Practical Social Work Ethics

Complex Dilemmas Within Applied Social Care

Lorraine Green, Malcolm Carey, Lorraine Green, Malcolm Carey

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781351909402
• Topic: Ciencias sociales
• Subtopic: Trabajo social

This is the first text of its kind to deal exclusively with applied social work ethics. It focuses on an eclectic mix of difficult moral questions or issues encountered in much modern day practice. It is therefore not theoretically driven with some practical elements attached, but is instead is a practice-based book, where any theory introduced is linked to tangible practice situations. It is also thought-provoking, controversial in parts and always engaging. The book is divided into three key sections, each introduced by the editors: Past and Present: Moral Practices with Children and Families Ethical Tensions? Ambivalent Ethics and Adult Social Work Contesting Modernisation Each section covers a range of topics and poses difficult questions which link to ethical dilemmas or anxieties. These are attached to themes such as whether culturally sensitive social work is always a good thing, the implications of secrets and silence within inter-generational families or the use of Controlled Treatment Orders or medical and social models within mental health social work. Other chapters ask whether the many forms of user/carer participation within social work education or practise are ethically viable, explore the moral paradoxes which emerge when vested financial interest sometimes appear to eclipse users' interests, examine the implications of avoiding or uncritically deploying 'touch' in social work/care or consider the many moral implications of institutional abuse within social work. With a focussed and clear writing style, this book will be of interest to all social work students and practitioners interested in the practical yet complex moral ramifications of their applied role.

Part I

Past and Present: Moral Practices with Children and Families

In the first section of the book contributors highlight and analyse some of the different arenas and contexts in and through which social work predominantly with children and their families takes place. Although sometimes considered ‘dirty work’ with apparent ‘social undesirables’, social work accommodates a variety of emotionally intense, politically and culturally sensitive and practically essential roles in disparate community environments. In the first chapter Paul Michael Garrett exposes and describes in graphic detail the multifaceted trajectory of long-term institutional abuse of ‘poor’ and often already abused and neglected children within industrial schools in Ireland. Garrett positions history, social class and politics at the core of practical social work ethics, pinpointing much continuity between the way these children were dehumanised and treated in the past and the way they are represented and responded to now. Again by offering new insights into mostly institutional support, Lorraine Green and Ros Day in Chapter 4 ask us to stop and consider the many ethical dilemmas and complexities surrounding the issue of touch in social work/care. They focus on a range of issues affecting different client groups in varied settings whilst also reviewing extant research and literature on touch and discussing its practical and ethical implications for social work. Both these chapters also contrast the larger ‘macro’ institution of old with the still common residential ‘micro’ institutions which have become more prevalent and are represented by the homeless shelter, nursing home, extended living accommodation, and other examples. Such different settings alter the relationships between residents and also staff and perhaps inevitably generate new moral dilemmas, anxieties or forms of sanction or abuse. As well as the intense variety of settings in which social work practice takes place we can also see in this section the many different power relations that persist within and as part of formal or informal care and any subsequent concomitant relationships.

In Chapter 2, Kylie Agllias and Mel Gray focus on family secrets and lies, showing that ethical decision making in social work practice becomes more complex and fraught when it is so intricately tied to deeply personal – even private – beliefs and hidden experiences which might challenge normative ideologies and practices of family, parenting, marriage and motherhood. The chapter also examines ethical dilemmas associated with intergenerational family estrangement in later life, through an ethics of care lens and a focus on relational ethics.

In Chapter 3, Gurnam Singh and Stephen Cowden question whether uncritical cultural sensitivity is always a positive quality or ethically defensible? They explore the dilemmas faced by social workers in responding to issues associated with cultural and religious identities. They challenge the powerful but seemingly flawed orthodoxy which emerged during the 1980s of always seeing cultural differences as benign and positive and warranting accommodation and ‘special’ treatment, an orthodoxy which has been framed through the lens of ‘culturally sensitive’ social work practice. These chapters together stress the significance of history and the home, institutions and nuanced relationships between people and professionals: and in particular they highlight the complex care/control binary inherent within social care as well as the labyrinth or sometimes minefield of disparate ethical uncertainties that are perhaps inevitably woven into the delicate yet contested trade of social work.

1 Beyond the Community of Persons to Be Accorded ‘Respect’? Messages from the Past for Social Work in the Republic of Ireland

Paul Michael Garrett

Introduction

This chapter’s foundational understanding is that the defence of social work ethics is vital. This is especially the case during a period of neoliberalisation when ways of working and relating to others are increasingly subject to market mechanisms and ‘care’ practices become even more vulnerable to corruption (Harvey, 2005; Wardhaugh and Wilding, 1993). In this context, perhaps what many still perceive as the core social work value – ‘respect for persons’ – has the potential to become increasingly political and more subversive of dominant hegemonic orders intent on (dis)respecting particular groups and communities.

