SAYONARA, UW SCHOOL OF SOCIAL WORK

Here's my final personal statement I'm submitting with a culminating binder portfolio. Yes, I'm actually submitting this.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            When I began the BASW program at the University of Washington I was generally an optimistic, idealistic and naïve person. Now? Well, at least I’m still idealistic. Sort of. Being in the undergraduate program has been like opening up the stomach cavity of humanity and being forced to see and smell the pulsating entrails normally covered by flesh and skin. I’ve come to understand at a very deep level the mechanisms of oppression, the context of history with social problems and the seemingly insurmountable odds we find ourselves up against as social change “agents.” While the world may seem bleak at times, I’ve learned that because of my existence as a social worker, it is now and always will be marginally less so. Slow clap.

            As a result of being in this program, I’ve had to adapt and survive through self-care. In the morning I would learn about how black people were lynched and used as sex slaves. Then, I’d go to coffee with my classmates and try not to cut myself.

            The School of Social Work encourages students to think critically and independently. Well, in this school, I sure have learned how to do just that. While the school may imply that social workers are responsible for the fate of all oppressed populations everywhere, and that if we don’t do something, then no one will, I know in my heart that this is simply not true. I refuse to live in agony and misery, wallowing in privileged guilt and an unhealthily metastasized savior-complex. While I am aware of the plight of vulnerable populations, I as one individual, can only do so much. I will do what I can to address poverty, violence and suffering in the world, but once I’ve put in my eight hours for the day, I will surrender myself to a coping mechanism entitled fatalism.

            When I leave this place, the School of Social Work, I will forever have on my goggles of “awareness.” Trust me, even when I try to enjoy something as mindless and popularly entertaining as The Hunger Games, for example, I will end up writing a five-page analysis of its major themes with respect to power and oppression[1]. I will carry with me ecological-systems theory, empowerment theory, the ethnic identity development model, cultural responsiveness (the dialogic model, of course) and the strengths perspective. These theories have affected the way I interact with people, whether in my professional or personal life; I have internalized them that much.

            In terms of “staying current” with social welfare, I’ll always feed my insatiable compulsion to “be in touch” with the reality of the underclass, whether it be through the NPR public health blog (Shots), The Seattle Times, National Geographic, literary fiction or memoirs of people who have survived horrific circumstances (e.g. Strength in What Remains, Desert Flower, Persepolis). It is my duty as a professional social worker to stay informed, and informed I will stay!

            My strengths as a social worker are my ability to articulate forms of oppression, my critical thinking, my self-reflection and my ability to establish rapport with clients through genuine warmth and caring. Areas for growth would be maintaining professional boundaries with clients, political advocacy and research-informed practice.

            It has certainly been an interesting ride, this BASW experience. I’ve had my hopes crushed into a finely ground powder, then snorted through someone’s nose. I’ve learned to be much more realistic, to reject martyrdom and to enjoy life for what it offers. As a social worker, I may not be able to fundamentally change the structure of society to uplift the downtrodden and usher them into an age of triumph, true brotherhood and utopian parity. However, I’ll do my small part, quietly, without heraldry or accolades, humming a pop ballad from the 1990s.

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

-Robert Frost

---

[1] Attached.

(re)Discovering My Creative Side, (re)Considering My Vocation

Creativity. Artistry. Imagination. Passion.

I've been reading a memoir by Madeleine L'Engle called Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art. Since entering the School of Social Work, I've been completely consumed with the "immediate reality" of a  broken and suffering world, and have had little time to be creative, imaginitive or artistic. Artistic expression at times seems "impractical" and separate from the real world, but I'm starting to see that to be an artist is to follow a prophetic calling. Sometimes it's only through poetry, a melody, the movement of the human body in dance that the true reality of the human condition surfaces, captivates and inspires.

During this sabbatical I'm really asking myself, "Why am I doing what I am doing?" Is social work really something that I want to do? Am I even enjoying it anymore? 

