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Relational social work
 Fabio Folgheraiter

Relational social work

toward networking and societal practices

Foreword by Professor Ann Davis

Translated from Italian

by Adrian Belton
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including
photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or
incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the written permission of the copyright
owner except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or
under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, 90 Tottenham Court Road,
London, England W1P 9HE. Applications for the copyright owner’s written permission to reproduce
any part of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.
Warning: The doing of an unauthorised act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil
claim for damages and criminal prosecution.

The right of Fabio Folgheraiter to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in the United Kingdom in 2004

by Jessica Kingsley Publishers Ltd
116 Pentonville Road
London N1 9JB
England
and
29 West 35th Street, 10th fl.
New York, NY 10001-2299
USA

www.jkp.com

Copyright © Fabio Folgheraiter 2004

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 1 84310 191 2

Printed and Bound in Great Britain by Athenaeum Press, Gateshead, Tyne and Wear
 Contents

Foreword to the English edition (Professor Ann Davis) 7

Introduction to the English edition (Fabio Folgheraiter) 9
Introduction 17
Chapter 1 27
The relational core of social problems
The joint perception of care needs
• Introduction
• Construction of the feeling that “a problem exists”: the relational basis
• The social problem as inadequacy of action
• A higher level of observation: relational coping
• An example of relational coping: a case study of Maria’s family
• Summary and conclusions
Chapter 2 91
The relational core of social work solutions
The joint working out of helping plans
• Introduction
• Observation and intervention: two interconnected phases
• The relational attitude of social workers and the helping relationship:
beyond the directivity/non-directivity dilemma
• The helping relationship as a reciprocal improvement in the capacity for action
• The principle of indeterminism in social work
• Toward relational empowerment
• Relational empowerment in networking practice: the main cognitive obstacles
and their removal
• Summary
Chapter 3 163
Relational guidance and networking
Methodological outline
• Introduction
• Networking is a relationship ‘at work’ with other relations
• What is relational guidance?
• A first operation of relational guidance: arranging/rearranging the inadequate
helping network’s structure
• A second operation of relational guidance: joint problem-solving
• Formalization of relational guidance
• Summary
Chapter 4 227
Case studies
Networking best practices described from the experts’ view
• Introduction
• Marco and his behaviour problems in the classroom: a socio-educational example
• Elena, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, alone in a country which is not her own
• Father Damiano and development of an anti-alcoholism self-help community
movement in Trentino (Italy)
References 287
Index 297
 FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH EDITION / 7

Foreword
to the English edition

Social work is concerned with achieving negotiated change in the lives of people who
face difficulties. Most people who receive social work services are members of disadvan-
taged, stigmatised and socially excluded groups. In working with these marginalized
citizens, social workers actively engage with the social- seeking ways to enable individu-
als, their families and communities to interact productively with the society in which
they live. In doing this they deliver moral, cultural and social messages about the position
and value of service users in the societies in which they live.
Social work requires a knowledge base that critically addresses private troubles and
public issues. Conceptual frameworks that explain the insecurity, pain and confusion that
individuals experience in their private lives as well as those that explore and acknowledge
the diverse legal, political, cultural and social contexts in which individuals live. Whilst
social work has an international presence it takes distinct national forms. Its interventions
are shaped and reflect state welfare, social movements, civil society and academic and
professional discourses. These interrelated factors in driving the direction of social work
theory and practice contribute to its rich diversity within and across nation states.
Social work has from its nineteenth century origins worked to effect change locally,
nationally and globally. Social work was part of the welfare structures imposed by
colonising European nation states. At the same time social work innovators and pioneers
chose to meet and exchange ideas and practice wisdom with their peers from other
countries. These traditions of international exchange have provided a rich resource for
social work as an academic discipline in building theory and practice systematically and
critically. In the twenty first century debates about the ways in which globalisation is
impacting on the different and distinct national traditions that shape exchanges be-
tween social workers and citizens are contributing to this resource.
8 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

It was on a European social work exchange that I first met the author of this book.
Teaching social work students and practitioners at Trento University in the Spring of 2002,
we found ourselves discovering similarity and difference in the ways in which social work
is understood, practiced and researched in Italy and England. What I learnt from our
exchanges not only stimulated my interest in the Italian approach to social work theory and
practice, it led me to reflect on the directions we are currently taking in social work in
Britain. In extending these reflections by reading this book I deepened my understanding
of the style, direction and dominant discourses in British and Italian social work.
Fabio Folgheraiter takes as his starting point the relational hub of what currently
constitutes the practice and theory of social work and social care. From this position he
develops an approach to building theoretically informed, socially relevant and individu-
ally transforming practice. His concern is to both understand and engage the expertise
and commitment of those who comprise the networks of individuals in difficulties. In
carefully considering what such networks have to offer to the practice and theorising of
social work he engages with the critical issues of power and the social competence as they
inform and shape the negotiated interventions of social workers in the lives of those who
face social exclusion and stigma.
Fabio Folgheraiter argues that to be effective social work needs to pay close attention
to the ways in which individuals understand their needs as well as the ways in which
they meet them through their networks. In pursuing this approach he demonstrates the
importance of practitioners tuning into the worlds in which service users live their lives.
He demonstrates that by making these connections social workers open up the possibility
of releasing the energies and potential of networks within civil society to effect positive
change. This approach necessarily involves a repositioning of social work in relation to
the state and civil society. It also promotes a view that those who become service users
have an active part to play in building therapeutic responses to their problems.
This book offers intellectual perspectives that will assist British practitioners and
academics to think about the impact that the increasingly procedural and legalised
climate in which social work has been confined over the past decade has had on their
practice and understandings. The richness of the case material the author draws on
reaffirms the importance of making the service user central to thought and action in
social work. Because of this it raises critical questions about the scope and direction of
current debates in Britain, in particular evidence based interventions and the measure-
ment of outcomes. At the same time it has much to offer to current debates on partnership
with service users, their families and communities.
In making a contribution to the international social work literature this book
reaffirms the importance to social work theory and practice of recognising, across our
differences, common concerns with social change, social ideas and social movements.

Birmingham, June 2003 Professor Ann Davis

 INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION / 9

Introduction to
the English edition

This book is based on a broader and more systematic work published in Italy
in 1998 with the title Theory and Methodology of Social Work: The Networking
Perspective. It has been conceived for students attending university courses in
social work and partly reflects the distinctive nature of personal social services
and social care in Italy.
Italy has a traditional welfare state apparatus that is ‘good enough’, but not
to the extent that it could ever claim to be exhaustive. Alongside the considerable
development of statutory community services in the traditional areas of commu-
nity care and child protection, the past two decades have seen a perhaps unpar-
alleled development of a non-profit Third Sector endowed with substantial
decision-making and operational autonomy from the state, although it depends
on the latter financially. The ‘social cooperative’ movement has more than 4000
cooperative enterprises for solidarity purposes scattered across the country, and
voluntary organizations are also well represented. User and carer movements have
developed a variety of community initiatives, ranging from socio-cultural aware-
ness campaigns to the creation of organizations for the autonomous delivery (or
in some cases jointly with ‘friendly professionals’) of personal social services, con-
ventional as well as innovative. The ‘market’ dimension of social care has remained
generally limited, and it has never been promoted by national legislation of neo-
liberalist thrust, as has happened in other European countries. Only in recent
years has debate begun on care quasi-markets, and it is only in the north of the
country that we can see a rapid evolution of markets in social care. Throughout
the country, however, the traditional family base is still quite solid, so that
informal care acts as the keystone for Italy’s mixed welfare system in its entirety.
10 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

A network of relations has developed among these three systems (statutory,

independent and informal) in accordance with what typically happens in mature
welfare economies. But the distinctive feature of Italy is that these connections
can be better viewed as personal relations: that is, as initiatives which are not
wholly prescribed as to the functional roles performed by the multiple agents
undertaking them. This can obviously be said about informal agents, but the
same applies to welfare professionals. These have generally been able to enjoy
relative freedom of action because of the absence of the stringent political and
managerial control, although this is now being invoked – for perhaps miscon-
ceived reasons of efficiency – from various quarters.
Numerous Italian social practitioners, in fact, have performed a truly ‘societal’
role, that is, an enabling role with regard to numerous other agents involved in
local welfare practices. Often, their action as community ‘catalysts’ has taken
place without full (or even sufficient) cognitive awareness of the intrinsically
relational nature of caring situations. Understandably, the greatest margins of
freedom are available in the Third Sector. Thousands (literally) of professionals
– not only qualified social workers but also other experts (social pedagogues,
special educators, youth workers, community psychologists) – have worked
together with even larger numbers of volunteers, in collaboration with col-
leagues in the public services, on the one hand, and with thousands of users and
carers on the other. Within the Italian Third Sector has developed an approach
to professional practice which falls under the general heading of the ‘social model
of caring’ as opposed to the ponderous ‘curing/medical paradigm’. In fact, the
system of social (non-medical) expertise in direct practice has been able to play
a strongly independent role in the midst of civil society, the management of
services, and the policy-making system.
There has arisen over the years something that approaches the ideal type of
the ‘welfare society’. Following Donati (1991), I call this systemic pattern ‘rela-
tional’ or ‘reticular’ because it is an ‘emergent effect’ of the (relatively) free actions
of the numerous subjects (including statutory professionals) that weave it to-
gether. At least in its more efficacious manifestations in the reflexive sense, this
model gives us a glimpse of what the ‘civil welfare’ or ‘welfare society’ might be
like. Of course, a participatory policy of this scope has not been planned; nor
perhaps could it be. It cannot spring from the mind of an enlightened policy
maker. The welfare activation of local communities is a process that requires
great freedom, and this need not necessarily be free-market liberal or entrepre-
neurial. It requires a sense of independence rooted in the fabric of society and its
cultural patterns. It therefore goes without saying that these are extremely long-
term processes specific to national contexts. If we look at the Italian example, we
 INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION / 11

find confirmation of the idea that one of the crucial factors is a certain weakness
– or, if one prefers, the limited power – of the public welfare authorities. It is more
likely that power will be ‘transferred’ and diffused in society – to reason with the
logic of empowerment – if it is not overly concentrated within one institutional
context. But at the same time it is essential that the public institutions should be
active and create a solid, albeit ‘light’, framework of governance, able to support
and sustain societal action.
Paradoxically, in Italy the development of a ‘welfare society’ has been facili-
tated by the constraints of the expert’s technical cultures (managerial and pro-
fessional) in the conventional welfare state system, despite the indubitable and
evident presence of the latter. We may say that the ‘actors’ concerned, at different
levels, have shown ‘good will’ and a reasonable hope that in the end they will do
well, rather than the certainty beforehand that they know exactly ‘what’ to do
and ‘how’ to do it. In sectors where ‘lofty’ public policies (based on the hubris
and confidence of the planners) have been hazarded, closely targeted on phe-
nomena deemed socially dangerous, and supported by generous public expendi-
ture on highly formal and authoritarian statutory agencies, the results have been
generally modest. This has been the case in the field of drug addiction, for
example. In contrast, in sectors where the state has done what it could but
nothing more, one has seen civil society, when not obstructed by an excessively
strong statutory monopoly, being galvanized into action. The public authorities
have not suffocated the parallel system of community action. Indeed, they have
supported and financed it (with a certain generosity perhaps promoted by po-
litical interests, but that is beside the point), and this somewhat confused ap-
proach has led to good being done. A case in point is mental health, where the
Italian state, with the notorious Basaglia law of 1978, closed down the country’s
psychiatric hospitals practically overnight. This hasty decision off-loaded onto
families, intermediate societal bodies and also reflexively onto itself, a task that
was impossible to achieve in isolation, or even initially by all the parties together.
The challenge for the state was to meet its promise to introduce on a large scale
the community services piloted here and there in local-level projects. There
followed difficult years for patients and their families and for mental health
professionals as well. However, the need to cope with emergencies and with the
problem as a whole, without the illusion that this was going to be easy, spurred
the energies of Italian society in an enterprise that was apparently impossible,
and even senseless, but which in the end was accomplished by the social body as
a whole through a comprehensive learning experience.
A similar dynamic was triggered by the law of 1975 which required the full
inclusion of learning disabled children in public schools of all type and level,
12 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

when the trained personnel required were simply not available. In this case, too,
the effort required was enormous (by schools, families, social services and local
communities), but equally enormous was the cultural change brought about as
regards the ‘normalization’ processes and the professional growth of the practi-
tioners involved.
The culture of ‘care by the community’ has developed over the years, giving
rise to initiatives that have confirmed its validity. Indeed, the more ‘radical’ these
empowerment and participatory practices among community agents (users,
families, volunteers, practitioners, etc.), the clearer the empirical evidence of
their efficacy. Of course, this trend has not been a one-way process or without
contradictions. There has obviously been no lack of attempts by professional
experts and institutional powers to control social processes; indeed, as I have
said, in some sectors they have been tenacious. It is precisely this resilience,
however, that is useful because it highlights the contrast between the vitality and
humanity of shared ‘poor’ practices and the slow and inexorable entrenchment
of numerous authoritarian initiatives of positivist (and also post-positivist) char-
acter.
The writing of this book has been made possible by careful observation of
the success of relational practices in Italy; one might even say that these successful
practices have written the book. At the same time it has been prompted by the
need to reinforce such best practices, if possible, by means of a tentative theory
that explains and thereby consolidates their functioning. Despite the ‘evident’
success of these societal movements, their protagonists run the risk to be unable
to specify what it is they have achieved, or how they have done so. They are able
to see these ‘lay’ practices work, but they are not always able to give the appro-
priate importance to them. They conceptualise their actions as those of ‘true’
specialists and regret the absence of what might traditionally been regarded as
technical or specialist skills. They think: ‘we’re forced to do as best we can on our
own, because we still don’t have the right specialists. If we did, that would be
ideal!’. It is necessary to forcefully argue the opposite: that relational practices
work precisely because the specialists, so implacably able to solve problems, are
lacking. If they existed, they would impede the lay practitioners in some way, and
there would be nothing in their place. Professional interventions in social care
seem be effective if (and only if ) practitioners humbly acknowledge the limita-
tions of the self-referential skills and seek to overcome them by means of ‘exter-
nal’ connection with societal competences.
The book is not descriptive in its intent. Only in its final part do the case
studies give a brief anecdotal account of the societal initiative of perhaps greatest
importance in Italy: a huge social self-help movement (consisting of more than
 INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION / 13

