Is that all? —Reflections on beginnings,endings,and hopeful transitions

My inaugural issue as Editor-in-Chief (for the Americas region) coincides with several exciting changes. We welcome the addition of a new Assistant editor, Yun Chen, and a recently appointed Book Reviews editor, Deirdre Lanesskog, who also moves into her new role as Associate editor. Over the past 2 decades, Qualitative Social Work (QSW) has grown from 4 issues to 6, and correspondingly, the number of submissions we receive from all corners of the global has also increased. Here at QSW, we hold that the development of high-quality scholarship means investing in our authors and reviewers through a rigorous but fair and transparent peer-review process. We also want to respond quickly and effectively to our submissions. We are delighted that Yun Chen and Deirdre Lanesskog have joined us in their new roles on the editorial team.

This first issue of 2023 is also bittersweet. The eminent Karen Staller, who after 10 years of unwavering service to the journal as Co-Editor, has stepped down. It is hard not to see this as an end of an era. Ten years ago, Professor Staller invited me to join QSW as an Associate editor. I was all too familiar with her groundbreaking work with runaway youth (Staller, 2004, 2006, 2006b, 2010) and her captivating writing style that transports you into the minds and sentiments of others (Staller, 2007). It was a decision I have never regretted, and I have learned countless lessons about the peer-review process, the behind-the-scenes of publishing across three global regions, and the power of the editorial to reach a broad audience. Over the past 10 years, I have come to view Professor Staller as the essence of the journal. Its emphasis on rigorous qualitative inquiry aligns with her commitment to methodological advocacy (Staller, 2012, 2017, 2022a), the intellectual rigor of qualitative research (Staller, 2014, 2015a, 2015b, 2018, 2021; Staller, 2022b; Staller and Chen, 2022), and the importance of guiding the next generation of qualitative scholars (Staller, 2015a, 2019; Staller, 2022b; Staller and Chen, 2022; Staller and Krumer-Nevo, 2013); they seem one and the same to me.

So, as we commemorate this transition, a story comes to mind that seems to capture the moment. I usually recount this to my clinical interviewing students on the first day of class to underscore the difference between manifest and latent meaning—or, in layman’s terms, the importance of listening with a “third ear”—in client communications and the significance of context in the interpretation of interpersonal interactions.

Upon graduating from my masters’ program, I was employed at a social service agency that worked with local public schools to support students struggling with emotional distress. I was assigned to a middle school in one of the poorest sections of Chicago. After consulting with the teachers, I decided to run several support groups with seventh and eighth graders whom they had identified as “troublemakers” —a short-hand diagnostic assigned to disruptive students who had racked up several suspensions and garnered a negative reputation among their peers. My aim for the groups was modest; I would attempt to create a context wherein these pre-teens—my kids, as I came to affectionally know them—would have a different experience of themselves and a positive relationship with an adult.

Very soon after the groups started, I found that one group, composed of eight boys, was wholly unmanageable. After several sessions where my primary activity involved coaxing them out from under tables and off bookshelves into chairs, I announced that the group would be split into 2 groups of 4. The boys were appalled and begged for “one more chance.” Because they were so committed to “stick together,” I agreed to try again; we would use the next session to decide together. Again, despite their best efforts to reign in their mischievous inclinations, the group devolved into chaos. By the end of the session, we sadly agreed to the change.

For the rest of the school year, we met as two separate smaller groups, which helped create a place where they could discuss serious personal concerns rather than act out their anxieties. As the school year drew to its close, we faced the end of our group sessions. Some students would be graduating and going off to high school the following year. I would be returning to graduate school and leaving my job. As the weeks drew nearer, one question came to the forefront, How did we want to spend our last day together?

Unequivocally, the boys wanted the final meeting to be with the whole group…and with lots of snacks…to commemorate our time together. I dutifully made a list of their favorite foods. There would be numerous USA-brand name chips (crisps)—Cheetos® Flamin’ Hot® (puffs and crunchy thins), Funyuns® (onion flavored rings), Doritos® Cool Ranch® (flavored tortilla chips). Also, featured prominently were Hostess® cakes (ho-hos and ding dongs), and a frightening array of grape, orange, and strawberry flavored sodas. All this—two large grocery bags of goods—would be bought to the final group meeting.

