Centering Social Justice in Counselor Education: How Student Perspectives Can Help

Sapna B. Chopra, Rebekah Smart, Yuying Tsong, Olga L. Mejía, Eric W. Price

This mixed methods program evaluation study was designed to assist faculty in better understanding students’ multicultural and social justice training experiences, with the goal of improving program curriculum and instruction. It also offers a model for counselor educators to assess student experiences and to make changes that center social justice. A total of 139 first-semester students and advanced practicum students responded to an online survey. The Consensual Qualitative Research-Modified (CQR-M) method was used to analyze brief written narratives. The Multicultural Counseling Competence and Training Survey (MCCTS) and the Advocacy Competencies Self-Assessment Survey (ACSA) were used to triangulate the qualitative data. Qualitative findings revealed student growth in awareness, knowledge, skills, and action, particularly for advanced students, with many students reporting a desire for more social justice instruction. Some students of color reported microaggressions and concerns that training centers White students. Quantitative analyses generally supported the qualitative findings and showed advanced students reporting higher multicultural and advocacy competencies compared to beginning students. Implications for counselor education are discussed.

Keywords: social justice, program evaluation, training, multicultural counseling, counselor education

In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic and the long-standing inequities it brought to light, many universities began examining the ways that injustice unfolds within their institutions (Mull, 2020). Arredondo et al. (2020) noted that counseling and counselor education continue to uphold white supremacy and center the experiences of White people within theories, training, and research. White supremacy culture promotes Whiteness as the norm and standard, intersects with and reinforces other forms of oppression, and shows up in institutions in both overt and covert ways, such as emphasis on individualism, avoidance of conflict, and prioritizing White comfort (Okun, 2021). Arredondo et al. (2020) called for counselor educators to engage in social justice advocacy and to unpack covert White supremacy in training programs. The present study investigated the multicultural and social justice training experiences of students in a Western United States counseling program so that counseling faculty can be empowered to uncover biases and better integrate social justice in the curriculum.

Counselor education programs are products of the larger sociopolitical environment and dominant patriarchal, cis-heteronormative, Eurocentric culture that often fails to “challenge the hegemonic views that marginalize groups of people” which “perpetuate deficit-based ideologies” (Goodman et al., 2015, p. 148). For example, the focus on the individual in traditional counseling theories can reinforce oppression by failing to address the role of systemic oppression in a client’s distress (Singh et al., 2020). Counseling theory textbooks usually provide an ancillary section at the end of each chapter focusing on multicultural issues (Cross & Reinhardt, 2017). White supremacy culture is so ubiquitous that it is typically invisible to those immersed within it (DiAngelo, 2018). It is not surprising then that counseling is often viewed as a White, middle-class endeavor, and BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) clients frequently perceive that they should leave their cultural identities and experiences outside the counseling session (Turner, 2018). Counselor educators have been encouraged to reflect on how Eurocentric curricula and pedagogy may marginalize students and seek liberatory teaching practices that promote critical consciousness (Sharma & Hipolito-Delgado, 2021).

Students’ Perceptions of Their Growth, Learning Process, and Critiques of Their Training
     Studies of mostly White graduate students show gains in expanding awareness of their own biases and privilege, knowledge about other cultures and experiences of oppression, as well as the importance of empowering and advocating for clients (Beer et al., 2012; Collins et al., 2015; Sanabria & DeLorenzi, 2019; Singh et al., 2010). Others indicated the benefits of integrating feminist principles in treatment (Hoover & Morrow, 2016; Singh et al., 2010). Consciousness-raising and self-reflection were key parts of multicultural and social justice learning (Collins et al., 2015; Hoover & Morrow, 2016), and could be emotionally challenging. Indeed, Goodman et al. (2018) identified a theme of internal grappling reflecting students’ experiences of intellectual and emotional struggle; others noted students’ experiences of overwhelm and isolation (Singh et al., 2010), as well as resistance, such as withdrawing or dismissing information that challenged their existing belief system (Seward, 2019). Researchers have also documented student complaints about their social justice training; for example, that social justice is not well integrated or that there was inadequate coverage of skills and action (Collins et al., 2015). Kozan and Blustein (2018) found that even among programs that espouse social justice, there was a lack of training in macro level advocacy skills. Barriers to engaging in advocacy included: lack of time (Field et al., 2019; Singh et al., 2010), emotional exhaustion stemming from observations of the harms caused by systemic inequities (Sanabria & DeLorenzi, 2019), and ill-informed supervisors (Sanabria & DeLorenzi, 2019).

The studies reviewed thus relied on samples of mainly White, cisgender, heterosexual women. Some noted that education on social justice is often centered on helping White students expand their awareness (Haskins & Singh, 2015). In one study focused on challenges faced by students of color, participants expressed frustration with the lack of diversity among their professors, classmates, and curriculum (Seward, 2019). Participants also experienced marginalization and disconnection when professors and students made offensive or culturally uninformed comments and when course content focused on teaching students with privileged identities. Students from marginalized communities also face isolation in academic settings and sometimes question the multicultural competence of their professors (Haskins & Singh, 2015), which in turn contributes to the underrepresentation of students of color in counseling and psychology (Arney et al., 2019).

The Present Study

Counselor educators must critically examine their curriculum, course materials, and overall learning climate for students (Haskins & Singh, 2015). Listening to students’ experiences and perceptions of their training offers faculty an opportunity to model cultural humility, gain useful feedback, and make necessary changes. Given the increased recognition of racial trauma and societal inequities, it is critical that counseling programs engage with students of diverse backgrounds as they seek to shift their pedagogy. Historically, academic institutions have responded to student demands with performative action rather than meaningful change (Zetzer, 2021). This mixed methods study is part of a larger process of counseling faculty working to invite student feedback and question internalized assumptions and biases in order to implement real change. The goal of program evaluation is to investigate strengths and weaknesses in order to improve the program (Royse et al., 2010). According to the 2024 Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs (CACREP) standards, program evaluation is essential to assess and improve the program (CACREP, 2023). Thus, the purpose of this program evaluation study was to understand students’ self-assessment and experiences with the counseling program’s curriculum in the area of multicultural and social justice advocacy, with the overarching goal of program curriculum and instruction improvement. This article offers counselor educators a model of how to assess program effectiveness in multicultural and social justice teaching and practical suggestions based on the findings. The research questions were: What are beginning and advanced students’ self-perceptions regarding their multicultural and social justice advocacy competencies? What are beginning and advanced students’ perceptions of the multicultural and social justice advocacy competencies training they are receiving in their program?

Method

We employed a mixed method, embedded design in which the quantitative data offered a supportive and secondary role to the qualitative results (Creswell et al., 2003). Qualitative and mixed methods research designs are particularly useful in program evaluation (Royse et al., 2010). Mixed method approaches also offer value in research that centers social justice advocacy, as the integration of diverse methodological techniques within a single study fosters the understanding of multiple perspectives and facilitates a deeper comprehension of intricate issues (Ponterotto et al., 2013). We used an online survey to collect written narratives (qualitative) and survey data (quantitative) from two counseling courses: a beginning counseling course in the first semester (beginning students), and an advanced practicum course, taken by those who had completed at least part of their year-long practicum (advanced students).

Participants
     Participants were counseling students enrolled in a CACREP-accredited program at a large West Coast public university in the United States that is both a federally designated Hispanic-serving institution and an Asian American and Native American Pacific Islander–serving institution. Responses were collected from two courses, which included 94 beginning students (84% response rate) and 62 advanced students (71% response rate). Twelve percent of the advanced practicum students also completed the survey when they were first-semester (beginning) students. The mean age of the 139 participants was 27.7 (SD = 7.11), ranging from 20 to 58 years. Racial identifications were 40.3% White, 33.1% Latinx, 14.4% Asian, 7.2% Biracial or Multiracial, 2.9% Black, 0.7% Middle Eastern, 0.7% American Indian/Alaska Native, and 0.7% Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander. The majority identified as women (82.0%), followed by 14.4% as men, and 2.9% as nonbinary/queer. Students self-identified as heterosexual (71.2%), bisexual (11.5%), lesbian/gay (6.5%), queer (4.3%), pansexual (1.4%), and about 1% each as asexual, heteroflexible, and unsure. About 19.4% of students were enrolled in a bilingual/bicultural (Spanish/Latinx) emphasis within the program.

Procedure
     After receiving university IRB approval, graduate students enrolled in the first-semester beginning counseling course (fall 2018 and 2019) or the advanced practicum course (summer 2019 and 2020) were asked to complete an online survey through Qualtrics with both quantitative measures and open-ended questions as part of their preparation for class discussion. Students were informed that this homework would not be graded and was not intended to “test” their knowledge but rather would serve as an opportunity to reflect on their experience of the program’s multicultural and social justice training. Students were also given the option to participate in the current study by giving permission for their answers to be used. Those who consented were asked to continue to complete the demographic questionnaire. In accordance with the American Counseling Association Code of Ethics (2014), students were informed that there would be no repercussions for not participating. A faculty member outside the counseling program managed the collection of and access to the raw data in order to protect the identities of the students and ensure that their participation or lack of participation in the study could not affect their grade for the course or standing in the program. All students, regardless of participation status, were given the option to enter an opportunity drawing for a small cash prize ($20 for data collection in 2018 and 2019, $25 for 2020) through a separate link not connected to their survey responses.

Data Collection
     We collected brief written qualitative data and responses to two quantitative measures from both beginning and advanced students.

Qualitative Data
     The faculty developed open-ended questions that would elicit student feedback on their multicultural and social justice training. Prior to beginning the counseling program, first-semester students were asked two questions about their experiences and impressions: How would you describe your knowledge about and interest in multiculturalism/diversity and social justice from a personal and/or academic perspective? and How would you describe your initial impressions or experience of the focus on multicultural and social justice in the program so far? They were also asked, if it was relevant, to include their experience in the Latinx counseling emphasis program component. Advanced students, who were seeing clients, were asked the same questions and also asked to: Consider/describe how this experience of multiculturalism and social justice in the program may impact you personally and professionally (particularly in work with clients) in the future.

Quantitative Data
     Two instruments were selected to quantitatively assess students’ perceptions of their own multicultural and advocacy competencies. The Multicultural Counseling Competence and Training Survey (MCCTS; Holcomb-McCoy & Myers, 1999) is designed to assess counselors’ perceptions of their multicultural competence and the effectiveness of their training. The survey contains 32 statements for which participants answer on a 4-point Likert scale (not competent, somewhat competent, competent, extremely competent). Sample items include: “I can discuss family therapy from a cultural/ethnic perspective” and “I am able to discuss how my culture has influenced the way I think.” The reliability coefficients for each of the five components of the MCCTS ranged from .66 to .92: Multicultural Knowledge (.92), Multicultural Awareness (.92), Definitions of Terms (.79), Knowledge of Racial Identity Development Theories (.66), and Multicultural Skills (.91; Holcomb-McCoy & Myers, 1999). In this study, the Cronbach’s alpha coefficients ranged from .75 to .96.

The Advocacy Competencies Self-Assessment Survey (ACSA; Ratts & Ford, 2010) assesses for competency and effectiveness across six domains: (a) client/student empowerment, (b) community collaboration, (c) public information, (d) client/student advocacy, (e) systems advocacy, and (f) social/political advocacy. It contains 30 statements that ask participants to respond with “almost always,” “sometimes,” or “almost never.” Sample questions include “I help clients identify external barriers that affect their development” and “I lobby legislators and policy makers to create social change.” Although Ratts and Ford (2010) did not provide psychometrics of the original ACSA, it was validated with mental health counselors (Bvunzawabaya, 2012), suggesting an adequate internal consistency for the overall measure, but not the specific domains. In this study, the Cronbach’s alpha coefficients ranged from .69 to.79 for the six domains, and .94 for the overall scale. For the purposes of this study, we were not interested in specific domains and used the overall scale to assess students’ overall social justice/advocacy competencies.

Data Analysis
Qualitative Data Analysis
     To analyze the qualitative data, we used Consensual Qualitative Research-Modified (CQR-M; Spangler et al., 2012), which was based on Hill et al.’s (2005) CQR but modified for larger numbers of participants with briefer responses. In contrast to the in-depth analysis of a small number of interviews, CQR-M was ideal for our data, which consisted of brief written responses from 139 participants. CQR-M involves a consensus process rather than interrater reliability among judges, who discuss and code the narratives, and relies on a bottom-up approach, in which categories
(i.e., themes) are derived directly from the data rather than using a pre-existing thematic structure. Frequencies (i.e., how many participants were represented in each category) are then calculated. We analyzed the beginning and advanced students’ responses separately, as the questions were adjusted for their time spent in the program.

After immersing themselves in the data, the first two authors, Sapna B. Chopra and Rebekah Smart, met to outline a preliminary coding structure, then met repeatedly to revise the coding into more abstract categories and subcategories. The computer program NVivo was used to organize the coding process and determine frequencies. After all data were coded, the fifth author, Eric W. Price, served as auditor and provided feedback on the overall coding structure. Both the consensus process and use of an auditor are helpful in countering biases and preconceptions. Brief quantitative data, as used in this study, can be used effectively as a means of triangulation (Spangler et al., 2012).

Quantitative Data Analysis
     To examine for significant differences in the self-perceptions of multicultural competencies and advocacy competencies between White and BIPOC students as well as between beginning and advanced students, a two-way (2×2) ANOVA was conducted with the overall MCCT as the criterion variable and student levels (beginning, advanced) and race (White, BIPOC) as the two independent variables. In addition, two (5×2) multivariate analyses of variances (MANOVAs) were conducted with the five factors of multicultural competencies (knowledge, awareness, definition of terms, racial identity, and skills) as criterion variables and with student levels (beginning, advanced) and student races (White, BIPOC) as independent variables in each analysis. Data for beginning and advanced students were analyzed separately to assess whether time in the counseling program helped to expand their interest and commitment to social justice.

Research Team
     We were intentional in examining our own social identities and potential biases throughout the research process. Chopra is a second-generation South Asian American, heterosexual, cisgender woman. Smart is a White European American, heterosexual, cisgender woman. Yuying Tsong identifies as a genderqueer first-generation Taiwanese and Chinese American immigrant. Olga L. Mejía is an Indigenous-identified Mexican immigrant, bisexual, cisgender woman. Price is a White, gay, cisgender male. All have experience as counselor educators and in qualitative research methods, and all have been actively engaged in decolonizing their syllabi and incorporating multicultural and social justice into their pedagogy.

Results

The research process was guided by the overarching question: What are beginning and advanced counseling students’ perceptions of their multicultural and social justice competencies and training and how can their feedback be used to improve their counselor education program? We explore the qualitative findings first, as the primary data for the study, followed by the quantitative data.

Qualitative Findings for Beginning Counseling Students
     Two higher-order categories emerged from the beginning students’ narratives: developing competencies and learning process so far.

Developing Competencies
     Students’ descriptions of the competencies they were developing included themes of awareness, knowledge, and skills and action. Some students entered the program with an already heightened awareness, while others were making new discoveries. Awareness included subthemes of humility (24.5%), awareness of own privilege (6.4%), and awareness of bias (3.2%). “There’s a lot to learn” was a typical sentiment, particularly from White students. One White female student wrote: “I definitely need more and I believe that open discussions, even hard ones would be some of the best ways to go about this.” A large group expressed knowledge of oppression and systemic inequities (33%); a smaller group referenced intersectionality (3.2%). Within skills and action, some students expressed specific intentions in allyship (11.7%); a number of students expressed commitment to social action but felt unsure how to engage in social justice (11.7%).

Learning Process So Far
     Central themes in this category were support for growth, concerns in training, and internal challenges. Some students felt excited and supported, while some were cautiously optimistic or concerned. Support for growth was a strong theme that reflected excited and enthusiastic to learn (22.3%); appreciation for the Latinx emphasis (18.1%); and receiving support from professors and program (17.0%). For example, one Mexican student in the Latinx emphasis who noted that mental health was rarely discussed in her family shared: “For me to see that there is a program that teaches students how to communicate to individuals who are unsure of what counseling is about, gave me a sense of happiness and relief.”

A few students were adopting a wait-and-see attitude and expressed some concerns about their training. Although the percentage for these subthemes is low, they provide an important experience that we want to amplify. This theme had multiple subthemes. The subtheme concerns from students of color included centering White students (3.2%), microaggressions (3.2%), and lack of representation (1.1%). A student who identified as a Mexican immigrant shared experiences of microaggressions, including classmates using a hurtful derogatory phrase referring to immigrants with no comment from the professor until the student raised the issue. Concerns in training also included the subtheme concerns with how material is presented in classes (7.0%). For some, the concern related to the potential for harm in classes in which White and BIPOC students were encouraged to process issues of privilege and oppression. For example, one Asian Pacific Islander student wrote that although they appreciated the emphasis on social justice, “Time always runs out and I believe it’s careless and dangerous to cut off these types of conversations in a rushed manner.” A small minority seemed to suggest a backlash to the emphasis on social justice, stating that the content was presented in ways that were too “politically correct,” “biased,” or “repetitive.”

     Multiple subthemes emerged from the theme of internal challenges. Both BIPOC and White students shared feeling afraid to speak up (5.3%). BIPOC students expressed struggling with confidence or wanting to avoid conflict, while White students’ fear of speaking up was also connected to discomfort and uncertainty as a White person (2.1%). A small minority of White students did not express explicit discomfort but seemed to engage in a color-blind strategy, as indicated in the theme of people are people (2.1%): “I find people are people, regardless of any differences, and love hearing the good and bad about everybody’s experiences.” Some students of color expressed limited knowledge about cultures other than one’s own (4.3%). For example, an Asian American student stated that they had gravitated to “those who were most similar to me” growing up. Lastly, a few students shared feeling overwhelmed and exhausted (3.2%).

Qualitative Findings for Advanced Counseling Students
     Four higher-order themes emerged: competencies in process, multiculturalism and diversity in the program, social justice in the program, and the learning process.

Competencies in Process
     Similar to beginning students, advanced students described growing self-awareness, knowledge and awareness of others, skills, and action. Their disclosures often related to clinical work, now that they had been seeing clients. Self-awareness included strong subthemes of: humility and desire to keep learning (25.8%); increased open-mindedness, acceptance of others, and compassion (22.6%); awareness of personal privilege and oppression (17.7%); awareness of personal bias and value systems (17.7%); and awareness of personal cultural identity (14.5%). One Mexican American student wrote: “I have also gained an increased awareness of how my prejudices can impact my work with clients and learned about how to check-in with myself.”

     Knowledge and awareness of others had subthemes of privilege and oppression (19.4%) and increased knowledge of culture (14.5%), with awareness of the potential impact on clients. The advanced students also had more to say about skills, which included subthemes of diversity considerations in conceptualization (29%), and in treatment (12.9%), and cultural conversations in the therapy room (21%). One White student wrote: “I have been able to have difficult conversations that once were unheard of. I have also been able to bring culture, ethnicity, and oppression into the room so that my clients can feel understood and safe.” Within the theme of action, 52% wrote about their commitment to social justice and intention to advocate. Although this strongest subtheme suggested action was still more aspirational than currently enacted, a smaller group also wrote about the experiences that they have already had with client advocacy (12.9%), community and/or political action (12.9%), and unspecified action (11.3%).

Multiculturalism and Diversity in the Program
     Many students (44%) indicated that they appreciated that multicultural issues were integrated or addressed well within the program. However, with more time spent in the program, 26% felt that there was more nuance, depth, or scope needed. Some wanted more attention to specific issues, such as disability, gender identity, and religion/spirituality. One Asian American student wrote that the focus had been “basic and surface-level,” adding “I feel like it has also generally catered to the protection of White feelings and voices, which is inherently complicit in the system of White supremacy, especially in higher ed.” Others (9.7%) said more training in clinical application was needed.

Social Justice in the Program
     Students expressed a variety of opinions. The largest number (29%) were satisfied that social justice issues were well integrated into the program. Although more students were satisfied than not, many (24%) noted that social justice is addressed but not demonstrated. Similarly, 24% noted minimal attention, specifically that social justice was not addressed much beyond the one course focused on culture, and 24% noted a desire for more opportunities within the program to engage in advocacy. Some suggested requiring social justice work rather than leaving it as an optional activity. Others (13%), mostly from 2020, noted the relevance of current events and sociopolitical climate. One White student shared about a presentation on Black Lives Matter: “This project opened my eyes to my limited knowledge of systemic oppression in the U.S. and impacted me in ways that I will NEVER be the same.” A small number of students (3%) reported that there was no need or room for more training in social justice. One White student wrote that they felt “frustrated” and that the social justice “agenda is so in my face all the time,” adding “sometimes I feel like I am being trained to be an advocate and an activist, which is/are a different job.”

The Learning Process
     Three central themes emerged: enrichment experienced, challenges, and suggestions for change. Many students were appreciative of their experience. A strong subtheme within enrichment experienced was professors’ encouragement and modeling (24%). Others commented on how much came from learning from peers (21%). Some shared feeling personally empowered (14.5%). For example, a student who identified as coming from an Asian culture wrote about the hesitancy to be an activist, stating, “There is an underlying belief that our voices will not really ever be heard which is strongly tied to systemic oppression and racism throughout history. Consequently, I appreciate this challenge to grow more in social justice issues.” Others shared ways that the program prompted them to engage in social justice outside the classroom (11.3%). For example, one student wrote: “This program gave me the knowledge and education I needed to make sure that when I did speak out I wasn’t just talking to talk. I would actually have facts, stats, evidence-based research to back up my argument.” A number of students noted the unique benefits of the Latinx program (9.7%). One Mexican American student reflected that they had learned about diversity within Latinx cultures, and that, “As a result, I feel more confident in being able to serve clients from various Latinx cultures or at least know where to obtain relevant information when needed.” Many students expressed a sense of belonging (8.1%).

     Challenges. Nearly 10% wrote about struggling to make time [for social justice] and 6.5% noted the emotional impact. For example, one White student wrote: “It was a rude and brutal awakening, to say the least. It was riddled with emotion and heartache but was worth the process.” A few had conflicted or mixed feelings (8.1%)they felt appreciative but wanted more. A few noted possible harm to marginalized students (6.5%). One Asian American student wrote that faculty should be “calling out microaggressions . . . otherwise, their stance on social justice feels more performative and about protecting their own liability rather than caring for their students of color.” A smaller number (4.8%) struggled with peers and colleagues who seemed uninformed.

     Suggestions for Change. Students offered suggestions for improvement, with a strong theme to develop more diverse representation (16.1%), including more representation in faculty, students, case examples, and class discussions. Some comments were specifically about needed attention to Black experiences; one concerned teaching about resiliencies and strengths in the face of oppression. Almost 15% suggested making changes to courses or curriculum. One White student wrote: “If it were me running the program (lol) I would . . . remove the culture class and have all those topics embedded into the fabric of each class because culture and diversity are in all those topics.” A few suggested that faculty require social justice assignments (8.1%), adding that many students will not act unless required. A few also suggested that the program provide more education of White students (8.1%).

Quantitative Findings
Quantitative analyses were conducted to provide triangulation for the qualitative findings and a different view of the data, including possible differences between BIPOC and White students and beginning and advanced students. Table 1 includes descriptive statistics providing an overview of beginning and advanced students’ self-perception of their multicultural and social justice competencies.

