{"title":"Introduction to the Special Issue – Resilience and Transformation: Reflections on 2020","authors":"Jordan S. Potash","doi":"10.1080/07421656.2022.2080433","DOIUrl":null,"url":null,"abstract":"“Be safe” When facilitating an open art therapy studio at a drop-in center for runaway and unhoused young people in Washington D.C., each time someone leaves for the day, we seldom say “goodbye” or “see you later.” Instead, everyone calls out “Be safe.” There’s “be safe” because the streets are rarely secure and the same with some shelters. Even those who are housed navigate constant job searches and food insecurity. During the cold winter months and excruciating summer heat, these realities intensify. There’s “be safe” because there is vulnerability in being young Black and Brown women and men in a racist society. That exposure increases for young people who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual – and further increases for those who are transgender and gender nonconforming. Youth with psychological trauma, learning and other disabilities face even more difficulties. I have always thanked youth and staff for their well wishes that I also remain safe. For the most part, it only serves to highlight what I already know – that my White skin and my cisgender male identity insulate me from the harassment they receive and systemic obstacles they regularly encounter. This caring phrase also reminds me how I am selectively able to reveal my gay, Jewish, and other invisible identities. And at this point in my life, I am assured with housing and food, which furthers another divide. From March 2020 and since, “be safe” took on additional meanings that started to narrow the gap among our differences. At first, it meant, stay healthy. Do what you can to stay COVID-free. For the young people that I work with, this is no easy task when transitory housing limits social distancing options, the majority of jobs available are those with the highest risk of exposure, and healthcare evidenced underlying deficiencies. As the health pandemic intensified, an endemic condition in the U.S. showed itself – racism and discrimination. There were racial and socioeconomic health disparities (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2021). Asians and Asian Americans were targeted as perpetrators of the virus, as online hate speech became physical violence (Ong, 2021). In the summer, the murder of George Floyd, soon after the high-profile deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, led to the rise of Black Lives Matter demonstrations across the country and around the globe. For clients, “be safe” meant advocating for them to raise their voices while identifying safeguards as their skin color made them targets for roving gangs of White nationalists, neo-Nazis, and fascists who came to Washington D.C. looking for banners to burn and people to beat (Jackman et al., 2020). Even the measures meant to keep the city secure, such as heightened police and military presence, actually did little to make the youth feel protected. As the year came to a close, “be safe” recalled government stability. The heated U.S. Presidential Election exasperated political discord that threatened U.S. democracy, which culminated soon after 2020 ended with an insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. Although these three threats – health, discrimination, governance – impacted disproportionately based on racial and socioeconomic positions, most everyone had to come to a new understanding of safety. At the pandemic’s onset, art therapists began sharing strategies for sanitation and hygiene as well as meeting with clients and educating students virtually. As the public health challenges merged with racial injustices, art therapists also began to investigate their roles in perpetuating inequitable systems and how to rectify them. The documented expressions of hardship and suffering also brought forth examples of resilience and transformation as individuals and agencies adapted and found meaning from the current moment (Burke-Garcia et al., 2021). Some have referred to these ways of working as the new normal that separates the before pandemic times from the current aftermath. It is doubtful that there has ever been such a thing as a normal approach to art therapy. What is becoming clear is that normal art therapy is responsive based on client needs, cultural values, racialsocial-cultural oppression, contextual factors, and treatment expectations of helping and art making.","PeriodicalId":8492,"journal":{"name":"Art Therapy","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":1.3000,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":"0","resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":null,"PeriodicalName":"Art Therapy","FirstCategoryId":"1085","ListUrlMain":"https://doi.org/10.1080/07421656.2022.2080433","RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":null,"ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":null,"EPubDate":"","PubModel":"","JCR":"Q3","JCRName":"PSYCHOLOGY, CLINICAL","Score":null,"Total":0}
引用次数: 0
Abstract
“Be safe” When facilitating an open art therapy studio at a drop-in center for runaway and unhoused young people in Washington D.C., each time someone leaves for the day, we seldom say “goodbye” or “see you later.” Instead, everyone calls out “Be safe.” There’s “be safe” because the streets are rarely secure and the same with some shelters. Even those who are housed navigate constant job searches and food insecurity. During the cold winter months and excruciating summer heat, these realities intensify. There’s “be safe” because there is vulnerability in being young Black and Brown women and men in a racist society. That exposure increases for young people who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual – and further increases for those who are transgender and gender nonconforming. Youth with psychological trauma, learning and other disabilities face even more difficulties. I have always thanked youth and staff for their well wishes that I also remain safe. For the most part, it only serves to highlight what I already know – that my White skin and my cisgender male identity insulate me from the harassment they receive and systemic obstacles they regularly encounter. This caring phrase also reminds me how I am selectively able to reveal my gay, Jewish, and other invisible identities. And at this point in my life, I am assured with housing and food, which furthers another divide. From March 2020 and since, “be safe” took on additional meanings that started to narrow the gap among our differences. At first, it meant, stay healthy. Do what you can to stay COVID-free. For the young people that I work with, this is no easy task when transitory housing limits social distancing options, the majority of jobs available are those with the highest risk of exposure, and healthcare evidenced underlying deficiencies. As the health pandemic intensified, an endemic condition in the U.S. showed itself – racism and discrimination. There were racial and socioeconomic health disparities (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2021). Asians and Asian Americans were targeted as perpetrators of the virus, as online hate speech became physical violence (Ong, 2021). In the summer, the murder of George Floyd, soon after the high-profile deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, led to the rise of Black Lives Matter demonstrations across the country and around the globe. For clients, “be safe” meant advocating for them to raise their voices while identifying safeguards as their skin color made them targets for roving gangs of White nationalists, neo-Nazis, and fascists who came to Washington D.C. looking for banners to burn and people to beat (Jackman et al., 2020). Even the measures meant to keep the city secure, such as heightened police and military presence, actually did little to make the youth feel protected. As the year came to a close, “be safe” recalled government stability. The heated U.S. Presidential Election exasperated political discord that threatened U.S. democracy, which culminated soon after 2020 ended with an insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. Although these three threats – health, discrimination, governance – impacted disproportionately based on racial and socioeconomic positions, most everyone had to come to a new understanding of safety. At the pandemic’s onset, art therapists began sharing strategies for sanitation and hygiene as well as meeting with clients and educating students virtually. As the public health challenges merged with racial injustices, art therapists also began to investigate their roles in perpetuating inequitable systems and how to rectify them. The documented expressions of hardship and suffering also brought forth examples of resilience and transformation as individuals and agencies adapted and found meaning from the current moment (Burke-Garcia et al., 2021). Some have referred to these ways of working as the new normal that separates the before pandemic times from the current aftermath. It is doubtful that there has ever been such a thing as a normal approach to art therapy. What is becoming clear is that normal art therapy is responsive based on client needs, cultural values, racialsocial-cultural oppression, contextual factors, and treatment expectations of helping and art making.