Relational Work in the Struggle Against Poverty: Balancing Scholarly Critiques and Emancipatory Practices in the Nonprofit Sector

Introduction

Spread across the United States are thousands of nonprofit organizations (NPOs) that aid low-income and homeless populations. For better or for worse, especially with the decline of traditional welfare (now Temporary Assistance to Needy Families [TANF]) and the intensification of inequalities, these agencies are an increasingly crucial part of the frayed safety net. Such NPOs often rely on a mix of public and private funding to fulfill their aims, which span across different populations and needs (Allard, 2011; Grønbjerg, 2001; S. R. Smith, 2012; Sommerfeld & Reisch, 2003). Over the past two decades, there has been a trend among such organizations back toward what we call “relational work” (RW), which was more common during the Progressive Era. RW, as this article illustrates below, typically involves engaging with clients over time on major life changes involving, for example, daily practices, coping skills, attitudes, and goal-setting. Albeit less frequent, it is important to note that RW can also involve consciousness-raising leading to various forms of community involvement.

RW is often discussed in starkly negative if not nightmarish terms by scholars, especially neo-Foucauldians focusing on neoliberalism and governmentality (e.g., Rose, 1999). Such powerful critiques can inspire people to see clearly and remain honest (with themselves) about the damage that can all too easily be inflicted—even with the best of intentions—on vulnerable populations (King & Learmonth, 2015). These critiques are founded on compelling evidence that (managers of) human service workers engage in paternalistic and sometimes racialized disciplining practices making citizens “governable” in part through replacing their expectations about tasks of the welfare state with moralizing discourses about “personal responsibility” (Soss, Fording, & Schram, 2011). Here, “responsibilization” (Shamir, 2008) often ends up hiding how neoliberalism can normalize structural factors like high housing costs and low wages that contribute to homelessness and inequality (Lyon-Callo, 2004).

As scholars concerned about increasing inequalities and “social suffering” (Bourdieu, 1999), we certainly sympathize with many of the concerns the neo-Foucauldian skeptics raise. Yet we also see—above all as fieldworkers with decades of direct observations on the front lines in various nonprofit sectors—the need to balance the theoretically sophisticated and tantalizing critiques of RW with something that is at present quite scarce: empirically grounded and theoretically advanced insights into how RW supports the disadvantaged to make the changes they want to make. Furthermore, increasing pressures toward excessively narrow notions of professionalization in the nonprofit sector (King, 2017; Maier, Meyer, & Steinbereithner, 2016) often manifest themselves as an instrumental focus on measurable short-term outcomes demonstrating cost-effectiveness and utilization of competitive practices (Maier et al., 2016; Perez Jolles, Collins-Camargo, McBeath, Bunger, & Chuang, 2017). In the face of mounting pressures toward such potentially (self-)constricting (managerial) practices, it is increasingly urgent that we gain insights into how RW can help break cycles of poverty and validate seemingly “idealistic” forms of professionalization and “commitment to social transformation” (King, 2017, pp. 254-256).

To be sure, it is not our aim to downplay either the need for systemic shifts in policies that can address the reproduction of poverty and homelessness (Desmond, 2016; Putnam, 2015) or the harsh realities associated with Foucault-inspired critiques. Rather, knowing that complexities and risks have always been inherent in deeply relational forms of human service work (Cummins, 2018), our aim is to demonstrate programmatically how sensitivity to the issues highlighted in critiques can be integrated within evenhanded investigations doing justice to both the failings and successes of RW.

We begin with a brief review of the history of RW from the Progressive Era, its decline after the 1930s, and its recent resurgence. We then consider neo-Foucauldian critiques associated with this form of social service. Moving on, we offer an assessment of certain frequently overlooked insights developed by Foucault just ahead of his untimely passing. Here, we demonstrate that the markedly changed emphasis in Foucault’s lesser known later work grew in part out of his own concerns about his earlier work contributing to “paralysis” among professions such as social work. Sensitized by a balanced set of Foucauldian concepts, one might say that we twist the stick the other way and highlight the utility of “late” Foucault’s pragmatic efforts while delving into the complexities of RW in action. While space constraints do not allow for extended use of our own ethnographic material, the part of this article examining the varieties and ambiguities of RW is informed by our ongoing research among widely varying NPOs (Jindra & Jindra 2014; Paulle 2019). The conclusion summarizes the main implications of our argument that (nonprofit) organization and management scholars can do justice to the interdependencies and experiences arising from RW, including those that are genuinely cooperative and emancipatory. In closing, we also reflect on how those staffing and managing NPOs—who may be feeling pressure from financial supporters to operate in more businesslike ways—can argue for the importance of staff-intensive yet flexible and adaptable RW that meets organizational goals.