Table 1
Descriptive Statistics of Competencies

Multicultural Social Justice/Advocacy
N Mean SD Mean SD
White Beginning 35 2.58 .50 62.97 24.23
Advanced 27 3.09 .38 76.07 19.11
Total 62 2.80 .52 68.68 22.93
BIPOC Beginning 59 2.66 .56 63.05 29.30
Advanced 35 3.01 .30 77.14 20.71
Total 94 2.79 .51 68.30 27.19
Total Beginning 94 2.63 .54 63.02 27.39
Advanced 62 3.05 .34 76.68 19.87
Total 156 2.80 .51 68.45 25.51

 

To examine if there were discernable differences between the beginning and advanced students’ perceptions of their competencies, and if there were differences between White and BIPOC students, a two-way (2×2) ANOVA was conducted with the overall MCCT as the criterion variable and student levels (beginning, advanced) and race (White, BIPOC) as the two independent variables. Results indicated that although there were no interaction effects between race and student levels, there were significant differences in overall multicultural competencies between beginning and advanced students, F(1, 152) = 30.54, p < .001, indicating that advanced practicum students reported significantly higher overall multicultural competencies than beginning students. There were no statistically significant differences between White and BIPOC students in their overall multicultural competencies. Two (5×2) MANOVAs were conducted with the five factors of multicultural competencies as criterion variables (knowledge, awareness, definition of terms, racial identity, and skills). Student levels (beginning, advanced) and student race (White, BIPOC) were independent variables. Results indicated that there were significant differences between beginning and advanced students in at least one of the multicultural competencies components, Wilks’ Lambda = .72, F(5, 150) = 11.97, p < .001. More specifically, follow-up univariate ANOVAs indicated that advanced students reported significantly higher multicultural competencies in their knowledge, F(1, 154) = 43.74, p < .001, µ2 = .22; awareness, F(1, 154) = 6.20, p = .014, µ2 = .04; and racial identity, F(1, 154) = 43.17, p < .001, µ2 = .21. However, there were no significant differences in definitions of terms or skills. Even though there were no significant differences between White and BIPOC students in their overall multicultural competencies, the results of the 5×2 MANOVA indicated that there were significant differences in at least one of the components, Wilks’ Lambda = .87, F(5, 150) = 4.49, p = .001. Follow-up univariate ANOVAs indicated that White students reported higher multicultural competencies in racial identity than BIPOC students in this study, F(1, 154) = 4.51, p = .035, µ2 = .03. There were no differences in the other areas.

A two-way (2×2) ANOVA was conducted with the overall ACSA as the criterion variable and student levels (beginning, advanced) and race (White, BIPOC) as the two independent variables. Results indicated that while there were no interaction effects between race and student levels, there were significant differences in overall advocacy competencies between beginning and advanced students, F(1, 152) = 10.78, p = .001, indicating that advanced students reported significantly higher overall advocacy competencies (M = 76.68) than beginning students (M = 63.02). There were no statistically significant differences between White and BIPOC students in their overall advocacy competencies.

Discussion

This study was designed to examine students’ experiences of their multicultural and social justice training as an aspect of program evaluation, specifically to assist faculty in improving curriculum and instruction with regard to multicultural and advocacy competencies; the study also offers a unique contribution to existing literature by including a more racially diverse (60% BIPOC) sample. Students reported growth in the core areas of multicultural and social justice competency as outlined by Ratts et al. (2016): awareness, knowledge, skills, and action. Consistent with Field et al.’s (2019) findings, students reported more growth in awareness and knowledge than in social justice action, with some differences as students moved through the program. Although beginning students identified personal biases, the theme of self-awareness was more complex for them later in the program. This suggests that a longer time spent in the program contributed to personal growth; although this seems expected, these outcomes have not necessarily been examined before and confirm that the programs’ increasing effort on multiculturalism and social justice are showing gains. The advanced students wrote about clinical application as well and made overt statements of their commitment to social justice. The quantitative results supported these qualitative findings, with advanced students reporting higher multicultural competencies in knowledge, awareness, and racial identity and higher overall advocacy competencies compared to beginning students. With one exception, there were no significant differences between White and BIPOC students in their self-assessment of multicultural or advocacy competencies. Across racial groups, students expressed humility and desire to learn more.

Although students expressed mixed opinions about their experience of the multicultural and social justice training, a greater number of advanced students reported that they thought multicultural (44%) and social justice issues (30%) were well integrated into the program compared to the number of students with critiques. Students reported that support from faculty and peers facilitated their growth and learning, consistent with previous research (e.g., Beer et al., 2012; Keum & Miller, 2020). Some students noted a sense of belonging, particularly those in the Latinx emphasis.

Similar to other researchers, we found that many students wanted social justice issues to be integrated across the curriculum rather than into one course (Beer et al., 2012; Collins et al., 2015); they also wanted more focus on skills and action (Collins et al., 2015; Kozan & Blustein, 2018). Students’ scores on the ACSA advocacy competencies scale reflect this gap in training as well. Though fewer students offered critiques of their training, these responses are important to amplify because some of these concerns are rarely solicited or acknowledged. For example, BIPOC students echoed the challenges faced by students in Seward’s (2019) study, including lack of representation in their faculty, classmates, and curriculum as well as feelings of marginalization when microaggressions in the classroom went unchecked and when instruction centered the needs of White students. Additionally, a few advanced students from 2020, during a time of significant racial-sociopolitical uprising in the United States, expressed concern that class discussions potentially caused harm to students from marginalized communities. Though more students expressed a desire for greater in-depth training, a small minority of mostly White students indicated that they did not want more social justice training and would rather focus solely on traditional counseling skills. These different student perspectives point to the challenges of teaching social justice amidst diverse political and ideological backgrounds and the need to increase community and collaboration.

Listening to Student Feedback and Implications for Decolonizing Program Curriculum
     This study’s findings support the benefits of listening to students’ voices related to multicultural and social justice to inform counselor educators on program strengths and areas for growth. Although student feedback was not the sole impetus for making program changes, accessing this more detailed response was helpful in refining our purpose and direction, as well as highlighting weaknesses. Perhaps more important was the faculty’s willingness to engage in this self-reflective process and to take necessary actions. Rather than waiting for exit interview feedback from graduating students, counselor educators can conduct ongoing program evaluations through anonymous online surveys as well as town hall meetings that invite students to share their process of learning, perceptions of the cultural climate, and experiences of microaggressions. We have a growing understanding that during such evaluations great care needs to be taken for building safety, so as not to retraumatize students from marginalized communities. Based on the results and a series of Zoom town hall meetings, we have implemented changes, such as more consistent integration of social justice across the curriculum; training and day-long retreats focused on increasing faculty competence; faculty participation in Academics for Black Survival and Wellness, an intensive training led by Dr. Della Mosely and Pearis Bellamy; accountability support groups in social justice work; and decolonizing syllabi and class content (e.g., including BIPOC voices and non–APA-style writing assignments). Faculty have also made significant modifications to course materials. For example, beginning students complete weekly modules that include readings and exercises from The Racial Healing Handbook (Singh, 2019), and students study Liberation Psychology during the first week of theories class so they can consider ways to decolonize more traditional models throughout the semester. These strategies have been helpful in preparing students for more difficult conversations surrounding anti-racism in more advanced courses throughout the program. Forming faculty accountability partners or small groups is helpful so that faculty can support each other as a part of their ongoing development in addressing internalized White supremacy and avoiding harm to students.

Student feedback also called attention to the need for self-care, which our program continues to explore. Consistent with previous research (Collins et al., 2015; L. A. Goodman et al., 2018; Hoover & Morrow, 2016; Singh et al., 2010), students reported that their multicultural and social justice learning was often accompanied by moments of overwhelm, hopelessness, and despair. Without tools to manage these emotions, some students may retreat into defensiveness and withdrawal (Seward, 2019), and some may experience activist burnout (Gorski, 2019). Sustainability is necessary for effective social change efforts (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2021). Counseling programs can offer resources and guidance for students to practice self-care with counselor educators modeling self-care behavior. For example, the Psychology of Radical Healing Collective (Chen et al., 2019) offered strategies to practice radical self-care, including making space for one’s own healing, finding joy and a sense of belonging, and engaging in advocacy at the local community level. Mindfulness practices can be integrated into social justice education to help students and counselor educators manage difficult emotions, increase their ability to be present, and strengthen compassion and curiosity (Berila, 2016). In addition to individual self-care practices, counselor educators can advocate for community care by tending to the community’s needs and drawing on collective experience and wisdom (Gorski, 2019).

The findings point to the need for counselor educators to better address Whiteness and White supremacy, as well as to center the experiences of students from marginalized communities. Counselor educators may be able to mobilize and direct White students’ feelings of guilt into racial consciousness and action by helping them explore Whiteness, White privilege, and what it means to them while allowing and confronting feelings that arise (Grzanka et al., 2019). It may be helpful for educators to read and assign books on White fragility and ways to address it (DiAngelo, 2018; Helms, 2020; Saad, 2020), so that they can assist White students in managing these emotions. It is important that educators explicitly name and recognize White supremacy as it shows up in counseling theory and practice, and to include a shift from the primary focus on the individual to understanding and dismantling oppressive systems. Counselor educators must also attend to the ways in which they center the comfort of White students over the needs of BIPOC students, so that they do not perpetuate harm and trauma (Galán et al., 2021). Although students with privileged identities may learn powerful lessons about oppression from their classmates, it is important that such learning does not occur at the expense of students with marginalized identities. Offering spaces for White students, especially those who are new to conversations about race and racism, to process their feelings may be helpful to avoid harm to BIPOC students who have experienced racial trauma. Similarly, BIPOC students may benefit from spaces in which they can talk freely and support each other as they unpack their own experiences of microaggressions and trauma (Galán et al., 2021).

Based on the finding that support from faculty was important in facilitating student growth and learning, counselor educators may benefit from implementing strategies informed by relational pedagogy and relational–cultural theory (Dorn-Medeiros et al., 2020). Relational pedagogy centers the relationship between teachers and students and posits that all learning takes place in relationships. Relational–cultural theory emphasizes mutual empathy and empowerment and is rooted in feminist multicultural principles. Practices grounded in these approaches include professors’ use of self-disclosure to model openness, vulnerability, and self-reflection; and their work to reduce power imbalances and invite student feedback at multiple points in time through anonymous surveys and one-on-one meetings. Counselor educators can uplift students as the experts of their experience (Sharma & Hipolito-Delgado, 2021).

Limitations and Future Research
     The results of this study must be considered in light of a number of limitations. The use of the online survey meant that we were not able to follow up with students for further discussion or clarification of their responses. Adding focus groups or interviews to this methodology would likely provide a more thorough picture. In spite of assurances to the contrary, some students may have been hesitant to be honest out of concern that their own professors would be reading their feedback. It is possible that different themes would have emerged if all students had participated. In addition, 12% of the advanced students had participated as beginning students and therefore were previously exposed to the survey materials. Although this could have impacted their later responses, we suspect that given the nearly 2-year time lapse this may not have been meaningful. Nevertheless, future research and program evaluation would be strengthened with longitudinal analyses. Lastly, the reliability for the ACSA was relatively low, so conclusions are tentative; however, the results support the qualitative data. Despite these limitations, this study offers a model for assessing students’ learning and experiences with the goal of program improvement. The process of counselor educators humbling themselves and inviting and integrating student feedback is an important step in decolonizing counselor education and better serving students and the clients and communities that they will serve.

 

Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.

 

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Sapna B. Chopra, PhD, is an associate professor at California State University, Fullerton. Rebekah Smart, PhD, is a professor at California State University, Fullerton. Yuying Tsong, PhD, is a professor and Associate Vice President for Student Academic Support at California State University, Fullerton. Olga L. Mejía, PhD, is a licensed psychologist and an associate professor at California State University, Fullerton. Eric W. Price, PhD, is an associate professor at California State University, Fullerton. Correspondence may be addressed to Sapna B. Chopra, Department of Human Services, California State University, Fullerton, P.O. Box 6868, Fullerton, CA 92834-6868, sapnachopra@fullerton.edu.

Abolitionist Praxis for Substance Use Clients Who Experience Anti-Drug Policing

Darius A. Green, Katharine R. Sperandio

Because of the long history of anti-drug policing in the United States and the criminalization of substance use, clients who use substances are vulnerable to direct and vicarious experiences of police violence. Consequently, those who use substances may face a greater risk of experiencing symptoms of trauma that counselors should address in treatment. We recommend the use of a trauma-informed and abolitionist praxis in clinical and social justice practices as a framework to support clients who use substances and have histories of exposure to police violence.
Keywords: substance use, police violence, trauma, abolitionist, social justice

     Policing in the United States has received increased scrutiny in recent years with renewed attention resulting from the Black Lives Matter protests in 2020. Specifically, policing has been critiqued by prison–industrial complex abolitionists—activists who advocate toward an end to systems of policing, prisons, and related carceral systems in favor of systems and practices that promote accountability, justice, healing, and transformation—as being inherently violent, meaning that it relies on the use of behavior that is considered violent in any context (Cullors, 2019; A. Y. Davis et al., 2022; Green, 2022; Kaba, 2021; Klukoff et al., 2021). Violence is defined as “the intentional use of physical force or power, threatened or actual, against oneself, another person or against a group or community that either results in or has a high likelihood of resulting in injury, death, psychological harm, maldevelopment or deprivation” (Krug et al., 2002, p. 5). Thus, we define police violence as the inherently violent uses of force by police officers. According to the World Health Organization, there are four types of violence that can be used to categorize police violence: physical (e.g., arrests and the use of weapons), sexual (e.g., strip searching and sexual assault), psychological (e.g., intimidation and verbal threats), and neglect (e.g., failing to provide support to medical and mental health needs; DeVylder et al., 2017; Krug et al., 2002).

Current data suggests that 58.3 million U.S. residents over the age of 16 experienced contact from police officers in 2020 with roughly 1 million experiencing or being threatened with non-fatal force (Tapp & Davis, 2022). Moreover, of the 82 million arrests reported by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI; 2022) between 2011 and 2021, substance use violations were the second most common arrests, accounting for 14% of arrests. Oftentimes, counselors may work with clients who have been court-ordered to treatment as part of diversion programs that seek to route individuals away from incarceration and toward treatment for criminalized behaviors, such as substance use (Scott, 2020). Given that substance use–related offenses are among the most common offenses leading to violence through an arrest (FBI, 2022), it is essential for substance use counselors to prepare to address experiences of police violence that may result from anti-drug policing—the use of police violence as a response to individuals who use substances. Although anti-drug policing impacts both those who use substances and those who traffic them, our discussion on anti-drug policing will focus on populations who use substances.

Research on counselor preparation suggests that most counselors receive no training regarding clinical practice and advocacy to address matters of police violence despite a recent study that found that 68.2% of counselors reported working with clients who had experienced police violence (Green & Evans, 2021). Moreover, Bride et al. (2009) found that most substance use counselors do not learn about treating psychological trauma in their academic programs and instead predominantly rely on continuing education. Given the vulnerable nature of those who use substances and evidence suggesting that gaps exist in training counselors in treating police violence and trauma, we will explore approaches to clinical practice, social justice, and advocacy to best support substance use clients who experience police violence because of anti-drug policing. Specifically, the purpose of this article is to provide a sociopolitical analysis of anti-drug policing in the United States that informs our proposal for substance use counselors to adopt and integrate an abolitionist praxis into their practice of counseling with clients who use substances.

Sociopolitical Context of Anti-Drug Policing in the United States

Initiated by President Richard Nixon in 1971 and escalated by President Ronald Reagan in 1982, the war on drugs increased and incentivized anti-drug policing and enforcement, intensified legal penalties associated with drug-related crimes, and demonized individuals, particularly those who were part of marginalized communities and struggled with substance use disorders (Benson et al., 1995; Cooper, 2015; Koram, 2022; Park et al., 2019). Cooper (2015) and Saleem (1997) noted that contemporary anti-drug policing practices, such as stop-and-frisk and police drug raids, have been permitted through court cases such as Terry v. Ohio, Whren v. United States, and Illinois v. Wardlow and have eroded the Fourth Amendment and 1878 Posse Comitatus Act protections against unreasonable searches, seizures, and militarization of policing. Specifically, these court cases have permitted frisking for reasonable suspicion, allowed police to conduct stops in which police may stop individuals for suspicion of drugs under the pretext of other minor criminalized violations, and expanded the definition of suspicious behavior that may warrant being stopped by police (Cooper, 2015; Saleem, 1997). Although several anti-drug policing reforms have been made, such as the development of drug courts and the decriminalization of substances in various states (Klukoff et al., 2021; Scott, 2020), anti-drug policing practices have persisted, expanded, and received legislative support. For example, despite stop-and-frisk searches being declared unconstitutional in 2013 with the decision in Ligon v. City of New York, the practice was reduced by 98% by 2017 as opposed to ceasing entirely (New York Civil Liberties Union, n.d., 2019). Despite this decrease, racial disparities were maintained in these stop-and-frisk practices between 2014 and 2017, as 53% of targets were Black and 28% were Latino (New York Civil Liberties Union, 2019). Lastly, President Donald Trump voiced support for greater anti-drug policing efforts, while President Joseph Biden’s Safer America Plan seeks reform that simultaneously increases funding for policing and substance use treatment resources (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022; Koram, 2022; The White House, 2022). Although these systemic supports for reform from the executive branch may be aimed at drug trafficking, individuals who use substances may be at continued risk of being impacted by anti-drug policing with the increased support for and reliance on carceral approaches.

Although reforms related to criminalized behaviors may reduce harm through their trauma-informed focus, abolitionist authors and activists have critiqued such reforms as counter-productive when they expand the power and legitimacy of policing, maintain the criminalization of substance use, and perpetuate harm and violence toward those who use substances (Klukoff et al., 2021; Purnell, 2021a). For example, according to Fazel et al. (2017), 24% of the global imprisoned population meets the criteria for alcohol use disorder, compared to the less than 2% of the general population (Global Burden of Disease Network, 2016). Similarly, 30% of male prisoners and 51% of female prisoners meet the criteria for illicit drug use disorder, while less than 1% of the global population meets the criteria (Global Burden of Disease Network, 2016). Moreover, as stated earlier, substance use violations are the second most common arrest reason in the United States (FBI, 2022). Lastly, some authors have concluded that mixed results exist on the effectiveness of diversion programs for offenses associated with mental illness and substance use regarding recidivism and subsequent arrests (Klukoff et al., 2021; Scott, 2020). These data highlight a prevalent connection between policing, incarceration, and substance use in the United States and around the world despite contemporary reforms to anti-drug policing established through the war on drugs.

Policing functions to maintain social order and provide security by enforcing laws, policies, and social norms (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2021; Giovengo, 2016). Moreover, police are ordained to investigate, arrest, and enact force upon those deemed as, or suspected to be, threatening to the safety and interests of dominant communities. Thus, the criminalization of substance use has been conceptualized as exerting control over and oppressing minoritized groups (Dollar, 2019; Purnell, 2021b). Marginalized communities have been hit especially hard by these zero tolerance policies, which drastically increased community members’ run-ins with police (Cooper, 2015). For example, the influx of stop-and-frisk procedures, a method that permitted police officers to detain an individual suspected of illegal activity and physically search them, led to minoritized individuals being racially profiled and targeted for searches without specific cause (Cooper, 2015). In fact, anti-drug policing has resulted in a shift from Black people accounting for 22% of those arrested in 1976 to 40% in 1992, despite making up 12% of the U.S. population (Cooper, 2015; Tonry, 1994). Thus, instead of eliminating substance use in communities, these crackdowns have only further increased the prevalence of police brutality, traumatized communities and individuals, and increased violence within communities (Cooper, 2015; Rhodes et al., 2006; Werb et al., 2011).

Structural Violence and Trauma From Anti-Drug Policing

Given the confiscation of an individual’s bodily autonomy, resulting in the infringement of the individual’s basic and constitutional rights and liberties, as well as the possibility for physical harm to take place during searches, anti-drug policing, which can involve violence, harassment, and killings, can place significant psychological stress and turmoil on targeted individuals (Park et al., 2019; Sarang et al., 2010). It is essential to analyze the long-term consequences of police violence perpetuated upon impacted individuals, including the possibility of traumatization and death (Bryant-Davis et al., 2017; Cooper, 2015; Krieger et al., 2015). Emerging research has demonstrated connections between being stopped by police and symptoms of anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), particularly when the experience is perceived as intrusive and unjustified (Geller et al., 2014); suicide attempts (DeVylder et al., 2017); and symptoms of manic and depressive episodes (Meade et al., 2017). Likewise, vicarious traumatization from watching or learning of another individual experiencing police violence is also a concern given the high proportion of individuals living with substance use disorders who have both experienced trauma and witnessed police violence (El-Bassel et al., 2011; Park et al., 2019; Shaw et al., 2016). Research on those who witness police violence has often emphasized the unique impact on Black people. This research has demonstrated associations with vicarious exposure and poor mental health (Bor et al., 2018), distress from anticipated exposure following media consumption (Green et al., 2024), and psychological distress among Black mothers (Joe et al., 2019). Galovski et al. (2016) demonstrated that community protests following instances of police violence may result in symptoms of depression and PTSD among community members. Additionally, recent research has demonstrated a connection between vicarious exposure and increased cannabis use among Black Americans (Motley et al., 2022). Taken together, these findings suggest that directly and vicariously experiencing police violence may promote greater risk of traumatization.

Literature suggests that these encounters with police may end in violence beyond psychological distress because of the influence of stigmatization and prejudice against people who use substances (Cooper et al., 2005; Hayashi et al., 2013; Lunze et al., 2015; Wood et al., 2017). Officers may also confiscate civilians’ syringes during stop-and-frisk encounters, increasing the prevalence of syringe sharing, a known risk factor for HIV and HCV transmission (Beletsky et al., 2010; Park et al., 2019; Small et al., 2007). Detainment for substance use is also associated with increased risk of death following release because of withdrawal and increased risk of overdose (Chang et al., 2015; Fazel et al., 2017; Kinner et al., 2012; Pratt et al., 2010). Stress and traumatization experienced from anti-drug policing is also associated with high-risk behaviors, including drug injection, among addicted individuals (Maher, 2004; Shannon et al., 2008; Volkmann et al., 2011). Moreover, in one study, individuals needing treatment for substance use disorders were 2.74 times more likely to experience arrest and physical assault from police (Werb et al., 2016). Additionally, Werb et al. (2016) found that 27.5% of police encounters occurred within 500 meters of a substance use treatment facility. Similarly, Park et al. (2019) found in a sample of people who inject drugs in Baltimore that 7% experienced physical police violence and one in four knew someone else who had experienced physical police violence, fueling a deep mistrust of the system. Fear of potential retaliation by the police may also discourage individuals, particularly those with marginalized identities, from going to the police during a crisis or emergency situation, such as in cases of overdose. This mistrust of the system negatively impacts individuals’ willingness to pursue treatment services, especially when they are in fear of being detained or harmed by police officers (Alang et al., 2017; Cooper, 2015; Park et al., 2019). For example, a qualitative study described the impact of increased surveillance from police as both threatening and interfering with harm reduction practices (Cooper et al., 2005). Treatment centers are typically more centralized in areas where there is a higher drug activity which means that, because policing has a significant presence in these parts of communities, individuals may be hesitant to seek out help and support to avoid police encounters, negatively impacting social and health outcomes (Werb et al., 2016). Additionally, these crackdowns are associated with reductions in syringe exchange programs, drug treatment, and HIV testing accessibility (C. S. Davis et al., 2005; Park et al., 2019; Ti et al., 2013). These findings highlight how anti-drug policing actively inhibits access to safe and needed care.

A Case for Abolition in Substance Use Counseling

Because of the increased risk of experiencing police violence and the subsequent risk for traumatization from police violence, it is essential for counselors to address encounters stemming from anti-drug policing in treatment and develop practices that divest from policing practices and systems. Trauma-informed practice is a “fundamental obligation” (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration [SAMHSA], 2014, p. 5) for counselors who work with clients at the intersections of substance use and police violence to reduce or mitigate the adverse impacts of trauma on individuals’ physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual well-being and to prevent further systemic (re)traumatization. Trauma-informed practice is that which recognizes and understands the impact and salience of trauma, effectively responding to it in ways that do not retraumatize and further perpetuate traumatic stress while also recognizing that marginalized groups are at greater risk of experiencing trauma and its effects (SAMHSA, 2014; Sweeney & Taggart, 2018). There are four assumptions that ground trauma-informed practices (adapted from SAMHSA, 2014): 1) a realization of the potentially long-lasting effects of trauma on individuals, communities, groups, families, and systems and that trauma can be perpetuated by systems like the criminal legal system, resulting in a significant impact on continued substance use and mental health; 2) the importance of recognizing the signs of trauma and refraining from pathologizing these responses; 3) the crucial need for a system or organization to respond supportively by applying the six principles of a trauma-informed approach; and 4) resisting the potential to retraumatize individuals who are accessing supports and care. Moreover, SAMHSA (2014) identified six principles of trauma-informed practices that are intended to serve as the fundamental spirit of trauma-informed care: 1) safety; 2) trustworthiness and transparency; 3) peer support; 4) collaboration and mutuality; 5) empowerment, voice, and choice; and 6) cultural, historical, and gender issues.