1200 groups in every part of the country) promoted by families with alcohol-
related problems working with professionals involved on a voluntary basis. The
main aim of the book is instead to provide the basis for a mode of reflexive
reasoning which, although widely set out in the specialist literature since the
pioneering works by Schön (1991), is not always comprehensible to the majority
of social workers. It aims to contribute to the growing critique of positivist
models of social work practice at the same time as arguing the need for theoreti-
cally grounded models of practice.
The Italian version of this book was written primarily to foster basic theo-
retical insights into relational/reflexive/constructivist practices among students
about to embark upon the profession, and who might therefore have the good
fortune to absorb this model without the fatigue of first dismantling a ‘wrong’
one. For them it is vital that the message delivered with their training should be
coherent with the complex nature of social care. Secondly, the book was intended
for Italian social workers who had already had first-hand experience of reflexive/
relational practices. The aim was to persuade them to continue to act relationally
– that is, without a solid theoretical-methodological basis of positivist stamp,
and without feeling themselves to be any poorer because of it. They have also had
the good fortune to live with the postmodern paradox pointed out by Morin
(1986), namely that it is precisely the absence of too solid bases (of structuralist
sclerosis, one might say) that enables one to do good in the flux of social care.
It is this awareness that professional planning must be in flux, too, that should
be fostered and made the basis (anti-basis?) of their expertise.
The book was also written bearing in mind those practitioners who are not
only hostile to such insights, practitioners ‘with their feet on the ground’ who
do not see how the professional methodology can be written in any other terms
than the ‘evidence-based’ scientific ones considered to be uniquely legitimate in
social work. The intention was to open some chink in their basically sensible, but
quite ingenuous, conviction.
Why an English language version of my book? In many respects, the reflexive
topics new to the Italian public have been widely debated in the Anglo-Saxon
literature. However, pioneering debates in journals and books are one thing, the
full cultural acceptance of ideas so counter-intuitive is another. Another work
which adds itself to this difficult emerging paradigm may not be so superfluous,
therefore. The principal purpose of the book is to provide basic insight into the
reflexive/relational approach. But it also attempts to carry forward a concrete
methodological discourse, to outline a mental framework (a minimum of struc-
ture is necessary!) which enables professionals to handle the theory agilely with-
out being mired in confusion. The methodological scheme is centred on the idea
14 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

of ‘relational guidance’ and the ‘capacity for action’ (agency) of interest-bearers

in care situations. As said, such theory finds informal empirical support in
numerous documented exemplary experiences, which in turn are part of a far-
reaching international search for a ‘third way’ in the field of welfare, beyond the
‘standard provisions’ of the state and of care markets. From this point of view the
book may be of interest to social workers in other countries.
As regards the United Kingdom in particular, a number of further aspects
require mention. In that country, since the early 1990s attempts have been made
to loosen, or even to get rid of, the close statist post-Seebohm constraints by
liberalization from laws and ministerial guidelines. Shifting from a conception
of the social worker as an across-the-board deliverer of public services, to a case
manager who ‘purchases’ market services on behalf of users, is an approach that
undoubtedly breaks with conventional practice. But is it as ‘open’ and relational
as it should be? The liberal option increases the choices available to the service
user/consumer, but at the same time vital spaces of autonomy are closed or
proceduralized, not only at the expense of professional action. Relational theory
interrogates whether it is possible for social workers to be given greater autonomy
together with greater accountability (or social responsibility), without the two
conflicting.
But is it truly possible to imagine social workers who are fully ‘independent’
and free in the age of liberalization, and not on the contrary more and more
crushed? Is it possible to imagine social workers able to act sensibly without
shielding themselves behind the authority that emanates from their public role,
and without insulating themselves in the technical efficiency required by the new
market ideology? The Italian experience of ‘non-liberalist liberty’ cautiously
suggests that it is possible. The theory of relational agency embraced by this book
suggests that social workers should harness their professional action (and there-
fore also their certainties drawn from science and conventional wisdom) to
facilitate social relations in local communities, with all the unpredictability that
arises along the way.
I am grateful to my wife Sandra and to my daughters Lina and Silvia for their
support and patience. I am deeply indebted to Professor Ann Davis and Professor
Marian Barnes for their invaluable suggestions.

Trento, Italy, April 2003 Fabio Folgheraiter

 INTRODUCTION / 15

Relational social work

16 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK
 INTRODUCTION / 17

Introduction

It has always been a commonplace to say that social work ‘is at a turning
point’ or ‘is in crisis’ (Bamford, 1990; Clarke, 1993). This perennial precarious-
ness of the profession reflects the more generally uncertain fate of the welfare
state at large. At the level of both fieldwork and policy-making, the problem of
how to devise and implement caring action which society as a whole (citizens,
politicians, professional groups) deems sensible and acceptable has never yet
been resolved.
An infinite crisis, therefore. Yet we know that no crisis can ever be ‘endless’.
A ‘chronic’ crisis is a contradiction. Is the welfare pessimism therefore exagger-
ated? Is precariousness not the normal state of the social services, something that
we must learn to live with, refusing to panic and without wasting time on its
discussion? This phlegmatic attitude seems wise. And yet it fails to take account
of what has happened in the last decade, when the world of the personal social
services (Adams, 1996b), and social work as well, has been turned upside down
by a major khunian ‘revolution’, given that all the traditional and profound bases
have broken down (Lesnik, 1998). There have even been authors who have
announced that social work ‘is dead’ (Payne, 1995).
For the first time ever in the European countries, the ethical foundations of
the post-war social pact (Thane, 1996) by which we all (the State) assume
‘responsibility for our brethren’ (Bauman, 2000) have been called into question.
The reassuring children’s story that we have a right to well-being has proved to
be precisely that – a children’s story. Now we are actually told that our sole
entitlement is to efficient services delivered by some or other provider. Our well-
being as such we must provide by ourselves. The State does not have the powers
18 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

of a fairy godmother; the most it can and should do is balance its budget and not
over-burden the national economies with taxes.
For the first time, the social professions of the welfare state (Banks, 1999)
have been subjected to disenchanted scrutiny and called to account: besides the
fine theories they have so ably constructed, where are the results that they prom-
ised? For the first time social work has been forced to distinguish their field of
action from that of direct helping work. Do not, they are told, confuse counsel-
ling (face-to-face helping) with care management, and do not waste scarce re-
sources by failing to understand the difference between situations which require
definitive remediation efforts and others which require the efficient manage-
ment of chronic needs in the long-term care perspective. For the first time,
statutory social work has been cut off at its roots. It is under powerful pressure
to become increasingly an agent of social control to the benefit of the public
authorities (welfare expenditure, risk behaviours, etc.) and to restrict its helping
involvement to the benefit of users. And a fortiori to reduce its efforts to induce
social and political change to the benefit of the quality of life in local commu-
nities (Alinsky, 1971; Selener, 1997; Banks, 1999).
The helping professions have been attacked at their very core, at their most
intimately-held assumption. Well-being is no longer an absolute and uncondi-
tional end in itself. Rather, the argument goes, it should be placed in close
relation to (and often in contrast with) managerial rationality and economic
compatibility. The struggle against social hardship is no longer to be waged ‘at
any cost’, and it is no longer to be left to the professionals concerned. Just as
warfare is too important to be left to the generals, so welfare has political impli-
cations of such magnitude that it must be removed from the discretion of
fieldworkers. This is so-called ‘managed care’ where practitioners are subject to
the close control of managers, and service managers in their turn to the close
control of policy makers (Lowman and Resnick, 1994; Corcoran and Vandiver,
1996).
As the globalization of economies proceeds (Dominelli, 1999), almost eve-
rywhere neo-liberalist thought is poised to take over, albeit in forms that vary
considerably among countries. In Europe the doctrine implies the rapid disman-
tling of the welfare states that have grown and consolidated since the Second
World War (Esping Andersen, 1996). If liberalism is not a ‘crisis’ in the way that
social workers are accustomed to seeing themselves, with hopes and despairs
related (Jones, 2000), it is difficult to say what it can be.
The reality, however, is even more complicated. Confirming the ‘compulsive
pessimism’ that afflicts social work, one already notes a revolution within a
revolution: liberalism is already showing signs of its own crisis.
 INTRODUCTION / 19

The case of liberalization in the United Kingdom is instructive. Margaret

Thatcher did not hesitate to extend market principles to personal social services
with the NHS and Community Care Act of 1990 (Mandelstam and Schweher,
1995). Many of the recipes of neo-liberalist theory have been applied to care
through this law, and with a radical thrust reminiscent of the equally famous (in
its way) Italian law of 1978 promoted by Franco Basaglia, which closed all the
country’s mental hospitals (Jones, 1988; Sharkey and Barna, 1990). Just as Italy
in the 1980s was a national proving ground for application of the principles of
social psychiatry and normalisation (Wolfensberger, 1972; Brown and Smith,
1992), so Britain is now in the eyes of the world a macro-experiment in social
care liberalization; or in other words, in the rapid changeover from a welfare
system based on public bureaucracies to one based on the ‘care market’ (Barlett
et al., 1994; Wistow et al., 1996).
It is still too early to draw up an exhaustive balance sheet of this experiment,
though some verdicts for or against have already been pronounced (Payne, 1999).
In general, one may say that social care has proved unexpectedly difficult to
liberalize, undoubtedly more so than other more impersonal welfare sectors like
transport, telecommunications, although even these have created problems for
policy-makers.
A first consideration is the banal fact that the quality of social care depends
largely on the availability of public resources (Johnson et al., 1998). The ratio
between them is unyielding and no rhetoric can relax it: if you seek to reduce public
spending, some needs go untreated; if you truly focus on needs, using the ‘needs
assessment’ procedures, conventional budgets are at risk. Ascertaining whether a
budget is balanced is obviously easier than ascertaining whether a need has been
objectively satisfied (even assuming that we know what the term means). It is also
evident that managers and policy makers are more directly concerned with the
health of the public accounts than they are with full satisfaction of consumers
(Sherman, 1999), for all the potential opportunities to lodge claims against the
local authority diligently made available by the law on community care (Lewis and
Glennerster, 1996). Small wonder, therefore, that the short coverage of neo-liber-
alism is seen as catering more closely to the public economic interest, even though
the actual savings made possible by the introduction of ‘quasi markets’ in the
United Kingdom have yet to be demonstrated (Forder, Knapp and Wistow, 1999).
But it is above all among practitioners that the British reform has caused
problems – problems that are more conceptual than practical. The market re-
quires that service delivery be standardized (Dominelli, 1998). And the impo-
sition on the social services that their every act must be compatible with the
dictates of the economy (Yenney, 1994), so that every individual action is in-
20 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

voiced as it would be in a business, has led to the fragmentation of skills and of

helping responsibilities. From a ‘commercial’ standpoint, the complexity/integ-
rity of the caring process, which is irreducible at the level of the users, breaks up
at the level of production. For the providers, every act of care is quantified, and
this Taylorization requires practitioners to be increasingly confined within their
provisions. Indeed, social work too has become increasingly deskilled, to the
point that in many circumstances social workers can be replaced by lower-
qualified operators that cost less to the employer (Dominelli, 1996). Under this
logic, the classical idea of ‘holistic’ helping (Butrym, 1976) is lost, and with it
one of the mainstays of the work motivation of professional practitioners (Maslach
and Leiter, 1997).
The consequence of this fragmentation of supply is that consumers – the
entity on which the system as a whole should be focused in a market regime –
are in danger of being left alone and disoriented. Users have before them a range
of possible standard provisions to purchase. But which they should buy and why,
and how they can determine whether it is the most suitable one, they find
difficult to understand. Even more so when the majority of welfare users (and
sometimes carers as well) would not be such if they did not suffer from distinctive
decision-making deficits. Attempts have been made to obviate this structural
limit to consumerism in the care markets – even if strong competition were to
arise, demand would still be under-sustained – with the idea of case management
(Moxley, 1989; Rose, 1992), where an expert social worker acts as a specialized
consumer purchasing standard provisions and assembling individualized care
packages.
‘Entrepreneurial’ case management (Payne, 1995), where the case manager
is a public employee, acquitted itself very well when it was used in the experimen-
tal Kent Community Care Project (Davies and Challis, 1986). However, it has
not fulfilled its promise when extended nation-wide. The original idea was that
the social worker would simultaneously attend to care and manage a budget,
buying provisions in the care market and linking them together efficiently. She
or he would do all this while standing ‘outside’ the helping process and ‘central-
izing’ it on him or herself by means of constant need assessment, monitoring,
planning, decision-making, evaluation, and so on. This seemed to be a winning
strategy, but in practice it has displayed significant shortcomings. It has had its
merits – principally its definitive acknowledgement that the managerial aspects
of care matter – but it was unthinkable that this would suffice. And in fact it did
not. This difficulty has been mirrored in the progressive bureaucratization of
British case management (Payne, 1999): a paradoxical outcome for a liberal
procedure, but not a surprising one if we remember that at bottom the welfare
 INTRODUCTION / 21