On the appointed day, I carefully laid out the snacks in joyful anticipation of our last meeting. Initially, the excitement of the full group reunion dominated their attention, but as the novelty subsided, they turned their focus to the snacks. One boy peered at the snacks, tilted his head, and with a sideways glance, met my eyes.

“Is that all?” he challenged.

At this point in the story, I pause and turn to my graduate students for their reaction. Sometimes, I can hear an audible gasp from them. Most are stunned into silence, embarrassed by a palpable sense of exasperation they feel on my behalf. I give them permission to air their non-social worker reactions, or as I like to phase it, their “evil thoughts.” A few admit to thinking the child is rude and ungrateful. Others wonder if there actually was not enough food, or if he just didn’t know better. I gently ask the class about when this session was occurring and its significance to the child. I remind them that this was the last time they would see each other.

For the qualitative researcher and for the social worker, context matters—and the interpretation of social interactions within that frame drives the co-construction of meaning and reality (Ruckdeschel, 1985). It makes perfect sense in the layman’s world to have a negative reaction to rude behavior. After all, gifts tend to engender expressions of gratitude and deviations from this custom are not usually welcomed. But this was a clinical context with children who did not adhere well to the general rules of comportment and as a result were labeled “troublemakers.” Fortunately, this context had a different set of rules aimed at cultivating new meanings and realities. In this arena, the boys were not “troublemakers.” Nor were they rude or obnoxious. They were cherished participants faced with the loss of an important part of their lives, and an important personal relationship. They were grieving.

Is that all? In answering this boy’s question, I glanced back to the table crammed with unholy snack foods. Then, I met his gaze and responded, “No, it’s not enough. It doesn’t make up for the fact that we won’t see each other again. But we will never forget one another. We will always remember each other, and we have this time now to celebrate that.” In an instant, this boy was transformed into someone special who would be remembered. Snack foods aside, he mattered—to me and others—and that feeling has a way of sticking to you.

For me, QSW serves as a vehicle to illuminate unseen truths that matter—the perspectives of those who frequently are marginalized, misunderstood, or simply, overlooked. It provides a space for creativity and innovation that seeks to represent all facets of our humanity. Over many years of editorial scholarship and service, Professor Staller exemplified what it means to hold true to the central aim of the journal set forth by the founders of QSW, Ian Shaw and Roy Ruckdeschel, in their opening editorial:

…[T]o promote and exemplify a qualitative informed professional practice, that is both challenged by, and in turn challenges, qualitative inquiry in its broadest conceptions. (2002: 6)

For example, in one memorable editorial, Professor Staller retold the story of the heroic internationally led rescue of 12 adolescent Thai footballers and their 25-year-old assistant coach who had become trapped deep within a cavernous cave by a flash flood (Staller, 2018). With her distinctive prose, she highlighted their perilous plight and the absence of ready-made solutions. The complexity of the problem required engaging multiple perspectives to save the lives of the boys and their coach. Within the arc of the story, with its emphasis on perspectives, she summons Ruckdeschel’s assertion that conversations on “qualitative methodologies” might be better served by switching the phasing to “qualitative perspectives” – that more closely aligns with the context-specific nature of interactions inherent in social work practice. And yet, she extends this thinking by drawing attention to what really matters. She asks, How are we interacting with others in constructing hope, in fostering courage, or in sustaining faith? The question challenges us—researchers and social workers alike—to move beyond a “dispassion distance” and hone into what fundamentally sustains us as humans. Staller continues,

Successful outcomes to intractable social problems—perhaps even miraculous outcomes—at the micro or macro level will most likely come from these in-between spaces where faith, hope, and courage are produced and enacted. We should be active partners in that process. (2018: 738)

In this spirit, I make a hopeful transition into a new editorial role in which I pledge to continue to add to the wealth of perspectives QSW is known for and encourage explorations into these “in-between spaces.” As I bring this editorial to a close, the question—is that all?—comes to mind again. Here, too, I must acknowledge that this editorial cannot adequately convey our gratitude for the many years of service Karen Staller has given the journal; things simply won’t be the same. But we have been gifted a rich legacy—something that matters—to continue to cultivate and grow, and this really is a cause for celebration.