initiated to heal foster mothers whose own children had been murdered in domestic violence.

Group work with foster children As with foster parents, groups were implemented with foster children. For practical reasons, all children in the same school were seen in a group to deal with various individual or similar issues, such as foster care placements, personal challenges or life skills. The life skills programme was facilitated by SSWs and focused mainly on peer pressure, communication skills, decision-​making, choices, anger management and reproductive health. The disadvantage of facilitating groups in schools was that teachers often requested that children with any behaviour or learning problems be added to the social workers group, regardless of the group aims. SSWs were invaluable in running these groups and updating files. Workshops with school children helped to limit the size of groups by gender, age and presenting issue. The foster care grant was renewed annually for those children over the age of 18 years, provided they were still attending school or tertiary institutions such as Further Education Training (FET) colleges or university. 307

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The community continued taking care of these children even when their court orders had lapsed. Foster parent groups absorbed them and continued to support them, therefore very few terminated their links with the social worker or the foster parent groups; the ‘village’ thus had the responsibility to raise its orphans and vulnerable children. However, expecting women to continue offering unpaid and unacknowledged care work is exploitative (Isaksen et al. 2008) and there has to be greater state involvement in the care of orphans and vulnerable children.

Collaboration with other social service providers The asset-​based community development approach (Mathie & Cunningham, 2003), with Ife and Tesoriero’s (2006) commitment to valuing local resources, skills and processes, meant that local resources had to be identified and involved. The social workers worked with foster parents who had lived in Alexandra all their lives and knew each other well, had kinship links and friendships. Many were part of the inter-​denominational prayer groups which enlarged their support system. Other important collaborators were the Alexandra Service Providers’ Forum (ASPF), the Department of Social Development, and local institutions of basic education and higher learning.

The Alexandra Service Providers’ Forum (ASPF) The ASPF was one of the most important support structures, comprising local service providers:  community-​ based organisations and non-​ profit organisations, government departments and private companies and individuals. These meetings took place monthly and are now what is commonly referred to as ‘war room’ meetings. General community issues were discussed, and resources and expertise shared. For instance, because social workers had access to only one government vehicle, the SAPS assisted with the provision of transport, escorted workers to ‘no-​go areas’, and often helped to trace relatives and settle disputes.The municipality offered a venue for meetings or holiday programmes and other events. NPOs had resources such as telephones, photocopier machines and fax lines, and an informal reciprocal arrangement enabled everyone to share resources and social workers to work better. Access to a government car, usually referred to as a ‘GG’ placed them in a position to offer lifts to some of the NPO clients, especially those working with children. This bartering system made it possible to run coordinated, effective services with others in the area, and an efficient and comprehensive referral system was developed. In the spirit of community, each service provider went out of their way to help others. Local institutions of basic and higher learning were another important resource. Two local universities were involved through the placement of SSWs for their practicals. They undertook individual projects and assisted with the formation of vegetable gardens, income generation, and running therapeutic and life skills groups with both foster parents and children. Local primary and high schools offered their premises for meeting venues, the use of a telephone for foster parents in case of crises/​emergencies and helped with homework; they also had a feeding scheme for OVC. By seeing students as an asset rather than a liability, they were engaged effectively. For their own benefit, students were exposed to various social work methods and supported community initiatives. Over time, recently graduated social workers were invited to assist so that they could get work experience and work references, thereby increasing human resources and serving a wider client base. The South African Post Office (SAPO) was invaluable. Call-​in letters were sent through the postal service where valid addresses were available. With many shacks in Alexandra, letters 308

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would sometimes not reach the intended recipients; however, where clients were unreachable, or where there was no available police escort, the post office also worked very well. The advantage of being a government department was that the social workers did not pay postage fees, therefore this was a very effective and cheap method of communication. In addition, an innovative indigenous communication system was put in place –​the ‘bush telegraph’, a way of communicating over long distances through the use of drums or word-​of-​mouth. It proved to be another cheap and effective way of reaching clients, especially those who were unreachable through the SAPO, telephone or police escort. This word-​of-​mouth message system was widely used by community networks that included fruit vendors, hair salons, taxi drivers and supermarket cashiers. A message could be relayed to and from the social workers through this system. Without the Department of Home Affairs, clients could not apply for birth certificates, IDs and social grants. The added advantage of locating government departments in close proximity made the services accessible. The local primary health clinic was also involved in various health promotion and reproductive health interventions. Prior to a change in social assistance provision, the DSD had a food basket which was available to clients at the social worker’s discretion. It contained a monthly supply of samp, mielie meal, powdered milk, tins of fish, bars of soap, nappies,Vaseline, etc. The food baskets were discontinued and turned into food vouchers with which clients could purchase items of their choice from a list of local shopkeepers.

Could this model work elsewhere? Through trial and error, the model was developed and refined; it was also successfully implemented in two other communities, Tsakane township in the East Rand (2011) and later in Sebokeng township near Vanderbijlpark (2013–​2014). This community had similar conditions of poverty and deprivation; the organisation was faced with high caseloads and a limited number of service providers in the area. In Tsakane, a local NPO offered services to children and families; its main advantage was the good relationship that this organisation already had with the community. They also employed social auxiliary workers who formed a large part of the workforce. As in Alexandra, a bartering system with local service providers was initiated to ensure the maximum use of available resources. A referral system with other service providers in the area was initiated, the local DSD office supported the organisation and many other local businesses were actively involved. Foster parent support groups were formed and various other fundraising activities were carried out. In 2013–​2014, veteran social workers were employed to help reduce the foster care backlog and the model was implemented at the Sebokeng DSD office (Vereeniging) in the Vaal Triangle. Bearing in mind that this would be a time-​limited intervention, the model was modified. They worked as ilima to reassess children’s files, reallocate social workers where there was a need, and reassess suitability of placements. Foster parents were actively engaged in foster care placements and took an active role in parenting. Social workers went on home visits, called clients in and developed individual plans with foster parents and their children. They were also prepared for the children’s court to renew their foster care placements. The brown envelopes in this case were used in a concept similar to the memory box project (Denis, 2000) where each child’s personal documents were kept, for instance school reports, photographs, and memorable moments and mementos. Because this was a time-​limited project, the social worker had no opportunity to run support groups; however, with the placement of newly employed social work graduates, plans were put in place to begin groups with both foster parents and children. 309

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Foster parents were also encouraged to know one another and their social workers, and to keep working collaboratively.

Lessons learnt and recommendations As with development projects, the prevailing practice is to import programmes from elsewhere among developed countries for implementation in countries in the Global South such as South Africa. The strength of the Alexandra model was that it was initiated and implemented using local resources, skills, knowledge and processes, and community members were actively involved as partners. It is crucial for social workers to profile the communities they work with and involve clients from the beginning. A community profile maps the community and the worker can identify both challenges and assets of a community; the worker can also gauge local socio-​economic and political structures (Weyers, 2011), and work with the community to identify priority areas. Emmett (2000: 514) argues for complementarity and embeddedness in the relationship between state and community, where ‘complementarity entails a clear division of roles between the state and private actors in which, although they may be pursuing complementary goals, they have different roles and functions within the development process’. Embeddedness is the social ties that connect public officials and the community, fostering working together and not against one another. Raniga’s (2014) emphasis on the importance of participatory action research in working with communities cannot be overemphasised. The worker must work with a core group of community members in a task team to ensure involvement of various stakeholders. Face-​to-​face interaction and the identification of possible areas of collaboration and referral between all as partners strengthened the relationships between public officials and clients. For this type of model to work, a complete mind shift has to occur where needs are seen as assets by focusing on the strengths and opportunities already existing in the community as put forward by Kretzmann and McKnight (1993). Before asking funders or donors for financial or material support, local resources have to be used and local community members must be meaningfully engaged. By working together, government departments and local NPOs can find a systematic way of reducing fragmentation and duplication of services. Although communities live in poverty, with high rates of unemployment and crime, ubuntu still exists.The involvement of foster parents in the care of their children not only benefited their families, but also created a safety net for other vulnerable people in the community. Children whose formal foster care placements terminated when they reached 18 years of age were automatically absorbed into the community, and OVCs remained in their communities instead of living in institutions. Communities can identify and form their own support structures such as the collective grief community group, which was initiated by foster mothers whose children had died following domestic violence. Social work values are aligned to ubuntu principles (Mamphiswana & Noyoo, 2000), and this has to be emphasised in the training of student social workers and in practice. Not only is ubuntu part of the South African Constitution, but it is also the premise against which the developmental social welfare approach is based. It is part of the community spirit and so has to be shown in social work practice and work with communities. The training of social workers has to reflect ubuntu –​a move away from casework into other methods such as group and community work (Mamphiswana & Noyoo, 2000) –​and value local knowledge, processes and resources. Because communities use systems and methods that they understand, the traditional method of communication such as a bush telegraph, worked very well. Clients in hard to reach areas, ‘no-​go’ areas or where their addresses were unknown, could easily relay messages to and from the social worker. 310

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Conclusion Community participation has to be meaningful and informed by beneficiaries of services. Participatory action research, asset-​based community development and the belief that communities can be responsible for their own development has positive spin-​offs and long-​term programme sustainability. Social workers must understand the communities that they work in and ensure that they work within local processes, and value local knowledge and skills and resources.This model of foster care also emphasises the need to look inward for human, financial and material resources. Often marginalised people such as uneducated, poor women can be a great resource. Similarly, instead of viewing student social workers as a burden, they can be an invaluable human resource where there is a need. By working together to address community issues, the village can raise the child and each can be her sister’s keeper.This model does not advocate for the abuse of women in the guise of ubuntu, through the reliance on unpaid work of women in childcare. When the model was developed in Apartheid South Africa, there was limited state intervention for black residents, who then created their own resources. In the current administration, there is still limited government intervention, however the status quo has to be challenged and women and children should be supported by a government that perpetually sends a message of being pro-​poor and inclusive.

Acknowledgements This model was developed by Mrs Nthabiseng Seepamore while she was employed by the Gauteng Department of Social Development.

References Alpaslan, N. & Schenck, C. (2012). Challenges related to working conditions by social workers practising in rural areas. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 48(4), 367–​386. Breidlid, A. (2009). Culture, indigenous knowledge systems and sustainable development: A critical view of education in an African context. International Journal of Educational Development, 29(2), 140–​148. Brendtro, L.K., Brokenleg, M. & Van Bockern, S. (1990). Reclaiming youth at risk:  Our hope for the future. Indiana: National Education Services. Delany, A. & Jehoma, S. (2016). Implementation of social grants: Improving delivery and increasing access. In A. Delany, S. Jehoma & L. Lake, Child Gauge South Africa (pp. 60–​67). Cape Town: UCT Children’s Institute. Denis, P. (2000). Memory boxes: Helping AIDS orphans to remember. Bulletin for Contextual Theology in Africa, 7(1), 34–​36. Eliastam, J.L.B. (2015). Exploring Ubuntu discourse in South Africa: Loss, liminality and hope. Verbum et Ecclesia, 36(2), 1–​8. Emmett, T. (2000). Beyond community participation? Alternative routes to civil engagement and development in South Africa. Development Southern Africa, 17 (4), 501–​518. DOI: 10.1080/​03768350050173903. Ife, J. & Tesoriero, F. (2006). Community development: Community-​based alternatives in an age of globalisation. (3rd edition). Melbourne: Pearson Education Australia. Isaksen, L.W., Devi, S.U. & Hochschild, A.R. (2008). Global care crisis: A problem of capital, care chain, or commons? American Behavioral Scientist, 52(3), 405–​425. DOI 10.1177/​0002764208323513. Johannesburg Development Agency (2014). The Alexandra Renewal Project:  improving residents’ lives. JDA News [Online] 27 June 2014. www.jda.org.za/​index.php?option=com_​content&view=article& id=1544:alexandra-​renewal-​project-​improving-​residents-​lives&catid=151&Itemid=349. (Accessed 1 July 2017). Kretzmann, J. & McKnight, J. (1993). Building communities from the inside out: A path toward finding and mobilizing a community’s assets. Chicago, IL: ACTA Publications. Lebeloane, L.D.M. & Quan-​Baffour, K.P. (2008). ‘Letsema’: A way of inculcating and preserving African indigenous knowledge in the youth through formal education in the 21st century. Journal of Educational Studies, 7(2), 43–​49. 311

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Lucas, J. (1995). Space, domesticity and people’s power:  Civic organisation in Alexandra in the 1990s. Democracy, popular precedents, practice, culture. University of the Witwatersrand, history workshop, 13–​15 July 1995. Mamphiswana, D. & Noyoo, N. (2000). Social work education in a changing socio-​political and economic dispensation. International Social Work, 43(1), 21–​32. Mathie, A. & Cunningham, G. (2003). From clients to citizens: Asset-​based community development as a strategy for community-​driven development. Development in Practice, 13(5), 474–​486. Mayekiso, M. (1996). Township politics: Civic struggles for a New South Africa. New York: Monthly Review Press. Mkhize, N. (2008). Ubuntu and harmony: An African approach to morality and ethics, In R. Nicholson (Ed.), Persons in community: African ethics in a global culture, (pp. 35–​44). Scottsville: University of Natal Press. Moser, C. (1998). The asset vulnerability framework: Reassessing urban poverty reduction strategies. World Development, 26(1), 1–​19. Nussbaum, B. (2003). African culture and ubuntu: Reflections of a South African in America. World Business Academy, 17(1), 1–​12. Patel, L. (2008). Getting it right and wrong:  An overview of a decade of post-​apartheid social welfare. Practice, (2), 71–​81. Ramagoshi R.M. (2013). The role of Letsema in community struggles: Past and present. In C. Landman (Ed.), Oral history: Representing the hidden, the untold, and the veiled. Proceedings of the Fifth (Cape Town, 2008) and Sixth (Cape Town, 2009) Annual National Oral History Conference. Cape Town. Raniga, T. (2014). Mobilizing community strengths and assets:  Participatory experiences of community members in a garden project. In A.K. Larsen, V. Sewpaul & G.O. Hole (Eds.), Participation in community work: International perspectives (pp. 72–​87). Routledge: Oxfordshire. Republic of South Africa. (2005a). Child Care Act No 74 of 1983 (as amended by Act, 86 of 1991). Government Gazette, no.8765. Cape Town: Cape and Transvaal Printers for Government Printers. Republic of South Africa. (2005b). Department of Social Development. Children’s Act No 38 of 2005. Government Gazette Vol. 492. No. 28944. Cape Town. Sarakinsky, M. (1984). Alexandra: From ‘freehold’ to ‘model’ township. Honours dissertation, University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Sinwell, K. (2009). Participation as popular agency: The limitations and possibilities for transforming development in the Alexandra renewal project. Doctoral thesis, University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Swanepoel, H., & De Beer, F. (2006). Community development: Breaking the cycle of poverty. Landsdowne: Juta and Co. Ltd. Weyers, M. (2011). The theory and practice of community work in Southern Africa (2nd edition). Potchefstroom: Keurkopie.

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26 Decolonisation and indigenisation of social work An imperative for holistic social work services to vulnerable communities in South Africa Yasmin Turton

Introduction: context and background to social work in South Africa Social work was introduced in South Africa in the early 1900s. The first social work training was linked to the ‘poor white problem’ and was in response to the Carnegie Commission of Inquiry, which prompted the government to fund social work services for poor white people. It was only in the 1940s that the training of black social workers received attention but it only further entrenched racially based services that were highly regulated, bureaucratic and inefficient (Ntusi, 1998). In 1994, the new government, headed by the African National Congress (ANC), had the difficult task of transforming the social welfare system. The White Paper for Social Welfare (Department of Social Development, 1997) put forward noble principles, guidelines, recommendations, policies, and programmes for developmental social welfare in South Africa. Despite some gains made since then, social work in South Africa still faces many challenges (Patel, 2015; Triegaardt, n.d.). Among these is the enormous deprivation caused by poverty, inequality, and unemployment. These are seen as the main drivers of extraordinary levels of violence in our society, and as being the root cause of many of the social ills in our society, and there is evidence that poor people bear the brunt of most of these (Khan, 2015). It is also the poor and vulnerable communities that would approach social service organisations for some reprieve from these conditions as they would likely be less able to afford the services of private social work practitioners. The social work profession in South Africa has largely been influenced by a psychoanalytic approach, based on a first-​world model that is curative and remedial (Van Breda, 2018). Social workers in South Africa today still engage in work with individuals and their families using individualised methods of social work to address the personal problems of their clients (Patel, 2015). These individualised methods of social work are modelled on a Westernised approach taken from those who have colonised many nations of the world (Ross, 2010). As much as social workers try to give them some relief from these conditions, this is often not enough to address the experiences of individuals and communities (Cane, 2000). This criticism –​that social work

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has failed to address the problems of poverty and deprivation –​has been gaining momentum among many scholars (Midgley, 2010; Patel, 2015). This does not mean that diversity and working with diverse population groups have not been integrated into many social work education programmes; indeed, it has. However, the focus in South Africa has been on using an anti-​discriminatory approach in social work practice.With the adoption of a developmental approach to welfare (Patel, 2015), there has been a shift in emphasis to engaging communities in addressing issues of poverty and injustice. Despite the integration of this approach, there is still a need for other interventions to address the high escalation of crime, domestic violence, child abuse and other problems that affect all levels of South African society. The challenge facing South Africa is to develop more appropriate responses to the most critical and difficult issues that face our country at this time (Gray & Mazibuko, 2002; Lisegard, 2008). Clinical approaches and psychotherapeutic skills will work in some communities, but we also need indigenous solutions to deal with these problems. The call for the decolonisation and indigenisation of social work in South Africa has gained momentum over the past few years and has gained prominence since the #FeesMustFall student movement that took place across institutions of higher learning in South Africa. This brought to the fore one of the demands of the student movement, and placed it at the forefront on the national agenda. The global definition of social work makes the principles of empowerment, respect for diversity, and the use of indigenous knowledge central to addressing life challenges and enhancing well-​being (International Federation of Social Work (IFSW) and the International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW), 2014). This adds to the imperative for the profession to live authentically by these values and principles. However, indigenous practices are viewed with scepticism by many in the social work profession, yet their effects of empowering individuals, groups and communities are often overlooked.This can be viewed as a misdirected approach; any attempt to vilify one form of indigenous practice over another is short-​sighted, and suggests a colonised sense of superiority (Moodley & West, 2005; Moodley, Sutherland & Oulanova, 2008).