RW and Its Progressive Roots

The term “relational work” has been used by different scholars to mean different things in different contexts (Benjamin, 2012; Folgheraiter, 2007; Zelizer, 2005). In our use, RW can be found on a continuum of interactions from anonymous and brief to ongoing and deep. The former is found more often at places like food pantries, with the other extreme at staff-heavy residential centers with many programs. In this article, we are discussing the more intense side of the continuum which can include classes, mentoring, counseling, or any form of ongoing meeting or group work. This is where stronger attempts at change are found, and where the issues we discuss in this article arise.

    Forms of Relational Work

Anonymous & Brief     Ongoing & Deep

Here, interactions are often directed toward longer term issues, problems, or goals that are particularly meaningful from the client’s perspective. They are meant to foster reflexivity, beneficial forms of self-care, and both self- and collective efficacy. Taking Snow and Anderson’s (1993) typology of organizational responses to homelessness, RW fits more within the “restorative” rather than the “accommodative” mode, as found in simple food pantries or giveaways that are not meant to identify lasting needs (p. 78). Ideally, it is a collaboration between staff and client toward a better future and what it takes to get there. ¹

Domains in which RW may be implicated include the following:

During the Progressive Era, what we would call RW was a common—if not dominant—form of human service work. Iconic examples include Mary Richmond’s charity organization society (COS) movement and as part of it, the “friendly visitor” approach, which was highly influential and attempted a “moral transformation” of those in poverty (Okpych & Yu, 2014, p. 14). Jane Addams, the “mother” of social work in the United States, along with her band of activist-reformers could not help but engage in various forms of RW for a simple reason: They often lived with those they served, most famously in the Hull House settlement. Addams and her fellow travelers fought for social progress most immediately through the creation of strong and durable emotional ties. Lasting relationships based on shared experiences and mutual trust were the sine qua non of caring responses that, in Addams’s view, provided useful resources.

Yet this kind of work was not at odds with collective efforts to combat structural disadvantages. Addams’s socialist ethics demanded that intense effort, creativity, empathy, and knowledge about the shifting social contexts of those in need be the starting point, not imposed expert “solutions.” Crucially, Addams never chose between work on the macro-political level, the meso-organizational level, or on the micro-interactional and even intra-psychic level. Her unifying assumption was that fighting on all fronts was the single best way to achieve the durable movement of oppressed masses out of poverty (Elshtain, 2002). Unfortunately, Addams’s type of “care work” has often been historically feminized and devalued, ignored, or neglected in mainstream academic and policy dialogues and debates (Wilkinson & Kleinman, 2016).

RW’s Renaissance

RW never died. It had a peak period with the “psychiatric deluge” of the early 20th century (Woodroofe, 1962, pp. 118-147), which brought attention to the particular complexities of individuals, instead of just their general situation of deprivation. RW likely declined with the emergence of universal government programs in the 1930s and 1960s, when casework often involved determining eligibility and getting people official assistance. Of course, during this period, faith-based RW continued to some degree through institutions like rescue missions, the Salvation Army, and the YMCA/YWCA. Also, the rise of Alcoholics Anonymous after 1935 foreshadowed the return to more secular approaches of RW.

With welfare reform, increased inequality, and the huge increase in NPOs, RW seems to have increased in the last decades. Back in 2002, it was noted that homeless services had been shifting (back) toward a focus on lasting attempts to address the problems faced by the most destitute (Dordick, 2002). A great deal of evidence suggests that this trend continues, across a wide range of services including more formal “case management” (Poindexter & Valentine, 2007), the “continuum-of-care shelter model” (Wasserman & Clair, 2010), or other approaches, such as “developmental relationships” (Li & Julian, 2012), personal mentoring (Babcock, 2014), or other cooperative relationships founded on “co-determination” work (Benjamin & Campbell, 2015; Woodward, 2013), all of which involve ongoing contact, guidance, and follow-ups on goals or plans, such as becoming more financially stable.

