Listen to this
In the Beginning
My first steps into the undefined territory of child and youth care were taken while working as a ‘supply’ teacher at a rundown inner city junior high school in the north of England. Located on Buckingham Street, it was known in the local community as “Mucky Bucky”. For reasons that were a mystery at the time, I found myself more interested in the kids who seemed determined to frustrate and annoy my colleagues than those who accepted the rules and regulations of life in the classroom. True to form, these identified troublemakers were almost exclusively boys. If a girl was deemed to “have problems” she was quietly referred to Miss Rogers in room seven for undisclosed remedial attention.
When I suggested that I could be of assistance by paying special attention to the male offenders, the tenured teachers were all in favour. Under considerable pressure, the headmaster finally agreed that I should be relieved from my supplementary teaching responsibilities for the remainder of the term and provide this service to the two senior classes. The overriding condition was that these sessions would be “educational”. In those days schools were not expected to provide personal services for students and the boss warned us that he would be in big trouble if the School Board ever found out about this unauthorised redistribution of resources.
With a minor manipulation of schedules, arrangements were made for me to spend individual time with six students drawn from the two classes. While their responses varied, they all welcomed the prospect of escaping from the classroom to chat with a weirdo who wasn’t a real teacher. After three weeks, one of my special students asked if we could meet together as a group. When I brought this idea to a staff meeting it was firmly and unanimously rejected. In a terse memo, the headmaster reminded me that we were “not a correctional institution”.
I accepted this decision without question and went about my work as directed. It never occurred to me that that my project had already served to connect the six most troublesome misfits in the school and that they might decide to get together with or without the blessings of the prevailing authorities. When I discovered this to be the case, I decided not to share the information with my colleagues. I already sensed that they were becoming suspicious about my activities.
During the following month my deceptions became more complex. It began when I booked a room at the local youth club for meetings on Saturday mornings. I justified this action on the grounds that we were no longer bound by school policies and practices at the weekend. All six of the boys attended these sessions and, when two of them decided to become members of the club to pursue their interest in boxing and martial arts respectively, I was delighted. But this sense of satisfaction turned into despair a few days later when the would-be boxer was ejected from the building for slugging his instructor and told never to return. This left me with the option of either reducing our group to five members or finding another location for our weekly meetings. After due deliberation I chose the latter.
As expected, the assault in the gym became a topic of discussion at the club and into the local community. Fearing that news of my extracurricular activities would find its way back to the school, I began to distance myself from my colleagues and prepare for the inevitable confrontation. In effect, I was following in the footsteps of my misfit students by becoming a misfit in the staff room.
One week later, I was summoned to the headmaster’s office to account for my violations and deceptions. To my amazement he was remarkably calm and collected as he listened to my story. He was also generous in his response, acknowledging my concern and commitment for kids in trouble. He referred to me as “natural teacher” and suggested that I use my present predicament as a step toward becoming a “professional” teacher. To support me in this, he had decided not to take any further action and give me another chance to work with the six students in accordance with the original arrangement.
I was relieved by his decision and enlightened by what he had to say. For the remainder of the term, I met with my misfits individually and made token efforts to incorporate ‘educational’ elements into each session. During that time, I concluded that I was not cut out to be a professional teacher and began to explore my options
The Rule of Law
After my time at “Mucky Bucky” came to an end, I began my three months of training with the Probation Service in Liverpool. This was the early sixties and the whole of Merseyside was booming with “Beatle Mania”. My naïve belief was that, as a probation officer, I would have the freedom, and the authority, to spend my days with the kids I most wanted to know and understand. As the course proceeded, it became increasingly apparent that the legal system was even more rigid and demanding than the educational system. The emphasis was upon our duties and responsibilities as officers of the courts. The only departure from this theme was a weekly lecture on juvenile delinquency delivered by an academic sociologist from the university. Nobody ever talked to us about what to do or say when face to face with a real live delinquent. The only guidance was given by a police superintendent who warned us about the dangers of becoming involved in the lives of juvenile criminals. At our graduation ceremony, the Senior Probation Officer underscored this advice by reminding us that our primary commitment to the community was to reduce the incidence of juvenile crime in our city. The more I moved along in the program, the more it became obvious that I was heading back into familiar territory. But I convinced myself that, this time, I would at least have the time and freedom to work with the kids who aroused my curiosity and concern.
This illusion was quickly shattered. Three weeks after completing the course I inherited the ‘case-load’ of a colleague who was moving to another location. I was now accountable to the juvenile court for the supervision of forty-three certified “delinquents.” The legal Probation Order contained a clause that ordered the probationer to report to his or her probation officer on a regular basis. Failure to do so would be considered as a breach of the order and a legitimate reason to bring the offender back to the court for an alternative punishment.