Decolonisation In order to unpack the concept of decolonisation, it is important to explain what colonialism is. Colonialism is a practice of domination that involves the subjugation of one people by another. Yellow Bird (2010: 282) describes colonialism as The event of an alien people invading the territory inhabited by people of a different race and culture, to establish political, social, spiritual, intellectual and economic domination over that territory and people. It includes territorial and resource appropriation by the coloniser and loss of sovereignty by the colonized. Fanon (1963: 51) says that ‘the native is being hemmed in and immobilised’. In a colonised state, the people are stripped of their own history, culture, and language, and their dignity is eroded. It is further noted by Saddar (as cited in Fanon, 2008: iv) that it is ‘their cultures, knowledge systems and ways of being that are ridiculed, demonised, declared inferior and irrational, and in some cases, eliminated’. In this state of colonisation, the colonised are dehumanised. Having noted the dehumanising effects of colonial violence on the colonised, Fanon (1963) argued that counter-​violence by the colonised would help to heal the colonised of their inferiority complex. He also conceives of violence as working therapeutically in aiding the colonised individual to regain their self-​confidence and humanity. Fanon (1963) presents a political programme that is aimed at creating a revolutionary national and political culture that replaces the 314

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ideology of the colonial system. This is achieved through a process of decolonisation, which is liberating oneself from oppressive conditions. It is the ‘restoration of cultural practices, thinking, beliefs, and values that were taken away or abandoned but are still relevant or necessary for survival and well-​being’ (Yellow Bird, 2010: 284). It is often the colonisers themselves who oversee the decolonisation process, with the result that a national elite is created that is far removed from the masses (Viegi, 2016). Colonialism systematically erodes the dignity of the colonised people while at the same time upholding Western values. This often leads to the colonised despising and abandoning their own culture and assimilating the culture, behaviour, attitudes, and values of the coloniser (Ndlovu, 2010; Viegi, 2016). In turn, this creates for them serious psychological trauma, since they become neither fully black nor white. To emphasise this point,Viegi (2016) refers to education institutions that shape societies. If we simply adopt the colonisers’ mode of education, we run the risk of contributing to the perpetuation of social and economic relationships that are based on a colonial value system. Hence, we see that, while social transformation is important, direct intervention is necessary to create a new society, a new ideology and a new person. By emphasising the importance of ideology in creating a new man, Ndlovu (2010:  73) cites Fanon ‘… that bourgeois social ideology can outlive the process of social transformation’. The important point is that we only superficially adopt the concept of decolonisation when we simply repeat the dominant theories of social change. Biko (1987: 24) criticises the arrogance of the colonisers, and states: ‘I am against the fact that a settler minority should impose an entire system of values on an indigenous people.’ He further notes that there are many positive virtues, that are present within indigenous cultures, from which Westerners can learn. For example, how African people relate and communicate with each other is ‘inherent in the make-​up of African people’ (Biko, 1987: 30). Tuck and Yang (2012) present a thought-​provoking article on why decolonisation is not, and should not be, a metaphor. They argue that the decolonisation discourse has been widely adopted –​as we see within our own country –​with increasing calls to decolonise our education and decolonise our methods. Unless we understand what this means, we end up using the term ‘decolonisation’ metaphorically by comparing it to its opposite, which is colonisation. When we use the term ‘decolonisation’ metaphorically,‘it kills the possibility of decolonisation, it re-​centres whiteness and resettles theory’ (Tuck & Yang, 2012: 3). The authors argue that decolonisation is not simply inserting critical, anti-​racist and justice frameworks into pre-​existing discourses/​ frameworks. By its very nature, therefore, decolonisation challenges the colonial context –​which is precisely why decolonisation is necessarily unsettling. This concurs with the statement made by Fanon (1963: 36) that ‘decolonisation never takes place unnoticed’ because decolonisation implicates and unsettles everyone.

Indigenisation In literature, the term ‘indigenisation’ seems to have two different meanings –​perhaps an indication of how the thinking of scholars in the field has evolved from one to the other. On the one hand, there is the early view that indigenisation is about making Western approaches relevant within a non-​Western local context. In this view, models are transferred from the West and adapted or modified to fit into local contexts. This is referred to as ‘cultural imperialism … by adhering to its particular … ethical, ideological and political value biases’ (Gray & Coates, 2010: 14). This transferability of Western models takes place without taking into account the sociopolitical and economic context which is often also dominated by factors such as caste, tribe, culture, religion and ethnicity (Rao, 2013). 315

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Another view sees indigenisation as the process ‘through which traditional, indigenous and local helping interventions were integrated into mainstream … practices’ (Gray, Coates & Yellow Bird, 2010a: 5). Indigenisation is described as the ‘personal and collective process of decolonising indigenous life and restoring self-​ determination based on traditional values’ (Yellow Bird, 2010: 287). The imperative for this view of indigenisation is not only that Western theories and models might be inappropriate within a given context, but also that it is important to authenticate locally and culturally appropriate approaches. Gray and Coates (2010:  15) say that this ‘involves the creation or building of a domestic model [of practice] … in the light of the social, cultural, economic characteristics of a particular country’. In exploring the rationality of indigenisation, it is noted that indigenisation must have national characteristics and must develop out of the local culture (Weina, 2001). ‘Indigenous’ is often used interchangeably with ‘traditional’ and is therefore seen as being ‘primitive’. Adopting a more narrow view of indigenisation, Kwan (2005: 240) argues that it is stuck in the past. He sees indigenisation as emphasising ‘culture which is narrowly understood as socially rooted ideas people hold about a certain set of questions’. He argues that indigenisation excludes considerations of ecological, social, political or economic conditions. The author disregards that indigenisation does not preclude the process of constant growth and innovation, and that new ideas and new thinking can be adopted as long as it contributes to the advancement and empowerment of people. In other words, modernisation cannot be used as an excuse to isolate indigenisation to the margins (Kwan, 2005;Yellow Bird, 2010).

Decolonisation and indigenisation within social work In the seminal collection of articles contained in the book Indigenous social work around the world, Gray et al. (2010a: 1) note that social work is essentially a Western intervention that has ‘a history of silencing marginal voices … and being imported into diverse cultural contexts across the world’ –​often the poorer nations of the world.The authors claim that these Western models were often imposed on diverse cultural communities without a proper understanding of indigenous models that would talk directly to the reality of the people. In many cases, these Western social work methods are neither relevant nor appropriate to the social and cultural realities of other societies. Western models and the scientific world view do not always fit the reality of many grass-​roots people, who traditionally have lived with a more holistic connection to family, community, and nature (Cane, 2000). Social workers have been criticised for having abandoned the poor and oppressed because the profession still uses a largely remedial approach when treating the personal problems of their clients. Social work still uses psychological and behavioural treatment approaches that are not necessarily appropriate. These psychotherapeutic skills, based on the dominance of Western models of practice, result in what Midgley (2001: 28) refers to as a ‘mismatch between the professional education these social workers receive and the tasks they are required to perform’. Taking this point further: is the emphasis on ‘rationality, dualism, individualisation, self-​determination and self-​reliance and therapy’ appropriate in societies where the family and community still take priority in the lives of individuals (Gray, Coates & Yellow Bird, 2010b: 4)? The authors concur that objectivity and professional distance may also be alienating in non-​Western cultures. Social work has made great strides in cross-​cultural, anti-​racist, and anti-​oppressive practices, but this has been from the point of view of adapting, rather than being willing to change (Gray, Coates & Hetherington, 2007; Gray et al., 2010b). The implication is that while Western social work might take on some issues of diversity, it does not take the importance of local contexts in shaping practice seriously. In this way, it continues the intellectual and cultural colonisation of 316

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social work practice. In this regard, Midgley (2001) concurs that while it is the case that social work has developed a comfortable stance towards embracing people’s differences and developing more appropriate forms of social work practice that suit indigenous cultures, there are still many examples ‘of the uncritical transfer of Western social work approaches to other nations’ (Midgley, 2001:  31). In social work’s international discourse, it is only recently that writers such as Gray et al. (2010b) and Osei-​Hwedie and Rankopo (2010) have reflected on the need for reconceptualising and radically reviewing and reframing Western social work models and processes. These authors point to the concepts of ‘indigenisation’ and ‘indigenous social work’, the former being about importing social work from the ‘west to the rest’, while the latter refers to the development of culturally relevant social work for, and with, local indigenous peoples (Gray et al., 2010b: 8). One of the key challenges is that social work is so embedded in the tradition of Western thinking that it makes change to culturally relevant social work difficult. This Western discourse continues to be perpetuated within professional communities and in social work education. It is taken into public spaces through social work ‘conferences, workshops and classrooms … wherein [the national] points of view become indistinguishable from Western points of view’ (Rao, 2013: 81). Calls for indigenisation in social work mean more than modifying and adapting Western concepts, theories and practices; it is also the recognition that Western theories are not always appropriate. Coates (2013: 93) refers to this as overcoming ‘the more insidious practices of colonisation –​the ideological infiltration of our internal lives’.While adapting Western knowledge, skills, and theories to suit local conditions is a possibility, the profession should instead spend its time ‘developing local knowledge, skills, theories and practices relevant to African culture, world views and ways of life’ (Osei-​Hwedie & Rankopo, 2010: 217). It is clear that indigenisation and indigenous social work are highly political and that the control of knowledge is part of an ongoing colonialism (Midgley, 2001; Briskman, 2010). Social work uses the rhetoric of empowerment, social change, and social justice, while it ‘reinforces colonialism in the name of helping’ (Briskman, 2010: 90). Social work should rethink and redevelop itself to decolonise itself. Graham (2002) found that services to black communities were often regarded as culturally inappropriate or insensitive. He notes that social work has often prescribed the dominant helping approaches as universally applicable to work with all families. This has been ‘inextricably bound to Eurocentric … social understandings of the world as the source of explanatory theories and therapeutic ideas’ (Graham, 2002: 36). In this one-​dimensional conceptualisation, the knowledge of groups traditionally excluded along the lines of race, gender and class have been omitted. Social work services are often against the interests of black families; as a result, these families will go to other organisations and their community networks for support. These often provide more holistic services (Graham, 2002). Crampton (2015: 2) refers to the ‘philosophical commitment to permanence as a destructive force of colonisation’ (Crampton, 2015: 2). Part of the goal of permanence is operationalising concepts such as best practices and evidence-​based practices as the standards for social work practice. These are still based on colonised concepts and underlying philosophies that have shaped social work. The author makes reference to the philosophy of ‘impermanence’, which allows ‘breakdown and disintegration … [and] allows intervention work to breathe, to change as necessary within context, to actively respond and engage’ (Crampton, 2015: 7). This does mean that there are no universal answers, but that answers should be found locally through a process of dialogue and active engagement. The author notes: ‘Best practices becomes less of a noun, a set of predetermined things to do, and more of a verb, a way of being, engaging, and respecting active engagement by others’ (Crampton, 2015: 9). 317

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The issue of indigenisation in social work is a contentious one, largely because we seem to be grappling with semantics and what meaning we assign to it. There is also the tendency for the terms ‘decolonisation’ and ‘indigenisation’ to be used interchangeably and thus to mean the same thing. Gray and Coates (2010) provide a list of 26 different definitions of indigenisation in social work from around the world between the years 1972 and 2005. The progression of these definitions seems to go from the idea of ‘adapting imported ideas to fit local needs … [to] the process of mainly developing social work approaches rooted in the local context, but also adjusting mainstream social work to fit the local context’ (Gray & Coates, 2010: 26–​29). It has been argued that indigenisation is an outmoded concept, and that the term ‘cultural relevance’ is more appropriate (Gray & Coates, 2010). My concern about this is that indigenisation might be reduced to a merely cultural construct; and that indigenisation should be more than this. While it is critical that we develop culturally appropriate and culturally sensitive social work, this, on its own, addresses only one element that is crucial in the indigenisation debates. Rao (2013: 75) notes that indigenisation is also about the need to ‘mould our own ideas about equality and inequality, inclusion and exclusion, social justice and injustice, rights and fairness, democracy and anarchy, modernity and tradition, normal and abnormal and other dichotomies that are not embedded in [a specific] culture’. The challenge is in deciding what this diversity (of culture) will constitute or not constitute, and who gets to decide what diversity of culture is and what it is not (Baltra-​Ulloa, 2013). An aspect that tends to challenge the view of cultural relevance, according to Gray and Coates (2010) is the question of whose culture is to be known, and the assumption that social workers should know the culture of the people with whom they work. In practical terms, there would be many cultures within a country or province, and even within a community; so how would social workers know which culture was more relevant? Moreover, with global migration patterns, the question of culture is highly politicised. In South Africa, there is no uniformly recognised culture, and each province would have different cultural aspects  –​and even within each province, there would be huge differences. Baltra-​Ulloa (2013) raises some important challenges to social workers with regard to contributing to the decolonisation of social work via indigenisation by stating that cross-​cultural or culturally sensitive social work is not the same as decolonised social work. Decolonised social work is about ‘contextualised encounters with communities where there is reciprocal learning by deep listening –​of “self ” and “other”, a space where people seeking help would define the help they wanted rather than where the helper determines what is needed’ (Baltra-​Ulloa, 2013: 130). The decolonisation and indigenisation of social work will not be an easy process, because we are working with the by-​products of colonisation. Rao (2013), in describing the decolonisation of social work in India, explains that the more than 60-​year struggle of scholars in developing countries to adopt Western theories and methodologies has created what he calls a ‘captive mind’. Rao (2013: 74) notes that this represents, [w]‌ays of thinking that [are] dominated by Western thought and its application in an imitative and uncritical manner … It is this captive mind that is trained entirely in the Western sciences, reads the works of Western authors and is taught predominantly by Western teachers, either directly or through their works. This remains the situation of social work in many African countries, and, indeed, in countries in the Global South. However, it does provide the impetus for an urgent rethinking that seeks new directions in developing social work paradigms and methods that are appropriate and effective. Yellow Bird (2013) provides a very insightful chapter in the book, Decolonising social work, where he uses the term ‘neuro-​decolonisation’, and explains how mindfulness is needed to 318

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decolonise social work. He highlights that many societies continue to display ongoing negativity and trauma resulting from colonisation. He cites the work of cognitive scientists who have shown that the brain is hardwired to recognise patterns and experiences and, as a result, negative experiences and trauma are embedded in the brain. He notes that ‘mindfulness is one way in which ingrained negative and obstructive beliefs –​our cognitive heuristics –​arising from colonialism can be changed’ (Yellow Bird, 2013: 336). He further explains that ‘many indigenous contemplative practices incorporate the same processes and principles as mindfulness … and are important components of physical, emotional, behavioural and spiritual well-​being and healing’ (Yellow Bird, 2013: 338).The practice of mindfulness can also enable us to engage in more optimistic thinking and to promote optimism and resilience. Feelings of negativity, hopelessness, and despair brought about by colonialism can be changed to give people hope and a sense of their own power and strength; this can be very empowering (Yellow Bird, 2013).

Decolonising and indigenising social work education Many of us in academia understand the importance of decolonising and indigenising social work and are even vocal advocates for this change. However, how this is done remains a challenge for academics within the South African and regional context, and perhaps even more broadly in the Global South. In 2017, the Association of South African Social Work Educational Institutions (ASASWEI), the Association of Schools of Social Work in Africa (ASSWA), and the Department of Social Development (DSD) hosted an international conference in South Africa to address the issue of decolonisation and indigenous knowledge in social work education and practice. About 30 academics presented papers on the various aspects, issues and challenges of decolonising and indigenising the curriculum. I refer below to the content of some of these presentations. Rankopo and Maripe (2017), reflecting on social work education and practices in Botswana, note the lack of consensus on the indigenisation agenda by social work academics, practitioners or students. ‘While attempts have been made to produce locally relevant literature through production of case studies … these have lacked the depth advocated for by advocates of decolonisation’ (Rankopo & Maripe, 2017: 5). It is further noted that the implications for curriculum development are that social work education cannot be the prerogative of academics alone; it requires an inclusive approach in which academics and students must be co-​partners in the development of knowledge. Community members must also contribute to curriculum development, and governments too must embrace the process. It is only in this way that curriculum development will be culturally relevant (Rankopo & Maripe, 2017). Osei-​Hwedie (2017: 10) concurs, and notes that some of the issues that prevent indigenisation from being implemented at a departmental level are a ‘lack of consensus on indigenisation, different opinions on desirability of local emphasis and importance of African culture, as well as an intellectual and power struggle’. He also notes some of the constraints that are found within institutions of higher learning such as the possible lack of support from higher levels in the institution as well as how to modify Western models for local use. Another challenge noted is that of international acceptability (Osei-​Hwedie, 2017). In addressing the issue of indigenisation of the social work curriculum in Swaziland, Mabundza (2017) concurs that a challenge of indigenising the curriculum is also about being internationally recognised. I add here that national and international social work associations and councils of social work operate within a colonised framework and context and that not enough has been done to place decolonised and indigenised social work on a par with other international social work standards. 319

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Among other things, Osei-​Hwedie (2017) calls for a new definition of social work that distinguishes between African and Western social work and harmonises African cultural influences and the inherited Western traditions of social work. He notes the importance of avoiding distortions in the name of cultural relevance and of building consensus in the Sub-​ Saharan region so that there is a clearly articulated knowledge and practice experience that informs the profession. The important task is to create a common social work profession that is able to manage cultural differences within the region. Finally, he promotes an eclecticism that incorporates the best from different sources. Given the current state of anxiety about how to indigenise, he concludes that ‘wholesale indigenisation [is impossible], that developing a culturally relevant social work is an elusive enterprise and that redefining African social work [should be done] through compromises and accommodation’ (Osei-​Hwedie, 2017: 13). Finally, Soji (2017: 10) presented a study of the views of social work students on the indigenisation of social work education and practice. The study found that ‘the current curriculum [is] not reflecting values, norms and ways of life of all … [and that] indigenous knowledge is negated … Colonisation is represented as civilization, [while] other knowledge (African and indigenous) is seen as inferior and therefore not recognised …’. Students said that the curriculum does not equip them to help communities or societies to deal with the problems they experience. A student (as cited in Soji, 2017: 12) notes: The curriculum teaches me a certain way of doing things [and] it is not preparing me to be adaptable. The theories that we are learning and the ideas that come to the table ignore the African ways of life. The theoretical approaches/​models we are learning in social work are shaped by the individualistic view. Africans believe in a collectivist approach. I need to learn about that. These statements reflect the need to address the issue of indigenisation and decolonisation in the social work curriculum, even though it raises difficult questions.

Conclusion Social work in South Africa has been at a crossroads for many years because it has failed to adequately address the problems of the majority of its people with a mainly Westernised and colonised approach. There has been an earnest attempt in recent years to move to a decolonised and indigenised approach to social work. For this to happen, we cannot continue to privilege the conventional knowledge base of social work; hence, decolonised and indigenous knowledge must be an integral part of social work theory and practice. The challenges and potential difficulties of this enormous task should not be seen as an excuse to not decolonise and to continue offering students a Westernised and colonised education. In a recent workshop to indigenise our curriculum, the speaker noted that we tend to see indigenisation as a new concept when, in fact, even the European and American literature that we use is indigenous to that specific country. There is an urgent need to decolonise our curriculum, even if it means one step at a time. In order to do this, we have to transcend our usual way of thinking about teaching our students and to find the spaces and forums where we can engage in respectful dialogue on issues of how to decolonise and indigenise the curriculum. Once we do this, educators should start looking for local content or we should develop it where it does not exist.We should put this on the agenda in our departments and in the classrooms.We do not need more conferences on what these concepts mean or talk about all the challenges we face, but we have to progress to the stage of asking how to do this in a practical way. I concur with 320

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a point made by Moodley and West (2005) that, instead of the continuous debate about what decolonisation and indigenisation means and whether it will work, we should be exploring how we might integrate indigenous knowledge and practices into conventional social work education and practice. In an attempt to be more responsive to communities, and to provide a holistic and integrative approach, I argue that at this stage it is not useful to adopt an either/​or approach, but rather to stress the both/​and. This allows for different aspects to work together to improve what we are offering communities. Indigenous approaches can pave the way for innovation and creativity in social work practice; it co-​creates with conventional social work approaches and brings about new wisdom for working with vulnerable communities in South Africa. Change is always difficult, especially when the change we propose is different from our main paradigm of social work. However, we have to advocate for these changes at the departmental and institutional level. At another level, there should be advocacy efforts for the South African Council for Social Service Professionals (SACSSP), which is the body that guides and regulates the profession of social work, to incorporate and mainstream indigenous knowledge and practices as a legitimate part of social work training.