‘quasi market’ (Wistow et al., 1996) is always a public institution. Very different
steps forward in case management will be needed in the near future, if the social
work profession is to remain a comprehensive activity of human helping and is not
reduced to mere manoeuvres of coordination and rationalization, however nec-
essary.
In view of the need for decisive steps forward, which we now await, this book
proposes the apparently simple recipe of backtracking and calmly considering
the essential terms of the issues at stake.
The tendency to rush headlong into reform of welfare systems when one is
dissatisfied with the real well-being of citizens (Marsland, 1996) springs from the
outworn prejudice that societal well-being is a strict function of rationality and
the efficiency of care providers, whatever form these may take (public, commer-
cial or third-sector). There is no disputing that the quality and efficiency of
formal structures are important, but this obviousness conceals the crux of the
matter. The problem is how to establish a relation between the artificial (maybe
efficient) world of formal social interventions and the world of real life, so that
care arises from this relation (Donati, 1991; Barnes, 1996). Every self-referential
reorganization of the overall welfare system which fails to understand the dy-
namics of everyday life within which statutory care must ‘intrude’ (Bulmer,
1987) is doomed to failure, however much ‘engineering’ expertise may be de-
ployed.
This book essentially says the following: before we start thinking about how
to improve and optimize artificial inputs in caring activities, we should ask
ourselves how things are ‘naturally’. In society’s course, ‘problems’ arise, and
‘solutions’, or attempted solutions, are devised to deal with them. But what are
social problems in themselves, where ‘in themselves’ means as they appear in the
eyes of society before they are perceived as problems by the social services and
redefined according to administrative codes and convenience? What are solu-
tions in themselves, where ‘in themselves’ means produced by society before
formal responses are devised, or even before awareness arises that they are nec-
essary? Before we formulate yet another theory or methodology – given that
formulating them too impulsively serves little purpose – it would be useful to see
how problems form themselves in the ‘world of life’ (Schütz, 1972), and how
problems trigger coping dynamics for their attenuation and perhaps solution.
What we do not need is a theory that tells us how to bend problems to our will
as their ‘official’ solvers. Rather, we should let the problems themselves dictate
a sensible theory as to their solution; a theory from which all technical reasoning
should flow. It sometimes happens that, despite complaints about their ineffi-
ciency, formal services neverthless prove to be efficacious, and when users are
22 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

canvassed for their views on their quality they declare themselves satisfied. I
argue in this book that the efficacy of social work interventions depends on their
intrinsic ‘value’ and in the same degree on the synergy which they have been able
to establish with their natural interlocutors, what have been called in different
ways: ‘natural helping networks’ (Collins and Pancoast, 1976; Froland et al.,
1981), ‘social support networks’ (Werger, 1994; Biegel et al., 1984; Whittaker
and Gambarino, 1983), ‘coping networks’, and so on. The efficacy of statutory
organizations therefore springs from a virtuous mingling of their value (technical
power) with the value (experiential power) of external societal bodies. Usually,
the term ‘networking’ is used to denote efficient linkage between ‘sister’ organi-
zations and professional workers in the welfare system (Payne, 1993; 2000), but
it more generally denotes the mingling of these seemingly irreconcilable spheres
of social life. More often, when an appropriate interweaving between ‘artifice’
(formal services) and ‘nature’ (social networks) is accomplished (Bulmer, 1987),
it is not deliberately sought after. It is an accidental side-product of the unidi-
rectional technical action of services and professional practitioners. The latter
concentrate solely on their own work and its direct effects, and they readily
ascribe any success to themselves, failing to see the overall action process of which
their technique is part. The question is whether it is possible to reverse the terms
and to imagine a realistic method able intentionally to construct social interven-
tion on relational bases. This method is exactly what is meant by the term
‘networking’.
It is not the aim of this book to be prescriptive. Its basic intention is not to
tell social workers what to do. It does not invite them to undertake intentional
networking if they have never done it before, or if they have no wish to. It only
seeks to show that networking – the authentic social relation with reciprocal
learning among the parties involved in the helping processes, not the unilateral
application of some theory or some technique – is the real key to ‘success’ in social
work. Many social workers may find that they have undertaken networking
during their careers without being aware of it or wanting to do it. They have
undertaken it whenever their work has been efficacious and they have helped to
construct a sensible solution shared by their interlocutors. The concern of this
book is to show the methodological (and ultimately practical, of course) impor-
tance of relational principles. Unfortunately, they are extremely abstract but it
is precisely because of their abstractness, indeed, that these principles can be used
to observe ‘from outside’, with both detachment and profundity, the controver-
sial question of social care (Bowdeer, 1997).
The arguments put forward in this book can be briefly summarized as fol-
lows.
 INTRODUCTION / 23

(a) At the basis of the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ – the problems and solutions – subjec-
tively experienced in social life there lies intersubjective human action. By
this is meant on-line action whereby ‘agents’ are able to work with relative
freedom towards achievement of their goals. More than the individual ‘es-
sences’ of people (character, personality, pathologies, and so on), the social
worker must observe their shared action, even if it is insufficient at the mo-
ment when formal intervention becomes necessary. In the social work do-
main, the typically sociological (Weberian) concept of ‘capacity for action’ or
human agency (Giddens, 1991) links especially with that of coping, or the
deliberate tackling of their difficulties, or more in general their meaningful
purposes, by all the persons involved in a difficult live contingence. When the
people in this coping network are professionals , their action flows over the
boundaries of their formal roles and become ‘voluntary’ (not prescripted) in
some degree.
(b) A social worker acts within a networking perspective – consciously or other-
wise – when s/he joins a web of pre-existing social action and is able to
‘fluctuate’ in it without rigidifying its flows and to construct a shared action.
Every professional has to introduce his/her own goals and procedures into the
helping process, but they should never overlap with nor supplant the goals
and plans of others. The social worker’s presence gives rise to further relationality
by fostering creativity in others which flanks and merges with the technical
aspects of his or her role. If the practitioner pays attention to the quality and
consistency of coping relations, taken to the extreme of allowing these rela-
tions to determine the meaning and concrete planning of the helping process,
he plays a role of discreet supervision, which in this book is called ‘relational
guidance’.
The word ‘social’ expresses shared human actions, rel-actional processes. The
rule necessarily applies to social work as well (Seed, 1990). It is ultimately a full
human activity like all the others, and it is indeed relational in essence. Conven-
tional social work has focused on this broad principle (Bartlett, 1970). The aim
of the majority of scholars, however, has always been to provide social workers
with a theory (a general prescription) that will enable them to solve social prob-
lems, given that it is precisely this thaumaturgic power that it is believed that
specialists should possess. But all the theories that have taken this positivist
assumption for granted have produced collateral damage, although it is difficult
to perceive and attribute. They have induced thousands of practitioners to regard
only themselves, not the societal empowerment (power of others outside their
professional role). From an extreme perspective, we may say that: if the practi-
24 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

tioners applying these theories have achieved any results, they have done so
despite their strict prescriptions. Technological theories have been transferred
wholesale from the health and clinical field, where the power of the practitioner
is strong, to the social helping domain, where it cannot be so.
This book is neither the a-theoretical nor anti-theoretical exegesis that might
appear from these remarks. But since it proposes a theory of ‘non-theory-directed
practice’ or a ‘reflexive theory’ (Schon, 1991; Clark, 1991) it is theoretical in its
essence. It does not encourage the randomness of approaches that postmodernist
thought would have us believe is inevitable (Lyotard, 1979; Bertens, 1996). It
invites the reader to draw careful distinctions. It contests flawed or improper
theories but also argues for the vital necessity of innovative concepts which permit
us better observations of the social realities as such. We have necessity of a general
reflection which, though at present tentative and provisional, may lead us out of
positivism’s barren wastes (Parton, 1996). Precisely because postmodern society
requires, as Morin (1986) put it, ‘foundation-less’ procedures, a meta-foundation
is necessary (for a paradigmatic rather than prescriptive theory) if we are not to
grope our way though errors and the occasional random success, and then find
that our trust relationship with the citizen has definitively broken down.
It is not important if this book’s thesis, that social work is by nature relational,
seems frail and certainly vague in its practical implications. What does matter is
whether it can stand as a thoroughgoing alternative paradigm. Crucial scientific
innovations have always struggled to gain acceptance (Lenoble, 1957).
All the evidence suggests that relational social work is impossible or imprac-
ticable in social services as they are today. The revolutionary idea that helping is
a reflexive and reciprocal activity and must be co-constructed as it unfolds,
apparently clashes with the stringent constraints of planning and standardiza-
tion, and also with the powerful interests of care organizations – from the solidarist
ones of the Third sector (Brown, Kenny and Turner, 2000) to the more formal
ones of the public sector. In the era of the care markets, the relational perspective
seems already outdated, if we think that efficiency of care springs from increasing
managerial control. However, this realism puts the cart before the horse, so to
speak. It is justified, indeed wise, in the framework of deterministic thought,
where it is still believed that help is external mechanical manipulation (Gouldner,
1970). But it is exactly this background culture that is under attack, not its
applications.
The relational perspective could be the best idea if we think that social care
claims for more freedom and more regulation at the same time. We do not know
how we can do this at the moment. But we have to hope. The validity of the
relational paradigm is not determined by its general applicability for social serv-
 INTRODUCTION / 25

ices in their present form. This idea must first be cultivated, and if it passes the
test of collective intelligence – that is, should it be proved that care is truly a ‘social
relation – then the consequence is ineluctable. The powerful social agencies must
capitulate and find new organizational formulas for more flexible fieldwork
activities which, though today unthinkable, are nonetheless feasible.
These formulas may be not so comfortable for their managers and profes-
sional practitioners, but they will finally be congruous with their external goals.
From the point of view of social work the stake is high: it is the possibility itself
that the profession may no longer be conceived and practised as an indissoluble
whole but fragmented into a myriad of independent technical provisions. If the
challenge of reciprocity is not taken up, the idea that people in difficulties can
reorient their lives with some help from a professional, risks passing into history
as a romantic illusion.
26 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 27

CHAPTER 1

The relational core

of social problems
The joint perception of care needs

1.1. Introduction
This chapter conducts analysis of the point of departure – or better the basis –
of social work intervention: the reality from whose perception every professional
action starts.
Social workers very often assume that they know what the ‘problem’ that they
are dealing with is. They do not usually take the time to ponder how and why
they sense that a situation is unacceptable and must be changed in a way that they
do not yet know (which is a ‘problem’ in essence). All social workers (not only
the most practical-minded of them), as well as the methodology handbooks, are
especially attracted to solutions. They seek above all to understand what a pos-
sible future different state of the ‘bad’ situation would be, and perhaps the means
and devices by which this different state can be achieved, or in other words, a
‘solution’.
In social care matters, starting off on the right foot – adopting the correct
standpoint – is however advisable. The problems that social workers address
must be conceived as sui generis phenomena, midway between the molecular and
the molar: they are not problems that concern individuals, as psychology or
medicine would have it, nor are they problems of collective structures or entities
as macrosociology maintains (Dominelli, 1996).
From the relational perspective, we are faced by a social problem when a
broader capacity for action – that is, action undertaken by a ‘group’ of people –
is insufficient. This is the main idea put forward in this chapter. However,
matters are not as straightforward as they might seem, and before developing this
idea, two specifications are necessary.
28 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

Firstly, whether something is ‘sufficient’ or ‘insufficient’ always depends on

a value-judgement, and therefore on a special relationship between the observer
and the reality observed. The observer, a social worker or anyone else, always
reflects social categories in his/her perception – s/he looks at phenomena with
the eyes (symbols) of the society in which s/he lives. As a consequence, the social
work problems are ‘social constructions’ (McNamee and Gergen, 1992; Parton,
2000) in the sense given to the term by phenomenology (Shütz, 1972).
Secondly, when one talks of action, or capacity for action, the Weberian
problem of meaning immediately arises: actions must by definition be meaning-
ful to those who perform them or to those who undergo them. Otherwise they
are not actions. From the professional viewpoint of social work, the focus must
primarily be on pragmatic (reality-transforming) meaning, although of course
this functional ‘focus’ is not the only one that exists. One must specify the nature
of action in social work, construing it as the relation that holds between an agent’s
given purpose and the abilities required to achieve it – a relation that in the social
work is usually denoted by by the technical term ‘coping’.

1.2. Construction of the feeling that ‘a problem exists’: the

relational basis
No social problem exists in and of itself: an act of evaluation is required to make
it such. This assertion may come as a surprise to those mindful of the harsh and
incontrovertible realities of social work. Can one say that an abused child or a
neglected old person does not exist? Of course one cannot: they most certainly
do exist. But note that I said that they do not exist as a problem ‘in and of itself ’.
Strictly speaking, none of the things and objects of the real world exist in and of
themselves (Berger and Lukmann, 1966; Maturana and Varela, 1987), even
when reality apparently lies beyond any appraisal of it. A fortiori, therefore,
problems do not exist, since they lie at a different, and more slippery, logical level.
The fact is that acts of appraisal almost always take place ‘silently’ in the mind.
Our eyes see external data, never the ‘inner mechanism’ that render them into
phenomenal reality. Thus we trustingly assume that reality is ‘objectively’ what
it appears to be.

