Respect - Conflicting Anishinaabe & Social Work Ethics

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MY KIND OF RESPECT

In 2001 as a social work student, I first met Codee. He looked well for an older man, born in the 1950’s likely a result of a few inventions of himself, with the assistance of many female social workers. By 2016, after following Codee from afar, I encountered him again. He seemed taller as he stood before me, a well dressed Caucasian man who walked confidently into my office.

“How do you like me now?”, he boasted. “I haven’t change in over ten years, and I’m widely accepted for who I am. Isn’t that great? I’ll admit, I had a few minor conflicts with women in the past, but now I’m stabilized. Something is different from the last time we met: I can tell you’ve changed substantially, but hey - if it’s not broken, don’t fix it, right?! I’m happy with who I am, all settled into a powerful job to oversee hundreds of thousands of people just like you. So, enough about that - let’s get down to business. My secretary informed me that you needed to talk, so here I am. I should first say that I don’t have a lot of time, but I do respect your thoughts and ideas.”

I smiled at Codee, invited him to sit in a comfortable chair beside mine and I began to tell him a story:

Long ago, or so it was told, a youthful boy by the name of George was travelling about on his horse across the prairies, and he came upon an Anishinaabek village. Accordingly, the Anishinaabek greeted him kindly and treated with utmost care and respect, offering George food and a warm spot by the fire. Thereupon, George noticed the children running about with a freedom he was not familiar with. They were fighting with sticks and rocks, doing other dangerous-looking activities, and laughing about it. It just did not make any sense. “Tell me this,” George said. “Why is it that no one is disciplining the children? They are acting wild!”

And the old woman beside him paused, for this boy spoke to her with a direct sense of authority and entitlement. Nevertheless, the old woman proceeded to tell George a story about wild horses. A story about horses who were so valued and respected that no one would ever force them to be anything they were not. No human would believe they owned a horse, or had any right to take away that wild horse’s freedom.

“In the story”, the old woman explained, “the horses were valued, and they contributed to Anishinaabek”. George could not recognize how this would be. They were wild horses, with autonomy, with spiritual power and helped the community. They provided valuable teachings in their behaviour that instructed the Anishinaabek about weather and hunting. The old woman explained that the difference between a wild horse and stabled horse is that humans made the wild horse dependant. They are all born wild, but when raised in an environment that stabilizes their freedom, they adapt and become compliant and dependant on a human with power over them.

The boy shook his head and scowled in dismay. He could not understand why these people did not take those horses and use them for their benefit. “What is wrong with them”, he thought. Nevertheless, the boy readily listened as the old woman went on in her story, just as a herd of free-spirited mustangs ran by in the distance. The children around the village also stopped their playfulness to watch the wild horses go by.

She said, “those horses are not stabled, like the ones in your village and they are very special to us. They bring gifts that we honour, but you will not understand that by only listening to one story, young boy!”

Thereupon, George realized that these Anishinaabek people had a very different way of viewing the horses, and the children, and the world overall. By and large, he started to understand the value of this non-interfering way and he wished his mother and father would treat him with that level of respect. But so it was, George had to return to his home village, and back to the rules that confined him, and back to his job as a stablehand boy.

Codee had listened to my whole story, maintaining a politically correct smile, trying to mask any thought or judgement. “So what do you think?” I asked him.

Codee (consider Code of Ethics) sat up straight in his chair, adjusted his three piece suit, gave me a little smuggish grim and said, “I do appreciate your ambition and I acknowledge you for sharing your story with me. I respect your culture, but as you know... in this profession there is a standard we all must follow. ‘Social work is founded on a long- standing commitment to respect the inherent dignity and individual worth of all persons’ (CASW, p. 4) however, all social workers must also ‘be aware of any conflicts between personal and professional values and deal with them responsibly’ (CASW, p. 2). It sounds to me like you might be having a hard time reconciling your personal, cultural beliefs with our professional beliefs. Am I correct?”

Now this was an awkward place for me to say the least. Here I was, trying with my utmost respect to have a conversation with Codee about ethics, but somehow he thinks I have called him here to seek his expertise and consultation on my dilemma. At this point in my head I was screaming, ‘Nooooooo!’, but I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

I squeezed the Sema in my left hand, and prayed for some Spiritual guidance to help me out of this corner. It was a corner that I felt painted into by this powerful, patriarchal person that had been following me around for years. I took a deep breath and started to put together the kindest responding words in my head.