References Baltra-​Ulloa, A.J. (2013).Why decolonized social work is more than cross-​culturalism. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M.Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonizing social work (pp. 119–​134). Aldershot: Ashgate. Biko, S. (1987). I write what I like: A selection of his writings (A. Stubbs Ed.). London: Heinemann African Writers Series. Briskman, L. (2010). Decolonizing social work in Australia: Prospect or illusion. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 83–​93). Aldershot: Ashgate. Cane, P. (2000). Trauma healing and transformation:  Body-​mind-​spirit practices for grassroots people. (Doctoral Thesis), The Union Institute Graduate College, Cincinnati, Ohio. Coates, J. (2013). Ecospiritual approaches: A path to decolonizing social work. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M. Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonizing social work (pp. 93–​109). Aldershot: Ashgate. Crampton, A. (2015). Decolonizing social work ‘best practices’ through a philosophy of impermanence. Journal of Indigenous Social Development, 4(1), 1–​11. Department of Social Development. (1997). White paper for social welfare:  Principles, guidelines, recommendations, proposed policies and programmes for developmental social welfare in South Africa. Pretoria, South Africa: Department of Social Development. Fanon, F. (1963). The wretched of the earth. New York: Grove press. Fanon, F. (2008). Black skin, white masks. London: Pluto Press. Graham, M. (2002). Creating spaces: Exploring the role of cultural knowledge as a source of empowerment in models of social welfare in black communities. British Journal of Social Work, 32, 35–​49. Gray, M. & Coates, J. (2010). From ‘indigenization’ to cultural relevance. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M.Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 13–​ 28). Aldershot: Ashgate. Gray, M. & Mazibuko, F. (2002). Social work in South Africa at the dawn of the new millennium. International Journal of Social Welfare, 11, 191–​200. Gray, M., Coates, J. & Hetherington, T. (2007). Hearing indigenous and local voices in mainstream social work. Families in Society, 88(1), 441–​463. Gray, M., Coates, J. & Yellow Bird, M. (2010a). Introduction. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 1–​10). Aldershot: Ashgate. Gray, M., Coates, J. & Yellow Bird, M. (Eds.) (2010b). Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice. England: Ashgate. International Federation of Social Work. (2014). Definition of social work. Retrieved from http://​ifsw.org/​ policies/​definition-​of-​social-​work/​.

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Khan, F. (2015).Violence, grants, poverty, inequality, unemployment and hope. Africa Insight, 44(4), 14–​30. Kwan, S. (2005). From indigenization to contextualization: A change in discursive practice rather than a shift in paradigm. Studies in World Christianity, 11(2), 236–​250. Lisegard, M. (2008). Alternative therapeutic interventions in trauma work in Cape Town: An explorative study of holistic approaches in a field of social work practice. (Undergraduate degree), University of Gothenburg, Sweden, Gothenburg, Sweden. Mabundza, L. (2017). Indigenization of social work curriculum in Swaziland. Paper presented at the Rethinking Social Work in Africa: Decoloniality and Indigenous Knowledge in Education and Practice, O.R. Tambo Conference Centre, Johannesburg. Midgley, J. (2001). Issues in international social work: Resolving current debates in the profession. Journal of Social work Education, 1(1), 21–​35. Midgley, J. (2010). The theory and practice of developmental social work (M.J. & A. Conley Eds.). New York: Oxford University Press. Moodley, R. & West, W. (2005). Integrating traditional healing practices into counseling and psychotherapy (Vol. 22). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Moodley, R., Sutherland, P. & Oulanova, O. (2008). Traditional healing, the body and mind in psychotherapy. Counselling Psychology Quarterly, 21(2), 153–​165. Ndlovu, S. (2010). Frantz Fanon and the dialectic of decolonisation. (Master of Philosophy in African Studies), University of Cape Town, Cape Town, South Africa. Ntusi, T.M. (1998). Professional challenges for South African social workers: Response to recent political changes. Social Work, 34(4), 380–​388. Osei-​Hwedie, K. (2017). Do not worry your head: The impossibility of indigenizing social work education and practice in Africa. Paper presented at the Rethinking Social Work in Africa: Decoloniality and Indigenous Knowledge in Education and Practice, O.R. Tambo Conference Centre, Johannesburg. Osei-​ Hwedie, K. & Rankopo, M.J. (2010). Developing culturally relevant social work education in Africa: The case of Botswana. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M.Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 203–​217). Aldershot: Ashgate. Patel, L. (2015). Social welfare and social development (2nd ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Rankopo, M.J. & Maripe, K. (2017). Decoloniality and indigenous social work education and practice in Botswana:  Personal reflections. Paper presented at the Rethinking Social Work in Africa:  Decoloniality and Indigenous Knowledge in Education and Practice, OR Tamba Conference Centre, Johannesburg. Rao,V. (2013). Decolonizing social work: An Indian viewpoint. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M.Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonizing social work (pp. 43–​61). Aldershot: Ashgate. Ross, E. (2010). Inaugural lecture:  African spirituality, ethics and traditional healing  –​Implications for indigenous South African social work education and practice. South African Journal of Bioethics and Law, 3(1),  44–​51. Soji, Z. (2017). Critical reflections and views of social work students on decolonization and indigenization of social work education & practice. Paper presented at the Rethinking Social Work in Africa: Decoloniality and Indigenous Knowledge in Education and Practice, O.R. Tambo Conference Centre, Johannesburg. Triegaardt, J. (n.d.). Assessing local economic development and social welfare benefits in a global context. Tuck, E. & Yang, K.W. (2012). Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization:  Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 1–​40. Van Breda,A. (2018). Developmental social case work: A process model. International SocialWork, 61(1),  66–​78. Viegi, N. (2016). The economics of decolonisation:  Institutions, education and elite formation. Theoria, 63(2),  61–​79. Weina, M. (2001). A study of the rationality of the internationalization and indigenization of education. Chinese Education and Society, 34(6), 78–​85. Yellow Bird, M. (2010). Terms of endearment:  A brief dictionary for decolonizing social work with indigenous peoples. In M. Gray, J. Coates & M. Yellow Bird (Eds.), Indigenous social work around the world: Towards culturally relevant education and practice (pp. 275–​291). Burlington: Ashgate. Yellow Bird, M. (2013). Neurodecolonization: Applying mindfulness research to decolonizing social work. In M. Gray, J. Coates, M. Yellow Bird & T. Hetherington (Eds.), Decolonising social work (pp. 334–​351). Aldershot: Ashgate.

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27 Decolonisation of community development in South Africa Kefilwe Johanna Ditlhake

Introduction and background Contemporary community development and community work as a method of social work practice must be seen in the historical context and influences of colonisation, colonialism and the postcolonial state in South Africa. Various authors such as Boaz and Polak (2001) and Ndlovu-​ Gatsheni (2013) contend that the postcolonial states in Africa represent a merely simulated European colonial state. The end of colonial rule in Africa raised expectations and hopes for better lives for all of its citizens. However, decolonisation did not bring about the anticipated benefits of social transformation or socio-​economic change for Africans, especially the poor majority. As Seepe (1998) argues, although the government in South Africa has created an ‘enabling policy environment, the major socio-​economic challenges such as poverty, unemployment, health education, inequalities’ and human rights that were violated during apartheid history, continue to prevail. The trajectory of Africa’s development was diminished and dented by the European Cold War, colonial venture and the slave trade. The Cold War fought on African soil disoriented Africa’s priorities, destabilised its politics, and undermined its development. Slavery not only displaced, brutalised, and dehumanised millions of Africans, it reduced them to exchangeable private property and commodity in the form of captive labour. Moreover, the slave trade was not only an enduring reminder of inhumanity and a morally repugnant system, but it was also socially disruptive, and economically adverse towards the potential indigenous development of the continent of Africa and gave way to the tragedy of colonialism that signified the destruction of Africa. As Andebrhan (2014) states, colonialism disrupted Africa’s indigenous progression, plundered its natural and human resources and retarded its development. Authors such as Rodney (1989) state how Europe played a major contributing role in Africa’s underdevelopment and dehumanisation and denied its residents their own language and culture (Amaral & Magalhães 2003). Andebrhan (2014: 361) avers that the bulk of the existing literature and most of the academic debates on the emergence and nature of the postcolonial state in Africa dwell on the European heritage of the state system, and on the interrogation of its suitability to the socio-​economic conditions of African societies. As Redie (2009: 13) argues, the debates on the

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postcolonial state revolve around the ‘European origin of the state system inherited by Africa, and its appropriateness to the socio-​cultural reality of African societies’. Since the onset of the independence of African societies two dominant paradigms have characterised the debate on the postcolonial state in Africa. One school of thought rationalised the relevance of the European state system, and another attributed the cause of the crisis state to its European origin. Falling within the second category, post-​apartheid South Africa has inherited an exploitative, oppressive and authoritarian colonial state. Decolonisation did not cast away these features inherited from colonialism and the apartheid government where the state failed to protect its citizens and meet the basic needs and hopes of the majority of its citizens. They were left with a service delivery deficit and dysfunctional institutions not fit for purpose. Andebrhan (2014: 389) argues that the prototype postcolonial African state is characterised by gross incompetence and rampant corruption, lack of legitimacy, accountability, and transparency in setting public policy, making decisions, and managing national resources. Unwilling and unable to govern through the rule of law based on popular consensus, it imposes the rule of caprice and resorts to repression. Consequently, it is weak, unstable, and insecure. Such state of affairs has rendered nation building, state construction, and socioeconomic development in Africa essentially a perpetual ‘work in progress’ in some countries and a project for the future in others. South Africa manifests both the developed and underdeveloped features. Midgley (1995) refers to this as denoting distorted development. A developmental state would have been able to establish the economic and political relationship that can support and sustain economic development. Underdevelopment breeds poverty and health-​related diseases. The South African universities within which community work and community development training happen are faced with the above challenges relating to institutional as well as societal transformation. These challenges include the decolonising of higher education, Africanising it and providing a new approach in knowledge seeking (Makgoba, 1998; Seepe, 1998; Le Grange, 2014; Mbembe, 2016). The discipline of social work is not immune to the social transformation within which the education and the practice of community work and community development happen. Social work education in South Africa began in 1920 as a response to poor whites’ problems (McKendrick, 1987). The theory of social work training continues to be influenced by North American and European paradigms. Upon decolonisation, social work education acceded to the Eurocentric theories and retained them intact with insignificant adaptation to South African local conditions. Twenty-​four years after independence, these exogenous theories pervade. There is consensus that social work education and practice has been dominated by Eurocentric epistemology (Maldonado-​Torres, 2007; Gray, Coates,Yellow Bird & Hetherington, 2013). Although attempts are being made to decolonise social work education to suit the indigenous sociocultural settings of South African society, there is no consensus on the specific attributes and content of a decolonisation and indigenisation agenda by social work academics and practitioners. Recently attempts have been made to produce locally relevant literature through production. However, there is limited research on the decolonisation of social work education to support the reimagining of the knowledge-​bank spectrum to sustain the ideal of a transformed social work practice for a just, and equitable social community development. Thus, the decolonisation of the social work profession and the changing political, social and economic conditions demand a fundamental and thoroughgoing restructuring and transformation of social work values, principles, cultural diversity, language, urban and rural social work focus, locally informed theory, education, research and methods of social work practice. 324

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Although social work education aims to produce generic social workers, who are competent in casework, groupwork and community work methods of social work practice, in reality, community work methods of social work practice is less practised by social workers upon qualifying for their degree in social work. The majority of social work professionals are more comfortable with individual work methods of practice than with community work. Despite the definitions of social work as a social justice profession (Sewpaul & Holscher, 2004), the social work hegemonic discourse position remains individualistic, reformist and pursuing status-​quo maintenance and social control (Sewpaul, 2006; Ferguson, 2008; Payne, 2011; Harms Smith, 2014).

Decolonisation of social welfare and community development in South Africa Twenty-​four years ago, transformation of social welfare in South Africa resulted in the adoption of a developmental social welfare approach. This followed earlier international trends which can be traced back to the late 1960s by the United Nations’ adoption of resolution 1406 (XLVI) as the first global consensus on the importance of developmental social welfare as an integral strategy for poverty reduction and social change (United Nations, 1995). Midgley’s ideas of social development played an important role in shaping the current social welfare approach in South Africa (Midgley, 19951997, 2007; Midgley, Tracey & Livermore, 2000; Midgley & Tang, 2001; Patel, 2005). During colonial rule in South Africa, the social welfare system and social work profession were intrinsically connected to apartheid’s economic, social and political policies and social structures of dominance and discrimination, as both their existence was designed to address the ‘poor white’ problems (Department of Social Development, 2005; Patel, 2005). With the advent of the transformation of society and social structures after 1994, the apartheid policies and laws were repealed and overturned by the new Constitution (Act 108 of 1996) and through key supporting policies such as the Reconstruction and Development Programme (ANC, 1994), the White Paper on Social Welfare (Department of Welfare, 1997), and the Financing Policy for Developmental Social Welfare Services (Triegaardt, 1996; Department of Welfare, 1999). The White Paper for Social Welfare (1997) provides a policy framework for the transformation of social welfare in South Africa from a residual approach and to a developmental welfare system. During the colonial era and before 1994, the social work profession was the main role player in South Africa’s social welfare system. Consequently, the amendment of the Social Work Act 110 of 1978 to become the Social Service Professions Act (110 of 1978) made provision for the establishment of social service professions other than social work (RSA, 1978). The policy amendment to this legislation led to the recognition of the contribution made by other social service professions such as community development, child and youth care and probation services (Gray & Simpson, 1998; Patel, 2005). The developments in this field have since progressed into the professionalisation of community development and child and youth care in South Africa. The introduction of these two new developing professions poses a challenge to the social work profession. Social work must define its social role in its method of community work practice in working with other stakeholders in the community. Weyers (2011: 409) conceptualised community work as the method of social work that consists of various processes and helping acts of the social worker that is targeted at the community system, as well as its sub-​ system and certain external systems, with the purpose of bringing about required social change through the help of community development, social planning, community education, social marketing and social action as a practice model. Community work as a method of social work practice is less practised and social workers are not visible in the communities. The majority of social workers both in government and non-​governmental organisations are doing statutory 325

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work and clinical social work practice as a method of intervention in dealing with dreadful poverty and unemployment in communities. Although poverty is a key and defining feature in the lives of many social service users, social workers continue to practise individually based interventions, which has limited impact on community development, without attempting to effect change at the societal level. Undoubtedly, poverty leads to other circumstances that can increase the likelihood of contacting social development service professionals. For example, unemployment could be the contributing factor in many family breakdowns, malnutrition, poor health, depression and challenges in caring for children. Given the devastating consequences of poverty, it is not enough to adopt a stance of passive acceptance and work around poverty. There is a need for social work professional practice in community work to invent creative community work approaches to promote social justice, and claim its role and relevance in post-​apartheid South Africa. Arguably, a decoloniality approach will offer opportunities for confronting the structural challenges of poverty and inequalities that are endemic within the structures of South African society associated with political and economic impact. This will require engaging differently in practice (Dominelli, 2004; Ferguson & Lavalette, 2006; Ferguson, 2008; Reisch, 2013; Sewpaul, 2013). Community work in social work can be traced back to the profession’s early years in South Africa in 1933 during British colonial rule. Midgley (1986) refers to it as an imperialist profession or professional imperialism. Although social work since its inception in 1933 was introduced in South Africa during colonial rule, community work as a method of social work was not given attention in practice. It is only during the early 1990s that African social workers made an outcry and advocated for the need to practise community work in social work to address mass poverty, and inequalities associated with the impact and legacy of colonialism and apartheid. Therefore, the profession of social work throughout its history and its existence in the postcolonial period has been dealing with the management of poverty and related social issues, as well as the promotion and protection of the rights of individuals, groups and communities. To this effect, Mazibuko and Gray (2007: 127) argue that social work is grappling with issues of professionalisation, of defining its boundaries and relationship to other professions, and of establishing its own professional identity. Very few professional social workers practice community work. However, the majority of student social workers in South African universities are placed in institutions and organisations for their internship or field instruction practice and implement community projects to fulfil the requirements of the course at different levels of their study. However, when they graduate it is the end of these projects and community work professional practice. Social work professional practice in community work is facing a challenge of defining its social role of community work in social work, in contrast to working with other social service professions in the community development field. Yet there is no consensus or widely accepted definition of community development and community work. According to the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997), community development in South Africa is an umbrella concept referring to different intervention strategies that combine the efforts of the people themselves, with government, to promote the economic, social, cultural and environmental conditions of the communities. The aim of community development is to promote social change and social justice geared towards enhancing sustainable livelihoods, empowerment and participation of communities in decision-​making processes and meaningful social actions.

Decolonisation and the role of civil society movements in South Africa Civil society and social movements in South Africa made their way into development thinking and the policymaking process during the struggle against apartheid and continue during the 326

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post-​apartheid democratic era. Voluntary associations also form part of civil society. Rarely a report or policy paper, be it from governmental or non-​governmental organisations, are published without mentioning civil society organisations. Historically, the idea of civil society was akin to the emergence of the commercial society in Western Europe in the eighteenth century. Individual rights, ownership of predominantly private property and being free of state interference were important to the emergence of civil society. The idea of civil society emerged to protect social groups and individuals from an intrusive and encompassing state. Resulting from the events in Eastern Europe, South Africa and other African countries in the region were faced with similar challenges. In fact, in South Africa social movements emerged during the 1950s and even though they did not call themselves a civil society, they shared characteristics with civil society organisations and were strong actors behind the demise of the colonial rule and apartheid South Africa in the 1950s and 1990s.The civil society that grew during the apartheid period was in the form of social movements and community-​based organisations. What came to be known as ‘non-​governmental organisations’ (NGOs) often encompass different legal types of organisations: they are legally established and registered as trusts, not for profit companies and associations. What distinguishes them from civil society organisations is their membership, their expertise, and that they ‘speak the language’ of international donors. Most NGOs play an advocacy and lobbying role in society which cannot be found among the historical and traditional civil society organisations. Therefore, the origin of the civil society in South Africa speaks of specific circumstances and the concept refers to different forms of organisations. In this chapter, civil society refers to the arena of uncoerced collective action around shared interests, purpose and values embracing a diversity of spaces, actors, autonomy and power. Civil society is often populated by organisations such as registered charities, community groups, women’s organisations, trade unions, self-​help groups, social movements, business associations, professional associations, coalitions and advocacy groups. Historically in South Africa, the origin of social movements as components of civil society organisations can be traced back to the 1950s. It is when looking at the colonial period that one finds links about the emergence of social movements, political issues, colonisation and apartheid South Africa. Colonialism had an impact on civil society organisations. This included the legal and political environment in which the repressive state machinery worked. This is the reason why civil society organisations embodied fundamental human rights, social justice and freedom in South Africa.