By SAMHSA’s description, current substance use treatment falls short of being trauma-informed when it occurs under systemic conditions in which anti-drug policing and police violence are part of the historical and current response in the treatment and care of individuals who struggle with substance use. As outlined above, anti-drug policing practices can result in police violence that includes stop-and-frisk, arrests, and an intimidating presence that may negatively interfere in treatment accessibility for individuals who are fearful of potential run-ins and harassment (Werb et al., 2016). Anti-drug policing and the broader criminalization of substance use may disrupt safety, retraumatize substance use clients, and diminish trust and transparency in accessing substance use treatment. Moreover, incarceration for using substances may inhibit the potential for peer support and collaborative approaches to treatment. Lastly, the existing racial disparities in anti-drug policing practices demonstrate a history of systemic racism that may disproportionately create a barrier to accessing trauma-informed care for racially marginalized groups, particularly Black Americans. Thus, we contend that an abolitionist praxis that opposes anti-drug policing and divests from carceral approaches to responding to individuals who use substances is needed to fully realize trauma-informed practice with clients who use substances.

Abolitionist Praxis for Substance Use Counseling

Abolition is a social justice praxis that is commonly referenced as a necessary solution to policing and its impact (A. Y. Davis et al., 2022; Kaba, 2021). Abolition refers to the broad movement of divesting from and eliminating carceral systems, such as law enforcement and prison systems, and carceral logics that seek to legitimize the use of punishment, retribution, and vengeance through carceral systems. Rooted in the efforts of Black feminist thought, advocacy, and organizing, abolition calls for a critical analysis of the ways in which policing has functioned to enact the violence of overlapping systems of oppression (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). Kaba and Ritchie (2022) identified three objectives of abolitionist praxis. First, abolitionist praxis seeks to create collective safety from community violence and the violence of policing and related carceral systems that reinforce systems of oppression, such as White supremacy, patriarchy, and capitalism (Kaba, 2021; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022; Purnell, 2021a). Second, abolitionist praxis seeks to end violence from carceral systems through eliminating those systems as opposed to seeking reforms that preserve the inherent violence of policing and incarceration (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022; Klukoff et al., 2021). This second objective extends beyond institutions of policing and incarceration and extends to the ways in which carceral logic and behaviors of policing are embedded in other systems, institutions, and communities and often internalized by individuals (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). Lastly, to achieve collective safety, abolitionist praxis necessitates a simultaneous transformation from reliance on the violence of policing and related carceral systems toward cultivating cultures, systems, communities, and ways of being that are centered around care, healing, justice, and accountability (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022).

Abolition exists beyond a theoretical and conceptual framework. It is an iterative process that combines theorizing, action, and reflection upon efforts that divest from and dismantle carceral systems and logics while simultaneously brainstorming solutions to community violence that promote safety, healing, and justice (Cullors, 2019; A. Y. Davis et al., 2022; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022; Klukoff et al., 2021). Abolitionist praxis often utilizes a transformative justice framework to achieve its objective of eliminating carceral systems while creating new systems and ways of being that foster safety, healing, and justice. Transformative justice aligns with abolitionist praxis in that it is a liberatory strategy that seeks to transform systems and structures that create the conditions for violence (Afuape & Kerry Oldham, 2022). While policing and incarceration focus on retributive justice that assigns inherently violent punishment as a mechanism for change regardless of the harm it causes, transformative justice through abolitionist praxis seeks to create processes of accountability for harm caused interpersonally from criminalized behaviors and systemically from policing and related carceral systems. As a result, abolitionist praxis utilizes transformative justice to create new systems, institutions, communities, strategies, and internalized ways of being that value safety, healing, and justice that are needed to cultivate trauma-informed care and practices for substance use clients.

Regarding substance use counseling, an abolitionist praxis seeks to reduce and eliminate violence as a response to substance use, decriminalize all substance use, and eliminate contact between substance use clients, police, and the broader criminal legal system. Similarly, an abolitionist praxis to substance use counseling challenges the logic that criminalization is a needed step in treatment for substance use. For example, in 2001, the Portuguese government enacted nationwide laws to decriminalize all substances, resulting in a decrease in the prevalence of drug use and overdose rates (Castelpietra et al., 2022; James et al., 2020; Pombo & da Costa, 2016; Smiley-McDonald et al., 2023). In 2021, Oregon decriminalized low-level drug possessions and subsequently increased options for substance use disorder treatment and harm reduction programs (Good et al., 2023; Smiley-McDonald et al., 2023). In their study, Smiley-McDonald et al. (2023) found that the Oregon legislation resulted in a decrease in the number of interactions between police officers and individuals who use drugs. Thus, the abolitionist goal of decriminalizing substance use while implementing harm reduction programs may function to both minimize inherently violent contact with police and reduce the prevalence of substance use.

Abolitionist praxis would also call for the development of accountability for interpersonal and community harm caused by client substance use that does not rely on legal punishment, or the threat of it, from the criminal legal system (Cullors, 2021). Accountability for harm caused under abolitionist theory entails a developed recognition of wrongdoing and harm, both interpersonally and as mediated by social, economic, and political context, and sustained effort toward intrapersonal, interpersonal, and institutional change that repairs harm (Cullors, 2021; Kaba, 2021). Counselors must re-envision both their clinical practice and engagement in advocacy toward abolition to holistically care for clients who use substances.

Clinical and Advocacy Recommendations

Given the previously outlined mental health outcomes that are associated with direct and vicarious experiences of police violence that suggest its traumatic impact (DeVylder et al., 2017; Galovski et al., 2016; Geller et al., 2014; Green et al., 2024; Joe et al., 2019; Meade et al., 2017; Motley et al., 2022), a trauma-informed approach is essential to working with those who experience police violence as a consequence of anti-drug policing. Counselors seeking to use a trauma-informed approach to treat substance use disorders must infuse abolition into their delivery of services while also engaging in advocacy beyond direct clinical work to better achieve SAMHSA’s six identified principles of trauma-informed practice. We provide an abolitionist framing of these six principles and offer abolitionist re-envisioning for substance use counseling below. Moreover, we adapted the sixth principle of cultural, historical, and gender issues to cultural competence and advocacy to emphasize the professional role of advocacy in counseling for substance use clients who experience anti-drug policing.

Safety
     Ensuring safety in the therapeutic space is essential because anti-drug policing and the threat of police violence pose a safety risk to clients who use substances and are involved in or at risk of being targeted by the legal system. One step toward maximizing safety for clients is to end the use of abstinence-based treatment. Given that counselors may serve as treatment referral sources for court-mandated clients who meet criteria for diversion programs that seek to route individuals toward treatment for substance use and away from incarceration (Scott, 2020), abstinence-based treatment needs critical examination. Although such interventions can reduce engagement in substance use and mental health symptoms (Pinals et al., 2019), they do so with a looming threat of police violence and incarceration as a consequence for failure to complete the requirements of the diversion program (Scott, 2020). This poses a value conflict with counselors who are treating court-mandated clients for substance use. Counselor participation in diversion programs may require disclosures of client participation and progress in counseling that may lead to legal consequences for clients if they do not meet requirements of the diversion program. For example, counselors may be ethically obligated to document client relapses, which are more common in substance use treatment for minoritized groups and those with histories of experiencing multiple traumatic events (Farley et al., 2004; Heffner et al., 2011), which may be requested by probation officers, attorneys, or courts. In such a scenario, disclosure of client progress in treatment could produce a risk of clients experiencing police violence and incarceration. Moreover, this may produce a circumstance in which a client’s dominant motive for engaging in treatment is to avoid the consequences of police violence and incarceration. Consequently, acknowledging the intrapersonal, interpersonal, and community impact of one’s substance use and engaging in accountability are likely to become secondary motives for change and repair of any harm caused. Although the potential for incarceration may serve as motivation for change for substance use clients, substance use counselors can align with an abolitionist praxis by engaging in theorizing to develop methods and systems that motivate client accountability and transformation without the threat of violence induced by carceral systems. Moreover, alignment with an abolitionist praxis may require substance use counselors to proactively use their power to advocate for harm reduction in treatment as alternatives to approaches that risk harm through police violence and incarceration. Harm reduction approaches emphasize safe use over non-use of substances and have demonstrated evidence of both maintained and reduced substance use, reductions in harm related to substance use (e.g., less police contact and fewer arrests and emergency hospital visits), and self-reports of feeling safer (Carrico et al., 2014; Smiley-McDonald et al., 2023; Vallance et al., 2016).

Anti-drug policing views substance use as threatening and seeks to foster security through violent force and criminalization (Kaba, 2021). This security comes at the expense of the safety and well-being of those who use substances. An abolitionist re-envisioning of safety is one that seeks to ensure safety from the harm that both substance use and carceral systems cause to individuals, families, and communities. Regarding safety for substance use clients who experience anti-drug policing, Drustrup et al. (2023) offered an abolitionist approach to safety planning that counselors can adapt to fit the needs of clients mandated to substance use treatment. This approach decenters the default reliance on police in crises and emergencies and emphasizes collaboration with clients to establish methods that can maintain safety. Adapting this to clients, counselors can minimize disclosures of substance use, especially to police, probation officers, and employees of the criminal legal system. Noting the importance of building networks of care in place of carceral systems (Drustrup et al., 2023; Kaba, 2021), counselors should simultaneously collaborate with clients to identify interpersonal and community mechanisms to maintain safety and progress toward substance use–related treatment goals, particularly for when relapses occur. Consequently, this also promotes safety from the impact of substance use and client empowerment, voice, and choice in their treatment and wellness. For example, counselors could simultaneously utilize family therapy as a mechanism to support structural change associated with the development of a client’s substance use and to promote accountability for harm caused by substance use within the family system. Furthermore, when harm from substance use extends to one’s community, in collaboration with clients and those directly impacted, counseling could be used to promote reparation for harm caused (Cullors, 2019). Counselors should be mindful of the possibility that clients may not readily share experiences of police violence and substance use because of distrust fostered by carceral systems and if they have experienced invalidation, blame, or neglect regarding their experiences of police violence. Thus, counselors can enhance safety, trust, and the potential for change with clients through a consistent practice of accurate empathy and attunement to clients’ subjective experience of police violence (Miller & Rollnick, 2013).

Trustworthiness and Transparency
     Trustworthiness and transparency are essential given the systemic distrust fostered by histories of collaboration between helping professions and carceral systems (Jacobs et al., 2021; Klukoff et al., 2021). Counselors need to promote an optimal level of safety and trustworthiness with their clients through nonjudgement, empathy, transparency, positive regard, validation, normalization of the client’s responses to adversity, and consistency (SAMHSA, 2014). Counselors pursuing abolition can establish trustworthiness and transparency through using the informed consent process to build rapport and establish parameters of the therapeutic relationship within a societal context that largely criminalizes substance use. While Drustrup et al. (2023) offered inspiration for abolition in the therapeutic relationship, counselors are ethically obligated to make exceptions to confidentiality when imminent risk to self and others is established. Additionally, as mentioned above, substance use counselors may be required to make exceptions to confidentiality to share progress for court-mandated clients. Informing clients of these exceptions to confidentiality is standard in helping professions; however, abolition can maximize trustworthiness and transparency by going beyond merely capturing client signatures on informed consent documents. In addition to establishing the limits of confidentiality, counselors pursuing abolition are recommended to ensure that clients fully understand these limits and the impact of these limits on their participation in the therapeutic context. For example, a substance use counselor could clearly articulate known risks of making exceptions to confidentiality of the therapeutic relationship with police and legal system employees, such as increased risk of experiencing police violence, incarceration, and state-sanctioned surveillance. Counselors pursuing abolition who are directly embedded in carceral systems as a function of their employment, such as prisons, should inform clients of any dual or conflicting interests associated with their counseling in the prison system. Additionally, counselors can use open-ended questioning to provide clients an opportunity to check their understanding of confidentiality, its limits, and the impact of needing to make exceptions to confidentiality. Moreover, counselors pursuing abolition should collaborate with clients to identify external resources to counseling that offer greater trustworthiness that can facilitate transformation and healing from substance use in situations where clients may feel a lack of trust in counseling because of the threat of carceral systems.

Peer Support
     Providing opportunities for peer support for clients who have experienced police violence and are living with substance use disorders could also be promotive and helpful for healing because of the access to other individuals who have undergone similar experiences. Group therapy has been associated with positive mental health outcomes, particularly among individuals with PTSD and substance use disorders, due to receiving mutual support from others who have similar experiences and can provide empathy, a sense of belongingness and collectivism, and the opportunity to provide and receive feedback; build safety through interpersonal relationships; and reduce feelings of isolation and loneliness (Barrera et al., 2013; Mott et al., 2013; Schwartze et al., 2019; Sloan et al., 2013). Substance use counselors pursuing abolition can actively incorporate group therapy within the therapeutic context and help clients heal following traumatization from police violence while promoting their long-term recovery. Additionally, counselors employed in treatment centers who are pursuing abolition should be mindful of added benefits toward safety and trustworthiness that embedding peer support can offer, particularly for court-mandated clients. When a client is unable to experience enough safety and trustworthiness because of the threat and impact of carceral systems, embedded peer support that exists outside of the counselor–client relationship can provide alternate spaces for clients to be heard and validated. Abolitionist substance use counselors can advocate for the inclusion of peer mentoring for accountability and transformation akin to that which exists within 12-step groups through sponsor relationships. Although it may be conceptualized as part of a process of accountability to utilize clients who have advanced in their treatment as peer mentors, counselors pursuing abolition should also consider the feasibility of paying peer mentors to avoid replicating the occurrence of unpaid and underpaid labor that may occur in prison systems.

Collaboration and Mutuality
     It is essential for counselors pursuing abolition to cultivate environments and therapeutic relationships that promote collaboration and mutuality. It would behoove substance use counselors to utilize frameworks for treatment that are inherently trauma-informed and collaborative, such as motivational interviewing, for assessing client motivation for change and structuring treatment with clients that is centered around partnership, acceptance, compassion, and evocation (Clark et al., 2014; Miller & Rollnick, 2013). These efforts may be particularly beneficial for clients who have experienced police violence as a result of anti-drug policing in that they allow greater client participation and trustworthiness to a client population that may be prone to experiencing coercion and restricted freedom and being acted upon. Abolitionist substance use counselors can foster greater collaboration and mutuality in their practice of counseling by making mutual aid foundational to their practice. Mutual aid is an intentional resistance to reliance on institutions that cause structural violence (S. W. Davis & Fayter, 2021; Jacobs et al., 2021). Instead of relying on such institutions, mutual aid seeks to establish networks of care that use community members and resources to meet the needs of others (S. W. Davis & Fayter, 2021; Jacobs et al., 2021). Establishing mutual aid in substance use counseling for clients who experience anti-drug policing requires counselors to advocate to establish and streamline connections to community resources that address underlying, unmet, or neglected needs of clients that play a role in their use of substances and experience of anti-drug policing. For example, an abolitionist substance use counselor may actively coordinate with community agencies that provide support in securing shelter to mitigate substance use and the risk of subsequent anti-drug policing that may be associated with homelessness. Integrating peer support and mentoring, as mentioned previously, within and outside of treatment facilities could function as mutual aid; however, substance use counselors working in carceral institutions may experience pushback to such efforts given that mutual aid seeks divestment from carceral systems (S. W. Davis & Fayter, 2021). Lastly, in terms of collaborative goal-setting, the counselor can work with the client to identify the client’s objectives for attending therapy. The counselor is recommended to honor the client’s voice and work with the client to establish whether the client would like to refrain from using substances in the future, engage in harm reduction practices, and/or process the trauma that the client may have experienced at the hands of police.

Empowerment, Voice, and Choice
     Anti-drug policing, incarceration, drug courts, and related carceral approaches to substance use may use interventions that limit the agency of those subjected to their demands. Counselors can engage in an abolitionist praxis that is rooted in trauma-informed practice by screening and assessing for the prevalence and impact of police violence as a potentially traumatic stressor that relates to the use of substances (Green, 2022; Green & Evans, 2021). Given the importance of divesting from carceral systems and logic in abolitionist praxis, counselors need to engage in an ongoing and iterative process of reflection and change in attitudes and practices that reinforce the criminalization of substance use and practices that treat it as the moral failure of the individual. This can be achieved through screening and assessment for substance use and police violence that counteracts experiences of shame and guilt that may be fostered from interactions with police and the criminal legal system (Clark et al., 2014). Moreover, abolitionist praxis in counseling with clients who experience police violence due to anti-drug policing requires a strength- and healing-oriented approach as an act of radical resistance to the pathologizing and moralizing norm of carceral approaches (Cook et al., 2014; Moh & Sperandio, 2022). In practice, this may entail an intentional focus on a client’s progress in collaboratively defined goals and support in actualizing accountability for harm caused from substance use. Similarly, this would require a commitment to approaching clients who use substances with care and compassion, rather than criminalizing, shaming, or infantilizing the individual’s responses to trauma and violence they have endured prior to, during, or after their substance use. Lastly, abolitionist praxis in the context of substance use treatment may require counselors to provide opportunities for clients to have input regarding their needs in treatment by prioritizing individualized treatment over a standardized “one size fits all” approach to counseling. Thus, rather than prescribing a course of treatment or implementing treatment prescribed by a referring carceral system, abolitionist praxis would leverage collaboration to allow clients to have a voice in determining what they need to cope and heal from their use of substances and any traumatic experiences that precede and result from substance use.

Cultural Competence and Advocacy
     Abolitionist praxis requires efforts to repair histories of structural violence (Cullors, 2019); thus, substance use counselors pursuing abolition must develop a critical understanding of the sociopolitical history of anti-drug policing toward those who use substances. This article provided a snapshot of this history as a starting point; however, counselors can delve further into learning about the intersection of anti-drug policing and race, gender, sexuality, disability, and socioeconomic status to develop more robust competence in addressing the scope of anti-drug policing. Counselors should critically reflect upon this historical knowledge to confront and actively dismantle any internalized biases they may have about substance use clients that are perpetuated by carceral systems. Counselors should specifically become aware of how the criminal legal system may perpetuate racial prejudice, particularly anti-Black racism, and how these attitudes affect the counselor’s conceptualization of their clients to avoid pathologizing or blaming the client for the structural violence they endure through anti-drug policing. To that end, counselors should actively incorporate practices that are not only trauma-informed, but also culturally responsive (SAMHSA, 2014).

Abolitionist praxis aimed at repairing historical structural violence through anti-drug policing would broadly include efforts toward the decriminalization of substance use. In addition to decriminalization efforts, counselors engaged in an abolitionist praxis might advocate with legal professionals and lawmakers for the retroactive and automatic expungement of drug-related criminal record charges for substance use clients (Adinoff & Reiman, 2019). These efforts would ensure that those with histories of substance use disorder are able to experience transformation that such records and their associated stigma may hinder. Given that abolition calls for counselors to address and promote healing from issues that underlie substance use, counselors seeking to engage in abolitionist praxis should advocate for funds that are currently and formerly used toward criminalizing substance use to be invested in transformative justice practices and trauma-informed treatment for substance use disorders (Adinoff & Reiman, 2019). For example, abolitionist praxis would call for transformative justice systems and practices to replace drug courts and related diversion programs. Although drug courts may be successful in deterring those who use substances from arrests and incarceration, Klukoff et al. (2021) highlighted the paradoxical nature of relying on carceral punishment as a motive for change because it risks police violence toward those who use substances when drug court requirements are not met. As stated earlier, this creates a value conflict for counselors who may have to disclose information regarding relapse during treatment that can be used in ways that jeopardize and harm the wellness of clients who use substances.

Limitations and Considerations

     Adopting and incorporating an abolitionist praxis to counseling with clients impacted by anti-drug policing comes with challenges that counselors must critically reflect on prior to and during the implementation of this practice. First, counselors should prepare themselves to navigate pushback and resistance to social justice practices that would disrupt the status quo (S. W. Davis & Fayter, 2021). For example, it is common for individuals to criticize abolitionist praxis as utopian to inhibit the process of creatively imagining communities and systems that do not rely on carceral logics and systems (Kaba, 2021). Approaches like motivational interviewing are poised to navigate these challenges from colleagues who may be hesitant to embark upon making abolitionist change. In addition to pushback from individuals, it should be noted that, as a praxis seeking the elimination of carceral systems, barriers to the adoption of an abolitionist praxis can be expected from current carceral systems and approaches that may have existing evidence that establish them as efficacious. To counteract this expected barrier, substance use counselors need to engage in research, assessment, and program evaluation of efforts that are developed in alignment with an abolitionist praxis to establish efficacy. This would serve the purpose of ensuring that progress toward safety is achieved, that substance use clients are receiving trauma-informed care, and that other substance use counselors are introduced to new alternatives to existing carceral approaches that may increase the risk of harm to substance use clients. Additionally, counselors should critically reflect on and identify solutions to ethical, legal, and employment-related barriers if implementing an abolitionist praxis on their own. For example, making the choice as an individual counselor in a broader agency to not report substance use to a referring probation officer may be construed as fraudulent and unethical, thus jeopardizing a counselor’s employment and career. When making these decisions about whether or not to report substance use, counselors need to carefully weigh the options and consider consequences that can come from each course of action from a legal and ethical perspective, similar to what is suggested in the Forester-Miller and Davis (2016) Ethical Decision-Making Model. In the meantime, counselors can inform and educate probation officers about the nature of addiction and the potential for relapse to occur. Increasing awareness about these matters could generate a landscape shift for how probation officers and other authorities treat those struggling with addiction. Lastly, counselors should consider advocating for organizational support to adopt and implement trauma-informed and abolitionist changes to prevent such outcomes.

Conclusion

Clients who meet criteria for substance use disorders may have experienced, have witnessed, or be vulnerable to experiencing police violence. As a result, those who use substances are vulnerable to experiencing trauma that stems from exposure to police violence, which counselors must address. Counselors need to utilize abolitionist praxis to achieve a trauma-informed practice that supports healing from experiences of trauma affiliated with substance use and police violence, aim to prevent retraumatization, and create opportunities for both accountability and repair of harm caused by one’s use of substances.

Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.


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Darius A. Green, PhD, NCC, is an assistant professor at the University of Colorado Colorado Springs. Katharine R. Sperandio, PhD, NCC, ACS, LPC, is an assistant professor and a CACREP-accreditation coordinator at Saint Joseph’s University. Correspondence may be addressed to Darius A. Green, 1420 Austin Bluffs Pkwy, Colorado Springs, CO 80918, dgreen20@uccs.edu.

Taking Action: Reflections on Forming and Facilitating a Peer-Led Social Justice Advocacy Group

Sunanda M. Sharma, Jennifer E. Bianchini, Zeynep L. Cakmak, MaryRose Kaplan, Muninder K. Ahluwalia

According to the American Counseling Association and the Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs, social justice advocacy is an ethical imperative for counselors and a training standard for counseling students. As a group of socially conscious mental health counseling students and faculty, we developed and facilitated a social justice advocacy group to learn about tangible ways to engage in social justice action. Using the S-Quad model developed by Toporek and Ahluwalia, we formed and facilitated a social justice advocacy group for our peers. This paper will serve as a reflection of our experiences engaging in the process.

Keywords: social justice, advocacy, counseling students, S-Quad model, mental health

When describing the motivation for her political aspirations, Georgia gubernatorial hopeful Stacey Abrams (2019) stated, “We have to have people who understand that social justice belongs to us all.” This quote speaks to this group of authors who feel strongly about the importance of social justice in mental health counseling. This ethos served as the motivation to create a peer-led group to foster the development of our social justice advocacy skills. We used the S-Quad model (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020) to form and facilitate a social justice advocacy group for master’s and doctoral counseling students at our institution.