Sarah Banks (2006, p. xiii) suggests that the focus of professional ethics has been on ‘developing lists of principles and how to handle conflict between principles’ (see also Banks, 2003; 2004). However, the influence of history and the contexts in which ethical dilemmas occur has been secondary. When workers struggle with issues that transcend their interpersonal relationships with service users, they commonly view their struggles as idiosyncratic or outside the lens of ethics (Weinberg, 2010). This chapter, therefore, seeks to locate history at the core of reflection on practical social work ethics. It will discuss how particular groups, constructed as ‘outcasts’ at specific historical conjunctures, are symbolically and often spatially located beyond the community of persons to be accorded ‘respect’. Here the focus will be on the treatment of ‘troublesome’, impoverished young people confined to Industrial Schools in the Republic of Ireland in the past.

In the six years spanning 2005. political, public and media discussion on child abuse has dwelt on four reports published after separate inquiries into abuse by Roman Catholic priests and other, largely male, figures in ‘caring’ roles: (i) a 2005 report examining abuse in the diocese of Ferns (Murphy et al., 2005); (ii) the Ryan Commission’s voluminous report (Commission to Inquire into Child Abuse, 2009); (iii) the Murphy Commission report examining complaints of child sexual abuse against a number of Dublin based priests during the period 1975–2004 (Commission of Investigation, 2009). Subsequently, a further fourth (iv) Commission of Investigation (2011) critical report, examining events in the Roman Catholic diocese of Cloyne, was published in July 2011 (see also Garrett, 2013). In what follows, the aim is to concentrate on the Ryan Commission which investigated abuse in Industrial Schools and related institutions.¹

It will begin by surveying some of the key findings featured in the Ryan Report and then move on to illuminate some of the continuities detectable in terms of the responses to ‘troublesome’ young people in the past and today. In this context it will be argued that social workers and associated professionals should try to foster forms of reflection and ethical practice which incorporate a sense of social history and which are attentive to the specific national domains in which they operate.

The Irish ‘Gulag’: The Ryan Report on the Historical Treatment of the Impoverished and ‘Troublesome’ Young

The Industrial Schools Act 1868 established Industrial Schools to hold and contain neglected, abandoned and ambiguously ‘troublesome’ children. They began to expand from the 1920s and already by 1924 there were more children in Industrial Schools in the Free State than there were in all of the Industrial Schools in England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland put together (Raftery and O’Sullivan, 1999). These were run on a day-to-day basis by the Roman Catholic religious orders, but funded by the state. As Skehill (2004, p. 231) suggests, the system ‘appears to have been perceived, by some officials within the Department of Education … as a solution to the problems of child care in the country’. Local authorities also appear to ‘have endorsed this view and many opted for the easier route of transferring children from the county homes’ [former poor law institutions] to the Industrial Schools, rather than seeking out foster parents for them (Skehill, 2004, p. 231). This development was opposed by inspectors responsible for ‘boarded-out children’ with one suggesting, in the early-1930s, that payments could be given to parents to enable them to maintain children at home rather than committing them to the Industrial Schools (Skehill, 2004, pp. 233–4). Although not heeded, this idea was to emerge yet again – and was to be officially derided – in the 1960s. Furthermore, during the first ten years of partial independence, the ‘Rules and Regulations for Industrial Schools’, on discipline and punishment, were those of the previous British administration. By then ‘Britain had already moved to a greatly reformed system, with short sentences, reduced corporal punishment, strict inspection and accountability’ (Arnold, 2009, p. 13). In 1936 the Cussen Report recommended that Industrial School children should be integrated into the community and be educated in national schools. However, over ‘the period 1936 to 1970, a total of 170,000 children and young persons … entered the gates of the 50 or so industrial schools’ and were to remain, on average, for seven years (Ryan Report, vol. 1, p. 41).

In the mid-1960s, one commentator in surveying the care of those termed – in the vocabulary of the day – ‘deprived’ children, avowed: ‘we would all be very intolerant if the Irish Government kept Aer Lingus [the national airline] cluttered with bi-planes [old fashioned aircrafts], yet many of our institutions are quite as obsolete and the passengers are helpless children’ (Hunt in Tuairim London Branch Study Group, 1966, p. 53). More emphatically, a group of social reformers concluded ‘too little social legislation has been passed since Ireland won its independence. It is surely strange that we should be content with social legislation passed to us from a government which we threw off’ (Tuairim London Branch Study Group, 1966, p. 2). In November 1970, the publication of the Kennedy Report contributed to the abandonment of the Industrial School model (Department of Health, 1970; Raftery and O’Sullivan, 1999, ch. 15).

The Ryan Commission heard evidence from 1,090 men and women who reported being:

abused as children in Irish institutions. Abuse was reported to the Committee in relation to 216 school and residential settings including Industrial and Reformatory Schools, Children’s Homes, hospitals, national and secondary schools, day and residential special needs schools, foster care and a small number of other residential institutions, including laundries and hostels. 791 witnesses reported abuse to Industrial and Reformatory Schools and 259 witnesses reported abuse in the range of other institutions. (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 12)

In terms of the specific types of abuse suffered, more than 90 per cent reported being physically abused while in the Industrial Schools or out-of-home care. They ‘frequently described casual, random physical abuse but many wished to report only the times when the frequency and severity were such that they were injured or in fear for their lives. In addition to being hit and beaten, witnesses described other forms of abuse such as being flogged, kicked and otherwise physically assaulted, scalded, burned and held under water’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 13). Absconders, colloquially referred to as ‘runners’, were ‘severely beaten, at times publicly. Some had their heads shaved and were humiliated’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 20).