Given the trickle of arrivals at my office it was clear from the outset that half of my probationers were already in breach of their orders, but I had no intention of taking such action against someone I’d never met. If they weren’t living up to their side of the contract, neither was I. Still swamped with the demands of the court and the associated bureaucracy, I gave myself three weeks to visit the home of every name on my list, beginning with the no-shows. This commitment called for long days and busy weekends, but it was well worth the effort – finally I was doing what I wanted to do. I broke an unwritten rule of my new profession by taking up residence in my own ‘patch’ – a dockland area where most of my young charges spent their lives in poverty and deprivation. I made a habit of roaming around the streets, making connection with local celebrities and visiting the popular gathering spots, including the pubs. In short, I was purposely holding up a middle finger to the Police Superintendent who warned us against getting involved in lives of the lawbreakers. One highlight in my travels was a twenty-minute chat with John Lennon
Of course, I realized that there would be a price to be paid for my new self imposed freedom. The more time I spent with kids in the office or visiting their homes, the more my legal obligations were being neglected. I always knew that, at some point, an official from the head office would appear to inspect my scanty records and the cat would be out of the bag. It was only a matter of time before I would find myself standing before the court to account for my own delinquency. When I managed to complete my first year without the dreaded inspection, I decided to take advantage of my good fortune and look for an escape route.
On reflection it was obvious that the legal system was even less concerned with the personal welfare of their young captives than the educational system. One thing I learned from my life as a Probation Officer was that the term “Juvenile Delinquent” tells us very little about the young person behind the label. In many cases it tells us more about where they live than who they are. The handful of young offenders I had the opportunity to spend my time with were all drawn from an impoverished area of the city where criminal activity was a feature of everyday life. On the surface their appearance, behavior and attitudes might have been similar but, on the inside, I found them to be remarkably unique.
The probation system not only reacted to the label, it also made it impossible for its “officers” to get to know the kids who were labelled. In its form and function the juvenile system was no different from the one designed for adults. In both cases the purpose of the exercise was to reduce the level of criminal activity. Young offenders who continued to break the law were turned over the Department of Corrections - a system designed to serve the course of justice and based upon the principle that one punishment fits all.
Searching for an alternative model, I became interested in the “I-Level” methods being used at the California Youth Authority. They were developing a system based upon differential responses to individual offenders. More significantly, they recognized that these young people needed someone to relate to. I was more than ready to head for the U.S. but there were many personal and practical complications involved in making such a move.
Trapped in a forest of red tape, I took one step closer by moving to Canada and joining the probation service in Vancouver. With an office on Main and Hastings, I found myself in the middle of “Skid Row”. Contrary to my expectations, I quickly became engrossed in this new experience and, contrary to my intentions, I spent almost two years exploring my new environment. I loved living in Vancouver and fell in love with the woman who was to become my partner for the rest of my life. As a Probation Officer, I certainly had more freedom than I was allowed in Liverpool. But my caseload was a mixed collection of adults and adolescents, and I was no closer to fulfilling my ambition to spend my time working with kids.
The Residential Alternative
To set myself back on course, I moved to Calgary to become a “therapist” in a large privately operated residential facility. I’d always shared the common belief that taking ‘problem’ youngsters out of their families and communities was fundamentally harmful, but this establishment offered a unique opportunity. Originally intended by its benefactor to be an orphanage, the current mission was to create and develop a residential program for “emotionally disturbed children” based upon the principles and practices of “Reality Therapy”. Having read William Glasser’s book of the same name, I was already drawn to this approach. In particular, I liked the fundamental edict that the foundation of treatment is a caring and consistent relationship in which the therapist and client come to know and respect the other. In my experience, such relationships were not prescribed, or even possible, in the classroom or the office of a Probation Officer.
The facility itself was nothing like the cookie-cutter school buildings and the gruesome institutions reserved for young offenders. Located on the rural fringes of the city, the fifteen-acre campus looked more like a high class resort for wealthy guests. But I wasn’t seeking rest and recreation. I was checking in to become involved in a unique residential program designed to meet the needs of young people whose behavior was no longer acceptable in their families and communities.
In my two-week orientation, I realized that this was not the kind of place where experts use their knowledge and techniques to treat the psychological disorders of the residents. From the outset, the planners set out to create an interpersonal environment in which the values and expectations applied as much to the staff as they did to the residents. In accordance with the principles of Reality Therapy, the basic premise was that that the problematic attitudes and behaviors of the residents were not psychological or psychiatric disorders; they were the result of choices made by each individual, regardless of the past and current circumstances. The therapeutic process then becomes one of assisting residents to recognise their part in creating the problems and invite them to take charge of their own lives by making different choices and taking responsibility for the outcomes.
Predictably, Reality Therapy was widely rejected by proponents of behavioral, medical, and psychoanalytic models. From their perspective the methods were nothing more than a simplistic response to complex problems and the concept of a therapeutic community was nothing less than a “cult”. Having invested four years of my life studying psychology at the university, they were just voices from the past. Now there was a new voice to listen to. I would be learning directly from the creator of Reality Therapy. William Glasser had not only been involved in setting up the program but made regular visits to work with the staff and, of course, the residents. Who could ask for more?
Cottage Six
My first two weeks at the centre were taken up with the traditional “getting to know you” rituals. I was free to roam, spending time with the residents and sitting in on staff meetings. For the most part I felt at home hanging about in the cottages, with one exception. Cottage Six was home for twelve adolescent girls and, while I was curious about their program, I always felt like a stranger in a strange land. Every day I attended a seminar for groups drawn from all parts of the organization. Chaired by Director, or one of the senior therapists, the object of the exercise was explore how the principles of Reality Therapy could be incorporated into their particular area of activity. At first it seemed to be a strange strategy, but after three or four sessions I realized that it was a brilliant way of inviting all staff to participate in the development of the therapeutic community.