Historically, the counseling profession has been rooted in social justice advocacy (SJA) with Frank Parsons’s efforts to support White European immigrants in the United States to develop their vocational goals (Gummere, 1988; Toporek & Daniels, 2018). However, SJA has not been consistently operationalized across counselor training programs (Counselors for Social Justice [CSJ], 2020). Although ethical standards established by the American Counseling Association’s ACA Code of Ethics (ACA; 2014) encourage counselors to advocate for clients and communities when appropriate (A.7.a, A.7.b.), and training standards established by the Council for Accreditation of Counseling and Related Educational Programs (CACREP; 2015) state that SJA should be a part of counseling curriculum (2.F.2.b.), counselors have reported receiving little guidance about how to implement advocacy in practice (Field et al., 2019; Ratts & Greenleaf, 2018). As counseling students, we experienced the same concern. To address this gap in our educational experience, we created and facilitated a group based on the S-Quad model (strengths, solidarity, strategies, and sustainability) of SJA (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). As a group of socially conscious mental health counseling students, our aim was to grow in our roles as professionals by learning about, teaching, and engaging in SJA. In the process, we learned about ourselves as budding counselors and educators.

Literature Review

In their foundational article, Vera and Speight (2003) called on the counseling profession to expand its understanding of multicultural competence; they asserted that without SJA, counselors are perpetuating the systems of oppression from which their clients are attempting to heal. Utilizing intrapsychic approaches which neglect to account for contextual factors not only perpetuates oppressive counseling practices, but it also does a disservice to those with marginalized identities (Ratts, 2009; Vera & Speight, 2003). In order to properly serve clients, counselors must step beyond the classroom, expand the original conceptualization of our roles, and explore beyond the counseling office (Ratts, 2009; Ratts & Greenleaf, 2018; Vera & Speight, 2003). Despite the increase in available resources such as the ACA Advocacy Competencies (Toporek et al., 2009) and the Multicultural and Social Justice Counseling Competencies (MSJCC; Ratts et al., 2016), the number of sociocultural forces such as racial demographics of counseling programs and reliance on theories and interventions developed for White European clients prevents social justice from being a central force in the profession (CSJ, 2020).

As mental health professionals, we are positioned to understand the impact that oppression has on health (Nadal et al., 2021), which speaks to the need for operationalizing social justice counseling and SJA so counselors may support client wellness. Counseling students require more knowledge and practice to obtain appropriate resources and tools in order to intervene and resist systemic oppression (Vera & Speight, 2003). Ratts (2009) named social justice as the “fifth force” in counseling in an attempt to concretize the relevance and importance of challenging the status quo in counseling. However, the perceived attitude of the counseling profession toward social justice is reflected in the definition of counseling. The 20/20 initiative was a movement to unify the profession and solidify professional identity by arriving at the definition of counseling. Delegates from 31 counseling-related organizations (e.g., CACREP, Chi Sigma Iota) participated in a Delphi-method study to achieve consensus on a definition; however, only 29 organizations ultimately endorsed the definition (Kaplan et al., 2014). Although the definition for counseling includes the word “empower”; it does not include the words “social justice” or “advocacy.” Thus, CSJ was one organization that did not support the new definition (Kaplan et al., 2014). Despite these challenges, Ratts and Greenleaf (2018) assert that counselors must develop the advocate part of their identity, yet they note that there is more of a focus on traditional counseling skills rather than acknowledging the shifting sociopolitical climate and equipping counselors with the skills to address these concerns. The leadership and advocacy course (or the content in another course; CACREP, 2023) in CACREP-accredited counseling doctoral programs often only focuses on leadership and advocacy within and for the profession. Although CACREP (2023) standards do not dictate the courses a counseling program must offer, there continues to be limited discussion of SJA and social justice, nor are there solid instructional methods for counselor educators to use in the classroom (Chapman-Hilliard & Parker, 2022). This situation hinders students’ understanding of the role systemic issues have on minoritized communities, further deterring people in those communities from seeking help.

As counselors and counseling students, we understand our responsibility to advocate for clients, but we feel unprepared to fulfill our ethical (and for many of us, moral) duty. We did not learn enough about the concrete, tangible skills that a professional counselor can utilize to challenge oppression and inequity. We were unable to locate any studies regarding peer-led SJA groups for counseling students, thus we hope to contribute something novel to the counseling literature and encourage counseling students to better understand and grow into their roles as social justice advocates. Counselors-in-training (CITs) and practicing counselors within the profession sometimes question the relevance of SJA and report feeling confused about how to implement SJA in counseling (Field et al., 2019; Ratts & Greenleaf, 2018). hooks (1994) notes it is imperative that a student accepts responsibility for their education and becomes “an active participant, not a passive consumer” (p. 14). Thus, we engaged in this process to support our colleagues in the counseling student body and take accountability for our education.

Taking Action: Social Justice Advocacy Group

Leading organizations in the profession claim a two-pronged approach to advocacy: one prong advocating for the legitimacy of the counseling profession, and the other advocating on behalf of the clients and students whom counselors serve (Chang et al., 2012). In our educational experience, SJA on behalf of and in partnership with clients was emphasized, but tangible interventions were not discussed. Further, systemic issues and inequities were often left unaddressed. Thus, we developed this group to more concretely address the second “prong” of advocacy in counseling. First and fourth authors Sunanda M. Sharma and MaryRose Kaplan were part of the executive board of Chi Sigma Mu (Chi Sigma Iota chapter at Montclair State University) and co-founded the social justice committee. Second and third authors Jennifer E. Bianchini and Zeynep L. Cakmak were the first members of the committee who proposed ideas and facilitated events and activities related to social justice that they felt passionately about. Bianchini proposed a social justice book club ahead of a presentation that the CSI chapter organized (hosting the authors of the book Taking Action). The book club met three times with up to three students, from whom we received feedback to help us form the SJA group.

The following semester, fifth author Muninder K. Ahluwalia proposed restructuring the book club into an advocacy group by utilizing the Taking Action text as a framework to teach students about systemic SJA. CACREP (2015) standards state that multiculturalism and social justice must be discussed throughout counseling courses (2.F.2.b.); however, in our experiences, we found that social justice is addressed as an ethical and moral imperative, but curricula do not address concrete SJA skills and strategies to combat systemic oppression. The counseling program in which the first four authors are enrolled and the fifth author is a faculty member offers a social justice counseling class as an elective. However, the class is not consistently offered every semester and has only been taught by that one faculty member. Thus, our aim with this group was to provide a space for our colleagues in which we could collaboratively learn about how to enact social justice. This section will describe the S-Quad model, explain the group structure, outline the proposed learning objectives, and provide a table that outlines the curriculum of the group.

The S-Quad Framework
     As a profession, mental health counseling is positioned to “buffer” against challenges with oppression and changes to the status quo (Kivel, 2020). There is an emphasis on intrapsychic interventions to combat systemic issues, rather than attempt to uproot the oppression itself (Kivel, 2020; Ratts, 2009; Toporek, 2018). Toporek (2018) noted that upon reflection of the way the profession is positioned and her privileged identities, she developed a framework through which to take social justice action despite the challenges she continues to encounter. The S-Quad model includes four Ss for social justice advocates to formulate a way to address systemic injustices: strengths, solidarity, strategy, and sustainability (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020).

Strengths are described as a combination of one’s existing “skills, knowledge, and expertise” (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020, p. 27). Although strengths can be qualities one already has, both personal and professional, the authors also encourage budding advocates to reflect upon strengths that they would like to develop. Solidarity has multiple facets to its definition, as advocates are asked to support, honor, and respect communities they intend to engage with and to also seek support from their personal networks to remain grounded (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). Solidarity is enacted through collaborative efforts and through the lens of cultural humility (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). Strategy is the implementation of strengths and solidarity to construct a plan of action (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). It is important to evaluate the efficacy, efficiency, and impact of different strategic plans to ensure they work toward the stated goal and—most importantly—benefit the community that the action is intended for (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). Finally, a unique facet of the S-Quad model is the fourth “S,” sustainability. Sustainability addresses the wellness of advocates; without it, there is a higher likelihood they may abandon their efforts. SJA can be an enriching and healing practice, but it can also be an emotionally draining pursuit, and one can feel helpless when attempting to combat the gravity and breadth of oppression (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). Thus, the authors encourage budding advocates to take an inventory of the practices that replenish and nourish them in order to remain engaged in their work.

Group Structure
     Sharma proposed structuring this SJA group as a biweekly, one-hour, peer-led, open (students were free to join at any point) psychoeducation group, whose grounding framework would be the S-Quad model (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020). Due to COVID-19 restrictions, we facilitated the group through Zoom. The objectives of the group were: to describe all components of the S-Quad model, to describe the ethical responsibility of being a social justice advocate, to create a solidarity network of fellow advocates, to increase awareness of how one’s positionality impacts their advocacy work, and to apply the S-Quad model (Toporek, 2018) through the creation of a social justice action plan (Sheely-Moore & Kooyman, 2011). Initially, the intention was to divide each group session into two parts. The first part of the session would be didactic, in which we would discuss the “S” of that week and ground it in a case study. The second half of the session would offer members the chance to process the content so they can apply what they are learning to their social justice plan. Upon reflection and discussion as co-facilitators, we recognized the challenges associated with attempting to address so much content in a 60-minute session and collectively agreed to shift the group and make it akin to a flipped classroom by including pre-recorded didactic videos. This afforded members the chance to view the videos at their own pace and come to the session prepared to engage in dialogue.

In our experiences, instructors who taught our counseling theories courses recommended for us to select one theory to learn about before declaring our theoretical orientation. Similarly, we asked members to narrow down their focus for the purposes of this group to a cause within a community that they feel passionately about. The other structural component we addressed with group members was that this curriculum is cumulative but not necessarily linear; so, an application of the previous “S” is necessary to study the following “S.” For example, once a group member identifies their strengths, we apply those strengths to inform what strategies they will use, but it does not necessarily mean that strengths are not revisited.

Given that this was a psychoeducation group rather than a traditional course, we did not want to use typical didactic methods to engage with this material. We intentionally paired each part of the S-Quad model with a story about an advocate from a minoritized community of whom others likely may not be aware. This demonstrated that SJA is not always done on a public stage. This narrative form of teaching (Hannam et al., 2015) allowed us to contextualize stories of advocates who are quietly resisting oppression in their respective communities. We spotlighted those stories so members could feel less intimidated by the prospect of SJA. In the interest of social justice and accessibility, the Chi Sigma Iota Counseling Honor Society’s Chi Sigma Mu chapter at Montclair State University funded books for interested members so they could follow along with the activities and didactic content. After the second session, we also introduced the idea of the social justice action plan. Table 1 shows the structure/syllabus of the group that we utilized for the semester and describes the ways in which we adapted to agreed-upon changes.

Table 1

Taking Action Group Structure

Week Topic & Activity Assigned Content/Activities
Week 1 Introducing

Taking Action

S-Quad Model

• Purpose, rationale, and structure of group

• Group agreements/norms

• Overview of S-Quad model (Toporek & Ahluwalia, 2020)

• ADDRESSING model (Hays, 2022), a framework that explores individual identity in context

• Difference between justice, charity, philanthropy

Week 2 1st S: Strengths

Activity 4.2, p. 29**

 

 

• Reviewing agreed-upon group norms

• Defining strengths

• Case study: Arunachalam Muruganantham (“The Pad Man”)

Processing case study as a group

• Introducing the social action plan

Week 3 Co-facilitators reflection meeting • This session was initially planned to address the 2nd S in the S-Quad, but no members attended the group this day. Instead, as co-facilitators, we met to discuss the progress of the group.

 

Week 4* 2nd S: Solidarity

Activity 5.1, p. 55

• Defining solidarity

• Case study: 4 young Black women, Black Lives Matter protests

Combining strengths and solidarity

Processing case study as a group

Week 5 3rd S:

Strategy

Activity 6.1, p. 66

• Defining strategy

• Case study: Cakmak

Strength, solidarity, and strategy

Processing case study as a group

Cakmak’s social action plan

Week 6 4th S:

Sustainability

Activity 7.6, p. 176

 

• Defining sustainability

• Case study: Alexandria Ocasio Cortez

Strength, solidarity, strategy, and sustainability

Processing the importance and guilt of self-care

Processing burnout

Week 7 Final Group

 

• Case study

Apply ADDRESSING, S-Quad model

• Feedback from members

*Marks shift to videos for the didactic portion
**All activities listed are from Ahluwalia & Toporek (2020).

 

Reflections

In this section, we offer our reflections on the group and extract salient collective themes that have come about through our processing. In our first session, we informed the group members that we intended to write a reflection paper, and they gave implicit consent to this writing; we did not collect data from group members for the purposes of this article. We begin by grounding the discussion of the group by acknowledging our positionality and social location and how that influenced how we approached our facilitation and planning of the group. Sharma, Bianchini, and Cakmak will provide their most salient takeaways from the forming and facilitation of the Taking Action group.

Positionality
      Sharma identifies as a cisgender, South Asian (Indian), middle-class, able-bodied woman who is a doctoral candidate in a CACREP-accredited counseling program and a full-time lecturer in a CACREP-accredited counseling program. I bring a bicultural perspective to my counseling practice and education, and I have attended primarily White institutions (PWIs) for most of my life. As a master’s and doctoral National Board for Certified Counselors Minority Fellowship Program fellow, I learned about the importance and practice of SJA. I am a practicing clinician in private practice (working mostly with White clients), and I engage in advocacy work with South Asian intimate partner violence survivors.

Bianchini identifies as a White, cisgender woman who grew up in a predominantly White community in the United States. My family has lived in the United States for several generations and the majority of my extended family identifies as part of the middle class. I do not have any disabilities and am a practicing Christian. I am a master’s-level graduate student and joined Chi Sigma Iota’s social justice committee in my first semester of coursework.

Cakmak identifies as a Muslim American, cisgender woman of Turkish origin. I do not have any physical disabilities, but I have been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder (GAD) and major depressive disorder (MDD). I identified as part of the upper middle class in Turkey as a child, and I am middle class as an immigrant in the United States. I have two graduate degrees, one in literature and one in counseling. I have done volunteer work with underrepresented religious and cultural communities since I was in high school.

Themes
     As cocreators and coauthors, we reflected on our collective and individual experiences of facilitating our Taking Action group. We each completed individual reflection sheets within 48 hours of each group session to capture our takeaways, and we processed our experiences together after each group session. We reviewed our reflection sheets individually and noted themes that arose for each of us. We then collectively reviewed the sheets to determine what themes arose across our reflection sheets. We reengaged in the reflection process as we wrote this manuscript. In this section, we highlight the major themes among our experiences.

Fear
     The most significant theme of our collective experience was fear. Throughout each session, fear came up under several different guises, which served as an umbrella for additional themes: judgment, self-efficacy, and humility. Fear was the main antagonist preventing us from doing social justice work before this program. Fear of not knowing the necessary information, fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, and fear of not helping enough or adequately were examples of how this feeling manifested. However, engaging in this group helped us alleviate that fear through resources, support, and a plan of action. In the first session, we felt tentative and timid, and optimistic yet stagnant. After providing members with more information and concrete steps to create real social justice action, our fear dissipated, our passion for working as a group was ignited, and the motivation to take action began.

Judgment
     In our first session, when we engaged members in a dialogue about group agreements, we noticed that there was more focus on the importance of the group serving as a judgment-free space than as a confidential one. We felt that members wanted to feel safe in the group because they feared being judged due to their self-perceived incompetence. We recognized they did not want to feel judged by others if their ideas were deemed unacceptable or incorrect. Establishing a nonjudgmental space permitted members to try, even if the outcomes were not as they hoped. We believe it allowed members to have a safe space to begin processing what they understand about SJA.

Judgment was a recurrent theme and shifted from self-judgment to judging others. Members reported feeling frustrated and upset when their peers in the program were not at the same level of advocacy awareness and action as they were. They reported feeling angry about others’ ignorance. Through a shared reflection on these feelings, the group acknowledged that the judgment of others reinforces the barriers to change that we are trying to knock down. Members recognized the importance of being humble regarding other people (another theme discussed below) and empathetic to help manage feelings of judgment.

When discussing sustainability and self-care, members and facilitators shared our hesitations to implement sustainability practices, despite it being an ethical responsibility. This hesitancy revealed itself to be motivated by self-judgment of our productivity levels. It appeared that the group members would not allow themselves the breaks they needed to provide self-care because of the importance they gave to SJA. We then discussed the need to be unapologetic in our self-care as advocates and counselors.

Self-Efficacy
     Related to judgment of self and others, we found self-efficacy was another significant and recurrent theme. Almost every group member expressed that they were struggling to feel like they could contribute enough to society to perform real social justice action rather than charity. Having members share similar insecurities resulted in an insightful and vulnerable conversation that helped us to feel connected and inspired. In the second session, members reported experiencing imposter syndrome, likely resulting from their low self-efficacy in social justice work. Our self-efficacy grew throughout the sessions as members received the information and tools they needed to take concrete steps in SJA. Once we clarified a reasonable idea of what was expected of them and had some direction, they felt more prepared to take action.

Humility
     Lastly, the theme of humility appeared in several different iterations. The humility through humor with which we, as facilitators, approached this process helped break the ice and create a comfortable atmosphere in our initial meeting. Humility emerged in our second session when discussing the first “S” of the S-Quad model, strengths. In our reflection process, we noted that both facilitators and members appeared to be uncomfortable when sharing what they are “good” at. We, as female-identifying co-facilitators, noted the societal pressure and shame that have historically come with feelings of discomfort for behavior commonly regarded as boastful.

In the fourth session, the group discussed the importance of humility within their community. Members discussed how it was easy to humble oneself when trying to assist a community from the outside, but that it was an important lesson that we must be humble within our own communities. Members seemed to realize that their experience of their community and identity would not be the same as the next person’s, highlighting the importance of intersectionality within the human experience.

Humility was next discussed in the fifth session in terms of failure. Members acknowledged the importance of possessing humility and patience regarding our work because we will generally fail more than we will succeed in our efforts to create change. If we never failed, we would never learn from our mistakes and there would be no more SJA to do. However, knowing this instills the hope to persevere, for you never know what your planted seeds of action will grow into.

Combining Themes
     As facilitators, we noticed a parallel between what we were experiencing and our members’ experiences. From the start of our group, we felt we needed to be more qualified to be teachers of SJA. This was our campus’s first peer-led advocacy group, which meant we did not have any models to reference, and we had to rely on our own ideas, skills, and judgment. With faculty support, we went outside the confines of our curriculum because we wanted to share and engage with this content in a meaningful way. This was a large undertaking, with little training and even less confidence. Similar to what we observed in our members, we were afraid of making mistakes in the content, direction, and discussion of this group because of the weight of the topic of social justice—especially as the first group any of us attempted to create or lead. We had to adapt to constantly developing circumstances, and this felt inappropriate for us as leaders. Something we recognized much later was that we could teach and learn simultaneously; we did not need to reach a point of expertise before developing this group. Although we do not consider ourselves experts in SJA, the work we did to prepare for each session, combined with the humility with which we presented ourselves and our work, effectively allowed us to lead the group to the best of our ability.

Another source of our fear was that there was an ulterior motivation for creating this group, which was not purely social justice–oriented. We sought a sense of community, particularly given the isolating COVID-19 pandemic we were living through, and running this group gave us that community, support, and friendship. This longing for connection played into our feelings of being unqualified to do social justice work because a few of us became involved in this project out of a desire to work with friends, and not solely because we wanted to devote ourselves to social justice. However, this search for connection and participation in this SJA group gave us a passion for this work if it was not present beforehand. That feeling of connection and belonging provided us with the inner power to attempt something bigger than ourselves. The bond we authors created while facilitating this group instilled the importance of collaboration, especially when doing something new, significant, and daunting. The “S” for solidarity was also particularly salient in this case; we recognize that we could not have created or run this group alone. We needed each other to not only complete all the work required but also to hold each other accountable, support each other in times of need, and encourage each other to keep going even when our hopes dimmed. In a sense, this group and the connection to each other provided the “S” for sustainability and wellness for ourselves and our work.

While reflecting on these two sources of our fear as facilitators, we discovered our desire to make this call to the counseling profession: to strengthen the bridge between academia and counseling in practice. Applying the knowledge gained from our courses to daily practice could be less intimidating and feel more like the natural progression of our nascent counseling careers. However, once the opportunity arose to test our skills, we felt hesitant and unprepared. Creating an advocacy group is not the only venue in which this fear of practice appears. As students, we authors felt a similar fear when stepping into our practicum and internship sites. It is natural to feel afraid when seeing clients for the first time as CITs, but this fear could be lessened by academic leaders guiding students into the field before their final year of studies. If more opportunities to work with real issues affecting communities were available to students and supported by faculty, the transition between the classroom and fieldwork would feel less daunting.

Discussion

Although this project was not an empirical study, our reflective process taught us about how it feels to learn about SJA and the labor required to teach about SJA. With this knowledge, we have identified potential implications for the counseling profession and counselor education training programs. We also acknowledge the limitations of the group we formed and facilitated.

Implications
     Per our experience, we believe social justice counseling—and advocacy skills more specifically—must have a more prominent place in counseling curricula. Potential solutions may include consistently operationalizing social justice counseling and SJA in counselor training programs (CSJ, 2020). Furthermore, it is imperative to have more guidance from our institutional standards such as CACREP (2023) and to have more ethical standards regarding SJA in the next iteration of the ACA Code of Ethics. CACREP (2023) requirements establish content that should be covered throughout all coursework, rather than specific classes; however, each program might have a different approach to operationalize these standards because they are vaguely defined (Austin & Austin, 2020).  For example, in the current CACREP (2023) standards, there is more frequent mention of social justice compared to the 2016 CACREP standards; however, there is still ambiguity about how this may present in a counseling course. Standard 3.B.1 (CACREP, 2023) says that counseling curricula must state how “theories and models of multicultural counseling, social justice, and advocacy” are addressed, but there is no mention of techniques, interventions, or skills for SJA. As a point of comparison, there are specific guidelines with respect to content like group counseling which delineate time that students must spend engaged in direct experience. However, it appears that social justice and SJA are still referred to in broader terms with fewer contingencies about how they must be addressed. We recognize that out-of-class work like advocacy might be left out of the curriculum because there are many required courses and training standards filling up students’ time in graduate school (Vera & Speight, 2003). However, we urge counseling leaders to consider the importance of SJA and the core role it plays in our healing work and our counseling identity.

Limitations and Future Directions
     This group was developed and facilitated to encourage counseling students to develop their social justice advocate identity, but it was not an empirical study, and our collective reflections can only offer so much insight to facilitating such groups in the future. As this was an extracurricular group for which attendees took time out of their personal schedules, we do not know what motivated our peers to attend sessions that we offered. This would be important knowledge to address in future offerings of this group and to understand students’ attitudes toward social justice in counseling. Another limitation of our group was our inability to reach students who are unsure of what social justice is and might not recognize it as an inherent and imperative part of mental health counseling. Practicum and other service-learning opportunities for SJA within the profession have been explored in the literature (Farrell et al., 2020; Field et al., 2019; Langellier et al., 2020), but perhaps peer encouragement can help CITs to feel more confident as advocates. Although we intentionally kept the group open for accessibility, new introductions and catching up took time away from the group plan and content. We do not have data to explicate a group like this, but we hope our master’s and doctoral peers feel encouraged to start similar groups within their own programs. Finally, we wrote this article more than a year after our group ended; although we relied on our reflection sheets and notes from our experience, we are aware that there may be gaps in our recollections.

For future groups, we would be interested to complete an empirical study through an IRB in order to collect data regarding peer-led SJA groups. Screening or surveys before and after the group could not only provide valuable data, but also offer guidance for attendees even before the group starts and an opportunity for reflection after the group ends. Our decision to keep our group open led to attrition of members; thus, empirical studies might also investigate factors that contribute to student engagement. Collecting quantitative and qualitative data may provide further insight into effective strategies for describing and encouraging students to engage in concrete SJA skill development.