As we write, the trend toward RW is becoming noticeably stronger in several major antipoverty agencies. For instance, the over 100-year-old Salvation Army, founded on charity and evangelism, is the country’s largest private organization for “emergency services” assistance with utility and rent bills. In many U.S. regions, this part of their ministry is undergoing a major shift in philosophy and practice. Traditionally, this assistance paid off bills to avoid utility shut-off or eviction, without any ongoing follow-up. Since 2012, however, the Salvation Army’s “Pathway of Hope” program has gradually been rolled out in various places across the country, marking a “shift from ‘serving’ clients to longer-term interventions that help ‘solve’ client’s root cause barriers” by allowing the “social worker the opportunity to become a neighbor and advocate, and often a minister” (The Salvation Army, 2013).

Another major national organization, St. Vincent de Paul (SVDP), is now supplementing their charitable “works of mercy” approach with a more case management or mentoring approach. Their motto is now “end poverty through systemic change,” a goal expressed to us by a local SVDP director out of a sense of frustration that they were simply serving some of the same people repeatedly, instead of seeing more recipients escape cycles of poverty. Instead of simply giving goods away (mostly food), practice now involves a more intense engagement with the lives of recipients that focuses on their future.

Similarly, many of the more than 1,000 community action agencies that funnel government aid to the poor (often through nonprofits, a legacy of 1960s Great Society programs) increasingly utilize various kinds of RW involving goals of self-sufficiency or stability, such as family development programs. Thousands of others, such as community-based organizations (CBOs; Marwell, 2007) also use mentoring, counseling, or (therapeutic) coaching, along with other kinds of RW. ² The use of home visitors, especially to work with parents in early childhood programs, is also booming (Schaefer, 2016). Even the massive U.S. food bank network, Feeding America, is examining how to understand and help people in the long run beyond food donations.

This trend may also be starting to get underway outside the United States, most noticeably with the “relational welfare” approach in the United Kingdom (Cottam, 2011). In the field of human services, some argue this move toward RW is “Era 3” of social policy, following the expert-led model of the 1960s and the neoliberal model that took root in the 1980s. This latter era focuses more on relationships and quality and the empirical impact of the practice (Berwick, 2016; Little, Sandu, & Truesdale, 2015).

Toward a Theoretical Reorientation

As noted above, many influential neo-Foucauldian scholars have problematized the ways nonprofits prepare their clients to become more “personally responsible.” According to this argument, increased workfare requirements and surveillance regimes allow governments to justify spending cuts leading, in turn, to withering social safety nets and their replacements by a hodgepodge of private organizations (Fairbanks, 2009; Goode, 2006; Van Oort, 2015; Zigon, 2010). Even in situations where government programs have not been reduced, research has documented increased emphasis on employability and self-sufficiency instead of welfare as a right (van der Veen, Yerkes, & Achterberg, 2012). Schram, Soss, Houser, and Fording (2010) offer an incisive summary of this general perspective on welfare reform:

US welfare reform involves . . . significant changes in poverty governance as a disciplinary regime. Welfare policy has been transformed by the rise of a “new paternalism” that is deeply entwined with the globally ascendant market-centered philosophy of   “neoliberalism . . .” In this system, diverse policy tools are deployed to produce a form of self-discipline that is consonant with the need for compliant low-wage workers in a globalizing economy. (p. 739)

Although some have challenged the empirical or theoretical foundations of Foucauldian critiques (Floersch, 2004; Wakefield, 1998), such vexing themes show up again and again in the literature, often for good reason. From a neo-Foucauldian perspective, “empowerment” can be seen as a stealthy guise for further oppression. Neoliberal responsibilization equates with the (pseudo)democratic governing of citizens through—rather than in spite of—their liberties, choices, and collaborations (Rose, 1998). Although no one (organization) is directing this surreptitious strategy, everyone involved—including staff and management (King, 2017)—is at risk of being increasingly caught up in a dark march toward detrimental grids of power-knowledge framed in uplifting promises about personal strength and the reduction of suffering.