When I learned that I would be managing Cottage Six, I was gobsmacked. In my relationships with adolescent boys, I could always draw from my own experience. I knew something about what it’s like to grow up as a male and this had always served to bring an element of reciprocity into our relationships. I had no idea what it might be like to grow up as a girl. Even more to the point, I knew nothing about what girls were doing in a residential treatment program.
The only direction I received came from the Executive Director: “As their therapist your first responsibility is to get to know these girls like the back of your hand.” He wasn’t kidding. How could I work with them if I didn’t know them? But every girl had her own “key worker” whose task was to create the prescribed “caring and consistent relationship”. I could only assume that it was my job to support him or her in the development of that relationship.
Confused and desperate, I sought the counsel of my counterpart in Cottage Three. In responding to my concerns, he began by suggesting that I might want to consider ambiguity as an opportunity to make personal choices and take responsibility for the outcomes. We both laughed and went on to talk about ourselves. It was a timely intervention; the first of many as I stepped tentatively into the unknown. In terms of clarity, it became increasingly apparent that, while I was responsible for my own decisions and actions, I was also accountable for everything to do with Cottage Six, from the quality of the services to the quality of the toilet paper. Thankfully, I had the assistance of a full-time manager and part- time housekeeper to keep it all together.
On reflection, my three years in Cottage Six” turned out to be the most challenging and satisfying phase of my career. The more I realized that I was in charge of my own life, the more comfortable I became in both my personal and professional relationships. Within this unique little community, I was able to step out of prescribed roles and be seen as who I am. To say that our female residents contributed to my learning would be an understatement. By getting to know and respect them, I came to know and respect myself as a man. For the first time in my life I had the discipline to keep a daily journal that was all about me. When I reviewed the patterns and themes in my personal narrative, I came to realize that I was creating my own participation in this therapeutic community.
With this insight, I set out to complete my abandoned thesis and accepted a well deserved Master’s Degree - a real professional at last. I could have gone on to write a book on my life in Cottage Six but unexpected circumstances called for a change in priorities. Suffice to say that, since that time I have never wavered from the basic principles of Reality Therapy or my belief that most of our developmental problems are created in relationships and can only be resolved in relationships – amen.
Taking the Helm
The change in circumstances came when the Executive Director announced that he would be taking a nine month leave of absence and asked me to “take the helm”. It was a well-timed opportunity to take a break from the action and broaden my perspective on how services are organised, funded and delivered. As expected, I was given no job description. All I knew was that I had to attend the monthly meeting of the Board of Trustees and all I was given was a fancy office and an incredible secretary who knew everything and everybody. I understood that I was not only accountable to the Board, I was also committed to follow in the footsteps of the man who had placed so much trust in me. There were many times in my tenure when I was tempted to make changes in the structure of the organization but I remained firm to my commitment.
When the Boss returned, I could have gone back to my former position, but I had a different idea. From my place at the top of the ladder, I came to see where our program fit within the broader system. When we discharged a girl from Cottage Six we had no way of knowing what happened next. To peer into the unknown I hired a graduate student to trace the pathways of twelve ex-residents and report back. Her findings were not encouraging. We then narrowed our focus on the seven girls who had returned to their families, the evidence clearly indicated that the problems of the past were more than likely to reappear. Of course, this was ‘Mickey Mouse’ research, but it was enough to support my belief that, whenever possible, we should be working with the families of our residents. My proposition was that I should be allowed a time-out to learn how to become a family therapist. Three weeks later I was in Portland Maine learning from the greatest of them all, Virginia Satir.
All in the Family
The first thing I learned was that family therapy is not like working with individual clients. In this modality the client is the family. At the same time, the therapist must create an open relationship with each family member. Watching Virginia work was both intimating and inspirational. When she watched me practice with a mock family, she stopped the session and gave me a piece of advice that I will never forget: “Stop trying to be me and allow yourself to be you.” Thanks Virginia.
Throughout my time working with families, I remained convinced that, whenever possible, residential programs for young people should involve the family in the treatment process. We will never understand the presenting problems unless we understand where the problems were created and sustained. And, however positive our prognosis, they will appear again if the resident returns to the same interactional environment. Virginia used the term “identified patient” to describe how one child can become the scapegoat for a family’s overall discontent and I saw this in the lives of many of our residents. The only way to see what role a problem child plays in the family is to see the whole family in action and help them to create a system in which each member takes responsibility for his or her own attitudes and behavior – back to the principles of Reality Therapy.
From Academia to Incarceration
Seeking to enhance my professional options, I took a leave of absence and returned to the Ivory Tower with the intention of completing my doctorate studies. Throughout this drawn out saga I was always hoping to create a course of learning focussed upon human relationships, but this did not go down well with my advisors. When it came to putting together a committee for my dissertation, I had to look outside psychology and draw faculty members from sociology and anthropology. Nevertheless, I would have continued my studies had it not been for a telephone call from a Deputy Minister in the provincial government. He wanted to know if I would be interested in being the Director of the Youth Development Centre, a residential facility for young offenders operating under the auspices of the Child Welfare Department. Having visited YDC on many occasions I was very familiar with what the program had to offer.
