Looking at Welfare Reform through Another Lens Besides My Own

Quadagno & Street (2005) state that the United States follows the neo-liberal model of government, especially in regards to our perspectives of individualism and individual rights. We are a country built on a model of self sufficiency and “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” language. It is easy to see in the discourse and criticisms of many of our urban poor: they need to work harder… they need to stop depending on welfare… I can’t believe I’m paying my taxes and working hard so that those poor people can just depend on the government. The comments are numerous, degrading, and continually divisive, but they reinforce our perspectives of individual rights.

Quadagno & Street continue to state that voluntarism is also highly valued in the United States. Voluntarism places an emphasis on private donations by individuals rather than governmental assistance as a means to redistribute income to lower income members of society. For example, leading economist Milton Friedman makes an argument for voluntarism in his book, Free to Choose. Essentially, Friedman argues that if taxes were lower, and governmental services for income maintenance and redistribution were privatized, people would have the altruistic desire to give more to charitable organizations to continue this work. Regardless if Friedman’s point is correct, voluntarism is not an effective means to achieving social justice; for, rather than creating a system of dependency on the government, the poor are dependent on charitable organizations that in turn are dependent on charitable and altruistic individuals. Dependency still exists; charity (giving from one’s surplus) perpetuates inequality as there is no structural level change happening. So, while valued in United States, it doesn’t seem that reliance on voluntarism is the correct social policy to achieve social justice.

Working at Bread for the City last year, I found myself often asking the question, how can we encourage those on welfare to find jobs and go back to work? I was asking this, not from a judging condemning viewpoint, but more so, from an attempt to reflect on how can we make policies that make sense and actually work, and that act as a safety net for those who are in need without creating cyclical dependency. Can we create any social justice with our conceptions of welfare policy?

However, I found it interesting to reflect on Orloff (2005)’s article on United States welfare reform. Orfloff argues that the 1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act was an attempt to eliminate the social right for poor single mothers to care for their children full time. Instead, as Orloff writes, “Staying at home full time to care for children has come to be understood as something to be earned through one’s efforts in the labor market – as a reward from an employer who gives paid leave” (pp.109-110). Reflecting on this point sheds light into my own thoughts on TANF last year.

Turning to myself, raised in a two-parent household, my parents were able to make our family function happen on one income during my younger years. Yet, this was a choice they had simply by being a two parent household. And in fact, I believe those years having my mother at home shaped our family, the way I look at the world, and consequently, I cannot list all the benefits our family has experienced because of those years. For my mother, raising children full time was a full time job and right in our family, something that is denied to other lower income women, simply because they are low income.

So returning to the ideological rhetoric we commonly hear about welfare benefits and the “laziness” of “welfare queens,” it is interesting to see how my own middle class perspectives shaped my own understanding of welfare. Instead of thinking about the same model of child-rearing I experienced, I projected my own values of individualism and self sufficiency, middle class values drilled into me by the American process of socialization. In my own reflections (all with positive non-judgmental intentions), I too was contributing to the common statements that, because these women are poor, they don’t share the right my mother had to stay at home with their children.

Works Cited

Friedman, M. & Friedman, R. (1990). Free to choose: A personal statement. Orlando, FL: Harcourt.

Orloff, A. (2005). Examining US welfare reform: Power, gender, race, and the US policy legacy. Critical Social Policy, 22(1) 96-118.

Quadagno, J. & Street, D. (2005). Ideology and public policy: Antistatism in American welfare state transformation. The Journal of Policy History, 17(1) 52-71.

Power Differences between the Sociologist and the Public

Often, in the service experiences I’ve been reflecting over the past few years, the issue of power has come up – we the “white” individuals come into a community, one who is usually poor and a minority, and have money, skills, and other resources that we can give; the result is there is a power difference that is often unfair and perpetuates the inequality. And, if we aren’t careful, we find in many instances that people become dependent on the white man, and expect that the white man will come and save the day. This breeds in us a “hero complex” as Aaron Ausland describes in his article, Staying for Tea.