1.2.1. The relationship between reality and the observer

Let me give an example. I-as-observer see a person staggering along a city street.
In truth, it is difficult for the mind to see something as abstract as a ‘person
staggering’. The mind immediately mixes what is being experienced (the exter-
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 29

nal datum) with inner data (‘constructs’) creating symbolic associations which
for the sake of convenience I shall call ‘judgements’. The mind may trigger causal
attributions of the type: that man is staggering because he is drunk. And it is this
judgement that presents me with what I see: to wit, a drunk. From the outset,
I perceive the staggering man (that is, I see him rather than think of him) as a
drunk. That this perception may be inaccurate – he may be lurching from side
to side because he is in the throes of heroin withdrawal or is weak from hunger,
or he has been beaten up, or he is acting, and so on – is due to the fallibility of
our mental processes and nothing else.
Schütz (1972) calls this mechanism of the mind ‘typification’ and argues that
it is the basis of the way in which objective reality becomes phenomenon, or in
other words, appears to our mind as perception or subjective knowledge. When
the data delivered by the senses to the cerebral cortex reach that highly sophis-
ticated part of the brain, they are fitted into a frame or representative ‘type’ of that
particular phenomenon constituted by a mental construct (Kelly, 1955). These
constructs are deeply embedded in consciousness, and they are taken for granted.
Whatever impinges on the mind is instantaneously compared against this ‘back-
ground knowledge’ (Popper, 1994). The reality that results from this process –
the phenomenon that appears to us – is not what it actually is; rather, it is the
reality that is recognized as most similar to a pre-existing type.
The perceiving subject can only see external reality; s/he is ignorant of the
cognitive processes that generate it. But there is no need for radical introspection
required to understand them. Every inner process, or every innate disposition
towards knowledge, is by definition instrumental to the grasping of reality, and
it would be functionally pointless for it to unfold in the domain of consciousness.
This would be useful only in pathological cases like hallucinations, for example,
so that the subject could be made aware that everything s/he ‘sees’ is solely a
figment of the imagination. Despite the pragmatic irrelevance of the matter to
everyday life, however, it is essential to understand that phenomena arise with
the active contribution of the mind. We must consequently take adequate ac-
count of it in social work theory, where we consider higher levels of reality like
social problems (at the different levels: individual, group, and community).

Let us suppose that the person that we saw in the street really was a drunk.
That is to say, let us suppose that, as often happens, the typification worked, in
the sense that there was an ‘exact’ correspondence between the mental category
activated and the objective phenomenon perceived. The staggering man really
had been drinking. But can one say that this is a problem? To answer the question,
we must settle a preliminary issue: what type of problem are we talking about?
30 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

Like any other sense datum, the sight of a drunk can be transmuted into a
problem by two different kinds of observer judgement, one moral and the other
technical. Of the two, only the latter seems to be of specific interest to the social
professions, and yet the former has more relevance than might seem at first sight.

1.2.2. Constructing a problem according to the moral code

A moral evaluation is made when the judgement informing the perception
concerns the goodness or badness attributed to the phenomenon of which the
observer becomes aware (Sacks, 1992). A problem obviously implies a negative
judgement – that is, it is a reality connoted by badness, experienced not so much
as unsatisfactory or unacceptable as contemptible or despicable. If I see a man
staggering along the street in front of me, and if he arouses a negative moral
reaction in me, then I no longer see him as a man who is drunk – as happens when
only a simple cause-effect judgement is performed – but as a drunkard. ‘Drunk-
ard’ is a word laden with disapproval or distaste – that is, with negative feelings
correlated with an already-possessed notion of badness. Calling the staggering
man a drunkard implies, amongst other things, that he is such intrinsically,
independently of the particular circumstances in which I see him (and in which
his behaviour might even be...excusable). The tendency to drink to excess, I feel,
is typical of the man, and this tendency is ‘not good’. Further evidence will
convince me even more firmly that the man is morally flawed and that his
behaviour is reprehensible: he is a person who cares nothing about his integrity
(and is wrong not to do so), about his dignity (and he is wrong), or about the
integrity of others (and he is wrong), and so on. I see a problem, morally speak-
ing, when I think/feel that the drunkard before me should be other than what
he is, and that it is his responsibility/fault – or perhaps someone else’s (his family,
society, etc., but at any rate some identifiable entity) – that he is what he is; when
I think that he, or I, or society, or anyone at all, would benefit if he were not what
he is (or better, what he appears to be).
The blame placed on somebody, like the sense of blame that the latter inter-
nalizes, is a social event. When the observer attributes blame, s/he classifies the
phenomenon at hand within a mental framework which, although it may be
private to him/her, is more usually shared. If this framework is rooted in the
culture, it simultaneously resides in the heads of others, and it is activated in
largely the same way. One could discuss at length about the objective valence –
functional or utilitarian – of these moral judgements which arise in several
minds. Often the utility of generalized disapproval, for example of drunkards,
can be easily discerned. One can posit that certain collective attitudes are selected
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 31

in Darwinian manner in order to ensure the better survival or greater well-being

of society as a whole, and that this is a necessary process. In the case of alcohol
abuse, for example, there is general consensus on the fact that it should be curbed
(although it is debatable whether encouraging social disapproval serves this
purpose). But the fact remains that these value-judgements may be reversible, or
may change from one moment to the next. They may have been different in the
past, or they may be different today, or they may be different in certain subcul-
tures comprised within the dominant culture. In the subculture of alcoholics, for
example, alcohol is presumably regarded as a good thing. Indeed, different value-
judgements may coexist in the head of the same observer, who in this case would
be a deviant or creative observer.
It is often the case that when two different observers are confronted by the
same phenomenon, although they do not see different things (because they have
the same objective perceptions of reality), they nevertheless see different prob-
lems. Or, as sometimes happens, one of them sees a problem while the other does
not, or instead sees the opposite of a problem, namely something desirable.
When I encounter a man in the street who has obviously been drinking, I may
pass the moral judgement that he should stop. The next person to see him may
simply not think anything, or consider it to be purely the man’s business. Those
who follow may think that the occasional bender does one good; that the man
sometimes has a few too many and feels better afterwards. The same thing,
therefore, may be seen as bad, as neither good nor bad, or as good: the same thing,
note, not just in different persons but in the same person at different times.
Without lapsing into moral relativism – that is, without justifying the absence
of acceptable judgmental criteria – we must accept that this phenomenon is an
integral part of reality.
When a problem is addressed by a social worker, and not by a generic ‘ob-
server’, there is still a moral judgement involved. The stereotype of the profes-
sional practitioner is that of the ascetic technician, but deep down he or she is
also a man or a woman and unconsciously compelled to define problems accord-
ing to moral sentiments. For him or her, too, a problem is something felt to be
wrong. Of course, an expert practitioner is ethically obliged to abstain from
moralism. S/he must not apportion blame or feel resentment, which are inferior
forms of moral judgement. However, firstly, refraining from such behaviour is
not always easy (which is why all codes of behaviour enjoin it), and secondly not
being angered or made anxious by the situation is perhaps the necessary basis for
action which is humane and not just technically correct.
For many practitioners with long years of experience, contact with problems
has become a matter of course; consequently, taking action against them is more
32 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

routine than stressful. In this case too, however, we should bear in mind that
moral sentiments are nevertheless present as the deep-lying ‘archetypical’ moti-
vators of the practitioners’ action. The social policies of the welfare state that
frame these routine actions have arisen from a moral impulse in society. They
spring from a sense that certain situations are unsatisfactory or intolerable. This
moral rejection by the collective consciousness is symbolically embodied in every
individual dealt with by every institutional practitioner, or more in general in
every administrative act performed by the welfare state, as Ignatieff explains.

My encounters with them [with elderly people in his local community, NdR]
are a parable of moral relationships between strangers in the welfare state.
They have a needs, and because they live within a welfare state, those needs
confer entitlements-rights-to the resources of people like me. Their needs
and their entitlements establish a silent relation between us. When we stand
together in line at the postal office, while they cash the pension cheques,
some tiny portion of my income is transferred into their pockets through the
numberless capillaries of the state. (Ignatieff, 1984, pp. 9-10)

1.2.3. Constructing a problem according to the technical code

There is another code besides the strictly moral one that raises problems in the
mind of the expert practitioner: the technical code. The sight of the man stag-
gering along the street may induce a professional practitioner to see a problem
(should s/he want to) from a different point of view: not with displeasure, anger,
distaste or frustration, but rather with the ‘detached’ perception of a dysfunc-
tion, for which s/he formulates what in technical jargon is called a diagnosis.
Goffman carefully distinguishes between the two levels.

What psychiatrists see as mental illness, the lay public usually first sees as
offensive behavior-behavior worthy of scorn, hostility and other negative
social sanctions. The objective of psychiatry all along has been to interpose
a technical perspective: understanding and treatment is to replace retribu-
tion; a concern for the interests of the offender is to replace a concern for the
social circle he has offended. (Goffman, 1967, p. 137)

Diagnosis always requires some sort of hermeneutical processing. The exter-

nal datum is not ‘automatically’ fitted into a mental slot, as in the case of empiri-
cal perception or moral judgement. Its collocation instead requires a specific act
of reasoning, an intentional cognitive process. To diagnose is to identify a pathol-
ogy or, by extension, a dysfunction. It involves not the feeling that an offence has
been committed against universal justice or against the social order, which is
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 33

generally self-evident, but that a person harbours a dysfunction which requires

reasoning and method for its identification. Popper defines the diagnostic pro-
cedure as follows:

[The diagnosis is] a trial-and-error affair which proceeds systematically – as

many trial and error do; by no means all are random-according to a plan
which in itself has developed out of trial and error. The doctor has learned
a kind of programme of the questions to be asked. There are some very
general questions about age and so on to be asked, and then some specific
questions about where the pain is felt and what is wrong with the patient, and
so on. By a systematic trial-and-error method, and a special systematic error-
elimination method which is learned from books or learned in the clinic. By
a systematic trial-and-error method, and a special systematic error-elimina-
tion method, he then comes to a small number of possibilities. And from
here on, the process is then, as a rule, again elimination of one possibility
after another of the small number. Let us say, by blood tests, or whatever it
may be. And then remains the diagnosis. (Popper, 1994, p. 127)

Beneath the outward appearance of the man staggering along the street an
expert clinician may discern an alcoholic, that is, a person addicted to alcohol. If
superficial appraisal is not enough to attach this label, more careful investigation
will be needed to bring out hidden information by means of direct observation,
interviews, physical examinations, tests, and so on. This hidden information
does not emerge by itself. By its nature it evades observation. Whether or not it
is perceived depends on the method of inquiry, on how the observation is made,
on what is observed, and also on why: all of which are variables which do not
reside in things but in the subjectivity of the diagnostician.
Technically, we may say, the problem exists when diagnosis detects it. Or
better, the problem exists in how it is detected. We should not be overawed by
science and believe that diagnostic technique always reveals the reality and does
not partly create it. For it does create it, not only for the obvious reason that the
same objective datum may be allocated to different mental slots, according to
how it is interpreted, but also for the more radical reason that the search for
pathologies or dysfunctions – which is the essence of diagnosis – presupposes the
creation of pathology itself as a notion, as a judgement of abnormality/normality
that must preexist and therefore a fortiori cannot reside in things.
Cholesterol found in the blood at a certain level of concentration is only
cholesterol in the blood, nothing more. Why then does its concentration above
a certain level constitute a ‘pathology’? Because doctors have formed a pact to
determine that it is so; because they have fixed a threshold above which the
34 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

concentration of cholesterol in the blood becomes a pathology. Just above that

specific parameter the datum is tinged with badness, perhaps with nobody
knowing exactly why, and maybe with the judgements changing in the course
of time.
There is no denying the huge variety of pathologies officially codified by
medical science, despite what has been said so far. The amenability of these
pathologies to positivist prediction – that is, our ability to say ‘under these
conditions, these pathologies’ or ‘with this pathology, these outcomes’ – within
certain limits undoubtedly gives them the ‘privilege’ of objective existence.
The fact remains, however, that every medical pathology is the consequence
of definitions: if nobody defines a pathology, it does not exist. Or it is as if it does
not exist. Conversely, if someone defines a pathology, it exists even when it does
not. A classic example is the hypochondriac, who imagines his pathology after
having defined it by himself, whereafter he effectively lives out the illness while
constantly seeking an expert to confirm his belief. Indeed, a pathology is created
when someone believes that it has been defined, as in the following comical
episode reported by Mucchielli (1983). A doctor was exhausted after working
through the night. While examining his tenth patient and listening as he re-
counted his problems, the doctor felt an uncontrollable urge to yawn. He man-
aged to restrain himself, but so great was the effort that his eyes began to water.
The patient stopped talking and burst into tears. When he had pulled himself
together, he explained that, on seeing the doctor so moved by his story, he
realized that he was so dreadfully ill that there was nothing to be done for him.
As one moves away from medicine and enters the notoriously uncertain field
of psychological or social diagnostics, it becomes increasingly difficult to define
what a dysfunction actually is, and equally difficult to determine whether or not
one exists. Discussion of the objective nature and real consistency of a psycho-
logical or social dysfunction could truly continue ad infinitum. Often, one
cannot find a more reliable benchmark than the norm – how everybody, or at
least the majority, normally behaves – to define by default an attitude or form
of behaviour as pathological or, in this case, deviant. To refer once again to
alcoholism, which is a pathology midway between medical and psychosocial, it
is plain that its essence (dependence or addiction, the difficulty or impossibility
of doing without alcohol) is a pathology only if we agree that it is one. Everyone
(or almost everyone) agrees that it is a pathology because alcoholics are a minor-
ity, and hence we have the statistical solace that the norm is breached. However,
there are other obsessive forms of behaviour apart from addiction which brighten
up our lives without their being labelled as pathological: going fishing or climb-
ing mountains, collecting stamps, and so on. The fact that an obsession with
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 35

drinking causes more damage than an obsession with fishing is no reason for
condemning the one form of behaviour or extolling the other. In and of them-
selves, they are of equal merit.
Another important field where the relative nature of social problems – even
those dramatic ones that seem self-evident – is apparent is child abuse. Cases of
this kind are constantly on the increase, but one may ask whether child abuse is
objectively more common, or whether it is statistically increasing because those
who carry out assessments are more skilled at detecting the problem.

