Category: Macro Social Work

  • Deafening Silence: NASW Restructuring and the Fear of Speaking Up

    A political cartoon showing a large NASW chair at the head of a boardroom table facing two gagged chapter leaders labeled NASW IA and NASW CA, with six empty labeled chairs for NASW KY, NASW AR, NASW KS, NASW AZ, NASW SD, and NASW TN to represent directors removed during the NASW restructuring.

    This piece is an unplanned follow up, written in response to the extraordinary volume of feedback to my previous article. You may wish to read that analysis first for full context.

    Editor’s Note (6:20 pm December 11, 2025): This article has been updated to include formal letters from NASW Texas and Michigan chapters, to correct Dr. Gandarilla-Javier’s title, to add context from a September 2024 board statement, and to reflect verification of the December 8 email.

    NASW Restructuring Article Response

    On Friday, I published an analysis of the November NASW restructuring decision. The response revealed something I did not fully anticipate: the gap between what social workers wanted to say and what they felt they could say publicly. Therein lies the true story.

    Within hours, messages arrived from former chapter directors who felt discarded by the organization they had faithfully served for years. Former national staff confirmed what many suspected. Current leaders explained that they could not speak publicly for fear of retaliation. Anonymous Reddit discussions became the only spaces where practitioners could name what they had witnessed.

    The response confirmed what the restructuring itself revealed: a profession struggling with the distance between its stated values and its organizational practice.


    A Systemic Pattern, Not an Isolated Crisis

    The November 2025 restructuring did not emerge from nowhere. It sits inside a longer pattern of conflict, silence, and contested governance.

    Last year, NASW Vice President and National Board member Dr. Sharon Gandarilla-Javier publicly announced her resignation. Her original LinkedIn statement was edited multiple times within hours, then reduced to a single sentence. A preserved copy on Reddit describes her account of being pressured to resign after questioning CEO Anthony Estreet’s handling of the Preferra insurance collapse. In that statement, she alleged serious concerns about workplace climate, financial management, and retaliation, and stated that her duty of loyalty lay with the organization’s mission rather than any individual leader.

    Context for her resignation appears in an earlier September 2024 board statement defending CEO Anthony Estreet against what they characterized as ‘maliciously published’ and ‘alleged unfounded grievances.’ The board stated they stood ‘firmly behind Dr. Estreet and the leadership team as they address these challenges head on.’ Three months later, the Vice President resigned after questioning the CEO’s handling of the Preferra crisis.

    Whether these allegations will ultimately be substantiated is a matter for investigation. What matters here is the pattern: a sitting Vice President described pressure to resign after raising concerns, and her attempt to speak publicly about it was quickly constrained and then largely erased. That context helps explain why so many people now fear speaking out.

    The pattern continued. Boards in Arkansas, South Dakota, and Kentucky resigned in full. Iowa’s chapter issued a vote of no confidence citing opaque decision-making and concerns about retaliation. Kansas publicly challenged the removal of its director and the absence of clear process.

    Taken together, these events suggest more than a single controversial decision. They point toward systemic governance failure.


    The Scope Becomes Clear

    Since the November restructuring, at least seven state chapters have taken formal institutional action challenging national leadership’s decisions and governance practices.

    Iowa issued a vote of no confidence citing opaque decision-making and concerns about retaliation. Kansas publicly challenged the removal of its director. Board members in Arkansas, South Dakota, and Kentucky resigned in full rather than continue under the current structure.

    This week, two additional major chapters formalized their positions. The NASW Texas Executive Board, representing one of NASW’s largest and most active chapters, issued a vote of no confidence in executive leadership. The NASW Michigan Board, representing 5,000 members and over 32,000 licensed social workers in the state, issued a unanimous vote of no confidence and explicitly called for the resignation of both the CEO and Board President if immediate corrective action is not taken.

    Both letters make nearly identical demands:

    • Financial transparency, including five years of financials and third-party audit
    • Full account of restructuring decision-making process
    • Establishment of independent steering committee with chapter representation
    • Publication of board agendas, minutes, and voting records
    • Written acknowledgment and action plan within 14 days

    Texas’s letter notes a particularly important ethical dimension: “Texas social workers expect NASW to champion fair labor practices, reasonable workloads, transparency, and member-centered policy decisions. Yet the recent restructuring asks Executive Directors to absorb multi-state responsibilities without adequate compensation, staffing, or structural support.”