While I'm at school there's this urgent, almost desperate sense that if we as social workers don't get out there and do something about poverty, oppression, trauma, etc. then the world will end. It's a guilt trip gone horribly wrong. I know that I want to lead a meaningful life, to love as best as I can and "be on the side of the underdog," as it were...but not to the point of utter self-depletion and despair.

What is God calling me to? How can I be faithful to his call? More and more I am beginning to see that he is not asking me to be a super heroic martyr and change millions of lives for the better. I have to trust that the work, the community he sets before in each season of life is exactly where he wants me to be. My worth as a Christ-follower does not come from my "successes" (client or situational "improvement"--i.e. improved test scores, financial stability, liberation/"empowerment"), because so much is out of my control. What counts is the effort and the intention behind the effort, which should always be love: love for God and love for others.

I recently finished up Henri Nouwen's Sabbatical Journey, the journal of his time away from his "work" with the mentally handicapped. He just really brings it all home, back to the heart of things, the heart of Jesus.

"A Democratic senator was pondering how to influence people the most--as a politician who is able to introduce laws that can help millions of people, or as a minister who continues to offer hope and consolation to people in their daily struggle?...

For me it is not a question of how we can most influence others. What matters is our vocation. To what or whom are we called? When we make the effect of our work the criterion of our sense of self, we end up very vulnerable. Both the political and ministerial life can be responses to a call. Both too can be ways to acquire power. The final issue is not the result of our work but the obedience to God's will, as long as we realize the God's will is the expression of God's love" (205).

Last Day of School!

So today I finished up for the school year! I must admit, I feel a bit strange. The hilarious thing is, people can tell. They say, "Wow, you seem really happy." It's a huge relief and I feel so free! I can't wait to take a break from all the dramatic seriousness that is the savior-complex of the school of social work. Lighten up, peeps!

Since everything is wrapping up, I'm getting all reflective... I love to reminisce and be sentimental. Today Hillary & I were walking home from getting smoothies and thinking about all the breakfasts we've made together with Faith. I met with Kristen today and we agreed that it seemed just yesterday that we were getting lunch together at the HUB. The years are flying by.

I <3 Hillary!

As brutal as this year may have been (with dreary weather and faith crisis and burnout), there are definitely things to be thankful for. What I cherish most about this year is all of the friendships! It was definitely tough to leave high school and lose my posse..but it's so cool now to be building networks at UW. I'm thankful for all the wonderful memories with Hillary & Faith--grocery shopping, cooking, playing volleyball, watching movies, quoting them and just talking about life! I once asked them, "Is this what it's like to have a sister?" I have truly learned the value of living with other Christians and sharing in fellowship together. It's been a blast!

Brittany and I are buds..

My peers at the school of social work have just been super awesome, too. It's amazing to be around such passionate, caring, like-minded people. I'm thankful for Tania, who I bonded with on the really discouraging lobby day for immigrant rights/services. I'm thankful for Kayla (who, sadly, is leaving the program!) and Kanchan--I'll never forget going to coffee with the two of them and finally realizing I wasn't alone in my distress because of the class content. And of course, Brittany has been such a wonderful new friend to me, I can't even express it with words! She is a ray of sunshine in my life. When I prayed for ONE friend in freshman year, I was super happy to find Hillary. Brittany, too? I am just tooooooo blessed. From spur-of-the-moment ice skating to earring beading to watching the "Double Rainbow Song" and Mi Pecado, I've just had so much fun hanging out with her!

And also, though I can't quite yet articulate it in words yet, I feel as if God has done a lot for me this year to establish me in my faith and prepare me for the future, whatever it may hold. I just have a sense of peace and a sort of inner equanimity about all the "tough things" in the world--like ya, it's going to be all right. Anyway..