A number of authors... have argued that the phenomenon of ‘child abuse’

is not an objective condition but a social construction, the meaning of which
arises from ever-changing social values. Standards of acceptable and unac-
ceptable child care have evolved over time in response to new knowledge
about children’s needs and development and changing attitudes in society
toward children and families. However, the distinctions remain blurred.
Extremes of child maltreatment can be recognised unequivocally, but when
does neglect become critical, or psychological tormenting too severe? (Peter
Reder and Clare Lucey, eds., 1995, p. 14)

I am not saying that it is unreasonable or wrong to maintain that alcoholism,

child abuse or other social ills are pathologies or dysfunctions, in short ‘negative’
phenomena. I am only saying that this status is attributed to them by an act of
judgement: it is not intrinsic to them.

What are the implications of the foregoing, rather banal, discussion for social
work? It implies that the social worker, too, like the common observer, sees and
does not see, sees too much or too little. The observation of problems and their
definition in turn constitute a problem. It seems that problems are objectively
there, and that those who see problems have no bearing on their existence and
need merely take cognizance of them. But this is not how matters stand, although
of course they often seem to do so in practice. From a logical point of view, one
should always bear two things in mind. First, who knows how many problems
there are that social workers fail to see? Second, who knows how many problems
social workers see which are not problems when considered from other stand-
points, or within different sociocultural coordinates? The expert always creates
his or her problems, whether or not they actually exist.
Problems are often delivered to practitioners for solution after they have
already been prepackaged by the culture, or by administrative custom. Generally
speaking, social workers deal with problems that have been codified and defined
36 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

by the tradition of their service, or by the law, or by the users themselves. This
too is a routine aspect of their work, in practice but not logically: to do true credit
to his or her qualification, the professional practitioner should dispute certain
definitions of problems. It is difficult to provide examples because we are too
closely bound up with our problems, which seem to us entirely incontrovertible,
but why or in what sense are children who do badly at school – those whom
Cordié (1993) calls the ‘dunces’ – a problem? Or why is Down’s syndrome a
problem, or at any rate something so exceptional that it requires special care,
intensive training, confinement in institutions, and so on: treatment which is
not meted out to other people with other shortcomings. Why is there so much
alarm over Down’s children?

1.2.4. Relations between expert and subjects: the formal problem

Alfred Schütz has drawn a number of distinctions of great analytical (and opera-
tional) importance. He has shown that the meaning of action may not be the
same for the acting subject in the course of an action and when it has been
completed. Likewise it may not be the same for an interlocutor (if communica-
tion is involved and the action is directed towards another person), nor, even
more so, for those who observe the action from outside without being affected
by it.
Thus far I have referred to the detached observer, and to how she or he gets
the idea that there is a problem – and I have also shown how, before and after its
formation, this idea is shared or sharable by other observers, or in other words,
is a social ‘fact’. I have taken a step forward from the idea so dear to us all, and
so reasonable, but also insidious, that we see problems because ‘they are there’.
I have emphasised the active role that the observer plays in creating the problem
by interacting with sensible reality and attributing meaning to it. Yet, in the end,
all these considerations are counter-empirical. They serve to make professional
action methodologically better, but they cannot detach it from common sense.
All the arguments put forward thus far are operationally useful because they
focus attention on ‘the problem that is not’. In other words, they are useful
because they extend the practitioner’s field of experience to include possible
problems, those that are not in their perception (Popper, 1994), or those that do
not yet inhere in things or do so only symptomatically. These arguments also
usefully point up the idea that a problem perceived may also be considered
critically and, if need be, gainsaid. However, we must be clear on the matter: all
the problems that impinge on and affect the consciousness are there before the
observer and carry the same weight as reality. Whether ‘they are’ or whether they
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 37

are ‘constructed’ by the mind/reality relation is only a theoretical issue. In fact,

it makes little practical difference to the practitioner who has to deal with them:
it is ‘as if ’ problems are objective. The true empirical leap comes when one
answers the question: ‘For whom are they problems?’.

A professional practitioner must be especially wary of the idea that a problem

– once it has formed within his or her head despite all the warnings issued
hitherto – needs nothing more than this to stand by itself. This is the cause of
all practitioner errors, the assumption that fills the graveyard of good intentions.
Let us see why.
An expert practitioner looks at the poor drunken man (this is a moral
judgement!) in our example. Let us suppose that he or she realizes immediately,
on obvious semiotic evidence, with no need for laborious diagnosis, that the
man is an alcoholic. The practitioner therefore sees a problem, technically
speaking. But what does this fact – that s/he sees a problem – mean? Let us
endeavour to set aside all the arguments put forward so far, for they will only
cause uncertainty as we proceed further. So we discard the idea that in reality an
alcoholic is simply a person in a particular state just as we all are at every moment,
and that ‘alcoholic’ is a label. Let us also forget that this label is unreliable because
other practitioners, our colleagues, may fail to see it, because they are distracted,
or because they disagree in their interpretation, and so on. Even though a prob-
lem takes shape in the mind of a practitioner, and even though this practitioner
finds that other experts are of the same opinion, so that one can say that in
practice the problem really exists, the practitioner does not have a great deal to
go on. But let us have no doubt that the man is an alcoholic. There he is and that
is enough. However, even now the problem has only been defined (or construed)
by half.
A practitioner may be prompted to act on a moral impulse, compassion for
instance, or s/he may act out of official duty (if, for example, s/he is the social
worker for the neighbourhood in which the alcoholic is seen staggering down the
street) or because s/he has been paid a fee (if s/he is a therapist hired by one of
the man’s relatives, for example). Whatever the case may be, if the practitioner
decides to tackle the problem that s/he believes objectively exists, s/he may
commit the crucial professional error of believing that the problem ‘exists’ just
as s/he perceives it. Given that the practitioner can see it, s/he may conclude that
this is all that is needed for intervention to begin. The notion that what the
individual expert sees is the underlying reality (the problem) addressed by the
social intervention is too simplistic an idea to be true (more mistaken than it is
possible to explain in words).
38 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

We must obviously not underestimate the power of ‘therapeutic labelling’ or

the potentially perverse effects of so-called professional ‘take-up’. When experts
get it into their heads that there is a problem as they see it, there is usually little
to be done: there is no escape for the problem, for now it ‘exists’. And if they set
their minds to solving it, the problem exists even more. Simmel understood this
apparent paradox long before the welfare state – which is legally compulsory
‘take-up’ – was even dreamt of. He writes:

[…] the fact that someone is poor does not mean that he belongs to the
specific category of the ‘poor’. It is only when he (the poor man) is assisted
[…] that he begins to belong to a group characterized by poverty […]
Poverty cannot be defined by itself as an objective situation of objective type,
for it is only a social response to a particular situation. Poverty is a singular
sociological phenomenon: a set of individuals, independently of purely
personal destiny, occupy an entirely specific organic position, which is de-
termined not by this destiny or by this condition but by the fact that others
will endeavour to put this condition right. (Simmel, G.,1908: chapter seven)

Simmel warns us that the solution may create the problem: in other words,
that a problem may be created or exacerbated by the mere fact that attempts are
made to solve it. This paradox is amply confirmed by experience in social work,
only that in this case it occurs when solutions are applied to ill-defined problems,
ones conceived with the simplistic idea that they are objects to manipulate.
Something so inchoate – an object which a solitary expert brings into focus
so that it can be solved – supposing that it exists, can never be a social problem
in the sense with which the expression is used here, namely as the basis for formal
social intervention. A social problem must have a whole set of characteristics, the
first of which (first in the sense that it is the basis for all the others) is that it must
be an intersubjective reality, and in particular shared with the person who ‘has it’.
An event or a configuration of events may be dignified with the title of a ‘true’
social problem when its definition (or construction) is a joint undertaking –
albeit one that starts from different codes – by all the subjects that Schütz
envisages as involved in every action: not only (a) the observer but also (b) the
perpetrator of the action or (c) the person affected by it, even potentially. In the
case of social intervention, which is of interest to us here, we may say that there
must be a conjunction between the expert practitioner, the designated user and
his/her significant others (when there is a proclaimed user). Or, when – as it may
happen in social work – there is no user or it is preferable for the practitioner to
act as if there is no user, we may say there must be a conjunction between the
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 39

practitioner and all his/her interlocutors in action, even potential ones. Al-
though the problem will be viewed or conceived in a different way by each actor
– in particular even if the practitioner grasps its ‘technical’ sense on his/her own
– the sense that a problem exists must be shared. If this sense is fragmented and
exists only for some and not for others, and is therefore not shared, then it is not
a mature problem – it is not mature in the sense that it is not yet ready for formal
intervention. If the practitioner’s action starts in the absence of this minimal
condition, it is likely to be mere wishful thinking. (In any event, it will not be
a social intervention).

1.2.5. Practitioner/user dual sharing

The idea that before any intervention the actor and recipient must form some
sort of unit of consciousness, as far as this is possible, and that this unit creates
problems, has been marvellously expressed in a short novel by Thomas Mann.
The young hypochondriac Shiraman is convinced that he is terminally ill. He
tells his inseparable and plain-spoken friend Nanda that he wants to die, and tells
him to build a funeral pyre. Instead of complying, however, Nanda answers as
any social worker should:

You may rest assured that if your disease is truly incurable, and I have no
doubt that it is, given your assurances to me, I shall not hesitate to carry out
your orders and build the pyre. Indeed, I shall make it so large that there will
be room for me as well […] Except that, for this reason, and because I’m
involved as well, you must first of all tell me what you feel […] If I put myself
in your place and for a moment try to think with your head, as if it were on
my shoulders, I’m forced to admit that my […] I mean to say, your convic-
tion that you’re incurably sick should be examined and confirmed by others,
before such an important decision as you have in mind can be taken. Speak
therefore! (Mann, 1966, p. 281)

In answering the question ‘problems for whom?’ we may say when reasoning
in relational terms that the user’s problem must also become the practitioner’s
problem, and vice versa, so that it is a problem for both of them. This intuition
goes well beyond the classical notion of empathy as Kierkegaard long time ago
recommended (Hobbs, 1992) and which is now treated by every handbook on
social work.

If you want to help somebody, first of all you must find him where he is and
start there. This is the secret of caring. If you cannot do that, it is only an
40 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

illusion, if you think you can help another human being. Helping somebody
implies your understanding more than he does, but first of all you must
understand what he understands. If you cannot do that your understanding
will be of no avail. (Kierkegaard, 1849; quoted in Hobbs, 1987: XV)

The basis for a helping relationship, if it is to deserve such label, is precisely

this kind of human understanding: the helping should be ‘given’ only when the
practitioner ‘feels’ accurately the person and his or her problem. This is an
important rule, for it states that the expert is obliged to connect with the ‘true’
problem as it is presumably felt in its true nature by the person concerned.
The relational perspective shows us another side of the empathy rule (or
another directional flow) which is not always well understood. There is also the
reverse requirement that the practitioner’s problem, if s/he alone is aware of it,
must also become the recipient’s problem, if s/he is not aware of it or does not
see it, or sees it inadequately or distortedly. It is not important only that the
expert should have a clear and comprehensive idea of the user’s difficulty from
the latter’s point of view; it is also and equally important that the user should have
an idea of his/her difficulty as it has taken shape in the expert’s mind. If the
answer to ‘problem for whom’ is ‘problem for both’ (in the particular case of a
dual relationship), this should logically follow.
Creating this shared basis is often a difficult task for the social worker. It is
a task whose purpose is paradoxically to create the problem (relationally under-
stood), rather than – as it might seem to the practitioner – to resolve it. Obvi-
ously, creating a shared problem means creating better conditions for its solu-
tion. Consequently, the idea that one sets about resolving a problem while still
laying the intersubjective basis from which to start is not entirely mistaken (only
somewhat ingenuous).
Once again the example of addiction helps illustrate the point. In this case,
the subjective distance between the person suffering from the problem and the
expert who wishes to help him or her is huge. The drug addict and the alcoholic
live in a ‘pre-contemplative state’, to use Prochaska and Di Clemente’s expression
(Miller and Rollnick, 1991): they are unable to ‘see’ (to contemplate) the prob-
lem that afflicts them. Or, put otherwise, they are individuals caught up in a
mechanism of denial, that is ‘an unconscious or semiconscious defense [...] an
inability by the individual to see the reality of his/her situation, although this
reality is often apparent to others’ (Amodeo, 1995, p. 98).
Even if the expert sees the problem very clearly, s/he must keep calm, so to
speak. And the expert must not only restrain him/herself when s/he sees these
individuals in the street as an observer, but also when they come to him and her
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 41

as users with an incipient awareness that they need help. The practitioner must
also proceed with caution when the motivational counselling begins (Miller and
Rollnick, 1991). A more or less long initial phase of help must be devoted to
fostering the motivation to change. The aim of this initial phase, that is to say,
in the light of the concepts presented here, is to enable the problem to emerge
in the mind of the person afflicted by it.
The mental interconnection between expert and user – more than the one
that operates in reverse between user and expert – is a process that should be
managed with great delicacy. When, as in the case of addiction, the problem lies
within the user, s/he often sees nothing – in the same way, for example, that we
see nothing of our face when there is a blob of ice cream on our nose. Just as it
would not make a great deal of sense to insist on describing a blob of ice cream
on someone’s nose in words – rather than by simply holding up a mirror – it
would be equally senseless for an expert to try to give a verbal description (no
matter how detailed and precise) of the other’s problem that he or she can see.
To shed light on (or give insight into) a problem, a mirror is required, just as a
mirror is required to see one’s own face.
Technically speaking, what does using a mirror in help actually mean? The
answer is somewhat long and complex, and it is only outlined here (it is dwelt
upon at length in Chapter 3). The expert must reflect or reformulate the state-
ments made by the user which signal some sort of awareness, even minimal, of
his or her problem. The latter’s incipient self-awareness, together with a great
deal of other irrelevant material, impinge upon the consciousness of the expert,
who recognizes them and purges them of everything else. S/he then restates them
in other words and relays them back into the communication as small ‘bundles’
of meaning. These products of the practitioner’s consciousness, which are in fact
processings of the interlocutor’s consciousness, are returned to the latter in the
well-known counselling formulas of ‘You’re telling me that…’ or ‘I understand
that you...’, and the like (Carkhuff, 1987).
In this way, awareness of the problem is reinforced in the consciousness of the
person after it has been expressed and then reflected back in the words of the
practitioner. The words of the practitioner encase those of the user’s to constitute
an intersubjective unit, something that is thereby objectivized. We may say that
the person is able to see the problem as if it was external to him/her, as if the
person were an external observer of him/herself.
Here I am talking about mirroring as a technical process used by a practi-
tioner who acts intentionally. But mirroring may also be an immediate fact, an
image suddenly reflected on the face of a significant other. This is how an ex-
alcoholic described to a self-help group how he became aware of his problem:
42 / RELATIONAL SOCIAL WORK