    Michigan’s letter is even more direct in its assessment: “At this time, the NASW–Michigan Board finds that these standards are not being upheld.”

    These are not anonymous complaints. These are formal institutional statements from elected chapter leadership, representing tens of thousands of social workers, using their organizational authority to demand accountability.

    Like-minded members can join NASW Texas’ sign-on letter, reflecting many of the concerns listed above.


    What the Numbers Reveal

    Many assumed NASW’s restructuring reflected financial collapse or mass membership loss following the Preferra insurance crisis. Yet NASW’s own IRS Form 990 filings do not support that narrative. Membership dues revenue over the past four fiscal years (ending June 30) remained stable:

    • $18.81 million in FY 2021
    • $19.15 million in FY 2022
    • $19.37 million in FY 2023
    • $19.42 million in FY 2024

    While growth plateaued, the data show neither catastrophic membership decline nor fiscal emergency. Unless something catastrophic occurred between June 2024 (the fiscal year end in the 2024 filing) and November 2025, recent decisions do not appear driven by financial necessity.

    The broader financial picture further undermines claims of crisis. NASW’s total revenue and expenses over the same period show an organization that operated at or near break-even:

    • FY 2021: Net income of $2.22 million
    • FY 2022: Net income of $6.23 million
    • FY 2023: Net loss of $269,000
    • FY 2024: Net income of $39,000

    Three of the past four years showed positive net income. This marks a significant improvement over the prior seven fiscal years (2014-2020), which each recorded net losses ranging from $1.48 million to $3.35 million annually.

    If the restructuring were in response to imminent collapse, the data would reflect crisis. They do not. Financial performance from 2021 through 2024 shows stabilization, not emergency.

    This matters because it clarifies what the restructuring was not:

    • It was not forced by sudden collapse in dues
    • It was not a last-resort austerity response
    • It was not an emergency measure to keep the organization afloat

    This reframes the issue entirely. If not compelled by financial necessity, it must be understood as a matter of choice.

    Why choose an approach that bypassed chapter leadership, ignored participatory governance expectations, and dismantled state advocacy infrastructure without transparent explanation?

    The numbers do not justify the method. They instead reveal a deeper concern: a top-down governance decision carried out without regard for NASW’s own Code of Ethics.


    When Voice Requires Risk

    “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
    — Maya Angelou

    Directors and leaders who reached out did not only describe disagreement. They described grief.

    One person wrote about spending years building legislative relationships, then learning of their termination only when the public announcement went out. Another described watching their board resign in protest while being bound by confidentiality agreements that limited what they could say publicly.

    The termination of fourteen executive directors severed years of relational trust with legislators, coalitions, community partners, and state agencies. It also revealed a deeper dynamic: critiquing NASW National now carries professional risk.

    Current staff shared concerns about job security and potential retaliation. Former staff referenced NDAs and policies warning of legal consequences for sharing internal information. Chapter leaders described calculating how public they could be without jeopardizing future opportunities.

    Social workers are trained to speak truth to power. When they feel unable to do that within their own professional home, the issue is not individual courage. It is organizational culture.



    What Social Workers Shared Privately

    Across direct messages, emails, comment threads, and anonymous forums, several themes repeated with striking consistency:

    Betrayal of professional values

    Social workers asked how an organization that teaches transparency can function without it. Many referenced the Code of Ethics directly. One former director wrote: “I taught students about ethical decision-making for years. Now I’m watching our own association make decisions I would have told students to challenge.”

    Loss of advocacy capacity

    State-level advocacy cannot be centralized without cost. It is relationship-based. It requires local trust and daily presence. Directors who built those relationships over years were removed with no transition planning. Practitioners worried about coalitions, policy campaigns, and community partnerships that depend on steady local leadership.

    Fear of retaliation

    This theme dominated. Not primarily anger or outrage, but fear. People described deleting posts after second thoughts, moving conversations into private messages, or choosing anonymous forums because they felt safer. A current chapter leader wrote: “I know what happened was wrong. I also know I can’t say that publicly without risking my position.”