Postcolonial failures and the challenge of coloniality Decoloniality emerged from the postcolonial world. Colonialism collapsed in the political realm after 1945 in many African countries, culminating in South Africa in 1994. The postcolonial states failed to live up to the high expectations that accompanied the liberation struggle against colonialism and apartheid. Citizens anticipated a state that would manage to enhance their welfare, human rights, and social, political and economic rights. Moyo (2009: 2) stated that the postcolonial state was economically and politically discredited. Growth did not change the economic conditions of many of the African citizens. Many still live in extreme poverty, do not own land, capital or means of production. In many ways this has been the case of motion without movement. Despite these challenges, various authors argue that Africa suffers from a governance crisis, such as system failures (Moyo & Fowler, 2010: 3).This could be stemming from colonial models which 327

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inhibited the creation of meaningful home-​grown drivers for democratic reform. Technically, when colonialism collapsed, it was replaced by global coloniality. When we speak of decolonisation in postcolonial social work education and practice and community development in this context, we need to look at the dominant epistemology and unlearn what we have learnt from colonialism. More queries are needed to understand the place of community development and community work in the South African context. To understand decoloniality in its totality, as a liberatory option in the context of community development, a clear distinction must be made from colonisation, colonialism, decolonisation and coloniality. First, colonisation is associated with the process of imperialist expansion. Colonisation involves the act of dominance, invasion, conquering, then land dispossession, and the seizing of resources, wealth, culture and identity (McKendrick, 1987; Day, 2005; Ife, 2013). Colonial takeover in South Africa by the mercantile Dutch East India Company and the British gave rise to ‘racism, slavery, attempted genocide, expropriation of land of indigenous people and exploitation of their labour as forced labour. Here lie the roots of national oppression’ (Legassik, 2008: 441). Colonial racism depicts how Europeans defeated, robbed and ruled ‘blacks’ for the enrichment of ‘whites’ (McKendrick, 1987; Tsotsi, 2000). Colonialisation in South Africa devalued many of the indigenous peoples’ traditional culture, basic human rights, land and institutions. Second, in contrast to colonialisation, colonialism is a system of power that has long-​term implications; it is dehumanising, detrimental to the colonised and it affects people’s minds. It placed Western culture and the white race in positions of power and assumed white privilege. Africa was colonised by countries such as Spain, Portugal, Britain and France for the purposes of enhancing their prestige as empires, for the exploitation of natural and human resources and the export of excess population, for the benefit of the empire (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2013: 13). In postcolonial countries of the South, and South Africa in particular, colonialism is still thriving today. Sadly, this is the fate of most colonised countries all over the world with multilayered impositions of ideology and the value of individualism as opposed to collectivism. Third, various authors described decolonisation as the withdrawal of direct colonialism from the colonies (Mbembe, 2001; Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2013). Fourth, when colonialism collapsed, it was superseded by global coloniality. Therefore, coloniality refers to the long-​standing patterns of power that emerge as a result of colonialism but that define culture, labour, intersubjectivity relations, and knowledge production well beyond the strict limits of colonial administration (Ndlovu-​ Gatsheni, 2013: 13). Coloniality enforces control, domination and exploitation disguised in the language of salvation, progress, modernisation and being good for everyone (Mignolo, 2007). Last, decoloniality refers to the colonial matrices of the global power structures. Therefore, it is argued in this chapter that, if social justice, empowerment and humanity are the main purpose of social work (IFSW/​IASSW, 2014), then social work and community development should engage with issues of coloniality. Furthermore, Mignolo (2007) and Ndlovu-​Gatsheni (2013: 11) state that coloniality is conceptualised as encompassing Global South experiences of the ‘slave trade, imperialism, colonialism and neoliberalism’, Washington Consensus and Structural Adjustment Programmes and, today, globalisation. Together, these processes constitute coloniality as a global power structure that sustains asymmetrical power relations between the Euro-​American World and the Global South. Examples of the experiences that pervade in South Africa include racism, violence, gender-​based violence, stereotypes and victimisation. These are examples of the social issues that must be centred in the context of the decoloniality of community development. Postcolonial theories and decoloniality will be useful in dealing with these apex issues of trauma brought by colonialism. However, Ndlovu-​Gatsheni (2013:  11) argued that although these experiences must be addressed, there is a need to 328

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understand invisible vampirism of technologies of imperialism and colonial matrices of power that continue to exist in the minds, lives, language, dreams, imagination, and epistemologies of modern subjects in Africa and the entire global south. Consciousness-​raising, resisting and unmasking colonial traumatic experiences, colonial impact, apartheid and global power structure must be unmasked and changed. Unmasking and resistance entails decoloniality as political-​cum-​epistemological liberatory project.

What is colonisation and why is it important in the context of community development? In defining community work and community development in post-​apartheid South Africa, it is important to clarify what is meant by the concept of community. Community can refer to a social system which originates when a population of individuals (social dimension), localised in a specific geographic area (special dimension), establishes and utilises structures and relationships to deal with impediments (functional dimension) and at the same time develops a sense of communal thinking (cultural and symbolic dimension), identity and activities (Weyers, 2011: 408) Owing to the history of colonisation and colonialism in South Africa, the concept of community assumed a specific racial undertone or connotation. Before the first democratically elected government in 1994, the concept of community was used to stress the difference between various racial groups and that each group had its own separate culture. The Population and Registration Act of 1950 classified the South African population into three racial categories, that is, Africans, coloureds and whites. After two decades of democracy, South Africa is considered as one of the most unequal countries in the world, characterised by issues of landlessness and racial divisions of poverty (Bond, 2005; Ballard et  al., 2006; May & Meth, 2007; Beinart & Dawson, 2010; Terreblanche, 2012).The concept of community was used by the social movements to strengthen solidarity in communities among black people in the fight against apartheid. A key component of community development work is working in solidarity with the people in the community (Featherstone, 2012). Owing to the South African history of apartheid, the use of the concept of community can be problematic because it has the potential to remind people about the apartheid terminology and is more susceptible to creating the view that people in communities are homogeneous or unified (Yen, 2007). Thus, it is argued in this chapter that, in post-​apartheid South Africa a comprehensive definition of community is viewed as encompassing a complex system of interaction that includes historical and ecological components, as well as political, economic, social, and cultural perspectives. Since communities are diverse and unique, there is a need for a comprehensive and all-​encompassing definition that connotes knowledge from various disciplines in understanding communities. Globally, the origin and practice of community development can be traced back to the early history of modernisation theory of development in the 1950s and 1960s in western European countries and Africa (United Nations, 1996; Chile, 2007:  36). This undertaking emerged because of many governments seeking to maximise economic and social development policies (Geoghegan & Powell, 2006). The practice of community development is traced back to the period of civilisation where mankind-​initiated actions benefited groups or parts of groups in some or other way (Midgley, 1986: 13a). Community development in South Africa originated outside social work professional practice. In South Africa, community development had its roots in 329

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the 1980s in the civil society organisations and social movements.These movements encouraged and stimulated communities to work together to improve their living conditions. The history of community development in South Africa has two streams. First, the period during the apartheid era. The Department of Community Development was formed in the 1980s and 1990s. In 1984 the Population and Development Programme was launched by the then government for the purpose of stimulating community development and promoting the communities’ standard of living. What they considered community development was a manifestation of apartheid. This Department of Community Development implemented the Group Areas Act of 1950, resulting in forced removals and the relocation of organic communities. It promoted apartheid in its own way. It was a destructive process of community development. Community development was used to drive the apartheid processes and agenda. This had an impact in terms of ‘the way in which welfare services were offered’ during colonialism and Apartheid South Africa (Patel, 2005: 70). Second, due to the nature of the apartheid regime, an alternative version of community development was implemented by liberation movements and civil society initiatives with the aim of addressing the specific and day-​to-​day development challenges faced by the African community. The civil society was the bedrock for the struggle against colonialism and apartheid. Moyo (2009) further states that the struggle against apartheid was not won only through liberation movements such as the African National Congress (ANC); mass movements such as the United Democratic Front (UDF) and other black consciousness movements played a major role in defeating the apartheid regime. Organised groups like the Black Sash, the Legal Resources Centre, the South African Civic Organisation (SANCO) and trade unions used different legal and non-​legal strategies to isolate the regime, thus placing their relationship firmly with the political liberation movements. Although civil society organisations started as meeting community needs, political strategies were used to mobilise people, mainly because political parties and politics were frowned upon during colonial rule and apartheid South Africa. The door-​to-​ door or house-​to-​house approach for political support and mobilisation was used. It offered the opportunity to build rapport with families and communities. The African people were able to share their challenges, such as township development, racism, land dispossessions, leaking roofs, poor electrical connections in houses and water challenges.This mobilisation was first a political agenda and progressed to community development.This gave rise to street committees across the country in townships such as Soweto and Pietermaritzburg. Despite rich experience of practice, the body of literature on both streams is thin. In townships and rural areas stokvels, also known as Magodisana in the Tswana language, were formed as self-​help initiatives for saving money. The funds would then be used for major expenses (Brown & Neku, 2005: 302). Community development in South Africa had not gained a lot of scholarly interest so far.The reason could be that the bulk of the literature focused on the liberation struggle within which community development initiatives are considered as either an extension of the apartheid policies to suppress the majority, or as actions of progressive forces aimed at emancipating black people. The struggle for political rights, social justice, land dispossession, and civil rights were the basis for decolonisation in South Africa.

Decolonialising approaches to community development practice An approach based on postcolonial theory and decoloniality theory can guide the decolonisation of social work practice by helping to create an awareness of the effects of colonialisation and by encountering oppressive ways of rendering services to communities. An anti-​colonialist practice will offer a valuable contribution and opportunity for empowering people in communities through a method of social work, community work and community development by 330

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other social service professions and professionals. An approach that includes the perspectives of indigenous people, using African people and their world views, will help to transform the field of social welfare in South Africa. Postcolonial theory gives insight into the struggles of the colonised people to recuperate from the effects of colonisation, including slavery which looted Africa of millions of its productive population  –​uprooted in their prime years, drained the continent’s creative energy and sapped its internal capacity to develop. Colonialism disrupted Africa’s indigenous progression, plundered its natural and human resources, and retarded its development.The ideological battles of the Cold War fought on African soil disoriented Africa’s priorities, destabilised its polities, and undermined its development. When a postcolonial theoretical framework is used in community development education and practice, it will offer the following opportunities: • to understand the hegemony and how the social work profession in South Africa and community development became part of this belief system • to learn how thoughts, beliefs and actions of the people can be part of the process of colonising the mind; this is called genocide of the mind (Moore, 2003) • to understand the effects and issues of colonisation and the unique history of the diverse colonised people –​the exploitation, resistance, and healing, recovery and transformation when working in communities (Freire, 1993; Ashcroft, Griffiths & Tiffin, 2000) • to include the voices and stories of the communities who have been suffering, and continue to suffer, from colonialism • to sensitise students and practitioners about issues of oppression, exploitation and issues of social justice • to offer strategies of decolonisation (Ashcroft, 2001; Baikie, 2009; Baskin, 2010).‘Decolonisation’ is a project of ‘re-​centering’. It is about rejecting the assumption that the modern West is the central root of Africa’s consciousness and cultural heritage. It is about rejecting the notion that Africa is merely an extension of the West (wa Thiong’o, 1986) • to present an alternative to the Eurocentric, Western perspectives on theory, history, culture and education utilised by the profession of social work (Blackstock, 2009; Baskin, 2010) • to creatively draw valuable indigenous knowledge and using Eurocentric theories as a centre province • to provide perspective about the experiences that people have in common such as poverty, unemployment, violence against women and children, discriminatory practices such as racism, crime, issues of housing and land reform, women, child trafficking and prostitution and health problems. For wa Thiong’o (1986), to ‘Africanise’ is part of a larger politics –​not the politics of racketeering and looting, but the politics of language –​or as he puts it, of ‘the mother tongue’. [A]‌t the end of the decolonising process, we will no longer have a university. We will have a pluriversity.What is a pluriversity? A pluriversity is not merely the extension throughout the world of a Eurocentric model presumed to be universal and now being reproduced almost everywhere thanks to commercial internationalism. By pluriversity, many understand a process of knowledge production that is open to epistemic diversity. (Mbembe, 2016) Community development practitioners need to write directly about anti-​colonialism to community development education and practice in order to avoid perpetuating colonialism and 331

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promote social justice. Intervention in communities must be guided by the development agenda of the community rather the agenda of the practitioners. Indigenous knowledge, skills and values need to be incorporated in all aspects of community development and social work education when using a postcolonial theoretical framework. A postcolonial theoretical lens provides the link between culture, knowledge, economy and politics leading to continued colonialism and the possibility of decolonisation (Loomba, 1998). The history of colonialism is the history of oppression and domination and has directly resulted in contemporary political, economic and social problems in many countries of the South, including South Africa.Although colonialism was instituted many decades ago, it is still alive and existing today. Ndlovu-​Gatsheni (2015) and Boaz and Polak (2001) argued that modernity is the result of coloniality today. Lack of transformation of social work education, including its knowledge, methods, research and values to suit the indigenous communities in South Africa, is an example of reinforcing cultural imperialism and pervasive colonialism.Therefore, the ideology of colonialism is of great concern in the context of community work or community development education and practice. Social work in South Africa faces three closely related challenges. The first is related to social work education. It has to be redesigned to contribute to development. The curriculum needs to be changed to expose students to South Africa’s most pressing social ills. The indigenisation of the curricula and intervention should be based on a valuable socioculturally relevant frame of reference. Second, most social workers upon receiving their qualification in social work, practise casework. There is limited practise of community work by social workers. Midgley (1981) argued that the practise of individual casework is inappropriate for social workers in developing countries and is a form of cultural imperialism. Few social workers are visible in communities.This is weakening social work ties with communities.Therefore, one of the most crucial tasks facing social workers is to clarify the respective roles of community work in relation to community development practitioners, community development workers and child and youth care workers in order to contribute to development efforts. Therefore, community work and community development practice require much more than theoretical knowledge and understanding of the community development process. Above all, it requires building long-​term relationships and a professional commitment of social work to communities. The practice of community development is stronger in the Global South, unlike in the Global North where community has been eroded by forces of industrialisation and modernisation (Esping-​Andersen, 1996). Social work has been largely influenced by Western ideas through dominant textbooks. Decolonisation and decoloniality has not been an easy task for social work education and practice. Recently, universities and social work disciplines have begun the process of decolonising education. The 2015 #FeesMustFall protest movement by student resistance groups sparked the need for decolonisation (Mbembe, 2016). There has never been consensus on the decolonisation agenda by social work academics, community development practitioners or students. Attempts have been made to change the curriculum to be produced locally through relevant literature and production of case studies. However, there is a limited depth advocated for by academics and practitioners of decoloniality. Decoloniality requires a philosophy of impermanence of knowledge; non-​violent engagement based on the dignity of others, respect, human rights and social justice (Crampton, 2015). Decoloniality as a liberatory option is premised on the three concepts:  decoloniality of power, decoloniality of knowledge and decoloniality of being (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2015). In the context of community development, the following recommendations will be made for decoloniality practice: • Anti-​ colonial practice and decoloniality of knowledge:  African universities have been shaped by colonialism and organised according to the European model. As Teferra and Altach (2004: 23) put it, ‘higher education in Africa is an artifact of colonial policies’. African 332

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universities have adopted a Western model of academic organisation. Across postcolonial countries in Africa, there is agreement that social work education and practice have been dominated by Eurocentric epistemology (Gray, Coates, Yellow Bird & Hetherington, 2013). The decoloniality of knowledge will require interrogating the origin and development of the social work profession, its methods, values, principles, and languages, as well as the social, economic and political context of the South African society. As Le Grange (2014) and Law (2003) state, this is epistemological hygiene, that is, the way in which knowledge is produced in disciplines and represented in curriculum materials. Developing knowledge that is locally and regionally African and relevant remains a challenge. Furthermore, decoloniality of knowledge demands questioning epistemological issues, the politics of knowledge generation, who is developing the knowledge and for what purpose is the knowledge generated. Therefore, it will be important for the community development practitioners as part of their anticolonial practice, to interrogate how knowledge has been privileged and used to assist imperialism and colonialism and how it remained Euro-​American-​centric. There is a need for commitment for the establishment of culturally relevant models of practice, theory and knowledge through research in community development. Action research, which is a collaborative process, is an important research approach in community development, mainly because community participation by its members is paramount in solving community issues and implementing change. Action research should be conducted, not for knowledge production alone, but for working with communities to address social problems and social injustices consistent with a dialogical approach in community development. • When it comes to community development practice, there is a need to be aware of imposing projects, forcing false participation and reinforcing colonialism and dimensions of oppression in terms of class, race, ethnicity and education. This will demand a high level of critical self-​ awareness and reflection of the community development practitioners. Practitioners need to be self-​critical and be informed about colonialism, coloniality and its impact. The analysis of colonialism, coloniality and decoloniality becomes a vehicle for liberatory community development practice. • Countering coloniality of power requires critical awareness of the structures within which community development practitioners are based. The community development process must be seen within the broader context. Colonial oppressive structures embedded in the form of race, class and gender must be dealt with at policy level by engaging in dialogue and conscious awareness in communities. • Countering decoloniality of being entails the conception of subjectivity and being. Central to this is how colonialism tore down communities’ physical, psychic and human geography. The postcolonial theories are of great importance in this context to challenge dominant thinking, meanings and knowledge adopted uncritically in different situations. An analysis of colonialism becomes the framework for conscious upliftment and community dialogue. It is important for community development practitioners to allow community members space for expression and validation of their culture, values, identity, and critique of the dominant structures of colonisation (Freire, 1993). Enabling community expression is critical in the practice that seeks to counter colonisation, coloniality and colonialist practice in communities.

Conclusion The pervasive conditions troubling countries of the South today are compounded and deeply rooted in a colonial past.The ghost of the colonial past continues to haunt contemporary African states. Paradoxically, the duplicate state manifests both the developed and underdeveloped features. 333

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Postcolonial theories and decoloniality perspective offer hope to deal with socio-​economic structural issues such as oppression, exploitation and poverty-​related issues in community development and community work in contemporary South Africa. Thus, the education, theories and research in the social work profession have largely been a Western Eurocentric perspective and remain so to this day.