More or less clearly influenced by this dystopian vision, many have argued that nonprofit agencies tend to “punish” or “regulate” (Fairbanks, 2009; Hackworth, 2010; Hasenfeld & Garrow, 2012; Soss et al., 2011; Woolford & Nelund, 2013) the poor instead of supporting them. Time and again, the relationship between the service provider and users is depicted as being oppositional. Little attention is paid to the possibility that new social connections, flows of information, or practices might actually foster beneficial forms of self-care, collective efficacy, or reflexivity. Indeed, from this perspective, researchers of antipoverty NPOs who highlight the curative aspects of RW might seem biased (as well as naive, insufficiently empirical, or even co-opted by the neoliberal juggernaut).

The neo-Foucauldian critique, however, reveals a strong partiality toward autonomy and against involvement in institutions, which are seen as oppressive. Academics generally, and neo-Foucauldians specifically, often view themselves not only as advocates for the marginalized but also as observers who are uniquely capable of unmasking “coercive” or paternalistic practices (Carr, 2009, p. 321ff.) threatening autonomy. This, however, can lead to neglecting the possibility of a “positive bond between persons and societies” (C. Smith, 2015, p. 59). The emancipatory ideal implicitly undergirding the neo-Foucauldian critique is centered on a notion of “negative freedom” (Berlin, 2002), which stresses freedom as the absence of restraints. Yet precisely this absence can contribute to anomie (Bowring, 2015) and vigilance about negative freedom can overwhelm notions of positive freedom. Positive freedom often roots people in a tradition or social context with specific goals, which can also help orient their more personal goals (Laidlaw, 2014). In contrast to oppositions involving individual versus society or negative freedom versus enabling constraints, anthropologist James Laidlaw (2014) argues that one must develop “ethnographically thinkable concepts of freedom and responsibility” (p. 44) that make up for the weaknesses of social theory when it comes to action and motivation (Laidlaw, 2014, pp. 5-10).

In many cases, nonprofits develop positive freedom through their relational processes such as coaching, mentoring, or in classes where people reflect on their lives and goals. These processes can be controversial among academics in part because positive freedom has particular normative ends (e.g., self-sufficiency and yes, greater responsibility) for individuals. Yet in places as unexpected as prison rehabilitation programs in California, positive freedom generating processes continue to take forms which seem to be aligned with those prescribed by Foucault in his final years (Paulle, 2017).

This brings us to the often overlooked reasons why Foucault “changed his mind” with regard to certain types of (self-)disciplining regimes capable of augmenting personal fulfillment and even a sense of liberation (Foucault, 2000, p. 177). Even in his mid-career Discipline and Punish, Foucault (1979) warned against one-sided interpretations and applications of his hard-won insights. “We must cease once and for all to describe the effects of power in negative terms,” he wrote (p. 187). In terms of RW, one might suggest, the point already then was that those working with vulnerable people should be reflexive about their actions—not incapacitated or stuck in debunking mode by his critique. Understandably then, Foucault was distressed by social workers’ reactions to reading Discipline and Punish: “‘The book is paralyzing’ Foucault himself wrote, ‘it impedes us; it prevents us from going on our activity’” (King & Learmonth, 2015, pp. 365-366, citing Foucault, 2002, pp. 245-246).

Even Discipline and Punish may have contributed less to immobilization than to what Foucault intended: reflexivity, critical stances on normalization, and exploration of ways out of oppressive discourses. Here it seems we find at least part of the motivation for Foucault’s final incarnation as a pragmatic methodologist. Many of his final insights revealed his sympathies for “at once personal and social” practices that “often took place within more or less institutionalized structures” where “self-knowledge occupies a central place” (Foucault, 1986, pp. 58, 51). As demonstrated in Dreyfus and Rabinow’s (1982) masterful treatment, late Foucault made clear that he believed such transformative learning and teaching processes—embedded in strong and durable mentoring relationships—could above all help people augment capacities for self-knowledge and self-control. What late Foucault (1986) revealed and embraced, then, was a “whole art of self-knowledge developed, with precise recipes, specific norms of examination, and codified exercises” that promoted “establishing a supremacy over oneself” or, as Seneca put it, a “reunit[ing] with oneself” (p. 46). Against this backdrop, Foucault’s use of “pastoral power” can be seen at least in part as a beneficial form of RW, focusing largely on the care of the individual (Golder, 2007; Scherz, 2014, pp. 94-96).