Ausland suggests that we change our frame of reference to one of accompaniment, in which a relationship is formed with those we serve; rather than dominating and dictating, we instead become “mutually indebted” – we recognize that we both have needs and in our relationship, we grow from one another. The relationship is not one sided; rather, we both have something to give, and indeed, there is a sense of transformation that happens, a transformation that is more whole and deep than the service itself (Ausland, 2005, p. 6).

I believe while it’s still a deep challenge for all of us as servants, it’s something that can be achieved in the service we do. For indeed, I developed relationships with clients at Bread for the City, and found myself being transformed by our interactions.

But is it as easy to translate to the dynamics of sociological research? A classmate of mine posed the question of the power struggle between the researcher and the public. The researcher comes in with the knowledge, the research project, and often in the eyes of the client, is at an elevated level. Is it possible then, to “Stay for Tea” in this situation? Time might not permit it, and the nature of research is not to develop a transformation relationship.

Now, it is true, sociologists are working for social justice, and so we have been transformed by the people and experiences we have had that have led us to where we are today. But, it seems to me that we might be reaping more benefits than we are giving in this research process: we are transformed by our interactions with the poor, we gain many insights that we translate in our research process, we write and publish papers, and our careers advance. Combined with the educational gap, we surely have more power than our clients in these research projects. How can we possibly equal the playing field?

Is doing the research simply enough to justify this power dynamic? Perhaps. My professor mentioned an example doing public sociological research on a domestic violence hotline: survivors of domestic violence expressed gratitude to the researchers, knowing that by improving the hotline, they and future victims would have better access to services and would therefore be better protected from their batterers. For these survivors, they were able to fulfill what Ragin calls is one of the primary goals of sociological research: “giving voice” (Ragin, 2011, p. 46). Often, Ragin describes, marginalized populations aren’t able to provide their voice and input into the research that goes into society. By these sociologists talking with these survivors of domestic violence, they were able to provide their own real perspective in a way that could change and improve services.

We also talked about ensuring that people recognize our gratitude through monetary compensation or by showing that their time is valuable and appreciated. Finally, by treating the clients with the highest dignity and respect, we can communicate to them how important they are to the work we are doing.

In the advocacy efforts I was part of at Bread, I saw that clients are not just interested in services that will help them; rather, they are interested in “giving their voice,” providing their perspectives so that injust structures may change, or at least be less injust. Many clients across many organizations joined advocates at the City Council building countless times to protest and advocate to city officials for better services and more concern for the poor. So, yes, in this sense, it seems true that clients, such as the domestic violence survivors, would feel comfort in knowing that they were part of greater advocacy efforts.

I still am stuck though; the options don’t seem great enough. Perhaps it’s because it’s not as holistic as Ausland’s model of accompaniment. Sociological research is different than service, and thus, must adhere to different rules, policies, and procedures. This makes it’s an official science and we need sociology to be professional and scientific so that it will be valid and respected. But, I am torn; I have spent many years now trying to develop a sense of accompaniment in the work I am doing. And, as Fr. Greg Boyle describes it, I have been striving develop a sense of kinship: no longer us and them, but just us (Boyle, 2005). Are we, as researchers, just creating a greater divide between us and them?

It’s the second week of graduate school. I have a lot to learn, a lot to experience, and many projects to complete. Perhaps as I continue to grow and learn, I’ll find new ways to accompany clients in research and build kinship.



Works Cited:

Ausland, A. (2005). Staying for tea: Five principles for the community service volunteer. The
Global Citizen 2 pp. 5-15.

Boyle, Gregory, SJ. (2005). The voices of those who sing. Spiritus5:1, 79-87.

Ragin, C.C. & Amoroso, L.M. (2011). Constructing Social Research. 2nd ed. Pine Forge Press.

The American Flag - A Cultural Object

In my Religion, Political Culture, and Ideology course, we began class with a reading by Wendy Griswold, attempting to define what culture is. Culture is such a vague term – people often think they know it when they see it or experience it, but struggle to give any formal definition of it. Griswold notes that there are different types of culture in society, and that elements of culture are expressed through cultural objects – objects in society that we assign meaning to. Culture becomes culture when we (as a group) assign some meaning to the object.