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28 The search for relevance Social work supervision in a social development approach in South Africa Mpumelelo Ncube and Ndangwa Noyoo

Introduction This chapter revisits social work supervision in South Africa and argues that it falls short of the transformation agenda in the welfare sector that seeks to shift the social welfare system and social work interventions from the clinical, rehabilitative and curative foci to the developmental perspective. This position is augmented by empirical data that emanated from a doctoral study which has just been completed. In this sense, it can also be speculated that social work supervision in post-​apartheid South Africa still needs to be decolonised. In the first part of the chapter, attempts are made to ascertain what transpired in the social welfare sphere, and in particular, in the area of social work supervision, since the advent of democracy in 1994. Arguably, one way of confidently stating that social work supervision is in sync with South Africa’s transformation agenda, is in how it mirrors the thrust of the country’s social welfare policy which is expressed in the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997). Indeed, it can be noted that when South Africa started to dismantle the pillars of colonialism and apartheid two decades ago, it also experienced profound changes across all its sectors. In this regard, social welfare was not insulated from such changes as it had to be in tandem with them. Significantly, at the time, South Africa adopted a new welfare approach which shifted welfare provision from residual and racially based services to non-​racial and developmental ones. Hence, social welfare had to respond adequately to the needs of all South Africans irrespective of race, ethnicity, class, gender and sexual orientation. Crucially, there were many unmet needs when the first democratically elected government assumed power, as some sections of the country had been neglected by the colonial and apartheid governments. These were mainly the African people and to a lesser extent Indians and Coloureds (mixed-​race people). There were also major challenges confronting the welfare sector that emanated from the way it was structured. In this regard, the welfare system lacked consensus over national reconstruction and development, and it exhibited disparities between policies, legislation and programmes which were inequitable, inappropriate and ineffective in addressing poverty and other social ills. Furthermore, racial, gender and geographic disparities created distortions in the delivery of social welfare services (Ministry of Welfare & Population Development, 1997). What is worthy to note is that the inherited welfare structure was fragmented as it was made up of 14 welfare departments with each catering to the needs

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of a particular race and ethnic group. This led to, among other things, the duplication of efforts and rendered the operations of such a system very expensive and cumbersome. In addition, the changed welfare approach had to train and deploy a new cadre of social welfare professionals and paraprofessionals who were thus far not given enough space to work in this sector. Undoubtedly, the former issues also had a bearing on social work supervision.

Unpacking social work supervision Before we define social work supervision, it is important to elucidate the broader context in which it occurs. Supervision, in itself, is a broad concept and cuts across various disciplines since it serves as a management tool. However, supervision seems to be most pronounced in the social service professions, probably due to the nature of work in this sector where human beings’ challenges have to be dealt with by professionals on a daily basis.There are many definitions of supervision, and all of them cannot be provided in a chapter of this scope. Nevertheless, for the purposes of this chapter: Supervision is a form of experiential learning, or learning from practice. Supervision is reflection-​on-​action, or indeed reflection-​in-​action, to result in reflection-​for-​action. In the present moment we consider the past in order to influence the future; in supervision we recall the past through memory, make meaning of the past in the present through reflection and redesign our future work through imagination. Memory, reflection and imagination are the three most used human faculties in supervision. The process is clear: the experiential learning cycle becomes the journey through which reflection on past works leads to new learning that is integrated into future practice. (Carroll, 2014: 16, emphasis in original). It is important to point out that social work supervision differs from general supervision. Therefore, we concur with Tsui (2005) who describes social work supervision as a rational, affective, and interactive process. Thus, social work supervision should be generic and cover the values, knowledge, skills and emotions of staff. It is a dynamic, multidisciplinary and interactional relationship with a specific organisational setting in a greater cultural context. Social work supervision is essentially a relationship between two people, with the ultimate aim of improving social work practice and outcomes for service users (Wonnacott, 2012). Thus, supervision developed from both the managerial context of social work and its history of therapeutic practice (Lawles & Bilson, 2010), despite the fact that management roles in social work and social care differ from direct professional or care practice (Gallop & Hafford-​Letchfield, 2012). Moreover, a deeper understanding of social work supervision can be derived from the description of a supervisor: A supervisor is a licenced social worker to whom authority is delegated to direct, co-​ ordinate, enhance, and evaluate the on-​the-​job performance of the supervisee for whose work he or she is held accountable. In implementing this responsibility, the supervisor performs administrative, educational, and supportive functions in interaction with the supervisor in the context of a positive relationship. The supervisor’s ultimate objective is to deliver to agency clients the best possible service, both qualitatively and quantitatively, in accordance with agency policies and procedures. Supervisors do not directly offer service to the client, but they do indirectly affect the level of service offered through their impact on the direct service to supervisees. (Kadushin & Harkness, 2014: 11) 338

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Therefore, good social work supervision is not only the responsibility of the supervisors. It is a joint venture between the supervisor, the supervisee and their organisation, with all having a role to play in making the best possible use of supervision. The supervisory relationship does not, however, exist in isolation as it will affect and be affected by relationships. Hence, if social workers are to develop expertise and master their profession, the role of the supervisor is crucial (Wonnacott, 2012). Indeed, good supervision is dependent on the participants being reflective, analytical and critical. However, while it is indisputable that high quality supervision is reliant on the ability of the supervisor and the skills and experience they bring to the relationship with their supervisee(s), the organisational context in which supervision takes place can make a significant contribution (Howe & Gray, 2013). Good supervision therefore is dependent on certain characteristics of a supervisor. Conversely, good social work practice hinges on good supervision. However, when it comes to characteristics that are important for a supervisor, we can distinguish person-​bound and profession-​bound qualities. These are personal and professional dimensions of professional competence which have to be integrated (Zorga, 2007). While following Carifio and Hess (1987), Zorga (2007) points out that ‘ideal’ person-​bound qualities of a supervisor are similar to the qualities of the ‘ideal’ psychotherapist, but they are employed differently. These qualities include empathy, understanding, unconditional positive regard, congruence, genuineness, warmth, self-​disclosure, flexibility, concern, attention, investment, curiosity and openness. Crucially, if we talk of ‘good’ or ‘effective’ supervision, we need to be able to articulate what precisely that means. Indeed, supervisors themselves and their trainers –​not to mention supervisees –​are entitled to know exactly what their agency expects of them. This means compiling a list of key competencies and the associated indicators regarded as the essential skills of the supervisor (Brown & Bourne, 2002). Nevertheless, social work supervision, or supervision of social workers described by any other name, is both context-​dependent and context-​specific. No universally accepted definition of supervision exists as such a definition would depend on who sets the agenda (Engelbrecht, 2015).

Social work supervision in the South African context In South Africa, the South African Council for Social Service Professions (SACSSP) is legislated to regulate and sanction the conduct of professional social workers. In this regard, social work supervision is also overseen and monitored by the SACSSP. The Social Service Professions Act, Act 110 of 1978, as amended, and Policy Guidelines for the Course of Conduct, the Code of Ethics and the Rules for Social Work, specifically determine mandatory and interminable supervision of social workers. This Code of Ethics, among other things, determines that a social worker should be supervised on social work matters by a supervisor who is registered as a social worker (Engelbrecht, 2015). Furthermore, the Code of Ethics states that (a) social workers who provide supervision or consultation should have the necessary knowledge and skills to supervise or consult appropriately and should do so only within their areas of knowledge and competence; (b) social workers who provide supervision or consultation are responsible for setting clear, appropriate and culturally sensitive boundaries; (c) social workers should not engage in any dual or multiple relationships with supervisees where there is a risk or exploitation of, or potential harm to, the supervisee; (d) social workers who provide supervision should evaluate supervisees’ performance in a manner that is fair and respectful as well as record what transpired during supervision or consultation sessions; (e) the supervisor could be held liable in an instance where a complaint of alleged unprofessional conduct is lodged against the supervisee/​social worker; and (f) a social worker should be supervised on social work matters by a supervisor who is registered as a social worker (SACSSP, 2007; Engelbrecht, 2015). In 2012, a supervision framework for 339

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the social work profession in South Africa was finalised and published after input from various stakeholders and actors, specifically, the National Department of Social Development (NDSD), the SACSSP, academics and practitioners. It seeks to provide a framework for effective supervision of social workers, student social workers, social auxiliary workers, learner social auxiliary workers, social work specialists and private practitioners, in order to ensure competent professional social work practice that serves the best interests of service users in South Africa. Its rationale stems from a need to improve the quality of social work services offered to service users. It is also informed by, among others, a lack of adequate training, structural support and unmanageable workloads in the welfare sector (NDSD & SACSSP, 2012). While citing Tsui’s (1997) stages of the historical development of supervision in the West, Engelbrecht (2010) informs us that supervision practices in South Africa developed along similar lines until the 1960s –​in line with Hoffman’s (1987, cited in McKendrick, 1990) observations. He goes on to explain that the historical development of supervision in South Africa can be placed broadly into three periods. The first stage refers to the period when supervision emerged during the predominantly administrative years of 1960–​1975. The second stage refers to the period of integrated supervision functions and escalation of knowledge base (1975–​1990). The third stage is what he calls the times of change (1990s and beyond). This last stage has a bearing on this discussion because this is also the era when developmental social welfare and social development rose to prominence in South Africa. It can also be seen that social work supervision in South Africa evolved similarly to social work supervision in the West. After discussing social work supervision, efforts are made to locate it in social work practice.

Locating supervision in social work practice It is worth noting that social work supervision emerged in the West on the back of the social work profession. Starting with the development of the Charity Organisations Society (COS) movement in the United States of America in the 1880s, supervision gradually became a necessary aspect of charity organisation work. The agent-​supervisor organised, directed, and coordinated the work of the visitor and paid agents and held them accountable for their performance; he or she advised, educated and trained visitors in performance of their work and supported and inspired them in their discouragements and disappointments (Kadushin & Harkness, 2014:  7). Even though this exercise may be taken as a given, it is imperative to still define social work. First, the social work profession promotes social change, problem-​solving in human relationships and the empowerment and liberation of people to enhance well-​being. Incorporating theories of human behaviour and social systems, social work intervenes at the points where people interact with their environment. Principles of human rights and social justice are fundamental to social work (Hormer, 2012: 3). The International Federation of Social Workers (IFSW) and International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW) (2014) assert that social work is a practice-​based profession and an academic discipline that promotes social change and development, social cohesion, and the empowerment and liberation of people. Principles of social justice, human rights, collective responsibility and respect for diversities are central to social work. Underpinned by theories of social development, social sciences, humanities and indigenous knowledge, social work engages people and structures to address life challenges and enhance well-​being. It can be discerned from the foregoing definitions that social work concerns itself with both individual people and the wider society. Social workers intervene on behalf of people who are vulnerable and who are struggling in some way to participate fully in society. Social workers walk that tight rope between supporting and advocating on behalf of the marginalised individual, while being employed by the social, economic and political environment that may have contributed to their 340

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marginalisation (Hormer, 2012). Social workers are not only professionals but human beings who need support in their daily work. It is essential to bear in mind that social work supervision is also directly linked to social work education. Social work education plays a vital role in the social work practice arena. In this sense, social work supervision operates at two levels, namely:  social work education and social work practice. In the former sphere, social work supervision focuses on students who are training to be social workers. Therefore, students must be supervised as they are being practically trained, because they are required to undertake a practicum that allows them to enhance their knowledge and sharpen their skills in real-​life situations. Thus, it becomes critical that students’ supervisors are cognisant of the universities’ requirements concerning the type of training that links theory and practice. In this way, supervisors would also emphasise certain issues in their supervision sessions which are germane to the training offered by particular institutions. Second, social work supervision goes beyond the training and education parameters. It extends to the work environment as well, where social workers are supervised in organisations where they are employed. Social work supervision here is based on the idea of one person working with another within a professional relationship. In essence, social work supervision hinges on the three major components of administration, education, and support (Kadushin & Harkness, 2014). A closer look at the South African social welfare context is imperative at this juncture.

The emergence of the social development approach in South Africa: a case of decolonising social work and social work supervision? South Africa’s transition from apartheid to democracy was far-​reaching and deep-​seated and continues to unfold 24 years later. The changes in the welfare sector were directly linked to the new political dispensation which came after the democratic elections of 1994. Immediately after the elections, the Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP) policy framework was developed by the governing party, the African National Congress (ANC), to inform the content and pace of development in the country (ANC, 1994). The RDP is referred to as an integrated, coherent socio-​economic policy framework. It had sought to mobilise both the people and the country’s resources towards the final eradication of apartheid, and the building of a democratic, non-​racial and non-​sexist society. Concurrently, in October 1994, the Department of Welfare began planning for the development of a White Paper for Social Welfare that was to provide a framework for the transformation of the whole welfare sector. Crucially, the new democratic Constitution of 1996 (Act 108) (as well as its forerunner, the Interim Constitution of 1993) was able to instil into the country’s policies and legislation its tenets of, among others, democracy, participation and human rights. The Constitution’s socio-​economic clause, namely the Bill of Rights, which was a novelty, affirmed the democratic values of human dignity, equality and freedom (Republic of South Africa, 1996). After South Africa became a democratic country, the social development perspective was seen by many actors in the welfare sector as the best welfare approach for the country. In effect, it was gleaned from the developmental welfare perspective which was advanced by the United Nations. The first premise of developmental social welfare hinges on the notion that social welfare shares equal status with other sectors of the economy in the march towards social progress and development. Second, it is predicated on the maximisation of human potential and based on the mobilisation of all segments of the population for the resolution of social problems and attainment of social progress. It generally emphasises change, partnership, justice, and the development of human potential in place of condescension, passive provision, segregation and negative labelling of needy individuals and groups (United Nations, 1986). 341

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Midgley (1995, 2014) followed up on the United Nations’ conceptualisation of developmental social welfare and coined it as social development. However, he makes a valid point when he asserts that there are many definitions of social development and that the different approaches defining social development reflect the diverse normative beliefs of scholars and practitioners. They also reveal the rich diversity of ideas that find expression in social development theory and practice today. However, these definitions prioritise different types of interventions and, accordingly, no single agreed-​upon definition has yet emerged. Hence, due to its broad nature, social development can be defined as:  a process of planned social change designed to promote the well-​being of the population as a whole within the context of a dynamic multifaceted development process (Midgley, 1995, 2014). For South Africa, Midgley’s definition of social development seemed to resonate with the country’s sociopolitical and economic situation at the time. High levels of poverty and entrenched social inequalities seemed to bedevil governmental effort to raise the living standards of those sections of South Africa that had been deliberately neglected by the apartheid government. Scholars like Patel (2005: 156) would add more local flavour to the social development approach by arguing that the new developmental model of welfare services breaks significantly with the remedial service delivery model of the past and posits a completely new paradigm and path for welfare services in a democratic society. According to Patel, the character of the developmental model of welfare services encompasses the overall conception of social development. The themes of the new paradigm are: a rights-​based approach, economic and social development, participation, welfare pluralism (also referred to as social development partnerships) and bridging the micro–​macro divide in the conceptualisation of social problems and social service practice. The following features distinguish the developmental welfare service delivery model: • a rights-​based approach to service delivery • integrated family-​centred and community-​based services • a generalist approach to service delivery and • community development and developmental welfare services. (Patel, 2005) In light of the foregoing, the distinctive type of social work that has evolved from the social development approach has become known as developmental social work, which constitutes the profession’s specific contribution to the developmental approach (Engelbrecht & Ornellas, 2015). Gray (2006) makes a further qualification and opines that there are distinctions between social development, developmental social welfare and developmental social work. Even if the three are related, they are still different concepts. She notes that social development is a theory and approach to social welfare that posits a macro policy framework for poverty alleviation that combines social and economic goals. She further argues that developmental social welfare, then, is the name given to South Africa’s new welfare system moulded by the theory of social development as embodied in the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997). On the other hand, developmental social work is the type of social work said to be relevant to, and practised within, the new developmental social welfare system. Needless to say, there was a great deal of confusion as to the role of social work within the new developmental welfare framework (Gray, 2000). Despite the positive attributes of the new social welfare thrust, it has encountered some hurdles in the last 21 years. One major sticking point relates to its implementation. For Patel and Selipski (2010: 72), a review of social welfare and legislation indicates that much progress has been made in aligning policies with the Constitution, international conventions and a rights-​ based approach to developmental social welfare. However, the authors note that despite their 342

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broad support, these policies still cause grave concerns regarding their effective implementation. Lombard (2008: 154) has a more optimistic take on this issue. For her, the implementation of the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997) has been effective in reshaping welfare policy. She points out that there is now a much clearer understanding of developmental social services in relation to traditional social welfare and social development. Furthermore, social welfare is firmly established and reflects a rights-​based approach and there is significant evidence that the sector has made a shift to the developmental approach. The key priority, she argues, is to fast-​track the social welfare sector’s delivery on socio-​economic goals in order to impact on the deep-​seated poverty and inequality in which South Africa’s social crises are entrenched. Kaseke (2014: 26) underscores the foregoing observations in the following manner: The successful implementation of the White Paper for Social Welfare also depends on an effective reorientation of social work. A key question for us is: How has social work practice changed as a result of the adoption of developmental social welfare? One would ordinarily expect a shift in terms of approach to interventions or practice models. The reality on the ground, however, is that it is largely still business as usual because social work is still oriented towards a curative and remedial approach. A new language is being used, but this has not translated into different approaches to solving social problems and enhancing human well-​ being.Thus, there is a lot of rhetoric surrounding the implementation of the developmental social welfare paradigm or social development but not a lot of actual change. In terms of specialised fields such as mental health, Engelbrecht and Ornellas (2015: 20), report that a social development approach to social welfare resulted in the deinstitutionalisation of mental health services. This unwittingly bore adverse effects for many social workers operating in a mental health context, owing to a lack of structural resources, role confusion of stakeholders, and a skills deficit concerning the specialised nature of mental health service delivery. This chapter’s assumptions resonate with Engelbrecht and Ornellas’s (2015) observations and Kaseke’s (2014) scepticism cited above, in relation to the implementation of the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997). Despite the White Paper for Social Welfare’s publication two decades ago, there seems to still be a lot of role confusion when it comes to what social workers are supposed to be doing in their day-​to-​day interventions and work, regarding the developmental perspective. This is also the assumption of the larger study which this chapter used as a sounding board.1 The scenario that Patel and Selipski (2010: 72) described eight years ago has not changed much: Currently, policies and legislation veer more towards the social protection of vulnerable groups through lengthy statutory procedures that are staff intensive and costly to implement. Community-​based interventions of a developmental and preventive nature are reflected in the new laws that have been passed. This needs to be more clearly defined and much emphasis is needed on these components of the legislation than is currently the case in practice. Monitoring and evaluation are needed of policies and legislation and indicators to assess the impact of social policies and legislation. Greater clarity is also needed about the roles and responsibilities of local authorities in the delivery of developmental welfare services. It is important to mention that in 1996, just prior to the adoption of the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997), the Growth Employment and Redistribution (GEAR) macroeconomic strategy was adopted by the ANC government. This was two years after the RDP was endorsed by South Africa. Many commentators and scholars alike have criticised GEAR for the manner 343

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in which it took the government’s focus away from the goals of social investment and made it place emphasis on growing the economy via neoliberal prescriptions (see Bond, 2006; Sewpaul & Pillay, 2011). The arguments of the former authors centre on the idea that GEAR was inimical to social advancement and the fight against poverty in South Africa, among other pitfalls. To a certain extent these criticisms of GEAR are valid. However, it is important to bear in mind that the ANC government had inherited a bankrupt economy in 1994 which was about to overheat (The Economist, 2011). The economy had been performing badly for a number of years prior to the democratic change. Such an economy would not have managed to fulfil the mandate of the RDP, which was based on heavy spending and had a long-​term outlook. Also, sight must not be lost of the reinsertion of the country into the world economic system during this period, which coincided with the process of globalisation that was unfolding at a fast pace. In order for the South African economy to be globally competitive, certain bold macroeconomic policy measures had to be put in place. Some of these had short-​term dire consequences for the country, for example the loss of many jobs through privatisation, down-​ sizing of companies etc. It is true that such measures exacerbated social dislocation and abject poverty in the country. Despite the cited shortcomings, South Africa’s economy picked up during the years when the country strictly adhered to GEAR. By 2003, South Africa had achieved a level of macroeconomic stability not seen in the country for 40 years. The budget deficit decreased from 9.5 per cent of Gross Domestic Product (GDP) (including deficits of the former Bantustans or African Homelands) in 1993, to fractionally over 1 per cent in 2002/​03. Total public sector debt of 60 per cent in 1994 fell to barely 50 per cent of GDP in 2002/​03 (Government Communication & Information System, 2005). Inflation, which was in the double digits throughout the 1980s, had shrunk to 5.1 per cent, well within the government’s target range of 3 to 6 per cent, while interest rates charged on bank loans were at their lowest in nearly three decades. The economy as a whole, which had been growing by less than 1 per cent a year in the decade leading up to 1994, expanded by nearly 5 per cent a year in the five years before 2008 (The Economist, 2011). In the same vein, it can be seen that the country’s budget had not reduced regarding the funding of the social sector encompassing education, health care, and social development (Noyoo, 2015).