I took the job for one reason – these were the kids I always wanted to work with. I knew what I was getting into and there were no surprises. This was a closed facility controlled by the courts and accountable for keeping young offenders off the streets. It was never intended to serve as a ‘therapeutic community’. On the other hand, the previous Director was a friend of mine and he, along with his senior staff, had worked hard, and successfully, to create a caring environment for their incarcerated residents. Although the outside doors were firmly closed, this was not operating as an institutionalized juvenile prison.
Predictably some of the staff feared that I was about to replace their time-tested routines with some hairy-fairy treatment twaddle, but they had no cause for alarm. With the support of the senior staff, it took only a couple of months to convince most staff members that my only intention was to support them in their efforts to create caring relationships in a program that encourages self-responsibility.
The Prodigal Son Returns
I enjoyed my time at YDC and would have settled down for the long haul had it not been for yet another totally unpredictable turn on the professional pathway. After less than one year on the job, the Deputy Minister summoned me to his office. He had received a call from the Chairman of the Board of Trustees at centre I had left to continue my studies. Apparently there has been some undisclosed disagreements between the Executive Director and the Board and my old boss had been “let go”. In short, they wanted me to take his place and, deep down, so did I. The DM reminded me that he could hold me to my contract but he would respect my decision. I tried to contain my excitement and consider the prospect of abandoning my committed colleagues at YDC. I had to take full responsibility for the consequences of my decision. The DM granted me three days to consider my options. After two sleepless nights I handed in my resignation and returned to the place where I would spend the next twenty years.
Given a few days to reorient myself, I began to transform my dreams into potential realities. I had no radical changes in mind. I had inherited a program that had all the ingredients to redefine the nature and potential of residential services for young people. The underlying belief was that all our residents had the resources to move along their developmental pathway, to come to know themselves and take responsibility for their own lives. The object of the exercise was to provide the missing pieces and, since all our developmental problems are created in relationships, they can only be resolved in relationships. As Executive Director, my challenge would be to create an organizational system designed to facilitate such relationships between the resident and his or her key worker.
It was not going to be easy. In those days, there was no profession called “Child and Youth Care” to draw from. In traditional programs, the people who spent their days attending to the everyday needs of the residents were expected to enforce the rules of the management and follow the directions of the experts. While this hierarchical model is productive in maintaining control and enhancing profit margins it is counterproductive when it comes to enhancing the lives of young people.
I was fortunate not having to spend too much time learning the ropes and getting to know the people. Most of the administrative staff were still around, along with seven of the ten ‘therapists, but there was only a handful of familiar faces among those working directly with the residents. I also had a new cottage to contend with. The program in cottage seven had been designed to meet the needs of younger residents with serious developmental interruptions. This called for specialized and individualized approaches that would have been out of place in the other programs.
In my absence the Board of Governors had also agreed to fund a long awaiting project – the construction of an open-area school designed to operate according to the principles spelled out in Bill Glasser’s latest book “Schools Without Failure.” Whatever happened between the Board of Trusties and my predecessor, he certainly hadn’t been twiddling his thumbs.
My first radical move was to step out of the role of my old boss by spending much of my time in the cottages. This was where I felt most at home (actually I was at home – my wife and I now lived in a house on the campus). My second was to bring together a group of seasoned CYC workers to consider their role in the scheme of things. Their thoughtful report raised two questions still to be answered - “What can we do to promote Child & Youth Care as a meaningful and recognized profession?” and “What makes a relationship therapeutic?”
I made a commitment to join them in the search of answers and solutions, not only on their behalf but for the future of the entire program. For many years we had been the largest facility in the region proving residential services for children and youth. Operating within the Child Welfare system, we relied upon a government contract to provide these services at a per diem rate. Under normal circumstances we could have been accused of keeping the beds full for financial reasons but, in our case, we had a reliable and substantial income our private Trust.
For many years, mental health advocates had been arguing that there was no residential treatment facility in the region for children with mental health problems. From their perspective, many of our residents were not receiving the services they required. The establishment of Cottage Seven only served to intensify their position. During my absence a nearby residential facility was transferred from the Child Welfare system to the Mental Health system and, by the time of my return, the project was up and running. Having had glimpses of how governments operate, I met with the Director in the hope that we could find grounds for collaboration.
All things considered, it was a convivial chat. The only serious contention arose when I shared my concern about the increase in the number of pre-teenagers admitted to our program with lengthy prescriptions for psychotropic medications. This was a time when the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders” (DSM) had expanded its scope to include children. Beginning with the diagnosis of “Attention Deficit Disorder” (ADD), the pharmaceutical industry was hell bent on marketing its latest product – “Ritalin”. From that point on, every new disorder cooked up by the psychiatric community was an opportunity to create another chemical cure. Ironically, this was also the time when President Bush declared his “War on Drugs.” This issue was very much in my mind having just admitted a twelve-year old girl who had received ten sessions of “Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT)”. In all cases, our first challenge was to systematically reduce the effects of medicinal intervention and make contact with the person behind the symptoms. Thankfully, we had a consulting psychiatrist who was sympathetic to our cause.