I find myself thinking about the things I am going to miss about my life here at UW, living in the Cliff House. Move out day is a little over a week away! I'll definitely miss Ten Thousand Villages (I am SO going there tomorrow!). And the millions of bus routes here. I'll miss hosting kick-@$$ parties with Hillz & Faith. There are so many little things! But until I actually move out, I'm going to soak up every little moment and every little blessing!--like walking home from U Village today as the sun was setting and enjoying the smell of summer, vibrant colors of grass & trees and the happy energy of students exulting in the end of the school year.

I Have a Dream..

 So this past Friday Grandpa & I went to "Be the Spark" Rally at the Tacoma Dome. The purpose was to bring people together as a community, to get pumped up to make a difference! I was so surprised that so many people care, you know??? Because sometimes I can get so cynical--and it seems like the general public is indifferent about poverty and suffering locally and globally. Friday I was overwhelmed to see this perception completely contradicted! Local youth from the schools and YMCA attended and the fact that they're reaching out & volunteering is a gigantic relief to me. Humanity is sinful and flawed and all that stuff, but sometimes people can be so dang SURPRISING in their sincere love and altruism. From the first song I was crying. It was this indie hip funk alt. band playing some awesome jamz but then this incredible black rapper started performing parts of Dr. King's "I Have a Dream Speech" over it all and I just about lost it. I was crying at the beauty of his dream--of peace, of reconciliation and mostly of HOPE. That he could have dared to dream of "the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood" in the middle of all the overwhelming overt racism, hate, history of oppression--I just am not quite sure how he did it.

I've been so afraid to dream this year--for a better future, for good to prevail. All this striving for peace and justice can feel like one giant loss after another. I started to doubt my idealistic visions of wholeness and goodness and progress even, towards a global community. I have had my share of disappointments in seeing the suffering of clients, and nothing changing (e.g. oppressive immigration law), but I don't think that's reason to not expect any change--it sure isn't reason to not expect anything better from God, or from ourselves.

And that's why I think Desmond Tutu is so special. Look how warm and fun and adorable he looks! Every time he laughed on Friday I felt like I could be happy for the rest of my life & nothing mattered anymore. :) He, like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., faced intense hatred and oppression. He struggled. He fought. Yet through it all he has maintained his sense of humor, hope and faith in God.

His sermon that night was very interesting. I'd listened to some of his other stuff so I was a bit familiar with his theology. The way he sees it, things are just messed up here on earth. Just plain messed. And he sees God as, in many situations of injustice, powerless. Powerless. Isn't that crazy? That God sees all this icky stuff happening and "all he can do is cry," the Archbishop states. In the following clip he describes it as such: "the omnipotent becomes impotent."

God requires human partners. He relies on us to act in the world. There's a woman in my Sunday school class who shared today, "This is the first time in my life ever that I have said yes to what God has asked of me. And I know without a doubt that I am exactly where I should be." She's a mother of two and is studying to be an RN. I mean, I think this is what God is asking of us. To be courageous. To say yes to him. Imagine the possibilities.

The Burn-Out Keeps Burnin' On..

Basically, this was me today:

I slept in until 11:30am today, and yet three hours later I was drooping and tempted to nap.

Lately, I've just been pretty tired and not very motivated. The smallest tasks exhaust me, from going to Thurgood Marshall to reading a journal article for class to spending time with friends to cooking--even spending time in prayer and reading the Bible. It just makes me tired! Like always, I try so hard to keep up but eventually fall behind.

People keep asking me what summer plans are, and to be honest, I think all that I could handle after this ravaging school year is big fat nothing. I feel bad about not having the drive and the energy to pursue a paying job (it would have been the first of my life), but I am seeing that the burn-out within goes very deep.

It's to the point that I actually dread future service (next school year as an intern at ACRS) because it depletes me so much currently. My energy and inspiration tank is running quite low. So this summer I'm moving home with Mom & Dad and will try to observe some semblance of a sabbatical. I feel a bit of a failure for being so weak as to have to come to this point, but I honestly really need some rest.