Griswold also states that cultural objects can have different meanings to different groups of people. This Labor Day, I point to the American flag as a symbol that, even in my own extended family, holds many different meanings.

Growing up in a relatively conservative active military family, the American flag served as a symbol of sacrifice and freedom, of democracy and of rights. The American flag was (and is) venerated by many family members as a tangible cultural object, one that stands for the many wars that have provided our citizens freedom. It is a cultural object that must be respected, for it in many ways represents so many values of American society.

I found myself at Mass today feeling cynical about this cultural symbol. It’s true – I haven’t always been the most patriotic in the same sense as this familial veneration of the flag. Singing “America the Beautiful” in a wealthy part of South Chicago, just minutes from a center of Chicago’s cyclical poverty and violence, images of my JVC experience reappeared in my mind. Can I really hold the same meaning that my fellow family members hold of the American flag when I see cyclical poverty and institutional racism so rampant in our society?

Being a patriot means being loyal to one’s country, being willing to serve one’s country. I believe I am a patriot in a different definition of the word. I’m willing and ready to serve my country, but that means domestically – serving those who are in need, fighting inequality in our institutions, speaking up about injustice in my conversations with family and friends. I believe this is another way of being loyal to one’s country – being loyal to people in the country society forgets to acknowledge as human.

When listening to the song today, when discussing my views of society, and when seeing the American flag, I held a different meaning of this cultural object. Instead of a testament to freedom, democracy, and sacrifice, I saw a country of irony, of segregation, of inequality, and of ignorance. When singing the words, “God shed His Grace on Thee,” I felt a mix of frustration and of humility. In many ways, we are dependent on God’s grace, and could use so much more trust and patience in this fight for equality and justice.

And perhaps, I too am the “Thee” in that verse. For I need just as much grace as our country. I recognize that it has taken me many years to understand the world and our country the way I do. I need that grace now to be humble, to be compassionate, to be patient, to be open, and to stop judging other views of the United States. For it is true – there has been much sacrifice for the luxuries I enjoy.

So as I continue on through school, I know that elements of cynicism will reemerge and challenge me. But – I must continue to return to God, asking for His Grace to be shed on me, and perhaps I will be able to stop judging and continue working for social justice.

It will only be by the grace of God.

Returning to Graduate School – Comparing the Abstract with the Concrete

In many ways, I think I will have an advantage in graduate school because of my year as a volunteer. Working at Bread for the City, I was able to link many sociological theories with the actual experiences of our clients. My exposure to poverty, institutional racism, and real relationships with our clients informs how I look at the world, and indeed, how I view stratification. My heart is transformed because of these real relationships. In many ways, it is this exposure with the concrete that will help in my graduate studies.

Yet in other ways, I believe my year away from academia poses different challenges as I begin my courses. Much theory seems to be abstract. For example, in my culture class, we began with a discussion of what defines culture, what culture looks like, and who creates culture. Ultimately, the readings and discussion pointed us towards meaning-making – that culture is our attempt to make meaning; something becomes a cultural object because it has assigned meaning.

This is the first of many discussions that, while important, are different from the type of discussions at Bread for the City. Our work at Bread focuses on the concrete because we saw poverty as real. Our advocacy was not founded on theories of sociology, but on the relationships we had with our clients, and the aggregation of the multiple client stories we listened to each day.

So now, in graduate school, I look at the world through the lenses of the abstract and the concrete. I continue to think about my client experience as a Jesuit Volunteer, the advocacy we undertook, and the ways I continue to be ruined for life. Yet at the same time, I return to many conversations of the abstract – looking at the theories of many sociologists who have come before me; it will be my job to examine that abstract, to interpret it, to critique it, and to add to the conversation.

