I’d worked hard with the “ASBO” group. They’d been identified by the Anti-Social Behaviour Team as being at risk of becoming entangled within the criminal justice system. I liked them. They were quite an elusive little group but they had an interesting collective character.
God, did they think they were hard. Proper little tough-nuts who were afraid of no one or no thing but terrified of showing any trace of vulnerability. I had to use a lot of reverse psychology to get them to believe they wanted me more than I wanted them. I would dangle carrots but never directly in their direction. I would never, ever outstay my welcome when I met them on the streets and would always leave them wanting more.
By the time we had arranged their first activity, we had established a sound relationship. I enrolled them onto a go-karting programme - a fantastic tool for engaging young people who didn’t readily participate in structured activities. The go-karting project was kind of social development by stealth. The activity demanded teamwork. Listening to instruction would be crucial to their success and they all wanted to succeed in thrashing the other team.
For me personally, there was a simple sense of achievement from getting the group just to attend the sessions for the 8 weeks we ran the programme. Simply “being there” was beneficial to their development. Everything else was a big fat juicy bonus - the language and behaviour modification, the acquisition of new skills and experience and the – uh, I hate to even type the words – accredited outcomes. A great success! The next step would be a weekend residential activity. I wanted to take the group to a distraction-free environment and engage them in some “voice & influence” work. (God I hate that term! “Voice & Influence” is just youth work isn’t it?) This would give me the opportunity to get the issues and the needs of these (more marginalised) young people and present them through the appropriate channels to potentially have some impact on future local initiatives.
The residential was a fantastic experience and the whole group buzzed about it for months after. So everything was going well, it seemed. And it actually came with a fairy-tale ending. I referred the group to a drama project which they attended for several weeks with good reports from the drama tutor about their development. So we had now taken the process through its cycle from anti-social street-nuisance to mainstream, structured activity. I was happy.
Who wouldn’t be? Well, the youth service wasn’t happy at all. They quite liked the fact that we had accredited a first aid module during the go-karting activity but were very displeased that we hadn’t accredited the residential activity. They also refused to recognise the value of the information we gathered from the residential activity because it wasn’t a “structured” youth forum. A “structured” youth forum is one where young people meet around a table the same time every week and discuss whatever issue the youth service deem to be appropriate.
Finally, they didn’t like my group. Our local area officer called into my office one afternoon and announced quite victoriously that she had banned each and every one of them from the drama project. She had unexpectedly dropped into the youth club where the drama sessions were being held and had witnessed two of the boys from the group simulating sex and then heard others using foul language.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence while I waited for her to explain the reasons for banning the group but apparently that was it. She described them as vile animals with no right to be given the opportunity of using valuable resources. My first reaction was to log on to the jobseekers website, my second was to say something quite unflattering but I opted for the safest option which was to do and say nothing at all.
The memories of 4 months hard work flashed before my eyes like that of a drowning man. Drowning, it would seem in a sea despondency. And there we have a clear example of the great moral impasse.
I would experience it again a couple of months later with a group I had adopted from the behaviour unit at the local secondary school. “Give me your worst 8 pupils” I had said. Within seconds they thrust 8 pupils into my office. “Take them. Do as you wish with them. We care very little what you do with them as long as you just take them”, said the school - in so many words.
We used to meet once a week on a purely informal basis just getting to know each other. It was tough going. The group really were very naughty. We had some early issues of racist attitudes and language so I thought (as all youth workers should) we could do some kind of anti-racism work with them. Tall order but I was looking forward to the challenge.
So, three or four weeks into the project I welcomed my group one afternoon at the beginning of the session and asked two of the resident youth workers to keep an eye on my group for 5 minutes while I took the attendance sheets to the SENCO office. When I returned the whole group were gone. In the space of 5 minutes, one of the youth workers had ejected the whole group because one of the members had made a racist comment and the others had laughed.
So they were excluded from the youth centre indefinitely and reported to the school on an official “racist incident” form and then excluded from school for the rest of the week. I was very confused. I was under some optimistic assumption that we targeted young people with issues to engage them in some form of informal social education. Shouldn’t we be prioritising young people with racist attitudes instead of driving them further underground where we can’t reach them at all? When I investigated the issue further, it was apparent that one of the youth workers had panicked when they heard the comment because another youth worker was present. Racism seems to be such a scary subject for youth workers - but that’s a whole new can of worms. The great moral impasse. Why are we setting such rigid, idealistic benchmarks when so many of our target group are struggling to get on the first rung of the ladder? Aren’t we more intelligent than that?