The Burden of the Sentinels

Carol A. Hand

Throughout my career in academia, I was unable to move from the space between cultures. Like some of my students, I, too, carried the burden of the sentinels. Most of my fellow faculty defined their role as that of gatekeepers for the profession of social work. Many faculty felt the purpose of education was to inculcate and enforce student compliance with professional competencies and standards. Of course, few questioned the origins of these standards and who really benefitted from the resulting assimilation. Fewer still contemplated what was lost through the process of homogenization. In my work, I tried to create a space for students to find their own voice and develop the skills to overcome or buffer the forces of conformity. Yet I sometimes had to witness the painful and tragic costs of my colleagues’ oppressive approach to education. Sometimes, all I could do was write about my observations and insights, as in the following essay drawn from those years.


It is tragic and deeply troubling that three students have committed suicide in the past two years. The faculty who worked with the students were grieving and confused. In an effort to heal, the head of student counseling services came to discuss suicide during the faculty meeting yesterday. I did not know the students who died, so as a person on the margins, my reaction to the discussion was very different than that of my colleagues. In fact, the discussion left me deeply troubled. The focus was on a new university policy. In order to reduce liability for the university, faculty would be required to force suffering students to meet with the dean for possible expulsion. The head of counseling services explained that suicide was a form of violence perpetrated by imbalanced individuals on those around them. They needed to be stopped.

When the discussion of suicide ended, no one asked what we might do differently in the future. When we seamlessly moved on to mundane issues, I was angry and distressed. I have seen the way our actions as faculty create problems for the most gifted and sensitive of our students. So I asked what we might do differently. There was no response. The conversation shifted to how to use the corporate credit cards. My response was to get up and leave the meeting at that point, slamming the door as I exited the room.

I know my colleagues interpreted my behavior as strange and annoying rather than as the only way I could express the depth of my distress. So be it. This reflection is my attempt to make sense of the strength of my reactions. And typically, my reflections are based on stories and metaphors that may seem unrelated.

A while ago, my partner at the time shared a story he heard on public radio about the experiences of researchers who were conducting a study of a community of chimpanzees (Thom Hartmann, November 22, 2006, Transcript: Drugs, Depression & Chimpanzees). Early in the study, the researchers noted that about 5 percent of the community appeared to exhibit all of the characteristics of depression. They stayed on the periphery of the community, they rarely engaged in social activities, and they appeared lethargic. With the best of intentions, the researchers decided to treat this isolated group for depression, so they removed the “depressed” chimpanzees from the community and worked with them. The treatment seemed to work. But each time the researchers returned to the troop, they noted that new chimps had taken up posts on the periphery, and they too were removed. At the end of the year, when the researchers returned to the troop’s home to reintroduce the “healthy” chimps, they discovered that the rest of the troop had perished from an undetermined cause. The researchers hypothesized that the sentinel chimps played a crucial role on the boundaries, scanning the environment and warning the troop of danger. Without sentinels, the troop fell prey to external predators. This raises questions about the importance of the “boundary spanners,” those who remain on the periphery to scan for external threats while still relating to the community, albeit in a distant manner. I have pondered this story’s links with my own observations of the burdens carried by people who are on the margins of society because of their difference.

It has been said that those Native people who are the most sensitive and gifted are the ones who do not survive. It is only those who are the strongest physically and psychologically who survive. For me, it is no wonder that Native people who carry the gifts of vision appear most susceptible to addiction. They are the boundary spanners who can see what can be, perhaps what should be, and how far we have strayed from that possibility. To be surrounded by a global society that is focused on exploitation of resources rather than preservation for future generations, on gratifying the self-interested pleasures of the moment rather than the preservation of meaningful relationships, why would not the burden sometimes be too great to bear?

To listen to a discussion of suicide, then, to hear it described as a form of violence perpetrated by deficient individuals on others, is profoundly disturbing. Is it sane or reasonable for sensitive boundary spanners to settle for the insanity of war, the destructive exploitation of nature, the disparities that mean some individuals can buy gold-laced shower curtains while many people throughout the world die of starvation? Where does the violence originate that leads to despair for those who are most sensitive? Does it help give heart to boundary spanners when we label them as deviant? When we medicate them to see the world through a drug-induced haze of mediocrity? When we fail to understand the profound suffering of those on the boundaries who try to warn those in the center about the dangers that surround the community?

When people choose to end their suffering, is it their violence or ours as a society that is the cause? To take one’s own life is the most profound sacrifice. It may be the only way left to alert others of the dangers we face because we have created a world where the brightest and most sensitive among us find no hope, no comfort, no sense of a deeper meaning in life. And when they die, who will be left as sentinels to alert us to the dangers that surround us? Who will protect us from our self-destructive consumerism and exploitation of the environment and others’ labor? Who will alert us to the slow death this imbalance promises for those generations to follow?