Emerging issues from the empirical research This chapter speculated that social work supervision still faces dilemmas similar to the ones that are confronted by some sections of the welfare sector, as highlighted above. By implication, it can also be speculated that social work supervision that does not mirror the social development approach has not transformed and by extension still has to be decolonised. Table 28.1 below captures the scope of the study, some of its findings and conclusions.

Conclusion This chapter had set out to find out if social work supervision resonates with the social development approach in South Africa. In effect, it wanted to establish whether social work supervision is relevant in this era and whether it is linked to developmental social welfare or social development. In ending this discussion, we note that since social development is an overarching approach to social welfare in South Africa, the findings of the empirical study point to the fact that social work supervision is still to be transformed and decolonised. Furthermore, while there is a general belief that social workers across South Africa are getting some form of supervision, 344

Table 28.1  A model of supervision in a social development approach Content Area

Findings

Outcome of literature review.

A literature review revealed that while there were many models of supervision within the profession of social work, none directly linked the practice to the social development approach. Further noted was the difficulty of social work practitioners to comprehend social development, both as a theoretical perspective and a practice approach.

The study investigated whether social work practice was informed by a social development practice approach.

The findings suggested that there was very little evidence of quality supervision taking place and that both social workers and supervisors had limited understanding of the social development practice approach. Accordingly, the little supervision that took place appeared not to be informed by a social development approach and the approaches used in practice were largely remedial.

SUMMARY OF FINDINGS IN LINE WITH THE STUDY OBJECTIVES 1) To explore respondents’ understanding of the social development approach.

The study found that the majority of social work practitioners had limited knowledge of the social development approach. Due to this deficit, it can be speculated that this had a negative impact on the application of the approach in their respective practices. Any application of the principles of the social development approach that may have been reflected in their practices was found to be unplanned and outside the practitioners’ ­knowledge. Lastly, it was found that practitioners did not make a conscious decision to apply any particular practice approach in their field work.

2) To assess the types of supervision currently employed in social work agencies in relation to the social development approach.

The findings showed that none of the social work practitioners had undergone structured supervision. This was despite some supervisors claiming to have intermittently provided structured supervision. Second, it was found that an ad hoc style of supervision dominated the practice of supervision across all participants from different settings. Furthermore, participants confused this style of supervision with consultation as an activity of s­ upervision. Lastly, although the ad hoc style of supervision was found to be dominant, it was seen as having no deliberate impact on the adoption of any practice approach. This included the social development approach. This finding was supported by another finding, notably, that there were no supervision policies in agencies that guided the supervision of social workers.

3) To probe key informants’ views on what could constitute strategic thrusts of a supervision model that espouses a social development approach.

The key finding from all participants was that the proposed model should define a process through which supervision would be provided. The ­process should apply the principles of a social development approach in social work supervision. Furthermore, it should enable supervisees to apply social development in their practice. In addition, values, roles and skills of application were found to be important ingredients of the model. It was also found the model should have a built-​in system to enable the agency to play an oversight role with to the practice of supervision.

4) To design and develop a model for social work supervision founded on a social development approach.

A Process Model of Social Development Supervision in Social Work was developed to facilitate the bridging of the gap between social work ­supervision practice and a social development approach.

Mpumelelo Ncube and Ndangwa Noyoo

it can be argued that this type of supervision remains largely indistinct. Moreover, the way this supervision impacts on social work practice is still not easily discernable, despite the fact that since the adoption of the White Paper for Social Welfare (1997), all social welfare services and their agents are expected to be informed by developmental principles.

Note 1 This is a doctoral study just completed by one of the authors, titled A Model of Social Work Supervision in a Social Development Approach.

References African National Congress (ANC). (1994). The Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP). Johannesburg: Umanyo. Bond, P. (2006). Elite transition:  From apartheid to neoliberalism in South Africa (2nd ed.). Pietermaritzburg: University of Kwa-​Zulu Natal Press. Brown, A. & Bourne, I. (2002). The social work supervisor:  Supervision in community, day care and residential settings. Buckingham: Open University. Carifio, M.S., & Hess, A.K. (1987). Who is the ideal supervisor? Professional Psychology-​Research and Practice, 18(3), 244–​250. Carroll, M. (2014). Effective supervision for the helping profession. London: SAGE. Engelbrecht, L.K. (2010).Yesterday, today and tomorrow: Is social work supervision in South Africa keeping up? Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 46(3), 324–​342. Engelbrecht, L.K. (2015). Revisiting the esoteric question: Can non-​social workers manage and supervise social workers? Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 50(3), 311–​331. Engelbrecht, L.K. & Ornellas, A. (2015). A conceptual framework for a strengths perspective on supervision of social workers within a mental health context: Reflections from South Africa. In A. Francis, P. Laros, L. Sankaran & S.P. Rajeev (Eds.), Social work practice in mental health: Cross-​cultural perspectives (pp. 19–​39). Mumbai: Allied Publishers Private Ltd. Gallop, L. & Hafford-​Letchfield,T. (2012). How to become a better manager in social work and social care: Essential skills in managing care. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Government Communication & Information System (GCIS). (2005). South African Yearbook, 2004/​2005. Pretoria: GCIS. Gray, M. (2000) Social work and the ‘social service professions’. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 36(1), 99–​109. Gray, M. (2006). The progress of social development in South Africa. International Journal of Social Welfare, 15(1),  35–​64. Hormer, N. (2012). What is social work? London: SAGE. Howe, K. & Gray, I. (2013). Effective supervision in social work. London: SAGE Publications. International Federation of Social Workers (IFSW) and International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW). (2014). Global definition of Social Work. http://​ifsw.org/​get-​involved/​ global-​definition-​of-​social-​work/​ Kadushin,A. & Harkness, D. (2014). Supervision in social work (5th ed.). New York: Columbia University Press. Kaseke, K. (2014). Where we’ve been and what we are against: Social welfare and social work in South Africa. In C. Sinding & H. Burnes (Eds.), Social work Artfully: Beyond borders. (pp. 17–​26). Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Lawles, J. & Bilson, A. (2010). Social work management and leadership:  Managing complexity with creativity. New York: Routledge. Lombard, A. (2008). The implementation of the White Paper for Social Welfare: A ten-​year review. The Social Work Practitioner-​Researcher, 20(2), 154–​173. Midgley, J. (1995). Social development:  The developmental perspective in social welfare. London:  SAGE Publications Ltd. Midgley, J. (2014). Social development: Theory & practice. London: SAGE Publications Ltd. Ministry of Welfare and Population Development (1997). White Paper for Social Welfare. Government Gazette,Vol. 386, No. 18166 (8 August). Pretoria: Government Printer. 346

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National Department of Social Development (NDSD) & South African Council for Social Service Professions (SACSSP) (2012). Supervision framework for the social work profession in South Africa. www. westerncape.gov.za/​assets/​departments/​social-​development/​supervision_​framework_​for_​the_​social_​ work_​profession_​in_​south_​africa_​2012.pdf. Noyoo, N. (2015). Public policy-​making in the Mbeki Era. Pretoria: Kwarts. Patel, L. (2005). Social welfare & social development in South Africa. Cape Town:  Oxford University Press Southern Africa. Patel, L. & Selipski, L. (2010). Social welfare policy and legislation in South Africa. In L. Nicholas, L. Rautenbach, J. & M. Maistry (Eds.), Introduction to social work (pp. 48–​72). Claremont: Juta & Company  Ltd. Republic of South Africa (RSA). (1978). Social Service Professions Act, Act 110 of 1978 as amended. Pretoria: Government Printer. Republic of South Africa (RSA). (1996). Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996 (Act No. 108 of 1996). Pretoria: Government Printer. Sewpaul, V. & Pillay, A. (2011). Household and family structure: A baseline study among primary school learners in Chatsworth, South Africa. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 47(3), 287–​300. South African Council for Social Service Professions (SACSSP) (2007). Policy guidelines for course of conduct, code of ethics and the rules for social workers. www.sacssp.co.za/​website/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ 2012/​06/​Code-​of-​Ethics.pdf. The Economist (2011). Jobless growth: The economy is doing nicely –​but at least one person in three is out of work. www.economist.com/​node/​16248641. Tsui, M. (1997). The roots of social work supervision: An historical review. The Clinical Supervisor, 15(2), 191–​198. Tsui, M. (2005). Social work supervision: Contexts and concept. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publishers. United Nations (1986). Developmental social welfare: A global survey of issues and priorities since 1968. New York: United Nations. Wonnacott, J. (2012). Mastering social work supervision. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Zorga, S. (2007). Competencies of a supervisor. Ljetopis socijalnog rada, 14(2), 433–​441.

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Conclusion Problems, challenges and the way forward within social work systems Tanja Kleibl, Ronald Lutz, Ndangwa Noyoo, Boitumelo Seepamore, Annika Dittmann and Benjamin Bunk Various authors in this book highlight the ways in which colonisation and globalisation have impacted communities in the Global South, often importing mainly Western, foreign ways of life that have had an adverse effect on communities, leading to a weakening of local social systems, local processes, and access to resources. This book also highlights the need for a decolonised social work theory and practice, which responds to communities whose ways of life have been redefined by Eurocentric others seeking to impose their ways of life and problem-​solving on indigenous communities. The erosion of local expertise and responses to various social, cultural, and economic challenges has disempowered many communities. The penetration of colonisation, globalisation and neoliberal practices into local communities has brought new unprecedented challenges that these communities are not prepared, or are unwilling, to deal with, often precipitating the need for external interventions, which are often not in line with local processes. The hegemonic, Western colonial and dominant discourse has also entrenched unquestioned discriminatory practices which perpetuate inequality and social injustice globally. Existing social arrangements that contribute to inequality across and within groups (Dominelli, 2002; Mullaly, 2010; Sewpaul, 2013; Fook, 2016) must be challenged if communities are to flourish. Various authors in this book question the historical position of social work both as a response to social problems and as complicit in the oppression of individuals, groups and communities. In typical colonial fashion outsiders are brought into communities to help solve their problems, even if this has the opposite effect of disempowering them. The Global Definition of Social Work, adopted by the IASSW and IFSW in 2014 and the Global Social Work Statement of Ethical Principles (IASSW, 2018)  –​both underscored by critical, postcolonial paradigms  –​emphasise working with, rather than for, people. Many authors are critical of social work’s Western orientation, and have begun unmasking embedded assumptions about this profession. Others have begun practising critical social work which believes in allowing for difference, not seeing the world in binary and dichotomous terms, but rather valorising multiple truths, and different ways of knowing and alternative contesting, competing and dialectical discourses. The current problematic with social work intervention is its individualistic focus, which often strips away the traditional social systems put in place in communities in the Global South which have always valued a communal way

Conclusion: challenges and the way forward

of life (Harms Smith, 2014). Western notions of superiority continue to marginalise ‘other’ voices whose experiences and philosophies remain in the periphery (Comaroff & Comaroff, 2012). Although there is realisation of the importance of alternative voices, with a shift towards valuing and making use of local knowledges to address local issues, social work training is still largely Western, and through professional training, made exclusive to a few who are qualified to practise. The colonial idea of external ‘experts’ coming into communities to ‘help’ them resolve their challenges is problematic, irrelevant and out of kilter with local norms, values and processes. These experts from outside continue to delegitimise and undermine indigenous expertise and capacity to solve their own challenges in socially acceptable and sustainable ways. As with the case in Africa, colonisers imported their ways of responding to social problems, and because social work training has been largely individual-​focused, it is therefore often at odds with the communal ways of life in indigenous communities.The entrenched clinical social work method of casework is an example of an intervention which seeks to address individual issues, at the exclusion of other traditional ways of responding to various factors which have a bearing on people. Other methods such as group and community work, as implemented by communities, have been proven to add value, even though they remain marginalised and underutilised. For instance, the village in Africa has always been the centre of community life, yet the individualistic orientation of professional interventions has undermined these methods of practice. Working with communities as partners shows respect for people and de-​emphasises the position of social workers as ‘experts’, and calls for an introspection of the profession. Just who defines the ‘expert’ based on what qualities is laden with assumptions of the superiority of outsiders knowing best how to deal with local issues. To argue that social workers can enhance self-​determination means that social workers continue to place their skills and expertise above those of communities; rather, they should learn from the experiences of these communities and strive towards fighting for their recognition in the social work spheres of influence. Jaji and Kleibl’s (Chapter 19, this volume) argument that empowerment has to be defined by local communities in their own way, free of the West’s interference, is crucial. The application of a one-​size-​fits-​all approach to problems in the Global South, continues to disempower communities. This shift disassociates social work from its conservative–​liberal stand, and challenges the notion of social worker as expert, by supporting participatory approaches wherein people become the agents of change and development, and it also links the personal with the political (Sewpaul & Larsen, 2014; IASSW, 2018). Shifting the centre to include those at the periphery requires a fundamental change in epistemology, understanding the local political, social, economic and cultural facets of each community, and for the practice of social work to really espouse human values, and our humanity –​ubuntu, which cannot be taken lightly or applied piecemeal as convenient. Yet social workers continue being used by bureaucracies, state institutions and those who have neither regard for human dignity, nor indigenous persons whose rights are inherently disregarded and trampled. The co-​ option of social work in marginalising others in the case of migrants (Briskman, Chapter  4, this volume), or the exclusion and marginalisation of others such as the Aboriginal communities in Australia (Bessarab and Wright, Chapter 18, this volume) are examples. Without abantu (people), there cannot be ubuntu and this philosophy applies to all aspects of life. The worth and dignity of individuals cannot thrive in oppressive and socially unjust situations, and it goes against the philosophy of inclusivity which cannot co-​exist with power, control and oppression. While one cannot use the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house (Lorde, 2012), there are modifications that can be made to ensure that the house accommodates those who live in it.

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Decoloniality and theories of transformation The challenge with a single, dominant and hegemonic discourse is that other truths are hidden. The impact of the existing social arrangements that contribute to inequality across and within groups, emphasises emancipation and social change (Dominelli, 2002; Mullaly, 2010; Sewpaul, 2013; Fook, 2016). In a postmodern world, other marginal voices that question the location of truth and power, allow for difference and a change in epistemological thinking. The process of decoloniality is crucial for transformation, and should be ongoing and contextually relevant. Alternative decolonial theories from the Global South seek to advance the emancipation of those who are colonised. The colonisation of being, power and knowledge (Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, 2018), calls for epistemic decoloniality. Globally, social work, among other professions realises the value of local structures, values and ability to respond to local challenges despite the infantilisation of ‘colonies’ that continue to resemble ‘children’ who can never gain independence or attain adulthood-​like status (Liebel, Chapter 3, this volume). This raises the question of autonomy and the right of communities to assert themselves, through processes of conscientisation, indigenisation, and humanisation –​and ultimately the recognition and respect of local communities whose responses to local issues are culturally and politically relevant. This ties in well with Zannou and Pfaffenstaller’s (Chapter 16, this volume) proposal of border thinking in social work practice, and Noyoo’s (Chapter 21, this volume) argument for the infusion of local cultures, values and traditions in social work education and training as a way of making social work locally relevant. Working with local leadership is important, and the meaningful engagement of local structures shows not only respect, but a genuine desire for sustenance and development of community well-​being, and traditional practices as argued by Weaver (Chapter  14, this volume). Social movements such as the #Rhodesmustfall, or the Bhopal Disaster Survivors’ Movement, show the power of collective action, well beyond a theorisation of the need for social change. While recognising the need for individuals to seek and attain their own freedom, the social conditions in which they find themselves must also change. Communities know what is best for them, and have the capacity to attain this, regardless of their levels of education. Bottom-​up community development implies that communities can respond to local issues independently, through a recognition of their own strengths, resources and interconnectedness; however, for change to be sustainable, the structural conditions also have to be deconstructed and defined in their own terms. Continuous unwarranted interventions inadvertently routinely promote the needs of institutions, structures or states, which cement the unjust status quo, and do very little to transform colonial practices and beliefs.

References Comaroff, J. & Comaroff, J.L. (2012). Theory from the South: or How Euro-​America is Evolving Toward Africa. Boulder, CO and London: Paradigm. Dominelli, L. & Campling, J. (2002). Anti oppressive social work theory and practice. Macmillan International Higher Education. Fook, J. (2016). Social work: a critical approach to practice. London: Sage. Harms Smith, L. 2014. Historiography of South African Social Work: Challenging dominant discourses. Social Work/​Maatskaplike Werk, 50(3), 305–​331. International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW) (2018). Global social work statement of ethical principles. Approved by the IASSW General Assembly of IASSW on 5th July 2018 in Dublin, Ireland. Available at www.iassw-​aiets.org/​wp-​content/​uploads/​2018/​04/​Global-​Social-​Work-​Statement-​of-​ Ethical-​Principles-​IASSW-​27-​April-​2018-​1.pdf. (accessed 10/​12/​2018). Lorde, A. (2012). Sister outsider: Essays and speeches. Berkeley, CA: Crossing Press. 350

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Mullaly, B. (2010). Challenging oppression and confronting privilege. Ontario: Oxford University Press. Ndlovu-​Gatsheni, S. (2018). Dynamics of epistemological decolonisation in the 21st century: Towards epistemic freedom. Strategic Review for Southern Africa, 40(1), 16–​45. Sewpaul, V. (2013). Inscribed in our blood: Challenging the ideology of sexism and racism. Affilia, 28(2), 116-​125. Sewpaul,V. & Larsen, A.K. (2014). Community development: Towards an integrated emancipatory framework. In A.K. Larsen, V. Sewpaul & G.O. Hole (Eds.), Participation in community work:  International perspectives. London: Routledge.