I had carried on for years with no sign of any chips in my denial. I insisted,
or screamed if necessary, that I could control my drinking and that everyone
should mind their own business.Then one day I saw hurt on my daugther’s
face as I staunchly upheld my right to drink. Her look bore the truth as I
could not see it in myself. I knew I was an alcoholic and I could not control
my drinking. I have not had a drink since that afternoon. (Brown, 1995, pp.
35-36)

For a professional helping relationship, a problem exists when the practi-

tioner sees it, when the user sees it, and when each of them knows what the other
knows or sees what the other sees. I shall use the expression ‘relational basis’ to
indicate not only that both of them are aware of the problem but also that they
are to some extent aware of their (reciprocal) awareness. While a clinical defini-
tion of the problem may not comprise this relational embedding – in the sense
that the therapist may also start from his or her own viewpoint or diagnosis – a
unilateral definition by the expert would be meaningless in social work. If this
shared sense of the problem is lacking, then work is required to create it. And it
is of no importance whether we already want to call this preparatory work
‘intervention’ or whether we do not.

1.2.6. Practitioner/persons involved multiple sharing

In social work practice, full expert/recipient interconnection is a necessary
but not sufficient condition. As Rogers has shown, this interconnection may be
present in traditional clinical counselling as well. It is therefore clear that the dual
sharing of the problem – the fact that both the expert and the user are mutually
interconnected – is still not what we are looking for. As already said, the ‘social’
manifests itself when the basis of sharing is broader than two (from two to n).
An extended basis for sharing means that shared awareness of the problem,
which we assume already exists between expert and recipient, should come about
with the largest possible number of persons involved in events – or in other
words, standing in relation. A social worker must always remind him/herself that
the true answer to the question ‘problem for whom’ is ‘for the greatest number
of people that can be realistically conceived as capable of feeling it’.
Social workers often find themselves in situations similar to sitting on a stool
with only two legs. It may happen that they see the problem, but the persons
concerned and their families and friends do not: for example when a neighbour-
hood social worker sees children constantly wandering the streets unsupervised
by an adult. Or the problem may be seen by the social worker and the friends and
family of the person concerned but not by the latter: as when a mother tells the
 THE RELATIONAL CORE OF SOCIAL PROBLEMS / 43

social worker of her suspicions that her husband is abusing their daughters. On
other occasions the problem is seen by the person concerned but not by the social
worker, who indeed may see nothing at all, or something different: as for example
when a still self-sufficient elderly person asks for home help.
Whenever awareness of the problem is partial, it is necessary to work with the
apparent paradox of creating the problem as a social fact, starting from frag-
mented perceptions or no perceptions at all. This is work on perceptive sharing.

1.2.7. ‘Social control’ situations: is sharing possible?

The sharing rule applies when we are dealing with helping in the proper sense.
The problem must be a shared construct when it is the raw material of profes-
sional care conceived in the best interests of the persons concerned. But we know
that social work may not be of this type. This is when we talk of ‘control’ rather
than ‘helping’.
Social workers are sometimes unable to act on the basis of their beliefs or their
‘therapeutic’ mandate. Instead, they are obliged to act in favour of one party against
another, or in the interests of society as a whole in pursuit of the higher exigency
of collective welfare. There are frequent and well-known assessment situations
(tasks) in which a social worker is compelled to perceive social problems and to take
measures contrary to the perceptions or feelings of the person concerned. In the case
of child neglect, for example, the social worker must intervene even if the children,
parents, neighbours and others are against it (Stratton and Hanks, 1995). In these
cases, if we ask ‘problem for whom?’, we must answer: problem for society, for that
impersonal social order which protects its own welfare as embodied in the objective
welfare of unaware subjects, namely the neglected children in the above example.
The construction (definition) of the problem, and the action to be taken, are fixed
by law: the discretion of the social worker – although s/he takes the decision
whether or not to intervene – is limited, but even more limited is the discretion of
the persons in whose regard adverse measures are taken.
Breach of the sharing rule always causes suffering, even when it is reasonable
and justified. If the breach is total – as in the case of forcible removal incompre-
hensible to those involved – then the situation is more accurately described as
a technical-administrative problem rather than a social one. The presence of
social workers in these assessment procedures is intended to ensure that the logic
of social care – which should be based on sharing – is nevertheless present. No
matter if little or nothing can be done: the role of the social worker, compared
with those of the judicial authorities and of the law enforcement agencies for
example, necessarily requires that an attempt must be made.
Another Random Scribd Document
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while; but having a desire to go again to the Mediterranean, I
engaged on board a ship, where the mate taught me navigation.
While at Smyrna, I saw many caravans from India. Among other
articles, they brought great quantities of locusts, and a kind of pulse
resembling French beans, though larger; they are sweet and
palatable.
"In the spring of 1773, an expedition was fitted out to explore a
northwest passage to India. Dr. Irving concluding to go, I
accompanied him, and we went on board one of the vessels the
24th of May; and about the middle of June, by the use of the
doctor's apparatus for making salt water fresh, we distilled from
twenty-six to forty gallons a day. On the 28th we reached Greenland,
where I found the sun did not set.
"We found large fields of ice, and to one of them, about eighty yards
thick, we made our vessel fast: but we soon became so surrounded
with ice that we could not move, and were in danger of being
crushed to pieces. In this perilous situation we remained eleven
days, when the weather becoming more mild, and the wind
changing, the ice gave way, and in about thirty hours, with hard
labor, we got into open water, to our great joy, and arrived at
Deptford, after an absence of four months, wherein we had
experienced imminent dangers.
"Rejoicing to be again in England, I entered into service, and
remained a considerable time; during which I began to reflect
seriously on the many dangers I had escaped, particularly in my last
voyage, and it made a serious impression on my mind; and my
reflections were often turned to the awfulness of eternity.
"In this state, I took to my Bible, rejoicing that I could read it for
myself, and I received encouragement. While my mind was thus
seriously impressed, I went several voyages to Spain, and being
often led to look over the occurrences of my past life, I saw there
had been the hand of Providence to guide and protect me, though I
knew it not; and when I considered my obligations to the Lord for
His goodness, I wept.
"On our return, the last voyage, we picked up eleven Portuguese.
Their vessel had sunk, with two of the crew, and they were in a
small open boat, without victuals, compass, water, or anything else,
and must soon have perished. As soon as they got on board our
vessel, they fell on their knees and thanked God for their
deliverance. Thus I saw verified what was written in the 107th
Psalm.
"From the year 1777 to 1784, I remained more quiet; but about the
latter period I made a trip to New York, and one to Philadelphia. At
the latter place, I was very much pleased to see the worthy Quakers
easing the burdens of my oppressed countrymen. It also rejoiced my
heart when one of these people took me to the free school, and I
saw the children of my color instructed, and their minds cultivated to
fit them for usefulness.
"Not long after my return, I found government was preparing to
make a settlement of free people of color on the coast of Africa, and
that vessels were engaged to carry such as wished to go to Sierra
Leone. I engaged as commissary, and we set sail with 426 persons.
But the time of our arrival there, the rainy season having
commenced, proved unfavorable, and some of us soon returned to
England; where, since that period, I have been doing what I could
for the relief of my much-injured country people.
"Having been early taught to look for the hand of God in minute
circumstances, they have been of consequence to me; and aiming at
simple truth in relating the incidents of my life, I hope some of my
readers will gather instruction from them."
Gregorie, in his Inquiry into the Intellectual and Moral Faculties of
the Negroes, states, that after thirty years of a wandering and
stormy life, Vassa established himself in London, where he married,
and published his memoirs, which have been several times reprinted
—the last edition in 1794; and it is proved by the most respectable
testimony that he was the author. In 1789, he presented a petition
to parliament for the suppression of the slave trade.
He also says, that a son of his, named Sancho, having received a
good education, was an assistant librarian to Sir Joseph Banks, and
secretary to the committee for vaccination. And he concludes with
this remark: "If Vassa still lived, the bill which was lately passed,
prohibiting the slave trade, would be consoling to his heart, and to
his old age."
 BILLY AND JENNY.
About the year 1738, a man and his wife, named Tom and Caty, who
were in bondage to Thomas Bowne, on Long Island, had a little son
whom they called Billy. This little boy, when old enough to work, was
sold to a farmer in the neighborhood; who, according to the custom
of those days, went with his servants into the field, and allotted to
each one his portion of labor. By this means, Billy became
acquainted with the different branches of husbandry, and was inured
to industry.
With this farmer, he was pretty comfortably cared for, and kept to his
daily labor until the thirty-first year of his age. About the year 1744,
the master of one of those ships employed in bringing the poor
Africans from their native land, among others brought away a little
girl—too young, alas! to tell even by what means, or in what way
she was taken.
This little girl, after suffering all the hardships attendant on her
situation, and a long confinement on shipboard, was landed in New
York, and sold according to the custom of that time. She was bought
by Samuel Underhill, and taken to Long Island to wait on his wife
and children and they called her Jenny. As she advanced in age, she
became more and more useful in her master's family, and satisfied
with her situation.
Her mistress being a woman of an uncommonly amiable disposition,
having known the subjugation of her own will, by the operation of
that principle which brings into harmony all the discordant passions,
and one of that description also, that "looked well to the ways of her
household, and ate not the bread of idleness," she was qualified to
govern her family with mildness and discretion, and to set them an
example of economy, sobriety, cheerfulness, and industry.
Jenny, being placed under the tuition of such a mistress, in due time
became qualified to fill the station allotted her with propriety, as an
honest, sober, industrious, and useful servant. When she had arrived
at about the twentieth year of her age, she was visited by the
before-mentioned Billy, in the character of a suitor. After mature
deliberation, and their affections becoming more strongly fixed, with
the approbation of those concerned, the marriage ceremony was
performed.
Thus were they united, not only in the bonds of wedlock, but those
of sincere affection, which abundantly manifested itself in their
conduct toward and respect for each other, during a long and
laborious life, and in their care of their numerous offspring, which
consisted of nine sons and one daughter.
Time passing on with them, they partook of such a share of
happiness as their situation in life would permit, until the year 1769,
when the master of Jenny, having purchased a farm in Westchester
county, was preparing to remove his family thither. This
circumstance became a very close trial to this affectionate pair, who
by this time had several children.
The thoughtfulness and anxiety felt by them on this occasion being
reciprocated by their masters, a proposition was made for an
exchange. The wife of one of Billy's fellow-servants being in the
family with Jenny, accommodations were soon made, and Billy was
admitted a resident in the family with his beloved partner: when
they all proceeded to their new settlement, where they lived in
harmony and concord for many years, and until their master's
children were all married and settled.
During this period, Billy and Jenny, with all their children, were
liberated by their master, and such of them as were old enough,
were placed where they might be brought up to habits of industry,
and be prepared to provide for themselves a comfortable
subsistence; but Billy and Jenny remained with him.
Age and infirmity at length put a period to their kind master's life.
And his family, being thus deprived of his care and exertions, were
induced to leave their abode. The mistress, who had long exercised
an affectionate care over her household, finding herself lonely,
retired to live with her children. And with her youngest son, she
remained to an advanced age, and was then gathered into rest, as a
shock of corn in its season.
Billy and Jenny having a house provided for them, remained under
the care of their former master's descendants, and with their own
industry, and the generosity of their friends, they were comfortably
situated. But when Billy was so disabled by infirmity, that he could
not work as a day-laborer, he cultivated a little garden, and did some
light jobs for his neighbors.
Their children being out, while Jenny's health and strength
remained, she went out to washing and housecleaning. Billy
generally waited on her to the place of destination, and then,
returning to his habitation, nursed his garden and poultry until
toward evening, when he would go to accompany her home. More
genuine politeness and unremitting attention, between a man and
his wife, are rarely to be found, in city or country, than were
manifested by this sable pair.
Thus they lived several years; but Jenny at length became enfeebled
by age, and her sight failed, so that she was no longer capable of
laboring abroad, or using her spinning-wheel at home, as heretofore,
which made it necessary for them to be placed in a different
situation. One winter, while they remained at housekeeping, there
came a very severe snow-storm, with high wind, so that passing
from one place to another was rendered very difficult for several
days.
As soon as practicable, their friend, who had the care of them, and
supplied their wants, went to see how they fared; when Jenny,
meeting him at the door, and being asked how they were, etc., said,
"Oh, Master Richard, I am wonderful glad to see thee—if the storm
had lasted much longer, I believe we should have froze to death; our
wood was 'most gone, and Billy is one of the honestest niggers in
the world; for he had rather freeze to death than steal a rail from
the fence." This circumstance is recorded as one specimen of their
honest simplicity.
In the spring of 1815, they were removed to the habitation of one of
their sons, where they were boarded; and there they remained, until
death, the destroyer of all earthly comforts, put a period to Jenny's
life, after a few days' severe illness, about the seventy-eighth year of
her age.
The same affectionate attachment that pervaded her mind in youth
and in health, remained unshaken to the last. Her sight, as before
remarked, being almost gone, when lying on her bed, she frequently
inquired for Billy; but when she was told he was lying behind her, or
sitting by her, she was satisfied.
Thus she closed a long and laborious life, beloved and respected for
her many good qualities, and her consistent conduct. Billy died at
Scarsdale, Westchester county, New York, on the 4th of Third
month, 1826, after a few days' illness, aged about eighty-seven
years, and was decently interred by the side of Jenny, on the 6th of
the same month.
 GEORGE HARDY.
During the winter of 1832, the writer of the narrative of which this
account is an abridgment, became acquainted with Hannah Hardy,
an interesting old colored woman, and her son George. They were
the suffering tenants of a miserable garret, lighted only by a few
panes of glass, and ill-secured from the inclemencies of the weather.
Hannah had been an industrious woman, who supported herself
comfortably for many years, until her sight, which had long been
declining, so nearly left her as to disqualify her for all kinds of work.
George, who was her youngest son, disclosed in his earliest years
great quickness of discernment and readiness of apprehension. He
could read the Bible when only four years old; and he continued to
be remarkable for docility, and for preferring his books and other
profitable employments to the idle sports of children.
When about eleven years old, he was placed from home, where he
remained until four years since, when he became so much diseased
with scrofula as to make it necessary for him to return to his mother.
From that time, she became his constant and only nurse, and
evinced, through numberless privations and difficulties, the most
unwearied attention and patient endurance.
When he was able to sit up and use his arms, he made rope-mats;
by which, with casual help from his friends, he supported his mother
and paid her rent. He always mended his own and her clothes, and
allowed no time to pass away in idleness, which he was able to
employ; and so cheerful, so thankful, and so happy did this
interesting couple appear, that it afforded a lesson of instruction to
be with them.
Hannah, who could only distinguish the glare of noon from the
gloom of darkness, had lived so long in the forlorn tenement they
then inhabited, and knew so well all the turnings of its steep and
dangerous stairs, that she could not bear to hear the proposal from
some of her friends to provide one more comfortable. Through the
latter part of the winter, and the commencement of the spring,
George's sufferings greatly increased; he was wholly confined to his
bed, and so emaciated with pain and disease, that although he was
seventeen years of age, his arms were not thicker than an infant's.
He had been a diligent reader of the Holy Scriptures; and though he
told me they had been to him a sealed book, until he was brought to
that bed of suffering, yet it was evident that his mind had long been
enabled to appropriate to his own necessities many of their precious
precepts. Though he labored under the combined effects of scrofula
and dropsy, in their highest degrees of virulence, yet I never heard
him repine; and often, while suffering extreme bodily anguish, he
would speak of the relief it afforded the poor afflicted body, to have
the mind composed and tranquil, and would say, "O, I feel like a
poor worm in the fire; yet all I desire is, to be favored with patience
to bear all my pain, and with a willing mind to wait the Master's will
to take me away."
For many days and nights together he was able to obtain but little
sleep; yet he showed no marks of restlessness or discontent. Once,
calling me to his bedside, he said, "I am afraid I am not patient
enough; but I often feel very weary, and I fear I shall wear my poor
mother out. I am more concerned for her than for myself—what
should I do for a care-taker if she were gone? She is very kind to
me, and I have many kind friends. I am afraid I am not grateful
enough for all my favors. To some, this garret would look like a dull
place, but it never looks gloomy to me; I have had more pleasure in
it than I could have had in the nicest parlor."
Having called one day after he had passed a sleepless and
languishing night, I found him, with the Bible fixed before him,
reading. He looked animated, and said, "I always loved to read the
Bible, but I never understood it until very lately; now I understand it,
and I find that religion and pleasure are in no way inconsistent. I
feel now that I shall never recover. I am willing to die, and I shall be
happy when I am gone from earth—but the Lord is very merciful,
and can make me happy as long as He chooses that I should stay. I
have trusted in Him through pain and through want, and I believe
He will never forsake me. My Fifth has sometimes been closely tried,
but I never let go my confidence."
His disease now rapidly increased, and with it his suffering. On the
23d of Fifth month, he conversed a long time with the doctor, and
seemed more comfortable than usual; but he passed a sleepless and
distressing night. The next day, he was able to take but little
nourishment, owing to the great soreness of his mouth and throat,
but he could converse intelligibly, and seemed anxious to do so.
About two o'clock this day, I found him in great pain, but quite
tranquil in mind.
On my going to him, he said, "My sufferings are now nearly over; I
shall not live many days—not more than two. The Lord's time has
nearly come, and then He will take me where I shall never suffer any
more. O, how marvellous His mercy is, to look down upon such a
polluted sinner as I am!
 'I the worst of sinners am,
But Jesus came to save me.'—