When the Director of the new program suggested that these young people should have access to the Mental Health system, I pointed out that this was where they had been. Nevertheless, having acknowledged our differences we agreed to keep in touch and, wherever possible, work together. I left the meeting feeling optimistic that, whatever the political, professional and bureaucratic strategies might be, we could collaborate in providing the best possible range of services for our residents and their families.
From my own place in the service delivery system, I felt confident that we had all the resources needed to continue in our quest to explore the potential of residential services. I refused to accept the distinction that was being made between the concepts of ‘care’ and ‘treatment’. From my perspective, they were essential and integrated ingredients in the services we provided. To make my point, I removed both words from our letterhead and all other official documents.
I was also concerned about the use of the term “professional” to support the distinction. Personally, I never wanted to become a professional teacher, psychologist or hairstylist and I never have. On the other hand, I understood why so many of our staff wanted to establish their place in the scheme of things and I was ready to support the cause. As things turned out, I became increasingly involved in the growth and development of CYC across Canada, the United States and beyond. All I asked was that it would emerge as a different kind of profession – one that was ready to share their knowledge and experience with anyone who wants to listen.
In our own program we continued to address the two questions posed by the ad hoc committee. It made no sense to talk about promoting a new profession before identifying what the practitioner was supposed to do and, ultimately, achieve. In the traditional treatment model, the relationship between therapist and client or patient is created during hourly sessions conducted in an office. The object of the exercise is to establish the trust necessary for the therapist to diagnose the problem and use his or her knowledge and skills to apply the appropriate remedy.
In my opinion, this approach is of little use for workers involved in the everyday life of their ‘clients’. It’s even more out of place where the clients happen to be young people struggling with unidentified developmental interruptions. By the same token, I have no time for those who claim that addressing these interruptions can be clinically defined as the treatment of ‘trauma’. To this day I still hang onto to the adage that problems created in relationships can only be resolved in relationships. When child and youth care workers complain that they’re expected to become surrogate mommies and daddies I say, “You’ve got it – now get on with it”. Of course this raises the underlying issues of “transference” and “counter-transference” and the stance of the practitioner must always be clear: “I am not your father (or mother) and you are not my son (or daughter)”.
To address the question of what makes such relationships “therapeutic”? it was obvious that we were swimming in uncharted waters. I knew that there were no books to read, research to review or places to visit in the quest for clarity. If Child & Youth Care was to become a established profession, it would have to be based upon the experience of practitioners who participate in the daily lives of young people. For this reason, the ad hoc committee that asked the questions was transformed into a standing committee in search of the answers. Of course, I already had some answers of my own and I was ready to throw them into the hat. To get the ball rolling, I made a move to enhance the status of the new profession within the ranks by appointing a Senior Child Care Worker responsible for coordinating frontline activity across all programs.
The committee rose to the challenge and, in less than month, we were able to circulate our report on the principles of relational child and youth care practice drawn from our own experience. Based upon the foundations of Reality Therapy and influenced by my book Being in Child Care: A journey into Self, we had created our own perspective on the anatomy of a therapeutic relationship. The basic ingredients were as follows:
The ideal setting for establishing such relationships is residential and the only profession capable of bringing them to life is what we now call Relational Child & Youth Care” – specialists indeed, but not “clinicians”
This framework was subsequently modified and elaborated in the light of our collective experience, but it served as a workable foundation for our future deliberations. Our next step was to develop a program of training for our child and youth care personnel based upon these principles. In conjunction with this, we also created a career ladder that recognized the professional development of the CYC practitioner. To this end, our Board of Trustees approved a significant change in our budget to establish a salary scale based upon the recipient’s training and experience and performance.
The CYC Phenomenon
While we were moving through this phase in our own development, the energy and excitement generated by the fledgling profession was spreading across North America. In Canada the establishment of the School of Child and Youth Care at the University of Victoria legitimized the new profession in academia. Universities and colleges across Canada responded by offering their own CYC programs each with its own perspectives and curricula. South of the border, Mark Krueger and his colleagues were leading the way at the University of Wisconsin.
In 1982, the University of Victoria hosted the first national conference on CYC theory and practice. For my own contribution I had the pleasure and privilege of addressing hundreds of fellow travellers in a jam-packed auditorium. In separate session I chaired a meeting to discuss the possibility of producing a journal dedicated to sharing the CYC experience with anyone who was interested in the wellbeing of young people. I had already decided that I was prepared to take responsibility for such a publication and, with the overwhelming support of the group, the first issue of The Journal of Child Care was published later that year. A member of that group was Thom Garfat, a fellow who went to on to a play a leading role in promoting the CYC movement in Canada and beyond.
The incredible growth of the new profession did little to impress the exclusive professional clinicians in the mental health hierarchy. From their perspective this was a just an offspring of Social Work. Many questioned why, with all our resources, we were not hiring real professionals to become a legitimate treatment centre. This question hit home when members of the Board of Trustees asked what they could do to assist me in becoming a real Dr. Fewster. I understood where they were coming from. Our subsidy from the Trust accounted for a relatively small percentage of our overall budget and, without the income from government contracts, we would have no program at all. Since most board members came from business backgrounds, their collective position was that we were in direct competition with the mental health services and we should rise to the occasion. Needless to say, asking me to embrace a human services system driven by the competition was like asking Karl Marx to invest his Deutsche marks in an oil company.