As such, we thoroughly agree with King and Learmonth’s (2015) conclusion that “Foucault’s work . . . in the final analysis . . . is not paralyzing (however much it might feel like that to start with)” (p. 366, emphasis in original). Furthermore, we applaud examples of scholarship that seriously engage Foucault’s later work. However, as Munro (2014) points out, what is still missing is research showing how the insights offered by late Foucault can orient investigations into self-creation achieved through “concrete organizational practices” (pp. 1127-1128).

In terms of theoretical reorientation, the main takeaway for us is this: The profound concepts associated with Foucault’s well-known early- to mid-career critique of paternalism and disciplinary power can be paired with the less frequently utilized yet perhaps equally astute analytic tools Foucault crafted late in life during his pragmatic turn. As the rest of this article endeavors to show, such a pairing or counter-balancing can help us do justice to both (a) the tensions and dangers inherent in RW and (b) the reality of curative transformations through the regimes of care we associate with RW (cf. McWhorter, 1999).

Doing Human Service Work Relationally

Nonprofits are a prime location for examining the intersection of the often-segregated worlds of low-income populations with more middle-class institutions and practices. Given limited space, we cannot offer detailed examples from the wide range of RW approaches. We do, however, want to give a sense of how different organizations do RW. ³

RW takes place at government and for-profit organizations, but above all at NPOs such as those we focus on here. The largest ones are branches of national organizations, such as the Salvation Army, Goodwill, or Catholic Charities. Others are much smaller independent agencies with local roots. Some are faith-based (Adkins, Occhipinti, & Hefferan, 2010) and others less so or not at all. Their activities include the following:

As mentioned above, some agencies combine RW with explicit and repeated attention to wider structural and policy issues. More commonly, among the many organizations that do frontline work, RW begins with an initial intake involving an attempt to learn about the background and immediate or long-term needs of the individual or family. If problems are short term (a sudden loss of a job, but the worker has no problem getting another job), there need be little follow-up. If, however, problems seem long term, there may be future meetings and a relationship may take form. This may happen formally and quickly, such as is often the case at emergency services nonprofits that help with bills. By contrast, a relationship may form slowly, for example, at the many meal programs where contact with volunteers or staff often evolves into informal mentoring or advising or leads to referral to formal and comprehensive case management. To gauge whether progress is made as the relationship ensues, many NPOs utilize matrixes to assess indicators such as those having to do with finances, health, and relationships (Matrix Outcomes Model, n.d.).

Here, we arrive at a set of practices that, in part for good reason, may raise red flags for researchers concerned about “responsibilization.” Such agencies may require that a client do a job search with their employment specialist or meet with a budget counselor. Some may be offered opportunities or encouraged to join programs where they join with “family development” staff to choose their own goals and methods of achieving them through services, education, social networks, jobs, budgeting or other action plans (Forest, 2015). ⁴ Programs like this may include matching a portion of clients’ monthly utility payment as an incentive to participate. Some organizations use a group-facilitated (therapeutic) model to get people to discuss and reflect on their backgrounds and goals for the future and how they plan to get there. Some incorporate intense “self-evaluations” as part of the group process (Jindra, 2018). Organizations may vary quite a bit in structure and approach. Some (especially residential facilities) work intensively and in clearly mandated ways with residents on life changes through required classes. Others have fewer required programs, leaving involvement more up to the desire of the individual.

Without doubt, especially in the hands of incompetent or malicious staff, such practices associated with RW can easily bleed into damaging forms paternalism and harmful surveillance techniques. Yet the bonds formed by RW can also facilitate, for example, the process through which clients come to understand the effects—also on their loved ones—of numbing themselves with drugs and alcohol or lashing out in violence instead of processing the emotional wounds caused by traumatic events during childhood (Van der Kolk, 2015). In time, RW can help with—and also interfere with or even reverse—the process through which such wounds are healed. That is, at the heart of RW, one can find both risks of “responsibilization” and possibilities for increased self-efficacy based on durable relationships capable of underpinning attempts to carefully diagnose and effectively deal with deeply rooted sources of suffering. By contrast, anonymous “people processing” caseworkers who check eligibility and then, for example, offer someone access to a food bank are not even attempting to achieve any of this “people changing” work.