    Organizational trauma and grief

    Many used language of loss, rupture, and betrayal. They spoke of years of work made irrelevant overnight. They described watching an institution that was supposed to protect their advocacy instead dismantle the infrastructure that made it possible.


    The Silence Is the Story

    For every public statement, there were several private messages. Comments appeared, then disappeared. Former staff wrote publicly, then removed their posts. Reddit became one of the few places where practitioners could speak without attaching their names.

    Silence, in this context, is not neutrality. It is evidence of power. When people believe that telling the truth about their experience may cost them their livelihood, silence becomes protective. The profession should be deeply concerned any time silence is the safest choice.


    When Public Messaging Contradicts Private Reality

    On December 9, a document appeared on Reddit, shared by someone identifying as a recently resigned NASW chapter board member. The post included an email from NASW National leadership dated December 8, which I have since independently verified through direct communication with affected parties.

    In that message, NASW leadership asserts that the restructuring was neither sudden nor reactive, but the result of “nearly a decade” of planning, pilots, and incremental testing. The communication frames the consolidation of 14 chapters as necessary operational modernization rather than an ethical rupture or governance breakdown. It directs members to board minutes and Form 990 filings as evidence of transparency and due process.

    The response from the community has been swift and skeptical. The resigned board member characterizes the messaging not as clarification, but as post-hoc justification, writing:

    “To put the blame on social workers for not being ‘informed enough’ is simply ludicrous”.

    Others in the discussion attempted to verify the leadership’s claims of long-term transparency. One user noted that publicly available board minutes on the NASW website appear to extend only through January of this year. This leaves the claim of a “decade of planning” effectively unverifiable to the average member.

    This critique does not hinge on whether restructuring was necessary. It hinges on timing and access. In trauma-informed systems, transparency is not a courtesy extended afterward; it is the process that precedes impact.

    Public messaging that invokes openness while leaving members unable to verify foundational claims creates the mistrust it seeks to quiet. In social work, transparency is not merely disclosure of outcomes. It is shared process, shared risk, and the ability to ask questions without consequence.

    What is most striking is the contrast. Leadership points to board minutes and filings as evidence of transparency, yet those materials appear incomplete and the financial record (as shown above) contradicts claims of necessity. This is transparency as performance, not practice.

    The restructuring may have been justified. The communication culture that surrounded it was not. That is the ethical breach that continues to reverberate.


    Governance, Stewardship, and Professional Legitimacy

    This is no longer only a crisis about restructuring. It is a crisis of credibility and stewardship.

    In nonprofit governance, three duties are foundational: duty of care, duty of loyalty, and duty of obedience. These duties belong to an organization’s governing board at the national level, not its executives.

    When an organization’s Vice President, who serves on the National Board, describes facing pressure to resign after raising concerns related to governance and transparency, it signals a serious breach of fiduciary responsibility. Board members are obligated to ask hard questions and act in the best interest of the organization’s mission, even when doing so is uncomfortable or unpopular.

    Separately, when chapter boards resign in full, they are not simply rebelling. They are signaling that they can no longer participate in governance under a structure they believe undermines transparency, ethical practice, and meaningful accountability to members.

    An association cannot ask its members to uphold a Code of Ethics it ignores in its own operations. Doing so undermines the moral authority of our entire profession.


    Clinical Drift in Organizational Form

    Macro practice teaches that institutions must be accountable to the communities they serve. Social workers learn to analyze systems, challenge harmful power dynamics, and build participatory structures.

    If social workers cannot successfully advocate within their own professional association, how do we maintain credibility when we advocate in legislatures, agencies, and communities? If chapter leaders fear retaliation for naming concerns, how do we encourage practitioners to challenge injustice elsewhere?

    This moment is not separate from the broader trend of clinical drift. When the national association centralizes power, restricts participation, and treats member voice as a risk to manage rather than a resource to cultivate, it enacts the same individualizing tendencies that have pulled the profession away from macro work.

    A professional body that silences dissent cannot credibly train people in community organizing. An association that treats governance as an internal matter rather than a shared practice cannot credibly promote democratic participation.

    The restructuring is not only a symptom of clinical drift. It is clinical drift expressed through organizational design.


    What Ethical Accountability Requires

    Repair is impossible in an environment of silence. Silence protects those who hold institutional power and isolates those who have been harmed.