On the other hand, I had to acknowledge that this appeared to be the prevailing reality. In the interests of science, I hired a research psychologist with a Ph.D. to head up a small Assessment and Research Department. My intention was to gather ‘hard’ data on the efficacy of our programs. By this time we had moved well beyond the boundaries of Reality Therapy in both theory and practice. Our broader theoretical framework brought together an individual’s behavior, sense of Self and relationships with others into an interactional and living system. Identified as the “B.S.O. Model”, the implications are that a change in any one of the three components will not be sustained unless the other two components accommodate that change. This framework not only opened up a wide range of therapeutic options, it also provided an opportunity for us to examine the efficacy of our methods. The primary task of the research group was to use this model in monitoring the progress of our residents from the time of admission to the point of discharge.
At that time, I had no intention of wasting precious resources on follow-up research that purports to determine the long-term effectiveness of residential treatment. After a year of collecting and analysing the data, we did branch out with a follow-up study that compared the outcomes of residents whose families were involved in our program with those who returned to unknown circumstances The results strongly confirmed our belief that residential programs should involve the participation of those responsible for the ongoing development of a young person in trouble.
Opportunity Knocks Again
The course of destiny took another dramatic turn with the appointment of a new Deputy Minister in the Department of Social Services and Community Health. Imported from Ontario, nobody seemed to know what to expect. But I did. I first met him at a CYC conference in Toronto where we were on the same panel discussing the role of CYC in the service delivery system. Over dinner and late into the evening, we continued our dialogue and agreed to meet for lunch the following day.
As it happened, he had called me to discuss the offer he had received from the Government of Alberta. Above all, he wanted to know how things worked when the responsibility of providing services for troubled children and youth was spread across four government departments. In particular, he was alarmed about the escalating numbers of young people deemed to be in need of mental health services. It came as no surprise to me when, shortly after his arrival on the scene, he announced his intention to establish a standing committee to create a clear mandate for the Department of Social Services and Community health in providing mental health services for troubled children and their families. It was to be referred to as “The Alberta Children’s Mental Health Project”. What did come as a surprise was that he invited me to manage the project.
Predictably the Trustees were delighted at the prospect. Although they recognised that I would be away at a critical time in the development of our own program, the consensus was that we would be fools to turn down an opportunity to influence the market in our favour. They were not alone in considering this possibility. When news of the offer became known, the new Deputy Minister received a number of protesters fearing what my Board was hoping for. It took a lengthy session with the Deputy Minister for me to accept his offer.
As the manager, I was given the authority to select the other nine members of the group and I did so with great care. This was not going to be gathering of service big-wigs ready to divvy up the resources in a mutually acceptable way. Our first task was to put together a discussion document entitled “Service Philosophy, Principles and Guidelines” and make it available to anyone in the province concerned with the wellbeing of young people. This was accomplished in only four weeks.
It was not what most recipients had been expecting. We made no attempt to define and evaluate service options. We began our work by asking why ever-increasing numbers of children and adolescents in the province were considered to be in need of mental health services? Our second question was to ask why a particular young person might be referred to a particular service in a particular location? In answering question one we put forward the possibility that the incidence of mental health problems among children and youth was more a response to external conditions than the presenting problem. In responding to the second question, we suggested that the nature of the problem and its solution was more likely to be based upon the beliefs and practices of the practitioner than the subjective experience of the client or patient.
In distributing this preliminary document, we invited the recipients to respond and set up a schedule of meetings for anyone who wanted to express their views in person. This was a fascinating and informative process. For me the most revealing reaction came from a well-known psychiatrist who threw our document onto the table and said, “Who wrote this crap? You folks are throwing away a unique opportunity to get the resources we need. When it comes to working with problem kids, there are sad little buggers, mad little buggers and bad little buggers. If you can’t tell the difference you shouldn’t be in the business.” For me, this man’s performance revealed the pathology embedded in a mental health system designed to turn young people into treatable objects. My conclusion was that if we had mental health clinic on every street corner, the incidence of mental disorders would continue to escalate at an alarming rate.
Putting together our final report was a complex and lengthy process of thinking consulting, rethinking and, at times, feeling. For many reasons, it was agreed that I would be the sole author of the report and it would be published and distributed in my name. Given this freedom, I was determined that it should not look like, or read like, a formal government production. Entitled “Expanding the Circle: A Community Approach to Children’s, Mental Health”, this seventy page document contained a variety of photographs depicting the subjects of our concern – young people in trouble. The overall theme was that, at the broadest level, the mental wellbeing of children is primarily a community matter. In creating a new mandate, the Department of Social Services and Community Health should look beyond the funding of specialised services to identify and sponsor community resources that promote the mental health of children and youth across of the province. In terms of strategic interventions, this would make it possible to identify the specialized services required in each region and fund accordingly. Of course, we fully anticipated accusations of naivety, idealism, and unprofessionalism but that was grist for the mill.