But... my thoughts were interrupted after three seconds of silence when Codee assumed I had nothing to say, “I think your little folktale would be appropriate for sharing with an Aboriginal client in counselling. In fact, go ahead - I actually think it would be a nice way of trying to build rapport so they know you are Aboriginal too.”

At this point I had enough. Gloves came off. Sema was squeezed until my hand hurt, only this time I prayed for forgiveness. Well, that was the glorious stance I took in my mind but in all reality I was still the meek Anishinaabe social worker trying to live my truth with my kind of respect.

There was a time, a long time ago, when Nanabush and all the other animals spoke freely to one another. Nanabush was always walking around looking for an easy meal. One time, Nanabush saw some ducks. He greeted them as his brothers and invited them to a dance that night. And so, the ducks went to the dance. Nanabush had prepared a beautiful dancing ground and invited them in. “Close your eyes, we are going to do the Shut-eye Dance,” he said. “If you do not shut your eyes while I sing this song, your eyes will turn red”. And so, those ducks did shut their eyes and danced around. Nanabush drummed with one arm as he sang. With his other arm he began to reach out and wring each duck’s neck as they passed by. The sound of their wringing necks went along with the music, and so the ducks continued with their shut-eye dance. There was one duck however who secretly observed what was going on. Shingibiz was his name. When he saw what was happening, he called out to his fellow ducks, “My brothers, wake up. Nanabush is killing us!” The ducks that were still alive opened their eyes and quickly exited, escaping their confinement. Nanabush kicked Shingibiz in the rear and told him, “Now your eyes will turn red!” And that is why today Shingibiz has red eyes (Chacaby, 2011).

By default social workers are lured into the Shut Eye Dance (or as the wild horse in me calls it, The Assimilation Dance) first as students, and then as busy and often overworked professionals. We invest our trust and confidence in a code representative of foundational values of a profession, rooted in Christianity and influenced by Eurocentric cultural values (Jennissen & Lundy, 2011). When all professional ethics “include virtues and personal moral ideals such as those manifested in the lives of Jane Addams...” (Davis), it seems cynical for the CASW Code of Ethics to be prefaced by cautioning that the emergence of personal and cultural beliefs may have potential to conflict with (the presumably bias-free professional) values based Western ideals. As Kreutzer explains, “...social work values are the principles by which the profession writes its professional Codes of Ethics and instrumental social work values worldwide differ according to culture then acceptance and use of western codes of ethics by non-western countries needs to be urgently addressed” (Kreitzer, p. 13).

I challenge this statement to include ‘colonized’, among the non-Western countries. As well, Indigenous epistemologies on colonized territory, such as storytelling, should be just as valid as Western counterparts and not viewed as an ethical conflict. However, with colonization comes loss, and we might behave like ducks, considering we benefit with the authority and job-stability from a regulated career so why act like a wild horse and bite the hand that feeds us?

There is a different story I want to tell about respect, considering the word respect is used twenty-five times in the Canadian Association of Social Workers Code of Ethics. It is not a new story, or a re-writing. It is an old story. A very old story originating from some of the peoples of this land now called Canada, the Anishinaabek but first I will share a brief history about myself. I am from a ten thousand year (or more) history of spiritual people, a rich culture and language, and everything needed to live a good life. I am missing that now, lost through colonial forces luring me into settling in a world of Western domination, industrial capitalism, and imposed Eurocentric values.

Before opening my eyes, I was being Anishinaabe through a Western worldview in an oppressive world, following colonial rules and looking to outside institutions for credentials and legitimacy. I had respect (in Western worldview) from my non-Indigenous colleagues for being ‘civilized’, rising above the doom of my counterparts in this genocidal country, while following the code that “helps to legitimize the spirit of deregulation and enterprise under current neo-liberal governance practices” in our country (Bonnycastle, p. 81).