    Ethical accountability would require, at minimum:

    1. Clear public explanation of the restructuring decision, including the financial and strategic analysis that drove it and the alternatives considered.
    2. Transparent reporting on the Preferra insurance collapse and the use of insurance-related funds.
    3. Open forums where members, staff, and chapter leaders can process what has happened without fear of retaliation.
    4. Restoration or thoughtful redesign of state-level advocacy capacity that respects the importance of local leadership and relationships.
    5. Independent review of retaliation, intimidation, and workplace climate concerns raised by past and present staff.
    6. Governance reforms that prevent major structural changes from being enacted without meaningful consultation with chapters and members.

    These are not radical demands. They are the minimum for ethical stewardship in any mission-driven organization. They are especially important in a profession that teaches transparency, participation, and accountability as core practice principles.


    Honoring Those Who Cannot Speak

    Many of the people most affected by these decisions are constrained by contracts, risk calculations, or ongoing roles inside the organization. Professionals who have given decades to advocacy and leadership deserve acknowledgment and ethical clarity, even if they cannot safely share their stories in public.

    This article is, in part, an attempt to honor that reality. It draws on what has been said publicly and on what has been shared privately, without attaching names where doing so could create harm.

    If you have insight, concern, or experience related to the restructuring or to NASW governance more broadly, I welcome confidential conversation at hello@themacrolens.com. Not for publication, but to better understand the collective landscape that has brought the profession to this moment.


    The Stakes for the Profession

    The profession of social work cannot afford selective accountability. We cannot insist on transparency from agencies, courts, and legislators while accepting opacity from our own institutions. We cannot teach ethical courage in classrooms while expecting quiet compliance in our professional associations.

    The silence surrounding NASW’s restructuring is beginning to break. What happens next will reveal whether institutional power chooses defensiveness or the ethical courage that social work has long claimed to embody.

    NASW faces a clear choice: commit to meaningful governance reform, or accept continued erosion of credibility and trust.

    There is no third option.


    Start Your Macro Social Work Journey Today

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    Subscribe below and we’ll send the guide straight to your inbox. Plus, you’ll get new articles and resources from The Macro Lens to keep building your skills.

  • NASW Restructuring and Ethical Accountability: When Chapters Stand Up To Leadership

    Illustration of a suited figure labeled NASW holding the Code of Ethics near a lit lighter, symbolizing ethical risk associated with NASW restructuring.

    Due to the extraordinary response to this article, and the number of professionals who voiced fears around voicing their concerns publicly, I decided to write a follow up article. You can read it here.


    Social workers across the country are concerned, confused, and angry. How can the organization that claims to represent us, the steward of our Code of Ethics, so blatantly violate the values it taught generations of practitioners to defend?

    Last month, national leadership executed sweeping NASW restructuring, resulting in the leaders serving fourteen state chapters being laid off. Many learned of their eliminations at the moment the announcement became public. No transition plans, no member consultation, no collaborative process, and no opportunity for affected chapters to prepare for the loss of their advocacy infrastructure.

    For a membership organization in a profession built on community voice, this was not merely an internal decision. It was an ethical rupture.

    The response was immediate. Iowa issued a vote of no confidence. Kansas publicly stated they were given no rationale or process for the removal of their leadership. Arkansas and Kentucky reported full board resignations. Former directors expressed not only shock, but grief that the relational work of years could be severed without forethought, acknowledgment, or transparency.

    These reactions are not isolated. They are a collective recognition that something fundamental has cracked at the center of our professional home.


    The Values NASW Forgot to Practice

    The execution of the NASW restructuring reflects a fundamental disconnect with our professional values. Social work rests on transparency, accountability, and shared decision making. We teach these principles to students. We write them into policies. We defend them in courtrooms, classrooms, community centers, legislatures, and crisis shelters. They are not aspirational ideals. For many, they are deeply intertwined with our professional and personal identity.

    Yet national leadership made sweeping decisions about chapter consolidation and layoffs without meaningful consultation with members, chapter boards, state leaders, or the Delegate Assembly. What was removed was not only staffing, but presence. Not only roles, but relationships. Not only operations, but the connective tissue of state-level advocacy.

    Paying lip service to our professional values is not enough. We cannot abide a professional organization that refuses to hold itself to the same standards it demands from its members.