So the ultimate challenge at Loyola University Chicago will be to synthesize the abstract and the concrete. By doing this, perhaps an even more fruitful dialogue will happen, and we will continue to work for a more just world

Change Happens on the Journey

During our Jesuit Volunteer Corps closing retreat, we talked about the concept of a pilgrimage or journey. In that journey, often, the growth happens throughout the journey, but it is realized after the journey is complete. In a talk given by Sharon of the JVC staff, she mentioned the Wise Men of the Gospel and said,

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

When I look back on this year and the journey of JVC, I am most radically changed in my understanding of what it means to accompany others, to live on solidarity, and to develop kinship.

The idea of accompanying someone suggest a journey is to be had. In fact, all relationships are a journey, full of pockets of what St. Ignatius calls consolation and desolation. On a journey with others, we sense the times when we can tangible feel the presence of God, and others where we have a striking fear or perception that God has been absent.

I began working with clients at Bread during the first days of my experience, and as you know, soon received my own caseload of persons applying for Social Security Disability benefits. Working with clients consistently began to open my eyes to the realities of accompaniment. In the past, I have reflecting on winning Mr. R's SSI case and watching him fill with hope. This man, suffering from a long discouraging litany of impairments, has been finally granted some solace on his journey. I too felt hope, and God's presence in these moments.

Throughout the year, I became much more comfortable with, and well equipped to understand the experiences of the clients we serve at Bread for the City, and the larger systemic and underlying hurdles that cause our clients? life experience. Perhaps these realizations made it easier to understand what it means to accompany others. When individuals would walk into Bread towards the end of the year, I felt myself able to simply accompany them through the complexities of the legal system.

Yet, these same moments on the journey - the same moments of consolation - have hinted at, and often have been smothered by the overwhelming presence of desolation. My clients live an experience muddled by a system of classism, sexism, and especially racism. Theirs (and arguably, our own) lives are tainted by a system that predisposes them to lives of inequality, increased disparity, disadvantages, prejudices, and cyclical poverty. How can I possible see or experience a loving God in the midst of such suffering and desolation?

It is in the moments working on Mr. R's case, when he says he too wants to go to the City Council to advocate on behalf of programs that have fostered growth and self-actualization in him

It is in the moments of goodbye, when Mr. J. tells me to "never quit the books," even if it is hard, and I promise him that I won't quit.

It is in the moments of simply being present during walk-ins, listening, sharing my experience, growing...

It is in these moments and the many more moments this year that I have most closely felt God. And it is precisely because I have seen the true and authentic humanity in people society pretends do not exist.

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

Indeed, I have been radically changed through my experience of accompaniment this year, and in the moments of consolation and desolation. It is because of this year that I know I must always continue to explore what it means to truly accompany others, and to always work to make positive social and structural change.

The Importance of Walking

Last Sunday was one of my last morning walks to St. Patricks, the Catholic Church I have been attending for the past year. Each Sunday morning, I wake up, get ready, and walk 45 minutes to go to Mass. It is clearly avoidable – there are buses and metro lines that go to St. Patricks as it is in the heart of downtown D.C. However, I have found something special about walking this year.

I used to take the metro and bus a lot more, especially when we were in the thick of the winter. Yet, perhaps partly out of financial necessity, and partly out of desire to see more of the city, I began walking more places.

There is something to be said about these walks. If I would have taken the metro or bus to Landlord-Tenant Court in April, I would have taken the same route and seen the same streets. Yet, instead of taking the bus down 7th/Georgia Ave, I walked down 4th Street from our home. In the process, I saw different housing developments, smiled at different people, and felt as if I knew one more piece of Washington.

Walking like this has almost become a sort of ritual for me. Despite the heat of July, I walked to Lindsy and Andrews near the Navy yard, exploring new parts of NE and Capitol Hill through the walk. I took different streets when walking back from Foggy Bottom, and from various meetings this year, and walked the neighborhoods of Shaw and Columbia Heights.

Washington is relatively small, and the portions that tourists see are only a fraction of the city. Tourists know only the Mall, the White House, and perhaps parts of downtown. By living north of Shaw, working at Bread for the City (in both NW and SE), I feel a real connection to the city of D.C. I see real people living their own life experience.

