Can We Decolonize Therapy?
During my time at Smith Social Work School, one of the debates that rattled the minds and hearts of students and faculty included the question of whether those who provide individual therapy could ever consider their work part of social change. Needless to say, people were on both sides of this argument. The No side: mental health services (even when done in a group) are limited because addressing small-scale needs will not change the larger system. This argument often promoted the idea that therapists should “do political work on the weekends.” Then there was the Yes side: the personal is political, and if we use therapy as a tool of helping individuals gain access to resources and power, then we are making strides. As you can imagine, both arguments had their points. Now, over a decade past graduate school, I can’t say I have come up with a firm answer to this debate. However, I’m leaning towards the both/and of it. Yes, therapists love saying this. But it is true. Perhaps this debate keeps us frozen when what we need to do is be human, and not spend so much time theorizing everything. Just be. Just do. Get muddy.
In the past year, I read a hugely important book by Dr. Jennifer Mullan, Decolonizing Therapy (2023), which drew me out of the debate of micro versus macro. I think of it now like this: true, if social systems and access to basic necessities such as education, health, housing, and conditions for a dignified life were guaranteed, therapy (and other social services) would not exist in the same way because it would be less necessary. In the same way that if, and speaking from the United States perspective, our healthcare system included access to affordable and effective medical care, nutritious food, and clean environments, we would rely less on doctors. But here we are. In the world we live in. But, let’s go al grano, as we would say in Peru. What has changed my practice is the commitment to this very understanding: oftentimes, what we label as a pathology is an adaptive response to a sick society. Our building blocks, such as our genetics and the ways our genetics respond to the environment, of course, come into play. In addition, how we responded to genocide, enslavement, famine, war, all become passed down in our bodies, in our silences, in our grief and anger.
The other thing I enjoyed about the book is that it encourages self-observation; it not only provides a way for therapists to bring about a richer discussion with clients about their histories, but forces clinicians to examine how mental health systems can add to harm. Here are some questions the book asks of therapists:
“How am I blocking access/gatekeeping” (Mullan, p. 331)?
How does my privilege show up here?
How is whiteness showing itself right now?
Am I currently IN my body? Why or why not” (Mullan, p. 332)?
And here are some important questions to ask the client:
“Are there themes of trauma in your life that you see in previous generations?
Are there any beliefs that have been carried from generation to generation” (Mullan, p. 344)?
“Is unresolved grief and/or rage affecting [your] wellbeing?
Will learning/talking more about history and forms of collective trauma and triumphs strengthen [you]?
What our elders and ancestors KNOW that we may have forgotten?”(Mullan, p. 353).
Which leads me to other aspects of decolonizing therapy. Reclaiming and reconnecting with land and ancestral traditions. In terms of rage and grief, it means protecting the self from the harm passed down through generations. It asks us to look at, as Mullan says, our ancestral inheritance and gather what will serve us, let go of what has harmed us.
Concretely, teacher and minister Grafton Antone (2002) found a way to heal his community through learning the Oneida language and translating the spoken form into text in a group setting. Grafton worked with the United Church “to help Native people regain their wholeness from the fragmenting effects of residential school,” (p. 53) and developed healing workshops that included, “Sing our songs of memory; sing our songs of pain, and sing our new songs of healing; eat traditional foods; then give a healing present to all-a traditional Give-away” (Antone & Turchetti, 2002, p.53) among other collective healing actions. Embedded in the pain of historical trauma is also the joy and resistance gathered from ancestral stories
Sometimes I invite a client to ask about family stories, grandparents, and great-grandparents. To learn their original language, to connect with ancestral community healers. Like Bob Marley so rightly sang, “If you know your history, then you will know where you’re coming from. Then you wouldn’t have to ask me, who in the heck do I think I am?”
As Mullan says, we’re truly all wanting to find Home.
Reference
Antone, G., & Turchetti, L. P. (2002). The Way of the Drum: When Earth Becomes Heart.
Mullan, J. (2023). Decolonizing therapy: Oppression, historical trauma, and politicizing your practice. W.W. Norton & Company.