    This is why Iowa’s action matters. Their statement was not an act of rebellion, but of fidelity. They spoke not out of hostility, but out of moral obligation.



    Betrayal, Not Disagreement

    It is important to name the emotional truth of this moment. Social workers are not simply upset about process. They are wounded by betrayal.

    Directors like Becky Fast did not hold symbolic roles. They built coalitions, strengthened legislative relationships, and carried advocacy work forward for years in a profession that often erases that labor. To remove them without partnership or dialogue was not a technical oversight. It was a dismissal of what makes this profession function at the state level: trust, time, continuity, and presence.

    The problem is not that NASW made a difficult decision. It is that they made it in a way that violated the relational and ethical commitments that define social work as a profession. We are asked, in every setting, to confront power responsibly, inclusively, and accountably. When NASW leadership bypassed those values, it modeled the very behavior social workers are trained to challenge in systems of harm.

    That disconnect is what social workers feel so viscerally now. Not a policy disagreement, but the sting of hypocrisy.


    The Importance of Iowa’s Stand

    Iowa’s statement did not emerge from impulse. As someone who has served on that board, I can attest to the deliberation, restraint, and ethical seriousness with which they operate.

    This was more than a critical response to a single action from NASW leadership. They were calling out a concerning, sustained pattern of behavior. They cited opaque decision making, lack of disclosure concerning the Preferra lawsuit and loss of member benefits, and alleged retaliation against volunteers and staff who raised concerns.

    Their vote of no confidence reflects the gravity of what has unfolded. NASW leadership repeatedly acted in blatant violation of the professional values they hold sacred. Their alarm is not dramatic, but a measured and appropriate response.

    This is exactly the level of clarity, courage, and integrity we should expect from leadership within our field. The actions of state chapters like Iowa make the failures of national leadership all the more apparent.

    Social workers know how to sit with discomfort, how to speak truth to power, and how to hold systems accountable. We expect that of ourselves. We have the right to demand that of NASW.


    Where Trust Goes From Here

    The NASW restructuring reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how state-level advocacy works. Legislative relationships cannot be managed remotely. Grassroots organizing requires local presence. Policy change demands sustained engagement with specific communities, agencies, and political contexts. Efficiency models that treat advocacy as scalable administrative work will hollow out the very infrastructure that makes social work more than clinical licensing.

    Trust between NASW and its members cannot be restored through email statements, public relations language, or internal talking points. Trust can only be rebuilt through action that reflects the values the profession is named after: transparency, collaboration, and shared leadership.

    Social workers are not asking for perfection. They are asking for participation. They are asking to be included in decisions that redefine their professional landscape. They are asking that their expertise, advocacy relationships, and labor be recognized and respected.

    The profession must demand more from the organizations that claim to represent us. NASW cannot champion justice while practicing exclusion. It cannot require accountability from practitioners while denying it in its own operations. It cannot claim stewardship of values it fails to uphold.

    Social workers deserve better than this. We are better than this.

    The profession deserves an organization that reflects the best of who we are, not the worst of what hierarchy can become.

    Start Your Macro Social Work Journey Today

    Get the free guide Intro to Macro Social Work: A Beginner’s Guide. Inside, you’ll find practical tools, clear explanations, and strategies to help you step confidently into macro practice.

    Subscribe below and we’ll send the guide straight to your inbox. Plus, you’ll get new articles and resources from The Macro Lens to keep building your skills.

  • Suffering in Plain Sight: How Child Welfare’s Institutional Amnesia Failed My Brothers

    Two boys, approximately ages nine and twelve, sit dejected on concrete steps in a black and white urban scene, symbolizing the instability and invisibility children face under caseworker turnover.

    This piece continues the personal story I began in My Why, where I share the experiences that shaped my commitment to macro social work and empowering lived experience leaders.

    The US child welfare system is deeply flawed. For many children, the greatest and most lasting harm does not come from the events that triggered involvement, but from the system itself. Caseworker turnover and the revolving door of service providers creates a cycle of instability. Each new professional asks children to recount their trauma, and each transition erases the understanding the previous worker painstakingly built.

    I did not come by this truth through research or policy reports. It was hard won, advocating for my half-brothers as the system lost sight of their needs time and time again. Same children, same histories, same needs, yet every new caseworker treated them as blank slates. Each transition meant starting over, because the child welfare system could not remember.