Once the report was out and about, I went on tour, stopping off in rural communities and urban centres around the province. Sharing our deliberations with real people brought our project to life. Wherever I went I met with individuals, groups and organizations ready to express their concerns and conclusions about the mental health of young people in their area. In many cases, the local media had been active in stirring the pot prior to my arrival and people came prepared with a clear understanding of the issues. In particular, I was impressed with the enthusiasm of groups and organizations willing to participate in the mobilization and co-ordination of community resources. For me, it was by far the most enlightening and exciting phase of the entire project. Above all, it confirmed our collective belief that the most untapped resources were to be found outside the professional service delivery systems.
Back to Home Base
I returned to my place of regular employment with mixed feelings. On one hand I wanted to continue working toward the development of our programs. On the other, I would have loved to participate in the next stage of “expanding the circle.” It quickly became apparent that I was not the only one with mixed feelings. After reading my report, some of my colleagues were questioning my commitment to our program and some members of the Board were asking the same question. I could understand their confusion. While I was away, there was a rumour that the residents of Cottage Seven were to be transferred to the facility now operating under the auspices of the mental health system. For my questioning colleagues, this would take away our status as a legitimate treatment centre; for my Board it would result in a significant reduction in our income. My dilemma was simple and painful. If we tried to compete with the mental health advocates on their grounds, I would have to abandon my belief that lasting change and growth can only occur in the context of relationships. By taking this stance I could no longer consider myself to be an active participant in the development of relational child and youth care.
Given an assurance from the Deputy Minister that we were not about to lose income, I was able to dismiss the rumour and urge the troops to get on with the job. The irony was that, while the broader government system was planning to a create a more collaborative and inclusive framework, local service providers were becoming increasingly competitive in their quest for status and resources. Even more to the point, the discontent was growing in my own backyard.
During the following year I made a half-hearted attempt to professionalize our ranks by hiring people with unquestionable qualifications. For my own part, I spent much of my spare time completing my doctoral dissertation. When my secretary began to answer the phone with “Dr. Fewster’s Office” I felt detached and objectified. For the first time in my life, I found myself locked into the role of an administrator. I tried to rectify this by working the odd shift in one of the cottages, but this was nothing more than a token gesture. The point was driven home by child and youth care worker who watched me lead a group session with six residents. Sitting in the staff room he asked how long it had been since I worked with a group of kids. When I admitted that it had been a long time, he smiled and said, “Yes, it shows.” The following week, I had lunch with the Chairman of the Board and my twenty-five years of service came to an end.
During a lengthy and much needed break, I came to realize that I was never designed to become an administrator. I take no pleasure in telling people what they should do, and I become hostile when they hold me responsible for the outcomes – positive or negative. My only real asset as an administrator was something called “delegation”.
When I was ready for action, I found a home for myself as a member of the faculty in the Child and Youth Care program at Vancouver Island University. Free from all administrative responsibilities, I now had the chance to make an unfettered contribution to the development of this weird and wonderful profession. Along with welcoming me into the fold, the Dean, Carol Matthews, convinced the university authorities to assume responsibility for the continuation of the Journal of Child Care. This was a great relief for me and my co-editor Thom Garfat. We had already planned to break away from academic traditions and create a reader-friendly publication that would draw the attention of anyone interested in the well-being of young people. Three months later we published the first issue of Relational Child & Youth Care Practice.
Working alongside colleagues who were singing from the same proverbial hymnbook was a gift to the spirit. Working with students whose primary motivation was not driven by academic achievement, my intention was to create an interactive environment in which they could learn as much from their own experience as they might glean from books and teachers.
I quickly learned that my methods did not go down well with everybody in the academic community. The first indication of displeasure arose from my practice of teaching in a circle. This usually involved rearranging the desks and chairs in the classroom. For the first couple of weeks, we put the furniture back into rows at the end of each session. But this became a hassle with students rushing off to other classes, so I decided to let the next teacher make whatever arrangements he or she desired. While this was generally accepted by CYC teachers, some classrooms were shared by other departments and the complaints began to escalate. I then received a telephone call from the President of the Faculty Association in which he demanded that I leave the classroom as I found it. After I refused to comply with this instruction the discontent spread across the ranks. Even my CYC colleagues became concerned about our relationships with other departments. Over time the rancour diminished but the problem was never really resolved.
One of the benefits of my new role was that I had the freedom to participate in CYC gatherings across Canada and the USA. In my academic days I had felt obliged to attend conferences for psychologists where the presenters presented and the listeners took notes. Interacting with CYC folks was a very different experience. The energy, enthusiasm and commitment to the cause was contagious and I often found myself wondering whether we really wanted to lock ourselves into a structured exclusive profession. What we had was more like an expanding community that could make anything possible. I could have invited anyone to come in off the street and he or she would have known exactly what we were talking about.
For me, these gatherings were also an opportunity to mingle with people whose actions and writings were influencing the direction of CYC in Canada and the United States. In particular, I was able to spend more time with my buddy Mark Krueger from Milwaukee. In this country, nobody was more instrumental in connecting the community across North America than Thom Garfat. But he wasn’t about to leave in there; his plan was to go global.