The LORD works righteousness
   and justice for all the oppressed. (Psalm 103:6)

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
   He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart (Isaiah 40:11)

I have to trust that even as I withdraw from "the scene" for awhile, God is at work.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

It's time for me to bow out for a bit. I'm praying for the strength to make it through the rest of this quarter! Panic attack free, plz. :)

We Silence the Privileged

This reflection essay I write in response to my time spent in inter-group dialogue (2.5 hr. long weekly sessions with 9 other students of differing "social identity groups" i.e., race, socio-economic status, religion, etc. for the purpose of "mutual understanding," reconciliation and coalition building for a stronger, united human community). Hoping that it might encourage you, whether you consider yourself privileged, oppressed or bits of both.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

We Silence the Privileged

            When my white colleagues kept apologizing for not having “powerful” stories to tell, I sat confused. They minimized their experiences of exclusion, alienation and identity confusion as less relevant, real and gritty. Their self-deprecation caused by the personal guilt of privilege through race made me wonder.

            The School of Social Work encourages its students to be “champions of the oppressed” and to “bring marginalized voices to the fore.” Yet, simultaneously, is it disempowering, denying and guilt-tripping the oppressors? The school teaches that the poor must not be stigmatized or demonized, but aren’t we committing this act of judgment upon the proverbial “white male”?

            As I have continued to sit in my bewilderment I must challenge my assumptions: Do I actually value the utterly tragic stories of the poor and oppressed more than their rich and privileged counterparts?

            Sometimes I thank my lucky stars that I am majoring in social work because I know that the rest of my life will be devoted to knowing “real people”—and by “real people” I mean people who have “gone through a lot”: i.e., the traumatized, suffering oppressed. In my compassion for the poor I realize that I have developed a bias against the powerful, the “oppressors.” I think of them as less than human because I assume that life has been handed to them on a silver platter. I even have that resentment towards the privileged parts of myself: my comfortably middle class suburban life of stability. I consider this part of myself to be illegitimate; I seek to disown it. It is nothing to be proud of; it is rather a source of shame. We downplay our privileged identities because there is no sense of struggle in them. In our privilege we enjoy what we did not earn.

            And I sense that many others hold this bias against their privilege as well. I see it in my white colleagues; the bias is directed against themselves. Yet as they shared their personal stories of pain—of being rejected on the basis of religion, moral values and nonconformity—I can see that their pain is legitimate. Undeniably they have enjoyed much power and convenience on the basis of their race, and yet their complexity shines forth in their experience of simultaneous oppression along other lines. Perhaps they have been shielded from a lot of pain because of their race, but their race has not excluded them from all pain. I cannot pretend that they are not “real people” as they share their loneliness and insecurity. We all carry brokenness within us—even if it may be hidden or suppressed by a façade of privilege.

            Surely, it is a “straw man” to compare suffering and oppressions among individuals. It is also unfair to evaluate people according to the amount of hardships they have endured throughout their lifetime. I must challenge my tendency to discount the life experiences of those who have not “had it rough”—according to my arbitrary standards of who is deserving or non-deserving of “speaking their truth.” I must challenge myself to re-humanize the oppressor. I must remember that the river of pain touches the shores of all lives. I must allow the estuary of these streams to commingle and swirl into one sea. For only in the uniting of our personal pain can we rise together.   

Being Critical

Boy, oh boy! If there's one thing that teachers have emphasized to death in classes this year it is CRITICAL THINKING. Blah, blah, blah "deconstruction of traditional paradigms," "consciousness/awareness," "assumptions are dangerous," "implicit bias"---------BARF!

But basically what they're ultimately promoting is a form of cynicism toward the world SO GREAT that it robs the enjoyment of even the smallest of things! It makes it so every interaction is interpreted through this "critical lens" of analysis--of others AND self.