Conclusion

The experience of facilitating an SJA group was new, challenging, transformative, and important to our growth as CITs and budding counselor educators. As counselors, we understand our ethical duty to engage in SJA; however, we have not had adequate training in tangible strategies to utilize when advocating on behalf of our clients. The S-Quad model is an important guide that helped facilitate our understanding of how to implement SJA as mental health professionals. As co-facilitators and coauthors, we learned a great deal about ourselves as developing social justice advocates, CEs, and CITs and confronted fears parallel to those of the group members. Although SJA is a growing focus in the counseling literature, there is a great deal of research and training that must continue to occur so current and future counselors can develop their social justice advocate identities.

 

Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.

 

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Sunanda M. Sharma, MS, NCC, LPC (NJ), LPCC (OH), is a lecturer at Wright State University. Jennifer E. Bianchini, BFA, is a master’s student at Montclair State University. Zeynep L. Cakmak, MA, LAC (NJ), is a mental health counselor at Montclair State University. MaryRose Kaplan, PhD, NCC, LPC, is a school counselor and adjunct professor at Montclair State University. Muninder K. Ahluwalia, PhD, is a professor at Montclair State University. Correspondence may be addressed to Sunanda M. Sharma, 3640 Colonel Glenn Hwy., Millett Hall 370, Dayton, OH 45435, sharmas1@montclair.edu.

A Case Study Exploring Supervisee Experiences in Social Justice Supervision

Clare Merlin-Knoblich, Jenna L. Taylor, Benjamin Newman

 

Social justice is a paramount concept in counseling and supervision, yet limited research exists examining this idea in practice. To fill this research gap, we conducted a qualitative case study exploring supervisee experiences in social justice supervision and identified three themes from the participants’ experiences: intersection of supervision experiences and external factors, feelings about social justice, and personal and professional growth. Two subthemes were also identified: increased understanding of privilege and increased understanding of clients. Given these findings, we present practical applications for supervisors to incorporate social justice into supervision.

Keywords: social justice, supervision, case study, personal growth, practical applications

 

Social justice is fundamental to the counseling profession, and, as such, scholars have called for an increase in social justice supervision (Ceballos et al., 2012; Chang et al., 2009; Collins et al., 2015; Dollarhide et al., 2018, 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). Although researchers have studied multicultural supervision in the counseling profession, to date, minimal research has been conducted on implementing social justice supervision in practice (Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Gentile et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). In this study, we sought to address this research gap with an exploration of master’s students’ experiences with social justice supervision.

Social Justice in Counseling
     Counseling leaders have developed standards that reflect the profession’s commitment to social justice principles (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). For instance, the American Counseling Association’s ACA Code of Ethics (2014) highlights the need for multicultural and diversity competence in six of its nine sections, including Section F, Supervision, Training, and Teaching. Additionally, in 2015, the ACA Governing Council endorsed the Multicultural and Social Justice Counseling Competencies (MSJCC), which provide a framework for counselors to use to implement multicultural and social justice competencies in practice (Fickling et al., 2019; Ratts et al., 2015). All of these standards reflect the importance of social justice in the counseling profession (Greene & Flasch, 2019).

Social Justice Supervision
     Although much of the counseling profession’s focus on social justice emphasizes counseling practice, social justice principles benefit supervisors, counselors, and clients when they are also incorporated into clinical supervision. In social justice supervision, supervisors address levels of change that can occur through one’s community using organized interventions, modeling social justice in action, and employing community collaboration (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019). These strategies introduce an exploration of culture, power, and privilege to challenge oppressive and dehumanizing political, economic, and social systems (Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Garcia et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010; Pester et al., 2020). Moreover, participating in social justice supervision can assist counselors in developing empathy for clients and conceptualizing them from a systemic perspective (Ceballos et al., 2012; Fickling et al., 2019; Kiselica & Robinson, 2001). When a supervisory alliance addresses cultural issues, oppression, and privilege, supervisees are better able to do the same with clients (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). Thus, counselors become advocates for clients and the profession (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Gentile et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010).

Chang and colleagues (2009) defined social justice counseling as considering “the impact of oppression, privilege, and discrimination on the mental health of the individual with the goal of establishing equitable distribution of power and resources” (p. 22). In this way, social justice supervision considers the impact of oppression, privilege, and discrimination on the supervisee and supervisor. Dollarhide and colleagues (2021) further simplified the definition of social justice supervision, stating that it is “supervision in which social justice is practiced, modeled, coached, and used as a metric throughout supervision” (p. 104). Supervision that incorporates a focus on intersectionality can further support supervisees’ growth in developing social justice competencies (Greene & Flasch, 2019).

Literature about social justice supervision often includes an emphasis on two concepts: structural change and individual care (Gentile et al., 2009; Lewis et al., 2003; Toporek & Daniels, 2018). Structural change is the process of examining, understanding, and addressing systemic factors in clients’ and counselors’ lives, such as identity markers and systems within family, community, school, work, and elsewhere. Individual care acknowledges each person within the counseling setting independent of their environment (Gentile et al., 2009; Roffman, 2002). Scholars advise incorporating both concepts to address power, privilege, and systemic factors through social justice supervision (Chang et al., 2009; Gentile et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010; Greene & Flasch, 2019; Pester et al., 2020).

It is necessary to distinguish social justice supervision from previous literature on multicultural supervision. Although similar, these concepts are different in that multicultural supervision emphasizes cultural awareness and competence, whereas social justice supervision brings attention to sociocultural and systemic factors and advocacy (Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; E. Lee & Kealy, 2018; Peters, 2017; Ratts et al., 2015). For instance, a supervisor practicing multicultural supervision would be aware of a supervisee’s identity markers, such as race, ethnicity, and culture, and address those components throughout the supervisory experience, whereas a supervisor practicing social justice supervision would also consider systemic factors that impact a supervisee, in addition to being culturally competent. The supervisor would use that knowledge in the supervisory alliance and act as a change agent at individual and community levels (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Gentile et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010; E. Lee & Kealy, 2018; Lewis et al., 2003; Peters, 2017; Ratts et al., 2015; Toporek & Daniels, 2018).

Researchers have found that multicultural supervision contributes to more positive outcomes than supervision without consideration for multicultural factors (Chopra, 2013; Inman, 2006; Ladany et al., 2005). For example, supervisees who participated in multicultural supervision reported that supervisors were more likely to engage in multicultural dialogue, show genuine disclosure of personal culture, and demonstrate knowledge of multiculturalism than supervisors who did not consider multicultural concepts in supervision (Ancis & Ladany, 2001; Ancis & Marshall, 2010; Chopra, 2013). Supervisees also reported that multicultural considerations led them to feel more comfortable, increased their self-awareness, and spurred them on to discuss multiculturalism with clients (Ancis & Ladany, 2001; Ancis & Marshall, 2010). Although parallel research on social justice supervision is lacking, findings on multicultural supervision are a promising indicator of the potential of social justice supervision.

Models
     In recent years, scholars have called for social justice supervision models to integrate social justice into supervision (Baggerly, 2006; Ceballos et al., 2012; Chang et al., 2009; Collins et al., 2015; Glosoff & Durham, 2010; O’Connor, 2005). However, to date, only three formal models of social justice supervision have been published. Most recently, Dollarhide and colleagues (2021) recommended a social justice supervision model that can be used with any supervisory theory, developmental model, and process model. In this model, the MSJCC are integrated using four components. First, the intersectionality of identity constructs (i.e., gender, race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, abilities, etc.) is identified as integral in the supervisory triad between supervisor, counselor, and client. Second, systemic perspectives of oppression and agency for each person in the supervisory triad are at the forefront. Third, supervision is transformed to facilitate the supervisee’s culturally informed counseling practices. Lastly, the supervisee and client experience validation and empowerment through the mutuality of influence and growth (Dollarhide et al., 2021).

Prior to Dollarhide and colleagues’ (2021) model for social justice supervision, Gentile and colleagues (2009) proposed a feminist ecological framework for social justice supervision. This model encouraged the understanding of a person at the individual level through interactions within the ecological system (Ballou et al., 2002; Gentile et al., 2009). The supervisor’s role is to model socially just thinking and behavior, create a climate of equality, and implement critical thinking about social justice (Gentile et al., 2009; Roffman, 2002).

Lastly, Chang and colleagues (2009) suggested a social constructivist framework to incorporate social justice issues in supervision via three delineated tiers (Chang et al., 2009; Lewis et al., 2003; Toporek & Daniels, 2018). In the first tier, self-awareness, supervisors assist supervisees to recognize privileges, understand oppression, and gain commitment to social justice action (Chang et al., 2009; C. C. Lee, 2007). In the second tier, client services, the supervisor understands the clients’ worldviews and recognizes the role of sociopolitical factors that can impact the developmental, emotional, and cognitive meaning-making system of the client (Chang et al., 2009). In the third tier, community collaboration, the supervisor guides the supervisee to advocate for changes on the group, organizational, and institutional levels. Supervisors can facilitate and model community collaboration interventions, such as providing clients easier access to resources, participating in lobbying efforts, and developing programs in communities (Chang et al., 2009; Dinsmore et al., 2002; Kiselica & Robinson, 2001).

Each of these supervision models serves as a relevant, accessible tool for counseling supervisors to use to incorporate social justice into supervision (Chang et al., 2009, Dollarhide et al., 2021; Gentile et al., 2009). However, researchers lack an empirical examination of any of the models. To address this research gap and begin understanding social justice supervision in practice, the present qualitative case study exploring master’s students’ experiences with social justice supervision was undertaken.

We selected Chang and colleagues’ (2009) three-tier social constructivist framework in supervision for several reasons. First, the social constructivist framework incorporates a tiered approach similar to the MSJCC (Ratts et al., 2015) and reflects social justice goals in the profession of counseling (Ceballos et al., 2012; Chang et al., 2009; Collins et al., 2015; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). Second, the model is comprehensive. In using three tiers to address social justice (self, client, and community), the model captures multiple layers of social justice influence for counselors. Finally, the model is simple and meets the developmental needs of novice counselors. By identifying three tiers of social justice work, Chang and colleagues (2009) crafted an accessible tool to help new and practicing school counselors infuse social justice into their practice. This high level of structure matches the initial developmental levels of new counselors, who typically benefit from high amounts of structure and low amounts of challenge in supervision (Foster & McAdams, 1998).

Method

The research question guiding this study was: What are the experiences of master’s counseling students in individual social justice supervision? We used a social constructivist theoretical framework and presumed that knowledge would be gained about the participants’ experiences based on their social constructs (Hays & Singh, 2012). The ontological perspective reflected realism, or the belief that constructs exist in the world even if they cannot be fully measured (Yin, 2017).

We selected a qualitative case study methodology because it was the most appropriate approach to explore the experiences of a single group of supervisees supervised by the same supervisor in the same semester. In this approach, researchers examine one identified unit bounded by space, time, and persons (Hancock et al., 2021; Hays & Singh, 2012; Yin, 2017). Qualitative case study research allows researchers to deeply explore a single case, such as a group, person, or experience, and gain an in-depth understanding of that identified situation, as well as meaning for the people involved in it (Hancock et al., 2021; Prosek & Gibson, 2021).

In this study, we selected a case study methodology because the study’s participants engaged in the same supervisory experience at the same counseling program in the same semester, thus forming a case to be studied (Hancock et al., 2021). Given the research question, we specifically used a descriptive case study design, which reflected the study goals to describe participants’ experiences in a specific social justice supervision experience. Case study scholars (Hancock et al., 2021; Yin, 2017) have noted that identifying the boundaries of a case is an essential step in the study process. Thus, the boundaries for this study were: master’s-level school counseling students receiving social justice supervision from the same supervisor (persons) at a medium-sized public university on the East Coast (place) over the course of a 14-week semester (time).

Research Team
     Our research team for this study consisted of our first and third authors, Clare Merlin-Knoblich and Benjamin Newman, both of whom received training and had experience in qualitative research. Merlin-Knoblich and Newman both identify as White, heterosexual, cisgender, middle-class, and trained counselor educators/supervisors. Merlin-Knoblich is a woman (pronouns: she/her/hers) and former school counselor, who completed master’s and doctoral coursework on social justice counseling and studied social justice supervision in a doctoral program. Newman is a man (pronouns: he/him/his) and clinical mental health/addictions counselor, who completed social justice counseling coursework in a master’s counseling program before completing a doctorate in counselor education and supervision. Our second author, Jenna L. Taylor, was not a part of the research team, but rather was a counseling student unaffiliated with the research participants who assisted in the preparation of the manuscript. Taylor identifies as a White, heterosexual, cisgender, and middle-class woman (pronouns: she/her/hers) with prior experience in research courses and on qualitative research teams. Merlin-Knoblich was familiar with all three participants given her role as the practicum supervisor. Taylor and Newman did not know the study participants beyond Newman’s interactions while recruiting and interviewing them for this study.

Participants and Context
     Although some scholars of some qualitative research methodologies call for requisite minimum numbers of participants, in case study research, there is no minimum number of participants sufficient to study (Hays & Singh, 2012). Rather, in case study research, researchers are expected to study the number of participants needed to reflect the phenomenon being studied (Hancock et al., 2021). There were three participants in this study because the supervisory experience that comprised the case studied included three supervisees. Adding additional participants outside of the case would have conflicted with the boundaries of the case and potentially interfered with an understanding of the single, designated case in this study.

All study participants identified as White, heterosexual, cisgender, middle-class, and English-speaking women (pronouns: she/her/hers). Participants were 23, 24, and 26 years old. All the participants were students in the same CACREP-accredited school counseling program at a public liberal arts university on the East Coast of the United States. Prior to the study, the participants completed courses in techniques, group counseling, school counseling, ethics, and theories. While being supervised, participants also completed a practicum experience and coursework in multicultural counseling and career development.

All participants completed practicum at high schools near their university. One high school was urban, one was suburban, and one was rural. During the practicum experience, participants met with Merlin-Knoblich, their supervisor, for face-to-face individual supervision for 1 hour each week. They also submitted weekly journals to Merlin-Knoblich, written either freely or in response to a prompt, depending on their preference. Merlin-Knoblich then provided weekly written feedback to each participant’s journal entry, and, if relevant, the journal content was discussed during face-to-face supervision. Simultaneously, a university faculty member provided weekly face-to-face supervision-of-supervision to Merlin-Knoblich to monitor supervision skills and ensure adherence to the identified supervision model. The faculty member possessed more than 15 years of experience in supervision and was familiar with social justice supervision models.

Merlin-Knoblich applied Chang and colleagues’ (2009) social constructivist social justice supervision model in deliberate ways throughout the supervisees’ 14-week practicum experience. For example, in the initial supervision sessions, Merlin-Knoblich introduced the supervision model and explained how they would collaboratively explore ideas of social justice in counseling related to their practicum experiences. This included defining social justice, discussing supervisees’ previous background knowledge, and exploring their openness to the idea.

Throughout the first 5 weeks of supervision, Merlin-Knoblich used exploratory questions to build participants’ self-awareness (the first tier), particularly around their experiences with privilege and oppression. During the next 5 weeks of supervision, Merlin-Knoblich focused on the second tier, understanding clients’ worldviews. They discussed sociopolitical factors and examined how a client’s worldview impacts their experiences. For example, Merlin-Knoblich discussed how a client’s age, race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, family structure, language, immigrant status, gender identity, sexual orientation, and other factors can influence their experiences. Lastly, in the final 4 weeks of supervision, Merlin-Knoblich focused on the third tier of social justice implications at the institutional level. For instance, Merlin-Knoblich initiated discussions about policies at participants’ practicum sites that hindered equity. Merlin-Knoblich also explored the role that participants could take in making resources available to clients, advocating in the community, and using leadership to support social justice. Table 1 summarizes how Merlin-Knoblich implemented Chang and colleagues’ (2009) social justice model.

 

Table 1

Social Justice Supervision in Practice

 

Merlin-Knoblich addressed fidelity to the supervision model in two ways. First, in weekly supervision-of-supervision meetings with the faculty advisor, they discussed the supervision model and its use in sessions with participants. The faculty advisor regularly asked about the supervision model and how it manifested in sessions in an attempt to ensure that the model was being implemented recurrently. Secondly, engagement with Newman occurred in regular peer debriefing discussions about the use of the supervision model. Through these discussions, Newman monitored Merlin-Knoblich’s use of the social justice model throughout the 14-week supervisory experience.

Data Collection
     We obtained IRB approval prior to initiating data collection. One month after the end of the semester and practicum supervision, Newman approached Merlin-Knoblich’s three supervisees about participation in the study. He explained that participation was an exploration of the supervisees’ experiences in supervision and not an evaluation of the supervisees or the supervisor. Newman also emphasized that participation in the study was confidential, entirely voluntary, and  would not affect participants’ evaluations or grades in the practicum course, which ended before the study took place. All supervisees agreed to participate.

Case study research is “grounded in deep and varied sources of information” (Hancock et al., 2021) and thus often incorporates multiple data sources (Prosek & Gibson, 2021). In the present study, we identified two data sources to reflect the need for varied information sources (Hancock et al., 2021). The first data source came from semistructured interviews with participants, a frequent data collection tool in case study research (Hancock et al., 2021). One month after the participants’ practicum experiences ended, Newman conducted and audio-recorded 45-minute individual in-person interviews with each participant using a prescribed interview protocol that explored participants’ experiences in social justice supervision. Newman exercised flexibility and asked follow-up questions as needed (Merriam, 1998).

The interview protocol contained 12 questions identified to gain insights into the case being studied (Hancock et al., 2021). Merlin-Knoblich and Newman designed the interview protocol by drafting questions and reflecting on three influences: (a) the overall research question guiding the study, (b) the social constructivist framework of the study, and (c) Chang and colleagues’ (2009) three-tier supervision model. Questions included “In what ways, if any, has the social justice emphasis in your supervision last semester influenced you as a counselor?” Questions also addressed whether or not the emphasis on social justice at each tier (i.e., self, client, institution) affected participants. Appendix A contains a list of all interview questions.

The second data source was participants’ practicum journals. In addition to interviewing the participants about experiences in supervision, we also asked participants if their practicum journals could be used for the study’s data analysis. The journals served as a valuable form of data to answer the research question, given their informative and non-prescriptive nature. That is to say, although participants knew during the study interviews that the interview data would be used for analysis for the present study, they wrote and submitted their journals before the study was conceptualized. Thus, the journals reflected in-the-moment ideas about participants’ practicum and social justice supervision. Furthermore, this emphasis on participant experiences during the supervisory experience aligned with the methodological emphasis on studying a case in its natural context (Hancock et al., 2021). All participants consented for their 14 practicum journal entries (each 1–2 pages in length) to be analyzed in the study, and they were added to the interview data to be analyzed together. Such convergent analysis of data is typical in case study research (Prosek & Gibson, 2021).

Data Analysis
     We followed Yin’s (2017) case study research guidelines throughout the data analysis process. We transcribed all interviews, replaced participants’ names with pseudonyms, and sent participants the transcripts for member checking. Two participants approved their interview transcripts without objection. One participant approved the transcript but chose to share additional ideas about the supervisory experience via a brief email. This email was added to the data. The case study database was then formed with the compiled participants’ journal entries, the additional email, and the interview data (Yin, 2017).

Next, we read each interview transcript and journal entry twice in an attempt to become immersed in the data (Yin, 2017). We then independently open coded transcripts by identifying common words and phrases while maintaining a strong focus on the research question and codes that answered the question (Hancock et al., 2021). We compared initial codes and then collaboratively narrowed codes into cohesive categories representing participants’ experiences. This process generated a list of tentative categories across data sources (Yin, 2017). Throughout these initial processes, we attended to two of Yin’s (2017) four principles of high-quality data analysis: attend to all data and focus on the most significant elements of the case.

We then independently contrasted the tentative categories with the data to verify that they aligned accurately. We discussed the verifications until consensus was met on all categories. Lastly, we classified the categories into three themes and two subthemes found across all participants (Stake, 2005). During these later processes, we were mindful of Yin’s (2017) remaining two principles of high-quality data analysis: consider rival interpretations of data and use previous expertise when interpreting the case. Accordingly, we reflected on possible contrary explanations of the themes and considered the findings in light of previous literature on the topic.

Trustworthiness
     We addressed trustworthiness in three ways in this study. First, before data collection, we engaged in reflexivity through acknowledging personal biases and assumptions with one another (Hays & Singh, 2012; Yin, 2017). For example, Merlin-Knoblich acknowledged that her lived experience supervising the participants might impact the interpretation of data during analysis and noted that these perceptions could potentially serve as biases during the study. Merlin-Knoblich perceived that the supervisees grew in their understanding of social justice, but also acknowledged doubt over whether the social justice supervision model impacted participants’ advocacy skills. She also noted her role as a supervisor evaluating the three participants prior to the study taking place. These power dynamics may have influenced her interpretations in the analysis process. Newman shared that his lack of familiarity with social justice supervision might impact perceptions and biases to question whether or not supervisees grew in their understanding of social justice. We agreed to challenge one another’s potential biases during data analysis in an attempt to prevent one another’s experiences from interfering with interpretations of the findings.

In addition, we acknowledged that our identities as White, English-speaking, educated, heterosexual, cisgender, middle-class researchers studying social justice inevitably was informing personal perceptions of the supervisees’ experiences. These privileged identities were likely blinding us to experiences with oppression that participants and their clients encountered and that we are not burdened with facing. Throughout the study, we discussed the complexity of studying social justice in light of such privileged identities. We spoke further about our identities and potential biases when interpreting the data.

Second, investigator triangulation was addressed by collaboratively analyzing the study’s data (Hays & Singh, 2012). Because data included both interview transcripts and journals, we confirmed that study findings were reflected in both data sources, rather than just one information source (Hancock et al., 2021). This process helped prevent real or potential biases from informing the analysis without constraint. We also were mindful of saturation of themes while comparing data across participants and sources during the analysis process. Lastly, an audit trail was created to further address credibility. The study recruitment, data collection, and data analysis were documented so that the research can be replicated (Hays & Singh, 2012; Roulston, 2010).

Findings

In case study research, researchers use key quotes and descriptions from participants to illuminate the case studied (Hancock et al., 2021). As such, we next describe the themes and subthemes identified in study data using participants’ journal and interview quotes to illustrate the findings. Three overarching themes were identified in the data: 1) intersection of supervision experiences and external factors, 2) feelings about social justice, and 3) personal and professional growth. Two subthemes, 3a) increased understanding of privilege and 3b) increased understanding of clients, further expand the third theme.

Intersection of Supervision Experiences and External Factors
     One theme evident across the data was that participants’ experiences in social justice supervision did not occur in isolation from other experiences they encountered as counseling students. Coursework, overall program emphasis, and previous work experiences were external factors that created a compound influence on participants’ counselor development and intersected with their experiences of growth in supervision. Thus, external factors influenced participants’ understanding of and openness to a social justice framework. For example, concurrent with their practicum and supervision experiences, participants completed the course Theory and Practice of Multicultural Counseling. While discussing their experiences in supervision, all participants referenced this course. For example, Casey explained that exposure to social justice in the multicultural counseling course while discussing the topic in supervision made her more open and eager to learning about social justice overall.

Participants’ experiences prior to the counseling program also appeared to intersect with and influence their experiences in social justice supervision. Kallie, for instance, previously worked with African American and Latin American adolescents as a camp counselor at an urban Boys and Girls Club. She explained that social justice captured the essence of viewpoints formed in these experiences, saying, “I really like social justice because it kind of is like the title for the way I was looking at things already.” Casey grew up in California and reported that growing up on the West Coast also exposed her to a mindset parallel to social justice. Esther described that though she was not previously exposed to the term “social justice,” studying U.S., women’s, and African American history in college influenced her pursuit of a counseling career. This influence is evident in Esther’s third journal entry, in which she described noticing issues of power and oppression:

My own attention to an “arbitrarily awarded power” and personal questioning as to what to do with this consciousness has been at the forefront of my mind over the past two years. Ultimately this self-exploration led me to school counseling as a vehicle to advocate and raise consciousness in potentially disenfranchised groups.