Many RW interventions use a “strengths-based” approach. Here again, neo-Foucauldian skeptics concerned about institutionalized clichés and misguided individualization may understandably raise red flags. However, our observations indicate that such approaches are often meant to utilize the limited yet extant skills and resources people in dire straits can draw upon to effect positive change. Here, it is important to keep in mind that such “strengths-based” RW need not direct clients’ gaze inward. This specific form of RW can be informed by attempts to foster understandings of—and ways of coping with—economic, political, ethnicity, or gender-based domination. Some NPOs remain dedicated to this type of explicitly critical RW (Paulle, 2017), even as others have been shut down for doing this or forced to operate in ways that underscore how empty talk of strengths-based approaches dovetails with concerns about neoliberal governmentality (Lyon-Callo, 2004). What is more, even if for some skeptics RW focuses too narrowly on responsibility and stabilizing the individual in the short term, this still leaves open the question of longer term effects. Survivors of domestic violence and various kinds of addictions helped through more inwardly oriented forms of RW can, once they have gained a modicum of control over their lives, develop into reflexive and effective advocates for change well beyond the boundaries of their direct interpersonal relationships. In other words, even when RW staff tries to help clients address what is in their immediate sphere of influence, it does not necessarily instill inner direction or an “individual-as-central sensibility” (Lewis, 1993) in the longer term.

None of this is to deny that RW can go wrong. NPOs may not only seem but also in fact be paternalistic if not downright punitive when, for example, they put conditions on assistance. RW cannot escape particular tensions and threats that warrant examination through a “responsibilization” lens. For other reasons as well, the growing focus on self-reliance at many antipoverty NPOs deserves careful scrutiny. Yet the same level of attention should be paid to staff successfully helping people over the long term (e.g., helping people budget). Many NPOs try to walk the fine line between nudging and equipping on one hand, and over-personalizing or even blaming the victim on the other. Walking this line often involves offering generosity and encouraging people—but also challenging people—to change their everyday practices in ways that can lead to greater stability and fulfillment. Inevitably, what results can be seen as a tension between “compassion” and “accountability” (Elisha, 2011) involving countless pragmatic normative judgments. Instead of just implementing comparatively rigid rules and procedures, as students of Lipsky (2010) might rush to point out, frontline staff engaged in RW have to navigate extensive leeway and make decisions based on how they see open-ended situations (Maynard-Moody & Musheno, 2012). “Generosity” and “sustainability” is another unavoidable tension, as staff end up making (on the spot) decisions about deservingness, because unconditional giving would deplete available funds quickly.

Shifting from a more bureaucratic or anonymous approach to a more relational one involves judgments, reciprocities, and responsibilities of the kind that often come along with any meaningful human relationship. Just as some individuals have problems with this, so will some NPOs. At a Salvation Army site in Michigan, for example, older volunteers that were used to giving aid out upon request did not like the shift to a more relational format that required them to find out more about the complicated situations of the needy and address long-term needs.

Caseworkers try to be as personal as possible without being too intrusive while finding out ways to help (Belcher & Deforge, 2007). Along the way, feelings can easily get hurt, frustration often rises, biases may be present, and building trust always takes time. Managers and critical observers may for good reason wonder if those engaging in such RW are equipped—or are on their way to becoming equipped—to help clients deal with the problems they face. Nonetheless, investments of time and attention, often over many months, can lead clients to open up about their fears and barriers, which can then be addressed.

Things can certainly be derailed during intense group-therapeutic encounters in which more and less traumatized people often visibly struggle with vulnerability and trusting others. On the contrary, one middle-aged interviewee seemed to speak for many when she described how she had “mixed emotions” about group-based self-evaluations “at first” but gradually grew “more comfortable” with the process once she realized it was not a judgment tool but a way to “help you grow and take a look at yourself.” The homeless shelter providing a service to this vulnerable woman models humility when staff members open themselves to the same community self-evaluation process. Here, there is a crucial recognition that we all have weaknesses and things we can change, and that we can all use constructive “relational work” to improve our lives and the lives of those around us. RW grounded in this recognition becomes less embedded in power and more in mutual care.

None of this is to suggest that scrutiny should be abandoned at the institutional level. The rise of “sober homes,” for instance, has led to abuses in part because they are generally unregulated (“Addiction, Inc.,” 2017), as are some of the recovery houses in Philadelphia that take insurance or aid payments from their guests without offering much real help in return (Fairbanks, 2009). Researchers should remain vigilant about how RW opens up the potential for emotional and sexual abuse. Leadership can become autocratic. Staff can feel overwhelmed by “compassion fatigue” or from having too little time to spend with specific clients.