Like watching a movie. Gosh.. This grumpy inner voice chimes in, "Oh, wow, there is no representation of people of color in this movie at all," or "Did you see how that character was thought less of because of her emotions?" or "That comment there was completely hetero-sexist and homophobic." It's like NOTHING is good enough... unless it were a movie about a female, disabled, poor queer woman of color. I mean, even then it wouldn't be good enough. Hahaha!!!!!! Ha.

So like, I'm not saying people should be ignorant of the narratives in everyday life, in media, etc. But holy hell, don't let it become a prison for you like I did!!!!!!!!!

I'm just sayin'.

For once tonight I just SHUT OFF the critical little voice in my head and watched a movie--my go to of the quarter: I Hate Luv Storys. Who gives an f--- if it only represents India's elite class and showcases the extent to which Indian culture has been eroded by the mofo-ing West! Goddamnit, I am going to ENJOY this movie for what it is! Goofy, sentimental and completely unrealistic. IT'S GREAT!
 
It can be so easy to get trapped in the mentality that things could be "so much better" (in terms of achieving the impossible utopian post-racial world and all that crap)--but by gum, sometimes we just need to recognize the GOOD already here. Enjoy what we have now...like the first blossomed bud of a cherry tree!

Thurgood Marshall Starz

The risk of pity is that it kills with kindness; the promise of passion is that it builds on the hope that the poor are fully capable of helping themselves if given the chance.

-Nancy Gibbs

Just thought I'd share a fun picture from the school I've been volunteering at since fall: Thurgood Marshall Elementary. Every Wednesday I help in Ms. Pan's 4th grade class. The kids are great; they crack me up. Nearly all of them qualify for free/reduced lunch and belong to communities of color. The odds may be stacked against them--statistically they have no chance of overcoming the various barriers to high achievement--but when I see them singing and dancing to Chris Brown, I feel hopeful.

These kids fit the classic profile for "the oppressed." But as a classmate said today, it's not about pity. These kids aren't sitting around feeling sorry for themselves because they were born with the chips stacked against them. They're enjoying life!

And they've got these great new friends! In the picture are girls from Seattle Girls School, a non-profit focused on empowering young women and their communities. They laugh and play games together; it's obvious the kids LOVE being with their mentors.

When we look at any person--homeless, a survivor of domestic violence, a family at a food bank--it's not about the inward thought of, "Oh, poor homeless man" or "Oh, poor battered woman" or "Oh, poor family that can't make ends meet." We--I--need to stop seeing them as victims. These people can reach the freakin' stars if they wanted.

They are not victims. They have power and potential.

Similarly, WE are not victims in any situation or circumstance. WE have power and potential.

Christ looks at us and sees our potential. He knows our power because it's his power.

Aiming to see myself and others with the eyes of Jesus.

Politics: Is It Even Worth It?

One of my main classes this quarter is "Social Welfare Policy." Basically, the course content reviews any and all U.S. policies that affect vulnerable populations. That is to say, pretty much everything. My professor's approach is to look at major issues (poverty, homelessness, immigration, etc.) from the conservative and liberal perspectives.

I can't tell you how many awkward situations have come up in the classroom already. We've got some very dedicated Marxists on the one hand, stark Republicans on the other. Sometimes it gets downright hostile. It's like everyone is trying to impose their opinion on everyone else. I mean, really, it's dumb.

I don't understand politics. I mean, yes, obviously it would be important to advocate for those who don't have privilege and power--the populations I intend to serve for the rest of my life. But I can only take so much of this stupid game of Republicans and Democrats. It's like, can we PLEASE stop talking so philosophically and actually DO something???

The School of Social Work is telling us that as social workers it's our "professional responsibility" to be politically involved. To tell you the truth, I've only gone to two political rallies in my life. They were fun; not sure if they mattered at all. I guess I'm saying that I don't plan on becoming some crazy activist.

I've given up on politics.