This quote highlights how Esther’s previous studies in college may have primed her for the content she was exposed to in social justice supervision.

Feelings About Social Justice
     The second theme was a change in participants’ feelings toward social justice over the course of the semester. Two of the participants expressed that their feelings toward social justice changed from intimidation and fear to comfort and enthusiasm. Initially, Casey explained that social justice supervision created feelings of intimidation. Casey felt fear that the supervisor would instruct her to be an advocate at the practicum site, and that in doing so, Casey would upset others. However, Casey reported that she realized during supervision that social justice advocacy does not necessarily look one specific way. Casey said, “I think a lot of that intimidation went away as I realized that I could have my own style integrated into social justice.” Kallie expressed a similar pattern of emotions, particularly regarding examining clients from a social justice perspective. When asked to explore clients through this lens in supervision, an initial uncomfortable feeling emerged, but over the course of practicum, Kallie reported an attitude change. In the sixth journal entry, Kallie explained that she was focusing on examining all clients through a social justice lens, and “found it to be significantly easier this week than last week.”

Esther also shared evidence of changed emotions during social justice supervision. Initially, Esther reported feeling excited, but later, she was confused as to how counselors could use social justice practically. Despite this confusion, Esther shared that she gained new awareness that social justice advocacy is not only found in individual situations with clients, but also in an overall mindset:

Something I will take from it [supervision] . . . is you incorporate that sort of thinking into your overall [approach]. You don’t necessarily wait for a specific event to happen, but once you know the culture of a place, you have lessons geared towards whatever the problem is there.

Despite these mixed feelings, Esther’s experience aligns with Casey’s and Kallie’s, as all reported experiencing a change in emotions toward social justice over the course of supervision.

Personal and Professional Growth
     Participants also demonstrated changes in professional and personal growth throughout the supervision experiences, the third theme identified. In early journal entries, they reported nervousness, doubt, and insecurity regarding their counseling skills and knowledge. Over time, the tone shifted to increased comfort and confidence. This improvement appeared not only related to overall counseling abilities, but specifically to participants’ understanding of social justice in counseling. For example, in Esther’s second journal entry, she noted the influence that social justice supervision had on the ability to recognize oppression and bring awareness to it at practicum. Esther wrote, “Just having this concept be explicitly laid out in our plan has already caused me to be more attentive to such issues.”

Similarly, professional growth was evident in Kallie’s journal entries over time. In the fourth journal entry, Kallie described discomfort and nervousness when reflecting on clients’ sociopolitical contexts. However, in the ninth journal entry, Kallie described an experience in which she adapted her counseling to be more sensitive to the client’s multicultural background. Casey also highlighted growth with an anecdote about a small group she led. Casey explained that the group was for high-achieving, low-income juniors intending to go to college:

In the very beginning, I remember thinking—this sounds terrible now, but—“It’s kind of unfair to the other students that these kids get special privileges in that they get to meet with us and walk through the college planning process.” ’Cause I was thinking, “Wow, even kids who are high-achieving but are middle-class or upper-class, they could use this information, also. And it’s not really fair that just ’cause they’re lower class, they get their hand held during this.” But, throughout the semester, realizing that that’s not necessarily a bad thing for an institution to give another one a little extra help because they’re gonna have a deficit of help somewhere else in their life, and it really is fair. It’s more fair to give them more help ’cause they likely aren’t going to be getting it at home. . . . So, by having that group, it actually is making a greater degree of equity . . . through supervision and through processing all of that, [I learned] it was actually evening the board out more.

     Participants also expressed that their professional growth in social justice competencies was intertwined with personal growth. Casey reported that supervision increased her comfort when talking about social justice issues and led to the reevaluation of personal opinions. Similarly, Kallie summarized:

I am very thankful that I had that social justice–infused model because it changed the way I think about people. . . . It kinda opened my eyes in a way I had not anticipated practicum opening my eyes. I didn’t expect that—social justice. I didn’t realize how big of an impact it would actually have.

Increased Understanding of Privilege
     Participants reported that understanding their privilege was one area of growth. During practicum, participants considered their areas of privilege and how these aligned or contrasted with those of clients. For example, in Esther’s third journal entry, she noted that interactions with clients made her more aware of personal privileges, which led her to create a list regarding gender identity, socioeconomic background, and sexual orientation. Casey and Kallie further described initially feeling resistant to the idea of White privilege. Casey explained:

I was a little resistant to the idea of White privilege originally, which I’ve since learned is a normal reaction. ’Cause I’ve kind of had the thought of “No! It’s America! All of us pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and everyone has the same opportunity,” which just isn’t the case. And so that definitely had a huge influence on me—realizing that I have huge privileges and powers that I did not, maybe didn’t want to, recognize before.

After initial resistance, participants reported that they transitioned from feeling shame about White privilege to an increased understanding and excitement to use privilege to create change.

Increased Understanding of Clients
     Lastly, participants also reported specific growth in their understanding of the clients whom they counseled. Participants believed they were better able to understand clients’ backgrounds and experiences because of social justice supervision. Kallie described how reflecting on clients’ sociopolitical contexts helped her better understand clients. She noted that the practice became a habit, saying, “It just kinda invaded the way I look at different people and see their backgrounds.” Casey also described an increased understanding of clients by sharing an example of a client who was highly intelligent, low-income, and Mexican American. Casey learned that the client intended to go to trade school to become a mechanic and was not previously exposed to other postsecondary education options like college. Casey described this realization as “a big moment” and said, “My interaction with him, for sure, was influenced by recognizing that there was social injustice there.”

Discussion

The purpose of this study was to explore counseling students’ experiences in social justice supervision. Findings indicated that participants had meaningful experiences in social justice supervision that impacted them as future counselors. Topics of privilege, oppression, clients’ sociopolitical contexts, and advocacy were reportedly prominent in the participants’ supervision and influenced their experiences.

Despite many calls for social justice supervision in the counseling profession (Baggerly, 2006; Ceballos et al., 2012; Chang et al., 2009; Collins et al., 2015; Glosoff & Durham, 2010; O’Connor, 2005), this is the first known study about supervisees’ experiences with social justice supervision. It represents a new line of inquiry to understand what social justice supervision may be like for supervisees. Findings indicate that participants wrestled with understanding social justice and viewed it as a complex topic. They also suggest that participants found value in making sense of social justice and using it as a tool to better support clients individually and systemically. Similar to research on multicultural supervision, participants indicated that receiving social justice supervision was a positive experience and impacted personal and professional growth (Ancis & Ladany, 2001; Ancis & Marshall, 2010; Chopra, 2013; Inman, 2006; Ladany et al., 2005).

Notably, findings align with some, though not all, of Chang and colleagues’ (2009) delineated tiers in the social justice supervision model. Some of the themes reflect the first tier, self-awareness. For example, participants’ feelings about social justice (Theme 2) and increased understanding of privilege (Theme 3a) highlight how the supervisory experience enhanced their self-awareness as counselors. As their feelings changed and knowledge of privilege grew, their self-awareness improved, a critical task in becoming a social justice–minded counselor (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Fickling et al., 2019; Glosoff & Durham, 2010). Participants’ increased understanding of clients (Theme 3b) reflects the second tier in Chang and colleagues’ (2009) model, client services. In demonstrating an enhanced understanding of clients and their world experiences, the participants reported thinking beyond themselves and into how power, privilege, and oppression affected those they counseled.

The final tier of the social justice supervision model, community collaboration, was not evident in participant data about their experiences. Despite the supervisor’s intent to address this tier through analyses of school and district policies, as well as community advocacy opportunities, themes about this topic did not manifest in the data. This theme’s absence may suggest that the supervisor’s efforts to address the third tier were not strong enough to impact participants. Alternatively, the absence may suggest that participants were not developmentally prepared to make sense of social justice at a systemic, community level. Instead, their development matched best with social justice ideas at the self and client levels.

Participant findings did align with previous research about supervision. For example, Collins and colleagues (2015) studied master’s-level counseling students and found that their lack of experience in social justice supervision led them to feel unprepared to meet the needs of diverse clients. In this study, the presence of social justice supervision helped participants feel more prepared to support clients, as evidenced in the subtheme of increased understanding of clients. Furthermore, this study reflects similar findings from multicultural supervision research. We found that multicultural supervision was associated with positive outcomes of being prepared to work with diverse clients and engaging in effective supervision (Chopra, 2013; Inman, 2006; Ladany et al., 2005). This pattern is reflected in the current study, as participants reported positive experiences in social justice supervision. Ancis and Ladany (2001) and Ancis and Marshall (2010) found that incorporating multicultural considerations into supervision increases supervisees’ self-awareness and encourages them to engage clients in multicultural discussions. These same results were evident in the present study, with participants reporting personal and professional growth, such as stronger awareness of White privilege and greater willingness to examine clients’ sociopolitical contexts. Findings also reflect general research on supervision, which indicates that supervisees typically experience personal and professional growth in the process (Association for Counselor Education and Supervision, 2011; Watkins et al., 2015; Young et al., 2011).

Furthermore, study findings also align with assertions from supervision scholars regarding the value of social justice supervision. They support Chang and colleagues’ (2009) claim that social justice supervision can increase counselor self-awareness and build an understanding of oppression. Additionally, the findings also reflect Glosoff and Durham’s (2010) assertion that social justice in supervision helps supervisees gain awareness of power differentials. Finally, Ceballos and colleagues (2012) posited that social justice supervision will help counselors develop empathy for clients as counselors conceptualize clients in a systemic perspective. The participants’ enhanced understanding of White privilege and their clients’ contexts supports each of these ideas. Though findings are not generalizable, they appear to confirm scholars’ ideas about social justice supervision and suggest that the approach can be a positive, beneficial experience for counselors-in-training.

Limitations
     Study findings ought to be considered in light of the study’s limitations. First, although case study research focuses on a single identified case by definition and is not designed for generalization (Hays & Singh, 2012), the case in this study consisted of a demographically homogenous population of only three participants lacking racial, gender, and age diversity. This lack of diversity influenced participants’ experiences and study findings. Second, although the supervisor in this study did not conduct the semistructured interviews with participants in an attempt to prevent bias, participants were aware that Merlin-Knoblich was collaborating on the study, and this knowledge may have influenced their reported experiences. Merlin-Knoblich and Newman also began the study with acknowledged biases toward and against social justice supervision, and although they engaged in reflexivity and dialogue to prevent these biases from interfering with data analysis, there is no way to verify that this positionality did not influence the interpretation of findings. Lastly, our privileged identities served as a potential limitation while studying a topic like social justice supervision. Our racial, educational, class, language, and sexual identity privileges continually blind us to the experiences of oppression that others, including supervisees and clients, face. Seeking to know these perspectives better can increase our understanding of the implications of social injustices in society.

Implications for Counselor Educators and Supervisors
     The positive participant experiences illuminated through this study suggest that supervision based on this model may yield positive experiences for counselors-in-training, such as supporting students in developing self-awareness, understanding of clients’ sociopolitical contexts, and advocacy skills (Chang et al., 2009). Although the supervisor in this study used social justice supervision in individual sessions with participants, counselor educators may choose to apply social justice supervision models to group or triadic supervision. Counseling supervisors in agency, private practice, and school settings may also want to consider using social justice supervision to support counselors and subsequently clients (Baggerly, 2006; Ceballos et al., 2012; O’Connor, 2005). Furthermore, counselor educators teaching doctoral students may want to incorporate social justice supervision models into introductory supervision courses. Including these models into course content may in itself increase student interest in social justice (Swartz et al., 2018).

Regardless of the setting in which supervisors implement social justice supervision, the findings suggest practical implications that supervisors can consider. First, supervisors appear to benefit from considering social justice supervision models in their work (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Gentile et al., 2009). The findings in this study, plus previous research indicating positive outcomes for multicultural supervision (Chopra, 2013; Inman, 2006; Ladany et al., 2005), suggest that social justice supervision may potentially benefit counseling. Second, supervisors using social justice supervision may encounter supervisee confusion, discomfort, and/or enthusiasm when introduced to social justice supervision. These feelings also may change over the course of the supervisory relationship when learning about social justice. Third, supervisors ought to be mindful of all three tiers of Chang and colleagues’ (2009) social justice supervision model and a supervisee’s developmental match with each tier. As seen in this study, supervisees may be best matched for the first and second tiers of the model (self-awareness and client services), but not the third tier (community collaboration). Supervisors would benefit from assessing a supervisee’s potential for understanding community collaboration before deciding to infuse its focus in supervision.

More research is needed to understand social justice supervision. A variety of future studies, including different models, methods, and settings, would benefit the counseling profession. For example, a study implementing the social justice supervision model proposed by Dollarhide and colleagues (2021) can add to the needed research in this field. Additional qualitative studies with diverse supervisees in different counseling settings would be helpful in understanding if the experiences participants reported encountering in this study are common in social justice supervision. Quantitative studies on social justice supervision interventions would also add to the profession’s knowledge on the value of social justice supervision. Lastly, studies on supervisees’ experiences in social justice supervision compared to other models would highlight benefits and drawbacks of multiple supervision models (Baggerly, 2006; Chang et al., 2009; Glosoff & Durham, 2010).

Conclusion

In this article, we explored master’s-level counseling students’ experiences in social justice supervision via a qualitative case study. Through this exploration, we identified three themes reflecting participants’ experiences in social justice supervision: intersection of supervision experiences and external factors, feelings about social justice, and personal and professional growth, as well as two subthemes: increased understanding of privilege and increased understanding of clients. Findings suggest that social justice supervision may be a beneficial practice for supervisors and counselor educators to consider integrating in their work (Chang et al., 2009; Dollarhide et al., 2021; Gentile et al., 2009; Pester et al., 2020). Further research across contexts and with a range of methodologies is needed to better understand social justice supervision in practice.

 

Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.

 

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Appendix A

Semistructured Interview Questions

  1. What brought you to this counseling program?
  2. Overall, how would you describe your practicum experience last semester?
    1. Where did you complete your practicum?
    2. How would you describe the population you worked with at your practicum?
  3. What previous experience, if any, did you have with social justice prior to individual practicum supervision?
  4. During individual practicum supervision on campus last semester, what were some of your initial thoughts and feelings about a social justice–infused supervision model?
  5. In what ways, if any, did those thoughts and feelings about social justice change throughout your
    supervision experience?

These next three questions address three areas of social justice that were incorporated into your individual practicum supervision model: self, students (clients), and institution (school or school districts).

6. Do you think that the emphasis on social justice related to self (i.e., your power, privileges, and experience with oppression) in individual practicum supervision on campus had any influence on you?

    1. If yes, what influence did this emphasis have on you?
    2. If no, why do you think that’s the case?

7. Do you think that the emphasis on social justice related to others (i.e., the sociopolitical context of students, staff, etc.) in individual practicum supervision on campus had any influence on you?

    1. If yes, what influence did this emphasis have on you?
    2. If no, why do you think that’s the case?

8. Do you think that the emphasis on social justice related to institution (i.e., your practicum site, school district) in individual practicum supervision on campus had any influence on you?

    1. If yes, what influence did this emphasis have on you?
    2. If no, why do you think that’s the case?
  1. In what ways, if any, has the social justice emphasis in your individual practicum supervision influenced you as a counselor?
  2. In what ways, if any, has the social justice emphasis in your individual practicum supervision influenced your development as a person?
  3. How would you define social justice?
  4. Is there anything else you would like to add regarding your experience in a social justice–infused model of supervision last semester?
  5. Is there anything else you’d like to share?

 

Clare Merlin-Knoblich, PhD, NCC, is an associate professor at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. Jenna L. Taylor, MA, NCC, LPC-A, is a doctoral student at the University of North Texas. Benjamin Newman, PhD, MAC, ACS, LPC, CSAC, CSOTP, is a professional counselor at Artisan Counseling in Newport News, VA. Correspondence may be addressed to Clare Merlin-Knoblich, 9201 University City Blvd., Charlotte, NC 28211, cmerlin1@uncc.edu.

 

Grounded Theory of Asian American Activists for #BlackLivesMatter

Stacey Diane Arañez Litam, Christian D. Chan

A grounded theory study was employed to identify the conditions contributing to the core phenomenon of Asian American activists (N = 25) mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement in 2020. The findings indicate achieving a collective oppressed identity was necessary to mobilize in thick solidarity with the BLM movement and occurred because of causal conditions: (a) experiences of COVID-19–related anti-Asian discrimination, and (b) George Floyd’s murder. Non-action, performative or unhelpful action, and action toward thick solidarity were influenced by contextual factors: (a) alignment with personal and community values, (b) awareness and knowledge, and (c) perspectives of oppression. Mobilization was also influenced by intervening factors, which included affective responses, intergenerational conflict, conditioning of “privileges” afforded by White supremacy, and the presence of organized communities. Mental health professionals and social justice advocates can apply these findings to promote engagement in the community organizing efforts of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities with the BLM movement, denounce anti-Blackness, and uphold a culpability toward supporting the Black community.

Keywords: Asian American, solidarity, social justice, Black Lives Matter, grounded theory

 

Trayvon Martin’s death in 2012 reignited conversations about the underlying sentiments of White supremacy that remain deeply entrenched in American society (Khan-Cullors & Bandele, 2017; Taylor, 2016). Shortly thereafter, the #BlackLivesMatter (BLM) movement was launched to address acts of police brutality on Black and Brown people and challenge the systemic oppression within the justice system (Lebron, 2017). Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020, the role of silence in perpetuating complicity resurfaced, and the familiar narratives and gut-wrenching images of non-Black police officers harming Black bodies once again found a place in the limelight (Chang, 2020; Elias et al., 2021). However, this time there was something noticeably different; one of the non-Black officers was Asian American.

Tou Thao’s role in sanctioning George Floyd’s murder illuminated the complex history of anti-Blackness within Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) communities; created momentum for conversations about race, discrimination, and oppression; and echoed earlier support for the BLM movement among AAPIs (J. Ho, 2021; Merseth, 2018; Tran et al., 2018). These discussions may have been traditionally avoided, given the narrative invoked by racial and colonial notions that diminishes critical consciousness about racial histories and relations in AAPI communities (Chang, 2020; David et al., 2019). Because of the structural conditions of White supremacy and colonialism, AAPI communities have been forced to adopt Whiteness as a pathway to success, minimize salient cultural values, and trivialize manifestations of anti-Blackness (J. Ho, 2021; Poon et al., 2016). Erasing critical consciousness among AAPI communities has served as an insidious attempt to maintain a racial hierarchy that neither supports AAPI visibility nor eradicates racial tensions (Chou & Feagin, 2016; David et al., 2019). The invisibility of AAPI history absolves the United States from long-standing histories of anti-Asian racial violence (Li & Nicholson, 2021) and endorses complacency of White supremacy (Museus, 2021; Poon et al., 2019). Although this contention exists, a greater number of AAPI voices have begun to mobilize in solidarity with the BLM movement and the Black community in recent years (Anand & Hsu, 2020; Lee et al., 2020; Merseth, 2018; Tran et al., 2018).

Despite a complex racialized history of White supremacists weaponizing communities of color against each other (Nicholson et al., 2020; Poon et al., 2016), AAPI individuals have a long-standing history of pursuing thick solidarity and activism with the Black community and supporting Black civil rights (J. Ho, 2021). These racial coalitions have been evidenced through the Third World Liberation Front Strikes and the tireless efforts of activists like Grace Lee Boggs, Yuri Kochiyama, and Richard Aoki (W. Liu, 2018; Sharma, 2018). Thick solidarity is achieved when racial differences are acknowledged while emphasizing the specificity, irreducibility, and incommensurability of racialized experiences (W. Liu, 2018). Although understanding the factors that influence AAPIs to mobilize with the Black community represents a critical step toward thick solidarity (Tran et al., 2018), previous studies investigating the phenomenon have been limited to quantitative methods (Merseth, 2018; Yoo et al., 2021) or focused solely on Southeast Asian American populations (Lee et al., 2020).

The following sections outline the histories of racialized oppression faced by Asian American and Black communities and provide a brief overview of the extant research linking Asian American solidarity with the BLM movement. A grounded theory that identifies the emergent process that contributed to Asian American activists mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement in 2020 is additionally presented.

The Racialized Experiences of Asian Americans and Black Communities in America
Prior to engaging in a grounded theory, researchers must build upon preexisting processes, theories, and perspectives documented in extant research (Charmaz, 2017). Thus, one cannot explore the processes that contributed to Asian American activists mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement in 2020 without first addressing the nuanced and racialized experiences of AAPI and Black communities in America. Tran et al. (2018) asserted that navigating an oppressive system embedded in White supremacy has forced communities of color to make historical adaptations that leave AAPI voices out of the BLM movement. The following section provides a brief description of the complexity in which AAPI and Black identities are juxtaposed and elaborates on the model minority myth, racial triangulation, and historical anti-Blackness in AAPI communities as processes that may complicate the process of achieving thick solidarity.

Racial Triangulation
According to Kim (1999), racial triangulation theory refers to a “field of racial positions” (p. 106) that was proposed to extend the conceptualization of racial discourse beyond the Black and White narrative. The field of racial positions is mapped onto two dimensions. The superior/inferior axis represents the process of relative valorization, whereby Whites valorize Asian Americans relative to Black Americans in ways that maintain White privilege and White supremacy (Kim, 1999). The second dimension, an insider/foreigner axis, refers to the process of civic ostracism, in which Whites position Asian Americans as foreign, unassimilable, and outsiders (Kim, 1999; Xu & Lee, 2013). Although Asian Americans may be afforded social and economic benefits due to their proximity to Whiteness, this social location functions as an incomplete portrayal that conceals inequities, treats Asian Americans as perpetual foreigners, and maintains the status of White supremacy over communities of color (Bonilla-Silva, 2004; Nicholson et al., 2020). As a result, members of Asian American communities may be racialized to be White-adjacent and create an illusion of success with a conditional set of privileges (Kim, 1999; Museus, 2021).

One example of racial triangulation is the model minority myth, which essentializes Asian Americans by portraying them as a monolithic group with universal educational and occupational success (Chou & Feagin, 2016; Yi et al., 2020). According to Poon et al. (2016), scholars must acknowledge the model minority myth’s history to challenge processes of racial triangulation and deficit thinking. The model minority myth creates barriers to social justice efforts and racial coalitions by pitting communities of color against one another (Chang, 2020), invalidating experiences of systemic oppression and discrimination (Nicholson et al., 2020; Pendakur & Pendakur, 2016), and maintaining “a global system of racial hierarchies and White supremacy” (Poon et al., 2016, p. 6). When contextualizing the model minority myth through the lens of critical race theory, Asian Americans may be conceptualized as a “middleman minority” (Poon et al., 2016, p. 5). Originally coined by Blalock (1967) and later expanded upon by Bonacich (1973), middleman minorities are foreigners who buffer the power struggles between two major groups in a host society. Similar to other historical middleman minority groups, the minority model myth exploits Asian Americans by granting economic privileges while denying political or social power (Poon et al., 2016). As a more egregious consequence, the model minority myth can lead communities of color to harbor feelings of resentment toward Asian American communities, especially Asian immigrants who may feel pressured to prove their loyalty to American values (J. Ho, 2021) and embrace the submissive, hardworking qualities espoused by the model minority myth (Poon et al., 2019).

The complex relationship between AAPI and Black communities becomes even more complex as communities of color, including Black Americans, continue to define the boundaries of inclusion about “who belongs in communities of Color” (Tran et al., 2018, p. 78). As a result, Asian Americans are rarely included in race dialogues; may not be identified as “of color” by other groups; and are forced to navigate their weaponized, conditional identities as racialized in some spaces and White-adjacent in others (C. D. Chan & Litam, 2021; Litam & Chan, 2021; Museus, 2021; Poon et al., 2016).

