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On Being Anti-Racist as a White Social Worker

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by Elspeth Slayter, MSW, PhD

     Many social workers are talking about anti-racism for the first time. So, let’s define our terms: an anti-racist is someone who supports an antiracist policy through their actions or ideas. I believe that to become anti-racists, social workers have to start by embracing the truth that we have all been raised in a racist society. Dr. Ibram Kendi talks about how racism has rained down on all of us—and therefore, how can any of us not be racist? We have to start where we are with the system we have, and take a good, hard, deep look inside ourselves first. We must consider how our racist society affects our work with clients and colleagues—and act on it.

    And that is the core of what I want to talk with you about today. I want you to sit with that for a minute. Did you get that I am asking you to look at your own racism? I am asking you to consider how you benefit from—and even uphold—conscious and unconscious biases, as well as structural racism. That’s something I have had to do myself—and something I admit to freely. I am a white social worker and I have racist biases. I was mostly without being conscious of them, until I began the process of doing anti-racism work.

    We must disempower the word racist, normalizing that we are going to do and say racist things as white people. It is like the water around a fish in a fishbowl that goes unnoticed. And that’s the analogy that’s often used to describe how Americans live in a culture of white supremacy. And by that I am not talking about the KKK and racist macroaggressions (see https://ywcacentralcarolinas.org/defining-racial-justice-terms-microaggression-vs-macroaggression/), I am talking about the dominant and unquestioned cultural norms and standards of behavior in a majority of the U.S.

    Many feel strongly that white supremacy will continue to shape social work unless a critical mass of white social workers step up and confront their racist biases and behaviors to shift the system. So, back to my proposition to you, the idea of asking you to consider that you may have racist bits inside you. This may not sit well with many of you who doubt you are racist and think you are good people. I am sure you are good people. I have no doubt of that. But, before you stop reading this essay, I am going to ask you to suspend judgment and hear me out.

    The famous Black scholar Angela Davis once famously guided us, saying that it is not enough to be non-racist—we must be anti-racist. That means you need to take an active vs. passive stance on racial justice. I want us to think about how her argument applies to social work as I share with you about my ongoing journey toward becoming an anti-racist social worker. The very first thing I want to say is that I, for sure, don’t have all the answers on how to be white and how to do anti-racism work, so I’m modeling that imperfection on purpose. We have to be okay with being imperfect, but we have to act.

    Thirty years ago, I attended an intensive anti-racism retreat. That difficult but wonderful experience was followed with a variety of continued work in interracial groups, partnerships, and collaborations. Much of this work led to moments that were personally challenging and uncomfortable, like when I realized that I held biased beliefs about Black and African American clients and the ways they parented their children that I wasn’t even conscious of. I was raised in a church, raised not to treat people differently based on race, but I still had some unearthed biases. I went into that anti-racism retreat assuming that I was not racist, assuming that I had a good heart. And I did have a good heart. But what I found out is that if we are raised in a society that is characterized by white supremacy, racism is in us whether we are conscious of it or not. We have to get used to that. If we recognize these bits of bias, we can course correct them. We need to get good at stepping outside of ourselves in supervision, looking at our caseloads, and thinking about how race impacts work with clients and colleagues. We have to name it. We have to go there. We have to talk about it. We have to act.

    We must model the behavior that we want and need to see in our communities, and so it is without hesitation that I say that I am not afraid to admit that I was raised in a racist society, with a grandfather who used the “N” word openly. That’s what I grew up hearing as normative, the ugliest and most hateful “N” word. My parents were horrified and explained that it was a bad word, but that’s about all the guidance I got. It was still there. But here’s something even more powerful than that word—I know that racism and white supremacy are a lot more subtle than the “N” word. And they are more insidious than that word, too.

    When I think about my child welfare work, racism and white supremacy shaped how I saw my day-to-day experience. Seeing scads of children of color removed from families on a daily basis, parents’ rights terminated on a weekly basis, and children waiting for adoption for years and years was normal. I forgot to fight against it. White supremacy shaped what I expected, shaped what I thought I could do and what I projected the possibilities for a case might be. I know now that I need to be on constant guard for how racism and white supremacy act as a lens for what I see and how I understand and act in practice.

    So, what this gets at is the idea that we have to be able to admit to subtle acts of racism vs. horrible macroaggressions. Small everyday things, ideas or beliefs that we may not even be conscious of. I know that’s a tough ask. I have had to call myself out on various racist thoughts. Those have been really painful and shameful moments for me. I have learned that you need to lean into them. Sometimes it’s been someone else who has called my attention to the situation. That’s even more painful. I’ve learned to lean into those, too, to confront them, and keep moving. And the thing is, you are never done. You are never fully “woke.” This is life-long work. Own up to it, face it, move on with intention, with openness.

    And in this work, we need to avoid engaging in white fragility and get over the need to be the “good white person” who never makes mistakes. We need to accept our flaws and work to do better. We must resist the urge to want to be supported in feeling sorry about what we have done by the people we have hurt. We must learn to listen, really listen. We need to learn to not ask for the emotional labor of people of color who we have hurt. We need to get on with the work of holding ourselves accountable, and with moving on, so we can do things better.

    Central to anti-racist practice for white social workers is coming to terms with our own whiteness and the ways we are inextricably linked to white supremacy. What does my white racial identity mean to me? Where do I see white privilege in my life? What do I know about white supremacy culture? How do I handle being called out for microaggressions? How do I address my race in interracial work with clients? We must also consider how much we live in majority white worlds. Can I expand my horizons to include more friends of color in a non-tokenistic way? Can I begin to seek out businesses owned by people of color, for example? Can I at least notice the whiteness of my world?

    And that brings me to my final point, about working toward being an accountable ally to people of color. Some say we should focus on using the word ally as a verb versus as a noun. According to RacialEquityTools.org, ways we can do this include:

    Remember, the opposite of racist is not non-racist; it’s anti-racist. That implies the need for engaged action! As social workers, we are not able to be neutral, so let’s get to work, the hard work, the uncomfortable work!

Elspeth Slayter, MSW, PhD, is a professor at Salem State University’s School of Social Work, where she does research in the areas of disability, child welfare, addiction, and equity studies.

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