It felt awful, yet people looked to me as though I had power and privilege. I had no autonomy or self-determination, but ‘the lost’ have potential to be found. I was lured into the assimilation dance, or should I say adopted into it, but I opened my eyes and started a healing journey of personal re-discovery. Actually, it ended up being more like dis-recovery. Dis, in Anishinaabemowin (my ancestors language) means naval, referring to our naval relations, our mother, and their mother, and all of the life-bringers going all the way to back to the ‘mother of us all’ (Chacaby, 2016). My on-going recovery from assimilation involves recovering dis - the spiritual connection to all of my ancestors, to the rich Anishinaabe knowledge, and to Spirit. I follow my heart and inherent clan and name responsibilities to seek truth (in Anishinaabe worldview), but I also take on some responsibilities of the Loon clan (Shingibiz), and question status quo.

Just when I believed I found my cultural identity, I am faced with yet another masquerade in my own backyard. I will get back to the old story of respect, but it is essential to understand that this circular storying is a way for Anishinaabe to be ‘straight forward’, in our non-linear and respectful way. When I refer to my kind of respect, I am coming from an Anishinaabe worldview and meaning of the term maanaazoodiwin, which is a complex concept to describe a way of being or doing in the world. I am not referring to the Western worldview meanings to hold in high regard or to honour.

Contrary to the contemporary, ever-popular, and refracted meaning surfacing in the Seven Grandfather Teachings, written within a story by Edward Benton-Benai, Mishomis Book (1988), my kind of respect has a different meaning, which I attempted to demonstrate in this paper.Maya Chacaby writes about the myth of benign translatability and explains,

[t]his refraction—the filtering of Indigenous ways of knowing through a Eurocentric lens —separates our ways of knowing from our knowledge and, in turn, separates us from our spatial relationships (land-based epistemology through our navel relations) and temporal relationships (the ontologically interconnected web of relations that enfold future, past and present as the continued foundation to access our source of existence— kaa tipenjikeniniwach). (Chacaby, 2015, p. 7).

It seems as though the ‘Anishinaabe ethics’, from which I need to justify and qualify my Codee case analysis, has been filtered and separated in that way. Maintaining my kind of respect, requires that I do not concern myself with another’s truth - but I am going wild on this one - as sure as Shingibiz knew he must follow his intuition and open his eyes - I must follow my intuition and validate my truth, especially given the Eurocentric meaning of respect has already been traditionally authenticated (Magoulick), evidenced by citation in over 330 scholarly articles and thousands of publications copying or mirroring the contemporary definition. I must re-tell a different Native narrative without the use of rhetorical techniques, but through juxtaposition and reverse translation.

Although Benton-Benai uses the term manajiwin for respect, he only provides a one- sentence explanation of its meaning, “to honor all of Creation is to have respect” , while others have followed suit and taken it to deeper colonial depths, “showing respect is showing honor for the value of persons or things by polite regard, consideration and appreciation. Honor our teachings. Honor our families, others, and ourselves. Don't hurt anything or anyone on the outside or the inside. Respect, also is not to be demanded, You must give respect freely from the goodness of your heart if you wish to be respected” (Native’s Womens Centre). These instructive statements conflict with the Anishinaabe ethic of non-interference, and this acceptance of benign translation “is a delusional gaze that looks to Europe formeaning” (Chacaby, 2015, p. 3). Non-linear, non-imposing communication and teaching (respectfully) comes from storytelling and draws on the original instructions found in Anishinaabe Aatisokaanan (traditional stories) that depict a cause and effect relationship the listener/learner can apply to their decision making. “We go along with Eurocentric social constructions such as ownership, truth, honesty, good and evil as having a direct correlation to our own worldview when they do not mean the same thing” (Chacaby, 2015, p. 5). I uncovered a potential cause of the maanaazoodiwin mistranslation, found in the last definition in the Oxford English Dictionary, after ‘admire and esteem’, it reads, “to avoid harm or interferingwith” (Oxford), which actually fits with the Anishinaabemowin concept meaning. We have other words in the language for the admiration/honour-type meaning (minwaabamewizi).