    When Systems Forget

    In 2018, my youngest brothers entered Iowa’s child welfare system for the second time and were placed in my care. The removal itself followed familiar patterns; crisis, intervention, placement. What came after, however, was something more insidious: institutional amnesia.

    The revolving door of service providers began almost immediately. Caseworkers changed. Service coordinators came and went. Each transition brought the same exhausting ritual. New faces asking old questions, requesting information already documented. Strangers forming impressions without context, making decisions that contradicted previous plans.

    It felt like we were starting over from scratch every time their caseworker changed, because we were.

    The system wasn’t just failing to build on existing knowledge. It was actively forgetting what it had already learned about my brothers’ specific needs and trauma histories. Each new professional entered with good intentions but without institutional memory. Armed with case files but missing the lived context that makes those files meaningful.

    The Permanency Plan That Wasn’t

    The worst manifestation of this amnesia came during the transition between the second and third caseworkers on my brothers’ case.

    After more than two years of active child welfare involvement, we finally had a plan. The second caseworker had been critical of my stepmother’s ability to maintain a healthy and positive relationship with the boys. Given the infrequency of visitation and ongoing mental health struggles, he recommended termination of parental rights and my adoption of my brothers.

    At the time, I agreed. He presented a compelling argument, and I trusted his professional opinion. After years of uncertainty, it looked like my brothers would finally have permanency. They could stop holding their breath in anticipation. We could all exhale.

    Then the third caseworker took over.

    During our first conversation, she asked what I wanted to see regarding permanency. Trusting the established plan, I repeated the previous worker’s recommendation of termination and adoption. She didn’t push back. She didn’t comment on it at all.

    Instead, her initial report to the court stated that my “adversarial regard” for my stepmother was harmful the boys. She further recommended that the case should not close until this issue was resolved. She painted me as a harmful agent in my brothers’ lives for the sin of trusting her predecessor’s plan.

    The light at the end of the tunnel was effectively snuffed out, as we started over from scratch yet again.

    Right Outcome, Wrong Method

    Despite that initial antagonistic treatment, I am actually grateful to the third caseworker. Her perspective helped myself and the court recognize the value of the relationship between my brothers and their mother. The case ultimately closed with my stepmother retaining parental rights while I became permanent guardian. My brothers gained stability with me while maintaining a safe and meaningful relationship with their mother. Looking back, it was the best possible outcome.

    But being right doesn’t excuse the methods.

    Had the third caseworker approached me openly, I would have seen the logic and validity of this permanency option. I would have supported it from the start. Her choice to leave me in the dark and paint me as an aggressor was unnecessary, frustrating, and further eroded my trust in the child welfare system.

    This is the insidious nature of institutional amnesia: it doesn’t just lose information, it loses trust.

    The Human Cost of Starting Over

    For my brothers, this nearly three-year case felt like perpetual limbo. Each caseworker transition brought fresh waves of uncertainty about their future. It meant new strangers making decisions about their lives and repeated questions about painful histories.

    The consequences lingered long after the child welfare case closed. My youngest brother lived in a state of emotional limbo for years. The system’s inconsistent messaging around permanency left him uncertain, even after closure. He continued to put his life on hold. He avoided forming friendships, joining activities, or putting down roots in his new community.

    I remember when, nearly two years after the case ended, he finally began to come out of his shell. He made friends at school, planned sleepovers, and became excited about his life again. It was a joyful shift, but it underscored the cost of years spent waiting for an outcome that would never come.

    If the system had provided consistency around permanency from the beginning, I believe he would have acclimated much sooner. The years of his childhood lost were not inevitable, they were preventable.

    The One Who Remembered

    There was one critical exception to this institutional amnesia: my brothers’ Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA).

    Assigned at the onset of my brothers’ case, the CASA volunteer became their constant through nearly three years of system chaos. While caseworkers rotated and service providers changed, she remained. She was the only agent of the system that my brothers truly trusted. The one adult who showed up, who remembered, and who actually saw them.

    She was a godsend, providing the continuity that the formal system failed to maintain. She knew their story not from case notes but from relationship. When new caseworkers entered, she could provide context that files couldn’t capture. When permanency plans shifted, she was the bridge helping my brothers make sense of changes that adults struggled to explain.