In the end, a chief tension in RW perpetually involves whether and how much to “nudge” clients (Benjamin, 2012, p. 436). Especially when goals set by clients themselves are not being met, staff members often oscillate between leaving the next steps to client initiative and offering what they see as a supportive push. Without for a moment downplaying the risks neo-Foucauldians associate with “responsibilization,” it should be recalled that agency staff have harsh, objectively structured inequalities rubbed in their faces every day. They frequently acknowledge this and indeed often report being motivated by it. Yet in seeking to help clients find a toehold, and even as they invest heavily in (healing) relationships with clients, they often emphasize that change must come from within, from clients hearing the call.

Discussion: Technologies of the Self, Transformations of Society

One of the biggest concerns of scholars of poverty and homelessness has to do with starting points. Should reform efforts begin with the self or with larger societal structures and policies? Although many nonprofits exude or actively put into practice their commitment to the latter, the central tendency is for them to focus on the former. This can get them into trouble with social scientists who stress the need to change structures first—especially if, after being sensitized by neo-Foucauldian accounts, they are wary of the dubious ways in which institutions have attempted to change individuals. Yet it is this same author’s work that helps us grasp not only the futility of the self/society dichotomy, and thus the question about starting points, but also that the constraints and nudges inherent in much RW often support emancipatory regimes of self-monitoring. To conceptualize RW among antipoverty NPOs mainly in terms of paternalistic disciplining and neoliberal “responsibilization” is simplistic to the point of being misleading. The intertwining of constraints and positive freedoms that late Foucault associated with “technologies of the self” and regimes of “self-care” offer a shining example of how to move from such scholarly simplifications to balanced and actionable accounts. While neo-Foucauldian critiques of neoliberalism are at times both convincing and urgent, they are widely off the mark when they claim—or imply—that the popularity of this form of human service work in the United States relates to how it (necessarily) fosters excessive individualization or the naturalization of inequalities. As in the Progressive Era, RW need not reduce the commitment to achieving policy shifts that can systemically reduce inequality and the suffering of the poor.

Given the complexity involved in combating homelessness and destitution, it makes sense that different antipoverty organizations focus on different parts of the puzzle. Some activist organizations take on structural issues and barriers, some tackle class and subcultural differences, and others concentrate more on the unique individual in his or her immediate social context. Ideally, organizations might include some aspect of all these approaches. This is what one finds, for example, in the Bridges Out of Poverty model, which includes an analysis of community barriers, class-based exploitation, and other structural forces in their approach (DeVol & Krebs, 2018). In addition, Bridges makes specific efforts to utilize facilitators that have come out of adverse, low-income and minority backgrounds and can often relate to the challenges of those they are working with, something we urge all nonprofits to do.

In general, NPOs have more freedom and flexibility than government agencies to adopt genuinely relational policies. Where there is perceived need, those working at such organizations often base attempts to bring about profound transformations on durable bonds (Monsma & Soper, 2006). Clients and their families may be severely stressed—without lights or water, perhaps short on food, or dealing with urgent health problems—leaving little energy with which to fight structural oppression. Deep within the trenches, NPO staff members have to look their visitors in the eye and help them with their pressing issues, the ones over which their clients have some modicum of control. Ideally, staff are adequately trained and committed to skillfully meeting people where they are, helping them deal with immediate problems and plans that can improve their situations. Religiously motivated or not, undergirding this is often a moral ethos. But in many cases, this ethos compels staff members not to create docile citizen–consumers that can easily be exploited by global capital but, rather, to respond to the needs of those who are struggling right now.

As we have begun documenting, such RW often involves tricky issues of charity, understandably socialized yet self-debilitating response patterns, reciprocity, and indeed personal responsibility. Inevitably, (institutionalized) hierarchies, (racialized or gendered) power relations, expectations, resentment, larger questions of justice, and contrasting perspectives come into play. Such nonprofits often interact with people when they are at rock bottom, a point when lasting change sometimes becomes more possible. Clearly, there can be no one right way to guide or foster change through RW, assuming change is needed.