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Index

Tables are shown in bold type. Footnotes are indicated by an “n” and the footnote number after the page number e.g., 124n6 refers to footnote 6 on page 124. AASW (Australian Association of Social Workers) 54, 56, 57, 220 abjection 17, 72 ableism 106 abolitionism, and prostitution 103, 104, 107 Aboriginal Australia, social work in 218–​230, 221, 223 Aborigines Act (1905) 220 action, for transformation 27, 124n6 activism 95; of Black women 127, 129; and Native Americans 178, 179, 180; in Nepal 214 adulthood 41, 42, 46, 47, 350 advocacy, of social work 6, 56, 57, 214, 216, 219 African culture 121, 130, 132, 246, 276, 278, 279, 317, 319 African development, autonomous 244–​255 African diaspora 127, 128, 129 African feminisms 127, 128, 129–​131, 132, 133, 134–​135 African National Congress (ANC) 313, 330, 341 African Union (AU) 253 African values 132, 265 Africana womanisms 127, 128, 131–​133, 134, 135 aid projects, social work in 292–​294 Alex model, of foster care 304–​308 Alexandra Service Providers’ Forum (ASPF) 308–​309 Alexandra township 302–​311, 303 alienation 15, 98n11, 170, 211, 289; between theory and practice 91 ANC (African National Congress) 313, 330, 341 anthropos 198, 203, 205n1 anticolonial discourse, absence of women’s voices in 114 anti-​homosexuality bill, in Uganda 81–​82 anti-​immigration racism 106–​107 anti-​neoliberal globalisation  95 anti-​oppressive pedagogy/​anti-​oppressive social work 21, 214 anti-​racism  9, 21

Anzaldúa, Gloria 197 apartheid 3–​4, 14, 18–​19, 114, 115, 121, 323–​334 ASASWEI (African Social Work Educational Institutions) 319 Ashcroft, Bill 41–​42 ASPF (Alexandra Service Providers’ Forum) 308–​309 asset-​based community development 302–​303, 308, 311 assimilation 32, 120, 179, 185, 219, 220, 289 Association for Social Work Education in Africa 270 Association of Schools of Social Work in Africa (ASSWA) 270, 319 Association of South African Social Work Educational Institutions (ASASWEI) 319 asylum seeker detention regime, Australia’s 10, 51–​58; see also Manus Island, Nauru AU (African Union) 253 austerity 5, 138 Australia, as a colonial space 219–​220 Australian offshore detention system 51–​58; see also Manus Island, Nauru Australian Association of Social Workers (AASW) 54, 56, 57, 220 autochthonous communities 287, 288 autonomous development/​autonomy 46–​47, 60, 65, 244–​255, 290, 350 Ba’Aka 286, 287, 289–​291, 295–​297 Bataka groups 271, 272–​274 being, colonisation of 116–​117, 350 Berlin Conference (1884–​1885) 3 Bhopal Disaster survivors’ movement 91, 137–​146 Biko, Stephen Bantu 90, 113–​115, 120–​121, 124n5, 185, 315 binary thinking 46 biographical plausibility 91, 152–​158 biological transmission, of trauma 19–​20 Black consciousness 120–​121, 124n4, 124n5, 330

Index

Black Empowerment: Social Work in Oppressed Communities 234 Black feminisms 127–​132 black pedagogy 47 Black Skin,White Masks 20, 31, 96, 118, 119, 124n4 blank slate, child as 42 border control/​border policing 53, 106, 107 Border Force Act 56 border thinking 197–​205 borderlands, colonial 52–​54, 197 Borderlands/​La Frontera:The New Mestiza 197 Bourdieu, Pierre 31, 35 Brazilian recycling cooperatives/​waste-​workers movement 148–​158 Bretton Woods institutions  5 British Colonial Empire 4 burial societies 271, 272–​274 Canadian social work profession 73–​74 Cannella, Laura 45–​46 capacity building 213, 280, 283 capitalism 9, 40, 165, 276, 297; and African feminism 130; global 14, 31, 64, 72, 77, 118; and Hindu nationalism 139; international 28; mercantile 15; neoliberal 14, 118, 139, 146, 273; racist 115 CAR (Central African Republic), social work in 286–​299 caste system/​casteism 106, 220 CASWE (Canadian Association of Social Work Education) 73 Central African Republic (CAR), social work in 286–​299 Césaire, Aimé 15, 114, 118 change, social 146, 162n1, 219, 230, 262, 326, 340, 350; and epistemic decoloniality 114, 121, 123 charity/​charity movement 73, 115, 236, 292, 294 Charity Organisations Society (COS) movement 340 chauvinism 156–​157 Child Care Act (1983) 305, 306, 307 childhood 40–​48 Christianisation/​Christianity 15, 29, 62–​63, 73, 81–​82, 237–​238, 239–​240, 288 cisnormativity 72, 75 civil disobedience 178, 189 civil society movements, in South Africa 326–​327 civil society programmes 5 civilisation/​civilisation mission 9, 10, 15, 55, 62, 288, 292 class/​classism 14, 132, 138 Code of Ethics, of the Australian Association of Social Workers  57 cognitive injustice 115, 117 cognitive praxis 139 Cold War 1, 4, 163, 323, 331 354

collaborative partnership, model of social work 302–​311, 303 collective action 120, 143, 262, 265, 327, 350 collective angst 17 collective ethic of care 211 collective identity 15, 16–​17, 18, 95, 96, 157 collective learning 91, 137–​146 collective memory 16–​17, 18, 162 Collective Project Modernity 164 collective responsibility 71, 162n1, 340 collective trauma 10, 13–​22 collective unconscious 19, 167 collective victimhood 17 collective vulnerability 18 collectivism 16, 167, 209–​210, 210, 271, 320, 328 colonial borders, and social work co-​option 10, 51–​58 colonial domination 62, 67, 114, 118, 164, 185, 190, 246, 255 colonial ideology 34–​35 colonial matrix 164, 165, 170, 202 colonial modernity 62–​64 colonial philanthropism 294 colonial power 46, 115, 123, 164, 166, 170 colonial violence 15, 118, 288, 314 colonialisation 40, 41–​43, 241, 328, 330 colonialism 3, 4, 13–​22, 28, 40–​48; direct 34, 328; educational 10, 42; internal-​ 28; settler 3–​4, 176–​177, 192 coloniality: of being 116; as collective trauma 13–​14, 15, 20, 22; of knowledge 116–​117, 165; ongoing 90, 91, 95, 97, 98, 116, 118, 149, 155; of power 72–​73, 116, 149, 333; of social work 73–​74; social work as instrument of 14, 20–​21 colonisation: of being 116–​117, 350; of childhood(s) 40–​48; as collective trauma 13–​22; and community development 329–​330; of knowledge 116–​117, 165; of the mind 15, 32, 116, 119, 185–​193, 331; and Native American women 176–​177; of Palestine 187–​190; psycho-​ political impact of 14–​15; surrogate 187–​188 colonising language 34–​35 Commonwealth 4, 84n5, 198, 219, 226 communality 16 community development 325–​326, 329–​333 community vigilance 108, 109, 110 community work, in social work 323–​334 compromise, as psychological mechanism of defence 120 conceptual framework, for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander social work 222–​223, 223 conditio humana 61 conquistador mentality 10, 28, 30–​32 conscientisation 21, 22, 120–​121, 122, 124n6, 161, 350 consent, and Gramsci’s notion of hegemony 31–​32, 34

Index

containment 10, 57 continuity, and the postcolonial state 4 Convention Against Torture  52 Convention on the Rights of the Child 52 Cornell Empowerment Group 233 COS (Charity Organisations Society) movement 340 Crisis Caravan:What’s Wrong with Humanitarian Aid?,The 297 critical consciousness 21, 89, 90, 91, 96, 122, 158; and women’s empowerment 234, 235, 241 critical pedagogy 94, 124n6, 208 critical postcolonial discourse 96 critical whiteness 9, 11n1 critique–​action dilemma  97 cultural arbitrary 31 cultural capital 35, 296 cultural domination 15 cultural emancipation 235 cultural hybridisation 67 cultural imperialism 315, 332 cultural invasion 28, 31, 32 cultural memory 16–​17, 18, 162 cultural norms 130, 175, 269 cultural responsiveness 222–​223, 223, 224 cyclical lens, for understanding collective trauma 18 Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) 180, 181, 182 DAWN (Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era) 235 Debarkarn Koorliny Wangkiny engagement framework 227 decolonial feminism 10, 71–​83 decoloniality 22, 90, 113–​123, 332–​333; and professional imperialism 164–​171 decolonisation: of childhood(s) 46–​48; of community development in South Africa 323–​334; of social work 313–​321; of social work research 22 decolonised gender roles 181–​183 decolonised social work, in Nepal 207–​216, 209, 210 Decolonizing the Mind 288 decommodification, of social life 166 defence, psychological mechanisms of 120 dehumanisation 15, 17, 118, 121, 122, 124n4, 323; see also humanisation delinking 198, 199, 201, 203, 204 democracy: market-​based 72, 78; and mental colonisation 193; and post-​traumatic factors 20; in South Africa 337, 341 democratisation 63, 65 Department of Community Development 330 Department of Social Development (DSD) 303, 308, 313, 319, 325, 340 dependency 3, 28, 29, 32, 35, 63, 283, 293

developing world 4, 5, 6, 7, 117, 235 development: economic 28, 141, 235, 293, 324; endogenous 244, 253; human 66–​67, 248, 270; and knowledge 246–​247, 253; macro-​ level 213–​214, 216; from the outside 62–​64; postcolonial approach to 60–​69; reflexive 61–​62, 64–​69; social see social development Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (DAWN) 235 development cooperation 62, 63, 67–​68, 235 development discourses 105, 236, 241, 247, 254; African 254; Euro-​American 10; international 209; Western neoliberal modernisation 239 development initiatives 252, 253, 255, 330 development theory 244, 250–​251, 254, 342 development thought 7, 248, 253 developmental approach, to social work/​welfare 278, 279, 280, 314, 342, 343 development-​oriented social work 208, 213 dialectical model 62 dialogue 66–​67, 68, 79, 82, 83, 93, 117, 122–​123 diaspora, African 127, 128, 129 differentiation 34, 62, 67, 161 dignity, human 15, 22, 65, 288, 292, 294, 314, 315, 349 direct action 180, 189 direct colonialism 34, 328 Discourse on Colonialism 15 disempowerment 193, 219, 234, 240–​241, 348, 349 disrupting paradigms 225–​226 diversities, respect for 71, 162n1, 340 divide and conquer/​divide and rule/​divide et impera 10, 28, 30–​32, 191–​192 DMSC (Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee) 108 domestic children 41 dominated consciousness 234 domination 14, 15, 21, 51, 76, 116, 122, 314; see also colonial domination, Western domination donor countries 4 double colonisation 114 DSD (Department of Social Development) 303, 308, 313, 319, 325, 340 Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee (DMSC) 108 economic development 28, 141, 235, 293, 324 economy, informal 105, 108–​109 education, social work 115, 264, 319–​320 educational colonialism 10, 42 emancipation 21, 58, 150, 158, 235, 255, 350 Emile, or On Education 42 employment, and globalisation 105–​106 empowerment, women’s 233–​241 endogenous development 244, 253 energetic recycling 148 355

Index

Enlightenment, the (Age of Reason) 10, 11, 42, 46, 64, 65, 264–​265, 292 enlightenment thought and values 41, 51, 117, 236 epidermalisation 119 epigenetics 19 epistemic decoloniality 113–​123 epistemic delinking 203 epistemic disobedience 199, 203, 204, 205 epistemic freedom 117 epistemic racism 164 epistemicide 116–​117, 123, 164, 168, 169 epistemological equality 222–​223, 223, 224 epistemological hygiene 333 epistemological injustice 115 epistemology 246, 349; African 246; and border thinking 198; Eurocentric/​European 116, 324, 333; of the exteriority 199 equality 57–​58, 66, 214, 218–​219, 297; see also epistemological equality, gender equality Essay Concerning Human Understanding 42 essentialism, strategic 96 ethic of care, collective 211 ethics, social work 57, 58, 220, 222, 263, 292, 339 ethnic cleansing 2, 13, 186, 188, 190 ethnology 44, 60–​62, 67 eugenics 20, 73, 115 Eurocentrism 13, 14, 15, 113, 117 European enlightenment 10, 11, 42, 46, 64, 65, 264–​265, 292 exploitation 15, 40, 41–​42, 43, 44, 102–​103, 106, 138, 328 expropriation of indigenous people’s land 14, 18, 328 exteriority, of modern Westernization 199 fairness 220, 264, 318 ‘fallist’ movement 123 ‘false’ humanitarianism 297 family childhood 40 family orientation 132 Famine and Foreigners: Ethiopia since Live Aid 298 Fanon, Frantz 13, 17, 31, 96, 118–​121, 185, 314, 315 fear of freedom 10, 28, 32–​34 #FeesMustFall movement 113, 314, 332 femininity, myth of 43 feminism: African/​Black 127–​135; nego-​ 128, 131, 133, 135; transnational 76 feminist decolonial approaches, to social work/​ social work education 72, 74–​76, 80 feminist movements 102, 127–​128, 129–​131, 133, 134, 135 fluid gender ideology 238 force, and Gramsci’s notion of hegemony 31–​32, 34 forced labour 102, 103, 104, 107, 328 forced marriage 102 356

foreign origins, of social work 5–​7 Forum dos Catadores de Porto Alegre 152, 303, 304 foster care 304–​310 free market 105 freedom 10, 28, 32–​34, 78, 117 Freire, Paolo 27–​36, 90–​91, 93, 97, 113–​123 GEAR (Growth Employment and Redistribution) 343–​344 gender equality 240 gender oppression 130, 131, 134 gender roles 174–​175, 176, 177, 181–​183, 238, 239 gendered power analysis 127 gendered processes 72–​73, 176 genetic inheritance 19 genocide 13, 16, 18, 20, 72, 78, 177, 328; Australian 187, 192, 219; of the mind 331 Getting it Right Framework 223, 230 Gill, Peter 298 global challenges 2, 249 Global Definition of Social Work 198, 314, 348 Global Detention Project 52 global inequality 105–​107 Global North 7, 71, 161, 200, 204, 332; and human trafficking 105, 106, 110; and hunter-​gatherers 286, 287, 288, 291, 292, 293, 297, 299; and postcolonial development 61, 62, 65, 68; and women’s empowerment 234, 235–​236 global power 4, 14, 328, 329 global social injustice 202, 203 Global Social Work Statement of Ethical Principles 348 Global South 4–​5, 9–​10, 10–​11, 11n3; and border thinking 205; and development 60, 62, 63, 332; knowledge of 107, 200; social work of 68–​69; and transphobic violence, 77, 78, 79, 81; women of 102, 105, 107, 235, 236–​237 global supply chains 106 globalisation 4, 31, 68, 103, 104, 105, 348; anti-​ neoliberal 95; from below 31; and employment 105–​106; hegemonic 30, 31; and nego-​feminism 133; neocolonialism under the guise of 193; neoliberal 4; and work 105–​106 glocal perspective 27 gnoseology 197 good life 64–​66, 68–​69 Gramsci, Antonio 27–​36, 140, 234 grounded theory 208–​216, 209, 210 Group Areas Act (1950) 330 Growth Employment and Redistribution (GEAR) 343–​344 Gstettner, Peter 44, 45, 46 Habermas, Jürgen 43 Hegel, G.W.F. 10, 29, 41, 120 hegemonic discourses 7, 117, 171

Index

hegemonic globalisation 30, 31 hegemonic modernity 63 hegemonic paternalism 67 hegemonic policies 91 hegemonic power 192–​193 hegemony 6, 28, 29, 31–​32; cultural 98; economic 62; Eurocentric 13, 113; neoliberal 163; Western 248; of Western discourse 17–​18 helping imperative 9, 74, 76, 81, 83 helping profession 10, 264 heterocispatriarchy 73 heteronormativity 29, 72, 75 heterosexism 106 HIV/​AIDS 108, 249, 270, 271, 272, 304 homophobia 30, 77, 79, 81–​82 hope, philosophy of 64–​66 human development 66–​67, 248, 270 human dignity 15, 22, 65, 288, 292, 294, 314, 315, 349 human needs, and social work 263 human rights 1–​2, 10, 58, 78–​80 human trafficking 90, 101–​110 human well-​being 4, 68, 263, 343 humanisation 22, 121–​122, 124n6, 350; see also dehumanisation humanitarianism 107, 287, 286, 287, 292–​294, 297–​298 humanitas 203 hunter-​gatherers 286–​299 IASSW (International Association of Schools of Social Work) 78, 314, 340 ICJB (International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal) 144 ideology: and African culture 132; colonial 34, 54, 57, 315, 332; consumer culture 31; and eugenics 73; and gender 237–​238; of individualism 21; neoliberal 138, 140; and oppression 29; and patriarchy 134 identity 15, 16–​17, 18, 95, 96, 134, 157 Idle No More movement 179–​180 IFSW (International Federation of Social Workers) 78, 198, 207, 314, 340 IKS (Indigenous Knowledge Systems) 2, 244, 249–​250, 261, 265–​267, 271, 303 illiteracy 251, 279; see also literacy ILO (International Labour Organization) 102, 148 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 5, 11n3, 14, 105 immigration 32, 104, 106–​107 immigration control regime Australian 52, 57 immigration-​colonisation regime, Canadian 77, 79, 83 imperialism: cultural 315, 332; professional 163–​171 indentured labour 72, 78, 185 Indian neoliberalism 140, 146

indigenisation 161–​255, 270; of social work 71, 259, 274, 313–​321 indigenous development 1, 255, 323 indigenous knowledge 116, 161–​162, 169, 198, 271, 296, 332, 340; and decolonisation and indigenisation of social work 314, 320, 321 Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) 2, 244, 249–​250, 261, 265–​267, 271, 303 indigenous languages 34, 35, 119 indigenous modernisation/​indigenous modernity 64, 67 indigenous peoples/​indigenous populations 4, 6, 19, 72, 73, 77, 170, 175, 180; and social work 220–​224, 221, 223 indigenous rights 10, 57, 218 indigenous social security systems (ISSS) 5 indigenous social work 6, 71, 317 individual responsibility 73, 115 individualisation 65, 211, 235, 316 individualism 21, 78, 133, 161, 166, 208, 276, 328 inferiorisation, psycho-​political 14, 15, 116, 119, 123 informal economy 105, 108–​109 INGOs (international non-​governmental organisations) 5, 208–​209, 209 injustices 19, 58, 91, 97, 115, 193, 255, 314 innovation, from Africa 259–​334 inside-​outside divisions  211 institutional racism/​institutionalised racism 4, 56 intergenerational trauma 14, 15, 18, 19–​20 internal colonialisation, of the lifeworld 43 internal-​colonialism  28 International Association of Schools of Social Work (IASSW) 78, 314, 340 International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal (ICJB) 144 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 52 International Domestic Workers Federation 108–​109 International Federation of Social Workers (IFSW) 78, 198, 207, 314, 340 International Labour Organization (ILO) 102, 148 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 5, 11n3, 14, 105 international non-​governmental organisations (INGOs) 5, 208–​209, 209 international social work 286, 288, 319 International Trade Union Confederation (ITUC) 106, 109 internalisation 10, 14, 119, 124n4, 177, 186, 188 internalised oppression 14 internalised subjective inferiority 119 intersectionality 9, 75 intimacy 72, 73 intra-​gender hierarchies  238 isolation 16, 19, 222 357