Although no definitive evidence exists relating to the operation of organised ‘rings’ of abusers, sexual abuse was reported by approximately half of all the witnesses appearing before Ryan’s Confidential Committee. ‘Acute and chronic contact and non-contact sexual abuse was reported, including vaginal and anal rape, molestation and voyeurism in both isolated assaults and on a regular basis over long periods of time’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 13). Sexual abuse was ‘endemic in boys’ institutions [which comprised the majority]. The situation in girls’ institutions was different. Although girls were subjected to predatory sexual abuse by male employees or visitors or in outside placements, sexual abuse was not systemic in girls’ schools’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 21).

Detainees were also victims of neglect and emotional abuse. This was ‘reported by witnesses in the form of lack of attachment and affection, loss of identity, deprivation of family contact, humiliation, constant criticism, personal denigration, exposure to fear and the threat of harm … Witnesses were incorrectly told their parents were dead and were given false information about their siblings and family members’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 13). Given the scope of this abuse it is hardly surprising that many witnesses had to deal with its impact throughout their lives:

Witnesses … described lives marked by poverty, social isolation, alcoholism, mental illness, sleep disturbance, aggressive behaviour and self harm. Approximately 30% of the witnesses described a constellation of ongoing, debilitating mental health concerns, for example, suicidal behaviour, depression, alcohol and substance abuse and eating disorders, which required treatment including psychiatric admission, medication and counseling. (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 14; see also Carr et al., 2010)

Significantly, there was a constant flow of knowledge about what was occurring within the Industrial Schools although this was apt to be disregarded by the State and the evidence of brave and vocal survivors of the system was suppressed (see Tyrrell, 2006). This was because those who ‘spoke out’ tended be marginalised and lacking the power to define and name abusive practices within the wider public domain. There were great difficulties presented for dissenting and oppositional voices because of the power of the Roman Catholic Church and the social standing and status – what Bourdieu theorises as forms of ‘capital’ – of priests, nuns and other associated religious figures. Related to this, State ‘officials often labelled those who broke this silence as cranks and troublemakers’ (Holohan, 2011, p. 147).

Within the Industrial Schools, to differing degrees depending on local and situational relationships, there tended to be a ‘culture of obeying orders without question’ (Ryan Report, vol. 2, p. 80). This factor retains significance today because of the complex interplay of authoritarianism, obedience and compliance that continues to characterise the institutional ambiance of present-day organisations in Ireland. For example, the largely politically tame – Nyberg Report – purportedly examining the causes of the Irish banking crisis – detected the pervasive authoritarian atmosphere which helped to silence critical perspectives at odds with the ‘official’ and accepted opinions, within the banking sector and beyond: ‘Domestic doubters were few, late and usually low-key, possibly because it was thought that expressing contrarian views risked sanction’ (Commission of Investigation into the Banking Sector in Ireland, 2011: viii). For Nyberg and his colleagues, a ‘main lesson is the need to make sure, both in private and public institutions, that there exist both fora and incentives for leadership and staff to openly discuss and challenge strategies and their implementation. It must become respectable and welcome to express professionally argued contrarian views’ (Commission of Investigation into the Banking Sector in Ireland, 2011: ix–x).

Historical testimony indicates that the inspections of Industrial Schools conducted by the Orders responsible for running the institutions – so-called ‘visitations’ – were more thorough than those undertaken by the Irish government. In the early 1960s, a secret report on Artane Industrial School requested by John Charles McQuaid (Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin and Primate of Ireland, 1940–1973) also confirmed the evidence of pupil complainants. The relevant section within the Department of Education – the Inspectorate of Reformatories and Industrial Schools which occupied a lowly place in the Department’s bureaucratic hierarchy – constantly failed to act in a competent and decisive way. That is to say, the ‘State had access to records and allegations of abuse, yet it failed to respond to such allegations. Officials did not reply to or lost letters, did not return telephone calls or told direct lies about their involvement’ (Arnold, 2009, p. 102). When ‘religious staff abused, the matter tended to be dealt with using internal disciplinary procedures and Canon Law. The Gardaí [police] were not informed. On the rare occasions when the Department was informed, it colluded in the silence’ (Ryan Report, Executive Summary, p. 23).

‘Expertise’ is also likely to have had an impact on public perceptions because ‘experts’ were seemingly able to authoritatively provide a ‘scientific’ rationale for what amounted to barbarism (see also in this context, Bauman, 1989). In sh...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• List of Tables
• Notes on Contributors
• Introduction: Practical Social Work Ethics, Professionalism and Ethical Space
• PART I PAST AND PRESENT: MORAL PRACTICES WITH CHILDREN AND FAMILIES
• PART II ETHICAL TENSIONS? AMBIVALENT ETHICS AND ADULT SOCIAL WORK
• PART III CONTESTING MODERNISATION
• Index