The well-meaning among us who would remove the sentinels for their own good may only be hastening the death of that which makes us most human. We can try to convince those who see what we cannot that their visions are hallucinations. We can anaesthetize them and preserve them in a state of half-life because it makes us feel “moral” and it makes our life more comfortable. Yet, by doing so, we do not even serve our own self-interests. The lesson of the chimpanzees is that we need to understand what the sentinels are telling us. We need to create a space to truly listen to what they are trying to tell us about a world that has become toxic to the most sensitive among us. It may be the world of our classrooms. It may be the world outside. How can we, as social work faculty, learn from the sentinels about our own practice as teachers and advisors? Are there things we need to change about how and what we teach to create a place where sentinels can preserve a sense of hope and possibility? I do not have the answers to these questions. I grieve the deaths of these students even though I did not know them as individuals. And I grieve the lost opportunity to explore this issue in a thoughtful way with my colleagues.


By sharing this essay penned years ago, it is my intention to honor the sentinels who remind us what it means to be truly human. It is my hope that we can learn to value them while they live so they no longer feel the need to sacrifice themselves.


Photo credit: flickriver (Dec. 7, 2003)

Another Partial Success — Silent Sentinels of the Avebury



13 thoughts on “The Burden of the Sentinels

  1. You have been able to articulate an experience that for the majority of my life I have found lonely and isolating. Oftentimes I have believed I have felt “too much”. Which has been both a blessing and a curse as while I am able to partake in the joys of my sisters and brothers I still experience an intense amount of suffering when others are in pain, unease, discomfort, etc. It has been difficult for me to communicate these feelings with others as Oftentimes people want to “fix” me. I understand it comes from a helpful place but I don’t believe compassion is a burden that I need to overcome. It is a beautiful tragedy for the compassionate, an innate interconnectedness with the universe and an omnipresent discomfort and unease. After reading this I was flooded with emotions . Your ability to communicate this experience has left me with two prominent notions 1. I am not alone and 2. There is a purpose for me one love. Nicole Dimond

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Nicole, Thank you for the depth of your comments. As I reflect on your response and others to this essay, it seems that there are many silent sentinels who believe that they are alone. From my perspective, the compassion sentinels share is so important in the present times. I am grateful to know that this simple essay has helped make it easier for you to see the importance of the gifts you have to offer.


    1. Thank you, Jacks. I appreciate your feedback! Your comment reminds me of Madeleine L’Engle’s book, A Wrinkle in Time. We don’t know what things really are by just seeing the surface. We need to take the time to listen more deeply to glimpse, even briefly, a part of what they are.


  2. You address SO many issues that are so important in these days and times – with the increase of suicide among young men (of all races) and veterans. You are really addressing the need for a new paradigm of what is “health.” I am now working in a hospital in a small community in Alaska, the first time I’m working with Anglo patients. Almost nightly, I find myself questioning what I have to do and why doctors are doing what they are doing. More and more I’m finding it has to do with money. We have to return compassion and true caring or this country will implode from it’s capitalistic preocupations.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, so much of what is done in this world these days is about money or status or power. None of these things touch hearts or heal soul-deep pain. Nor will any of these things create the kind of world I wish to leave my grandchildren or generations yet to come.

      You have raised crucial questions about how to help young men now in a system that diagnoses them as deviant and attempts to talk and medicate them into conformity with dominant cultural behaviors that don’t make others uncomfortable. From my perspective, our lives would all be so much more meaningful if we do as you suggest and treat others with caring and compassion.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I am sitting here trying to remember how to breathe after reading that faculty response to students taking their own lives. It’s no wonder the world is in the shape it’s in when there can be such callous cruelty toward individuals and such a refusal to consider how to offer a hand. (Maybe that’s why Hand is your name.) The notion of outsiders being sentinels–how enlightening! As always, thank you for sharing your experiences and your wisdom.


  4. Thank you so for validating my feelings about the heartlessness of my colleagues, Diane. In all my travels, I can’t remember ever working with such cruel, incompetent people as I did in my last two universities. I don’t regret those years, (although remembering this incident, I wish I hard slammed the door harder).

    I honestly believe that some of the most gifted and vulnerable students I advised might not have made it through otherwise. Some were like the sentinels in Hartmann’s story. Their sensitivity and vulnerability gave them gifts to work with people in such creative, compassionate ways.


  5. I remember my supervisor, Melissa, saying that so often culture tells people seen as óther’ that there is not space for them. Rollo May (one of my favourite writers) said that it is very often creative people, who are truly able to tap into collective unconscious, who are most often patients in therapy, because culture is just not ready to hear what they have to say (but what needs to be said).

    I think our collective culture really does have a great deal of responsibility for who it mistreats or ‘kills’ off, even if symbolically, and as a whole, we need to reflect on the messages we give out about who is valued (or not).

    I’m sad for the loss of the students, and the struggles and difficulties their families and friends will be left with while trying to understand ‘why?”

    Blessings to you, they are lucky to have your thoughts.


    1. I, too, am sad about the loss of these students. It also troubles me that the exclusion of those who are most gifted is so ubiquitous. Just this week, I found my self in an advocacy role protecting a particularly gifted Ojibwe student from the censure of gatekeepers. This time, there are others who are advocating as well, not only for this student, but also for a dialogue among faculty about our role as educators to liberate rather than to oppress.


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