    I am forever grateful to my brothers’ CASA. Her involvement in their case inspired me to spend three years as a CASA volunteer myself. I later dedicated my graduate practicum to the CASA program, designing and piloting a comprehensive data system to better track child outcomes, needs, and the systemic barriers they face. This was my first direct effort to ensure the needs of other children and families did not remain invisible, as my brothers’ once had.

    The Systemic Design Flaw

    This is not a story about bad caseworkers, but that of a system designed to fail.

    The professionals involved in my brothers’ case were dedicated, competent people doing their best within impossible constraints. Every one of them cared deeply about my brothers’ wellbeing.

    The problem is that child welfare is designed as if children exist in a perpetual present. As if each assessment captures a stable truth rather than a moment in a long narrative.

    Case files document decisions, but not the reasoning behind them. They record permanency plans, but not the dynamics, observations, and deliberation that shaped those plans. When workers leave, all of that vital context disappears. New workers inherit conclusions without understanding how they were reached.

    This creates a perverse dynamic where each new worker, lacking context, feels compelled to form their own independent judgment rather than risk perpetuating a predecessor’s mistakes. The result is what my family experienced. Not thoughtful course corrections based on new information, but wholesale abandonment of existing plans because the reasoning behind them died when the worker left.

    What Research Tells Us

    An ethnographic study of day to day child protection work helps explain why caseworker turnover and inconsistent staffing are so damaging. The research found that effective child welfare practice depends on intimate engagement with children. It requires the ability to enter a child’s world through careful listening, observation, and relational depth. This level of practice requires sufficient preparation time, organizational support, and reflective supervision. Without these conditions, workers quickly become overwhelmed or cognitively overloaded. The emotional and relational grounding that meaningful assessment requires becomes impossible to maintain.

    The study also found that many workers arrive at visits in a bureaucratically preoccupied state. They are still mentally tethered to administrative demands, computer screens, or the pressure to complete tasks quickly. This state of mind makes it difficult to engage deeply with children or to absorb the sensory and emotional complexity of family environments. When workers lack reflective containment, they struggle to process the anxiety, conflict, or emotional intensity they encounter. This leads to rushed interactions, superficial assessments, and a reliance on procedural checklists rather than thoughtful relational practice.

    The research emphasizes that this is not a matter of individual competence. The same workers practiced skillfully in some cases and detached in others, depending on the emotional demands they faced and the organizational support they received. Caseworker turnover forces workers to start from deficit. They lack the contextual and relational foundations required to truly understand the children in their care.

    Rebuilding Systems That Remember

    If we want child welfare to function, we need more than better documentation or reduced caseloads. We need systems built on the assumption that caseworker turnover will occur, so children do not pay the price.

    A number of promising approaches already exist:

    • Team based models that distribute knowledge across multiple workers.
    • Narrative focused documentation that preserves both decisions and the reasoning behind them.
    • Supervision structures that provide the containment workers need to think clearly and maintain child centered focus.
    • CASA programs that offer relational continuity that agencies struggle to provide.

    These innovations are real, but they are also far from systemic.

    From Amnesia to Accountability

    My brothers are mostly grown now. The final permanency plan served them well, and they are thriving. However, the harm from the system’s inconsistency still matters. They lived with adults repeatedly disagreeing about their future. Professionals disappeared from their lives without explanation. Promises shifted without warning.

    Those experiences shaped them as much as the trauma that led to removal.

    This understanding is the foundation of The Macro Lens. Lived experience is essential to systemic reform. Relationships are not soft skills, they are infrastructure. Systems must be redesigned by those who have lived their consequences.

    Institutional memory is not optional. When systems forget children’s stories, they lose the children themselves.

    Child welfare will continue to fail until we build systems that remember with intention. Ones that protect continuity as fiercely as safety, and recognize that every lost piece of knowledge becomes a wound the next worker must rediscover.

    My brothers deserved a system that built on what it learned, not one that forgot with every transition. So do the thousands of children experiencing discontinuity whenever a caseworker’s email auto reply announces they have moved on.

    To build systems that remember children, we must elevate those who know what it is to be forgotten.


    To learn more about the experiences and commitments that shape my work at The Macro Lens, visit the About Me page.