Understanding Anti-Blackness in Asian American Communities
The denigration of Black identities and the desire to be viewed as distinct from Black Americans are evidenced across the histories of several Asian American ethnic subgroups. For example, in the mid-20th century, access to U.S. citizenship was limited to free White persons and persons of African descent (Pavlenko, 2002). At the time, the system was not set up to accommodate Asian Americans or other racialized groups, as evidenced by the landmark cases of Takao Ozawa and Bhagat Singh Thind (Chou & Feagin, 2016; Haney López, 2006). After living in the United States for over 20 years and articulating his relationship to White racial groups because of his light skin, Takao Ozawa, a Japanese man, was judged to be a race other than those able to obtain citizenship and deemed ineligible for naturalization (S. Chan, 1991; Yamashita & Park, 1985). Bhagat Singh Thind, an Asian Indian man, attempted to align specifically with the use of “Caucasian” and White racial ideologies, but was also denied citizenship by the U.S. Supreme Court (Haney López, 2006). Following the United States v. Bagat Singh Thind ruling, nearly 50% of Asian Indian Americans had their U.S. citizenship revoked (Haney López, 2006). Despite attempts to prove their loyalty to Whiteness, both cases reified how Asian Americans are placed in a vexing situation that provides an illusion of privileges but excludes them from fully participating as U.S. citizens (Haney López, 2006; Nicholson et al., 2020). Both cases also exemplified early instances of Asian American individuals who were pressured by prevailing racial ideologies to eschew Blackness and assimilate into dominant norms of White supremacy.

Examples of anti-Black sentiments are deeply rooted in people of Filipino descent who may endorse colonial mentality, an internalized form of oppression characterized by a preference for Western attitudes and the denigration of Filipino culture following years of colonization by the United States (David & Okazaki, 2006a, 2006b). For example, internalized anti-Black sentiments in Filipino culture are evidenced by the systematic discrimination against the dark-skinned Ati people, who are indigenous to the Aklan region (Petrola et al., 2020). As a result of the mining, logging, and tourism industries, the Ati have been forced to relocate onto smaller plots of land, face physical violence, and are denied various human rights (Petrola et al., 2020). Other insidious anti-Black attitudes that permeate the Filipino worldview include White-centered beauty notions that venerate straight hair and light skin over textured locks and dark skin (Nadal, 2021; Rafael, 2000). Despite their documented toxic and dangerous consequences, skin whitening products in the Philippines are a billion-dollar industry (Mendoza, 2014). These examples relay cultural and economic implications that are predicated on histories of global imperialism and colonialism, which root out indigeneity in favor of Eurocentric values and White norms (Fanon, 1952). Examples of anti-Black sentiments in Filipino communities are a sample of the ways in which colonialist movements mapped anti-Blackness onto Filipino communities and culture by occupation of the land, terrorism, and brutality (David, 2013; Nadal, 2021).

History of anti-Black attitudes may also exist in Korean Americans following the 1992 Los Angeles riots. After White officers were exonerated in the beating of Rodney King and a Korean store owner fatally shot 15-year-old Latasha Harlins, tension erupted between the Black and Korean American communities due to the lack of accountability for the killing of a Black person. Media reports of widespread rioting, theft, injuries, and damage to businesses were attributed to poor race relations between African American and Korean communities and larger issues of systemic racism were disregarded (Oh, 2010; Sharma, 2018). Despite calls to law enforcement for help, Korean voices were overlooked by the police (Yoon, 1997), which potentially illustrates how the law enforcement system reacts in favor of White interests. Once again, White media highlighted the undercurrent of racial tension between ethnic and racial groups as noteworthy and masked preexisting racial coalitions between Black and Asian American communities. These news stories deterred Asian American and Black communities from looking outward and acknowledging the larger issues of ongoing police brutality and inequitable justice systems (F. Ho & Mullen, 2008).

Chinese Americans may harbor anti-Black notions following the conviction of Peter Liang, who fatally shot Akai Gurley in New York City (W. Liu, 2018). Although he was the first officer indicted for killing an unarmed and innocent Black man, Liang’s conviction resulted in conflict between Chinese American and Black American communities (R. Liu & Shange, 2018; W. Liu, 2018). Many individuals within Asian American communities argued for the fair sentencing and punishment of Liang (Tran et al., 2018), but others protested the charge and believed the courts used him as a scapegoat to detract from BLM activists who called for police reform (R. Liu & Shange, 2018; W. Liu, 2018).

Challenging Historical Anti-Blackness in Asian American Communities
Challenging anti-Blackness in Asian American communities underscores a cultural paradox. On one hand, Asian American individuals, especially East Asian subgroups, benefit from social and economic privileges because of their proximity to Whiteness and identities as non-Black minorities (Bonilla-Silva, 2018; Poon et al., 2016). Thus, some Asian American individuals endorse aspects of the model minority myth because of the privilege it affords (Kim, 1999), even at the expense of maintaining a racially triangulated identity (Bonilla-Silva, 2004; Poon et al., 2019; Yi et al., 2020). Anti-Blackness therefore moves beyond prejudicial attitudes against Blacks and encompasses a performance of Whiteness (W. Liu, 2018).

Movements initiated by younger Asian American generations that challenge anti-Black sentiments (e.g., #Asians4BlackLives) are gaining traction (Anand & Hsu, 2020; Lee et al., 2020) and can help Asian immigrants move beyond their own unacknowledged pain and racial trauma to appreciate the challenges of other marginalized communities (David et al., 2019; Tran et al., 2018). For example, Letters for Black Lives is a crowdsourcing project that empowers communities of color to have conversations about anti-Blackness with older generations (R. Liu & Shange, 2018) who may endorse anti-Black attitudes following injustices against Asian people (e.g., Peter Liang) or anti-Asian historical events (e.g., the LA riots). These letters help younger Asian American communities describe ambiguous and complex issues related to social justice, racism, and systemic oppression with their families and have been helpful in promoting support for the BLM movement (Arora & Stout, 2019).

Extant Research on Racial Coalitions

Extant research posits how experiences of ingroup discrimination cultivate increased empathy, positive attitudes, and a collective sense of community (Craig & Richeson, 2012; Tajfel & Turner, 1979). As rates of anti-Asian discrimination have substantially increased following the COVID-19 pandemic and negatively affected the psychological well-being of Asian American communities (C. D. Chan & Litam, 2021; Jeung & Nham, 2020; Litam, 2020; Litam & Oh, 2020, 2021; Litam et al., 2021), the Common Ingroup Identity Model (CIIM; Gaertner & Dovidio, 2000) may help explain the increasing number of Asian American voices in support of BLM. According to the CIIM, experiences of racial discrimination toward one’s own racial group may lead to a shared disadvantaged racial minority identity that engenders positive attitudes and feelings of closeness toward other racial minorities. Compared to White, male, high-status groups, racialized minorities (e.g., Asian Americans) may be more likely to experience feelings of solidarity and affiliation with other communities of color believed to share experiences of racial discrimination (Brewer, 2000; Gaertner & Dovidio, 2000).

Preliminary support for the CIIM may be evidenced by a quantitative study conducted by Merseth (2018). Using a nationally representative sample of data, Merseth determined AAPIs who supported BLM were more likely to perceive anti-Black discrimination in the United States and identify race-based linked fates. A recent ethnography that examined AAPI support for the BLM movement identified the importance of community-based educational spaces as paramount to engaging in antiracist work and cultivating cross-racial coalitions among Southeast Asian Americans (Lee et al., 2020). Lee and colleagues’ (2020) results illuminated the importance of educational institutions that provide the foundation and language needed to challenge anti-Blackness among Southeast Asian communities. Combined with these studies, a more recent investigation by Yoo et al. (2021) involved a quantitative measurement of racial groups and their support for the BLM movement. Although this crucial study revealed the implications of solidarity among several racial groups with the BLM movement, the Yoo et al. study only involved a convenience sample of college students and did not necessarily account for the nuances within participants’ social identities, their motivations for support, or historical and political contexts. In the context of increased anti-Asian racial discrimination in the wake of COVID-19, shared experiences of anti-Asian discrimination may result in “a common ground of solidarity that Asian Americans and African Americans can forge against White supremacy” (Anand & Hsu, 2020, p. 194).

Purpose of the Present Study
The centralization of police brutality on Black and Brown people has reignited conversations about systemic oppression and has illuminated the need for civil rights, racial equity, and the dismantling of White supremacy (Elias et al., 2021; R. Liu & Shange, 2018; W. Liu, 2018; Tran et al., 2018). Although AAPIs may face discrimination in the wake of COVID-19 in ways that may result in solidarity with the BLM movement (Chang, 2020; J. Ho, 2021), a qualitative study that underscores this process with diverse Asian American voices can further contextualize meaningful opportunities for racial coalitions. Given the historical presence of anti-Blackness in Asian American communities (W. Liu, 2018; Tran et al., 2018), generating an emergent process that outlines the path of Asian American activists mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement is of paramount importance to continue bolstering efforts toward racial coalitions (Lee et al., 2020; Merseth, 2018). To address the paucity of literature, a grounded theory was conducted to examine the following research question: What is the process that mobilizes Asian American activists to pursue thick solidarity with the BLM movement in 2020?

Method

Qualitative methods are appropriate when researchers seek to develop a complex or detailed understanding of an experience (Creswell & Poth, 2018). Specifically, grounded theory is a qualitative method used to generate a theory grounded in the data from participants who have experienced the process under inquiry and focuses on maximizing numerous perspectives constructed over phases of time (Charmaz, 2017). Given our desire to understand the process of action through which Asian American activists mobilize toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement, a grounded theory approach was deemed appropriate. To this end, the grounded theory focused on what participants experience and how the process of mobilizing in solidarity for BLM unfolds.

This study was implemented using a social constructionist paradigm to complement Charmaz’s (2014) constructivist grounded theory. Social constructionist researchers recognize the presence of multiple, processual, and constructed realities while acknowledging the role and importance of the researchers’ and participants’ positionality (Charmaz, 2014; Clarke, 2012). Social constructionism augments three overarching themes: (a) critiquing the neutrality of participants’ and researchers’ values by locating perspectives within social contexts (e.g., time, culture); (b) revealing language as a vehicle for shaping representation within particular communities; and (c) introducing different perspectives to unsettle social conditions and co-create new knowledge (K. J. Gergen, 2020; M. Gergen, 2020).

Procedure and Participants
Internal Review Board approval was obtained before beginning the study. Participants in this study were selected through the use of purposive and theoretical sampling (Timonen et al., 2018). The first and second authors, Stacey Diane Arañez Litam and Christian D. Chan, used purposive sampling to disseminate recruitment materials to key social media groups and community networks focused on AAPI community organizing. In the initial stages, Litam interviewed the first group of participants and ascertained their social identities. Next, theoretical sampling was employed. To introduce additional perspectives after the first group, Litam focused on soliciting more participants to expand the sample based on region, gender, and ethnic identities. Prospective participants could participate if they (a) self-identified as a member of the Asian American community and (b) identified as being engaged in ongoing support of the BLM movement. Prospective participants were recruited by posting on social media pages frequented by Asian American individuals actively involved in BLM activism. Prospective participants were asked to email Litam and were given more information describing the study’s purpose, design, and research questions. Eligible participants were informed that participation was voluntary, the research would not directly benefit them, and no compensation would be offered. A consent form was completed before participation occurred. Interviews were held on a HIPAA-compliant Zoom account.

This study consisted of interviews with 25 AAPI individuals who were actively engaged with the BLM movement. To protect confidentiality, participants were given pseudonyms. Participants reported a diversity of identities that increased the heterogeneity of the sample. Participants’ ages ranged from 25 to 73, and ethnic identities of participants included Filipino (n = 10), Korean (n = 5), Chinese (n = 2), Japanese (n = 1), Vietnamese (n = 1), Chamorro (n = 1), and multiracial (n = 5) descent. The gender identities of participants included women (n = 17), men (n = 5), and non-binary (n = 3). Most participants reported being a U.S. citizen and one participant identified as Canadian. Four participants identified as transracial adoptees.

Data Collection
Data collection occurred between June and July 2020. Semi-structured interviews lasted an average of 90 minutes. Participants responded to the following questions: (a) What are your experiences regarding how Asian Americans have historically supported, or are currently supporting, the Black Lives Matter movement? (b) Which contexts or situations have influenced your desire to support the Black Lives Matter movement? and (c) Which contributing factors influenced your development toward a social justice–oriented mindset? Follow-up questions developed organically. Participants provided consent for the interview to be recorded and were informed they could end the recording or the interview at any time. Only the audio file of the interview was saved, and the file was not uploaded to any cloud-based servers so as to promote participant confidentiality. Litam transcribed all interviews. Following the interview, participants completed two 15-minute member-check meetings—first to confirm the accuracy of researchers’ themes, and second to reflect on the final grounded theory.

Throughout the interview, Litam restated the major points after each response. Clarification was obtained through follow-up questions when participants described new concepts that had not been described by previous participants. Litam did not move onto the next question until each of the major points described by the participant were accurately identified and reflected. At the end of the interview, Litam summarized the conversation and restated the major points to confirm understanding of the participants’ statements. Follow-up questions, member checks, restatements, analytic memo writing, and constant comparative method were used to analyze the data.

Data Analysis
The data collection and analysis process reflected a concurrent process and a recursive process, which informed one another and led to the development of an emerging grounded theory (Charmaz, 2017). Throughout the data analysis process, concurrent analytic techniques of induction, deduction, and verification were used to develop an emergent theory (Charmaz, 2014). Litam immersed herself in the raw data by transcribing, reading, and listening to the audio transcripts. Transcription was completed within 24 hours of the interview, and member checks with participants to confirm themes were completed within 72 hours of the interview. New data were compared to existing data following the completion of each transcribed interview. Initial codes and analytic memos were used throughout the process to create an audit trail. Data were closely examined for disconfirming evidence, and two external auditors were used throughout the data analysis process to understand how our assumptions could influence the coding and findings.

Two external auditors were used between open and focused coding to confirm emergent findings, discuss the accuracy of emerging themes, and triangulate across perspectives (Saldaña, 2021). Both external auditors identified as members of the AAPI community and endorsed a strong commitment to AAPI concerns, research, and mental health. The second external auditor also carried in-depth training in qualitative methodologies. Data were coded with labels that categorized, summarized, or accounted for each piece of data (Charmaz, 2014; Saldaña, 2021) and analytic memos were used to help scrutinize the data (Miles et al., 2020). Each participant confirmed the accuracy of themes and reported feeling energized by the theory, a phenomenon known as catalytic validity (Guba & Lincoln, 1989).

We engaged in reflective commentary throughout the interview and data analysis process by using bracketing and ongoing evaluation. Peer scrutiny was employed by inviting three AAPI colleagues who were familiar with the phenomenon to offer feedback and fresh perspectives on the findings as they continued to emerge and become saturated. The first colleague identifies as a transnational Chinese woman and is an associate professor. The second colleague identifies as a Chinese woman who specializes in counseling AAPI communities. The third colleague identifies as a Filipino, Chinese, and Malaysian man and works as a counselor educator. Interviews were conducted until saturation occurred and fresh data no longer sparked new theoretical insights or properties of the generated grounded theory, its categories, or its concepts.

Researcher Reflexivity
A researcher’s social location, biases, theoretical lens, and epistemological beliefs must be established to increase the trustworthiness of results (Saldaña, 2021). Litam identifies as a foreign-born Filipina and Chinese American woman. She is a counselor educator, an assistant professor, and a licensed professional clinical counselor and a supervisor. She conducts research on topics related to human sexuality, human trafficking, trauma, race, diversity, and AAPI issues. Litam has overcome her own internalized colonial mentality as a Filipina American woman and endorses a strong commitment toward issues of social justice and racial equity. She is dedicated to engaging in work that dismantles the forces of White supremacy that oppress all racialized groups.

Chan is a queer person of color and a second-generation Asian American of Filipino, Chinese, and Malaysian heritage. As an assistant professor, he invests primarily in scholarship on intersectionality, social justice, activism, multiculturalism, career development, and communication of culture and socialization in couple, family, and group modalities. He actively works toward racial coalitions that interrogate structures of White supremacy and organizes intentional community initiatives for solidarity. Many of his perspectives, especially toward the inquiry at hand, attend to social structures and histories that underpin ideologies of White supremacy.

Trustworthiness
Grounded theory requires standards of quality and trustworthiness, including credibility, originality, resonance, and usefulness (Charmaz, 2014; Creswell & Poth, 2018). To promote trustworthiness, constant comparison was employed by using open codes, a codebook, and data to inform, analyze, and compare new data sources (Charmaz, 2014). Any new data were consistently checked and compared to the emerging theory. Member checks were completed twice by connecting with participants over Zoom for approximately 15 minutes each. We also used peer scrutiny with three AAPI colleagues and two AAPI external auditors to challenge assumptions and biases, triangulate findings, and engage in dialogue about clusters of meaning and themes as they emerged. These strategies were used to ensure the theory was data-driven rather than reflective of our own beliefs, values, and assumptions (Hays & Singh, 2012). Analytic memos were written after each round of coding, which elaborated emotions, thoughts, and personal reactions to the data. This information strengthened the tracking of the data and our influence as we shared the audit trail with both external auditors. Thus, multiple measures of trustworthiness were used to account for positionality that could influence the data and theory development.

Findings

We sought to examine the following research question: What is the process that mobilizes Asian American activists to pursue thick solidarity with the BLM movement in 2020? The results of the grounded theory analysis describe the process through which causal conditions, contextual factors, and intervening conditions affect actions and foster pathways to consequences following the core category of the phenomena of interest (see Figure 1).

Figure 1

Grounded Theory Outlining AAPI Process of Mobilizing in Thick Solidarity With BLM in 2020

 

Causal Conditions
Based on perspectives from participants, two causal conditions led participants to mobilize toward solidarity for BLM in 2020.

George Floyd’s Murder
Exposure to George Floyd’s murder through social media and news outlets was the first causal condition. For each of the participants, this event represented the “breaking point,” “threshold,” “spark,” or “tipping point” that illuminated the need to “act,” “pursue justice,” “make change,” and “fight back.” As stated by Gemma, a Filipina woman in her mid-30s:

When George Floyd died . . . I just refused to be silent about what happened to him. I just kept thinking, well, what the hell have I been doing that it didn’t impact enough change [so] that this man could have lived? This man died because we have not done enough. He died calling out for his mom. What I could not handle was if I had been born with a particular fear, and I died that way. This man was born and lived knowing that he could be murdered by the police. And that’s how he died. I refuse that. And I am personally responsible that the narrative has not changed in this country. I am responsible and I hold my communities responsible. We have not done enough so that man could have lived.

Experiences of COVID-19–Related Anti-Asian Discrimination
The second causal condition was identified as experiences of COVID-19–related anti-Asian discrimination. This condition was characterized by witnessing or experiencing broad anti-Asian discrimination and exposure to “Trump’s Anti-Chinese,” “xenophobic,” and “racist messages.” Participants described how anti-Asian rhetoric touted by political leaders and experiences of anti-Asian discrimination served as “tinder” that “incited,” “enraged,” and “irritated” AAPIs in ways that “primed” them to act.

For each of the participants, witnessing and/or experiencing COVID-19–related racism was an event that led to action. Each of the 25 participants stated that exposure to anti-Asian discrimination cultivated empathy for Black Americans and illuminated how their shared experiences of racial discrimination “opened their eyes,” “woke them up,” or “pulled off the blindfold” of their racialized identity as Asian Americans. Yuri, a Chinese and Vietnamese woman in her early 30s, explained:

We have this fresh memory of discrimination in the back of our heads, and you know, it reaches a boiling point. You have the intersection of your own experiences and somebody else’s experiences and you start to connect the dots that we are not so different. And we are not so safe. We have more in common with Black lives than we do with White ones.

These sentiments were echoed by Hunter, a Korean man in his early 50s:

The pandemic created this anti-Asian reality. It really brought attention to the average Asian American [about] how much anti-Asian sentiment is still out there. You know, we all live in our little bubbles in life. And we don’t really see what’s going on. But I think, you know, seeing all these news stories about anti-Asian violence, whether we are members of the older generation reading our ethnic papers or just, you know, a member of the younger generation watching television, we see this stuff on the news and it has kind of served as the kindling to the fire to act and do more.

Evelyn, a Filipina woman in her early 40s, also described how exposure to anti-Asian rhetoric touted by political leaders primed her to act:

This particular president [Trump] is stoking the flames [and] it’s re-energizing a particular base of people who are emboldened to say and do things that are hate-centered, that are violent, that are wrong. And I think that it also touched on a particular powerlessness that Asian Americans have felt. And when you couple that within a global pandemic you are hyper aware of your mortality. You could die from this virus that’s going around, [and] we are all wearing masks. You couldn’t get more on edge, you know? We were primed to act. We were ready.

Josie, a multiracial woman in her mid-30s, explained:

Yes, we’re being harassed. We’re being called names. We’re experiencing another wave of xenophobia and racism, being told to go back to our countries, being told that we are not welcome here. I believe that Asians are saying, “Okay, yeah, we’re being threatened, but we’re not being held to the ground and choked out to the point that we’re being killed on TV.” I believe it’s awakened a lot of levels of pain and solidarity because you can’t imagine it. People can’t imagine that the world is this bad until someone’s last breaths are on TV. I think it mobilized people to become more involved because injustice does not have a place among any minority group. Injustice resonates with the Brown community, the Latinx community, the Asian community, and I believe it empowered us to move toward human empathy. Asians are realizing that if we don’t stand together, we stand alone, and nothing in this world will change.

Contextual Factors
Contextual factors were the individual traits and characteristics that affected the actions taken by participants to pursue mobilization in solidarity with BLM. Participants described three contextual factors: (a) alignment with personal and community values, (b) awareness and knowledge, and (c) perspectives of oppression.

Alignment With Personal and Community Values
The first contextual factor was defined as alignment with personal and community values. Notions of values alignment were identified in interviews when participants described how supporting the BLM movement was not a choice; rather, “protesting,” “supporting,” “fighting,” and “engaging in human rights activism” represented “values,” “moral imperatives,” and “needs.” Each of the participants described how mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the Black community reflected the direct consequence of one’s own set of values. Hunter shared the following: “Regardless of how it benefits the Asian American community, for me, it’s my sense of value. This is my own value system. I don’t feel comfortable having groups that are continuing to be oppressed.”

For some participants, notions of values alignment and the need to act had been socialized and were shared by their families of origin. José, a Filipino man in his early 30s, indicated:

I needed to act, there was no other choice. My parents taught me years ago how this whole [BLM] movement creates an obligation to speak up when injustice occurs. Our [Filipino] history has led us to learn that we always have been stronger when we all unite together because there is so much divisiveness in our society.

Evelyn described how values alignment represented a moral imperative:

For about 17 years, I have been an activist. I have always known at a very deep, personal, soul level, that issues of race are the knife on the throat of this country. This country has not resolved or has even come close to reconciling its history. And I don’t think that it [supporting BLM] was something that I decided. It wasn’t a neuron movement. It wasn’t a shift; it wasn’t something that physiologically or intellectually or cognitively shifted. It was like something else just shed, like a skin was pulled off me. It was just so plainly obvious that it was more than overdue for people to say something. We needed to act. There was no other option. It was just this plain, visceral refusal to be silent.

Participants described how alignment with personal and community values emerged because other Asian countries have been historically oppressed. Specifically, Hong Kong, Vietnam, and the Philippines were identified as countries that “silenced Asian voices” in ways that amplified participants’ desire to underscore their values in the United States. Byron, a Vietnamese and Chinese man in his late 30s, identified the following perspective on contextual factors:

I think it’s very important for us, as Asian Americans or even Asians across the world, to really be vocal on this [BLM movement]. Because, dude, America is a crazy place. It’s a beautiful country, but at the same time, the system is kind of jacked, right? And, you know, my parents being from Vietnam and really trying to get away from communists and stuff, I see what the Hong Kong people are going through right now. That to me is like a sign. Like, their battle is different from ours, but it’s still the same. We need to fight for what’s right.