Attending a conference in Cape Town, Thom met Brian Gannon, a man who, along with many other achievements, had founded South Africa’s first child care workers association. Plotting together, they decided that the next step in broadening our boundaries should be a website available to anybody, anywhere. Together with a small group of enthusiasts they created the organisation we now know as “The Net”. Shortly after its inauguration, CYC-Online was out in cyberspace inviting practitioners around the world to share their experiences of working with young people in need of caring and loving relationships. It’s impossible to assess the contribution this unassuming organisation has made over the past the past thirty years, but those of us who have been around awhile know it’s amazing. I like to think of it as our own spaceship “Enterprise” reaching out into the unknown and bringing people together, with Captain Martin Stabrey at the helm.
Personally, I have many reasons to be thankful. CYC-Net made it possible for me to bring my own voice into the narrative through its connections and publications. But my appreciation was never higher than the time I had the privilege to present the keynote address at the first World CYC Conference in St John’s, Newfoundland. Introduced by Mark Krueger, I found myself facing hundreds of delegates from different parts of the world. I began my presentation by looking at the television cameras and welcoming an ailing Brian Gannon who was watching from Cape Town.
Realising that this was likely to be my last kick at the can, I chose to deviate from the traditional expectations of a keynote speaker. After preaching from the gospels of Relational Child and Youth Care, I asked the people in odd numbered rows to turn around and sit face-to-face with whoever was sitting behind them. I then invited them to close their eyes, take a breath and notice what they were thinking and feeling. After a couple of minutes I asked them to open their eyes and share their experience with their partner. It was a technique I had been using for many years and seemed to fit the title of the conference: “Meeting at the Crossroads”. Predictably the whole place came to life and I continued with the exercise until Heather Modlin, a co-chair of the conference, gave me a subtle message that I was running out of time. With some reluctance I called it to halt and asked them to return to the original seating arrangement. Given more time I would have invited them to share their experiences, but a keynote speech is not intended to be an interactive experience. At the end, I appreciated their standing ovation, but I knew it wasn’t a response to whatever I had to say – it was the spontaneous joy of making authentic contact with another human being.
Epilogue
In the years following my immersion in the CYC community, I continued my fascination with human relationships by joining up with my wife in private practice. A registered psychologist, Judith had often wondered what it would be like to bring our own relationship into the therapeutic process. To take this a step further we wondered what it would be like to work as couple with other couples. It wasn’t long before we had a waitlist of prospective clients. I would love to share what we learned from this experience but this not the time or place. The point I want to make is that, in our work with couples, we were constantly learning more about our own forty-five year relationship. This is the same principle of mutuality to be found and fostered in the practice of relational child and youth care.
Although I was thoroughly engaged in my work with Judith, I didn’t lose interest in what was happening on the CYC front. Again, I relied upon good old CYC-Net to keep me informed. Over time I became concerned that the interest in developing a model of relational practice was gradually waning. After accepting an invitation to participate in couple of classes at the university I went online to get a sense of what was happening in academic programs across the country. What worried me the most was not the posted curricula but the stated interests and specialities of the teachers. Among all the programs in my sample, the only teacher who identified “relationships” as an interest was a visiting faculty member at the University of Victoria - a fellow named Thom Garfat. Even this glimmer of light diminished when I discovered that the same school wanted prospective students to know that their courses were “taught and developed by internationally recognized academics”. Across the board the interests and specialities fell into two major groups. At the highest level of academia, the emphasis was on the effects of current social conditions and values on young people. Lower down the scale, the focus was on intervention strategies drawn from established disciplines. At that time the treatment of “trauma” was particularly popular.
I was dismayed, but not surprised, by these, findings. To bring some life into the picture, I contacted several ex-colleagues who were still in the business and found little reason to challenge my conclusion that the essence and spirit of relational child and youth care was being consumed by an insatiable academic machine. Why would I be surprised? From my own experience I knew that educational establishments, from the primary school upwards, were founded upon on the sterile belief that learning was all about thinking and staying objective. The higher you go up the ladder, the less likely it is that a teacher will ask you what you’re feeling?
It should be painfully obvious that, as things stand, the institutions of advanced education are no place for people whose fundamental mission is to create relationships with kids in trouble. I can honestly say that, throughout my post-graduate studies, I learned nothing that would have helped me to become personally involved in the daily life of Jennifer in Cottage Six.
Academically speaking, the basic problem is epistemological. Human relationships are not scientific phenomena – they are embedded in the subjective experience of each individual. Any attempt to identify, analyse and classify this experience, turns a human being into a lifeless object. To complicate matters even further, to analyse a relationship would involve an understanding of the subjective experience of each individual and the interaction between them. In assessing the validity of the findings, we would have to consider the subjective experience of the researcher.
If nothing changes, I’m convinced that the potential of relational child and youth care will never be explored unless those who carry the flag collaborate to provide educational programs that invite students to learn from the inside out. The graduates may not find their qualifications recognised in the Ivory Towers and those who are hoping for a lowly place within the professional hierarchy may be equally dissatisfied, but if the current trends are allowed to continue Relational Child and Youth Care will return to its place in dreamland.
