Small Matters of Great Importance

One of my oldest and best friends is a linguist. When I lived with him for a couple years in 2002, he’d excitedly talk about language the way that I guess I must talk about psychology, throwing around Chomsky the way that I reference Seligman. His love for language alluded me, but having passions for topics that bore other people to tears kept us talking late into the night, many nights.

I thought of him this week as I tried to wrap my mind around what’s been happening in a couple of my classes at Penn. I’ve felt myself become frustrated and offended in classes in ways that have surprised me. While I used to be an avid debater and loved a good argument in my teens and early twenties, I’ve quieted down considerably in my thirties, opting instead to stay silent unless the situation really calls for a clobbering, and even then trying to clobber in only the most helpful and effective ways….

I believe the issue that’s got me so disgruntled has little to do with the actual topics or debates at hand, but rather, the language surrounding those debates. A reference in class to a transgendered person as “he-she” had my jaw on the floor. Using the term “food stamp people” to refer to welfare recipients was equally as daunting. More subtly, though, are the assumptions that I’ve recognized flowing through these conversations. The assumption that prisoners are violent, for instance. The heinous assumption that all recipients of public aid are manipulative and lazy. The assumption that women who do not want to have children or who are not naturally nurturing have had some kind of early trauma that’s negated their innate drive to parent. All have been suggested in one of my classes and met with acceptance, as if these were valid differences of opinion, and not what I read them to be: reflections of stereotypes, classism, prejudice, and ignorance.  I’m angry even now, reflecting upon it.

If we don't spend the time reflecting on how we think, we run the risk of losing touch with ourselves and losing sight of the values that compel us to act as we do.  I admit that I've neglected to do so for the past couple years, when I had neither the time or energy to take good care of my mind or body. Since re-entering school and re-engaging with my thoughts, I find myself happier and less depressed, centered, and feeling more in-tune. I suspect that this is a healthier way to be, and makes me better at what I do.

Here’s the deal: How we talk about people is as important as what we are saying about them. If there is not a base level of agreed upon verbiage with which to have conversations about current social issues, then I would argue that those conversations should not be happening (certainly not within the context of a social work class, anyway). If young social workers cannot be brought to task regarding their own assumptions and ignorance, why would any client want to work with them? Why would a social worker expect respect in return for condescension?

So to my friend Josh, I concede - language is important. So important, I think, I’d suggest having a class at Penn just addressing language – how to talk about populations and current issues with respect, kindness, compassion…clearly this is lacking, and effective social work cannot exist without it.