Looking past the stereotypes that emerge about the neighborhood I live in, and the many neighborhoods of our clients, walking has given me the opportunity to confirm that perhaps I feel more comfortable here, rather than in Georgetown or in a distant suburb. Perhaps it is because I’ve smiled at real residents of D.C., and felt myself truly at home.

It is from this experience of walking that I came to know the city. I hope that I will continue to do the same as I move onto my next few years in Chicago.

Reflections on Amiel

“The stationary condition is the beginning of the end” – Henri Frederic Amiel.

A few months ago, this quote appeared in our house on the side of a magazine. Since then, I have seen it often and been pondering its meaning and relevance in my life. Perhaps it has provoked an inner stirring in me instantly because it’s the end of my year as a Jesuit Volunteer. I am preparing to leave Washington, to travel to Chicago, and to begin a new life in my work at Loyola University Chicago.

Does it strike me because I perhaps have done all the growing I can for this year? That is certainly not true, for I’ve often found most growth happens after the experience. It happens when we take our experience, and we translate it into tangible goals for our lifestyle. It happens because we reflect, we discuss with our closest friends and family, and we discern its meaning and impact on us.

When something becomes stationary, it is no longer migratory or changing. It has a fixed position, and it remains in the same spot.

Am I in a stationary condition now? Are things not changing, fixed in one spot? While I have no context for Amiel’s quote, I suspect it has struck a strong chord with me because I perhaps have felt my life become stationary over these past couple of months. We have established our routine as a house – we have figured out how to save money, how make our food budget stretch farther and farther each week, and have found ease in the comfortability of our relationships with one another. We know our faults and know the blessings that each of us bring to one another.

Looking broader into the values of JVC, I know that I’ve become quite stationary in my job, my understanding of simplicity, and my faith. Though I still love my work and could continue finding fulfillment in my interactions with clients and coworkers, it has become stationary. In terms of simple living, I no longer find myself challenging how I live, or how we as a community live. And, in my faith, I have come to a routine that seems easy and does not give much additional growth.

Perhaps this is the key word – growth. When something is stationary, it isn’t growing. But – that’s not the right way to look at my JVC experience. For I am still growing in relationships – relationships in my house, my work, and my broader D.C. community. And, I am grappling with inequality, with racism, with fear, with our common American values each day as I walk into Bread for the City. I am still challenged by my interactions.

I think Amiel’s quote has reemerged in my reflections because something did become stationary, despite some growth that I still may experience. And, in that stationary state, I think Amiel was signaling that the end is soon – that it will be soon time to allow my life to change. And it is true. I am essentially done with my work at Bread for the City. I am saying my goodbyes in D.C. and preparing myself for our closing retreat, and really, for a vacation to Washington State and a move to Chicago, where life will not be stationary.

But what I grapple with now is how to strike the balance between allowing oneself to continue to always grow, and yet become comfortable – to establish relationships and a sense of normalcy without falling into a completely stationary state.

Perhaps then, when we are really living, we never reach the stationary condition, but only get close. It is like a curve that begins dramatically and begins to have a smaller slope as time goes by. It is not a parabola – the growth never reaches a point of regression; rather, it continue to increase and grow, but its growth becomes slower and approaches a state of stationary condition.

Is that what has happened here? Have I found myself experience less and less growth, or rather growth that is lower as this year has happened?

Perhaps. Perhaps we aren’t capable of reaching a purely stationary condition? Perhaps because I value growth, I can get close but can’t reach it.

Perhaps that is why leaving is so painful. I am still growing in my interactions with my housemates. I still love going to work each day. I still feel a sense of connection to Washington, and to the clients at Bread for the City.

But perhaps because the growth has slowed, perhaps that’s my equivalent of a stationary condition. And as Amiel says, it’s a sign. It’s the beginning of the end.

Alas, it is true. The end is in sight. The end of this experience, and the beginning of my reflections into how to take this experience and make it forever part of my lifestyle.