Awareness and Knowledge
The second contextual factor was identified as awareness of one’s identity as a person of color and knowledge of how all communities of color are affected by systemic racism and White supremacy. Participants described how learning about Asian American history and the impact of racial triangulation, how AAPI liberation is directly tied to Black liberation, and the weaponization of the model minority myth were critical factors that contributed to their BLM activism. Rufio, a Filipino man in his late 20s, recalled the following memory:

Peter Liang, I think, was the first person that got convicted of anything. I clearly remember a street. On one side of it were Black protesters and on the other side were Asian American protesters. One side was saying, “Peter was innocent!” and the other side was like, “He deserves more of a sentence!” African American and Asian American protesters were pointing at each other when really they should have been looking outside [of] the situation and being like, the people in power set this game up so we didn’t look at them. They were making us look at each other, but we shouldn’t be looking at each other. We should be looking at them.

Participants identified the importance of achieving multiracial unity and described how the fates of communities of color are inextricably linked. Jay, a non-binary Filipinx person in their early 20s, asserted the following about multiracial unity:

When we center the most vulnerable or the most marginalized, then we are able to lift up everyone. And I think that’s why a lot of people are focusing on the term BIPOC and [are] like, trying to center Black people and Indigenous people, because Black people have been enslaved and Indigenous people [have] had so many atrocities committed to them on stolen land. Ultimately, we are all in this together and what we do for one affects us all.

Similarly, Dante, a transracially adopted Taiwanese man in his mid-20s, observed the political implications surrounding race relations in the United States:

Honestly, I think that four years of the Trump presidency is probably a big mobilizing factor. His policy towards China has been just straight-up racist on his best days and, you know, far worse on his bad days. And so one of the concerns that I had is like, he has no problem locking up kids and immigrants in detention centers. At what point is that going to start being directed at Asian people? If we don’t fight for other people of color, who’s going to fight for us when it is our turn?

Jubilee, a Chinese woman in her early 30s, described the recent AAPI support of BLM and emphasized the importance of cultivating awareness and knowledge with her community and family of origin:

I feel like this is the first time I’ve seen such solidarity from Asians to the Black community. It happened back in the 60s during the civil rights movement so like, we are not the first, but like, in my generation and in my lifetime, this is the first time I am seeing that from us as an Asian community. There are finally conversations coming up about anti-Blackness in Asian communities, you know? It has also allowed me and my brother to bring up these conversations and issues with our friends and parents. For the first time in our lives, we are having conversations about anti-Blackness and systemic racism, and they are not brushing it off. They [my friends and parents] actually take a pause and listen, and this was the first time seeing them do that. And that’s pretty cool. There’s still a long way to go, but there is definitely some change happening. I see it and I feel it around me.

Perspectives of Oppression
Participants conceptualized their experiences from two distinct perspectives of oppression that uniquely influenced the strategies used to mobilize in thick solidarity toward the BLM movement: (a) as a member of the AAPI community or (b) as a member of a greater community of minoritized groups. Participants who limited their perspective of oppression to the AAPI community tended to center Asian voices in support of the BLM movement (i.e., “Yellow Peril for BLM”). Participants in the first category tended to limit their focus to how supporting the BLM movement would benefit the Asian community. Byron explained how supporting the BLM movement better positions the greater Asian American community to engage in advocacy:

I think us mobilizing together and supporting the Black Lives movement would really help us out as a community. Not only as just Chinese, Vietnamese, and Filipino and all that, but literally, as one Asian community. I think we are learning from the Black Lives movement. Not only are we participating with them, but it’s almost like training wheels for our community to be like, we need to be louder about certain rights that we want or certain things that we want to talk about. The United States has created the perfect platform for us to express that, and we have not utilized that.

Conversely, participants who endorsed a wider perspective that recognized Asian Americans as members of one oppressed minoritized group centered the Black community and amplified Black voices. Participants in the second category were more likely to recognize how mobilizing in thick solidarity with the BLM movement would benefit the larger constellation of communities of color. June, a Korean, non-binary, transracially adopted person in their late 20s, highlighted this connection across social movements:

So many Asian people don’t want to post about anti-Asian oppression alongside Black Lives Matter. They are like, “Oh I don’t want to take away from the Black Lives Matter movement by posting about the racism that I experienced or by posting about immigration.” But I kind of see them as being connected because we all face the same oppressor. We are all dealing with White supremacy, so we need to realize all of our movements are interconnected. We need to be in solidarity with each other.

Mia, a Korean woman in her early 30s, similarly explained this relationship:

Just like how we wonder, How is discrimination affecting the greater Asian community?, I think you have to extend that exercise to, How is it affecting the Black community? Where is it [discrimination] starting from? Whose lives are affected? Instead of just being like, “These are the discrimination experiences I face in my life,” it becomes a bigger conversation about what our greater community of minorities faces.

Intervening Conditions
Intervening conditions represent the broad and general factors that influence strategies based upon action or inaction and may include time, space, culture, history, emotions, and institutions. In this study, Asian American participants described four intervening conditions that either facilitated or created barriers to mobilizing toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement. Intervening conditions were described as having a bidirectional nature with the contextual conditions and action strategies used by participants.

Affective Responses
Participants described how feelings of “fear,” “anger,” “helplessness,” “empathy,” and “compassion” intersected with George Floyd’s murder, experiences of COVID-19–related anti-Asian discrimination, alignment with personal and community values, awareness and knowledge, and perspectives of oppression. Nearly every participant identified how they had “struggled” with, “overcome,” or “witnessed” how Asian Americans become paralyzed by fears of “taking up space,” “being too privileged,” or “not sharing the same intensity of oppression as Black Americans.” June described how some AAPIs become too overwhelmed by their privilege to engage in activism:

I so often hear them [AAPIs] say, “I want to help, but I can’t do anything. I can’t, I can’t. I don’t feel it’s in my place because I’m not Black. I feel like my voice doesn’t matter in this situation because I don’t suffer in the way that they [Black Americans] do.” I’ve seen so many excuses about how their voices are too privileged to matter, and it’s not true.

Annie, a Vietnamese woman in her early 30s, explained how fear can limit action:

They [AAPIs] fear that if they stand with the Black community, they will be ousted, attacked, treated differently, and looked down upon. I’ve seen a lot of fears that family would disown them if they become more vocal about Black Lives Matter because the older generation is very stuck in their own mindset of teaching the younger generations, you know, “You keep your head down, you go to school, you make a life for yourself, you don’t make waves, because it will only ruin your life.” I’ve seen a lot of people say that they can’t be as vocal because they are only one person.

Intergenerational Conflict
Participants identified intergenerational conflict as the second intervening condition that influenced Asian American action or inaction. Each participant described how Asian Americans and Asian immigrants (especially older individuals) lacked social justice–oriented language and stressed the importance of assimilation, and how those influences affected the shifting realities between first-generation Asian Americans and subsequent generations in their support of the BLM movement. Conversely, Asian Americans who were willing to engage in discussions about racial discrimination and cultivate cross-racial relationships were more likely to mobilize toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement. Participants also described how older Asian Americans and Asian immigrants struggled to grasp the “cultural nuances” that contextualize the history of systemic oppression and police brutality on Black and Brown individuals in America. The cultural barriers for many older Asian immigrants were described by Lin, a transracially adopted Korean woman in her early 30s:

The social justice language that we use when it comes to Black Lives Matter is difficult enough for a White person who is unfamiliar with this terminology. [It’s hard] to try and communicate that across generational lines, especially because a lot of us don’t have the strength in language skills to be able to translate. From what I’ve observed in my parents, they’ve kind of just kept their head down. They stressed assimilation very strongly for their children. It’s that old-school, “don’t rock the boat” mentality. Don’t give them a reason to look at us. Don’t give them a reason to hate us, you know? Don’t do anything to jeopardize this freedom that they worked so hard to achieve [and] that we’re so lucky to have.

Participants also described how first-generation Asian American and Asian immigrants were more likely to be “encapsulated,” “avoid other racial groups,” and “keep to themselves” in ways that prevented the cultivation of meaningful cross-racial relationships and kept them from challenging historical anti-Black sentiments. The importance of connecting with other communities of color to foster empathy and challenge historical anti-Blackness among Asian Americans and Asian immigrants was described by Ira, a multiracial woman in her early 70s:

I think that when older Asians are exposed in even a small way to the African American community, they can understand. But many Asian people stay within people of their own color, and they stay within their own ethnicity and they stay within their own groups. If you stay in your own community and you never see an African American person except [for] what you see on TV, it’s hard to see the similarities and realize that we are not so different.

To complement this notion, Jenny, a multiracial woman in her early 40s, discussed this perspective:

I feel like it’s really common for Asian immigrants not to connect with these situations [of discrimination] that are happening to them, either in individual instances or in bigger systems. They’re not tying them back to racism. I think that for so long, you know, immigrants were just trying to survive. First-generation folks were just trying to keep their head down, stay out of trouble, and survive, and they couldn’t get distracted by thinking about what else was happening around them.

Conditioning of “Privileges” Afforded by White Supremacy
The third intervening condition was coded when participants described how being Asian American represented “conditional,” “unsafe,” and “hyphenated” identities and when proximity to Whiteness elicited confusion about their role in activism. For some participants, the conditioning of “privileges” afforded by White supremacy contributed to action. As described by Evelyn, Whiteness elucidated a system of different racialized experiences:

I begin to wonder how powerful is Whiteness, you know? If I’m not the one being killed in the street, but I’m also experiencing racism, where do I fit into all of this? You begin to question how Asian Americans have been inserted into this narrative. And for me, you begin to wonder like, am I a pawn in this? What is my level of responsibility here? Is there a shared oppression? Yes. Are we all tethered the same way? No.

Participants who struggled to overcome the conditioning of privileges afforded by White supremacy were more likely to vacillate between action and inaction. Monica, a transracially adopted Korean woman in her early 30s, stated the following:

I do feel like for Asians, you’re in this really interesting space. I do actually think I have a lot of privilege. And with that, potentially, some responsibility as a person that essentially has a long-standing visa or passport into Whiteness. I know the language. I know how White people think and act. I feel like I can talk to White people about racism in a way that other people don’t necessarily have access to. But also, I experience racism and I’m also really tired.

Organized Communities
The presence of social media groups; local, regional, national, and international groups; participants’ own Asian American communities; and other communities with shared group identities (e.g., the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender [LGBT] community) were identified by participants as the fourth intervening condition. When organized communities were present, they either hindered or fostered mobilization. Participants who had communities that hindered mobilization described how their families and Asian American communities socialized them “not to rock the boat,” raised them to “keep their head down,” and discouraged “making waves.” Participants who lacked the presence of organized communities described feeling “burned out,” “alone,” and “unsupported.” As reported by Andi, a non-binary Korean person in their late 20s:

I have been fighting alone for years and it’s exhausting. I carry on because our activism is important, but it would be so nice to be able to meet up with other groups, share our experiences, and fill our validation cups, you know? It’s like, there is only so much I can do alone, and I don’t have the support I need to really keep going.

Participants described how communities fostered mobilization by providing the language, structure, resources, validation, and space necessary to begin talking about race and understanding the plight of other communities of color. Communities that fostered mobilization were most frequently described as college and university settings. Jackie, a Chinese and Japanese student in her mid-20s, described how her Asian American community on the university campus fosters action:

I just didn’t want to be by myself and protest alone. It feels good to learn more about why we are doing this and why it is important. Now, I felt like I have learned why it was so important that we as a group are able to rally behind the Black Lives Matter movement. I think community plays a huge part in supporting the BLM movement. It’s not just enough for us as individuals to be moving forward, it’s important that we have an Asian community presence in this battle.

The fostering role of communities in promoting thick solidarity was further described by Trichelle, a Chamorro woman in her late 50s:

I think the college and university experience has helped facilitate an understanding about race, generally, and experiences as Asian Americans or Pacific Islanders, secondarily. They facilitated an ability to see the connections, both the differences and the similarities of how racism has impacted AAPI communities but also how it is linked to the experiences of Black folks. The ability to have the language and to have some kind of infrastructure is critical to mobilize. Mobilization does not happen in the absence of some kind of organizational infrastructure.

Actions
To understand this larger process of action, participants in this study described non-action, performative action, or action toward thick solidarity. Participants additionally described how contextual factors, causal conditions, and intervening conditions interacted to influence the type of actions that occurred.

Non-Action
Non-action occurred when Asian American individuals were unable to challenge collectivistic notions of “not rocking the boat,” “not making waves,” and “not causing trouble.” Non-action was also more likely to occur when Asian Americans became overwhelmed by the economic and social privilege afforded to them because of their proximity to Whiteness. Upon considering the distinctness of Black oppression, participants described recognition of how Asian Americans may feel “unable,” “unsupported,” “guilty,” or “ineffective” to engage in action because of burnout; lack of community, validation, support, or resources; or feelings of “privilege guilt.” Participants also described how non-action may occur in older generations and Asian immigrants who may have internalized model minority traits, emphasized the importance of assimilation, remained encapsulated within the Asian American community, or lacked an understanding of systemic racism and social justice language.

Performative or Unhelpful Action
Performative or unhelpful action occurred when Asian American individuals either felt compelled to act to avoid being perceived as anti-Black or because supporting the BLM movement was “trending.” Unhelpful action occurred when Asian American individuals centered their issues in ways that disenfranchised Black issues or centered AAPI voices over Black voices (i.e., Asians4BlackLives). June described an example of how Asian American individuals may engage in performative action: “They’ll say one or two things online, and they’ll be like, ‛Oh, I did my part. I posted #BlackLivesMatter. Look at my profile picture. Look at my Instagram. Look, I posted a couple links for donations.’”

They also explained how centering AAPI voices constituted unhelpful action:

When someone posts “Yellow Peril Stands for Black Lives,” you’re actually overshadowing Black Lives Matter. Taking our title, our movement, and placing it in front of BLM says, “Hey, we’re here. We’re standing with you. Look at us.” That’s not acting in solidarity. It becomes one group saying, “I AM HERE. Here’s my voice for your voice.” We need to make our voices strong for theirs. We are the chorus and they are the lead singers.

Action Toward Thick Solidarity
Action toward thick solidarity occurred when Asian American individuals were able to support the BLM movement without centering AAPI issues or focusing on their own racial trauma histories. Demonstrating a willingness to learn how to be an ally and cultivating cultural humility were effective strategies in transcending action from performative or unhelpful to action toward thick solidarity. Sari, a Chinese and Lebanese woman in her early 30s, described the process of acting toward solidarity and the importance of communities that foster mobilization:

Solidarity to me is not a noun. It is a process that you continue to refine and reflect on and add or subtract things to, and it has a lot to do with your perspective and your approach. And I think a lot of solidarity with others comes from a genuine dedication to building your own community. I think a really important piece of solidarity is that introspection and community building with your own ingroup.

José explained how acting toward thick solidarity requires Asian Americans to follow the lead of Black activists. He tells the following story of how he explained allyship to a friend:

Remember two summers ago when you asked me to help you fix your deck, and I never knew how to work with power tools? The weekend before, I went on the internet and learned basic skills like how to hold a tool and how to be safe. And then when I went to your house, I wore a hard hat. I had everything ready, and I followed your lead and your leadership. That’s how you become an ally. You educate yourself. And when you go to situations you don’t center yourself. You follow the person who has the most experience.

Phenomenon, Consequences, and Core Category
Participants in the study described the process of feeling “primed” to act because of the combined causal conditions of George Floyd’s murder and experiences of COVID-19–related anti-Asian discrimination. Participants were able to mobilize because of the contextual factors of alignment with personal and community values, awareness and knowledge, and perspectives of oppression. The phenomenon of Asian American activists mobilizing in thick solidarity with the BLM movement were influenced by intervening conditions, which included affective responses, intergenerational conflict, conditioning of “privileges” afforded by White supremacy, and organized communities. Each of these conditions and factors interacted to influence non-action, performative or unhelpful action, and action toward thick solidarity.

Participants identified the consequences of pursuing thick solidarity with the Black community as resulting in pathways that facilitate three domains: (a) to promote intraracial and interracial healing, (b) to commit to personal and community values as well as human rights initiatives, and (c) to restructure policies and redistribute power. Within this study, “achieving a collective oppressed identity” occurred most frequently in participant narratives, experiences, and practices and was identified as absolutely critical for mobilization to occur. The core category of achieving a collective oppressed identity arose as a result of George Floyd’s murder, because of experiences of COVID-19–related anti-Asian discrimination, and in the light of awareness and knowledge.

Discussion

A grounded theory analysis with 25 diverse individuals outlined an emergent process describing how contributing factors mobilized Asian American activists toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement in June and July 2020. Understanding and abstracting this theoretical process is important to embolden other Asian American individuals to engage in collective social action. Components of the emergent process are consistent with the CIIM (Gaertner & Dovidio, 2000) and supplement additional studies that explored AAPI support for the BLM movement (Lee et al., 2020; Merseth, 2018; Yoo et al., 2021). Specifically, the theoretical process that emerged from this study illuminates new findings that indicate how achieving a collective oppressed identity and contextualizing the historical relationship between the Asian American and Black communities are critical to empowering AAPI communities to form racial coalitions (Chang, 2020; J. Ho, 2021). For many participants, understanding this history and becoming more racially conscious propelled their motivations for achieving solidarity and dismantling the forces of White supremacy that oppress all racialized groups. This finding reveals numerous perspectives that value historical context and knowledge as a central factor for AAPI activism, especially in tandem with other communities of color (Museus, 2021; Nicholson et al., 2020).

Participants in the study identified how George Floyd’s murder and their experiences of anti-Asian discrimination resulted in an achieved collective oppressed identity that contributed to their mobilization toward thick solidarity with the BLM movement. This finding is consistent with extant research that hypothesized how ingroup discrimination may cultivate increased empathy, positive attitudes, and a collective sense of greater community (Craig & Richeson, 2012; Tajfel & Turner, 1979). The ways that causal conditions identified in this study led to a collective oppressed identity may further be explained through the lens of the CIIM model (Gaertner & Dovidio, 2000), which posits that experiences of racial discrimination can engender positive attitudes and feelings of closeness to other racial minorities. The findings of the study additionally complement earlier studies on AAPI support for BLM that identified race-based linked fate beliefs among Asian Americans as a predictor of BLM support (Merseth, 2018), and an ethnography that identified the importance of organized educational communities for Southeast Asian Americans engaging in activism (Lee et al., 2020). Another possibility may be that participants in the study achieved a dual identity. As explained by Gaertner and colleagues (1994), dual identity occurs when individuals perceive themselves as members of different ethnic or racial groups “playing on the same team” (p. 227)—in this case, to dismantle the forces of White supremacy that continue to oppress all communities of color. The findings from the present study further elaborate on processes that may outline how anti-Asian discrimination can create the impetus for mobilizing in thick solidarity with the Black community (Anand & Hsu, 2020; Li & Nicholson, 2021; R. Liu & Shange, 2018; W. Liu, 2018).

Implications From the Study
The findings from this study can be used by mental health professionals and counselor educators to engage in meaningful racial dialogues and foster interracial coalitions. Specifically, professional counselors can employ this grounded theory to help Asian Americans heal from their own racial and intergenerational trauma by supporting other communities of color. The process of action outlined in our study illuminates the importance of promoting awareness and knowledge about the history of Black and AAPI oppression (Chang, 2020; J. Ho, 2021), connecting AAPI individuals to supportive communities (C. D. Chan & Litam, 2021; Yi et al., 2020), and providing helpful resources (e.g., Letters for Black Lives) and strategies (e.g., exposure and connection with other communities of color) to navigate cultural barriers (Arora & Stout, 2019).

Mental health professionals and social justice advocates can apply these findings to promote engagement in community organizing efforts of AAPI communities with the BLM movement, denounce anti-Blackness, and uphold culpability in supporting the Black community. Following the COVID-19 pandemic, AAPI individuals may experience greater rates of racial discrimination and anti-Asian rhetoric in ways that negatively impact their well-being (C. D. Chan & Litam, 2021; Jeung & Nham, 2020; Litam, 2020; Litam & Oh, 2020, 2021; Litam et al., 2021). Mental health professionals can validate these experiences of oppression and help clients redirect affective experiences in ways that promote awareness and knowledge (David et al., 2019; Museus, 2021), challenge proximity to Whiteness (Poon et al., 2016; Yi et al., 2020), and cultivate meaningful action in racial solidarity movements (Chang, 2020; Litam, 2021; Yoo et al., 2021). Helping Asian American individuals find communities that foster action toward thick solidarity with BLM and exploring how affective experiences influence accountability may be helpful in garnering support. For example, mental health professionals can explore whether limited perspectives of oppression and assimilation strategies may result in inaction or performative action, especially in directly challenging Whiteness (Chang, 2020; Yoon et al., 2016) or intentionally taking accountability for harboring anti-Black sentiments (Museus, 2021). This consideration is especially crucial as AAPIs build long-term solidarity as a proactive approach to Black solidarity rather than a temporary measure. Finally, mental health professionals may encourage AAPI individuals to expand their perspectives to include dual identities as AAPI people and as members of a greater group of oppressed minoritized individuals to foster racial coalitions.

Limitations
First, participants self-selected into the study with a strong working knowledge of their activist and AAPI identities. Readers must therefore be judicious about transferring these findings to AAPI individuals whose activist and/or racial identities may not be fully developed. Second, participants represented a small sample of a larger Asian American community that endorses varying views about activism, anti-Blackness, and other human rights issues. Notably, the sample only included one person with Pacific Islander heritage. Although the importance of thick solidarity continues to gain traction, readers must caution themselves against interpreting these perspectives as a monolithic viewpoint held by all AAPI individuals.

Recommendations for Future Research
The limitations of the study yield additional opportunities to build upon empirical research that illuminates racial coalitions, particularly among communities of color. With the findings of this study, it would be helpful to elucidate critical developmental points that shift AAPI communities into racial consciousness of White supremacy. This developmental point may be complex, given different histories of regions within the United States, migration histories, acculturation rates, and racial socialization within families. Similarly, White supremacy seeks to homogenize AAPI communities as a single racial group solely characterized by educational and economic success (Museus, 2021).

Built upon the premise of this study, it behooves researchers to address how anti-Blackness persists within AAPI communities (Yi et al., 2020; Yoo et al., 2021). Because only one participant had Pacific Islander heritage in the current study, researchers can further explore how Pacific Islanders may (a) endorse anti-Blackness, (b) experience the nexus of racism and colonialism, and (c) shape their commitments to solidarity with Black communities. Based on the themes underpinning the process toward thick solidarity in the study, it may be beneficial for researchers to consider the institutional conditions of their neighborhoods, communities, schools, and workplaces in promoting racial coalitions. Given that the study’s findings emphasized the importance of awareness and knowledge, it would be helpful to engage in qualitative research that further explores how educators in the P–16 system (i.e., preschool to college) map their curriculum of Asian history to include knowledge of racial coalitions, White supremacy, imperialism, and colonialism. Further research may also examine how counselor educators address the complex and racialized experiences of Asian American and Black communities within graduate coursework. Additionally, it is imperative to expand on research that illuminates Black organizers, activists, and communities in racial solidarity movements and Black-Asian racial coalitions.

Conclusion

The results of a grounded theory with diverse Asian American voices illuminated how causal conditions, contextual factors, intervening conditions, actions, and outcomes mobilized Asian Americans toward solidarity with the BLM movement in 2020. Understanding these conditions are of paramount importance to overcoming anti-Black notions embedded within AAPI ethnic subgroups and challenging systemic forms of racial oppression that impact all communities of color.

 

Conflict of Interest and Funding Disclosure
The authors reported no conflict of interest
or funding contributions for the development
of this manuscript.

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Stacey Diane Arañez Litam, PhD, NCC, CCMHC, LPCC-S, is an assistant professor at Cleveland State University. Christian D. Chan, PhD, NCC, is an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Correspondence may be addressed to Stacey Litam, 2121 Euclid Ave., Cleveland, OH 44115, s.litam@csuohio.edu.