Index

ISSS (indigenous social security systems) 5 ITUC (International Trade Union Confederation) 106, 109 Jewish colonisation 186, 187, 188 Jung, Carl 19 justice see injustice justice-​orientated social work 234–​235 kinship systems 269 knowledge: colonisation of 116–​117, 165; decoloniality of 123, 332–​333; and development 246–​247, 253; indigenous see indigenous knowledge; subaltern 157, 205 La Frontera:The New Mestiza (Borderlands) 197 lamarckian memory 19 Lange, Elisabeth 28 languages 34–​35, 119 Latin American social work, and professional imperialism 163–​171 ‘law of carriages’ (lei das caroças) 150–​151 leadership 109, 131, 174–​183 Lee, Edward 77 lei das caroças (‘law of carriages’) 150–​151 LGBTQI human rights discourse 79 liberation 77; from mental colonisation 185–​193; philosophy of 64, 66, 164, 165; political 120–​121, 330; theology of 28, 68, 124n6 life-​worlds 75, 95–​96 literacy 41, 42, 43, 48n3, 141–​142, 287, 290; see also illiteracy local politicisation, of pedagogical spaces 150–​152 Locke, John 42 Looking Forward Project 224–​227 macro-​level development 213–​214, 216 managerial social work 9 mandatory detention 52 Manus Island 51, 52, 53, 55 Mapuche philosophies 164, 167–​171 market forces 4 Marxism 168, 234 masculinity, socially constructed 241 MDGs (Millennium Development Goals) 248–​249 Meli Folil Kupalme 170 memory, collective/​cultural 16–​17, 18, 162 Mendel, Gérard 44, 45 mental colonisation 15, 32, 116, 119, 185–​193, 331 mental distress 119 mental health 16, 21, 52, 54, 138, 192, 343; and Aboriginal Australia 224, 225, 226–​227 mercantile capitalism 15 Mezzogiorno 29 Mignolo, Walter D. 197–​205 358

migration 1, 9, 20, 32, 68, 77, 138, 318; and human trafficking 103, 104; and social work co-​option 52, 57; see also anti-​immigration  racism militant particularism 142, 143 Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) 248–​249 mind, colonisation of the 15, 32, 116, 119, 185–​193, 331 misplaced alliances 28, 30–​31 mission civilisatrice 288 missionary social work 289–​292 MNCR (Movimento Nacional de Catadores de Materiais Recicláveis) 149–​150, 158n4 modern-​day slavery 2, 102–​104, 106, 108–​109, 116 modernisation 45, 239, 247, 262, 294, 316, 329, 332; and development 62–​63, 64, 66, 67, 68; indigenous 64, 67 modernity 10, 46, 72, 74, 229, 318, 332; and border thinking 197, 198, 202, 203, 204; colonialising 63; and development 62, 63, 64, 65, 66; epistemological 201; Euro-​American 62, 63, 64, 65, 68, 199; hegemonic 63 moral hygiene 73 Morcha, the 141, 145 Movement of Liberation 65 movements, as pedagogical spaces 90, 98n8, 148–​158 Movimento Nacional de Catadores de Materiais Recicláveis (MNCR) 149–​150, 158n4 multiculturalism 32 NASW (National Association of Social Workers) 263 nation building 57, 74, 77, 213, 324 National Association of Social Workers (NASW) 263 National Department of Social Development (NDSD) 340 National Framework for Protecting Australia’s Children 222 National Survivor Network 109 nationalism 1, 3, 33, 96, 104, 115, 139, 190; Native American women, in leadership roles 174–​183; Native Title decision 226; Natives Citizenship Rights Act 220 Nauru 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56 Ndebele people 239 NDSD (National Department of Social Development) 340 need-​based social work 212 nego-​feminism 127, 128, 131, 133, 135 negotiation, and development 10, 61–​62, 64, 65, 66–​67 neo-​abolitionism 103, 104 neo-​colonial detention, export of 55–​56 neocolonialism 10, 28, 31, 138, 263, 289; and autonomous development 254, 255; and social work co-​option  51, 57

Index

neoliberal capitalism 14, 118, 146, 273 neoliberal globalisation 4, 95 neoliberalism 4, 138, 140, 146, 171, 304, 328 Nepal, decolonised social work in 207–​216, 209, 210 ‘NGOisation’ 93 NGOs (non-​governmental organisations) 5, 103, 189, 235, 302; in the Central African Republic 287, 292, 296; in South Africa 325–​326, 327 NoDAPL movement 180 non-​governmental organisations see NGOs (non-​governmental organisations) normative orientations, transformation of 148–​158 North, the see Global North nuclear family 40, 73, 211 Nyoongar Wadjuk people 218–​230, 221, 223 offshore detention 52–​54 On Postcolonial Futures 41 ongoing coloniality 91, 95, 97, 98, 116, 118; and collective trauma 13–​14, 15, 20, 22; and social movements as pedagogical spaces 149, 155 ontogenic approach 118–​119 oppression 10, 14, 28, 30, 130, 131, 134 origins, of social work 5–​7 Oslo Accords 190 outside-​inside divisions  211 Pacific Solution, The  52–​54 Palermo Protocol 103 Palestine 185–​193 participatory research 141 particularism, militant 142, 143 Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) 148 patriarchy 114, 177, 237; and African feminisms and womanisms 127, 129, 131, 133, 134, 135 patrilineage 238 peace 212–​213 pedagogical politics 28, 29, 122 pedagogical spaces, social movements as 148–​158 pedagogy 21, 27–​28, 47, 57, 94, 97, 124n6, 208 Pedagogy of Indignation 30 pedagogy of liberation 68, 161 Pedagogy of the Oppressed 30, 36, 124n6, 234 personal culpability 115 philosophy of praxis 27 Pedagogia da indignação 30 Pedagogia do Oprimido 30, 36, 124n6, 234 philanthropism, colonial 294 philosophy of hope 64–​66 philosophy of liberation 64, 66, 164, 165 PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization) 189 pluralisation 68 Poisoned Gas Event Battle Front 141, 145 policy frameworks 94, 252, 325, 341, 342 political delinking 203 political liberation 120–​121, 330

political literacy 93; political power, and Native American women 179–​180 politicisation, of pedagogical spaces 150–​152 Politics of Education, The 29 Poltman, Linda 297 Population and Registration Act (1950) 329 populism 1, 31, 32, 75 Porto Alegre waste worker cooperative case study 150–​157 positional superiority 30 post-​apartheid South Africa 14, 324, 326, 327, 329, 337 postcolonial, definition of 2–​3 Postcolonial and Development-​Related Social Work 162 postcolonial criticism/​postcolonial critique 66, 68, 90–​91, 207 postcolonial dictatorships 255 postcolonial education politics 10, 27–​36, 36n2 postcolonial failures, in Africa 327–​329 postcolonial feminist social work perspective, on human trafficking 90, 101–​110 postcolonial feminist theory 105 postcolonial paternalism 48 postcolonial social work 67–​69, 94–​96 postcolonial state, definition of 2–​3 postcolonial studies 45, 57, 187 postcolonial theory, on colonialism and colonisation of childhoods 10, 40–​48 postcolonial thought 89, 90, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97 postcolonialism 64, 94, 96–​97, 98 post-​traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) 13, 17–​18 poverty 2, 14, 103, 105, 106, 138, 163, 166 poverty reduction 9, 11n3, 235, 249, 276–​277, 279, 284, 325 Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers (PRSPs) 244 power: asymmetrical relationships of 14; coloniality of 15, 72–​73, 74, 94, 97, 116, 118, 149, 333; colonisation of 116–​117; dynamics of 4, 21, 115, 205, 208, 240; gendered analysis of 127; global 4, 14, 328, 329; relationships of 15, 21, 22, 121, 122–​123, 169; resistance to 34; sharing of 183 praxis 122, 123, 208, 216, 251, 286; and collective learning from social movements 137, 139, 140; decolonial 164, 167–​168, 169, 170; indigenist African development 253, 254; philosophy of 27; and postcolonial education politics 27, 28, 33, 35; social work 286 Prison Notebooks 27 private property 29, 78, 323, 327 problematisation, and dialogue 122–​123 productivity 66, 273, 296 professional imperialism 71, 163–​171 professional subjectification 113 Prophetic Church 28, 29 Protestant ethic 208 PRSPs (Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers) 244 359

Index

psychodynamic theories, of social casework 278 psychological mechanisms, of defence 120 psychological trauma 17, 315 psychopathology 17, 119, 120 psycho-​political approach, of Franz Fanon 118–​119, 121 psycho-​political inferiorisation 14, 15, 116, 119, 123 PT (Partido dos Trabalhadores) 148 PTSD (post-​traumatic stress disorder) 13, 17–​18 pure nature, child as 42 Pygmies 289–​291, 292–​293, 294–​295 QTBIPOC (Queer, Trans Black, Indigenous and Other People of Colour) 77, 83 racism 4, 9, 14, 56, 106–​107, 115, 121, 164 radical social work 21 radical transformation 20, 122, 124n6 radicalisation, as psychological mechanism of defence 120 rationality 57, 65, 142, 164, 169, 199, 316 Razack, Nadia 57 RDP (Reconstruction and Development Programme) 325, 341 RDP (Redistribution and Development Programme) 14 reciprocity 227–​228, 265, 272, 295, 302 reconstruction and development 325, 337, 341 recycling cooperatives, Brazilian 148–​158 Rede das Catadoras e Catadores de Porto Alegre 152 Redistribution and Development Programme (RDP) 14 reflection-​for-​action/​reflection-​in-​action/​ reflection-​on-​action  338 reflexive development 61–​62 reflexivity 21, 208, 255 reform pedagogy 47 reforming paradigms 225–​226 Refugee Convention 51–​52 religion 10, 67, 79, 118, 165, 192, 241, 315; and Central African Republic 289, 290, 296; and Nepal 210, 210; and postcolonial education politics 28, 29 religious fundamentalism 81 religious movements 29 remedial approach, to social work 276–​279, 280, 283, 284, 316, 343 repression 2, 20, 138, 139, 141, 187, 189, 324 reproductive health 307, 309 revitalisation, as psychological mechanism of defence 120 #RhodesMustFall movement 90–​91, 113, 350 rights, women’s 127, 178, 234, 236–​237, 238, 240, 241 360

rights-​based social work 212, 213, 214, 216, 342–​343 right-​wing politics 1, 75, 165 risk-​taking, and creativity 32–​33 River Story 281–​283, 284 Rodney, Walter  248 Rousseau, Jean-​Jacques  42, 97 SACSSP (South African Council for Social Service Professions) 321, 339 safety 212–​213 Said, Edward 28, 30, 31 SAPs (structural adjustment programmes) 4, 11n3, 244, 271, 328 scapegoating 1, 17, 98n6, 106 school childhood 40 scientific knowledge 73, 264, 265 scientific method 168, 199 scientific racism 73 scientification 67 Scramble for Africa 3 SDGs (Sustainable Development Goals) 248–​249 secularisation 67 security 212–​213 segmentation, on racial/​ethnic lines 30 self-​control  42, 47 self-​determination 80–​81, 90, 97, 129, 188, 218–​219, 289, 302, 349; and development 64, 65; and human trafficking 102, 104, 109 self-​discipline  47 self-​formation 91, 149, 153, 157–​158 self-​help 271, 272, 327, 330 self-​regulatory boards (SRB) 108, 110 self-​reliance 21, 211, 253, 282, 283, 316 self-​sufficiency 189, 212 service delivery, rights-​based approach to 212, 213, 214, 216, 342–​343 settlement house movements 73 settler colonialism 3–​4, 176–​177, 192 sex trade/​sex trafficking 101, 103, 104 sexism 106, 132, 236 sexual humanitarianism 107 Shona people 239 single party rule 255 slave trade/​slavery 30, 53, 72, 78, 90, 254; and African feminisms and womanisms 128, 129, 135; and decolonisation of community development in South Africa 323, 328, 331; modern-​day 2, 102–​104, 106, 108–​109, 116 SLF (Sustainable Livelihoods Framework) 295 social action 20, 21, 27, 96, 214, 325, 326 social and economic inequality 1 social change 146, 162n1, 219, 230, 262, 326, 340, 350; and epistemic decoloniality 114, 121, 123 social control 14, 20, 276, 325 Social Darwinism 208 social development, and empowerment 234–​236

Index

social development approach, social work supervision in a 337–​346, 345 social development perspective, to social work 280–​281, 281–​283, 284, 341 social differentiation 34 social engineering 115 social hygiene 73 social inclusion 283 social inequalities 109, 129, 208, 216, 342 social justice 1, 2, 6, 20, 58, 73, 78, 79–​80 social movement learning 139–​140 social movement process 139, 141–​143, 144, 146 social movements: ‘from above’ 138, 139, 140, 142; from below 137, 139; as pedagogical spaces 90, 98n8, 148–​158; subaltern 29, 91, 94, 95, 97–​98, 149 social pedagogy 94 social problem, defining a 261–​263 social segregation 14 social transformation 10–​11, 170, 186, 315, 324 social welfare, in South Africa 313, 325, 331, 344 social welfare movements 138 social welfare systems 4, 67, 73, 264–​265, 271, 313, 325; in South Africa 337, 341, 342, 343, 346 social work, defining 264 social work education 264, 319–​320 social work ethics 57, 58, 220, 222, 263, 292, 339 social work praxis 286 social work research 7, 22, 76, 101, 208 social work supervision 337–​346, 345 social-​ecological waste management 150 socialisatory interspaces 156, 157–​158 sociocultural theory/​sociocultural trauma 18 sociogenic approach, of Franz Fanon 118–​119, 121 sociopolitical, exclusion of the 21 solidarity 31, 73, 120, 149, 150, 154, 294, 329; and Bhopal Disaster 140, 144, 145 solidary communities 91, 149, 150, 152, 154, 155, 158 Sousa Santos, Boaventura de 31 South, the see Global South South Africa, collaborative partnership model social work in 302–​311, 303 South African Council for Social Service Professions (SACSSP) 321, 339 Southern Africa, postcolonial era social work in 276–​284 Southern Question 27, 29, 30–​31 spatial justice 1 specialisation 67 spirit mediums 239–​240 spirituality 78, 130, 175, 179, 181, 288 SRB (self-​regulatory boards) 108, 110 standard language 34–​35 Stationery Union 141

stereotyping 17, 32, 44, 109, 119, 182, 328; and the Central African Republic 289, 291, 292, 293, 295, 297 stiwanism 128, 131, 135 strategic essentialism 96 stratification, racist 115 structural adjustment programmes (SAPs) 4, 11n3, 244, 271, 328 structural social work 21 Struggle and Resistance of Indigenous Women in Ecuador initiative 168 subaltern social movements 29, 91, 94, 95, 97–​98, 149 subalternity 31, 95, 157, 200, 205 Sumak Kawsay 164, 167–​168, 170, 171 sumud model 193 surrogate colonisation 187–​188 survivors, of human trafficking 101, 104, 105, 106, 109, 110 sustainability 54, 60, 61, 66, 75, 148, 253, 272; And Alexandra township 302–​303, 305, 311 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 248–​249 Sustainable Livelihoods Framework (SLF) 295 swadeshi abdharna 211–​212 tabula rasa, child as 42 Tampa event 52 theology of liberation 28, 68, 124n6 Thingification 118 3rd cultural space 222, 223, 223 third gender 79 Tierra de Esperanza 169 Torres Strait Islander social work, conceptual framework for 222–​223, 223 trade unions 33, 106, 108–​109, 141, 142, 189, 327, 330 Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA) 101, 103 transformation, action for 27, 124n6 transformation, social 10–​11, 170, 186, 315, 324 transformative action/​transformative practice 115, 123, 214–​215 transgenerational trauma 14, 15, 18, 19–​20 transnational feminism 76 transnational relations 68 trauma, collective 10, 13–​22 trauma-​based practice framework 56 traumatisation 16–​17, 19, 22, 117 traumatogenic societies 14 trickle down patriarchy 177 Trumpism 32, 55 TSPOA (We are all Porto Alegre Program for Inclusion in the Recycling Sector) 151 T-​visa 106–​107 TVPA (Trafficking Victims Protection Act) 101, 103 ‘two-​state solution’  189 361

Index

ubuntu 132, 133, 278, 304, 310, 311, 349 Uganda 269–​274 UN Declaration of Human Rights 10, 66 UN Trafficking Convention/​UN trafficking protocol 53, 103 unconscious, collective 19, 167 underdevelopment 6, 10, 62, 63, 252, 280, 288, 324 Union Carbide Corporation 140–​141, 142, 144 universal freedom 78 universality 45, 116 US Christian Right movement 81 US Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA) 101, 103 U-​visa 106–​107 verstehen 29 vicarious trauma 17 victimhood, collective 17 virtue ethics 58 Viruru, Radhika 45, 46 visas 52, 77, 106–​107 vulnerability, collective 18 vulnerable communities, in South Africa 313–​321 wa Thiong’o, Ngũgĩ 31, 43, 119, 288, 331 Walk Free Foundation 102 war of position, Gramscian 34 warfare 63, 65 Washington Consensus 5, 328 waste management 149, 150, 151, 158n5 waste-​workers movement, Brazilian 148–​158 We are all Porto Alegre (TSPOA) 151 Weber, Max 63, 247 welcome packs, Alex model project 306 welfare state 1, 94, 138 welfarism 138 well-​being 4, 52, 54, 174, 182, 263, 273, 314, 340; collective/​community 75, 170, 183, 193, 207,

362

273, 295, 350; and indigenous contemplative practices 319 West, Cornel 28 Western civilisation 20, 36n2, 72, 199 Western Democratic Governance agenda 4 Western discourse, hegemony of 17–​18 Western domination 200, 203 Western Eurocentric hegemony 113 Western knowledge 14, 116, 117, 230, 236, 247, 250, 317 Western superiority 51, 236 white liberals 121 White Paper for Social Welfare (1997) 306, 313, 325, 326, 337, 341, 342, 343, 346 white privilege 223, 328 white supremacism 115 WKS (Western Knowledge Systems) 250 womanisms, Africana 91, 127, 128, 131–​133, 134, 135 womanist movements, African 127, 128, 135 women in Africa, cultural overview of 237–​240 women, of the Global South 107 women’s empowerment 233–​241 women’s movements 127, 128, 129, 131–​133 women’s rights 127, 178, 234, 236–​237, 238, 240, 241 worker protections and rights 105–​106 working-​class  33 World Bank 5, 11n3, 14, 62, 105, 247, 248; and professional imperialism 163, 164, 166–​167, 168, 169 World Health Organization 16 Wretched of the Earth,The 96, 124n4, 185 Zahreeli Gas Kand Sangharsh Morcha 141 Zimbabwe 233–​241 Zionism 188, 190, 191