Aside from being inherently risky, RW is also hard work. Less invasive options, such as simply taking applications over the phone and giving away goods or cash, are often far easier for staff than immersing themselves in the messy realities of vulnerable people’s lives. Sticking with the poor and showing them that you are in for the long haul require a great deal of energy, focus, curiosity, and commitment. RW emphasizes the supportive, collective, and challenging process of coming to grips with how avoiding one’s painful past may lead to (someone else’s) continuing trauma in the future. Alongside receiving acknowledgment of horrific ethno-racial, class-based, and gender-related inequities, in many cases, participants are stimulated to think of themselves not just as hapless victims but also as active agents who can and should have a sense of control over what happens.

One thing that can help generate and maintain balance in the future is the fact that the poor and the homeless—as well as the human service workers struggling alongside them—tend to know all too well that the proverbial playing field is anything but level. Moreover, staff and clients tend to support strong government-funded action against poverty. Against this backdrop, all involved can be helped to see that getting ahead often requires painful efforts, against heavy odds, to ‘unfreeze’—in the organizational development idiom attributed to Kurt Lewin (Cummings, Bridgman, & Brown, 2016) and transform habituated response patterns and achieve levels of self-discipline that late Foucault associated with nothing less than the “art of living.” Rather than being an excessively individualistic process, Foucault’s final works imply that this can happen in a tightly knit web of interdependent people engendering a “return” to a more stable, more reflexive, and more beneficially socialized “self.”

What are the concrete implications in terms of organizational development? Unless they are using volunteers, RW often means more staff and thus more overhead for NPOs. At the same time, narrow pressures to professionalize (e.g., target setting/hitting according to superimposed logics institutionalized and subtly socialized through standardized forms) can exacerbate the tensions described above or lead NPOs away from RW altogether. Many organizations working on the front lines with the poor are subject to the “nonprofit starvation cycle” because donors are reluctant to fund those with higher overhead. In response, managers may be tempted to cut or thin out more costly programs, whether they work or not—thus further fueling unrealistic expectations of funders and contributing to a pernicious cycle (Gregory & Howard, 2009). As such, nonprofits will need to draw from research and continually make context-specific arguments that RW decreases poverty in the long term and that short-term “band-aid” solutions are often penny wise yet pound foolish.

With regard to future research on RW, one place to start is with comparative studies, such as investigations of concrete programs at opposite ends of RW intensity (e.g., those that impose conditions vs. those that do not; those that require programs vs. those with voluntary programs). Ideally, all the programs being compared would be operating in similar contexts and with similar populations.

This brings us to the types of data (sets) that might be brought into play. Ethnographic evidence illuminating, for example, how relationships (fail to) form and evolve over time and how sequenced and embodied interactions emerge in specific situations (and in response to specific challenges) could be extremely valuable (Paulle, 2013). Ideally, such here-and-now data would be combined with statistical outcome data (e.g., on housing and poverty) relevant to potential long-term benefits. Also, ongoing qualitative data on how former clients periodically (re-)interpret post-intervention trajectories could generate precious and actionable insights. In sum, then, researchers using “mixed methods” should stick with people as they continue their efforts to overcome structural and personal barriers and to achieve more fulfilling lives for themselves and their families. Another vital theme includes reinvigorating democracy through engaging clients in their own paths to change and build energy and efficacy that can translate from the personal sphere to engagement in broader societal and political structures.

As we indicated above, research on RW must remain alert to the very real risks of (racialized, class-based, or gender-related) paternalist disciplining. More specifically, researchers need to return to the possibility that “success” in terms of easily quantified short-term benefits (demanded by funders) can breed failure in terms of the kinds of commitments and practices that, we argue, can ultimately lead to RW reinvigorating the nonprofit sector.

Clearly, then, the present shift toward RW will only continue to gain momentum if certain conditions can be met. Selection and training of staff must produce qualified professionals able to understand their clients’ concerns while remaining aware of broader power differentials and their ability to do harm despite having good intentions. Programs engaging in RW must demonstrate their shorter and longer term effectiveness (Bunn & Marsh, 2019). Bringing together the richness of (auto)ethnographic investigations and the rigor of effect evaluations may be the best way to help (a) detail the primary processes and mechanisms on the ground, (b) pinpoint levels of effectiveness, (c) support nonreductionist professionalization, and thus (d) hold off—or even reverse—the starvation cycle mentioned above. Given what is at stake here, the ongoing trend toward RW among nonprofits should be carefully studied and judiciously appraised. There is much to be wary about but also to welcome.