Yes, He will save me—I know it. I have a hope—a pretty certain
hope—O, it is a very certain hope—it is a very sure hope." He then
in a low and indistinct voice, supplicated for many minutes; after
which he said, "I have been talking to my Saviour."
Not expecting him to hear, I asked his mother if he had always been
a serious boy; but before she could reply, George said, "No! I was
always bad, always wicked; but since I was brought to this bed of
sickness, I have sought for repentance, and I have found it: my sins
were as scarlet, but now they are washed as white as snow. But it is
all mercy, pure mercy; we have no righteousness of our own to
depend upon—no works, no merit of our own will avail us at such a
time as this. If these were all we had to look to, we should never be
saved. But this is what Jesus came into the world for—to save us
poor sinners; and salvation belongs to Him alone."
After this, he desired me to read to him in the Bible—said he would
like to hear me read in the Psalms, where David deplored his sins. I
did so, and he afterward composed himself and slept a few minutes;
but the pain soon awoke him, and he said, "I hope my patience will
hold out—I must not get impatient so near the end."
On the 25th, his sufferings greatly increased, and on the afternoon
of the 26th, he was unable longer to speak, but he appeared to be
sensible of what was passing, and to know those about him. He
several times embraced his mother very tenderly and wept. The
impress which the pain and anguish of the preceding day had left
upon his countenance, now yielded to a placid and heavenly
serenity; and his breath continued to shorten, until he ceased to
breathe.
 LOTT CAREY.
PRINCIPALLY FROM GURLEY'S LIFE OF ASHMUN.
This interesting individual was born a slave, on the estate of William
A. Christian, in Charles City county, about thirty miles below
Richmond. In 1804, he was sent to that city, and hired out by the
year as a common laborer at the Shockoe warehouse. At that time,
and for two or three years after, he was excessively profane, and
much addicted to intoxication.
But God, who is rich in mercy, was pleased to awaken him to a
sense of his lost estate; and in the year 1807, he made open
profession of his faith in the Saviour. A sermon which he heard about
that time, founded on our Lord's interview with Nicodemus,
awakened in him so strong a desire to be able to read and write,
that he obtained a Testament, and commenced learning his letters,
by trying to read the chapter in which that interview is recorded.
He was occasionally instructed by young gentlemen at the
warehouse, though he never attended a regular school. In a little
time, he was able to read and write, so as to make dray tickets, and
superintend the shipping of tobacco. In this business, and in
overseeing the labor of the other hands in the warehouse, he was
particularly useful; so much so, that he received 800 dollars salary in
1820, the last year he remained there; and he could have received a
larger sum, if he would have continued.
In the year 1813, he bought himself and his two little children (his
wife being dead) for 850 dollars, and thus became free. The manner
in which he obtained this sum of money to purchase himself and his
children, reflects much credit on his character. It will be seen from
the salary he received after he was free, and which he relinquished
for the sake of doing good in Africa, that his services at the
warehouse were highly estimated; but of their real value, no one
except a dealer in tobacco can form an idea. Notwithstanding the
hundreds of hogsheads that were committed to his charge, he could
produce any one the instant it was called for; and the shipments
were made with a promptness and correctness, such as no person
has equalled in the same situation. For this correctness and fidelity,
he was highly esteemed, and frequently rewarded by the merchant
with a five-dollar note. He was allowed also to sell for his benefit
many small parcels of waste tobacco. It was by saving the little sums
obtained in this way, with the aid of a subscription by the merchants
to whose interests he had been attentive, that he procured these
850 dollars which he paid for the freedom of himself and children.
When the colonists were fitted out for Africa, he defrayed a
considerable part of his own expense. With a design to improve his
condition, he emigrated to Africa among the first settlers of Liberia,
where he was the means of doing much good to both colonists and
natives.
In reply to one of his friends, who desired to know what inducement
he had for going to Africa, when he was already so comfortably
situated, he said, "I am an African; and in this country, however
meritorious my conduct and respectable my character, I cannot
receive the credit due to either. I wish to go to a country where I
shall be estimated by my merits, not by my complexion. And I
likewise feel bound to labor for my suffering race."
Soon after he made a profession of religion he commenced holding
meetings and exhorting among the colored people; and, though he
had scarcely any knowledge of books, and but little acquaintance
with mankind, he would frequently exhibit a boldness of thought,
and a strength of native intellect, which no acquirement could ever
have given him.
At the close of his farewell sermon, on his departure for Africa, he
remarked in substance as follows: "I am about to leave you; and I
expect to see your faces no more. I long to preach to the poor
Africans the way of life and salvation. I don't know what may befall
me—whether I may find a grave in the ocean, or among the savage
men, or more savage wild beasts, on the coast of Africa: nor am I
anxious what may become of me; I feel it my duty to go.
"I very much fear that many of those who preach the gospel in this
country will blush when the Saviour calls them to give an account of
their labors in His cause, and tells them, 'I commanded you to go
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.'" And
with the most forcible emphasis he exclaimed, "The Saviour may
ask, 'Where have you been? What have you been doing? Have you
endeavored to the utmost of your ability to fulfil the commands I
gave you? or have you sought your own gratification and your own
ease, regardless of my commands?'"
In his new home, his intellectual ability, firmness of purpose,
unbending integrity, correct judgment, and disinterested
benevolence, caused him to be beloved and respected, and gave
him great influence: and he soon rose to honorable distinction. The
interests of the colony, and the cause of his countrymen, in both
Africa and America, were very near to his heart. For them he was
willing to toil, and to make almost any sacrifice; and he frequently
declared that no possessions in America could induce him to return.
He possessed a constitution peculiarily fitted for toil and exposure,
and he felt the effects of the climate perhaps less than any other
individual in the colony. During the sickly season of the year, he was
usually wholly employed in attending the sick; and for more than a
year, they had no other physician among them. The little medical
information he had obtained from Dr. Ayres and others on the coast,
together with several years' experience, enabled him successfully to
contend with the peculiar fevers of the climate.
Under date of March 12th, 1824, shortly after the arrival of the
Cyrus with 105 emigrants, he wrote: "The fever began about the
24th ult., and on the 28th we had thirty-eight cases; and by the 2d
inst. we had sixty-six under the operation of medicine; and at
present, I have about a hundred cases of fever to contend with; but
we have been very much favored, for they all appear to be on the
recovery, and we have lost none, saving three children. I have very
little time to write to you, myself being the only man that will
venture to act in the capacity of a physician."
The managers of the American Colonization Society, in 1825, invited
Carey to visit the United States, in the expectation that his intelligent
and candid statements, concerning the condition and prospects of
the colony and the moral wants of Africa, would exert a beneficial
influence on the opinions of the people of color, and recommend the
cause of the society to the public regard.
In the month of April, 1826, he made arrangements to embark in
the Indian Chief, on her return from taking a large number of
emigrants to the colony, and received from Ashmun testimonials of
his worth and services. The following is an extract from a letter from
Ashmun to the managers of the Colonization Society:
"The Rev. Lott Carey has, in my opinion, some claims on the justice
of the society, or the government of the United States, or both,
which merit consideration. These claims arise out of a long and
faithful course of medical services rendered to this colony. More than
one-half of his time has been given up to the care of the sick, from
the day I landed in Africa to the very moment of stating the fact. He
has personally aided, in every way that fidelity and benevolence
could dictate, in all the attentions which our sick have in so long a
period received.
"Several times have these disinterested labors reduced him to the
very verge of the grave. He has hitherto received no compensation,
either from the society or the government, for these services. I need
not add, that it has not been in his power to support himself and
family, by any use he could make of the remnants of the time left
him, after discharging the amount of duties devolving upon him. In
addition, he has the care of the liberated Africans."
Until near the time of the Indian Chief's departure, he cherished the
hope of embarking in her for America. But as there was no other
physician in the colony, it was finally thought best for him to
postpone his departure until another opportunity.
Notwithstanding he on one occasion manifested a disposition for
insubordination, yet, like a wise man and a Christian, he soon saw
his error, and acknowledged it with humility and submission. He was
elected in September, 1826, to the vice-agency of the colony, and
discharged the duties of that important office until his death.
In his good sense, moral worth, public spirit, courage, resolution,
and decision, the colonial agent had perfect confidence. He knew
that in times of difficulty or of danger, full reliance might be placed
upon the energy and efficiency of Carey.
When compelled, in the early part of 1828, to leave the colony,
Ashmun committed the administration of the colonial affairs into the
hands of the vice-agent, in the full belief that no interest would be
betrayed, but that his efforts would be constantly and anxiously
directed to the promotion of the public good.
Soon after Carey wrote thus: "Feeling very sensibly my
incompetency to enter upon the duties of my office, without first
making all the officers of the colony well acquainted with the
principal objects which should engage our attention, I invited them
to meet at the Agency House on the 27th, at nine o'clock, which was
punctually attended to, and I then read all the instructions left by Mr.
Ashmun, without reserve, and requested their co-operation. To get
the new settlers located on their lands, was a very important item in
my instructions; and I trust, through the blessing of the great Ruler
of events, we shall be able to realize all the expectations of Mr.
Ashmun."
He soon purchased a large tract of land for the Colonization Society
of the native kings; and further said, "Captain Russell will be able to
give something like a fair account of the state of our improvements,
as he went with me to visit the settlements, and seemed pleased
with the prospect at Millsburg, Caldwell, and the Halfway Farms."
For about six months after the departure of Ashmun from the colony,
Carey stood at its head, and conducted himself with such energy
and wisdom as to do honor to his previous reputation, and fix the
seal upon his enviable fame. But, alas! he was suddenly and
unexpectedly, and in a distressing manner, forced from life, in all its
vigor, by the explosion of gunpowder, on the 8th of November, in
which eight persons lost their lives.
Carey was thrice married, and thrice he was left a widower. His first
wife died, as before related, previous to his becoming free. His
second wife died at Foura Bay, near Sierra Leone, shortly after
arriving in Africa. Of her triumphant death, he has given a most
affecting account in his journal of that date. His third wife died at
Cape Montserado. She was the daughter of Richard Sampson, from
Petersburg.
It has been very well said of Carey, that he was one of nature's
noblemen. Had he possessed the advantages of education, few men
of his age would have excelled him in knowledge or genius. To found
a Christian colony which might prove a blessed asylum to his
degraded brethren in America, and enlighten and regenerate Africa,
was, in his view, an object with which no temporal good, not even
life, could be compared.
The strongest sympathies of his nature were excited in behalf of his
unfortunate people, and the divine promise cheered and encouraged
him in his labors for their improvement and salvation. A main pillar in
the society and church of Liberia has fallen! But we will not despond.
The memorial of his worth shall never perish. It shall stand in a
clearer light, when every chain is broken, and Christianity shall have
assumed her sway over the millions of Africa.
 THE GOOD MASTER AND HIS
FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Translated from the French.
Warner Mifflin, for his candor, affability, and knowledge, was ranked
among those who are an honor to their country and their age. He