My kind of respect or maanaazoodiwin means non-imposition; shares a root with with ‘to let it be’, and ‘leave it as it is’ (Chacaby, personal communication, 2016) - so close to that Oxford definition of avoiding interfering - no wonder the mistranslation. Dr. Clare Brant wrote about the most important Aboriginal ethic he found in his research as ‘non-interference’, “a high degree of respect for every human being's independence leads the Indian to view giving instructions, coercing, or even persuading another person to do something as undesirable behaviour. Groups goals are achieved by reliance on voluntary co-operation” (Brant). His findings parallel maanaazoodiwin, and negate the idea that respect in Anishinaabe worldview means to show honour. Not only that, the ethic/Seven Grandfather Teaching of humility (behave in a humble manner) contradicts the notion of seeking esteem and honour in a communal culture where equality is a traditional value.

So here I am, faced with an ethical dilemma: Oppressed from inside and out, both by entities who should know better. “One of the key principles underlying ethics is the notion of ‘do no harm’ (non-maleficience) - social workers and others in the helping professions are well aware of the potential for abuse of power, and the dangerous consequences of acting without due regard for the vulnerable and often disempowered position of others” (McAuliffe & Chenoweth, p. 45). Perhaps I can use this principle to shift Codee’s perception. How to not impose means taking the time to become a skilled knower of our environments, to have the right relationships, and to listen (longer than you might expect) to the stories of the people. Within the stories, you will find the answers (Chacaby, personal communication, 2016).

Using McAuliffe & Chenoweth’s model, I clarified my ethical dilemma: In step one I identified the unwelcome imposition of Euro-valued ethics I am forced to practice by in my Indigenous, colonized territory. I also identified another unwelcome alternative, the authentication of contemporary and Euro-influenced Aboriginal ethics. In step two, I understood my relationship to Codee (and all those invested in and supporting CASW Code of Ethics), as well as my relationship to Anishinaabe ethics (and all those invested in and supporting contemporary teachings) are impacted by my dilemma, and also that I have little to no legitimacy in bringing my dilemma forward. My hope is to continue this work to include and involve other Anishinaabe social workers in the discourse of Indigenizing ethics. Step three involved gathering information on both conflicting ethical sets and finding support in social work literature and Anishinaabe expertise to justify my forward momentum as a ‘wild Shingibiz’. This involves challenging the authoritative body that governs social work and its Code of Ethics so Indigenous cultural values can exist or re-exist in helping work. Also, considerable research and support will be needed to legitimize, authenticate and endorse various ethical meaning of future translations from the language. I have to consider step four and explore available courses of action, but I see a fork in the road with the only viable alternative being to surge a new path, and retell an old story, by way of traditional Anishinaabe pedagogical practices. Step five reflects on my learning and confidence moving forward, and I must consider the main source in my consultation is one person who is also paving a new road in linguistics and cultural continuity areas. Also, since critical reflection is said to be a cornerstone of ‘good practice’ (McAuliffe & Chenoweth), I am motivated in the pursuit of truth, as I know it, I will need a devils advocate or in this case, a character to play Codee’s advocate in the retold story. I have made an informed decision and commitment to start re-telling an old story of ethical social work in a non-imposing, traditional Anishinaabe way. The coined phrase, nothing about us without us is concerning when within us (Anishinaabe people) lives a narrative flawed by the mistranslations of Western- adopted meanings.

And so it was, after my meeting, Codee walked up and reached out to shake my hand. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here”, he said. “And I assure you that your culture and worldview are incredibly valuable and most definitely supported in our profession including our Code of Ethics.”

And I thought to myself, ‘why does the word ‘culture’ only appear in that Code once’?

References

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attachments/mm14.htmBonnycastle, C.R. (2006). From social equality to compassion: A critique of the 2005 CASW

Code of Ethics. Canadian Social Work Review, 23(1-2), 77-93.Chacaby, M. (2011). Kipimoojikewin: Articulating Anishinaabe pedagogy through

Anishinaabemowin (Ojibwe language) revitalization. Retrieved from https://

tspace.library.utoronto.ca/bitstream1807/30080/6chacaby_maya_201111_MA_thesis.pdf Chacaby, M. (2015). Crippled two-tongue and the myth of benign translatability. Tusaaji: A

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CASW (Canadian Association of Social Workers). (2005). Code of Ethics. Ottawa: CASW. 


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