had received from his father thirty-seven negroes, old and young.
The day that he had fixed upon for their emancipation being come,
he called one after another into his chamber, and this was the
conversation that passed with one of them:
"Well, my friend James, how old art thou?" "I am twenty-nine and a
half years old, master." "Thou shouldst have been free, as thy white
brethren are, at twenty-one. Religion and humanity enjoin me this
day to give thee thy liberty, and justice requires me to pay thee for
eight and a half years' service, at the rate of twenty-one pounds and
five shillings per annum, including in it thy food and raiment, making
altogether a sum of ninety-five pounds, twelve shillings, and
sixpence owing to thee; but as thou art young and healthy, thou
hadst better work for thy living: my intention is to give thee a bond
for it, bearing interest at the rate of seven per cent.
"Thou hast now no master but God and the laws. Go into the next
room; thou wilt find there thy late mistress and my nephew; they
are engaged in writing thy manumission. May God bless thee,
James! Be wise and industrious; in all thy trials, thou wilt find a
friend in thy old master."
James, surprised at a scene so new and affecting, shed many tears;
astonishment, gratitude, and a variety of feelings, shook his frame.
He shed a flood of tears, and could scarcely articulate these words:
"Ah, my master! why do you give me my liberty? I have always had
what I wanted: we have worked together in the fields, and I have
worked as much for myself as for you.
"I have eaten of the same food, and been clothed like you—and we
have gone together on foot to meeting. We have the Sabbath to
ourselves: we don't lack any thing. When we are sick, our good and
tender mistress comes to our bedside, always saying something
consolatory to us. Ah, my dear master! when I am free, where shall
I go? and when I am sick—"
"Thou shalt be as the whites; thou shalt hire with those who will
give thee generous wages: in a few years, thou shalt purchase a
piece of land, marry a wife, wise and industrious as thyself, and rear
up children, as I have reared thee, in the fear of the Lord and love of
labor. After having lived free and happy, thou shalt die in peace.
"Thou must accept liberty, James; it is a great while since it was due
to thee. Would to God, the Father of all men, that the whites had
never thought of trading in thy African brethren; may He inspire all
men with the desire of following our example. We, who regard
liberty as the first of blessings, why should we refuse it to those who
live among us?"
"Ah, my master! you are so good is the reason I wish not to leave
you—I have never been a slave. You have never spoken to me but
as you speak to white men; I have lacked nothing, either in sickness
or in health; I have never worked more than your neighbors, who
have worked for themselves.
"I have been richer than many whites—to some of whom I have lent
money. And my good and tender mistress never commands us to do
anything, but makes us do everything by only saying, 'Please to do
it.' How shall I leave you? give me by the year what you will, in the
name of a freeman or a slave, it is of little consequence to me—I
shall never be happy but with you—I will never leave you."
"Well, James, I consent to what thou desirest; after thy
manumission shall have passed through the necessary forms, I will
hire thee by the year; but take at least one of relaxation; it is a great
epoch of thy life; celebrate it with joy, and rest by doing whatsoever
thou wilt."
"No master! it is seed time—I will take my pleasure another time—
one day only shall be a holiday in my family. Then, since you will
have it so, I will accept my liberty; and my first action, as a free
man, is to take your hand, my master, press it between mine, and
lay it on my heart, where the attachment and gratitude of James will
not cease until that ceases to beat; and until that moment be
assured that no laborer in the county of Kent will be more
industrious than he who henceforth shall be called Faithful James."
 EZEKIEL COSTON.
Aged upwards of eighty-three years, related to Samuel Canby, of
Wilmington, Delaware, in 1825, the following circumstances of his
freedom from his master, the late Warner Mifflin, a Quaker: and it
may be observed, that he always supported an unblemished
character:
That he was born a slave in the family of Daniel Mifflin, of Accomack
county, Virginia, with whom he lived until about twenty years of age;
about which period Warner Mifflin (son of Daniel) married a
daughter of John Kensey's, of West River, Maryland, and settled near
Camden, in the State of Delaware. Ezekiel, and five other slaves,
were given him by his father; there were also a number of slaves
belonging to his wife brought into the family.
He lived with Warner Mifflin about eighteen months, when he put
him on a plantation of his to work it, about six miles from his
residence, where he continued about four years a slave. At this
period Ezekiel was informed by his master that he had concluded to
set his slaves free; and very soon after his master came to his
residence, and calling him from the field where he was ploughing,
they sat down together, when he told Ezekiel his mind had long been
uneasy with holding slaves, and that he must let him go.
Ezekiel was so well satisfied with his present situation, that he told
his master he could not leave him. Their conversation on the subject
produced such feelings of tenderness that they both wept much.
Finally, as an inducement to comply, his master told him he might
remain on the farm, and they entered into a mutual engagement,
which was carried into effect, and Ezekiel continued to live on the
farm fourteen years, when his master gave him a piece of land,
upon which he built a house, where he remained until he came into
the neighborhood of Wilmington, where and in that town he has
resided until the present time.
After relating the foregoing narrative, he was inquired of respecting
the account entitled "The Good Master and his Faithful Slave"—a
circumstance which took place about the time of his being liberated,
and in the same family—to which he bore the following testimony,
shedding many tears while the reader was pursuing the theme,
saying, "It is just so, poor Jem and I lived together with master, and
worked together in harmony. How well I remember when Jem told
me that Master Mifflin had done the same by him as he had done for
me.
"It is all true—mistress brought a number of slaves with her into the
family, after master married her—one of them was my wife—all the
rest of us, making, I suppose about thirty, were given by old master
to Master Warner, who is now an angel in heaven. Oh, how it
comforts me to believe that, after suffering a few more pains, I shall
live with him for ever in communion sweet! We were brought up
children together, slept together, eat at the same table, and never
quarrelled."
The dear old man seems indeed like one waiting with Christian
resignation for an entrance into the heavenly kingdom. I have no
doubt of the correctness of his testimony. He appears to have as
perfect a recollection of the days of his childhood as though they
had just passed.
 AN ANECDOTE,
Communicated to a Friend on the way from Charleston to Savannah
by a Fellow-Passenger.
A slave belonging to his grandmother was carried off when a boy by
the British, in the time of the revolutionary war, to Nova Scotia,
where he lived several years; but he did not forget his old home and
friends, and he returned to his mistress, giving himself up as a slave.
But she, not having employment for him, talked of selling him. He
told her if she did, he was determined to destroy himself, for that it
was nothing but his attachment to the family that brought him back.
He was then suffered to work out, paying a certain part of his wages
to his owner.
The family soon after became embarrassed; and one of the
grandsons was sent to the West Indies to a relation. Just as he was
embarking, the faithful black put into his hand a purse containing all
his little earnings, and insisted upon his young master's taking it,
saying he had no use for the money himself, and his master might
want it in a strange country, away from his friends. The slave, still
living in Charleston, was suffered to work for himself. He has had
repeated offers of his liberty, but he prefers living in the family that
brought him up.
 THE COLORED FOUNDLING.
A poor, but honest and respectable old man, whose name was
Hector, resided in Philadelphia. He and his wife lived on the scanty
earnings of their own hands, in a very small cottage. One evening,
at a late hour, a woman of their own color, with an infant, stopped at
their dwelling and asked for a night's lodging, to which his wife
answered, "We can't lodge you, we got but one bed." "Oh," said the
old man, seeing her a stranger and in difficulty, "let her tag [stay],
she sleep in de bed with you, I go make a bed on de floor—must not
turn her out o' doors."
The woman accordingly stayed; and in the night, Hector was
awakened by the cries of the child. He arose to ascertain the cause
of it, and found the mother was gone; on which he aroused his wife,
saying, "Well, Sukey, you see de woman has gone off and lef' de
child for you." "Oh," said his wife, "what shall we do now? She never
come again." "Well," returned Hector, "then you must take care of
him: who knows God Almighty send him here for something—may
be to take care of us in our old age—must not turn him out o'
doors."
So they fed and nourished it with milk from the market—the old man
going regularly to procure it. No one appearing, the child became
their adopted. When he had attained the age of eight or nine years,
proving an active lad, they put him to a chimney sweeper, as the
most likely way for him to become early useful, and he soon
contributed a little to his guardian's subsistence.
They at length grew quite infirm, and the wife died. After which, the
neighbors, thinking it too much for the lad to have the whole care of
the old man, prevailed on him to go to the Bettering House. When
there the boy did not forsake but frequently visited him, and
continued to add to his support until he died; a few days after which
the lad died also, having grown up beloved and respected.
 THE GRATEFUL NEGRO.
Some years since, a gentleman, who was the possessor of
considerable property, from various causes became embarrassed in
his circumstances and was arrested by his creditors, and confined in
the king's bench prison; whence there was no probability of his
being liberated, unless some law proceedings (upon his succeeding
in which the recovery of a great part of his property depended) were
decided in his favor.
Thus situated, he called a colored man who had for many years
served him with the greatest faithfulness, and said, "Robert, you
have lived with me many years, but I am now unable to maintain
you any longer; you must leave me, and endeavor to find another
master."
The poor man, well remembering his master's kindness, replied, "No,
massa, me no leave you; you maintain me many years, me now try
what I can do for you." Robert then went and procured employment
as a day laborer, and regularly brought his earnings to his master;
on which, though small, they managed to subsist for some time,
until the law-suit was decided in the master's favor, and he thereby
regained possession of a very considerable property.
Mindful of his faithful servant, one of his first acts was to settle an
annuity upon him for the remainder of his life, sufficient to secure to
the poor fellow the enjoyment of those comforts he had so well
deserved. This little anecdote may afford instruction both to the
nominal and professing Christian: let the former inquire, Should I
have acted thus, if in a similar situation?
 THE FAITHFUL NURSE.
FROM THE LADIES' MONTHLY MUSEUM.
In the dreadful earthquake which made such ravages in the island of
St. Domingo, in the year 1770, a colored nurse found herself alone
in the house of her master and mistress, with the youngest child,
which she nursed. The house shook to its foundation. Every one had
taken flight; she alone could not escape, without leaving her infant
charge in danger.
She flew to the chamber, where it lay in the most profound sleep. At
the moment the walls of the house fell in, anxious only for the safety
of her foster child, she threw herself over it, and serving as a sort of
arch, saved it from destruction. The child was indeed saved; but the
unfortunate nurse died soon after, the victim of her fidelity.
 COFFIN.
FROM DR. MOYES'S LECTURES.
During the late war a gentleman and his wife were going from the
East Indies to England. His wife died on the passage, and left two
infants, the charge of which fell to a colored boy about seventeen
years of age. The gentleman, for some reason which I do not
recollect, went on board the vessel of the commodore of the fleet in
which they sailed. There came on a violent storm, and the vessel
which the children were on board of was on the point of being lost.
They despatched a boat from the commodore's vessel, to save as
many as they could. They had almost filled the boat, and there was
room enough for the infants, or the negro boy. What did he do? He
did not hesitate a moment, but put the children into the boat, and
said, "Tell my master that Coffin has done his duty;" and that instant
he was received into the bosom of the ocean, never more to return.
The queen requested the celebrated poetess, Hannah Moore, to
write an epic poem on it, but she wisely declined it, saying that no
art could embellish so noble a sentiment.
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